Page 28 of Paws & Order

The idea makes me smile.

Which is to say: not at all.

"I have to finish the new vendor map by Wednesday. And I promised Clover I'd babysit her secret sourdough starter at the bakery next weekend."

I don't know why I say it except to remind myself that life keeps moving, even with shadow letters and mystery coins piling up in my kitchen.

He finally looks at me.

I can see the exhaustion in his eyes.

"You okay?"

"Maybe," I admit. "I just want to know why."

He nods.

It feels like a treaty.

"Give it a day. I'll stay. If nothing else, I've been threatened by less polite stalkers."

I want to say thank you.

For staying.

For making the thing in my walls feel like a problem we'll solve together.

Instead I say, "You better not eat all my cinnamon raisin bread."

A grin flashes across his face before disappearing again.

"No promises."

The day passes in increments, each hour marked by another minor weirdness.

Just before noon, the ficus I've been nursing on the windowsill—the ficus that's only technically a ficus at this point—looks fractionally less dead.

Its leaves, which have spent months in a state of passive-aggressive shriveling, sit upright and glossy.

Tiny threads of new green appear at the tips.

I notice it while talking to Marlena about summer festival logistics.

"You changed the dirt?" she asks.

"I bet it's the new fertilizer. Those hydroponic witches are always improving their products."

I glance at the unopened bag of MiracleGro beneath my sink.

"Must be the air."

My voice sounds thin even to me.

The next thing is a mug.

One I'd given up finding months ago.

Lost somewhere in the lawless wasteland beneath my bed.