Prowlers: Wild Things (24 page)

Courtney was troubled by the urgency in the girl's voice, but had no plans to call Eden back right away. Whatever was happening at home, finding Bill took precedence. That, and figuring out why Jack and Molly had never checked in. She held her breath as the machine told her it was about to play her second message.

Beep
.

"Hey, it's me."

Courtney let out her breath. Jack. Her relief was almost painful, and only now did she realize how worried for him and Molly she had been.

"Listen . . . we had some trouble up here. We're okay, now. Headed down to Manhattan. I tried calling your cell phone but I can't remember the number. It was preprogrammed, but our cells are trashed. Gone. I'll explain later. And I had it written down on a piece of paper in the Jeep but . . . ook, I'll tell you all this when I talk to you, but I'm gonna have to call you back. The important thing is this. If Bill checks in, tell him we've got Olivia. She's with us. We're going down to the city first thing in the morning to try to find him and maybe settle things with Jasmine once and for all."

There was a long pause as her brother tried to figure out if he had anything more to say. It was the way he ended every phone message he had ever left her.

"I'll . . . I guess I'll talk to you later. Soon as I know where you can reach us. Watch yourself up there, all right?"

There came another beep and the machine announced that there were no more messages.

Watch yourself up there.

Something had happened to Jack and Molly in upstate New York. From the sound of his voice, and what he
didn't
say, Courtney figured it had been pretty bad. But they were all right. Safe, for the moment. More than that, they had found Olivia somehow, which meant that if she and Winter could find Bill, that was the end of it.

The end of it,
she thought, and smiled to herself.

But the smile was fleeting. It wouldn't really be the end as long as Jasmine was still alive. Her stomach churned at the flash of images from the night before that returned to her mind, then. Winter was an animal, little better than Jasmine, for all his airs. But how much different was she, truly, when despite her horror at Winter's murder of Martelle, she was prepared to do the same to Jasmine with her own hands if she had to?

Courtney considered calling back and leaving a message for Jack with her cell number, but since he had no idea she had left Boston, it would never occur to him to actually listen to the messages. She only wished she knew how to change the main message, the one callers heard, from here. But she did not. Courtney had no choice but to keep checking in until he left her a contact number.

Meanwhile, though, she would talk to Winter. After leaving Martelle's townhouse the previous night Winter had told her that this morning they would begin to reach out to members of the Prowler underground who were likely to know where Jasmine's lair was. Courtney thought that might be walking right into trouble, but she had little choice other than to follow Winter's lead. Whatever the beast had once been, no matter how much diplomacy he had engaged in once upon a time, she believed now that he would do anything necessary to keep Bill alive.

They had that much in common. Courtney hoped that was the only thing they shared.

It was already past noon when Jack followed Olivia and Molly along a narrow Greenwich Village street. He had lost all track of where, exactly, they were, instead merely following Olivia's lead. It had been a long and terrible night, and the morning had already seemed to go on forever. A sort of relief had washed over him when he had glanced at his watch and realized the morning was over. Hollingsworth, and all that had happened there, was behind them. Jack tried not to think about what lay ahead.

The night before, the State troopers had dropped them at their hotel and then actually brought in a first aid kit. None of his or Molly's injuries from the car accident were severe, though Jack found now that he had a pain in his lower back that he could not get rid of. But if some antiseptic and gauze were all they needed to deal with everything else, he figured they ought to be grateful for small miracles. There had been a small debate about whether or not he needed stitches for the long scratch Olivia had given him on his left cheek, but once it had been cleaned it didn't seem quite as deep. He would have a scar, no question, but probably not a bad one.

All in all, they had been lucky. Too lucky, in fact. Jack had a feeling they had used up all their luck for the year. Maybe for life. On the other hand, it wasn't all luck. Artie had not appeared since Jack had seen him in the parking lot the night before, but he hoped the ghost would soon return so Jack could properly thank him and find out exactly what happened. They had not spoken since he had asked Artie for help in locating the spirits of local Prowler victims, but clearly his friend's ghost had been up to more than that.

