Command of the Wolf
I twisted around, peering at the walls, which were blurry like wet paint that had bled…and were closing in.
I gripped Mischief, as I yelled up at the ceiling, “That’s it, Spooks, enough with the cheap tricks.”
The walls only wavered closer, as a joyful pop ballad burst from the floor. Mischief jumped, and his nose scrunched in disdain. “On my wings, are we
to be driven to insanity by—”
“Robbie Williams serenading us with “Angels”?” My ears ached at the loudness. Mischief attempted to muffle the song by wrapping his wings more closely around my head. “Who knew that this house had such a sadistic sense of humor?”
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