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Hurricane Mitch

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She’d spent hours coaxing the story out of that girl. It was going to be an epic wish: maximum gore. Then a mage marked by Eyghon walked in. Absently, she said, “Wish granted,” resolving nothing but Julie-Susan-whoever’s regrets over ordering the light beer.

Sauntering over to where he was ordering whiskey, Anyanka purred, “Hey, there,” and gave her hair a coquettish toss.

He grinned, looking her up and down. “Hey, yourself.” Leaning a little closer, he asked, “So what’s a beautiful vengeance demon like you doing in a Hellmouth like this?”

She preened. Tonight was going to be deliciously chaotic.