Bart looked around the landing, then ran to a small table there. Despite its size, it was constructed of stout oak and heavier than he expected. They tried to lift it, but Bart howled and grabbed his shoulder. The table didn’t budge.

Boot soles landed on the sixth step. A third of the way up.

“Drag it,” Del ordered, pulling the table toward the stairs, his shoes scrounging for traction and tearing holes in the timeworn carpet. Bart put his weight behind it and pushed. The table crept forward.

Halfway up.

A little further, a few more inches. Then Bart motioned Del aside and put a foot to it. The table tipped toward the staircase and fell with a thud upon the top step. Two legs snapped off. And that’s where it hung.

Two-thirds of the way. Still coming.

Del cursed, gave it a kick of his own. This time gravity took hold. The heavy tabletop slid off that step and onto the next, then caught and flipped and began tumbling chaotically. The vampire tried to evade the impromptu missile but its reflexes were as atrophied as its muscles. A corner of the spinning table caught it square in the crotch and threw it backward, bouncing it off the wall like a rag doll before both fiend and furniture crashed through the banister to the floor below.

“That won’t stop him,” Bart cursed, grabbing his brother by the coat sleeve and pulling him toward the hallway. But Del shook his grasp just long enough to tuck the nunchaku into his belt and retrieve one of the broken table legs at the head of the stairs. The end was jagged and sharp. Then he grabbed Bart’s back pocket and followed close behind as they headed down the hall. He looked back once—Keep it in sight or it’ll get you—but there was nothing on the stairs yet and then he was jerked through a doorway. Bart slammed the door behind them.

Starlings fluttered and squawked about the master bedroom like disturbed spirits before finding their way through the empty frames of the balcony doors. Bart wasn’t far behind them. “C’mon, Cap,” he stepped through and out onto the balcony that overlooked the garden. “We don’t have much time.”

“What about the door?”

“Fuck the door. It wouldn’t hold him anyway. C’mon.” Bart swung a leg over the balcony rail, chanced a look down, then kicked over and dropped out of sight.

“Bart!”

Del squeezed through one of the door frames, ran to the rail, and peered over. His brother was sitting on his butt on the discolored limestone below, rubbing one cheek tenderly. “C’mon, Cap. It’s not that far.”

“Are you kidding? It’s at least ten feet.”

“So what?”

“So I could break my neck, that’s what.”

“You little dick. If you don’t hurry, that sonuvabitch is gonna do it for you. Now move!”