Evan Chaos: A Smart-Ass in a Supernatural World

By Roger Schultz

Other than his name, Evan doesn't know who he is, except to say that he is a smart-ass who says what comes to his mind when it would be wise not to. In a human world, it would be an unfortunate personality trait. In a supernatural world where humans are an endangered species, it could be lethal.
Welcome to the future where the gods have taken their human followers and left the rest behind to be preyed upon by supernatural creatures from every faery tale book ever written. Fortunately, the vampires passed the EHA (Endangered Human Act) to protect their food source, but it's still a dangerous world for anyone without fangs, claws, magic, or some supernatural power to keep them safe.
Join Evan in scenic Jackson Hole, Wyoming as he dodges death, creates chaos, and falls in love with a pretty girl.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roger Schultz
• Release date: Jul 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215965245

Roger Schultz

I live in the mountains of eastern Idaho where I spend my time working and trying to find productive ways to spend my time. I haven't thought of anything productive yet, so I ride my dirt bike, shoot guns, and create stories and art to entertain my friends.

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EVAN CHAOS

A Smart-Ass in a Magical World

By

Roger Schultz

Published by Roger Schultz

Copyright 2023 Roger Schultz

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Front Cover image:

Copyright Roger Schultz, 2023

DISCLAIMER

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. If you think you see yourself in the pages of this book, I suggest you stop being such a narcissistic ass-hat and go back to whatever faery world you came from where you think everything is about you. It's not, actually, so get over yourself.

DEDICATION

For my wife, who inspires my life and my daughter who motivated the start of it all.

REVIEWS

Since we all know this book isn’t going to make it as one of the New York Times Best Sellers, let’s have some fun and imagine what the critics would have said if anyone cared to read it.

"Who let this moron write a book? The author seems hellbent on decimating our intellect with each page. Honestly, we should bring back the old punishments and have him drawn and quartered." -- By a former mayor of a town nobody cares about · November 20, 2042.

"I’ve read cereal boxes with greater substance. I was on the edge of gouging out my own eyes with each page. Seriously, is no one going to stop this fool from publishing ever again?" -- By a want-a-be public official so crooked they make Nixon look straight · January 2, 2042.

"Work of fiction my ass. The author was obviously referring to my sister in these pages. I resent his depictions of her character and intend to murder him in his sleep." -- By a narcissistic ass-hat who doesn’t appreciate artistic expression…even if it were based on his sister · December 6, 2043.

"The author’s depictions of ginger witches were disgustingly inappropriate. He should be cancelled or fired from life." -- By a ginger-loving douche with no sense of humor (go @#$% yourself) · March 3, 2041.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

Epilogue

About the Author

Other Books

TRIGGER WARNING: The main character of this book says and does whatever comes to his mind. While the story has been edited for the profane and graphic sexual depictions, (I know some of you are disappointed…get over it) he is often inappropriate and certainly not politically correct. If you are easily offended, stop here and see if you can get your money back. Either that or grow a pair and keep on reading.

Chapter 1

Fun Fact: Only 27% of the population is human. 10% are undead, 60% are faery in one of their many species, leaving 3% to fall into the category of, ‘Unknown.’

I’m not sure how I found myself here. I’m usually pretty adept at avoiding conflict. Who am I kidding, my big mouth is always getting me into trouble. Still, having my face ground into the dingy red brick wall of the historic Wort Hotel was something I could have gone without. Not necessarily because it hurt, which it did, but I was fairly certain I wasn’t the first human to have become so intimate with this particular section of alley wall. Was that a hair clinging to a scrap of skin wedged into the cracks?

Judging from the length, I could only guess there was some unfortunate soul out there who was missing a chunk of beard. Not that I was horribly upset by the notion, beards being one of the uglier displays of male testosterone out there.

What did you say? the Were growled in my ear.

Ugh. He had dog breath. I contemplated telling him so and thought better of it. I'd already insulted his manly beard, but how could I have helped myself? The thing was hideous. I mean, if you're going to grow pubic hair out of your face, the least you could do is keep it clean and trimmed. Use some beard product or something. Instead, it was twisted and matted like a stray dogs and which he was currently using to tickle my ear with. Gross.

