I was right in the middle of caving in the side of the thing’s skull with a four-pound chunk of cold-forged tempered steel when the chime came in on my messaging earring.
“Rina,” said the Prior on the other end of the ethereal connection, “I’m, uh, wondering if you could help me with a case.”
“Sure,” I replied, shattering another naked spine with a deft backhand swing. “Just let me take care of a few things.”
The Scrivnarium 