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been prior to removing the bag. “They’re too small to be smudge sticks. At least, too small to
be any type that I’m familiar with.”
Hugh had never heard them referred to as “smudge sticks” before, but Finch was a fount of
new and exciting vocabulary from which Hugh was eager to imbibe.
“Do you think they’re small?” Hugh craned his neck to get a better look at the bag. He’d studied
it for a while before stuffing it in the box, but without a basis for comparison, he had no idea
what was standard and what was a disappointment. “I was told that they were of exceptional
size and quality. If they’re no good I’ll return them and demand a superior product. I’ll admit,
I’m not well versed in… well… herbal recreation. You are the superin master.”
“I—” Finch froze. Then, slowly, he turned his head to stare at Hugh, eyes as big as dinner
plates. “Is this marijuana?”
“It is!”
Finch jammed the window button on his door so hard, the damn thing nearly broke.
“Finch?” Hugh blinked, then caught on. “Oh, I get it. You’re wanting to put your present to use
immediately and you don’t want to hotbox the car. How considerate of you! I had no idea you
were such a fiend for the stuff.”
The window continued its slow descent. Finch was nearly bouncing in his seat with
excitement—or maybe pain. With as much force as he was putting on the button, the latter did
seem possible. Poor Finch’s fingertip was turning white from exertion. He must not have known
that North American car windows unrolled at a constant speed no matter the pressure put on
their buttons. It was sweet. Hugh would have to look into importing a car from England. He
hadn’t known that their window buttons functioned differently, but Finch was the expert, and it
did seem like there was some kind of disconnect going on. The expense would be worth it to
help Finch feel at home.
“I figured we would wait and sneak off to be naughty halfway through the party,” Hugh
explained while Finch and the bag of weed vibrated beside him. “But I can see the benefits of
smoking prior to arrival. I don’t suppose you have a lighter? It’s no matter. It just so happens I
was born prepared.” Hugh lifted his hand with a flourish and extended his index finger. A jet of
flame danced to life from its tip. Finch looked at the digit as if it were diseased. “Oh, Finch,
don’t worry—it’s quite sanitary. Now, how do you do this without a pipe? I know it’s possible.
