BIHATRA LED THE WAY ACROSS THE STREET, and Theodosius followed. They strolled up a neatly-kept brick walkway toward the vibrant front door of Paula Wolfe's sister's house. When they were halfway there, a red wagon suddenly appeared, rolling along at Bihatra's heels. Ill-prepared for the sudden apparition, Theo stumbled over it, knocking some of the brightly-colored boxes it contained askew.

He bent over, rubbing his wounded knee with one hand and reaching for a fallen box with the other. "What are these?"

"Cookies. Some people don't open the door for strangers, but everyone opens the door for little girls selling baked goods."

Theo was reminded uncomfortably of the time he himself had opened a door for a little girl selling baked goods and how terribly everything had turned out for him. He hoped, out of a general sense of commiseration and humanity, that things would turn out slightly better for Paula's sister.

When they arrived at the front door of the cottage, Bihatra reached up and pressed a button on the wall next to the door, standing on her tip toes to do so. Theo hung back, surveying the army of lawn ornaments in the front yard and wondering which ones were the most dangerous when defending the place. He turned his attention back to the house when he heard the front door opening. Standing there was a lovely woman in her early sixties. Her soft gray hair, bobbed at the chin, was tied back with a knotted pink bandanna, and she was wearing a pair of yellow rubber gloves.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," said Bihatra in Sweetbriar's innocent voice. "My name is Sweetbriar, and I'm selling cookies for the Maple Leaf Scouts."

The woman glanced from the little girl, who was bouncing on her feet, to Theodosius. He noticed that there was a film of white powder on the front of her shirt; it was apparent he and Bihatra had interrupted her in some industrious pursuit. Looking back at Bihatra, she smiled and said, "Hello, Sweetbriar. I'm Patricia. What kind of cookies do you have?"

Bihatra shifted on her feet again. She tugged at the hem of her khaki skirt. "Chocolate-covered mint cookies, peanut butter cookies, coconut cookies." She bounced on her heels, then wiggled her feet a bit closer together so that her ankles touched. "Um, lemon cookies..."

Knitting her brow in concern, Patricia said, "Are you all right, honey?"

Leaning forward, Bihatra stage whispered, "I just really have to use the bathroom."

"Oh! Well, we can't have that, can we? Come in." Patricia stepped back from the door, opening the way for Bihatra to enter. "Dad, why don't you come on in, too? You two have probably been out and about for a while."

Theodosius would never get used to people referring to him as Bihatra's father. The very notion that he might have any kind of control, parental or otherwise, over this creature was ridiculous. It made him want to giggle hysterically. If only Patricia knew. If only she could see.

The urge struck Theo to explain, to seek understanding from this woman. He wanted desperately to explain to Patricia that the little girl doing the wee-wee dance in front of them was not actually a little girl but was instead an unfathomably evil demonic force from the bowels of Hell, a creature whose hair reeked of brimstone and who, if she so pleased, could unhinge her jaw and swallow Patricia whole, drawing her down into the fiery furnace—!

But, standing there on Patricia's front stoop with a flock of flamingos looking at him curiously, Theodosius realized this might have a rather unintended effect. Eager to retain his image as a sane person, he chose to smile sheepishly instead and say, "Thank you," as he stepped over the threshold into Patricia's home.

The interior of Patricia's home was as eccentrically decorated as the exterior, but there was a general atmosphere of cleanliness and warmth that set Theo immediately at his ease—as much at his ease as he could be with Bihatra around. Patricia pointed the way toward the bathroom and Bihatra, apparently committed to her deception, happily trotted off down a back hall.

Turning her attention back to Theo once they were alone, Patricia smiled kindly and said, "Would you like some lemonade?"

Theo had never had lemonade before, but he was desperately thirsty. He had spent the better part of the past three days trekking back and forth between two cemeteries, both of which lacked shamefully in terms of creature comforts such as food and drinking water. "I'd love some."

Patricia waved him farther into the house, and he fell into step behind her. They went through a neat living area with two cushiony couches set against walls papered in vintage advertisements. Theo would have liked, under other circumstances, to have examined those advertisements for kitchen appliances and tooth powder and exercise machines and shoe polish, but it was not the time, so he could only give them a longing glance as he passed them by. In one corner of the sitting room hung an impressive collection of wind chimes, lacking only the wind to make them sing. In another was a hanging silver cage occupied by a trio of taxidermy birds.

They passed down a short hallway decorated with floral wallpaper and emerged into the kitchen, where the general theme of decor seemed to be "loud." The walls were pineapple yellow, the curtains were lime green, and there were no fewer than twelve paintings of fruit bowls in sight.

