Shadows Gather
A Novel by Carolynne Ciceri
ã Carolynne Ciceri, 2009
Chapter 1, Part 1
So much promise. It really would be a shame if I have to kill him after all. Michael Slotnick is a sort of protégé of mine I suppose you could say. An accidental one to be sure, but a protégé nonetheless. I'm a fixer for the local preternatural community, and of late I've been showing Michael the ropes.
Yah, I know, I haven't figured out how to phrase it on my tax forms yet either. “Supernatural Fixer”, “Cleaner to the Undead and Unholy” you begin to see my problem. But there it is, when the things that go bump in the night get scared or screw up, I'm the one as gets the call. The question is, when I'm scared or I screw up, who am I supposed to call? And I might of this time. Really screwed the pooch. Up shit creek without my paddle. Staring down the nickel-plated barrel of the revolver of destiny held in the shaking hand of a strung out pretty boy who has just learned that the blood in his veins ain't quite as purely human as he thought. That shaking hand belongs to part-time model, part-time construction worker Michael Slotnick, and if I don't say just exactly the right thing right now, I think he's going to shoot me dead.
"You knew, didn't you?" Michael cried,” You knew all along what a freak I am, didn't you? Didn't you!" A spray of spittle from the corner of his perfects lips adds marvelously to the whole crazy wild-eyed, hand shaking, psycho out of control thing. "Michael, Mica baby calm down." I'm scrambling for something to say. How did I lose control of this so fast? "Mica, tell me what's wrong, I can't help if I don't know what's wrong." There, ball is in his court - that's the way to handle a crazy person, right? Make him use his words?
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