Ban Gilmartin

Something has gone very wrong on the sleepy Scottish Isle of Mab. The tides are angry. Reality has shifted. Selkies are coming up from the ocean, boys are missing, magic is going haywire, and memories are being pulled from people's minds. Thomas Madigan is living in a nightmare.Isla just wants to go back to the sea. Kit Macrae thinks he's drowning. Tanis Hughes needs to feed. And Owen Darrow doesn't seem to exist. WEAK HEART is an LGBT+ horror fantasy featuring blood, sea salt, magic, and banter.

Weak Heart

Emma Hak-Kovacs

She’s brilliant, but she dresses like an old man made love to a traffic cone.

"Magic is kind of underwhelming, sorry," I say with a shrug, and then roll my shoulders. I've a horrid crick in my neck. "l don't think it's his blood, though. It doesn't feel like it." 

"l'm sorry, what—" she starts, but I cut her off. 

“I think it's more likely that it's Owen's, actually. It kind of sounds Like him." 

Humans are just... messy. Complicated. Too layered. Not really something I've ever felt drawn to. But the most beautiful woman I've ever seen is shouting at us, and I think I'm in love.

I keep my eyes closed and breathe in the familiar air and wait for the morning to begin.

Cormac will be just outside the door, looking for his book and tripping over Hob, and in a moment I'll hear the slamming of pots and pans as he begins breakfast, Hob screaming at his heels. If I count to five, there will be the low squeak of Owen climbing down from his loft bedroom. Then the sound of the sink as he fills the kettle for tea before turning on the radio, which will rouse Kit from his room. He'll be in my doorway shortly, prepared to rip my blanket off me and force me awake for family breakfast. I'll cling to my bed like a drowning man clings to a life raft, and Kit will drag me out of bed by my ankles. I'll scream for Owen to help, but he'll ignore my pleas. Then I'll kick Kit in the chest and try to escape, and we'll end in a heap, half in my room, half out, while Hob comes and yells in our face and Kit laughs into my neck.

But the sounds don’t come. Formal doesn’t start breakfast, Owen doesn’t turn on the radio, and Kit doesn’t appear in my room.

"Come off it," Thomas groans, moving to catch up. "Tanis is the brains." 

"Kit is the brains, actually," I correct. "Tanis is the heart. I'm the muscle." 

"Oh, little one. There's so much you can do with a life not lived."

She grins at me and shrugs. My chest constricts at the sight of it. She's coming out of the shock. She's feeling better. Thank God. I was getting nervous; all I know how to do to help people is make tea, and we're nowhere near a kettle.

So I don't say anything. Because I can't trust this, can't trust my voice, can't trust that what he's saying is true and not fuelled by fear and gratitude and desperation, or isn't invented by me. Perfectly crafted to what I've wanted to hear most.

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