I said, 'Your beard looks remarkably well groomed today.'? I was hoping he hadn't heard what I'd really said.

The big furry hand on the back of my neck tightened. Funny, sounded more like, 'Nice beard, Gandalf.'

Stupid Weres and their keen sense of hearing. I'd whispered it under my breath while carefully making my way around their pack as they loitered in the alley. I could just as easily have told them to get a job, but that seemed too cliché and I was going for something more original.

Have you ever had one of those moments when words just jump out without having been filtered by your brain? Happens to me all the time. My mouth just seems to have a mind of its own and it was having one of those moments now and I was having trouble running it down, so I could tackle it and tie it up in the corner where it belonged.

Really? Maybe you should get someone to clear cut all that hair growing out your ears.

If it was possible to smash my face any further into the bricks, he managed it. I definitely should have kept my mouth shut, but his ear hair was nearly as gross as the beard. How could I resist?

Weres didn’t haven’t much of sense of humor. None really. Neither did dwarves, unless you get them rip roaring drunk, then they're the life of the party, but Weres were just angry…all the time. Getting them drunk only made it worse. I've always held to the theory that it’s a PMS thing. Pre-Moon Syndrome. It seems to get worse about once every 28 days. There's a lot of similarity there. I'm just say'in.

Do you have some kind of death wish? he growled.

His dirty shirt was embroidered with the name, Bob. Probably a leftover from some former employer. Most Weres didn't keep jobs for long with their temperament.

Your name is, Bob? Really? I snorted a laugh before I could stop myself.

Bob grabbed me by the hair and bounced my head off the bricks hard enough for me to see stars. The EHA doesn't protect you from a sound beating.

He had me there. EHA stands for the Endangered Human Act. It was passed after the gods came and collected all their worthy followers. There is some debate about which gods or whether it was one god, but who cares, really? The humans left behind quickly found themselves prey to a whole host of fairytale creatures turned loose by their departure. They called it, Freedom Day. The vamps, seeing an alarming reduction in their food supply, took action, pushing through legislation to protect the humans. What was left of the human cops couldn't protect us, so they made Enforcers; magically enhanced creatures so badass even their creators feared them. The punishment for killing a human was death, along with the rest of your pack, coven, family or whatever. There was, unfortunately, not much consequence for grinding a human's face in the wall for making smartass comments about really ugly beards.

Um. Sorry? I finally managed when my head had stopped spinning.

What was that? Bob asked, apparently not believing my apology.

Okay, it was a crappy apology, but in the presence of so many bad beards it was hard to be truly contrite.

Your beard is truly magnificent? I added, hoping a compliment would save me from the sound beating he had suggested earlier.

Smartass. He tossed me to the ground like a rag doll. Bob the werewolf turned his back on me as if I wasn't worth his time. Luckily, the rest of the pack did the same and went back to doing whatever it was werewolves did when mouthy humans like me weren't making fun of their facial pubes.

I pushed myself off the ground, brushing the dirt from my clothes. I noted with extreme sadness that my coffee was now a collection of biodegradable cup pieces and delicious foamy goodness soaking into the ground. I contemplated saying something to their retreating backs, but had a moment of clarity and decided against it. Picking up my discarded work bag, I limped down the sidewalk, feeling the inside of my mouth with my tongue to make sure my teeth were all still in place.

As you may have noticed, I have issues. One of them being opening my mouth when it would be wise to do otherwise. Combine that with a complete lack of fear in what should terrify any normal human and you have a recipe for a long series of near-death experiences. It's amazing how many considering I'm only around twenty-five. I’m not actually sure, but the handsome guy greeting me everyone morning in the mirror looks to be about that old. Fortunately, I'm also lucky. Otherwise, I'd be dead, buried or lunch for one of the fay or undead creatures that now dominated this world, EHA be damned.

I headed west on Broadway, looking both ways before crossing Milward Street. Safety first. I ducked as something small and winged flew past my face. I'll have to admit, I may have screamed like a girl, but I was still on edge from my encounter with the pack and you could hardly blame me. I straightened, relaxing when I realized who it was.

