Turning the Tables

Nate slipped my knife free, then sheathed it in my side.

Voice low, a distortion of intimacy, “Your new skin’s untarnished. Wanted to be first to pollute you.”

He winked, then sprinted from the room, no longer bespelled. Implausibly, the priest’s snide comment had freed Nate. As proven, he’d rather stab me than appear submissive.

Lifeblood mingling with that of the dead, I recognized his genius. Untrammeled by conscience, my magic inflamed the sigils.

A man’s scream choked off. Nate dragged him down the stairs. Fading, I saw the truth. The practitioner was Hounsi, no Voudoun priest, just half-trained boy.

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Master and Servant

I wove a makeshift hobble on Nate’s legs, then moved to his wrists.

“I heard you two were… close, but didn’t expect the bondage thing. So, Nate’s your submissive? Interesting.” Either the big, bad, voodoo priest was a teenager, or he was using distortion to mask his voice.

Blood from the hive suffused the sigils I’d drawn. I pulled the threads that should lead back to their maker and end him.

“Funny how one kind of magic trammels another.” His voice was everywhere. “If you’d studied like your daddy wanted, you might have lived.”

Nate lunged. Grinning. Lost to me.

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Hate Me

By Colleen Foley

Magic long spent, I butchered everything. Bastard had turned his dog, a once- proud and beautiful husky. The one thing I destroyed without joy. I felt like a self-contained distortion of reality-an implausible amalgam of strength, abandon, and blood-lust. It disgusted me even as I reveled in it.

When there was nothing left moving, I turned to Seth, grinning.

“And now brother, your turn.”

He raised his hands to cast, and I nodded assent.

“Trammel me if you have to. Then find him and kill him. Please.”

I dropped my head, closed my eyes, and surrendered to my brother.

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Novice Aloft

Massey held the trammel. Gunnerson slid the pin into place. Seemed implausible one tiny piece could make such a difference. The machine roared back to life, steam pouring from her. We stabilized, then lifted.

Miss Willa gazed at clouds, knowing she’d get no thanks for recognizing the problem before we fell from the sky. Folks don’t care for witches.

“Distortion’s coming.” She said it nonchalantly, but grabbed a handle.

Silver creatures swam inside the energy wave, invisible to all but me and Miss Willa. Untrained, I did what I could to help her deflect them, praying she’d keep my secret.

Wrack and Ruin

The dead were too numerous to count. They wore khakis, polka-dot dresses, button-down shirts with ties askew. No wonder the street had been empty. A boy no more than fourteen, skin marbled like French cheese, lunged for me. I rebuffed him with a flick, then severed his spinal cord, so he could not rise again. Magic swelled with my anger at so many ordinary lives disrupted, now ended.

Ahead, Nate continued the carnage, long out of magic. None of the scenarios I’d invented in my head came close to his blood-drenched glee.

He turned, dripping. “And now, brother, your turn.”

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True Colors

Numerous wards on the house triggered. We’d been expected. Nate ran into the fray, leaving a trail of gore and corpses, some still twitching. He’d always been careful, methodical, shrewd. If not for glimpses into the dark corner of his mind, I’d think his rampage meant the hive had won. But they hadn’t invented his rage, merely unleashed it.

I touched everything as I passed – blood and bone, wood and stone – tasting the magic of destruction, painting a counter-curse, the worst sort of spell. Good thing Nate was swelled with blood lust and wouldn’t see me at my most monstrous.

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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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On Point

By Colleen Foley

Like sonar pings, I was drawn in precisely the right directions. We ended in a cul-de-sac, facing a sprawling ranch-style monstrosity. All perfectly normal, just like that farm. But I could feel it; the creeping malefaction beneath the surface. I could feel them. Us.

“Turn on your witch-crafty mojo, kid. Turn it on big. Now.”

He gave me a mildly offended sideways glance.

I pointed at my chest. “I’m too close. Your wards are being defeated.”

I cocked my shotgun and moved, voicing a last coherent thought.

“Seth. If we don’t beat this thing, you can’t let me live.”

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Born Again

My appetite’s been out of control forever. Food, drugs, sex – I craved it. The last malefaction paid for the others. Drugs defeated damage done by food binges. Looking at me, you wouldn’t have known I was hollow, empty space waiting to be filled.

