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Allie wedged herself behind the woman's thoughts, digging in, certain that she had lost Milos three or four fleshies ago. She could hide here until she was far enough away to peel out and not be noticed.
Then the driver, a bald man with bad skin, turned to her and said, "Be sensible, Allie. All this fuss is getting you nowhere."
He let go of the wheel and grabbed Allie with both hands. Allie struggled, and the car veered off the road.
"Watch out!"
Horns blared, the car jumped the curb, flattened a mailbox, and rammed into the corner of a restaurant. Airbags blossomed from almost every angle, cushioning the two fleshies, but Milos and Allie were hurled out of their hosts, and into the crowded restaurant they had crashed into.
Now everything depended on how quick Allie's reflexes were. Before she even hit the ground she reached out and grabbed someone--a waiter, still shielding his face from the crashing plate glass window. His thoughts were loud and panicked.
--what the--who the--how the--whoa is that a car--am I alive--yes--am I hurt--no--okay keep calm--keep calm--keep calm--
Allie hid within him, silent and still.Everyone jumped up and scurried deeper into the restaurant to get away from the accident--everyone except for a single woman who stood there scanning the room with eagle eyes. It was Milos.
"Come out, come out whoever you are," said the eagle-eye woman. "Ollie-ollie-axen-flee."
How stupid, thought Allie, if she gave herself away by correcting Milos's English. She lingered in the waiter, not taking him over, otherwise Milos might notice. She just hid inside him as he tried to herd diners out the door.
"This way, c'mon, everything's going to be fine. Is anyone hurt?"
Milos walked right past, and the second his eagle-eye fleshie was looking the other way, Allie left the waiter, hitched a ride in an exiting diner, then raced down the back alley. Finding herself on another street, she hopped into a man in a mustang who was fiddling with his radio--
--Hate this song--hate that song even more--there's never a good station--and this song's even worse--
She took control, floored the accelerator, and headed toward the highway. Once she was sure she had lost Milos, she took a moment to consider her next move. There was really only one place she could go. Nick was here in Memphis and he was in danger. She had to help him. She let the driver surface just long enough to scan his mind for directions to Graceland.
--what's happening--what's going on--who--who are you--
--oh shut up!--
Allie found what she needed, and put him back to sleep.
She was already heading in the right direction. Traffic was moving, and the Graceland exit came up in just a few minutes. Once she was on Elvis Presley Boulevard, traffic slowed, and it was faster to surf than drive. She launched out of Mr. Mustang, to another driver, and another, jumping two and three cars at a time when she could. Milos would know where she was going--but if she was lucky, maybe she could get there first. She surfed her way down the boulevard, until there, between convenience stores and gas stations, stood a mansion on a hill, completely out of place on the ugly urban street. Allie could tell there was something very odd about the place. It seemed to shift in and out of phase. It shimmered like a mirage in unsteady double vision, as if she were seeing two Gracelands--one in Everlost, and one in the living world, both competing for dominance.
Was this a vortex? She had heard about them, but had never actually seen one.
All at once she realized that there were Afterlights standing in front of the Graceland mansion. If they were Mary's children, then she was already too late!
There was no way in without alerting those Afterlights to her presence, which meant she would have to skinjack her way in. She hurried into the nearby visitor's center, looking for a suitable fleshie. Tourists meandered around, fingering gift-shop trinkets. It was a quarter to five, and the last tourist tram of the day was about to ride up the short path to the mansion. She launched forward, surfing every fleshie in her path, building momentum. The tour bus door had closed, but that didn't matter, she could launch right through the door, into the driver. She reached the last person between her and the bus, then bounded forward in a high arc toward it--but halfway there she smashed into another Afterlight, and he brought her down to the ground.
She was sure it was Milos--it had to be! Yet it wasn't. It was someone else--something else.
"Gotcha!" it said.
This kid was all wrong in every way. He had an ear where an eye should be, and an eye instead of a nose. His cheeks were at different heights, and his mouth was entirely upside down. It was as if someone had been playing Evil Mr. Potato Head with his face.
"Who are you? Let me go!"
There were more of them now. A dozen of them, and they were still coming out of the woodwork, grabbing her, keeping her from moving. Every one of them had skewed features, but no two were exactly alike. Picassoids, Allie decided to call them, because they looked like something Pablo Picasso might have painted on a very, very bad day.
"Don't let her skinjack!" shouted the Picassoid in charge, who had blue hair that was somehow familiar.
"You have to let me go!" she shouted, while behind her, the tour bus left for the mansion.
"I don't think so," their leader said. "We've been looking everywhere for you, Miss Allie."
She had to talk her way out of this, and she thought she knew just the thing. "Are you Mary's children? I'm here to help her," Allie said. "I've seen the error of my ways, and I'm here to beg for forgiveness--now LET ME GO!"
