Sycorax's Daughters

by Kinitra Brooks, PhD

  She reach out she hoof and catch him at the ankle. He tumble face front into the hard sidewalk and come up bloody. She try to get she hand round he neck again but the man block she arm and break away. The indentation of she fingers still red around he neck like a fading tattoo. The man press up to one knee. Ma Laja slammed one hand against he head and into the shiny black metal fence. Blood run down it, glistening in the moonlight, looking like a mistake in the ironwork.

  An icy grip take hold of Ma Laja from inside. Like the man had reach in she to pull something out. The feeling spread out through she body stabbing everything it pass, hardening all her insides, making it brittle, making even memories break away until some that was far beneath get unlock. She remember a girl. She remember a time before she was what she was. I think is Phylisia they used to call me, she realize. While the things that had hide her first memories was still getting scrape away, she saw the moon like a glass of ice water glistening down, and she think, Well it done now.

  The sound of running feet came out of the cemetery a moment later. Two officers took a look over both people lying in the road and began to do CPR. A third walk over more slowly, he shoes ticking on the sidewalk like a clock.

  “What we have here?” he asked.

  “Two women,” one of the officers said.

  Ma Laja sigh. Her last breath. A woman? And then she smile. “Well is no wonder,” she try to say. But she was dead a’ready. And them words stick in she throat as the last of the cold overcome she.

  “Look at the shoes on this one,” an officer said. “Think she’s who we’ve been looking for?”

  “I thought she was only attacking men. Why a woman now?” “This one doesn’t really look like a woman.”

  There was a pause. Then, “Interesting.” Another pause. “Both dead?”

  “Cinderella is,” an officer said. “Not this one,” the other say.

  Ma Laja pause, hovering over all of them as she see the woman coming back. She try to reach she. Try to warn she. Try to tell she, “Is better you die. Just let the world go.” But the woman eyelids flutter. “No,” Ma Laja was trying to tell she. “Don’t wake up!

  You don’t understand what it will mean.”

  “Look at this,” another officer said. “It’s a picture of herself.

  She was carrying a picture of herself, but, it can’t be. The date written on the back is nearly eighty years ago.”

  “Maybe a great-grandmother?” one say. “Family heirloom.” “Right.”

  “Wrong,” Ma Laja tried to say. “Is me that was. Is me when another La Diabless come and take mih life. And then what happen to mih? Is the same thing that go happen to you if you don’t dead this minute.”

  The officers revive the other woman. Ma Laja couldn’t stay to warn she. Couldn’t warn she if she tried anyhow.

  Then the officer look more closely at the woman and say, “Do you see this? On her left leg? The hair looks like…it looks like fur.”

  The woman eye open. She took a breath. The first in she new life. And she knew exactly what she had become.

  Red Scorpion

  by Deborah Elizabeth Whaley

  Red Scorpion shines

  in its orange-red coat

  but when the sun hits its shell

  it looks as blonde as the desert sand

  its shell grays and cracks with age

  but don’t be fooled

  it is as deadly

  and dangerous

  as ever

  It is cunning by nature

  nocturnal

  as it claws its way through the elements

  ogling and immobilizing

  its colorful, honorable prey

  You see:

  Red Scorpions are a smart species

  the most clever among all the arachnids

  it fights when it feels cornered

  or when it feels threatened

  even if for no reason

  at all

  It will hit you with its poisonous sting

  killing you in the dead of night

  and when no one is looking

  it disappears into the desert sand

  never to be seen again

  and this is all a part

  of its beautiful plan

  Born Again

  by RaShell R. Smith-Spears

  Jane felt the young man’s adrenaline running through him like rapids in a river. She inhaled deeply, never tiring of the smell of fear in humans. Sweetly pungent, it ran through his blood and out of his skin in fat drops of sweat and tears. The night’s darkness had swallowed Jane, the man, and every glimmer of light and sound when suddenly the quick-fire snare of BBD’s Poison dotted the air. Never trust a big butt and a smile. Two stark yellow beams chased the music and struck Jane’s face. Grinning at the appropriateness of the song, she used the fleeing light to bear her fangs and stir more terror in the man’s body. She laughed to watch the fear stretch his eyes and mouth, even his nostrils, into a grotesque portrait of dying humanity. She sniffed. Priceless. He had wet himself.

