It is with a heavy heart we announce that for the foreseeable future, the Cafe will not be producing new content. We are putting chairs on top of tables, shutting down the espresso machine, and turning off the lights.

That said, the benefit of the Cafe being a virtual space is that the stories we’ve written will continue to live on, here. Please stop by any time and catch up on stories you may have missed or revisit stories that you loved.

And maybe someday, the stars will align, and we’ll return to this place of pure imagination.

Thank you so much for visiting us, and for all of your support over the years. Take care, and never stop dreaming.

-The Confabulators

Behind her, heavy footsteps sounded. Lotus had to make a choice. The harp was too heavy for her to carry. But her father had been a pragmatic man and he’d raised a pragmatic daughter. Lotus slipped away and climbed down the beanstalk to the world of flowers below the world of clouds.

#

Plant beans. And do not mourn me. They were the only two commands her father ever gave Lotus and they came only a few days before he died. She was never able to follow either command. Because, as it turns out, in the real world we don’t get to choose who and how we mourn. It just happens, and Lotus found that it happened to her quite a bit.

Beans were out of fashion during the season. The great lords who owned the land beneath their feet, the king and the princes, descendants of the captain of the ship that bore them to this place, were flower mad. Every inch of the greenhouse where Lotus lived and worked had to be used for flowers. Carnations, marigolds, roses. Even their food had to taste of flowers now, hiding the useful plants, the food and the hemp and the fruit trees, where no visitor might stumble upon them.

Lotus had no land of her own to grow food plants. She ate dandelion greens and drank dandelion wine and pruned the pansies for her lord’s table. She was hungry more often than not and if she had any beans she would have eaten them before she planted them. What did her father understand of hunger all those years ago when he held her to that stupid promise?

#

She crept up the beanstalk as often as she could to visit her father’s face. Sometimes, he had been put on a high shelf that she couldn’t reach. On those days, she sat beneath him and pretended she was a small child listening to his stories. Being pragmatic didn’t mean that she was unimaginative. Other days, he sat on the floor beside the giant’s chair and she could study his face and touch his carved hair. There were lines on his face that she didn’t remember as a girl. Wrinkles and worry lines that she hadn’t kept in her mind’s eye.

Sometimes she cried when she looked at him and sometimes she didn’t, because grief is weird.

There was a giant who lived in the clouds. Lotus didn’t understand how any giant’s hand could have carved detail this fine. She preferred not to meet the giant to ask him, though, and she would climb back down the beanstalk as soon as she heard his footsteps.

#

The beanstalk rose out of the extra compost heap behind the gardener’s shed. At first, Lotus thought she must have been imagining it. She was just a gardener’s assistant, but she was quite certain that beanstalks only grew if there were beans to grow them, and they certainly hadn’t had any beans on this land in months. But others noticed it too. They watched it, cultivated it, fertilized it, certain that it would grow more food for them. While the lord ate flowers and fancy bits, the servants were ready to dine on beans. When the stalk was too big for Lotus to wrap both her hands around it, one young hallboy suggested the roast the stalk and eat it without waiting for the beans. Lotus was set to sleep in the compost heap to guard it at night. She didn’t mind. It was warm, at least.

And of course it was Lotus, the youngest of the gardening assistants, sent to climb the length of it to look for beans once it was too tall to see the tip anymore. On that day, Lotus began to live two lives. One visiting her father in the clouds, away from the cares of the world. And one on the ground amidst the muck.

#

The greatest fear is the fear of the unknown. A fever swept the land. People started to die – a lot of people started to die – and Lotus had to make a simple choice. Did she want to live on the ground, growing crops that could hardly feed them with a sickness consuming everyone she knew? Or did she want to live in the clouds, with her father and the giant?

She had no possessions to pack. Nothing on this world was hers except the food in her stomach. Even the little patch of compost that she slept beside didn’t belong to her. She knew her way up the beanstalk even in the pitch darkness by now. The rattling lungs of her fellow gardeners fell away as she climbed. The heavy feeling of fluid in her own lungs died away and her breathing grew easy as she climbed. The voices of those around her told her to hang on and she appreciated their confidence in her as she climbed. But even the voices and the cool touch of a rag on her forehead fell away.

There was a giant up there, but she could avoid him easily enough. Her father was waiting for her.

But the show was already sold out and scalpers were already skyrocketing prices, if it was known this was going to be our last concert, we worried that more people would be likely to get taken advantage of.

And it’s not like we’d known in advance that we were for sure never going to perform again. It had always been a hypothetical one day with encroaching certainty that it would be this tour. But if we announced it, then we couldn’t ever come back from it.

So we said nothing leading up to the show. We performed that night as if it were the last concert of our tour, not the last one of our lives. And if we cried a little bit more than usual? If we came back for encore after encore long after we usually would have stopped? Well, no one in the band faulted us. And we let the crowd believe it was because we wouldn’t be performing for a while.

But things had to end and mom was there to remind us it was past our bedtime and shut the show down. We bid the audience a final, tearful goodbye. Our last farewell as Kate and Tate.

And then the world didn’t hear from us again.

No, that’s not right.

We weren’t going to ghost our fans.

But summer break was almost over and there were reading assignments and back to school shopping and no time to even so much of think of a way to say goodbye.

Goodbyes are hard.

Especially when they aren’t something you’re wanting to give.

I didn’t want to go.

I didn’t want my dream to end.

And so when the leaves started to turn and melancholy began to fill the air, we drafted an email and hit send before we could think better of it. Then mom hollered at us that we were going to be late and we were off, missing the quiet chime of a response.

Four weeks later, under the pretense of meeting up with our best friend, we met our makeup artist and costume designer one final time.
“You couldn’t have chosen a closer show?”

