Page 19 of Someone Save My Midlife Tonight
He nodded curtly and then approached Shitty Ritchie. From the expression on the minuscule sharthead’s face, he was reconsidering his request to stay. The Grim Reaper did not corn nut around.
Shart… was about to get real.
CHAPTER FIVE
The moon had risen.During the day, the sun bathed the grounds in a magical golden glow, but at night, the moon would cast an incandescent and beautiful haze over our property. Most of the time, it felt ethereal and romantic. Tonight, with everything going on, the haze was eerie, almost foreboding. Gideon didn’t speak as he stared down the troll-looking monstrosity. He didn’t have to. His ebony black wings were expanded, his eyes were blood red and his entire body glowed with a promise of pain and agony. Shitty Ritchie gulped repeatedly and loudly. I didn’t feel sorry for him. As far as I was concerned, he was a huge liability.
Gideon had handed Alana Catherine off to Charlie. I quickly reinforced the ward around my daughter. Charlie one-upped me and doubled its strength. That was more than fine with me. If I lost an arm or a leg in the next few minutes, I could deal with it. It would grow back—bizarre but true. I wouldn’t be thrilled, but if my baby suffered even a scratch from Shitty Ritchie, he was going down. Violently and permanently.
The Grim Reaper slashed his hand through the air. Shitty Ritchie was now residing in a square glass box—ten inches by ten inches. He had room to stand up and sit down, but it was kind of tight for walking around. The enchanted glass shimmered and jiggled as if it were alive. I was tempted to reach out and touch it, though I didn’t dare. I didn’t want to accidentally break Gideon’s magical prison.
“It will hold the bastard,” Gideon ground out, eyeing his work. “Magic is impossible from within.”
“I don’t like this,” Shitty Ritchie screeched, banging on the undulating walls.
“Dude. Cake hole, shut it,” I snapped. “It’s for our safety as well as yours.”
He sat down on his tiny bottom and pouted like the deadly baby that he was. However, the little nard bared his teeth at me in fury. I was tempted to do one of two things—zap him or flip him off. The zap could ricochet and backfire. If magic couldn’t get out of the box, it stood to reason that it couldn’t get in either. Electrocuting myself by accident would suck. Flipping him off could get me set on fire by Candy Vargo. I’d already seen her do it to herself twice. I liked my middle finger with feeling in it, so I wasn’t going to risk it.
“Nifty,” Candy said, examining the see-through prison. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that before.”
Gideon glanced over at her. “That’s because it will only work on something small. The larger the box, the weaker it is.”
“So interesting!” Tim said, clapping his hands. He adored new discoveries. “Shall we retire? It’s getting quite late and dark.”
It took all I had not to scream. My best bet was a sarcastic laugh. I let it rip. “Well…” I said, staring daggers at Shitty Ritchie. “I’d say that everyone could stay at the house, but Gideon and I don’t seem to have a house at the moment.”
Shitty Ritchie stared at his feet. His little shoulders were slumped, and it appeared that the waterworks and snot were about to start again. The imbecile was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hide—violent one minute and nice-ish…ish the next.
“Do youwishfor me to fix it?” he questioned, sounding sheepish.
I rolled my eyes. Like I was going to let him use any kind of magic after what I’d already witnessed. He’d already proven to be a nightmare.
“No,” I said flatly. “I don’t wish for you to have anything to do with my house—or lack thereof.”
“What do youwishfor?” he asked, giving me the side eye.
The little dude was wacked, but his stress on the wordwishwas odd. Did he fancy himself a genie? I was shocked that he still had a crappy ‘tude going on considering he was in a see-through prison. “What do you wish for?” I shot back, playing the game. There wasn’t much he could do. If Gideon had said the box would keep the shart stain from using magic, then that was correct.
“I wish that toes had eyes so I wouldn’t keep stubbing mine all the time,” he answered, pointing at his bare feet.
His answer left me speechless. It also made me want to laugh. Little guy had some game. However, he was batshit nuts.
“I hate to be Captain Obvious, but that’s not how anatomy works,” I told him.
Shitty Ritchie giggled.
I was appalled that I found the sound cute.
“I’m not an idiot,” he insisted.
“Could have fooled me,” I replied, rubbing my temples and wondering what to do about sleepingarrangements.
He pressed his face against the glass. It was not a good look. “Iknowthat I am not an idiot, therefore, I do not have to prove to you that I’m not an idiot… because I’m not… an idiot.”
“You are,” I said, wanting to yeet myself for falling into the trap more suited to elementary school kids, but it was impossible not to engage.
“Am not,” he shouted.
