HOLLINGSWORTH FOLLOWED the Traveler down a well-lit, nondescript corridor. The vinyl tiles beneath their mud-caked shoes were marked with green and blue directional lines. At the end of the green track, two oversize swinging doors opened into a reception area.

The Traveler’s fleshless bones propped up his baggy brown suit, making him look like something that should have been hanging from a line in a department store window display. He walked up to the woman receptionist and waved his hand. For an instant, the air seemed oily, like the Traveler had opened a window to swirling water deep under the sea. Then it shifted, as powdery and misty as a chalk eraser banged against a blackboard. The woman’s expression never altered.

“Thank you,” the Traveler said, though the woman had not spoken. She had not moved or even blinked. Without bothering to check if Hollingsworth was trailing him, the Traveler pushed through a second set of swinging doors. “Lights, please,” he said. Hollingsworth’s trembling finger found the switch.

The room held an abundance of stainless steel. Plastic tubes led from tables into drains, each one illuminated by a powerful lighting fixture. It was cold and quiet.

“Supply and demand,” the Traveler said in his deep Cajun growl. “Ain’t that the rule of law in these parts?”

“It’s a law of free-market economies,” Hollingsworth said. “Good old capitalism.”

“Same thing, as far as I’m concerned. I demand, they supply.”

“What did you do to that woman?” Hollingsworth wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

“Best stop your sniveling and get to work. We have fires to feed. We need us some kindling.”

“Will she survive?”

The Traveler spun around, fast as a flash of lightning. “If I’d wanted her spirits to pass, then they’d ’a passed, friend. If I’d wanted you asking nincompoop questions, then I’d ’a told you so. You best learn to accept what you gone and asked for. Ain’t that right? Yes, sir. You answer me: Yes, sir.”

Hollingsworth wasn’t in the habit of answering to anyone that way. But he was in no mind to test this creature’s powers; he had a feeling he’d only seen a small sample of what this monstrous man could do. “Yes, sir.”

“A vehicle set in motion stays in motion. Ain’t that right?”

“Not exactly,” Hollingsworth said.

But the Traveler didn’t want an answer. He didn’t want Hollingsworth speaking at all. The sticklike man slid open a heavy steel drawer and took hold of a cold, limp hand. A loud snap echoed throughout the room. Hollingsworth looked away, fighting to keep himself from throwing up.

“Fingers keep us alive, ney? They is what makes our fire come to life, youse see?” said the wraith. “In life there is death and in death there is life.” Another loud crack. “Find me some shears,” he instructed. “I’m going to need a snip here and there if I’m to collect us our kindling.”