Something Wicked

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Old Town was a tourist hotspot in none magic Albuquerque. There were daily tours and nightly ones in October, and all manner of expensive nick-knacks to purchase. In contrast to the hustle and bustle of the day, by sundown Old Town was dead quiet and peaceful. Some of the city’s oldest remaining structures were found in Old Town, hence the name. There was also quite a bit of magic lingering about the place, which allowed for the opening of a Witch School portal, proper protective barriers and all to keep children safe from all manner of unsavory creatures.

So what the fuck was a Vampire doing in the middle of Old Town, and more importantly, how was it able to be there in the first place?

Our eyes met, and despite my immediate impulse to flee into the safety of the hole in reality, I remained rooted to the spot. The broom in my hand might as well have been a paper weight for all the use my transfixed body could put it to. Hundreds of way’s to bolt flashed through my head over and over and yet there I remained stuck like a mouse in a sprung trap.

The vampire looked wrong fixed in the sky with no undulation to his movements, like a shitty copy and paste done to a photograph. The Vampire did not look real, in that it should not be where it was yet there it was.

He was also strangely beautiful, beautiful and transfixing in the way jellyfish are floating beneath a black-light. Beautiful and pale like a porcelain doll and drew drops on a spider web. Alien as these things were, they were less surreal to look upon than the vampire.

The vampire moved, stiff and somehow fixed, like on some sort of invisible wire, the vampire came to me. He smiled a prickly toothed smile. Up close, I saw how young he appeared; skin smooth and face not quite mature enough to be a man. If an age could be placed to him, I’d say he was in his late teens.

A boy frozen in his late teens, time passing him, glossed over like petrified wood.

He was not sexy.

He was terrifying.

“Good evening, Raquel Port,” he said and flourished a little bow.

I stared at him, literally unable to do anything else.

He straightened wrong, everything he did was just wrong.

“You may call me, Mr. Jack. I am here to present you with an invitation to The Society of the Night. This invitation is unretractable. It is with you for life and available at any time you choose to accept it.” From his coat pocket he withdrew a violet envelop with my name neatly scrawled across it. He then pinched a needle point knife from thin air and drew it lightly across my cheek.

There was a stinging sensation, but it was far from scream worthy. If I could scream, I would be screaming, and it wouldn’t be due to the insignificant little prick, but the not so insignificant prick.

He collected a bit of my blood onto the knife and then dabbed it over my name on the envelope. When he did this, I felt a door appear in my mind that had never been there before.

Mr. Jack blew my blood dry and tucked the envelop into my shirt and paused a moment to squeeze my left breast.

You mother fucker!

If I had not been battling to do something magic related to him before, I certainly was now and the newly appeared door in my skull became all the more alluring.

“You must know,” Mr. Jack said. “The Society of the Night only extends their invitation to the best.” He saluted me and wrongly moved back into the sky and was gone into the night.

The second I could move, I grabbed the envelope from my chest and hurled it to the earth. It disappeared the moment it left my skin, but I could still feel it. Feel it attached to the door in my head. Scared shitless, I bolted into the safety of the hole in reality and I knew a permanent tear had been ripped in mine.

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