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"The hole was piled with brush and soaked in gasoline. Duncan lit a rag and tossed it into the pit. The fire had a greasy smell, and a sickly, black smoke that burned my eyes rose up into the sky. Sam closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Her plaything, Candy, sat next to her, holding Sam's olive hand. Sam was our Vizier. She understood all the magic better than anyone, even inventing a few spells and charms all on her own.I had a plan. I was going to take a Nun's powers and exorcise Brandon. He wanted me. All of his broadcasts contained his threat to beat Mark until I turned myself in. He wanted to make me his slut, just like Mark had made his wife Desiree our slut. All I had to do was submit to his lusts and exorcise him, and then this would all be over.But I needed to know one important fact—if Brandon had a sister, he could perform the Mowdah spell and be able to recognize my new aura. Right now my aura was red, a Warlock's aura, but after I steal the Nun's Gift of the Spirit, my. It was pretty clear to me that she was already quite familiar with that particular vintage wine. I have the feeling that they had spent most of the afternoon getting well acquainted with it. Silently, I wondered, “Where’s Alicia?” As if on cue, out from the hallway swished Alicia. “Swished” was the only way to describe it! I could swear I heard a swishing sound as she went right past me towards the kitchen to join her roommate. “Hi Rick,” she said to me, and then stopped and talk to the closed kitchen door. “Hey! How do I look?” she asked the door. I think she too had been introduced to the “good vintage” wine. Alicia stood a few feet in front of me facing the kitchen door. Like her roommate, she wore a T-shirt and jeans. But over this unremarkable ensemble was a pink and very sheer …uh..wrap?..no…uh…robe?… nope, definitely not a robe. I’m not sure what you’d call it. It came down.
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He put on his sunglasses and his favorite baseball cap, grabbed a towel from the suite's bathroom, and then headed downstairs.He found a section of the beach that was relatively empty (meaning that the nearest group of people were only twenty feet away) and parked himself in a lounge chair. He put up a beach umbrella to guard himself from the worst of the sun's glare and then found a Fijian waiter who was willing to keep his rum and coke glass full at all times. He sat there, staring out at the water some of the time and staring at bikini-clad women most of the time. He smoked his cigarettes and sipped his drinks and before an hour had gone by he was pleasantly buzzed, working his way toward full-blown drunkenness.Of course his presence on the beach did not go unnoticed for long. Soon, the tourists began to drift over to him, mostly women between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five, most Australian or New Zealanders. He chatted with them amicably, signed autographs for them, and even.

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