Billie suddenly dug in her heels and dragged them both to a halt. She was looking ahead while he peered behind, so she was the first to see the movement out in the road. “Oh, God,” she murmured, pointing. A shadow had extricated itself from the surrounding night and now wandered into the dim glow of the security light. She could make out a small figure against the light, a child, and as he approached he struggled with his unwieldy burden and held it up for all to see. The huge cross was an impressive sight to behold, even with the two lumps on the crossbar where Tommy Whitten’s hands had melted. The boy braced the trunk of it against his hip like the flag-bearer in a marching band and came on ahead.

Billie was hesitant to let herself believe. “Del?” she barely whispered. Even Stiles didn’t recognize the boy at first. He was ragged and dirty, his jacket stained with makeup, his face reddened from the fire he’d started, his eyebrows and bangs singed away. But that wasn’t the difference in him. It was the way he held himself, straighter, taller, even with the weight of the cross. Perhaps it was his expression. There was a calm, yet steely resolve etched there that seemed out of place on an eleven-year-old. He held the crucifix out even further, directly at Stiles, until the soldier realized it was meant for the chalky wall of faces behind him.

The horde ceased its advance. The faces were pinched into sneers but they averted their eyes from the cross.

Mother ran to son and hugged him tight, though he struggled a bit to keep the massive symbol visible to all. “Thank God you’re all right,” she sobbed gratefully. “I was so worried! Where’s your brother?”

Del avoided her gaze. “Please, Mom. Not now.” He broke away from her to confront the vampires, but she was still left shaken. She had seen enough of his expression to know. She wouldn’t let herself believe it. “Delbert!” she called after him, “Delbert, where is he? Where is your brother!” and she tried to get to him and shake it out of him, but Stiles caught her first and she all but collapsed in his arms.

“Stay close to me,” Delbert called to the soldier. “I think I can get you back to the boardinghouse.” He moved forward a step or two in the mob’s direction, goading them into retreat. But they started pushing each other into his path like children on a playground. Those who jumped or were pushed too close got a searing jab from Del’s holy weapon but their wounds did not stop them. The boy’s advance was blocked. He looked over his shoulder at Stiles, frustrated. “Stalemate.”

“Retreat then,” Stiles told him. “Maybe we can get to a house down the hill and—”