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Kickstarter, FanLit, Nano

What a month so far.*

I'm waist deep in this year's Nano project. A western, fantasy, romance adventure! Widowed Witch of the West features an Irish witch recently widowed from her husband who is...well, that's a secret. There's also a US Marshal who is much too attractive. Oh, and lots of dastardly villains!

A new book store (I know, right!) is looking to get funding on Kickstarter. Check out  The Ripped Bodice on Kickstarter in the next 48 hours and help them get their final 4k to open an all romance bookstore in Los Angeles. I know, alas for the rest of us, but they promise a webstore as well! You can even jump in at a generous 5k and name your own water closet. Come on, that's awesome. 

Five amazing authors and one incredibly original story! That's right, the Avon FanLit novella releases next week. Pre-order your free copy here. Or anywhere else you purchase your ebooks. Want to know even more about the authors who crafted this very cool story? Visit my Links page and check out the authors. They're putting up behind-the-scenes posts on their own blogs to tell about their FanLit experience. Follow these talented women NOW and you can say you were fans before they were famous. 

 

*I know. A lot has happened in the world. I'll be keeping my opinions to myself. I discuss current events, politics, and religion with family only. 

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NaNoWriMo

November is here. I've written 2k words on my project, The Widowed Witch of the West. I wanted to get a bigger start, but we spent the day with the kids doing stuff. I want a nice big start because once Fallout 4 comes out I'll be splitting time.

Switching from a short story a day to a full novel is a little trying, but I expect to be back in the swing of things real soon. For now I'm letting the scenes meander a bit. It can be fixed in editing and I may find something else to use in there. Plus, I like this character so I am letting her take control for a bit. The Oracle wants to stretch her wings, haha, and pester Aoife and since they're stuck on a train I may as well let her.

At least, I let her today. Tomorrow I'll rein her in. I want to get to the heist tomorrow. What heist? You can find out once the book is done.

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Story Seven - Virtual Max

We have reached the end of my Nanowrimo prep. Some people might be plotting their project. Me? I write seven stories in seven days. Because, well, I'm sometimes an odd duck. *quack*

This story was a lot of fun. A little background. Over the summer I entered  Avon Romance's FanLit contest. A whole lot of other awesome writers did. Some of whom still talk to me. I know, weird right? Oh, by the way, you can preorder the winning chapters here in an awesome novella and I recommend that you do because A Duke to Remember will be memorable. ;)

So, I was despairing over my final chapter in the contest and beloved husband Shawn said, "You should do X." Which I thought was awesome, but not the sort of thing anyone would expect or be looking for so I filed it away. Now we're here. In my random seven stories week. I pulled this out. Enjoy! 

VIRTUAL MAX

The dress was the finest she could ever recall wearing. Oh, she’d had lovely dresses in the past, but nothing like this. Nothing so clearly designed, from the least stitch to the imported lace edging the short sleeves, to draw a man’s attention. A particular man. A certain man she longed for more than anything.

No one knew that she did not wear the dress for the man who would be announced as her intended at tonight’s ball. They would assume. Her hair had been swept up and secured by a strand of pearls that matched the length around her neck. The style was loose enough to incite whispers that it hinted at being unfurled. For her betrothed, of course.

Let them think what they wished. She had no desire to give herself away. Enough was enough. Tonight, she would take what she wanted. With that in mind, she searched out the remains of the perfume she’d worn all those years ago. There was not a lot left, but he would remember the instant he caught a whiff of it.

She could hear the party downstairs. All of the people her parents had invited were waiting for her to descend. To descend in a dazzling manner and leave their mouths hung open by the pure vision of loveliness she presented. Her fingers brushed away her maid’s hand as she tried to adjust the bodice of her dress. If one more adjustment was made it would ruin the look she envisioned.  

“I believe I am ready.”

Her maid said nothing, but hurried to open the door. Slippered feet made no noise as she made her way to the ballroom. The guests fell quiet and she appreciated their attention. One arm on the rail, she flowed down the stairs and was greeted by the man she wasn’t here for tonight. Even if he was her fiancé.

“You look lovely,” he said as he offered his arm. She took and allowed him lead her across the room to her parents. His murmured appreciations for her appearance were received as her due. Of course she was lovely and of course no one else present could compare. How could they when she was cloaked in the surety of her love for one man? Physical accoutrements mattered little to her, aware as she was of the love one man bore her. Well, two men, but one would have to learn to live with dissatisfaction.

A few yards separated her from her parents when he approached. Her fiancé’s hand on her arm tightened, but she shook it off. He would be angry, disappointed, but he would live. In front of her stood her future. She knew by the flare of his nostrils when he caught her scent. He would know she wore it for him.

“Felicity,” Maxwell said in that low baritone that made her insides go weak.

“Maxwell,” she replied. Her voice gone breathless from the nearness of his body to hers. Too near for propriety’s sake, but she cared not for propriety tonight.

Her fiancé faded into the background where he belonged. He would know he had lost. The greatest prize he might have won had been within his grasp, but she’d chosen another. Her own prize. As Max led her out onto the dance floor a waltz began and she smiled.

“I thought I would have to come find you upstairs.” Max’s voice made her shiver. It made her wish he had come upstairs to find her. As they spun around the floor he tugged her closer. Too close not to be whispered about, but she no longer cared about such things. As a future duchess she could do as she pleased.

“Perhaps I should slip away,” she offered. “And let you come find me. Like when we played hide and seek as children.”

Their steps stuttered as they were both caught up in the idea of such activities, and what they might lead to once they were alone in the dark. His smile grew as he let his gaze slide downward. She knew what he saw and drew in a deep breath to hold his attention.

“Shouldn’t some announcement be made?” he asked. “It would hardly be proper to slip away at your engagement party. To another man.” For a moment, surely she imagined it, he sounded upset. Even disappointed, but that couldn’t be right. Since he returned he’d been amenable to all her ideas. Everything he’d done had been for her.

“If we make an announcement, we’ll never be able to slip away.” She drew her lips together in a pout as her lashes fluttered.

Max grinned as the music stopped. He swept her into his arms and brought his mouth to hers in a kiss that left her clinging to his broad shoulders.

“Never underestimate me, my dear,” he said once he released her from the heat building up between them. “Come, let us make our announcement and accept our congratulations. Later, I shall show you how a duke and his duchess takes their leave.”

***

Elizabeth felt weird as she watched Felicity’s program finish up. The worst part of the job was the end. The client was somewhere between fantasy and reality and often, more often than not, awoke disoriented and annoyed at being brought back. Felicity was an especially trying case and she worried over the talk they must have once the sensors and tubes finished disconnecting from her body. A glass of water sat on the table next to Felicity’s chair and Elizabeth watched her empty it before speaking.

“That was amazing. So much better than the other time.”

Elizabeth smiled, hopeful this would be easier than she’d anticipated.

“Can I do it again?”

“We need to talk first. Please, come sit at the table.” Felicity took her time, stretching and adjusting her clothes and hair. Elizabeth did not roll her eyes as the cameras in the room would record it and she would be reprimanded. She sat in her usual chair and pulled up Felicity’s account on her tablet.

“What was different? I’d swear the duke character was real.”

“Excellent,” Elizabeth said. “We’ve been experimenting with a new interface. One that can merge two experiences into one.”

“Wait,” Felicity said before Elizabeth could explain further. “You mean there was someone else there? Oh, fuck no. The duke, my Maxwell? He was some…lab rat? How dare you!”

Felicity surged to her feet. Elizabeth’s hand hovered over the security icon on her screen, but Fee made no move towards her.

“If I may remind you of the contract you signed,” Elizabeth told her calmly. “In it, you agreed to experimental sessions. In return, we allow you three free sessions a month. We’ve broken no laws, Fee.”

“I cannot believe this! Maxwell. My Max. He wasn’t mine at all. Who did it? Oh, holies. It wasn’t you was it? That’s…ewww. That’s disgusting.”

Elizabeth tried not to take offense. It wasn’t as if she were able to portray a masculine image well. She also couldn’t distance herself from what she knew of the person. Fee was terrible. She never would have been able to portray any affection. Being called disgusting still hurt.

“That had better not happen again.”

Worked up to a full tirade, Felicity was silenced by the door sliding open. Elizabeth glanced away from the man entering.