He understood. “You’re a bundle of addiction, but I’ve got something better.”

“Wassat?”

“Murder.” Such evil from an angel’s mouth.

Damned if he wasn’t right. I know the crafty fucker is using me, but it gratifies in ways the drugs never did. When I figure out his endgame, Heaven’s fallen moves to the top of my list.

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Precautions

“You should not go. Silas is not to be trusted.” Despite her assertions, Mary continued to present Malcolm with sartorial suggestions.

“I’m well aware.” He shook his head. “Not blue. Silas hates it.”

“And you, but that seems to matter not.”

“On my honor, I accepted his invitation. I will feast.”

“On your blood, so might he.” She helped him shrug into a coat of deepest green.

“I go well protected. You’ve seen to that with charms and incantations.”

“You’d be better served if you believed in the old gods.”

He draped a thick gold chain around his neck. “I’d be best served if you believed me capable of handling myself against enemies.”

“Caution is not lack of faith.”

He kissed her cheek. “I swear to be on my best behavior, and if your rotten brother does not keep true the forms of host and guest, I will slide a sword through his guts and secure the future of your yet to be conceived sons.”

“What a lovely image. Do try not to mention my name. He has not forgiven me for defecting.”

“And you have not told me why you did.”

“In good time, my lord. Go, the hour grows late.”

The retreat of hooves played a merry cadence for the ritual to ensure only one man left the dinner alive. ‘Twas unfortunate she could not specify which one, but with her most recent missive to Silas, she’d guaranteed herself a privileged place regardless of the outcome.

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Written for Thursday Threads challenge

Directions

Nate griped non-stop, until we began passing houses ravaged by hurricanes and serial flooding. “Really? These zombie fuckers had to visit their evil on a place already suffering?”

“Probably got a deal on real estate. Before Katrina, it was heresy to suggest leaving. Now, some towns are almost empty.”

“Seth, this voodoo jackwad isn’t living without basic utilities. He’s not the one infected.”

I nodded. “Our turn is coming up.”

Nate ground his teeth. “You don’t need to navigate. I can feel them.”

“Then let’s go escort this guy to the gates of Hell.”

“And me, too, if I turn.”

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Breakthrough

My fingers flew over the keyboard, creating entire worlds with complex code. Matthew looked over my shoulder, eyes flicking rapidly, as he, too, saw the scenarios.

"I can't believe Sasha gave you this cherry assignment."

I shrugged, not bothering to look him in the eye. Or, more accurately, not daring. His blond hair fell over one eye, and no amount of finger-raking would ever keep it in place. Didn’t stop him, though. He leaned closer, giving me a whiff of bergamot, amber, and something sharp I couldn’t identify. The mixture was an intoxicating addition to an already irresistible package… Yeah, not thinking about the package at all. Code. That was what I needed. More and more code.

“Hold on,” he said. His voice vibrated, setting of a series of shivers I prayed he didn’t notice.

My hands stilled. “Did I screw up?”

“No, not exactly. In fact, I think you just did something brilliant.”

My heart beat faster. Matthew did not praise lightly.

“Jax, come look at this.”

“Working!” Jax snarled. He was ever so pretty, but a complete troll.

“Yeah, well, stop for a second. You need to see what Mickey’s done.”

With heavy sigh, Jax rolled his chair next to mine. For a fraction of a second, his eyes widened. “Okay, I’ve seen. No big.”

Matthew chuckled. “You’re just jealous. That, right there? That’s bank.” Without warning, he kissed me on the cheek. “I’m off to tell Sasha her wonder girl just changed the face of gaming.”

Bloodletting

By Colleen Foley

“Son of a bitch,” I growled for the eighth time, choking the wheel, dim-sighted with frustration. “The suburbs?”

Seth nodded again. He’d huddled close to the car door - probably so I couldn’t punch him - and tried not to smirk as he told me.

“I’ve been looking forward to killing monsters, bathed in the beautiful, antiquated stink of swamp and kudzu, to watching funeral parades and visiting a real brothel. I’ve been day dreaming about blood-soaked revenge and gumbo at Johnny’s. I’ve been humming The Vampire Song for fuck’s sake!"

