. . .

“Let’s put an end to all this nonchalance,” cries Maria, in a gale of laughter. Of claughter. Of laughriegaling!

It is a wicked sound is what it is.

She points the gun right at Linus. She fires. She shoots a ray of pure death. It hits Linus full-on. Circular ripples of fading death pass through the room.

There is a silence.

Linus smirks at her. He looks somber. He smombers. He does not bother looking harmed.

Behind him in the pot cupboard there are pristine bright copper kettles. He takes one down. He puts it under his arm.

The shelves behind him are dead and yet they bleed.

“I’m not being nonchalant,” Linus says. He gives her a smile. Everyone has forgotten about his putting on the mittens. He is confident of this. “It’s just, you can’t hurt me, Maria. You’re just a space princess assassin and I’m . . . well . . . I’m going to be the Devil’s skin.”

Maria opens and closes her mouth with a prim little click.

“You really are,” she says. “Aren’t you.”

“No,” says Jane. She glares at Linus.

Linus gives her a little shrug.

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