“Oh, gross. Was this him? This - ”

“That is enough, Felicity!” Now Elizabeth pushed the security icon on her tablet. Once the two men in grey suits slid in past Max she turned her attention back to the client. “Please escort Ms Stratford out of the building. She is on a 30 day suspension and will require three mandatory psych sessions before being allowed to return.”

Felicity shrieked, but before she could do anything the security men were on either side of her. When one touched her she shook off his hand and stalked out. Max had stood, quiet, through the whole thing.

“Max?” Elizabeth asked once they were alone. “Are you ok?”

Poor Max. He was the best programmer they had here. He worked too hard and rarely socialized. Elizabeth knew he’d formed a crush on Fee. Which was why she’d tried to discourage him from this experiment, but he’d pulled rank. Kindly, but still, she knew when a person pulled rank.

“I’m fine, Elizabeth.”

He was lying. Elizabeth had the job she did because she was good at reading people. His shoulders had a droop not normally evident and he made sure not to meet her eyes.

“Do you want to talk?”

“No, I should go make notes. Will you send me the interview?”

“Are you sure?” Elizabeth forced her feet to stay. Well, if Max was silly for crushing on an idiot client like Felicity what did that make her? A fool, surely, for working with Max for three years and never asking him out.

“Send me the interview,” Max repeated. Once she’d nodded he left.

Elizabeth left the room and went back to her small office. Felicity’s case file needed updating and she would need to find a replacement for her in the beta program. Once her suspension was up she would be allowed back to the business, but she was out of the beta program. Thankfully, she could couch the ban in words corporate would accept. Only she needed to know the ban was because of what Fee had done to Max.

***

Maxwell was thankful he had his own office. What had he been thinking? His fingers typed his report, but his brain berated him.

What had he been thinking? He’d already asked himself that.

“What was I thinking?” he asked his equipment. The words echoed in his lab and again he thought of decorating it. The last programmer in here had left snarky inspiration posters hanging and Max hadn’t bothered removing them. They were amusing.

He should put the whole incident out of his mind, he thought.  He still believed the programming was sound. The algorithms to link people might need work. Although, likely it would be best to make sure no one could meet the person they were paired with in the illusion. Max typed his report on autopilot and considered whom to recruit to help with the softer bits of the program. So many of the psychs they hired were annoying. No brains. All empathic intelligence and too flighty to help with code.

“Elizabeth.” He whispered her name before he cursed because his fingers had typed the wrong thing. He liked Elizabeth. They were friends, or so Max thought. Only, lately he’d been more aware of her than normal. She’d cut her hair and he’d noticed the way the shorter curls framed her face. Last week she’d changed her eye color and all day he’d stared at the sky out his window and wondered why it was such a pale blue in comparison to Elizabeth’s eyes.

He shook his head. Part of why he’d gotten involved with Felicity’s illusions was to try to put Liz, she’d said to call her Liz once, from his mind. The experiment had been a failure. As was this report. He deleted it and put thoughts of all women from his mind.

A knock at his door interrupted him as he put together a list of potential partners for this job. “What?” he mumbled as he hit the button to open the door.

Had he conjured her? Liz stood in the hallway, street clothes on, and he found himself struck dumb. Short skirt, his brain screamed. Bare legs. Oh, dear. Was that cleavage? Max stared. He cursed himself for an idiot. Then he stood, and then he instantly thought better of it and sat.

“Max?” She stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry. I’m interrupting.”

“No,” Max said and stood again, body under control. “No, please. Come in. I was going to send you a message.”

“Oh?” she asked. and were her cheeks darkening? Heels clicked as she stepped into his office and the door slid closed behind her. “I wanted to be sure you were ok. After, you know, Felicity and all.”

“What? Oh, yes. Being called gross.”

“She called me disgusting,” Liz offered.

“You’re not.”

“I know,” Liz said with a smile. “And you’re not gross.”

“Are you sure?” Max teased. He was on his feet still so they moved, drew him around his desk and closer to her. Liz didn’t speak as he stepped closer. “Is that the only reason you came by?” he asked.

Elizabeth shook her head.

“Why else?"

"Felicity is a bitch and I like you. I don’t want you hurt by someone like that.” Her head tilted and she took his hand in hers. “Or anyone. Am I out of line, Maxwell?”

With corporate policy. She could be in trouble for initiating non-platonic contact, if he wanted her to be in trouble.

“Not if you have dinner with me.”

Now they were even. He could be in trouble for coercing her to fraternize outside of the office.

“Well, I don’t want to be in trouble,” Elizabeth said. Her eyes were still the same shade of blue that put the sky to shame. “Tonight?”

“Why wait?” Maxwell asked. Then, despite all the corporate training screaming at him to stop, he kissed her.


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Story Six - Bereavement

Day Six is courtesy of the beloved husband. It is also short. Shorter than yesterday even. Yesterday was super short for me! Still, I like this and a bit of creepy right before Halloween is good. 

Tomorrow's idea is also originally based off hubby's suggestion. It is not creepy. 

 

Bereavement

The last piece was always the hardest. Chris would string the process along, only in part to avoid arousing suspicion. The small black box tucked under his arm was all that remained of his beloved Annie. He stroked the top and thought of the hours of fun he’d had with the delicate, pale hands inside. How he’d treasured the time he'd spent with them. 

Chris did not believe in casual relationships. Anyone that accused him of such dalliances would receive some gentle correction. His beloved Annie, for instance, lasted for weeks. He knew every piece of her as well as his own body. He’d saved her hands for last because he’d enjoyed the feel of them against his cheek each night when he went to bed.  

Crisp autumn air invigorated him. Too long spent inside. Annie had made such a mess and he wanted things properly cleaned when he found his new pet. Now, with the crunch of leaves underfoot and the soft scent of decay in his nostrils, he could put the drudgery behind him. The gate had been oiled recently so when he pushed it open to enter the tiny, public pet cemetery it hardly made a sound. This was good. A place of reverence shouldn’t be marred by jarring metal cries.  

He enjoyed the quiet sobs of those who came here to bury their beloved pets. His tears filled his body, but he never allowed them to fall. Disgraceful, for a man of his stature to cry in public. Not that Chris didn’t weep over the loss of his pets - he certainly did. They were as dear to him as his own sister. His green eyes drifted towards the back of the cemetery. His beloved Kirsten. Sometimes he still knelt to visit with her. The same way she would kneel beside him every night as they said their prayers together. 

His little spade was tucked into a backpack and he pulled it out before he knelt in the spot he’d reserved for little Annie. Petite Annie. The dirt was crusted with a delicate covering of ice. Not so cold yet he couldn’t still dig, though. Soon the kind hearted people who managed the cemetery would begin calling him to assist with the digging. Then he'd join a small group of volunteers that would do the hard work in the winter, pre-digging holes for those not strong enough to do it themselves. Chris liked the work. He liked knowing he saved the best spots for his pets.  

“Excuse me?”  

His spade froze in midair at the sound of the voice. Chris looked up into a pair of beautiful eyes. Brown and warm exactly like his Annie's. His lips tilted up, forming the hesitant, tenuous sort of smile one offered in a place like this. How beautiful she looked with her golden hair.  

“Yes?”  

“I’m so sorry to bother you. I can’t find my shovel. Do you think I might borrow yours when you’re done?” She had an accent. A curious one he couldn’t quite place, but he thought maybe back East.  

“Of course. I was done. If you need help I would be happy to assist.” Chris stood and held out the spade. Delicate Annie lay at his feet and he resisted the urge to kick her into the hole. What use mourning when there were new possibilities on the horizon?  

“Oh, thank you. My husband- Well, he was called out of town unexpectedly. He was supposed to do this.” Her eyes were wet and he reached into his jacket to pull out a handkerchief. She smiled as she took it. “I like this. A handkerchief. Thank you.” 

Chris knelt back down without speaking. Too much talk could scare off a new pet. So, as much as he wanted to bury Annie and be done with her, he took his time. The box was placed precisely in the small hole. He bowed his head and said his final prayers for Annie. Sweet Annie. She’d been skittish in the beginning too, but then she’d settled down. So sweet when he was done with her. An urge to peek inside the box welled up inside him, but he buried it quickly with a few quick spades full of dirt. He tamped the dirt down over the box with his hands and Annie was gone.   

