Every Foul Spirit
Once upon a time there were rock gods, she could remember her father telling her, before you were born, Katie-Smatie.
“Rush,” Katie whispered, smiling still, her innocence slipping away.
Mr. Vespers grinned.
Somewhere out of a memory.
Pritchard slashed high with his filleting knife, catching her across the collarbone, barely missing her intended throat when she straightened. He opened another long deep gash on her defensively raised forearm before she could even blink. Katie fell away with a cry, stunned, rolling backward down into a section of low leaning, unfinished chain-link fence.
She saw her own blood everywhere and began to scream.
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