“Why didn’t you just drive it to the shack?” “The road’s too rough. I didn’t want to risk messing up my bike.” When they stepped out of the forest and onto the blacktop road leading into Whistler’s Gulch, Hunter stopped and turned to face Josh. “Sheriff Black’s an empty, but he’s slimier than a water moccasin in a stagnant pond and more dangerous than a tracker. Let me do all the talking.” “Whatever.” All Josh cared about was getting on the bike and off his feet. His Air Force Ones might look super cool but they weren’t designed for long-distance hiking. The skin over both his Achilles tendons was rubbed raw. I wish it didn’t hurt so much. The pain diminished. Josh felt like smacking himself for not thinking of it sooner. He pictured his feet, without any blisters or raw patches, and sent a burst of magic down his legs. The pain disappeared. Sheriff Black answered the door wearing nothing but a pair of dingy briefs and a holstered gun. “I didn’t expect to ever see you again, boy.”
