When A Man Is On The Verge

Charles Could Care Less About Shoes - And He Suspected He Wasn't Alone Among Men In His Feelings. Shoe, No Shoe, He Didn't Care. Naked Was Good, Though Over The Past Couple Of Weeks He Was Beginning To Think That Dressed In His Clothes Was A Decent Second Best.

He'd Woken Up After Flying From Boston To Montana To Find His Da Cooking Breakfast For Them: Sausage And Pancakes Shaped Like Deer. It Wasn't Just Any Deer, Either - They Looked Like Bambi From The Disney Cartoon. Charles Didn't Want To Know How His Father Had Managed That

My Foster Mother Always Laughed And Said It Was His Reputation For Knowing Everything That Allowed For Him To Appear Infallible: All He Had To Do Was Walk Through The Room And See Who Looked Guiltiest When They Saw Him. Maybe She Was Right, But I Tried Looking Innocent The Next Time, And It Didn't Work.

It Wasn't Hard To Follow The Scent Of Blood To The Living Room Where The Fae Had Been Killed. It Had Been A Violent Death, Perfect For Creating Ghosts.

Taking Out Werewolves, I Gather And Surmise, Is Akin To Taking Out A Seal Team.