Luce stared at the man. His face was mostly concealed by dangling clumps of hair and by his matted beard, but she could see his eyes. Wry and smart, the color of cinnamon. Luce tried to call out to him, but her throat felt like one big knot and no sound came.

He wasn’t even looking at her anymore. His gaze drifted somewhere over her head, and his mouth tightened with annoyance.

“Oh, that’s not right,” Andrew Korchak complained vaguely to the air. “That’s just going too far!”

The floating voices seemed agitated. They sounded as if they were engaged in a passionate conversation, whispering urgent confidences into one another’s invisible, shapeless ears. And Luce was more certain than ever that the voices were gathered around her father, circling him like a swarm of bees. And though she couldn’t have explained why, she also had the distinct impression that the voices were suddenly aware of her, and that they hadn’t been before. Cold ran through her body like a sickness and she struggled to regain control of herself. She had to say something.

“Dad?” Luce finally managed, but the word cracked in her throat. Her father stayed where he was, dully striped by the shadow of the birch tree. He didn’t so much as glance at her.

“I told you,” he snapped at the air, waving one calloused hand in disgust. “That’ll be enough.”

He spun on his heel—the movement was much more energetic than the weary shambling Luce had noticed before—and stalked back up the hill.

Luce gazed after him, torn by shock and grief and, as a few wisps of muttering air grazed against her face, by an icy panic that squeezed up inside her and crawled like fingers over her heart. Garbled whispers began to leak into her ears and dance under her skull. She could feel a kind of frothing breath glide across her tongue and explore her throat. Luce gasped, horrified at the awareness that there was no way she could fight this shapeless invasion of her body. For the first time Luce began to sense a few distinct phrases in the muttering flow that echoed through her head. “Battery’s going,” Luce thought she heard, and “getting too small for her.” Then, “If I didn’t love you so damned much . . .” Somehow it was worse to know what they were saying, and a long, unwilled shriek unraveled through the air.