shoshana edelman

Fingertips ghosted skin, warm and gentle.

They were pressed together, an arm draped over Shosh's shoulder as Clem held her close, tucked into each other softly and basking in afterglow.

The scar potted at Clem's flesh, structured and succinct in their carvings. Each healed welt too gentle of an abrasion for Shosh to pull away from, tracing the feel of it beneath her touch; instead her fingertips played against the skin on Clem’s forearm, gentle melodies forming beneath them.

“I was seven. Got bit by my neighbour's dog. Mam found out and was fuming about it, obviously. Nearly beat the shit out of the guy. But I hated them for years—" Clem said absently, stroking at Sho's hair and twirling a strand absently around her finger, "still kind of do. They just make me uneasy is all. Some of 'em are alright, I know they ain't all horrible, but they still, you know..."

Shosh's brows creased. She tilted her head to look at Clem and tried to read her expression; something caught in a distant thought but small and vulnerable, similar to the one she saw in the Quidditch tents just months ago. Her eyes fixed on the small bruise cradled at the crease of Clem's neck and shoulder, dotted teeth marks puprle on olive skin.

"Oh shit, Clem," she said, shifting to sit up on her knees and hesitating to place a hand on against the bruise, "I'm sorry, I didn't know, otherwise I would've—"

Clem grasped Shosh's wrist, stopping her. "Hey," she said, titling her head to catch her eyeline, "if it was a problem, I would've said, yeah?"

"But—" Shosh tried to protest, before feeling a finger beneath her chin as it guided her to face the brunette, wide eyes meeting soft with creases at the corners.

“The lady doth protest too much,” Clem uttered, the tension at Shosh’s brows dispersing as she gave a small, shy smirk. “It’s different, trust me. And I’m gonna be real honest with you, Sho; I fuckin’ love when it comes from you.”

“Oh?”

Clem simply nodded.

“You’re into it?”

"Yeah," the Hufflepuff almost scoffed.

Sol: [image from Sol's insta DM of Rhett being very close to Dani]

Sol: Be honest with me. Is she cheating on me?

Exclusively for Cantis Magazine, we spoke with The Band Cthulhu ahead of their new winter release album, Dog Days.

The newest member of the band, Dani Royce, hails from Liverpool. But she didn't grow up with the Hogwarts education of her band mates, explaining, "You could say I was homeschooled, but even that doesn't fit. I learned by living... I got to pick what my passions are and my family encouraged me to grow them."

Indeed, Dani's passion for music had her lending her talent as a bassist to gigs across Liverpool, where The Band Cthulhu discovered her. "We first heard Dani play at an indie venue, and we absolutely knew we wanted to play with her, then and there." When we remarked that joining the band was a lucky break for the Liverpool witch, guitarist and singer Cass replied, "Honestly, we're the lucky ones that she's joined us."

We haven't been given any demos of the new album. In fact, the band are proud to share that they too, will hear the first play through of the entire album with their closest fans, at an invite-only birthday soiree for Shosh Edelman, the band's keyboard and synth player.

"The tracks are all original," Shosh answered when asked about the album's unique sound, "No covers, it's all our own work. We've been able to work with some artists that we all really admire. But it's definitely a step up from our last album."

We can't let mention of Cthulhu's debut album go by without asking about the sudden announcement of the band's 'break' earlier this year. Rumours have swirled online for months about the cause of the end of the fledgling band- but the resounding argument from fans is that sex, drugs and rock and roll was the band's downfall.

"Obviously we wish that things didn't end the way they did last time. We were all really hurt, and nothing good was coming of it by the end. But we're coming back better, and more prepared. I think the fans are going to be really impressed." Said drummer Rhett Andersen.

In preparation of the album's release, The Band Cthulhu dropped a surprise music video, hitting 1.2 million views in the first hour. For a wix band, Cthulhu's online presence has been a defining factor of their rise to fame. Band members share 'vlogs' and 'tiktoks' of their day to day, inviting fans to have personal relationships with both the band, and each member of it. Indeed, Cthulhu's utilisation of technology, unabashed advocacy for Being rights, and mobilisation of fringe outsiders as a fanbase, marks a seismic shift in the wix music industry.

Bunny. That word plucked Shoshana’s focus like a bowstring, luxuriating as it slid all the way up the long arch of her spine, the strum of a harp. Bunny; it was too specific to be a term of endearment that was carelessly thrown at everyone.

