Tales Of Corwin

In the end, not everyone wanted to sit at the kitchen table. Pythagoras perched on the counter by the sink, just as he had done back in her old kitchen, and Flora Fludd stayed by the cooktop, heating tortillas on demand in an iron frying pan. Vicente brought beer and lemonade, and also offered a nasty mixture of the two he called radler—apparently something he’d acquired a taste for in his travels. The food was good—nothing could beat Lois McCutcheon’s guacamole—but most of all, it just felt good to have everyone there. Seeing all her friends together in the kitchen made her feel at home. “So: thank you all for coming,” she said, when the eating and drinking seemed to have slowed. “It’s great to have you here in my new home. And I would have wanted to get together for a housewarming anyway. But I also have another reason for wanting to get together with you all. Something happened on Samhain eve that I need to tell you about, and get your thoughts about. Something more, I mean, than the amazing things we all