” As Lucy got up to fetch Michelle a box of tissue, her mind spun wildly. ’ ‘Then do it,’ Melusine said with impatience. “What can you do?” she asked. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. It seemed to encapsulate the mosquito like a little piece of moonlight, it was talismanic to her. Better come another morning. She used his own gun against him, a method that was occasionally cleaner than slitting throats when she got it right. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. Be so good as to come this way.
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