Tracey Dyck

Dead Magic

By Tracey Dyck

The man came to a stop in a beam of sunlight struggling through the dust-smeared windowpane, and the glow peeled a mask of shadow off his face, revealing white skin pulled tightly over his skull and teeth visible through paper-thin lips.

I clutched the countertop to keep from staggering. Okay. Not Indy. “What are you?”