She’d been too engrossed in his speech to notice Mara digging the grave behind them. Sickness washed over Calliope as the wet dirt unclumped from the earth. She moved closer, Chance beside her. She realized Eunjoo was moving forward as well, and said, “Stay back, mija. Go stand behind that juniper bush.”

“You’re always telling me to stand in the bushes. I want to see the dead man.”

Calliope bristled at the thought of a six-year-old wanting to see death and glared sternly at Eunjoo, the way she did whenever Phoenix disobeyed, as if silently counting before doling out the punishment.

Eunjoo raised her eyebrows skeptically and sighed but did as Calliope had instructed, slinking behind the juniper. The girl was emerging from her shell, it seemed. Not the shy baby Calliope had met four days ago, but a rebellious, opinionated tween. Grief ages us.

It’s not my child in that hole, Calliope thought, forcing herself to peer down into the mud-gape at whatever Mara uncovered. Chalky and bloodstained, Loren’s lifeless face shimmered sickeningly against the dirt. His body mangled, his flesh shorn off. Was Calliope relieved? Did this prove Mara hadn’t killed anyone? Surely no amount of shock would derange her tía’s partner to this beastly act. Calliope glanced at Mara, whose head was bowed, red eyes blotchy.

“The Suuke,” Chance murmured.

“How do you know?” Calliope asked.

“This was no mountain lion.”

Chance described their escape from the hangar, the two Suuke at their heels. This time though, he added a piece of information he hadn’t shared with Calliope before: “We Zunis believe we only see the ko’ko, that they only show themselves to us, when we’re about to die and join them.” He looked at Calliope from the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t want to scare you, mujer. But you might as well know the whole truth.”

“But we didn’t die.”

He murmured assent, as if surprised about the fact himself, then took the shovel from Mara and reburied Loren.

They returned to Tía’s, where an uneasy truce settled like ice-breath against windowpane, satisfied the threat was crouching in the shadows of the hills and not amidst the warmth and shelter of the cabin. Exhaustion replaced Calliope’s lingering doubts, along with any hope of finding her family huddled in a corner or bathroom, hiding, safe. They weren’t here.

Her clothes drying stiffly against her sore and frost-nipped skin, Eunjoo lying beside her on the couch in front of the potbellied iron fireplace, Calliope fell asleep. What else had people ever done when the night was long, the snow piling high?

SEVENTEEN

SEVENTEEN

THE STRANGER