“I must admit, I didn’t think you’d be back,” Mary said.
“It’s been a rough week.” I sat in her chair—this time, she had it turned so the back didn’t face the door—and looked out on the sun beaming down on the lake.
From here, the sinkhole in Eastlake wasn’t visible, but recent news reports promised that construction crews were working around the clock to fix it. The media hadn’t mentioned dark elves, statues made from bones, or upturned vats of blood, but a few citizen reports had made it onto the various social networks. The Loch Ness monster—now the Lake Union monster—was being blamed even though the damage was several blocks inland. Tourists and locals were flocking to the sinkhole for closer looks, and the police were busy shooing them away. Nobody had tried to arrest me. I kept exp
