Thanks to the kind folks who bought books today. Here's an excerpt from Triple Witching Hour, part of the A Hitch in Twilight collection:
The studio apartment was shrouded in darkness except for the light cast by a lone burner, whose blue flames engulfed the bottom of a large pot. The glow illumined the faces of three women standing naked before the stove, staring down at the rank stew coming to a boil. The one in the middle, a head taller than her companions, was pale and slim, her long straight hair the color of a raven. The one to her right was several shades darker, hair of a similar length and color but frizzy, the last upper incisor on each side of her mouth sparkling golden. The third was as dark as a human being could be and had long, shiny, straightened black hair and enormous breasts.
They repeated a soft chant several times:
"Fair is foul, and foul is fair.
Hover through the smog, the filthy air."*
Thick black drapes hung before the lone window, keeping out the rays of a nearby streetlight. A dark towel was stuffed into the bottom of the door, beyond which voices were murmuring. Soon there came an angry knock.
"What's goin' on in there?" a male gruffly demanded. "It's the middle of the night. People wanna sleep."
"Another menage a trois, no doubt," a woman returned smugly.
"They've moved beyond that to orgy," said another male. "And they don't even have the decency to invite their neighbors."
"I could care less," said the first male. "I just can't take that stink. What is that - some Spanish fly? I come across dead bodies that don't smell that bad."
Again he knocked and called out - in vain.
"Has anyone seen my cat?" said a concerned female voice.
The trio at the stove looked at each other. The tallest whispered:
"And thereto a cat's entrail
To the ingredients of our pail."**
"That's it, I'm callin' the cops," said the gruff male.
"You don't think...?" said the cat's owner, pausing, then breaking into a sob that faded along the corridor.
The tallest woman spoke:
"Fair is foul, and foul is fair.
Hover through the smog, the filthy air."
She pulled a long pin from her hair, plunged it into her thumb, and pressed to stimulate the flow of blood, which seemed black in the sparse light.
"By the pricking of our thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes."*
She allowed her blood to drip into the cauldron. It hissed as it mixed.
"Now, my sisters, Dolores and Santa."
Soon the blood of all three flavored the stew.
"The day of our triumph is at hand, Great One, adopted father. Five long years we've waited and hatched. Now the ides of March have passed once again without care. The fools are ripe for the plucking. No one suspects the havoc of the coming triple witching hour. We, the heirs of your Weird sisters, gladly do thy will. You have show us the true way through the foulness of existence - darkness. Soon civilization's brightest light will be extinguished and the world will fall into the eternal, blissful void from which it emerged so long ago - and you will have won, become lord over your master."
The three chanted in unison:
"Triple, triple, milk of third nipple,
Wall Street burn, America cripple."*
By the time the police arrived the apartment was ablaze. By the time the fire was extinguished the six story building was a relic.
*Adapted from Shakespeare's Macbeth
Read more of Vic's stories, free:
http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
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