A man behind the bar let his eyes travel from Marigold’s feet to her face. And the silence seemed to last for a whole year.

“Honey?” the man behind the bar said. “You lost?”

“I’m thirsty,” was all she could make herself say.

The weight of too many stares from too many strangers made Marigold breathe fast. Her chest started to thump. She didn’t trust men. She didn’t trust anyone who shaved their faces. Her father had made her this way. He’d ruined her. He had changed her.

She cleared her throat. Her mouth was so dry it tasted bad. “Could I have a drink?”

A tall, hairy man leaning on the bar said, “Well, have a seat. We got the cure for thirst right here.”

Low-pitched laughs came from the room. She was getting too dizzy to care.

The hairy man walked toward her. He leaned close. She could smell his sweat—like onions and dirt. He removed his hat to reveal a mop of black fur, matted against his forehead. “Name’s Robert, sweetheart.”

She smelled the whiskey on his breath when he said it, and it almost made her gag. She wished she had never come into this place. She wished she would have just kept on walking after she saw it.

But they were interrupted by the sound of a woman’s voice. “Get away from her, Bobby,” said the voice.

Marigold saw a woman from the back of the room making a beeline for her. The woman pushed the man away before he could say anything else.

“She said she’s thirsty,” the woman said, grabbing Marigold by the arm. “Leave her alone.”

The men in the place laughed. The hairy man waved the woman off and mumbled something. He walked away from her, but he did not remove his angry eyes from her.

The woman touched Marigold’s forehead. “Honey, you’re burning up.” Marigold’s heavy head was throbbing, and she felt like she was floating through the world. The woman pressed a cool hand on Marigold’s forehead. “Oh, sweetie,” said the woman. “You’re on fire. Come with me.”

They walked toward the back door. Marigold felt limp inside. The woman hooked arms with Marigold to keep her upright.

Then something struck Marigold on the face. So hard she lost her balance. She fell and hit the ground. She opened her eyes and saw the face of the hairy man who was standing over her.

“That’ll teach you to thumb your nose at Robert Donahue!” said the man, pointing at her.

Marigold stared at his finger, inches from her face. Without thinking, she reached her hand out and gripped his forearm. She squeezed, and her palm became hot. In her grasp, the man’s skin became so warm it felt like candle wax. She let her eyes bore into him. Immediately she felt things swimming in her mind, memories and images that weren’t hers.