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No Rest For The Wicked...	By : MissWritesAlot Category: BtVS AU/AR > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 8235 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, nor do I make any money from writing this series! All credit goes to Joss Whedon.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Daniel Osbourne, known as Oz to his few friends, stalked through the underbelly of Sunnydale, sticking to the dank alleyways and the occasional demon bar, looking for leads. He asked direct questions to those likely to know something, even directions if he had to – there were some warlocks hiding in the area that had tricky locations, locations one needed certain details to find. It was in the name of such details that he’d ripped the throats from three demons, two warlocks, and even one vampire that night. The last lead he had to finding a powerful, pretty witch was a sorceress, who pointed him in the location of a shifty warlock named Rack - who was reportedly well versed in the magical arts, and would be able to help Oz pinpoint such a witch. Oz had considered offering the sorceress to his Master – she had certainly been pleasing to look at, but her weak-will had left him bored within mere minutes. He had hoped she would have lasted longer through his ‘questioning,’ in order for him to get to enjoy that nubile, alluring body of hers more. Alas, it was just not meant to be. Sated, he had decided to leave her alive – maybe he’d visit her again, after his task was complete…
            The werewolf, though recently turned, had learned to rely on his senses in all things, and was greatly rewarded when he scented potent, raw magic in the air at the mouth of the alley. Ah, the sorceress had been telling him the truth – he would really have to go back and reward her some more now! Cautiously poking at the invisible barrier with a forefinger, Oz sniffed the air around it experimentally. The magic there was so intense it actually burned his sensitive nostrils. Stepping back and running a palm over the offended appendage, he let out a soft growl before stepping over the magical thresh-hold. With slight disorientation that made his inner-animal raise its hackles, Oz found himself in a waiting room decorated primarily in red. A few people occupied the small space, each appearing to be going through varying states of withdrawals. Of course – Rack was one of those warlocks who infused others with magic, getting them addicted, extracting higher and higher prices the more addicted his victims became. Yet another reason why werewolves hated magic, and all those who used it.
            Ick.
            Actually, come to think on it, werewolves pretty much hated everyone…
            Many others of his kind passing through Sunnydale had questioned his alliance with the Master Vampire and his lackeys. Truth be told, Oz held no love for the walking corpses, but he did respect them, and what hell they could unleash on him if they so chose. Oz was brutal, powerful, yes, but not invincible. He, as one of the few were-kin permanently lingering in the area [most werewolves were actually repelled by the Hellmouth], chose to swear fealty to the newly risen Master instead of risking having his pelt lining the Master’s house slippers. After all, he did a little grunt work, got to embrace his beast, and was paid handsomely for it. As long as the Master was pleased, the Master was generous, Oz had soon learned in the year and a half he had been working for him. He, like the rest of the lackeys, had millions of dollars tucked away in foreign bank-accounts, his own house, car, and henchmen – of course, there were those that had even more privileges than Oz, but the werewolf was a simple man, and had simple tastes. As long as he had food in his belly and a warm woman on occasion, he was happy to be a leech’s guard dog...at least until a better gig came along.
Fifteen minutes passed, but Oz still leaned against the wall, refusing to take a seat. The chairs that weren’t occupied smelled of the desperation and the magic-depleted bodies that had been in them before. He could barely stand to be in the room, let alone actually sit down like a regular. He was forced to wait, however, because he could smell the wards on the doorway leading from the room, no doubt to keep the junkies at bay. As each minute passed, his nose began to burn more, and his vision began to blur. A snarl passed his lips, hazel eyes turned yellow, and he found himself attempting to hold back a full-scale transformation. Magic in the air was triggering his Beast, which was obviously reacting to a perceived threat – and a moment later, he could sense that he was in fact its intended target.
He roared in response.
He didn’t have time for this! He had a job to do! If he turned and killed everyone in there, he would likely go into a blood lust and kill the only warlock that could help him! Slamming the cage-door closed on his inner-animal with more self-control than he thought he had possessed, Oz’s hands dug into the wall before him as he braced himself against it, the huge black claws sinking into the plaster as if it were putty. It took several moments before the red haze cleared enough for him to become aware of an arrogant, male presence behind him.
            “Enjoying a dose of my best magic, are you? Didn’t know how it would affect werewolves, so I decided to test it. Hope you don’t mind.”
