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“You know what,” Jay said, “I honestly am pretty hungry. If it’s no trouble, I’d love to come in.”

Mask or not, Louis was clearly being polite, and Jay could do the same. Besides, if he wanted to get to know the neighbors, it’d be better to spend a little time getting to know each one rather than running around, just barely making introductions. Even if the other neighbors went out, he could talk to them later today, or tomorrow—or whenever, really. He was going to be here a while, after all.

As for inviting the guy over right away… yeah, naw. Not until he got to know him better, at least. He did seem nice—maybe they’d hit it off. And if they did, who knew if, later on, he’d want to invite Louis over anyway.

Louis seemed to smile, eyes crinkling behind the mask, and stepped aside more fully. “Come in, then.”

Jay stepped inside, glancing around. A second impression confirmed his first; the entryway was tidy, decked out with an old console table of scraped varnished wood, decorative paintings, and a cubbyhole shoe rack with only two sets of shoes in them. He took his own shoes off, putting them inside, and heard Louis make a faint hum of approval.

“The dining room’s this way,” Louis said. He lead the way down the corridor to a heavy mahogany table under a slightly-dusty chandelier. “Please take a seat. Any food restrictions?”

“Can’t really manage milk. Cheese is the biggest problem with breakfast foods for me,” Jay said. “Is that okay?”

“I’m inventive,” Louis said. He seemed to wink. “Do get comfortable.”

Jay sat, watching as Louis headed into the kitchen, where he could only just see Louis’s back as he moved around, taking things from the fridge, fiddling around on the counter.

Louis didn’t seem inclined to talk as he worked, and after a few moments of looking around at the room—a painting on the wall of a half-clothed artist’s model, the large china cabinet on another wall—Jay cleared his throat. “Can you direct me to the bathroom?”

“Up the stairs, second door from the end,” Louis called back over his shoulder.

“Be right back.”

Jay headed back to the entrance, then up the stairs. He was being just a little nosy, he knew, taking the time that Louis was busy to look around just a little—though he supposed that Louis had done the same to him as well, if outside.

As he reached the second landing, he realized that the layout of this house was the same as his; they must have been made around the same time. So, that closed door was the office, that one would be a closet, that to the attic stairs, then the bathroom, and the bedroom.

The bedroom door was open, and he glanced into it as he headed into the bathroom. With the lights out, it was hard to see in there. What he could tell was only that the walls were painted black, and the room was dominated by an enormous bed with an intricate metal headboard.

He felt his cheeks heat a little and headed into the bathroom. It, too, had the same style: claw-foot bathtub, freestanding sink, and so on. Slightly water-stained lace curtains fell over the bathroom window; from here, he saw, he could see right his own house’s office, where he could make out the rough shape of the desk.

No wonder Louis had got curious, then, if he’d seen him working in there. Feeling a little more reassured, Jay finished up his business, washed his hands, and came back downstairs.

Louis was just carrying a platter into the dining room as he returned. “Toast and honey,” he said. “A small bowl of oats. Jam. No milk or cheese. Tea?”

“Uh, please,” Jay said. It seemed like the entirety of breakfast was going to be slightly sweet, so the tea would cut the sugar flavor. “Thanks.”

“Of course. It’s my pleasure,” Louis said. He headed back into the kitchen. “I already started the water.”

“Great.” The food did look very good, arranged neatly on the platter. Jay was getting the impression that Louis cared for his aesthetics—and, almost certainly, also his manners. Although he’d found himself suddenly starving, he folded his hands on either side of the platter, waiting for Louis to return.

When he did, carrying a cup of tea, he paused in the doorway, apparently surprised to see Jay waiting. “I’m sorry—feel free to start.”

“Uh.” The single cup of tea, the single platter… “I didn’t want to start before you. Aren’t you joining me?” Jay asked.

“I ate already,” Louis said. He put the cup down at Jay’s elbow, then went around the table, sitting. Folding his hands under his masked chin, he seemed to smile at Jay again. “So, what do you want to ask me about?”

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Huh, Jay thought blankly. Guess I found the woods guy.

Under normal circumstances, meeting a man in a mask who had crept around outside his house as night fell would absolutely be cause for panic. But the absurdity of the entire situation—sunlight, flannel, tight jeans and all—made it almost impossible to panic.

