8
Lincoln
The colored mist disappears and with it, Peli. A long pause follows before Myla breaks the silence.
“What. A little. Dick.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Well said.”
Myla’s eyes blaze red while she paces a line by the wall. Across the room, Rufus and company stop to watch.
“Is your fiancée all right?” calls Rufus.
“She’s about to tirade,” I explain. “It’s a demon thing. Not a problem.”
And it’s almost always enjoyable, if I’m being honest.
Rufus nods, shrugs, and goes back to getting his fur brushed.
“I can not believe this,” rails Myla. “Did we—or did we not—just rid Purgatory of Lucifer’s Orb?”
The answer is yes, but I don’t reply. Tirade time is not interactive.
“It took for-bleeding-ever, but we finally chucked that stupid orb into storage. What a pain in the ass tha
