I strode down the street, wind in my hair and a pocketful of cash after another successful job. The sucker had actually thought that he was getting the real Cintamani Stone.
That daywalker couldn't tell the difference between fossilized amber from the Tree of Life and a hunk of cheap glass.
The real piece was safely tucked away and all I had to do was decide which offer I was going to accept. Yeah, life was good.
, I thought, catching a glimpse of myself in a store window.
Blood red leather jacket that belted around the waist and flared slightly at the hips, the V-necked front filled with a black scarf against the cold.
Snug jeans and a pair of tall black boots that hugged my calves and just a slight rise to bump me up to three inches over five feet.
Dark brown hair, looking black in the dim light, whipped around my pale face. My lips were painted the same colour as my jacket, and smoky makeup framed my eyes, also dark brown.
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