“…Good morning,” he said. He held out a hand. “I’m your new neighbor, Jay Park.”

That masked head tilted, and then his neighbor took it, shaking, his hand slightly chill to the touch. “Louis Castaigne,” he said, his voice odd and soft. Maybe just muffled a little behind his mask. “You moved into Miss Evans’ house.”

As Camden had implied, then, Aunt Grace was well known among the neighbors. “Yes—she was my great-aunt.” Louis gave him a slow look over, as if trying to compare him to Grace and the results not being what he expected. “On my mother’s side.”

“I see,” Louis said. “You’ve large shoes to fill.” The handshake, which had lingered a moment too long, was dropped.

“I’ve heard she was popular in the community,” Jay agreed. He shifted, tucking his hand back into his pocket, his knuckles bumping his pocket knife. “I thought I saw you outside last night—taking a walk?”

“Ah, something like that,” Louis said. “I was curious. I’d known Miss Evans, you see.”

“It was a bit alarming,” Jay admitted. With his other hand, he gestured at his own face, as if to mime a mask there as well. “I’m sorry if this is rude, but looking into the woods at night and seeing…”

Louis tilted his head, as if waiting to see if Jay would finish what he was saying, then chuckled. The sound was warm, his body language slowly relaxing. “Ah. Yes. I do wear this. Everyone around here is used to it.”

“Should I ask…?”

“Only if you want to know the answer,” Louis said, head tilting again. Jay watched him blink languidly through the eye-holes.

Jay laughed awkwardly. “Well, now I’m not sure I do,” he said, still prompting.

Louis nodded. “Don’t ask questions around here unless you want answers,” he advised. “But do ask questions if you do want to dig into people’s business. Secrets don’t get volunteered on their own.”

His voice had warmed considerably through the conversation, and although the words themselves seemed oddly threatening in isolation, his tone was not, more conspiratorial, two people sharing a joke that Jay only wished he got.

“I’m from Seattle,” Jay said. “It’s a pretty different environment.”

“It would be,” Louis said. He stepped aside, holding the door open. “Have you eaten? If you just moved in, you might not have much in the house. Can I offer you anything?”

Through the door, Jay could see that the interior of Louis’ house had a look of luxury—if a faded luxury. Slightly threadbare rugs lay over scuffed hardwood; the kitchen had faux-marble counters and floors, and he could see somewhat scratched and peeled gold gilt on the banisters in the stairway leading up. Perhaps the interior had been opulent in Louis’ parents time, or even his grandparents’, but whatever he’d inherited was less so.

“Oh, I couldn’t put you out,” Jay said. “Besides, I was hoping to meet all the neighbors this morning—I really want to go around and make some friends around here.”

“It’s no trouble,” Louis said. “I don’t get company often, not since I began to live here alone. And I could tell you about the neighbors, if you wish.” His gaze passed over Jay, eyes intent, and Jay had the sudden distinct impression of getting checked out. Louis’s expression warmed again, heavy lids lowering again. There was a hint of smile in his voice when he spoke again. “I’d like to know more about you, Jay. Or if you’d rather not come in, perhaps you I could come help you with your house, later? I recall Miss Evans being something of a hoarder, and it must be a lot for you to deal with alone. I’d love if I could take some of the burden away, help you sort her things.”

Jay hesitated on answering. He hadn’t eaten yet today, and while he could eat some of his cold pizza later, it might not hurt to get to know this handsome—if mysterious—neighbor a bit better, and see what information he could get from him.

On the other hand, he did want to meet the other neighbors for himself, and delaying here might mean missing them, since they’d probably go out as the day went on. Learning about them secondhand might be helpful, but could also bias him, especially if it was as cliquey here as Camden had said.

And he could use the help with the house, certainly; a second pair of hands would make things go faster. Still, he wasn’t sure if he should; he didn’t know how Grace and Louis had got along, after all, and there was still the question of whoever had slid the note under his door, let alone the vagueness of Louis’ answer about what he’d been doing in the woods.

But if he refused all offers entirely, might Louis take that badly? Louis might be a little weird, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was a bad person. Fitting in here was going to be hard enough already. Refusing both offers might close some doors, at least if he wasn’t careful in how he went about it.

