When a witch he recognized was buzzed into the building, Horace lunged to keep the door from closing, and then slipped in behind her. Racing the elevator upstairs, he reached the third-floor hallway in time to observe into which apartment she had entered. Approaching that door, he blocked the peephole with a bag of Chinese take-out and then knocked. It opened just enough for an elderly woman to peek over the chain.
“Oh, it’s you, Horace,” said Griselda, the Coven High Priestess. “No warlocks allowed.”
“But Griselda,” Horace pleaded, “I self-identify as a witch.”
“Ain’t curses a bitch?” said Griselda.
“Oh, it’s you, Horace,” said Griselda, the Coven High Priestess. “No warlocks allowed.”
“But Griselda,” Horace pleaded, “I self-identify as a witch.”
“Ain’t curses a bitch?” said Griselda.
