A thoroughly modern flapper gets three wishes.
They are sadists, and aren't too kind to taking orders from anyone. They keep their women on leashes-literally-and even host royal balls only for the rich and oversexed, chaining their women to posts and delightedly torturing them for entertainment.
And here's the kicker: only males are born of that bloodline. There has never been a female Obsidian.
Which was exactly why I had the world's worst attitude, and would be executed on sight if anybody knew what I was. Luckily, a guy named Chad (who is my boss) actually gave a shit about me, and took me in as soon as my father-Lord Jaron, the All Mighty Great and Powerful Whatever-secretly had me with the aid of some pretty freaky dark magic. My father had always dabbled into that stuff, and apparently a fertility spell backfired and out popped me. The council wanted to kill me and my mother, but Chad (who helped keep my father's sex slaves in check) ran off with me when I started hitting and biting the staff at age two. My father couldn't keep me a secret anymore, because I was wild and bloodthirsty, just like everybody else in my family. But I was worse.
As I got older, it didn't get better. Hormones started to flow, and the need for sex and companionship grew. I was terrified, really, to get that close to somebody. So I took the lonesome road and made my handy-dandy Vibrator Plus my best friend. But even setting nine of ten couldn't satisfy me. Not emotionally, at least; I needed something more than that.
I could never form relationships with people, mainly because I was cursed; that's why Raymond has never come on to me. The last time he tried something, it felt like a bucket of gasoline had been poured over my head along with a blaze of flames. I remember panting on the ground with him screaming and hugging the wall, wondering what the hell just happened. He started screaming at me, demanding that I tell him what magic I was using to torture him. It was the worst pain I had ever felt-worse than that time I broke my butt bone falling off my motorcycle.
And breaking your backside knocks the breath out of you.
I went to a Dark Magic user named Felajo to figure out what was going on, and he said I was cursed. When I asked what he meant by that, he told me that somebody had placed a hex on me so that whoever I have physical, sexual contact with, would feel the worst kind of pain imaginable. He pondered over whether my father did it when I was younger so I couldn't procreate and make any more abominations. But he said masturbation was my only outlet, except that Obsidians are naturally very sexually active, and he gave me about a year before I caved and tried again.
So needless to say, I've been everywhere to try to lift the curse. There's this one guy in Juli, who supposedly knows how to rid of powerful hexes, but for the right price.
Which was exactly why I took this job.
"I don't care where the body fell from. I think our best bet is to stay indoors-"
"And do what? Twiddle our thumbs?" I asked.
"You are impossible," he grumbled, stalking off in the other direction. I followed him, scanning the rooftops for any source of movement. I could hear my heart beating now that my calm had worn off. I gritted my teeth, cursing myself for cutting my hair too short, because my bangs fell in my face and hindered my sight.
But what I saw was what I expected: random streaks of blood leading into houses, flickering street lamps, and the ever-present ominous haze of smoke. I held onto my gun a little tighter, feeling my palms tingle and become clammy. I bit my lip and concentrated on remaining composed. I could hear Raymond's harsh, uneven breathing beside me, juxtaposing my now calm intakes of breath.
"Chad said he wanted us to take a look at this place.