I woke up at six this morning thinking, it’s too early in the morning for this shit. I sat on the edge of the bed getting dressed for a mandatory court appearance — trumped‑up charges, three days in county lockup, and a whole lot of questions about which poor unfortunate soul up in Virginia decided to pull favors to dig up my real name.
Game recognizes game, and make no mistake, this is a Sherlock‑level match.
So to the scammer in Virginia ripping off little old ladies all the way down here in McDowell County — my respect, but know this: you’re on my list now. I’ll be seeing you soon enough.
Grandma drove me to the courthouse. Nothing unusual on the way in. But once I sat down in district court, waiting for my name to be called, oh my, what do I see but a big ol’ hulk of a man wearing a T‑shirt and a chain around his neck like you’d use for a bulldog leash.
But it wasn’t the chain that caught me.
It was the ears.
Lord and behold — unmistakable to anyone trained in the Unseen Work.
An ogre.
Not green, not storybook, but the current around him was undeniable.
Three hundred years ago, he’d have been at the end of my sword.
These days, we let the justice system handle it — or try to.
My case got pushed to next month. After that, Grandma and I hit Waffle House for breakfast. I love their cooking, though it’s a shame they don’t serve livermush. Hunters would make a killing — livermush is practically a county export.
While I was waiting on my order, the waitress walked up — snow‑white hair, youthful face. Anyone who knows the old signs would’ve clocked it immediately: a session white witch.
I tried to get Grandma talking, but when I looked at her, I didn’t see my sweet old grandmother for a moment. I saw Baba Yaga staring back at me — the old crone of the woods, the one who tests you before she helps you.
The rest of the day passed without much movement in the currents.
Quiet, but not empty.
The kind of quiet that means something’s coming.
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