“Christ Jesus” and the combined squeals of Sloane and Lark. The little banshee grins up at me, her dark eyes sparkling. She sets down a pissed-off-looking raccoon of all fucking things, though somehow, that tracks. “Rose, fucking hell. You scared the shit out of me.” I move to give her a hug but she backs up a step, her hands raised. “Whoa, now. That’s a situation you’ve got there. You look like you’re starring in the busted version of Wicked.” She leans forward and pats my arm. “A for effort. Or … something.”
