THE LOT: Sum of One’s Parts

She reached for a small, obsidian vial. Uncorking it, the room filled with the tang of oil and the copper-sweet scent of fresh blood. This was the Quimbanda—the black oil of the crossroads. She pushed him down on the bed, straddling him. Andrew was enthralled, his heart hammering an uneven rhythm. She poured the black, viscous slick onto herself, then onto her palms. This was the Ponto de Fogo—a point of fire. She began to massage it onto them both, tracing the oil down his abdomen in a "slippery" transgression that made his skin hum. Then, the horror bled through the pleasure. As the oil touched her skin, the black sigils on her body began to hum. The ink began to glow with a bruised, neon-purple light. Andrew’s breath hitched—a mix of raw arousal and spiking terror. He tried to pull back, but the oil was too magnetic. The tattoos began to weep. Tiny, needle-thin lines of blood seeped from the glowing ink, mixing with the oil. Mariana leaned down, her eyes wide and obsidian. She pressed her thumb into a weeping sigil on her collarbone—a spiritual signature—and then forced it into his mouth. Andrew swallowed. He didn't just taste the oil; he drank of her. The taste was of iron and —the flavor of a soul being signed over to the Exu. Fear clawed at his throat, but the intoxication of the Scotch and the raw, filthy heat of her body made him dismiss the terror. He reached up, his hands finding the curve of her hips, pulling the glowing, bleeding nightmare of her down onto him. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit markusmachado.substack.com