She had to get out of here.
"He tried to kill you, didn't he? To protect her? That's how you ended up in the chair. He did something to you."
Mother was silent. Her gnarled hands curved in the air, not quite making fists. The phantom planchette went still, and she looked at her hands as though surprised.
"He tried," Mother said after a moment or so. "I survived."
"And then what? You tried some fucking ritual and you killed the baby. Oh, you sick bitch." Tori spat against the rise of bile.
"Oh, no, no," Mother said. "No, I didn't kill her. Luka did that."
Tori covered her face with her hands, rocking back and forth to the sound of her daughter's screams. "Why...oh, why would he do that?"
"Why do men do anything they do?" Mother cried and slapped her hands onto her lap again and again before she twisted the chair back and forth the way she'd previously shifted the planchette. "Why do they snuffle and nuzzle and try to always, always get back up inside the place where they came from? Why do they hate and fear the things they love the most?"
Tori shuddered and twisted on the bed to soothe the baby, who would not be comforted. The crying raked at her. Tore her up inside.
"Of all my sons, Luka is the most his father's child. He was the closest I was able to get. He’s the only one with his father’s eyes. I knew he was the vessel, but he ruined the ritual. He ruined it all. And after him and after his little Rose, it was too late to try again…until you.”
Tori dragged her fingers down her cheeks and looked at the old woman. "What the hell are you saying? You’re going to do some ritual to what, put your old lover inside Luka’s body, to take it over?"
"He’s been making himself ready." Mother gestured at Tori. “You gave him what he needed.”
Tori gathered the infant closer to her, stroking the soft skull and trying to quiet her. Her lip curled, remembering the dream that was not a dream. "Oh, my God. Why?"
"It nourished him," Mother said slyly. “Before I realized I didn’t need him, anymore.”
Tori closed her eyes for a moment or so, her throat convulsing at the memories. At how it had felt to stand next to Luka. His warmth. His promises of a new life.
Every muscle in Tori's body went stiff and tense. "If you think I'm going to give up my baby to you for some fucking ritual so you can somehow try to get some demon inside of Luka, you can just take a few steps back, you stupid crazy cunt. I will never let you take my child. Don't you understand that? Never!"
"Babies are nothing before they're three months old, they're empty," Mother said as though that could possibly ever change Tori's mind. She tilted her head, looking curious, looking concerned. "The way you are empty. And I must admit, it’s not ideal, but I have always been a little curious about the Sapphic pleasures.”
Tori swallowed a rush of bitterness. “Sapphic…what the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t you understand, my dear girl? It is not Luka who will be filled. According to the board, it will be you.
Somehow, Tori found the strength to push herself out of the bed. She tripped on the hem of the borrowed flannel gown and almost went sprawling, but caught herself with a hand on the nightstand. It rocked, sending the bowl of water tumbling to the floor. She stumbled forward again, this time to get her hands on Mother's chair. She shoved it, sending the old bitch rolling backward toward the door.
The chair caught on the doorframe, but another hard shove sent it rocketing through, hard enough to tip it backwards. Tori didn't wait to see if the old cunt had gone sprawling.
"I am not empty!"
Tori slammed the door shut, twisted the knock on the knob, then shoved the dresser in front of it.
17
"I'm so sorry," Dad says as Tori crouches in front of him. "Little Bit, I thought it would all be okay. I did. I'm so sorry. I thought you were going to be okay."
Tori shakes and groans, clutching her belly. Mom told her about periods and eggs and sperms and boys and stuff like that, she said that becoming a woman would hurt, but she never said it would be like this. Wrenching, grinding pain, ripping through Tori's guts worse than a knife. Like a screwdriver, a dull one, tearing her apart. She writhes and cries and falls onto the floor in front of Dad, who can't possibly understand what's happening to her.
Right?
"It happened in the desert," Dad says, bending at the waist to put his hands on his knees. "It changed me. I never thought it would happen to you, Little Bit. I'm so sorry. But you're getting older now, and I guess this is what happens to you when you get older...."
"But what is happening? What is it? How do I make it stop?"
Dad shakes his head. "You can't make it stop, Little Bit. It's in there, inside you, in your blood. If I had known, I never would have..."
"What?" she shouts. "You never would have what?"
"I wouldn't have let you be born," Dad says in a voice so quiet and sincere that she knows for sure he's telling the truth.
18
But she had been born.
And she had learned how to stop it from coming out, that dark thing inside her that made dogs snarl and bite. She had learned to starve it, to keep it weak, so she could pretend she didn't know what it was or what it could do or how it felt to set it free. She had learned to keep it hungry so she could control it.
Now, fully fed, Tori could no longer pretend she didn't remember how it felt to give that dark thing free reign.
She had expected Mother to scream the house down, to bring her sons/husband-substitutes running, but so far there had been only silence. Tori had pressed her ear to the door for a bit, as much to keep herself upright as anything. She'd waited for her knees to stop trying to buckle, but she still felt like she was about to fall.
