Suddenly River Dog felt that he was no longer alone inside the cave. He opened his eyes, surprised at the mist that coiled at the mouth of the cave.

Four figures strode into the cave. They were manlike in shape, but much too tall and disproportionate. They wore silver and red skintight uniforms and red boots. Pale blue skin made their opalescent green eyes stand out in triangular faces ridged with heavy bone over the eyes and along the jaw. Their noses were almost flat. Mobile antennae, segmented like earthworms but chitinous as horn growth, twisted atop their heads.

River Dog tried to stand, but found his body unresponsive. He was trapped in his own flesh, unable even to cry out as the four figures closed in on him.

"You were warned," one of the figures said. "You should have listened."

Helpless, River Dog watched as the lead figure reached for him, covering his eyes with a four-fingered hand. River Dog felt the hard chitin of the figure's hand close over his eyes, then his mind seemed to implode, flooding his senses with black pain that took him far away.

Max sat on the floor in front of the television in Michael's house. He watched the news programs and special reports in disbelief, flipping through the channels by using his powers. Story after story showed witnesses testifying about close encounters of the ghostly kind that had taken place during the day and were still going on in the evening.

"It's everywhere," Liz commented quietly. She stood in the cramped kitchen by the table, a piece of pizza forgotten in one hand. They'd pooled their money together, even raiding some of the stash Michael had put back from the job out in the desert, and bought a modest dinner.

"It's not everywhere," Isabel replied calmly. She sat on Michael's couch and watched the television. "Only a few dozen people have claimed to have seen ghosts."

Only a few dozen. Max repeated the words in his mind. Only a few dozen. But those numbers are growing. Less than three hours ago, they'd all rendezvoused at Michael's house, including Valenti and Kyle, fresh from the hospital with his arm tightly bandaged.

"However many ghosts there actually are," Michael put in, "those things are after us. Let's keep that in perspective too."

"The question is," Valenti said, "why are they after you?"

Nobody had an answer.

Finally Maria said, "Look, I didn't want to be the one to point out the obvious, but we have to consider that maybe these ghosts are things that Tess might have sent after you guys."

"Why would she do that?" Michael asked.

"Because she didn't quite get her way when she left," Maria said.

"She got to escape," Michael said. "She got Max to father her child, a child she might be able to get elected the new king."

"Kings aren't elected," Maria said.

Michael frowned. "Whatever. The point is, maybe Momma Queen is going to have a lot of power too."

The pang of loss vibrated through Max again. He could still feel the weight of his son in his arms, and he guessed that the feeling was probably a lot like the phantom pangs of an amputation victim.

"Tess didn't get everything she wanted," Maria said. "She wanted all of you to go back with her. That's why she killed Alex, remember? Because he found out she was here to set you guys up and turn you over to the enemies you had in your past lives."

"This isn't Tess," Valenti said in a quiet, calm voice. "She'd claim credit if she was behind this."

Max heard the pain in Valenti's voice. Tess had lived with Valenti and Kyle, becoming a sister and a daughter for a time.

"This is something outside everything you guys have been through so far," Valenti went on.

"Then how do they know about us?" Michael challenged.

"Because maybe they can sense you the same way you can sense them."

"We don't sense them," Michael said.

"You see them," Valenti pointed out. "Every time there's been a ghost, you've seen them when no one else could."

"You've seen ghosts too," Maria said. "Liz and I are the only ones who haven't."

"I didn't see the ghost until it wanted me to," Valenti reminded. "When Kelli was with us, she and Michael saw the ghost first. Later, after Michael took her away, the ghost changed shape, became someone I knew."

"So how does that work?" Michael asked. "The ghosts only appear to certain people."

"In Roswell," Max said, "that appears to be the case. No one except Wilkins and Michael saw the ghost of Terrell Swanson even though the Crashdown was full of people."

"And I was standing there with him," Liz said. "Not to mention, my mother was speaking with my dead grandmother this morning, and I never saw her. I'm sure that was part of this."

"Whatever is empowering the ghosts has the ability to be selective," Valenti said. "They appear to whomever they want, as whoever they want."

"Or maybe whatever is causing the ghosts is limited," Isabel said.

"Limited?" Michael snorted, and helped himself to another pizza slice. The problem hadn't affected his appetite. "Those things are throwing lightning bolts around like it was nothing."

"There are things you can do that no one human can do," Maria pointed out.

"How do they know who to appear as?" Valenti asked. "Isabel, you said the woman who nearly ran you down saw her daughter."

"A daughter who died in childbirth." Isabel nodded.

"Where did the ghost get its information?" Valenti asked. "How did it know who to appear as?"

"An unborn child wouldn't be so hard," Michael said. "Especially when the ghost appeared as a little girl instead of a baby. The mother had never seen the baby as anything other than that."

"What about Swanson?" Valenti persisted.

"Wilkins killed him and buried him in his basement almost forty years ago," Michael said. "The eye patch may have been enough to freak Wilkins out."

Valenti turned on him. "You looked at Swanson's pictures. You said it was he. Was it?"

A troubled look crossed Michael's face. "Yeah, it was Swanson."

"So how did the ghosts know who to look like?" Valenti asked.

"The ghost could have known about Swanson from old newspapers," Max said.

"Maybe," Valenti conceded. "But in order to know about Wilkins and Swanson, they'd have known where to look and what they were looking for."

"Everybody in Roswell knows the story about Wilkins and Swanson," Liz said. "After I figured out who he was, I remembered the story."

"Okay," Valenti said, folding his arms across his chest, "I'm going to play the devil's advocate here. Why would the ghosts wait so long to make their move?"

"He's right," Isabel said. "We've lived here all our lives. Excepting the fact that the ghosts want us out of here, they've had almost twenty years to do it."

"They're not just after us," Max said. "They want the Mesaliko gone too."

"Why?" Liz asked.

"River Dog tied the manifestation of the ghosts to the old legend," Max said.

"That's a bunch of bull, Maxwell," Michael said. "We all know that some old Indian legend isn't going to make ghosts suddenly start appearing."

Max stared at Michael, and he noticed the rest of them did the same.

"I don't think we can rule the legend out," Maria said.

Michael turned stone-faced and shook his head in disbelief. "You're grasping at straws, people."

"Give us something else," Maria challenged.

Michael crossed his hands over his chest. "This is stupid."

"Wait," Isabel said. "I think we're on to something here." She nodded to Valenti. "Keep going."

Valenti held his hat in his hands, tracing the brim with one forefinger as he thought. "Boil it all down to what we know. The ghosts appear to certain people, and somehow know who to appear as."

"They read minds," Kyle said.

Everyone turned to look at him.

Suddenly looking uncomfortable, Kyle shrugged. "How else can you explain it? I mean, the ghost I saw was the first dead man I ever saw. I don't know the guy's name, don't know if I ever knew it, but I remembered him because Dad and I were on our way home from a ballgame one night when Dad got a call in about a traffic fatality. Dad had to cover the accident till the EMTs arrived. The guy lost control of his motorcycle on 285 and got shredded."