Read from the beginning “Listen, Ringo. When I was about eight years old, my dad took me on a snipe hunt with some of his friends. We put on our winter coats and we went out into a field late at night. My dad told me the way to catch a snipe was to sprinkle salt on...
Read from the beginning “Wha…what do you mean?” I was quietly reading the situation and slipped the copper cylinder with Tanaquil’s warning back into my pocket. Why did I hide it? I couldn’t have told you, but it had something to do with the fact that Ringo had...
Read from the beginning The forest was black; clouds had moved in and blocked out any light from the moon and stars that might penetrate to the forest floor. The smell of rain was in the air and the canopy leaves chuckled in the sporadic breeze like a city of elves...
Read from the beginning I didn’t see why I was the one making the sacrifice. But the talisman spoon that was the ostensible source of the original potion’s power was, by Ringo’s lights, enchanted by being the instrument of my torment when my mother used to paddle me...
Read from the beginning Was everyone but me in some mafia outfit? How did I get left out? Driving in the Lancia with its top open to the constant rush of wind meant that it was very difficult to have a conversation all those times we were traversing around Ohio and...
Read from the beginning As the blanket of silence returned following the four pistol shots, time stood still. My already wounded head was now spinning and I fought to keep from passing out. I didn’t know what was going through Dimity’s head, but after a couple...
Read from the beginning Why I’d bothered to stop at a red light at 2 a.m. in a contraband racing vehicle in a town in the American Midwest, I couldn’t say. The Beaux Voyous sure weren’t bothering about the traffic laws. A familiar white Bugatti racer flew past us...
Read from the beginning “Hold it—dreams?” Ringo said. “Better to tell me about them now.” My head was still reeling from the revelation of the sinister figure of Poignard, some kind of global puppet master of the underworld. His name suggested he was French. Was he a...
Read from the beginning I slept hard that night. Harder than I had since this whole escapade began, despite the musty canvas of the cots and the echo of the building shaped like a gigantic overturned half-cylinder, and the others sleeping on creaking cots, unseen at...
Read from the beginning As interesting and provocative as Ringo’s story was, Dimity and I had come from a long road trip and we were yawning heavily. We tried to go on. Dimity said amid one of those long, full, open-mouthed yawns, “Did y-, y- [YA-A-A-A-A-AWN]…sorry....
