Chapter Eight
I arrive at Bernard’s back door. It’s Friday, two minutes past seven—I had a hard time finding the alley, so I’m late. The wind whips about my legs, yellow leaves pouring from trees like rain. One catches my lip and I brush it aside with the back of my hand.
Makaila greets me in the entry as though she’s been waiting for me. She pulls away my coat, smiling as she does. Her hands are warm while I’m still trying to warm myself inside this house.
Moving through the dark backsides of Bernard’s home I catch the scent of incense like the season, like musk and secrets and the wind sweeping this autumn night. The floating vapors draw me into a room where Makaila and I are the only ones not wearing masks to disguise identities. She takes me into the center of the room where a dozen
