There seems little point in practicing magic unless you want to do at least a few extraordinary things with this incarnation. Peter J Carroll, The Octavo

Inimicus Dei Constituitur

Fiction

“Ghoul.”

 

Jimmy didn’t shout, cool under pressure. I didn’t turn as I raised the shotgun. The ghoul launched itself from beside an oversized headstone.

WHAM!

That hurt.

Another one like that and my shield wasn't going to hold. Firelight gleamed off its raw, inside­out flesh

as the demon took a step back and seemed to be catching its breath. Great; just great.

“Lamoreaux? Where are you?” The kid whispered into the dark.

“Over here,” Lamoureaux whispered back.

The kid, what was his name? Sawyer... no, not Tom; Bill. That was it, Bill Sawyer. Bill crept over to Lamoreaux.

“What are you doing?”

“Hiding, like you should be.”

The look on her face as she came out from under the drugs said more than words possibly could.

I never expected to become a father at 42.