. . .

There is a crunch of an alien footstep on the lawn below.

Jane leans over the railing.

She looks down.

“It’s Maria,” she says. “She’s in deadly battle armor!”

“That’s a corset,” says Linus.

“Have you ever worn one? They’re death on wheels!”

“More importantly,” says Tom, who has joined them in looking down, “why hasn’t she found us? Is it the sign? Because it would, I admit, be awesome if that worked on some girls.”

“No,” says Jane.

“No?” says Edmund.

“Mew,” says Mouser.

Shut up, Mouser. You are not adding to this conversation!

“Mew,” says Mouser, thoughtfully, again.

<< . . .

. . . >>