Cold Comforts

Kaia leaned against the bar, dark eyes trained on me. Calling her had been foolish, but she’d come without demanding recompense.

“So, of the many things you wish you hadn’t done, which ranks higher: killing your father, not ensuring he was truly dead, or introducing me to your brother?”

“Hard call. Snuffing out that thing that claimed to spawn me? Pretty satisfying.”

“He impregnated your mother. Lying to yourself about it solves nothing.”

I ignored that. Denial was my second favorite drug. “I can’t regret leaving him buried in the woods. Nate was dying. Well, had died and then not.” My life defied simple explanations.

“That leaves me.” Kaia smiled, white teeth too sharp to be human. “If you hadn’t been bleeding profusely, I believe you’d have tried to stop me from kissing your brother.”

Bourbon provided an excuse for silence.

She patted my arm. “When last we parted, his heartbeat was strong and very, very fast.”

I didn’t want to think about the implications of Nate having sought the company of a Fury, much less what they’d done. “And his soul?”

“Tainted, but intact. Trust me, if I come after one of you, I’ll be coming for both. Your sins are too intertwined to untangle.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Stay on the light side, Seth. I can always find you.”

She stepped through the door, unfurled black wings, and disappeared.

I dialed Nate’s number, sighed, then closed my phone. He’d contact me when he was ready.

Anniversary

Falling in layers, falling apart, rotting silk conveys in scent the enormity of what I’ve lost. One day. One happy day. Maybe a week. Two? Not a whole month. Never a year.

He loved me. I remember that. It was his undoing.

She was ruthless, his ex. Never laid a hand on us. Never showed her face. Just systematically destroyed his reputation, his credit, his faith. Then he started looking sideways at me.

Watery sunlight strikes remnants of a gown that was to herald a new chapter. It did that, if not as intended. He hanged himself with my veil.

Six of One

“Last bible thumper tried to save me got a blowjob. One before that got a punch in the face. Which you in the market for?”

Posh, twitchy, disdainful of my riot of curls, torn jeans, and bruises, the woman held her ground. “I represent someone with a proposal for you.”

“Blowjob it is.”

She sniffed. “He is above such things.”

I snorted. “No man is.”

“He is not… like others.” Truth, if tissue-thin.

He emerged from the limo, shining like a god, smirking like the devil.

“Shit,” I whispered. “Another fucking angel.”

“It is time, daughter.”

They’d finally caught me.

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Next

Homecoming

Thomas left his card, as a gentleman should, on the silver tray. Neither his name nor face caused spark of recognition in the butler, who withdrew silently. The only visitor to Pennsfield since armistice stared at the sparse décor, pretending he did not feel the mold slowly eating at the manor and everyone in it.

Eliza emerged, widow’s weeds exchanged for dove gray, better to hide the lack of quality. She looked at the visitor with a sad longing, her smile a memory.

“Liza, love, can you not greet your husband?”

She sighed. “Not until you admit you’re dead, Tommy.”

Saturday Night

Pretty girl at the end of the bar ignored her drink, stared at nothing. Beefy boys circled, convinced she’d fall for a square jaw, sculpted muscle, carefully tousled hair – young wolves sniffing around skittish prey.

“Slim chance,” I muttered to amber liquid, praying tonight I could get hammered and forget. Slim chance of that, too.

“Come on, baby.”

“I’ll buy you another drink.”

“Aren’t you in my psych class?”

Silence.

“Too good for us?”

“Frigid bitch.”

“I know where you live.”

She smiled. “Lived. Past tense. Let’s go.”

Drink forgotten, I followed them to the alley and watched her feed.

Impact

Garnet pulled a loose thread, widening the ladder in the sweater her mother had knit. She tried to remember mum’s blonde curls bouncing as she laughed at a joke. Garnet had been funny, then. But the image would not come, supplanted by cornflower blue eyes wide with fear, body tilting at sickening angles as the car spun on grease-slicked road, rolling over and over, filling with smells of piss and blood and smoke.

Garnet had crawled from the crumpled wreckage of her life, just inches from the cliff. Freed from the hospital at last, it was time to go over.

Cotillion

I stood at the top of the stairs in a cold sweat. The rumble of genteel conversation below frightened me more than a pack of snapping dogs. Hounds I could quiet, but mine were secure behind an iron gate so as not to disturb the guests.

Brightly bedecked girls flowed down the steps, sanguine despite the cacophonous swirl, or perhaps because of it. We had been plumped, plucked and primped. Taught to dance, play, flirt, we were admonished above all to avoid scandal.

