The bluish fog thickened, and night slithered around the lonely bus stop. Finally, two halos of headlights appeared, along with a groaning engine roar. The bus driver said nothing as Maren fed her quarters into the slot. The only two other passengers were a college-aged girl and a man who had fallen asleep with his head against the window. Maren chose the seat behind the girl and pulled out her book, though she just stared at the same line of meaningless words as the bus clanked and roared and stopped and started into town.

Even the waterfront felt weird tonight, its dazzling lights a muted green haze in the fog. The air no longer smelled of cinnamon; salt and copper and something dank and mossy tickled Maren’s nose. A chattering tourist family boarded the bus, and the woman gave her a long look. Maren suspected she had that motherly instinct of knowing when someone else’s child was up to no good. Quickly, she turned away to look out the window. The harbor was nearly invisible. Tiny waves lapped at the shore, raucous laughter carried down from the pier, and Maren wondered how organ music could sound so merry in the sunshine, yet so sinister in the dark.

The bus groaned up Main Street, and the street grew quieter as they left the restaurants and shops behind. Maren pushed the button for her stop. By the time the doors opened in front of the dark post office, the sidewalks were completely empty.

She leapt out before anybody could ask where she was going or where her parents were. As the bus pulled away, she locked eyes with the tourist mother through the window. The wires of fear in Maren’s chest twisted deeper, and she dashed away down the dark cobblestones. Her foot stomped into a puddle, splashing cold water up her leg, but she barely flinched. There could be muggers and murderers lurking out here. Or that woman from the hospital. Maren wished she’d brought a weapon. One of her mother’s cooking knives or a can of mace, though she didn’t know anybody who actually owned one.

A single streetlamp in front of the typewriter store cast the building in eerie blue shadows. Maren slowed as she crept closer, peering carefully at the trash cans in the alley. Even the cement planters full of flowers loomed ominously. She leapt over their reaching shadows, and with trembling fingers she pulled the shop key from her pocket.

A gust as warm as someone’s breath tickled the back of Maren’s neck, and she bit back a scream. But no one was there. With her heart bashing her ribs, Maren unlocked the door and threw herself inside the shop.

“Prrp?” came Artax’s cat voice from across the dark room.