“It was almost eleven. I guess all the drama of the last few days had taken more out of me than I’d thought. I wandered downstairs, still wearing my jammies and fluffy slippers. The whole house was quiet. I walked into the dining room—the table had been set for four, and there were now three plates showing evidence of three people having eaten breakfast. That was good. They’d eaten in here, eaten what Carmella had prepared, rather than going out in search of our neighbours’ pets. We’d come to an... agreement that pets and plants were all off limits, and that Carmella would make them any food they wanted. Speaking of which, I was kind of hoping she’d make me some food. Carmella made just about the best Spanish omelettes in the world, although she called them Mexican omelettes. Either way, they were pretty wonderful. I had started to wander toward the kitchen when my attention was caught by a flash of red through the window. I went over and peered out. It was Nebala standing in a flower bed with Carlos, and they seemed to be talking.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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