That was her signal and so she began a quick ascent up the side of the inn, swinging one leg and then the other over the sun-baked tiles that created ...he inn’s attractive roof until she stood atop the inn, her statuesque form outlined briefly by the moonlight before she dropped to a crouch and began moving swiftly over the tiles, heading toward the building nearest the inn. She gave her grappling hook two successive tugs and the claw released its death grip from the brick chimney it was holding. He took a seat at his desk then, thoughts of her and her spite amassing in clumps of spurned acrimony clawed at him, at his heart and at the seat of his stomach. Cruelty interlocked within that girl’s luxuriantly violet eyes meant worlds of trouble for him every time they flashed him a code red. He was not very much in the mood for a code red this day, week, moon or year. The quill and jar of ink gathered, he dipped the quill, almost serendipitously into the pot and began to scratch a message. More

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