"I don't know." She rolled over and buried her face in her arms. "Let me think on it."

She had no experience in this sort of thing. Sometimes she wished she didn't have to make all the decisions. She was only twenty-three. Wasn't being special and having a destiny enough? Did she have to lead too?

And worse was realizing that the man, the special one, might not be here for for her...the way she'd been stopped dead at his doorstep tonight made her suspect he might be her...the way she'd been stopped dead at his doorstep tonight made her suspect he might be against against her. her.

People against her paid a price, a high one, for treatin her bad.

Suzie Lefferts found that out. In spades.

After Semelee had experimented with her control powers for a while, she decided to put them to the test. She chose prom night. No one had asked her to go, of course. Like, big surprise. And guess who Jesse Buckler asked: big-haired Suzie Lefferts.

So Semelee had sat in her bedroom-another thing she'd discovered was she didn't have to be on the beach to fly with her birds-and got together a flock of big fat seagulls and followed Jesse's car from Suzie's house to the prom. When they was both out of the car, she arranged the gulls into a low circle. As each one got near them it let loose with a big load of bird s.h.i.t. Suzie started screamin' as the big white globs landed in her hair, on her dress. Same with Jesse. They both jumped back in the car and drove away. Toward home, most likely. Semelee was sure Suzie wasn't goin' into the prom lookin' like that.

Semelee lay on her bed and near split her sides laughing. But she realized how a few of her gulls hadn't done their thing yet, so she chased after the car, droppin' big white splotches all over Jesse's nice new wax job. He kept goin' faster, trying to outrun them, but that wasn't gonna happen. Then a particularly big glob landed on his windshield. She saw the wipers come on but they just smeared it all over the gla.s.s. That was when Jesse missed the curve and smashed into the utility pole. The two of them'd been in such a rush to get away from the bombardment that they never buckled up. Jesse wound up dead; Suzie survived but with a broke neck. Doctors said she'd never walk again.

Semelee had been shook up somethin' terrible. She put her sh.e.l.ls away, but only for a little while...she couldn't stay away from them too long. But she used them only for flyin' and swimmin'. She didn't try to control no more critters.

Leastways not while she was still in Jacksonville.

But that was then. The now Semelee thought the then Semelee was a dork. Don't make no sense to waste a special power. You don't use it, you ain't special no more. You're just like everybody else.

Besides, people tend to get what they deserve.

Semelee lay on the deck a moment longer, till the stink of the floorboards-the spilled drink and bits of old food rubbed into them over the years-became too much. She climbed to her feet.

"Well?" Luke said. "You gotta plan?"

She told him the truth. "No. Not yet, anyways. I'll figure something out." She turned to him. "There was somebody with him tonight. Somebody I think I seen before."

"Who?"

"If I knew that, I'd tell you his name. But I know I seen him. It'll come to me."

"Well, in the meantime we got unfinished business. That old man-"

"Yeah. We're gonna have to finish him. That's number one on the list."

But how? She wished she knew.

"If his kid is standin' in the way, I can take care of that. Me and Corley can go out and catch him alone and-"

"No! Don't you touch him!"

"Why the h.e.l.l not? He's in the way, and he's even makin' you sick. He..." Luke squinted at her. "Hey. You ain't sweet on him, are you?"

"Course not." She couldn't let on about the connection she felt between her and the special one. Luke might go off and do somethin' really stupid. "But like I told you before, we ain't killers. We do what needs to be done but we don't go past that. This guy's only protectin' his kin. Can't blame a body for that."

...protectin' his kin...

Of course. It wasn't a matter of him fightin' against her, he was simply doin' a son's duty. That thought gave Semelee a surge of hope. Suddenly she felt better.

"I can too blame him if he's gettin' in our way and makin' you sick and knockin' you to the floor!"

"Just don't do anything unless I tell you, okay? Are you listenin' to me, Luke? Nothin' until I say so."

Luke looked away. "Awright."

Semelee didn't know whether she could believe him or not. She knew Luke would do anything to protect her, whether she needed protectin' or not. And that worried her.

15.

After watching the cloud of palmettos disperse into the night, Jack slammed the door and ducked into the rear bedroom. He peered through the window in time to see a bug-free Carl getting into his old Honda and roaring off. Obviously the bugs had lost interest in Carl as well.

Jack rubbed his arms and face as he returned to the front room. He could still feel them crawling on him. What had made them attack like that? And what had made them quit just as suddenly?

What was happening around here? Odd ornaments on lawns and behind beds, invisible symbols painted on walls, flying killer c.o.c.kroaches...what had he stepped into? It didn't smell of the Otherness, but that didn't mean the Otherness wasn't lurking behind these weird goings on.

Bigger question: Where did Anya fit in? She was involved, no way around it. Whether peripherally or centrally, he couldn't say. But she seemed to be on his father's side, and that gave him a little comfort. Very little. If She weren't dead to the world in her recliner, he might go over and ask her for an explanation.

And say what? I was just attacked by palmetto bugs. Know anything about that?

Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. He was pretty sure she didn't cause it. But at the very least she could explain the symbols on her house and his father's, and how they'd got there.

Jack decided to let it go until tomorrow.

He paced the front room a couple of times. He was still feeling the after-buzz of the bug-induced adrenaline surge. It had burned away the alcohol from the wine and he was thirsty. Right now he needed a beer.

