Squawks of protest rattle along the hall, louder by the second.
Michael throws me a glance. “What the hell’s that?”
“Sounds like someone’s flaying a cat.” We follow the sound…
…to the lounge…
In fact, Charlotte is not skinning our infant daughter, but from the shrieks, squeals and screams, you’d not know it.
Cara’s hair, almost as dark as mine now, and thickening up by the day, bristles out into spikes and spines that would do honour to Sonic the Hedgehog. Projecting like random antennae, with only a slight power boost, she could detect the micro-signals of spacecraft or orbiting satellites.
Klempner sits beside Mitch, hidden behind what looks like Richard’s scrounged newspaper while she works on one of her eternal knitting projects. They wince in tandem as Cara’s shrieks climb an oc
