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Summary
What are Bill and Fidds to do when they both want the same thing? Luckily for Ford, his muse is awfully fond of making a deal.
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“My muse,” he began cautiously. He studied Fiddleford’s face for signs of distress. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t go possessing anyone after the last incident.” Flickers of Summerween chaos played in his memories–screaming children running in terror, a golden-eyed teenager calling out from behind. The town had nearly instigated a Witch Hunt as a result.
“No, we agreed I wouldn’t hijack anyone. Your little redneck agreed to this. Didn’t you, Specs?”