That explained the burning in my throat at least. And Orangina wasn’t going to help it.

I should have been frightened. Mrs. Suarez was old, but had a steady hand. Just last week she’d put down the Ramirez girl when some Dominican voodoo priestess raised her to pick up a pack of Parliaments and a copy of Us Weekly. Maybe she felt sorry for me; maybe she remembered the time I shoveled snow off her stoop. All I know is she nodded once more at the door and gave me a chance to leave.

Back outside, I realized I had nowhere to go. Home was out of the question and Janet’s place was even worse. She’d let me crash, but I’d have to hear about how zombies were tools of the patriarchy and voodoo priestesses belonged in school, not a serpent god’s harem. Hell, she’d probably make me defrost her freezer.

Better to sleep in the park.

I needed supplies. I patted for my wallet, but it was gone like my internal organs. I shambled to the drug store and slipped in. First things first: I grabbed a pair of sunglasses.