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Slowly, carefully, Jay folded the strange message and tucked it in the key-holder next to the door. No matter how much it had to be a coincidence with his dream, clearly ‘signs’ were important in some way, or the note wouldn’t have been left for him.

Maybe it had to do with what Camden had said about town politics; it might be a code word around here. Perhaps the factions were color-coded in some way? Certainly, the local issues had been on his mind last night—that, along with reading the book, had obviously influenced his dreams, both shaping them and giving him reason to recall them more clearly than usual.

Had Camden mentioned anything about signs? He didn’t think so, but he couldn’t be entirely sure. Or maybe he’d seen something in the bedroom when he was moving Aunt Grace’s stuff around so he could sleep—either a sign, or the word sign might have been among her things. Perhaps it was a simple, harmless issue, an item someone had loaned Aunt Grace and never got back. It was capitalized; maybe it was the title of a movie or a book. Just a normal Have you found the book I loaned her, but more intimidating when taken out of context.

Maybe.

He could look for anything that might have made him get ‘signs’ on the brain later, he decided. One thing at a time. The part that played into his dreams was definitely of less an issue strangers nosing around. As much as he’d wanted to hide last night, maybe he should go out and see what he could learn, introduce himself to the neighbors, try to make a good impression.

After all, if there were cliques, as Camden had said, people were probably wondering if he’d be like Grace, who had apparently got along with everyone, or if he’d be swayed one way or another. It’d be better if he learned whatever he could about it as early as possible. And while he really didn’t want to deal with that after dark… everything was at least a little less intimidating by the light of day.

Besides, he was at least temporarily stuck with this situation. He didn’t have any other home, and the house wasn’t salable until he got it in order. So he’d better just get ahead of things, he thought, with a grim humor.

It’d be fine to bring some of Aunt Grace’s stuff down to town later today, or even tomorrow. For now…

Jay headed out to the car, checking it carefully to see if either the woods-lurker, or whoever had left the note, had made any attempt to get in. He didn’t see any; everything looked exactly as he’d left it, which reassured him a little that whoever had been around might not have meant any harm after all. He spent the next hour bringing his bins into the living room, dragging in his suitcase so he’d have some fresh clothes to change into, and freshening up.

Once dressed in clean clothes, he slid his folding knife into his pocket—not that he could imagine ever using it, but it certainly made him feel better to have. “Well,” he muttered to himself. “Time to meet the neighbors.”

As he headed out, he made sure to lock up behind himself, jiggling the knob to confirm that it was secure. Whether they were harmless visitors who were just curious about what was going on, or something less benevolent, he sure didn’t want them inside the house.

A short walk down his driveway gave him a better view of the houses on either side of his. Both were similar large, older houses. It wouldn’t have been difficult for people looking out of their upper-story windows to see his car, or see the lights on and someone moving around inside. He hesitated by the road, trying to decide where to go first.

Well, the stranger in the woods had gone off to the right. Although he didn’t feel comfortable confronting whoever it was, introducing himself and asking about the people around here might at least give him a chance to feel out who it might have been. He’d be subtle, of course. Not mention signs, or messages under his door, but only that he’d seen someone out for a walk—that would probably be fine.

Steeling himself, he headed up the drive of the neighbor on the right, and knocked on the door. He tried to swallow his beating heart, his impression of not belonging. Act like you fit in, he thought to himself wryly, even suspecting as he did so that he was too young, too queer, not white enough. And even if he hadn’t been all those things, he might still feel like an outsider; small communities like this went back generations. People were born here, lived all their life here, died here.

The door opened, and he stared. For a moment, his uncertainty vanished—along with all thoughts of subtlety.

“Good morning?” the young man on the other side said, prompting. He was tall, lean and muscular; there was no way he didn’t hit the gym regularly. Despite the fairly early hour, he was already dressed, wearing tight-fitting jeans, along with a t-shirt under a long-sleeved flannel shirt.

He was also wearing a plain white mask, hiding everything but his heavy-lidded pale eyes.

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Jay drew a deep breath and tried to chill the fuck out.

