Witch Woman

The bar noise swirled around them. In the darkness, no one saw the trickle of blood. It gleamed black in the infrequent flashes from the dance floor.

Helen gripped his wrist more tightly, drawing the wickedly curved knife across her own palm. “Blood to blood,” she chanted, following it with a series of words in a guttural language Willett couldn’t understand. “Take now this curse unto yourself,” she hissed. The lights flickered. Her eyes snapped open and met his.

There was a pause. The music vibrated in their bones.

“Did it work?”

“No.”

He frowned. “Well, let’s try it again.”