A few blocks away, on another residential street, she heard footsteps crunch in the snow behind her.
She turned and only saw the trees swaying with their empty branches pointed at the moon as if giving an offering.
She glanced across the sparkling snow, darkened cars, and hearth-lit windows, but saw no one. She jammed her fists into her coat and kept walking.
Garamanthus came alive in her mind, laughing.
“It was the ancient Greeks who first said that your senses will fool you,” he said.
Becca ignored him.
“You were right to look behind you,” Garamanthus said. “You’re in danger.”
Becca froze. A cold wind cut through her. Somewhere, more footsteps crunched in the snow.
She reached into her coat for her pepper spray. She never left home without it. Chicago wasn’t exactly the safest ci
