“Simple language? As in patriarchal, misogynistic pronouns?” she asked, crossing her arms over her nearly-exposed breasts. Holy shit-wad on a pancake. Had my plan worked? I guess there is a first time for everything. “Just because the work required to dangle lights from a gutter is physical, you assume a man for the job?”
I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. “I don’t know.” I glanced over her lawn and regarded her dark home, illuminated by the single beam of light shining over her. “I actually prefer women over men to do shit because they get shit done. I actually wish my parents had made me female. Unfortunately, they were jerks who not only abandoned me like a pit-mutt puppy, but they also gave me an overly small penis. Micro. So, I can’t even man correctly—if you know what I mean.” I cringed a little as the words flew off my tongue. I had either reminded her of her initial goal, which would suck. Or I had made myself less desirable. Go big or go home, I guess.
“What’s that mean?” she asked, cocking her hips. “To man correctly?”
I glanced across her roofline. “You’re a woman. Doesn’t look like you’ve dangled any bulbs from a gutter. Why’s that? Don’t want to break a dainty nail while climbing the dirty ladder?”
She flinched as if electrocuted and stepped back with flat, slapping feet. I had sucked all the sexy right out of the air. Just doing what I’m good at. “Are you serious?” she asked, lips pursed.
I raised my eyebrows. I still stood at the edge of her sidewalk, wrapped in the night and the glow of Christmas all around.
“I’ll dig through my storage right now, hang every single light I own around this house,” she said, tempting me.
“I’m sure,” I said, nodding my whole-hearted agreement. “I’m sure you will.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I do,” I said. “I believe you will do like every other woman would do and say you’ll do something, but then you’ll order some man to do it, and take credit for his work.”
She gasped and started to speak, but I cut her off and walked toward her.
“You might want to ring on a neighbor’s doorbell, though, because I’m not hanging Christmas lights for you… not even if you flaunt sex.”
And that was the real kick to her private parts. Lizzie even jerked, as if I had struck her. I didn’t really care, though. I had cornered her. Now, if she flaunted sex in front of me, my words would hang over her actions. Not that it mattered in the long run, but… the whole pride thing does go a long way. She would still invite me into her house for a drink, and there, she would probably try to kill me. So, why not fluster her? Why not get in her head? Since Hephaestus had stripped my power, I only had one ability remaining—the gift of infuriating whomever I was around.
Her hands clenched and unclenched. Her lips quivered. And she couldn’t form a single word in response. But I waited. I didn’t have much else to say, even though it was getting chilly outside, and one can only stare at colorful lights for so long.
I wiped my nose and suppressed a yawn. It was getting close to the time I often found myself wide awake in bed, staring at the ceiling fan, wondering if my life was nothing more than moving in circles. I cleared the distance between us. “Mind if we head inside and put this whole thing behind us?” I reached around her and grabbed the door handle.
Lizzie sighed. She shouldered past me and opened the front door on her own, as if to prove a point. She stepped into the darkness of her home without bothering to flick on a light.
I waited outside, daring not to enter without her invitation. Entering homes uninvited had a lot of heavy consequences for us supernatural types. A light mist filled the night. A brisk wind cut through my damp clothes and skin. I thought of warming my body with some magic, and realized I didn’t have any at the moment. Crossing my arms and trying not to shiver—because I had to at least appear manly after my rant—I glanced over my shoulder as headlights drenched over me. Dakota had decided to prattle off somewhere else.
Finally, a light clicked on and showered the interior entryway in a white radiance. “Are you coming in?” she asked, her voice calling from deep within the house.
I glanced around the doorframe, looking for runes. I couldn’t feel or sense any magic, so I had to stay vigilant in my observations. When I didn’t see markings of the Nephilim script, I stepped through the threshold and tensed, waiting for an attack.
Nothing happened.
A stairwell stood before me. It went up two steps and veered right along a balcony with a window and a door. It shot back to the left, up to the second floor. To my right, a piano was built into the wall. The wall’s bougie, dark wood matched the stairwell bannisters and the railing and the steps, along with the baseboard and trim. To my left was an open-concept area that flowed into a sitting room.
“Should I take off my shoes?” I asked, unsure of where to go or what to do. I had never entered a dwelling so… upscale. Not even Xander’s prim condo compared to the sheer luxury of Lizzie’s home. Her decor had been shipped straight from a medieval castle.
Lizzie didn’t answer my shoes question.
Where had she gone?
Well, if a fight broke out, I preferred the comfort of my boots. So, I kept them on and ventured further into her mansion. “Lizzie,” I called, going left and ambling into the
