By Colleen Foley
Seated at Jimmy’s ancient kitchen
table, I poured another shot, pondered Seth’s newest revelation, and
tried not to scratch at my magically induced “ink”.
uncle sat silently, watching warily, as if I might simply decide to
shoot one or both. Didn’t blame them, really. My mood had been caustic
at best lately.
“OK, the marks are protecting me from a more “intimate” relationship with this hive. And thanks for that, by the way.”
I poured three shots, passed them around.
“So, if the hive’s all about YOU then why dog my ass, and can we avenge that? Now?”