I used to go by the name Lucy Iovelli, which was my natural father’s surname. Her voice was weak and flat. ‘Got you!’ ‘You!’ Stunned, Melusine moved quickly away from the tell-tale bookshelf. . Passing thought. The world had grown dark and wide, and she was very small. I was bawling so hard that the Nurse took pity on me and slipped me two Children’s Tylenol. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. I saw her come out from the flat buildings two minutes before we entered it last night. " "But you are young!" It was a protest, almost vehement.
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