The past buried, he stood and brushed the dirt from his hands and knees. He glanced around to see if brown eyed woman was still there. She was, struggling with the dirt. Chris was quiet because he knew to be quiet. The frost dusted ground crunched in the silence of the morning. Best to make some noise.  

“Do you need help?” 

She looked up from the ground and he watched her dab at her eyes again with his handkerchief. Wasn’t she perfect? A shiny blonde coat of hair just like his Annie. Her eyes, too, just like Annie’s. Annie, who’d been delicate and perfect like his Kirsten. All of his pets had to be like Kirsten. His perfect sister. His first pet. Chris stepped back from her. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

“No! I mean, it’s not. An intrusion. I’ve had Logan since high school. We went through college together. And, as I said, my husband…well, he was going to do this. Please, help would be nice.” 

Chris knelt on the ground, not too close, and held out his hand. She wore gloves, but he felt the firmness of her fingers as she gave him the little spade. Under his coat he shivered at the nearness of her. How he longed to take her home, but he knew better. He couldn’t truss up a wild animal and carry her home. She had to be trained to trust and then she would follow him home. And she would. His body sang with the knowledge that perfect Annie had bestowed a final gift on him. She had led him to her replacement. 

“I’m Chris,” he offered as he dug. 

“Nice to meet you, Chris. I’m Mia.”

 


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Story Five - The Scarlet Ibis

Here's a little snippet of a story born from an idea for a superhero book I had a long time ago. I'm not sure the superhero book will ever get written, but I like this story. It's much shorter than the others. It's also a little rougher because I didn't get the chance to pass it off to my beloved alpha reader who is smart and amazing and wonderful. Be jealous! I have the best husband. ;) He's also an excellent writer in his own right. 

The Scarlet Ibis

 

Are you really leaving me a voicemail? I’m not going to check this. No one leaves voicemail. Hang up. Text me. Welcome to the new century.

“Very funny, Tabs. If you’d answer my texts I wouldn’t be forced to resort to anachronisms. Use your phone to look that word up. Would you please cut this shit out and come by?”

TABS WHERE R U?

TABS THIS IS GETTING OLD.

HOLY SHIT, TABS! R U OK?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

ONE

I was impressed my phone had survived the incident. That’s what the media called it. Only, you know, with caps. The Incident. (Remember to link to Incident Wiki here. Too tired to fuck with right now.) Kind of wish my phone hadn’t survived. I could pretend not to remember phone numbers and not have to talk to people who hadn’t wanted to talk to me in months or years. (Thinking of you here, Mom, if you read this.)

Three months of military hospitals and weird tests and hourly reminders not to talk to anyone about what had occurred had totally gotten old. Doctor Taft gave me this POS laptop to send emails on. Only, I didn’t have full net access. No sending things or posting things without them being vetted. I can read all I want. I can watch some stuff. Nothing about The Incident.

Fuck it. It wasn’t a damned incident like a dam breaking or train wreck. No, it had been an attack by this group of weird people in costumes. COSTUMES! Halloween costumes of some weird throwback group from a comic or anime or something. I don’t know. I know it ruined Homecoming. Normally I wouldn’t give a damn, but I’d lined up a date. And turned 21. Most importantly, my date had made it clear she was happy to help with the whole virginity issue I had. (Should I delete this? Dunno. Whatever. No getting laid now. Not with…)

“Miss Puckett?”

I slammed the lid down on the laptop. Not like I had real privacy, but I guess the illusion made me feel better.

“What?”

“The weathers cooperating. Did you still want to walk in the park?”

Someone had finally decided it would be ok to let me get out of the room. There may have been some coercion involved. What else could I do? I’d been stuck inside for most of the last three months. I shoved away the nurse’s help to get out of bed and glowered as she pushed the wheelchair forward.

“There are rules, Miss Puckett.”

“So many fucking rules. Any word on when my government will stop holding me illegally and let me go home?” The nurse didn’t speak as she draped a blanket over my lap. “So many fucking constitutional violations.” No one seemed to care.

She wheeled me down grey corridors to a grey and white world. The only color I missed out here was the blue sky. Instead I saw a lovely shade of grey and the white clouds bunching up on it really popped.

“Do you think it will start snowing?” I asked, doing my best to sound calm. Calm and bored. The nurse crouched down and adjusted my blanket again. I slapped her hand away and in that instant of contact I felt two things. The first was a small scrap of paper pressed into my palm. The second was a quick sting. My hand jerked back and she winked at me before standing.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

She left me there and I watched the sky. Did I want to see what she’d done? Did I want to read the note? Eventually I looked down at the note in my hand and nearly fell from my stupid wheelchair. Red ink. Red ink and green paper and I saw color for the first time in three months.

My hand curved protectively around the paper. No one had better bother me now. I thought, maybe, my eyes were better, but when I dared look away from the arresting sight of color I saw the grey world all around me once more.

12:05 AM. We know what you can do. Come to the back gate. I’ll be waiting.

“Miss Puckett? Is everything ok?”

No, everything wasn’t fucking ok. My hands shook as I tucked them under the blanket. I couldn’t stop my tears. Color. Even if only on a single scrap of paper. My entire world had been the same room, the same greyscale for so long I couldn’t handle it. The nurse wheeled me back inside as my body shook with suppressed sobs.

“You have to get ahold of yourself, Miss Puckett. I can’t keep the doctors from noticing. Can you?”

As if I were not the queen of cool? I used the blanket to wipe my eyes. I know they were still red, but I could blame that on the cold. In the room, the nurse helped me to bed and took the note from my hand. My fingers had still gripped it protectively, but she pried them loose. Once in bed, she kissed my forehead. Weird. Well, human contact was a nice thing I supposed.

TWO

By ten I could barely wait. My foot twitched under the heavy blankets and the wires hooking me to machines swayed in the air. I saw the nurse again twice. Both times when I should have been given the medicine to settle me down. She did it under the watchful eye of an armed guard, but I could feel she gave me something different.

I pretended sleep for every bed check. The rhythm of the floor was well known to me by now. I could tell by the sound of their feet who was on duty. So, I knew when midnight came. Final bed check until the next dose of medicine at two. I heard the duty nurse tell someone else, the guard, that I appeared restless. My limbs twitched, I couldn’t stop them.

At first, I feared she’d decide to give me a sedative. Not holding my breath became a problem and would she decide my forced breathing was fake? I didn’t relax until she left. I opened one eye and peered at the clock on the wall.

12:03. How long would it take to reach the back gate? Did I even know where to go to get to the gate? Did I have to follow the fence? Fuck.

“Fuck it,” I whispered to the cameras.

The IV, wires, electrodes collapsed as my body stopped being attached to them. I struggled to separate from the bed as the alarms went off. Cautious steps took me to the window and I heard more alarms going off. The wall tickled as I went through it. Should I try to get to the ground? Would anyone see me?

Lowering myself would take time so I walked through the air. It felt like walking along the bottom of a lake. Pushing through something, softness underfoot, a little disorienting. From this height, at least, I could see the gate. Nighttime was the same color grey as the day, a few shades darker, I supposed. Light flashed on the road near the unused back gate. I sank down to the ground, letting the slight tug of the Earth pull me home.

“Impressive, Miss Puckett.”

The nurse. She wasn’t dressed in scrubs this time. Her costume, under a long coat, reminded me of the ridiculous outfits worn by those at The Incident. My recognition must have been caught even without my having a solid body.

“Miss Puckett, I assure you, we don’t want to hurt you. We only want you to come hear us out.” She glanced over my shoulder. The alarms were as loud as they’d been all along, but it seemed they held a new urgency to their tone. “If you’d rather continue to be a prisoner then return to the hospital.”

“You made me like this,” I hissed.

“I wasn’t there. Miss Puckett. Natalie, just because Emperor Duncan takes care-“

“Halt!”

“Ah, fuck. Natalie, either come with me and learn both sides or go back.”

“You let me see color.” I looked over my shoulder. Movement in the dark couldn’t be hidden from me.

“We can do more than that, Natalie.”

“I don’t want to go back to being some hospital experiment.”

“I give you my word, Natalie. You’ll be free to go whenever you want.”

“What’s your word worth?”

More footsteps in the dark. I could hear two trucks as well.

“Natalie, I’m the Scarlet Ibis and I always keep my word.”

Oh, motherdamnedfucker. The Scarlet Ibis was enemy number one. Everyone knew of her and that she wanted to bring down the Emperor. Her bounty was massive. I could live however I wanted if I turned her in.

