As Clementine spoke, Flavia carried the mugs out to the kitchen table. She looked down at the deepening, swirling color of the steeping tea, trying to understand the story the other girl was telling.

"They died...and came back to life?" she asked, puzzled. "Like..." she trailed off, trying to think. "Like Dracula? Or Frankenstein's monster?" Flavia tried to picture Boris Karloff shambling from the film screen and through the streets, lunging at passers-by, but it all seemed too absurd.