“Never make a deal with the Devil-”

     My father’s warning echoed through my ears. A distant memory. He made the mistake, and he swore to teach me better. He gave me his last wisdom, seconds before death, seconds before the Devil came to claim his end of the deal.

     My mother was in the hospital. Lung disease had tormented her body; we all knew she did not have long left. Presently, she was healthier now than she was in her twenties. My father in return was six feet under. That was a year ago. My mother was healthy but she wasn’t living. Depression filled her soul once she realized what my father had done. My siblings were not any better. The loss of our dad left us all numb. My brother was forced to grow up without father. My sisters would never be given away at their weddings.

     It had been a year, but it still felt fresh. An open wound that refused to heal.

     I mulled over his words once more. I closed my eyes and considered them.

     I had to do this.

     I grabbed the pistol from the nightstand and loaded it.

     “Devil,” I called out.

     The air grew hot and thick. Sweat beaded down my face, the feeling of flames licking at my heels. The room dimmed, only a red glow saturated the room.  I was taking a gamble, and I was all in.

     “Alex,” The Devil cooed, “What do I owe the pleasure?”

     “I want to make an offer. Similar to my father’s.” I admitted.

     “A life for a life?” the Devil said with a smug smile.

     “A life for a life,” I established.

“Have the Devil make a deal with you,”

     I smirked as I remembered his dying words.

     I lifted the gun, aiming at his temple, “Your life, for my father’s,”

     “Do you think that can harm me?” The Devil laughed.

     The faith in my plan wavered at his confidence, but I kept the act up.

     “I know it can,” I asserted as I cocked the revolver.

     I watched the slight shift in his face. His composure fell for fractions of a second.

     “You came here. You’re on mortal ground now. When my father made a deal with you, each of you pricked the others finger to sign the contract. So what makes you think I can’t draw your blood now?” I retorted.

     “You know nothing of these things,” The Devil spoke.

     I shifted my aim to the right and fired. He watched the bullet rush past his head. The slug buried itself in the wall, and when the Devil turned back the gun was trained on his head once again.

     “Would you like to test your theory?” I prompted, “Because I’m willing to fire, and I have nothing to lose,”

     We held eye contact. I pulled back the hammer of the gun once again, narrowing my eyes.  I held his gaze, unable to read his expression. I tightened my grip on the pistol and began to apply pressure to the trigger.

     He glanced at the pistol and inhaled sharply, “Wait-“

     “Wait,” He conceded, “Fine, I shall bring your father back-,”

     “Alive and well,” I added.

     The devil let out a short burst of air, “Alive and well,” He repeated.

     “Deal?” I proposed.

     “Deal,” The Devil sneered.

     Seconds passed and I waited for his end to be fulfilled. Suddenly I heard a muffled commotion downstairs. I smiled.

     “I’ll be seeing you again,” He seethed.

     “This gunslinger will be waiting for you,”

K—, whose Dad didn't want to learn my name because we'd break up eventually.

K—, who would pretend to cheat on me with T— for laughs, and leave me voicemails full of panting.

L—, who'd break up with me three times a week, and kept me enslaved to my phone.

L—, who cheated on me the first night I worked at summer camp. It'd been the longest we'd been away from each other.

T—, who gave me a sad, knowing look the night she agreed to be my girlfriend.

T—, whose ex tried to stab me with a knife. They're back together.

M—, whose first boyfriend dumped her after the first time they had sex, and kept begging for it from me.

M—, who kept hitting me when I said we would wait.

J—, whose Mom kidnapped her and brought her to New Zealand. She never saw her Dad again.

J—, whose Mom became a prostitute to pay for their apartment.

J—, telling me about the sores, the scabs, the oozing—down there.

J—, who wasn't made to live long. She made sure of that.

N—, who could die at any moment from a heart condition.

N—, who would couldn't feel anything unless it hurt.

N—, who laid in my bed, and when I wasn't around, laid in my roommate's.

S—, raped by her last boyfriend.

S—, at the hospital, because she stabbed her leg with gardening shears.

S—, describing her last boyfriend's penis with something like love.

And me. What the hell is wrong with me?

My sister will not eat seafood. She is a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl, all inherited from my mother, and she is picky, an inheritance from no one. Or perhaps a suspicious ancestor—maybe the caveman who ate the poisoned mushroom?

We (the boys) are wide, sandy, blue-eyed beasts. We'll eat anything, be it a bagel or small dog. It's that cavalier attitude Mom rewarded with meals that stretched the definition of food. She was not the best cook, and sometimes pizza would be recast as "lumps," or toast as "carcinogens with a side of yeast." Nor was she the most honest about ingredients. She wanted us to eat, after all.

So, Sis found herself in a constant state of seafood consumption. She'd eat tacos and realize afterward: "These were fish tacos!" She'd eat red beans and rice to discover soggy shrimp.

My poor sister. She's had more sushi than a sushi chef.

     Shoveling dirt in the darkness, he found himself oddly happy. He found himself at peace. As he worked, a tune made its way to his lips, one that he knew all too well. With each scoop of dirt he bound himself, in a way, to her. The stark black of the soil caked his hands and clothes, lodging beneath his fingernails like a rabbit in its burrow. His skin was freezing, the air frigid in the night, the girl groaning on the ground.

     Does she dream, I wonder?

He paused in the middle of his labors, the song leaving him, and examined her features. Her nostrils, coated in the dull brown of clotted blood, wheezed and whistled with each ragged breath. A soft moan issued from her pouting lips, but her expression betrayed no discomfort.

     Her dreams are peaceful it seems.

     He smiled to himself before gripping his shovel once again, pushing her limp body into the pit before him. He heard the wet thud of flesh slapping against the rough earth beneath.

     I’d hate to wake her during such a pleasant dream.

     He concerned himself with the mound of turned earth next to him. He had to bury her, quick, working methodically, the dirt falling upon the girl one shovelful at a time, mechanical in its pacing. A soft whisper caresses his ears from below even as the dirt falls upon her frame.

     “Please…”

     A single word. Her voice, pitiful. He sighs, grasping the shovel with both hands he upends another portion of dirt upon her and, without a word, brings it down upon her. He feels bone give beneath his blow, sees the flesh part at the edge of his spade, and the rich smell of blood rises in the cold night air. It is an intoxicating aroma, one which would drive him from reason if he allowed it to, but reason reins in instinct.

     Not now.

He kneels down beside the shallow trench and puts a hand to her cheek, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw down to her delicate chin and up to her lips in an eternal pout. She doesn’t react. He laughs, a soft chuckle filling the clearing.

     If no one will laugh, I will.

     Blood trickles down her forehead, running between his fingers, mingling with the dirt and snow, warming him with her ebbing life. He relishes the feeling. It makes him feel… real. He closes his eyes.

     I dream too, you know.

     The warmth seems to flee as soon as it came, vanishing with the coming of his thought. He looks down to see specks of white melting to nothingness in the warmth of the sanguine pool that surrounds her head.

     It’s snowing again.

     He looks up to the sky, the stars hiding themselves beneath their shrouds, but the moon bears witness to his deeds, like a terrified child peeking out from under the covers at the monster he fears lurks under his bed. Standing, he pulls himself up and out of the pit, dusting dirt and snow from his pant legs.

     There’ll be trouble if I come home at sunrise again.

     Tugging the shovel free from the mound of dirt he set to work again, whistling all the while.

     Jack sat slumped in the train’s wooden seat, a copy of the Paradpolis Prophet draped over his face like a makeshift blindfold to shut the cruel light of morning from his bloodshot eyes. Its thin effectiveness left something to be desired. Reaching up, he grabbed the paper from its perch. His head pounded in response to the light that flooded his sight. Blinking, the world swam into focus, his sight settling on the headline splayed across the top right column of the front page. “Crown Street Killer Strikes Again!” Jack let out a sigh.