  “Shall I get on with it?”

  He shook his head, slinging tears and snot.

  She laughed again and slowly, like a cat, licked the side of his face. Then, without warning, she lunged for his throat.

  His skin tasted salty. His blood, however, was like sweet nectar. Young, fresh, untainted. Mmm . . . virgins were rare these days. She had considered seducing him, giving him a hint of pleasure before she killed him, but decided she didn’t feel like it. Why should she do anything for him?

  Besides, she had been more than sexually satisfied earlier in the evening by a very fine brother whose girlfriend was in the next room, completely oblivious to Jane’s presence. She snuck in his window while he napped, fucked him, and mesmerized him to believe he was dreaming. She laughed at how she was really taking vampire clichés to the limit: seductive, mesmerizing, frightening, evil.

  Licking her lips while simultaneously dropping this man’s lifeless body, she sighed. With the high of the chase over, she crashed into the monotony of it all. After 142 years, it was the same thing, night after night. The humans were always the same; the game never changed. She lured them, they gave her chase, she overcame them, she drank from them, and they died or lived, forgetting her.

  Jane patted her glossy black, finger-waved hair. She knew the style brought out her strong cheekbones, her darkly intense eyes, and her bold nose. Feeling seductively invincible, she stepped over the body into a puddle of water. It splashed onto the hem of the black leather pants that matched her red leather bustier. It was all cliché.

  Coming out of the alley, she remembered the excitement when she was first turned: the intoxicating rush of p ower, the undeniable sexiness of her movement, the regenerative sense of purpose and belonging, the invigorating ability to right wrongs. She had been a slave and killing her master in a vampire-led slave revolt, she had taken control of her own life. She couldn’t have dreamed the years that followed. She enjoyed turning women to empower them during the suffrage movement of the early 1900s. She had found pleasure in helping black farmers retrieve stolen land during the 1940s. But there was so much injustice. As soon as one field of hatred and oppression was burned, another crop came into harvest. It never ended and Jane grew tired. Soon, the people became casualties to the causes and Jane lost sight of them.

  For now, Jane’s physical appetites were fully satisfied, so she sauntered down the street toward her apartment. She passed darkened stores and closed office buildings, but came to an abrupt stop. Although the lights on it were out, Jane was a little surprised to recognize the car she passed as the one that had provided the headlights during her dinner. The man inside the Impala smelled unappetizing; his blood reeked of alcohol and his skin stank like sweaty feet. The hair on the back of her neck rose, however, as she wondered why he was sitting in the car, alone, with no lights on.

  Was he stalking her? What an interesting twist that would be. She continued to walk past the c
ar without slowing down. His car door unlocked, the click loud in her ear. It was just as loud as the rubbing of metal against metal as his car door handle moved, allowing him to open the door.

  I’m gonna kill her!

  Had he uttered it or just thought it? Jane stopped walking, preparing to turn and strike. The heavy door creaked open. She felt the familiar push against her gums as her fangs dropped. His feet thudded against the gravelly street like an anvil. Jane’s fists clinched. She waited, listening to him walk away from the car.

  “What is wrong with you, you skank?” the man yelled.

  Jane spun around fast with her arm swinging. She wobbled off balance. She heard flesh hitting flesh and smiled to think she got him, even off-centered. She righted herself in time to realize she had not hit him and the man was not talking to her. He hadn’t even seen her. He was yelling at another woman, one who was splayed out on the street next to a brown paper sack, broken pieces of clear glass and two limes rolled next to Jane. The woman was whimpering.

