The Rip
Inside the bubble something flexed—the suggestion of a smile, wrong and flat and too wide.
R I—
The letters traced themselves on the inside of the blister in a smear of rust.
Susan didn’t wait for the P. She snapped the tin and the parchment together in her fist, crushed, then flicked the mix into the bowl. The pellets hit the film and hissed furiously, eating a hole through it. The bubble sagged and imploded; a thin jet of red water spat up, splattering Gabe’s cheek.
It burned like ice. The brass disk went hot as a stovetop. Gabe swore, wiped at his face with his sleeve, and stepped back.
Hot Chapters