(Marie Christine is a retelling of Medea by way of Marie Laveau, and travels from New Orleans to New York to Chicago, and about a decade)

“You will be very old when you die,” she hisses, the red of her lips as good an oracle as bones or snakeskin, “No one will witness your death.”

Dante takes a step back, hands up, before he remembers who holds the power here, and then he laughs to himself as he figures out the rest. “It’s killing you, isn’t it – that I love someone else now?”