Edited Historical Fiction Sample

The gallows stood tall in the middle of the square. Its wood soaked in the falling sunlight, bathing in God’s glory. That seemed to be what the bystanders saw, too, as they flocked around the monstrous structure.

The screams of the convicted rang in my ears—a beautiful song. The man struggled against his bindings, but they were too tight, and he was too weak to fight against fate.

I’d watched this ritual many times before, but I still gazed at the condemned, fascinated.

Some men were silent as their throats brushed against the coarse thread, though these were few. Others soiled themselves and felt the liquid drip down their legs—these were most. Some sobbed, a bit of their salty tears lingering in the noose after they passed. Then there were those who felt the need to share their last thoughts. These were the ones who continued to hold onto their pride, assuming those watching their execution would care about what they had to say. But none asked forgiveness. Because they all knew there was none. Not in this world. And not in the next.

The Puritans placed the noose over the man’s neck. As they did, his face transformed into a familiar one. One from the past, and one I did not ever wish to see again.

“Why do you regret what you did, Fortune?” a quiet voice asked, barely a whisper in my mind.

“Who said that?” I asked, turning to the alley behind me.

“Let the past go, my dear, or it will continue to haunt your dreams.” The voice was louder now. I looked at the man atop the gallows and swallowed the thick lump in my throat. I could feel the same noose tightening around my neck.

“Any last words?” the pastor said before closing the bible in his hands.

The man, panicking, said, “Wait! I didn’t mean to! It wasn’t my fault!”

With a sigh, the pastor nodded to the executioner, and the lever was pulled. The man’s eyes bulged upon landing, but his neck did not break. Instead, he hung midair, waiting for time to end his suffering.

I fell to my knees, my hands desperately trying to free the pressure from my neck. I couldn’t breathe. I collapsed onto my side, my eyes never leaving the hanging man—my father.

“Wake up, Fortune,” the voice said calmly.

The pressure tightened around my throat.

“That’s enough!” A sharp pain crawled down my hands. I released my throat long enough to realize that there was no noose around my neck—just my hands.

I sat up, sweat pouring down my skin. The bed sheets were wet and hot. I threw them to the floor instantly. The sun shined through the window and onto my face. I moaned, irritated.

“Stop drinking before bed. It makes the dreams worse,” Time commented from atop my bedpost. His piercing stare bore into the back of my head.

I examined my stinging hands. “Did you have to cut me so deep?” Blood dripped down my arms, but the scratches were already clotting.

The cat hissed his frustration.

“And I have to drink, or else I won’t sleep at all.” I stood and plunged my hands into the water basin at my bedside while flicking water droplets at Time, my… cat… if he could be called such. Demon, more like.

“For the thousandth time, I am not a demon.” The cat stood, and balancing on the thin headboard, leaped toward the windowsill. There, he sat with his long legs poised to pounce at the slightest movement.

“Could have fooled me,” I commented, wiping away the last of the blood from my hands. “And 'for the thousandth time,'” I said, mocking his derisive tone, “stop stealing my thoughts.”

Time’s crimson gaze met my own. “'Stealing' is a bit harsh.”

Giving up, I laughed. “What’s for breakfast?”

Time looked at the empty whiskey bottle rolling on the slanted wooden floor.

I sniffed, pouting.

“It’s your turn to get food,” he sighed, knowing what was coming.

“But you’re so much better at it,” I praised, hoping for some moments alone with my thoughts and… the bottle of gin I hid in the closet. “The market rarely has fresh meat anymore.” With clean hands, I approached the wary cat and placed my fingers upon his soft ebony fur. I stroked his back and tail until he purred, knowing I had won.

“You’re a dangerous girl, Fortune.” The cat leaped from his perch and trotted to the front door, already growing in size.

“Woman,” I corrected.

Time looked back at me with what could only be described as a smirk. He left the small home no longer a mere house cat, but a full-grown panther that was ready to hunt. I peered out the window and watched him bound into the trees, his shape still slightly distorted from the change. Thankfully, our home was far enough away from town that Time could get away with transforming whenever he wanted.

I uncovered the hidden bottle of bliss and closed the closet. After opening the windows, I sat on the chair beside the front door, enjoying the fresh air caressing the overheated home. The burn of the drink pooled in my stomach, easing the hunger pains. It wasn’t as if I couldn’t have kept supplies there—I had plenty of money left over from the last job—but knowing that I could die at any moment kept me from planning too far ahead.

I stared at the shadows of the forest, wondering if Time had truly left or if he had chosen to stay and watch me instead. I chuckled. “There’s no escaping Time.” It was an ironic name the cat had given himself. Something to torture his current Familiar, I thought. To torture me.

But a deal was a deal. My soul for his power.

My father’s face appeared in my mind, and the terror I felt in childhood returned, causing my body to tremble. I had another long drink of gin. “Why are you still with me? Even in death, you hurt me,” I whispered.

“He deserved what you did to him, Fortune.” Time’s quiet voice wormed its way into my thoughts. “As for your mother—”

“Leave me alone! Aren’t you supposed to be hunting?” I said, spitting gin.

“I am.”

I looked around the empty room. “Then concentrate on that. You don’t need to watch me every moment of the day. Get out of my head!” I threw the glass bottle out the window, toward the last place I’d seen the retreating panther.

“Fine. Just don’t pass out. We’ve got another job,” he warned. Sure enough, not five minutes later, there was a knock at the front door.

I groaned and cracked the door, listening to the squeak of the rusting hinges. “So soon?” I complained to the Director—the man had so many connections, I was surprised that he didn't get strangled in the web. But his connections kept food on the table and drinks in my hand. He was the person behind the town council’s locked doors. He was the one who ensured that the dirty work was done, no matter the method that was needed.

“Miss Fortune, you are the most sought-after bounty hunter in the country. You should be honored.” He glanced behind me. “And where is your lovely…pet?” The Director swallowed thickly. Animals made him nervous, especially one such as Time. The cat didn’t speak to anyone except me, but it was obvious that he was more than a mere cat. His penetrating stare and timely arrivals concerned those who dared to be in my presence. It was a good thing I didn’t feel the need to stay in others’ company for too long.

“Out hunting, I would assume. He’s a natural predator after all,” I teased, waving my hand with indifference. I opened the door wide enough for my boss to step through. He made note of the empty liquor bottles and soiled bed sheets on the floor.

My home wasn’t much to boast about. A small shack with a table, bed, and fireplace. But it was enough. So long as I was alone in the woods, it didn’t matter what I lived in. When I was young, I would often take shelter in dead hollowed trees, filling them with leaves and the witch’s hair that dangled from the branches.

The Director eyed me skeptically. “Are you well enough to remember what I tell you?”

“As hard as I might try to forget, I always remember what you tell me, boss,” I said with a dismissive flip of my dark hair. I swooped down and picked up an empty bottle, needing the feel of the glass neck in my hand. “Now, who am I hunting?”