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Fleet knew he was being followed. How could he help it, having played stalker and assassin with his friends since he was old enough to toddle? Casually, he brought his hand to an inside pocket of his light blue jacket. He increased his pace slightly. The tune changed. Some residents of the street of dreams faded into the shadows; others became more alert. The footsteps behind him fell a little heavier as the man took longer strides, sacrificing a measure of stealth to keep up, confident that his victim’s whistling covered the sound. * * * * Abruptly, Fleet stopped, knelt on one knee and adjusted his boot. The stalker made his move. The boy stood, and turned to face the attack. His hand flew up, dousing the would-be kidnapper in a cloud of white dust. * * * * He had never had time to cry out before the shell hardened around him. * * * * In a trice, Fleet was surrounded by some of the nastiest, scurviest scum ever coughed up from the city sewers: his neighbors. A tall, bearded half-man growled at Fleet. At least, anyone outside the street would have heard an inarticulate growl. What Fleet heard was, Are you hurt, boy? - - - - Meet the werewolves, wizards, soldiers, and spies of Bob Liddil’s world, as they step out of the pages of Sorcerer’s Apprentice Magazine and into a deadly contest of magic in the desert city of Belestria where even heroes tread cautiously. The Belestrian City Guard never enter the vile alley, The Street of Dreams, where lives Griswald Grimm. The residents handle their own problems-quite capably.
