The Distant Threshold
Chapter One "You’re wasting the good paper, Guadalupe." The voice belonged to Donato, the photographer, who stood in the doorway of the cramped apothecary on one hundred and nine of Stonecutter Alley, his camera bag slung low over his hip like a sack of wet sand. Guadalupe did not look up. His hands, stained yellow from turmeric and old iodine, hovered over the cracked vial of Truth-Salt, a...
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