Ellie’s eyes flicked to Brenda’s hands. The nails were perfectly manicured, but the cuticles were raw—a sign of recent chemical exposure. Her floral dress was designer, but the shoes were combat-grade boots, resoled for silence. And the casserole dish was giving off a faint, rhythmic click .
Until the casserole arrived.
“Thrilling.”
The nine-iron swung in a perfect arc. He crumpled like a laundry pile. Mrs. Undercover
“Good.” Ellie watched Leo and Mia climb onto the school bus, safe and oblivious. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a casserole to return.”
Brenda raised an eyebrow. “Glitter glue?”
“No. It’s a low-yield practice device. Disarm it, and you’re in.” Ellie’s eyes flicked to Brenda’s hands
That night, after the kids were asleep, Dave found her in the kitchen, staring at the empty floral dish.
“Rough day?” he asked.
“I knew you’d come,” a voice slithered from the shadows. The Serpent stepped out. He was thin, elegant, wearing the uniform of a substitute teacher. “I never believed you were dead, Eleanor. Domestic bliss is a far more creative punishment.” And the casserole dish was giving off a
“It’s not a punishment,” Ellie said, circling him. “It’s a choice.”
“Oh, how lovely,” Ellie said, taking the dish. “Won’t you come in?”
“Insulates the relay without completing the circuit. Basic kindergarten physics.” Ellie wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll need a few things. A babysitter for pickup at 2:30. Access to the school’s HVAC system. And Dave’s golf club—the nine-iron. It’s weighted perfectly for a cervical strike.”
She smiled. And for the first time in a decade, she didn’t feel like a ghost. She felt like a woman who had saved the world between soccer practice and bedtime.