Selena wrung her hands. She had never actually known what wringing your hands entailed, but she seemed to be doing it. She watched her fingers tug at each other as if they belonged to someone else.
Copper shoved the food dish with her nose and looked hopeful.
It was coming on evening. They had spent longer with Father Aguirre than Selena realized at the time, and then Grandma had insisted on feeding the chickens and making dinner. The tiny rooster had gone for her ankles again, and Copper had refused to protect her, apparently believing that to maul such a small enemy would be considered bad form.
Now they were both sitting in Jackrabbit Hole House. And waiting.
Selena slid her eyes along the counter, where the shotgun lay. It was probably her imagination that it was exuding menace.
Shadows crept along the windows and the light went red. On the hillside, the boxer saguaro punched at the sky.
“Not too long now,” said Grandma kindly. “Why don’t you make some tea?”
“Is this busywork?”
“Absolutely. But we could still use the tea.”
Selena put a pot of hot water on.
“Should get you a proper kettle,” said Grandma. “It’s barbaric, not having a kettle.”
Selena nodded, glanced up—and shrieked.
One of the things stared in the kitchen window.
“Grandma!”
“Hot damn!” said Grandma. “Hold Copper!”
“Wha—I—”
She grabbed for Copper’s collar. Grandma flipped the latch on the front door open, hooked her foot around the edge, and yanked the door inward.
A pale-faced, dark-eyed thing, taller than she was, stood in the doorway.
“Three seconds,” said Grandma cheerfully. “This is your only warning. One—two—”
Selena knew what was coming and threw her arms around Copper’s neck.
The sound of the shotgun going off was shatteringly loud in the small house. The mugs bounced on the counter and the pot clanged on the stove. Copper yelped.
And then . . . silence.
And swearing.
“Damnit,” muttered Grandma, rubbing her shoulder. “Swear that thing kicks harder every time.”
Selena lifted her head.
The thing was gone. There was no body, just a pile of cloth. Grandma calmly shut the door, leaned against it, and fished in the pocket of her skirt for shells.
“Is that it?” whispered Selena. (Or perhaps she only thought she was whispering. Her ears were ringing.)
“Nope,” said Grandma. She lifted the shotgun and pulled the door open again.
A second thing was standing there.
She didn’t bother with the warning this time. The gun went off again. Copper yelped again. Selena thought she was probably shrieking every time. The thing dropped.
