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ONE

They say that every road leads ho for home, for the town of Pico Mundo and the desert in which it blooms, but the roads that I take seem to lead me to one hell after another

In the front passenger seat of the Mercedes, through the side atch the stars, which appear to be fixed but in fact are everThey seem eternal, but they are only suns that will burn out one day

When she was just a child, Stormy Llewellyn lost her mother, Cassiopeia I lost Stormy when she and I were twenty One of the northern constellations is called Cassiopeia No group of distant suns is named for Stormy

I can see Cassiopeia’s naht, but I can see Stor person I ht meet

The stars and everything else in the universe began with the big bang, which hen tian Some place existed before the universe, exists outside of it now, and will exist when the universe collapses back upon itself In that mysterious place, outside of tih time can time be conquered, and the way forward is the only way back to irl

Yet again, because of recent events, I have been called a hero, and again I don’t feel like one

Annamaria insists thatmany hundreds of thousands from nuclear terrorish, in the process, I have forfeited a piece of my soul

To foil the conspiracy, I killed four iven a chance, but the honest clai lie less heavily upon my heart

I wasn’t born to kill Like all of us, I was born for joy This broken world, however, breaksrelentlessly on its metaled tracks

Leaving Magic Beach, fearing pursuit, I had driven the Mercedes that my friend Hutch Hutchison lent me After several miles, when thethe side of the road and changed places with Annamaria

Now, behind the wheel, by way of consolation, she says, “Life is hard, young man, but it was not always so”

I have known her less than twenty-four hours And the longer I know her, the hteen, aler than s she says are often cryptic, though I feel that thewould be clear to me if I iser than I am

Plain but not unattractive, petite, with flawless pale skin and great dark eyes, she seee, in her condition, alone in the world as she is, ought to be anxious, but she is calm and confident, as if she believes that she lives a charmed life—which often seems to be the case

We are not linked romantically After Storh we do not speak of it, between us there is a kind of love, platonic but deep, strangely deep considering that we have known each other such a short while I have no sister, although perhaps this is hoould feel if I were Annamaria’s brother

Magic Beach to Santa Barbara, our destination, is a four-hour drive, a straight shot down the coast We have been on the road less than two hours when, two ht Bay and Fort Wyvern—an army base that has been closed since the end of the Cold War—she says, “Do you feel it pulling at you, odd one?”

My name is Odd Thomas, which I explained in previous voluain in future volumes, but which I will not explain here, in this detour from the main arc of my journey Until Annamaria, only Stormy called me “odd one”

I ah I haven’t worked in a diner since I left Pico Mundo eighteen riddle, the deep fryer A job like that is centering Griddle work is Zen

“Do you feel it pulling?” she repeats “Like the gravity of the h the sea”

Curled on the backseat, the golden retriever, Raphael, growls as if in answer to Anna, the white German shepherd named Boo, of course makes no sound

Slulass of thein the passenger door, half hypnotized by the patterns in the stars, I feel nothing unusual until Annamaria asks her question But then I sense unht summons me, not to Santa Barbara but elsewhere

I have a sixth sense with several facets, the first of which is that I can see the spirits of the lingering dead, who are reluctant tojustice to their e to cross from this world to the next Once in a while, I have a prophetic drea Pico Mundo after Stornetized and draard places of trouble, to which some Poishes me to travel

My life has mysterious purpose that I don’t understand, and day by day, conflict by conflict, I learn by going where I have to go

Now, to the west, the sea is black and forbidding except for a distorted reflection of the icysilvery smear

In the headlights, the broken white line on the blacktop flashes toward the south

“Do you feel it pulling?” she asks again

The inland hills are dark, but ahead on the right, pools of warht welcome travelers at a cluster of enterprises that are not associated with a town

“There,” I say “Those lights”

As soon as I speak, I knoill find death in this place But there is no turning back I am compelled to act in these cases Besides, this woently re to do when I falter

A hundred yards past a sign that prohway looms She takes it fast, but with confidence and skill

As we reach the foot of the ran, I say, “You feel it, too?”

“I’s But I know”

“What do you know?”

“What I need to know”

“Which is?”

“Which is what is”

“And what is this

what-is that you know?”

She smiles “I knohat matters, how it all works, and why”

The s

I don’t believe there is any deception in her, either I am convinced she always speaks the truth And she does not, as it ht seem, talk in code She speaks the truth profoundly but perhaps as poets speak it: obliquely, e paradox, symbols, metaphors

Iof substance about her past I don’t even know her last name; she claims that she doesn’t have one When I first saw Annamaria, I sensed that she harbored extraordinary secrets and that she needed a friend She has accepted htly to her secrets

The stop sign is at an intersection with a two-lane county road that parallels the state highway She turns left and drives toward a service station that is open even in these lonely hours before dawn, offering a discount brand of gasoline and a mechanic on call

Instead of a double score of gasoline puht offer, this station provides just four pumps on two islands At the moment, none is in use

Dating fro features Art Deco details, including a cast-plaster frieze revealed by lights in the overhanging cornice The frieze depicts stylized cars and borzoi hounds racing perpetually, painted in yellows, grays, and royal blue

The place is quaint, a little architectural gee when even huned and eht in the panes of the French s no doubt looks welco here charms me

Intuition sometimes whispers to me but is seldoto the eye, under the attractive surface lies so terrible

In the backseat, Raphael growls low again

I say, “I don’t like this place”

Anna man, there’d be no reason for us to be here”

A tow truck stands beside the station One of the two bay doors is raised, and even at this hour, a uar

A nattily dressed uar, recently rescued fro thecoffee from a paper cup Neither of them looks up as we cruise past