L.J.K. OLIVA

  Darius didn’t look up.  “You’re late.” “You’re lucky I came at all.”  Kristof glanced around again.  “Of course you had to pick the dive-y-est dive bar this side of Market.  I think that door handle just gave me a venereal disease.” Darius coughed, and signaled the bartender. Kristof glanced at his empty glass.  “Little…

  He was fairly sure he’d bruised a rib. Darius sat perched on the edge of Georgia Clare’s faded sofa. In front of him were the shattered remains of what he guessed had once been a coffee table. It was little more than kindling now; a sad, splintery mess. He stared at it, his brain…

She was late. Darius shifted as he waited for the crosswalk light to change.  Across Haight’s busy intersection, the corner where Georgia had instructed him to meet her was empty.  Darius swallowed a groan.  His head felt like it was on fire, but at least it wasn’t as bad as the other day.  At least…

Something about the floating club reminded him of Wonderland. Not Disney’s Wonderland, either, but Wonderland according to Lewis Carroll: dark, sumptuous. Treacherous. It was the sort of place where anything could happen…and probably did. He had a feeling if a deranged, bloodthirsty monarch suddenly swept in and started demanding people’s heads, no one would bat…

It was not accustomed to being summoned. The night began like any other, not that it normally had much use for mundane notions of time.  All nights bled together in the dark wasteland where it preferred to hunt.  It was hot on some hapless creature’s trail when it first felt the pull. IGNORE. A gust…