Out of the corner of his eye—something. He looked and saw a man—older, dark skinned—across the gas station’s parking lot,standing next to a beat-up green Celica . . . and staring right at him with a puzzled, intent look on his face. The man pulledhis phone out of his pocket, fiddled with it, stared at the screen, then looked back up, his expression sharpening.
There was no question as to what his phone was displaying—a photo of Will Dando on the bandstand, with his bass, smiling alittle.
“Oh shit,” Will said.
He opened the passenger-side door and leaned out, catching Leigh’s attention.
“We need to leave, right now,” he said.
“I’ve only got twenty bucks in,” she answered.
“Leave it,” he said. “I think someone recognized me.”
Leigh’s eyes narrowed. She pulled the nozzle out of the tank, slammed the cover closed, and slipped behind the wheel.
“Who was it?”
“Guy in a green Celica. Go slow, don’t make him sure he saw what he saw. Just get back on the highway.”
“All right. Dammit.”
The car coasted up the ramp back to I-80, gaining speed as it merged into traffic.
“Is he there?” Leigh asked, accelerating. “Did he follow us?”
“I don’t see him,” Will answered, trying to glance behind them without seeming obvious about it. “Maybe we . . . shit.”
The Celica changed lanes about six cars back, emerging from behind a semi like a striking snake. It was going fast, speeding,obviously trying to catch up to them.
“Go!” Will said.
“Where?” Leigh said, her voice admirably even toned, under the circumstances.
“Next exit. We won’t be able to shake them on the highway, it’s a straight line. Maybe if we can get ahead of them, though,we can turn off somewhere. Hide.”
“Like in the movies,” Leigh said, the suggestion clear that this was not, in fact, a movie.
“Yeah,” Will answered, looking back through the rear window, not trying to hide it anymore, feeling the push of accelerationas Leigh hit the gas.
The next exit, another small town. Leigh hit the ramp too fast, skidded a little, and corrected. The Celica had been caughtin a little snarl of traffic and they’d gotten some distance, but not enough. Not miles.
Leigh turned off the bottom of the ramp, the tires squealing. Will wondered how the hell she’d ever learned to drive likethis, then decided to stop wondering, because what if she hadn’t ever learned to drive like this?
The notebook slid off the dashboard into Will’s lap, flopping open. He glanced down, steadying it with his hand, and saw thatit had opened to the list of Oracle predictions. One in particular caught his eye, and his eyes flicked to the dashboard clock—11:03a.m.—then back to the notebook.
Will ripped his eyes up to the road, examining the tiny, depressed, depressing town they were zooming through. He knew theywere inviting the attention of whatever police department Starling, Ohio, had to offer, and didn’t care.
“Look for a Laundromat!” he said.
“What?” Leigh said, not understanding. “What will that do for us?”
Will looked back behind them and saw the Celica rocket off the ramp.
He didn’t know what their pursuer wanted, didn’t know if there was a reward out for him or if it was about bragging rights.Or if he wanted him dead. Most likely, he had a question, and Will didn’t have any answers left.
“There,” he heard Leigh say. “Up on the right. Now what?”
“Turn in,” Will said, taking a deep breath.
Leigh pulled into the parking lot, screeching to a stop next to a white panel van with a logo on it—Will didn’t take timeto read it. He scrambled out of the car and ran to the Laundromat’s front door, aware of the Celica pulling into the lot behindhim. He yanked open the door and dashed inside, Leigh a few steps behind him.
The Laundromat was . . . a Laundromat. Washers and dryers and folding tables. Vending machines for soap and fabric softenerand snacks. A few beat-up arcade cabinets—treasures in any Williamsburg bar, here dusty and ignored. Patrons, not many, butmore than a few, most wearing matching T-shirts, all staring at Will and Leigh, eyes wide.
Will reached up, grasping his wig, hat, and sunglasses.
Leigh looked at him, dismayed.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Will removed his paltry, stupid disguise.
The reaction was instant. Everyone, every single person in the place knew who he was. The Oracle had come to Starling.
“You,” said the man closest to him, a silver-haired, slim fellow wearing one of the matching T-shirts. “You’re him.”
“I am,” Will said.
The door swung open behind him, and the man from the gas station stepped inside. Will spun to look.
“I knew it,” he said, pointing. “The goddamned Oracle!”
He took a step forward, his expression intent, manic, one hand in his pocket, pulling an object out. Probably his phone, tosnap a picture. Maybe something else—a knife, or a gun.
Will stepped backward, grasping Leigh by the arm and pulling her with him.
“Stop,” Will said. “Stop now.”
But the man didn’t stop. A smile appeared on his face.
“No,” he said. “You know what this means?”
And then the other man was there, the older man in the T-shirt, stepping between the Oracle and his . . . attacker? Supplicant?Fan? He held up a hand.
“You heard the Oracle,” he said. “Please stay back.”
Other customers stepped up, surrounding the man from the gas station, all wearing the same T-shirt. Will finally read it:cincinnati men’s chorus in elegant navy letters against white.
“Fuck’s this?” the Celica man said, his face uncertain, even a bit afraid.
“Nothing,” the first man said, apparently the leader of the Cincinnati Men’s Chorus. “Unless you make it something.”
He turned to Will.
“What do you need? How can we help you?”
Will considered.
“I just want to go. I need to get some distance on this guy. That’s all.”
The older man nodded and turned back to Celica man.
“All right. You’re going to stay here with us while the Oracle leaves, and you’re going to let him go wherever he wants, andyou aren’t going to follow him. Right?”
Celica man glanced at the ring of silent men surrounding him, the Oracle’s defenders, taking their measure. He slipped hishand from his pocket and held it and