"Forgive the mess," Patricia said, skirting a round kitchen table covered in newspaper. On it was a five gallon bucket filled with a mysterious sludge, a coffee can, a lawn gnome, various tools and implements, and a curious wooden box. "I'm working on a little project."

"Oh?" Theo asked, his eyes watering against the onslaught of vivid colors glaring at him from every corner of the room.

"A very special lawn gnome." Patricia nodded toward the table as she opened a huge yellow vault standing against one wall. From within came a heavenly light and the faint sound of an oinking pig. She reached inside and withdrew a pitcher, then closed the door, cutting off both the light and the oinking.

"I had noticed you had a few of those," said Theo, looking with no small measure of concern at the vault and wondering how the pig would survive inside without air. "Are they effective in warding off intruders?"

Patricia laughed. She produced a pair of glasses from a cupboard and poured lemonade. "You're a funny one," she said, bringing Theo's glass to him. "I didn't catch your name."

"Theodosius," he said. He sniffed the contents of the glass and then took a cautious sip. The taste lit his senses up with a mixture of pleasure and alarm. It was sweet, but also so sour that his watering eyes twitched closed.

"Uh huh. Well, the gnomes weren't very effective in keeping your daughter away," Patricia said with a wink, "but if I did have an army of attack gnomes, I'd train them to go easy on the cookie vendors. Do you take a check?"

Theo didn't know what a check was. Luckily, at that moment, Bihatra reappeared. "Yes, of course," she said. "Ooo! Lemonade!"

Patricia offered Bihatra the other glass. "Sit down for a second, if you like. Walking that wagon around can be thirsty work."

"You're very nice." As she chose a seat at the kitchen table next to Patricia's gnome project, Bihatra paused, focused on the coffee can. She stood there for a moment, staring at it, before she sat down. "What's all this?"

"I'm making a lawn gnome." Patricia picked up the gnome from the table. It was a standard-issue gnome: red hat, white beard, pink flower in hand. Patricia showed the gnome to Bihatra, then used it to gesture to the wooden box. "That's a mold box. I used this little guy as a model."

"Is that cement?" Bihatra asked. She reached for a wooden spoon and poked it into the five gallon bucket, stirring the slop inside.

"It is. Have you ever done any crafts with cement?"

"Not yet, but it looks fun. What do you put into it?"

Patricia chuckled. "Well, you can buy a mix at the home improvement store. A little sand. Water. Secret ingredients."

A silence fell. Patricia stared pensively into her five gallon bucket half full of cement. Theo took another bracing drink of lemonade.

Bihatra stared, her eyes narrowed in thought. "What secret ingredients?"

"Oh, if I were to tell you, they wouldn't be secret, would they?" Patricia offered Bihatra a faint smile. "You said you take a check? I can't get enough of those mint cookies. I like to keep a box in the freezer for emergencies."

"Why won't you tell me your secret ingredients?" Bihatra's childish pout and petulant tone were very convincing. "I'm the very best secret keeper at Pinkleton Elementary. Mary Jane Lancaster and Belén Martinez hate each other, but both of them tell me their secrets and trust me not to tell because I'm the best secret keeper in the whole world and you can even ask my dad."

Patricia raised a brow in amusement. She looked at Theo, her smile fading into a look of hesitation. "It's a little strange."

Theo sighed. If only this woman knew how strange his entire life had been and still was, it might give her some reassuring perspective. "She's very...mature for her age," he said. "And she absolutely will not give it a rest until you tell her."

"Well, all right." Patricia picked up the coffee can that had been resting on the table. She gave it a little shake, and something like sand shifted around inside. "I lost my big sister not so very long ago. She passed away—bad heart. When she was alive, she used to joke around about dying. Patricia, she'd say, If I die before you, and I probably will, don't you dare stick me in the ground. Cremate me and dump me into a coffee can so I can keep you company forever. If you so much as think of burying me, I'll haunt you. Once, after half a bottle of Rosé, I threatened to turn her into a lawn gnome if she died before me."

Patricia gazed down at the coffee can with an expression of tender reflection. "She thought it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard of. We laughed for an hour. We laughed so hard we cried. That's something Paula was very good at: laughing."

Setting the coffee can back down on the table, Patricia fell silent for a moment. She looked bereft. When she spoke again, her voice was soft. "Now, she's gone. She did die before me, and I'm still mad at her about it—her and that damned heart of hers. This is all that's left of my only sister. And, as ridiculous and irreverent as it is, I'm going to turn her into a lawn gnome. I don't think there's anything on God's green earth that would have made her happier than knowing I'm making good on my threat."

A cheerful, mischievous smile lit Patricia's features as she surveyed the room. "I think I'll put her on the kitchen counter. She used to love cooking. Made the best tater tot casserole the world has ever known."