Gideon watched Andre lead the small group of people around the room. The exhibit wasn’t what he expected. Each of the “artists” auditioning their work hovered near their humans, talking about their work when the clutch with Andre reached them. It wasn’t a party; it was a f*****g dog show, with the blue ribbon and grand prize going to whatever tickled the so-called judges’ attention best. It was just a very good thing Jesse couldn’t see or hear through the painted hood. If he’d thought the wired dead girl had been bad, having the horror in triplicate would keep him up for days.
What was more interesting than the humans he couldn’t help, however, was the girl who walked at Andre’s side, arm laced through his. There was no mistaking the similarities. It was Lizzie Coolidge. The hair was dark
