Hell Hath No Fury

Blake motioned the bartender, then returned his attention to the beauty next to him. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Simone,” her low, sultry voice replied.

“So…” Blake started, distracted by a bang as the front door slammed open and a kid rushed in, drawing all eyes onto him. The kid hurried to close the door and — catching his breath while muttering words like frakkin and gorram — peered thru the windows.

The kid turned around. “Um,” he stuttered. “Nothin’ to see here, everything’s cool. Business as usual.”

In a heartbeat, all the patrons returned to ignoring the kid. And Blake felt a tingle from the tattoo on his chest.

“Excuse me,” Blake told the woman, then shambled over to the kid and tapped him on the shoulder. “Didn’t realize this was amateur hour.”

“Wha’ the…?” the kid said, surprised and wide-eyed.

“Protected from spells. Name and problem?”

“Um, well, I’m Simon and I, well, kinda summoned a gorram succubus.”

Looking back at the beauty he was drinking with, “Oh” was all Blake could say.

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