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Watch the fur.
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Journi didn’t make it to the end of the street before a man ran into her path, holding up his arms.
She braked, her front tire skidding to a halt just inches before the toe of his boot. Behind her, Gramma Jude hit her brakes as well, and even above the clackety engine, Journi heard her curse.
Reaching for her slingshot, Journi paused, recognizing the interloper. “Dr. Daniel?”
“Sorry,” he called, glancing behind her at the others. “I was half a block away and saw you leaving.”
Journi eyed the gray medical bag strapped around his chest. “What are you doing?”
“I heard the report over the scanner. I locked down the clinic and thought I’d see if I could help.”
If anyone could help cats afflicted by sorcery, it would be a post-Rise veterinarian, and she had to give him credit for braving the streets during a dark-magic outbreak. “The CST quarantined the shelter. You can’t get in.” She left out the fact that the cats inside may already be beyond help. It wasn’t a possibility she wanted to consider.
He gazed down the block at the shelter, his brows drawing together. “Damn.”
Behind Journi, a window rolled down, and Frieda’s voice called, “Hop on, Doc! We’re on a rescue mission!”
Hop on? Wait—what?
Dr. Daniel didn’t dawdle. He nodded, jogging up to Journi’s scooter and climbing on behind her.
Journi froze as he adjusted his bag and then slid his arms around her waist.
She would kill Frieda.
Slowly and painfully.
And with intense pleasure.
“It’s safer in the car,” Journi called over her shoulder. “And I don’t have an extra helmet.”
“It’s okay,” he called back, his breath tickling her neck. “I’m hard to break.”
There was no time to argue or ponder how his arms felt. She growled under her breath and accelerated. She couldn’t be sure over the scooter’s purr and the clamor of Gramma Jude’s Beetle, but Journi swore she heard him chuckle.
The trip across town was a white-knuckler. The streets were a chaotic maze of speeding cars and wide-eyed people running on foot. Journi passed two speeding CST vehicles and a Columbus PD patrol car racing in the opposite direction, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Mutant cats were everywhere. Diving through living room windows in explosions of glass, leaping onto moving vehicles, and bounding from rooftop to rooftop. One such beast darted across the street in front of Journi like a grotesque, hunchbacked bullet. She swerved to avoid it, nearly emptying Dr. Daniel on the pavement, but he held on like he was determined to go down with the ship at all costs. Gramma Jude had swerved too, the Beetle skidding sideways. The cat-beast paid them no mind, however, its glowing eyes locked on some invisible target as it disappeared down the adjacent alley. By the time they reached the Burkes’, Journi was wound up tighter than a bedspring. Rescuers nearly dying on their way to do the rescuing was never a good sign, and she suspected things were only going to get hairier.
Or, in this case, furrier.
The first thing she noticed when she pulled off her helmet and surveyed the neighborhood was that there was no sign of the CST. Or anyone for that matter. The street was deserted, with only dead leaves skittering across the asphalt as if they too were running for their lives.
The second was an enormous smoky, purplish cloud that was rotating above the Burkes’ house, with white-hot crackles of lightning flashing in its opaque depths. Night was settling in, and the ominously swirling behemoth blotted out most of the budding moonlight.
Both she and the veterinarian spoke at the same time. “What the hell?”
Gramma Jude, Frieda, and Josephine emerged from the car and joined them, gazing up at the funnel cloud.
Josephine looked especially pale, her tweed skirt fluttering in the chill breeze. “The energy surrounding this place is very, very dark.”
“You don’t say,” Journi remarked dryly, hanging her helmet on the handlebar and climbing off.
At least, she tried to climb off.
“Oh,” Dr. Daniel said, grunting when her heel caught him on the thigh. “Hang on, I’ll—”
She stumbled, hopping backward on one foot until her leg cleared the scooter, her arms windmilling. Dr. Daniel reached for her as if to help, but she miraculously made it onto the curb without going down. “I got it,” she said, clearing her throat and adjusting her satchel. “I’m fine.”
“Got some weak knees, do ya, sugarpuss?” Gramma Jude asked, her gold tooth glinting when she grinned.
“My knees are fine,” Journi said and refused to acknowledge the heat in her cheeks. “Let’s go. Stay sharp.”
