jihad hunter

I had the feeling Amal was trying to curse me during our last encounter.
Curses are big among Moroccan Arabs.
That day the spite seemed to roll from her in a wave.
And she did seem inordinately keen to talk specifically about curses and demonic possession and such, as if she was trying to fix the notion in my mind.
Some scholars think that for these things to work, the victim must believe in them.
Anyhoo.
I ended things.
But, let's face it, not until she wanted them ended.
She had found out, or done, most everything she wanted to.
Since that afternoon encounter in a Dublin cafe, I have enjoyed not a little stomach upset.
And every now and then I wonder.
A curse would be one thing.
I just hope the bitch didn't put Moroccan worm tablets in my tea.