After I’d zipped out a chapter, I felt the need to stretch my muscles. I changed into sneakers and a T-shirt and went outside.

I looked up, astonished at the canopy of bright stars. I’d never seen so many in my life. I began moving slowly, testing myself, but after I’d reached the edge of the field, I broke into a jog, and soon I began to run.

I avoided the area where Mrs. Grant had pointed out a pond and circled the property. With my improved vision, I saw a luminescent outline on small critters and insects. A coyote yipped in the distance.

The air was crisp and fresh in my lungs, and I felt so strong that I went around two more times.

As I faced the house, I saw the lights on upstairs, and a light glowed from the downstairs study. I walked quietly and stood to one side of the window where I could peer in.

Oswald and Gabriel listened as a man’s voice came over the speakerphone. The man said, “Wilcox’s parents are demanding an immediate Council investigation and you know what that means.”

Gabriel said, “Sam, she doesn’t remember anything, and we know Milagro. She didn’t kill Wilcox, or anyone.”

The caller said, “Don’t you wonder, Gabe? She’s definitely capable of violence, and she’s not always in control of her emotions.”

Oswald said, “She’s not the only one capable of violence.”

I was so preoccupied with these aspersions on my character that I didn’t notice the fuzzy young possum ambling toward me until it was on my foot.

“Shoo!” I hissed, trying to get it to move away. “Go!”

Oswald said, “Sam, you didn’t see her when she came here. She looked worse than when she was fighting the first infection, and that almost killed her. Do everything you can to buy time so she has a chance to recover.”

The possum snuffled at my ankle, and I caught only a few words of what Gabriel said, something about “as a Council director, he has the responsibility and right to interview her no matter what you think of him.”

I waved my hands in front of the stupid possum’s face and it fell over and feigned death on my other foot. By the time I’d edged my shoe out from under the creature, Oswald was saying angrily, “Fine, but the only way I’ll have him here is if he agrees to my conditions. It’s still my house and she’s still … what is that smell? Skunk?”

I ducked into the bushes as Oswald came to the window, shut it, and closed the drapes.

The next day, Monday, I got up early and found Oswald in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and a pale blue shirt, and his hair was brushed back.