Twas the witching hour. When most of the world is at rest and the cover of darkness and shadows, are at their very best. An apex moment, when creatures and all the things that go bump in the night, like to stir. A time when monsters, demons and devils, seem to prefer. Or sometimes witches. Though admittedly, those that can perform the true arts, aren't constricted by such things. Rather these are simply our peak hours, for this is when the moon is at its highest and the dead, sings. Their songs of sorrow and tragedy, rise and flow with the wind. Carrying a mourner's tale of loss and what unfortunately happened. Alas, this is a tune, few can receive and so the message, is often lost to a reprieve. Still that energy lingers in the air. Like static electricity, lifting the ends of your hair. It's inspiration and fire, brimstone and magic, to waste its power is almost tragic. For self preservation, your own personal design or a deeper, more spiritual divine. Burn the sage, light the candles, pull the dagger and pierce the finger tip. Allow the blood to... drip, drip, drip. For the blood is life and your life is your blood, that deep, personal, inner connection. In conjuration, it gives the gift of your strength for that extra, added extension. This is the risk and the price you must pay. Now and forever, this is always the way. The due that is owed, from the days of olde, to the most recent present. This practice also proves consent. Which I gladly give as my eyes transfix on the fire. On this darkest of eve, I prepare to invoke my deadliest desire. Upon the wretched, contemptible, putrid little shrew. Jessalyn Hart, my dear... the spell I cast tonight, it is for you.


Be not afraid though, it only works if you truly believe. Right?


There is a wisp of purple mist and a swift, silver shimmer, amidst the air. As I toss a carefully bundled, black velvet pouch of ingredients onto a small table in front of me. Bound to the small dark sack, with a piece of coarse twine is a photo of Jessalyn Hart and a lock of her hair, that I stole and kept as mine. Yet the real prize is her blood. Don't ask how I acquired it. Lets just say in witchcraft, there are times that one must do unsavory tasks in order to get the job done and leave it at that. From there, I retrieve a tiny, black cauldron from beneath the table and set it near the pouch. Then an elixir of my own creation and a few key components, are added to the pot. Along with that very special "package" that I personally crafted.


Whispered, are the sacred words, that I use. A match is struck. The descent from fingers to kettle, is less than a second and the flames that engulf its contents, work even quicker. Instantaneous ignition. The little inferno within my cauldron rages for several moments and then gradually, it dies itself out. As this occurs a dark, dense smoke, lifts into the air. Thick and heavy, it carries with it something intentionally, sinister. While the cloud stirs, swirls an continues to rise, I slowly stand. Graceful yet powerful feet bring me to my window. By the time I reach it, my smoky present is already there, awaiting release. To which I abide, watching as the shadowy fog, drifts upward into the night sky.


No matter where Jessalyn Hart is at or what she is doing, my gift will find her. There isn't any safe place or protection. For I am strong and my powers are great. Great enough to take down Azrael Erebus and if I am completely honest, maybe even perch a foreboding omen of failure, directly over, the man from the stars. Like a little rain cloud of doom. He hasn't been quite himself in the ring, after I took his prize, now has he? Oh but certainly that must be a coincidence. There's no way I had anything to do with that. Ha! Only a blind fool would be stupid enough to believe such a lie. Which means, Jessalyn Hart clearly must be a full on subscriber to that fallacy. However, while the spaceman is quite a few things, a fool he is not. I would wonder when he'd catch on to what I've done, yet he's already publicly discredited my abilities. Did he really believe what he said, or was it a trick? Curious.


I hear heavy, boot laden footsteps but don't turn around. I already know that these footfalls belong to my new... friend? Was Dillinger D'Marco, my friend? He definitely wasn't a stranger anymore. Hmmm... what exactly is this man's title of association to me?


"Working witchcraft?"


