Excerpt

Section from "Her Windowed Eyes, Her Chambered Heart"

Frenzies of gingerbread adorned the house's facade, but it was splintery, paint peeling in long shaggy spirals that fuzzed the fretwork's outlines. The left side of the house drooped like the face of a stroke victim, windows staring blindly out, cataracted with the dusty remnants of curtains.

Agent Artemus West thought that it would have given a human man the chills. He glanced back at Elspeth to see how she was taking it, but her face was chiseled and resolute as a fireman's axe.

"You all right?"

She swabbed at her forehead with a bare forearm, leaving streaks of dark wet dirt. "Thank your lucky stars you're mechanical and don't feel the heat," she rasped.

Hot indeed if enough to irritate her into mentioning that. He chose to ignore it.

The house sagged amid slumping cottonwoods, clusters of low-lying trees, their leaves ovals of green and pale brown. Three stories, and above that, two cupolas thrust upward into the sky, imploring, the left one tilted at an angle. The wind whistled through the fretwork, a shifting, hollow sound, like a jug's mouth being blown across. There had once been a flower garden towards the back. Weeds had claimed most of it, but the papery red heads of poppies blazed among the tangle. The sky stretched high and blue and hollow overhead.