All
of the followers had gone, sucked up in the girl’s funnel cloud. Everything lay on the ground, broken. The restaurant would not be serving again.
I
was wondering with a pang of regret where Marietta had gone when a dishevelled
figure with a lopsided purple hairdo and an old face limped over to me. We just stood and
looked at each other for a while, until she said, “You think you have won. But the spell is broken for you, too.”
“I
know,” I answered. “But at least I can
live with myself.”
“We’ll
see about that,” she replied. She then
disappeared, rather against her will, I thought, into a cloud of foul-smelling
smoke.
The clock
is a lie that
I must keep
unwound
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