Shattered

by Colleen Foley

Jimmy stared gape-mouthed at the Peter Rabbit cookie jar languishing in shards on the counter. He’d picked it up somewhere when we were kids. We’d loved that thing. It had helped us believe that monsters couldn’t destroy all the good in the world, in us. And I’d killed it, as my faith had been killed.

Noises behind made me turn, gun ready. Seth, hands raised and empty. I wanted to fire. One shot to blast away the symbol of his betrayal in a wash of blood and bone. Futile.

I clamped my eyes shut, lowered the gun, trusting in surrender.

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Surrender

Habit drew me to close Nate’s car window against coming rain. Inescapable fate revealed the book.

Red symbols writhed under gold-leaf, invisible to most, irresistible to me. Hand clamped on the leather spine, I fell into prayer. The answer slid through my wound, blood-ready, stirring long languished memory.

Down and down and down the rabbit hole, I followed the thread of knowledge lost, desperate to be found.

Gunshots wrenched me back. I shoved the book into my jacket and raced through Jimmy’s door.

Nate spun on me, shocked but gun-steady.

I raised my empty hands, trusting my life to surrender.

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Impasse

by Colleen Foley

I knew Jimmy had a cocked shotgun aimed at me under the table. I had no intention of shooting him. But he was going to pay penance for his sin of omission.

“What now, boy? Battle of wills? Mexican standoff, hunter style?”

Neither of us moved.

“Answer me, Jimmy. How long you been pullin’ the wool over my eyes about Seth? How long have you known my brother’s a damned witch?”

He glanced out the kitchen window, sighed, and whispered, “From the get go.”

My shot rang thunder through the tiny kitchen. On the counter, his favorite cookie jar exploded.

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Caution

I called Uncle Jim. He didn’t answer.

The hunter’s car was fully stocked, not as well as ours – Nate’s now – but good enough for the battle I hoped to avoid. Reason had worked previously, but Nate’s eyes were covered by rage-colored wool. I’d seen him kill more calmly. He’s every monster’s nightmare.

So am I.

My palm itched, magic returning, pressing, eager. I resisted. If I used spell-craft against Nate, my penance would be a bullet. He’d take the head shot.

I parked before the bend in the drive and, heavily armed, crept forward.

No sound came from the house.

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Rest. Stop.

Stiff from riding, I stopped at a scenic overlook. Trees surrounded a deep gorge, running water a faint echo below. Clouds formed a mini-eclipse, only the outline of the full moon discernible.

Graveled footsteps prompted my turn. A man, his fist wrapped with rosary beads, cross dangling, muffed a punch while mouthing a useless exorcism. I knew his family.

“Not demon.” My fist connected. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

He drew a blade, probably dipped in holy water.

I sighed at necessity.

I left his unconscious body at the edge, hoping he’d roll over. But first, I took his keys.

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Thou Shalt Not Lie

by Colleen Foley

I’d driven all night, breaking every speed limit for three states to arrive early. I felt as if I’d been chasing the carrot you dangle in front of racehorses.

It wasn’t what Jimmy had said – “That dumbass!”– it was the tone. Like he’d known.

I walked into Jimmy’s kitchen, stiff and aching from the drive. He was at the table, two shots of Jack already poured. He looked like fresh brewed hell. One glance cinched it, and rage geysered up my spine, threatening to eclipse me.

I ignored the liquor and aimed my gun at him.

“How damned long, Jimmy?”

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Prodigal

Angus come across the moor, his stravaging done for the nonce.  Scandal gamboled to and fro, plumed tail waving like a flag – not surrender white  but sinful black. None kenned where the beast come frae. One Sunday, it was there by Angus’ bed, and he ne’er went to church again. He got taller, broader, too fast, and too fair for his own good, much less the lasses’. 

Mayhap his wandering takes him to other villages, where the women don’t know his wickedness – until they do. We keep our girls safe as best we can and pray someday he’ll move on.

Parade Rest

They rode in, prideful over havoc wreaked, saddles creaking, stiff. Weren’t the only thing needed a good rubbing. They called for any who’d polish their posts for a coin.

If 'twere only immoral, some might have gone. But money’s not so dear we’d risk touching those men. We kept our hands behind our backs, careful, smart.

Most of us did.

Sarah’s youngest stepped out, offering. The Night slid down and took her on his shield where we could watch her writhe… and wither.  He put the coin on her forehead, payment for sin, and left her mam to clean up.

Turn pike

Milepost numbers increased as I rode north on a bike I’d stolen from a kid too drunk to have survived the ride home. He’d consider me an immoral asshole who’d taken his substitute girlfriend. It was that kind of douche-rocket.

He might not be my blood, but I had to shield Uncle Jim from the worst of the fallout.

My palm throbbed as I cataloged the many ways Nate tries to cripple me. I always take the hit. My inevitable recovery infuriates him, but serves its purpose. He’s almost used to it.

Someday, he’s going to beg for my magic.

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Damaged

Hands shaking, I grasped my medicine bag. I’d have to ration pills until I recovered. Nate’s kit consists only of booze. He flatters himself by believing he’s not an alcoholic. After our fight, I shouldn’t have worried about his safety, but I always do.

A mirror showed the red lump and something much worse. My eyes, normally brown, were squid-ink black.

I fumbled with my phone.

Uncle Jim answered on the first ring. “He knows.”

“Not enough. We should finish the story for him.”

“Come on home, boy.”

“Is that wise?”

“Hell no, but I’m not facing his wrath alone.”

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Just a Shot in the Dark

by Colleen Foley


“Yeah?” Jimmy’s voice on the phone and the throaty growl of my car’s engine soothed me.

“Listen, I’m on my way to you. Seth’s gone totally Witches of Eastwick on me. Complete with carving some crazy swag shaped symbol into his palm and this weird-ass book I can’t read. I need help.”

“That dumbass! What d’ya wanna do?”

“Convert him back. Burn him alive. Don’t know. I need answers.”

*sigh*  “When you gettin’ here?”

“Tomorrow noon.”

“Nate, where’s your brother?”

“Out cold on the hotel room floor. He had a little…mishap.”

I hung up and gunned the engine harder.

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Truth or Dare

“I’m not Satan’s convert. Witchcraft’s my birthright.”

“And this?” Nate grabbed the book. “Just a little murder swag?”

“For him. That’s my mother’s.”

“Did you kill him for it?”

“No.” Truth

“But he is dead.”

“A mishap…” Truth

He pressed on my wound. “Looks intentional.”

I hissed. “She taught me the sigil to protect myself from him. I didn’t know.”

“There are no male witches, so how can you be one?”

“I don’t know.” Lie

“Damned shame.”

I should have realized what would happen. When I recovered from the blow to my head, Nate was gone. So was the book.

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Consequences

She lay beneath me, eyes wide, lips parted, body bathed in milk blue light, and I thought I would never drink my fill of her.  We’d had hours uninterrupted. True to form, we’d spent most of it – but not the better part – discussing legends. She’d harvested some plants and sown others.

“It must be a full moon or this is in vain.” Her long hair did not quite hide her smile. “I once thought it was superstition, but I’ve come to give it credence.”

“So, do they fail to sprout if the timing is wrong?” I’d taken enough biology to know that wasn’t true.

“No, but they aren’t strong. Sometimes, they’re stunted or twisted, or they don’t yield what you expect of them. Mostly, they just die. Considering how much work it takes, I want to be careful about the inception. So much is riding on this.”

“They’re just seeds. You can always get more, try again.”

She shook her head. “No, these are different. Special. I’ll never get their like.”  She dusted off her hands and led me inside.

Looking back, I realize I’d heard what I wanted to, what she’d wanted me to: inception instead of conception. Considering what I am, you’d think I’d have recognized the spell that cloaked her intention. She’d taken what she needed and now, somewhere out there in the world, I had a son – the second male witch ever born.

If my brother found out, he’d kill the child on principle.

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Note: This is jumping way, way ahead in Seth's story. 

Skewered

by Colleen Foley

I’d feigned sleep while Seth had disabled my gun, then pretended surprise when I’d fired at him after he told me what I’d already guessed at and not wanted to face.

