Mary O'Malley has decided it's time to let the world know about the weave that divides the physical world from the realms of the gods. After all, Hanover Fist has been investigating their shennanigans for nearly 100 years and she's got every bit of it documented. Although Mary will lead the blog, she expects guests to drop in, including Toledo Cats, Regan Worth, and Hanover Fist himself.
I see shadows I don't understand in his yellow eyes. "Death? Why would you want to find death?"
"Because of what I am. Unwhole. Misshapen."
I reach forward and touch his stubbly cheek. "You are not misshapen. You are .... handsome ... no, that's not the word ... compelling."
"I am a mutt." The man moves my hand away. "Undeserving of even death."
I try to catch the giggle between my teeth, but it escapes. "I'm a mutt too. My daddy was Irish and my mother Chinese."
He grasps my hand. "That's how you know death. It took your mother."
Stupid tears fill my eyes. One starts to trickle down my cheek. I thought I was done with this. It's been a hundred years since I saw her lying there with a bullet through her heart.
He wipes a tear away...a gentle finger this time, instead of a claw. "I lost mine too. A hunter shot her."
He gathers me close to him and sits me down. We lean together against the rough wall. We smoke the pipe and he tells me stories of extinction. A planned extermination. I remember Hitler from the times I worried about age and wonder if he might be as old as me.
"When you say True Bloods, what do you mean?" I ask.
He strokes my face. "Never mind. It's just old stories."
"Then let's make new ones."
He pulls away. "No new ones. Nothing to pass on my sadness."
I giggle. "Stories, not children. I am far too old to have a child."
He strokes my face. "How old are you, Death?"
I grin. "Much older than I look."
"Good." He takes my face in his hands and kisses me hard. "Then you're experienced."
...to be continued tomorrow.
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