I'd had to take the two-hour FAA course on carrying concealed on a plane. I'd felt paranoid this morning when I slipped the knife in its spine sheath. It was organized, very thought out. I've seen Baco in an interrogation.
The last execution in this country of a spell caster had been two months ago. His skin was the color of bad paste. Shit, I said. I had one chance to make this work.
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