Those same twigs snapped at Dara’s heels, poison ivy climbing up his ankles. Lehrer walked a few paces ahead, the underbrush coiling back on itself every time he took a step-like it was afraid to come too close. Look away for a moment, and it would strike. The virus lurked in the shadowy spaces between the roots, slithered up pine bark. Dara kept one hand tangled up in that magic, the other braced on the grip of his gun.ĭara had been out here over a dozen times-the first trip when he was just six, clinging to Lehrer’s shirt sleeve like that would be enough to keep him safe. Magic lived in the quarantined zone, endemic in the twisted trunks of old trees, the cold wind that tore through gory leaves (still clinging to their bony branches, at least for now) it sunk deep in the mossy soil underfoot. Hungry magic (a short story) click to download, or read below the cut
Favorite whiskey: Blanton’s single-barrel bourbonĭead light (a dara shirazi playlist) on spotify here
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