“No, you could spend the rest of your life here. Studied until they learned what they could and dissected once they were done.” And, apparently the rumors about her being a mind reader were true. “Yes or no, Natalie?”

Maybe so long trapped in a hospital bed made me weak. Tricked. But…there she stood. So much color on her and I wanted to see more than grey. She knew when I made my decision. I watched her throw off the coat she wore and wanted to weep at the assault on my eyes. Scarlet feathers ran down her head to her back where wings spread.

I threw myself into the sky after her.

 


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Story Four - The Wondrous Cabinet of Resplendent Perspicacity

Welcome to day four of my short story experiment. One thing I am learning from this is I am not so good at the short story. I want to use ALL THE WORDS. This one will definitely get a rewrite and be turned into a novel. Because the whole time I was writing I couldn't stop adding little bits in my head. So, definitely. 

WCRP is a magician's trick handed down in a family. The cabinet is...picky about the volunteers it will select. The short story is a low grade urban fantasy type deal. The novel is certain to wind up paranormal romance. 

The Wondrous Cabinet  of Resplendent Perspicacity

 

ONE

Agnessa tugged at the collar of her coat. A ruffle of wings stilled her and she moved more slowly through the crowd of people. The house lights went down as she found her seat in the middle of the crowd. A single spotlight came up on the stage and the murmuring grew to a swell before it died. Purple smoke burst in the air along the front of the stage and when it cleared Ruslan appeared.

The audience applauded, a couple of drunk frat boys even cheered. Excessively. A little smoke and a trapdoor did not deserve cheering. The cheering would be earned later. Ruslan bowed and looked around on the stage. His strong voice carried without the aid of a microphone. His exaggerated accent made Agnessa smile. They’d been born in the U.S., but in the show they both used Russian accents learned from their grandparents.  

“Where is she? Agnessa? I do apologize, ladies and gentlemen. My sister, she is never on time. Most likely doing her hair.” He shrugged, but only so the women in the audience noticed the cut of his white shirt. He always rolled up the sleeves to show off his tattoos. Market research had shown women adored men with tattoos. Close cut beard, black hair, black eyes; Ruslan was hot. Or so all of Agnessa’s friends used to say. Since they were twins she shared his good looks. Other than the beard. Her parents had not approved of her tattoos, but she thought it added to their look.

She swore she could hear women swooning. The house lights came up and she stood with slow precision. One arm raised and covered her eyes.

“Agnessa! You are late!” Ruslan scolded her and she leveled a gaze at him to draw out his smile for the audience. “Come! We are starting the show!”

Agnessa snapped her fingers and the house lights went down. The spotlight almost missed her and she scolded their cousin in her head. Bats flew into the room and there were several shrieks as they scattered. Agnessa grinned as the spotlight landed on Ruslan once more. She slid into her spot as the spotlight split. The timing, off again, made her consider threats against Yuri.  

“So sorry, Ruslan,” Agnessa said before kissing her brother’s cheek. They didn’t speak often when on stage. Part of their shtick involved the so-called twin bond. Years of practice had left them very believable. Agnessa and Ruslan had been performing the same tricks since they were ten. Oh, the flash changed, but the tricks were the same. Twenty years in two days. Agnessa tried to forget how close to thirty she was and, instead, focused on the black cat trying to claw her leg as she worked it into the trick.

Part of it could be attributed to nerves. She could feel the finale in her blood. Ruslan felt it as well. Which was why they’d been doing this since they were ten. The show had chosen them. At least, the final trick had chosen them. In much the same way she chose the final volunteers for their shows. The main difference being her and Ruslan had walked out of the cabinet.

Her hands always shook at this point. Ruslan knew of the affliction and he always tiered the tricks down toward the end of the show. After the penultimate trick she carried off the shows’ bits and pieces before wheeling out the final trick.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ruslan said as he stroked his mustache. “I am not sure. Perhaps. Yes, Agnessa, this is not a good night for the trick. I do not believe the stars have aligned like planned.”

The crowd booed and cajoled. The frat boys screamed and the women didn’t quite toss their underthings onto the stage, but it was close. Agnessa still shuddered whenever she was teased about the garish, latex bra she’d been hit in the face with one night. The hotel had barely enough hot water to cover the shower she’d taken. The cabinet, now on stage, received the attention of the spotlights instead of her and Ruslan. They exchanged a look, the same one as always. Excitement lit their black eyes even as the small frown they shared showed a wearier resignation.

In the old days, they were told, this trick had been easier. Before everyone could be tracked so easily. Agnessa walked off the stage into the audience. She turned Ruslan out, letting the cabinet flow through her. The act, done for so long, took no effort. Agnessa thought she could pick out the volunteer without the cabinet’s help, but she didn’t want to accept responsibility for that moral choice. She wasn’t ready.

On stage, Ruslan told the tales. In the audience, Agnessa closed in on the target. She stood within two tables of the man who practically screamed, “Take me! I deserve it! Take me!” Once she’d stopped, Ruslan ended the stories.

“And now, beloved audience. I will need tonight’s special volunteer. Is it you? Do you want to enter the wondrous cabinet and see the magic for yourself? Stand up, right now, if you think you should be the one.” Ruslan’s voice spread over the crowd like a seductive wave. Even Agnessa felt the lure tossed into the sea of potential, but she knew of the hook hidden within. The chosen one stood within seconds of Ruslan’s command. So did a dozen others.

“Agnessa, dear sister, we must narrow this down. So many willing volunteers. Truly, an audience for the ages!” Ruslan stepped to the cabinet and opened the top door. It was as garish inside as out. Stars, moons, strange occult and alchemical symbols with no meaning had been lovingly stroked into the wood for generations.

Agnessa watched as several people sat back down. Slowly, with a palpable disappointment to their actions. Her choice, the magic’s choice, sat down abruptly. Soon no one stood and the room waited in silence but for loud, frat laughter. None of them had volunteered. Agnessa’s leather boots clicked across the tiled floor, a meandering path to bring her closer to the man who shone. Ruslan saw her signal and gave his own. Yes, this man, the cabinet’s choice for tonight.

“You, sir,” she whispered. “You sat so fast. Undeserving, you thought, of the gifts of the cabinet and its magic. But it’s not true. You deserve it.” He moved as if in a trance, limbs slowly pulling themselves inward before his legs launched him from the chair in a flurry of need.

“Ah, such a generous soul!” Ruslan said and the audience applauded. “For his generosity, my sister and I shall donate one thousand dollars from tonight’s show to the charity of his choice. What say you, brave volunteer?”

“Children, yes?” Agnessa said to him as she took his sweaty, thin palm in her fingers. “You would donate to the children. You’re so helpful to them.”

“Yes,” the man said. “I love the children.”

“Of course you do,” Agnessa replied as she helped make his way languidly onto the stage.

“Ladies, gentlemen, those of you trapped in between,” Ruslan said to laughter and catcalls. “You must give a loud cheer for our volunteer. Call down the attention of angels to witness this most dangerous trick! We must stand with our friend here as he discovers the wonders of the cabinet.”

Agnessa hated this part. She helped the man into the cabinet as it shared the knowledge of what would be done. More importantly, why it would be done. Ruslan, who always had a better poker face, let her turn away from the crowd at this point in the trick. The upper door, still open, allowed her a final sight of the man inside. As the fear in his eyes caused his breathing to quicken and his body to rock back and forth, she whispered, “Rot in hell.”

The door closed. She and Ruslan began to chant as they spun the box. It rattled as it turned. The screams of the man inside did not carry past the stage. The audience cheered and the small trickle of blood leaking between the doors was only seen as part of the trick. Not the volunteer’s judgment by something, if not better, then greater.

Ruslan opened the cabinet and the audience burst into applause at the sight of the black cat within. Agnessa disliked the cat beyond belief and the feeling was mutual. Of course, when Ruslan reached in, the cat began to purr. Agnessa had wanted a rat, but Ruslan said it would never work. Rats, in his opinion, were too small.

All of these thoughts rushed through her mind as the swell of thunderous applause washed over them. Ruslan set the cat atop the box where it began to lick itself. He took Agnessa’s hand and they bowed before exiting the stage. The house lights stayed down, the spotlight on the cabinet. Then, the lights all died and when they came back up the cabinet had vanished as well.

