Christopher pulled out a canvas bag from behind him. A black furry head poked out and looked at me with the saddest brown eyes ever to belong to a dog. Maggie was an eight-pound creature that was probably part long-haired Chihuahua and part something very different. She was small and odd, and her black fur stuck out in wispy strands in strange places. She walked gingerly, always slightly awkward, and if she thought she was in trouble, she’d lift one of her paws and limp, pretending to be injured. Her greatest ambition in life was to lie on someone’s lap, preferably under a blanket.

After Johns Hopkins, Barabas told me he wasn’t giving up. I told him I wasn’t either. I came up with daily meditation. Barabas came up with Maggie.

The little dog looked at me, turned, and crawled back into the bag. Right.

“Have you seen Curran or Julie?”

Christopher shook his head.

A Pack Jeep turned onto our street and slid to a stop in front of our house. The window rolled down and Andrea stuck her blond head out. “I’m free! Free!”

Oh boy. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the Keep?” I could’ve sworn Raphael told me during the Conclave that Doolittle had confined her to the medward.

“Screw that. We’re going to lunch.”

“It’s almost dinnertime.”

“Then we’re going to dinch. Or lunner. Or whatever the hell early-dinner-late-lunch stupid combo we can come up with.”

“Now isn’t . . .”

Andrea’s eyes blazed. “Kate, I’m nine months pregnant and I’m hungry. Get in the damn car.”

I got in the Jeep, and Andrea peeled out like a bat out of hell.

“We’re going to Parthenon. We’re going to have gyros.” Her stomach was out so far, she must’ve moved the seat back, because she had to stretch to reach the wheel.

“The look of grim determination on your face is scary,” I told her.

“I’ve been cooped up in the Keep’s infirmary for the past two weeks,” Andrea said.

“Why?”

She waved her hand. “Because Doolittle is a worrywart.”

Crap. “Andrea, does Doolittle know where you are?”

“Yes.”

“You sure about that?”

“Absolutely. I’ve let him know. Anyway, we are going to lunch!”

“Andr—”

“To lunch!” She flashed her teeth at me.

I shut up and let her drive.

Twenty minutes later she parked in front of Parthenon, and then I watched her try to get out of the Jeep. She scooted back into her seat as far as she could, then slowly edged out one leg, then half of her butt, then half her stomach. Andrea was short and the Jeep sat really high. Her foot was dangling down. I would offer to help, but she was armed at all times and could shoot the dots out of dominoes, and I didn’t want to get murdered.