Flirting with Disaster

The plan came together in increments during a night drinking his favorite whiskey in his least favorite place. Sure, he’d needed time to recover from being possessed and slaughtering a colony of zombies, but since one of those had been a replica of my mother, and I’d processed that as best one might, he had no excuse for not returning my calls.

I packed my car, then followed the compass-shaped scar on my arm that unerringly points to my estranged brother. I found him in a pastry shop in some backwater town.

Not surprisingly, Nate wasn’t excited to see me

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Full Circle

Like a marionette, I lurched toward Marie.

“Nothing I need from you, cher.” She waved her hand, cutting my strings. I fell, twisting in time to see Nate slam into the priest.

Screams overlaid music I knew well – a lullaby of childhood, a spell of protection. Free, my mother’s spirit tore through his, burning his essence in a final act of retribution.

Her ghost appeared, young and beautiful. “One last souvenir, bébé.” Icy kiss from insubstantial lips seared like fire. I slumped, gutter fallen, rain washed, a new mark throbbing just behind my ear.

Nate coughed blood, then was still.

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Take Down

By Colleen Foley

Laveau’s words were music to my ears. Seth reached for the jar in my hand. Almost too late, I batted it away.

“No! Help her. I’ve got this.”

For once he actually listened. As I steeled myself, one mark flared. I howled in pain, launching myself forward. She dropped her hand, her power guttering, as I plowed into his chest, driving us both to the ground.

“Thanks for playing, douche bag. Here’s your souvenir.”

Grinning down at him, I shoved the bottle into his open mouth, slamming my other hand under his chin. Teeth and glass shattered onto his tongue.

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Danse Macabre

The dead child gained no entry, the only tattoo for which I’d paid finally proving its worth. Frustrated, he reached for Nate. I reached for salt, and the boy dissolved with petulant cries. Other spirits approached. I could not dispatch them all.

Marie’s child thrashed in a vulgar parody of dance, beat set by throbbing bead. Madame Laveau had been crowned Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, and the queen judged her son unworthy.

I wondered if my mother, spirit loosed from glass, would find me wanting. Compelled, I lunged for the wretched jar, seeking salvation or damnation. Either would do.

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Calling the Tune

It’s a measure of how far gone we were that neither moving magic ink nor the dead queen of the undead elicited even a squeak from Nate. In the back of my head, that worried me. In the front, I was frantically trying to disengage before my wards returned to their maker.

Fate, a capricious bitch in the best of times, was having none of that.

Magic surged through me, words from my mother’s book coming fast from my tongue. I had always been her instrument. Fire rose around the tainted priest. He laughed, moved forward, and was held fast, burning.

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Feedback

Everything tangled, fingers clumsy, movements sluggish, clothing cumbersome.

“Get it together,” Nate hissed.

I lurched to him. A burning sensation ran down my arm where it brushed his. He jumped back, cursing. Then he pulled his gun and shot the priest in the head.

Discordant howling filled the graveyard, spirits crying out for bodies once inhabited.

The Houngan, unharmed, touched down. “My turn now.”

I leaned against Nate, using the shock loop to break the priest's spell. I relinquished the vile vial, then blinked the rain from my eyes. Nate’s tattoo was moving, color bleeding towards me, filling old scars.

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In Deep

My scars shone alabaster in moonlight, symbols near to glowing. Muggy night wrapped around me, mingled with the fear dripping from every pore. I could bless or curse with the best (or worst) of them, murder or save like a champ, but the thing in my pocket was so far beyond what I would do willingly it made the inside of my skin itch.

Beside me, Nate was grinning like a maniac with the knowledge that, one way or the other, his trial would soon end.

The door swung open, expectant, on a macabre waxwork.

“Seth,” Nate hissed, “they’re moving.”

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Balancing Act

City on the horizon, I finally spoke. “I’m concerned.”

Nate snorted.

I forged ahead. “We were almost stopped by a half-trained whelp. I’m wounded and tapped out. Against a voodoo priest, I’ll practically be impotent.”

“This is different how?”

I punched his leg. “Like it or not, we’ve been leaning on my magic since you got infected.”

Nate rolled his sleeve to reveal the tattoo I’d forced on him. “Blatantly obvious.”

