About The Talisman

by Willa Okati
32 pages / 13800 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-097-9, 1-60370-097-8
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc

Something is very wrong with Christopher. Something Roman can't fix, no matter how hard he tries. The doctors don't know what's wrong, and nothing the witches try works either, and all he can do is give comfort and care, and try not to let the others see his anguish as his lover declines right before his eyes.

Is the Talisman Christopher found what's causing the mysterious illness? Or is it the only thing keeping him alive? When Roman makes a last ditch effort to find out, it takes him places he never expected to go. Can he save Christopher, or will they both be lost forever? Find out in this urban mystical tale.

Sample

Sometimes Roman curls up in the corner of the bedroom closet and weeps. Cries til his eyes burn from the salt. He bunches his hands into fists until nails puncture skin, leaving ragged half-moons. Pounds his thighs until they bruise and pulls at his hair. Like the wailing women used to do, hired mourners, only his pain's real, see? And it's good. Distracts him. Gives him something else to focus on.

Besides Christopher, his lover.

He only ever allows himself this indulgence once in a very great while. When his friend Sarah is over, because he knows she won't say anything. She'll understand. Or his young niece, Aurora. They're strong enough, those two, to keep the tears for their own private times in the arms of those they love. Never when Christopher's best friend and Sarah's lover Marie might see. She's too likely to set off in her own fit of despair, or into a black and futile rage against this thing they can't fight nor pummel nor kill.

But it's just Sarah come by to visit tonight, and he's in his hidey-hole right now, crouched low to the ground. Rocking on the balls of his bare feet, arms wrapped around his chest. Must look a right mess, but he doesn't care. He's had his cry out.

Been almost an hour, he thinks. Longest one yet. Then again, he needed it more. And he can't cry 'round Christopher, can't upset him so much as that.

Have to take care of him. He needs it now. Now that he can't care for himself.

That's – almost – what hurts Roman most.

The worst is the fear that he'll lose his lover altogether, and no, no, hell if he'll start thinking like that because he hasn't yet and he won't now. Angry, he dashes the backs of his hands against his eyes. Enough of this soppy bawling! Get up, act like a man and go. Take. Care. Of. Fucking. Business.

That lasts about to the closet door, where he notices his hands are shaking on the knob. Stop it! he snaps at himself. Shoves the offending digits inside his pockets as he saunters out. See? Not a care in the world. Casual as he can be, except...

Oh, bloody hell, Marie's gone and stopped by while he was in there. Heard him, most like; her own eyes are puffy and swollen. Sarah's sitting by her on the couch, rubbing small circles on her back. Roman follows that motion greedily, remembering when it was his Christopher's hard palm working that little dance up and down his spine till he purred like a kitten.

He doesn't really greet them, just nods, and they nod back. They've been here too much to make a deal of it now. Still, if both are in here... "Christopher?" he asks quietly, tilting his head toward the master bedroom door. It's been left open just a tiny crack.

"Sleeping," Sarah replies, voice hushed. "Or just quiet."

Roman rubs his hand across his face. "I know. S'hard to tell. How long?"

"Fifteen minutes?" Sarah glances at the clock. "Maybe twenty."

He won't be out much longer, if he really is dozing. "I'll see to him, then. You birds better fly away home – be dark soon."