What was it that drew you back? My marvellous personality, I suppose? Or my sparkling conversation?

The bristling eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. Mesmerized. the boy watched them disappear under the hanging white thatch of hair. There, almost coyly, they remained just out of sight for a moment, before suddenly descending with a terrible finality and weight.

That's usually how they start, the young ones. Meaningless waffle.

The column hung above the middle of the pentacle, bubbling ever upward against the ceiling like the cloud of an erupting volcanoe. There was a barely perceptible pause. Then two yellow staring eyes materialized in the heart of the smoke. Hey, it was his first time. I wanted to scare him. And it did, too.

So I departed, leaving behind a pungent smell of brimstone. Just something to remember me by.

Ah, you coward! Look at you, running." "Actually, it's called improvising.

The Amulet of Samarkand. It was Simon Lovelace's. Now it is yours. Soon it will be Simon Lovelace's again. Take it and enjoy the consequences.