The book lay before him, splayed open and heavy, the archaic lettering spidery and so faded in places, the necessary ingredients for the desperately desired results were difficult to read and translate in the tallow candle’s light. Up above him the shadowed shelf contained what he hoped was the correct final ingredient; if he’d read the spell book correctly, the results would be abiding love, but if he had not, the potion would deliver never-ending death. Continue reading
Sheralynn stared out the train window at open prairie rolling by. The XYY Ranch was nestled in the shelter of the New Carpathian Mountains…or so the online website said. She snapped her laptop shut; her battery was low and the circle of dark mountains would gobble up her wifi bars. She leaned against a stack of carry-on luggage not hers (her kit bag was stuffed under her seat), and closed her eyes.
He looked like death warmed over. That is, if death warmed over was a once-in-a-lifetime, luscious lothario. Lean and broad-shouldered at 6’3’’, he towered over my compact 5’3”. His eyes gleamed intense as the full moon above, his collar-length hair swept back in lines of seafoam white over ocean dark. Still good, even though a little worn around some edges and drooping a little in others; well worth the awkwardness of one more date. Continue reading
“Strange men. Is there any other kind?” she sighed, scanning the row of heavy, shaggy heads bent over the bar rail. Continue reading