Thomas hunched against the crisp, October chill. Turning up his collar, he quick stepped past the deep gloom of a primeval oak, whose shadow crouched over the neighborhood like a sorceress over her cauldron. The bottle in his hand clattered against the links of his chain belt and he shifted his grip so as to keep it safe. The bourbon had been expensive and besides, it was the only way to keep the old witch quiet.
He swallowed back the memory of the last time he had allowed her bottle to run low. The screaming, the insults, the sheer vitriol that had come pouring out of that tiny, unstoppered mouth! After finally filling up the bottle and restoring a semblance of peace, he had checked the mirror to make sure the searing sensation in his ears hadn’t manifested actual burns. Ancient as she was, and despite her situation, Mara Cristal had some power left yet.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish