“What do you do all night?” I’d never asked him before.

Link shrugged. “Read comics, watch movies on my computer, hang out in Savannah’s room. But tonight I sat around listenin’ to my mom on the phone with the pastor and Mrs. Snow all night.”

“Is your mom really upset about what happened to Savannah?”

Link shook his head. “Not as upset as she is about the lake dryin’ up. She’s been cryin’ and prayin’ and tyin’ up the phone lines tellin’ everyone it’s one a the seven signs. I’ll be in church all day after this.”

I thought about the dream and the bloody sheets. “What do you mean, the lake dried up?”

“Lake Moultrie. Dean Wilks went out there to go fishin’ this afternoon, and the lake was dry. He said it looked like a crater, and he walked right out to the middle.”

I grabbed a T-shirt. “Lakes don’t just dry up.” It was getting worse—the heat and bugs and crazy Caster power surges. And now this. What was next?

“I know, dude. But I can’t tell my mom that your girlfriend broke the whole universe.” He picked up an empty bottle of unsweetened tea that was sitting on my desk. “Since when do you drink tea? And where did you get the unsweet kind?”

He was right. I had been drinking my weight in chocolate milk since sixth grade. But over the last few months, everything seemed sweeter, and I could barely stand more than a sip of chocolate milk. “The Stop & Steal orders it for Mrs. Honeycutt because she’s diabetic. I just can’t drink anything too sweet. Something’s going on with my taste buds.”

“You’re not lyin’. First you’re eatin’ the sloppy joes at school, and now you’re drinkin’ tea. Maybe the lake dryin’ up isn’t that crazy.”

“It’s not a—”

Lucille jumped off the bed, and Link spun the chair toward the door. “Shh. Someone’s up.”

I listened, but I didn’t hear anything. “It’s probably my dad. He has a new project.”

Link shook his head. “No. It’s comin’ from downstairs. Amma’s awake.” Hybrid Incubus or not, his hearing was pretty impressive.

“Is she in the kitchen?”

Link held up his hand so I would be quiet. “Yeah, stuff’s rattlin’ around in there.” He paused for a minute. “Now she’s by the back door. I can hear that squeaky hinge on the screen door.” What squeaky hinge?

I rubbed the rest of the blood off my arm and climbed out of bed. The last time Amma left the house in the middle of the night, it was to meet Macon and talk about Lena and me. Were they meeting again?

“I need to see where she’s going.” I put on my jeans and grabbed my sneakers. I followed Link down the stairs, hitting every creaky board. He didn’t make a sound.

The kitchen lights were off, but I could see Amma standing by the curb in the moonlight. She was wearing her pale yellow church dress and white gloves. She was definitely headed for the swamp. Just like my dream.

“She’s going to Wader’s Creek.” I looked for the keys to the Volvo, in the dish on the counter. “We have to follow her.”

“We can take the Beater.”

“We have to drive with the headlights off. It’s harder than you think.”

“Dude, I practically have X-ray vision. Let’s roll.”

We waited for the 1950s Studebaker to pull up to the curb, like I knew it would. Sure enough, five minutes later, Carlton Eaton’s truck drove down Cotton Bend.

“Why is Mr. Eaton pickin’ up Amma?” Link let the Beater roll in neutral before he turned the ignition.

“He drives her out to Wader’s Creek in the middle of the night sometimes. That’s all I know. Maybe she bakes him pies or something.”

“That’s the only thing I miss eatin’. Amma’s pie.”

Link wasn’t joking about not needing headlights. He left a few car lengths between the Beater and the pickup, but it wasn’t because he was concentrating on the road. He spent most of the ride complaining about Ridley, who he couldn’t seem to stop talking about, or playing me songs from his band’s new demo. The Holy Rollers sounded as bad as ever, but even way out here, the hum of the lubbers drowned them out. I couldn’t stand the hum.

The Holy Rollers hadn’t finished their fourth song when the truck reached the unmarked path that led to Wader’s Creek. It was the spot where Mr. Eaton had dropped Amma off the last time I had followed them. But tonight the truck didn’t stop.

“Dude, where’s he goin’?”

I had no idea, but it didn’t take long to figure it out.

Carlton Eaton’s truck practically coasted onto the mile-wide stretch of dust that had served as a parking lot only a few months before. The dusty expanse backed up to an enormous field, probably as dead and scorched as the grass in the rest of the county. But even without the heat wave, the grass here wouldn’t have recovered yet—from the carts and tent poles, cigarette butts, and the weight of the metal structures that had left black scars in the earth.

“The fairgrounds? Why’s he bringin’ Amma here?” Link pulled over near a clump of dead bushes.

“Why do you think?” There was only one thing out here now that the fair was gone. An Outer Door to the Caster Tunnels.

“I don’t get it. Why would Mr. Eaton take Amma into the Tunnels?”