13
Alessandro was just about to pour himself another shot of tequila when the doorbell rang. He made a face and contemplated simply ignoring it. After all, if he waited long enough, whoever was out there would have to go away. He’d already jammed a wooden chair up under the knob so that any witches or warlocks in the vicinity couldn’t use their powers to let themselves in. Actually, he was rather proud of himself for thinking of such a precaution, considering his current condition.
The doorbell rang again. Scowling, he lifted the bottle of José Cuervo and poured the shot anyway, noting with some detachment how he’d managed to slop a bit of tequila on the pale granite of the countertop. Damn. He hadn’t thought his hands were that unsteady.
Another ring from the doorbell, this one soundin