I leaned against the window of the car, staring out at the brittle brown of dead leaves and grass as we passed. “Not really, no. Anything closer and mom would have found out about it, would have found a way to keep us from going.”

It was weird, stepping into the role of Kate and Tate once more. At one point being Kate felt as natural as drawing in a breath and when I let it out I was back to Natalie. But that was… before. Before Tate stopped being Tate. If being Kate was weird for me, being Tate had to be weirder for my twin, but she’d said that it wouldn’t feel right to trade places for our final farewell.

The lights on set were glaringly bright, I’d forgotten how bright they could be. I paused to blink a few times, trying to remember to keep the smile plastered to my lips even as the wig weighed me down. Grounded me. Othered me. Reminded me of who I no longer was.

“Hello Jenny,” I greeted the host, letting her pull me in for quick air kisses. At my side, Tate woodenly accepted a hug. Tate was a hugger, but my sister wasn’t, not anymore. We should have swapped places, I should have insisted. I didn’t mind being a boy for a day.

“Kate, I was so surprised when you reached out, wanting to be on the show. It’s like you read my Christmas list.”

I tossed the long blue hair of my wig over my shoulder as I laughed. “But were you on the naughty list this year, or the nice one?”

“Well, you’re here aren’t you? The nice list, obviously!”

I wondered if she would think that after the show was over.

We all sat down and I fell into the easy pattern of curling against my twin’s side, my feet tucked up on the couch beside me.

“So,” she said after we were all settled, “you said you had an announcement you were wanting to make on air, do I get to break the news of your next album?”

“Cutting right to the chase, huh?” I shifted awkwardly on the couch. “It’s not an album announcement, I’m afraid.”

“Special Christmas performance?”

Tate bit her lip and shook her head. “You know how every time we come on stage we always say that Kate and Tate are Great?”

“Well, you are!” Jenny cut in. “I’ve never had so many people clamoring for tickets to a live recording before.”

“That’s the thing, though.” I said. “Kate and Tate were Great.”

Her smile faltered and she tilted her head slightly to the side, glancing over at the audience in what I could only assume was panic. “I’m not quite sure I understand.” She forced out an awkward, stilted laugh as if she were sharing a joke with us. Except she wasn’t, because if there was a joke at play it was one we weren’t a part of.

“Kate and Tate? We were great. It was an amazing journey, getting to embrace my dreams, getting to be a star. Getting to be great. Meeting so many amazing people.”

“But it was just a dream. I’m not Tate.” My sister said. “Maybe for a while I let myself believe that was who I was, that Tate was who I could be if I just tried hard enough. That I could be the perfect son if I just gave up on everything that made my heart soar.”

“But it’s exhausting to be someone you’re not.” I said.

Jenny looked like a gasping fish, her mouth open and bobbing as she tried to come up with the right words, with any words.

“Mom wanted us to say we were quitting because of school,” I turned to look out into the mirror still audience. “To say that middle school was hard and there wasn’t time for music and performing now, but maybe some day we would be able to come back.”

“Maybe she was right, let you down gently, give you hope that we’d be back. That maybe one day we would release a new album.”

“But, you deserve better than that. Every single fan deserves better than that. Deserves better than a lie piled on top of a lie. Because here’s the thing.”

“We’re not quitting because of school.”

“Or because we don’t want to sing any longer.”

“Or because of whatever reason you’re trying to come up with, convinced we’ll actually be coming back to sing in a year or two.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Kate and Tate?”

“They don’t exist any longer.”

“This is all so sudden,” Jenny finally cut in, high pitched and breathy. Moments away from a panic attack. “So, if you’re not Kate and Tate, who are you?”

“Mae,” I said, taking my sister’s hand.

“And Rae,” she said.

It wasn’t quite right, not really. I wasn’t just Mae and my sister wasn’t just Rae. We were so much more than that. That part was private.
I reached up and slid off my blue wig and soft lavender curls spilled free, framing my face. Another wig. Beside me Rae pulled her wig off and a soft fall of rose gold spilled about her shoulders.

“So you see, we can’t go back.”

Jenny did that awkward laugh again which was clearly an attempt to regain control of the show. “So, Kate and Tate were Great, but what are Mae and Rae?”

“Sisters,” I said at the same time Rae said, “Ourselves.”

The audience screams deafened those answers though. As it turns out? Mae and Rae are Bae.

“Well, there you have it,” Jenny smiled. “So, when will Mae and Rae’s first concert be?”

“That’s the thing,” I said. “Mae and Rae—”

“—don’t sing,” Rae finished for me. “We don’t know what we’ll do yet. But we have our whole lives ahead of us to figure it out.”

“So, have you always known that you weren’t going to tour any longer?”

“In a way,” I answered. “We’re twelve, I don’t think anyone expected us to last as long as we did. But it was this most recent tour that made us really come to terms with the idea that it would be our last.”

“Lying is hard,” Rae said. “None of our friends back at school know who we are or what we got up to every summer.”

“And at some point we were going to slip up and they were going to find out and then we would have to find a way to apologize.”

“Do you think they’ll figure it out now that you’re not performing any longer?”

“Maybe. Hopefully not before Christmas, though.”

“What’s happening at Christmas?”

“They’re getting a present, the last song we recorded.”

“You’re not releasing it for the world to hear?” Jenny asked, disappointment barely concealed.

“Don’t worry, we won’t keep it from you forever. It’s just… they deserve to be first, you know?”

“Because we wrote it for them. An apology, an explanation.”

A final farewell and a wish for the future, that no matter how many times we said goodbye, no matter how much we changed, the future was ahead of us all.

And the future was bright.

Unknown.

Terrifying.

But full of possibilities.

Above all? The future was ours.

Our prompt for this month is “goodbyes.” We bid this year, and all of you, a fond farewell.