     “Guess I wouldn’t be headed out this way if it wasn’t for this guy,” he said to an empty train car, and let his eyes flit over the article, picking up bits and pieces here and there. The murders seemingly indiscriminate in their victims, the bodies eviscerated in a uniquely grotesque fashion. This makes lucky number seven. Seven victims. It was almost unthinkable. Jack returned his attentions to the article in the hope that there might be something more, but it descended into standard police propaganda, the sort that encouraged a healthy sense of paranoia in the populace.

     By now, Jack figured they were overdosing on the stuff. At this rate, every Joe and Jane is gonna be callin’ the police on their neighbor if they walk their dog a little too late at night. He caught the name of the lead investigator, one Detective Ness, and instantly conjured the image of his old CO, a man with iron in his eyes as well as his spine. The man had called him three days ago. It was the first time Jack had heard from him since he’d left the army.

     Jack had a room in the Red Lantern District above a brothel. The brothel belonged to an old acquaintance of his, Madame Noir, who owed him a favor or two thanks to some work he did in when he was first getting his feet wet as a P.I.M.S. Before he knew it, he wasn’t wading through the shallows, but drowning in it. The Madame kept things quiet, for the most part, discretion being a watchword in her line of work. That is, until Ness had shown up for a visit. That’s when this whole mess started.

     “Jack, you look terrible,” Ness said. He always was the blunt sort. Jack let out a bitter laugh as he peered at him from above the chained lock of the cracked apartment door.

     “You ain’t exactly first prize yourself, Lieutenant,” said Jack. “Though, I still think I might grab second if it came down to it. You? Fourth at best.”

     “A real comedian, as ever,” Ness said, annoyance in his tone. “How’s the arm?”

     The question was innocent enough to any errant ears, but Jack felt a little ball of rage knot in his stomach, even as white-hot pain raced through the veins in his left arm. He bit down on the string of remarks bubbling into his mind before schooling his features back into the placidity of a man suffering a raging hangover.

     “Now who’s telling jokes, LT?”

     “I hope your mind is still as sharp as your tongue.” Ness raised an eyebrow, making a questioning gesture as if asking to come in. Jack shut the door before undoing the chain, as well as several other locks that adorned its frame, and eased the door open. In truth, these were the most words Jack had exchanged with another mortal being in over a week. It was the most mentally aware Jack had been for some time, his daily routine primarily consisting of betting, drinking, and trying in vain to drum up more work for himself.

     “So, Ness, what has you darkening my doorstep on this wonderfully dreary day?” Jack said Jack. He padded across the bare wooden floor to the small table in the corner, its surface littered with discarded liquor bottles and old betting slips. In response, Ness merely produced a rolled-up newspaper from inside his trenchcoat and whapped Jack on the forehead, eliciting an irritated hiss. He dropped the paper, open, on the table, causing bottles to clatter to the surface and betting slips to whip up into the air in a facsimile of a snowstorm.

     “What the Burning Hells was that for?” Jack said. His gaze dropped to the unfurled paper on the desk. “And what’s all this?”

     “Where have you been the past few weeks, Jack?” Ness said. His eyes narrowed, the look he gave the new blood in the division when he had them lined up for parade.

     “I’ve been… busy,” Jack said. He slumped into an empty seat at the table, the one with one of its legs propped up on a spare penny dreadful he had bought during a case to hide behind.

     “Mmm, I’m sure.” Ness said. His face said he already had an answer of his own. “Anyway, just because you quit the force, doesn’t mean the scumbags of this city stopped doing whatever they want. On top of that, I’ve been short-handed lately…” Ness shook his head, banishing his own less pressing concerns from his mind for the moment. “But this case tops anything that’s landed on my desk in the last five years, easily.”

     “That’s quite a claim coming from you.”

     “Yeah, well, five people being butchered in less than three weeks tends to elicit such a claim.”

     Jack leaned forward in his chair. “You shitting me, LT?”

     “Not my kind of joke, Jack.”

      Ness talked as he walked, pacing around the cramped confines of Jack’s office and apartment, examining the rather unusual collection that’d he’d managed to accumulate over the years.

     “The corpses of the victims were discovered in… abnormal states to say the least. Never seen anything like this… not even stuff the savages pulled on the western front.”

     “Gods.” Jack picked up each of the bottles on the table, shaking them and listening for the tell-tale swish of liquid within each, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face with every instance of silence. “Looks like the higher-ups are running you ragged.”

     “Haven’t had a full night’s sleep in two weeks now.” Ness gave a weary shrug, a sign of resignation to the state of things.

     “So, this why you came here?” Jack said. He stabbed a finger at the front page of the paper laying on his desk, as he peered into the neck of a bottle of what he believed was the last remaining bit of whiskey in his office.

     “No, actually, I have a favor to ask of you.”

     Jack straightened up in his chair. “Calling in something, LT?”

     “No, no, nothing like that,” Ness said. He waved a dismissive hand, but the attempt did nothing to allay the fear Jack felt rising in the pit of his stomach.

     “Alright… but—“

     “Don’t worry, Jack. The department will compensate you. Three times the usual rate if things go well, I just need this thing put to bed.”

     Jack couldn’t see anything outwardly wrong, and he had no reason to doubt Ness’s word. The two men had gone through Hell on earth during the war, and Jack still owed him for a few things, even if he wasn’t calling in those favors just yet. And Ness had helped him get on his feet as a P.I.M.S. after he quit the force. But, Jack wouldn’t be much of a P.I.M.S. if he only looked at things as they appeared. The “P.I” did stand for “Private Investigator” after all. The Monster Squad came after, if things got hairy. Literally, sometimes.

     He needed to get out of the office, and this was an honest job with guaranteed compensation at the end of it, not some paranoid husband thinking his missus was seeing another man. He just had… well, a bad feeling is all. The promise of triple the normal rate, had raised his suspicions as well. Not to mention the dull throb in his left arm at the shoulder… a little reminder of the cost of not heeding his instincts.

     “Fine, fine. I’ll take this job you got for me. But, let me ask a couple things first.” Jack said.

     “Sure, shoot.”

     “First, why me?”

     Ness sighed and walked to the middle of the room, his gaze tracing the various newspaper clippings pinned to the wall, occasionally broken up by a proper and framed pictograph hanging. “Because, you’re someone I can trust implicitly to get this job done, Jack.”

     “Because of what we used to do, LT?”

     “Yes, Jack, exactly.” Ness turned around. “My bosses know… part of what I used to do. Which means when a friend of theirs comes asking for discreet assistance in a personal matter, my name came to mind.”

     “And since you’re too busy with official department business to go off on some errand for a couple of desk jockeys,” Jack said, “my name came to mind.”

     Ness walked back over to Jack who was nursing the almost empty bottle as he sat at the kitchen table.

     “Jack, I need a Hellhound on this one.” His words were even, devoid of the weariness he had displayed earlier. There he is. Ness placed his hands on the table and leaned in, staring dead in the eye. “I need the Heartbreaker.”

     Jack straightened up in his chair, shifting with unease at the mention of the name. “Never thought I’d hear you use that nickname, Ness.” He met the man’s gaze, a spark of anger igniting in his eyes.

     “Well, if the shoe fits…”

     “If the shoe fits, it better be steel-toed because I’m about to kick someone’s teeth in if they use that damn name agai—”

      Jack, tightened his grip on the bottle and felt it shatter in his hand, the tinkle of errant shards as they clattered to the wooden floor filling the room, neither flinching. It was Jack who relented first. “Tch. Fine, LT, I’m on it.”

     Ness straightened up. “Good, glad to hear it. I need someone I can trust on this one.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jack looked down at the shattered remains of the bottle in his left hand, the shard simply falling the ground, the ruddy crimson flesh of the palm not even scratched. Jack eyed it for a second, a dozen different memories flitted through his mind before he looked back to Ness.

     “You had another question, though,” Ness said.

     “Yeah, it’s about these murders. You said the corpses were found in an ‘abnormal’ state. What exactly are you talking about here?”

     “Intuition acting up, Jack?”

     “More like my professional curiosity. I got no interest in joining the force.”

     “Heh, shame. We’re short on detectives, good or bad. Having one that’s competent and I know I can trust would be a real benefit for me.”

