2
Tick tock, mija.
Marcella thrusted down a Catalan knife – imported from Sinaloa, Mexico – the sound of the blade hitting bone reverberating. The alleys of the Demimundo, Chicagoʼs premier hub of undead bloodsuckers and werewolves and otherwordly creatures that slept in the gutters and sewers of the city square, they were long and vast. As she approached a dark tunnel, in an abandoned BDSM club underneath a Chicagoan library, the world felt...raunchy. Filthy, dirty.
The walls were a bleached brown, the vampire underneath her dressed in bubble wrap and white wrapping paper soaked with its blood. The vampire duct-taped to a chair screamed in agony, in terror, its fangs jutting out of its bottom and top lips – tearing the zombified flesh. She was caked in vampire blood and sticky salt, and as Marcellaʼs hands raked, smoke – white-hot-smoke – hissed as it furls away from his redredred skin. Then, taking the knife, Marcella sliced open the head.
The blood sprayed the other vampire heads, exploding in a shower of blood and guts.
Propping the witchfyre on the bodies, the fire: burned, flayed, incinerated when she stabbed her knife into the black dust, and she listened to the Godmother.
Blood must always have blood, mija.
STAI LEGGENDO
Our Dark Prince (The Scottish Play)
FantasyTHE DEVIL WENT DOWN TO LOUISIANA - And there will be killing until the score is settled. Tortured and exiled, Robin DeMarcus came back to the United States unscathed: a ruthless heiress to an antebellum empire with a hunger for revenge to carry on...
