A woman stood on the other side of the door. I peered at her. Boyish, short hair flicked up at the front but not quite long enough in back to curl over the Mandarin collar of her blue jacket, framed an elegant face. She didn’t look like one of my stocky pursuers, and neither of my neighbours had moved recently, so she wasn’t a new resident. Still, not recognising her, I regarded her with suspicion. Besides, how had she gotten in without a key? She leaned forward, her shoulders and torso in a perfect line, her head inclined to one side and peered at the peephole. She blinked and her whole body seemed to shimmer out of focus. “Stella?” she called softly. I paused before answering her. A quick scan along the hallway from my blinkered position behind two inches of plywood seemed to confirm that no one else was there. “Yes?” I whispered. “I’m here to help you.” The woman pursed her lips and nodded once as if that confirmed everything. “Who are you?” “Étoile,” she answered, emphasising the two syllables, eh-twall.
