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“I got into the car, forcing back a gag as the closed interior made the stench worse. Maximus quickly sped us away. After a few minutes, he took the blackened chunk out of his coat and plunked it onto my lap with a muttered “Here.” I couldn’t help it—I shrieked. He slammed on the brakes, causing the thing to hit the windshield with a splat. I shrieked again when it smacked back onto my lap, smearing my pants with soot and thicker, grosser things. He looked around, one hand on the wheel, another holding a large silver knife. “What’s wrong?” “What’s wrong?” I repeated, days of pent-up grief and stress making my voice shrill. “You slapped a smoldering body part onto me without even a warning, that’s what’s wrong!” His brows drew together. “But you asked me to get that.” “I know I did!” — Jeanine Frost