TWO

“Yuri, I swear to the gods if you miss your cues because you’re sexting that moron in Scottsdale I will tell her your syphilis has advanced to the stage where your penis fell off.” Agnessa lifted the cage cover and checked on her bats. They were eating. The smallest, Fury, she’d named him, came over and nuzzled her thumb. Grinning, she dropped the cover down. Bats, so much better than cats. “I should get my back piece finished. Did you find a decent artist in town?”

“There’s nothing decent in this town,” Ruslan complained as he shucked off his clothes and stomped towards the shower in their tiny dressing room.

Agnessa reached over without looking and jerked Yuri’s phone from his hands.

“Hey!” he complained. As she began to type a sob inducing message about Yuri’s recent death due to an overdose of ED drugs, someone knocked on the door. Agnessa let Yuri answer it, he was the stagehand, and ducked behind the screen to change. The door closed as she tugged off her second boot. Stage costume removed, she breathed more easily before unpinning her hair. Maybe this time she would cut it off and the show be damned. Ruslan kept his hair short.

Black and purple waves fell down her back once the last of the pins were out. She refused to shower in the dressing room. The one time she’d considered it the walls had been questionably stained. Worn jeans were tugged on before she looked around for her shirt. Not there. “Fucking Yuri,” she muttered as she heard the door open.

“Yuri, you useless mother fu-“ Thinking it only her cousin she’d left the screen’s privacy in her jeans and bra. Yuri was there, but he had another man with him. Forcing herself not to stammer and dive for cover she crossed the room and reached around the stranger, cop she believed, to grab her shirt.

She caught a whiff of soap when she stood close to him and her body surprised her with urges she knew were a bad idea to indulge with law enforcement. Fool me once, and all.

“Excuse me,” she said, accent fallen back into place. Standing less than a foot in front of him she tugged her tank top on with precise movements to drag the moment out. “That’s better.” It wasn’t. The rush of the show always left her turned on. She’d already picked out a mark for the evening, but if the cops were here she could forget it.  Her brain whispered suggestions involving the cop in front of her. Her brain started by suggesting they go somewhere private and lose their clothes.

“Agnessa Popov?” he said and she cursed his lack of interest in her. “I need to speak to you and your brother.” Perhaps Ruslan would get a rise from him. Cops were always easier to deal with if they were attracted to at least one of them.

“My brother is in the shower. Would you like a drink? Yuri, fetch us some tea. Surely this second rate theater can provide tea?”

Yuri grumbled, but left. The cop was his type to a T. Short blonde hair with hints of red, no beard, blue eyes behind glasses. Agnessa dropped into the lone easy chair in the room. The cop watched her, more amused than transfixed, damn his pretty eyes.

“What can we do for you, officer?”

“Detective. Detective Metz.” Ah, German. A shame. Her family carried grudges at least five generations. Yuri or Ruslan would share the news if she dallied with a German. Well, at least Yuri would have to keep his hands off him as well.

“Detective Metz. Were your parents’ prescient?”

“Cute, Miss Popov. Do you know an Everett Beach?” He had a notebook. How…quaint. Agnessa watched his fingers grip a pen and imagined them on her body. Hopefully, Ruslan would be out soon and help her crawl out of the gutter she wallowed in. “Miss Popov?”

“Agnessa.” Cursing the man in front of her and the way he made her voice drop lower, inviting him to step closer, she kicked her feet onto the ottoman to keep him away. “Please, you must call me Agnessa.”

This time he looked at her. The subtle widening of his eyes and the way his fingers tightened on his pen let her know how well he saw her. Really, shouldn’t they bury decades of bad blood? As surrogates for their ancestors’ homes. Before she could suggest such a thing Ruslan came out of the bathroom.

“Oh, I wasn’t aware we had company.” Ruslan toweled off damp hair dressed in nothing but a pair of tight leather pants. He clearly had a mark for the evening as well.

“Ruslan,” Agnessa said, “This is Detective Metz.” Her brother had heard him already as he’d used his stage accent when speaking.

“Prescient parents?” Ruslan asked her with a wink.

“I didn’t come here for the stage show.” Detective Metz sounded annoyed. Agnessa kicked the ottoman across the crappy carpet towards her brother as Metz watched. Ruslan sat and she looked back at the cop.

“We can get you tickets to tomorrow’s show. For you and your wife.” Dammit. She was fishing. Ruslan would be as aware of this as her. Agnessa closed her eyes and took control of her brain functions back from her groin. It took longer than she’d have liked.

“Everett Beach,” Metz repeated. His lips pressed into a firm line and the way his cheek twitched she thought he might be biting back a rude comment. He handed Ruslan and photo and Agnessa’s lingering lustful thoughts died as she felt her brother’s concern.

“Ah, the volunteer,” he said. Bare shoulders shrugged as he looked at Agnessa. “Did you learn the man’s name?”

“We never do,” she reminded her brother.

Metz brought the photo to Agnessa and she breathed in the scent of his soap again. Look at the photo, she told herself. Not him. Her eyes flickered to the photo and back up to Metz. She caught him staring down the front of her tank top. Her body responded predictably. More importantly, she thought, his did as well. If only her brother were not in the room. Family. They were such a pain.

“Miss Popov?” Metz sounded interested.

“Agnessa!” Ruslan sounded annoyed.

Well, he had her annoyed. With him. For not leaving. Agnessa shook her head and looked at the photo again. Same slimy fellow.

“He was our volunteer, yes. The stars fated his visit to the cabinet. What has happened?”

“He’s not been seen since he stepped into your little cabinet.” Metz stepped away from her as he spoke and she mourned the loss while being thankful for it at the same time. “I need you to talk me through the trick.”

“Impossible!” Ruslan stood and threw his towel on the vanity. “It is a family secret. The Popovs have performed the Wondrous Cabinet of Resplendent Perspicacity since before your people marched into our country.”

“My people?” Metz asked.

The hostility in the room could lead to someone in handcuffs so Agnessa stood. “Nonsense,” she told her brother with a warning look. “Let me walk the detective through it.”

“Yes, let him examine the inside as well as he’d like.” The threat in his tone couldn’t be missed. Agnessa’s eyes narrowed at her brother.

“Detective Metz, come with me. Ruslan, Yuri should be fetching tea. Do be sure he hasn’t found some poor waitress instead.” Shaking her head, she laid her hand on Metz’s arm. “Yuri does like to pester. Please, come with me. It’s next door.”

THREE

The cabinet stood in the dimly lit storage room next door. Once they’d finished, Yuri would load it up for the night. They did not leave it stored. Ever. Not since their mother had thought it safe. Six people. They still feared going back to Little Rock. Some organizations had long memories. Agnessa and Ruslan had been the first to venture to Atlanta since their great grandmother. None of which mattered.

“The trick does not work in here,” Agnessa offered. Despite misgivings she opened the bottom door of the cabinet. Crouching down she showed the lever on the side. “You see? The bottom opens and then the person inside climbs down. The theater has someone waiting to escort them out.” Agnessa looked up at Metz and smiled with a shrug. “I do not know the name of the person. Why do you care?”

Metz looked at the cabinet. Now. She would have sworn on her father’s good name he had been looking down her shirt again. He stepped closer to her and the magic.

“Everett Beach is the owner of Beach Tech, the single largest employer in the city.” His words came out sluggish and Agnessa’s inside twisted.

“Metz?” she whispered as she stood to get between him and the box. “Detective? We should go talk somewhere else.”

“Let me see the inside.”

“No,” Agnessa said. “Let’s go back to the stage or the dressing room. Hell, we can go back to your car and get naked.” Ah, he had enough control to feel lust. A shame his eyes never left the cabinet. The door. If she could close the lower door it would help. Agnessa didn’t know why the cabinet called to him, but she fought the urge to let him inside.

“I need to see the inside,” Metz said. He still clutched his pen and notebook.

“Why?”

“I don’t know."

Are you a bad man?” Agnessa knew it shouldn’t matter to her. She didn’t know him. Sexual attraction didn’t convey any moral superiority. “Metz? Beach was an evil man. The things he did…Please. Let’s go somewhere else.”

Metz reached around her and touched the edge of the cabinet where the gold trim gave off an alluring sparkle. Agnessa dug her nails into her palms and continued to fight the temptation of opening the cabinet. The box wanted him.

