If These Walls Could Talk
Copyright © Emmi Lawrence
All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.
Short Story (Approx. 3100)
The last owner of the workshop had been some sort of kinky necromancer assassin. Either that or he—or she, Lev didn’t actually know who had owned the place before him—had been a blood caster. Hell, he could even have been a death-spell collector. Lev didn’t know and the lips couldn’t tell him anything straight since their brains had been scrambled when they’d been sliced off their bodies and spelled to the walls of the workshop.
The first time he’d walked into the place, he’d immediately turned around and walked right back out. Blinked in the sunlight as he tried to ignore the real-estate agent blabbering on about how the workshop was one-of-a-kind and perfect for a man like him. Lev had asked the idiot man point-blank whether his company had even tried to remove the lips. The agent had merely grinned and told him that their resources were limited and he was sure that a man of Lev’s ability could easily remove the lips if he wished.
