Billy doesn't comment about temptation or penance. Only leans back in his chair and sips the cold water, staring out the window at the lashing rain and dark clouds overhead. There's a chill in the air that seeps into the house, through the cracks under the doors and around the edges of the windows.

He misses the warmth of Rose Creek. Of Volcano Springs. Of any of the dozens of towns they've passed through.

"Goody's the one for philosophy." He points out, shaking his head slightly. "Personally don't think our hosts actually care."