She seemed tense, and was avoiding looking at any one thing that might cast a reflection, however wavy and indistinct. I knew why she was doing the last, but not the first. Emma Jan had a monster living inside her head. She had to watch for it constantly. “Hey,” she said when she spotted us. “I’ve gotta see the boss. Something weird is going on.” Seeing our expressions, she clarified: “Okay, but something weird even for us.” “Uh-oh.” I was impressed, and scared. Emma Jan wouldn’t have said that lightly. “I don’t think you should talk unless you’re handing me a plate of mashed potatoes.” Emma Jan snorted. “George, I don’t think you should talk at all. Repeat after me: not everyone with a southern accent can cook comfort food on demand.” “I’m standing here two minutes already and no potatoes!” She caught my glance and rolled her eyes. I liked Emma Jan, but I was adjusting to the fact that she was Shiro’s good friend and not mine. They hung out at the shooting range together, had lunch together … like that.