     “Sorry to disappoint you, Ness. You not I can’t go back after—“

      Ness held up his hands. I know, I know. Just venting a little frustration on my end.” He reached up and pulled the brim of his rain-spattered brown fedora down over his eyes. “It ain’t exactly a pleasant topic to discuss, though.”

      “I’m a big boy, Ness. I can handle it.”

     “Alright, alright.” Ness was pacing again, this time in a line instead of the circular root around Jack’s office. He did it at briefings a lot back in their army days, Jack recalled, man could probably dig a trench by pacing alone if you gave him an idea to chew on for a while.

     Some people never change.

     “First off, it’s just like every rag in the city has reported: the corpses were dismembered beyond the point of recognition in most cases. Their fingertips were cut off and their eyes gouged out, the wounds indicating some sort of sharp instrument being used. The wounds run deep enough to nearly reach the brain.”

     “Nasty work,” Jack said.

     “Not even close to the worse part. The blood in the wounds showed signs of clotting.”

     “What? Then that means—“

     “Yeah, this bastard tortured em’ to death.”

     Jack leaned back in his chair.

     “Cause of death was determined to be blood loss as a result of hemorrhaging. This perp didn’t intend to kill’em. Not initially, at least. He was merciless, persistent, and methodical.” Ness stopped in front of a headdress made of dozens of feathers from a number of different animals, some magical and some mundane, all arranged in a spectacular pattern that resembled a mane that you might see on some big cat. It was a piece that was equal parts majesty and terror to those who might behold it. Jack had displayed it alongside a box of medals and ribbons from his days in the Hellhounds. Ness narrowed his eyes.

     Yeah, I bet you recognize that.

     “We’re dealing with a real psycho here,” Ness said.

     Jack remained silent.

    “That’d normally be enough to separate these cases from the rest of the pack.”

    “There’s more?”

     “Yeah…” Ness leaned forward on the desk, looking at Jack beneath shaded brows. “Look, this doesn’t leave this room for now, alright?”

     “Of course.”

     “We were instructed by the brass to keep this under wraps for now, but I know that sooner or later the public’s gonna find out and when that happens—“

     “What is it, Ness?”

      Ness leaned forward over the table toward Jack and dropped his voice to no more than a whisper. “There was extensive… damage to the bodies. Specifically to the lower abdominal region, and the wounds we found there were… distinct.”

     “Distinct how, Ness?”

     Ness sighed. “The boys in forensics say it’s as though they were… torn apart by a sharp set of teeth.”

     The train car jostled, the sudden motion tearing Jack from his reverie. He reached up and rubbed his eyes. It had been three days since his meeting with Ness, and this psycho had taken a new victim in the time since leaving the city. From what Jack had managed to glean from the article, it seemed Ness’ hunch was correct, the new corpse featured the distinctive wounds reported on the other victims, a portion of the lower abdomen missing with bite marks surrounding the wounds there.

     Which means this bastard is cutting em’ up nice and slow before sinking his teeth into em’.

     Jack suppressed a shudder. He had seen some terrible things during the war… done some terrible things too. But this… it was the sort of thing you heard whispered around the cookfires in a camp right before a battle. Something they thought the savages in the West might do, or some monster from the Old World. The latter thought persisted in his mind. Maybe the police are looking at this the wrong way… He made a note to ask Ness when he returned. The press had been getting on the police, accusing them of putting their image ahead of the safety of the public, that the initial response to the killings was bungled and that information is being released at too slow a rate, and some is being kept from the public entirely. Truth is, they were only making doing their job that much more difficult. Jack leaned back in his seat.

      “Well, nothing I can do about it right now,” he said aloud, his voice filling the silence of the train car. Shaking his head, clearing the thoughts alighting on the edge of his mind, he reached underneath his seat and produced a worn wooden box, its lacquer scratched in places, and bearing a brass placard on the lid. Jack Valentine, 66th Mechanized Cavalry, it read.

      Unhooking the latch, he opened the lid, revealing a bundle of documents, rolled up tight upon itself and bound with a bit of string alongside a worn, but well-cared for, pistol. Loaded, of course.

     Can’t be too careful these days, after all.

      Reaching his left hand inside the case, past the weapon, he used the tip of his clawed hand to clip the string, the papers falling open almost in relief. Jack picked them up, eyes darting across the pages. Ness’ little job. A missing person’s case of all things, and outside of the city no less. The person who had requested an investigation had pulled a few strings back at the department. Friends of friends, favor for a favor sort of things. Jack knew all too well the sort of cascade that had occurred in order to get him on this train.

     When Jack had first been handed the bundle at the train station, Ness had said that once he had taken a look at the case, he would take a “personal interest.” Jack quickly understood why. A missing daughter. Hell. He always had a soft spot for these sorts of things. He cursed himself for being weak, and Ness for using that to his advantage.

     The document itself was none too helpful, providing only the most basic of information on the case. Details will have to come from the client in question. Great. Dealing with clients was one thing, kissing the ass of some bastard who had enough pull with the police department to turn the heat up on Ness’ bosses was another. Jack wasn’t dumb either, this was the sort of report you put together when you didn’t want to risk certain details getting out. The whole thing stank, and here he was about to step into this shit up to the ankle. Jack chuckled to himself. I really am an idiot. He smiled. Well, at least I don’t have to deal with what Ness has to right now.

     Jack noticed that the train had begun to slow, the swaying of the cars lessening as the frosted forests and snow covered hills began to give way to roads and houses, before the train station finally came into view. Replacing the documents within the box and snapping the brass latch shut with an audible click, Jack tucked it into the pocket of his long coat, before shrugging it on and tugging down the brim of his fedora.

     The breaks of the train hisses with protest and the train finally came to a stop in the station. Jack worked his way to the front of the car, giving a nod to the conductor as he stepped out onto the platform, nearly empty save for a few travelers shuffling out in the cold close to mounds of their belongings. Digging in his pockets, he produced a carton of coffin nails. Tapping the bottom of it in his palm a few times, he snagged a nail between his teeth before shoving the carton back in its place. Raising his left hand to the end of the nail, shielding it from the wind with his right, he snapped his clawed fingers, producing a small flame that immediately caught on the end of the nail alight. Jack took a puff of the coffin nail, letting the warmth flow into him for a few seconds before setting it dangling from the corner of his mouth, and stalked off through the snow.

     Snowflakes traced circuitous paths on their descent towards the ground as Jack trudged along the paved road through the small town towards a wide dirt path lined with magelight lanterns.

     “Am I even headed the right way?” Jack said, his words coming out in an irritated mumble. “Why do the rich always have to have the tallest building in the middle of the damn city or own the biggest patch of dirt in the middle of Godsdamned nowhere?”

The winds whipped up as if in response sending flurries of snow dancing further along the path, Jack clutching his coat tighter to him and raising his collar.

     “Alright, alright, less complaining, got it.”

     It wasn’t the cold that had Jack on edge. Hell, he never much minded the cold ever since the procedure. No, it was the name of the missing girl that was driving him up a wall. It was a name Jack was familiar with. A name that had been a comfort after he had come back from the West, a bright light amid the sterile white corridors and blood-soaked sheets of the hospital he had been evacuated to. A name he’d never thought he’d hear spoken again by anyone, but him, in the quiet moments of his life. A name he’d tried so desperately to forget. And here he was, trudging along an icy patch of dirt, chasing a name he’d been better off forgetting.

     Gods damn Ness. Her name was scrawled across the top of the documents he’d been given in the man’s near-pristine handwriting. Disappear though? The lack of details in the file though was the thing that intrigued him most though. It had him combing over old memories, reopening wounds that had only begun to scab and heal in the recesses of his mind. He put a hand to his forehead as he felt a dull throb wrack his mind.

     I shouldn’t have come back here. There’s too many memories. I should go back to the station, get on the next train to Paradpolis, and tell Ness to shove this whole case right up his boss’ a—

     “Umm…”

     The words froze his thoughts in place. He had been so preoccupied he hadn’t heard the crunching of snow underfoot, nor the approach of the figure. It was a young woman, her hair like spun gold, eyes like the oceans waves lapping against some forgotten shore, and her skin only a shade brighter than the snow the two of them were surrounded by.