Here’s the schedule for December.
Monday, December 16: “Kate and Tate Were Great” by Eliza Jaquays
Monday, December 30: “Of Fathers, Ghosts, and Beans” by Dianne Williams

“Come away from that door, child. There’s only black magic that way.”

My eyes flew opened, and I had to blink away the image of the door from my sight.

I looked around the tower, but the Hags weren’t paying me any attention. I’d thought one of them had spoken, but if they had, it hadn’t been vocally.

I wiped drool from my chin as I sat up, struggling off the beanbag chair I’d fallen asleep in. My leg was asleep, though, so I rolled over onto my back, sprawling out on the plush rug that covered the lounge area of the Hags’ tower.

“Rachel, what on earth are you doing over there?” Sorita asked with a scowl, sprinkling a pinch of dried herbs onto a glowing disc of charcoal. The pleasantly spicy scent of frankincense mingled with the cooling scent of copal as smoke danced up to the ceiling and out the chimney.

“Sleeping through her lessons again,” Marian said, sniffing primly as she tied knots into a length of rope, yanking them harder than necessary.

“Any naughty dreams you want to share with us?” Althea asked as she stirred the small cauldron. She gave me a wink when she glanced my way, but there was a tightness in the set of her mouth.

“Thea!” Marian said, shocked.

“Really,” Sorita grumbled.

I forced myself to grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Of course I want to know. What other action do you think us old biddies see?”

I rolled to my feet to avoid her gaze. Had she honed in on my dream, or was it only a stab in the dark? I sauntered over to her side and peeked into the cauldron. The larger cauldron was for magic workings, but the fire beneath it was cold, the cauldron itself empty. The small cauldron she was stirring was for dinner.

“Boiled cabbage again?” I groaned.

Sorita dug through her herb draw without looking up. “It’s good for you.”

“Puts hair on your chest,” Althea added. She took a sip from the big wooden spoon and grimaced. “Needs more salt. Maybe some bacon.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m going out for a burger and fries.” I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door.

“Be back before midnight!” Marian warned.

“Never know what the weirdos will get up to on a dark moon.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Believe me, I’m aware.”

“Grab me some bacon from the butcher while you’re out,” Althea said.

I sighed. “Anything else?”

All three Hags started talking at once, so I darted out the door. I hated it when they treated me like their errand girl rather than the apprentice that I was.

Still, I was thankful for a reason to duck out. The apex of the dark moon was only hours away, and I had things to do that relied on it.

***

A few months ago, I’d found out that my mother, who had died was I was a little girl, had been the victim of a curse. At first I’d been devastated. Why would someone want my mother dead? Devastation turned to fury. How dare someone want my mother dead! I was still angry, but the anger had been banked down to a smoldering ember on the back burner of the stove of my life. The Hags kept me busy with my studies—and no small amount of errand running—so my sharply cutting fury had faded into resolute determination to find answers. Who wanted my mother dead? What sort of curse was it? Could it have been prevented? Could it be reversed?

Of course I knew her death couldn’t be reversed. That’d be silly. She’d been dead for over a decade, and at this point, her body was dust and I was certain her soul had moved on.

No, it was more personal than that. The oracle who had told me my mom had been cursed had given me a warning: the curse was coming for me, as well. So if I didn’t figure out if I could break the curse, I’d likely drop dead at a young age, just like my mother.

The Hags hadn’t ever asked how I’d found out about the curse—only Althea had ever asked what I knew about it at all—and, in fact, deftly avoided all conversation about it. But after I’d gotten back from the oracle, my training had shifted. Gone were the fluffy rituals and quiet meditation. They’d dropped a ton of books on me—magical theory and practice, communing with nature and the ancestors, protective charms and dream warding, and an entire encyclopedic collection on herbs and their uses, both medicinal and magical. They quizzed me weekly, both orally and practically.

I failed miserably, most weeks, but, as much as I hated to admit it, I learned from my failures better than my successes. A lesson Althea had hit me over the head with more than once.

And yet, any time I brought up curses, they sidestepped me. I couldn’t even ask a generalized question about curses without the stink-eye.

Marian would sniff and adjust her skirts, as if stepping around something distasteful. “Curses are below us. There’s nothing useful to learn about them except to avoid them.”

“Curses are black magic. We don’t practice black magic, nor do we teach it,” Sorita would say sharply, wrapping the back of my knuckles with wooden spoons.

“Who me? I don’t know anything about curses,” Althea would say, twinkle in her eye. Although one day, she muttered under her breath so the others couldn’t hear, “it’s a death curse, girl. Playing with it can trigger it, so don’t go messing around with it. We’re looking into it, and you should let us be the ones to do that. It’s safer for everyone, that way.”

That in itself was enough to keep me satisfied for about six weeks. But whenever I tried to bring it up again, she pretended she didn’t know what I was talking about or laughed it off.

So, I was done waiting for some magical solution from my well-intentioned but clearly not entirely capable mentors. How much could they find out from the safety of their tower, anyway?

Since they’d given me zero answers about death curses, I was going to find someone who would. I was done playing it safe. Not that my trip to the last oracle had been particularly safe, but it was time to up the ante a bit. There were all kinds of oracles in the world, and the one behind that black door with the silver accents in my dreams had the answers I needed.

I hesitated in the vestibule between the tower and the real world. A bit of magic lived there, this gateway between things, so it changed scenery now and then. Tonight, the tower itself was a real stone tower, like something from Rapunzel. The sky was dark, and the sliver of a moon shone overhead. The ground was actual dirt and grass. It felt more open than it ever had, almost like I was in a real place. The exit door looked uncomfortably similar to the black door from my dreams. I ran my hands along my arms in an attempt to flatten my goosebumps.

