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he would never unmake it.
    He grabbed Bryony, pulling her face into his jacket, whispering calming things in her ear, as they knelt together in a sea of sirens and blood and broken glass and scattered yellow jonquils.

CHAPTER TWELVE
    A Splendid Way to Go
    “Daddy? Are you there?”
    “My sweet girl! How is everything going?”
    “Daddy, I met him. I met him, and his name is Eddie.”
    “Congratulations! And he’s strong enough to handle you?”
    “I think he is, although he doesn’t know it yet. He’ll learn, though.”
    “Are you going to bring him by sometime?”
    “I will, Daddy. I want you to meet him.”
    “The desert has been howling for you at night, my dear. It’s pacing back and forth in front of the house, leaving footprints in the sand. You need to be very careful.”
    “I will. And Daddy? He’s going to love me. He’s going to love me until both of our hearts burst from it all. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Wouldn’t that be an absolutely splendid way to go?”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    A Dangerous Path
    Now you might think that Bryony lives alone because there was never mention of a roommate. It would be a wise thing, true. If those close to her tend to end up as casualties of the cosmos, it would stand to reason that she would choose not to inflict her delightful presence upon anybody else. However, this is Seattle, and as we all know, space is a precious commodity in any big city. Prices are high, and Bryony works arranging flowers at the market, not as the CEO of some prestigious and eyebrow raising company. Not that this is a path that she couldn’t take, because she certainly could if she had the time and the inclination for it, but quite simply, the desire isn’t there. She is happy to be a flower girl and spend her days watching cheerful people (and a few irritated ones) prancing through the market. She likes listening to Eddie as he plays his clever songs, and even sings once in a while. Above all, Bryony likes to be free. She always needs the choice of running to be available to her, as it has proved itself to be indispensablein the past. So a CEO she is not.
    But a roommate!
    Ah, yes, she has one, a pretty dark-haired girl with black eyes that dissect you into your molecular state as soon as she sees you. Her name is Syrina, and she is a theater student at the university, and also very poor, which is the topic of many a comfortable conversation in the evenings. Syrina cut Bryony’s hair into something more adult, Bryony showed Syrina how to balance a checkbook, and they both spent many a night painting the inside of their closets bright, sunshiny colors together. Bryony feared greatly for her new friend’s safety at first, but when Syrina’s boyfriend Rikki-Tikki started spending more time at the apartment than out of it, Bryony felt much better. He was a large man with a Don’t-Murder-My-Girlfriend type of nature, and this was comforting. Naturally his Xbox controllers ended up in strange places like in the refrigerator and in Bryony’s closet, but if a small inconvenience now and then meant one less murder in the apartment, it was most certainly worth it.
    “Syrina,” Bryony said this particular evening, “I think that there is something missing in my life.”
    “What’s that?” asked her roommate, making something exotic and delicious for dinner, as she was wont known to do.
    “I’m not exactly sure. Perhaps there is something that I want to do, only I’m not, and I don’t know what it is.”
    Syrina sat down and slid a plate of mysterious deliciousness over to Bryony. “I know what you should be doing, Star Girl. You need to run.”
    “You want me to leave?” Bryony asked, and her face fell. She was dearly enjoying this town, and these people, and this apartment, and her roommate, and this food. It was spicy and made her nose run slightly. It also made her eyes tear, or maybe that was simply the sting of Syrina’s suggestion.
    “No, you silly girl,” Syrina said, and