All the Lovely Bad Ones
“The afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows and lit the bookcases on the opposite wall. Dust motes floated in the columns of light. The air was quiet, undisturbed. The only sound was the drowsy hum of bees in the flower boxes.
In other words, everything felt normal. Ordinary. On the surface, at least.
Corey picked up an old New Yorker. She leafed through it, not even pausing to read the cartoons, then threw it aside.
As restless as my sister, I prowled around the room, studying the books on the shelves, wishing I could find something to read but knowing I was in no mood to sit quietly. Something was going to happen—I could sense it in the air like electricity before a thunderstorm.
Suddenly, a pamphlet slid off a shelf and fell to the floor at my feet. Corey gasped, but I picked it up and read the title—The Strange History of Fox Hill, as Recorded by the Reverend William Plaistow.
"They must have knocked it off the shelf," Corey whispered.
We looked around the room uneasily.
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