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I landed in thigh-high water.
Marcy was standing on top of her plane seat, dripping wet. “Good gravy, this stinks. It literally stinks—like week-old soggy laundry left in the washer.” She shook her legs out, spraying marsh water all over.
“Don’t you have a go-to drying spell? Or a change-of-clothes spell?” I asked wryly. “You’re a talented witch who specializes in marshmallow landings. You must have something for cleaning up a spill in your repertoire.”
“Hey, enough with the unfunny banter. Let’s not forget I just saved our lives, shall we? I’m working on the drying part,” she muttered. “Just trying not to freak out about all the creepy-crawlies that live here. You know, the venomous snakes, alligators, and seriously yucky things that call this place home. Healing from an alligator attack is not on my current to-do list. So, one thing at a time.”
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