I was tired.
Aching, sluggish and extremely hung-over. A succession of dive bars and dank hotels in piddling European towns had not quenched my thirst.
London was a bust. Our friends were all, in fact, hers.
If you would like to read the rest of this story, please check out Weird Lies, the recent Arachne Press anthology in which it, and many other fantastical stories from the League archives, appears.
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