Shaken, not stirred

Downstairs, Morag was sipping on a bottle of vodka she must have found somewhere in her search. Another bottle dangled from her free hand.

“Want some?” she offered, shooting daggers at my companion as she looked her up and down. Before either of us could reply, a door opened behind her and a Horseman took a step into the hallway. He was wearing earphones attached to a Walkman at his belt, and was looking down while he zipped himself up. Morag spun round as he moved forward, the movement catching his attention. His right hand left his crotch and whipped up towards a shoulder holster. He was fast. But Morag was still spinning. Her arms swung out from her sides, propelled by centrifugal force, and one of the bottles exploded against the man’s face, sending him flying back into the toilet.

She tossed the other bottle towards me as she leaped after the shattered biker. I dove forward to catch it, and by the time I’d regained my balance she was closing the door behind her.

“Time we were somewhere else.”

Extract from Burning Roses, a decadent tale of sex, drugs, rock n roll & magick. Available from www.amazon.com/author/burning

Till next time. Cheers.

Dragons & Spells

It was the girl in the picture. The one I’d been asked to look out for. But the picture had shown a kid in a school uniform, her hair tied up in a pony. Might even have been in black and white.

What I saw in front of me was much more than some schoolgirl who had run away from home. Deep green eyes skewered me, piercing through to my soul and pulling me in to their bottomless depths. She held my gaze for an eternity, a smile starting to pull at the corner of her lips. Her hands dropped to rest lightly on her thighs. Then she winked at me.

In one fluid movement she was on her feet and moving to the bed. She snatched up the long black dress laying on the mattress and pulled it over her head, shrugging it down over her golden body. I remembered to breathe. Cinnamon filled my lungs.

“I was starting to think you’d never get here,” she said, pulling her hair out from the collar and shaking it back into place. “Ready to go?”

Even with the spell broken, I couldn’t quite get back into the here and now. We were going somewhere? I shook my head, looking around again to see what I’d missed. Which must have seemed like a good idea, because she shook her head as well.

“Out.” She floated towards me, making shooing motions with one hand as she grabbed a black leather handbag with the other. “Go.”

I stumbled back into the hallway as she followed and closed the door behind her. Then she strode towards the stairs, swinging her bag over her shoulder. A green dragon grinned at me from under the bag strap. I grinned back.

Extract from Burning Roses, a decadent tale of sex, drugs, rock n roll & magick. Available from www.amazon.com/author/burning

Till next time. Cheers.

The girl in the room

First impressions. Darkness. Space. Emptiness yet… filled with a presence. Almost a sense of expectation. A hush.

“Upstairs! Move!”

Morag was in charge, her eyes adjusting to the dimness inside as she spun me around and sent me flying towards a wooden staircase to the left of the door. She moved forward through the entrance hall, disappearing into what looked like a large, empty living room.

I skillfully used a combination of my back and the wall to break my momentum, then sprinted up the stairs. Trying to move quietly in the dark, in a strange house, while wearing size ten boots and taking three steps at a time. Try it sometime. It makes a great game at parties.

At the top of the stairs was another entrance area, narrowing to a hallway at the far end. I could make this out because this floor was lit by candles mounted in brackets on the walls.

Half a dozen rooms led off either side of the hallway. The first two were empty and dark. I popped my head round the doorways, feeling for a light switch, then moved on when I had no luck. The second pair were locked. Solid wooden doors, which didn’t even rattle when I threw my weight against them. This was not going well.

Then I reached the last room on the left. From up close, I could see the flicker of light under the door. And I could hear a gentle humming sound, a slow, meditative melody, like a lullaby. The scent of cinnamon seemed to accompany the humming, making my mouth water as it remembered drinking gluhwein during the last cold spell we’d had.

Forgetting the social niceties, I turned the handle and pushed the door with my other hand. It flew open, and for a moment I was blinded by the blaze of illumination that lay on the other side. The hairs along my arms stood to attention.

After blinking for a couple of seconds, my eyes took in the scene. Medium sized room. Bed in one corner. Cupboard next to it. Circle of candles filling the rest of the space. Girl kneeling in the centre of the candles. Clothes on the bed. My head swung to the left to confirm, then back to the middle of the room. Girl kneeling. Clothes on the bed.

