Breakfast in summer, marmalade and coffee, disturbed by the postman. A manila envelope makes me irritable. I swear, as long as I live, another of these shall never pass the lips of my letterbox.
I grab a spell book from the library shelf, Tomic by Vici Arbleg – tangential magic, in the spirit-life and all that blah. The dust whirls. Casting in anger, I wave my arms. The sky goes black and the clouds boil open; I smell sour wine and walnuts. A shape at the window, a creature with wings skiing down the lawn. Noxious lumps burst from the door. Pus and spume as the woodwork cracks open. An envelope with splinter teeth bulges into the room – in its eyes I can see hunger for my blood.
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