I stepped out of the mall with both arms full of groceries. The night air hung heavy with the promise of rain and the sting of exhaust. Streetlights glowed tired and yellow, and a cool wind tugged at the hem of my coat. I moved toward the curb to hail a cab, watching the traffic glisten on wet asphalt. Then someone stepped in front of me as if she had been waiting there the whole time.
She wore a long black coat and a wide black hat. Dark sunglasses hid her eyes even though it was night, and dark lipstick made her mouth a small, hard line. At first she looked like a private mourner, a stranger wrapped in sorrow. Her whole look said she wanted people to feel sorry for her, or to fear her.
Then she smiled. The smile was thin and dangerous. She lifted her glasses and my breath stopped.
Ele