My sisters were too young to understand that this was not a party. It was a sale.

Esprit

Deft fingers turning ancient dial, quiet clicks echoed in Malcolm’s head.

“Hurry up!” Sal hissed.

“One shouldn’t rush delicate work.” The last tumbler fell into place, satisfying need for perfection.

“Cops could show at any minute.”

“Then you won’t have done your job.”

“Fucking ponce.”

Malcolm opened the safe and laconically placed stacks of bills into Sal’s shaking hands. The younger man zipped it up and turned away, anticipating dissipation.

Thin wire across delicate throat, pink bubbles erupting from surprised lips, Sal fell.

Bonds tucked into his inside jacket pocket, Malcolm stepped over the body and into a finer world.

I know what I know

First time Ciara woke up with a broken bone, Father demanded to know who had hurt his baby girl.

“Happened in the dream place, Pop-Pop.” She wouldn’t recant, even for a chocolate shake.

Sixth time, she came into the den dragging her leg. “Oakmen disturbed the King’s concert. They trampled me.”

Despair filled Father’s eyes. He already had a bed in the psych ward on standby.

That very night, They came for their Queen, and I watched my little sister disappear through the wall.

Nothing you say or give me will make me recant, but I do appreciate the bed.

Investment

“Bette earned her bonus the old fashioned way.” The girls in the typing pool giggle, having heard the rumors.

Pouty pink lips purse at my approach. They turn away, presenting a neat row of honey-blonde ponytails and tight French twists, pretending to be scandalized, wanting to peek but afraid of reprimand from the herd. Not one will look me in the eye, some instinct warning against it.

I am everything they fear, all curves and mounds encased in black, balanced comfortably in obscenely expensive shoes, and I did earn my promotion the old fashioned way. I purchased the right spell.

Last Supper

The restaurant hummed with conversation, clinking glass, the verse of a bayou anthem. Empty bottles testified to the heat of superb gumbo and need for distance from recent events.

Nate sopped up the last of the soup with earthy bread. “I don’t blame you for keeping it secret.”

“It seemed prudent. You hate witches. I can’t change what I am.”

“True. On both counts.”

“You had no problem with it when you needed my magic.”

“Not true.” He ordered whiskey. “So, this is our last drink.”

“Forever?”

He clinked my glass. “For now.”

Shots done, we went our separate ways.

______________

And so we come to end of Nate and Seth's story. This story, anyway. The boys are taking a well-earned rest. I suspect they'll come roaring back at some point, but probably not for a while. Even monster hunters need a vacation.

To all who have come on this journey with them, I thank you.

Bone Tired

By Colleen Foley

I came to with Marie kneeling over me, whispering a short verse in French, over and over again. I rolled to my side, coughing more blood, and saw Seth.

“My brother?”

“He wake soon. His mother protect him, give him a final gift. ‘Dis is over now. The blame is mine. I make it right as I can. You take him away from here. Go back to earthy things for a time. Eat, love…rest. You be needed again soon enough.”

Her touch on my face faded.

I sat in the gently falling rain and waited for Seth to wake up.

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Next

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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Next

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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Next

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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Next

The Final Countdown

By Colleen Foley

Marie Laveau appeared as Seth’s magic petered out. She held a bead, large, red/black and pulsing. It shot from her hand to hit the houngan in the chest. He screamed as it rooted into him like a parasite.

“You dare take da power I give you and use for it for dis? For petty revenge? And you call me whore? I …made …you.”

Everything slowed then, like viewing interactive performance art in some bugfuck mad gallery.

She never took her eyes from her son, but she spoke only to me.

“You are both out of time. Do it now, boy.”

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Next

Last Stand

The Houngan howled. Spirits sporting wounds that laid them low raced toward us, a gallery of suffering turned to hate and madness. Unmarred women, all Black, all in white, encircled him, suffocating my flames.

Spells pouring from inexpert lips slowed vengeful phantoms for precious seconds, but all knew I would shortly fail. Beads of sweat joined rain in an attempt to render me blind, subtle redirection from better-skilled opponent.

Ghosts reached out, desperate parasites seeking to be housed in a living body, even for a moment. A young boy won the race, touched me, cold. Magic stuttered and was still.

________________
Next

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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Next

Maestro

By Colleen Foley

I palmed the vial, taking care that the Houngan not see. Seth seemed a bit more stable as my marks bled…into him?

Now I needed to elicit a chain of particular responses, one instrument at a time, building, becoming a symphony, or this was all going to go to hell.

