“No, but there’s something. Can I look at the files?” The web inside me loosened a bit and I was able to catch my breath.

Ray twisted his mouth in much the same way he habitually twisted his hat. It dug deep lines around his mouth. Being a cop left its mark. “I don’t know. You’re not a detective.”

“Christ, Ray, the woman was murdered practically under my nose. Gimme a break.”

Ray frowned at me, then waved his hand. “Arright. I’ve got copies in the car. I thought this might be another by the same guy, so I brought ‘em to compare pictures to the placement of the body.”

“And?”

He shrugged. “And there’s nothing to compare. There’s no ritual in how the bodies have been laid out. They’ve all been punched through the chest with a sharp weapon, but that’s the only common element. Looks like they’ve all just been left to lie as they fell.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Neither. The repeat use of the weapon is good, the lack of any other ritual is bad. Nothing to pick up, nothing to deviate from. I don’t like it.” Ray twisted his cap around on his head again.

“Do you usually like horrible murders?”

Ray eyed me. I held up my hands in supplication. “Can I borrow those files?”

“You said look,” he objected.

“Look, borrow, whatever. I’ll be careful with them. Promise.”

I made my eyes all big and wide and hopeful before remembering they were bloodshot. Eww.

Ray frowned at me for a while, then turned around and went and got the files. “Don’t let Morrison find out or he’ll be busting my balls,” he said as he handed them over.

I flipped one open, not really listening to him. “I won’t. Thanks, Ray.”

“Yeah, well, my car needs work.”

I looked up with a crooked grin. “As soon as I find out my new work schedule.”

“It’s a date.” He nodded at the files again. “Don’t mention where you got ‘em.”

“I won’t.” I watched him walk back to his car, wondering if it really was a date. Not that I particularly wanted to date Ray. It was just that fixing guys’ cars seemed to be my idea of a pretty good date, which probably explained why I didn’t get out more. Maybe I could start my own escort service. Oil change and dinner. I’d have to come up with a catchy name for the place. The only things that came to mind involved lube jobs, and that was just bad.

I got back in my car and went home before I started taking myself seriously.

Wednesday, January 5th, 12:30 a.m.

Ten minutes later I spread out the files on my kitchen table, standing over them. There was no file on Marie yet, but I’d seen that in living—or not—color. Raymond was right. The victims didn’t appear to have anything in common. Nothing obvious, but there had to be something. I could feel it practically vibrating in my eardrums.

What did I know about Marie? She was an anthropologist who started believing in what she studied. She had a talent that let her see more than the average person saw, things that could be politely labeled esoteric. I yawned, and the wire around my heart went spang, releasing so fast it hurt. I swallowed a whimper and rubbed my chest again. I could almost feel spiderweb cracks sealing up.

All right. What if that was what they had in common? They were all banshees. The spiderweb fissured again, and I sighed. “Okay, that’s not it,” I muttered. “How about they’re all, uh…aware of another plane of existence. Not the kind of thing you’re going to talk about, right?” The wire-web relaxed and let me breathe again. I scowled hugely at the photographs. It was Oh God Thirty and I was standing in my kitchen talking to heartburn. Talking out loud, no less. I needed sleep. Or a dog.

“Sleep,” I said out loud. “If any of you want to tell me what your gig was, stop by dreamland. Otherwise I’ll figure you out tomorrow.” I turned the lights off, went to bed and lay there a long time in the dark, looking at the ceiling, faintly white in the dimness. I used to do this when I was a kid, zone out until I could feel myself floating about three inches above my body. I always fell back down into myself as soon as I noticed. I felt like that now, very slightly detached from my flesh.

It was not a comforting feeling after a day like today. I tried closing my eyes and found out they were already closed, but the ceiling still glowed faintly white up above me. I blinked. Darkness came and went, but I didn’t feel my eyelids move. A shock ran through me, radiating out from my heart like the sudden release of a metal-on-metal lock, sharp and high-pitched and tingling through my whole body.

And then I was free, looking down at my shape under the covers. I looked very comfortable. I looked down at my feet, the ones I was standing on. I could see the carpet through my toes.

Something tugged at me, pulling me up. I turned my face up, and disconnected with the floor entirely, floating upward.

Next time I go for a flight, I’ll go out through the window. Even a glimpse of what the upstairs neighbors were doing—well, I honestly hadn’t known human beings could get into that position.

The world outside glowed. I was sure there’d been no moon when I came home, but a brilliant crescent lit the sky with more wattage than usual, silver-blue light weighting down tree branches as if it were snow. Leaves glittered with color, reds and golds and greens that had more to do with neon than nature. Pathways and streets were dark blue streaks undershadowed with something else, like an artist had slapped paint on and let it slide down the canvas to expose other shards of colors beneath it. I stood in the sky, looking down over the streets as the dark blue slowly blurred away.

One exposed path led under an arch of trees that reminded me of Anne Shirley’s “White Way of Delight.” It twisted, sliding underground, and somewhere down it I could feel a heavy presence waiting for me. It felt like it could drink down the light and me with it, like the rabbit hole pulling Alice in. I reached up to tug a leaf off one of the trees, watching it glow a soft silver in my palm. It brightened into a beacon as I scrambled down the pathway.

It met the mouth of the cave, sliding underground. I hesitated at the dark entrance, lifting my leaf up to try to light the way. I saw a reflection, a glimpse of something bright, in the instant before a wall roared up, damming the cave’s mouth. I put my hand against it, the leaf gleaming, but nothing changed except the sensation of the thing waiting for me. It was somewhere beneath the earth, and amused, and patient. I stayed where I was a few moments longer, then slowly turned back up the White Way. The one who waited suddenly felt much more distant, and then I couldn’t feel it at all.

The world changed around me again, then again, and again, until they came so fast I could barely distinguish one from another. Some of the permutations I recognized: glimpses of Paris and New York, places that looked as solid as reality, overlooking the vibrant glow that had nothing to do with city lights and a great deal to do with things I didn’t want to think about. Others were harder to grasp, African plains with seas of violently purple grass, Australian Outback with a sky as bloody red as the stone beneath it. Every one got farther away from civilization, until I exploded into a place of absolute stillness with the hard white light of the stars pricking my skin.

“Well, she’s no good,” a tart little voice said. “Look at her. A baby, spilling out all over the place. You want a cosmic bed wetter to take care of this? She can’t even see us.”

“That’s no way to speak to our guest,” another voice said very firmly. This one was rich and dark and full of very round vowels, chocolaty, like James Earl Jones. “She’s come a long way on nothing but faith.”