. . .

It doesn’t help.

They push her back down into the sack. They tie it shut again. They drive. They drive her to Amelia Friedman’s house. They open up the sack. They dump her out. They give her a few moments to make herself presentable again — this mostly involves brushing off her dress with all the frantic dignity of a cat cleaning itself after an accidental fall, but they also provide her with a pretty red ribbon for her hair — and then they ring the doorbell.

She stands there, trying desperately not to cry. She has no idea where she is. She has no idea what has happened to her wolf.

She tries to explain that to them. “I don’t know what happened to the wolf,” she says. “Martin will kill me if anything bad has happened to the wolf.”

This argument does not convince the activist social workers affiliated with a shadowy government Agency that does adoptions and kills giant monsters that Jane has had a wholesome, balanced, and nourishing home environment. It is, for this purpose, malapropos. The door bangs open. The social workers run away. Tom stands there looking at her from the door.

“Well,” says Tom. “This is a disappointment.”

It is the last straw. Jane sniffles. The tears leak out.

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