Chapter 93: Plugging Leaks

I stirred the pot of spaghetti sauce simmering on the gas burner and tried to shake off the feeling that Petunia's had become a prison. It certainly felt that way, made worse by the fall of darkness. While the sound of their presence was muffled by the thick walls of the B&B, the flashing and glaring lights of the media gathered outside and the volume of voices talking over each other as reporters went live with my precious bed and breakfast in the background-I'd seen enough watching a few news channels as I cooked dinner to feel even more empathy for

Willow and the public life she led-made it impossible to ignore the fact any kind of normalcy was out of the question.

I hoped our food stores would hold up because we weren't leaving without being badgered and hounded by the press any time soon.