Credit Where Credit is Due
Morty chortled and slapped the envelope onto the wet bar. "Complete with home address." Better than a winning entry for the Publisher's Clearing House sweepstakes, his Tuesday mail held the last link to the dirty sumbitch who'd framed him for the thefts of several deep red jewels.
The Spider, a secret agent with sticky fingers, had taken the Inferno Garnets for himself.
"I’ll take a nice drive up the country, and you'll see up close and personal, Agent Renquist." Morty dropped two ice cubes into his glass and poured in a finger of brandy. "I play with fire, not costume jewelry."
For the agent who'd ruined his reputation, he'd spare no expense.
He took his first sip of premature victory, and the chimney exploded into the room like a horizontal volcano. Only a moment passed before ash, smoke, and fire surrounded Morty.
He set his glass on the bar and smiled.
A large black arachnid now seeped through the middle of what he’d assumed was the key to his success. The Spider had found him first. The acidic symbol burned into the bar as Morty's antique chairs and an opulent desk of mahogany joined the macabre dance of red and orange, hot and bothered lovers.
As the address turned dark and the envelope’s edges curled in, he inhaled deeply. Accelerant and cinnamon. A cocktail after his own charred heart. Bliss.
Respect between untrustworthy comrades truly was better than revenge.
No slow smolder here. ;) This sounds like it will be quite a fun story! <3
Necromancy is a Wholesome Science.