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life sapped away in agony. The cat inched closer, crouching, even the whipping of the tail stilled.
    In a gray streak, the tiny rodent darted for the pile of debris. It left a mottled trail.
    Leaping, the cat landed on the other side of the trash pile and halted again, ears flattened in consternation. The prey had vanished. A cardboard container lay on its side, slightly open at one end. The cat lowered its head quickly, but nothing moved. One paw struck loudly. Inside the container, something skittered. Then the claws began to dig in unison, shredding at the cardboard.
    …car…soft roof…pretty…
    The cat jerked its head up toward the wall.
    …red dripping on the sand…
    Instantly, the cat swelled, emitting a needle-toothed hiss. In terror, it fled for a hole in the fence.
    It seemed he’d lain awake a long time, trying to recall the dream. Now, he moved his arm away and blinked without comprehension at a ceiling where amorphous shapes and vague colors swam. Across the room, the curtains had drifted apart: fathomless darkness rippled beyond the window. He sat up with a jerk that nearly sent him over the edge of the bed.
    He checked his watch. Damn. Groping for the phone on the night table, he heaved to a sitting position. Almost missed it. Holding the phone in his lap, he stared intently at his watch as the second hand swung. Then he dialed a number, letting it ring twice. He hung up, waited a few seconds and then dialed again.
    “I’m sure now.” Breath clogged in his throat, and he spoke in a rush, without preamble. “We’ve got another one.”

IV
    Night boomed hollowly in the black spaces beneath the house. Propped on stilts like all the properties at the edge of the bay, the duplex faced out over the water, and years of salt spray had encrusted the support beams until they glistened like mica in the moonlight. The wooden slats of the stairs also glittered, as did the rail on the landing. Darkness filled the lower row of windows, but slivers of light pierced the curtains of the upper floor.
    Inside, Kit grunted, twisting vigorously and listening to the wind. Just what is the temperature out there? The Franklin stove, which took up an entire side of her living room, gave off only sporadic warmth, and even above the sonata that poured from the CD player, she could still hear the windowpanes rattle. Would it be so awful if I stayed inside just one night? Illumination from a squat lamp glinted from the moisture beading the pane. Would I be fat by tomorrow or something? Bending far forward, she stretched. Sometimes I think I must be out of my mind.
    Whatever. She stretched to the other side. No excuses. The glass doors behind her made up most of the living room wall, and she checked her form in the reflection. The night, dimly striped by the caps of waves, stirred beyond the small balcony, and the moaning wind created an eerie counterpoint to the music. She owned only classical CDs—Beethoven, Chopin, Mozart—a small collection, mostly piano sonatas, and although (to her continuing chagrin) she could barely tell most of them apart, she could almost always lose herself in their melodies.
    She crouched, extending her thigh muscles, then the calves, trying not to let her vision stray to the glass doors. In the cramped apartment, any momentary lapse of concentration could result in seriously barked shins, even with the coffee table shoved up against the sofa and the ottoman pushed to one side so she could exercise. This was as cleared as the room ever got. Far too many heavy pieces of furniture, any single one of which was probably too large for the space, had been jammed into the apartment. Now go for it. Gritting her teeth, she tried for maximum extension in one leg, then the other.
    A clammy dread closed on her.
    … something watching…
    Slowly, she straightened and turned to the balcony. Something massive moved out there, some hulking nightmare.
    … no…
    A gaze glittered at her from seven feet above the