The two boys were playing a game of tug-of-war with the girl, ankle deepin the surf. They screamed at each other, like she was a toy to beplayed with... The girl herself seemed like she wasn't sure whether toflee or throw both into the surf head first.It was perfect, just the drama she needed for a little warping ofreality. And the pooka knew just what to do.Her staff, a freely given branch of a willow tree at a crossroad, soakedin moonlight and carved with runes and symbols of the old. Everything he foundseemed to mock his efforts, tormenting him with itsblatant, overstated femininity.He finally emerged from the alcove, shaking his headin bewilderment, his face a mask of distraction. Inall the years he'd frequented The Shop, he'd neverwalked away disappointed. Today, however, his goal hadeluded him over and over, fading through his fingerslike a will-of-the-wisp. He sauntered back through thestore patting the dust off his shoulders, castingbaffled glances around the. More

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