It was only natural to be wired. Everything had changed around him. He’d lost his job, moved away from his family, and had left a big, fairly diverse city in favor of a free home in the middle of Whitesville, Nowhereland. On top of that, his aunt’s disappearance from here had him on edge—why else would he be overreacting so much to the normal curiosity of the neighbors?

He got out of bed, heading down the darkened hallway to the office again, and browsed briefly for a book to take back to bed with him. He didn’t plan to read much—no point in getting himself woken up even more—but a little bit would help distract his spiraling thoughts.

Listlessly, he cast his gaze over the bookcases, but found himself instead drawn to the pile of books he’d made on the desk. In the dim light from the moon outside, he read I had the Library Dream again in Grace’s handwriting, and shifted The King in Yellow to the side to pick up the slim, leather-bound volume immediately beneath it.

When he’d glanced through it earlier, it had seemed to be someone’s fictionalized account of having visited a library on some far away world, and the mythologies he’d written down from the books there. It must, he realized, be the inspiration for Grace’s stories about the library between the stars that she would travel to, the mysterious histories of impossible people that she’d read there. Maybe she, too, had lain awake some nights, unable to sleep, and flipped through this volume to give her brain something harmless to explore in the night.

A library dream sounded just fine to him.

He took that slim volume back to bed and propped himself up, reading by the light of the bedside lamp. Although it was fiction, there weren’t exactly chapters—just sections about different subjects, the author’s ‘notes’ on the things he’d read in the library there. Creatures that could pass through time by entering mirrors, gods who mourned that they had been forgotten, the creature at the center of the universe piping music out for the cosmos to whirl to. All things the author had only read about secondhand in this library between the worlds, nothing he had encountered himself, nothing he could be sure was accurate. But, the fiction demanded of you, if he had ended up in a library between worlds, who was he to doubt the stories he read?

Jay put the book on the bedside table, clicked the light off, and closed his eyes.

***

The painting in front of him was of an impossible city, black domes and ebony spires and a lake that reflected two pallid moons hovering in the sky. Jay examined it uncertainly, hands tucked behind his back, then glanced around.

On either side of the painting were bookshelves; each of these were filled with orderly books, none of which had any titles on the spines, but each of which were slotted away as if they belonged in that spot. They were probably organized by subject, he decided, or this wouldn’t be a library. Still, he found himself oddly reluctant to take any off the shelf to try to prove his theory.

Instead, he wandered, weaving around old, heavy wood tables and through the stacks. Each of the shelves rose from floor to ceiling, marking out a maze that he didn’t think it would be possible to remember, let alone find his way back in. All of this he did in silence; he couldn’t hear anyone else in the building at all, no shuffling or breathing, not even the ticking of a clock. Just his own movements, horribly loud in the oppressive silence.

As he rounded corner after corner, shifting between the openings of shelves while trying to keep as close to the wall as he could in order to make a path it would be easier to follow, he began to realize that the building had no windows, and paintings were used in their place. Each showed a new scene, different from those previous—here, a view of a great tomb at the base of a ruined city, half-drowned in stagnant water. There, a vista full of burrowed holes, five suns burning overhead.

“Excuse me,” he heard behind him.

He jumped, whirling, and was surprised to see a lovely woman standing there. She was no more than thirty, with heavy dark hair bound back in a plait and dark, dark eyes, smiling at him peacefully.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think anyone else was here.”

“No,” she agreed. She looked him over. “I’m not sure you should be here yet, though I’m sort of glad you are.”

“Uh.” There was an intensity to her, an energy in the way she held herself, that intimidated him. It wasn’t just that she was impossibly attractive, but something else, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He felt alert, like he couldn’t take his eyes off her or he’d regret it. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t have permission. You should have a sign before you come here,” she said, as if that explained anything. “You came from Kingsport?”

“Yes,” he said. That feeling grew, but it was his dream—of course she’d know that. “What do you mean, a sign?”

She nodded to herself, her expression decisive. “Well, there’s plenty of signs you can get in Kingsport,” she said. “You could even get mine, if you want—I’ve got people there! But I’m not the only one, if others suit you better. Honestly, you might already have aroused interest, bearing the blood of a waking-worlder as you do.”

