“Well, that’s true.” I relaxed my grip on the Colt at the news that I didn’t need to give Greg a third eyehole. Skeeter went on. “But it is from a rakshasa.”
“And you know this how?”
“I got some sample tissue from the Church’s archives flown in and tested it. That’s rakshasa hair. The color’s wrong for your guy, but it’s definitely the same species. The one you’re looking for is lighter in color, more a tawny brown than the orange of your new best friend there.”
“Tawny brown, huh?” I asked, my stomach sinking a little. “Would someone who waxes a little more poetical call that a golden bronze?”
“Sure, if they were stupid, drunk or…crap.”
“Yeah. Crap. I’ll get back to you when it’s done.”
“Sorry, dude.” Me too. I was actually starting to like Greg, cat breath and all. He was kinda funn
