"Listen," Randy said, holding a finger to his lips. "Ya'll hush up a minute."

Downstairs, Randy and Marsha's father was cursing, and their mother was asking him where the flashlight was. Outside, a dog howled. And then another. And then a dozen.

"Come on," Randy said. "Let's go see what's happening."

Sam and Stephanie stood up and followed him to the bedroom door. Randy reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. She squeezed back, and her teeth flashed white in the gloom as she smiled at him.

"Besides," Randy whispered, "maybe it'll be more exciting than sitting here playing video games."

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "I was sort of having fun kicking Sam's butt."

Sam laughed behind them and Stephanie's smile grew wider. Randy let go of her hand and walked out into the hall, barely realizing that his hands had curled into fists.

Outside, the barking and howls grew louder.

Five black crows swooped in over the town and then split up, each heading to the outskirts. One glided to the town's northern point, another to the southern tip. One went east and another west. The fifth crow hovered over the center of town. When all were in position, each simultaneously shed a single black feather. The feathers floated slowly downward. As each one touched the ground, the birds croaked in unison. Their voices sounded human rather than crowlike-as if they were chanting.

The air around Brinkley Springs changed. A glow briefly surrounded the town, and then vanished.

When the lights went out, Esther Laudry had finished brewing hot water in her electric tea kettle. She'd just poured some into two dainty, porcelain tea cups decorated with red and pink roses when the power died.

"Oh, fiddlesticks..."

She tugged on the teabag strings and left the cups and saucers on the kitchen counter, allowing the tea to steep for a moment. Then she made her way to the laundry room, moving slowly-it wouldn't do to slip and break her hip in the darkness-and checked the fuse box by the light of a match. Everything seemed normal. None of the fuses were blown.

"Esther," Myrtle Danbury called from the sitting room, "do you need some help, dear? Is everything okay?"

"It's fine," Esther said, coming back into the kitchen. "The electricity is out."

"That's strange. It's not storming."

"No, it's not. Maybe somebody crashed into a pole. Or maybe a tree branch knocked down one of the wires. Just give me a moment to call the power company."

Esther reached for the phone, but when she tried dialing, she found that the phone lines were out, as well. She placed the phone back in its cradle, went to the kitchen drawer and pulled out a pink flashlight. When she thumbed the button, nothing happened. Either the batteries were dead or the flashlight was broken. Shaking her head, she picked up the teacups. They rattled softly against the saucers as she carefully carried them into the dark sitting room.

"It's chamomile," she said, sitting the cup and saucer down in front of her guest, "but I'm afraid we'll have to drink it in the dark."

"That's okay," Myrtle said, her voice cheery. "I like the ambience."

"You would. My flashlight isn't working."

"When was the last time you changed the batteries?"

"I don't know."

"I change mine twice a year, just to be sure. You can never be too cautious."

Esther frowned. "Just let me light a few candles."

She moved around the room, lighting a series of votive and decorative candles that were scattered among the knickknacks on various shelves and end tables. Soon the sitting room was filled with a soft glow and the competing scents of honeysuckle, strawberry, cinnamon, vanilla and peppermint. Sighing, Esther took her seat, and after an experimental sip, pronounced her tea too hot to drink.

"What did the power company say?" Myrtle asked. "Did they give you any idea how long it would be?"

"I couldn't get through. The phone lines are down, too."

"Well, that's odd."

"Yes, it is."

"Should we check on your boarder?" Myrtle asked.

Esther shook her head. "No, I'm sure he's fine. I imagine the poor man is asleep already. He said he'd ridden all day in that buggy. He was pretty tired when he checked in, and he asked not to be disturbed. You saw for yourself."

"I know. But still..."

"You just want to bother him with questions, Myrtle. Be honest."

"Well, don't you? You can't tell me you're not just as fascinated with him as I am."

"Sure, I'm interested, but I don't intend to bother him about it. Not tonight. He's worn out. And besides, it's not like he's the first Amish person we've seen. There's a whole colony of them up near Punkin Center."

"I thought those were Mennonites?"

"Aren't they the same thing?"

