I could recount the history of every dive bar and seedy motel Nate and I have visited. Eidetic memory: another curse, if less eccentric than most that plague me, but in this case a blessing. I didn’t know what Nate’s violator was, but I knew the ritual to stop her – mostly. My mother died before completing the incantation. I’d have to wing the ending.
Just as soon as I removed Nate’s hands,
oak-strong and insistent, from my throat. By sheer will, I transferred
the first sigil onto his skin. He howled to wake the dead, and the
gruesome bitch complied.