Was there such thing as a semi-lucid dream, he wondered. He had meant to dream of a library, and knew he was dreaming, but he didn’t seem to have any control over what was happening. “I’m not sure what a sign is.”

“A symbol. A mark. A gift. Get one—well, at least one,” she amended, seeming amused at herself. “Most people could never bear more than one, but with the current situation, we all need to cooperate for now. And it’s so interesting when something changes.”

“My aunt’s house is a mess,” he said. “Finding anything might take a while. What do you mean by ‘current situation’?”

She shook her head, hair slithering over her shoulder to fall in front of her chest. It didn’t sit quite right, and he tore his eyes away from that to her perfectly-proportioned face again. “No,” she said. “You can’t take any real information away from here until you bear a sign. As is, you’re in danger.”

His heart was beating hard. The dream felt like it was shifting, edging on nightmare. “In danger?”

“Not with me, of course,” she said, and smiled. Her teeth seemed too sharp, somehow. “I can protect you. But anyone can come here, and right now, you don’t bear anyone’s favor. So go and get it before you come back. And when you come, try to come back the proper way. When you use only your own mind as a doorway… well, that’s dangerous too. You can’t shut and lock your mind the way you can a real door. All right?”

“I don’t understand,” he began, but she put a friendly hand on his shoulder, warm and with the perfect amount of firmness, and turned him.

The painting, most recently of that burrow-filled wasteland, now showed Aunt Grace’s bedroom.

“Go home,” she said. “Find a sign, or signs. Help us, and win our favor. But be careful. It’s a dangerous world out there.”

She didn’t specify which one.

***

Jay woke up, and for a moment, he didn’t know where he was, not recognizing the angle of sunlight, the shape of his ceiling.

And then reality clicked back into place. It was morning, and he had a lot of chores ahead of him still.

“What a weird dream,” he muttered to himself. He glared absently at the book on the bedside table—thanks for nothing, Dr. Shrewsbury, he thought at the author.

Well, no point in letting himself dwell. He got up, changing back into his clothes from the day before. First thing first, he needed to bring in the bins of his belongings and find somewhere to put them, both so he could get dressed properly, and so he’d have room in the car to start packing up some of Aunt Grace’s things to take into town.

He headed to the front door, intent on doing that, then frowned down at the welcome mat. For a moment, he thought the piece of paper that he saw there—one which had clearly been slid under the door—was just some sort of flyer.

But it was standard 8×11 printer paper, and when he picked it up, he saw that someone had handwritten just one sentence on it:

Have you found the Yellow Sign?

“Well, fuck,” Jay said aloud. What the hell was he supposed to do with this? Go around to ask the neighbors who did this? Maybe see if he could ask after Camden, who at least had seemed relatively friendly, and see if he knew whatever this yellow sign was.

Or maybe, he thought, he should just ignore it. He had a lot to do, and this was probably someone’s prank—one that just happened to be unnerving after the dream he’d had the night before.

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Jay stared at the stranger’s back until it vanished between the trees, unwilling to move until he was sure they were gone. If he’d left right away, he might have been able to catch up to them—but he was pretty sure that he didn’t want to do that.

Maybe whoever it was was just a curious gawker. Maybe they hadn’t been wearing a mask—now that he was no longer looking, he wasn’t sure that it hadn’t just been a pale face with very little expression. Still, if it was just a neighbor who’d come by out of curiosity, he could meet them tomorrow in broad daylight. Whoever it was, he did not want to meet them in the woods at night.

What if the person hadn’t left? What if they’d only pretended to leave, to try to get in later?

The thought struck him with stomach-turning terror, and he abruptly couldn’t remember whether he’d locked the door. Hands numb, he rushed down the stairs dangerously fast, actually slamming into the front door with both palms out before he could grab the knob and jiggle.

Locked after all.

From there, he rushed around to check the back door, cursing himself a little for that being far enough away, through the kitchen, that he had to check it second, but it too was locked—hadn’t been unlocked since he came in, so there was that. A bit calmer, knowing that the doors were secured, he checked the first floor windows. Most of them didn’t open—God, he needed to get curtains for the living room, he’d do that tomorrow as soon as stores were open again—and those that did had latches that were already thrown.

