<div class="floatleft"><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><div align="center">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/38ed/ml3mpr0wazqo3e5zg.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 13pt;"><strong>Chloe</strong><br/>‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾</span></span></div></td><td>(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/4d/AlTeregoSeparator.png)</td></tr></tbody></table></div><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 13pt;">Mikey is taken care of and he seems considerate of the tablecloth too. Linen antique from my maternal great-grandmother, special for the holidays. It has seen much, and I’m sure Mikey’s blood is not the first blood it’s seen. We both look the table over while the book sits there at the head of the table, it seems to be glowing and inviting our attention.</span></span><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 13pt;">  “Um, guys? The book? Is it, um, doing something?”</span></span><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 13pt;">It seems to be struggling to open the clasp, as if maybe it’s enjoying where it’s found itself. Shake my head, mother always told me to ignore it but grand-mama always told me that I’d been born with what she called other sight and that it came to us from great-grandmother who never told where she got it.</span></span><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 13pt;">  “Um, when you two are done being all silly, we need to help this book open up. It’s in pain, I can feel it!”</span></span><br/>