Then I step back, my mind whirring. I watched Anders step through the door of the Underground Music Studio a few hours ago. He won’t be there now. He won’t be at Jezz’s house. But he’s out here somewhere, with his white car and Yvonne.

And suddenly I know exactly where he’ll be.

Anders wants to believe that I don’t really know him. He can believe it all he wants.

I climb onto the bike. The dark things roar as they chase after me. They can’t move faster than I can. They’ll have to use surprise instead. I keep my eyes sharp, looking up, down, ahead, everywhere. I ride so fast that the trees melt into a smear.

At first, when the thud comes, I think I’ve hit a tree. This is something that hasn’t happened since I was little, first figuring out how fast I could move, unable to dependably control it. But then I realize that something has hit me.

It has plummeted from above, dropping on me like a panther. Its black body strikes the bicycle, its hands scrabbling at the handlebars for an instant before leaping away. The front wheel of the bike jags left. I pull it back, steadying, planting my right foot in the mud.

The thing is hunched a few paces behind me. I hone my eyes. I can see its long, long fingers. Its claws. Its eyes are chalky and wide, the shells of two rotting eggs. It makes its sound. A wet, thrumming growl.

I drop the bike and lunge after it.

The thing races away. Back up into the trees. I just have time to make out its bent, bony shape. A few rustling leaves trace its path, and then everything is still.

It wasn’t up for a fight. It was only here to distract me. To slow me down.

I jump back on the bike.

I’m still not afraid.

The dark things aren’t quite real, anyway. Not on this side of the cracks.

But when you’re empty inside, dark things will find a place inside of you. Like water. Like air.

Dig a hole. There will always be enough darkness to fill it up.

That woman at the Crow’s Nest was so filled with them, she practically breathed darkness. Usually the darkness is harder to see; it only shows in flashes, or it’s gray instead of black, like an almost-dead coal.

And of course, most people can’t see it at all.

That’s why the dark things want Anders. Darkness loves to hide in plain sight. It loves being watched and worshipped and heard, without even being seen.

I need to find him. Fast.

I fly past the Crow’s Nest, into the woods.

I can feel him close by.

I stop the bike, climb down from the pedals. Through the trees, I catch the flash of a silver guitar case, one shard of light in the enclosing dark.

They’re hungry. White eyes. Dark teeth. Dark claws.

But I will catch him first.