Blackthorn

by J.T. Geissinger

“Yes, I can see you have questions about her, too. She was the one who cast the original curse on the Crofts, you know. Once a month for seven days straight, all the males in that family turn into monsters at night. Demons, werewolves, every type of goblin and ghoul. Even a giant, carnivorous plant in one case! Brilliant how she made the curse mimic a woman’s cycle. Personally, I think she should’ve gone further and made it happen every single night in retaliation for what they did to her, but that’s just me.” She chuckles. “It’s hilarious how they’re still trying to find a cure, but there isn’t one. No matter how many experiments they run on animals that have evolved to transform their shape or manipulate their environments for survival, the Croft bloodline is cursed for good.” She pauses to thoughtfully dab more blood on the pulse point in the hollow of my throat. “Which brings me to your mother. She’d gone to the Crofts’ church to try to break Megaera’s spell. She was always too softhearted, poor darling. Righting a wrong, she called it. Though I must admit, she was clever enough to try at midnight on a full moon on the winter equinox, because that confluence packs a powerful magical punch, but a caster’s final spell before death can’t be reversed.” She chuckles. “Like the one Mother cast on Elijah Croft. For the rest of his days, anywhere on Earth that man goes, he’ll be attacked by ravens. Petty but poetic.”