"I don't know about pray, exactly," Christopher said to me, as I helped him down the central passage of the chapel.

"I'd guess more than half the village isn't really interested in praying either," I answered. "Seat down front?"

"Please," he said. Behind us, the townspeople were settling into pews and making room for the Friendly. Gwen pushed past the crowd and wrapped her arm around my waist.

"You'll sit with us," she said firmly. Paula made room for Christopher and me; Gwen squeezed in next to me, with Lucas next to her on the aisle.

"Do you think they're cursed?" Paula asked. "Everyone's saying they are."

"Well," Christopher said, leaning back. "I don't know. This midwife of yours wasn't a young woman, eh? Could be, as some of our skeptics would have it," he elbowed me, "that the stress of helping at a birthing was just too much."

"I don't think they're cursed," I said. "I think Nona's just a tired new mother who caught a bad break."

Steve Harrison and his wife hadn't been at the dinner, but they were walking in from a side-entrance even as we all settled down. Nona did look tired, and her husband and his brother were the ones carrying the boys. They stopped near the altar, uneasy in their Sunday-best clothing. Richard said a few words to them, over the wailing of the babies.

"Are they sick?" Carmen asked, leaning back from the pew in front of us and turning her head so I'd hear her.

"Sometimes children cry," Gwen replied for me. "They sound healthy enough."

"Shhh," Christopher said to them, as Richard turned to the assembled...well, congregation, I suppose, though it felt more like an audience.

"There's been talk in Low Ferry, of late," Richard said, "that the death of Bertha O'Brien has some significance for these two children. Now we all know that losing Bertha was a tragedy, both for those who were her friends and for those who depended on her services. But we've eulogized Bertha and committed her into the hands of God, so tonight we gather here to consider these children. Some would even tell you they think the children are cursed from that death."

"Or they're the cause," someone called from the back. Richard stared in their direction with all the vigor of a man who's given sermons to unruly congregations for a decade. Nona, onstage, wrung her hands.

"No-one," Richard said, his voice ringing sharp and clear, "wants to blame two infants for the death of a grown woman. No-one here should think for one minute that these children somehow chose for Bertha to die. So I would like to suggest that we are here tonight to reaffirm our commitment, as a village, to cherishing Low Ferry's newest citizens as welcome sons of ours and of the Heavenly Father."

"He goes a little heavy on God," Gwen whispered.

"He's a preacher, that's what he does," I whispered back. All over the church, people were shifting fretfully, uncomfortable with the pair of wailing babies before them.

"Christopher," Richard said, and both myself and the Friendly's patriarch looked up. "Christopher Dusk," he amended, smiling. "Would you come up here, please?"

"You...uh...me?" I asked. He nodded. "Okay..."

I stood and edged past Gwen and Lucas, then hesitated.

"Come up," Richard said. "They won't bite you."

Nervous laughter. I joined him near the altar.

"What are you doing?" I hissed at him.

"Christopher, as all of you know, has been something of an intimate of death, lately, isn't that so?" Richard said to the congregation. I blinked at him, uncertain whether I was insulted that he'd brought it up now or confused that he'd brought it up at all. "And Low Ferry respects your opinion, Christopher, as an educated man. I'd like you to have a look at these children and see what you think of them."

"I really don't..." I began, but he was already leading me inexorably towards the Harrison twins. Nona touched my hand as I passed.

I leaned over first one baby and then the other, trying to ignore their continued wails of discontent. They had feathery baby hair, dark eyes, wide mouths, snub noses, ears of regulation size. They were not especially beautiful babies, but they weren't disfigured or particularly ugly, either. They looked like babies to me. Unhappy babies, but that was all.

"They, uh, don't seem unusual to me," I said, loud enough for the rest of the congregation to hear. "I mean, Kirchner's looked at them, right? They look fine."

"Not familiar at all?" Richard asked.

"Familiar? I – no, of course not. I've never seen them before," I said. "They favor the Harrison side, though."

Steve gave me a strained smile.

"I mean, they're...you know, they're kids," I continued. Richard nodded encouragingly. "Just kids."

"Just kids," he repeated. "Thank you, Christopher. Would anyone else like to examine them? Make sure they have no horns, that sort of thing?"

Awkward silence from the congregation. Richard gave me a gentle shove back towards my seat.

"I am going to lead you all in prayer," he continued, as I slid past Lucas and Gwen. "And when we have finished, I hope you will stay to witness Abe and Noah Harrison being christened and welcomed into the church. Let us pray. Our Father, who art in heaven... "