She’d had enough jolts and jumps for her first day.

She slid out of bed to tug the sheets and duvet back into some semblance of order, then turned, intending to go to the adjoining bath for a glass of water.

The scream wouldn’t sound. It tore through her head like scrabbling claws, but nothing could tear its way out of the hot lock of her throat.

The boy grinned obscenely through the dark window. His face, his hands pressed against the glass bare inches away from her own. She saw its tongue flick out to roll across those sharp, white teeth, and those eyes, gleaming red, seemed as bottomless and hungry as the mouth of earth that had tried to swallow her in her dream.

Her knees wanted to buckle, but she feared if she dropped to the ground it would come crashing through the glass to latch those teeth on her throat like a wild dog.

Instead, she lifted her hand in the ancient sign against evil. “Get away from here,” she whispered. “Stay away from me.”

It laughed. She heard the horrible, giddy sound of it, saw its shoulders shake with mirth. Then it pushed off the glass into a slow, sinuous somersault. It hung suspended for a moment above the sleeping street. Then it…condensed, was all she could think. It shrank into itself, into a pinpoint of black, and vanished.

Quinn launched herself at the window, yanked the shade down to cover every inch of glass. And lowering to the floor at last, she leaned back against the wall, trembling.

When she thought she could stand, she used the wall as a brace, quick-stepping to the other windows. She was out of breath again by the time all the shades were pulled, and tried to tell herself the room didn’t feel like a closed box.

She got the water-she needed it-and gulped down two full glasses. Steadier, she stared at the covered windows.

“Okay, screw you, you little bastard.”

Picking up her laptop, she went back to her position on the floor-it just felt safer under the line of the windowsills-and began to type up every detail she remembered from the dream, and from the thing that pressed itself to the night glass.

WHEN SHE WOKE, THE LIGHT WAS A HARD YELLOW line around the cream linen of the shades. And the battery of her laptop was stone dead. Congratulating herself on remembering to back up before she’d curled onto the floor to sleep, she got her creaky self up.

Stupid, of course, she told herself as she tried to stretch out the worst of the stiffness. Stupid not to turn off her machine, then crawl back into that big, cozy bed. But she’d forgotten the first and hadn’t even considered the second.

Now, she put the computer back on the pretty desk, plugged it in to recharge the batteries. With some caution-after all, it had been broad daylight when she’d seen the boy the first time-she approached the first window. Eased up the shade.

The sun was lancing down out of a boiled blue sky. On the pavement, on awnings and roofs, a fresh white carpet of snow shimmered.

She spotted a few merchants or their employees busily shoveling sidewalks or porches and steps. Cars putted along the plowed street. She wondered if school had been called or delayed due to the snow.

She wondered if the boy had demon classes that day.

For herself, Quinn decided she was going to treat her abused body to a long soak in the charming tub. Then she’d try Ma’s Pantry for breakfast, and see who she could get to talk to her over her fruit and granola about the legends of Hawkins Hollow.

CAL SAW HER COME IN WHILE HE CUT INTO HIS short stack at the counter. She had on those high, sharp-heeled boots, faded jeans, and a watch cap, bright as a cardinal, pulled over her hair.

She’d wound on a scarf that made him think of Joseph’s coat of many colors, which added a jauntiness with her coat opened. Under it was a sweater the color of ripe blueberries.

There was something about her, he mused, that would have been bright and eye-catching even in mud brown.

He watched her eyes track around the diner area, and decided she was weighing where to sit, whom to approach. Already working, he concluded. Maybe she always was. He was damn sure, even on short acquaintance, that her mind was always working.

She spotted him. She aimed that sunbeam smile of hers, started over. He felt a little like the kid in the pickup game of ball, who got plucked from all the others waving their arms and shouting: Me! Me! Pick me!

“Morning, Caleb.”

“Morning, Quinn. Buy you breakfast?”

“Absolutely.” She leaned over his plate, took a long, dramatic sniff of his butter-and-syrup-loaded pancakes. “I bet those are fabulous.”

“Best in town.” He stabbed a thick bite with his fork, held it out. “Want a sample?”

“I can never stop at a taste. It’s a sickness.” She slid onto the stool, swiveled around to beam at the waitress as she unwound her scarf. “Morning. I’d love some coffee, and do you have any granola-type substance that could possibly be topped with any sort of fruit?”

“Well, we got Special K, and I could slice you up some bananas with it.”

“Perfect.” She reached over the counter. “I’m Quinn.”

“The writer from up in PA.” The waitress nodded, took Quinn’s hand in a firm grip. “Meg Stanley. You watch this one here, Quinn,” Meg said with a poke at Cal. “Some of those quiet types are sneaky.”

“Some of us mouthy types are fast.”

That got a laugh out of Meg as she poured Quinn’s coffee. “Being quick on your feet’s a strong advantage. I’ll get that cereal for you.”

“Why,” Cal wondered aloud as he forked up another dripping bite of pancake, “would anyone willingly choose to eat trail mix for breakfast?”

“It’s an acquired taste. I’m still acquiring it. But knowing myself, and I do, if I keep coming in here for breakfast, I’ll eventually succumb to the allure of the pancake. Does the town have a gym, a health club, a burly guy who rents out his Bowflex?”

“There’s a little gym down in the basement of the community center. You need a membership, but I can get you a pass on that.”

“Really? You’re a handy guy to know, Cal.”

“I am. You want to change your order? Go for the gold, then the treadmill?”

“Not today, but thanks. So.” After she’d doctored her coffee, she picked up the cup with both hands, sipping as she studied him through the faint rise of steam. “Now that we’re having our second date-”

“How’d I miss the first one?”

“You bought me pizza and a beer and took me bowling. In my dictionary, that falls under the definition of date. Now you’re buying me breakfast.”

“Cereal and bananas. I do appreciate a cheap date.”

“Who doesn’t? But since we’re dating and all…” She took another sip as he laughed. “I’d like to share an experience with you.”

She glanced over as Meg brought her a white stoneware bowl heaped with cereal and sliced bananas. “Figured you’d be going for the two percent milk with this.”

“Perceptive and correct, thanks.”

“Get you anything else?”

“We’re good for now, Meg,” Cal told her. “Thanks.”

“Just give a holler.”

“An experience,” Cal prompted, as Meg moved down the counter.

“I had a dream.”

His insides tensed even before she began to tell him, in a quiet voice and in careful detail of the dream she’d had during the night.

“I knew it was a dream,” she concluded. “I always do, even during them. Usually I get a kick out of them, even the spooky ones. Because, you know, not really happening. I haven’t actually grown a second head so I can argue with myself, nor am I jumping out of a plane with a handful of red balloons. But this…I can’t say I got a charge out of it. I didn’t just think I felt cold, for instance. I was cold. I didn’t just think I felt myself hit and roll on the ground. I found bruises this morning that weren’t there when I went to bed. Fresh bruises on my hip. How do you get hurt in a dream, if it’s just a dream?”