Anabel had a dime-sized kitchen, made much smaller by the presence of four hungry cats.

"I'm so sorry, Tabitha," she said. She was watching me from a seat at the table in the dining nook next to the kitchen, her leg elevated on another chair with two throw pillows beneath it for good measure. She was gray-faced with exhaustion, her hair unbrushed. I wouldn't tell her, but she was a little loopy from the pain medicine, too, which was making her emotional. Even now, she looked as if she were ready to cry.

"You're not allergic, are you?" she asked. "I never asked you if you were allergic to cats."

"I am not allergic. I am, however, a prey animal." I eyed the cats with a playful grimace of apprehension. "Which cupboard is it?"

She smiled, pointing at the cupboard next to the stove.

It had a child lock on it. "Seriously?"

"Gladys can open cupboard doors."

I shook my head. "Of course she can."

A few minutes later, I had portioned out half-cups of kibble into dishes and arranged them strategically around the kitchen so the cats wouldn't slaughter one another. One dish was even on the counter. I was proud of myself.

"There. Everyone's fed. Just please don't tell me that Wencesclaws needs medication."

"God, no. I'd probably just let him go," Ana joked. "But you do have to pet Jeremy, or he won't eat."

I turned to regard the black cat on the counter, who was sitting next to his dish and looking at me expectantly. Bemused, I reached out to stroke his head, and he began to purr, immediately tucking in. "Well, then."

"I'm sorry," she said, her eyes suddenly shiny again.

"Anabel, what do we say about gracious, self-effacing fuckery?"

"What?"

"What do we say?"

Understanding dawned on her, and she laughed in surprise. "Nooo."

"Yep. Your own rules, right back at you. Ask for what you want, babe." The pet name rolled off my tongue without my conscious decision.

"Fine—I want a drink."

"I can do that. What do you want?"

"Tequila."

I snorted. "Not on hydrocodone, madam."

She gave me a dramatic pout, resting her head on her hand. "Hot chocolate?"

"Better."

A few minutes later, we were settled at the dining table together, both of us with mugs of instant hot cocoa in our hands. It was the first thing aside from mediocre coffee that I'd tasted in over twenty-four hours: oversweet, a little watery, and delicious. I had waited at the hospital with two of Anabel's brothers and her mother for her to get out of surgery. They had been so kind to me, Rosario plying me with granola bars I couldn't stomach and the guys taking turns fetching us all bitter hospital coffee. They had just welcomed me into their small knot of anxious waiting with hardly any questions, sharing news as the doctors updated them on Ana's condition.

It had been chaos at the scene, and I had been so worried about getting to Anabel that I could hardly think what to do with Porkie. Officer Sanchez—that poor, lucky guy—had put Porkie into his cruiser until something could be done, and through a chain of communications I hadn't bothered to try to understand, Ana's brother Michael had somehow gotten custody of the dog and taken her to his house for safe-keeping.

Now, I was sitting here with Ana, both of us alive if not completely well, and drinking sugar water with tiny marshmallows floating on top. Absurdly, I missed my gran's hideous dog. My hideous dog. I wondered if Michael had dogs and whether I should have made arrangements for dog food.

When would I be able to go home? How long was Gran's house going to be a crime scene?

Was Uncle Royal still alive? Last I'd heard, he'd been in critical condition in the very same hospital where Ana had been treated, but I'd obviously had no desire to visit him and hadn't heard or seen anything of his children.

"Are you okay?" Ana asked softly, interrupting my mental turmoil.

I swallowed hard, shaking my head. The tears had welled in my eyes suddenly, my throat burning. I put down my mug and let my head fall into my hands.

I felt Anabel's fingers brush my elbow. "I know. Your brother will be here soon. That's something small to keep you steady."

"I know."

"Everything's going to be okay now. I mean...aside from being totally awful and really fucked up...it's going to be okay-ish."

I laughed, wiping the heels of my hands over my eyes. "That's really reassuring."

A knock came at the door, jolting both of us. Ana pressed a hand to her chest, releasing a long breath. "It's just Mom."

Rosario had driven us back to Anabel's apartment before going back out to get some necessities. She had tried to coax us both to come stay with her, but she lived about forty-five minutes away from Myrtle; Ana wanted to be near her cats, which couldn't just be picked up and relocated like Porkie, and we both wanted to be near to the police station in case they had any more questions for us.

Not that it should be possible for them to invent any new ones. They'd already asked us everything under the sun.

I looked through the peephole before I opened the door and let Rosario in. She was a striking, heavy-set woman in her mid to late fifties, although her hair was still a glossy black. "Thank you, honey," she said, moving past me, her arms laden with plastic grocery bags.

"Mom, did you buy us a Walmart?" Ana asked.

"I just got you some things!" Rosario unloaded the bags onto the counter. The noise startled a couple cats who'd come to investigate, sending them streaking off to hiding places. "You never have any food in your apartment and I had to buy you milk and some bread and bananas."

"I have plenty of food, it's just in boxes."

Rosario clucked her tongue and began to unpack the bags. There was a lot more food than just milk, bread, and bananas, but she waved Anabel's questions off, just moving comfortably around the kitchen to put things away. "And I got you ibuprofen. The jumbo bottle."

Anabel laughed, accepting the bottle her mother passed her. "Tabitha won't even let me have tequila. She's definitely not going to let me double up on pain medicine."

Rosario grabbed the bottle back, giving it a warning shake. "For after your prescription runs out! Tabitha, you need to keep an eye on this one."

"I promise I will." I leaned against the door frame, my arms folded. I hated just watching Rosario put things away, but I knew I'd just be in the way if I tried to help. "Do you want some hot cocoa, Rosario?"

She almost managed to hide her slight grimace of distaste with her gracious smile. "You're so sweet. No, thank you. Sit down, please. I'm making dinner."

"Mom, you should go home to bed. It's nearly midnight."

"And you girls haven't eaten anything but hospital food in who knows how long."

"Mom—"

"Mija," Rosario said, mimicking Ana's tone. She shooed me to the table, where I sat across from Ana again and offered her a smile of gentle commiseration.

"Moms," Ana said, rolling her eyes.

"I know. You get shot in the leg and they think they need to take care of you," I replied.

I had only just met Rosario, and the joke slipped out before I could think. I glanced up at her, embarrassment heating my cheeks, but when I saw the woman's broad grin, I knew I was safe. "Listen. It's either cooking for you or crying, and my nose is so stuffed up from crying that I think I'll suffocate if I start that up again."

She went to Ana, bending down to kiss her on the forehead and then folding her arms around her daughter, pulling her into a firm, bosomy embrace. I watched for a moment before cutting my gaze away, loath to intrude on such intimacy. When Rosario pulled back, Ana had tears in her eyes again—tears that quickly sprang to Rosario's, too.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "I'm sorry I got you mixed up in all of this. If I'd had any idea it would be dangerous...I just..."

Ana sniffed, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes for a moment. "Seriously!" she cried. "This is what I get for not dating girls who can see the future!"

"I told you!" Rosario said, giving Ana's arm a gentle swat. "Only brujas or psychics, mija. They keep you safe and they win you the lottery. How many times do I have to say it?"