The police did something called an autopsy, which was really cutting up her parents to see what had killed them, as if Nola didn’t know it had been her fault. It made no difference that later, the nosy caseworker told her that her parents’ blood had contained alcohol and

marijuana.

In the coming hours, days, weeks and months, loss and guilt overtook all sensation and thought. Nola was no longer hungry or tired. Words no longer shaped themselves into sentences. Instead, visions of the boys moving the shrubs and the arrows she had painted stalked the dark paths of her brain. The pain was so intense, so unrelenting, that Nola wanted to jump out of her skin and run away. She’d leave her skin for Jenna, so that Jenna wouldn’t know she was gone.

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 12

Nola returned from the Seven Whispers Garden to find Big-Mouth Roberta waiting in front of the hotel. Wearing a loose magenta suit, with huge brass earrings dangling on both sides of her face, Roberta poked her head into the limousine. She reeked of cigarette smoke, a sign of a broken promise. Wade did not permit smoking; he hated its lingering smell.

Roberta handed Leslie a cell phone. “Don’t leave home without it. We’re on spin control here.”

As soon as Nola stepped out of the limousine, the horde of paparazzi, three times its earlier size, descended, shouting questions. “Are you planning to adopt her?” “How does your husband feel about it?” “Were you contacted by the Chinese government?” Uniformed hotel security men shoved them back to make room for Yoram and three of his men to shield Nola. In her arms, startled by the noise, Lulu broke into a whimper.

“You’re scaring the baby,” Nola told the reporters, keeping her voice low so as not to further frighten Lulu. “And please cut those flashbulbs.”

But they kept popping in Lulu’s face, and she screamed at the onslaught. The shouts continued.

With Roberta grabbing her elbow, Nola made for the hotel entrance. Nola reached the huge revolving door, large enough to accommodate both guests and luggage. “After this morning, I thought we’d use the garage to avoid all this,” Nola muttered.

“You can only hide so much. There’s a media frenzy over this baby all over the world. We must give the sharks little nibbles or they’ll become too hungry to control.”

Nola stopped. She’d give them something to nibble, all right. “You’re wasting your time on me,” she called out. “It’s the orphanages you should be looking into. And take pictures so the world can see the Dying Rooms.”

“That’s enough!” Roberta hollered.

Lulu cried louder. Nola spoke into the battery of microphones. “By the Chinese government’s own statistics, the death rate is the same as it was in Nazi concentration camps.”

“What’s the matter with you?” Roberta’s earrings jangled with her grumble.