Something about her tone made him pause with his hand on the knob. When he asked her the question, he felt as if he were asking every question he’d ever had, would ever have. “And what am I doing?”

“Why, everything you can, dear,” Aunt Esther said. “Everything you possibly can.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Karl

Miles away, in the Hoboken building Jaime was not yet able to call home, a determined little girl raced her tricycle down an empty hallway, a security guard hot on her heels.

The little girl’s legs pumped, her breath came sharp and fast.

“Stop!” yelled the guard.

She did not stop. She would not stop. Her name was Zelda “Cricket” Moran, and she was unstoppable.

The security guard would learn this soon enough.

Karl the raccoon clutched the rims of his basket with one of his tiny but strong hands. With the other hand, he held up the empty bag of cheese curls, hoping to catch Cricket’s attention, but she was currently preoccupied.

Alas.

Karl wedged the empty bag in the side of the basket, closed his eyes, and let the breeze waft through his whiskers. Even with all the shouting, it was a pleasant-enough ride. Karl enjoyed these little adventures with Cricket. Never a dull moment, that was what he always said. Well, he would have said it, if he could talk. Too bad that the people who engineered him hadn’t bothered to shape the fine muscles of his tongue and jaw so that he could form words. How surprised everyone would be. He had so many delightful stories to tell, so many opinions on a wide variety of topics. Child-rearing! Horticulture! Cookery! Politics! One day, he would figure a way to write his thoughts down. But he was the patient sort and was willing to wait until Cricket got her own computer. In the meantime, being her traveling companion was a fine occupation. He was well cared for, happy and comfortable, and there were cheese curls aplenty.

Just not at the moment.

Karl scratched his furry belly, rolled over to look behind Cricket’s shoulder. The security guard was still chasing them, red-faced and furious, stomping like a movie monster. He was making quite the spectacle of himself. Cricket had a talent for bringing out the—what was the term?—ah yes, the berserker in people. She said something or did something, and suddenly they snapped, gibbering gibberish and jerking their arms around like broken toys.