Hannah considered the notes in front of her, licking a finger and shuffling between them. On top was a shopping list for Gronk’s dinners this week, with a notation in arcane runes running up the side. She considered it with a heavy sigh. They wanted a show. She’d give them a show.
Rain hammered against the iron roofs, pooling, crowding the sewer grates. It dripped from the glowing signs, beading drops of yellow, blue and red. A t.v beneath four inches of scarred glass lit the alley in a kaleidoscope of garish color.
He walked, alone. The city opened to him.
Whatever it was, it wanted what was under those stairs. Mikey had to stop him; he thought about screaming, crying for help but that would just complicate things--and his father would hear about it. Whatever happened, he had to deal with it himself. There was no question of turning around, not anymore. He knew what the thing wanted. Blood, and power.
In the high forests of France, just before the hills crack open and shoulder into the clouds to become the snow-capped alps, there is a small town called Roussard-en-Lac. In the small town of Roussard-en-Lac, there is an olive grove, situated on a rocky shoulder of a hill overlooking the small farming village. In this … Continue reading The First Lesson of Alain Dubois