Claimed by Her Monsters

by Lexi Davis

“Hope is the thing with feathers,” Emily Dickinson wrote, but my birds always get shot. They fall from the sky.

six and a half feet of solid muscle stuffed into a red-and-black flannel shirt with sleeves rolled back to display meaty forearms like he just clocked out from chopping down redwoods. Red hair, ginger stubble, a jaw carved from stone. Basically the dictionary definition of a manly man.

“Alister,” he squeaks, high and shrill, in a thick Scottish accent. “There’s a girl in your house. A live one!”

“How did Burger King get Dairy Queen pregnant?” I roll my eyes but play along. “I don’t know. How?” He’s bent over laughing before he even gets to the punchline. “He forgot to wrap his Whopper.”

“Better watch yourself, Mick. Our little Maddie is just as fond of knives as I am.”

“Alister?” “Yes, darling?” He raises a dark brow, his tone unexpectedly gentle. “Darling?” Mick bristles. “How come you never call us darling? Hundreds of years, not one darling.”

“Okay,” he says, stern and commanding. “I’m going to explain this once, so pay attention.” I nod, my expression focused, serious. “I don’t sleep in a coffin. I can go out in daylight. I like garlic on my pizza. I can step into a church, bathe in holy water, eat, drink, and fuck just like anyone else.”

“A clover has four perfect leaves. The Clover Witch controls all four elements.”

“Stop making it sound so complicated. The truth is…” He turns to me and grins, all sharp teeth. “We fuck you.”

“Listen to me, Madison. Human or witch. One element or five thousand. It doesn’t matter. You’re perfect as you are now, as whoever you’re about to become. Don’t feel pressure to be anyone but yourself.”

I am storm and stone. I am flame and tide. I bind the wild to my will. I burn bright and never fade to ash.

“I love you, Vampire King.” “And I love you, Clover Witch, Queen of the Witches.”