      “Are you..?” That voice. Her voice.

      It was a voice he had heard before, a voice that had been his constant companion. When he had been a child it was at times an annoyance, belonging to a brat that followed him as he stalked the streets of the old neighborhood looking for trouble. At other times it was a comfort, scolding him for his recklessness but filled with concern as he dragged himself in from another row with a boy twice his size. A voice he had heard scream his name in agony in a singular moment of utter helplessness. A voice that haunted his dreams to this very day, absolving him one instant and damning him the next.

     “Ellie.” He breathed the name into the frigid air with a shudder.

     Blood & Ink is a 4,260 word excerpt from a novel that is anticipated to be much, much longer when finally finished. A unique blend of classic pulp detective novels, fantasy, and horror, it falls into a genre that the author has taken to calling “Fantasy Noir.” Set in and around the 1920's-inspired fantasy metropolis of Paradpolis, Private Investigator and Monster Slayer (or P.I.M.S. for short) Jack Valentine has been given work by his old commanding officer: a missing persons job where the person hiring him doesn't want him to find anyone. From there, Jack becomes entangled in a web of conspiracy involving a murder, kidnapping, cults, cartoons, and more than a touch of cannibalism. Get to know the collection of misanthropes, ne'er-do-wells, and outright criminal scum that run through the streets of this rain-slick city, in a genre-twisting mystery that will bury its hooks in you and drag you all the way to the end. The perfect kind of read for those tired of the same-old fantasy tropes and settings, Blood & Ink is just the right balance character- and plot-driven narrative with a smoke-choked voice distinctly its own.

    The author is one Brendan Anthony Michael Forte, another aspiring writer trying to make ends meet with a regular 9 to 5. Born and raised in another one of the cut-and-paste suburban developments around Miami, he was the kid who wore a metal band t-shirt under his Catholic school uniform. Graduating from the University of Central Florida with a major in Film and a minor in Creative Writing in 2014, he has since worked a variety of odd jobs all the while supplementing his unstable income with freelance writing gigs on the side to stay sharp and get paid. With a distinctly dark, twisted, and sarcastic voice shaped from a lifetime of books, movies, comics, video games, and way too much time on the internet, he dreams of the day he can pay at least half his bills through writing.

The small teacup was an inherited piece. It clinked gently as her guest stirred with a sterling spoon, another heirloom.

"I see you went for the formal treatment," he smiled.

Nervously, Margaret smoothed imaginary wrinkles in her evening dress. She'd never worn it out of the house; a little black number bought for the late husband's business dinners. She put it on sometimes, just to mourn lost opportunities to dress up.  She rarely mourned the man long gone.

"Tell me about your late husband." His smile was gone, but amusement animated his expressive face. A well-trimmed beard framed angular jaw. Just a dash of salt danced with the pepper of his facial hair, appearing again at the temples. He could have been forty, or he could have been seventy. If seventy, he carried it like a Hollywood superstar.  If he was forty, it was the perfect balance of having lived a reckless youth that turned wiser with age. Completing his likeness to Hollywood royalty, his confidence and charm reminded her of Clooney. A boy and a man, and all the more handsome for it.

She startled at his demand, taken aback. He liked his little games, having already known about her husband.  He knew the pain of loss was still fresh, even if years old.

"What would you like to know?" Her voice almost didn't shake.

"Sir." He spoke it casually, as he began to sip his tea.

She blushed. "What would you like to know, sir?"

"Are these fig newtons?" He gestured at the polished silver tray she'd sat out for today's meeting.

"They're apple."

"Like Eve?" He chuckled, taking one and nibbling.

"I suppose so, sir. Do you like them?" She hazarded a shy smile.

"They're delightful, Maggie. And so are you!" His rich baritone lifted her spirits with the praise, and her smile broadened. "But stop stalling."

"He was a bastard, sir. A right bastard. But he's all I had."

"Go on."

"When you asked me, all those years ago, and I said yes, I thought things would get better."

"Well, now, Maggie. Let's keep this about him, not us. Focus."

Turning a deep shade of crimson, she fidgeted with the hemline of her dress that had stayed closeted since being purchased. "He beat me, sir. He called me names, claimed I was broken because I was barren. I gave him no heirs, and I gave him no pleasure, he said to me. Almost every day."

"Even on the day that you killed him?" He said it with a smile, sitting down his teacup. "This was excellent tea, Maggie. I have to say, I think the secret is your heavy cream."

Her heart stopped.

"I didn't kill him, sir. You did."

Silence filled the little living room of her one-bedroom walk-up. It was all she could afford, after the estate was settled. The house in Brent had been the first thing to go, so now she had a flat in Harrow.

She was the first to break under the deafening quiet.

"Would you like some more tea, sir?"

"I'd like you to admit it, Maggie. Confess."

"But...sir. Sir, I didn't lift a hand against him! You know that!" She clutched the hem in both fists.

He laughed. "Maggie, why did you call this meeting with me?"

"I'd like to renegotiate terms." She shocked herself by not stammering.

His eyes widened in genuine amusement, and he leaned back on the small sofa. Gesturing to her to continue, he listened.

"When we last spoke, you told me I could be free. You let me believe that you had the solution to my problems. You swore that no man would ever raise another hand to me."

"And, Maggie, has a man raised a hand to you since our conversation?"

"No, sir, that's just it. No man has so much as touched me since Harry...died."

"That's a shame, Maggie. You're a lovely woman." As he complimented her, he placed a hand on her knee.  He gave a friendly, if slightly flirtatious, shake.

Her heart skipped a beat at the touch.

"You promised me freedom, but look at where I am. I'm nearly living in squalor, sir!"

"Ah, Maggie. You rule here. This is yours. Your domain. You are the master of everything around us. Is that not enough?" He grinned, and she found his wink disquieting.

"I'm grateful for what I have, but, sir, I used to have so much more."

"And you were forsaken, Maggie. Unappreciated. Undervalued. Abused. Disrespected and disillusioned. So you cast off your chains and chose to fly!" He laughed, delighting in the retelling of an old tale.

"But, sir, all I've done is fall."

He grew serious, and the dark look that clouded his face scared her more than a little.

"You chose to jump. Some of us were thrown. Be grateful for the time you have left. You still have much life to live, and it could be worse. Far worse. You'll know soon enough how well you have it here."

It could have been her imagination, but she was relatively sure she could see wisps of steam rising from his skin.

"So our agreement, then..." she trailed off, surprised she had the courage to speak at all in the face of his flared temper.

"It stands. As written. I've kept my end, to the letter."

"What of a man?"

He regarded her from across the couch.

"I told you they'd never raise a hand to you again."

"But I didn't realize that meant I'd never be touched for the rest of my life!"

He smirked.

"Maggie. You can have a night with me."

Her heart stopped. Longing, fear, disgust, hope, dread, and lust all competed within her, tightening her chest and making it hard to breathe.

She whispered, "At what cost?"

She knew it wasn't her imagination when his eyes briefly glowed red, then returned to normal.

"It's already in the contract, my sweet. You really should read the fine print."

Jesus kissed the dust,

Jesus had dirty feet -

He smelled like a camel,

His eyes didn’t sleep

but they had great black rings around them.

He knew the first sin,

Hands on his hips, laughing at the sun-

Adam? he thought to himself,

I’ll do it even better.

He’d slept on a mountain, he’d looked for God,

But there were wood shavings in his eyes and nose,

Only his father,

His mother,

Sometimes an old priest

Rambling about the good old days.

I’ll bring it back, Jesus whispered

Confidentially,

Eyes lowered,

I know how.

From the empty, heavy, dusty Egyptian air

He yanked nothing, he took it in his hand,

Just so much wind,

And he said,

“I am the Word!”

It was the truth, he -

And his fellows -

They were the Word

So he must destroy them.

He could have been forgiven,

Just for saying it first,

Just by showing them the nature of the truth!

But he twisted it, out of all proportion,

Like all great truths.

