When he looked up and saw his face in the mirror, he screamed.

It was him, and yet it wasn't him. Instead of his own light blue eyes, there were round black orbs bigger than they should have been. His strong nose had elongated to a sharp point, as had his chin. He would've looked, in fact, like the Christian devil if his skin wasn't suddenly bone-white.

His upstairs neighbor stomped on the floor. "Shut up!"

He turned away from the mirror, his heart thundering in his chest. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked back.

His face was normal. But now his hair was snowy white.

He pulled a strand in front of his face. It wasn't a hallucination or mistake. What the hell?

And then he blacked out.

--- DARIUS DID A double take as his neighbor came outside. The older man slept only in short bursts, and since he couldn't afford to run the air conditioner, he sat out on his patio even in the middle of the night. He knew the young Indian was trying to be an actor, but he'd never seen him in costume before. "Whoa, that's quite a look. What's up with that?"

Kyle turned and gazed at the older black man. "What do you mean?"

"That white hair. You going to an audition or something? Gonna play an old man?"

Kyle smiled, and the look made Darius nervous. "No," Kyle said. "I'm going ... for a swim."

"At this time of night?"

"Oh, yes. And I don't think I'll be back."

"Before morning?"

The smile widened. It made Darius think of the wolves he'd seen on the Discovery Channel. "Ever," Kyle said, and strode away down the street.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

RACHEL?" HELENA SAID a second time.

Rachel looked up. She was alone in the diner's tiny, genderless restroom; Helena's voice had come through the door from outside. Rachel said, "Huh? What?"

Helena was obviously trying to mask her concern. "Just wondered if you were about done in there. We're getting a line."

"Yes, I'm sorry." Rachel turned off the tap and dried her hands. Her fingertips had pruned; how long had the water been running?

She dried her hands and caught sight of herself in the mirror. She saw something different in her face but couldn't identify it. Did she look older somehow? More worried and stressed? Were there lines on her face that hadn't been there before?

She opened the door. Almost before she could get out, a slender college girl slithered past her. Her sigh of relief was audible through the door.

Helena tried to meet her eyes, but Rachel ignored her. She also ignored Patty, seated at the counter, watching with blatant concern. She went into the kitchen, where Jimmy was finishing an order of hash browns. His sleeves were long today, pushed halfway up his forearms. That meant he either had fresh needle tracks to hide or needed to do laundry because all his short-sleeved shirts were dirty. Rachel didn't have the energy to determine which. If he was using again, she'd have to fire him.

Jimmy saw her and volunteered, "It's laundry night tonight."

She smiled weakly. "You don't have to prove anything to me, Jimmy."

"I know. I just don't want you thinking badly of me when there's no reason."

Helena touched Rachel's arm and said quietly, "You're sure spacing out today. Are you getting sick?"

"No, I'm just a little out of sorts."

"Why don't you go upstairs and lie down? I can handle this until the lunch crowd starts. I'll call in one of the other girls. Hell, Patty can help out, after all the free coffee we've given her."

"No, don't be silly. It'll pass."

When she returned to the dining room, Patty waved her over. "I really need to talk to you," the girl said eagerly.

"What about?"

Patty looked around, then leaned close. She whispered, "It happened again."

"What did?"

Still whispering, she said, "Remember that boy Dewey Raintree? Well, I don't think he was ... I mean, I know he was real, but I don't think he was ... human."

"I don't understand," Rachel said.

"I think your lake spirits sent him."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because of the way he smelled. I know how it sounds, but he smelled like lake water. Not like he'd been swimming in it, but like ... he was made of it."

Rachel put all her energy into focusing on this. "Okay, but ... you said it happened again. Did he come back?"

"Not him," she said with a blushing giggle. "Someone else. Someone else so perfect, he just has to be from them."

Rachel felt a chill at what this could mean. The old woman had said Rachel's "spirit sister" was also in danger; had Stillwater also come to Patty? And if so ... "Who was it?" Rachel asked.

Before Patty could answer, the bell over the door rang. A tall woman with unruly jet-black hair entered, looked around, and took a seat at the counter. Her dark hair and eyes made her look like a Gypsy. She had a theatrical quality that drew every eye.

Patty stood, bouncing with excitement. "I have to go. We'll talk about it later, okay?" Before Rachel could protest, the girl was out the door, almost dancing away down the sidewalk.

On her way out of the kitchen with a tray full of orders, Helena said, "Can you get that woman that just came in? I've got my hands full right now."

"Sure," Rachel said, still gazing after Patty. She would have to pursue this, but for now, she had a customer. Rachel took silverware and a glass of water to her and said, "Hi. Welcome to Rachel's. You've got about five minutes left on breakfast, or you can go ahead and order from the lunch menu."

The woman looked at her closely, with a kind of scrutiny that made Rachel nervous. The woman wasn't trying to place her but seemed to be looking for something in her face.

"Just coffee for the moment," she said at last. Her voice was deep and throaty. She rested her hands flat on the counter. The nails were bare and ragged, and what looked like pinpoints of paint stained her dark skin. "You're Rachel, aren't you?"

