He had been expecting it hours ago, a rush like adrenaline, the pleasant letting go he remembered from his wasted college days. Half mad in want of it, he’d drunk half the bottle, sure it would arrive in this forbidden potion.
“There’s a rumor some kind of spirit arrives,” he said to no one. “And then she wants your soul.”
“Who says it’s a ‘she’?” came a voice from beside him. He turned, shocked by the massive giant occupying the space next to him, its skin the color of split pea. “And I already got it—after your third drink.”
Author’s Note: With the renewed interest in absinthe these days, I wonder if more people don’t want to be warned of its once notorious reputation.
Heh. I am still so tickled pink to be published here.