  “Jackie, I told you to make it quick. And I don’t even drink Seagram’s. You are good for absolutely nothing!”

  “I’m sorry,” the woman sobbed from behind her hands.

  “I have half a mind to leave you on the street. Make you walk home.”

  “No, no, Carlo, please don’t do that.”

  “Get your fat ass in this car!” He reached down and yanked the woman up. He squeezed her arm and pushed her toward the car.

  Jane retracted her fangs, but ran to them. “Let her go! You’re hurting her.”

  “She can take it.” He laughed. “Wait, who the hell are

  you?”

  Leave. The woman’s unspoken shout vibrated in Jane’s head. She realized this was the first thing she heard from the woman’s thoughts. Without really trying, she had been hearing the man’s jumbled drunken thoughts the entire time, but the woman’s thoughts were a void. Until she told Jane to leave.

  “We don’t know you. Get on out of here before somebody gets hurt.” He sneered at her.

  “Please, Miss, just leave. We don’t want any trouble. I’m okay,” the woman whimpered.

  “You heard her! Now get out of here, you big-faced freak!” Jane could feel her gums tearing.

  “Carlo, no! Please, Miss. He won’t hurt me. Just leave,” the woman begged.

  “I will fuck you up!” Carlo threatened, but it wasn’t clear to whom he was talking.

  Jane didn’t care. She grabbed him by the collar and lifted him three inches off the ground. Now staring at him eye-to-eye, she was about to bear her fangs when she felt the woman grab her by the elbow.

  “Please, please, stop. Don’t hurt him. He doesn’t mean it. He’s drunk.”

  Jane looked back at the woman, tears staining her smooth, round walnut-colored face. Her hazel eyes shimmered with fear and sadness. She looked at Carlo whose dark eyes also contained fear. Jane was aroused by it, wanted it to go on, but the woman’s whimpering voice nagged at her. She dropped Carlo on his butt and kicked him.

  “You’re crazy! Both of you skanks are crazy! Get out of here.

  I don’t want nothing to do with neither one of you!” He was scooting back on the street toward his car door.

  The two women watched as he stumbled into the car and drove off in reverse.

  “Where are you going?” Jane called after the woman who had started walking away. “Do you need some help? Do you want to go to a shelter?” Jane started to follow her. She wasn’t sure why she cared.

  The woman stopped and looked at Jane incredulously.

  “No. And I don’t need your help. I just need to call Carlo and beg him to come back. Thanks to you.”

  “What? I just stopped him from beating your ass. You could be a little grateful.”

  “I didn’t need your help. If you hadn’t jumped in, Carlo would have put me in the car, then made me drive because he thinks I hate it, and everyone would have gotten home safely.

  Now, somebody might get hurt.” She started walking again, each step an angry stomp.

  Anger, regret and disbelief swirled in Jane’s head. It was easier to look out for her safety and her pleasure alone.

  “But you probably don’t care if somebody gets hurt. Your kind never does.”

  “My kind?” Jane asked.

  “Yeah. I know what you are. I saw it in your eyes when you grabbed Carlo. You get off on people’s pain and fear.”

  Jane shook her head, confused and hardly able to deny the pleasure his pain and fear brought her. “I . . . no. . . well, he deserved it.”

  “You don’t know anything about what he deserves. And the man in the alley? He deserved it, too?”

  “How do you know about the man in the alley?” She raised her eyebrow, intrigued.

  “I saw you. When we drove by.”

  Jane stopped and pulled on the woman’s shoulder to stop her from walking. There was no longer any fear in her face. Jane tried to hear her thoughts, but all she could sense were brief feelings of anger and sadness.

  “And you’re not afraid of me?”

  “Being with Carlo has taught me that there are many things in this world to fear. You are not one of them.”

  “But I could kill you.”

