He pulled in a tortured, gagging breath but didn’t move. I rolled him over, and he blinked and slowly focused on my face. “Naomi,” he whispered. “Of course.” He held out his hand, and I stood and helped haul him up, too. It must have been very hard; he leaned on me, and I could feel his whole body trembling. “Must stop her.” He pointed to his doctor bag, and I grabbed it and held it open while Theo sorted through with shaking hands. He finally pulled out a small aerosol can. “She’s taken the knife.”

Knife. Oh, God. I looked at the bedroom door. We might already be too late.

The door was locked, but not with a dead bolt, just the standard kind; I braced myself and kicked just above the knob with my heavy combat boot, putting all my leg strength into it. Wow, I was getting an unexpected upper- and lower-body workout. Inappropriate cheery aerobics music wandered through my head, but was quickly whited out by the pain from my knee.

It worked, though. The door flew open, and Theo staggered past me into the room.

Naomi was standing over the figure lying prone on the bed, with a silver knife held in both hands. She was trying to bring it down, clearly putting all her strength into it, but the figure had hold of her wrists and was keeping them suspended in midstab.

That was Amelie she was trying to kill. But not Amelie at all. I recognized her, but it was the kind of horrified, shocked recognition that you’d expect from seeing a dead body, or someone severely injured … and I knew something about both those things, big time. It was the same delayed jolt of adrenaline that hammered through my body—because Amelie wasn’t Amelie anymore.

I wasn’t sure what she was.

She looked … wet. Covered in damp slime, gray strands of it over her skin like fungus, hair loose and matted with the same stuff. Her eyes had turned a different color of gray—not ice now, more like fog, grayish white and completely opaque. The bed around her was soaked with the same horrible damp stuff.

“Stop,” Theo said sharply, and when Naomi didn’t pay attention he lurched over, grabbed her from behind and levered her wrists and the knife upward, away from Amelie. It wasn’t easy. Naomi didn’t give up, and Amelie didn’t let go, either … it was as if she couldn’t let go, really. I finally lunged over and pried her wet, slimy fingers off, one by one.

Where they’d fastened on Naomi’s thin wrists, they left red welts that overflowed with blood, as if whole patches of skin had been melted away.

“Let me go,” Naomi said, and twisted violently in Theo’s hold. She almost got loose, but he held on with grim determination. “Let me go. You know this is the only way. We can’t allow her to turn—we can’t.”

Theo took the knife from her hand, and shoved her away from Amelie’s bedside. She screamed in sheer frustration, but she didn’t try to steal it back. His expression was thoughtful, and his eyes were cool and distant.