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Saw another one today on my hike. Yd swearthey were watching me. Gives me the creeps.Wonderwhat Katie would think.

That was right about the time she had received his first e-mail. With a churning sensation in the pit of herstomach, Katie turned to the date closest to the last message he had sent:

June 8 Found another one and put it in thefreezer with the rest. Don't know what the cause is. Don'twant to alarm the localsYET. Never in all my years have 1 seen any  thing like it. 1 wonder if it has

anything todo with how strangely the local fauna's been acting lately. I still swear they're watchingme. I need somebody else to see this—somebody 1 trust. I'm going to ask Katie to come.  I'm feeling a little spooked right now, and it'll be good to see her.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Katie said to the journal, her frustration on the rise. It was the last

entry and, like the others, it told her very little.

Katie tossed the journal onto the desktop and thought about what she had read. "You found somethingand put it in the freezer," she said to herself, chewing at the end of her fingernail. Her eyes scanned thereception area, and she bolted to her feet. "All right, let's take a look, then." She hadn't seen a freezer,although most veterinarians kept large units to store deceased animals, tissue samples, and otherspecimens.There must be one around here somewhere,she  thought.

She moved away from the desk and strolled down the hallway past the examination room. At the end ofthe hall was a door that she had originally thought was to a maintenance closet. Katie grabbed hold of thedoorknob, turned it, and found herself looking down a flight of wooden steps that disappeared into thedarkness of a cellar.

She felt for a light switch along the wall and, finding none, used the cool stone for a guide as she carefullydescended. At the foot of the stairs she could just make out the iridescent shape of a lightbulb thatseemed to be suspended in the darkness. She reached out, fumbled for the chain, and gave it a goodyank.

The bulb came to life, illuminating the cool storage area dug out from the rock and dirt beneath thebuilding's foundation. She recognized Kevin's mountain bike, ski equipment, and even a canoe, but it wasthe freezer in the far corner that attracted her interest. Plugged into a heavy-duty socket beneath a graymetal electrical box, the white unit sat atop some wooden pallets, humming quietly.

Maneuvering around winter coats hanging from pipes, Katie approached the freezer. She stood in frontof the oblong unit, feeling a faint aura of cold radiating from the white box. Her fingers began to tingle inanticipation as she slowly reached for the cover.

"Let's see what spooked you, Kev," she said in a whisper, lifting up the lid. A cloud of freezing air billowed up, and she breathed the cold gas into her lungs, coughing. The distinctive aroma of frozen dead things filled the air, and she took note of the red biohazard symbols onthe bags lying along the freezer bottom. She leaned into the chest, reaching down to pick up one of the bags. It was covered in a fine frost, masking its contents, and Katie brushed away the icy coating so she could see within the thick biohazard container. The thing inside the bag stared back with eyes frozen wide in death.

"Holy crap," Katie McGovern said as she studied the specimen through the plastic bag. A creeping unease ran up and down the length of her spine, making her shudder. "No wonder you were freaked out."

interlude two

Stevie Stanley huddled in a dark corner of his mind, trying with all his might to hold on to the things thatmade him who he was—those pockets of recollection, moments that had left their indelible marks on hisfragile psyche. But the excruciating pain was systematically ripping those memories away. One afteranother they disappeared: the blue, blue sky filled with birds; the black-and-gray static on the televisionscreen; the yellow dog running in the yard with a red ball in his mouth; Mom and Dad holding him, kissinghim. And Aaron—his protector, his playmate—so beautiful.

So beautiful.

Seven Archons surrounded the child's writhing body and continued the ritual that so often ended with thedeath of the subject. Stevie fought wildly against his restraints as ArchonJaldabaoth painted the symbolsof transfiguration upon his pale, naked skin, muttering sounds and words that a human mouth could nevermanage. Archon Oraios stabbed a long, gold needle into the child's stomach and depressed the plungerto implant the magical seeds of change.

The sigils on Stevie's flesh then began to rise, to smolder—to burn. The boy screamed wildly as his bodywas racked with the painful changes. Archon Jao placed a delicate hand over the child's mouth to silencehis irksome cries. Things were proceeding nicely, and the Archons waited patiently as the transformationprogressed.

Soon there would be nothing left of Stevie. His memory of Aaron burned the brightest, its loving warmthproviding some insulation against the agony his tiny, seven-year-old body was forced to endure. Aaronwould come for him. Aaron would rescue him from the pain; he need only hold on to what little he stillhad.

Archon Sabaoth was the first to notice. He tilted his head and listened. Sounds were coming from thechild's body—other than the muffled screams of his discomfort. Cracking, grinding, ripping and tearingsounds: The boy's body had begun to change—to grow—to mature beyond his seven years. This wasthe most dangerous part of the ritual, and the Archons studied their subject with unblinking eyes,

searching for signs that the magicks might have gone awry.

Archon Katspiel remembered a subject whose bone structure had grown disproportionately, leaving thepoor creature hideously deformed. Its mind had been so psychologically damaged by the pain that they'dhad no choice but to order Archon Domiel to put it out of its misery. It had been a shame, really, for thatsubject had shown great potential—almost as much as this latest effort.

Stevie held on as long as he could, clutching at the final memory of his brother, friend, andprotector—but it was slipping away, piece by jagged piece. He wanted to hold on to it, to remember thebeautiful face of the boy who had promised never to leave him, but the pain— there was so much of it.
 
