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This amused her as she commented, "Gee, youguy's are just softies."We phoned Shoni's aunty who's name was Preity (pronounced pretty withthe emphasis o... the 'E') she was married to an American guy who ran areal estate business, his name was Dave, they had one daughter about thesame age as us; she was called Krystal and they lived in a place calledPalmdale, inland from where we were now.We also phoned the mum's forgetting the time difference (Ooops) Keithand June and of course our mentor Al. The Trolls hadn’t killed her - she had cut her throat, herself! Then someone or something had tried to heal her with magic and they had been quite successful. She had managed to use the knife on some of the Trolls. After that she had cut herself again, and now there had been no one to save her. If somebody had asked me to explain how I knew or guessed all that, I would not have been able to fully explain. On the other hand, it made no difference. She was dead, but her younger sister was still. It had to be close, yet where were the tracks? No footprints, no dung, no scrapes on the tree bark, no sign of the fucking thing.A chill rolled down his spine. Was he being stalked? Who was hunting who here? He felt that he was being watched, he trusted his instincts, that gut feeling that sometimes warned him of danger, but where could it be? Was it moving through the trees, off the ground? No, these trees were coniferous, their branches wouldn’t support anything of the size this thing would. "Where will he probably take her for dinner?" Oh, probably La Mirabelle." You know," Marcia looked at Sharon. "I'm getting hungry for French cuisine." I can't go like this," Sharon exclaimed, looking down at her skirt."Non, non, my cherie," lisped Marcia in a patently false French accent.It took a couple of hours after a stop at Marcia's hotel room and a quick visit to a little boutique to 'do the occasion justice', as Marcia put it. It was during all this that Sharon began to wonder. Marcia.
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