And indeed, Shosh’s heartbeat was thumping like skittering rabbit’s feet inside of her chest as Verlie traced her skin appraisingly. She swallowed down a shudder, struggling to keep her usual poise. She felt like a child again, presented to a room full of wealthy patrons of the arts, to emissaries and aristocrats and tastemakers to be hummed over and gawked at, and told to stand up straight and never tremble and act like you belong—be a perfect porcelain doll, a novelty to be treasured and displayed and made to perform on command, instead of the nobody that she actually was. The orphaned daughter of a seamstress, the charity case, the fraud.

Shosh could almost hear Herr Steiner barking at her, Remember your manners, girl! “Thank you…” she managed to say, gracious, demure. “…but I can’t take credit for the decor—this was all Henry. He had me over for tea in his study, when he interviewed me to be Cass’ donor…he could see I was quite taken by all of the old-world decadence, and he…well, truthfully, I believe he was rather fond of having someone with a taste for things that are sumptuous and old fashioned that he could spoil, since that’s certainly never been Cass…”

A cool finger traced a path into the hollow of her throat, and Shosh felt her pulse center there, her breath coming out in a staccato. She felt flushed all over, took note of the pearls of sweat beading on the back of her neck and in her cleavage, the stale taste of wine in her mouth. Shosh was hyperaware of every shameful imperfection she possessed as she was stood before such cool elegance and courtly prowess, and she hated it; hated how uncharacteristically flustered and unprepared she was, hated knowing that Verlie would surely find her to be noticeably unexceptional, and flawed, and human.

And yet—that low drawl was near hypnotic, and despite her fixation on her own shortcomings Shosh still found herself moving at Verlie’s command, like an orchestral player awaiting the wave of her conductor’s baton. She flushed as she teetered backward and hit the unflinching wood of the piano bench with a not-entirely-unpleasant whop to the backs of her thighs. She had to squeeze her legs together again, and found the pressure did little to relieve the pulsing want that was thrumming to life at each new suggestion from Verlie.

It occurred to Shosh then that this was all likely part of the Redlocke vampire’s Hunt, toying with her the way a cat would a mouse. “Are you…making fun of me?” she asked, straining to hold onto the last wire-thin thread of her pride. She sniffed, holding up her chin. “It’s alright, if you are, I just…I’d rather know about it, if I’m intended to be a punchline amongst your undead social circle at parties. I can take it. I’m well aware that it’s in my nature to…romanticize, to get carried away with quixotic fantasy, to be somewhat…extra, you might say.”

It had happened often, since Shosh had been drawn into the secretive world of vampires and their blood donors—that her sensational and outlandish reveries gleaned from the pages of gothic fairy tales would misalign with the reality of this world. And it wasn’t that Shosh was disappointed by any of it, by any means, it’s just…she had learned not to expect that anyone, even vampires, would ever be quite as extra as she was, that all those beautiful and violent delights were best kept to fantasy, and that it was foolish to want to be wanted in such superlative terms—body and soul, down to her marrow.

It was just what Shosh needed to center herself, to remind her meandering fancy not to take anything too seriously, because that wouldn’t be cool would it?

She smiled, confidence returning to her as she tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder and said with brazen cheek, “If it’s all the same to you, O Mysterious Mistress, I’d like to earn my keep—I promised to delight you with marvels of musicianship, and I intend to keep that promise. So I propose that I play you a tune, of my choice, and if what I play and how I play it is to your liking, then…you may reward me for my efforts however you see fit.” She smoothed her fingers over the glossy ivories thoughtfully, and then stilled her hands as she added belatedly, “Oh, and just so we’re clear—I consent wholeheartedly to be your willing prey, to be played with and pleasured, punished or praised—whatever you please.”

Shosh returned her focus to the keys. She drew in a breath, and held the silence for a few moments of tantalizing, teasing anticipation—the seasoned performer within her shining through. Then she threw herself into the sweeping opening chords of the very first song that came to mind—a dynamic rendition of the iconic cinematic medley, designed to steal the hearts of all the cursed and the mercurial and the stubbornly lonely.

