Regarding him clinically, she traced a gloved finger down his sternum, pressing firmly on his lower ab muscles before lightly stroking the prominent hip bones. Ah! There it was! The prick stood up, stiff and gleaming. It never failed to amuse her that, even near death, the snake could not help but dance for the charmer. His penis bobbed as she gave it a few sturdy flicks.
“You know what, Paul?” she said, whispering close to his ear. “I think I want your dick, after all.”
She had intended to use a baculum from one of Kitty’s pet dolphins, but Paul’s dick was practically begging to be used. With a wire insertion, and a few cosmetic modifications, Paul’s cock would make a glorious Wolfencorn horn. It was a bold stroke of genius. She was becoming an artist.
Talia worked quickly with surgical needle and thread, stitching the beast together. Paul didn’t give her the satisfaction of dealing a dramatic death-blow, bleeding out quicker than she’d hoped. Once the saw removed his member, he snuffed it. Look on his face for that second was priceless, though. She didn’t have time to gloat much. Some of the assembled pieces were losing their shelf-life.
Assembling the jigsaw beast, she snipped, stitched, then shaped as she went, referring back to the painting as she worked. Worked until her fingers were bruised to the bone. Before her lay an immense hunk of sutured meats. It was a marvelous cobbling, to be sure, but the randomly twitching mass was clearly no living thing.
Life takes time. To grow a thing this massive, this complex, would require years. Dr. Ambrose didn’t have time. Those stitches were ugly, and this twitching nightmare wasn’t a proper representation of the Wolfencorn. She didn’t want to disappoint. Kitty would have her hauled off and fed to the sharks. No she’d hold up her end of the bargain, and ensure that Kitty held up hers. Whatever Talia wanted. That was the deal.
In a cut and paste job like this, Dr. Ambrose used what she thought of as “island balm.” She was not a religious person, but she knew that there were forces beyond scientific explanation. Forces that worked for her. She fought against the pull for a time, eschewing the stereotype of the dark-skinned witch. The mystical savage. Yet, since moving from the U.S. to the island, her ancestral home, she felt the undeniable quickening of her latent power.
Talia prayed to no gods. There were no gods, save herself. She held a universe within every cell.
She hovered over the stone bowl, scalpel to her wrist, gaze fixed on the painting of the Wolfencorn. Its maw fixed agape, a rictus grin of teeth, the rear hooves firmly stamped into the thick green, the Wolfencorn’s rainbow tail began to shimmer and sway. That’s when she made the cut.
A rivulet of blood flowed into the basin. She raised it to her lips and lapped at it. The coppery tang made her thirsty, but she spit the worked-up saliva mixture back into the bowl. Sprinkled in a bit of white sand. Swirling the concoction around with her fingers, she hummed the tune of atoms colliding in the dark.
Now. Now was the time for birth. Dipping back into the bowl, she brought up more of the crimson paste. Her wrist dripped as she raised her hand to the beast, but a quick swipe of her tongue staunched the wound. Carefully, but quickly, Talia smeared her “island balm” over the creature’s sutures. She smeared more. More. With every layer the seams grew fainter, until they disappeared. Life arose. Her masterpiece was complete. The Wolfencorn reborn.
The creature strained against its chains to nuzzle her neck. The bond was strong, that of the creator with creation. Master and servant. Stroking the silken mane with one hand, Talia stuck a syringe in the beast with the other. The Wolfencorn gave a sharp yelp.
“Shhh, there now, my love. This is just something to help you sleep a bit. You’ll need your energy for the party tonight.”
As the Wolfencorn dozed, Talia decided to take a nap herself. When she awoke a few hours later, she checked to see that the beast was still asleep before she headed back home to shower and change. She needed to meet with Suga D.
Suga was busy prepping drinks for the party.
“Can you believe what that bitch wants me to wear? Like some kinda skimpy maid outfit! Do I look like I have ever worn a damn skirt? There ain’t no way my big ass is gonna fit under that.”
Talia came around the bar and gave her buttocks a loud smack.
“I like your big ass, Suga.”
Suga leaned in for a kiss, but was stopped by a finger on her lips.
“After tonight, we won’t have to worry about Queen Kitty and her tyrant husband ever again.”