At the door, I pulled out my skeleton key. It glowed uneasily as I held it up to unlock the door. They key had been my call to training when it first showed up on my keyring, and since then, it had been like a friend. It was always there, keeping me company (or in this case, letting me know how it felt about my current reckless plans). It got me into the Hags’ tower and let me out anywhere I wished when I left.

Well, almost anywhere.

I stepped out into my own neighborhood and caught the night bus to the park. Zipping up my jacket against the chill, I hoofed it to the center of the park, where a good-sized pond glittered in the fading light.

Oracles liked their puzzles and protections, and this one was no exception. I peered into the pond, waiting for the breeze to calm so the water would still. There, in the reflection, it showed a third-quarter moon. I pulled out a handful of change and poked through it until I found a quarter. I was glad it wasn’t a full moon. The silver dollar I had with me had been in my stocking from my dad one Christmas. Taking the coin that matched the moon phase, I held it over the pond, over the shimmering reflection. Light glinted off the coin, and it got so hot I had to drop it. When it hit the water, there was a sizzle, and a moment later, a gargling sound. Something emerged from the depths and broke the surface.

The clues I’d found about how to reach the black door had been very specific for this first part but rather unclear after that. I’d have to see what the waters puked up for me to know what came next.

I hesitated only a moment before snatching it out of the water.

It was a little treasure box about the size of my palm with the tiniest little padlock through its latch. I shook it, but there was no sound. I pulled at the padlock with my finger and thumb, but it didn’t budge. Locked tight. I flipped it over and shone a pen light into the hole. Tiny. Too tiny for my skeleton key. It was needle-sized. Aha. I pulled out my pocketknife—always be prepared and all that—and popped out the needle attachment.

It slid into the lock, but nothing happened. Of course it wasn’t that easy. I examined the lock again, moving the needle around inside. There didn’t seem to be any pins in the lock itself, so there wasn’t a specific key that fit it. I took another look at the box itself and was slightly unnerved when I realized it was in the shape of a skull. The padlock was in the center of the mouth, and the mouth contained two pointed, exaggerated incisors. Vampire?

Probably a vampire. And what did vampires like? I sighed and used the needle to prick my finger, flinching only a little. Once I was sure there was blood on it, I stuck it back into the lock, and sure enough, it popped open.

I wiped the needle on my jeans and put it back in its spot, slipping the knife back into my pocket. I only hesitated a moment before removing the padlock and opening the lid.

Inside was a rolled-up piece of paper. I took the paper out and set the box on the ground to unroll it. There was a sucking sound, and the box sunk into the mud at the side of the pond.

“Good riddance, creepy vampire box.”

Shaking my head, I unfurled the paper. It was a picture of a tombstone, although reversed, like a mirror image. Great. Vampires and graveyards. This dark moon stuff was starting to seem like an moody teenager. Except, looking more closely at the image, I went still. A moody teenager wouldn’t have been able to get a photo of my mom’s tombstone in this little box. Even reversed, I recognized it.

I jerked my head up and looked around. Had someone known I had been coming? I crouched on the muddy ground next to the pond as still as I could, barely daring to breathe, listening with my ears and my witchy senses, but there was nobody there. If this was a sick joke, nobody had bothered to stick around for the punchline.

“What’s this even supposed to mean?” I grumbled to nobody in particular. I didn’t know, but I could guess. Mom’s grave was at the edge of town. My next clue was probably there.

I made my way back to the bus stop and waited, shivering. From the cold, not from the creepy feeling that had settled in my stomach. I hadn’t expected this to get personal.

The bus was warm, and I resisted the urge to blow the whole thing off. I could get off on the next stop and go back to my apartment. Or I could hop off on the next stop and catch a bus going the other way, go back to the Hags. Both would be admitting defeat. But the truth was, as much as I wanted answers, this had hit me harder than I liked.

Trouble was, even though the Hags had encouraged me to leave the curse alone, I couldn’t. I hated knowing that there was some death curse hovering over me with no idea how to fight it, what might trigger it, or even how much time I had left. I liked my life. I didn’t want to drop dead anytime soon. And as much as the Hags insisted they had things under control, I hadn’t seen any evidence they were doing a thing, aside from Althea telling me they were working on it.

Not that Althea had any reason to lie. But if there was something I could do to save myself, I had to find out. And I might not get another shot at this oracle, now that I had completed the first step. Of course there were others, but they were definitely black magic. A little blood magic seemed tame in comparison.

So I stayed on the bus until the last stop, stepping off across the street from the graveyard. I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, darted across the street, and slipped through the bars of the closed gate.

I hadn’t been to visit Mom in awhile, not since I’d realized she wasn’t really there. We’d had her cremated and buried her ashes after Dad, Grandma, and I each took a small vial of them to keep. But that had been her earthly vessel. When I joined the Hags, they confirmed what I’d already suspected. We don’t stick around our bodies once we die. There are too many things to do, once we’re on the next plane, to hang around in a graveyard waiting for your daughter to visit you.

I made my way through the cemetery until I got to her grave. I did a full circle around it, but nothing immediately presented itself as to what I should do next. I sat crosslegged in front of her tombstone, then pulled the photo back out and looked from it to the tombstone. Now what?

I tried the trick from the pond, where I held the photograph out so that it reflected the tombstone. Nothing. Of course not. I looked at the photo again, shining my penlight on it. Inspecting it more closely, I noticed a blemish in the lower righthand corner. I squinted, putting it up close to my face. Pursing my lips, I looked from the image to the stone. The stone in the picture had a thumbprint in the corner. It didn’t look like ink. I took a wild guess and got my needle back out. I wished I had some rubbing alcohol or hydrogen peroxide. I didn’t want to die of some stupid infection in my quest to figure out how to avoid dropping dead.