“Just a little paranoid here, Jay?” he muttered to himself, and was embarrassed to hear his voice shaky.

Still, he didn’t want to go back outside tonight, not now that he’d confirmed he was secure inside. He hadn’t brought his blankets in from the car yet, but that was fine. He’d rather sleep with dusty blankets for just one night than go out and put his back to the woods as he dug his own bedding out.

On his way back through, he turned on the front porch light, just to be sure that any would-be robbers would have a harder time knowing if he was still awake or not. It might attract more gawkers, sure, but he’d rather answer questions the next day than not be around to.

“Chill out, already,” he told himself, drawing a deep breath and letting it out again. What had he been doing?

Right. Keys. Her desk keys were missing. It wasn’t a huge deal, and maybe shouldn’t be a priority compared to all the cleaning…  but still, he wanted to find them if he could. They hadn’t been with her house keys, he knew that much—her purse had been left behind when she’d vanished, which was part of how her disappearance had been classified as under suspicious circumstances. So either she’d left them around the house, or they’d vanished with her.

Finding them would make him feel a lot better about being alone in the place, he decided. Who knew if she’d had spare house keys on her desk key ring, and if someone else had access to the house? If he found them, he could at least reassure himself that it wasn’t the case. Besides, if the desk had been locked, other places around the house might be too; it could be a useful find.

The key rack by the door had some jewelry and sunglasses, but no keys. The kitchen ‘thing drawer’ was full of all kinds of junk, but no keys there either. From there, he headed back upstairs—if not in the obvious places, he decided, her office was the most likely place for it to be, but hidden somewhere. After all, she’d want them to be convenient to her desk.

Still, searching on and around the desk itself turned up nothing; checking between the books and the bookcases turned up some pens and coins, but no keys.

Finally, he turned to the books themselves. It wasn’t impossible that she had a book-box—either a book that had been hollowed out to hide things, or a box designed to look like a book. He had to go through them soon anyway, he justified, if he planned to donate them; he could at least start with some hardcovers to see if they weren’t what they seemed to be.

He’d made a small pile of leather-bound books to take in to get assessed by the time his gaze fell back on the gold snakeskin book again. It would make sense, he decided; it would be easy for her to spot wherever she put it back. He pulled it off the shelf, running his fingers over the cover, then flipped it open.

Just a play, he realized as he flipped gently through the pages. He skipped to the front; it was called The King in Yellow, with no noted author. It had been published in the 1890s, so it was probably valuable—though he wasn’t entirely sure if it was a first printing or not—but didn’t hide any keys away in its pages. Disappointed, he put it on the top of the pile.

Then yawned.

“Might as well stop there for now,” he muttered, a bit dejected. He’d looked through the most likely candidates, and he didn’t have time tonight to check all the books. Besides, it was more likely that he’d find keys in one of her pockets in a closet somewhere than anywhere in here, he supposed.

Jay turned the light off and headed to the bedroom, taking a little time to tidy off the bed—or at least, dump the belongings that had been scattered on it on her dresser or in her closet. A quick check of the bedside table turned up no keys there, either. He shook out the blankets—they were dusty, and smelled faintly of perfume, but they’d do—then stripped down to his boxers and tank top and, feeling somewhat intrusive about it, slid under the sheets.

Then he lay there, unable to sleep, but knowing he needed to if he wanted to have the energy to make this place livable. The room’s smell, shape, sounds were unfamiliar. The curtains were drawn across the window, but the moon cast shadows through them that left him uneasy.

When he’d been much younger, Aunt Grace used to say, “Focus on what you want to dream about, and maybe you’ll go on a dream adventure too.” Jay had never successfully done so, but thinking about strange vistas and adventures had at least distracted him from his daily worries enough to let him drift off. Maybe that’s what the notes on Aunt Grace’s desk had meant. Sea Dream, Library Dream, Sand Dream…

Clutching Grace’s blankets under his chin, he tried to decide what to do. He could get up and go on his computer, though the light always woke him up more after long years of overtime into the early hours, and he’d likely regret not sleeping tomorrow. Find some book in her office to read until he was tired enough to get a few hours in. Try to focus on something to dream about.

Or maybe something else, anything else that would help him pass this first night in the house that his great-aunt disappeared from.

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