Oz turned to face a lank, scrawny man with deep brown eyes and dark, dingy hair. Oz immediately disliked him on sight. He instantly began salivating as the beast rammed its cage again, clawing to be free in response to this warlock’s attack. Constant snarls ripped up his throat and through his teeth and his eyes shot amber again, zoning in on the warlock. Rack wouldn’t let the magic disperse just yet, and despite Oz’s best efforts, the beast continued howling, driven mad by the need to kill. The beast was already imagining how he’d rip the warlock’s head right from his neck -
“I see I’ve accelerated your turn time – interesting. But that’s enough for now, don’t you think?”
With a careless snap of his fingers, Rack dismissed the magic from the werewolf’s body, and Oz instantly felt the Beast retreat back into the chasm in his mind. Exhaling a deep breath, Oz narrowed his now fully hazel eyes at the man before him. “Yeah, that’ll be enough,” he eyed the terrified junkies around him a moment, before continuing. “Got yourself a nice business going here, don’t you, warlock?” It was hard to miss the contempt with which Oz said the term, and Rack’s shrewd eyes narrowed in immediate understanding.
            “Indeed, I do. Now, what would a non-regular be here for? A magic item? A dose? Or…maybe…directions to a budding, immensely powerful witch that smells of strawberries?” Rack’s smile was very disconcerting to most people, but it was doubly so to Oz, for he now had a good idea what that man was capable of. Not many calmly faced down a slathering werewolf, let alone were actually witty about it. When business was done Oz would be sure to come back and give the warlock a slow and painful death, if only because the odd, gangly man made the Beast...edgy.
            With a dramatic motion, Rack waved him into the back room, despite the many protests of the strung-out inhabitants in the waiting area.
“Hush, all of you, or you won’t get your fix!”
The silence that immediately fell over the place was impressive.
Oz reluctantly, but stalwartly, followed the strange warlock through the staggeringly powerful wards and back into a long hall - before taking a left and ending up in a darkened room with a bed and a long table, and insanely plush carpet. Everything was, again, decorated in varying shades of red, green, and gold. With a greedy expression on his face, Rack stood before Oz, making a large sweep around the room with his arms.
“Behold, my monument to her, and all things her!” When Oz simply stared at him blankly, Rack shook his head, muttering about ignorant dogs without any sense of romance.
Meh, romance was for the birds, in Oz’s own opinion.
            “She is everywhere, here. When I first tasted her, I had to taste again. Her energy is young, but vast. Oh! So vast! And she tastes and smells like the most fresh, ripe, sweet strawberries you’ve ever imagined. I can’t tell you her name, or what she looks like, but I can give you a taste of her...”
            It was beyond Oz how the warlock knew what he was after – it set the hairs of his nape on edge, frankly, but at that moment, he was more concerned with completing his task than anything. Raising a sardonic brow, taking the warlock’s hesitation as waiting for his consent, Oz gave a grudging nod.
            “If this is some trick, I’ll rip out your spine. Might just do that anyway,” Oz grated in warning, before being surrounded in the sweetest smelling mist. It was red, a deep, sparkling red with flecks of gold and green swirling within. It flowed over and through him like velvet, and with his preternatural sight, he could see the magical ties it had back to the warlock’s outstretched hands.
            “Can you smell her? Can you taste her? Isn’t she divine? I’ve been pining for her for weeks, ever since she surfaced. Her power is new, but it is so…delicious...”
            Oz breathed in the scent of a young girl, ripe with magical power and womanly musk. From her smell he could tell she was in her mid-to-late teens, and would do very nicely for his Master’s purposes, whatever they may be, power-wise. At least she would, with training. But this had been the most promising lead so far – the Master was a patient man, if it suited his end, he would come up with the means to train this witch. After-all, Oz could hardly be blamed that he didn’t specify a level of involvement with the craft or supernatural – he had just given him ‘powerful,’ and ‘pretty,’ to go on.
So, only one more credential to check.
Time to find out if she was a buck-toothed eye-sore or not.
Breaking himself off from the magic after he retained enough of her unique scent to track her, he sent a nod to the warlock, before being stopped by a small cough.
“And the manner of payment will be..?” Rack questioned churlishly, holding out his hand in an assuming manner.
