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it."
    "Ha! You're so bad," Angela said.
    "Aren't I?" She smiled. "Put the onions on a plate and the makings of our burger buffet will be complete, madam."
    "Then I shall," she said.
    Angela's father came in griping about the wandering Pekinese and Angela’s stepmother repeated her theory about giving the mutt a small flesh wound to send the neighbors a message. He didn't seem to have an opinion either way, and he always had an opinion. Then dinner began.
    They had put two slices of cheddar on his burger—which was always a no-no due to his high cholesterol—but Angela's stepmom had insisted he deserved it every once in a while. On a normal day, he would have all but jumped up and down at the fact that the burgers weren't turkey, and the two thick slices of real cheddar, but he just sat, taking large bites. Just a small pile of the barbeque beans he always begged her to make sat on his plate.
    They sat for three-fourths of a burger listening to Angela's stepmother talk about her friend's girlfriend getting drunk and making out with another woman and how everyone in the world knew except her friend. Then she began talking about their need for a new car, and that she had seen the exact one they needed to get, and that he would love the color, and how she would look amazing driving it. He nodded and grunted between bites. When she stabbed a few of the beans onto her fork, taking a breath, she found he had something to say.
    "I didn't know you knew Gerry Jenkins," he said, casualness draped over the insecure question quite nicely.
    Angela's stepmom stopped the fork midway to her mouth, just for a moment, then shrugged. "I know I've heard you talk about him. One of your clients, right? Why would I know him?"
    "Oh," he said, seeming confused. "My secretary said she could have sworn she'd seen you getting in a cab leaving Fauzio's with him yesterday at lunch." His eyes were on his plate like this was merely a simple conversation, but his voice was becoming firmer, grimmer. Angela began to squirm, trying not to watch her stepmother do the same. He continued. "She asked me how I liked Fauzio's, because she assumed I must have been there, too."
    "Well, this Jenkins guy must have good taste if he's seeing a woman who looks so much like me," she said, chuckling. Her laugh much less full of humor than earlier, Angela thought.
    As she watched and listened, Angela saw a future without her stepmother acting as go-between with her father, winnowing the negative out of anything Angela had done, making her life as consequence-free as possible. She pictured no more giggling afternoons and plenty of brooding, angry dad. And she found herself talking. "Besides, your lovely wife checked me out of school at eleven thirty because, number one, she's awesome, and, number two, I needed an outfit for the party tomorrow night."
    Her father looked up, baffled. Angela knew that her father knew that his much younger wife would lie to him just for the practice, but he trusted Angela. Her stomach churned. Angela knew her stepmother better than her dad. She knew that the woman had married her dad more for the size of his bank account than his winning personality. So, Angela had little doubt that she probably was at Fauzio's with this Gerry douche-nozzle and, she imagined, a lot of other Gerry-like people in the course of their marriage. But Angela loved her, and she loved Angela. Angela believed her step-mother even loved her dad in some messed-up way. Selfish, yes. But she didn't want things to change. Life was good for her.
    "And, for the record, your daughter looks amazing in green."
    Her dad smiled, confusion still heavy on his face, but relief blooming. "She's gorgeous like her dad," he said, now smiling.
    ***
    The Wraith fell through the snapping, writhing portal. He, in point of fact, felt the impact of the ground as he slammed into it. The heat of the trees the portal had set on fire weren’t just temperature readings being fed into his brain. The