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shiver go down her spine.
    Outside, it was pouring.

3

    It had rained steadily through the night and was still raining the next morning, though it had turned to a drizzle by the time Annja and Luartaro met their guide outside the lodge.
    She’d put her palm-size digital camera and extra batteries in a plastic bag and shoved them in her back pocket for insurance against the weather.
    Zakkarat, in the same outfit as the previous day, though with sturdy hiking boots, looked smaller, with his wet clothes hanging on him and hair plastered against the sides of his face. He looked sadder, too, eyes cast down at the puddle between his booted feet, the ball of his right foot twisting in the mud.
    “If you do not want to go because of the rain, I understand,” he said. “It rained hard last night, and long. Still going. Maybe going all day. The trail will be sloppy and the river swollen.”
    Annja realized his disappointment was in missing out on the thousand baht he would have earned—and wouldn’t have to share with the lodge or tour company.
    “I do not have another free day until early next week,” he said. “I can take you then.”
    “We’ll be gone in a few days,” Annja said. “Me back to New York.” She paused. “But I don’t mind the rain, Zakkarat. Maybe Lu does, though, and—”
    “I like rain fine,” Luartaro said. “When I was a young boy I used to be afraid of storms. But my mother told me that rain is just God washing away some of man’s dirt. Rain makes the world clean again.”
    He tipped his face up and grinned to illustrate the point. “And God knows I want these few days to last forever.”
    Annja had intended to go to the spirit caves no matter how hard it rained, alone or with a guide. She needed to discover the source of her unease. She’d intellectually accepted that there was a message someone or something was trying to tell her, and she believed that—like it or not—it was her duty to figure out just what that message or warning was and where in the mountains it was coming from.
    “Five hundred baht, right?” Luartaro said. “Each? How about six? No. Let’s say seven each because of the rain, and that covers all the extras along the way. Half now.” He placed some bills into Zakkarat’s hand. “The other half when you drop us back here.”
    Seven hundred baht was almost what they were paying per night for the cabin, which came to a little more than two hundred U.S. dollars. Giving the tour guide twice that amount for several hours of his time was rather exorbitant, especially for this part of the country. But they had only three days remaining of their vacation, and neither she—nor Luartaro obviously—were hard-pressed for coming up with the amount. And judging from his clothes and worn boots, it looked as if Zakkarat could use the money.
    “Seven hundred each.” Zakkarat was quick to nod, his expression visibly brighter. He pointed to an old, rusting Jeep, which had packs and helmets in the back and two coils of rope. He’d come prepared in the event the rain had let up or not deterred them.
    “Besides,” Luartaro said as he gallantly waved an arm to let Annja into the front seat. “It’ll be cozy and dry inside the caves.” He climbed in the back.
    “You think this is a lot of rain?” Zakkarat made a shrill, forced laugh. “This is nothing compared to our monsoon season. Good for you that the monsoon season is a few weeks away. Because Thailand sits between two oceans, we have either downpours or cool and dry weather. Wet now, but the jungle and the mountains are prettiest.”
    Zakkarat drove part of the way, the tires of the Jeep easily churning through mud that was several inches deep in places. The rain both muted and intensified the colors, and the scenery reminded Annja of chalk sidewalk paintings in Brooklyn that ran like impressionist watercolors during spring showers. It was a wonderful blur of green that she found beautiful, and she drew the scents of