A stunning shift in Zoey's view of the world came later that week. In a flash of insight, she suddenly understood what Aunt Flory meant when she insisted there was no such thing as a single truth. 'Just because she'd always believed something didn't make it true.'
Zoey woke to the sound of the wind whistling through the c***k in her bedroom window. Last summer, a blue jay had flown into the glass, splitting it down the center. It proved to be a fatal mistake, and the girls had buried it under the magnolia tree, away from Montague's keen gaze. The handyman, Harold Weekes, had it on his list of things to fix but so far hadn't gotten to it.
A storm was brewing outside. Zoey wriggled deeper under the covers, stealing a glance at Celeste, whose face glowed under her nightlight like a pale moo
