While we walked he kept a hand thrust out towards the highway, thumb extended.
“Warding charm,” he said in response to my look. “We don’t want anyone to notice us while we’re out here; this makes sure they won’t. Virtually fool-proof except for the actual fools willing to pull over.”
“What do you do with them?”
He shrugged, his shoulders sliding oddly beneath the long coat. “Let them see what I really look like. Most of them assume it’s some bad acid coming back up or a warning from god or something and take off.”
“That’s who pulls over?”
He nodded. “Hippies and good samaritans; they’re both dying out, though, so it doesn’t come up much as it used to. The sixties were a pain in the ass.”
