He smiled, deeply, raised his eyebrows, still examining the corpse. “I didn’t realize my people’s beliefs were for sale.”

She stammered, “I didn’t …”

He cut her off. “You didn’t realize my Spirit Ancestors needed your approval to exist?”

Her cheeks flushed.

He smiled mischievously.

She sighed and tried again, “If you thought a malevolent creature was skulking around the house, why would you have come outside?”

“I promised to help you find your family. I can’t do that if you’re dead. So that means I promised to protect you, yes? I told you to stay inside anyway. Do you ever listen to anyone?”

She shrugged, about to retort, when in the distance, beside the icy lake, branches began crackling, twigs snapping, snow thudding to the ground.

Chance dropped the bird, quickly peeled off the gloves, disengaged the safety on his rifle, and put his finger on the trigger. “Mujer,” he whispered, “Por favor, escúchame ahora. Agáchate.”

His imploring in Spanish, his palpable fear, Calliope listened this time and ducked down. Her heart pounding, she peered through the snow-­covered bushes blocking the slats between porch rails. She wished she still had Susana’s gun. Though that mentirosa Amy probably needed it more. For whatever reason, Calliope had Chance.

He aimed but didn’t flinch otherwise, just stood, waiting.

Calliope couldn’t see. She was tempted to ask, but stayed quiet and still as possible. A thought nagged at her. Had she remembered to close the front door? She should’ve locked it. Closed or not, she didn’t want Eunjoo running outside. Whatever was out there, Suuke, mountain lion, anything else—she didn’t want Eunjoo to find it. Calliope couldn’t help herself. Curiosity won, and she elevated on her haunches high enough that her nose was touching the rail, her eyes peering above the top.

A loud upheaval from the branches, the empty hackberry and black walnut forest releasing a burden of snow to the ground followed closely by a black unfolding of crows into the sky. The screeching caws reverberated through the yard, the snow creating an echo chamber. Calliope covered her ears.

“Who’s there?” Chance called. “Identify yourself.”

Calliope couldn’t see anyone. She was distracted by Mara bursting out the front door, shooting her rifle into the air. Calliope sucked her teeth. What was the trigger-happy nut doing?

“Mara, wait,” Chance said. “I’ve got this.”

“Like hell you do,” she answered, firing again toward the commotion in the trees. “I’ll shoot that son-a-bitch that killed Loren.”

Hands emerged from behind a trunk. Human hands.

“Don’t shoot,” a man’s voice called from the distance. “I’m a friend.”

EIGHTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NEWS FROM THE WEST

Was it Andres?

Calliope’s pulse quickened, stomach dropped. She had to know.

“Stop shooting,” she screamed, pulling herself up. “Stop shooting.”