In Kieth Merrill’s quietly provocative novel, art and belief collide under San Francisco skies. In the vaulted hush of a nearly empty museum, a man paints blood in shades of alizarin crimson. His brush strokes summon creatures older than myth, locked in ancient struggle. But it isn’t just the Cro-Magnon hunters or the sabertooth’s scream that pulse from the mural. It’s the weight of the question behind the canvas: What
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