After discovering she was pregnant, my mother hid for a time in a brothel. Looking to understand her death, I’d ended up in the same place. The madam knew nothing of magic but told me stories I needed to hear. And taught me restraint.
recovered, I’d insist he send her a thank you card, as those lessons
prevented me from jabbing him with a sharp object.
I slammed on the brakes and sat, focusing on the chirp of crickets. Waiting.
“Why the fuck would I give a witch my blood?” he spat.
“Because I’m your brother.”