“You can’t stop it.” Ruslan slipped into the room and closed the door. “You know you can’t stop it, Agnessa. You have to let him in.”

“No.” Agnessa, trapped between Metz and the cabinet, looked at her brother. “We can’t risk it. Two people who will be missed? It’s too risky. For us.”

“Is it that? Or is it you’ve been fooled again?”

Her brother always had been an ass. Agnessa wanted to wail and he only stared at her in silence. She knew he thought Portland would repeat itself tonight. Now she wished Ruslan had not shown up, but deep down she’d known he would. The cabinet flowed through him as well as her.

“Fine,” she said. “Metz? Step back. Detective? Do you want to see the inside?”

“Yes,” Metz answered. His attention shifted from the cabinet to her. “Show me.”

So, she shoved him back and, tears blurring her vision, opened the top door as well. No audience meant no reason to do anything as he stepped inside. Ruslan tried to close the doors, but Agnessa stopped him.

“Aggie, this isn’t a good idea.”

“I want to see.”

“Aggie…”

“Leave if you don’t like it.”

Metz screamed and they traded a worried glance. The audience normally dimmed the sounds.

“Go tell Yuri to distract anyone curious.”

Ruslan didn’t want to leave, but Agnessa was seven minutes older. Before he left he drew her against his body and kissed the top of her head. “Aggie.”

“Go. Yuri’s not smart enough to do this on his own.”

He left and she locked the door behind him. Inside the cabinet, Metz stood still, holding his notebook and pen. Agnessa feared what would happen, but nothing did. Nothing visible. The sadness this brought could not be denied, even if she could not determine the reasons for her emotion. Lifting her tank top, she scrubbed at her eyes.

“Miss Popov?”

Agnessa stood, unsure of how much time had passed. Metz stumbled from the cabinet and she barely managed to steady him before they both fell. What had happened? Metz’s fingers dug into her bare arms after his notebook dropped.

“I- Miss Popov?”

“Agnessa.” What had happened? She had to call her mother. Find out what in the hell happened. “Detective Metz?”

He jerked away from her and picked up his notebook from the floor. His pen had rolled under the cabinet and he didn’t approach the box to retrieve it.

“I need to get a warrant for Beach’s house.”

“Detective, we should talk.”

Metz shook his head and headed for the door. Agnessa should have stopped him, but found herself unable to do anything. Ruslan found her standing in the empty room. He closed the doors to the cabinet and moved her out of the way as he opened the loading bay and wheeled the cabinet out with Yuri’s help.

Ruslan led her to the truck and had her sit between him and Yuri.

“Where are we going?” Agnessa frowned as they drove to the highway onramp. “Yuri? Turn around.”

“Mom said to come home,” Ruslan told her.

“We can’t leave things that way. We don’t know what happened.”

Ruslan shrugged. “It’s not our job to understand the decisions of the cabinet.”

“Fuck that.”

Not that she had a choice. They would go home. The first thing she planned to do at home involved scissors and her hair. The second thing involved her resignation from the act. Let Yuri prance around in skimpy outfits and deal with the cabinet. All lies, but comforting ones on the long drive. If they made it home was up to the cabinet. Agnessa was unsure if she’d rather go home or to another show.

Either way, she worried over poor Detective Metz. She’d probably never know what happened  to him.

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Story Three - Godlike

Today's story comes from an idea donated by Kevin @smilingworg. He's the lone dude in a sea of chicks in our FanLit FB group. He's super cool with our occasional tangents into pics of hot guys for inspiration. This story feels rushed. Probably because these are all rushed. Maybe I just noticed more in this. 

Godlike tells the take of two members of the Civil Corp studying a culture on a planet at the edge of the solar system. They find something unexpected. That's it. No tantalizing tease. Get to reading! It's half the size of yesterday's!

GODLIKE

 

The Delta have accepted us as traders from across the mountains. I have arranged a meeting with their religious leaders for tomorrow. Beth has remained at the camp near the river to continue the illusion of our origins. See attached video for analysis. I believe Doctor Shepherd will find the second hour of particular interest.

2nd Lieutenant Eleanor White

CONFIDENTIAL ADDENDUM

FOR CAPTAIN EVERETT JAMES ONLY

Everett, I’m concerned about Beth. Will you please let me know more about what happened on ITM IV. How can I keep history from repeating if I don’t have a text to study?

END CONFIDENTIAL ADDENDUM

SET TO DELETE

ONE

Eleanor’s finger hovered over the send key.

“What’s taking so long?”

She hit send and then turned in the chair to smile at Beth. “Nothing. I attached the wrong video feed at first. Must be tired.”

Beth, too cute for her own good, dropped into Eleanor’s lap and kissed her cheek. “You’re a terrible liar, sweetheart. Are you talking behind my back again? Haven’t I been very good?” She peered at the screen, but there was nothing to see.

Soft, warm, tempting Beth. Eleanor hadn’t tried too hard to resist her as they’d traveled the week from their ship to get to the landing site. It had been nice having someone in her bed, cramped as it was to share. Unfortunately, Beth was now under the impression she had soft, warm, tempting adorable hooks into Eleanor. She did not, although Eleanor hadn’t explained to Beth how she felt.

Everyone assumed since Eleanor was from 6XP III she was some sort of sexually repressed teenager looking for any excuse to take her pants off. Hard to blame people since the majority of the colony was made up of a slightly odd religious sect. Eleanor was not a member and she enjoyed a good roll in the bunk as much as the next person. However, her hormones would not stop her from doing her duty.

Beth, not getting the reaction she wanted, left Eleanor’s lap.

“Why did you come back? Is something wrong? If one of the Crisolim Deltas shows up at the empty camp, we could lose this opportunity.” Eleanor would not let that happen. Although she suspected Captain James wanted her to or he would have given her someone other than Beth to work with on the project.

“Relax. I just had to get something. I got my period.” Eleanor wrinkled her nose at Beth’s words. Why she wouldn’t get implanted for the trip she did not know. “I’ll head back. I can wait for you if you’d rather?”

Eleanor stared at her monitor and wondered if it had been long enough for the captain to read her report. Would he answer tonight? She stood up and went to where Beth rooted around in the bathroom. She hugged the other woman from behind and shook her head.

“You go on back without me. If Captain James doesn’t answer in the next half hour, I’ll make my way back. You should get your rest. Big day tomorrow.”

Beth added a few items to a small canvas bag before she kissed Eleanor’s cheek and left the small transport ship. Once the door was secured, Eleanor sat back at her station and waited. As the minutes drifted past, she began to suspect the Captain had nothing to share.

Thoughts of returning were creeping into her brain when her monitor lit up. Eleanor hit the accept button and then began to swear. No one was about so she swore louder and more vociferously. She’d been posted to four exploratory vessels manned by the military. If she took away nothing else from her time in the Civil Corp, she’d at least absorbed a veritable unending lexicon of swears.

After reading the report she deleted it. Then she ran the sweep program she’d acquired before this trip. If it ran as it was supposed to there’d be no trace of the messages between her and the Captain. Eleanor locked everything down and then began the trek back to the camp.

TWO

The following morning Eleanor washed up while Beth prepared their meal. Beth had training in primitive living. She was a natural at it, which explained why she kept getting assignments despite, well, the file had been thorough. Details of her last assignment were classified and grim. Eleanor tried to shake the knowledge off as she sat down across from Beth at their small, makeshift table.

“Didn’t you sleep well?” Beth asked as she ladled eggs. Eleanor didn’t ask where the eggs came from. She’d already learned not to ask such questions.

“Tired is all,” Eleanor said as she forced herself to eat. There was no telling what they would be required to eat with the Deltas. Crisolim, she reminded herself. They called themselves Crisolim and she should know that as a trader. A rustling in the underbrush alerted them to the arrival of their targets and Eleanor was thankful to leave the last of her breakfast on the table.

Beth was already on her feet and bowing to the men and women who entered their camp. Their language was harsh sounding until the implant kicked in to translate. Eleanor hated the first minute when the link rushed to trigger the secondary language implant. If only she had the linguistic aptitude Beth had, she wouldn’t need to worry about implants and translations. Eleanor shoved the thoughts aside and rose to join her co-worker.

“I am most sorry,” the scout said. “Strange portents in the night have led our elders to declare the village off limits for the next three nights.” He glanced at his companions. “They say our holy father had a vision. Of water.”

