By Colleen Foley
“Really?” I
reached behind the seat, grabbing something to swipe the blood from my
left brow, exceptionally pleased that it was Seth's favorite shirt.
Magic snapped through the car; a deranged symphony of tiny whirlwinds.
“Listen. I just meant...I know touching that thing is killing you.” I gestured to the lump in his jacket pocket.
“I
get it. But the blend of you and it is like a magical beacon. He's
coming for us, and we're not where we need to be. Now, get out. You're
driving. I can't see. And don't fuck up my car.”
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