“We’re looking for a white male, early thirties. Witch. Name is Francis Percy. I.S. runner. “He’s no better than a warlock,” I interjected, bracing myself as we came to an abrupt halt at a red light. “The suspect is probably carrying spells,” Edden continued. “He’s harmless,” I muttered. “Do not approach unless he tries to leave,” Edden said tightly. “Yeah.” I snorted as we lurched into motion again. “He might bore you to death.”
