Claire yelped, jumped, and almost overbalanced as she banged into a shelf. She steadied herself and said, “Where were you?”
“Me?” Rooney frowned, his kindly old-man face turning surly. “Taking out the trash. Why do you care what I was doing, missy? What do you want?”
“My prescription,” Claire said. She got her breathing under control as Mr. Rooney entered some numbers on a door keypad and buzzed through to the back. He appeared at the service window a second later.
“ID,” he said, and combed through a plastic bin while she got it out. “Danvers, Claire. Yes, right here. Twenty-seven fifty.” He eyed her license, frowning. “You’re a little young to be taking these birth control pills, aren’t you?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Claire said, blushing. “You don’t lecture the seventeen-year-old
guys
who buy condoms, do you?”
“That’s different,” he said.
“No, it’s really not.” Claire put the money on the counter—exact change—and grabbed the bag. She almost walked away, but then turned to say, “I called the police. There was somebody behind your counter back there.”
“Nobody’s back here,” Rooney said.
“Look around. There is!”
“I’m telling you there’s nobody,” he said sharply. “You go tell your friend out there to turn that noise down or I’ll get the police on
you
!”
He watched her go. Claire glanced back once, just as the door swung shut, and saw the face of that man again.
This time, he was in the store itself. She had no idea how he could have gotten out there; he was standing next to the old-fashioned water fountain, and the electronic door definitely hadn’t opened and closed.
She had a split-second impression of something that couldn’t be right, something she couldn’t even process, before the face came into focus.
And then the door shut.
She yanked it open again, but he was gone.
“What?” Rooney snapped. “In or out, missy. In or out!”
She let it close.
Claire walked back to the hearse, thinking hard; a siren Dop-plered closer, and a Morganville cruiser swung into the parking lot and slid to a stop behind Eve’s car, blocking it in.
Eve turned down the music. “Oh crap,” she said, and looked at Claire as she walked over. “I guess Grandpa Grumpy got his Depends in a twist.”
“It’s not for you,” Claire said. “I called.”
“What—”
She didn’t have time to tell her, because a Morganville cop had exited the vehicle and was walking closer. He wasn’t someone she recognized, but then, she was glad not to be on a first-name basis with the entire MPD. “You called 911?” the cop asked.
“Yes, sir. It might be a mistake. Mr. Rooney’s there now, but I swear, there was someone behind the counter before he got there. A stranger. I thought it might be a robbery.”
“Can you describe this stranger?”
“No need to bother with that,” said Mr. Rooney; he’d come out of his store and stood on the porch in his white lab coat. He had on his grandfatherly face again, and a warm smile. “The girl just got confused, is all. There’s nobody but me behind that counter.” His smile thinned, just a little. “In fact, she got so confused she forgot to pay me for those pills she has.”
Claire blinked. “I didn’t—”
The cop turned toward her. “Is that true?” Before she could answer, he plucked the sack from her hand and looked into it. “No receipt. You didn’t pay for these?”
“I did! In cash!”
Mr. Rooney was shaking his head sadly. “No, I’m sorry, but that’s just not true. She didn’t pay. She ran out of here and straight for her friend’s car. I think she might have been planning to take off while you were talking to me.”
It made it sound like Claire had called in a false alarm, just to steal the pills. “No, that’s
not true
! I paid him for it! Twenty-seven fifty! And there was someone in the store, behind the counter. I saw him!”
“Can you describe him?”
She struggled to remember. Average, average, average. No matter how much she tried to find something detailed, it all faded into … gray. He just wasn’t
memorable
. “He was average height,” she said. “And … had blond hair. Fair skin, I think. Maybe blue eyes.”
“Average, blond, fair skinned, blue eyes,” the cop summed up. “Miss, that describes a lot of men in Morganville, including me—you realize that?”
“I know.”
“What was he wearing?”
And that, Claire realized, was a complete blank. Clothes, obviously, but she couldn’t remember a color of shirt, or pants, or patterns. Nothing.
The cop read her face and shook his head. “Pay the man for the pills, miss.”
