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I don’t know . . . magic about being in someone’s house. On the opposite side of the wall, listening to a husband and wife argue about finances. Overhearing little Johnny at the dinner table, talking about the game he pitched. So much of this”—Donavan swept his arm around the room—“this stuff around us is fake. Fake ads, fake news, fake lives lived in the public. I’m fake, and you’re fake when we know we’re around other people. But in their homes. That’s when people are real.”
    Lucas understood what Donavan was saying. Understood it a little too much to be comfortable.
    â€œYou get hungry for reality. And then, once you taste it, you get addicted to it.”
    Despite his effort at aloofness and coolness, things that usually came to him so naturally, Lucas felt himself being drawn in by the pep talk. He’d felt these things inside his own mind, inside his own body, but never allowed himself to acknowledge them. The public buildings . . . the thrill wasn’t exactly wearing off, but he’d been hungering for something different. Something more. He just didn’t know what. Until now.
    And now that he knew, he wished he didn’t.
    Donavan grinned. “Yeah. You know just what I’m talking about. I can see it in your eyes. You gotta join us.”
    â€œI’m not part of any club. I work alone.”
    Donavan picked up his bag of chips again, rummaged round in them, stuffed a few into his mouth. “No, seriously. I saw that stuff you did in the steam tunnel—the parkour moves. You’re, like, ten times better than anyone else in the club. You’d kill, man. Everyone would be asking you to show them how to do your stuff.”
    Lucas pondered. Parkour. A cousin of free running, both of them dedicated to moving through urban environments as quickly as possible. He wasn’t into parkour or free running any more than he was officially a creeper, but he identified with the people who were. In an odd way, Donavan’s offer sounded . . . enticing. It would be nice to be appreciated by someone for this thing he’d never been able to share with anyone else. When he noticed Donavan staring at him expectantly, he shook his head and leaned back in his seat.
    â€œI’m gonna get a beer,” Donavan said. “You want one?”
    Lucas nodded and Donavan left, leaving him alone with his own questions for a few moments. Question #1: Did Donavan know something more? Was he the one who uncovered his hiding spot in the steam tunnel? Had he led someone else to that hiding spot? Was this whole Creep Club involved in some way?
    Okay, that was four questions.
    And he hated to add the fifth: Was Sarea also part of it?
    Donavan returned and handed him an uncapped microbrew.
    Lucas smelled the sharp tang of the hops wafting out of the bottle, masking the apartment’s odor of leftover food just a bit.
    Donavan tipped his bottle, keeping his gaze on Lucas as he drank.
    â€œLike I said, we need to talk to Snake. But I can get you in. Be your sponsor, since you seem to like the support group concept.”
    Lucas stared at the floor, took a drink of his own beer.
    Donavan leaned forward again, dropped his voice as if revealing a secret. “Tell you what. Before you make up your mind, let me show you something.”
    â€œShow me what?”
    â€œThe drug.”
    LUCAS AND DONAVAN STOOD IN A GARAGE, NEAR THE INTERIOR WALL with exposed two-by-four studs. Only a thin layer of gypsum board was between them and the home on the other side.
    Lucas could feel the Dark Vibration cycling deep inside his body, reaching an entirely new harmonic. Something inside him, something dark, loved what he was about to do. It scared him.
    Donavan pointed to a small nail in the backside of the gypsum board, then expertly grabbed the nail and pulled it. It came free easily. Next he retrieved a small, flexible tube from his hip pack and snaked it into the