Every Foul Spirit
the elder gentleman said sternly, “shouldn’t you be returning to your tasks? And please refrain from disturbing other patrons of the prairie in the future.”
Bee faltered, so Katie responded instead. “She was answering my questions about seed collecting, sir. Didn’t mean to keep her so long.”
“Ah, well, I see.”
The shorter of the two guidance counselors stopped. He regarded Katie with a puzzled look. “I’m Cornelius Pritchard,” he said, extending a clammy hand. “And who might you be?”
“Kate Franklin,” she said, shaking it quick.
“You’re beautiful,” he said at once, and then went rigid, horrified that this inner thought had slipped out in word form.
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