"I don't think so." Myrtle shrugged. "People from the Mennonite faith can drive cars and trucks. Only the Amish still insist on riding around in horse-drawn buggies. I think they are different facets of the same faith. Like Methodists and Lutherans."

Esther frowned again. She'd been a Presbyterian all of her life and had little interest in other denominations, especially when they were incorrect in regards to interpreting the Lord's word.

"But that's my point," Myrtle continued. "It would be fascinating to talk to him-to learn more about his faith. The Amish are a very spiritual people, you know."

Esther tried her tea again and found that it had cooled. She took a sip and sighed.

"You're forgetting," she said, "that when he checked in, and you asked him, he specifically stated he wasn't Amish."

Myrtle waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Then how do you explain his clothes and his beard? And why else would he show up in a horse and buggy? Mighty odd to be going around like that if he's not Amish."

"Lots of people have beards. And I daresay he's not the only person around here to use a horse."

"When he checked in, what did he list for his address?"

"That's personal information, Myrtle. I can't tell you that."

"Oh, nonsense. That's never stopped you from gossiping in the past."

Esther's frown deepened. Myrtle was her next-door neighbor and, she supposed, her best friend. Even so, she didn't appreciate being spoken to like this-even if Myrtle was right.

"Marietta, Pennsylvania."

"I know that area," Myrtle said. "I wrote about it in one of my books. Powwow magic was very big there at one time."

"Oh, here we go. You and your New Age books."

"Don't you scoff. I make a living from them."

Myrtle sounded slightly offended. Esther considered apologizing, but then decided against it. She knew all too well that Myrtle's self-published volumes barely made enough money to break even. In truth, Myrtle lived off the life-insurance policy left behind after her husband's death three years ago from the sudden and massive heart attack he'd suffered while turkey hunting. Esther suspected that the books were Myrtle's way of dealing with his death.

"And anyway," Myrtle continued, "powwow isn't New Age. It's sort of like what we call hoodoo around here, but based more in German occultism, Gypsy lore, Egyptology and Native American beliefs. It's uniquely American-a big old melting pot."

"Well, it doesn't sound very American to me. Germans and Gypsies and Egyptians and Indians? The only American part of that is the Indians, and Lord knows that didn't work out so well. Sounds occult to me."

"Oh, you'd like it. It's a mix of folklore and the Bible, with a little bit of white and black magic thrown in. Sort of like potluck supernaturalism."

"Hoodoo isn't magic."

"Well, sure it is!"

"My mother could work hoodoo," Esther said, "but she'd have struck you down if you'd called it magic. Her abilities were nothing more than the Lord working through her."

"You say tomato. I say-"

"Listen." Esther held up one hand and sat upright in her chair, head cocked to one side. "Do you hear that?"

Myrtle was quiet for a moment. "Dogs? It sounds like all the dogs in town just went crazy. Maybe there's a deer running through the streets or something?"

"Maybe."

"Anyway," Myrtle said, "we got off track. My point was that Marietta-where this man is supposedly from-is in Lancaster County, which is the heart and soul of Amish country."

"That doesn't prove anything. West Virginia is full of rednecks. Does that make us rednecks?"

"Of course not. But this is different. There's no doubt in my mind that the man upstairs is Amish, no matter what he says."

Esther murmured her consent, but in truth, she was barely listening to her friend. Her attention was focused on the howling outside and the darkness in the room. It suddenly felt to Esther as if her entire bed-and-breakfast was holding its breath. She shivered.

"Is it me," she whispered, "or has it gotten colder in here?"

"It has," Myrtle replied. "I didn't notice it until you mentioned it, but it definitely has. Do you want me to get you a shawl?"

"No, I'm okay. I hope the lights come back on soon."

"Me, too."

They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the dogs and wondering what was going on. The temperature continued to drop-not enough that they could see their breath in the air, but enough to make them both uncomfortable. When Esther reached for her tea, hoping that it would warm her up, she noticed that the flames were dancing atop the candles, as if blown by a slight breeze.

"Did you see that?"

"The candles?" Now Myrtle was whispering, too. "Yes. I reckon you must have left a door or window open."

"No," Esther insisted, "they're all closed. I closed them as soon as the cats came in for the evening."