"I am."

"I'm Betty McNally," she said, and offered her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

They shook. Betty's hand was long-fingered, heavy-veined, and warm. When their skin touched, Rachel felt a strange, almost erotic, tingle. She pulled away as quickly as possible.

"Is there something I can help you with, besides coffee?" Rachel asked.

"I think you and I may have something in common."

"Really? What's that?"

She put a business card facedown on the counter. "It's something we should discuss in private. Can you come by my place this evening?"

"I don't know, I'm awfully busy tonight," Rachel demurred. She had to talk to Patty, and Betty was giving her the creeps.

Betty leaned over the counter and said quietly, "It has to do with the lakes."

Rachel's mouth went dry. As casually as she could manage, she said, "What about them?"

"What lives in them," Betty said. Then, so quiet even Rachel could barely hear, she added, "What they do to you."

Helena appeared beside Rachel with a cup on a saucer. "I heard you say you'd like some coffee," she said brightly. "Would you like cream with that?"

"No, thank you," Betty said to Helena, although she continued to look at Rachel.

Helena said nothing but waited to get Rachel's attention. The two women seemed to be locked in a staring contest, and when another customer called, Helena sighed in exasperation and left.

Betty said, "Like I said, we have something in common, and I have information you need to know."

It took Rachel three tries to pick up the card with her trembling fingers. It advertised Art Waves, a gallery and tarot salon. It was no stretch to imagine Betty laying out cards and peering into a crystal ball. "I'll try," Rachel said.

"It would be in your best interest to talk to me."

The haze cleared for a moment. "Is that a threat?" Rachel asked.

Betty smiled. "No, honey. It's a warning." She kissed the tips of her first two fingers and touched them to Rachel's lips. "I hope to see you soon."

She stood, put a five-dollar bill down beside the untouched coffee, then left. Rachel stared after her until Helena said, "Who was that?"

Rachel handed the card to Helena. "She owns an art gallery, apparently."

Helena looked at it. "Never heard of it. Or her."

Rachel tucked the card into her jeans pocket, went back to work, and tried unsuccessfully to put the woman out of her mind.

ETHAN WEARILY CLOSED the door to his inner office. Ambika was busily shutting down her computer and filing things in appropriate cabinets. He reached the office door, stopped, and leaned forward until his head rested against the wood. "Damn," he muttered.

Ambika looked around. "Forget something?"

"No." He tossed his briefcase contemptuously onto the guest couch. "I'm just disgusted with life at the moment."

She crossed her arms, displaying her immaculate white nails. "How so?"

"I just want to build things, you know? Houses, apartment buildings, whatever anyone wants. I don't need to be rich, and I'm not using this as a stepping-stone to politics. So why do I feel like everyone I talk to is trying to put something over on me?"

"Because most of them are."

"I know. I just wish it didn't have to be so complicated." He sighed as he retrieved his briefcase. "Wouldn't it be a great world if people just said what they meant?"

Ambika smiled wryly. "That world doesn't exist. People are so invested in their own realities that they'll protect them at any expense. The truth, to them, is a threat."

He laughed. "Are you a philosopher too?"

"Goodness, no. I'm simply amused by what I see around me."

"Is it different in India?"

"The details are different. The underlying motivations are the same."

He smiled, patted her arm, and left the office. On his way down the stairs, the urge to call Rachel was so overwhelming it was like physical hunger.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

ART WAVES OCCUPIED a building not unlike the one that housed Rachel's diner. It was a freestanding two-story brick structure with the business on the ground floor and what looked like living quarters above. Nestled among the tiny houses along Atwood Avenue, it looked more like a spooky fortune-teller's grotto than anything. The windows were heavily curtained, and shelves between the fabric and the glass displayed odd, vaguely unsettling objets d'art.

Rachel stood indecisively on the sidewalk, debating whether or not to go through with this. The street was completely deserted; it wasn't yet dark, but none of the houses-mostly old ones divided into student apartments-showed any signs of life. She'd brought an umbrella, since the weatherman predicted the occasional thunderstorm, but the sky was clear at the moment. The sunset cast a red glow over everything.

There was a Closed sign tucked in one corner of the front window. But she was expected, so she took a deep breath and tried the door. It opened.

Cool air hit her, and a little chime sounded somewhere in the back. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Finally she began to make out shelves and tables of elaborate pieces, as well as huge canvases covering the walls.

She yelped as light flooded the room. Track lighting carefully illuminated each painting, and the first thing that registered was an enormous oil canvas directly in front of her. Its colors were primarily blue, green, and black, with hints of yellow for texture. This limited palette made it hard to decipher, but she picked out a human form emerging from what appeared to be a whirlpool. The figure was clearly male. Uncomfortably male, Rachel noticed, and tried not to blush.

A voice behind her said, "Charismatic, isn't he?"

Rachel again jumped in surprise. Betty McNally chuckled and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be dramatic."