Suga frowned.
Talia squeezed her hand.
“We got this Suga, don’t worry. This is for us. For all of us. Now, you remember the plan?”
Suga nodded.
“Doc, are you sure you—"
“I’m doing this tonight, Suga. With or without you. I’d prefer with.”
With that Dr. Ambrose spun around and marched out of the bar, eager to get back to the lab for final preparations.
The Vandermarks sat on their golden thrones, next to the Duke and Duchess of Somethingorother, on a dais overlooking the other party guests on the sprawling lawn. Birthday girl Hayley was clearly bored, ignoring the party by texting with her cool foreign friends via wrist-com. Her local friends were busy getting “primed” at the club, and swore they’d be there soon. In truth, they planned on waiting for last call at the club before sweeping in to guzzle Hayley’s free booze. Stephen and Kitty Vandermark were well on their way to being shit-faced and not making a great impression on their royal guests, as evidenced by the duke’s strained smile.
In tacky Vandermark fashion, the décor was overdone. Every tree was festooned with lights, timed to the beat of the music being pumped from enormous gold speakers. Phosphorescent flamingos roamed the party, while guests sat at tables piled high with shrimp on golden platters. Party favors included diamond-studded flasks and tennis-bracelets. A ten story gilded cake with “Hayley” spelled out in rubies. Huge air-conditioning units kept the outdoor grounds chilly, much to the annoyance of the scantily-clad female guests and servants.
An army of waitstaff flanked the guest tables, and Kitty paused her conversation with the duchess every five minutes to motion to the staff to pass out more booze. Why was no one dancing? She was pleased to see Hayley having a crap time, but they needed to impress the duke and duchess. The Vandermark’s money didn’t mean shit to Kitty, if she couldn’t manage to break into real society. Dr. Ambrose had better have come up with something to impress these stiffs.
Talia arrived two-hours into the party, trailer in tow. She jogged up to Suga, stationed behind the main bar. Suga D was sporting a very sharp suit.
“You aren’t wearing your maid outfit! Your ass couldn’t fit?” Talia laughed.
“This ain’t the time to crack jokes, Doc.”
Talia’s face fell and she narrowed her eyes.
“Is everything ready for the toast, Suga?”
“It’s ready.”
“And you made sure to tell the staff not to toast?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Good. Pass the trays around. Get my drink ready.”
Suga nodded.
“And Suga, thank you. This is all for you. All of you.”
Suga opened her mouth to respond, but Kitty spotted Talia and motioned for her to begin the unveiling. Talia kissed Suga on the cheek and rushed back to the trailer.
Talia gave Kitty the signal and she rose from her throne.
“Attention! Attention! Helloo,” Kitty yelled, clinking her glass with a shrimp fork as the duchess rolled her eyes. “Now is the time to make a toast to the birthday girl, my lovely step-daughter, Hayley!”
The guests stood, fresh champagne flutes in hand, praying that Kitty’s speech would be short so they could get the hell out of there. A young waiter rushed over with Talia’s flute as she watched by the trailer.
“First of all, I’d like to thank you all for coming! I know most of you are here for me,” Kitty hiccupped, giggling into the microphone, “but this shindig is for my
step-daughter, Hayley. Hayley is 16 today and, as you can see, is being a typical teenager that could care less that her parents spent buttloads of money on her party.” Kitty laughed, and some of the guests echoed her uncomfortably. Hayley looked pissed. Stephen was too drunk to realize what was happening.
“Anyway. Happy birthday. Not that you care, Hayley, but I got you an amazing present. Everyone raise your glasses and drink to Hayley! To Hayley!”
“To Hayley,” the crowd called half-heartedly.
“To Hayley!” Talia cheered loudly, downing her glass, then wiping her mouth with a smirk.
It wouldn’t be long for them now.
Kitty motioned for a spotlight on Talia as she went into the back of the trailer and emerged holding the edge of a gold leash.
“Ahem!” Kitty tapped the mic, causing feedback. “Okay, now to the surprise! Hayley, Chanton’s very own, very brilliant Dr. Ambrose, was given the task of creating a very, very special present, just for you! Now, I know you’re going to just love this. I had her make this, just specifically for you!”
