The explosion of golden fireflies engulfed the woman named Ophelia, lighting her up like a lantern before her whole body slackened and collapsed to the ground.
In that flash, a deluge of images rushed through Hettie, filling her head until it felt as though it would pop—but then, like a dying wind carrying a whirl of leaves, the memories settled. The past couple of hours of getting into the collection were now overlaid with Ophelia’s memories—the ones Hettie herself had shared trapped in the vessel of the maid’s mind. It was like looking at overlapping images etched in glass.
And now Hettie remembered. Abby. Uncle. Ma, Pa, Paul, Cymon, Jezebel…the ranch, the Crowe gang, Diablo, Zavi…all of it.
She pivoted and dove through the Zoom, barely making it to the other side as it spiraled close
