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Jenny was asleep and dreaming. It was the summer of 1975, and she was at the lake with Tanner, and they were fishing. Well, Tanner was fishing. She’d come along because she had nothing better to do. She was already beginning to regret that decision, because it was excruciatingly hot, and the lake stank to high heaven.

She sat in the shade beside their bicycles, reading a book she’d checked out from the Carthage library. Jack of Shadows, by Roger Zelazny. It wasn’t bad at all, though she preferred her fantasy set in modern times. Still, it was better than fishing.