Saturday, June 30, 2012


I glanced from the thing that looked too much like me to the bar, now tacky with blood and alcohol.

“No worries,” it said, “The drunks are bewitched.”

My jaw clenched. “I don’t make deals with monsters.”

It chuckled. “Not even yourself? Or the angry man beside you?”

“He’s not like me.”

“No one is, so they all want to kill you. Even him.”

Nate started to protest.

I held up my hand. “Him, I’d allow.”

“Let him go. He can marry, breed, retire with a fat pension.”

“Bite me,” Nate snarled.

“First, I’ll have a word with my son.”


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