Feb
25
Moto was just about to smash the glass to steal the iPad when Finesse saw the markings on the windshield. “Stop! Oh, shit! SPELL!” He released the brick with a shriek, not caring that it landed on his shoulder and then his foot. Finesse checked again; “Sigil,” she said, trembling. Someone had licked their finger and drawn three symbols intertwined; she would never have seen it without the hard frost. “Theft = death = service,” she whispered, backing up. “Necromancy. This is a bait car.” Finesse took out a can of spray paint, wrote a message to the others in the street, and then they ran.