Young Captain Normoyle woke with a start in his bed, just before dawn. Annie, his pretty wife, slumbered on beside him, beneath crisp white sheets.
At the foot of the bed stood Ingrid, in her most regal robes; and Hannah, looking smart in a tailored suit. They each glowed with their own inner light, while Ingrid’s wrap and fox-colored hair billowed in a wind that wasn’t otherwise there.
“Hear me, Davey Normoyle,” she said, raising a pale hand as she pronounced: “I am Mictlancihuatl, Queen of the Shades, once called Ingrid, now called Dona Catrina, la Dama Muerte, the Lady Death. This, my Prime Minister, is Hannah Potter. And we-”
Hannah handed Ingrid a Zippo lighter. The Queen held it up. The gold United States Navy insignia on its silver case was clearly visible, even in the bedroom’s nighttime gloom.
“We have a task for
