By Peter Clines

Padlocked doorways. unusual lighting fixtures. Mutant cockroaches.

There are a few peculiar issues approximately Nate’s new residence.

Of direction, he has different issues on his brain. He hates his activity. He has no cash within the financial institution. No female friend. No plans for the longer term. So whereas his new domestic isn’t excellent, it’s livable. The hire is low, the valuables managers are pleasant, and the extraordinary little mysteries don’t nag at him an excessive amount of.

At least, now not till he meets Mandy, his neighbor around the corridor, and notices whatever strange approximately her condo. And Xela’s house. And Tim’s. And Veek’s.

Because each room during this outdated la brownstone has a secret or . Mysteries that extend again over 100 years. a few of them are in undeniable sight. a few are in the back of locked doorways. And all jointly those mysteries may possibly suggest the top of Nate and his neighbors.

Or the top of everything...

"A riveting apocalyptic secret within the form of LOST."--Craig DiLouie, writer of THE an infection and THE KILLING FLOOR

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I must make it speak clearly, so that the Mer have to respect what I say. Wait, Sapphire, wait. Let the silence stretch. Ervys needs something from you. All these Mer are here for a reason. Take control. You don’t have to let Ervys question you as if you’re on trial. “It’s true that I’m human,” I say at last. My voice is reedy, but at least it doesn’t tremble. “It’s true that I’m not in my own world here. ” “But Morlader went ahead of us, out of sight. ” “Not well enough for our safety. ” 48 I look straight into his eyes.

Faro says that everything’s different in Ingo since the Tide Knot broke. “But the tides went back,” I say aloud. ” Like the human world, I think. St. Pirans is shadowy in my mind now, but I can’t forget the destruction of the flood. “Ingo er kommolek,” I say suddenly, without realizing that I’m going to speak. Just as suddenly I remember where those words came from. The dolphin spoke them that day last autumn when they came into the bay, and we were out in the boat with Mal’s dad. But the words were different then: Ingo er lowenek .

They are very clear. I’ve never seen human eyes with that silvery light in them. He looks more—more Mer, somehow, than either Faro or Elvira. More Mer than Saldowr even. I push the thought down, to consider it later. I need to concentrate. All those faces, all those eyes. But somehow the fact that we are f loating above the Speaking Stone makes the hundreds of watching Mer a little less intimidating. “These are dangerous times for us all,” says Ervys, “since the tides turned and the Deep awoke.

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