Outside, the frenzied howls suddenly stopped as if someone had flicked a switch.

Levi Stoltzfus was asleep when the power went out. He lay on his back, legs straight, arms folded across his stomach, snoring softly. He dreamed of a girl in a cornfield. Her light, melodic laughter drifted to him as she danced through the rustling, upright rows, always staying two steps ahead of him. He wanted to catch her. Wanted to hold her to him, out here in the middle of the field where nobody could see them. He wanted to smell her scent and feel her skin. He wanted to run his hands through the long, blonde hair she kept hidden beneath the mesh-knit bun on her head.

She danced out of sight again, and Levi called her name. Her laughter came to him once more, borne on the summer breeze. The cornstalks swayed around him. Grinning, Levi continued the chase.

But when he finally caught up with her, he saw that something else had found her first. She lay on the ground, eyes open but unseeing, legs splayed, dress torn, skin the color of cream, and there was blood. So much blood. Too much...

Levi's eyes snapped open just as the electricity died. He did not scream or shout. In fact, he made no sound at all. But the girl's name was on his lips and her memory left him shaken and drenched in sweat.

He sat up, semi-alert, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Until the dream, his rest had been a good one, but not nearly long enough. He'd been on the road all day, riding along eight hours' worth of West Virginia back roads. (There was no way he could take the buggy onto a major highway or Interstate.) He was sore and tired. More importantly, his horse, Dee, had also been sore and tired. Levi had been grateful when he came across the bed-and-breakfast in Brinkley Springs, and he was certain that Dee had been grateful, too.

He became aware that there were dogs howling outside. Yawning, Levi glanced around the unfamiliar room and tried to get his bearings in the dark. Mrs. Laudry, who had insisted that he call her Esther, had pointed out the digital alarm clock on the nightstand when she'd shown him the room earlier. When he looked for it now, he saw that it was dead. There had been a light on out in the hallway. He remembered the soft glow creeping under his door before he'd gone to sleep. Now, the light was extinguished.

Downstairs, he heard the murmur of voices. Both were female. After a moment, he recognized one as Mrs. Laudry. He assumed the other must be her friend Mrs. Danbury. He decided that it would be better not to let them know he was awake. Levi had no doubt that Mrs. Danbury would jump at the chance to pepper him with questions about his supposed faith. Like most, she'd automatically assumed that he was Amish, even after he'd denied it. Levi had always found such assumptions mildly irritating. He'd tried explaining to people over and over again that he was no longer Amish, but after all this time, they still insisted on referring to him as such. They never understood that he simply preferred the long beard of his former people and enjoyed adhering still to their plain dress code-black pants and shoes, a white button-down shirt, suspenders and a black dress coat, topped off with a wide-brimmed straw hat. Why should his mode of dress and method of transport matter to people? Why should they find it so odd? He drove a horse and buggy because it was more economical than a gas-guzzling SUV. And because Dee was one of his closest constant companions (along with his faithful dog, Crowley, who was back home).

Yes, he had been Amish at one time, but that was long ago. Levi didn't like to dwell on it. In truth, his excommunication from the church and his professed faith still chafed at Levi's pride, even after all this time. When he was cast out, it had cost him everything-his love, his friends, his community. Still, he'd had no choice. He did what the Lord expected of him, using the talents the Lord had given him. If the church didn't see that, then so be it. He just wished it didn't hurt so bad.

He'd tried to fit in among the "civilian world" (as he often thought of it), but soon discovered that he was an outsider there, as well. Away from the Amish, he was nothing more than a curiosity. An oddity. He was pointed at and discussed behind his back. He didn't fit in among the English (the term his fellow Amish used to describe people not of their faith). Levi didn't like being an outsider. He didn't like being alone. But like everything else in life, it was God's will, and Levi's cross to bare. Sometimes, the weight grew so heavy...