The group hurried up the Burkes’ walkway and onto the porch without incident. At the door, Journi held up a hand and paused, listening. Inside, the house was deathly quiet. Her heart skipped a beat. Were they too late? She turned to her wee army of misfits and whispered, “Hayley and the kid are upstairs. Mrs. Burke was last seen downstairs. We don’t know what we’re walking into.”
There was a round of stiff nods. Gramma Jude readied her wand, Frieda rolled her shoulders, Josephine produced her taser, and Dr. Daniel only waited. Journi turned back to the door, loading her slingshot with a marble. After a deep breath, she turned the knob.
The door opened haunted-house style, its dry squeak grating the silence. She paused, holding her breath. When nothing lunged out of the darkness, she stepped into the inner foyer, and the others followed. Through the second set of doors’ windows, she could see that the house itself was dark too, with only the faintest glimmer of light coming from somewhere to the right. The lack of movement was somehow more troubling than the alternative.
She started to open the door, but Dr. Daniel halted her. “Wait.”
Journi stilled and glanced at him. He eyed the gloom beyond and sniffed, murmuring, “Blood. Human.”
Her eyebrows rose, but she took him at his word and nodded. There would be time to consider the pros, cons, and what-the-hells of his ability to scent human blood later. She hoped. Shoving down a grisly image of a tattered and torn Olivia Burke, Journi carefully opened the door.
The first thing she realized was the house wasn’t as quiet as she’d thought.
A persistent, angry scratching came from a room at the end of the hall to her right. A kitchen. It was also the source of the light she’d seen. Swallowing, she glanced up the carpeted stairs that led to Tilda’s room. In the dimly lit shadows, she glimpsed deep gouges in the stairwell’s drywall, accented with smears of blood. She wondered morbidly if Mrs. Burke would approve of the shade. A small lump lay on the floor by the bottom step, and as Journi’s eyes adjusted, she realized it was the stuffed bunny she’d seen in Tilda’s room earlier. The rabbit had been gutted, its stuffing spilling out like fluffy entrails.
Glancing back toward the kitchen, she could just make out dark-wood cabinetry and the gleaming edge of a marble island. The mysterious pale light illuminated the remnants of a broken plate scattered across the tile floor, along with the glittering shards of a shattered wine glass soaking in red liquid she hoped was merlot.
She turned to the group, pointing and whispering instructions. “Gramma Jude, you and mom go upstairs and find Hayley and Tilda. Take a left at the top of the stairs. Second door on the right. Frieda, you and the doc are with me.”
Despite the dangerous situation, Frieda, Gramma Jude, and even Josephine gave her an oh realllllly look. Dr. Daniel’s mouth twitched, but he remained otherwise silent.
Journi pursed her lips and pointed up the stairs.
Gramma Jude and Josephine obeyed, quickly and quietly making their way up the shadowed stairwell.
Journi glanced at Frieda and Dr. Daniel, and the trio shared a nod. Slingshot armed, Journi stalked toward the kitchen, her heart pounding. The frantic, metallic scratching grew louder with each step. Was Horace, now a mindless monster, somehow trapped and trying to claw its way out?
Or, worse yet, was it trying to get in?
As Journi neared the entryway, she realized the glow was emanating from a countertop wine cooler that had been toppled and was now ajar. Broken wine bottles littered the tile below. A floor-to-ceiling pantry had been torn open as well, its door hanging askew and various canned goods scattered about. As for the source of the scratching, it sounded close, as if it was just inside the doorway to the left. She held her breath and peered around the corner.
Horace, at least ten times his normal size and horribly misshapen, was clawing at a large stainless-steel refrigerator in a mindless frenzy. The once-sleek white cat was now a hulking, bulging creature, its oversized, tufted ears swiveled forward as it scratched manically at the refrigerator’s dented door. The cat’s tail had grown to at least six feet long, and a scorpion-like stinger glinted at its tip. The beast’s eyes glowed green just like its shelter brethren, and the unearthly light reflected off the steel. On the floor around the fridge, food of every variety was strewn. Produce, cracked and leaking eggs, leftovers, and a milk carton, which had glugged its last drop, the white liquid smeared with what looked very much like blood and lots of it. Even the clear-plastic refrigerator shelves themselves were lying haphazardly around the room. Someone or something had ripped out the appliance’s innards in a hurry.
Yet the door was now closed.