            Oz laughed a deep, rich timbre. A beautiful sound, if not for the fact that it didn’t reach his eyes.
            “You get to keep your spine,” he stated blithely, before exiting the damned mini-dimension, he hoped, once and for all.
~~~~~~~~~
            Half-an-hour later he was across town, standing in the shade of a tall sycamore tree, in front of a very specific three-story brick house. He had traced her scent all over Sunnydale, stopping in certain stores, parking lots, and in front of other houses to get a whiff of her. It was an oddly familiar scent, one he thought he should immediately recognize, but he couldn’t quite place it. Just as it seemed familiar, it also seemed immensely different. The scent he remembered was more mild, more elusive. Yes, the previous scent had been…shy? He chortled to himself at that ridiculous notion, his eyes never leaving the second story window overlooking the neat front lawn. He had seen a graceful, feminine shadow cross there several times in the last few moments, almost as if the person was pacing. Oz idly wondered what could trouble a witch of such supposed power so, before he decided that he’d better not waste anymore time with his musings - it was time to see if she met all of the criteria!
            Lithely propelling himself off of the trunk of the sycamore, he landed on the side of the house with barely a sound, using small divots in the red brick as finger-holds as he scaled his way up to what he assumed was his target’s bedroom. Instead of risking her screaming bloody murder, he waited until she either left the room, or went to sleep. He was poised outside of her window for just under five minutes, before the girl emitted a long-suffering sigh and exited the room. He waited, and heard a shower running.
He smiled.
A claw shot out and popped the window seal – he was pleased to find it wasn’t locked.
Silly girl.
            Sliding the window open and shoving the frilly white curtain out of his way, he got his first glimpse of the room. Even in the dim lighting coming from her desk-lamp he could make out the simple, girlish space. Everything was neat and distinctly feminine, but with a tinge of bookworm, thanks to the large amount of books taking up three different book-shelves along the opposite wall. From this, he could ascertain that she was at least reasonably intelligent. A peek into her binder on her desk told him she had received straight A’s basically all that semester -
            He froze when he saw the faded name at the top of her old assignment, written in neat, flowing hand-writing. He tried to blink it away, but it stubbornly remained...
Willow Rosenberg.
            Oz’s heart all but stopped dead in his chest.
Damn it! Why did it have to be this girl? A frenzied glance around the room revealed no magical artifacts. He tore through book-shelves, uncaring if he left a mess for her to find. He ripped apart her desk and the oak trunk at the foot of her bed. Finally, as a last resort, he dove under her bed and pulled out a large suit-case. Opening it, he found various candles, crystals, books, an athame, and all sorts of occult items. Exhaling a deep breath of dread, Oz fought the panic rising in his chest.
            Willow Rosenberg had been his teen dream for the three months he’d bothered going to school the year before – it was harrowing to admit, but he felt more than lust for her. He had purposefully pushed himself away, knowing that the delicate, shy little flower had no place in his world, but now that she was essentially part of it…he would have a hard time handing her over to his ‘Master.’ She was now a senior at Sunnydale High – her eighteenth birthday, he knew, was just a few days away. He had been invited to her party the year before, but had solemnly declined, leaving her a little forlorn looking. Amazingly enough, it had actually caused him to feel a little guilty – and then he remembered he had better shit to do than worry about hurting some human chick’s feelings!
Gritting his teeth, he leaned against the wall, taking several deep breaths to calm the Beast howling in his head. His inner-animal had already recognized Willow as a potential mate, and Gods only knew what the Master planned on using her for. Despite his own selfish nature, Oz’s Beast wouldn’t allow harm to come to Willow, until it was proven wrong. God help Sunnydale if it was proven right and something happened to her…
            Hearing the water shut-off and quaint humming coming from the bathroom across the hall, Oz darted towards the window, not in the right frame of mind to even attempt to pick up after himself, even if he’d had the time. He heard Willow’s gasp of surprise and smelled her fear as he leapt from the window sill. Oz hit the ground running, the animal inside him rattling its cage, roaring to return to her and protect her, to keep her safe…from himself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
            Willow stood in the doorway to her room, frozen in absolute shock. Gold-green eyes, more green with emotion, stayed stuck on the spot where the obscure figure had jumped two stories down to the ground. Willow slowly, cautiously made her way across her soft carpet to the window, and peeked down.
