Will a bloody Mary sweeten the deal?

“You tell her.”

“No way! You tell her.”

“I’m not gonna tell her. Have you seen how hot she is?” Lazarus whispers hoarsely. His voice is drowned by the whimsical singing of the rotting hotty as she brushes her hair in the powder room.

“It’s kinda hard for me to look past the festering wound.” I wince at the recollection. “How did she get that thing, Mr Psychic?”

“Werewolf,” he responds, matter-of-factly.

I roll my eyes. Werewolves don’t exist. “Anyway…someone has to tell Elle that her phantom smell emanates from her fetid face.”

“Sounds like girl talk to me,” Lazarus shrugs.

A shiver scales my spine and quivers in my shoulders. “I don’t think I can casually work rotting lesions into a conversation about wardrobes and color trends.”

“Would a bloody Mary help you to open up?”

No, but a bloody Lazarus might. “I’ll give it a shot,” I grumble. “But, you have to find Desmond’s real address. Try the white pages.”


Is Deirdre successful? You decide what happens next:
A. Lazarus finds a Mary, makes her bloody, and sits Deirdre down for a face-to-face chat with Elle.
B. Deirdre sees her chance to escape from Lazarus’ company (how did she get into this mess, anyway?) and runs out the back door while Lazarus studies the variety of Desmonds listed in the white pages.
C. Deirdre and Lazarus chicken out. If they pretend it’s not there, it will go away, right?
D. Something completely different…