Editing Whiskered Worry

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Pop looked at the piece of paper carefully, mouthing each word as he read what he wrote. He was comfortably ensconced in the butcher shop again, having done his good deed for the month. The professor bloke's daughter had been a tasty dish, but all weepy and sobbing was a bit off putting. Girl had thrown herself into her father's arms with nary a thanks to himself. Pop licked his thumb and smoothed his brow. The other professor's girl though. He grinned. Trousers! Too tasty by far. And that overly slender lovely missus that had accompanied her. Both women quite lovely.<br><br>

He scowled and scratched out a word, replacing it with another, before folding up the paper and writing Billy's name on the outside. He got up and leaned out the front door, letting out a piercing whistle in the thick fog. A scruffy child appeared as if by magic, his rag bound hand reaching and taking the letter than Pop offered him.<br><br>

"Take it to Billy, Simon. Don't give it to anyone else no matter what. Hear me?"<br><br>

The young boy nodded and ran off into the night, leaving Pop to glare impotently into the swirling haze. He hadn't wanted to be dragged into the world of magic and mayhem; a little regular day to day brawling, thieving, and hustling was more his cup o tea. He had enjoyed managing this area, liked the job. And the opium den had been a regular source of income, always paying on time.<br><br> 

But that oriental woman. . .well he had seen magic before. And he had recognized looking into those black and mesmerizing eyes that there stood something that he didn't want to face alone again. She had let them have the girl to get them to leave no doubt. But it wasn't because she was worried. O no, not worried at all. He shut the door and went back to his seat and the paper that waited for him there.<br><br>

Svettie had taught him to read and write. He wasn't good, but he was proud. And he used it. Hopefully Billy could understand his letter. They needed to get some help. Some magical help. That Dragon Lady was up to something. Opium was just a front. The women were just a front. There had been at least 12 of them there in that back room. All gone now, their scent all that remained. And the bitter tang of their fear.<br><br>

He grimaced and opened the paper. Dragon Lady smelled of death. And magic. Not good. Not good at all.
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