For Beth Davis and Barbara Friedman.
When Jane Yolen requested an encore, Terri Windling permitted my players to use her stage again. If I can be more than eternally grateful, I am.
You expect people to get quiet when a werewolf walks into a restaurant. You only expect them to scream when a werewolf runs in. I walked in as if the only thing on my mind was finding a seat, a waiter, and a plate of spaghetti, in that order. Everyone in the room—about fifty kids—got quiet. No one screamed. I was learning the rules. That amused me, so I smiled.
My smile widened when I spotted Sparks’s blue-black hair at the back of the room. Engrossed in a paperback, she was the only person who hadn’t seen me enter. I wanted to yell and wave. I contented myself with a flash of white, sharp teeth—
A definite mistake, even in a place like Godmom’s, where anything might wander in from Bordertown’s streets.