“Why drag us back here? You could have finished this at the house. I know you were there.”

He smiled indulgently.

“So that capricious whore could see the end, of course. Because she denied me.”

An outraged shriek pierced the sounds of wind and driving rain.

She was coming.

__________
Next

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.

___________
Next

Eureka

by Colleen Foley

I grinned, shaking my head as I watched him rise.

“Dude. Floating? Isn’t that kinda grandiose?”

Seth looked sharply at me as the thing chuckled softly.

“You will learn respect. Mother and son will be together again, her soul inhabiting his body. Their talents, hers tainted by what she did, his so pure, will struggle against each other. That perfect discord will create such power as you have never seen. It will be mine to control and this time I will not be stopped.”

In that instant, I understood everything.

“All this talk has become cumbersome. Give me the jar.”

______________
Next

Throwing the Gauntlet

I hate cemeteries. Funny, right? It’s not ghosts that bug me but the lingering memory of standing in rain – just like this – a too-tight suit, muscles quivering as they lowered my mother’s coffin, my face sloppy with tears and snot. Maybe if I killed the sons of bitches who had a hand in her death, I’d get over it. Maybe.

His voice, everywhere, “You know the prophecy is fabrication, yes? We created legend, made you in her to fulfill empty promises.”

Deep breath, steady. Magic ready, raging. “Not so empty now. Come and see.”

Like the moon, he rose, shining.

_________________
Next

Opening The Gate

By Colleen Foley

I'd explained as Seth drove. We were back at the cemetery, wending our way through rain-sloppy paths to Marie Laveau's grave. The storm started as we'd arrived, a fabrication of the priests, no doubt.

Every muscle tensed, just enough, as I ticked off reasons, in my head, for destroying him. The bottle. The zombies. Seth's poor goddamned mother. The manipulation and murder of so many innocent people. That fucking dog. My...rape.

Cold, comfortable rage knifed into my gut. I let it in, let it bloom, and kept it contained, let it anticipate its release.

It was time to end this.

_________________
Next

Turning the Key

Nate is old school: music, mores, muscle car all terribly out of date. It comes off as charming, in certain company.

The Houngan we hunted cared nothing for such quirks. He wanted Nate, or me, depending on who told the tale. Or perhaps he really had wanted my mother, enough to steal the remnants of her soul and fabricate a copy of her to house it.

Someone willing to go to such lengths wouldn’t be sloppy enough to discount us. Which begged the question, who was playing whom?

The engine roared as I headed down the road , seeking answers.

_________________
Next

On The Road Again, One Last Time.

By Colleen Foley

“Really?” I reached behind the seat, grabbing something to swipe the blood from my left brow, exceptionally pleased that it was Seth's favorite shirt.

Magic snapped through the car; a deranged symphony of tiny whirlwinds.

“Listen. I just meant...I know touching that thing is killing you.” I gestured to the lump in his jacket pocket.

“I get it. But the blend of you and it is like a magical beacon. He's coming for us, and we're not where we need to be. Now, get out. You're driving. I can't see. And don't fuck up my car.”


_________________
Next

No/Holding Back

Pure instinct: my hand shot to Nate’s temple. Satisfying to see his head bounce off glass. Too obstinate to be knocked out, though.

Second prong: magic. It slid over scars, filling bumps like trenches, red, then black. It craved free reign – I craved it - but distention leads to bursting, and the world didn’t deserve that. Neither did Nate.

“I want credit for you still breathing.”

His swelling eye narrowed.

“Last time someone attempted to make me a human sacrifice, it didn’t work out well. For anyone. So, go ahead, try to convince me why this time will be different.”

_________________
Next

Calculated Risks

by Colleen Foley

I patted Seth’s shoulder and grinned widely at him.“Sit tight, little brother.”

I kept my visit with Kaia short by necessity. She told me what I needed to know and warned me about the cold stone. Truth was, there was going to be no varnishing Seth’s ass with logic on this one.

In the car, I leaned close, and whispered, “Do me a favor, hold off on murder long enough to just listen, OK?”

With that I leaned him forward and slapped him hard on the back.

The stone popped neatly into my hand and the world erupted red.

______________
Next

Means to an End

My magic threatened to erupt. “Pull over.”

Nate ignored me.

“Pull over, or I fry the engine.” Energy balled between my shaking hands.

He complied. “Why not threaten to kill me?”

“Unvarnished truth? You wouldn’t care as much.”

