Ficlets

Relief (II)

He opened his eyes. The mirror made him smile. A young-looking man with a slim, pink face. A fine head of sandy hair, blue eyes, a fey smile. The suit was still shot to Hell, but he made a point of adjusting the lapel with his left hand so he could enjoy the sight of his unblemished skin and delicate fingers.

“You should play piano, m’boy,” he murmured, “you have the hands for it.”

Best of all, he felt great.

Malus thought he’d better move – the whole neighborhood was probably on fire. But it bugged him: was he really thinking about the fire or was the geas working at him, getting in his head again? When – not if – he shook Tern’s little trick, he was going to make the dead man suffer.

In the bar, people gathered around the windows. He hadn’t heard the alarms in the bathroom, but out here they were loud and the engines’ lights strobed off the façades of buildings. It would be Hell when the fire department tried to put out the dragon. Malus slipped out of Corrigan’s and turned towards downtown.

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