Beatrice Jannsen is staring at me like I'm some kind of exotic zoo animal, and it makes me want to punch her. I get the sense that my arrival disrupted an argument between them. There was a condescending quality to her voice when Ezra introduced us that set me on edge immediately.
We're sitting in Ezra's apartment, awkwardly sipping coffee. I'm staring past Bea at a statuette of Saint Benedict perched on the corner of the TV stand. It's been silent for several minutes now, and I can feel her eyes on me.
She's nothing like Ezra, in appearance or temperament. She has the same defined cheekbones and olive complexion as Ezra, but that's as far as the similarities go. Her hair is black and hangs in tight ringlet curls down her back. Her eyes are nearly black too, and turn up just slightly a