On the bed, the baby wailed, then stopped. Hitched a breath and sobbed, the noise fading into a whimper. Once again, Rose had lost hope her mother would come to her, and that was what finally got Tori moving toward the bed. By the time she got there, she thought she might pass out, but sitting on the edge of it for a few minutes helped her. Her breasts still leaked, and although it hurt worse now than it had in the first few agonizing days before Rose had truly learned how to latch on, she put the baby to her nipple and urged her to drink.
"Shh, shh, Little Bit." The baby had a name, but the endearment still slipped from Tori's lips. In the beginning it had been a reminder of her father, but now it felt like she'd made it her own. "Mama will make sure everything’s okay."
From downstairs, she heard the rise and fall of voices. The scrape of a chair on the floor. Footsteps. Mother's words turned over and over in her mind. The old bitch thought she could hurt Tori's baby in her insane quest to create some kind of incest train of fucked-up sons who might or might not end up being the reincarnation of her dead lover? Worse, to get that demon or ghost or whatever the fuck it was inside Tori, herself?
It was sickness. But even though Tori knew it could not possibly be true, what mattered was that Mother and all the brothers believed it. And that meant they would come up the stairs soon and try to take her child from her so they could do whatever unspeakable things they'd planned. She would be ready for them.
Tori wrapped the baby tight. Swaddling, they called it. Keeping the baby secure so she felt safe. And she was going to protect Rose, no matter what it took. It took a couple of tries with Tori's trembling hands, but at last she got Rose's arms and legs tucked inside the bundle. She kissed the sweet cheeks, the tiny mouth. Each fringed eyelid.
Then she put the baby in the cupboard at the end of the hallway. She shifted the sheets and towels around to make sure Rose would be protected. Safe.
You have a dark thing inside you.
Tori stripped down in the hallway, not noticing or caring about the cold. The borrowed clothes ended up in a pile, and she didn't care about them, either. Naked, she stood straight and taller than she ever had. The slow, heated course of blood down her thighs did not distract her. Nor did the heavy, a
ching weight of her breasts. Nothing did.
You're not like anyone I've ever met.
At the top of the stairs, the shadows shifted. Tori did not wait for them to come to her. She went to them. She made it down the stairs before even one of them managed to get to the top.
It happened in the desert. I thought you would be safe from it. If I'd known, I would have never let you be born.
Jackson was the first in line. His fists clenched. He wore a pair of jeans, no shirt or shoes. His body was lean, hard, lightly furred with thick dark hair. He put a bare foot on the step between them. Behind him, Declan waited. He was taller than his brother. His gaze just as fierce. And behind him, Micah.
And then there was Luka.
Of course, there was Luka, but when her attention snagged on the sight of him, it left Tori vulnerable. Only for the few seconds it took for Jackson to lunge forward and grab her by the upper arms. He growled as he did it. She heard it, but if the sound was meant to send a chill through her, it only lifted her lip in a silent snarl of her own.
She didn't fight him. They all put their hands on her as they dragged her down the stairs and into the dining room, where Mother waited as usual in her wheelchair with her hands on that fucking planchette. Tossed like a used up rag onto the floor in front of the old woman, Tori knelt with her hands flat on the worn carpet. The air down here was warmer, but gooseflesh still rose all over her. She closed her eyes.
“Why are you naked?”
Tori said nothing.
"Where is the baby?" Mother demanded.
Again, Tori didn’t answer.
"We'll find it. You know that. It will be easier for you if you just give her up instead of having us take her," Mother said. "It will be so much easier if you don't make us hurt you."
Tori twisted her head to look up, but didn't otherwise move. "I. Will. Never. Give. You. My. Child."
YES
"No," Tori said. "And also, fuck you."
19
The dark thing had been inside her since before she was born, as much a part of her as the color of her eyes or the length of her fingers or the size of her feet. A dark thing her father had given her, one he inherited in the desert and never meant to pass along to her. A thing that had come to her when she was desperate, but which she had never used on purpose before.
Until now.
The set of hands on her was big and rough. She did not care who they belonged to. She thought of nothing but the sliding touch of warm flesh against her bare skin, and how they all intended to hurt her, but worse, how they meant to take her baby.
She stood, taller than she'd been before. Her muscles rippled, shifted and changed. She was stronger than she ever had been and thought, how could she have waited so long to use this gift her father believed was a curse? How could she have spent so many years being so weak, when the truth was that she was so very strong?
Time slowed, but Tori did not. She had grown used to pain of different kinds, and here was another, brand new and yet feeling so familiar. A stretching burn crept along her limbs. The pain was brighter at her fingertips, and she lifted a hand. Nails that had been bitten to the quick now sprouted anew, sharp and long and tipped with black. In her mouth, a similar sparkling, glittering agony tipped her head back to allow the teeth inside more room as they extended. Her hair grew, long and luxurious and glorious.
Turning, she threw off the hands that had been grabbing her. The man in front of her was howling, eyes wide and terrified. He tried to back away but couldn't because of his brothers behind him, blocking the way.
She tore out his throat.
Sweet flesh filled her mouth, and the blood, oh the blood. She drank it deep. She gobbled and swallowed and spat and bit again. She rent and slashed, nails and teeth working in tandem as she made her way through the wall of bodies trying to get away. And then, again, there was Luka.