“I’m not sure we can shoot – or burn – our way out of this, and I’m out of monster favors.”

He grinned. “Apparently, I’m not. So unclench. We got this.”

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A Knife in the Dark

By Colleen Foley

Voodoo boy had left the tools of his crafty trade all over. I had no compunction about using them. I snatched up a knife on my way through the kitchen, and drove it into the neck of the first guardian I met. My marks flared, screamed power and pain as its head imploded, then faded again.

Not the knife, then. The magic was in me. Seth had combined both malefaction and faltering wards to give me magical hand grenades. With our luck, this wouldn’t last long. In the meantime, I grinned like a mad man with no comprehension of defeat.

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Fire in the Hole

Unable to stave off the zombie hive’s attack on my wards, I wove surprises into knots, then cut the flow, leaving Nate flying solo.

The ranch reeked of power, glowed with spells. I siphoned off the malefaction of magic and bundled it with my own. I’d deciphered parts of the journal, cobbling information, incantation, and indignation into something new. The result might not be enough to defeat him, but it was nothing the crafty priest had seen when I’d invaded Nate’s head.

Now, if only we could avoid a Pyrrhic victory.

My scars blazed white-hot as Nate did the same.

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Stage Five: Acceptance

By Colleen Foley

Seated at Jimmy’s ancient kitchen table, I poured another shot, pondered Seth’s newest revelation, and tried not to scratch at my magically induced “ink”.

Brother and uncle sat silently, watching warily, as if I might simply decide to shoot one or both. Didn’t blame them, really. My mood had been caustic at best lately.

“OK, the marks are protecting me from a more “intimate” relationship with this hive. And thanks for that, by the way.”

I poured three shots, passed them around.

“So, if the hive’s all about YOU then why dog my ass, and can we avenge that? Now?”


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Riding the Storm Out

It’s unwise to push Nate. I’d done so repeatedly, out of dire need. He had trouble accepting that.

I kept quiet, letting his antique rock music wash over me. Magic built, sliding through my body like a sentient thing. The markings acted as loci, power pooling, sparking pins and needles, only sharper. I hadn’t asked for my “gift.” I’d been impressed into service with no one to lead me.

Nate broke silence first. “Why does my shoulder itch?”

“Best guess? The hive is trying to gain control. The tattoo prevents them.”

“Fantastic.”

I hid my smile, because it really was.


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No Good Deed

Huh. Nate’s ancestry contains Vikings. He went full berserker, then dropped his kill at my feet. A grunt indicated I could be next. And there I was, tapped out magically and physically.

My “handbook” doesn’t cover the turbulence life-altering enchantments might inspire. Only a fool would be stupid enough to brand spells into flesh, then slough them off onto an unbalanced warrior.

Swallowing hurt, talking more. “The ink is protective.”

“Remove it.”

“Can’t,” I rasped. “Your blood is still tainted. Tattoo keeps you from becoming a zombie slave.”

He glared.

“At least I made it pretty.”

I ducked. Too late.

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Cutting Out The Middle Man

by Colleen Foley

Things had become too turbulent, and I was done.

”Carlos” had let the sword fall when he’d grabbed Seth. Seemed he’d discounted me as a threat.

“Oh. Hell. No.”

I strode forward, sweeping up the blade and drove it into his groin.

“Kid marked me and I got no handbook.”

Grabbing a handful of hair, I yanked him toward me, jabbed under his sternum, twisted, yanked it out with a grunt.

“Want.. some answers…”
The blade sawed through his neck…

Blood.

Screaming.

Good.

“And you…are in…my way.”
I dropped both head and sword at Seth’s feet and glared.

“Dude...the fuck?”

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Designs

Exquisite pain. Excruciating pleasure. I was filled, fulfilled, overfull.

Pages flipped, autonomous. Whenever they stopped, I set spell into flesh, colorful sigils linking as I went. Last was a clock, hands moving, approaching midnight. So much for not getting more tattoos. At least they provided a vent for the magic.

When the book stilled, I stepped out of the stream without difficulty.

Jim stared. “Nate’s gonna see you as a monster.”

“As is he, now. If I can’t reverse this …”

“You sacrifice him to save the world.”

The compass on my forearm pointed me toward my worst nightmare.

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