“No.” He nodded, following her. “No. No one saw them, or no one who did found them remarkable. That’s happened before, too. People seeing things that aren’t there, and people not seeing things that are. It’s just never happened this far out from the Seven.”

“What did you do after you saw Layla?”

“I kept walking.” Curious, he angled his head in an attempt to read her notes upside down. What he saw were squiggles of letters and signs he didn’t understand how anyone could decipher right-side up. “I guess I stopped for a second the way you do, then I kept walking. And that’s when I… I felt it first, that’s what I do. It’s a kind of awareness. Like the hair standing up on the back of your neck, or that tingle between the shoulder blades. I saw them, in my head, then I looked up, and saw them with my eyes. Layla saw them, too.”

“And still, no one else did?”

“No.” Again, he scooped a hand through his hair. “I don’t think so. I wanted to get her inside, but there wasn’t time.”

She didn’t interrupt or question when he ran through the rest of it. When he was done, she set down her pencil, smiled at him. “You’re a sweetheart, Fox.”

“True. Very true. Why?”

She continued to smile as she rose, skirted the little table. She took his face in her hands and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “I saw your jacket. It’s torn, and it’s covered with bird blood and God knows what else. That could’ve been Layla.”

“I can get another jacket.”

“Like I said, you’re a sweetheart.” She kissed him again.

“Sorry to interrupt this touching moment.” Gage strode in, his dark hair windblown, his eyes green and cynical. He stored the six-pack he carried in the fridge, then pulled out a beer.

“Moment’s over,” Cybil announced. “Too bad you missed all the excitement.”

He popped the top. “There’ll be plenty more before it’s over. Doing okay?” he asked Fox.