Oh, hey, Pat. How's it hanging? From the looks of it, a little to the left. Pixies don't wear clothes. Yes, I know, it doesn't match with the Disney caricatures you're used to, but the world isn't rated G, so you're just going to have to get over it. Pat stands for Hypatia, but I just call him Pat. He's about six inches tall with a cluster of translucent wings that have always reminded me of dragonfly wings, only louder. The sound of them scares the crap out of you when you're not expecting it. He doesn't seem to mind me calling him Pat and I usually stop and talk for a few minutes on my way to work. A pixie can get real territorial, but me and him had a bonding moment one day when I swatted a blackbird dive-bombing my head. Hey, the stupid bird started it. After that, Pat thought I was the bomb, Pixies and blackbirds being natural enemies and all.

Evan! he squeaked in his high-pitched, high-speed voice. You're just in time. We're getting ready to raid the Trasix clan on Saddle Butte. You in?

Pixies love their feuds. It's just like the Hatfields and McCoys. The Trasix hold the high ground, but Pat and his clan have the advantage in numbers. Pat is very fertile.

Sorry, Pat, I said. I've got work. Which way are you hitting them this time?

Pat lit on my shoulder, using my right ear as a handhold as I continued to walk. Straight up the front! We're going to pound them. He shook his tiny fist at the hill looming above us in the morning light.

Ever think of a sneak attack? You know, come in from the Spring Gulch side under the cover of darkness? Pat wasn't very inventive when it came to strategy.

Hmmm. Maybe, he said, tapping a finger on his lips. He shrugged his shoulders. Maybe next time.

Go get'em, killer, I said, giving him an upraised fist as he flew off. I could see the rest of the clan darting through the trees in the park they claimed as their territory, preparing for the assault. I worked my jaw, trying to pop my ears. The high-pitched sound of Pat's voice gives me a headache.

Having been brought up to date on the Pat family feud, I hurried off to work. I was going to be late thanks to my big mouth and the pack's attention. I work at an electronics store. Lame, I know but it pays good money. The fay, undead and technology don't get along, but they still like their TV, music and internet and are willing to pay good money for any human who can keep it working. I work for a ghoul-owned shop located at 385 West Broadway. It used to be a Mexican Restaurant back in the day and before that, a dive bar, but now bore the name of Spirits of the West Electronics. That's a nod to the bar the place used to be. The benefit package rocks and they provide decent security for their human techs. You can't very well have your customers eating the employees. We are, indisputably, the best electronics/cable/internet retailer in the hole. Jackson Hole, that is.

What? You were expecting Cincinnati? New York maybe? Who in their right mind would want to live in the big city? The vamps maybe, but only because that's where the food is, but the rest of the fay and many of the undead prefer the country. Humans, too, or this one, anyway. The fresh air and open spaces can't be beat.

Speaking of security, the bitch was waiting at the front doors for me, arms crossed with a scowl on her face. No, I wasn't just being mean, bitch is what they call a she-wolf. Meg was tall, a good six foot and muscled like an Olympic sprinter. She'd be pretty if she wasn't always scowling, with her long dark hair, olive skin, brown eyes and full pouty lips. Yeah, I'm crushing on her a little, but it was hard not to. She didn't care for humans much, me probably less than most on account of my big mouth. It seemed the nicer I was the more she hated me.

Good morning, Meg, I said brightly.

You're late, she growled back, tossing me the keys to our work van. She jumped in the passenger side without another word, slamming the door hard.

Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I mumbled to myself.

Shut up and get it in the van!

Stupid wolf hearing. I didn't argue though and was just glad I didn't have to go inside and deal with the manager, Par’Z. I'm pretty sure he is a ghoul, although he could be a low-level vamp. Either way, the guy creeped me out with his black needle teeth and bald head. I was sure he was sizing me up for dinner every time he looked my way. Par’Z was convinced I was a loafer and while that wasn't entirely untrue, it wasn't polite to make accusations without direct evidence. So far, I'd been able to skate under the radar, doing just enough work to avoid his attention, but not so much I broke a sweat. An overachiever I am not.

