17
Bonnie and Clyde
Before I could respond — mostly because my mouth was waggling, and I didn’t know whether to come up with some kind of cogent answer or just turn tail and run — he reached out and grabbed me by the arm, and hauled me inside.
“Ow,” I said indignantly, once I’d recovered myself. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting you inside where no one can see you,” he replied, which didn’t do much to soothe my nerves. “How did you do it?”
I didn’t bother to ask what he meant by “it.” I pointed at my head, and he released a sigh.
“Just what I thought.” He gestured toward the space off to our left, which looked like the living room. “Go sit down.”
“Is Emily here?” I asked, staying firmly planted in the foyer, my feet practically glued to the ceramic planks underneat