I shoved the needle into a different finger, jabbing a little deeper. I sucked in a breath at the burst of pain, and the blood began to well up. I squeezed it to make the blood drop bigger, then lathered up my thumb. I took another look at the picture, squinted one eye shut as I lined it up on the tombstone, then pressed my bloody thumb against it, right in the corner under where it said “beloved mother.”

“Sorry, Mom.” I held up the photo so that it was a mirror image of Mom’s grave.

There was a tug, then the feeling of slippery magic in the air, and the sound of stone grating against stone. I tilted my head, listening, but there weren’t any other sounds. There didn’t appear to be anything else out of the ordinary, either. I stood and brushed off the seat of my pants. This should be the last puzzle to get to the door. I just had to be smart about it. I checked the time. I was cutting it close. I didn’t have a ton of time to figure out an elaborate puzzle. I walked around the grave and stopped short.

On the back side of the tombstone was a mirror. I crouched down and peeked into it, looking for my next hint, but I stumbled back, landing on my butt.

A horrifying face had been looking back at me. I blinked at the face blinking back at me. I raised a hand, and the hand in the mirror came up, as well. It was me, sort of, but a me that looked like I had been a meth addict my whole life. The skin was yellow and papery, sagging on the bones. The face was worse, eyes sunken so far into the head that it looked skeletal, gums receded so far that teeth looked like fangs. My terrified expression didn’t show on hers. Instead, she looked smug and hungry. I scooted back, and so did she. There was a dark glint in her eyes I didn’t like. Anticipation.

Mirrors were gateways, and this was probably a portal to get to the black door. But was there some sort of puzzle here? Or did I have to give myself over to this horrific creature?

I got back up on my knees and inched forward, and so did she, the longing clear in her posture. I reached forward, and so did she, clawed hands extending toward me. I flinched, pulling back, and disappointment flashed in my mirror image’s face.

I took a steadying breath. This would be easier if it was a puzzle. I desperately wanted there to be one. But in this case, it was probably a test of courage rather than a puzzle. I had to face this mirror me to step through. And maybe it was less bravery than acceptance. We all have our shadow selves, after all. Maybe it was time to embrace mine.

I swallowed hard and inched forward again. I gave mirror me a little wave. “Hey there. Are you going to help me through?”

As I spoke, her words echoed me, changing what I said ever so slightly. Rather than a question, it was an answer. “I’m going to help you through.”

I nodded, and so did she. All right then. I reached toward her and placed my palm against the mirror, against hers. While I imagined my expression was probably resigned terror, hers was desperate greed.

But nothing happened. Crap. What was I missing? I chewed my lip in consternation, and she bit hers in anticipation. Her sharp teeth pierced her lip, and blood welled up.

Blood. Of course. It had all been blood, so far. With a sigh, I pulled out my knife again. She had one, too, and her expression was filled with desire. I swallowed again and swiped the knife across my palm.

“Son of a…” I gritted my teeth and cradled my hand. This set of trials officially sucked. Pursing my lips, I reached out again, hesitating only a moment before meeting my shadow self’s palm in the mirror. Sheer bliss crossed her face as her clammy palm pressed against mine.

The world went sideways a moment, and all the breath whooshed out of my lungs. I pressed my eyes shut as everything spun, and when I opened them again, I was curled up in fetal position, holding my sliced hand to my chest. The world around me was dark, lit by flickering firelight.

I pushed myself to my knees and looked around. I was in a clearing, and before me stood the ebony door, radiating darkness, sucking the light out of everything around it.

I’d done it. I was here.

I stood and made my way to the door, taking deep, calming breaths. Just being near it made my heart beat faster, my lungs feel too small. As I stood in front of it, I started to doubt the wisdom of this endeavor. Maybe the Hags were right. Maybe digging into the curse, invoking dark magic to do it, was a bad idea.

I licked my lips and checked the time. My cell phone screen was blank, so no help there. I craned my neck back and looked above me. Without knowing how I knew, I knew it was time.

I pulled the bone key from my pocket.

When Mom had died and her ashes had been divvied up between us, I’d been morbidly fascinated. They weren’t like any ashes I’d ever seen before. The texture was wrong. And there were big chunks in it. As I sifted through them, I’d found a chunk and pulled it out. I’d almost vomited when I realized what it was. A piece of Mom’s bone. Without knowing why, I’d put it in my vial of ashes. I’d kept it in there ever since, both squicked out but also happy that I had a more tangible piece of Mom than just what they’d burned.

I didn’t know what bone it was. Could have been a finger or toe, or it could have been a piece of bone from something bigger. Regardless, when I’d learned I needed a key carved from bone for this oracle, I’d immediately thought of Mom. Of course, technically, it wanted it to be a key carved from your own bone. But Mom’s bone was part of me, right? Or rather, I was part of Mom. My body had come from hers.

I’d taken great care to carve and polish the bone to the specifications. Gently and lovingly. Probably more lovingly than I would have my own bone.

I still wasn’t sure it would work, but I had to try. And if it didn’t work, well, then, I could try other oracles.

But it would work. It had to.

I stepped forward and put the key into the silver lock. I turned it, and it dissolved into the door. I held my breath for a few beats, but nothing happened. I looked around the clearing, but nothing had changed. I reached forward and tried the door, but it didn’t budge.

“Well, shit.” So much for that. It had probably been a long shot. I took one last look at the door and shrugged, fighting back my disappointment, my loss. The first oracle, I’d given up the coin Mom had been about to toss into a wishing fountain at the mall right before she died. This oracle, I’d lost her bone I’d been carrying for nearly as long. I didn’t necessarily need the physical reminders of her, but it hurt every time I lost one. The first oracle had been worth it. This…well, at least I hadn’t lost my own finger.