The fridge had been recessed into the cabinetry by design, making it difficult to wobble and tip over. That, and what appeared to be a safety lock on the door, was the only thing keeping the beast at bay.
Journi pulled back and looked at Frieda and Dr. Daniel. She gestured with her chin toward the kitchen and mouthed, “It’s in there.”
The two exchanged glances. There was only one reason the deranged cat-beast would be trying to open that fridge. Someone was inside it. Someone it wanted. Which meant that someone was most likely Tilda or Olivia. The cat wouldn’t stop until they were dead.
Or it was.
Dr. Daniel acted before Journi could, slipping past her while producing a syringe from his bag and pulling the cap off with his teeth.
Journi cursed. He didn’t know about the poison barbs. “Wait,” she hissed. “Don’t go in—”
But he did.
“C’mon,” Journi growled at Frieda, and the two raced after him.
Inside the trashed kitchen, Dr. Daniel approached the still-clawing beast with caution. In the glow of the ajar wine cooler, his face was steady. Unafraid. He brandished the poised syringe in one hand while holding out the other as if to ward off the cat should it turn on him. He didn’t have the look of a mighty protector of womenfolk but, rather, the look of a man used to handling situations like these. But he hadn’t been there to witness Mr. Sniggles’ fall from feline grace, and Journi didn’t have a secret stash of magical antivenin in her bag. Still, he was in it to win it now, so she’d have to trust him. Motioning for Aunt Frieda to stay behind her, Journi drew back her slingshot, the cord creaking ever so slightly, and waited.
Though the cat had undoubtedly heard and smelled them, it paid no attention whatsoever. Journi had the feeling they could have marched in clanging cymbals and wailing on electric guitars and it wouldn’t have glanced their way. It was as though it had developed tunnel vision. Tunnel everything. All it cared about was whoever was inside that fridge.
Her heart bounced as if on a trampoline as Dr. Daniel crept up behind the furiously scratching beast. Despite the debris-littered floor, his progress had been soundless so far, without even the slightest accidental crunch of glass or inadvertently kicked can of vegetables. For a veterinarian, he was nimble. Not that she had any idea where veterinarians ranked on the nimble scale in any case.
“Watch the fur,” she whispered. “It’s poisonous.”
The good doctor gave the barest of nods and took another quiet step. And another. And another. Until he was inches from the cat’s spiked, hunched back. Behind Journi, Frieda was utterly still, as if she too waited on pins and needles. Journi lined up the shimmering marble in her sling with the cat’s deformed head. If something went wrong, she’d be ready.
The injection was given with no fanfare or hesitation. In one quick, efficient jab, Dr. Daniel sank the needle into the side of the cat’s meaty neck. In fact, he’d done it so swiftly Journi would have missed it if she’d blinked. Tossing the empty syringe aside, Dr. Daniel stepped back and watched the cat as if ready for anything. The cat’s reaction to being stuck was as anticlimactic as the act itself. For a moment, nothing happened. The beast continued to claw the battered fridge as if its life depended on it, green eyes aglow, but then its grossly oversized paws slowed. Its unwavering, frantic pace became sloppy and erratic, and it swayed. A heartbeat later, its head lolled to the side, its gaping mouth slack, the otherworldly glow in its eyes dimming like two dying lightbulbs. Dr. Daniel lunged forward just as the beast fell. He caught it before it collided with the floor.
“Holy balls,” Journi breathed, the adrenaline draining out of her and leaving her trembling.
“Ditto,” Frieda said in a stunned voice.
With the cat down, Journi pocketed her slingshot and hurried over to the fridge. The lock—likely meant to keep Tilda out—had taken a beating but was still intact. It took Journi a frustrating moment of finagling and cursing, but she finally released it and threw open the double doors.
Inside the fridge was Olivia. She was sitting on a smashed loaf of bread and what looked like ten gallons of smeared mustard. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around her shins, and she was shaking so hard Journi could hear her teeth rattling. The woman’s pantsuit was in tatters, and blood stained the white material. Her hair was a mess, and a trio of angry gashes marked her cheek. She’d been crying, and the congealed blood was streaked with black rivulets of eyeliner. It took her a moment to realize the door was open, but then she looked over with terrified eyes and screamed.
It was one of those brainless, ear-drum-shattering screams that only the truly afraid can produce.
