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Fabulous superpowers? Check.

Strong urge to right wrongs and bring villains to justice? Check.

Impulse control problems? Check.

Your girl’s got a brand new job. And Washington D.C. does not know what’s going to hit it.

Okay, I might be seriously under-qualified for the job of Enforcer, I’ll admit. The Enforcer is supposed to be a human, for starters. It’s usually an ex-special forces guy with big muscles and even bigger balls, and a knack for sorting out petty squabbles between the witches and vampires and shifters in the city.

And I’m just a technically-dead nail tech — an animated skeleton with a talent for illusion magic and gold gel manicures. But I’ve recently discovered that I can manifest some pretty big muscles of my own. I’ve already got the big balls, so I’m halfway there.

It’s the ‘sorting out petty squabbles’ part that I might have trouble with. I’m usually the one to start the fights, not finish them. But a girl has got to grow up sometime.

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