The final episode of SHE-WOLF AND CUB is up! You can begin at the prologue and read all the way through. Zombies, cyborg assassins, and Westerns all rolled into one, with a bonus twist. Heh. I love taking the conventions of Westerns and twisting them ever-so-gently.
I had a TREMENDOUS amount of fun with that story. Plus, Fireside Magazine pays its writers a living wage, so that’s awesome as well.
The kids are back in school after a long weekend; I, however, might need a damn break after all the running around in the past three days, not to mention a frenzy of housecleaning. At least we didn’t paint. There’s not much left to daub, unless it’s the accent wall in the dining room, so…
No. No painting.
I found a small Batman crushed in the road yesterday. He’s recuperating with Fred and George. I’m not so sure how good a nurse George is–he seems to think a lager will fix everything right up–but Fred is precise and punctual, which makes for good medical care. The poor Caped Crusader kept shuddering and moaning “BAAAAAAANE…” and that turned Fred an interesting shade of pale–or as pale as a russet squirrel can get–but when I checked this morning, he was sedated.
Me: Where’d you get the meds from?
Fred: I HAVE WAYS.
Me: Please tell me you didn’t just hit him on the head.
Fred: COGNITIVE RECALIBRATION WASN’T NECESSARY. I’M A DOCTOR, NOT A SUPERVILLAIN.
Me: …good to know.
George: *ambling in* RIGHT THEN, MATE, WE’VE GOT A SUPPLY FROM JOE FOR THE NEXT COUPLE–OH, HULLO, M’UM. COME TO CHECK ON THE OLD PATIENT, HAVE WE?
Me: And the mystery is solved.
George: YOU WON’T STAY FOR A CUPPA?
Fred: DEAR LADY, UNLESS YOU WANT ME HARVESTING THE POPPIES, EMPHYSEMA JOE’S THE ONLY PHARMACIST IN TOWN.
George: MIRANDA SAID SHE SAW SOMETHING ABOUT THIS. SURE YOU DON’T WANT A CUPPA?
Me: …no, really, I’ve got to go wash my hair. See you.
I have a bad feeling about this…