I can hear the hint of sarcasm in his voice. It brings a smile to my face as I turn around towards him. The moonlight that floods the room, illuminates him and casts a sheen on the small pool of blood, accumulating beneath his sword. The Heart Of Darkness must have been hungry. Lucky for it. Its master's appetite is never fulfilled.


"Maybe."


I raise my hand and as the candles slowly flicker out, the room fills with the radiant glow of my precious, antique brass chandelier. A twist of my hand and the window carefully shuts.


"How about you? What have you been up to tonight? A little murder, perhaps?"


I let my eyes casually drift to the floor and then back to him as I raise an eyebrow, in mock inquiry. Strange how comfortable I have become with him. Maybe it is accurate to assume that he's a friend at this point? I know I don't fear him, as I did when we first met and people don't tend to fear their friends. So there is a distinct possibility that friend is an accurate term. I watch as he looks down, sees the growing puddle of crimson and then rolls his eyes. A sharp snap of his wrist extends the sword outward and another, sends it away, to realms unknown. Where does it go when its not visible for anyone else to see?


"There's no such thing as a little murder. Not unless you've killed a little person. But then really, what's the point? Go big or go home, that's what I always say."


He smirked and retrieved a cigarette, promptly igniting it with a tiny flame, that came from the end of his index finger's tip.


"Apologies about the floor. Hey, it could be a lot worse though. Be thankful I'm not the kind, that needs to keep souvenirs."


"No worries."


A simple set of softly spoken words is all it takes, for the blood to lift up off my floor and gradually disintegrate, within the air.


"Impressive. You're like Samantha from..."


"Don't say it."


"Bewitched."


"I told you not to say it."


"Does it help if I said that I was also going to add... only cooler?"


"No. Because that show was terrible. It was a mockery to witches and women and it blatantly promoted subjection, injustice and oppression. The only thing worse is I Dream Of Jeannie. Both shows, featured women that were powerful and yet, they were kept subdued and in restraint, because the men in their lives needed to feel superior. When if they only accepted and encouraged their female counterparts, they could have literally had whatever they wanted and maybe even ruled the world. So annoying."


"Got it. Never mention classic television to you."


He exhaled a cloud of smoke and removed his long, black trench coat. His superhero cape. Or would that be supervillain? Folding it neatly in half, he placed it on the back of the sofa and then, turned to me with a look of hesitation.


"It's cool if I crash here again, right?"


Able to commit murder without batting an eye, totally lost when he's trying to ask for a favor. Probably because he doesn't know how. If he actually could feel a sense of real emotion, he would know that we were past the stranger faze. If only. Then maybe asking for something so simple wouldn't be utterly foreign to him.


"Naturally."


A wave of my hand opened the small door to my hallway closet as I walked past it and continued onward towards my kitchen.


"Coats go in the closet. Are you hungry? I'm starved."


I heard him move, walking from the sofa to the closet, his boots softly thudding on the floor. My friend the murderer. There should be something unsettling about that realization but there wasn't. Maybe, that revealed more things about me, than it did for the situation of our relationship.


"I could eat. Also... if you needed any cash or wanted any for letting me stay here, I believe I still have a sizable amount of income left from my XWF days."


He walked into the kitchen as I was pulling out some leftover étouffée to warm up. He eyed the contents of the containers skeptically but said nothing as he took a seat.


"It's basically a stew made with crawfish and rice and it's amazing. Trust me."


I stated as I dumped the contents of the containers, into a small pot on the stove, switching the burner on underneath, I reached up into an overhead cupboard and pulled out a tin of pralines and placed it on the table. Reaching into yet another cabinet, I pulled out two wine glasses and set them on the table as well. After which, I then fetched a bottle of 2009 Château d'Epiré Savennières 'Cuvée Speciale' and proceeded to fill both glasses, before resting the bottle on the table too. Dillinger, seemed slightly fascinated by this perfectly normal gesture, he was used to people fearing him and was finally starting to notice that I was clearly, far from afraid. I lifted my glass of wine, took a sip, returned the glass to the table and then went searching in yet another cabinet, for a pair of bowls.


