Sparky and I asked each other how we’d slept—like a stone in my case, like a baby in his case, both of us lying. Bridget said nothing at first, watching me intently as I loaded my suitcase along with their luggage and closed the tailgate. Then, as her grandfather went around to the driver’s door, she said quietly, “Bad dream?” “No. I just didn’t like what I saw in the mirror this morning.” “You too, huh?” Surprised, assuming that she had the same experience, I said, “What was that?” “Orientation. To let us know what our enemies want. The world as the Screamers and their acolytes will make it
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