She cursed him, fluently. Not an ordinary, vulgar curse, it was floridly elaborate, free of expletives, and called down to him very specific, unpleasant harm.

He then pondered the efficacy of curses, the long history of humans wishing each other ill, striding with painful purpose through hidden corridors of occult ceremony. Trying to think about it logically, it came to him that he knew very little concerning the esoteric mechanics, the practicalities of cursing. Hollywood banalities filtered into his mind: a voodoo drum soundtrack, feathered shamans crouching in their cool jungle, gold-encrusted priestesses wielding chipped onyx daggers.

He scoffed "Jesus wept!" to himself, gave his shoulders a twitchy shrug, looked at her sadly, turned and walked away.

His hand reaching for the doorknob, he faltered, sharply wincing. As his knees, then his hands hit the floor the sound of drums filled his ears, coming from all directions.

6/24/2021