…

Verlie giggled, “Certainly not Cass at all; my boy has always misliked the old-world decadence that comes with vampirism.” It was one of the few things that Verlie enjoyed about her time as a bejeweled Redlocke donor. The gifts were divine; she was dressed to the nines in exclusive clothing brands and rare jewelry, perfumes, and shoes. Her closet was worth a medium-sized fortune; even if Verlie was cut off by the Redlocke’s, selling her clothes would be enough to sustain her until she could make more money. Verlie had sold the pieces she disliked or were from Feeders who were less than stellar, but many she had kept, worn and cared for.

Verlie laughed as Shosh’s mouth fell open a bit, the vampire lifted her fingers from Shosh’s breastbone to trace the outline of her lips.

“You worry far too much for such a pretty creature.” Verlie hummed, “But rest assured I am not mocking you or making you the butt of my joke. I would never be so crass as to make you a punchline,” Verlie dragged her fingers down Shosh’s neck a second time, grinning as the young woman arched again into the sharp prick of her nails. “Trust me, whoever laughs at you while in my company will find their throat torn out.” The threat hung in the air and Verlie crowded closer to the trembling bunny under her hands. “I am a vicious thing. It my nature to take what I want.” Verlie stated, “But I am not cruel. I would not allow anyone to disrespect you, I would not allow anyone to treat you less than.” Verlie grinned, “That’s my job, bunny.”

The vampire stepped back, letting Shosh breath in sharply as if her lungs had been hanging off her words. The vampire smiled fondly down at Shosh and grinned wildly as she found a space beside the human pet. “Believe me, you are more than going to earn your keep as my pet,” Verlie whispered as she sat down beside Shosh, “and you will get your… rewards and punishments by my will.” Verlie traced her nails over Shosh’s leg, trailing up her thigh, and grinned at the tremble of her body.

Verlie pulled her hands back, unwilling to sully Shosh’s performance, and as the first note rang out she sighed happily.

“I love Studio Ghibli,” the vampire whispered, “I’ve been Japan for the last few years,” the truth bubbled past her lips, and slipped into the tune, she kept her voice low, “and I used to attend orchestras where they played nothing but Hisashi’s music…” Verlie sunk happily into the music, but kept her hands to herself. It washed over her. Shosh looked so sunk into the piano that Verlie wanted nothing more than to ruin that stupor, with a grin Verlie grabbed Shosh’s throat, pulling her into a demanding kiss as the mortals hands stuttered over the keys. With a flash of vampire strength she lifted Shosh and placed her on her lap.

No, the type of possessiveness that Verlie suggested was—God, it was intoxicating. It was the type of ownership that was all-consuming, that permeated into every artery and nerve-ending until it was everything. That forbidden something she’d never been allowed to have.

And Shosh had always desired those things that were dark and forbidden.

She began to play, and it was a performance worthy of such a patron. Shosh couldn't help but grin in charmed surprise as Verlie noted her fondness for Studio Ghibli. “Really?” she said, transitioning into a bouncier, upbeat section of the song that mirrored her delight. And perhaps it broke the sultry illusion, just a bit—but for Shosh, finding a connection in the type of music that had been her entire world for all her life only endeared her to the vampire. “I played with some symphony orchestras in Japan, years ago…my former benefactor and legal guardian was Adrian Steiner—he always preferred that I stick to the classics, Liszt and Chopin and Schumann, but…I can’t help it, I love the fantasy and the romance of something like—”

Her reverie was halted as she was pulled into a searing, mind-frazzling kiss that had Shosh moaning a sumptuous chord of her own into Verlie’s mouth as her fingers slipped from the keys. It sucked up all the breath from her lungs and she panted with want as the vampire pulled away, and Shosh found herself suddenly situated in the other’s lap. Shosh had no idea how she was meant to string any coherent thoughts together after that, let alone music, but Verlie guided her wrists back to the keys and Shosh just played. She had always been a performer who let her passions inform her art and guide her intuition when it came to music, but this was something different; her fingers were moving on the ivories as if detached from Shosh’s body, which was a live wire of vibrating sensation of an entirely different sort. She whined at each sinful utterance from Verlie, the ghosting of breath against the over-heated skin of her throat, the moisture she could already feel pooling between her slightly parted thighs. It took honest-to-God every ounce of concentration that Shoshana had within her to keep still and keep playing, and not grind down against the leg that was oh-so conveniently wedged between her own, to relieve the pulsing ache that was growing more insistent at a frankly embarrassing rate, considering she wasn't even fucking being touched, really.

