disgusting squishy sound, the fat man’s nose broadened and dark-ened into a scaly 
reptilian snout with wide, pug nostrils. It breathed in slowly and deeply, held its 
breath, exhaled, breathed in even slower and deeper than before.
    The serpent-eyed thing opened its mouth and shrieked at Tommy, but though his heart 
raced faster, Tommy neither flinched nor cried out.
    At last the demon exhaled its pent-up inhalation, bathing Tommy’s face in a gale of 
foul breath that made him want to spew up the coffee and pastries that he had eaten 
during the stop at The Great Pile.
    The beast shuffled to the bergere, where Tommy’s mother had been sitting, and knocked 
her purse to the floor. It settled down and folded its killing pincers in its lap - and 
after a moment they metamorphosed into the fat man’s hands once more.
    Tommy was afraid that his mother would leave the group, pick up her purse, and smack 
the demon over the head with it. But with uncharacteristic timidity, she remained as 
still and quiet as Mrs. Dai had instructed.
    The hulking Samaritan-thing smacked its lips. It sighed wearily.
    The radiant green eyes changed into the ordinary brown eyes of the murdered Samaritan.
    The demon looked at its wristwatch.
    Ticktock.
    Yawning, it blinked at the group standing before it.
    The beast bent forward in the bergêre, seized its right foot with both hands, and 
brought the foot to its face in a display of impossible double-jointedness. Its mouth 
cracked open from ear to ear, like the mouth of a crocodile, and it began to stuff its 
foot and then its heavy leg into its maw.
    Tommy glanced at the windows.
    Pale pink light spread like a dim blush on the face of the eastern sky.
    As if it were not a solid creature, but an elaborate origami sculpture, the demon 
continued to fold itself into itself, growing smaller and smaller still - until, with a 
shimmer that hid the how of the final transformation, it became only a rag doll once 
more, exactly as it had been when he had found it on his doorstep, a limp-limbed figure 
of white cotton, with all the black stitches intact.
    Pointing at the pink sky beyond the windows, Mrs. Dai said, ‘Going to be nice day.’
    
    NINE
    
    With paper towels and tap water, they had cleaned the blood off their foreheads.
    The two Vietnamese women sat at the kitchen table. After applying a healing poultice 
that the hairdresser witch kept in the refrigerator, Mother Phan taped a gauze pad to 
Mrs. Dai’s bitten hand. ‘You sure not hurt?’
    ‘Fine, fine,’ said Quy Trang Dai. ‘Heal fast, no prob-lem.’
    The rag doll lay on the table.
    Tommy couldn’t take his eyes off it. ‘What’s in the damn thing?’
    ‘Now?’ Mrs. Dai said. ‘Mostly just sand. Some river mud. Snake blood. Some other 
things better you not know.’
    ‘I want to destroy it.’
    ‘Can’t hurt you now. Anyway, taking apart is my job,’ said Mrs. Dai. ‘Have to do 
according to rules or magic won’t be undone.’
    ‘Then take it apart right now.’
    ‘Have to wait till noon, sun high, night on other side of world, and then magic be 
undone.’
    ‘That’s only logical,’ Del said.
    Getting up from the table, Mrs. Dai said, ‘Ready for tea now?’
    ‘I want to see it dismembered, everything inside cast to the wind,’ Tommy said.
    ‘Can’t watch,’ said Mrs. Dai as she took a tea kettle from one of the cabinets. 
‘Magic must be done by sorceress alone, no other eyes to see.’
    ‘Who says?’
    ‘Dead ancestors of River Xan set rules, not me.’
    ‘Sit down, Tuong, stop worry, have tea,’ said Mother Phan. ‘You make Mrs. Dai think 
you not trust her.’
    Taking Tommy by the arm, Del said, ‘Could I see you a minute?’
    She led him out of the kitchen into the dining room, and Scootie followed them.
    Speaking in a whisper, she said, ‘Don’t drink the tea.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Maybe there’s more than one way to make a stray son return to the fold.’
    ‘What way?’
    ‘A potion, a combination of exotic herbs, a pinch of river mud - who knows?’ Del 
whispered.
    Tommy looked back through the open door. In the kitchen, his mother was putting out 
cookies and slices of cake while Mrs. Dai brewed the tea.
    ‘Maybe,’ whispered Del, ‘Mrs. Dai was too enthusiastic about bringing you to your 
senses and back into the family. Maybe she started out with the drastic approach, the 
doll, when a nice cup of the right tea would have made more sense.’
    In the kitchen, Mrs. Dai was putting cups and saucers on the table. The devil doll 
still lay there, watching the preparations with its cross-stitched eyes.
    Tommy stepped into the kitchen and said, ‘Mom, I think we’d better go now.’
    Looking up from the cake that she was slicing, Mother Phan said, ‘Have tea and nibble 
first, then go.’
    ‘No, I want to go now.’
    ‘Don’t be rude, Tuong. While we have tea and nibble, I call your father. By time we 
done, he stop by, take us home before he go work at bakery.’
    ‘Del and I are leaving now,’ he insisted.
    ‘No car,’ she reminded him. ‘This crazy woman’s car just trash in garage.’
    ‘The Peterbilt’s parked out there at the curb. The engine’s still idling.’
    Mother Phan frowned. ‘Truck stolen.’
    ‘We’ll return it,’ Tommy said.
    ‘What about trash car in garage?’ Mrs. Dai asked.
    ‘Mummingford will send someone for it,’ said Del.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Tomorrow.’
    Tommy and Del and Scootie went into the living room, where the glass from the broken 
window crunched and clinked under their shoes.
    Mrs. Dai and Mother Phan followed them.
    As Tommy unlocked and opened the front door, his mother said, ‘When I see you again?’
    ‘Soon,’ he promised, following Del and Scootie onto the porch.
    ‘Come to dinner tonight. We have com tay cam, your favourite.’
    ‘That sounds good. Mmmmm, I can’t wait.’
    Mrs. Dai and Mother Phan stepped onto the porch as well, and the hairdresser said, 
‘Miss Payne, what day your birthday?’
    ‘Christmas Eve.’
    ‘Is true?’
    Descending the porch steps, Del said, ‘October thirty-first.’