I slid into the driver's seat and started the van. How was your weekend? I asked, trying to soften Meg's mood, hoping a little small talk would do the trick.

Shut up and drive, she snarled, slapping me in the arm with the clipboard and our work orders.

I guess not. I looked at the work orders and decided to start at the top.

Chapter 2

Fun Fact: The average werewolf can complete a transformation in a little less than thirty seconds, unless motivated by an extreme emotional disturbance or the lunar cycle.

The first work order was a cable hookup in west Jackson, an old church off Seneca Lane. I pulled the electric powered work van out into traffic, careful to stay in the human motorized lane. The other lanes were reserved for the fay and undead, elitist assholes that they were. Granted, some of them rode horses or whatever that didn't mix well with cars, but that didn't mean they deserved their own lanes. Whatever. Traffic was light and we made it there in under five minutes despite the herd of centaurs hogging the human lane.

The church was in good repair. The owner had taken the time and effort to keep things nice. I'm not sure what denomination it used to be, but it was stick built and painted in white and grey. It was cute, I guess. If you're into that sort of thing, which I'm not. The structure hosted a single steeple, with the Christian cross having been replaced by a star. I took a moment to assess. It was a sunny, happy little church. What could go wrong?

I'm pretty sure that's not a Jewish star, I observed out loud, putting on my tool belt and grabbing my work bag.

Meg's eternal scowl depended. Shit.

What kind do you think?

How the hell would I know? she growled back. Does it matter? Best plan for the worst.

I took a quick peek at her ass as she reached in to grab a rowan staff from the back. Holy crap she was hot! I pulled my eyes back in my head before she could see me staring. She checked the assortment of knives she always carried with her, then looked up, her eyes narrowing as I attempted to look at anything but her.

Were you staring at my ass?

What? No! I sputtered, then paused. Unless you wanted me to, in which case I was totally checking you out. I'm mean, really, how could you expect otherwise when you're so beautifully shaped?

If you don't shut up, I'm going to rip your eyes from your head.

Is that a metaphor for something? Because I'm not getting it. OUCH! I yelled as she cracked my shins with the staff.

Get moving, she growled.

Okay. I'm going. I walked to the door, knocking when I didn't find a doorbell. I waited for the sound of movement, but didn't hear anything.

You call that a knock?

What, you want me to kick the door in?

At least do it hard enough they know we're here. A Were-cub could do better. She pushed me to the side and gave the door a sharp knock with her staff.

Someone's coming, Meg said.

A moment later I heard movement, followed by the door swinging open. I almost laughed. She was a ginger witch, red hair and freckles bursting out everywhere. Add to that the black robe and pointy shoes and you couldn't get any more cliché. Well, maybe if you added a pointy hat and broom to go with it. She probably had some stupid name like Rosie, Amber, Scarlett or…"

Hi! I'm Rachel, she said with a cheery smile. She appeared to be in her early twenties and discounting that fact she was a redhead, still quite attractive.

Witches are a crapshoot. Mostly because you can't judge a witch by her cover. They can be sweet as candy on the outside and poison on the inside. Witches were bad news. I snorted. Who was I kidding? The world was full of supernatural creatures and it was like jumping from the frying pan to the fire everywhere I went. The trouble was that a witch could be so many things: Good witch, bad witch, faery witch, vampire witch. It was more of a profession than an actual race. Think of it like gender. Back in the day, there were boys and there were girls. Now there's binary, non-binary, transgender, gender fluid, agender, bigender, polygender, intergender, demigender, novigender, etc. It gets confusing, I know.

I hated her already. Way too happy at nine o'clock in the morning after my coffee had been sabotaged by angry Weres. Meg seemed to share my sentiment, a low growl starting low in her chest.

The witch's smile dropped slightly. You're the cable guys, right?

Spirits of the West, at your service…uh…ma'am. Always good to be polite to a witch, even if you think they're a joke. The last thing I want is to have my manhood cursed into becoming a stalk of broccoli. Celery would be worse but that's off point. The point is, offending a witch, even a bad one can and will lead to disastrous consequences. Besides, using the celery analogy in this context would ruin a celery and peanut butter snack forever.