She skipped a few of the composition’s sections in the middle just to get to the end faster, thinking she might vibrate out of her own skin if Verlie kept this up much longer. She finished with a hasty flourish, and then wasted not one moment before spinning where she sat to straddle the vampire and kiss her fully, properly, pushing up onto her knees to kiss Verlie with a frenzy that Shosh hadn't felt before from someone she’d only just met. She felt Verlie’s tongue against her lips, felt her nails against the backs of her thighs and it made Shosh shiver, made goosebumps break out across her skin. 

Something caught in his throat, and he swallowed it down, determined to stay present for his friend. So when Shosh continued, mentioning that Verlie had seen her play as a child, he responded with gusto-

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Cass admitted, “The vampires she donated to used to cart her all around the world. She loved it, used to come back raving about her travels and jewels and gold and whatever. I think it sorta stung when I left for Hogwarts, so she got her piece back by triapsing all over the globe.”

Cass frowned, only managing to mouth a silent ‘what the fuck’ through Shosh’s explanation for Clem’s whereabouts. Frankly, when Shosh said that something had happened in the Den, his imagination had gone somewhere else entirely. Knowing Clem had nearly fucking died made him feel bad about it, he would have blushed if he could.

The vampire swallowed, turning to face her. “I think… I think just because something horrible happened to her, it doesn’t change what happened,” Certainly, it was hard for Cass to think or speak positively about Clem, who’d never had a kind word for him. Clem was scrappy, and messy, and aloof, all things that he’d never associate with Shosh. But he was working on being supportive, so he added, “But I’m glad she’s okay, y'know? Unless you want to get back with her, maybe it’s just about waiting for her to reach out. She’s making it pretty clear what she wants, and I don’t think that makes her a dick. I don’t think it makes you a dick, either.”

Half the registered donors in Europe? God, and Shosh had needed to memorize everything she knew about donor etiquette on homemade fucking flashcards. She found herself suddenly second-guessing this whole idea of prolonging her first time being truly fed from—her romantic fantasy of wanting it to be special. How could it be, with all the glamorous experiences Verlie had already had? Surely whatever Shosh had to offer, in comparison, would be a letdown.

Her blood would likely be a letdown.

She sighed, right back to being a nobody orphan Muggleborn with no family name and no pedigree, just like her first year at Hogwarts.

It was enough to distract her through Cass’ reassurances about what had happened with Clem. Shosh pulled her blanket-covered knees up to her chest and hugged them, resting her cheek on the feather-down fabric and peering back at Cass, blinking her long lashes in his direction. He really was a good friend—her best friend, despite all of it. Shosh wouldn't have traded the last year for anything—even the bad parts, the ones that made her heart squeeze up inside her chest.

“You’re right…” she said—and he was. The whole thing with Clem had probably just been a fluke—another one of Shosh’s near-brushes with death to add to that never-ending list. No rhyme or reason or grand design to it; just the way it had always been, in the curious life of Shoshana Edelman.

She smiled lightly before her affection morphed into an expression more wry and teasing. She reached out and poked Cass in his bony ribs. “…and obviously I’m staying over, you twat—and you’re also staying right here, with me, since it’s on your account I didn’t invite a different, sexy vampire to share my bed tonight…” She gathered up her heavy mane of hair into one hand, wrapping it around her fist thoughtfully. Then she said, apropos of nothing, “You think Sascha would murder me if I cut my hair?”

The other question took more to consider. Cass didn’t know if he would ever really, truly, be in a place where he’d consider himself ‘okay’. Not with everything that had happened, and not with the way his mind seemed to favour depression to the point where it seemed a comfort.

“And me… I’ve got a lot on my mind,” He admitted, shifting where he sat so that he was facing her. He pursed his lips, then lifted the edges, an 'it is what it is’ kind of smile. “But I see my therapist, like once a week, and I’ve got Derek, and the band’s back together. And as much as I wish it was literally anyone else- it’s good to see you with Verlie. Donating is kind of like… Your thing, you know. It’s weird picturing you not doing it.”

He cocked his head, “Verlie can probably relate, actually. She was a donor for ages before she was turned. Dad said her family nearly started an all-out war in the Council when it happened. I’m sure she’s told you all about it.” Cass waved his hand dismissively.

