The fog was so thick Malibu could barely see her hand as she held it an arm’s length in front of her face. As instructed by Max, Malibu arrived at 36 Pacific Avenue at exactly 8:00 p.m. She didn’t tell Hilda she wouldn’t be at the club, she just didn’t show up.
A black wrought iron fence fronted Luciana’s house. Resting on top of each of the two gateposts was a winged gargoyle, which glared down at Malibu as she pushed open the gate. Malibu could just barely make out the home’s façade through the fog; it was hazy like a dream, a mirage. As she walked up a stone staircase, she trusted it was there, that it was real. Each step was so wide Malibu had to extend her legs to reach the next plateau. Lining the path were large, manicured, richly green boxwoods. The fog worked its way inside her c