He was no longer Amish. Now, he was something else, and it was that something else that he didn't need Myrtle Danbury discovering. She'd introduced herself as an author, and the foyer of Mrs. Laudry's bed-and-breakfast had featured several of the woman's books on display-slim, cheaply produced trade paperbacks with garish lettering on the covers. A quick glance had told Levi everything he needed to know. The subjects ranged from healing crystals to channeling ancient Lemurian deities. Mrs. Danbury was a New Ager, the bane of Levi's existence. Nothing annoyed Levi more than New Age amateur mystics, except for maybe Evangelical Christians. In his experience, the majority of both were hypocrites and con artists, wolves dressed in sheep's clothing, preying on those who refused to think for themselves and discern God's truths from mankind's lies. In Levi's opinion, that was the problem with religion in general. The Christians, Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Sikhs, Satanists, pagans, Hindus, Cthulhu cultists, Scientologists and every other religious group or cult, no matter how big or how small, thought that their way was the right way. In reality, none of them had it completely right, for it was not meant for them to know all of the universe's secrets. They fought each other, killed each other, committed atrocities against each other, all in the name of their particular god or gods, without any understanding of just how wrong-how completely off base-they really were.

New Agers were the worst. At times in life's journey, when the Lord gave him a task to complete, Levi had needed the assistance of other occultists and magicians, those not given to practicing the same disciplines that he followed. Levi had always seen this as a necessary evil. The old adage, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend," quite often applied. But no matter how dire the situation or its consequences, he had never sought help from the crystal-worshipping, herbal-supplementing, Atlantean-spirit-channeling crowd. And deep down inside, Levi knew that even if he had, they wouldn't have welcomed him. Even the New Agers would have turned their backs on him.

In the end, Levi always walked his road alone, even among the splintered ranks of occultism's lunatic fringe. He was a stranger to everyone but himself...and God.

Outside, the howling increased, disturbing his maudlin ruminations. Their cries grew more frenzied. Levi wondered what was going on. He reached out to the nightstand and fumbled for his cell phone, which he'd plugged in to charge before he went to sleep. Like everything else in his life, the cell phone was often a point of confusion among those who assumed he was still Amish. He wondered what they expected him to use instead. A carrier pigeon? Two paper cups tied together with string? Telepathy? Actually, he had used telepathy a handful of times in his life. He tried to avoid it as much as possible, however, because he didn't like the nosebleeds that came with it.

All at once, the dogs stopped howling. Somehow, the silence seemed worse than the noise had been.

Levi flipped open the cell phone and was surprised to see that it was dead. If there had just been no service, he could have understood. His service had been spotty for the last three days, ever since entering the mountains. But there was no power whatsoever-no backlight, no time, not even a tone when he experimentally pushed the buttons. He wondered if a power surge could have done it, and glanced at the electrical outlet in the wall. He could barely make it out in the gloom, but from what he could tell, there was no cause for alarm. The outlet wasn't smoking or sparking.

Levi slid out of bed and shivered as his bare feet hit the floor. Was it his imagination, or had it grown noticeably colder in the room? Gooseflesh prickled his arms and the back of his neck. He stood up, walked quickly to the small, plain dresser and opened the top drawer. He quickly pulled on his clothes and shoes. He patted the pocket over his left breast and felt a reassuring bulge where his dog-eared and battered copy of The Long Lost Friend was. The book was a family heirloom. It had been his father's, and his father's before him. Levi never went anywhere without it. The front page of the book held the following inscription: Whoever carries this book with him is safe from all his enemies, visible or invisible; and whoever has this book with him cannot die without the holy corpse of Jesus Christ, nor be drowned in any water, nor burn up in any fire, nor can any unjust sentence be passed upon him.

Levi had never had any reason to doubt the inscription's truth, except for maybe the last part, the bit about unjust sentences. He knew about those all too well. Sometimes it seemed to him that life was nothing but a series of unjust sentences.

Once he'd gotten dressed, Levi dropped his hands to his sides, closed his eyes and waited. His breathing slowed. The world seemed to pause as he concentrated.

After a moment, he felt it. His eyes opened again.

Something was coming.

No, not coming. Something was already here.

"Oh, Lord..."

Pulse racing, Levi ran to the window, no longer caring if his host and her annoying friend knew he was awake or not. He looked out the second-story window and surveyed the scene below. Then, as his heart began to beat even faster, Levi crossed the room and yanked open the door. He dashed for the stairwell, reciting a benediction against evil as he took the stairs two at a time and plunged toward the first floor.