Again, understanding. And a concept Nellie wasn’t sure she got completely, but that seemed to mean the crows had already started patrolling the valley, looking for anything that didn’t seem, to them, to be normal.

After their experiences with Duncan, Nellie wasn’t at all sure most of them had ever had normal lives themselves, but she was far more sure they would be able to recognize anything unusual or wrong in the valley.

“Thank you,” she said aloud to the crow, truly thankful. “Thank you, Tia.”

Tia bobbed slightly as though in acknowledgment, then turned easily on the railing and silently flew away into the night.

—

WEDNESDAY

THE FIRST GRAYISH lights of dawn had lightened the bedroom when Hollis opened her eyes, not surprised that she had turned in the night so that Reese had turned as well, their bodies spooning, his arms around her. She was occasionally a restless sleeper, though far less often now with him, and as usual he had adapted himself easily.

And no more nightmares now. She couldn’t even remember the last one, just knew it had been months ago.

She was content and drowsy, warm against him and under the covers, and for a moment felt a flash of sleepy resentment that she was awake before his very accurate internal alarm would have awakened them both.

Then she felt an eerie but familiar chill sweep over her, a coldness she always knew bone-deep was not of her world. Blankets didn’t help. Reese didn’t help. Nothing could warm her as long as that connection existed.

She drew a breath, wide-awake now, trying to concentrate. She’d thought she was getting used to this, but the chill this time was accompanied by a jolt of fear. But it was okay, she told herself. Surely it was okay this time. Because she could still feel Reese behind her. Because the room was not hazy or distant.

So she wasn’t actually somewhere else. She hadn’t crossed some ultimate barrier into a dangerous and scary otherworld. Into a place where only the dead walked. It was the most incredible relief.

And then she saw the girl.

She stepped into view as if she had waited patiently for Hollis to come fully awake before greeting her. A girl—no, a woman—perhaps in her early twenties, with dark hair and dark eyes and pale skin. She was wearing a casual short-sleeved shirt and jeans, summer wear, and was sort of hugging herself as though cold.

Hollis felt another flash of cold herself and knew it still had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Death. Even if she was relieved to still be here, in her own world, that chill persisted. She was never going to get used to this. Never. The scene in the restaurant had only been a reminder of that.

Damn, damn, damn.

Softly, even now not wanting to wake Reese until she had to, Hollis asked, “What’s your name?”

“Megan Hales.” Her voice was a bit distant, which made Hollis concentrate harder to hold on to the connection. She was trying not to shiver.