“Mrs. Burke,” Journi said in a hushed voice, crouching to look her in the eye. “Calm down. You’re safe.”
Journi had no idea if that was true or not. She had to assume the injection Dr. Daniel had given Horace was a sedative and who knew how long that would last. Not to mention it wasn’t the only cat around looking for a kid’s value meal, and Olivia’s shrieks were free advertisement.
“Mrs. Burke,” Journi tried again. “It’s Journi McCutcheon from Say It Ain’t So. We’re here to help you.”
Olivia’s screams carried on for another second or two but then tapered off into startled silence. She blinked at Journi as if only just now recognizing her.
“Didn’t I fire you?” Olivia asked finally, her voice managing to sound condescending despite its hoarseness.
Journi stared at her and considered closing the door. Instead, she held out her hand. “Yeah, you did.”
Olivia took it and allowed Journi to pull her out, asking shakily, “What are you doing here?”
Journi helped her over the fridge’s discarded shelving and noticed Olivia was missing one shoe. “Hayley called—”
At the sight of the unconscious cat-beast, a fresh, blood-curdling scream ripped out of Olivia’s throat. Journi cursed and clapped a hand over the woman’s mouth. “Quiet,” she hissed. “It’s asleep. It’s not going to hurt you.”
After a moment of muffled hysterics, Olivia finally calmed enough to pull free of Journi’s grasp. “Unhand me!”
Journi did, gritting her teeth. “Are you hurt?”
“Of course I am!” Olivia snapped, her haughtiness somewhat diminished by her haggard appearance. She looked like she’d been ridden hard and put away wet—in the fridge. She pointed a finger at the limp cat. “That . . . that creature mauled me! I’m lucky to be alive.”
Journi looked at Dr. Daniel, who was holding open the cat’s eyes and shining a penlight into them, his expression thoughtful. What was with medical professionals and penlights? “It’s sedated?” Journi asked him.
He nodded, releasing the cat’s lids and pocketing his light. “I gave it enough tranquilizer to take down a zombie rhinoceros.” He glanced up at her with a hint of a grin. “That really happened once.”
She didn’t doubt it. “How long will it be out?”
“Two, three hours maybe.”
“You mean you’re not going to kill it?” Olivia demanded, aghast. “I want that thing euthanized.”
Aunt Frieda stepped between her and the beast. “That thing is a cat,” she said in the same voice she’d once used on Journi when she’d been caught kissing her sixth-grade boyfriend behind the shelter. “Your cat. We’re not killing it unless we have to.”
“She’s right,” Journi said. “If we can reverse the spell, we might be able to save it.” She eyed Dr. Daniel for confirmation. “Right?”
He too looked ready to shield the animal from Mrs. Burke’s wrath. “In theory, yes.”
Looking as if she was on the verge of apoplexy, Olivia’s eyes bugged. “Save it? Are you kidding me?”
Realizing the woman was nearing a nuclear meltdown, Journi diverted her attention. “Mrs. Burke, we need to find your daughter. Now.”
As if remembering Tilda for the first time, Olivia gasped, bringing her fingertips to her mouth. “Oh God, Tilda.” She whirled around as if ready to charge headlong into danger. “Tilda! Where are you?”
Journi grabbed her wrist before she could run. “Stop shouting,” she hissed, wondering if Dr. Daniel had another tranquilizer she could borrow. “For whatever reason, the cats are drawn to children. That includes unborn children. The quieter we are, the safer you and Tilda will be. Got it?”
Olivia blanched. “Cats. You mean there are more?”
“Stay behind me,” Journi told her and then raised her chin at Frieda and Dr. Daniel. “Let’s go.”
Frieda nodded, and Dr. Daniel quickly checked the cat’s pulse one last time before joining them.
The mention of plural beasts seemed to stun Olivia into silence, and she followed Journi obediently as they made their way down the hall. There hadn’t been any screams or shouts from upstairs since they’d arrived, so Journi had to assume Josephine and Gramma Jude were safe and had located Hayley and Tilda. Nonetheless, Journi readied her slingshot when they reached the bottom step. Holding up her free hand to signal the others, she stopped to listen.
Nothing.
