“Uh...well,” he began, then let out a frustrated sigh. “Hey, what’s the big deal? What does it matter who made it?”
“Because that’s my family you’re talking about,” she snapped. “My father made that fountain. My great-grandfather made that horse.”
James’ jaw dropped a little. “No way, really?” It was like meeting the relative of a celebrity. A local one, at least. Their work decorated the finest buildings, the most beautiful squares, though it had been a while since a new unveiling. “Wow, that’s…really cool. I, uh, thought these statues were really good, that I was making a compliment. You don’t think they’re good enough?”
“That’s not the point. The Donllejo’s do not make the human form. It’s sacrilegious.” As she said this, her profile had turned toward the piano man. “We don’t play God. We don’t make people.”
“Okay, sorry I brought it up,” James said quickly. “Uh, I’m James,” he said, changing the subject.
“Lenora,” she said.
“Do you go to Ballard?”
“Nah, I go to St. Thomas.” She made figure eights on the floor with her light.
“Huh?”
She sighed. “It’s a Catholic school.”
“Oh, sorry.” He peeked into the darkness of the room beside him. “Listen, do you want to do this together? Since we’re both here?”
She didn’t respond for a moment. “I guess it’s better than you scaring the crap out of me again. This way I can keep an eye on you.” She pointed the beam of light at his chest and then turned away, swinging her flashlight toward the room at the end of the long hall. “I’ve only been through the kitchen