The Word came to Judea like a hurricane,

Destroying homes and ideas,

Trailing blood in its wake,

It said, “I am the Word!”

And it added:

“-and only me.”

Jesus was happy to die

For his fantastic lie.

Hung up on the cross he saw

For years and centuries

The men that would never know-

and for that, they deserved their lives,

Their slow misery,

The hell they trusted so fondly.

Jesus had been there a long time ago -

But he was a snake then,

Just a clever animal,

Cursed for being better than a rat.

Why hello my comely friend

Shall we meet in shadow at days end?

I am your goddess of light

You crave that which was shut out of you

I'm here for your delight.

I miss our daily walks and talks

amid the heavenly spheres.

Now stop trying to get me to take a walk

on the wild side

I know your hurt, you have your pride.

Now take thy comfort whilst in my presence

For my time is short I don't have much essence.

Before we part I give you this kiss before I go

This blessing is special from me to you,

because I loved you before you fell and I love you still.

My heart only loves you,

and this is the only way I can deal with you.

The Rakish and Ribald Adventures of Captain Blackheart and her Lady Chartreader

The Captain's Portion

By the time we dropped anchor at Hastings, we had been at sea two years. The crew deserved an extended shore leave, and most I would never see again. My quartermaster and lieutenant were misty-eyed about our ship, The Mermaid, and suggested we put into to dry dock in London. It was just turning March, and I could see the advantage of repairs and provisions, trade and pleasure, I found myself effortlessly persuaded.

We parted company on good terms and agreed on a summer at sail. We had just plundered the spice route and could do with some Spanish Gold before winter, particularly since the charts looked like they would be on our side with the Portuguese out of the way.

I wandered along the Thames from tavern to tavern toward the tower and under the bridge. There I came across many society whores ready to relieve me of my change purse.

I loved the women here; all cultured fallen wealthy who could go down on you in five languages who loved pirates of all genders for their no-hurry-to- leave and drink-till-dawn three -abed- games. I knew from the cat –calls and earnest beckoning that I would spend a week not seeing my clothes.

A group of such damsels were courting my relaxed gaze one in particular; the Lady Calico even uncupped her breast, inviting me to an evensong ball where we would fuck hard in the belfry for dessert

“Blackheart we thought you drowned, come see if we're all as wet as that sea you hold so dear…”

Too tempting, I mused, to ignore and with the night so young

“ Twice as wet and three times as long to drown I’ll wager…who says three pieces?”

Giggles cheers whoops and smiles settled then

I started toward the awaiting entertainment.

It was then I felt a warm hand slip deftly into my shirt not making a steal for my coins but grazing a thumb almost imperceptibly across my nipples before it steadily played on the curve of my ribs.

I break my stride, but from the touch, I realised there is no need to reach for a blade.

I turned to meet eyes I hadn't seen since being in Indus eighteen months passed.

She made quick to rest her lips on mine staring but briefly, at Lady calico and saying for the benefit of ear-shot “Lady Calico? Really, Captain? Where I come from, Calico is cotton my Blackheart. Why have cotton, when you can have silk?

“Leica?” I was pleasantly startled.

My night's plans changed in a whisper.

Kissing and touching then as if no one stood watching

hot wild you let me take you right there against the bridge wall.

Lady Calico made no fight of it bowed her head in accepted reverence and waved herself and her cohort away.

Yes, they all knew who Lady Leica was even if they'd never seen the small 'Rose and Roger' tattoo on her caramel shoulder showing allegiance to only one flag

there'd be no belfry for anyone else today but one nor foreseeable for if this Blackhearted Captain had a Lady Blackheart? Then it was her.

Since we reunited by tower bridge, we’d been fucking for a month now in a room above a Southwark vintner. A peel of bells punctuated our raucous acts of love.

Ceilings so low you started to become accustomed and then positively enjoy taking me in your mouth on your knees with me in a chair.

At once and again at times not allowing me to finish the cup of rum brought up from the cellars as it was poured into my hand by the housemaid, you swung between my legs to make me come in kicks barely permitting the room girl to depart.

Crawling up from the floor to lay along me you put your head in the crook of my arm impatient with her attending to her duty

your hand in a sweeping gesture toward the door.

“Captain…” you whispered into my shirts…

then pleading;“ I will not wait any longer… are my needs any less than yours?

You compelled me to affect the scene, and I address the maid;

“It matters not if you stay…however, the Lady Leica shall not divert her attentions further so if you blush easily I suggest you take your leave…”

The girl leaves in runs, and you smile and allow me to finger you a little as you tease my thighs in strokes…

“you wanted her to stay…”

you slip yourself lower

And then as you graze your nipple against my hardness and you place my fingers in your mouth…I court your move with words;

“Well, she is so young, she could learn a lot from you…”

I push your head down to kiss at my wetness.

Breathlessly pausing from sucking at me, you ask;

“ Captain, Would you pay her to stay?”

I coil my hand into your hair to pull your lips closer;

“If my Lady bade it I’d empty my pocketbook into her lap.”

my suggestion only serves to engender your ardour you begin to fuck me with your tongue feverishly

I name the angels aloud, and in shaking satisfaction come hard in your mouth, I feel your lips quiver with pleasure….

And I know my reward will be fucking you till you call out

But before we reach the bed there are raised voices and rapping at the door…

Ignore the din my Blackhearted one… fuck me where I lay and let me at a noise to distract you from this irritation…”

At which a two of my crew burst in fetching my clothes from around them as they come toward us.

“ Captain…” They are earnest and afraid of something so much, they do not immediately see whose arms are about me. Then they see that marking of yours and doff their tricorns.

The Quartermaster is chastened having always been fond of you.

“Lady Leica we had no idea we thought you…”

I sit up and stop them “ Yes, yes, what's this? Your news ought be great, or as I love you I’ll run you through for this”

“ Captain we must away the king has warranted your arrest and is ordered arms to be fetched here…

“ Here? My whereabouts are privy only to yourselves… for you know if I am found you swing as well as I.”

“ Captain we know not how you are betrayed, but you must make haste it is only that the king's daughter pleaded an hours grace for you else your head would be on a pike just now.”

As if to remind all present of their misdemeanour you take my hand, securing me by my mid-arm you course it between your breasts and down past your stomach to your damp clit you move wantonly against my arched fingers

The quartermaster and lieutenant dutifully avert their eyes they both know of your pleasures well, together and apart, but would never dare even brush by you whilst I was at port on pain of hanging from a yardarm

Looking briefly at each other they reluctantly interrupt us, My lieutenant is first to

speak;

“ Captain…. good lady if it pleases…”

And meet with your scathing disdain;

“No! it does not please at all…it is the very least in pleasing… is it not plain there is only one pleasure here.”

With that, you pull me closer…encircling my shoulder, you ease yourself hard onto my fingers and with a cry of desire and allow my fuck of you, your knee at my elbow the thumb of my free hand between your teeth defying my fate and I willingly ready do accept it if you promise not to desist.

You slope a long glance at my troubled crew as they must mind your throes, twixt pitches of delighted breath you dare them;

“ tell the king…. and that…. worthless wench of a daughter…. to run out their guns….where they might….. for the captain and lady Blackheart have better time to waste this day.”

I wince like a puppy at what must be and scarcely believe my own words;

“ Lady Leica …whilst I agree no virtue higher than an afternoon at your beck and call I’ll wager fucking more enjoyable whilst still alive.”

You smile and let me at my leave but add as I’m dressing

“Permit me Captain, but you should not sail the timbers are not mended and a week more to season such” you proffer knowingly

But I know I risk the ship impounded if not.

I know what I must do

And orders are swift; to one

“ You release the ship from dry dock find five crew and slip her to shutes till dusk we’ll fetch back to Hastings tonight.”

and to the other,

“You muster all the whores in our employ to relieve the King's best of their will to obey commands…”

You kiss me long, and I’m away

Lying in bed, you are perturbed and its but moments before you call for the house maid.

“ …What puzzles still, is how anyone knew us to be rooming here and to have been here long enough but only now to give us a chase of it?

The girl is all fidgets and is clenching her fist you beckon her to you

“ Approach me.”