Before going to sleep — he and Molly had offered to let Olivia take his place in the bed, but the Prowler girl had demurred, insisting that she was used to the floor — Jack had called the apartment. Though it was the middle of the night, Courtney had not answered the phone. He could only think that she was exhausted and had not heard it ring, so he had left a long message, promising to call back as soon as they figured out where they could be reached.

This morning he had tried her once more, again with no luck. He assumed she was at the market, and left no message because they had yet to stop anywhere long enough for her to call him back. Now, as the day began to slide into afternoon, he felt more than ever a need to touch base with his sister, to reassure her that he was all right, and satisfy himself that
she
was.

Of course, if he told her he was all right, he would be lying.

The State troopers had driven them over to a car rental agency just after eight o'clock that morning. Olivia had apparently slept quite soundly, but she was the only one. Jack and Molly had shifted anxiously all night, consumed by their own apprehension and sensitive to each other's. The drive down to Manhattan had been peppered with small talk, stories from each other's lives, and they had gotten to know Olivia a little better. Such trivialities passed the time and helped them avoid discussing the matters at hand. Upon arriving in the city Olivia had helped navigate them to an outdoor parking lot in Greenwich Village, and they had left both the car and their bags there.

As Jack followed the girls, he glanced around nervously. It was lunch time in Manhattan and people milled around all over. Up ahead he saw the massive marble arch of Washington Square Park, pigeons spying on the crowd below, waiting for bits of sandwich to be dropped by people enjoying the perfect October day.

And it was a perfect day. The sun shone with an autumn glow, the sky was blue and clear, and a cool breeze rustled fallen leaves in the park. Jack figured it was in the mid-fifties, but with the sun so bright, he felt warm in the hooded sweatshirt he wore.

They crossed the street and into the busy park. A couple of kids sat on a bench with their skateboards across their laps and sullen expressions on their faces. Now that the lunch crowd had hit, there wasn't room in the park for them to board. Not far away, a dreadlocked thirtyish woman strummed an acoustic guitar and accompanied herself with a harmonica set into a funky neck brace.

Olivia stood at the edge of the park and gazed out over this sea of New York culture. On the far side of the park there was more going on. A juggler in clown makeup rode a six-foot unicycle. There was more music coming from over there as well. A saxophone played Dave Brubeck's "Take Five."

The Prowler girl turned toward them, focusing on Jack and Molly for what felt like the first time since they had parked the car. She wore a pair of Molly's pants and a light green cotton top with spaghetti straps;
too cold for that outfit,
Jack thought,
but then, she probably doesn't feel it the way we do.

"This way," she said, and then Olivia was off through the crowd.

As Jack tried to follow, he stared around at the crowd, picking out individual faces, frowning at anyone who seemed to be looking at him. He passed under the arch and when he emerged on the other side he watched the trees on the other side of the park, just to be sure no one was in them.

"Hey." Molly poked him in the side as she fell into step beside him.

Jack started. Then smiled. He reached down to take her hand in his and they walked like that, as if this were a date instead of . . . whatever it was.

"What's going on with you?" she asked, her voice just loud enough for him to hear. "You look like a mouse in cat territory."

Something twisted in his stomach. "Kinda what we are, isn't it?" he asked, and finally met her gaze full on. "Sorry. I just feel like, without our cell phones, without any weapons, we're walking into the lion's den here. Or Jasmine's den, at least. Makes me nervous. I don't know what I'm expecting to see, maybe snipers on every rooftop."

Molly's expression was grave as she reached up to slide her hand across the back of his neck. She pulled him to her and kissed him softly on the mouth.

"We're all right," she said. "We've gotten this far, Jack. Once we track Bill down, we can make a plan. But we're going to be all right."

"I know," he replied, and the truth of it was that he did believe that. But he felt keenly that they were targets out here, and he would feel better if he had something to fight back with.