  “I’ve lived through many deaths. I’m not afraid of the one you would bring. Now, please, if you want to help me, leave. I’m going to call Carlo and I don’t want you to be here when he comes back.” They had stopped in front of a pay phone. She pulled a few quarters out of her jeans pocket and stared at Jane expectantly before turning toward the phone.

  “Okay. I’ll leave — if you’re sure?” Jane was confused by this woman.

  “I’m sure.”

  Jane left. Normally, she dismissed women who insisted on being abused by their husbands and boyfriends. She had little patience for women who walked in weakness, and kept company with victimization when they clearly did not have to. But this one didn’t seem weak. Although she took shit from him, she clearly wasn’t afraid of Carlo and even though she knew what Jane was— had seen her feeding even—she had absolutely no fear of Jane.

  And then, Jane could hear her voice so clearly in her mind, yet it was obviously only when she wanted to be heard. How could a simple human do that? Something was different about her, yet so familiar. Who was this woman?

  Two weeks later, Jane could not stop thinking about the woman. She searched for her, but when each dawn chased her home frustrated, she gave up. Jane was surprised when two nights later, Jackie was pacing near her apartment building.

  “How long have you been like this? A vampire?” Jackie’s tone held no judgment, only curiosity.

  “Lifetimes.”

  “Don’t you feel . . . I mean, it’s wrong. The evil you do. . . .” She wavered between confidence and uncertainty. “God loves you. He does, but your lifestyle displeases Him.”

  At first, Jane pulled up, prepared to do battle, but sensing the woman’s hesitation, simply said, “Evil? Walk with me and I’ll tell you about evil.”

  Jackie nodded. The two women walked together as Jane talked about her life in the 1800s.

  “The things you must have seen. I can’t even imagine . . . .” “You don’t want to imagine. Some things should not be seen or imagined.”

  They walked in silence for a moment, passing trees and houses, eventually cars and stone retail buildings.

  Jane decided to pull at the thread that had been bothering her. “I don’t know why you are so attached to that bastard, Carlo. He’s not worth it.”

  “I have my reasons.” “Whatever. Let’s go in here.”

  They stood in front of a small diner, a squat building with a

  dark green awning. Inside, the lights were low and the patrons were few.

  “You’re hungry for roast beef and potatoes?” Jackie smirked.

  “No, but I thought you might be.” Jane sneered.

  They walked to a table in the back and sat quietly until they ordered and received cups of c
offee.

  Jackie broke the silence by finally asking Jane’s name. After Jane’s muttered response, the uncomfortable silence waved between them until Jane asked, “So, are you going to tell me your reasons?”

  “No.” Jackie stirred the coffee with a spoon, the clink of the metal hitting the cup’s porcelain loud against their ears.

  Jane grew frustrated and angry. Her cold skin pricked with stinging hot needles. She took deep breaths to stop her eyes from glowing gold.

  “I was not a pathetic puppy,” Jackie growled back. Her body looked as if it were about to lunge across the table at Jane. Then, just as suddenly, she fell back, deflated and defeated. “I . . . I need to know something.”

  “What?

  “How do you live like this?”

  “I don’t need to be judged by you. I’m sorry I ever met you.” Jane stood up, her eyes now glowing. Soon her fangs would drop.

  She brushed Jackie’s shoulder as she walked by her. Without warning, Jackie reached out and grabbed her wrist. She loosened it when Jane stopped walking, but she didn’t let go.

  “Wait. I wasn’t judging you. I need to know because . . . I am . . . like . . . you.” She whispered every word.

  “I knew it.” Jane stomped in place. “There would be times when . . . but you were just so . . . I. Knew. It.” Like a flood, revelation rushed through her. The thing she had recognized in Jackie was that thing she saw in herself.

  “Keep your voice down.”

  “These people aren’t paying attention to us. But I knew it.” “Sit down. Please?”

  Jane sat down, her wide grin revealing the hint of fang that had dropped in the rush of anger-turned-excitement. Vindication tingled her skin. “When did it happen?”