out it didn’t work, and never had? I turned around and began walking toward the Viper. I hadn’t glanced in its direction since we’d materialized. I did now, and gasped. The Wolf Countach was parked on the far side of it, deep in the shadows, and Jericho Barrons was leaning back against it, arms crossed over his chest, dressed from head to toe in black, every bit as dark and still as the night. I blinked. He was still there. Hard to peel apart from the darkness, but there. “What in the … how … where did you come from?” I sputtered. “The bookstore.” Duh. Sometimes his answers make me want to
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