Jade wore a red cotton jacket that had been taken in to fit her, face painted up like a monkey's backside, beaming as she climbed onto Quinn Mason's borrowed flatbed cart. Quinn limped alongside it, face full of stubble, eyes so dark and hollow it sent chills down your spine.
In my last life, it took two years of patience and gentleness to thaw that block of ice. I'd coaxed him off the bottle. Taught him to read.
This life? With someone as pampered and spoiled as Jade, she'd be lucky not to make things worse.
As she passed me, Jade lowered her voice to a whisper only we could hear. "Evelyn, you can relax and go work at your little factory. When you strike it rich someday, I'll burn paper money for your grave."
I laughed—brighter than her.
"Thanks for the kind words. Hope you dig up exactly what you're looking for."
Firecrackers split the air.
The village chief's place was even louder—gongs, drums, the whole production. Derek Lambert sat on a tractor bound for the county seat, a big red flower pinned to his chest, looking smug as hell. The whole village seethed with envy.
Only I knew that tractor was a hearse headed straight for hell.