A Nocturne in Red
(First published by The Society of Misfit Stories , August 2018) IN THE SMALL HOURS, Sanjen stumbled from the House of Ambrosia, brazen as a boast. The sweet ecstasy of the honey clung to his mouth and laid a gossamer veil across his eyes. The stars danced, and the great Ring leered like a drunken smile across the sky. They sang to him, golden songs like the hum of bees, like the sigh of a woman. He spread his arms and became one of those dancing stars, one of a million, and for a moment loneliness faded. A voice somersaulted up the street and struck Sanjen in the ear: “Did you hear what I said, pretty boy? Give me your coin.” Purple magelight on the street corner glinted on steel. The sensation of almost-pain pricked at Sanjen’s throat. A face, greasy and poxy, floated specter-like through the sensuous contortions of the stars. In some sober recess of his brain, Sanjen appreciated the situation. Dear gods. Robbed. Me? Rotten teeth grit. “Dig deep, or I’ll cut you up so small your...
