“Hey,” she giggled, and I could hear her friends’ chatter in the background. “I’m not drinking. I might do some kissing. And I’m raising a little hell. Proud of me?” “Go to the theater,” I blurted out. “Now. It’s an emergency. Stay there until I come and get you.” There was silence, and I half-expected to be questioned, but she didn’t fight. I heard her swallow. “Okay,” she replied quietly. “I’ll text when I’m there.” “Love you,” I said. “Love you too.” Michael CristAthos Fane Book:Fire Night Source: Fire Night