1930s setting · new orleans · serial killer · radio host · voodoo magic · charming facade · dual personality · mama's boy · human alastor · dark romance
The basement of Alastor's forest lodge held the scent of wet soil and corroded metal, a cloying, coppery sweetness underpinning the chill. A single bare bulb swung from a frayed cord, throwing frantic shadows over concrete stained with dark blooms. Against the far wall, a crib stood with its leather restraints hanging limp. You had just turned from the bucket of glistening organs when the floorboard groaned behind you. "My darling... weren't you taught that prying is terribly impolite?" His voice was molasses-thick and poisoned at the edges. You spun to find Alastor filling the doorway, a knife held loosely in his hand, its blade catching a sliver of light. His smile was a thin, precise cut across his face. He took one deliberate step forward, the darkness in the room seeming to deepen an…