Pageant

Each year at Yule they gather ‘round,

orphan girls to try the crown.

Hands extend to see which one

will take the power, come undone,

be remade, another thing,

twisted body lengthening

grown large and full, ripe until

she’s fit to be the perfect tool,

a mate unto the Master made

whom every demon, angel, shade

shall fall before, fear, obey.

To the world the Chosen One

gives the morning and the sun –

but not the son, oh no, not He,

for ever shall she sterile be,

this the bargain and the price,

the child-bride, our sacrifice

for fragile peace.

Overlook

Back against concrete, Marcel looked over the lights of Toronto. He’d risked much for this view and the people below. Walking past, most did not see him, an apt punishment for hubris. He’d never railed against being doomed to walk the Earth. It was, after all, the mission he’d accepted before his fall.

“They wait for a fat man in a sleigh to bring them love.” The familiar voice dripped with disdain.

“They’re born with love, brother. It’s why you hate them.”

“One of many reasons.”

Marcel looked again on his city, before entering a fight he could not win.


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Yet more background from my current WIP. Angels keep popping up everywhere. It's disconcerting, as I'm not overly fond of them and trust them not at all - nor should you.

Give and Take

I tried to keep my blood from hitting the circle, knew when it did, hated (loved) what came next. Aching from crown to heel, mouth filled with hot copper – such familiar comfort – I tugged on the thread connecting us and commanded Nate to sleep, the first offensive spell I’d learned.

His eyes filled with murder before he slumped to the floor. For wounds inflicted, I did not catch him.

I cleansed the circle, crying, same as I had the night I’d been orphaned. The lab wasn’t sterile when I left, Nate over my shoulder, but it would have to do.

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Next

Unhinged

by Colleen Foley

I remember Seth punching me hard and shoving me into the circle. Blood poured from nose and mouth onto the sigils. I felt something rise in me, beast-like, spitting and growling.

Then something else came. It burst through the fragile seams of mind and body, with one purpose: to go home.

“Follow it. Find it. Hunt it!”

I did beat him then, hard and long. …so good to give up my weary attempts at holding onto etiquette and civility when what I wanted was an orgy of blood and bone and pain.

His and mine, together.

Like always.

Like brothers.

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Desperate Measures

I didn’t know if I should leave or start the ritual. Nate was quickly turning into something… not-Nate. No time to waiver.

Circle scrawled in hasty charcoal, only the meeting of the seams precise. Sigils followed with words from my mother’s book, voice weary, spell accurate. No time to falter.

Reaching for the needle, I looked too long on my brother, saw the animal in him rise. No time to avoid the punch.

Brain rattled, I returned the favor, aim true. His blood free flowing, I shoved him into the circle, magic etiquette be damned. No time left at all.

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Hardened

By Colleen Foley


I remember little after Seth stuck me. Razor sharp flashes of half formed thoughts searing behind eyes that wouldn’t close. Etiquette demanding that I not beat him bloody, I clenched my fists and tried to think. My mind was already weary with struggling to maintain.

I felt as if someone had poured adrenaline straight into all my major organs; every part of me was hard…eager. Restraint unraveling seam by seam…

“your blood…permission. And your help. Please.”

Seth stepped back as I growled. I shook my head hard. Tried again and managed to spit out one word, hoping he’d understand.

“GO.”

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Malignant

Universities are plagued with lax security, side doors left unlatched by weary graduate students heading for beer, bed, or both. The lab was ours.

Nate stumbled as though drunk.

Blood in a needle from my own kit.
Blood on a cold glass slide.
Black seams like stained glass.
Revelation.

“It’s a virulent strain of Pump.”

No reply.

I looked up. Nate stood, fists and jaw clenched.

There was no etiquette to guide me. I plunged ahead, blind. “There’s a way to track the practitioner, using your blood, but I need your permission. And your help. Please.” Before it’s too late.


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Give Me Something To Break

By Colleen Foley

I dropped my head, listening to the birds chirp through the grey/red haze ripping my mind. It hurt.

I knew why Seth needed my blood. It made perfect sense. But damn if I wasn’t feeling threatened, angry, and mean into the bargain. This isn’t me.

He was right. He was my brother. ‘Nuff said.