The guests looked at each other quizzically, and Hayley slumped down into her throne, texting furiously, already plotting her revenge on Kitty for this embarrassment.
“Dr. Ambrose! Hayley is ready for her gift!”
The spotlight focused tighter on Talia and followed her as she tugged gently on the leash and walked towards the Vandermarks.
There were gasps, along with a smattering of claps, as she led her monster down the path towards the dais. Several guests fainted at the sight of the enormous beast, stomping along on its hind hooves, its foreclaws and teeth gnashing at the flesh-scented air. A creature suckled on human blood, born of blood, it desperately wanted more.
Dr. Ambrose led the Wolfencorn up the dais steps. With only a few minutes of audience time left, Talia wanted to make sure she made this as satisfactory as possible. Kitty’s eyes widened and she grinned maniacally.
“Ladies and gentleman,” Kitty exclaimed like a carnival barker, “Duke and Duchess, my dear Hayley, I present to you, the Wolfencorn!”
A hush fell over the crowd. Hayley ran and hid behind her chair. The duke and duchess looked ill, and Stephen Vandermark was snoring. Kitty, however, was mesmerized. She bit her lip and stepped closer to the beast. This was going to be even better than Talia had imagined.
“Can I,” Kitty reached her hand out, “touch it? Will it hurt me, I mean?”
“I am its master. It obeys me. Come closer. Get a good look.”
Too easy. She looked around at the guests, gauging reactions. She was pleased with the disgust and awe. As planned, the music had stopped and all eyes were on the Wolfencorn. Her beautiful servant. The triumph of her career. It was clear to everyone that she, the savage, was a god. Such a pity this moment couldn’t last longer.
Something wasn’t right.
Kitty was too busy petting the Wolfencorn’s silvery coat, stroking the swirls of it’s metal-encased horn, and marveling over it’s talons to notice the guests. Too busy to notice Talia growing visibly upset.
Things were definitely not right. The guests should have started writhing by now. The poison was exact.
As she went to the side of the beast to pet its rainbow mane, Kitty looked into its icy-blue eyes and let-out a horrific shriek.
“Paul! Paul! It’s Paul! It’s Paul! You! You!” Kitty screamed, stumbling back against her throne, clutching her chest.
Talia smiled.
“Paul. That’s right. You were just eyeball to eyeball with your fuck-boy Paul. Paul the Rapist. You were just stroking his horn, too. Paul won’t be raping the island girls anymore. Not that it ever mattered to you, you fucking evil bitch.”
Talia led the Wolfencorn closer to Kitty, who seemed to be choking on her own bile.
“What’s the matter, Kitty? Don’t you have something to say to me? Something snarky? Something demeaning? Something to make yourself feel better about being a common new-money whore from Ohio?”
Kitty gurgled and her eyes bulged.
“You owe me an apology! You owe the natives an apology! That’s my price. That’s what we agreed on! You give me whatever I ask! I want the island!” Talia’s fevered pitch was amplified by the mic.
The crowd was too stunned to react. The staff stood like statues at the periphery. Kitty was turning blue.
“Oh, no, are you choking Mrs. Vandermark? No, Kitty, no. Not now. You need to apologize. And make good on your end of the deal. You know what? I have something that can clear your throat. How about one last blowjob for Paul?”
Talia pointed at Kitty, and the Wolfencorn lowered his sharp metal horn, poised to thrust into the woman’s gaping mouth.
“NO!” boomed Suga D, from the base of the dais.
The Wolfencorn instantly retreated.
Talia reeled to face Suga.
“What? What are you doing? Stay out of this! You’ve already fucked this up enough, Suga!”
Talia motioned the Wolfencorn to attack Kitty, but the beast looked at Suga and didn’t move a muscle.
“What? What is the meaning of this? This is my creature! How dare you! I’m trying to help you! I’m freeing you! Freeing this island!” Talia stormed towards Suga, but was stopped with a push of energy from the woman’s finger.
Suga shook her head in sorrow.
“I warned you, Doc, but you didn’t listen. I told you not to meddle in things, but you disobeyed. You went too far. The island has its own laws. Your grandmother didn’t respect them either. That’s why she was forced to leave.”
