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A Little Night Muse(47)

By:Jessa Slade


                Vaile picked up on the first ring. “Hey there, Josh. Never                     thought I’d get a call from you.”

                “I never would have thought a fairy needed a phone.”

                Silence. Then Vaile laughed, a fake laugh, as if he knew he                     should try to dissemble but also knew it was hopeless. “Really, Josh, not                     everybody from Hollywood is gay.”

                Josh ground his teeth. “I’m not that kind of hick.”

                “Too bad. This would be easier if you were.” Vaile sighed.                     “What’s this about?”

                “You have a broken water pipe that flooded your kitchen, and I                     have a musetta wearing my clothes.”

                After a long moment of silence, Vaile said, “I assume you                     turned off the water. As for the musetta...They are                     harder to turn away. Put her on the line.”

                Right. So they could talk over his simple human head. “She’s                     busy not being killed by imps. You’ll just have to talk to me.”

                In the background, Josh heard Vaile’s low rumble, probably to                     Imogene, who—now that he thought about it—was too damn beautiful to be a real                     woman. Movie star, his ass.

                Vaile returned to the line. “Mo says hi. She also says—and I                     quote—‘Don’t do it.’”

                “Tell her it’s too late. If you catch my drift.”

                Vaile grunted. “These phae females                     are beyond enchanting. And not always in a good way.”

                “Thanks for telling me all of this when I offered to watch your                     place.”

                “We didn’t know you’d actually see.”

                Josh touched the scar under his eye. “I should warn you, the                     implications of my incompetence are starting to piss me off. As soon as I get                     off the phone, my musetta and I are spending a quiet                     evening at home, smelting iron bullets. You owe me a frying pan, fairy.”

                “Call me fairy again and I’ll take that pan upside your head,                     cowboy.” Another pause and half-heard mumble. “Mo says iron won’t have the range                     of your normal rounds. You’ll have to get close.”