I’m Not Going To Pick Her Up

She Was Only A Year Old, But Elves Grew Up Fast. Not Like Witches, Who Jenks Swore Were Not Able To Be On Their Own Until They Were Thirty. Ahem.

My Blood Rose, Mixing With My Lingering Fear Of The Unknown To Drive Her To A Fever Pitch. Her Lips Touched My Lower Neck And Vertigo Spun The Room, Burning Tracings Of Desire To Settle Deep And Low In Me. I Exhaled Into The Promise Of More To Come, Calling It To Me. I Breathed It In Like Smoke, The Rising Passion Starting A Feeling Of Abandonment Inside. I Didn’t Care Anymore If It Was Right Or Wrong. It Just Was.

Hey,” The Other Said, Coming To Life. “you’re Supposed To Be In Jail.” Al Grinned At Him, His White-gloved Grip Tightening On The Wooden Handle, Which Was Intricately Carved In The Shape Of A Naked, Writhing Woman. Nice. “and Your Momma Wanted You To Have A Brain,” He Said, Yanking The Door Open And Slamming It Into The Guy’s Face.

See, This Was Why I Liked Coffee. You Couldn’t Screw Up Making Coffee. Even The Bad Stuff Was Good.

I Felt Sick. Buying Kisten’s And My Safety From Piscary Was So Wrong. But It Was Either That Or Deal With A Demon, And I’d Rather Keep My Soul Clean And Let My Morals Get Dingy.