"When you were in the XWF... did you know an alien by the name of Azrael Erebus?"


My question lay silent in the kitchen for a moment as I heard Dillinger die out his cigarette on the bottom of his boot, before tossing the butt into the rubbish bin.


"Azrael Erebus? I knew of him but he was strangely missing from the scene, when I was around. I think that's why folks were so ecstatic to have me there. I could do things that others couldn't. Had weird unexplainable powers. They were hoping for another Mr. Supernova but instead, they got me. An inter-dimensional, demi-god with a blood lust and a body count."


Eureka! I found two bowls! Standing I placed them on the table, grabbed a spoon from a drawer and the pot off the stove and started serving out the étouffée. Which was now, warmed to perfection.


"I think I would rather have you around, over him. He's back wrestling in the XWF now. He's also the one that I took the Bombshell title from."


A grin and I set a now, empty pot in the sink, collecting two spoons from a drawer, I place them in the bowls of étouffée and finally, take a seat.


"You should make a comeback. I bet Vinnie Lane, would rehire you. Shane rehired Azrael. I don't see why you wouldn't be allowed back."


"Return to the XWF? To do what? Beat Chris Chaos, again."


"You could, he's still around. In fact, he's facing Azrael Erebus, this coming Saturday."


"What about you? Got any fun matches coming up?"


"I'm defending the Bombshell title on Warfare this Wednesday."


"Against?"


"Jessalyn Hart."


"Again?"


"Third times a charm. I guess? It's weird too because I know there are other women in the XWF. I've seen them. Yet, here I am, facing Jessalyn Hart. It's like I'm stuck in a video game and someone keeps picking the same character, even though they know that character can't beat me. Someone used a hack on Mortal Kombat 2 and I'm using Sub-Zero but for some bizarre reason, their hack gave them Toad from Super Mario Brothers 2. And they keep using him."


"Thanks for putting that into a perspective that I would understand and appreciate."


"Don't mention it."


I eat a spoonful of étouffée. So delicious. Taking a sip of wine, I watch as Dillinger cautiously, takes a taste of his food. Several seconds pass and then, I see what I was hoping would happen, approval. My friend the killer, likes étouffée too. Yay!


"I bet if you return to the XWF you'd have a better chance of finding Griffin MacAlister."


"I already found him. Sort of."


"What do you mean... sort of?"


"I know where he's at, I just didn't bother going there."


"Why not? Did you chicken out?"


I feel the laughter spill out of me but quickly silence myself when I see him, poking at his food with his eyes lowered.


"No, I didn't go through with it, cause I didn't know what the fuck to say to him. What do I say? 'Hey, you don't know me, but my name is Dillinger D'Marco and I'm your half-brother. I know this because when I was trapped in the Realm of Madness, some disembodied voices told me all about it. They mentioned you might be in trouble too, hence my random appearance, out of nowhere. Oh by the way, I also happen to be an inter-dimensional, demi-god with a thirst for murder and a sword, that can rip through the fabric of reality.' Oh yeah. I'm sure that will go over real well."


"It couldn't hurt. He is dating Azrael's daughter and he wrestles for the XWF. He can't be too taken aback by what you've got to say. Although, I'd leave out the murder part. At least at the introduction stage. Maybe work your way into that later."


A grin spreads on my face.


"Or you could ask Vinnie Lane, for your job back. Then maybe you might accidentally and very casually, run into Griffin. At random. Then, you don't have to worry about what to say or how to say it, because you could start with something normal and inconspicuous, like wrestling, the XWF and how you both work for the company."


"I'll think about it."


"Fine."


In that precise moment within the kitchen, I felt something slip away. I couldn't put my finger on what it was yet. However, Dillinger seemed content. It was a new vibe to receive from him. Distinctly different, from either the charming facade he usually wore or the blank, slate of indifference, that was his true inner canvas. I think he might have internally accepted my friend request.