“Hate it for ya, Nate. Voodoo-slinging assclown is toast.”

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This Modern World

Once upon a time, monsters huddled in abandoned houses, mental institutes, or subway tunnels. Further back, you’d find them in decrepit manor houses staffed by dim-sighted lackeys. Readers of Victorian horror had no idea how close to the truth those writers tread.

Nate seemed genuinely excited to be heading for Louisiana and the storied streets and alleys of New Orleans. He even conceded he might try a brothel again. I didn’t know how to tell him we weren’t going to some antiquated plantation. Instead of hanging out swamp-side, our voodoo priest had settled in the scariest place possible… the suburbs.

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Handicap

Our jockeys wear white.
Theirs dress all in black.
Ours ride without heads.
Theirs hands lack.
‘Round they go on proscribed track,
desperate for place and position.

Your jockeys wear black.
Ours shine in white.
Ours ride disarmed.
Yours lack for sight.
In mud and blood
they slog and fight,
with neither side prevailing.

From My perch in the stands
I see them all –
the headless, the handless,
the inevitable Fall.
With gashes and trickles
and foam-flecked mounts,
bursts and spurts,
yet never a doubt
that they are Chosen,
the others be Damned.

Eternal strife courts the fall of Man.

Uncomfortable Truths

Vision swimming, I gave Nate the confirmation he sought, if not reassurance. There was no solace in what we had to do – or what I’d discovered. The hive had come close to disarming the protections around Nate’s infection.  Keeping him whole had meant showing them what I could do.

Magic used to come in spurts, unreliable. Now, it rode me like a feral jockey, whipping for more. Good thing Nate wasn’t inside my head, because my father was right. I needed to learn how to harness my power.

In the meantime, Nate and I had a voodoo priest to kill.

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I Wanna Be Sedated

By Colleen Foley

I fought to give Seth free range while the hive jockeyed to defend itself from the violation. Felt like razor blades and spurting lemon juice on my brain.

I came to, sweaty and quivering. Think sex is intimate? It’s nothing compared to having every barrier you’ve ever built violently disarmed, from inside your head.

There are things you don’t tell anyone. Things you don’t want to know about anyone. Ever.

And now he knew all of them.

“Tell me you got it.”

He nodded, eyes haunted by more than the hive.

“Jesus. You two look like hammered crap,” Jimmy groaned.

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Confession

“Is there something wrong?” 

I ticked off salient points. “We’re in Las Vegas, which in and of itself was an abominable decision. You hit on possibly the only woman in the bar who shouldn’t go anywhere with you, much less to your room for a quickie. Which you did after losing your part of the travel fund attempting to impress her.”

He interrupted. “She has a name.”

I opened my arms. “Look at all the fucks I don’t give. Why? Because you didn’t check to see if her name came with a ‘missus’ in front of it before you played tonsil hockey by the elevators!”

“She wasn’t wearing a ring.” A weak protest, best ignored.

“No, she was dripping with diamonds, including sewn into her goddamned dress. Was that not a clue?”

“Sexist of you. She could have bought those herself.”

I snorted. “Women are generally smart enough to invest their money elsewhere, because they know how to show themselves off with more class and less danger. Jewels are bought by their very well-connected husbands, should they be lucky enough – or un – to have such.”

“You’re just jealous.”

I took a deep breath.
Two.
Didn’t help.
Another.
Slightly better.
I let it out slowly.

“No, you fucking moron. I’m pissed off that you put me in this situation.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.


And that, officer, is why I shot my brother in the ass.  I did not, however, shoot the guy in the bathtub. I just borrowed his gun.

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Written for the Thursday Threads challenge. Check out the other entries, too!

ETA: And it won!

Incursion

Letting go of myself was easy; I’d never been too attached. Harder was exploring Nate’s labyrinthine mind. Stronger wards than spells could craft kept modesty at bay – both his and mine – protecting his true nature from our world. And vice versa.

Constant salvos left us trembling, blasts of confusion, anger, fear, and hatred. If he’d been a stranger I would have been expelled, perhaps crippled. The hive functioned as a whole but couldn’t feel or think like individual humans. Magic alone can’t overcome bone-deep love.

Magic and a red-hot spike? That works.

I got what I needed. As did they.

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