Hair like midnight cascaded down her back, stopping just short of her waist. Candlelight glittered on a delicate silver chain which connected one side of her nose to an ear. Her arms were held out at her sides, palms up, while her head was bowed in supplication. This left her facing me with nothing to obscure my view of the pentagram tattoo just above her left breast. It was a circle of thorns, some of them seeming to dig into the skin, with the familiar five-pointed star straddling them. Another design circled her upper right arm. Again thorns, this time with roses blossoming between them. From the angle she was kneeling, and with the flickering light of the candles, it looked as if the flowers were on fire.

Then she opened her eyes and looked up at me, and I was lost.

Extract from Burning Roses, a decadent tale of sex, drugs, rock n roll & magick. Available from www.amazon.com/author/burning

Till next time. Cheers.

The break-in

The three of us approached from the back, keeping an eye on the upstairs windows to see if we could spot any movement or other clues as to who might be inside which rooms. Our resident expert in the pulling of moves had thrown together a rough plan, which involved her distracting the guy at the door, as only she could, while we others crept inside. Then Damien would keep, like, a central watch from the hallway or wherever, and I’d do a quick recce of the rooms. All of which seemed simple enough. I mean, does that not sound like a simple, foolproof set of instructions? What could possibly go wrong, right? Ha.

The red glare of the setting sun blinded us momentarily as we passed from the protection of the house, heading round to the gate. We could make out a pair of figures standing next to the fence, but couldn’t see enough detail to be able to tell who they were.

As we got closer, the sun dipped behind a tree, one of the figures turned slightly, and I recognized two Irish Club regulars. They recognized us at the same time.

“Oi, Venom. Look what cat’s been dragged in.”

This cracked them up, and they slapped one another on the back in appreciation of their own wit. It had obviously been a good day. The taller one then smacked himself on the back of the neck and shook his head.

“Got to mind our manners, though.” He held out his right hand. “You guys want some?”

Morag took the offered joint and put it to her lips. Me, I was starting to get thirsty again.

“Good to see you got off alright the other night,” said Sam. “Knew you would. Not like the rest of those tossers.” He giggled and nudged his mate. “When the going gets tough…”

Damien moved closer to them, smiling.

“No hard feelings, right?” Sam held out his hand.

Damien opened his arms and stepped forward, embracing the man. Sam, bewildered at first, wrapped his arms around him, patting him on the back and looking at Uncle Venom.

Morag moved further from the house, turning her back as she drained the last few puffs from the smoke. I glanced towards the front door and saw that my friend from earlier was still there, leaning his chair back against the wall, hands behind his head. No worries.

Then Sam’s hands started to flutter against Damien’s back. I saw it out of the corner of my eye, and wondered what the hell he was up to. Damien still had both arms wrapped around him in a bearhug, but Sam’s hands seemed to have a life of their own. They waved in the air, then clenched momentarily into fists, then one of them grabbed the back of Damien’s jacket and started to pull at the leather.

There was a noise coming from the two of them, as well. Kind of a grunting sound. The pulling hand switched its grip to Damien’s hair, as the other hand moved to his shoulder and strained against it. Sam seemed to be trying to pull free from the embrace. Then he started to scream.

The biker swung his chair to the ground as Sam tore himself away. I managed to catch both actions from where I stood, and could hear the rustle of Morag’s chains as she spun round behind me. Sam’s hands flew to his face. He staggered back, still screaming, and I wondered what kind of shit he’d been smoking earlier in the day. Then Damien turned to me and grinned. I saw the blood on his teeth at the same time as it started to run between Sam’s fingers.

Uncle Venom was the first to tear himself out of his frozen state. He shouted something unintelligible and threw himself at Damien, who caught him, swung him round and sent him flying into the picket fence. Damien had just enough time to spit out the chunk of face he’d bitten off before Sam bulldozed into him, sending them both spinning into the garden as well.

The biker was there in an instant, trying to grab bodies and separate the combatants. Nobody was messing up the daisies while he was on duty.

Morag’s hand on my collar practically wrenched me off my feet as she ran up the path towards the front door. Ah, the cool-headed professional…

Extract from Burning Roses, a decadent tale of sex, drugs, rock n roll & magick. Available from www.amazon.com/author/burning

Till next time. Cheers.