But what Cass said about Verlie’s past as a donor struck through her gooey gushing, giving Shosh pause. A crease of sympathy formed between her brows. “No, she—she hasn’t, actually…she doesn’t really talk much, about her life before she was Turned…” And though Shoshana was dreadfully, painfully curious about all things when it came to Verlie Redlocke, she figured it wasn't something to pry about. “…though, she did tell me she saw me play a concert, once—when Herr Steiner had me touring Europe as a prodigy.”

And then came another question for which Shosh didn’t have a ready answer. She leaned back, tucking deeper into the blankets, tugging her fingers through the tangled waves at the ends of her long hair in thought. It was a few minutes before Shosh spoke again, and when she did, she kept her eyes trained on the curve of her knee poking up beneath the duvet, swallowing through the lump that had formed in her throat. “Something…happened, with Clem, a few weeks ago…in the Den of Magic…” Shosh was somewhat surprised, actually, that Dani hadn't mentioned the traumatic ordeal to anyone else in the band—though Shosh knew she hadn’t, or Cass would have asked her about it before now.

She took a breath, not knowing where to begin. And then, like a faucet that had sprung a leak, the whole story began pouring out of her in a frantic, rambling mess. “…I was at Plasma, right? And it was late, and I realized I’d left the keys to my flat at the studio, so I went back to get them, and Clem was just—there, all broody and her like, loitering near the studio, but then—then I realized she was covered in all these gashes and basically bleeding out and she said she’d been in Costa Rica, of all places, and she was mauled by a jungle cat, or something, and I—I was panicking, she was losing like, a lot of blood...and I called Dani to help me get her to that clinic in the Den and—and—” She didn’t realize she’d been on the verge of tears until the memory pulled a choking sort of cry from within her, and Shosh buried her face in her hands for a moment, allowing the emotions to leak out before wiping them away with her knuckles. She sniffled, at last looking up to meet Cass’ startled expression. “I’m sorry, I—I don't know why I brought any of that up, it’s just…she was really hurt, Cass, like—scary hurt, and…they made me leave her there, and I’ve been calling and asking after her, and they told me she’s—stable, but…she either hasn't woken up, or she has and she doesn’t have—the fucking balls to call me and tell me she’s like, alive after showing up like that and nearly fucking dying right in front of me—!” 

He pulled a face when Shosh suggested he sing. It was generally accepted among the band that while Cass was a decent singer, Shosh was better. Dani shit all over him easily. Rhett was even a better fucking singer than him, and she occasionally farted into the microphone when no one was paying enough attention to her. Cass was the better writer of the group, though, and he tended to be better at multitasking, so took on most of the lead vocals. He shrugged again, “Sure, if you want.”

Cass didn’t need the sheet music, he’d done a deep dive when he wrote the song and committed it to memory. So he didn’t go to sit with her, but he did lean back in the lounge he was under, moving the weighted blanket so it wasn’t as heavy on his abdomen. Shosh took this as a sign to start, and he reminded himself to breathe before he sang.

“My boyfriend wants to love me, but I won’t let him. I’ve been predisposed to trauma since I was eleven, so I wrote a couple songs to let out some aggression. I hate that I’m so self depricating, more comfortable in bad situations…”

He tried not to focus on the content of the song too much, instead watching Shosh as she played, following her cue for subtle changes. He could not, would not, did not, think about what he was singing about- because it was a sad song, and he was trying to do better about not trauma dumping on his friends, even with music.

But instead Shosh let Cass get the words out, pouring out all her fiery protective Gryffindor feelings into the way she molded the musical accompaniment of the song until it was a living, breathing thing—beautiful and fully realized in its own right.

Her hands hovered over the keys of the song’s final chord as the sound faded, the melody lingering in her ears. She held her breath, not wanting to disrupt the fragile moment—until Cass pointed out what she was thinking, and she couldn’t prevent herself from snorting out a laugh in agreement. Gently, with a conclusive air, Shosh slid the wooden cover over the piano keys closed, before swiveling on the bench and proclaiming, “You can't even begin to comprehend ‘depressing,’ my half-dead darling, until you’ve played back-to-back evenings and one Christmas Day matinee of Tchaikovsky.” 

Having long since changed out of her formal evening attire into a soft wine-colored cashmere sweater and long cable knit socks, Shosh wormed her way in right next to Cass and curled up close. “Thanks for having me over on my birthday, again…” she said, all simple affection that was free of any teasing.