Spicy Little Curses

by J.T. Geissinger

The House of Ink and Blood was aptly named, if only because it smelled of both.

I’d be very worried if a tattoo shop smelled like blood.

“An artist whose own skin is covered in tattoos that aren’t made of ink . . . because he was born with them.”

What’s your cat’s name?” “Luce.” “As in Lucy?” “No, as in Lucifer. Don’t pet her, she’s allergic to people.

I’d been seeing her in my dreams for months.

A new line of ink, bold, fresh, and burning white-hot like a brand, had appeared on the inside of my wrist. It was her name. And I knew without a doubt that this woman who walked out of my dreams and into my shop on a rainy October night was always meant to show up. Because, somehow, she was part of the curse too.

Oh, except for the fun fact that any woman who fell in love with a Rousseau man was doomed to a tragic death. So that was perfect. Nothing says “great idea” like falling for a man who might be my own personal grim reaper.

“What you’re asking for, smart-ass, is a spanking.” A jolt of lust rocked my body. Wide-eyed and breathless, my heart pounding, I stared at him. Spanking? Yes, that sounded like an excellent idea.

“You don’t know me, but I’m as stubborn as a drunk goat on a narrow bridge.” I made a face at her. “That’s the dumbest metaphor I’ve ever heard.”

I once accidentally joined a cult because they had really good tacos.”

“I think it means this was meant to be.” “This?” “You. Me. The furry demon in my arms. It’s fate, Sunshine. So you have to tell me about the curse, because fate always wins, whether you like it or not.” Under the bandage on my wrist, the tattoo of her name began to burn.

“It didn’t start off as a curse. These things never do.” “Then how did it start?” “With the root of all evil: greed.”

ignored him. Men got so emotional when they couldn’t be in control of everything.

I yanked her panties down her legs,

What happened to the rest of her clothing? They were just out in public, she wasn’t only in her panties.

you’re lucky I’m not a man who minds sass.” “Mind it? Are you kidding me? You love it,

It figured I’d fall for a witch. My taste in women always ran toward the feral ones.

But then again, a month ago I couldn’t have imagined breaking a centuries-old curse either.

lingered. Not the curse itself. That was buried beneath the rubble of the catacombs. But there was a presence I was always aware of,

Yes, the curse was gone, but something else had awakened that night in the catacombs.