No Luck in the World
MO STARED AT THE STRANGER. There was something not right with him. As he held the door open, the man drew a sign in the air, blew out a breath, and then crossed the threshold.
“Rough night?” Mo took in the soaked clothes, his reddish hair clinging to his forehead, and the wide hazel eyes. He was young, smallish, and entirely out of place in Mo’s cottage.
The man shrugged. “Not the best night for a walk in the moonlight.”
He had that right. “Do you want me to call a taxi for you? Or perhaps you have someone who can come pick you up...your mother?” How old was he? He could still be living with his parents.
“My mother? No thank you; I’m trying to avoid her at all costs.”
“Oh...” Mo tried to decipher the look the man gave him.
“You’re alive? I mean you’re living her
