“Tell me about it.” I itched to go inside and try to figure out if the intruders had only come to ransack the place or if they’d taken anything. My giant wine jug of change was still sitting on the bookcase beside the door. Nobody ever stole that. Either it was too heavy for the average intruder to lift, or nobody wanted to deal with rolling coins to get the bank to take them.
I see the slender tripwire leading from the door across the ceiling and to this shelving unit. Damas looked up at the ceiling, then put his paw next to my signed hardback of Elric of Melniboné. By some miracle, the Moorcock books were still on the shelf. Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings hadn’t fared as well. A heavy vase I’d picked up at a thrift store was the bookend on that shelf and the object of Damas’s attent
