Circle of Death

How many times must I watch her die?

I knew the answer. As long as I had to sleep, I would see my mother torn apart, first by creatures still unknown, now by my chosen brother. It would not matter that this horrid thing was in no way my actual dam. Her alto croon and rolling laugh would haunt me just the same.

There was no point to histrionics. I got up, flicked a piece of the creature’s stolen heart off my sleeve, and turned to Nate.

“If you were a bomb, you’d be ticking.”

I nodded. “So I am.”

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Next

Dreadful Accord

by Colleen Foley

I moved closer, stepping into a rancid crosswind, so strong it threatened to rip the knife from my hand. I heard a woman’s laughter, sensual and cajoling, over the ripping sail-cloth sound.

I glanced at Seth, saw the flare as he anointed the jar. Gripping it tight to his chest, he looked at the thing in front of me. He thought to intervene, for just a second. Sadness, horror, and then pain crossed his face as he looked at me and nodded, just once. I expected him to look away. He didn’t.


I plunged the knife home and we all screamed.

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Next

Sunday Morning

Nothing gentle about the breeze, shifting crosswinds building towards gale, then worse with the rain blowing sideways and trees groaning as they bent. Freight train sound, they say, but this was so much louder, so much larger, a howling, screaming stream of destruction.

Cajoled into the subterranean chamber, the children clutched at pets, hoping parents could intervene, intercede. We were powerless long before the power failed us.

Nails loosened, failed. Wood twisted, splintered, gave, became flying weapons. All we could do was hope to survive.

Hours later, we emerged, glad to be whole. Down the road, they weren’t so lucky.

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Note: I live not far from Washington, Illinois. And Pekin. And East Peoria. All of them suffered from tornado damage on November 16, Washington being the worst (and therefore more often mentioned in the news). Needless to say, it was a very tense day on the prairie.

Modus Operandi

Silvered young, he made less splash than dashing rakes with grandiose plans. Manners masked sardonic smiles as he looked out over the flock. Whether he thought them birds or sheep, he would not say, but neither did he hunt there.

Instead, he went for a wisp of a girl, observant, disillusioned. Powdered, jeweled, and plumped for plucking, she’d have been a beacon for the marriage-minded. She preferred to hide both her name and the money attached thereto.

“I have a laboratory,” he began, “experiments in progress. Some quite…unusual.”

She slipped her arm through his, her smile aberrant, “Take me there.”

Art Imitating Life

The carpet smelled of death and roses, carnage, carnations...and dog – provenance of the creature above me. Stomach empty, I could add nothing to the mélange.

I choked back the spell to animate the beautiful vessel, fulfill my filial vassalage. False life was not the answer.

Nate lunged, knife ready to destroy the creation of a godforsaken magician. I couldn’t protest, but part of me died – same as when I first heard her torn to pieces.

Crawling, I reached the jar, anointed it. The soul flared, wrapping tight around the seal. Falling back, blinded, I swear I heard my mother laughing.

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Next

Even Dead Witches Are Dicks

by Colleen Foley

I’d thought I had the provenance of the whole mess figured. The vodun had made it clear that Seth had to be the one to bind that soul into the jar she wanted so badly.

I’d thought he was the one with the important job, chosen for his godforsaken magic. I’d been so wrong. Now I knew the answer .

Her instructions had been given in the hope of keeping him busy enough that he wouldn’t have to watch me kill his “mother.”

“You unmitigated bitch. Thank you.”

I drew my knife and moved forward, praying Seth would forgive me.

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Next

Well Laid Plans

“It’s my son’s heart…” his Lordship trailed off.

“Foxglove will ease him.”

He took the vial. “And for the other?”

“Has she bled?”

“Two weeks hence.”

“Give her this tonight. ‘Twill be efficacious.”

Coins dispersed, he withdrew.

Sean looked up the hill to the tableau of lordly wealth. “Donal won’t mount the garish cow.”

“Have faith, brother. When that poor girl goes to him, he’ll fulfill his duty.”

“How’d you figure?”

“Simple, the potion I concocted will make her look like you, and when she offers her untried cunt, he’ll be too drugged to notice the difference.”

“Wicked thing.”

“Very.”