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death the toll, with this hex I curse your soul. So mote it be.”
lenses of the John Lennon specs his eyes were terrified. He licked his pale lips.
“Uh-huh,” I said. I sounded like Jake.
him beyond the fact that he was finishing up an undisclosed undergrad program at UCLA
kind of way, as though I still didn’t get it.
your problems, but this particular problem rang a few bells for me. Or so I thought at the
Boulevard. My ten-year-old Bronco was on its last legs, and Jake seemed to believe that I was
“Gave him eight hundred bucks. Told him to take Wanda Witch away for the