I lifted an eyebrow. Maybe I’d been wrong. “You keep it all hidden?”
Marjorie guffawed and I found myself taking an involuntary step backwards. “You’ve been sent here to be cured of your disease.”
I scowled. “Excuse me?”
“Alcoholism. It controls your every action. You’ve been sent here so that it can be defeated.”
I and my alcoholism had come to a mutually beneficial understanding long ago. It helped me through the low points of life, of which I had many, and I kept it more than adequately satisfied. It had been my best, and longest, relationship ever. Other than a few spots where my drinking had ended up getting me captured by those who wished me harm, or worse.
Marjorie held a hand toward me. “You can conquer it with my help.”
I held both hands up in front of me. “I think I’ll just leave now.”
Her stare bore down into my soul. “Suit yourself. Too bad, though. We were just about to sit down for mealtime.” She clapped her hands twice, and a line of men entered through the room’s back door, carrying tray after tray of cooked meat. They placed them on the long wooden platform that I’d originally thought was a bar. The aroma alone made my mouth salivate.
I looked back at the older woman, whose sinister grin had returned. “Unfortunately, these meals are reserved for those who have chosen to follow me.”
So, there's the end of our set of "Sacrifice" snippets. If you want to find out what happens next, pick up a copy of my latest Triple-Shot. And of course, as always, if you like what you see, pick up a copy of all of my other short story collections as well.