“Please, please don’t hurt me,” Squirrel whined, which was stupid, because Mikey couldn’t hurt him. That was the blasted problem with being an Afterlight. He turned one of his tentacles into a jagged green insect claw, and thrust it forward, wedging Squirrel’s neck against a lamppost with a clang.

“You didn’t see this,” Mikey said, pleased at the slithery, inhuman sound of his own voice. “And if you tell anyone you did, I’ll use this claw to snap off your useless little head.”

Whether or not he could follow through on the threat didn’t matter; it was enough to scare Squirrel into absolute obedience.

“Yes, sir,” squeaked Squirrel. “I didn’t see nothing! I didn’t see nothing!”

Mikey forced his claw and tentacles back into arms and legs, then sucked all his eyeballs back into his body, leaving only the standard two to glare at Squirrel. His voice returned to normal. “Now, we’ll go back to the others, pretend this never happened, and everyone will be happy.”

Squirrel gave a few fast, brain-rattling nods. “Sure, sure, everyone will be happy,” and Squirrel ran off, stumbling over his own feet.

Mikey laughed and laughed. The choice to become terrifying—if only for a moment—ensured Squirrel’s silence, so it served its purpose. But Mikey could not deny how good it had felt to be a monster once more.

CHAPTER 13
Bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Allie couldn’t say she particularly enjoyed the company of the Nashville Afterlights. Every vapor of Afterlights was different, and this group was so standoffish—even while attempting to be hospitable—that the time spent with them was awkward at best. It was a relief to leave them behind.

“Nobody trusts skinjackers,” Milos commented as they hit the road once more. “Mary Hightower’s books make it difficult for us.”

“Someday,” said Allie, “I’ll set everyone straight.”

“Someday,” said Milos, “I would like to set Mary Hightower straight, personally.”

Mikey was silent on the matter. Allie found Mikey to be silent about everything. He had always been somewhat inscrutable, but now he seemed so distant that Allie found walking beside him had become almost painful.

“Talk to me, Mikey,” she begged him.

“Why?” he asked. “I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Say anything! It’ll make the day go faster.”

“No, it won’t,” he said, glancing ahead of them at Milos, Moose, and Squirrel. And that was that. Silence returned—and although Allie was tempted to catch up with the others, where at least there was laughter and conversation, she resisted, and hung back with Mikey, but resented it.

At dusk they rested, and both Mikey and Milos disappeared. Allie asked Moose and Squirrel about it. Moose, who had limited peripheral vision out of his helmet, hadn’t seen much of anything, but Squirrel had.