“So?” I asked.

“You seem very blasé for having resurrected Wilcox.”

“Once you’ve seen a wolf shapeshift, you get a little jaded.”

Mercedes paused and I could see that she was deliberating. After a minute, she said, “Are you still going to marry Oswald?”

“He’s a fabulous man, the sort of man any sincere and serious young woman would want to marry. The top item on my to-do list, however, is stopping a mad scientist from creating an army of zombie slaves.”

“Let it go, Milagro. Ian called late last night and I told him everything you told me.”

“Does he know the location of the facility? Did he say he was going to do anything?”

“He was still with Ilena when we spoke. You never gave me much to go on. I hope he does find those bastards.” She bent over and rubbed Rosemary between his ears, and he gazed up at her with devotion.

I watched my friend’s expression and said, “Rosemary’s as crazy about you as I am. Take him home.”

“Milagro, you already lost a dog.”

“Rosemary and I have given it a good try, and we could keep trying to be right for each other. But the thing about dogs, Mercedes, is that you know when you’ve met the right one. And the dog knows, too.”

“Are you still talking about dogs?”

“And more, perhaps,” I said. “What’s in the bag?”

“A laptop and a phone. You’ve got a new number, and it’s set up to relay your calls through overseas hubs, so it’s hard to trace. For the computer, I uploaded your data from the last time you brought it to the club.”

“How do you know I don’t regularly back up all my data?” I recalled the flash drive I’d taken from Mercedes’s trash bin—the flash drive with a worm so poisonous that Mercedes wouldn’t even look at it.

“Please, mujer,” Mercedes said, “the day you start being tech-savvy is the day I’ll start flirting outrageously with every pretty boy I see.” She was grinning, though, and so was I.

After Mercedes and Rosemary left, I put the composition books with my second fauxoir on my desk and turned back to my cogitating.

As I was musing, I noticed that one of my first dog’s toys, a chewed-up squeaky bear, was on my windowsill. Ford’s mother must’ve been suffering from the loss of her son and her cat, and I knew she was the only one who could influence Professor Poindexter.

I made a phone call to Don Pedro. He said, “My sweet little bat, I have been sending my spirit guide to help you. I am very worried!”

“Don Pedro, I definitely needed a spirit guide, but the blanket you gave me was very useful. What are my chances of getting more?”