“Look, Seth…”

“Call Kaia. There has to be another way.” I slammed the door, walked away. Magic released left a blackened crater.

“Feel better?” Nate asked when I got back in.

I opened my mouth to answer. He popped a cold stone onto my tongue. Both muscles and magic went dead.

“I’m sorry. Really.”

Unable to answer, I began devising suitable retribution.

___________________
Next

Inhuman Sacrifice

by Colleen Foley

“Light it, little brother. We gotta go see Kaia.”

“What? Why? I thought the shackles and screaming ‘til you have cottonmouth had to wait!”

I pulled away from the house, grinning, as thick rancid smoke and liquid screams poured from the windows.

“Because, you sick little shit, she removed the infection. I don’t think the priest knows that, but I need to be sure. If he still thinks I’m infected, he still thinks he can control me. I can flatter him, get close, offer him something he really wants, and then…”

“Wait! Nate…offer him what?

“You. You and that jar.”

______________
Next

Homecoming

Me and Jasper come down through the mountains just after the pass opened up in the Spring. Folks in town stepped aside as we approached.  Winter in a cave don’t allow for much prettying up, and I never did get the bearskin properly tanned.

 Jasper usually stinks, but this time his stench could've knocked out a goat.  Which may explain why Ella charged me twice the usual amount for a bath and sent someone out back with Jasper. No way his hide was sullying her pretty copper tub.

“We thought you were lost to us.” Ella scrubbed my head with the medicinal soap.  Would have been wiser to shear me like a sheep, but I don’t gainsay her when she’s of a mind to groom me.

“I could blame Jasper for running after that cougar, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.”

Ella doused my head. “Never is.”

“I couldn’t resist going after an elk I spied.”

She snorted. “One of these days, your sense of adventure is going to lead you straight to the grave.”

I took her hand, placed it between my breasts. “I know, but I won’t go alone.”

She kissed me soft on the lips.

“No, you’ll go with Jasper.”

At the sound of his name, Jasper burst into the room, skidded to a halt next to the tub, and shook the water out of his long coat, soaking Ella’s dress.

“And I’ll feel better knowing the two of you are setting off for heaven together.”

_________________________
Written for Thursday Threads

ETA: And it got an honorable mention!

Stoking Coals

I hate this part. The deer eyes creep me out when they move, as if it still lives, fur burning next to oak balls, bone stew, and Jeremy’s tomatoes. Smoke trails from its nostrils like steam on winter mornings. When it blinks, I yelp, same as always.

“Ritual’s started,” Tanya says. “Get the new girls.”

___________
Written for the 55 Word Challenge

Daily Grind

“We need a vacation.” I hacked off the grasping hand of a zombie girl.

Nate kicked her grandfather in the chest, then pulverized his head. “Ya think?”

I doused the room in kerosene. “I’m thinking Kaia, some shackles, and a thick cotton flogger…”

“Dude, no! I don’t need to hear this.” Nate tossed in a match and slammed shut the doors. “Besides, you flatter yourself if you think she’d beat you, much less for free.”

I grinned at his possessive tone. “Never said I’d be the one bound.”

Nate snorted. “Keep dreaming, Seth. First, we have a priest to kill.”

________________
Next

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.”

____________
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.

_____________
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.

__________________
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.”

Seconds

by Colleen Foley

Seth’s garish scream made me move faster . I was forced to sidestep a rapidly deconstructing Doberman as it slid past. It growled, whipping its head around to snap. It missed only because its lower jaw came completely unhinged and bounced down the stairs ahead of it. Seconds later I saw the copulating pair.

I knew instantly, which tableau had tweaked my brother. Definitely the dog. I decided not to give him grief later on.

The room and her dress were foxglove blue. Her favorite.

Seth was on the floor between her and the altar. And he wasn’t moving.

Shit!

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Next

Bye and Bye

The discarded pieces of former humans, garishly strewn, suddenly made sense. It wasn’t random carnage, but a selection process. Seamless before me stood the reconstruction of the one I’d loved best, lost first. The tableau, a perfect Victorian room, the sort we’d visited from time to time, seeking wisdom from crones and their cronies, sparked memories forgotten.

She smiled, almost right, almost real.

I looked beyond her, to where the jar rested on a shelf. The room turned the blue of foxglove poisoning – she’d taught me that – as I lunged past the simulacrum of my mother.

I fell, heart breaking.

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Next

What Should Never Be

Even my messed up life hadn’t prepared me for the reanimated hound. It might be a slavering zombie, but in my head it was a dog, so I was reluctant to “kill” it.

