the old, intact Doric columns.
Nigel frowned at the dilapidated house, two stories tall, with gables on the roof. Several windows were boarded up; the remaining ones were dark.
An rust-rimmed pickup and a gigantic, ancient Ford sedan were parked next to each other, and on the porch rested a worn, battered refrigerator and stove. As they parked, two nondescript dogs, one bigger than the other, appeared and barked warnings.
âHush up, you two,â Bo-Kate said as she climbed out. âDonât make me put a boot to your asses.â
The smaller dog yelped once at the sight of her and ran off into the darkness. The bigger one lowered its head submissively and skulked forward until she could pet it. It whined, and eventually its big tail thumped the ground.
âMissed me, huh?â Bo-Kate said.
âYou know this dog?â Nigel asked.
âOf course I do. This is Stinkerbelle. Known her since she was a pup. That little one that ran off is Cheeto-Bear.â
âI thought you said youâd been gone from here for twenty-some years?â
Bo-Kate patted Nigelâs smooth cheek. âNigel, thereâs something youâve got to realize about the Tufa, and I havenât told you about it, because there was no way youâd believe it sitting in Boscos on Twenty-first Avenue.â
âAnd thatâs what?â
âTime doesnât work the same for everybody. And it works real different for us.â
âAh. So not only have you broken the laws of your country once today, youâve now broken the laws of physics?â
âI just donât want you to be any more blindsided than you have to be.â
There was something new in her voice, a kindness heâd seldom heard before. He bowed his head slightly and said, âWell. Thank you, then.â
She turned to face the house. The SUVâs headlights were still on, illuminating the faded wood. It might have been painted once, but the color had long since leached down to a slate-toned neutral gray. Except for the dogs, there was no sign of life. Then the headlights automatically clicked off, leaving them in almost-darkness.
âChez Wisby,â Bo-Kate sighed.
âThis is where you grew up?â Nigel said. âI know you said it was poverty, but somehow I imagined something less ⦠poor.â
âNo, this is it. Looks about the same, too.â
âDid you play in that refrigerator, then?â
âDaddy keeps his beer in there. And his venison in the freezer.â
âVenison is ⦠Wait, donât tell me.â¦â
âDeer meat.â
âDear me.â
âHa.â
âAnd the stove? Does it work, too?â
âWhat, youâve never heard of a cook-out?â He couldnât see if she was smiling, but he felt her humor.
âAnd weâre supposed to stay here,â he continued. âDespite the, ah, rustic portico kitchenette, I hope we do get to sleep indoors.â
âYep.â
âThat was a perfectly pleasant-looking motel back in town, bobcat or no.â
âIt is perfectly pleasant, but Iâll never stay there. It belongs to one of the others.â
âAh. The great schism you mentioned.â
The humor left her voice, replaced by the hard steel he knew so well. âItâs not a âschism,â you pretentious jerk. Itâs a separation, one thatâs been around since the Tufa first came here.â
âAnd youâre here to heal it.â
âIâm here to end it, smart-ass. Thatâs different.â She pointed to one of the gables. âThat was my room. Iâd crawl out the window and jump to that tree to go see my boyfriend, Jeff. He was one of ⦠the others. I tried not to like him, and he tried not to like me. But it was no use.â
âYour parents didnât approve of him?â
âThatâs putting it mildly.â
âHow very Romeo and