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“Alright, Jeremy!” I yelled into the night. “Give me the salamander and I won’t cut your head off!” Jim put his hand over his face and did some shaking. I thought he was laughing, but I couldn’t be sure.
“That last fireball missed me by a mile. You shoot blanks with your other salamander, too, Jeremy?”
” You want me to ask your ex-lover/homicidal shapeshifter who scares me shitless to let you marry my “ex–could have been” boyfriend? You’ve got to be kidding. “I think you overestimate his opinion of me.”
And every time we met, something of mine got broken. My ribs, my roof, my hammer…
If a cultural reference flies over a man’s head, does it make a sound if nobody else gets it?
“I’m sorry. My dad is dead, too. Now climb, young grasshopper, so your kung fu won’t be weak.”
Rescued by the Beast Lord. Oh the irony.
“His Majesty carried you.” He grinned back. That part was the same, also.
Curran picked up one of the bowls, looked at it for a second, as if considering a matter of some importance, brought the bowl over, and held it before me.
“Secret to shutting you up,” he said. “I just have to beat you till you’re half-dead, then give you chicken soup and”—he raised his hands—“blessed silence.”
Alrighty then. I will just stand over here, out of your way, and hope you don’t remember my promise to kick your ass.
Not only had I just kissed any cooperation from the Pack good-bye, but I had also challenged him. Again. I stopped and hit my head a few times on the wall. Keep your mouth shut, stupid.
Houston, we have a problem. Judging by the look in his eyes, a kick to the face simply wouldn’t faze him.
Nobody keeps the porch light on for me. Nobody hugs me and says, ‘Hey, I’m glad you made it. I’m
glad you’re okay. I was worried.’ Nobody cares if I live or die. Nobody makes me coffee, nobody holds me before I go to bed, nobody fixes my medicine when I’m sick. I’m by myself.”
“It helped.” Curran had driven me to drinking. At least I wasn’t contemplating suicide. •
