Sam sat in the passenger seat of Ping’s Camry at the curb in front of Mara’s house, leaning against the door, drumming his fingers on the dashboard to “All Along the Watchtower” by Jimi Hendrix on Portland’s KGON, 92.3, a classic rock station, when someone yanked open the door. He tumbled out of the car onto the sidewalk. Facing up into the night sky, it took him a moment to focus on the face looking down at him. The car’s interior lights provided just enough illumination to make out the predatory yellow eyes and coiled serpent tattoo.
“Hello, son,” Diana said. “How about a kiss for your dear mother?”
Something stirred above his head, out of his field of vision. Diana looked at someone just off the sidewalk. “No, no, put that away,” she said. “We need Sam for the consecration rite.”
Sam