  Oh, Goddess, Oh Goddess – er, I mean, Sweet Star of David! Don’t let him be dead! I don’t even care if he took some stuff, I just don’t want to have a dead body on my front lawn! Again! Please, please-
            Willow’s panicked mind jumbled through the images of the time the she had found the body of a boy from her math class in her yard, completely drained of blood, before it came to a screeching stop - she saw nothing below her window. Not even footprints. The man had to have hit hard – there was no possible way he executed a jump like that and simply walked away unharmed! Unless…he wasn’t a normal human. Willow shook her head, scoffing at that thought. There were no such things as monsters, of that she could be reasonably sure. The red-headed ex-Jewish/ex-Wiccan/recently-reconverted Jewish girl was logical, if nothing else and simply refused to believe – she stopped dead when her eyes fell on the open suitcase which had been previously stuffed under her canopy bed. Who in the hell would have thought to look under her bed!? What could he have possibly been looking for under there?
Was this guy some sort of pervert parkour-burglar?!
Taking a calming breath, Willow kneeled by her suitcase and stuffed it back under her bed after making sure everything was still there. Glancing around her room, she took another mental inventory, and even checked her wallet on her desk. Nothing, nothing at all was missing. Who in the world would break in just to…not take anything? Unless…he had been there for something other than money or jewelry…she cringed at the thought. Hurrying back to her window, Willow slammed the pane shut and locked it, before going all through her house and locking every door and window that hadn’t already been locked. Frowning to find that she had forgotten to activate the built-in security system via the panel by the front door downstairs, she hurriedly did so. For good measure, she even locked the pantry from the outside. Haha! Take that, pantry goblin!
Even Sunnydale, as small and quaint as it was, had its problems, and she’d been a complete and utter idiot to forget to set the alarm back on once she punched in the code to accept a package for her parents after school. Her usual logical, responsible, and focused self had started to dissolve over these passed weeks thanks to added stress recently – Xander was dating this really odd, new girl Anya Jenkins, and she had yet to completely recover from that. But at the end of their Junior Year, when his brief fling with Cordelia Chase happened due to what Cordy had dubbed ‘a moment of temporary insanity,’ Willow had pretty much came to terms with the fact that Xander would never see her as more than his best friend, or his little sister - which, she knew, was definitely better than not having Xander in her life at all. Yes, she really hoped it worked out between Anya and Xander, because he had had a really tough year between Cordelia dumping him so cruelly and struggling with school, not to mention further complications with his parents’ and a possibly impending divorce.
Willow herself was having some difficulties in school, thanks to advanced classes – but it wasn’t so much the course work as her lack of usual concentration, and her teacher’s taking notice of it. Her parent’s were never home anymore, literally being away for weeks, even months at a time. But with Xander’s new girlfriend and his parental unit malfunctioning, Willow couldn’t go her normal route to kill her loneliness and spend the weekends at his house – being a third wheel was totally not her style and made her feel even more pathetic. And perhaps the largest source of her worry was named Daniel Osbourne, though he usually went by Oz. She had noticed him last year, back when he actually showed up for school. She’d thought him cute, but he looked a little lonely, and had a mysterious aura about him that both drew her in and made her wary. Willow had never been the girl to be attracted to bad boys [see Xander] but there was just something about Oz that made her feel like a giddy schoolgirl. Aside from the fact that she basically was…a giddy schoolgirl….
Ahem.
Last year, when she had seen him in his van in the school parking lot, likely waiting to pick up his band mates, Willow did the unthinkable – well, for Willow. She actually marched over to his van [with her knees quaking the entire way] and presented him an invitation for her birthday party she’d meant to give to him for the whole week, and told herself she would, but never quite found the nerve until right then. Most likely because he was alone, and no one would see him reject her. However, that hadn’t been what happened at all. He merely looked surprised, and then maybe…happy? It was hard to tell, but for the briefest moment, his expression had lost it’s deadpan set and she saw actual emotion, whatever emotion it was, flicker across his face before his features were school into their usual stoic countenance. That had to count for something, right?
Instead of the outright, emotionless rejection she had expected, she’d gotten a somewhat sincere and gentle one, with a believable and totally viable excuse.
