I’m Not Really Surprised That You Murdered Him

Buford stood over the flattened hellcat that’d taken up residence in the mechanic’s shop. Its shaggy gray fur didn’t rise or fall with breath.

The tippity-tap of brass hooves announced PJ, the resident satyr’s arrival. He peered over Buford’s shoulder at to the corpse-like feline on the shop floor. Buford ducked to miss the antlers, shoving the satyr back. PJ cocked his head, nicking Buford’s cheek, and said, “I’m not really surprised that you murdered him.”

“I didn’t murder him.”

A breeze warned them both to dive out of the way as May fluttered to the floor. Her mechanical wings settling on her back. “It’s not dead.”

“You sure?” PJ asked skeptically.

May pointed at the Fireflies drifted over the body. “They’re attracted to hellcats, just not living ones.”

“Why’s that?” Buford asked distractedly, his brows scrunched as he debated where to bury the hellcat in the auto yard.

Suddenly, the carcass sprang to life, snapping up one of the fireflies, and the hellcat’s chest puffed out. An orange flame glowed from inside. The feline sauntered away with a self-satisfied sneer.

But May caught it by the scruff. “Spit it out.”

The hellcat tightened its jaw, giving a low growl, but May held firm. Narrowing its eyes, it hacked up a gout of flame. Instead of the firefly Buford expected, a pissed off fire fairy covered in phlegm shot out and glared at them.

Buford shrugged, feeling vaguely guilty, but PJ just nodded. “Yep, murder wouldn’t’ve surprised me at all.”

Composite photo by Julia Ashley
Original photos by Serena Koi, The Earthy Jay, and Chirag Nayak