The sun rises with a burst of orange and pink that makes the sandstone buildings along Main Street glow. Malcolm’s red convertible streaks along the road, its reflection in the storefront windows like something from a movie.
“Do you think it’s that ... thing?” I ask Malcolm over the roar of air. “He ... it was looking for a body.” Not to mention, the thing had captured Nigel’s for a short time.
Malcolm shakes his head. “No. She touched me, remember? On stage?”
Oh. Yes. I remember.
“I don’t know who she really is, but she had too much substance and warmth to be anything but human.”
I’m not certain that’s proof. Then again, I can’t shake away the image of her red nails clutching Malcolm’s jaw, so my view is definitely skewed.
Malcolm parks in the roundabout driveway. From the moment he
