” Mike knocked on the thin core door that sealed her and Shari’s bedroom from the outside world. ” True summer descended like a sticky fever upon August’s arrival, bringing with it miasmas of humidity that seemed to hang from the trees like mucus. ‘Jacques? You have done it? He is alive?’ ‘Oh, he’s alive, all right,’ confirmed the sergeant, putting the petrified Pottiswick—stockstill and staring in horror at the dagger—firmly out of his way and taking his place before Melusine. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings.
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