“Only a deal with the Devil can help ya now.”
The mantra echoed in her mind as she stood with soiled hands at the crossroads, whispers of bondage falling from reddened lips.
The demon came in the form of a lover.
A decade of passion for the price of one soul.
The lavender bush quivered at Rowan’s touch, a sentient reminder of her commitment. Humming a harmonious melody, she let the magic flow from her fingertips into the soil.
When harvest season approached, the plants gave themselves willingly.
After my grandfather died, I kept his pocket-watch in a vintage jewelry box adorned with roses. It lay undisturbed among other trinkets for twenty years.
The moment I came out (and again on my wedding day), I heard ticking.
Pappaw had given me his blessing.
The lotus flower bloomed at her touch, evoking a gasp from the others. They watched in awe as the soil quivered beneath her feet. The Earth had claimed another witch, and she couldn’t be happier.
She buried her son under the willow tree just before dawn. The birds sang a mournful song as she pressed the lock of hair to her lips. Bloodied tears stained the vampire’s cheeks. Her family would suffer at the hands of vigilantes no longer.
The crucible of blood and bone ended when the clock struck three. Mary waited with bated breath as those she once loved circled around her, chanting in primeval tongues.
Whispers of ancient beings prickle my skin and rattle my senses. Sandalwood pierces the air, scratching my throat and strangling my words. They laugh as my knees buckle, and in their hubris, they forget.
Their screams are a somber melody, and I am Death’s composer.
The child retreated into the corner, clutching a teddy bear. Her blue eyes flashed to amber as Luna inched forward.
Fear hung in the air as the two wolves locked gazes, their feet rooted to the floor.
It was Luna who broke the silence. “Hi, Tori. I’m your mom.”
The stench of animal carcasses forced Luna to suck in a breath. Hunters chalked it up to a rogue just passing through. Surveying the scene, she thought otherwise. Her time away left Luna with little faith in coincidence.
A low growl rose in her throat. He was back.
Luna stepped outside to drink in the forest surrounding her childhood home. Trees her mother had planted mingled with their ancestors to create a verdant sanctuary. It spoke to the wolf that clawed at her belly, begging to be set free. With a heavy sigh, she obliged.
The Scribe of Goths 