F. Paul Wilson
At the publisher's request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management software (DRM) applied.
“Is this the Shadow?” Jack said, holding up the cellophane envelope. “I mean, the Shadow?”
The sixtyish guy behind the counter—lank hair, three-day stubble, ratty brown cardigan—looked annoyed as he brought it close to his smeared glasses and squinted at the label. Jack wondered how he saw anything through them.
“If it says ‘genuine glow in the dark Shadow ring,’ which it does, then that’s what it is.”
Attracted by the BACK-DATE MAGAZINES sign, Jack had wandered into this narrow, coffin-sized