Octavian asked, bluntly changing the subject.
Keomany nodded, reaching back to grab her backpack. From a side pocket, she drew a map of New England, which she unfolded to reveal a spot that had been circled in purple marker.
“Hawthorne, Massachusetts,” she said.
“And what’s in Hawthorne, Massachusetts?” Octavian asked.
“I honestly don’t know,” Keomany replied, tucking her silken black hair behind her ears. Her soft, brown eyes were full of fear. “But it’s something old and dangerous. The natural order of things is unraveling in Hawthorne, and whatever is causing the chaos is growing stronger.”
Octavian pushed a little harder on the accelerator. Keomany turned on the car radio and starting punching buttons until she found something she liked—a tinny, edgy bit of rock that sounded like it would only be played on the local college radio station. Now that they were on their way, she seemed to lighten up a bit.
“It’s good to see you, Peter,” Keomany said.
“Always good to see you, Keomany.”
“Nikki didn’t want to come with you?”
Octavian smiled. “It’s sad. She was so disappointed not to be able to join us. It’s been months since something evil tried to eat her. She sends her best, though.”
Keomany smiled archly. She traced her finger along the map, following the route they would take to Hawthorne, and then glanced out the window at the dimming sky.
“No sign of a storm,” she said.
“Was there supposed to be?”
“No. But I have a feeling that will change as we get closer.”
“So, Hawthorne?” Peter said. “You really have no idea what we’re going to be driving into the middle of?”
“I told you. Chaos.”
“You can’t be more specific than that?”
Keomany rolled her eyes and started scanning radio stations again.
“That’s why they call it chaos.”
NORMAN Dunne groaned in his sleep, furrowed his brow, and reached out his right hand in search of his alarm clock. Half conscious, he tapped the nightstand and extended his probing fingers farther, bumping a plastic water glass, which tumbled off the table and spilled its contents onto the linoleum floor.
“Come on,” he muttered, his voice a dry rasp.
The alarm emitted loud, rapid-fire beeps, irritating as hell, and after several more seconds of this, he opened his eyes into slits, glancing to his right in search of the offending clock.
Awareness flooded back into him. He felt the IV tube in his left arm tug as he shifted in bed, saw the chair against the wall and the tray table with its plastic bedpan and the white cable wrapped around the metal side rail of the bed—with which he could call the nurse—and he remembered it all. Out on the boat, fishing with Tommy, dragging up that old trunk in the net, opening it, and then the pain in his chest. A heart attack at his age!
“Shit,” he whispered, sadness sweeping over him.
But that irritating alarm kept going, and as he came more fully awake, he realized that he could hear others echoing up and down the tiled hospital corridor. A sickly yellow light came from two units set into the ceiling of his room, but it took him a moment to understand that these were emergency lights. The alarm came from the machine that had been monitoring his vital signs earlier in the day. It was no longer attached to him now—the nurse had disconnected it when she had last checked on him—but it had yet to be removed from the room. Now the contraption beeped and flashed. He figured it had a battery backup, and that the lights in the ceiling meant there was a fail-safe system so that people on other machines—the kind that kept you breathing, or your heart beating—wouldn’t die just because the wind had blown down a power line. In fact, any moment . . .
Even as the thought crossed his mind, the lights popped on, electricity in the hospital switching over to backup generators. He exhaled, relaxing the tension that had gripped him without his even being
Keomany nodded, reaching back to grab her backpack. From a side pocket, she drew a map of New England, which she unfolded to reveal a spot that had been circled in purple marker.
“Hawthorne, Massachusetts,” she said.
“And what’s in Hawthorne, Massachusetts?” Octavian asked.
“I honestly don’t know,” Keomany replied, tucking her silken black hair behind her ears. Her soft, brown eyes were full of fear. “But it’s something old and dangerous. The natural order of things is unraveling in Hawthorne, and whatever is causing the chaos is growing stronger.”
Octavian pushed a little harder on the accelerator. Keomany turned on the car radio and starting punching buttons until she found something she liked—a tinny, edgy bit of rock that sounded like it would only be played on the local college radio station. Now that they were on their way, she seemed to lighten up a bit.
“It’s good to see you, Peter,” Keomany said.
“Always good to see you, Keomany.”
“Nikki didn’t want to come with you?”
Octavian smiled. “It’s sad. She was so disappointed not to be able to join us. It’s been months since something evil tried to eat her. She sends her best, though.”
Keomany smiled archly. She traced her finger along the map, following the route they would take to Hawthorne, and then glanced out the window at the dimming sky.
“No sign of a storm,” she said.
“Was there supposed to be?”
“No. But I have a feeling that will change as we get closer.”
“So, Hawthorne?” Peter said. “You really have no idea what we’re going to be driving into the middle of?”
“I told you. Chaos.”
“You can’t be more specific than that?”
Keomany rolled her eyes and started scanning radio stations again.
“That’s why they call it chaos.”
NORMAN Dunne groaned in his sleep, furrowed his brow, and reached out his right hand in search of his alarm clock. Half conscious, he tapped the nightstand and extended his probing fingers farther, bumping a plastic water glass, which tumbled off the table and spilled its contents onto the linoleum floor.
“Come on,” he muttered, his voice a dry rasp.
The alarm emitted loud, rapid-fire beeps, irritating as hell, and after several more seconds of this, he opened his eyes into slits, glancing to his right in search of the offending clock.
Awareness flooded back into him. He felt the IV tube in his left arm tug as he shifted in bed, saw the chair against the wall and the tray table with its plastic bedpan and the white cable wrapped around the metal side rail of the bed—with which he could call the nurse—and he remembered it all. Out on the boat, fishing with Tommy, dragging up that old trunk in the net, opening it, and then the pain in his chest. A heart attack at his age!
“Shit,” he whispered, sadness sweeping over him.
But that irritating alarm kept going, and as he came more fully awake, he realized that he could hear others echoing up and down the tiled hospital corridor. A sickly yellow light came from two units set into the ceiling of his room, but it took him a moment to understand that these were emergency lights. The alarm came from the machine that had been monitoring his vital signs earlier in the day. It was no longer attached to him now—the nurse had disconnected it when she had last checked on him—but it had yet to be removed from the room. Now the contraption beeped and flashed. He figured it had a battery backup, and that the lights in the ceiling meant there was a fail-safe system so that people on other machines—the kind that kept you breathing, or your heart beating—wouldn’t die just because the wind had blown down a power line. In fact, any moment . . .
Even as the thought crossed his mind, the lights popped on, electricity in the hospital switching over to backup generators. He exhaled, relaxing the tension that had gripped him without his even being
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