All
of the followers had gone, sucked up into the girl’s funnel cloud and carried
off to god knows where. What remained
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. The cruelty in her expression had now become
mingled with resentment. 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.
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