I'm surprised my voice is as steady as it is.
"Send me right back to my sweet dreams."
Lamashtu's golden eyes look like a true predator's. She holds out a glass filled with something that smokes, the neon-blue vapor rising from it. "Why rush off to the land of boring? Have a drink with me first."
"Sorry, but my mother told me never to accept drinks from strangers in a demon bar."
Because I know that that's where I am. The sickening purple and red modern-art nightmare chairs, the glittering tacky gold everywhere that makes it look like a costume jewelry store threw up, the weirdly colored bottles of devil's brew lined up on the bar.
"Honestly, no wonder you people are losing the battle. Beauty is a foreign concept to you," I spit. "'Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.' Philippians 4:8."