He alone of his brothers didn't try to get away. He stood, hands made into fists at his sides. Shaking, but not looking away from her. He had to tip his face to meet her gaze.
"I'm sorry I killed your dog," Tori tried to say, but the new teeth and lolling tongue and elongated shape of her mouth made it impossible to speak.
"You are beautiful," Luka said.
Tori had never been beautiful, but she believed him. She kissed him, one of her long-fingered hands curling around the back of his head to hold him close to her. Luka cried out once, something like the sound of her name, before she ate his tongue.
The others she had torn apart, but those men had been and remained strangers. Luka, even in so brief a time, had become more than that to her. It couldn't be called love, but it tasted a little like it.
She devoured him and left nothing but the bones.
Then, growling, she faced the old woman in the chair. Tori's darkness urged her to leap on the frail frame and shred the flesh and break the bones the way she'd done with the other sons, but she breathed hard and held it back. She would've been ripping into a corpse. Mother's twisted expression said she'd died terrified, and the satisfaction of this eased away the beast Tori had become and returned her to herself.
It hurt worse, getting smaller. Her new teeth fell out in a clattering rush, scattering across the top of the polished wood table. Her nails thumped onto the carpet. Her gums and fingertips were left raw and aching. When she ran her tongue along the empty spaces where her teeth had been, she could feel the hard edges of new bone getting ready to push through.
She was chilly, now, and shivering, despite her coat of blood. When she put her fingers on the plastic planchette, she left crimson smears. Tori waited, but nothing happened.
"Are you there?"
Nothing happened, but then, she hadn't thought anything would. Whatever stories Mother had told her boys to get them to do the things they'd done, Tori didn't believe them. There might be a world beyond this one, but this board did not connect anyone to it. That, Tori thought, was the darkness inside her. She was the intersection, not these bits of plastic, paint, and wood. With a sharp twist of her wrist, Tori sent the planchette sliding along the bottom of the board.
GOOD BYE
Then she went upstairs to get her child.
Megan Hart
Megan Hart is a USA Today, Publisher’s Weekly and New York Times bestselling author who writes in many genres including mainstream fiction, erotic fiction, science fiction, romance, fantasy and horror. If you liked this book, please tell everyone you love to buy it. If you hated it, please tell everyone you hate to buy it. If you’d like to tell the author about it, drop her a line, but remember what Thumper’s mom says: if you don’t have anything nice to say, it’s best to say nothing at all.
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Chris Marrs
1
In the minutes before Heaven and Hell collapsed, Lily merged with the throng on the sidewalk. Glad to be rid of the subway, she hurried along. Her mother had warned if Lily were late for work one more time, she’d let Mrs. Carlito fire her. Being let go from Carlito’s Clean Clothes might not be a bad thing. The chemicals irritated her eyes and throat.
And I’d be free of your gossipy friend who rambles on and on because I can’t say anything back.
Lily passed by the square. University students sat on benches or under trees touched with the colors of impending fall. They lounged under the last of the summer sun as they chatted, texted, or studied. She lowered her head and scuttled past.
Envy warred with complacency. Part of her wanted to attend university with them, the rest was too afraid. Her mom would never let her go, anyway. Since the day Lily was born without vocal chords, her mom defended and protected her. Especially when Lily had been treated as if she were mentally challenged despite her good grades. At times, her mom’s overprotectiveness bothered her, but more often, she found it comforting and familiar. So muc
h so, she often relied on others to protect her, like Mrs. Carlito. Now she thought about it, maybe losing the job wouldn’t be such a good idea. She quickened her steps.
A flash from the window of Mad Molly’s Antiquities and Oddities caught her eye. It was brighter—stranger—than the ones from the crystals that usually beckoned her, usually made her late too. A quick look wouldn’t hurt. She stopped. Pain lanced the back of her knees. Mother of God, that hurt.
“Watch where you’re going,” a woman said from behind her.
Lily whirled around. A middle-age woman with a stroller glared at her. Inside snuggled a baby whose small mouth worked a soother in sleep. Lily mustered up an apologetic face and shrugged as is if to say, silly me.
“You should say sorry. You could have hurt my pumpkin.” She clucked her tongue at the little girl.
Lily put her hand on her throat as she pulled out her phone and then typed I’m sorry. The flat voice of the cellphone repeated it. Red crept into the woman’s cheeks. She mumbled something as she maneuvered the stroller around her. Lily moved to let her pass. Rubber wheels bounced over one foot. She grimaced but the woman didn’t notice. Lily restarted her trek to work. Another flash from the storefront reminded her why she stopped in the first place. She glanced at her phone. Ten minutes, not enough time. But instead of turning toward work, her feet brought her to the window as if compelled.
Nose almost touching the glass, she stared at a Ouija board. It was gorgeous. Made from a dark material—obsidian, maybe—and inlaid with what appeared to be Mother-of-Pearl for letters and symbols, it leaned against a ghetto blaster from the 80s. A fanned deck of tarot cards lay on one side of the board, a smatter of crystals on the other. Lily stared. Time slipped. The board spoke. Whispered to Lily, urged her to come inside and pick it up.