“You boys doubted me, but I’m right again,” Bruce said as he swirled through the moonroof of Aidan’s sedan.
He circled Kirk, who watched his father’s spirit wanly as it settled into the skull on the dashboard. The skull’s tattooed runes glowed and swirled.
“Father knows best,” Bruce said. “Hee hee ho! Old Brucey has still got it.”
“Is that right?” Kirk asked, pursing his lips.
He wasn’t keen on his father’s recommendation to make Rebecca Grant a demon host, but he wasn’t going to say no to his dad, even in death. The bastard would haunt him. Since Kirk was a necromancer, that was saying something.
“She’s a hell of a girl,” Bruce said. “She might even be your type, Kirk.”
“Eh, Dad, how come Kirk gets all the ladies?” Aidan asked jokingly.
“He’s better looking,” Bruce said. “What can
