Louis-Cesare. It’s good to finally have you in hand.
It’s about time! It’s supposed to be a ritual, not a marathon.
Fresh blood at midnight isn’t red. It’s a purplish black that easily blends into the shadows.
I’m tired, I’m hungry and I have a head in a bag,” I warned him. “Do not fuck with me.
No, Miss Palmer. What is bizarre is that I currently have a vagina.
Not really hungry.””She’ll eat.” Pritkin said curtly.”I said —””If you starve to death it would damage my professional reputation.””I eat plenty.””The same does not apply should I strangle you in understandable irritation, however.””I’ll have a...
I wasn’t entirely sure, but a polite John Pritkin might be a sign of the apocalypse.