Thirty-TwoPania’s head was buzzing with a high-pitched, nerve-piercing whine, as if a wasp’s nest was lodged right behind her eyes. The excruciating noise drowned out all sense of time and place. She was only aware of the hot dusty air and John’s white, stricken face gazing at her.
What was he telling her? That all those years ago when Elanora was killed, he was involved? They were good friends — she had imagined very close friends — and he had never so much as hinted at anything like this before. She, John and Eustace had been like the Three Musketeers, practically inseparable when she wasn’t touring. She remembered she had noticed an unusual tension between the two men around the time of the crash, but she’d put it down to Eustace being so deeply upset about Elanora’s death. He had fade
