Chicken and waffles?” “Keep your voice down—you’ve made a bad enough impression as it is.” Pendergast paused. “It’s a southern thing. If you have to ask, you won’t understand the explanation.” Coldmoon shook his head. “Sounds toxic.” “Then perhaps I shouldn’t tell you the waffles are slathered in butter, the fried chicken is doused with hot sauce, and then the entire concoction is drowned in maple syrup.” Coldmoon shuddered.