“Mistress…I…I…” she begs with a stammer

“ Come here …. Give me your hand…” you command calmly

The girl edges forward, and you grab her forearm she starts to squeal

“ Oh stop I’ll not harm you…well not unless its absolutely necessary”.

Reaching behind the headboards for your kirpan you ask her to open her palm

She shakes her head, and her knuckles whiten with refusal

So you tap the as yet unsheathed blade on her closed fingers

“ Show me your hand… or lose it at the wrist.”

She loosens in seconds and drops five pieces of gold onto the bed linen

“Crossed keys” you snarl.

You know only court whores are paid with coins such as these.

“ Well, it seems Lady Calico still has much left to say on the matter…

You eye the girl sternly,

“Tell your mistress this… that…I have paid you ten for a message that she should not to court my temper”.

Dismissing the girl and knowing you'll deal with this later, you start to dress for the sea…

Riding toward the ship, I remember how I first met you.

We were tacking north of Keralaputra, along the south-west coast of Indus. Heading for port at Kandla in on the Gujarat peninsula yawing wide to shun a scrape with Portuguese traders and hoping we’d meet with some Rajput exiles who would join us; we were some fair few crew down after running into guns down in Ceylon, and none fancied our chances against a man-o-war in open water.

Lucky for us we’d taken on some chart readers at Pondicherry, and we dropped anchor out of sight to settle our route.

One such reader tempted all the crew greatly with her knowledge of where we were to steer You’d been in service one way or another to privateer crew all over the Asias, but Your home was Amritsar.

None from this ship had been that far inland on Indus and Your stories weaved sultry entertainment when there was nothing to do but hide.

The Lady Calico was still draped over me from seeing to our fuck still wet and coaxing… My cabin door open and the quartermaster was idling a little drunk at its hinge… daring not to enter but making much of having spent time listening to the mores of just moments ago

“ Captain, if I may… the Lady Leica… I want her…”

I beckon in

“Ha ha…Does she want you? My briny friend?”

“ if it pleases she’d have us both the lieutenant and me…”

“ Mmm…Tigress…Maybe I should cut into the fray.”

Ever since you’d board and we’d been fucking for week on the mid deck among some ropes where you poured honey on my openness and sucked at me till I came on your lips you knew whoever was in my bed that I still wanted you…

taunting me with these cabin games knowing full well they’d have to come and ask me first, and the Lady Calico knew, and when she looked at me she saw it, and it burned her.

She interjects... her hand steadying my will to leave

“Dear Blackheart why should only you have your fill of fun after making such a good chase of it from Ceylon reward your crew with this reader minx…. sweeten your lips with me…and if you’re still hard we’ll ask she joins us later.”

I was trying at much to hide the sullen jealousy

“ have your fuck, then, quartermaster…be at your sport” I laid back down but was restless and later whilst Lady Calico slept from love I made my way out to the lieutenant's cabin and could hear you laugh and make such delightful sounds of pleasure...

As I turned to leave you to your diversions, the door cracked open, and you backed out giggling with a bottle of rum wrapped only in bed linen you stepped unwitting into my arms, and you spun round in surprise

“Captain…! Have you come to play with me, and these two…or has the Lady Calico tired of you?”

You uncovered yourself and dropped to your knees

“…I would never tire of you” you unbuckled me in a flick.... my clit hard before you could kiss at me…

“I will always want you in my mouth…” you handed me the rum.

My eyes closed with desire and you took your fill of me……

The Servant's Eyes

I am a waiting-maid at the court of the king, and there have been many spectacles here...

our education as dark as it is lively and we are covered in the tittle-tattle of the day but one choice piece of court gossip was the return of Lady Leica... from the dead to all and purposes…

You must understand, we knew pirates could never be kept, but the Captain Blackheart had such a flame for the Lady Chartreader it was all that was in Lady Calico’s power to see to her dispatch.

Now? Having believed it true until a month hence, she revelled in seeing the Captain in London again. However, The Lady Leica defying the attempt on her life by Lady Calico herself a year passed, returned to claim Captain Blackheart as her own. The Lady Calico searched the streets of South London paying all who would take her coin to find out where they were hold.

When the news arrived this one morning... of the two of them blissfully rooming in Southwark for a month she turned hell cold with her cursing;

The sounds of porcelain smashing were coursing through the king's courtesan quarters The lady Calico was enraged to madness screaming with anger and rotting with jealousy manifest.

“Will no one rid me of this willful wench?”

The room-girls quaked in the corner avoiding flying crockery

“Am I to be plagued to the ends of my days with this tiresome deck whore?”

Turning her hands on curtains shredding them from their stays with fury she ranted;

“How in the sands of time is this worthless guttersnipe still alive?”

calming herself with wine she sent word with me to the king's advisor;

“You…go to that gluttonous excuse for a man and tell him this…tell him there rats in the port of London and that those rats seek consort with the king's own courtesans….remind him of the penalty for piracy and taking your fuck from the court of the king.”

she smiled at her nemeses fate

“let the captain and her lady have pikes for a wedding gift.”

I made my haste the Lady Calico was a cruel and unforgiving mistress and having delivered my message I started back toward the abbey rooms and was dragged into a shadow

“What is your business here?

The voice was gentle, and I recognised its command beneath the velvet hood

as the king's own daughter

“I lowered my eyes immediately speaking reverently into her sleeves

“ I am just the messenger kind majesty.”

“Do not be afraid tell me what you know…” she coaxed sweetly

’If it pleases, the Lady Calico is saying the Captain Blackheart is waging the court’s own property that’s death M’lady as sure as I breathe.”

“that insolent and hypocritical whore….fucking her way through every black-flagged ship that drops anchor along the coast…I will deal with the king you take a footman into Cheapside and find friends of our dear captain make sure she can make her escape…”

I run as fast as was able…I hoped I would be made good time to save the Captain Blackheart after all she did make us all step a little more lightly and sing a little more sweetly….

We remember most fondly her teaching Spanish, we willingly recited verbs and removed garments with each answer….

Playing naked Chess and Canasta quite more than four hours the captain fucking the winner whilst the losers watched and touched each other for sport…

Shame indeed to have such afternoons end for envy's sake.

The Pirate Round

My crew have made well their orders and secured the ship to the shutes and floated her to open water past cannon fire I have been circuitous in my escape making much of the hour setting false stories that I’m heading west to Avonmouth on the Bristol packet. We were to meet on the ship at eight bells, and you had given to rowing out to the boatswain's signal.

You boarded to his hand.

“Lady Leica the captain is not here…if it pleases…perhaps you would take to waiting in my cabin?”

The boatswain is an opportunist, but you are not enamoured

You step to make your way to the mid deck to my quarters

“ I am flattered by your hospitality, but I shall be reading the chart for our plot….”

He blocks your path and takes your arm

“ Oh, but have I not heard you with the lieutenant and the quartermaster…why not take your turn with me?

“ you would take your fuck of me without speaking with the Captain…?”

the boatswain's grip moves to your hand pressing its path beneath shirts pulling you in to meet his mouth

“What a happy secret this could betwixt us…is not my rum as sweet…?”

you smile and make a whisper of your retort close to his ear

“I suggest… you seek fast to unhand me….lest the captain finds you with your arm about me and is forced to make casting dice, from your teeth…”

The boatswain, chastened allows you to continue.

Naked now in my bed you unfurl your design for the trip. Your gold map-wheel hung from a leather cord between your breasts in readiness. Your astrolabe, compass and quadrant were quickly matched to the longitude and latitude of the new journey. You were not as familiar with these waters, but to a reader, with your skill, it was a matter of time and pitching out of Hastings passed the French? Child's play for you.

So thusly distracted you do not hear the bells strike eight….

looking up when I, at last, arrived you smiled

I sit down next to you

“ Leica …” I touch your shoulder where it meets your breastbone and kiss the scar so deep and pitted there.

“ What passed twixt you and Lady Calico?”

You stretch your fingers out over the chart and exert a little irritation

“ Captain, we are not wed, the secrets of my head will always be mine and mine alone…do not ask this of me.”

