“I’m a reporter,” Rachel said. “I write about the arts, festivals, new projects in the city. What I’m not is some kind of psychic astral traveler! How did I get here? Planning a trip to another dimension?”

“I’m a reporter,” Rachel said. “I write about the arts, festivals, new projects in the city. What I’m not is some kind of psychic astral traveler! How did I get here? Planning a trip to another dimension?”

“The rancid odor mixed with the dust, death, and confusion as they awaited those who could clean up the mess and make death official.”

“The wolf turned to Rachel. She was afraid to run, afraid fleeing would make it chase her. Somewhere in the stored files of her mind, she remembered one should not look directly at a menacing dog, but she couldn’t take her eyes from it.”

“There was nothing physical she could do to stop Mario from carrying out whatever he wished. She shivered at the thought of what that sleazy, other world leftover might do should she launch an attack on him.”

“Allow the power to flow through you. Don’t try to capture it. You wish only to borrow it.”

“I’m a reporter,” Rachel said. “I write about the arts, festivals, new projects in the city. What I’m not is some kind of psychic astral traveler! How did I get here? Planning a trip to another dimension?”

“We're three women from two different centuries, trying to save the world from oblivion. I don't know about you, but that's way above my pay grade.”