O Night More Lovely than the Dawn

by Syd McGinley
14 pages / 4700 words
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc

Lu doesn't know if his friend Guy is really magical, but he sure hopes so. He's going to need all of Guy's help to try and save the man he loves. Nyle is everything Lu wants, but there are forces at work that none of them can control. Can Guy's magic help Lu find a way to be with Nyle forever? Previously published in the Taste Test: Put Some English on It.

Sample

I had the first clue Guy was a witch last Halloween. He was gunning for Miss FrightNight 2002 as Jackie Kennedy ’63. Guy’s a detail-demon so his skanky friendship bracelet was weirder than the pink suit’s bloodstain.

“Memento dental floss from last night’s hottie?”

Guy would wear that -- I’m not bitchy -- he had red, rotten thread around his wrist.

“No, a spell: write your heart-secret wish in your blood, and when the ribbon rots away, the wish comes true.”

“Gross.”

“Kills me not picking… breaks the spell if I help it off.”

“Magical thinking; believe enough, it’ll happen…”

Guy burst into falsetto Dusty, “Wishing and hoping and thinking and praying”. He’s so dumb; Dusty sings about what won’t work. Before I said so, he said, “It is magical thinking. When it falls off, Tom’s mine. He’ll see me at last -- he’ll love me.”

I thought. 6’ 2” in a pink pillbox -- Tom’s not blind, but aloud I said, “Tom hates nelly.”

“I’m not nelly…I’m faaaaab-u-lous.”

I wasn’t jealous. Guy’s my best friend, and I’ve no past with Tom. I was bitter, my beloved was too exhausted to join us, but I needed to see lights, feel the evening’s buzz, see Guy’s newest costume -- feel life.

I never thought Guy was a witch. He didn’t look like one in his pink suit, or at work. He’s well-scrubbed Goth, but he’s not a crow at all -- he’s a flamingo in disguise. No, I didn’t think Guy was a witch, but he did make his wish come true. He called it his very own Christmas miracle; when we met in the New Year for our usual drink, Nyle with me for once, Guy arrived on Tom’s arm. Tom seated Guy, and kissed the top of his head as he went to buy us a round. His unashamed affection was worse than open-mouthed passion-slobber; Tom loved Guy. I’m not superstitious, but I step around ladders, throw salt, worry about minor omens. And a myth is how I met Nyle.

My soul quickened when I saw Nyle’s abs helpless under Guy’s tattoo gun. Guy finished his navel starburst, scrubbed the chair, and tore open a sterile needle packet for me. We’ve no secrets, so I whispered, “His needle... please…”