Satisfied, she took the steps two at a time, halting at the top to survey the dark hallway. Aside from a bookshelf that had been knocked over and some crooked paintings on the wall, it appeared empty. She nodded at the others, then headed for Tilda’s room. The door was closed, but it had been clawed. Thoroughly.
And the cream carpet at the door’s base had been shredded as if the beast had tried to burrow under it.
“Oh, God,” Olivia breathed.
Journi signaled for her to wait and then leaned in, whispering, “Gramma Jude? Mom?”
There was a terrible moment of silence, and then the door eased open just wide enough for Gramma Jude’s wary eye to peer out. She brandished her wand, and its glowing tip illuminated her wrinkled face, giving her a ghostly appearance. “Journi Renee?”
Journi stared at her. “No, it’s Mrs. Claus.”
Gramma Jude scowled and opened the door. “You’re a sour child, you know that?”
“Only because I grew up drinking your lemonade,” Journi said, stepping inside. “Everybody okay?”
Gramma Jude moved back to allow her and the others to pass, then closed the door behind them. “Fine. Scared out of their britches but fine.”
Across the room, Josephine rose from the bed, where she’d been sitting beside Hayley and a pale, frightened Tilda. Tilda spotted Olivia and promptly started crying, holding out her arms. “Mommy.”
Olivia brushed past Journi and Gramma Jude, hurrying to her daughter and gathering her into her arms. “I’m here. It’s all right. Are you hurt?”
Despite Journi’s opinion of Mrs. Burke, seeing her reunited with her daughter—all appendages accounted for—filled her with relief. As did the fact that Hayley was scratched and bruised but otherwise unharmed. As mother and child comforted each other, Journi walked over to the shaken nanny, who was hugging herself, her eyes brimming with tears. “Thank you,” Hayley said at her approach. “I thought . . .” She shook her head and glanced at her shoes as if unable to finish.
“They’re fine,” Journi assured her. “Everyone is safe.”
Hayley nodded. “I’m just glad Mr. Burke is in Cleveland for a medical conference.”
Unless Mr. Burke was sporting a uterus, Journi doubted he would have been endangered even if he had been here. “Speaking of him,” she said, pulling Hayley aside. “Can I talk to you?”
Her blonde brows drew together in confusion, but she nodded. “Sure.”
The jilted-mistress theory was low on Journi’s list of possibilities, but it was worth ruling out. “Would you have any reason to believe Mr. Burke is unfaithful?”
Hayley blinked and then frowned. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah,” Journi said. “Finding out how this started is the only way to stop it. If there’s a vengeful mistress in the picture, she’d be the first place to look.”
Though she seemed caught off guard by the question, Hayley nodded as if she understood. “Right. Um, no.” She shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
Journi glanced at Gramma Jude and Josephine as they walked over. “Anything?”
“I’m not picking up anything unsavory from anyone,” Josephine said and then smiled at Hayley. “Present company included.”
Hayley didn’t seem at all disturbed that there was an empath in their midst and returned her smile.
“House is clean,” Gramma Jude seconded with a shrug, gazing around. “No hex.”
Journi frowned. Earlier, she’d been so sure she’d sensed a looming, sinister presence in the house. In fact, she could still sense it. A heaviness in the air. A stench in her nostrils that had nothing to do with smell. An oiliness on her skin that wasn’t really there. She pointed toward the ceiling. “Then how do you explain the tornado of death brewing over the house?”
Dr. Daniel’s voice interrupted. “It’s not.”
Journi looked over to see him standing by the window, holding aside the beige-and-white chevron curtain while he gazed upward. “What?”
He glanced at her and then gestured with his chin. “It’s not brewing over this house. It’s brewing over that one.”
Journi strode over to the window and looked up.
He was right.
When they’d first arrived, she’d mistakenly assumed the funnel had been circulating above the Burkes’. Understandable, considering the closeness of the houses. But now, from this angle, she could see that the cloud’s dark, roiling heart coalesced over the house next door, not the Burkes’.
She thought back to earlier when she’d glimpsed the old man pruning his bushes. Much like the street itself, he’d appeared normal. Pleasant. Charming. But, these days, things were rarely what they seemed. Could the kindly grandpa next door be the maestro behind this symphony of slaughter? There was only one way to find out.
Hayley joined them at the window, dismayed. “Mr. Jenkins’ house? Do you think he’s in trouble?”
