Monday, 23 April 2012

Shakespearean Flash - 'An Offer To Refuse' By Charlotte Donnelly

The summons spilled across the worktop in a mess of blood and entrails. She stared at it for a moment and then reached out for a drink, bypassing the rapidly cooling tea and reaching for something stronger. The message was clear; yet another job, yet another prophecy designed to trick some poor fool.

She swallowed the whisky and winced at the burn, remembering their first job - all those centuries before. The look of defeat on his face when he'd worked it all out! At the time, cruel warmth had curled around her heart. Now, she simply sighed and put her glass down on the counter.

Another glass and the warmth began to ease her bones. Why they couldn't just call was beyond her. They were still stuck in the past - with the smoke, the chanting, the whole get-up… She squinted and tilted her head, staring at what had once been her goat. There was change there. There was the possibility of a nice life.

She nodded decisively to herself and stood, sweeping the entrails into the trash as she set to carving up the goat. The deck would be consulted later and no doubt they'd come looking for her, but she'd be ready.

A glance at the fire had it roaring, the noise competing with the thunder overhead. So much for meeting in the rain! She laughed to herself, the witch, putting the meat in the freezer and washing her hands, clearing the side. A fresh cup of tea was made and she sipped it delicately.

The knock came at the door. One-two-three. She finished her tea, put down the cup and walked over to it, opening the door wide. The two witches glared at her from under bedraggled, rain-soaked hats.

She smiled. "Fancy a cuppa?"

The first, who had been about to open her mouth, stopped. They glanced at each other, almost uncertain.

"Uh, alright," the other said quietly.

She let them in and they sat in the warm kitchen, catching up on what they had been doing in the interim. The prophecy could wait forever. It couldn't be that important.

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