I hadn't been sent to tag a witch in a month: unlicensed, white, dark, or otherwise. "Who am I kidding?" I whispered, pulling the strap of my bag farther up my shoulder. It was just the luck of the Turn that had put me here in the dark and rain. Everyone who could make it was at the West Coast for our yearly convention, leaving me with this gem of a run. But the streets were quieter than usual this week. I was way too good for this.Īpprehending unlicensed and black-art witches was my usual line of work, as it takes a witch to catch a witch. This is pathetic, I thought, eyeing the rain-emptied street. I stood in the shadows of a deserted shop front across from The Blood and Brew Pub, trying not to be obvious as I tugged my black leather pants back up where they belonged.
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