Up the winding road to stationary hill, Lark guns her weird motorcycle.

She follows the spine of the hill, motoring upwards, clouds of dust, filling the air behind

her.

Her jaw is tense, her mouth is set in a grim line.

Her gaze is stony. There's nothing unusual about that, of course.

Even on a hypothetical good day, this is Lark we're talking about. But she's feeling rather

unusually dower right about now. A dark purpose brings her into town tonight.

One of the roughest gigs she's ever had.

She would never even consider it if Sherman wasn't a friend.

It's not the first time she's had to do something so dark as this.

But it never gets any easier.

This is one of the few jobs that really gets under her skin these days,

makes her jumpy, keeps her guessing.

She's here to babysit.

Music There's a big show at the black candle tonight.

There's a line out the door.

The black curtain of fold is

in coming. It'll be here shortly, probably within the hour. And out in the road, outside the

cabaret, Lark is parked on her motorcycle. Zila is with her. Lark is setting up the sidecar.

Sherman is with his daughter.

Sherman and Lark, chat briefly.

Zila starts clambering excitedly into the sidecar even before it's entirely hitched up.

...