Tonight was Black Wednesday, with specials on all black drinks and black food. This included their unique black pizzas, black pies, and black steaks. Stevie’s black eye fitted right in.
“So you had no idea she would be waiting to ambush us like that?”
I shrugged. “You can’t expect me to know everything that’s about to happen. I’m not the one with the divine nature.”
The barmaid approached. “You got any McEwan’s?” Brenda shook her head. She’d moved here from San Diego when she was 16, and worked here most of the week. But she always took Mondays off. Apparently she just didn’t like that particular day. For no reason that she could explain to anyone who asked.
“Alright, give us two Black Labels.”
I’d been watching the Beast’s interaction with the barmaid, looking for any signs that there might be anything out of the ordinary. But this was just another night, business as usual.
“So nobody else can see you the way you are?”
“What, with a black eye, covered in shards of glass?”
I struggled to hide a grin. “With horns sticking out of your huge monstrous head.”
The beers arrived. “Nope. It’s part of who I am. One of the mystical enchantments that brought me to life. Most people see me as just an ordinary, everyday person. I couldn’t function, otherwise. There’d be panic in the streets every time I showed my face.”
“I know the feeling.”
Extract from Burning Roses, a decadent tale of sex, drugs, rock n roll & magick. Available on Amazon. Also available in paperback.
And on Amazon.co.uk.
Catch me selling paperback copies of Burning Roses and Dancing in Valhalla at Rusty Hook‘s alternative market on Sunday.
If you fancy reading something different, here’s a selection of writing by our Local Writers Club, covering the genres I haven’t touched (yet). Signed copies can be arranged.
Till next time. Cheers.
No comments:
Post a Comment