“Cut the crap. The last time we spoke, you weren’t impressed by anything about me other than how quick I put your bodyguard on the floor. Where is Bo-Bo anyway? Wouldn’t he be insulted that you outsourcing his job?” Mason quirked an eyebrow.
“Bo-Bo?” he repeated, his lips quivering like he was trying to hold back a smile. I shrugged.
“He’s built like a gorilla. I call him Bo-Bo. Where is he?”
“Ah, I see. Very amusing. Mr. Meadows was unfortunately injured in a recent accident and will be recovering for some time.” He absently touched the cut on his forehead, and I wondered what kind of accident put the burly man down for the count. “As such, he is currently unable to fulfill his duties. Hence our present arrangement.”
“Yeah, about that, why me? And don’t give me any crap about my ‘zest for duty,’” I added quickly. “I have a very limited tolerance for bullshit today and being pulled off my case exceeded my quota.
“Very well,” Mason said, then hit me with a right-cross of a revelation. “I chose you because I know that you are a witch with real magical abilities.” While I was gaping at this, he followed with a verbal uppercut. “And I need you because I’ve been cursed and, without your help, am likely to die very soon.”
GRATUITOUS SELF-PROMOTION
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