It falls to me to handle Willa. To recruit her for the mission. To make certain that she isn’t contemplating throwing more suspicion in our direction to escape it herself. I’m in Dad’s car and he’s taking me home. He huffs into the rush of wind from his wide-open window. He’s indignant. He can’t ...
She’s at my side, squatting by the strange altar, a moment later. The tabby’s rust-colored fur is threadbare, and its tiny rib cage pokes through the mangy coat. The circle of candles allows for a few inches of space around the cat’s prostrate body. There are no other objects within their borders...