Someone was knocking.

David tried to ignore it while continuing to pack.

The knocking didn't stop.

Annoyed, he tossed a shirt in the suitcase on the foot of his bed, went to the door, and checked the peephole.

In the dim hallway stood a woman in a black veil and long black dress.

Lady in a black veil Babies in the bed…

Strata Luna. Was she stalking him now?

He opened the door. "Come to remove your curse?"

She lifted a gloved hand and blew at her cupped palm.

He didn't see anything, but suddenly a bitter, metallic taste filled his mouth. Instantly, his tongue swelled and went numb.

Fuuuckkk.

He took two steps back and struggled to close the door.

She shoved it open, followed him into the apartment, and slammed the door.

Just the two of them.

Strata Luna. Who had probably killed her daughters. Had probably killed Enrique. Had probably killed Flora. Obsessed with death. Obsessed with killing. Playing God. It was just too easy… too obvious…

He lurched and grabbed his cell phone from the kitchen counter.

How much time did he have before he was completely paralyzed? Two minutes? Three? At the most?

But he'd snorted the shit. That would be faster.

He stared at the phone in his hand.

He knew what he wanted to do, but his brain couldn't get the message to his fingers.

Where did he fit in? What did she want with him?

Woman in a black veil Looking for something male Fuck him till his eyes turn blue Bury him when she's through.

He'd never claimed to be a poet.

The phone slipped from his numb fingers.

He began to float.

Up, up to the ceiling.

She caught him by the arms and pulled him earthward, holding him in front of her so he couldn't float away again.

His legs gave way and he crumpled to the floor and lay there, unable to move.

She swooped down and straddled him. She sank into him, the billowing folds of her gown swallowing him. Looming above, her veil fell over his eyes as she cupped his face in her hands.

She smelled like mold and mildew and damp rot. Plus something else. What? Something familiar… Formaldehyde and rotten meat. She pressed her lips to his, her breath filling him with poison. The air that came from her lungs tasted like rubbing alcohol.

He couldn't move. He couldn't close his mouth or

turn his head away.

"Little boy," she crooned against his lips. "Sexy little boy."