From the pouch fastened to his belt Van removed a flaçon and passed it to me. “Hold this while I kill him.”

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.

Nothing in my power could prevent the loss of Men’s life.

The dark-blue glass clung to my fingers. Each cycle of Van’s menacing words burrowed them deeper into my gray matter. Wispy fog floated in front of my eyes. Stench such as that from sulfur deposits clogged my nostrils and throat and coated my tongue.

“You feel like watching?” Van turned and flashed me a fanged grin.

I’d missed the latest sale at Saks due to this graveside agenda but Van missed a conscience and good manners from birth. “I’ve seen far more horrendous sights when in Hell.”

“Come over here to the portal.” Van stared us down.

At reaching the narrow trench I stepped away while Van posed Menllikus with his feet close the burial mound, straddling the open ground.

Now to see if Van possessed the ability to read minds. No sense going any further with this game if he did. The blackness behind my closed lids formed a swirling vortex. The Brekennium barrier—a protective shield that prevented brainwashing and mind-reading and was possessed by only by Satan and his offspring—lifted around my brain. Only by intense focusing could we hellish beings temporarily remove and later reconstruct this unique magnetic field inside our skulls.

Menlikus is far sexier than you. You couldn’t fuck me a hundredth as well or as deep.

With my eyes open I concentrated on Van’s closed lips and recycled the thought.

Not a single twitch.

Fang-Face heaved a breath toward the close-to-midnight sky. “Are you finished praying or whatever it was you were doing?”

Van wasn’t a mind-reader. Or if he was, one of my precious powers still remained—I could prevent others from getting inside my head and learning my thoughts.

Without answering I squeezed Men’s hand. “Quite.”

Caught in the moon’s glow, the claw on Van’s forefinger shone bluish-white. “Not so close to him. I have to prepare the Skave zone.”

Skave zone?

Men and I shrugged.

From the pouch positioned near where the knife lay buried to its handle in dirt, Van removed a small cloth bundle. After laying it on his left palm he unfolded the edges until all four corners hung over his hand. His right thumb and forefinger sank into the pile of reddish-brown powder and pinched together. He dusted the faintly sweet-smelling dust onto his tongue and took another measured portion between his fingers. Three times he performed the ritual, bending over the furrow and sifting the powder into the opening. A sneeze teased the back of my throat. I closed my fingers over my nostrils and caught the outburst but pitched forward. On removing my fingers the air in front of my face lay heavier than that a couple inches behind me. Cloying citrus-sweetness soothed the thumping in my temples and unknotted the muscles in the back of my neck and I righted myself.

“The flaçon of eshlew.” Van snapped his fingers.

Barely did I extend my arm before he snatched the fluid from me. A soft pop floated toward the sky as the stopper was freed from the neck. In the same way Barden drizzled oil over her garden salads, Van spread the cod-scented contents along the ground rift.

He slapped the stopper into place and dropped the empty bottle into his pouch. “Where’s the lighter?”

When I remained silent he fished in Men’s back pocket and produced the device. His thumb incited the strike wheel and a flame flared. He crouched and touched the dancing oval of energy to the edge of the trench. A blue flame leaped about a foot above the ground and tracked down the man-made furrow to the end. Van closed the lid and tossed the lighter behind me.

What at first resembled fish oil morphed into the aroma of roasting nuts.

Van’s laughter blanketed us.

The fence of fire climbed to within a couple inches of Men’s ten inches of glory. Van beat his hands toward the flames and they lowered by half.

Daddy would love that trick.

The longest claws adorned Van’s forefingers and he pointed the left one at Men’s heart.

“Straddle the flames as I’m doing. Then you’ll be ready.” © Shawna Moore

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Coming Soon!