No such reservations, the beast lunged. My shriek was unbecoming an experienced hunter. Luckily, its lack of coordination caused it to slide past me, coming apart and bumping down the stairs, howling.

I leapt over the copulating corpses and slammed my shoulder into an already splintered door.

The drab room was absolutely ordinary, save for the nearly complete gestation of a beautiful woman.

Her eyes hadn’t changed.

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Next

Back in the Ring

by Colleen Foley

I heard Seth move up the stairs as I gripped the withered framework of a chair and hauled myself out of the muck. I sat astride it with my arms on the back, gasping for clean air. The same finger that had stroked my lips now began to snake across my boot, as if still searching for me. I flung it away with a kick and started up the stairs after my brother.

No matter what happened, I wouldn’t leave him alone. He was about to face his worst nightmares come true. I had to try to help.

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Next

The Hole is Greater than the Some of its Parts

The house shuddered, framework groaning from so much evil. I squelched through slicks of dismembered bodies, trying not to see the bits rolling beneath my boots, clawing for purchase in a vain attempt to re-form into coherence. Not even they wanted that, but they were too dispersed to know it.

Snaking past the half-torso of a party girl, I climbed the stairs. The priest wouldn’t roll in the muck with his handiwork. Neither would he keep his weakness close. I knew I’d found the right spot when the unhinging dog left his place astride two lovers, jaws opening in pieces.

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Next

The Greater Depression

The river snaked through fields roughed by rust-flecked plow, bits of harvest gone from gold to brown sticking up like bones of hope lost. The framework of a fecund time decayed, moonlight casting stripes of cold midnight through loosened boards.

Astride a dust-colored mare, broken like our lives, Maisie pressed against me for scant heat. Her long legs, uncovered save for muslin worn near-diaphanous, showed streaks of our passage through harder lands than these. Mute with hunger and loss, we headed for the shelter of the faltering barn, and prayed the things that hunted all would not be there, too.

Missions

Majec scrubbed his hand over his scalp, missing his once-long hair. “How many are there?”

“A dozen, no more.” Wentz lit a cigarette.

“Even with a full clip, I couldn’t take out that many.”

“Since neither of us have half that, point’s moot.”

Mary Agnes pulled the pins out of her hair, long red curls tumbling down. “Unless we remove them for you.”

“Like that’s gonna happen.” Wentz blew smoke groundward.

Majec punched him on the shoulder. “What he means is that, even if trained, we couldn’t let you endanger yourselves.”

Mary Grace laughed. “You mean you won’t risk your CO’s wrath by screwing up this job.”

Majec nodded.

Mary Lucia stretched, long legs extending well beyond her black skirt. “Agnes, how many of these celebrations have you attended?”

“Four, not counting the one where we bailed at the last minute due to fire storm.”

“Grace?”

“Six that I remember. I started young. It’s a little blurry.”

Wentz frowned, confused.

“This is my second,” whispered Mary Margaret.

Lucia stroked the girl’s hair. "Listen up, new guys. I have as many as they do combined, which means we’re at two dozen, and not once have we failed our duty.” She began stripping off her habit, revealing a slinky dress underneath. “So, kindly step aside and let us seduce these jackholes standing in our way. Then we can offer ourselves up to the new god as virgin sacrifices – again – and get back to the abbey before someone wakes up another goddamned demon.”

Down, not Out

By Colleen Foley

I fired several shots, hoping the muzzle flash would help me locate the vodun. It didn’t.

Instead, I was yanked face first to the floor amongst broken curio jars and several inches of goo. My heart was on fire. I was able to gasp in one breath. Bad idea. Slop bubbled into my mouth, and a stray finger began slowly caressing my lower lip.

I had the temerity to laugh as I watched Seth move unerringly towards our inheritance, following his own magic. He didn’t know it yet, but we were both to gain something from this.

If we survived.

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Next

Darkness, Darkness

“Oh, this a grand gift.” The voice vibrated, directionless. “My seedling come to take root, and the lost son of my worst enemy, come to inherit daddy’s punishment.”

I froze, partly because Nate started shooting.

“Tsk. Such temerity, to think you can kill the one as remade you. Should be grateful, boy. I gave you something better than your fickle heart. I could take it back.”

Nate choked, fell. The sucking sound roused me.

I gave my magic free rein, intent being all. It slithered, flowed, roared as it found the wretched curio I sought. Vial in hand, I followed.

