Bob billy goat

I walked down the concrete steps and circled the infield until I could make my way to the seats behind home plate. Once there, I held Bob up and said, “What have we got?”
The skull’s eyelights flared brighter for a second, and he snorted. “Oh yeah. Definitely tied the curse together right there.”
“What’s keeping it going?” I asked. “Is there a ley line passing underneath or something?”
“That’s a negative, boss,” Bob said. “How fresh is it?”
“Maybe a couple of days,” the skull replied. “Maybe more. It’s an awfully tight weave.”
“How so?”
“This spell resists deterioration better than most mortal magic. It’s efficient and solid—way niftier than you could manage.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
“I call ’em like I see ’em,” Bob said cheerfully. “So, either a more experienced member of the White Council is sponsoring this curse and refreshing it every so often, or else …”
I caught on. “Or else the curse was placed here by a nonmortal being.”


Brief Cases, Curses, Page 122-123