By Colleen Foley
Laveau’s words were music to my ears. Seth reached for the jar in my hand. Almost too late, I batted it away.
“No! Help her. I’ve got this.”
once he actually listened. As I steeled myself, one mark flared. I
howled in pain, launching myself forward. She dropped her hand, her
power guttering, as I plowed into his chest, driving us both to the
“Thanks for playing, douche bag. Here’s your souvenir.”
down at him, I shoved the bottle into his open mouth, slamming my other
hand under his chin. Teeth and glass shattered onto his tongue.