Friday, November 30, 2012


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.

When Nate 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.

That stung.

“Because I’m your brother.”


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