Friday, June 26, 2015

Hit Between The Eyes

by Colleen Foley

I glared at Seth, then at the webpage. An image of a stone loom, glowing with blue symbols, sitting under a wooden arch was both cool and supremely disturbing. Soothing yet weird and ugly piano music began issuing from the laptop’s speakers. Seth either didn't hear or notice, but I felt it drain me like a leech, intellect and will slipping away.

"Nate, what's wrong with you?"

I figured I had half a minute before slipping into a vegetative state. I slid to my knees.

"You can't feel that? Lucky you, bro. Must be your magic. That thing's active."


Thursday, June 18, 2015

The Rout of the Season

Daniel in exquisite style –
cut coat, silk vest, breeches mama called
unseemly –
reaches out an elegant hand,
never soft,
always ready,
a blatant invitation
to dance.

Palm down, chin up –
I know what they said of me,
vowed to embrace it –
my fingers brush his
with memory and promise
as I glide,
the height of fashion,
the envy of glassy-eyed ladies,
in a decadent waltz.

Musicians tremble
as we slowly promenade
past the fine, down-slumping citizens
who failed to recognize
the cost of a social slight.

We allow the orchestra to flee,
then bar the doors
and contemplate
the remaining few.

Monday, June 15, 2015

Tit for Tat

“Exquisite,” the politician had whispered, hand trailing down my sweat-slicked flank.

I’d said the same of his cocaine, ignoring his slow slide to the floor. He’d had too much – wine, powder, me. I’d dressed, stepped over his body, and left, assured the hotel cameras were disabled.

“So,” Belial asked, “which of those poisoned him?”

I smiled at the fallen angel. “Trade secrets.”

“You’ve no honor left to cloak yourself in such conceit.”

“Want me to dial up Satan? What would that cost you? Better to just give me my promised reward.”

He paled, then began my transformation into addiction-free addict.


Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Finding the Up Side

The novelty of being honest with my brother held. “Yes, I can read my mother’s grimoire.”

Nate swore a blue streak.

I contemplated breaking the rest of the news, but at a certain point, truth becomes a death wish. I couldn’t tell him an army of witches saw lines being drawn and decided to form up behind me – unless I wanted him to shoot me. Not even my magic can stop a bullet.

“You should be glad.”

He choked.

I turned the laptop to show him the loom symbol. “Turns out a spell to focus intent works with any technology.”