“And Stevens in Nyrax.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yes. There were other people from the grim world on the fair world . . . and the Changeling has been systematically tracking them down and killing them.”

“And Duncan doing the same on my world . . . to people from your world. Why?”

Jean-Pierre shrugged. “I don’t know, but I wager Doc will be fascinated. By the way, your name and Gabriela’s are the last additions at the bottom of this list.”

“Oh, great.”

Jean-Pierre yawned and stretched. “In case you haven’t noticed, the sun is well up.”

He was right. Round patches of sunlight wandered around the cabin floor with every movement of the ­airplane.

“Yeah. So?”

“So after I tell Doc about this, I’m to bed. How long have you been awake?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sleepy.”

“Get some sleep anyway.” Jean-Pierre rose and went forward.

Harris continued looking through the papers.

The dead man on the concrete finally moved, lifting his head to stare at Harris. There was hurt sorrow in his eyes. He pointed at Harris. His expression didn’t say “I hate you,” even “I blame you.” Harris read it as though it were newsprint: “You can never fix this.”

Harris gasped and came fully awake. The light over his bunk was still on. The fan still drove air into his face. It smelled like sausage cooking; someone had to be back in the galley, rustling up breakfast.

He lay there and rubbed his eyes. He’d fallen asleep for a moment. He needed to sleep. He was so tired that sometimes he couldn’t tell the engines throbbing from the waves of tiredness flowing through him. But the face was waiting for him. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw the dead man staring sightlessly upward.

Harris kept his own eyes open.

His thoughts floated around unconnected. He might have shot them, wonder what a hot dog costs, if I drank a gallon of xioc I might not sleep for a week, blasting through the sky in the belly of a giant frog. Grow up Gaby doesn’t want you anymore. He’s waiting for you behind your eyelids. Transitions, he’ll get you when you move in or out, in the transitions.

He felt the idea click home like the last piece in a jigsaw puzzle. He sat up so fast he banged his head on the ceiling of the bunk. He cursed, hit the wood in anger, and swung out of the bunk. Almost falling, he landed on the slightly tilted floor.

Wearing only boxer shorts, he moved forward out of the darkened sleeper-cabin into the lounge. It was empty of people; the circles of light moving around on the floor were brighter than ever. He stayed well away from them, irrationally afraid that he’d crumble into dust if they fell on him. He flopped onto the sofa in front of the talk-box. “Gabrielle,” he said.

The gray, lifeless screen of the talk-box stared ­implacably back at him. Annoyed, he switched it on. The screen slowly brightened into static.

“Gabrielle, I hope you can hear me. I think you can.” Harris licked suddenly dry lips. “I’m in the plane with Doc. This is Harris. I’m the one who knows something about you.”

Nothing.

“Gabrielle, I don’t care how stupid this looks. I think you can hear me. Please talk to me.”

The screen wavered into focus and suddenly Gabrielle stared at him. She was her usual solemn self, and looked worried when she saw him. “You look bad,” she said.

“No sleep.”

“No one has ever called to me before.”

“They always used the talk-box operator to reach one another. I bet the operator doesn’t know where to find you.”

She looked puzzled. “No.”

“Gabrielle, can you tell me what you’re seeing right now?”

“You.”

He shook his head impatiently. He regretted it; his head swam. “I mean, around you. What you’re looking into, what you’re sitting behind, everything.”

“My mirror.”

“You’re looking into a mirror. Who’s the fairest of them all?” He giggled, then cut the laugh off when he realized how strange it sounded. “How did you know I wanted to talk to you?”

“I heard you call my name. I hear talking all the time. That’s how I learned about Doc. I heard his name many times. People spoke of him in terms of praise. Excitement. Anger. Sometimes they made plans to hurt him. Finally I looked for him and found him.”

“How do you do that?”

“I make eyes on the other side of the mirror open up. Just as I did a moment ago with you.” Her expression was so vulnerable, so helplessly open that Harris wanted to crawl through the screen to comfort her.

“A while back, you started to ask me what I knew about you. I didn’t understand that then. It’s because you don’t know anything about yourself, do you?”

She didn’t answer, as if by waiting she could make him lose interest in the question.

“Gabrielle, would you show me your horse?”

Her expression went from worried to completely lost. “How do you know about my horse? I’ve never shown it to anyone.”

“I know it has eight legs. Show it to me.”

She didn’t seem to be able to tear her gaze away from Harris. But she reached out of sight under the table and brought up a stuffed toy, a big, cuddly red pony with too many legs. She clutched it to her as though it could shield her from the world.

“What do you know about yourself?”

She flinched as though he’d raised a hand to strike her. “You’re right. I don’t know anything. I’ve been here a long time. I can’t get out. No one comes to visit. Maybe I was born here. I never saw anyone until I made the eye behind the mirror open up the first time.”

“Gabrielle, if I leave the room for a minute, will you wait here for me?”

“Maybe.”

“Please. It’s really important.”

She crushed the doll to her and gave him a tentative nod.

He managed to get to his feet and stumble forward out of the lounge. A few steps more and he was beside the bunk where he’d seen Gaby toss her bag. He parted the curtain.

She was there, tousled, adorable, wearing a long-sleeved green shirt that came to her knees. Her mouth was slightly open and her eyes moved back and forth behind her eyelids. He knew it would take a sudden invasion by a marching band to wake her up from this state.

Softly, cautiously, he slipped his arms behind her back and behind her knees and lifted her out of the bunk. She turned and pressed her face up against his chest. He whispered, “Don’t wake up, baby. Just a few steps.” And he cursed the exhaustion that made his legs tremble as he gently carried her back into the lounge.

He managed to sit back on the sofa without dropping or waking her.

Gabrielle was still on the screen. She looked at Gaby but couldn’t see her face. “Who is this?”

“A friend.” Gently, Harris shook Gaby. “Wake up, baby. Look at who’s on TV.”

She stirred. The talk-box picture broke up for a ­moment. Gabrielle looked surprised. “The eye blinked,” she said.

Gaby murmured something incoherent.

“Wake up, Gaby. Look at the TV. It’s Frank Langella and Kevin Kline. They’re naked.”

Gaby’s eyes opened. She stared up at Harris, confused, then looked around.

She caught sight of the talk-box.

Her gasp and Gabrielle’s were simultaneous.

The picture on the screen started to break up. The two women reached for one another. “Don’t go,” they said.

Then the picture faded to static.

Gaby collapsed back against Harris and burst out in tears. He held her while her shoulders shook.

“It was transitions,” Harris said, his voice slurred and dull. “Moving in and out. That’s how I figured it out.”

Doc sat on the other side of the lounge’s table. “You’re not making any sense.”

“I know.” Harris laughed. The sound was high-pitched and strained. He cut it off. “You couldn’t make Gaby’s magic go.”