The witches put a containment spell around Eddie to make sure he didn’t start chewing on someone should the notion take him. The officer in charge, a weregator whose nameplate read ‘Slocomb’, spoke in low tones with Tristan and Gerald. Like hogs, gators don’t meld too prettily with humans. Still, I decided Sergeant Slocomb was not as unappealing as most whose infection with Zoo Flu has made the jump from the swampy reptile to man. His grayish-green eyes were sharp, and the two rows of scaled ridges that ran from his brows down to his elongated snout had an almost artistic element. If it wasn’t so politically incorrect, I would have thought his skin would make a pretty pair of shoes.
Coming August 11
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