Sunday morning found me with my bare feet and hands planted on a mat in a downward-dog position. The fence manufacturer in Woodinville, my only lead, wasn’t open on the weekends, and Pariah had told me to stay away from the Pardus house, so my investigation was at a stand-still.
What better use of my time than to contort myself into strange positions that caused my T-shirt to dangle about my head? Now I understood the need for a yoga-specific wardrobe. We’d been holding the position for five breaths, supposedly, but I was positive it had been five minutes. I was thinking about my birth mother instead of listening to the instructor guide me through an unpronounceable form of breathing that involved channeling Darth Vader and the back of my throat.
While waiting for the class to start, I’d
