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It begins, she thought dramatically, quoting Theoden, or Aragorn, or somebody. She put out the clove cigarette she'd lit. She hadn't smoked it. It just smelled interesting. Tish loved the spicy scent. But you couldn't pay her enough to suck smoke. Still, the image of a black haired, black clothed, smoking Corruptor of the Youth worked for her; it meant no parents ever asked her to babysit. She'd made it this far in her life without close contact with diapers and she had no inclination to end the trend.
She got up slowly and moped toward the door, opening it, suddenly, harshly and leaning on the frame.
"Just what trick, little boy, do you think yourself capable of playing on me?"
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