"Not much, anyway. And the vampire kid's justhanging outside the window. Just floating out there, scratching on the glass. It was like that. He was pressed to the glass, and I'll point out I'm on the second floor. Then he did a stylish back flip in the air, and poofed."

He laid a hand over hers, found it cold, rubbed some warmth into it. "You have my home and cell numbers, Quinn. Why didn't you call me?"

She ate a little more, then, smiling at Meg, held up her cup for a top-off. "I realize we're dating, Cal, but I don't call all the guys I go bowling with at three thirty in the morning to go: eek! I slogged through swamps in Louisiana on the trail of the ghost of a voodoo queen-and don't think I don't know how that sounds. I spent the night, alone, in a reputedly haunted house on the coast of Maine, and interviewed a guy who was reported to be possessed by no less than thirteen demons. Then there was the family of werewolves in Tallahassee. But this kid..."

"You don't believe in werewolves and vampires, Quinn."

She turned on the stool to face him directly. "My mind's as open as a twenty-four-hour deli, and considering the circumstances, yours should be, too. But no, I don't think this thing is a vampire. I saw him in broad daylight, after all. But he's not human, and just because he's not human doesn't make him less than real. He's part of the Pagan Stone. He's part of what happens here every seven years. And he's early, isn't he?"

Yeah, he thought, her mind was always working and it was sharp as a switchblade. "This isn't the best place to go into this any deeper."

"Say where."

"I said I'd take you to the stone tomorrow, and I will. We'll get into more detail then. Can't do it today," he said, anticipating her. "I've got a full plate, and tomorrow's better anyway. They're calling for sun and forties today and tomorrow." He hitched up a hip to take out his wallet. "Most of this last snow'll be melted." He glanced down at her boots as he laid bills on the counter to cover both their tabs. "If you don't have anything more suitable to hike in than those, you'd better buy something. You won't last a half mile otherwise."

"You'd be surprised how long I can last."

"Don't know as I would. I'll see you tomorrow if not before."

Quinn frowned at him as he walked out, then turned back as Meg slid her rag down the counter. "Sneaky. You were right about that."

"Known the boy since before he was born, haven't I?"

Amused, Quinn propped an elbow back on the bar as she toyed with the rest of her cereal. Apparently a serious scare in the night and mild irritation with a man in the morning was a more effective diet aid than any bathroom scale. Meg struck her as a comfortable woman, wide-hipped in her brown cords and flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up at the elbows. Her hair curled tight as a poodle's fur in a brown ball around a soft and lined face. And there was a quick spark in her hazel eyes that told Quinn she'd be inclined to talk.

"So, Meg, what else do you know? Say about the Pagan Stone."

"Buncha nonsense, you ask me."

"Really?"

"People just get a little"-she circled her finger at her ear-"now and again. Tip too much at the bottle, get all het up. One thing leads to another. Good for business though, the speculation, if you follow me. Get plenty of flatlanders in here wondering about it, asking about it, taking pictures, buying souvenirs."

"You never had any experiences?"

"Saw some people usually have good sense acting like fools, and some who got a mean streak in them acting meaner for a spell of time." She shrugged. "People are what people are, and sometimes they're more so."

"I guess that's true."

"If you want more about it, you should go on out to the library. There's some books there written about the town, the history and whatnot. And Sally Keefafer-"

"Bowling Sally?"

Meg snorted a laugh. "She does like to bowl. Library director. She'll bend your ear plenty if you ask her questions. She loves to talk, and never found a subject she couldn't expound on till you wanted to slap some duct tape over her mouth."

"I'll do that. You sell duct tape here?"

Meg hooted out another laugh, shook her head. "If you really want to talk, and get some sense out of it, you want Mrs. Abbott. She ran the old library, and she's at the new one for a spell most every day."

Then scooping up the bills Cal left, she went to refill waiting cups at the other end of the counter.

CAL HEADED STRAIGHT TO HIS OFFICE. HE HADthe usual morning's paperwork, phone calls, e-mails. And he had a morning meeting scheduled with his father and the arcade guy before the center opened for the afternoon leagues.

He thought of the wall of fire across Main Street the night before. Add that to two sightings by Quinn-an outsider-and it sure as hell seemed theentity that plagued the town was starting its jollies early.

Her dream troubled him as well. The details-he'd recognized where she'd been, what she'd seen. For her to have dreamed so lucidly about the pond, about the clearing, to have bruises from it, meant, in his opinion, she had to be connected in some way.

A distant relation wasn't out of the question, and there should be a way to do a search. But he had other relations, and none but his immediate family had ever spoken of any effects, even during the Seven.

As he passed through the bowling center, he sent a wave toward Bill Turner, who was buffing the lanes. The big, burly machine's throaty hum echoed through the empty building.

The first thing he checked in his office was his e-mail, and he let out a breath of relief when he saw one from Gage.

Prague. Got some business to clear up. Should be back in the U.S. of A. inside a couple weeks. Don't do anything stupider than usual without me.

No salutation, no signature. Very Gage, Cal thought. And it would have to do, for now.

Contact me as soon as you're Stateside, Cal wrote back.Things are already rumbling. Will always wait for you to do the stupid, because you're better at it.

After clicking Send, he dashed another off to Fox.

Need to talk. My place, six o'clock. Got beer. Bring food that's not pizza.

Best he could do, for now, Cal thought. Because life just had to keep rolling on.

QUINN WALKED BACK TO THE HOTEL TO RETRIEVEher laptop. If she was going to the library, she might as well use it for a couple hours' work. And while she expected she had most, if not all, of the books tucked into the town's library already, maybe this Mrs. Abbott would prove to be a valuable source.

Caleb Hawkins, it appeared, was going to be a clam until the following day.

As she stepped into the hotel lobby she saw the pert blond clerk behind the desk-Mandy, Quinn thought after a quick scroll through her mental PDA-and a brunette in the curvy chair being checked in.

Quinn's quick once-over registered the brunette with the short, sassy do as mid to late twenties, with a travel-weary look about her that didn't do anything much to diminish the seriously pretty face. Jeans and a black sweater fit well over an athletic build. Pooled at her feet were a suitcase, a laptop case, a smaller bag probably for cosmetics and other female necessities, and an excellent and roomy hobo in slick red leather.

Quinn had a moment of purse envy as she aimed a smile.

"Welcome back, Miss Black. If you need anything, I'll be with you in just a minute."

"I'm fine, thanks."

Quinn turned to the stairs and, starting up, heard Mandy's cheerful, "You're all checked in, Miss Darnell. I'm just going to call Harry to help with your bags."

As was her way, Quinn speculated on Miss Gorgeous Red Bag Darnell as she climbed up to her room. Passing through on her way to New York. No, too odd a place to stop over, and too early in the day to stop a road trip.

Visiting relatives or friends, but why wouldn't she just bunk with said relatives or friends? Then again, she had some of both she'd rather not bunk with.