Nora pointed with her screwdriver. “The donor dinner tomorrow—La Vela—he’s going to try to make you bless a number without looking at the line under it. Bring your pen. Bring two, because the owner will ask for one to sign the bill and then keep it.”
“Duly warned,” Emilia said.
Nora opened her bag and produced a velvet pouch. Inside, a pen with weight. “From the examiner,” she said. “He has a sense of drama. He calls it a ‘thank-you tool.’ Try not to stab anyone.”
Emilia rolled it in her fingers. It fit her grip embarrassingly well. “I love that man,” she said.
“You love his calendar,” Nora said. “And his verbs.”
Nora left with a promise to come back with a ladder and a plant. We stood in the doorway and watched the new plate do nothing, which is its job. Emilia rested her shoulder ag
