Behind him the despairing wails of the coven filled Jeff’s ears. Followed by the crunching of bone.
Jeff stared horrorstruck at the empty bottle of virgin’s blood in his hand. His eyes scanned the now-very-obvious fine print at the bottom of the label.
Warning: May contain impurities. Consult your cantrip guide before using.
There was a sharp-nailed tap on his shoulder. A reluctant Jeff turned around to face the fang-filled mouth of a grinning demon. He had time for one final curse as the sickle-toothed jaws opened.
“Damn all cut-rate dealers!”
Gregg Chamberlain, now retired after five decades as a community newspaper reporter, lives in rural Eastern Ontario with his missus, Anne, and their cats who allow the humans the run of the house. A genre writer with many credits for sf, fantasy, weird fiction, and zombie filk, he continues to enjoy his passion for speculative fiction combined with his own quirky sense of humour. Find him at: https://www.facebook.com/gregg.chamberlain or on Twitter/X @greggchamberlai.
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