How do you expect me to provide
you with a demon tear if I don’t have a
body? I can’t cry you a goddamn river
while stuck in a bronze reproduction of
an ugly-ass alchemist. A dead one, at
that.”
“You can move your eyes,” Navin ventured. “And you’re a demon. Can’t
you do some kind of demon magic and
produce tears?”
“Demon magic? Have you been eating
Ironwood mushrooms? Demons don’t do
magic. Demons curse. We tear apart
reality and feed on the blood of
innocents.”
Navin shivered. “Stop being so
dramatic. You’re hardly in the position
to tear apart reality. You’d have trouble tearing open a packet of potato chips right now.”
Newton made a horrific snorting
sound that might have been laughter.
“Ah, dear boy. And you said you
weren’t interested in comedy. If only I
could cry tears of laughter right now,
we’d be peachy.”
“Shut up a minute. I’m trying to think.”
“I know. I can hear your two brain
cells rubbing together.

Auteur: Karen Mahoney