Eleanor tried to remember what little mythology she’d learned about the green skinned people they were here to study. Their stories, she thought, claimed they came from water. They did have secondary gills and webbed feet. Ridiculous fears of mythological monsters would put their mission behind schedule and Eleanor wanted to finish on time.

“I would love to go!”

Wait. What? Eleanor looked over to see Beth grinning.

“Beth.”

The other woman turned and then hurried over to talk.

“Sincel said we can go on their hunt. It beats sitting here all day.”

“When can we see the priest?” Eleanor asked. She’d seen the videos of their hunts, which were replete with blood and shrieking. She could see little reason to actually attend one.  

Sincel broke off from the others and approached Eleanor and Beth. “The priest is unavailable. He has said he might not be available for some time. Most sincere apologies. We know you were eager to have him auger.”

“Well, we have a few more days,” Beth said with a wide smile.

#

Three hours later, bored of pretending to be a trader, Eleanor headed for the village. The tiny drones in her satchel would give her eyes on the people. Pretending to be something was fine, but it was good to remember what you were. Eleanor was a lieutenant in the Civil Corp with five degrees and a wealth of experience packed into her thirty odd years. Let Beth play the primitive.

Before reaching the village, Eleanor stepped off the path. She unslung her satchel and pulled out the drones. They were no bigger than some of the local flying bugs she’d observed. She selected three to deploy for now. If they were not enough she had another four she could send out. Her footsteps sounded loud in the underbrush and the scent of the village mingling with the woods made it impossible to tell if anyone was near.

Once the drones were laid out on the ground she activated the remote. She’d decided to run enough drones that the larger screen they’d brought along would be needed. The last thing she wanted was to miss something because the smaller screen was split too far. The brief whirring as the drones powered up sounded too loud, probably because her movements had quieted the woods’ inhabitants.

She sat in the dirt at the edge of a large bramble and picked at the berries hanging there as she controlled the drones’ programming. The villagers fed her the same berries yesterday, so she didn’t hesitate to pop them into her mouth now. They tasted like honeysuckle and orange and Eleanor wondered if they could take a cutting back for the ships’ hydroponics.

The drone sent to the temple was the one of most interest. Eleanor had the others set to record and would comb through them later. The temple, one of the few structures made of stone, had plenty of open windows through which the drone could access the interior. She pulled another drone from her bag and programmed it to find Beth. There was a chance she’d notice, but Eleanor could brush off any upset feelings with an easy excuse. Beth would, she was sure, believe she was worried for her safety.

The screen went black and Eleanor bit back a curse. Pulling up the interface she typed rapidly on the glass, but she kept getting the same error message.

“Tsk, Eleanor. I said no.”

Her hand stung and she looked down to see a single drop of blood welling up from a tiny puncture wound.

“What?” she managed to say before she collapsed.

THREE

There was a party inside Eleanor’s skull. Not the sedate, wine and quiet conversation type she preferred, but a loud, graduate students on a week-long bender type. Her tongue felt too big and she groaned as the taste of dust filled her mouth. She opened her eyes and found herself laying on a stone floor. When she tried to brush her hair out of her eyes, she discovered her hands were bound behind her back.

“Dammit,” a male voice said out of her line of sight. It sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She wiggled her hands felt a flash of worry when she couldn’t feel the emergency beacon around her wrist. How had the Deltas known to take it? Eleanor managed to sit up and then slowly levered herself to her feet. Her head throbbed and the room threatened to spin, but she fixed her eyes on a single point on the wall.

“Oh, good. You’re up!”

Eleanor spun around and nearly toppled. The only thing that stopped her was the stone wall she slumped against. The temple wall, she was sure.

“Second Lieutenant Eleanor White. A pleasure to meet you. Again.”

As her eyes made a reluctant switch from the wall to her captor, she tried to clear her mind. The man standing in the room with her was tall, but the large gut and short limbs he possessed presented the illusion of a much shorter man. She wondered if that bothered him, but decided to save that question for later.

“I don’t recall meeting you,” she responded. He didn’t look familiar. Most of the men she knew had shorter hair, but plenty had begun to go grey.

“Well, it was a long time ago. And you were only a child I suppose. Or was it your mother? You look like your mother.” The man drew closer, control pad in one hand. “What’s the access code? I wish I’d had one of these sooner. This is going to be most helpful.”

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, but who in the everlasting pit of Hades are you?” Eleanor had always liked the ring of Hades over Hell. Two glorious syllables instead of one. Multisyllabic words in curses were typically better.

“The access code, lieutenant. If you won’t volunteer it, I fear I’ll be forced to be drastic in my efforts to persuade you to be more forthcoming.”

Eleanor looked away from him and wished she’d paid more attention in her self-defense classes.

“Not drastic with you, Eleanor,” he reassured her. “Your partner is currently surrounded by men, who will slaughter her at my command.” His words were dispassionate, but she suspected he was trying to be the sneering villain.

She wished she had access to her control panel. The drones had surely captured his likeness and facial recognition would tell her all she needed to know. Unfortunately, he had her equipment.

“Very well, but please make a note in your report, should you live to make one, that it was you who got Sergeant Annabeth D’Aramitz killed.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Eleanor demanded.

He didn’t answer.

Eleanor slumped down to the ground as he left the room. Taking the controls with him. Alone in the room, she ran through every curse she knew. By the time she was repeating herself she felt the last of the drug wear off. Her hands were still bound too tight to get free.

#

The sun was almost down when Eleanor heard movement again. Once more she leveraged herself to her feet and stood with her back to the wall. When the man entered he wasn’t holding her drone controls. Instead, he held a pistol. Military issue. Eleanor bit back a whimper. More of it made sense now. He had to be a deserter. Plenty of soldiers “went over the fence” during those dark days when the Unger had appeared to be winning. Out here, at the edge of the habitable solar system, he could have easily gone undetected.

“Come along, lieutenant. Time to remind these savages who controls the power of the gods.” He waved the gun and Eleanor shook her head.

“Show them my corpse.”

“I’ve already shown them the corpse of your lover. Tsk, lieutenant. Fraternization is expressly forbidden.”

“Fuck you.” Eleanor was a little surprised at the vitriol she felt. She hadn’t even been particularly fond of Beth. This man, though. For this man, she would give up her doctorates to get her hands free so that she could introduce him to some of the more violent atrocities practiced by other cultures she’d studied to gain them.

He sighed, his eyes drifting upwards towards whatever heavens he pretended to believe in. His soft leather boots shuffled across the floor as he approached her. The gun moved from one hand to the other so he could grab her shoulder. Eleanor, not worried about dignity any longer, screamed and kicked as he hauled her from the room.

FOUR

The village was lit with torches. A sharp contrast to the artificial lights inside the temple. Eleanor coughed when her killer shoved her to the ground. He watched as she struggled to her feet, his lips tilted in a smirk. Her chin came up and she stared into his eyes as he raised the gun. Everyone had warned her the Civil Corp could be as dangerous as military service. There had always been a chance she’d die by violence. When she and Beth didn’t return, soldiers would be sent to investigate. Contaminating the culture would no longer be a concern. Her killer would face justice.

“Stop!”

Dozens of eyes turned away from Eleanor’s death scene. Annoyance, sharp and surprising, caused her to suck in a deep breath and then cough.

“Eleanor!”

Even Eleanor couldn’t watch her death any longer. Eyes squinting into the darkness she could barely make out the people who walked towards her. She recognized one of them as Beth and smiled.

“I cannot leave you alone,” Beth said without a single look at the man holding the gun. “I said I would be right back.”

“Why is she alive?” the priest screamed to the hunting party behind Beth.

“Because I helped them recognize a false prophet.”

Eleanor groaned as Beth lifted a light over her head. She recognized the emergency light from the ship. It glowed blue and Beth looked different in its illumination. Not human, but not quite like a Delta.

A shot rang out and the light died.

“Nice shot,” Eleanor said. The words were out before she could stop herself. It had been an impressive shot. More impressive than the next. Eleanor may have been biased as the next shot hit her. Staggering back, she tried not to fall, but her knees buckled under her. As she collapsed she heard a shout and then another. Something was going on and she wished she had the drones to record it.

#

“Wake up, sunshine!”

Eleanor groaned and wrinkled her nose. It smelled like a hospital. Oh, the astringent smell was because she was in a hospital.

“Sergeant!”

