“He's right,” Tillie agreed. “Put a sweater on, if you're cold.”
“No. I'm fine,” she said, looking into the darker corners, expecting a spirit or demon to reveal itself.
“Ahh, here's instructions on how to make a Hand of Glory,” Dorian said, glancing up. The jumping candlelight created deep lines and weird shadows across his and Tillie's faces, making them look nearly demonic.
“I'll bet there's not much call for them, these days,” he continued.
“I'm sure there isn't,” Zofia said, and settled into a chair between them.
“I'd hate to be the one to cut off the hand of a thief who's been hanged.”
“Yes,” Zofia said quietly. A shiver ran up her spine, trying to shake off the disturbing image of crouched figures steeling across a dark cemetery, on a moonless night toward the gallows where a