“But—”
“Pay him or we settle this downtown.” He was polite, but hard underneath, and Claire gritted her teeth and dug out her wallet again. Twenty-seven fifty. She had thirty dollars left, and Mr. Rooney folded it up and put it in his pocket. “I’ll get your change for you next time,” he said. “I’m sure it’s just a plain misunderstanding, Officer. No problem.”
“All right.” The cop touched the brim of his hat. “You-all have a nicer day.” He gave Claire a lingering look, as if
she
were the villain of the day, and walked back to his cruiser.
Claire glared at Mr. Rooney. He was smirking, and he turned and went into his store before the policeman pulled away. She didn’t dare follow.
“Rooney got you, huh?” Eve was smiling, but her eyes were hard. “Don’t sweat it, CB. He tries to shake down girls all the time if they’re getting birth control. Some kind of personal thing with him. You’re lucky you got off just getting charged twice. He’s put girls in jail for it before, claiming they stole from him.” She sounded like she spoke from personal experience. “He is a prime grade-A jackhole, believe me. And if there was anywhere else …”
But as usual, in Morganville, there wasn’t.
Claire no longer cared about her average-looking stranger, but as she started to get back in the car, she saw him again. The policeman had pulled out and was halfway down the block, Rooney was in his store happily counting his ill-gotten gains, and that man, that
stranger
, was standing at the corner of the building, watching her.
Claire paused and stared back.
He stepped out of sight.
Not again.
Claire bailed and took off running, pulling her cell phone as she ran. She didn’t mean to follow him; she just wanted to get close enough to snap his picture. Then she could prove what she was talking about. Photo evidence.
“Claire,
wait
!” Eve called from behind her. She cursed, and Claire heard her getting out of the car, but she didn’t slow down. She couldn’t. She’d seen how fast this—this
thing
could move. She no longer thought of it as a man, she realized; there was something fundamentally wrong about it. It wasn’t a vampire, or she didn’t think it was, but it was … something else.
Maybe something worse.
She skidded to a stop as she rounded the corner, eyes wide, because behind the building sat a wide, empty field. A block away, at least, were some dilapidated houses turned a dull gray by the relentless sun.
But no sign of her mysterious stranger. None at all.
“Claire! Do
not
go running off like that!” Eve shouted from behind her. She skidded to a stop, running into Claire, then grabbed her and shook her. “What the
hell
? I am not going to be telling Shane that you’re—”
“He’s gone,” Claire said. She pulled free of Eve’s hold and looked around, really
looked
. There were some puddles on the ground from the recent rain, and a drainage grate. Maybe he’d gone down that? But it was heavily rusted, and would have made a hell of a lot of noise if he’d moved it.
She hadn’t heard a thing.
“He? What he? He who?”
“The—” It didn’t matter. Claire shook her head. “Never mind.”
“Yeah, good. Let’s go, dummy—hanging out in deserted vacant lots around here is a prime way to get yourself dead. Haven’t I taught you anything?” Eve hustled her around the building again, and back to the hearse. “I promised the boys we’d be back in thirty. We’ve got to move it.”
Claire got in the passenger seat and strapped in. As Eve made the ponderous giant circle that was required to turn the hearse around, Claire stared at the edge of the building where she’d last seen her mysterious visitor.
And there he was, stepping out of nowhere, staring at her. Mr. Average.
“Stop!” Claire yelled. She threw the door open, but instead of chasing him this time, she grabbed her cell and took a picture. Eve slammed on the brakes, yelling inarticulately, but before she could manage to protest, Claire had already slammed the door shut again. “Go!”
“Make up your mind, traffic light!” Eve said, and accelerated again. “I’m afraid to ask, but what was that?”
Claire opened up her photo album on the phone. There, captured in a rush of digitized light, was the rough brick wall of Goode’s Drugs, and a dark figure. Except it looked almost … translucent. And there were no details to it, just shadows.
It’s a bad camera,
she thought, but that wasn’t it, not completely.
