HP Lovecraft's Magazine of Horror - Weird Tales

THE DEAD WALKED LIKE THE LIVING.
WAS IT A CURSE? OR A
STRANGE BLESSING?
#B?LLSMNIH?M ;H>
3B;L>M I@ )=?
C;
)sat with my face in my hands; not due to inebriation, which was greater
than what my finances allowed, but less than what I wanted it to be. My
distress was caused by a combination of events that involved the
crooked militia, a slick merchant, and a deceitful woman. As a result, my
financial and moral state left much to be desired; so I drank on credit.
Just as the world was starting to soften around the edges, a shadow fell across
the stained tablecloth of the restaurant table. I did not look up. While I was not
a man to avoid the inevitable, I still did not relish the sight of my doom’s portends.
I wanted to see neither goons, nor the ungrateful bitches.
“Excuse me,” said a male voice directly above and far, far from my bowed
head. “Messer Lonagan?”
The address was polite enough to make me raise my gaze. Two thugs in the
uniforms of the Areti clan grinned at me with as much sincere joy as a shark that
spotted a flounder.
“Yes,” I said, too smart and too experienced to lie. “What can I do for
you?”
“Venerable Mistress Areti desires to see you.”
I sighed and took another sip of my wine. “I’d rather stay where I am. I had
the most wretched day, and surely the Venerable Mistress can find someone better
qualified than I.” Not that I liked turning down a paycheck, but Areti’s gold
H .P . L O V E C R A F T ’S M A G A Z IN E O F H O R R O R 13