by Mac Flynn
"That depended on when, or if, you ever went back to your normal life," he answered. "But until, or if, that happens, you're staying in the house."
I frowned and crossed my arms across my chest. "Like hell I am."
Osman raised an eyebrow. "You almost got killed-"
"Twice," I added.
"-and you still want to go out with us?" he wondered.
"I don't like that whole death thing, but I'm not going to be cooped up inside this old place," I insisted. "Besides, if I come with you I'll know if you're dead or not, and if you're coming back to pay the electric bill."
He grinned at me. "Are you asking for a job?" he teased.
I shrugged. "Do I have a choice? That Phantom Whisperer kind of knows where I used to work."
"And live, and shop," he added.
My shoulders drooped and I scowled at him. "You have to rub it in?"
"I'm just painting the full picture of your predicament," he pointed out.
"Paint somebody else's portrait. I already know my life's a mess, and even if I did go back that wouldn't make my mystic powers go away, would it?" I pointed out.
He shook his head. "No, it wouldn't. You'd still be a target for Whisperers and rogue undead."
"See? So I need a job, and you've got a business that I might want to join," I told him.
Osman leaned back in his chair and cupped his cheek between a few fingers. He studied me with that strange half grin on his face.
"You're sure?" he asked me.
"Do I have a choice?"
Osman pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit it. I knew now why he didn't think those things would kill him. He took a puff and studied me for a long, tense moment before he smiled and shrugged.
"Why not? You've got yourself a job."
For all books by Mac Flynn visit her author's page or visit Mac Flynn's website.
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