Wonderful, she said, relieved. Come inside.

The front door led to a small foyer, which had been converted to a small sitting room, presumably to receive clients. Though, for the life of me, I couldn't fathom anyone coming to this carrot top for witch services of any kind. Regardless, I kept my judgements quiet, reminding myself again you couldn't judge a witch by her cover.

Would you like some treats? she asked sweetly, offering a plate of what appeared to be homemade confections.

Uh. I thought frantically of a way to politely decline, but my brain wasn't working fast enough.

They're really good, she encouraged, pushing the plate at me hungrily.

Um. No thanks. I just had breakfast.

Come now. I made them special…

I was starting to get a real Hansel and Gretel vibe and began looking around for an Evan and Meg sized oven. I wasn't too keen on becoming dinner and began thinking of tools I probably forgot in the van that I needed to retrieve at that very moment.

How about you just tell us where you need your service set up, Meg interrupted, hefting her rowan staff meaningfully.

Popping a witch with a rowan staff wasn't lethal, but it would hurt like hell. Well, not lethal unless you drove it through their chest or brain, but otherwise about as harmless as being Tased by the cops. Don't ask how I know that.

The witch's eyes turned hard with malice, her smile slipping. There was a tense silence for several long seconds as she eyed the staff before she finally nodded to a door. In the library, next to the TV, she snarled, setting the treats back on the table with a clatter. Touch nothing and leave when you're done. I don't want to be disturbed. With that, she twirled in a flash of red hair and freckles, disappearing through the door opposite.

That went well, I commented.

Shut up and get to work so we can get out of here, Meg snapped. I hate witches.

No argument from me. I got right to work. The building had already been wired for service at some point, so it was just a matter of pulling the router out of the box, plugging it in and setting up the account. I made sure the wireless network was working and began packing my stuff while whistling a happy tune.

Meg eyed me suspiciously. What did you do?

What?

You've done something. What is it?

I don't know what you're talking about, I tried to say with a straight face before breaking out in a huge grin.

Her eyes narrowed. What?

I named her wireless network, 'Angry Ginger'.

Meg barked a laugh, but didn't order me to change it. She growled at me to grab my stuff and get out, but I could tell she was suppressing a smile. I celebrated silently to myself. Getting Meg to smile, or nearly smile, was a major accomplishment. I'd be riding the high for days and you have to admit 'Angry Ginger' was pretty damn funny.

I was loading my gear into the van when I realized I'd forgotten to write the network name and password on the work order. Crap. I had to go back in.

I'll be right back, I told Meg. I forgot to give her the password. I didn't wait for her reply, trotting toward the front door to get it over with as fast as possible. I knocked, waiting for a long while for the witch to come to the door. I looked back, noticing Meg was preoccupied with putting her gear away. I tried the door and found it unlocked.

Cool. I could just pop in real quick and scratch the network name and password on the work order. Standing in the foyer, I looked to where I'd left it. It wasn't there. When confronted with choices, I like to go with the easiest. I didn't want to walk back to the van, rummage around for a piece of paper or risk Meg's wrath by asking for one, so I opted to just find Ms. Angry Ginger and tell her what the password was myself. She wasn't likely to forget 'Angry Ginger'. I just had to make sure to run for the door before she could manage untold damage to my man-junk, if you know what I mean.

I walked to the door the witch had used earlier. I probably should have called out. Actually, I probably should have run screaming from the building, hindsight being 20/20 like it is, but I'm just not that smart most days. On this particular day, I just wasn't thinking. I mean, who walks into a witch's house alone after she's told you to get your work done and leave? Maybe I'm stupid. I've thought that many times, as I'm sure many others have too. Regardless, I pushed the door open.

I’m not entirely sure what happened next. Thinking it through later, I think a gust of wind blew the front door closed, which caused the foyer to over pressurize, which caused the doorknob to fly out of my hand, which caused the door to swing in with a bang. The only light in the room was a couple of candles, one of which blew out. That was followed quickly by a scream and the sound of…how do I describe it? It was like snapping branches…no…more like a meaty thump followed by what sounded like someone crunching ice cubes with their teeth.

