Male Inflation

When the call came, Christy Carlisle knew what to do.

She and two other deep cover CIA agents in Paris had been compromised. Unable to leave France due to the escalating war, they each had one hour to completely terminate their mission: bank accounts closed, pertinent intelligence faxed home, papers shredded and burned, car and belongings dumped in the Seine outside of town. It was risky in broad daylight, but there was no alternative. On the river bank, Christy stripped naked and tossed her clothes in the water.

Erasing herself was all that remained.

So I'm driving along, fresh out from a long day at work. It was just one of those days you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy, or maybe you would.

Anyway, I'm driving home, but there ain't no real reason to go there. I share my apartment with myself, and the though of cooking something for dinner isn't really appealing to me. It's Friday and come to think of it, I'm not really hungry, but thirsty. So I figure I'll stop at my favorite spot for a beer or two or three.

“Do the scouts report anything?”

“There’s still no sign of her, sir. It may be her woodcraft is beyond them.”

“It had better not be. I and my three brothers are the only known males left with the inborn talent of magic in this hell-hole of a queendom. It would not do if this woman, whoever she is, came upon us while our arts are not yet fully mastered,” said Baltus told the squad leader.