Black Treacle Magazine (Issue 3) Read Free Page A

feet. “You stupid fucker,”
he says. “What's wrong with you? This isn't Harry fucking Potter.
Now get her.”
    Elena grins
and holds her arms out as if inviting a hug. “Want to take the
chance, Terry?”
    Terry backs
away. Dom stays where he is.
    Marc snarls at
them. His lips draw back from his teeth and he looks more than half
werewolf himself. He darts forward, seizes hold of Elena's arm and
yanks her around, throws her into the chair.
    Dom holds his
breath, and it looks like Terry's doing the same. Maybe Marc,
too.
    Nothing
happens.
    Elena shrugs.
“Oh, well. A lot of the time, that works. But there's always the
odd psychopath with no imagination.”
    A grin of
triumph spreads across Marc's face. “See? What did I tell you?” He
backhands her, putting his shoulders into it. The sound is meaty,
solid. Her head rocks back and blood blooms at the corner of her
mouth.
    She licks it
clean. “You learn to manage pain,” she says. “Over the years. It's
like those guys you see on the telly sometimes. Yogis, fakirs.
Stick needles in them, tie bricks to their cocks, whatever. They
don't blink an eyelid. Work at it long enough, you get control. The
nerves, the breath, the heart. And I've had a very, very long time
to work at it.”
    She places a
hand on her chest. “There are techniques that let you take charge
of the nervous system. You can hold your breath, say, or slow your
heartbeat. Slow it down, or even stop it. Course, most people
wouldn't want to go that far. But then, as you might have noticed,
I'm not most people.”
    She smiles,
and her eyes roll back.
    “Oh, fuck,”
Dom says, “that means--”
    Zing
    “Hi guys,”
Elena says from behind him. “Are we having fun yet?”
    Terry goes
down on his knees and begins to cry.
    She pulls a
bag of peanuts out of her pocket, rips it open and throws one into
her mouth. “Want to test me? To see how many times we can go round?
I'm happy to play that game if you are. As I'm sure you can
imagine, I have a great deal of patience.”
    “Boss,” Terry
says. “Boss, please.”
    Marc rounds on
him. “What? What are you saying to me? Give in, let her take
everything? You want to work for her? Is that it? You'd rather work
for her than me? You think she's going to look after you? She's a
fucking monster.”
    Elena munches
on another handful of nuts. “It's always interesting, to see whose
mind cracks first, and how long it takes. Want to know what the
world record is?”
    “Marc,” Dom
says. “Marc, we've got to--”
    He doesn't see
the fist coming until it's too late to get out of the way. Pain
flares in his jaw and his knees unlock. As he goes down he sees
Marc's hands, the knuckles bleeding, close around Elena's
throat.
    Zing
    His vision
starts to grey out, but then he's back on his feet again. Terry's
yelling--or maybe screaming would be a more accurate word. There
are more gunshots.
    Zing
    Everything
hurts. He's seeing double. He throws up, can't clear his throat,
feels like he's choking.
    Zing
    Noise. Pain.
Shouting. Elena, laughing.
    Zing
    “Okay,” Elena
says. “Well, this is more like it.”
    Dom swallows,
spits. His throat feels raw. Terry is standing next to her, Marc's
gun in his hand. He hands it to her. She gives him a wide, proud
smile. “Thank you, Terry.”
    Marc's
kneeling on the floor. Dom goes up behind him and pulls his arms
behind his back, keeping him down.
    Elena has a
knife. It has a black handle and a curved blade. It shines.
    She brings it
to Marc's throat. Dom makes a sound.
    She stills,
and looks at him. “Is there a problem, Dominic? Something you want
to say?”
    Dom looks down
at his brother for a long time. Then he says,. “No, Boss.”
    Elena smiles
and rests her hand on his shoulder. It's very warm.
    “Good,” she
says, and they go back to work.
    END
     
    Michelle Ann King writes SF, dark
fantasy and horror from her kitchen table in Essex, England. She
has worked as a mortgage underwriter, supermarket cashier, makeup
artist,