Copyright © by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.
“Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?” She takes a long drag off her cigarette. “Yes, all his steps are sinister,” the succubus answers. “Two left feet.” He eyed his child. “Time travel?” “It’s limited: My future consciousness displaced to my body in the past,” she says. “But the events you want to stop, happened before your birth.” “I can’t save the future, Dad. I’ve built a displacer here so you can.” His suit is impeccable, the physique under it attractive. His head is a skull. “You’re not dead?” his date asks. “Nah, just everything except my bones is transparent.” She wets a napkin and uses it to remove the makeup covering her skull face. “Surprise! ” “It’s good!” Thoth said. “It is?” “Trim a few words, and it’ll be great!” “It’s a spell?” “It’s poetry.” “But I want to be a wizard, not a writer! ” The ibis-headed god laughs. “You are already what you seek: All words are magic. All writers, magicians.” “Please help me,” Amy asked, approaching cautiously. “I need a ride.” The unicorn bowed its horn to the US Army corporal. “Dark Lords of Chaos invading Des Moines or not,” she said, climbing on, “at least I’m fulfilling my childhood dream trying to stop them!” “No wonder we’re dead in space!” Jarr said, discovering more jellyfish-like globs. “They’re infesting the hull damage!” Annya stopped his EVA boot from crushing one. “No!” It floated away, leaving a respliced power cable. “They’re making repairs!” I enter the supervillain’s kitchen. Stood nose to the floor is a 1950 A-bomb. Oppenheimer raises a fist. “Nuke, I am your father!” It beeps the Imperial March. “Do do do do-de do, do-de do!” It pours coffee. “If you have a theme,” he says, “you must own it.”