October Girls: Crystal & Bone by L C Glazebrook Page A

the man whined.
    “Shut up,” Minerva and Crystal said in unison.
    A geyser of goo shot from the knife blade. Minerva dreaded the clean-up job ahead.
    The price of playing hostess.
    “Maybe we should give it what it came for,” Minerva said.
    “Noooo,” wailed the man.
    While Crystal slapped at the second tentacle, which dodged the blows like a mosquito eluding a baseball bat, Minerva tossed the knife toward the sink and yanked open the fridge. The second tentacle froze in mid-air, and Crystal nailed it a good one with the broom.
    Minerva rummaged among the breakfast meats and emerged with a half pound of hickory-smoked sugar bacon. She ripped the package open and held it up, letting the odor of preservatives, salt, and pig fat seep across the room.
    The second tentacle undulated toward the bacon while the first loosened its grip on the man’s leg. Soon both tentacles stood erect like begging puppies. The glistening nubs on the ends of both tentacles throbbed with unwholesome appetite.
    “Works better if it’s cooked, but this will do,” Minerva said.
    She delivered an ancient chant that had been handed down through a thousand Sabbats and Walpurgis Nights, and even a few family recipes:
    Out of fat and into fire,
    Let go of this dork,
    Back to Darkmeet with a gift,
    A sacrifice of pork.
    She tossed the bacon toward the crevice under the couch and the two tentacles writhed and whipped after it, briefly tangling in a tussle before sweeping the bacon into the darkness beyond.
    A slithery thumping followed, as if the Lurken’s tentacles were working in opposition, then came a slobbery smacking of what could only be grotesquely oversize lips and bare gums.
    Then came a belch that sent a rancid, porcine breeze across the kitchen, and peace once again reigned.
    “Behold the power of bacon,” Minerva said by way of explanation.
    While the Lurken was otherwise occupied, she hurried into another chant, knowing the spell wouldn’t hold because of a lack of wog:
    Ashes to ashes, bone to bone,
    Let the Orifice be gone.
    Something
schlumped
and
thudded
under the couch like the slamming of a rotted garage door.
    “Out of sight,” the man said, standing and unbuckling his belt so he could jimmy his T-shirt back into his jeans. “So, where’s my eggs?”
    Crystal swung the broom at him, but he stepped aside and her foot hit a grease slick on the floor. She fell against him and he caught her, letting go of his jeans, which wormed several inches below his navel as they wrestled.
    “We gave away the wrong pig,” Crystal said, as Minerva tried to pull her free of the man’s grip, which was every bit as persistent as the Lurken’s tentacle had been.
    The trailer door creaked open.
    Pettigrew stood there, staring at his sweating girlfriend, the teddy-bear hoodlum with the unbelted jeans, and Minerva with her greasy fingers, the kitchen in disarray.
    “I can explain,” Crystal said.
    “No, you can’t,” Minerva said.
    “You don’t have to,” Pettigrew said, stepping back out into the cool night air.
    Crystal headed after him, but Minerva stopped her. “He can’t know.”
    Crystal pulled free. “Why can’t I be like everybody else?”
    “Because you’re an Aldridge, that’s why.”
    “Where’s Dollface?” the hoodlum asked.
    Crystal ran to the still-open fridge, felt along the racks, and grabbed two fistfuls of eggs. She began flinging them at Royce, wishing she had a spell to get her out of this dump and into a real life.

Chapter 10
     
    “I better call him,” Crystal said, annoyed that Momma was pulling her patented “Momma knows best” act.
    “First, tell me where
this
came from,” Momma said, grabbing Royce by the ear and giving it a twist. He yowled in pain but the fight was gone, so he sagged against the stove and brooded. He had perfect eyebrows for brooding, though the mucus of the eggs was beginning to harden on his hair and skin.
    “I thought you knew everything,” Crystal said to Momma.
    “I