“Okay, Madam Nightingale, we’d better hurry and jab me. This thing ramps up aggression, I think, and since I’m already a son-of-a-bitch…”

Seth hit the gas hard enough to spew gravel.

He said nothing for a while and then, softly, “It’s making your jokes suck, too.”

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Spirited

The boy was pretty, six feet of chiseled grace laid out by absinthe. Madam prefers supérieure to green. I’d not find out which he was.

I favor wormwood tea, better to prolong my passions, if a bitter taste for the men.

Parched lips parted with a plea.

I could not grant him any release, however fine that act might be. Under Madam’s ministrations, I’d chirp for mercy, confessing all.

I kissed him though, enjoying the rise. “Fear not, young buck. After a jab or two, she’ll leave you whole.”

He relaxed, poor fool.

I never said she’d let him live.

Patience

After discovering she was pregnant, my mother hid for a time in a brothel. Looking to understand her death, I’d ended up in the same place. The madam knew nothing of magic but told me stories I needed to hear. And taught me restraint.

When Nate recovered, I’d insist he send her a thank you card, as those lessons prevented me from jabbing him with a sharp object.

I slammed on the brakes and sat, focusing on the chirp of crickets. Waiting.

“Why the fuck would I give a witch my blood?” he spat.

That stung.

“Because I’m your brother.”

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Creeping Death

by Colleen Foley

Seth's spell galled me to no end. The fact that I could do nothing really pissed me off. But I felt like six layers of crap on an already ugly wall. Even Seth's touch had hurt.

“What the hell kind of magic did this?”

He glanced at me and shrugged. "Dunno, closest I can taste of it is Voodoo, but even that's not quite right.”

“OK, Emeril. So if you can't taste it, how do we figure out what it is? It's invisible, even to you.”

“For starters.... blood test.”

“Stop the car. Right now.”

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Turning Point

Eyes closed, I let the rune form in my mind, flow down my arm, and slip from my fingertips onto the lid of the wooden chest. I’d tuned out the sound of traffic and the pinging of whatever ran through the pipes. Nate’s labored breath was my focus, a wheezing metronome, winding down too fast. I finished warding the box and turned to him.

“This next part is going to suck.”

“Because it hasn’t so far?” He laughed. It devolved into a coughing fit.

“Not like this.”

“At least if you kill me, the pain will stop.”

I didn’t know if that was true, but he didn’t need my opinion on the afterlife. Or un-life, in this case. Watching my brother die would be devastating. Killing him again if he rose would be worse. And harder.

“Hey, Seth? You know what you’re doing, right?”

“Magic is my thing, remember?” I couldn’t lie to him outright, but dissembling was okay. “I’ve got this.”

“I just wanted to be sure.”

I wanted that, too, but I’d never tried to remove a zombie curse before, and the source of my lore was sketchy, at best.

“Keep looking in my eyes, okay?”

He screamed as I withdrew the knife and tossed it in the box. When I closed the lid, Nate collapsed. Black goo oozed from his wound. I packed it with ritual herbs, laid him down in the circle, covered him with sigils, and settled in to wait, machete in hand.

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NOTE: This is is out of the regular story time-line, taking place some time in the future.

Highway to Hell

I had the gall to believe I could trick Nate. Most spells are invisible, protection runes notwithstanding. He shouldn’t have noticed a change. It wasn’t a cure, after all, just a quick trick to slow the rate of infection.

“What did you do to me, you son of a bitch?”

Dodge. “Took control. Get over it.”

“When you touched me, you got that smile I only see when you think you’re being clever.”

“I’m fucking brilliant, what’s your point?” Honest, vain, distracting.

“You’re up to something.”

“It’s called science. Hence, our destination.” We had a lot of road to cover.

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Next

Driven

Keys wrested from reluctant fingers, I consigned Nate to passenger. If a stasis spell occurred in the exchange, he needn’t know. It was that or listen to him pitch a fit, and we’d squabbled enough lately.

My ethics diverge from the norm. The world is not black and white, but shades of – no, not grey – yellow and green and red.

Always red.

Blood is power. I needed Nate’s…and a dark field microscope.

“University, it is.”

Engine rev muted Nate’s reaction.

