surrounded them as they approached the ice cream truck. In the uncertain light
from a distant streetlight and the multicoloured whirl of the ice cream cone on
top of the truck, it was hard to make out their faces. All three wore black
coveralls with some sort of red symbol on the breast pocket, the same outfit as
Doof’s. One of them might have been a girl.
I’m dreaming, thought Will. This is a dream, so
don’t worry, just go with the flow.
“Blaze, Pyro, and
Ember,” said Doof, pointing to each of them in turn. “This is my
hand?” said Blaze. He pushed his face close to Will’s, close enough that
Will smelled something like hot motor oil and saw a tiny tattoo on the boy’s
cheek. Three points joined at the bottom. A trident, same as the symbol on
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