— Notes of a Servant of God,

Brother Paolo Frederico, 1693

I am casting the net. Pray for my success, that I may increase our number and find those for whom I search.

The porch light cast a shadow across our lawn. Before me, on the crunchy, dried-out autumn grass, a small, darker me walked to my car.

"What's wrong with Breezy?" I asked.

"She's making a weird pinging noise," Bree said.

I rolled my eyes, hoping she could see me. Bree's expensive, sensitive car was always doing one thing or another. So much for fancy engineering.

I opened the driver's side door and eased onto the cool vinyl seat of Das Boot, my beautiful white 71 Chrysler valiant. My dad likes to joke that my car weighs more than a submarine, so we named it Das Boot, the German word for boat and the title of my dad's all-time favorite movie, Bree climbed in the other side, and we waved good-bye to my dad, who was putting out the trash.

"Drive carefully, sweetheart," he called.

I started the engine and glanced out my window at the sky. The waning moon was a thin, sharp crescent. A wisp of a dark cloud drifted across it, blotting it from the sky and making the stars pop into prominence.

"Are you going to tell me where Chris is?" I asked as I turned onto Riverdale Drive.

Bree sighed, "I told him I promised to go with you," she said.

"Oh, jeez, don't tell me," I groaned. "I'm afraid of driving by myself at night; is that it?"

Bree rubbed he forehead. "Sorry," she muttered. "He's gotten so possessive. Why do guys always do that? You go out with them for a while, and suddenly they own you." She shivered, though it was barely chilly. "Turn right on Westwood."

Westwood headed right out of town, northward.

Bree waved the piece of paper that had the directions. "I wonder what this will be like. Cal is really…different, isn't he?"