Chapter Eight
“What if I’m right, Sam? What if Áine and Pricilla were murdered by the same person, and the killer is still in the District, maybe even right here at the Wasenia Festival? I have received messages from my visions and the Glyphs that I’m supposed to know something, or do something. I’m so upset by all this I can’t even sleep.”
“It’ll work out, Bea. Besides, no offense to you, but your Glyphs and your visions probably don’t mean anything.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right, Sam. If science can’t prove it, it can’t be real. Is that what you mean?”
The two continued on the path through the fair grounds. Even with the festive atmosphere, between her argument with Samuel and her recurring thoughts of the murders, Beautimus’ mood turned progressively glum. At least the brown chicken isn’
