Niteblade #22 - The Language of Flowers

Fiction

Tonight, Tonight by W.P. Johnson
The harmonics ring out and he winds the tuning peg down for the E string. The two notes start to shimmer and throb against one another, creating a wave of sound that fluctuates slower and slower until a single harmony is created.

The House That Did Not Breathe by Gwendolyn Edward and Andrew Austin
I remember a volume I had seen once in the rare book room at my university, and how there was a locking hinge made of rusted metal, attached to the wooden, worm eaten covers, and how when the hinge was unlatched the book sprang open as if begging to be read, the folded pages of the manuscript parched and dry and written upon in black ink with illustrations of many colors and the occasional golden embellishment.

The Garden by Christopher DeWan
We shined the light through the glass. The windows looked dirty and thin. Somewhere, there was a beast outside. We thought we heard the sound of breathing but realized maybe it was our own. We didn’t see a thing.

Hieronymus by Megan Arkenberg
The alcove is always full of papers. I leave them stacked on the floor around me, and between toasting muffins, sending maids for laundry and tallying fees for the few and increasingly shabby guests, I sit by the window with a cup of tea and a scissors and search for Hieronymus.

Poetry

The Maiden-Harp by Sara Cleto
The Language of Flowers by Alicia Cole
Orphean Habit by Erik Amundsen
Glacial Raft by Carolyn Agee
Curse of the Reaper’s Wife by Bruce Boston