Her visitor was there, and not there. Schrödinger’s cat, come to life—neither dead nor alive, existing nor missing.
“Eve,” Claire said, and showed her the phone. “What do you see?”
Eve took a fast glance at the picture, then went back to piloting the hearse. “Side of the building,” she said. “What?”
“Nothing else?”
“Look, this isn’t the time to play a hidden-object game.” Eve looked again, and shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Not even a shadow?”
“No!”
Claire clicked the phone off and settled back in her seat, thinking furiously.
Why can I see him when Eve can’t?
It wasn’t just Eve. Mr. Rooney
might
have been lying, but he could have just been unable to spot the stranger, too.
Very, very odd.
The other grocery store on the far side of town was like the Food King, only with less variety. They were, at least, still stocked up. Claire and Eve retrieved their necessary items, and then Eve vanished toward the candy aisle while Claire gathered up chili ingredients. Shane hadn’t asked for them, but he would, probably just as soon as they got back home.
She was getting garlic when she saw her mysterious stranger again through the windows outside the store. This time, he wasn’t watching her.
He was talking to someone else, but she couldn’t see who it was.
Well, at least someone else in this town can actually see him,
Claire thought, and put the garlic in her basket as she slowly walked at an angle toward the front, trying to see who Mr. Shadow’s friend might be.
It was
Oliver
.
Claire instinctively took a step back, then quickly turned her back and began looking over a selection of pies.
When she risked another glance over her shoulder, the two of them weren’t talking anymore. Oliver was standing there, staring off into space, and as she watched, the stranger leaned forward, touched his fingertips to Oliver’s broad pale forehead …
And Oliver didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Something was wrong.
Claire found a display of hand mirrors and grabbed one, which she angled up to see what was happening outside the store. For a second she thought she’d taken too long, but then she focused her mirror on the right place, and saw that the stranger was walking away, toward the corner of the building.
Oliver was following.
It’s Oliver. He can take care of himself.
But she couldn’t get past the sight of the stranger’s fingers touching Oliver’s forehead, and Oliver’s total lack of reaction. There was no way that was normal.
Claire looked around for Eve, but she wasn’t anywhere visible, still lost in the candy aisle. Claire dumped her basket of stuff and got her phone out as she headed for the door. Eve picked up on the first ring. “Don’t yell,” Claire said, first thing. She felt short of breath, and her heart was pounding hard. “I’m going outside.”
“What? No, you’re not! Where are you?”
“Outside,” Claire said, as she stepped through the doors and out into the whipping winter wind. Puddles of water shivered on the ground in the blast, edged with ice. The air felt heavy and humid: more rain on the way, probably. “I won’t go out of sight of the front windows, I promise.”
“Jesus, CB, you’re killing me here. Fine, I won’t get any candy. Just get back
inside
!”
She could see Oliver at the edge of the building, heading north. Claire hurried that way, keeping the phone on. “I’m following Oliver,” she said. “Something’s wrong.”
“Even
better
reason to get your ass inside,” Eve said. “Okay, I’m here. I can see you.” She sounded calmer. Claire looked over, and saw Eve standing pressed against the glass, stuffed shopping basket in one hand and her phone to her ear.
“I’m just going to the corner,” Claire said. “I’m trying to see if they get in a car.” It was overcast, but most vamps knew better than to go out for a stroll without light protection, and Oliver was more cautious than most—yet he wasn’t wearing a hat. The big, black coat looked large enough to pull over his head, though.
Claire made it to the corner in time to see the stranger bend over and yank up a drainage grate, which tipped up in a rusty metallic groan. Oliver didn’t pause. He walked right into the open hole and dropped. Disappeared.
She expected the stranger to go with him, but instead, he let the drainage grate slam shut, stood on it, and …
And then he turned and looked at her. His skin was gray, and it looked
dead
—not pale, like vampires, but a slick, decaying shade like something rotting in the shadows. His eyes weren’t eyes. His mouth, as it opened, wasn’t a mouth.
She didn’t know what it was. Her brain refused to put it into a pattern.