Witchy Woman by Steve Brewer

did nothing to diminish her ap petite. Reporters—the only people, besides maybe cops, who sit around and talk about gore as a way of amusing themselves. Re porters are the only folks you'll ever hear talking about a "great" plane crash. By the time we were done, I was exhausted. It was as if retelling all the events was akin to living through them again. My knee ached where I'd banged it on the street, and I could prac tically feel Judah nudging me along with her spear. "So," Felicia said when it was clear I'd run out of gas, "what are you going to do now?" "I honestly don't know. We can't infiltrate WOMB, and it's not likely they'll talk to Reasons and me. We're not supposed to go up there, anyway. I imagine the sheriff s keeping an eye on us." I wasn't about to say I was keeping an eye on Reasons, wait ing for some sign he was guilty. Not with him sitting right there. I may be gullible and clumsy, but I'm not stupid. "What about you?" I asked. "What are you going to do?" Felicia squinted at me through her cigarette smoke. "Well, it doesn't sound like I'm going to hang out with you guys. You're getting nowhere fast." What could I say? When you're right, you're right. "I've got a story to write," she said. "I'm going to interview the sheriff, see if I can get anything else out of him. Then I'll prob ably go back to my room and write it up." When she's on the road, Felicia uses a laptop computer with a built-in modem to file her stories. She hates the machine, and I'm sure it