“But,” Talia sputtered,” but I did this for us. For what they’ve done to us! I did this for you! Because I love you!”
The remaining guests grabbed their things to leave.
“Stop! You must witness.” Suga’s finger froze them all in place.
“I could’ve loved you, Doc. I wanted to. But you are a monster. You broke the island laws. Ancient laws. You used our magic for your dark designs. You slaughtered my nephew’s favorite horse. You killed our animals for revenge. You trespassed against the natural order to create your abomination. You didn’t do this for us. You did this for power. For yourself. For prestige. You are not our god. We don’t need a savior. We rule here. We prop up our puppets. We’re behind the curtain. You got greedy, Doc. I warned you.”
Dr. Ambrose was foaming and convulsing now. Her drink delivery had been perfectly timed by her lover. Suga motioned to the Wolfencorn. The beast crept up to lap the poisoned blood and spittle from Talia’s lips. They’d die together, monster and servant.
THE MIRROR WINDOW
Carl R. Jennings
The elevator doors slid open and the man inside pressed a large button on a small device in his hand. The lights suddenly went out, flooding the elevator car and the hallway beyond in darkness, followed by several clanking noises and the sound of several electric motors whining to a halt. Soon red emergency lights came on, giving sharp definition to shadows rather than actual illumination. The man replaced the device inside a pocket of his long white coat and, resetting his glasses high on the bridge of his nose, he walked calmly out of the elevator.
In the hallway beyond there were several large, hulking figures. The red light reflected off of boxy, metallic bodies that were generally human in shape. They were taller than the man by a foot, their heads almost scraping the ceiling. Large, bulbous, black glass eyes failed to follow the man as he walked by. Pincer-like hands did not reach out and seize him as an intruder.
He was glad now that he had taken the time and effort to persuade Colonel Kaktos and her troops to stay on the surface—this hallway would have been a hail of bullets, immobile automatons or not. The two of them had stood, facing each other but more facing-off, in the stifling heat of her command tent. The hard-faced, black and grey haired woman in her early 50’s was bristling as much as the plant she was named after when he had suggested that he be let down into the bunker alone.
“I’ve got 850 Army Rangers here
who are ready to go down there and drag a corpse back up,” she had said, glaring at him. “Besides, I don’t much like sending you down there alone. With one thing and another.”
He had ignored the naked lack of confidence. Brilliant strategist she may be she wasn’t adept at trading quips. He quickly learned how to carefully steer her thoughts. Left to her own devices, she was more likely to conclude a debate with fighting—and he knew she would love an excuse to throw him in a federal prison for the remainder of his life or longer if she could manage it. It was all due to his last name: Westbrook. Over the past four years, it had become synonymous with evil. It was frustrating for him to always encounter such prejudice but, if he was being truthful with himself, he couldn’t blame anyone for thinking that after the total war that had gripped the country.
In the end Westbrook had won by quietly asking how many more letters to families who were suddenly short a member she was willing to write. That was when she relented, with a pained expression.
The hallway beyond the elevator ended with a sliding door on the right. Westbrook wiggled his fingers in the seam and managed to pry the door open with a grunt of effort. Standing directly in front of the door was a tremendous robotic spider. Its armored and riveted body bristled with weapons and, even in its immobile state, it looked intimidating. Westbrook was unimpressed and walked casually past it into the room beyond.
The room was cavernous, as big as a warehouse. The walls were lined with tall metal boxes covered in buttons and dials. There were screens and lights and tapes that would be making all manner of lights and noise, performing the tasks for which they had been designed, if he hadn’t denied them power as soon as he arrived.
There was a source of comfortable yellow-white light, almost candle-like, in the enormous room, and it came from another room set within it. It looked like a holding cell: four walls that were mostly glass, a thick ceiling, and a closed metal door that had the look of impenetrability.
Westbrook approached the room and, getting a better view of what was inside, he took in the luxurious appointments: expensive leather furniture was set in strategic places throughout; a large four-poster bed made of dark wood sat in one corner; there was a small modern kitchen complete with an oven, burners, cabinets, and a refrigerator opposite the bed.
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