Page 54 of Demon and the Raven

“And then that time I brought my friend Ezra here to play, and he got to the door first, and when he tried to open it, it wouldn’t, but when I tried, it did.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I dunno, but Mom said that the door opens for us because it knows us and we belong in your house too.”

“That’s true.”

“When it keeps me in, it doesn’t want me to get sick or hurt.”

“That sounds right.”

“How does it work?”

“It’s magic,” I said because I never lied to my godchildren.

Amanda came in then, her perfume, the classic Chanel N°5, reaching me before she did. A second later she was hovering over me.

“You look nice,” I complimented her. The blue-and-white striped collared shirt paired well with the same baby-blue, long, pleated skirt.

“I also have on white backless pumps, short heel, because maybe we were supposed to be walking around the farmers’ market this morning.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

She grunted. “Did you go to the carnival last night?”

“Only briefly. I walked Father Dennis there.”

“Mom doesn’t like the carnival,” JJ chimed in. “She says it’s for children younger than us, drunks, and women of ill repute.”

“That’s so bad,” I assured her, but she only shrugged.

“What is ill repute?” JJ asked me. “I know what drunk is. Uncle Cam threw up at Easter and got it all over Aunt Denise’s shoes. Mom said he was piss drunk.”

I shot her a look.

“What? That’s Eddie’s family.”

“They’re your family too,” JJ and I said at the same time.

She shook her head in disgust.

Amanda did not believe in sugarcoating things for her children. Her parents had not been honest with her, which was why they had no relationship now. She wouldn’t let that happen with her kids. She would throw herself on a grenade for them, so she certainly was never going to hide anything, let alone her honest opinions on everything from poor management practices in the workplace, to boring white walls, to women who wore dark lipstick first thing in the morning.

“Ill repute means girls I would never let sit for you,” she told JJ.

They nodded. “I see. They have questionable morals.”

“That’s correct.”

How many five-year-olds even knew what the word questionable meant?

“I just woke up, and I’m already tired,” I told my best friend.

“That is not my fault. It’s probably yours because you were up late, running around Osprey with your intended.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“And now I need you to rise, get going so that we”—she indicated me and her—“can chat about what happened to the lovely Cordelia Wormwood.”