Ritual Magic

door then, and though they were still talking, Julia couldn’t hear what they said.
    Julia straightened, feeling guilty for eavesdropping and angry for no reason she could tell. And alone. So horribly alone. There were people on the other side of that door, and some of them knew her and seemed to care about her. But she didn’t know them. She didn’t want them.
    The people she wanted didn’t exist anymore. Even the ones who were still alive—like Mequi, who looked so old—weren’t the people she remembered.
    Someone knocked on the door. “I’m not dressed,” she said crossly, but she grabbed the clothes again.
    “If you don’t let me in,” a young voice said, “Dad will be back upstairs in a minute and he’ll make me go away. He didn’t tell me I
couldn’t
talk to you, but that’s what he meant when he said it wouldn’t be a good idea. He thinks I’ll say something to upset you.”
    Everything upset her. Some dumb boy probably wasn’t going to make it any worse. Julia yanked up the khaki shorts. “Hold on a minute.”
    Shorts fastened, T-shirt tugged down, Julia opened the door. The boy who slipped inside was a lot shorter than her. How old had Mr. Turner said his son was? Nine, she thought.
    A big tomcat slinked in behind him. The cat was orange and missing part of one ear. He ignored her to stalk past and jump on her bed.
    “Is that your cat? Does he have fleas?”
    “Of course he doesn’t have fleas. Dirty Harry is really Lily’s cat, but he’s adopted me. That’s what Dad says, anyway.”
    She watched the cat making himself comfortable on her bed. Mama didn’t like cats, especially not in the house. Houses are for people, not livestock, she said . . . used to say. Julia frowned at the boy. “I’ve forgotten your name. Mr. Turner told me, but I forgot it.”
    “I’m Toby. And you’re . . . well, I used to call you Mrs. Yu, but now you’re just Julia, I guess.”
    Toby looked a lot like his father done up smaller, with a softer face. “How come you aren’t in school?”
    “It’s Saturday.”
    Saturday. Saturday was for cartoons. She still watched
Tom and Jerry
, anyway, with Deborah, who was little enough to watch a lot of cartoons. Saturday was also for getting together with Ellen and Ji after she’d done her chores, and . . . and Ellen and Ji were old ladies now.
    “Are you going to cry?”
    “Maybe.” But she jutted her chin out instead. “So what did you want? Curious about the freak?”
    “I thought you might like to hang out with another kid. Maybe you’re not sick of being around grown-ups every minute. I would be, but maybe you aren’t.”
    Her stomach loosened up a bit. “I guess I am. I haven’t even seen another kid since . . . since everything changed.”
    “I guess you’re all weirded out. Do you know about PS3? I really want a PS4, but Dad says not yet, which means wait for my birthday. I’ve got some cool games. You might like
Ratchet and Clank
or
Lego Pirates
or
Skylanders
.
Skylanders
is my favorite. Or we could play online stuff, though Dad won’t let me sign up for a lot of those games. He says no graphic bloodletting on-screen until I’m old enough to understand about bloodletting in real life, and then I probably won’t want the on-screen kind, which kind of sucks. But that’s what I do when I’m upset if I can’t go run or something.”
    Julia’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What’s what you do?”
    “Play games on my PlayStation or computer.”
    Whatever that was. “Why did you say that about bloodletting?”
    “Did I upset you? Grandad says humans think about that sort of thing different than we do ’cause they sublimate their violence. Wolves don’t sublimate very well.”
    She blinked. “Are you a . . . I forget the word, but like your dad?”
    “Yeah, but I won’t turn wolf for another couple years. Do you want to play
Skylanders
?” He studied her a moment. “You don’t know what I’m talking about. C’mon. I’ll show you.”

TWENTY-ONE

    “S HE’S what?” Lily wedged her phone precariously between her shoulder and her ear while she hit send . Another day, another damn report. This one was short because she didn’t have much to add to the one she’d sent last night, just a summary of the false lead she’d chased that morning.
    It was noon. She was in the conference room at the Bureau’s San Diego office, which shared a building with the ATF. The two organizations were a tad competitive.