After your mother went to prison, you stayed with your grandmother, and after she died in her sleep, you went to the city. Odd girls on their own in the city come to bad ends, but you come from a long line of people who made their livings fixing and killing, and that sort of work never goes out of style. Sometimes you take the kind of job your mother and grandmother did.
Your mother fought monsters under a hundred skies, and look where it got her. You met bite my lower lip english version mp3 when you tattooed her from the cut of her pelvis to her collarbone, from scapula all the way around to breastbone.
As it turns out, six 6-hour sessions is a lot of time to get to know each other. The red-haired woman is beautiful.
The jobs were mostly small, ridding houses of wailing ghosts or putting curses to rest. Killing small beasts, with words or blades, whatever fits the task. Your mother handed out cards to anyone who accidentally pierced the veil. Magic, she told you, spreads like a disease, with one impossible thing breeding another.
Best to call in professional eradication, which, these days, comes down to just you. She smiles as though reassuring a child before an unpleasant procedure. Probably someone just as lonely and silent as your life in Juneau, when it was you and your mother and your grandmother in a trailer out at the edge of what could still charitably be called the city.
This is unfair of you. For a woman who rails against new-age bullshit in all its iterations, this is a kind of meditation. This is how you get away with it. The one from Yale. The man from Yale. Groundbreaking work on eurypterids. These are the stories your mother told you about why she shot that man, some in letters, and some in person, and some you put together yourself:. She told you this through gritted teeth, and only in pieces. No truth like this is easy. This, you can bring yourself to believe, only because it hurt her to tell it.
Juneau is much like you remember. You fly in at four a. There were days you wandered this town in a pack of equally dispossessed children, all odd and outcast, causing trouble with cheap vodka and matches. Though everyone here is lonely in December. Everyone in Alaska is sad in winter.
Truths hurt the throat. He looked like a boy I liked at school, but his brown eyes were even more beautiful. It was only when I saw his claws that I realized the truth, and there was no getting away then. I was already ankle-deep. But your mother came out of the trees and ran down the sand and slit his throat before I could even scream. He turned back into an otter when he hit the water. Other creatures if I watch.
On blue moons I dream futures. He touched my soul, your mother said, and no one bite my lower lip english version mp3 back from that the same.
She lives above downtown, in a little house painted teal that perches on the fat feet of Mt. When you and your girlfriend went to San Francisco last summer, the Painted Ladies reminded you of this hill, all these brightly colored houses standing out like lighthouses in the snow. Your girlfriend laughed at this and said that the Painted Ladies were happy things, not the only sparks of color in an unforgiving wilderness.
You suppose this is true, but seeing Juneau again makes you remember watching these houses glow in a midnight summer sunset.
The red-haired woman points again, and now you bite my lower lip english version mp3 him standing in a copse of old pines just beyond the turn in the road. Even his eyes are human, until you see that they never are the same eyes twice. Following me down the street. Outside my bedroom window.
You are not what it wants. It licks your soul until you kill yourself. Like the others, the haunting has hollowed her out. The grimoire and cup, the needle and sinew, the silver bullets and the familiar revolver, and the short sword. The sword weighs oddly at your hip and unsteadies your gait.
You keep bite my lower lip english version mp3 all in a box shaped like a trumpet case. Monks and politicians met under rose murals to swear each other to silence, and now half your life is spent under the rose. You stuff the case back into your suitcase. As the red-haired woman watches, you strip down to a sports bra and shorts that cling to the long-unused muscles in your legs. The tattoos that ring your arms from wrist to collarbone shine in the darkness, supplications bite my lower lip english version mp3 a hundred gods written on your skin.
Fog shrouds the guilt-eater. The pack swings heavy on your back. You drop the revolver and the bullets to shed some weight and take up your sword. The guilt-eater bends its knees to fight. It snarls and hits you with a wave of all the bad things you have ever done, from stealing an extra cookie after bedtime when you were six, to kissing that woman with the lovely hands at a party two months ago while your girlfriend was in Asia digging up sea scorpions.
The guilt-eater shows you yourself, shiftless girl, bite my lower lip english version mp3 for a decade, going nowhere fast. It shows you the years of letters from your mother that you stopped opening. Your legs burn, your ankle twists on a slick rock. You skin your hand on a tree when the guilt-eater turns faster than you ever could. There was a time when you ran track and could catch a rabbit with your hands, but now you take public transportation bite my lower lip english version mp3 buy meat from butcher shops.
The guilt-eater crashes through the underbrush, its unstable form shifting from step to bite my lower lip english version mp3, and blink to blink. It stretches and shrinks, clawing its way through the clinging mountain plants. Its blood hisses on the cold earth from nettle scratches.
Halfway up the mountain, your endorphins take over and you move. You laugh a laugh ripped from your chest and you leap after it. The smell of it sings in your bones. Your marrow knows magic, the way blood knows kin. Every movement it makes echoes in you. You drop the book by a stunted pine, your last sight of the road. You shed the chalice soon after. They will find their way home.
As you crash through the trees, the sunlight fails. Your body no longer remembers these short nights. Your mind tricked you and told you it was evening, but this is the witching hour. The guilt-eater shrieks like a murder of crows. Shapes shiver beneath the bushes and in the darkness beyond the trees.
A branch, or a claw, takes a chunk out of your leg. You bite your lip and taste your own blood. The guilt-eater screeches again. Its voice recites your sins. The guilt-eater smells like long-decomposed regrets and the unfinished quests of dead men.
You leave, like she left. You have inherited a restless heart that will seek and never be satisfied. This body is all you are, bite my lower lip english version mp3, beyond your past and your sins real or imagined. You loved this fight once, and love it still, despite yourself. The blood pounds through your ears like cocaine in the veins. You are a wolf, bite my lower lip english version mp3 woman, a weapon, a witch.
You are Diana of the hunt, falling upon your prey with the force of a hundred flaming arrows. You are only your sword and your sword hand. It tumbles down the slope, limbs flailing awkwardly, inhumanly, a broken-jointed doll. Your blade glints in the moonlight like a new star. The only way to kill this thing is to open its mouth and make bite my lower lip english version mp3 speak all the secrets keeping it alive.
Sins pour from its open lips into the dirt.
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