I grab three chocolate bars that are in a little display on the counter. “Add these. They’re consumable. You like chocolate, Hallie?” The child has a price at which she can be bought, and it’s apparently a dog, ten stickers, and a chocolate bar. “You my new fwend,” she tells me. “You pwetty. And nice. I wike your dog. We be fwends.” Bollocks and damnation. Silas’s kid should not want to be my friend. “That’s a bad idea.” Her chin wobbles and her eyes go shiny. “And I love bad ideas. And zombies,” I hear myself say. Goldie stifles a laugh with a fist to her mouth.