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Crazy Train

by Colleen Foley

Nothing could have prepared me for the alabaster nightmare in that room. Every surface writhed with a coating of something viscous, translucent. And beneath, visible, blinking eyes, moving hands, the lower half of a leg. A nose and lips, perfectly formed and coated with bright pink lipstick, bubbled to the surface, gasped, and withdrew.

Then there were the jars, thousands of them. Shoved into freeform waxwork sculptures, reminiscent enough of sex and your worst dreams to make me want to scream through every pore. I grinned instead.

“Seth, they’re moving.”

“Jesus, Nate. Just find him.”

Then everything went dark.

“Welcome…”

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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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Truer Words...

by Colleen Foley

I drove to the last house on a lightless street, bathed in the bloody darkness of a yellow moon shining through thick,overgrown, trees and the visages of one abandoned house after another.

I pulled a stoppered bottle out of my pocket and handed it to Seth.

“Listen, no matter what, you get that jar. Anoint it with this. Won’t work for me and it’s important.”

“Why not?”

“Because little brother, my mojo’s borrowed - almost a fallacy. Only the real deal can do this.

“Nate, what’s in…”

“It’s a human soul. As big and bad as they get.”

Changing Places

“You only look calm,” Nate said, cutting the wheel sharply, skidding onto gravel. “Inside, you’re seething.”

Good to know my visage remained composed, even if it didn’t fool my brother. The first thing I’d learned about facing monsters, especially human ones, was not to show emotion.

“It bugs you that I’m the one anointed with the magical advantage for once, while you’re relegated to backup.”

He needed to believe that. I needed him to. If it’s a competition, Nate always charges ahead.

“No, not really.” He’d take my truth for fallacy.

“Okay, sure.” He laughed, pointing us confidently toward death.

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This For That

by Colleen Foley

I thought about screaming, but it was over too quickly to bother. She pulled her hand back and closed it, snuffing the impossibly purple-white glow in her palm.

“I leave you a bit. You goin’ to need it.”

“Where’s the priest?” Seth demanded.

“Here. Hiding.” She pointed to my chest.

“That help you find him; end him. He disrespect me…interbreed my power with unclean things. Stain my good name. I give him something. A small jar. You bring it back here when you done with him. I give you something high caliber in return.”

Her rich, throaty chuckle faded away.

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Making the Deal

“Pleasure to meet you,” Nate lied, but he had the sense to bow.

“I know why you here.” Marie Laveau appeared solid. “What you bring to trade for my favor?”

I held out a bag of herbs, potions, stones.

“Not touching you, boy. Unclean you ain’t, but tainted you is. Some things not meant to interbreed with people.”

Nate cleared his throat. “I could offer a service.”

She cackled. “Why I need skinny white boy got no magic his own?”

“We have skills,” I offered.

“I take this high caliber trinket. Then we good.” Her hand disappeared into Nate’s chest.

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Graveyard Dirt

By Colleen Foley

I could feel Kaia’s gift working inside me. It was dark, but not the slick, hateful blackness of the infection. This was the sultry heat of a still August night, and it felt good.

At the graveyard, Seth followed as I walked one branching path after another.

“Nate, have you been to Marie Laveau’s grave before?”

I looked back over my shoulder and grinned.

“Nope.”

I stopped in front of a small, white mausoleum festooned with offerings one would expect to see strewn before the throne of a Queen. Kaia’s power surged through me.

“Seth, meet Marie Laveau.”

“Nate, how…?”

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Cold

Brady held court, a golden prince with a scarred wooden chair for a throne. Beautiful women drew close, vying for attention, as usual.

Behind the bar, Jackson frowned, first at Brady, then at me. “That doesn’t bug you?”

“No need to be hateful for what happened.” I sipped my wine.

“I’d have beaten him to death with the nearest branch. Still could, if you want.”

“That’s sweet, in a murderous way.” I slid him a five. “But I have this covered.”

On my way out, I nodded to the women I’d hired, every last one infected with a virulent pox.

Circa 1906

McElroy watched workers shuffle into the plant, his perch high above the sticky floor. The low thrum of fans didn’t do much to deter the stench or flies. A new girl swatted at them, not yet used to the inevitable trappings of things about to die.

McElroy narrowed his eyes. She had a gloss about her, hair too shiny, shoulders square. Her shoes were all wrong.

“Fuck me, she’s a muckraker.” At his signal, Sigmund lumbered over, wiping thick hands on his leather apron.

The lady journalist would add a nice flavor to the canned pork. He’d label it “gourmet.”