I turned to go, hoping that getting back through the portal was simpler than it had been to get here, when a cold, clammy breeze started tugging at my clothes and hair. I hesitated and glanced over my shoulder at the door. Still shut tight, but something had changed. It had grown blurry. Dark mist, I realized. That dark mist reached out for me, and I stumbled back.

Too slow. It darted forward and coalesced around me, becoming tangible, preventing me from moving.

“Its musssnt leave ssso fassst,” a voice rasped, coming from all around me.

Uh oh. I swallowed hard as I steeled my nerve, calling a quick protection charm to me. I gasped and cried out as the cold mist sliced through my charm and seemed to cut the very essence of me.

“Its wantsss to asssk a question, yesss? But its hasssn’t paid the price.”

I licked my lips, but my mouth was dry, so it only managed to make my mouth sticky. “Oh, that’s all right. I, um, don’t need any answers, after all.”

The mist grew even colder around me, and I couldn’t help but shudder.

“Its paid usss a falssse price. Mussst make it right. Mussst pay for wasting our timessss.”

Even though I knew it was pointless, I struggled, trying to get free of the tightening coils of black mist. I couldn’t even see the portal anymore.

“Look, I’m really sorry about the key. It was my mother’s bone. I figured it was basically the same thing. Feel free to keep it for your trouble.”

There was the sound of hideous, hissing laughter, and my heart fell into my stomach. I tried to summon a light charm, pulling something to banish this darkness, but my spell fizzled.

“We thinksss it will give usss what we asssked for, yess?”

The dark mist yanked me down, and I landed hard on my knees. They pulled my arm away from my body, stretching my hand across a slab of stone. A cleaver appeared out of nowhere, and the mist stretched my pinkie finger away from the rest of my hand.

I groaned. “Surely there’s something else I can do to make up for this?”

“It issss the price.”

I swallowed and pressed my eyes closed. “Fine. Whatever. Just do it.” I could live without a finger. As long as I got out of there with my life. I pulled on the collective and begged for a numbing of pain, and for quick healing, but before I’d even finished my request, the cleaver came down and severed my pinkie finger.

I screamed.

I didn’t look. I swallowed back bile, and sent healing energies to the fire that throbbed in my now missing extremity. After several deep breaths, and lots of convincing myself I wasn’t going to cry–not here, not now–I finally found my voice.

“All right, then. I paid my price. Do I get some answers to my questions, now?”

The laughter was back, and I went lightheaded. They weren’t done with me yet.

“We thinks it might want more parts separated from its body, yes?”

“No! No. Forget I asked. Just let me go.” I managed to keep the wobble from my voice, but it still sounded like a pathetic whine.

“Too late. We will take. And take and take. Must learn a lesssson, yes? Must learn to pay for what its asssks.”

I forced myself to struggle, trying to pull my arm free, but the black mist was like a vice. The cleaver came up, and as much as I wanted to scream, it took all my focus not to black out. The Hags were right. I had gone looking for information on how to stop the death curse, and instead, I’d activated it. There was no way I’d live through another amputation.

I sent one last burst of energy out from me, and the cleaver hesitated, but only for an instant. As it swung down again, I braced for the end. I couldn’t even scream.

“That is quite enough of that,” Althea’s voice rang across the clearing.

The cleaver was flung out of the mist, and the mist loosened its hold on me.

“Be gone, witchesss. Thisss one is oursss. She failed to pay the price.”

“And for that, you took her mother’s bone. Without answers, she owes you nothing more than that. More than that is just plain greed. Return her finger and be gone, yourself.”

“You will not ssstop us. It is payment due!”

The cleaver was back, and flinging toward Althea. I think I did scream, then, but she batted it away like it was a fly.

“Witch!” the mist shrieked, a thousand voices in one. Blackness engulfed the white-robed woman standing before me. She slumped under its weight for only a moment before it was flung back again.

“Back, vile creatures!” Sorita shrieked as she appeared next to Althea.

“You have no power over us!” Marian said with booming authority.

How? How where they there? The Hags, who never left their tower? How where they there, saving me?

Wind whistled in my ears as light fought against the darkness. But the darkness was no match for the Hags, and it gave up almost before it began, fading away, back into the ebony door.

“Ssssss! Thisss sssad child issssn’t worth it. Keep her cursssed bonesss. They’re no use to usss.”

The black mist’s hissing faded away at the same time as my consciousness.

***

I woke up back in the Tower. Sorita and Marian were shuffling around, doing their normal things. Sorita was smoke cleansing and Marian was making something in the food cauldron. It smelled like bacon.

Althea, though, was sitting next to me, holding my heavily bandaged hand. It smelled of pungent healing herbs. My eyes went from our hands to her face. The depth of her concern, there, made it hard for me to speak for a moment.

“I didn’t think you guys ever left the tower,” I managed after a beat.

Althea snorted. “Just because you never see us leave doesn’t mean we don’t.”

I raised a tired eyebrow.

“True, we spend most of our time here when we’re training you, but we don’t actually live up here. There are other rooms in the tower, and you’re a terrible apprentice, so we have to go out now and then to run errands.”

“Heh. I’d love to see that.”

Althea let go of my hand and waggled a finger at me, her eyes twinkling. “I had to go get bacon myself!”

I gave her a wan smile. “Sorry about that.”

Althea’s face grew serious, and she glanced over to Marian and Sorita before dropping her voice.

“For what it’s worth…we were wrong to keep you locked in the tower. Just because we prefer to do most of our work here doesn’t mean it’s the same for you. We’ll try to be more accommodating of your need to…have answers to your complicated questions.”

I squinted at her. “Really? Sorita and Marian agreed to that?”

“Eh. More or less. They’ll come around. They’ll have to, I’m afraid.”

