“I don’t mind.” The sweater she wore was old, threadbare at the elbows, and the skirt wasn’t a favorite. Worse things than blood drops had been washed from her garments over the years, stains and scents her legal mother hadn’t wanted to know about. “You could let me help. I’m good at being bait.”

She led the way into the open and a taxi drove past them, lifting her skirt and hair in its breeze. “But if you want to do it yourself, I’ll watch. I’m good at watching, too.” An insect from a nearby street lamp landed on her sleeve and flitted up to her neck. Dori caught it in her palm and the wings stopped beating.