He grabbed a couple from the fridge-getting low; he'd have to pick up some tomorrow-and settled himself in front of the TV. After listening to the latest on T. S. Elvis, now drifting south in the Gulf and threatening to become a hurricane, he surfed around until he chanced upon his favorite Woody Allen film, Zelig Zelig, playing on TCM. He always envied Zelig's talent for blending in with any group; it would be so handy in Jack's fix-it business back home.

He sat and watched with the lights on. He wasn't about to let any bugs sneak up on him.

Thursday

1.

A soft clattering noise woke Jack. He lifted his head from the pillow on the guest room bed and squinted at the clock. The red LED numbers swam for a second, then came into sharp focus: 8:02.

He rolled out of bed and went to the window for a peek outside. There he was: Carl, dressed in the same shirt and work pants as yesterday, but this morning a set of electric hedge clippers protruded from his right sleeve as he trimmed away at dry-looking bushes that didn't need it.

Jack pulled on a pair of shorts from his open gym bag on the floor and went outside.

Carl Scissor hands looked up and jumped at Jack's approach. He shook his head and stopped the clippers.

"Mornin'," he said. "Man, that gang of palmettos was somethin' last night, wasn't it. Never seen nothin' like that in all my born days. Never heard of it neither. How'd you finally do with them?"

"Soon as I got inside the house they just flew off. How about you?"

"Same. I was halfway to my car when they suddenly lost interest. Pretty weird, huh?"

"Very weird."

"I had trouble sleepin'. I kept feelin' like they was still on me." He shivered inside his flannel shirt. "Gives me the w.i.l.l.i.e.s just thinkin' about it. And then my car wouldn't start this mornin'. My luck's runnin' pretty bad and pan-o-ramic these days."

Jack glanced over to where Carl had set up his camera last night. The spot was empty now.

"How did the video surveillance go?"

Carl shook his head. "Nada. I come by real early this mornin' to pick it up, you know, before anyone else found it." He winked and jerked his thumb at a tattered backpack sitting among his gardening tools. "I quick-checked the playback but the only thing on it was me bendin' over it and picking it up. Least ways I know the motion detector's workin'. Told Dr. Dengrove and he wasn't too happy, but wants me to try again tonight."

"You going to?"

"Sure." He grinned. "He wants to keep payin' me, I'll keep settin' up the camera. It's his money, and I could sure use some of it."

"Fine, as long as you don't catch Miss Mundy doing anything that'll cause her trouble."

"Told you: no worry bout that."

"Speaking of Miss Mundy..." Jack turned and looked at Anya's place. No signs of life there. Considering how she looked last night..."maybe I should go over and see how she's doing."

"Oh, she's doin' fine. She was up bright and early this mornin', waitin' for a cab. It picked her up a little before seven."

"Oh? Well, it's good to know she's all right."

Jack wondered where she'd be going at that hour. Hardly anything open then except the convenience stores.

The idea of a convenience store got him thinking about coffee. He needed a couple of cups, but he didn't feature the idea of winding all through Gateways twice, then back and forth through the security gates, and hunting down a store in between. Oh, for the Upper West Side where he could walk around the corner and have his choice of coffee spots.

He remembered his father had always been a big coffee drinker. He'd seen a can in the refrigerator.

"I'm going to make some coffee," he told Carl. "Want some?"

Carl shook his head. "Had some at home. Besides, I gotta keep lookin' busy otherwise they'll lay me off. Not a lotta gardenin' to do when nothin's growin'."

As Jack turned away he glanced again at the clippers protruding from Carl's right sleeve. What was holding them? Maybe he didn't want to know.

2.

Back inside Jack pulled the can of coffee from the fridge. Brown Gold-"100% Colombian Coffee." Sounded good. But he couldn't find a coffee pot. Just a miniature French press. Jack remembered seeing a big version of this in a restaurant where he once waited tables, but had never worked one.

And he needed coffee. Now.

He flipped on his father's computer, did a Google search for "French press," sifted through sites about French newspapers and other sites wanting to sell him a press until he found one telling how to use one: two scoops of coffee into a small press, followed by near-boiling water at about 195-200 degrees-were they kidding? Stir after one minute. After a total of three minutes, put on the cap and push the plunger to the bottom.

Jack followed the directions using boiling water-like he was going to check the temperature, right?-and finally had his coffee. A d.a.m.n good cup of coffee, he admitted, but who had time for all this rigamarole every time you wanted some?

Retired people, that's who. And his father was one of them.

He flipped on the Weather Channel while he was waiting the required three minutes and learned that Elvis was still drifting south in the Gulf. Its sustained winds had reached seventy-eight miles per hour. That meant it had graduated from a tropical storm to a Category I hurricane. Whoopee.

Coffee in hand, he searched through the front-room desk until he found a couple of Florida maps. One was a roadmap of the state, but the other was Dade County only. That was the one he needed.

He found Pemberton Road and followed it till it intersected with South Road...the site of the accident. Out in the boonies. Way out.

Time for a road trip.

He was halfway through refolding the map-these things never wanted to go back to their original state-when a knock on the front door interrupted him. He found Anya, dressed in a bright red-and-yellow house dress, standing outside with Oyv cradled in her arms.

"Good morning," she said. Hot, steamy air flowed around her.

Jack motioned her inside. "Come on in where it's cool. If you've got half an hour, I can make you a cup of coffee."

She shook her head as she stepped in. "No thanks, hon."

"Sure? It's made from beans." He winked at her. "And on the label it says that no plants were killed during the making of Brown Gold coffee."

She winked back. "I'll have to try some another time." She gestured to the map in Jack's hand. "Planning a trip?"

"Yeah. Out to where my father got hurt."

"I'll come with you."