I blinked as I glanced to the other two women. Even though the Hags had always seemed like they didn’t take care of me, they had been there for me. They’d saved me when my dumb ass hadn’t deserved to be saved. But beyond that, they’d taught me so many things, kept me safe from the evils of the magical world. Very likely they really were working on keeping the curse at bay.

And I’d royally screwed it up. Although I’d paid for it. I held up my hand, trying to see if I could feel the lack of pinkie finger.

Althea put a finger aside her nose, then pulled out a small wooden box, sliding over to me.

“What’s this, then?”

She flipped the lid open, and I leaned forward to look. There, on a cushion of plush red velvet, sat my finger bone, polished clean.

“Uck!” I couldn’t help the revulsion. My finger! But then I looked again, and it seemed so plain. So benign. I’d seen my share of bones, working with the Hags.

But the darkness had said they hadn’t wanted my cursed bones. I looked up at Althea.

“Is it true, what they said? About even my bones being cursed?”

Althea gave me a sad smile. “Most curses do go bone deep. We tested yours, just to be sure.”

“And?”

Althea didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. I could tell by her expression.

I hid my sudden feelings of fear with huffiness. “Why give me this? With it, I can just go back to the door and again. Actually get my questions answered this time.

Althea just raised an eyebrow. “Will you?”

I hesitated for a moment too long. “Maybe.”

Althea rolled her eyes. “Well, if you decide you’re going to, at least let us know where you’re off to, so we don’t worry.”

I snorted. “So you won’t worry? Or will?”

Althea winked and stood, joining the other Hags at the cauldron. “Mmm. Smells like it’s ready. Hungry for bacon and boiled cabbage?”

“Crap. I forgot to get a burger.”

“Injured apprentices need their vitamins,” Sorita insisted.

“Here’s a great big bowl. Eat up,” Marian said with entirely too much pleasure.

“I love bacon,” Althea sighed as she took a slurp.

I only grumbled a little as I sipped my soup. The warmth spread through parts of me I hadn’t even realized were still numb with cold from my ordeal.

Despite my threat, I wouldn’t go back to the ebony door. I’d gotten a taste of that black magic. The Hags had tried to protect me from it.

I knew they meant, well—it was just another case of them thinking what you don’t know can’t hurt you—but they’d learned better. They wouldn’t keep me in the dark, anymore. And I, well. I’d try to be better at doing what they asked.

Most of the time, anyway.

The prompt for this month was: “To open the door, a person must use a key whittled out of one of his or her own bones.”

We hope you’ll enjoy the two stories we have for you this month. Here’s the schedule:

Tuesday, October 15: “Bone Deep” by Sara Lundberg

“It will only hurt for a second, my love.” Her voice is nearly a purr in my ear. I tuck my hair behind my ear to keep it in place, to keep her breath from making it dance, tickling me.

“I don’t care about the pain.”

She traces a finger along my side, and I force myself not to flinch.

“What is it, then?”

I take a measured breath to avoid sighing. “You know what.” I may not be afraid of pain, but I am afraid of death.

“Oh, dear heart. You shouldn’t fear that. You are strong enough.”

Her tone, rather than making me feel better, makes me feel worse, like she’s talking an ignorant child, lying about how bad the day’s rations were going to taste. We always knew.

“How can you be sure?”

Her hand goes from tracing circles on my arm to cupping my breast. “Because of what you’ve endured thus far.”

Her voice smolders with lust, her hand showing her possessiveness of me. I should be afraid. I should feel cold. Used. Put off. But the claim she’s laid on my body is seductive. I have some power here, after all. My skin flushes and my lips part.

She chuckles deep in her throat as she senses my body respond to her, and she nuzzles my neck. I allow it, for the moment, letting myself get lost in a wave of passion. She’s right. I’ve been through a great deal to get to this point, to be the bed mate of a brood mother. I’ve pleasured dozens of these super-human beings, but that’s not even the worst of it. I’ve been hunted, beaten, bitten, nearly drained of all my blood, and forced to watch friends fight for their lives and still die.

All for the chance to become one of them. To be young forever. To never get sick. To be inhumanly strong. To become immortal, nearly impossible to kill. To never fear the night again.

The nights are long, now, the daytime grimy and pale under the burned sky. And there are things in the darkness that will kill you quicker than thought.

So yes, I endured a lifetime of suffering to get here. To be offered this chance.

One I may have become too afraid to take. For not everyone survives the change. I have fought so hard to live all my life that it terrifies me to now put my life in the hands of chance.

In her hands.

Her teeth graze the skin of my neck, and I do flinch this time. It’s a mistake, a show of weakness. She may have once been human, but now she’s a predator. She wraps herself around me tightly, making sure I can’t escape.

“I am tired of your games, Lana. You will become one of us, or you will die, but it will happen tonight.”

Her voice chills me, and I don’t move, like a rabbit caught in the light of a night rifle’s scope.

She sighs. “Come, now. I would rather you do this willingly. It increases the chances of the change taking root.” Where her tone was banded iron only a moment ago, now it’s back to talking to a child. I suppose we are children, to them.

I close my eyes and think about my mother. She died giving birth to me. I never met my father. He went into the dark and never came back before I was even born. A common enough story that the midwife didn’t think twice before handing me off to the super-humans, to be raised like cattle until old enough to be slaughtered.

I escaped several times, but they always caught me. Or I always came back. The super-humans meant safety, of a sort. Only they were strong enough to fight back against the other creatures that live in the dark.

And I want to fight more than anything, except live.

But the brood mother won’t want me when I’m old, having lived a good, long, human life. She’s right. If I shun her, if I don’t accept her bite that will fill me with her brood mother poison and hope that it turns me rather than killing me, they will turn me out of the complex. I might not die tonight, but I will die within a week. Exile is worse than a death sentence.

