Cloe groans. “He’s got some conflict going with the Brennan family. He does a lot of his business at funeral parlors these days.” She pauses. “Are you going to do it?”
“You mean am I going to keep on murdering people? I don’t know. I guess I’m good at it. It’s good to be good at something, right?” There’s bitterness in my voice, but not as much as there should be. The horror I felt earlier is fading, being replaced by a kind of resignation.
“Maybe they don’t die when you change them into objects,” Cloe says. “Maybe they’re just in suspended animation.”
I shudder. “That sounds even worse.”
She flops back in the grass, looking up at the night sky. “I like how you can see stars out here in the country.”
“This isn’t the country,” I say, turning toward her. “We’re close to two cities and—”
