Nate wrenched the door open, lunatic glint in his eye.
I held him back. “I should drive.”
“No dice.”
“Then let me clean your wound, so it doesn’t blind you.”
I
knew that would do the trick. He flinched at the idea of me handling
his blood. I wouldn’t keep it without asking, but he’d never trust me
not to. That might have stung, once, but blood is power, especially in
the hands of a witch. He’d seen my creations.
He packed a snowball, wrapped it in an old shirt – mine, of course – and climbed into the back seat, grumbling.
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