Grayson Knox adjusted the rearview mirror of his battered black Chevy Truck.
The streets of New Orleans at midnight were unforgiving, shadows lurking around every corner.
He glanced over at his passenger, a young witch named Emily, barely sixteen.
She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, eyes darting nervously.
"Relax," he said, his voice a gravelly murmur.
"Phyllis won't bite. Not unless you provoke her."
The streets of New Orleans at midnight were unforgiving, shadows lurking around every corner.
He glanced over at his passenger, a young witch named Emily, barely sixteen.
She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, eyes darting nervously.
"Relax," he said, his voice a gravelly murmur.
"Phyllis won't bite. Not unless you provoke her."
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