As I've said before, I don't feel fear. Some kind of genetic defect, I guess. So instead of running from the building like I should have, I reached for where I thought the light switch should be. I found it and flicked it on.

The room was big, with high vaulted ceilings and a few windows draped with heavy curtains. Ugly curtains at that. Apparently, Angry Ginger didn't have any taste. The room was undoubtedly the chapel used by the prior occupants. The pews had been removed, along with any symbols of Christendom. In the center, was a very large pentagram, surrounded by two concentric rings of what I guessed was salt. I don't know what the deal is with salt or pentagrams, I just know it's a witch thing, but that's not really what was catching my attention.

Standing in the middle of the pentagram, was a demon. Or, at least I think it was. It certainly looked like the ones on TV, magazines and books I'd seen.

Holy shit. That seemed like the appropriate expletive. I drawled it out to really savor the words. It wasn't every day you get to see a demon. Well, not and live to tell about it. Of all mythical creatures, a demon was the top of the food chain. When one of them showed up, everyone ran; human, fay and undead alike. They'd sound the town siren and everything, letting everyone know they needed to go to ground or die. The only ones even remotely equipped to deal with them were the enforcers and it usually took several to take down just one. What Angry Ginger had been doing with one in her back room was anyone's guess.

So, here's the thing about demons. They enjoy killing. I'm talking eviscerating babies with a chainsaw and making a finger painting out of it kind of enjoyment. Demons are completely bat-shit, violently crazy. I had a girlfriend like that once. When she got in a mood, there was no reasoning with her. Demons are like that, but worse because they're powerful. I've heard stories of just one leveling whole towns, killing entire populations, and blowing skyscrapers to little pieces with the amount of power they can channel. I wish I could have one as a pet. There're some people out there that need fried. I'm just saying.

This one was trapped. I could tell because it was trying to get to me without much success, all teeth and claws as it tried to escape its magical prison to eat my face off. I guessed the salt rings were keeping it caged. That's when I noticed what was left of Angry Ginger. Gross. There was nothing left but intestines…I think. I've never actually seen intestines before, but if I had to guess what they looked like, that would be it. I guess I can understand not eating them. They're full of…shit…right? Who'd want to eat that? Not even a demon, I guess.

Anyway, Angry Ginger was gone, nothing left but her innards and a few tufts of hair. It looked like the inner salt circle had been breached. Oops. I hope I didn't do that. I mean, I just opened a door. That couldn't have messed anything up…right? Oh, well. The only one who’d be telling the story would be me and I'm saying it was the witch's fault.

The demon, which had been going berserk trying to get to me had calmed and was now eyeing me balefully with those funky goat eyes. I stepped closer to get a good look, careful not to cross the last unbroken salt circle. The demon's skin was a dark red, almost black, with a general humanoid appearance. I walked around the circle, trying to see the demon's backside to see if it had a tail. It turned with me, eyeing me hungrily, black talons flexing in anticipation and I could see little pieces of Angry Ginger dangling from its teeth.

Can you hold still for a minute? I asked, still trying to catch a glimpse of a tail.

It stopped, eyeing me curiously, while I completed my inspection.

That's so cool, I said admiringly as I confirmed the existence of the tail. It was long enough to drag on the floor, tapering to a multi-spiked point, just like I'd imagined. In fact, everything was just like I'd imagined. Even down to the spiraling horns sprouting straight up from its head. Huh, I said, bending down to see if it was a boy or girl. I was looking out of scientific curiosity. Don't judge me. Besides, a demoness would be way better than a male as I'm sure we would all agree. I wasn't actually sure if demons had gender. No one had ever gotten close enough to find out and live to tell about it.

I couldn't tell, though. I mean it looked a little on the petit side, but it didn't have any of the normal squishy parts you expect on a girl. You know, boobs. Not any of the other standard girl junk either. My shoulders sagged in disappointment. I'd rather been hoping for it to be a chick.

Are you not afraid? it asked, curiously