Making a Mark
“Dolus, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?” she hisses at me. I turn, my face creased with concern. “What is it? Don’t tell me there’s something worse than a dead version of you.”
I saw a glimpse of a little girl with platinum blond hair tied into pigtails running down the alleyway. I chased her onto the main street and tried to see where she went. Her form was translucent, and she passed through the people on the street quickly, unnoticed except as a warm breeze.
“I’m actually here for an interview,” I say. “One of my ex-husbands told me I need to get a job.”