What was the boy's name?
 
he wondered as he curled up within himself, no longer knowing the question,no longer caring. It didn't matter. Now there was only pain. He was the pain—and the pain was he.

Archon Erathaol unlocked the manacles around the subject's chafed wrists and ankles while the otherswatched.
The ritual appears to have been successful,
 
he mused as they watched the subject curl into afetal position on the floor of the solarium. What had once been a frail child was now a mature adult, hisbody altered to physical perfection, and his sensitivity to the preternatural greatly augmented. The Archons had succeeded in their task.

Verchiel would be pleased.

chapter six

It was quite possibly the best meat loaf Aaron had ever had. He shoveled the last bit of mashed potatoesand peas into his mouth, leaving a good bite of meat loaf uneaten. Gabriel lay beside his chair looking uppathetically a puddle of drool between his paws.

Aaron looked at Mrs. Provost across the kitchen table. She was sipping a cup of instantcoffee—
madewith the coffee bags, not that granulecrap,
 
she had informed him.

"Do you mind?" he asked, pointing at the piece of meat covered in dark brown gravy and motioning

toward the dog.

"I don't care," she said, taking a sip of her coffee. "Would have given him his own plate if you'd'a let me."

Aaron picked up the meat and gave it to Gabriel. "He had his supper, and besides, toomuchpeople-food isn't good for him," he said as the dog greedily gobbled the meat from his fingers, makingcertain to lick every ounce of grease and gravy from the digits. "Makes him gassy."

"Are you trying to embarrass me?"Gabriel grunted licking his chops.

Aaron laughed and ruffled the yellow dog's velvety soft ears.

"That's something I can relate to," the old woman said, hauling herself up from her seat. "Somedays I feel

like that blimp for the tires, I'm so full a' gas."

Aaron stifled a laugh.

She reached across the table for his plate and stacked it atop hers. "Meal couldn't a, been too bad," shesaid, staring at his empty plate. "I don't even have to wash this one," she said with a wise smirk.

"Didn't mean to be a pig," Aaron said as Mrs. Provost took the dirty dishes to the sink. "It was really

good. Thanks again."

She turned on the water and started washing the dishes. Aaron thought about asking if he could do thatfor her, but something told him she would probably just say something nasty, so he kept his offer tohimself. When she wanted him to do something, he was certain she wouldn't be shy in asking.

"I was cooking for myself, anyway," Mrs. Provost said, wiping one of the dinner plates with a sponge shaped like an apple. "And besides, it'skind a, nice to have company to supper every once in a while."

Aaron wondered if the old woman was lonely since the death of her husband. He hadn't seen anyevidence of children or grandchildren.

"Then again, cooking for somebody else can be a real pain in the ass after a while . . . makes you

remember why you was eatin' by yourself in the first place."

Well, maybe she was just fine after all....

She left the dishes in the strainer and hung the damp towel over the metal rack attached to the front ofthe cabinet below the sink. Then she returned to the table to finish her coffee. Aaron wasn't sure if heshould thank her and go to his room, or stay and chat. The kitchen was quiet except for the hum of therefrigerator in the corner and Gabriel's rhythmic breathing as he drifted off to sleep.

"Where you from, Aaron?" Mrs. Provost abruptly asked as she brought her coffee mug to her mouth.

"I'm fromLynn —Lynn,Massachusetts," he clarified.

"Didn't think it wasLynn,North Dakota ," the old woman replied, setting her mug down on the gray

speckled tabletop. "The city of sin, huh? Family there?"

His expression must have changed dramatically, because he saw a look of uncertainty in her eyes. Hedidn't want her to feel bad, so he responded thebest way he knew how. "I did," he said as he looked athis hands lying flat on the table. "They died in a fire a few weeks back."

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Provost said, gripping her coffee cup in both hands.

Aaron smiled at her. "It's all right," he said. "Really. It's why I'm inMaine right now. You know, changeof scenery to try to clear my head."

She nodded. "Thought about leaving here once myself—about the time I met my husband," she said, afaraway look in her eye. "Never did, though. Ended up getting married instead."

Mrs. Provost abruptly stood and brought her coffee mug to the sink. Gabriel awoke with a start andlifted his head from the floor, wanting to be sure he wasn't missing anything. Aaron reached down andstroked the top of his head. "So you never left Blithe?" he asked her as she rinsed the cup.

"Nope." She put the cup in the drainer with the other dishes. "But I often think about what might've

happened if I had—if my life would'a been different."

It was becoming uncomfortable in the kitchen, and Aaron found himself blurting out a question before hecould think about it. "Do you have any children?"

Mrs. Provost wiped her hands on the dishtowel and began to straighten up her countertop. "I have ason—Jack. He lives with his wifeand daughter inSan Diego ." She had retrieved the apple sponge fromthe sink and was wiping down the tops of her canister set. "We were never that close, my son and I," shesaid. "After Luke died—that was my husband—we just grew further and further apart."

"Have you ever gone to visit them?" Aaron asked, suspecting he already knew the answer.

"Nope," she said, wiping the countertop for a second time. "They bought me one of those computers last year for Christmas so we could keep in touch with e-mail and all, but I think that Internet is up to something. That and the Home Shopping Network."

"You have a computer?" Aaron was suddenly excited. It had been days since he'd last had an

opportunity to check his e-mail and communicate with Vilma.

"It's what I said, isn't it?" Mrs. Provost pointed toward the parlor. "It's in the office off the parlor," she