He’d blathered about genetics and vaccines, as if he thought I’d actually care.

The iron knife bit into his right shoulder, above the collar bone, exactly where I wanted it. I watched Seth bleed for a moment, his eyes fluttering as the sedative on the blade worked.

“Now, we’re going to address this. And you will not lie to me. Or I will put you in the ground myself.”

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Intransigent

Nate awoke with a hiss. Healed or not, his body knew it had suffered traumatic injury. He grabbed his gun, pointed it at me, then frowned.

“I took the clip and emptied the chamber, so we can address matters without you shooting me.”

“What the hell are you?”

I handed him a bottle of whiskey and a glass of water. He ignored the latter.

“Your brother, or so we swore.”

“That was before,” he ground out.

“Being a witch is genetic. There’s no cure, no vaccine.”

He ignored the latter. “Oh, there’s a cure.”

The knife struck true and deep.

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Changing Lanes

by Colleen Foley

Light spears into my eyes in a slow rhythm, synchronized with the pounding in my head. It’s streetlights, flickering past as Seth drives back to the hotel. I shift in the seat, groaning.

“You all right? Nate?”

To hunters, the notion of seeing a goblin is as fantastic as sighting a unicorn. Of all the evil things ever imagined, they’re one that really doesn’t exist – so far as we know. Looking at Seth, and recalling the thing that was like nothing I’ve ever seen, goblin is the only word that comes to mind.

I close my eyes and keep silent.

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The Calm Before

Neon signs flickered as I carried Nate to the hotel.  He’s heavy with muscle created by internalized anger, sinews strengthened with resolve. Having it turned on me wasn’t new, but the look with which he’d speared me marked me as goblin, a monster to be hunted.

A smart man would have left him behind. As his brother, I couldn’t.

I’d ensured no one would find the thing that claimed parentage of me. The symbol I’d cut into my palm would not heal, my magic tapped.  When Nate woke, he’d see it and finish me.

I could almost welcome the bullet.

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Grandma

I fingered tiny rubies on the hem. She’d worn the gown when the world was new, full of hope and faith.  They’d dribbled water on her downy hair, and she’d cried just enough to solicit reassurance.

I’d wanted to pass on the christening outfit, to hold her baby and tell her he was beautiful when no baby really is. I’d wanted her to leave the beast who replaced her joy with fear.

I placed the gown across her stomach – distended,  still – and turned away.

Ritual blood graced the edge of my knife as I set out to kill the wolf.

Destined

They have been drinking all night, nine girls in various stages of distress and undress. None of the men in the bar question why their hands stay glued to steins of ale. Warriors and poets both take ill to being controlled, despite frequent pleas to the gods for some sort of succor.  Even in this age, they struggle against destiny whilst asking for guidance. Instead, I send them women who can be touched without too much danger. The nine are to be kept apart, for now, at least.

“I wanna be a Valkyrie!” slurs a solid brunette. She engages in athletics, not having learned the joy of combat. I would take her as my sister, but we cannot harbor such anger as she holds.

“You want to sort through the souls of dying soldiers, so you can carry them to Valhalla, where they can feast and ignore the fact that their gods put them on the battlefield to begin with?” The blonde frowns as knowledge from some long-forgotten classroom comes unbidden.  “Do you suppose that comes with dental?”

“What?” The brunette has moved on in what passes for thought process. “I meant for the costume party.”

“Never mind.” The blonde’s thoughts go to a boy she’d hoped to love, before he donned armor and marched out. If he is worthy – and slightly unlucky – his can be the first soul she takes up.

When I call to her, she passes out of her old life without fear. The chosen always know.

Pact

Staring down, Nate twisted at my feet, I saw a lifetime of promises – to protect each other, fight hard, be real brothers, blood be damned. Mine was.

“If he’s dead, so are you.”

“He cannot know your secret. Your power wants out. You must learn.”

“From you? Not happening.”

My father produced a book, covered in familiar symbols. “I will show you.”

“I can read.” My nails dug half-moon cuts in my palms, a trickle of crimson dripping to land on Nate’s ginger-touched hair. “Blood of my blood.”

I calmly watched my father choke to death on what we shared.

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