‘Do you think Mrs Bondarchuk has ever killed anyone?’ he said.

‘Definitely,’ said Louis.

‘No doubt in your mind?’

‘None at all.’

‘I thought it was just me.’

‘No, she’s killed someone for sure. Shot them, is my guess. Remember that time she suggested we give her a gun?’

‘Yeah,’ said Angel. ‘She was kind of matter-of-fact about it.’

‘Maybe we should have let her have one.’

‘We could always give her one for Christmas, if her heart is still set on it.’

‘She’s Orthodox. We’d have to wait until January.’

‘On the other hand,’ said Angel, ‘might be best to stick with candy and a Macy’s gift card.’

‘Still, it’s something to keep in reserve in case she gets bored of candy.’

Angel paused to watch a crow alight on a nearby tree.

‘That’s sorrow, right?’ he said. ‘One for sorrow, like in the rhyme.’

‘I don’t think it counts where we’re concerned,’ said Louis.

‘No,’ said Angel, ‘I guess not.’

Mrs Bondarchuk had also noticed the crow. She crossed herself before offering up a brief prayer of protection. She remained constantly heedful of auguries – the appearance of owls, ravens, and crows, the births of twins and triplets – and kept note of her dreams, waking up in the night to add the details of them to the little writing pad by her bedside, leery always of visions of bread and bees, of teeth falling from gums, of church processions. She had yet to give a watch as a gift, eat from a knife, or mark a fortieth anniversary. She sat down before going on a journey, even if only to the store, in order to confuse any evil spirits that might be lurking, and never put out the garbage after sunset. On the wall by her front door hung a cross of aspen, the cursed wood, which possessed a talismanic power against evil, just as the potency of a vaccine relies upon the element it contains of its target disease.

But perhaps more than any of this, Mrs Bondarchuk believed that death, rather than marking an end, represented only an alteration, if a fundamental one, in the nature of existence. The dead and the living coexisted, each world feeding into the other, and the next realm was a mirror of this one. The dead remained in contact with the living, and spoke to them through dreams and portents.

One had to learn to listen.

And one had to be prepared.

Angel fumbled for his keys. Louis appeared distracted, even weary.

‘You look tired,’ said Angel.

‘You say.’

‘I have an excuse. Cancer beats all hands.’

‘I didn’t sleep so well last night,’ said Louis. ‘Comes with getting old.’

‘You’re sure that’s all it is?’

‘Yes,’ Louis lied.