“Jumpy for a reason? I mean, aside from the obvious ones.”

Diana halted to stare up at him. “I think all the obvious reasons are enough. That weird energy of the valley is . . . irritating even up here. Maybe especially up here. It’s very cold and looks like snow. We’re searching for a body, or remains, or a grave. Maybe all three. We know there’s a killer about, possibly up here with us—and he knows the valley and these mountains a lot better than we do. We’re in the middle of a really dense forest, trails or no, it’s unnaturally quiet up here, and the light looks funny. It does, right?”

“There seems to be a weird tint to it,” he agreed.

“Gray,” Diana said. “It’s got a gray tint to it.”

“I was thinking of fog so, yeah, gray.” He lifted their clasped hands, and both looked at the sleeves of her bright green sweater and his darker but still clearly blue sweatshirt, their flesh-colored hands. “You’re awake, aware, and with me,” he told her, sensing as much as hearing doubt. “Not in the gray time.”

She heard a little laugh escape her, feeling no amusement. “Sorry for being jittery. I don’t know why, but more than once since we got here I’ve felt like if I could only turn my head at the right moment, I’d see the—the edge of the gray time. Like a . . . cloud of fog rolling toward me. Sneaking toward me. Maybe even hunting for me.”

As he always did, Quentin took her concerns seriously. “Has that ever happened before?”

“Not that I remember.” She shook her head. “We keep bumping up against things I can’t remember.”

“No, only the possibilities of what you may not remember. Diana, I think we’re all being affected by this place, more and more as time passes. I know I feel . . . unnaturally alert, even for the kind of search we’re doing. I’m pretty sure Reese has both his shields shored up, and Bishop said something earlier about Hollis’s shield being stronger than usual today. For whatever reason or reasons, it’s affecting us. This place. The town, the valley. These mountains. By the—what did Bishop call it?—the isolated and insular nature of Salem and its people.”

“And the energy.”

“And that.” He continued to hold her hand as they moved on to follow the very faint trail that looked to be made by regular hikers, and which appeared to be leading them toward a clearing in the distance. They were not climbing now, but traveling horizontally.

“I guess all that makes sense.”

Quentin looked at her. “You’re still bothered. About something else.”

“Well . . . something about that spirit guide was off. I don’t know what, but I’m just wondering if I missed something. I mean, Bishop proved I could be deceived in the gray time when he sent that other psychic in to do just that to teach me to be wary. One of his lessons.”