You comfort me with kisses and reach for my belt 

“ beside the secrets of my flesh will always be yours…”

You unbuckle me in gasps

“ Be you content with that.”

I place my hand over yours and redo my belt

“ No we are not wed ….so why would I ask for secrets…I cannot pry, I do not ask for secrets, I ask only for the truth…”

You push the charts from the bed you have no wish to quarrel and bid me lie next to you

“ What are the rumours, my Captain?”

“That whilst I was gone six months toward the new world where we had pledged to meet…you took to Lady Calico’s bed and were thrown overboard for your trouble.”

You cover your eyes.

“Captain do you believe this…?”

“The quartermaster heard a shot… and saw you lifelessly smash against the water…when I got the news, I changed my course for the spice route…”

You touched my lips with your fingers

“You must have made much of hating me….”

“Well…All was forgiven when we took our fuck at tower bridge….”

You laughed adding;

“Captain you must believe as you are able…but I know the truth…and I must deal with her once and for all.”

“If she harmed you…I promise... I will kill her, Leica…”

“Captain… If you believe she harmed me should you not grant that I and only I am allowed the pleasure of dispatching Lady Calico myself?”

As if to seal the agreement, you set about unbuckling me again, this time I do not stop you…

The Quartermaster’s say

I am the Quartermaster aboard a Dutch frigate. I take my orders from one Captain Blackheart. She has commandeered a ship to the New World, where we are to join her in a few months when those who would hang us have sort other quarry. She charged the Lieutenant with the run of The Mermaid and to protect us all from Portuguese guns we are at port in Kandla on Indus and the crew but were soon to disperse with booty each enough.

Above all, she charged us with her most precious cargo the Lady Leica, a chart reader from Indus as wanted by the Portuguese as any pirate for running the maps for privateers where they that would plunder, knew not the route. Lucrative dangerous and not fine work for anyone but she made it her own. It was said that the captain had many lovers but only one lady, and this was her.

The lady Calico was also aboard, the Captain's hitherto lover ever waning in the Captain's attentions while the reader was aboard but she was well connected to the courts of both England and Portugal and was gone three days at her business occupied thus I knew I had time for play.

The lady Leica had come to my bed and that of the lieutenants from time to time. She liked us well enough, so I fancied my chance and sent for some rum and asked her to make a night of it with me. I surprised when she came to the quarter deck

She saw to my drink

And sitting astride me moving back and forth along my thighs.

Telling me how she was naked under her dress and had hoped I might ask of my fuck of her so had not worn any undergarments to hinder our sport. She thrust her hands into my shirts and pulled at my nipples and kissed me taking rum from my mouth allowing my fingers free to travel over her and uncup her breasts her nipples were hardening under my thumbs

“you wetten me, quartermaster.... will you not touch me …?

She swung around with her back to me and took me at the wrist to hitch her dress and expose her glistening clit. As she sat in my lap her legs widened to my quickening touch her delighted cries allowed me to finger around her cunt, but when I plead to fuck her, she steadied my hand, and I knew there was only one who entered that gate “make me come for you” she beckoned and she rubbed herself against me until she came in my hand.

She said she wanted to taste me and watched me unbuckle and sank to her knees to lick at my wetness

my pleasure was mounting I left the cabin door open as you had asked and coming in your mouth the Lady Calico stood watching as I put my hands in your hair she stepped into the room.

I begin to wave her away and take a drink, lady Calico rolls her eyes;

“Oh do not flatter yourself deck hand…Do you seriously think I want the quartermaster when I have the captain…? No, it’s the reader I would speak with.”

You look up from your amusement turn to face her and wiping your hand across your lips you make your answer...

“Lady Calico…. I am at my diversion what would you have me do…?”

You ask me for the rum

“ Leica…come to my cabin when you are… done here…. I have some news that would benefit you and the captain.”

You wait until Lady Calico leaves and touch my arm

“Quartermaster will you follow me” I jump at your request you ask….

Lady Calico's guard enter the cabin and order I stand outside.

I hear Lady Calico's voice

then your laughter

I could see you had opened the door

then as quick you close it again

more of Lady Calico then you say something

There is quiet for a moment then a pistol shot

I round the door your neck and shoulder crimson with blood….Lady Calico’s guard are at your elbow one has his hand over your mouth… you are too weak to struggle…Lady Calico's guard hold me fast you look at me eyes pleading… Lady Calico is screaming

“ She tried to kill me throw her overboard…”

They drag you out to the rail

I break free from their grasp, but they had swiftly cast you over, I run to put my arms over for you put I you are gone, and I see you fall to the water…

Lady calico runs to me

“Quartermaster do not blame yourself, those people cannot be trusted…I tried to tell her I could help…but she became angry…that knife you see…”

There was blood on her breast…

I went back to my cabin and lay down, reeling... how would I explain this to the captain…

The Chartreader’s way

I was quite beside myself with missing your touch and although the quartermaster and lieutenant were pleasing enough I tired easily of their games.

All well and good then that we were to make the rendezvous with the rest of the crew in a matter of days. And? In less then three months to sail to make our meet with my Captain in the New World. Where we would not be put to the chase for our plunder. We could not make it passed both the King’s and the Portuguese guns alive, so the wait was on. We spoke nightly positing if only we were free, we could sail sooner, but buying our freedom meant flanking court at sea, and none here wanted to ferry under royal colours. The captain always said we ought rather hang. So anchored as we were off from the Indus coast, I knew so well and happy to be entrusted with the charts for The Mermaid.

I came to her cabin that night Lady Calico was not one to be refused and having already taken my fuck of you and brazenly…I did not see the need to taunt her further and just that I may have been born at sea does not make me insolent.

I was a little drunk for sure on grog and playing well with the good Quartermaster, but my wits were not dulled so asked her to accompany me to the Lady’s cabin.

Lady Calico was a courtesan and from nobility and five of her own paid guard made the constant show of strength needed to remind us there were other orders on open water around the colonies. Although I had no personal quarrel with the lady what she stood for was what I hated that more than anything.

The Quartermaster was not permitted to enter the cabin, and one guard stood outside to agree it.

I made my way in and in my surround was an excessive four guards and a cabin girl my kirpan felt keen against me, but I made no move to use it.

She offered me refreshment but I wanted to get on with the business she had spoken of when first she’d interrupted my sport with the quartermaster my patience thinning cordiality had no place.

She wanted me to see to spend the night in her bed to secure our release and whilst I found this more than a little amusing? She was deathly serious…

“So…Leica can I offer you some refreshment some liqueur perhaps…?”

“No…thank you Lady Calico….The captain has entrusted me to the chart I must see to my duty…so if it pleases…do we have business here today?”

“…Leica …. I can secure your release from the Portuguese…”

“ I do not need my release from those imperialistic dogs my life has always been at sea, and I will die at sea free or hanging.”

“Yes…. well…. whilst that is no doubt a comforting thought….

I have negotiated the release of both you and the captain….”

“Why would you step aside and allow this…and help us?”

she paced around her cabin

“ I have….given some thought to this…I have some dignity the captain has chosen you….for now at least…with or without my help, you are going to set sail for the new world…”

“what does this bring for you?”

“Well, there in lies the offer Lady Leica… I would like one night with you…. then you and the captain can leave freely…do we have an accord?”

“I think we are finished here…”

Laughing as I took my leave, she felt trifled with and threatened me with my Blackheart’s life;

“Here’s the document, take it, I know you can read….”

“…and here’s another… a death warrant…with reward…”

I saw she was not in the mood for games and closed the door again.

“ You spend one night with me, or I will see to it every naval and legal ship from here to the New World has Captain Blackheart for quarry…

There'll be no escape at land or sea...you'll never be free...how will you go on without this pardon...how will you live real lives...?"

