Tripping the Snare

Another bar fight. Naturally.

“You aren’t immortal,” I growled at Nate.

He ducked a punch, landed another. “Nothing is. Not really.”

The girl Nate kissed whipped a bottle at his head. It winged me, instead. I hardly felt it.

Bright light permeated the grimy, faceted window, sending dirt-tinged rainbows to dance with dust motes. I considered leaving Nate behind as recompense for poor choices. Then I saw the demon in the corner, feeding the rage.

I murmured a spell to banish the fucker.

Nate’s head snapped up. “Seth, don’t!”

Too late.

The thing that was not a demon smiled. “Gotcha.”

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