He glanced around again, fighting his paranoia, and then leaned in to whisper to Molly. "This thing is getting bigger every time we turn around. With Olivia and Bill and this underground, with Jasmine and her new pack and the rest of the Prowlers that are still wild. All along we were just trying to do the right thing, take these monsters down, but I'm starting to think if we stir things up enough, maybe we won't have to do it alone. The Prowlers who just want to disappear into the human race, they're in danger of discovery every day thanks to the wild ones. Jasmine's a threat to their existence. They may not like us, but we're doing them a favor."

"Yeah, but I hope we can get them to see it that way," Molly replied. "We're going to need their help."

Jack squeezed her hand. "Yeah. But whatever happens now, there's no going back."

With that, they both turned to glance around for Olivia. She had left them in the crowd, but after a moment Jack spotted her standing by the saxophone player, who was finishing up a tune, nodding his head to people who strolled by and dropped bills and change into his open instrument case.

"Come on," Jack said, and he led Molly through the throng to where Olivia stood.

They reached her just as the saxophone player finished his song. He was a thin guy with a goatee, dressed in a white T-shirt and black jeans. There was no way to tell his age from his appearance, but Jack guessed anywhere between twenty-five and thirty-five. As he began to adjust the knobs on his horn, Olivia crouched at his side, one hand on his arm.

"Bowden."

The sax player, Bowden, gaped at her in happy astonishment and stood up so fast the horn banged against his hip and then swung by its strap down at his side. He ignored it, pulling Olivia up into a hug.

"You had us so worried," Bowden told her, squeezing Olivia even harder. "When you didn't come back we all figured you'd just hit the road, playing clubs and bars or whatever. But then after a while we heard whispers. I didn't know what to think."

"It's good to see you, too," Olivia told Bowden. "You still have my spare guitar, or did you hock it already?"

"Still in its case," he promised. "Probably still in tune."

He held her at arm's length and grinned broadly. Olivia grinned as well. Uncertain what to do or say, Jack shifted awkwardly and felt Molly doing the same beside him. His attention apparently drawn by their discomfort, Bowden finally looked their way. The saxophone player's eyebrows went up.

"Who are your friends?" he asked Olivia.

And then he sniffed the air.

Prowler
, Jack thought.
Of course
. And yet somehow he was surprised. This guy was just too happy and too nice to be a Prowler. But that's what he was.

Olivia moved slightly away from Bowden, creating with her own physical presence a kind of connection amongst them.

"Molly, Jack, this is Bowden," she said. "Bowden, meet Molly Hatcher and Jack Dwyer. They're friends of my uncle's."

The sax player seemed amiable enough and was reaching out his hand to shake Molly's when the smile evaporated from his face, the light in his eyes dimming. He dropped his hand and turned to Olivia again.

"Oh, hell, Olivia. Your uncle . . ."

Bowden glanced down, shook his head.

Bill's dead,
Jack thought instantly.
Oh, my God, Bill's dead.

Around them, the lunch crowd nattered on. Pigeons flapped down to pick up crumbs. The juggler shouted as he fell off his unicycle, but he landed on his feet. Across the park, the woman with the guitar sang, "I'm your ice cream man, baby, stop me when I'm passin' by."

Olivia stared at Bowden. "What? What about my uncle?"

Bowden shook his head again. "It's just rumors, O. I don't know if they're true."

"What rumors?" Jack asked, voice clipped. At his side, Molly gripped his hand tight enough that it hurt.

Bowden glanced at them both, and then his gaze went back to Olivia. "Well, word on the street is, he's joined Jasmine. Guillaume Navarre is part of her pack now."

CHAPTER TWELVE

It couldn't be, of course. Molly was certain of that. No way in hell had Bill Cantwell thrown in with Jasmine. But even the rumor seemed to have shell-shocked both Jack and Olivia. For the rumors were absolutely certain of one thing: Guillaume Navarre, the man they knew as Bill Cantwell, was keeping company with Jasmine. And if he hadn't joined her by choice, there was only one possible explanation.
He
was now her prisoner.