Was it sad that her upcoming birthday party the present year was enough to bring back those memories of longing and disappointment? Was it weird she had the hots so bad for a guy she’d spoken to exactly one time, for less than three minutes? It was completely and utterly weird – but seeing as Oz had been the only part of the male student body that hadn’t been a total tool or determined to see her as a sibling…
Besides, he was totally cute, in an unorthodox way.
She hadn’t seen him lately – for over six months in fact. He’d dropped out of school in Junior year – which was the first year Willow had ever even saw him, which made her wonder what school he went to before, if he even went at all. But instead of being a total burn-out like most people would expect, Oz had been extremely intelligent, possibly possessed an I.Q. higher than Willow’s own modest one-eighty-three. Not that the point-system really mattered. Seeing as a lot of people with high I.Q’s did stupid stuff, like become serial killers and get caught…
But that was beside the point!
Because Jesse, Xander’s best friend, had been acting weird around her lately – in a way that might actually pass as flirting and showing some interest.
Willow wasn’t sure how to feel about this, but with her ego taking so many blows over the last few months of attending Sunnyhell High, she supposed she could do with a little positive attention – not that she intended to use him or anything! Besides, it was probably nothing. Jesse was likely just being Jesse, his excess hormones zoning in on her because they’d finally learned to avoid Cordelia after she’d stilettoed him in the balls. The poor guy had to walk with a cane for nearly a week, which really took the fire out of him. But he still went to school and waggled his brows at Cordelia – Willow supposed she could admire his greatly misguided perseverance, if nothing else.
He would at least provide some sort of entertainment for her upcoming party, she was sure.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that since some people she wasn’t necessarily comfortable with and didn’t know too well had been invited – not that all of them would show up, but more than one had said they’d be happy to come. She’d even invited Cordelia, just to be polite. But that went just as smoothly as she’d expected it would…
She just hoped no one expected anything too wild, such as the likes of the parties she knew most seniors attended these days. On impulse, she decided to attempt to change some of the decorations and music selections, in hopes of not making the party seem too kiddified. She supposed she could go out of her comfort zone a little, if it meant no one would think her immature. And if Xander brought that witch piñata he threatened to bring, she would beat him with a stick!
            Making her way back to her room, Willow’s mind began processing the most reasonable response to the break-in. Of course, she would report it, despite the scare it would give her parents. But, it wasn’t like they were ever home, so, yeah. Not a lot to deal with there. But what then? Would she have to sit on pins and needles to see if the perpetrator came back to try again? And why on earth would he just leave after all that breaking-and-entering trouble? Especially if he had gained nothing from it? Emitting an exasperated sigh, Willow pulled the suitcase back from underneath her bed. She had stashed away the few items she had bought just two weeks before, deciding that she was quite silly for even attempting to dabble in the stuff. She supposed her interest in the occult had just been a phase, something triggered by the strange happenings going on routinely in Sunnydale ever since she could remember – especially recently. Willow felt a bit paranoid as of late, hearing all sorts of stories about wolf-men and things that resembled zombies and demons running about. Last year’s Prom goers had nearly all been killed by giant, vicious dogs that just didn’t look…right.
            Curiosity and a love for picking things apart, experimenting, had also driven Willow’s interest in the Craft. She bought books on both Light and Dark Arts, but had barely cracked the latter. The cover-art was enough to make her shudder. Willow had even tried a few spells – namely a ritual that was supposed to attune you to the Earth and her forces, and unleash your personal power. That seemed like the logical place to start, after having done the ‘initiation’ ritual, which she thought was rather silly, but might as well be thorough about it!
            But after awhile, the appeal, the novelty wore off and Willow abashedly realized she was being fanciful and a bit naïve. It was all just Bedknobs and Broomsticks! Of course none of those things would work, because while there were pretty weird and scary things out and about in Sunnydale, magic did not exist. Snorting at the idea of attempting to cast a protection spell, Willow gained control of herself and slammed the suitcase shut, shoving it back under her bed, where it belonged. First chance she got, she’d go get a total refund and be done with the whole Wicca nonsense. Grabbing the cordless phone by her computer, Willow called the police and reported the incident and gave them the best description she could. She felt relieved that they were coming out to patrol her neighborhood to see if they couldn’t catch him in the area – Willow gratefully accepted the police officer’s offer to have a unit routinely patrol her street throughout the night, just to be on the safe side.