I turn to face her, searching her face for something, I’m not sure what. Love? Compassion? There’s neither of those things there. Just the cold, hard eyes of something not human.

But the lust is back in her eyes and her voice as she looks me over.

“You came to me, Lana. Isn’t this what you want?”

Whether I want it or not, her hands are on me again, her animal need taking over.

I want to be able to fight back.

“Yes. Yes, I want this,” I murmur as she clutches me to her.

The pain rips through my neck as she feeds, and then the pain gets worse as the poison fills me. And as my heart thuds to a stop, I grow furious. She promised I would survive! I don’t want to die!

Through sheer force of will, I push myself up, away from her, away from the poison, away from death.

I sit up and look at my hands, then down at her, where she lays with her hands behind her head, smug smile on her face.

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie. The change took, did it not?”

The change did take. I am powerful. Full of energy. The dim light in the room now seems incredibly bright. I can hear the noise of the complex outside. I smell blood, and realize it’s all over the sheets. My blood. My life blood. Every last drop that was in me.

Yes, the change took, but the horrible truth is, despite the power the super-humans wield, they had to die to get it. They’re not super-humans. They are vampires. They are the creatures in the night.

“You said I wouldn’t die.”

The brood mother gives me a calculating look. “I never said those words.” Her expression softens. “You are lovely, Lana. Come to me.” She holds out her hand, cold but inviting, her flawless skin glistening in the lamp light.

She’s right. She never said I wouldn’t die. She said I would survive. She said I was strong enough to endure the change.

But I did die, and something else is born inside of me. I still want to fight, but now I also want to kill. Need to kill. Need to kill to survive.

So with my newfound power, I lurch forward and rip the brood mother’s head from her body.

I hold her head in my hands, staring into her vacant expression, and realize I no longer have anything to fear in the dark but myself.

To kick off the Halloween season’s mood, our prompt for this month was “the bite of a creature (insect, animal, person?) either kills you or gives you powers.” Could be spooky or could be super heroes. Only time will tell.

To find out what our sole Confabulator contributor did with the prompt this month, please visit us on the scheduled day:

Monday, September 16: “Blood and Darkness” by Sara Lundberg

Norman wasn’t like other dragons. Norman wasn’t scary.

His friends all had horns, or scales, or long, spikey tails. But not Norman. Norman had cute, fluffy feet. And a cute little nose. And big yellow eyes. His spikes were soft and fluffy. Bright spots dotted his belly and long whiskers tickled his face. His tail ended with a big fuzzy pom pom.

Norman didn’t like being cute.

He struggled to hide his cuteness, tearing out his fur and baring his sharp teeth. Being cute made it very hard to scare people.

“You couldn’t kidnap even one princess looking like that,” his friends said.

“I could if I wanted to,” Norman muttered under his breath.

“Oh yeah?” his friends said. The other dragons chose the smallest princess they could find. She was a little girl in a froofy dress sitting beside the pond outside of the castle.

“Go on, Norman,” they said. “Scare her.”

Norman’s hairy ears drooped when he saw her. But he couldn’t back out. He crawled low on his belly, sliding under the fence and slinking past the manicured hedge. His soft feet made no noise as he crept up behind her. He raised his cute, little head and roared as loud as he could manage.

Her head spun around to look at him. Her eyes were as big as dragon eggs. She bunched up her fists tights and screamed.

“What a cute little dragon!!” she squealed.

It scared Norman very badly. He ran away on his fast little feet.

Norman found the smallest, darkest cave and he crept all the way to the back, curling into a ball. He felt very sorry for himself.

A soft voice echoed from outside. “Oh little dragon. Oh cute little dragon. Please come out little dragon.”

It was the little princess. She had followed him.

Now Norman felt even sorrier for himself. He huddled in the darkness, hoping the mud would mat his fur and make it uglier, and he waited for her to go away.

“Go away!” he growled.

He saw the princess’ polished shoes. And then he saw her ruffled blue skirt. And then, there she was, her little face, looking into the cave where he was hiding.

“There you are,” the princess said. “I was looking for you.”

She forced her hand into the cave and groped the air as far back as she could, but she couldn’t quite reach Norman.

“Oh, come out cute little dragon,” she said again.

“I am not cute,” he shouted. “I’m a big, mean dragon.”

The princess pulled her hand back and peered into the cave again, smiling at him.

“But if you were a mean dragon then I would be afraid of you. And I’m not afraid of you. Not even a little bit.”

Norman squished his belly deeper into the mud of the cave, pouting.

“But I could be mean,” he said.

The little princess thought for a while. “Well, do you want to be mean?”

Norman thought long and hard. No one had ever asked Norman what he wanted before. He was not very good at being mean. And it scared him a lot when people were mean to him.

“No,” Norman said. “I don’t think that I do want to be mean. But I’m supposed to kidnap princesses. It’s what dragons do.”

The princess put her finger to her mouth. “What’s involved in kidnapping princesses?”

Norman was not quite sure himself. “Well, you have to come and live at my place.”

“Forever?” the princess asked.

“Just until a knight comes to rescue you.”

The princess made a yuck face at the mention of knights. “What if you came to live at my castle, instead. And then we could play and I could brush your fur and you could practice scaring me. Would that count?”

Norman drew his fuzzy eyebrows together and said, “I think it might. Can we try it for a little bit and see?”

“Okay. But you have to come out of the cave for me,” the princess said.

The princess scooped him up in her pudgy arms and carried him back to her castle, where her family was waiting.

And they lived happily ever after.

I’ll write a bit more about that soon, but in the meantime, please enjoy our August story! Our prompt was treehouses versus castles.

Thursday, August 15th: “The Cutest Dragon” by Dianne Williams