. . .

Amelia Friedman bustles from out of nowhere into the house of Linus Evans, who will be Mr. Enemy, producing a startled, hungry growl from his dread black dog. She ignores it. When you drink mercury every day, evil black dogs stop seeming threatening and start being a little fun.

She squats down to look at Linus.

“Hey,” she says.

He looks at her. She looks at him. He draws back, nervously.

“You’re that antichrist kid,” she says.

“. . . yes,” he whispers.

She straightens. She holds out her hand.

“Come on,” she says. “I’ve pushed through an adoption.”

“What?”

She gestures vaguely. “I used a love potion variant,” she says. “Their eyes got all starry. ‘Of course you can adopt him!’ they said. ‘That’s so sweet!’ One or two of them even fluttered away to Heaven.”

“Uh —”

<< . . .

. . . >>