Edwin ran his hand over his face wearily. “I’ve made some mistakes lately. Getting older. I was sloppy with Mr. Tanner. Shouldn’t have left him at the side of the road where what was left of him could be found. I did better with Mr. Hillman. He’s over there, by the way.”

Edwin pointed to an outcropping of rock—about the size of a melon—that popped out of a hillside. It had, if this was possible, a kind of profile to it.

“Oh Jesus,” said Gavin.

Edwin leaned in close so he was almost nose to nose with Gavin. “I don’t expect this to give you a lot of comfort at a time like this, but you should know that you are part of something important. Something bigger than yourself. Something almost . . . cosmic. Am I getting through to you at all?”

“I—I could be your assistant. I could help you. Get what you needed. I could—I could work on the trains. I’m good at construction. Or—or I could be the one to take over for you. So you could retire. What about that?”

“As tempting an offer as that is, I’m afraid I’m going to have to say no. You don’t have what it takes. One day, the right person will come along, but it’s not you. I’m glad we had this chance to chat, but I must finish up.”

The lights flickered briefly.

Edwin looked at Gavin apologetically. “Still a few glitches tapping into the town’s network. Don’t want an electric bill that attracts too much attention, do we?”

The lights stopped their flickering, then gave up altogether, plunging the room into complete darkness. A red-tinted, battery-powered emergency light tucked up into the corner of the room came on, casting a dim, blood-like glow for five seconds before power was restored and the lights came back on.

But during those five seconds, how Edwin Nabler presented himself to Gavin was altered. He was no longer that pixieish man in his silly railroad vest, but something else altogether. Silhouetted against the red light, he was a different shape. Taller, but round-shouldered. A face that seemed to have grown a snout, and were those . . . whiskers?

The lights flashed back on.

Edwin appeared just as he had before. But there was one thing different about him this time. He no longer had hair clippers in his hand. He was wielding something shiny. And sharp.

Gavin began to scream.

Nineteen

That Saturday was the annual sidewalk sale.

This was the brainchild of the local business improvement association. Lucknow’s main street was closed to traffic, half a dozen food trucks were allowed to set up, there were face-painters and jugglers and mimes for the kids, and last but not least, shop owners were encouraged to set up their wares on tables out front of their establishments.