That first cut is always so damn sweet

Bastian Celeste walked his fingers over the casing of miniature drawers. There had been a time when a studio fitting like this would have been a show of status all by itself, but these relics of mahogany and brass were frowned on as much as ivory now [...]


Eeeeeek! The Art of Drowning – 3.3 – By Phil Huston

Shona shifted her weight from one foot to the other, glanced around the third-floor walkway of a council house in Manchester at three AM while Caswell picked the lock on the door of Leith Alger’s flat. “I shouldn’t be here,” she breathed. “I know this is how you work, but…” [...]

The Art of Drowning – 3.2 – By Phil Huston

Fashionably London was the last thing Caswell expected to open his door to on a rainy night in the country. He watched with some apprehension as Elise set a bottle of wine on the coffee table, removed her cape, laid it over the back of the couch and shook out her hair as fluidly as the water running down his windows. “It’s been almost two weeks since Cliftonwood, Cas. You weren’t going to call me?” [...]

It’s not like we stood in line for this

3 seconds to daylight. The air inside the office was always the same. Bastian pulled the cuff of his glove tight and turned away from the door, slipping low under the first of the windows. The humiliated drone would be searching for him, calculating which side street, which building, how fast, how far he could have gone. The old library sliced a piece of history through heat recognition easy enough, but any visual movement, any contrast, and he was screwed. [...]

Just depends what sort of mood I’m in

Bastian Celeste detested heroes. All that perverted selfishness and hidden agenda, where was the honesty in that? Sure, moral corruptions followed him around like a pack of rabid dogs, but lying had never been one of them. He picked up a coffee at the station and ducked past the security checks, stone-skimming his phone ID … Continue reading Just depends what sort of mood I’m in