JD Devine Behind The Pages

 Before I Knew Her Name, She Gave Me Fantasy By: JD Devine      I worked at a coffee shop on the outskirts of the French Quarter, close to the Garden District. Espresso machine running most of the day, chalkboard menu, the smell of chicory and burnt milk by close. I was seventeen, maybe eighteen. A long time ago now.      One customer came in on a schedule. Same order, always a book in her bag. I barely read at all back then, but we talked anyway. She’d bring me paperbacks with cracked spines and dog-eared corners, ones she thought I’d love, and we’d talk about them after I finished. No pressure, no assignment, just a stack of books and a standing invitation to talk about them once I got through one. She’s the one who put fantasy in my hands for the first time. The photo in the article      I moved away eventually, and we lost touch, because I never really knew her outside that counter. Years later, I saw her photo in an article. It was ...

 Published in Flash Phantoms - "What They Cannot See" I'm honored to share that my flash horror story "What They Cannot See" has been published in Flash Phantoms October 2025 collection alongside 40+ other talented horror writers. This piece came to life after visiting Salem and Proctor’s Ledge in September. Standing at the actual execution site, I couldn’t stop thinking: what if there were real witches among them? Not the innocent who died, but someone with actual power, watching in silence while others died for crimes they didn’t commit. What They Cannot See  By: JD Devine      Blood seeped through the rope binding Martha's wrists. They dragged her past my garden, where everything had died from the drought—except my rosemary, blooming violently purple against the September wind. A crow landed on my shoulder as the cart passed, its black eyes reflecting something hollow.      The cart stuttered over cobblestone slick with spilled ale and...

 Published in Gemini Magazine - "Letting Go" I'm honored to share that my short story "Letting Go" has been published in Gemini Magazine and received an Honorable Mention in their 2025 Short Story Contest. This story came after the sudden loss of my father. In those raw months of grief, I found myself writing about Emma—a woman who couldn't scatter her father's ashes, frozen in loss, until an unexpected moment of human connection began to thaw something inside her. Though I primarily write fantasy, this piece of literary fiction emerged from a deeply personal place. Writing it didn't make the grief easier, but it gave it shape. You can read the story at https://gemini-magazine.com/devine-letting-go/ Here is the full story that is published at Gemini Magazine Letting Go By: JD Devine      The rain fell against Emma’s kitchen window, droplets racing down the glass like tears she couldn’t shed anymore. Grief so deep, she feared drowning ...

  The Crimson Trade  by: JD Devine      The Crimson Lugger sliced through the night fog, its three masts stark against the Hunter’s moon. Jane gripped the helm, knuckles white, the vessel’s carvel design straining as they outran the Revenue officers.       “Human blood cargo secured, Captain,” hissed Towzer, his face hidden beneath a blood-spattered shepherd’s smock. His identity, like all runners, remained shrouded in darkness.       Jane bared her fangs. Still warm, fifty barrels of premium human blood awaited transport to London’s thirsty elite. The Hawkhurst Clan had ruled this coast since Victoria’s transformation, symbolically painting the shores crimson with deliveries.       She wrenched the fore-and-aft rigging, the ship heeling in the shallow waters. While hungry crew members, behind fortified breastwork, manned swivel guns, their eyes glowing with bloodlust.       “The Rev...

 The Home, She Gave Us By: JD Devine      In the kitchen of their Craftsman home, Rachel and Michael sat at the breakfast nook where Rose had served them Sunday pancakes for thirty years. Rachel’s fingers followed the willow pattern on her mother-in-law’s china, while Michael’s hands shook slightly as he poured coffee into Rose’s favorite floral mug.      “The realtor confirmed that we can list the house next month,” Michael said, trembling fingers through his silver-streaked hair. He left the mug on the table, unable to drink from it or return it to the cabinet.      Rachel’s hands curved around her cup, twisting her mother-in-law’s engagement ring on her finger. Her other hand smoothed invisible wrinkles from the tablecloth where Rose always sat. “You don’t have to decide right away. We own the house outright.”      “Every room—” Michael’s voice caught. His fingers drummed against the table’s edge as he cleared his throa...

 Two Tables at Thanksgiving By: JD Devine      The wind howled through the gaps in the tent's heavy fabric as Specialist James Smith propped his phone against his water bottle. Frost crept along the edges of the canvas, and despite the heater humming nearby, his hands felt cold. He pulled his fleece closer as the familiar ring tone played, watching the spinning circle on his unreliable connection. At this rotation site, the expensive wi-fi kept dropping signals like the temperature dropped at night.      His mother's face appeared first, followed by his stepdad Dave settling into view beside her. His grandmother leaned in from the side.      "Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart!" His mother called out, her voice carrying forced cheerfulness he'd grown familiar with over his deployment. "How are you holding up?"      "I'm good, Mom," James replied, shifting on his cot. "Just finished my shift. We've been busy. The guys are havin...

 The Gift of Freedom By: JD Devine        From sunup to sundown, he remained tethered to his desk, fingers pounding away at a keyboard, helping build someone else’s dream. His heart ached for something greater, something beyond the tedious routine that had become his existence. But freedom felt like a distant myth, a story told to children who hadn’t yet learned the harsh realities of adult life.     During his rare moments of respite, Henry would stare out the office window, watching birds slice through the air with effortless grace. He envied their freedom, their ability to soar above the city’s suffocating grip. When his boss’s sharp voice cut through his daydreams, demanding he return to work, the weight of his reality seemed to crush him a little more. Every keystroke tightened the chains of his corporate bondage.     That night, as he lay in bed rehearsing tomorrow’s burdens, moonlight spilled through his open window, casting silver pa...