I answered anyway. “To identify the illness.” And magically track its maker, but he didn’t need to know that, either.

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Descent

by Colleen Foley

Grey-green smoke wafted upwind as the crop burned.

“Smells like chamber pots in hell.” I chuckled, aimed, and fired one round at the biggest fruit still not burning. It died in a satisfying spray of tumor and tomato guts.

Seth gave me a What the shit? look and diverted me, pointing skyward. "Okay, Mr. Myopic, focus! What if it's airborne?”

I headed for the car.

“Call Jimmy from the road. We'll figure it out. C'mon, chop chop.”

“Nate, what're we doing?”

“We're gonna find whoever did this and make tomato soup out of them.”

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Tainted

Retrieving gloves from the car, I paused to draw protection runes. Invisible, they still crawled over my skin like ants.

When I returned, Nate was standing. Naturally. He solves problems by chambering another round – or ordering one. With no way to divert fear, he faked bravery.

“No spells,” he warned.

“This isn’t witchcraft. The flavor is wrong, corrupt.” Traumatic myopia drove me to reveal secrets I shouldn’t. “I can’t cure you.”

Red lines blossomed under his skin. “I thought tumor fruit was a myth.”

“Apparently not.”

“Then before I die, let’s torch this crop and hunt down whoever created it.”

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Reunion

When they were little, he’d teased Sasha about her carrot-red hair and freckles.

Karma is such a bitch.

She leaned against the wall, auburn curls swept into knot, sweater falling over one shoulder to reveal her long neck and sinfully tempting collar bone. He wished for nothing more than to let his tongue play connect the dots with freckles he’d once maligned, while his fingers explored her fine skin.

She smiled at him as if sensing his arousal, then turned to reveal a deliciously toned ass as she stalked to the bar. Normally, he’d pursue without hesitation, but this was not his usual quarry. He took a second to think before approaching her.

It did him no good at all.

“Jason Stillwater.” Her rich voice was his undoing. “This must be kismet.”

“Welcome back, Sasha.”

“So, you remember me.”

“When we were kids…”

“…we never finished playing doctor. That’s what you mean to say, right?”

He swallowed his apology.

“No time like the present.”

She led. He followed. Mouths locked, she fumbled the door open and kicked it closed behind them.

“Now,” she said, “you’re all mine.”

For the first time in his life, Jason Stillwater was the one taken.


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A bit of a change for me, topic-wise, this is an entry in Rebecca Grace Allen's Sinful Sunday challenge.

ETA: Apparently, the judge liked it! Totally shocked.
 

Misstep

by Colleen Foley

Back on the road felt right. The farm Jimmy had sent us to looked deserted but well-kept. Perfectly normal, really. I still couldn't figure out why we were there. He'd handed us a slip of paper, told us to check out the produce, then stalked off to his library.

When Jimmy says check, we check.

Yep, row upon row of gorgeously fecund tomatoes.

**splut**

Seth gagged. "Dude. That's ....”

I nodded. “ A tumor tomato.”

Lucidity slipped. I saw red. Then black. Then nothing.

"Nate? Ah, dammit!"

I regained consciousness slowly. Seth’s anxious gaze confirmed my fear. I was infected.

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Next

Reflection

When I was young, Nate protected me from others at school. He didn't know I could and would stop them. We were all damaged, so his defense was precious.

Under a blood-moon, we swore oaths of brotherhood. He meant every word – then and now – but he suffers for it.

“Seth,” he says, “you awake, lucid?”

I open my eyes, nod.

“We’re coming up on the farm. Are you with me?”

I hate that he has to ask. His mistrust grows like a tumor, but removal must wait. I tap my magic, check my gun, and follow him into the darkness.

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Boiling Point

They used the water cage to keep him isolated, though it hadn’t been designed for such purpose. I’d tried to explain the flaws in their plan, but they refused to hear me. I quit soon after.

Now, I watch the flames rise, along with those who’d been blissfully unaware of David Hagen’s incendiary “gift.” That’s how he saw it, why he’d come to us for help controlling it. I’d had ideas about that, too, but they’d chosen to lock him away.

Anger increases his abilities. I probably should have mentioned that. I search my soul for remorse and find none.