She felt so wrong.
Eve put her in the hearse and locked the doors, bent down, and mouthed, Don’t move! before she dashed back inside to grab up their two baskets and rush to a register.
Claire leaned against the cold window glass and dialed her phone. Myrnin’s number. He didn’t answer. She felt oddly short of breath, as if she were drowning on dry land.
“Please,” she whispered. She’d been angry at Myrnin, she remembered, but none of that mattered now. “Please answer me. I need you.”
“Claire?” That wasn’t Myrnin’s voice, and technically, the phone was still ringing. “Claire, it’s Frank. What’s wrong?”
“I saw something.”
“You don’t sound good. What was it?”
“I don’t know.” She was so tired now. So tired. “I saw something that shouldn’t be.”
“You mean shouldn’t be here?”
“Yes. No. Shouldn’t be at all.” She struggled to make sense of things. The day looked so gray and misty. Rain. The rain had started again. She could see the bright front windows of the store, see Eve in there buying their purchases, but none of it had any real meaning. That part of her was . . . gone. Burned. “Frank, tell Myrnin—tell him Oliver—I think Oliver is—”
“Is what? Claire? Where are you—are you in the hearse? In the parking lot? I have a surveillance camera—I can see you.” Frank Collins was concerned. That made her smile, a little, because that was just wrong, too. He didn’t exist. He was a brain in a jar, watching through mechanical eyes, hearing through mechanical ears, and he was concerned.
“Cameras,” she said. “Can you run it back?”
“Back to what?”
“To before I fell. Can you see what I saw?”
“Hold on.”
Myrnin’s cell phone stopped ringing, and his voice mail picked up, but it was her cheery voice telling people to leave a message. She was talking to herself. That seemed odd.
Frank was gone.
“Frank?”
“Right here,” his voice said, this time from the hearse’s stereo speakers. Claire dropped her phone in her lap; it felt too heavy to hold. “I see you coming out of the store. You’re following Oliver.”
“Just Oliver?”
“Yeah, just him.”
“You don’t see anybody else?”
“No. Oliver walks around the corner. He drops into a drain. You fall down. What am I missing?”
“I don’t know,” Claire said honestly. “Except that you are.”
“I’m running the recording through filters. I’ll get back to you.” With a click, Frank disconnected from both the phone and the car’s stereo.
Claire listened to the hesitant tap of rain on the roof, but the tap became a pounding, then a roar. Silvery sheets of water veiled the store windows.
She felt very alone. Floating.
The driver’s-side door suddenly popped open, and Eve threw grocery bags at her, jumped in, and slammed it behind her. She was drenched and shivering. “Damn, that was freezing!” She turned the key and got the hearse started, then looked over at Claire. “Are you okay?”
Claire smiled a little and made an OK symbol with her fingers. She wasn’t, but Eve couldn’t help.
The rain hissed and roared, and Eve drove slowly through the downpour. Around them, Morganville had turned into an alien world. None of the landmarks looked right. The streets were rushing rivers. What lights showed were thin and watery, smeared all out of recognition.
How Eve figured out the streets and got them home, Claire had no idea.
“Damn,” Eve said as she parked the hearse. “I guess we’ll have to make a run for it. Can you do that?”
Claire nodded. She felt distant and floating, but not weak. There just didn’t seem to be any urgency to anything now. Or any emotion. If Eve told her to run, she’d run, but it was just physical movement.
She took hold of one of the grocery sacks, opened the door, and stepped out into the rain.
It was breathtakingly cold, lashing at her like whips of water, and Claire stood there, face upturned to the downpour. It felt . . . soothing.
Then her eyes opened, and images flashed across her brain in a vivid, incomprehensible flow, and Claire screamed. She couldn’t help it. Whatever wall her brain had built between her and what she’d seen came down hard, and adrenaline flooded back into her body, kick-starting her heart.
Eve was running for the front door; Claire’s scream had been lost in a roar of thunder overhead.
In the flash of lightning, Claire saw a gray shape standing next to the car. It was a man, and it wasn’t.
Not at all.
She ran for the house.
Eve was already inside, shaking off water, when Claire lunged through the door, slammed the door, and locked it with trembling hands. Somehow, she’d held on to the groceries, but she had no idea how. Her teeth were chattering from the chill, and she sluiced water in silver streams to the already-drenched rug.
“God, we’re both soaked,” Eve said. “Guys? Hey, guys, we’re back!” She headed down the hall, paused to look at the clock, and sighed. “Oh God. We’re thirty minutes late. What do you want to bet Shane overreacted? Yep, here’s the note—they’re out driving to the store. Good job, guys, now you’ll get soaked, too. Hey, has he been blowing up your cell or what? Oh, damn, Michael’s been hitting mine. I’ll let him know we’re home. Wait here—I’ll get you a towel.” Eve headed for the stairs, phone to her ear. “Michael? Yeah, relax, emergency’s over. We’re home. Claire passed out at the store. I think she has low blood sugar—she seems really tired. I’ll get some candy in her and see if she feels better. . . .” Her voice faded as she disappeared up toward the bathroom.
Don’t go, Claire wanted to say. She managed to croak something out, but Eve was already gone.
Claire dropped the groceries and staggered into the living room. It felt like the water was turning to ice on her skin, and the cold was sinking deeper and deeper....
I have to tell Amelie what I saw. What I know.
Eve’s indistinct voice was still talking upstairs. The house seemed warm around her, as if it were fighting to make her feel better. Feel safer.
But she wasn’t safe, and Claire knew that. Nobody was safe.
She turned, and the gray man was standing right here.
Her body threatened to collapse again, and Claire braced herself against the wall. He was just standing there, staring at her with eyes that weren’t eyes. She couldn’t think of anything now except drowning, drowning alone.
“Shhh,” he said, and his voice sounded like the rain outside. Like water coming out of the faucets. “Shhh. It’s over now.” He tilted his head to the side, as if his neck had no bones. “Curious that you see me. I’m not ready to be seen. Why?”
“I don’t know.” She wanted to cry, scream, run, but none of those was possible now. “I don’t know why I can see you.” She swallowed and said, “Who are you?” Because even now, she couldn’t let her questions go. “What are you?”
That face that wasn’t a face smiled. It was the most horrible thing she’d seen, ever. “Magnus,” he said. “I’m the end.”
Then he reached out and wrapped those cold, damp hands around her neck, and she felt the house’s energy scream and rush around her, but it was as if it couldn’t help, not this time.
“Shhh,” he said again. In the last instant, Claire thought, Oh no, Shane, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry people keep leaving you. I love you. . . .
Magnus snapped her neck, and everything went star white. It hurt.
But it hurt for only a moment, and then the world shrank down to a bright pinpoint of light, racing away from her. Leaving her behind.