“When shall we eleven meet again?” Even to her own ears that sounded silly so she hunched her scrawny shoulders and tried again. “Next month? Same time? Same place?”
There was a generalised mutter of vague agreement, before the oldest and fattest of their number unearthed a battered Tupperware box from somewhere About her person.
“Fudge anybody?”
It always seemed easier when they got to the eating and drinking, and quite a lively party ensued.
As the last acolyte drifted drunkenly homeward, still singing, there came an aroma of decay.
Two demons regarded each other in some disgust.
“Witches today…”
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