the smuggler’s bible


The first thing Valentina notices—the very first indicator that the situation has jumped the rails—is the line of ants trundling through the door, each one carrying a scrap of paper with a shaky letter drawn on it.

She reads as they drift by: “… neither in heaven nor hell; and therefore they must …”

Peg is in her room, cross-legged on the floor with a notebook, watching the procession wind out of a gap in the drywall.

“Isn’t this wild? It’s Hobbes, by the way.”

“Peg,” Valentina whispers. “Why?”

“That question,” Peg says, “is proving to be a little trickier.”