She was about to toss it into the recycling bin at work when her desk phone rang. Once. Twice. Her hand hovered. A memory of the book prickled her neck. On the third ring, she picked up.
No one was there. But on the mat, where a person might have stood, was a small mirror. She picked it up, confused. It was an antique, the glass slightly warped. She looked into it. horoscope
She’d lost that sketchbook during a miserable date at the museum. It contained drawings she’d assumed were gone forever. She was about to toss it into the