Journi shared a look with Gramma Jude, Josephine, and Frieda, whose ominous expressions mirrored her own. “No,” Journi said, turning back to the window. “I think he is the trouble.”
Olivia rose from the bed. “What’s going on?”
Journi scanned what she could of the street from her viewpoint. Still no sign of the CST. For now, Journi and the others were on their own. She faced Olivia. “Do you have a safe room?”
All post-Rise homes came outfitted with a saferoom factory-warded against various types of magic. If the home had been constructed before the Rise, like Olivia’s, safe room installation was almost always included in the purchase price.
Olivia looked like she wanted to demand answers, but she nodded reluctantly. “In the basement. Everything happened so fast. We got split up and didn’t have a chance to get to it.”
“Go there. Now. Take Tilda.” Journi glanced at Hayley. “You too.”
“Shouldn’t we call the authorities?” Olivia hissed. “Or, better yet, shouldn’t we get the hell out of here?”
“The authorities were called,” Josephine pointed out. “They never made it.”
“They issued a level-three magic emergency just as I left the clinic,” Dr. Daniel added. “It’s chaos out there.”
Olivia went to the window and eyed the street below. “Doesn’t look chaotic to me.”
“That’s because this neighborhood is largely elderly, and these cats want to eat kids,” Journi said. “Not retirees.”
At the mention of killer cats, Tilda began crying again, and Josephine gave Journi a reproachful look. “What she means to say,” Josephine cut in, her voice gentle. “Is that both of you would be safer here. Off the streets.”
“She’s right,” Frieda said. “There are about four hundred thousand stray and feral cats in Franklin County alone. There’s no telling how quickly this is spreading.”
The statistic seemed to put things into perspective for Mrs. Burke, and she paled, glancing down at her daughter as if weighing her options. “Fine.”
Journi nodded. “Let’s go.”
The group stirred to action. Gramma Jude led the way, her wand’s tip illuminating the dark hall with a blue glow. Josephine followed with Olivia and Tilda, talking softly to them along the way. Frieda, Dr. Daniel, and Journi brought up the rear. As they made their way stealthily down the stairs, Journi glanced at the veterinarian. “You have a poison barb sticking out of your chest.”
Dr. Daniel took stock of his chest and made a well-would-you-look-at-that face before plucking out the barb. “Thanks.”
Journi arched an eyebrow and jogged down the last few steps. “That a macho thing?”
Chuckling, he tucked the barb into one of the medical bag’s pockets. “More like an immune thing.”
“Handy.”
He nodded. “By law, I’m required to get vaccinated against a variety of animal-magic infectors every five years. That, and I’m—”
From outside, an ear-splitting yowl cut the silence, followed by the distinctive sound of claws raking at one of the living room windows.
Olivia and Tilda screamed, and Journi froze, placing her hand on the slingshot in her back pocket, whispering, “Quiet!”
Olivia managed to quell her shrieking, but Tilda dissolved into frightened tears, whimpering against her mother’s neck. Both Josephine and Hayley did their best to soothe the kid, while Journi and the others watched the windows warily.
The yowling came again, and something large threw itself against the front door, the boom echoing around the quiet house.
“Oh, God,” Olivia said in a tremulous voice. “It’s trying to get in.”
Journi hurried forward and quietly closed the foyer’s secondary door. She looked at Olivia. “Your windows are warded, right?” Window wards weren’t cheap, but that wouldn’t have been a problem for the Burkes. And while the wards wouldn’t keep out any curious cats indefinitely, they would slow them down and buy some time.
Olivia nodded stiffly. “Yes.”
“And the doors?”
Faltering, a strange mix of shame and horror swam to the surface in Olivia’s eyes. “No,” she admitted. “They’re Victorian-era woodwork. I didn’t want to devalue them.”
“Devalue them?” Journi began but then held up a hand, stopping herself. Outside, the beast assaulted the door once more, rattling the oh-so-valuable woodwork. There wasn’t time. “Never mind. Get to the basement. Now.”
Looking appropriately frightened, Olivia hurried off with Tilda in tow. Hayley nodded her thanks to Journi and followed them.
“Now what?” Frieda asked, staring at the rattling door.
Journi loaded a marble into her slingshot, the magic inside twinkling in the shadows. “Now we kick some geriatric ass.”
