With a soft click of metal on metal, he snapped the brass tablet shut, whispering the final words to ensure its tight seal to the wall of the bootlegger’s walkway through the city sewer, for the next hundred years…or so.
“Ingress and egress, shadow between,
Passage do rest on the right sequenced three.
The spirit now locks it, twin set will it free,
As I do pray it, so mote it be.” Continue reading