The Sentinels When the tequila runs out

The honey-colored youth watched in silence as Deirdre made preparations. She scooted as far back as she could to make room, eyes watching as the witch set out stones. She did not recognize the gift she had once given her best friend, though the sense of anticipation was faintly familiar. It was as if she knew what was coming next, even though she couldn't have said what. When she realized Deirdre was trying to form a circle, she scooted again, accidentally bumping her head once more on the low ceiling and wincing at the pain that shot through her skull.

Suddenly, the sound of the rain beating down all around them made her head hurt all the worse. It was unbearable, excruciating. And then Deirdre began chanting. Her voice was soft and lilted, though it made Sharkbait's temples throb painfully enough that her lips parted and a moan wrenched free. Another followed it when the world seemed to shudder and howl all around them. Despite the now blinding agony and the fear worming in her belly, Sharkbait leaned into that familiar warmth, eyes closing and remaining that way when everything fell into a sudden hush.

The rainstorm had ended abruptly, as had Deirdre's spell, or at least that's what Sharkbait thought initially. But then all awareness faded absolutely as her slender body slumped against her friend's, then slipped to the floor. Her eyes reopened only to roll back in her head, her limbs twitching and jerking as her tongue accompanied a dribble of foamy spittle out of her mouth. Her jaw then went rigid and her teeth cut into the meat of her tongue, drawing blood as the little girl seized there on the damp floor of the tree hollow.