Willow settled into her soft mattress, the phone cradled to her chest. Creamy skin contrasted with the dim light, the cotton boy shorts and tank top she was wearing left her feeling too vulnerable, so she opted for her baggy, but comfy flannel p.j. set instead. Just as she settled back into her mattress, finally ready to call it a night, Willow nearly jumped out of her skin as she heard the phone begin to ring. A glance at the clock told her it was nearly eleven. Picking up after slight hesitation, she answered.
            Hello?”
            Hey, is this Willow?” the voice on the other end queried, it’s deep, soothing tone familiar.
            Yes. I’m sorry, who is this?”
“Oh, I guess it has been awhile since we talked – it’s Oz.”
That was an understatement, but…
Squee!
Willow nearly squeaked out loud as she started doing a happy-dance in her head. Her birthday was the night after next, and she had requested that all those invited RSVP with her that night, so she would know how many people she would need to provide food and drinks for – besides, it was just smart to know how many people would be in and out of her expensive house full of expensive things – not that she thought any of them would break or take anything, but…Whether or not a majority of the people would show up was what Willow had been fretting and pacing about in front of the phone earlier. She had been stir-crazy and lonely lately, and as much as she hated to admit it, her feelings had been very hurt that only Xander, Anya, and Jesse could be expected so far. Oh, who was she kidding – they only had an hour to R.S.V.P, and who would call that late? -
Wait…
How would Oz have her number?
“Oh!” She finally said dumbly, after a brief stunned silence. “Hi, it’s great to hear from you! How have you been?”
“Not too bad – still with the band. I left school, obviously – thinking of enrolling in college next year though,” Oz said, before really throwing her for a loop. “Listen, I was talking to Jesse the other day after running into him – I hear your birthdays coming up in a few days, and you’re in the need for some entertainment. Jesse meant it to be a surprise, hiring us to play for your party – but I wanted to make sure it was okay with you first. Just waltzing in to people’s homes like that is bad for business, know what I mean? For all I know, you hate us,” he chuckled, a sound that made Willow’s toes curl.
Willow giggled in response, all worries about how Oz got her number allayed – she supposed it was likely listed in the phonebook. Besides, what did It matter? He was just checking for permission to….play at her party!
Squuueeeee!
“Of course! That’s so awesome, thank you! I really appreciate you checking, but the Dingo’s are amazing – I think it’s equivocally impossible to hate you guys. Even Cordelia adores your music,” Willow babbled brainlessly, happiness flooding every inch of her body. She’d obligingly start singing ‘Ole Ye Faithful at this point! “Now, your band is five, right?” she started making mental tallies in the columns of food and drinks in her mind, as well as party favors. Jesse would be buried in party-favors! She honestly could kiss that boy right now – well, that would probably send the wrong message – she’d just send mental warm fuzzies his way for eternity!
“Cordelia? As in Cordelia Chase? Wonders never cease, apparently. And thanks – always nice to know you’ve got a fan. Anyway, yeah – it’s five. This Saturday at six, right?” Oz asked, checking the date and time like a good gig-master.
“Yep – Saturday at six!” she chirped.
“Alright, well, it’s in the appointment book – I’ll see you then, okay? The guys are wanting to get to the Bronze a bit early so we can set up for tonight. Any chances you can be there when we get there?” Oz asked, making Willow’s heart nearly skitter to a stop.
“No, I’m sorry. You know I have school tomorrow, Oz,” she said, chiding him playfully.
“Right, school – I forgot,” he chuckled somewhat nervously, before saying, “Okay, sorry about that. Talk to you later?”
“Yeah, talk to you later. Have fun, night!”
“See you Saturday.”
With that, the line went dead. Frowning as she put the cordless phone back on its cradle, she leaned back against her pillows, contemplating Oz’s unusual but very timely phone call. Eventually, she fell asleep to the sound of softly falling rain…
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
An Excerpt from 'II. Surprise!:'
“No need for that, leech,” a voice drawled from behind them, “I’ve found her.”
Even Drusilla turned at the sound of Oz’s voice, suddenly seeming oddly focused. She mouthed his words as he spoke next, glee on her features, as if she were reading them from a book.
“Anyone wanna crash a party?”
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No Rest For The Wicked...