Eva
“That yellow magazine,” Dean says.
“Most is fluff, yes, but truth lies in it if you read between the headlines,” I say.
“Are you a writer or something?” Mike asks me.
“Investigative journalist,” I say.
Chris says, “There's no Eva that writes for them.”
“Exactly,” I say with a smile.
Steven laughs. I add, “I've won considerable awards.”
“Surely not!” Simon exclaims.
“You question my ability?” I ask him.
“No, who I think you are,” he says.
“And who's that?” I ask.
“Steven, it's her, isn't it?” he asks him. Steven nods. Simon grins, “I'll be damned.”
“I wouldn't advise that unless you want servitude as a hellhound,” I reply.
“I'm missing something,” he said, so I recited one of my famous poems about the moon being a shifter’s muse. “You are her!” Mike yells. I nod.
“Wow, ne