The document she showed me was true a seal from the Portuguese Queen, the crown prince…and in the king's own handwritten sentence; A pardon…

She then waved a death warrant in front of my eyes making her threat a promise I became anxious….stepped forward ….and took the documents to study… I bowed my head and concentrated over the legalities…as I did…knowing the Quartermaster stood at the door, she must have silently signalled to her guards as before my wits knew two were about me, holding me fast. She wrenched the pardon from me and handed it to the cabin girl to put to a candle as it burned, I did my best to resist and thrash free, but she held my face to read the death warrant more closely and there plainly… Orders for me to be shot on sight without trial… with her free hand she found herself to my thigh and unsheathing my Kirpan, she said cutting herself with it …

“ What would you have me do…. allow someone like you her free fuck of my captain…?

She took her guards pistol and holding the barrel to just below my collarbone; “I will say...I quite liked you…and gave you a chance to give yourself up…but you resisted arrest and attacked me…so I had no choice…” she pulled the trigger, and the quartermaster came in sword to the ready, but? They held her….

I felt faint with pain and tried to struggle free but was weakening with blood loss I looked at the quartermaster I wanted for all the world at that moment for her to believe I did not try and kill Lady Calico and that I had been tricked…

I was naïve of what covetousness could do…I was not to know she had already secured your release and only yours…. That she planned my demise and for all, I would ever know would claim the reward for it. No one but Lady Calico and I would know what really passed twixt us that night the poor quartermaster only relaying what she had seen to you, a now long-forged rumour by the time the news had reached you.

I was picked up by kinsmen from the boat I had crawled into roped at the side of the mermaid it had drifted into fisheries, and I was glad of their kindness.

I was land-lubbed for a year and heard not one bit of news of where you might be until some tale of you wanting to return to Hastings attached me to sail with traders to find you I searched St Leonards and Pevensey for a sight of you.

However, when I saw the state of the ship I knew your crew would persuade dry dock of you and stowed in sluice till we made London. The rest you know but this you do not;

Having made our pledge to meet at eight bells in your cabin, I find myself down to the port…

I have sent an envoy to lady Calico to meet me alone in a Redcross Street Tavern

My enemy enters…

“Lady Leica raised from the dead…none more surprised than I …”

“ Lady Calico…we are to be roomed…” I send the table boy to her side and show her a key

"…. so that no one may overhear us or you be tempted to put guards at my surround…now take off your clothes…”

“ are you out of your mind?”

I need to be plain you have not concealed a weapon about you…”

“ I will do no such thing…”

“ Lady Calico you will remove every last thread of your attire and you will do it here or in the street….”

“ I shall take my leave..”

“you will undress like the common whore you are, or I will shoot you where you stand…. you were altogether glad to see me in your bed when it suited, so lets see the measure of you now…"

she begins to shed her garments

“Not so brave today at threatening me with the life of the one I have chosen…!”

she stands naked in front of me

“well… I see if you were a weapon about you I’d have to fuck you to find it which I have the least desire to do…go on...follow the boy up the stairs.”

I close the door and lock it behind us

I allow her to dress…

“ we need to settle this what do you want?”

“I want nothing from you…the Captain will always be mine. Look how she found her way to the London…to me… when she thought you were dead…”

“ it was only the thought I might be dead that would make her touch you..”

“ You are nothing…just some deck rat fucking anything that moves as long as it is covered in salt..”

“I am free… no court has me tethered like a goat to their whim my allegiance is to the sea and to those who would love me as I am…thanks to you the captain is free to….the Portuguese think me dead…you have nothing to gain from this bottomless jealousy…”

“I made a witness of the guards and the cabin girl….that night …and claimed the reward for your capture… I bought the finest French bed to do nothing but fuck in and when The Captain tires of you…and? She will… I’ll be there in that bed, waiting and when my nipples are in her mouth she’ll forget the arms of a common reader…”

I stepped toward her and brought her close by the forearm

“Lady calico…tonight the only thing tiring the captain will be that delicious sleep from love…when we are spent from having her two fingers inside me for an hour and my lips at her cunt, it is you who will be the distant memory….and I’ll see to it…”

I drive my kirpan in between her ribs to the hilt the blade stopping her heart with a slice… 

releasing her from its grip, I drag her to the bed and cover her

I wipe and sheath my knife

Unlocking the door I take one last look I go down into the tavern and pay for some rum I warn the room boy to allow the good lady sleep… they know lady Calico’s reputation for temper and have no truck with a flying cup this night and agree they’ll not bother her till morning on my coin…I pay them handsomely and take my leave…

Having had you question me and set your mind at rest with sucking at you playfully you move to taste me and forget our argument your mouth is hot against my clit and your lips circle my wet and open cunt.

My calls of pleasure make you tongue-fuck me fast and hard, but I want you inside me so take your wrist and plunge two of your fingers into me in cries of delight…I whisper for you to fuck me harder…and as I come…I ask that you stay within me a little longer…I kiss you deeply, and I plan to stay like this for the rest of the night….

     Rome. 2016, March. Hadn't seen him since the '90s. Drunk on being away from the States, drunk on red and white wine, and a stomach gorged with in-house pasta, bread, and anything else I could get my hands on. Alley, restaurant. Trevi fountain checked off. Young Italian girls waving Americans in to their restaurants. A brothel feel. I want to go into the story about the two Italians fighting over the check. The owner and a drunk patron. I want to go into the gelato after, the air of Rome, the bricks of the alleys. But I can't. Rare to see this profile written in first person, but this is different. Like Rome is different. Lost there. Must gaze upon the Pantheon during the first rays of moonlight. 

Lost there. Around a blind corner I nearly walked into Cornell. The man was tall. I'm 6'1 and he loomed over me. We glanced at each other, I registered the situation, and kept moving. GPS called me a moron in code, so I followed Cornell and his wife, and their little girl. I wasn't listening but I was. He was telling his girl about how life is in Italy. I heard, "In Italy..." then the crowd around us absorbed the rest. A few people took fast second looks, and then went back to their tables, their drinks, their own trips and lives.

     In Rome no one cares who you are. 

     Quite a beautiful feeling.    

     Rome is different.

    Crossing back toward where I had to go. Losing light. The Sun becoming the Moon, and I'm standing there then, staring at the street that I would cross to my hotel, to give up, but I'm feeling too fine, and I'm in Rome. I'm in fucking ROME. Not to sound incredulous. I put my phone to my ear to hear the directions, looked down the street. Cornell. Giving me a skeptical but not-so-sure stare, a sideways check. It would appear I was following them, but I wasn't. It didn't bother me. I laughed ahead. Rome is different. He disappeared down the street with his family, and I realized I'd been going the right way the whole time. Turned back, walked and thought about it. I could have had a conversation with him, I could have dropped one name. His parents lived next door to my friend's parents here in West Seattle. He'd skated with Cornell, and once told me he and his parents would watch Cornell mowing his parents' lawn from upstairs, even after Soundgarden took off. We could have had a conversation away from the music, the words, just two dudes from here laughing about the suddenness of meeting in Rome with such far-reaching connections to the past. What stopped me from shaking his hand? I would like to fall back on ego, but it was only ego in the sense that I didn't want to be a fan, a number, even with a rare connection. 

     But the truth is I am a fan. And though I don't believe in regretting something you've already done, I should have shaken his hand. I didn't have to tell him that his lyrics were brilliant, his voice one of the most distinctive in all remembered time, or any of that bullshit people like him, the few of them, hear and have to deflect or appropriate when they're out in the world. I also simply didn't want to interrupt him or his family while they walked in peace as the Moon rose over Rome. 

     I found the Pantheon, young moonlight. Breath stolen. 

     This morning I awoke to a text from my buddy, Dave. Four words and an abbreviation: Dude, Chris Cornell died. WTF?

     Tap google. 52. Suspected suicide. No matter, he's gone. They all go, they don't live long enough to see themselves shine like the rest see them. And they don't care. Sitting here now, blasting Louder Than Love, and sending my best thoughts to his family. 

     Bukowski once said in a letter, "Death isn't a problem for the deceased, it's a problem for the living." Or something like that. Looking back on the dead artists of the last few years, Cornell hits pretty hard. 52 years old.

     Much love to his people. Hands All Over just started. I need more coffee, and to kiss my dogs. 

     Outside it's grey and bright and warm.