I stared at her.

“All right, I don’t think your other half is a good enough actor to do that brain-damaged look. You’re still the little scavenger, whatsits… Starling? Sparrow.”

Behind me, I heard the steel door slam and feet come pounding down the fire stairs. “Well, damn it, Myra,” the pink-haired man said, “sometimes I feel like your damned bird dog. You can do your own flushing and chasing next time.”

He was simmering with something: adrenaline, anger, speed, maybe all of them. I could feel it behind me, and it made the skin on my back want to crawl around to the front of me for protection.

“Dusty, honey,” the red-haired woman — Myra — said, “I let you have all the fun while I stood out in the rain, so what are you complaining about?”

I cleared my throat and said, “Did you… was there anyone there when you passed through?”

Dusty came around at last into my line of sight. He might have been studying my face. Then he smiled his huge fluorescent smile. “That’d bother you, if I hurt somebody? No — messed up the real estate some, but the tenants, they’re all safe and sound. And I know where to find ’em if I need to.”

“What do you want?” I said again, and this time I was pleading in earnest. “Is there something you want me to tell you? I’ll tell you. You don’t have to hurt me — you don’t have to hurt anybody.”

“That’s good,” said Myra. She took me by one elbow and pulled me toward the packed-dirt service drive by the riverbank. The rain had turned the dirt to slurry. I hadn’t realized it would be so hard to walk with my hands stuck behind me.

I could feel the major arcana at work, the cards that said someone else was in control of my future. I was in terrible trouble, and yet it seemed to stand a polite distance from me. All I had to do was be propelled around, by these people, by another set — simple. They would make me do what they wanted me to do, right or wrong. I had no choice, and no responsibility.

There was a little electric delivery van parked in the drive, painted dark maroon with “Kincaid Adjustments” on the driver’s side door in gold. I wondered if I was going to find out what the inside looked like. I could start yelling, I thought, and hope someone came to see what the problem was before they could club me senseless and make me disappear. Silly. Who would come?

The red-haired woman pressed me against the van’s front fender and over the wet hood; then she hooked her foot between my ankles and forced my feet apart. She was going to pat me down. A long, uncontrollable shudder went through me. “Dusty,” she said, “take this and cover her.”

“Her?” said Dusty.

A loud voice, behind and above me, said, “Stand back from the truck. Sparrow, move away from ’em.”