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the wall. “Right now. At midnight.”
    Narrowing her eyes, Chel thrust the door open the rest of the way. In addition to the half-done mask, she wore one of their mother's tattered old robes, once a vibrant red and now a washed out, streaky pink, and a much-mended pair of Wendy's old Hello Kitty PJ bottoms frayed at the knees. Jon's favorite yellow slippers were comically overlarge on her feet.
    “Yeah, you sanctimonious butthead, now is when we need you.” Chel glared at Wendy, ignoring her older sister's smirk at her appearance. “You don't have to be an ass about it.”
    “I don't care about whatever you two are arguing about, Chel,” Wendy sighed, unlacing her boots and toeing them off. She wriggled her feet in the carpet and sighed appreciatively. “I really don't. Kill each other, for all I care. I'm not getting in the middle of another fight.”
    “Oh please,” Chel said, rolling her eyes and running a hand through her hair, pushing the bleached blonde back so Wendy could see the untouched red roots beneath. “Jon-shmon, we don't want you to judge a debate, this is important.”
    “Fine. Fine!” Wendy stood, crossing her arms over her chest and resisting the urge to kick her sister in the shin. “What is it?”
    “Lose the skirt, grab some jeans, and shut up,” Chel snapped and waved for Wendy to follow. Wendy stuck her tongue out at Chel's back but shimmied quickly out of her mini, yanked an old, grungy pair of jeans off the top of the mend pile, and, hopping on one foot as she donned the pants, followed her sister downstairs. Chel waited in the kichen with the heater on and the back door open. Jon hovered in the doorway, distressed, crossing and uncrossing his arms and shifting nervously from foot to foot.
    “I wasn't sure you were home,” he said apologetically as Wendy, grabbing a pair of their father's old sneakers from beside the door, turned the corner. “But Dad said you were in charge and…well, you just seem to be better at this sort of stuff than we are.”
    As Wendy joined him in the doorway, he shifted his bulk out of the way, and Wendy bit her lip to keep from mentioning the fresh plate of cookies on the counter. Jon was supposed to be on a diet, but he was a stress-eater and the last few months had been stressful as hell. She ought to say something, she knew, but Jon was so mournful about bothering her and edgy in general that Wendy didn't have the heart to get on his case about it. Besides , she reasoned, maybe they weren't for him.
    “What sort of stuff? And shut the door, you're letting all the warm air out.” Curious now, Wendy glanced around the kitchen. Nothing, besides the cookies, seemed out of the ordinary.
    Blocking Jon from shutting the door with her arm, Chel shook her head. “Can't you hear it?”
    “Hear what?” Wendy froze and listened, but she couldn't understand why Chel was so agitated. Everything was still and silent.
    “Deaf as a post. Come on.” Chel grabbed Wendy by the wrist and dragged her into the black backyard. Jon shut the door behind them, blocking the light from the kitchen and leaving them in chilly darkness. He tripped heavily following them down the stairs.
    Allowing her sister to haul her across the yard, Wendy shivered. It was uncommonly cold out, even for Northern California, and the air smelled like a mixture of sharp ice shards and the last of the rotting, unplucked oranges drooping from their neighbor's citrus trees.
    They had reached the back shed before Wendy heard it. Soft, muffled keening sounds. Pain, very clearly pain.
    “It's a raccoon,” Chel whispered, fumbling in the robe pocket and coming up with a palm-sized LED flashlight. She passed the light to Wendy. “Look.”
    “A raccoon?” Wendy took the light but didn't turn it on. “You dragged me out here for a raccoon? Can't you call Animal Control or something?”
    “This close to New Year's?” Chel's voice dripped derision. “We tried that already and the automated system