“Aww. I like when you call me Beth better.”

“Soft,” Eleanor slurred. Beth’s hand was on her arm. “Warm,” she added.

“Tempting?” Beth asked with a grin.

Eleanor knew she grinned because she’d finally managed to lift her eyelids. They fought the act, gravity wanting to bring their heavy weight back down to her face.

“We’re heroes, you know,” Beth said. “You and me. Medals all around.” Beth was careful, but she climbed into the bed. She lay on her side and tucked herself against Eleanor’s. “I thought he’d killed you.”

“M’hard to kill,” Eleanor said. What was going on? Would the corpsman explain? “What’re you doing?”

“Oh. I thought- You were just…sorry.” Beth slid from the bed. Eleanor missed the feel of her.

“What’s going on?”

“Don’t you remember?” Beth asked. From a chair. A shame. Eleanor had just begun to appreciate her next to her. “You said- I mean, you were hurt, but as they carried you to the ship and before the Eerie put you out.”

“Eerie?”

“The emergency A.I. protocol. It’s what we called it in training.”

“Oh. Know the term.” Eleanor used leaden limbs to pull herself into a seated position. “What did I say?” Anesthesia did strange things to her brain. “Why are you blushing?”

Had she ever seen Beth blush?

“You said you liked me. And…other stuff.”

“Oh.” Well, what was she supposed to say now? “The anesthesia…”

Beth stood before she said, “No, I get it. It’s fine.”

“Sergeant!”

Beth stopped and groaned. “Actually, it’s captain. I’m Intel.”

Eleanor’s head pounded worse. Why had Intel been sent with her? What did they suspect of her?

“I’m loyal,” she whispered.

Beth hurried back to her side and took her hand. Eleanor felt her fingers lace with the other woman’s and felt an easing of the tension in her shoulders. Beth, slow enough she could have been stopped, perched on the edge of the bed.

“We had weird power signatures pinging. I was sent to investigate. No one doubts you, Eleanor. We were paired since they figured you were used to dealing with us weird cult members.”

Before Eleanor could ask what she meant the computer pinged. Beth left her and the A.I. sent Eleanor back to sleep. That was fine. She didn’t want to think about anything right now anyway. There would be answers enough when they returned to the ship.

With any luck, by then, she’d know what to say to Beth.

 




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Story Two - Sealed with a Kiss

Day two's story departs the sci fi realm and veers into new territory. Kyle, a fisherman, meets Donnan when he's seventeen. He has no idea what Donnan is, other than hot. He runs into him several times until, now in his thirties, he fishes Donnan from the sea. In true selkie form, Donnan isn't a forever sort of guy, but when he's in trouble Kyle's the man to help him out. What does Kyle get out of being the "nice" guy? Well, read and find out. 

Sealed with a Kiss

ONE

Three sets of hands grasped the line. Three, where only two should be. Kyle stared into the murky water and tried to see who had been caught. The third set of hands on the line didn’t worry him yet. Once they’d hauled the survivor aboard he would determine who had left their assigned post.

Sodden clothes weighed down the person struggling to keep their head above water. Keith reached down over the edge of the boat and grabbed a piece of a coat. He nearly lost his grip when he saw the face.

“Donnan,” he whispered and then yelled, “Haul harder, men!

How Donnan had come to be here, incapacitated in the water, was a story he would dearly love to hear. For now, he and the rest of the rescue boat, had to get him aboard and seek other survivors.

The storms had come three days ago and Kyle, and any other fisherman willing to risk his boat, had been out trying to help those lost in the waves. His men were exhausted, but they kept going back out. Donnan fell to the deck and Kyle knelt beside him. When he felt for a pulse he breathed a sigh of relief. Donnan was breathing and his eyes fluttered open. The shock in his dark eyes was easily read. Kyle was sure when he’d seen Donnan in the water he’d had the same look.

“Kyle,” the man said before he closed his eyes again.

“Get him below deck,” Kyle shouted. He wanted to do it. Every nerve screamed to take Donnan into his arms and carry him to his bed, but he had work to do. So, he let his crew take him away. “Back to work!” Kyle yelled. “We’ll make one more sweep and then head in for the night.”

He wasn’t going back in because of Donnan, he told himself. He was as exhausted as his men and without rest, another ship would have to be sent out to rescue them.

They found no one else and Kyle wearily steered the ship for port. She would be as grateful to get in as the rest of them. The Moby Dick was old, but she’d settled into her new name when he’d bought her from his uncle ten years ago. His parents had been appalled, but they’d been appalled since he announced at seventeen that instead of coming home or returning to college, he was staying in Scotland to be a fisherman.

Rubbing tired eyes, Kyle radioed in to port to say he was coming in. Then there was nothing else to do but watch the waves and the lights of the other ships – and not think of the man below deck.

TWO

“You know they expect you to turn tail and run,” Uncle Neil had said as they drove away from the airport.

“Yea, well, I don’t run so easily,” Kyle had said as he bumped along in the old truck away from civilization. “And I’d rather spend the summer working than listening to endless lectures on why I should have applied to more colleges or taken the whole thing more seriously.”

At seventeen, Kyle may not have known what he wanted to do, but he was sure it didn’t involve college. Four more years of school had seemed a nightmare. He’d applied to his parents’ alma maters, but with no real sincerity. After paying for three other kids to go to school he thought they’d appreciate not writing more checks.

“They said you had some trouble at home.”

Kyle tried not to blush, but all he could do was hope his uncle was too busy watching the road to notice. Had his parents really told Neil about his breakup with Will? Why would they do that?

“Look, I’ll tell you what I told them. I don’t care where you stick your prick so long as it doesn’t get in the way of work. You cause trouble with the rest of the crew and I’ll toss your ass into the sea.” The words were blunt, as was his demeanor, and it took Kyle a minute to be sure he understood them all, but he was thankful for them. Kyle wasn’t here looking for that. He was here to work and forget about Will.

“Tell me about the job,” Kyle said as they stopped to wait for a flock, herd, group of sheep to cross. He wasn’t sure what they were called, but he stopped thinking about it as Neil began to speak. Kyle did his best to remember everything he was told. He didn’t want to go home over the summer.

#

“Don’t you want another beer?” Selma asked as Kyle stood up from the sand.

Kyle shook his head and stumbled away from the light of the bonfire. He tugged his coat closer around his frame as the sea carried in the cold wind. It would be colder away from the fire, but three beers had gone to his head, unused to drinking as he was, and he wanted to get away in case he was sick. The stars spun, but only a little, and Kyle wandered farther off.

Being from Kansas, he hadn’t seen much of the ocean before this summer. The cold, Atlantic water was a source of endless fascination. Three weeks here and already his heart ached at the thought of returning to his landlocked home. Kyle sat down and watched the waves as the clouds allowed the moon to play peekaboo with him.

“There’s a sight I don’t see often.”

Kyle broke the skin on his lip as his teeth fought to keep him from moaning. He’d never heard a voice like that one. Seven words, whispered under the hidden moon, and his body was ready for anything.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Kyle’s head swiveled up and stared at, well, god-like was so overused. The man was probably a few years older than Kyle and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Kyle suspected he did not work out at the gym even if his body hinted at such activities. There was something wilder about him. Like he wouldn’t be caught dead in such an establishment.

“No,” Kyle stammered. “I’m Kyle.” Smooth, he thought.

“Donnan,” the other man said as he dropped to the sand beside Kyle. He was too close and Kyle tugged his coat down further to, hopefully, cover his body’s embarrassing reaction. “You hurt your lip.”

Donnan’s hand lifted and this time there was no stopping Kyle’s moan. Rough, damp fingers brushed over his lower lip and Kyle leaned in to the touch. Dark eyes watched with humor as Kyle lifted his hand to run through Donnan’s long, black hair.

“Kyle,” Donnan whispered as he pushed his thumb between Kyle’s lips. “Do you want to stay here with me for the night? Only the night.”

Kyle, seventeen and away from home, surrounded nearly all the time and unable to see to any needs didn’t need to think about it. Not tonight with the warm haze of beer coursing through him and the waves tempting him to abandon. He pulled Donnan’s head towards his and the other man toppled him down into the sand. The cold was forgotten, but as Kyle lost himself in Donnan’s encouraging touches he never stopped hearing the waves hitting the hard packed sand.

THREE

“Kyle!”

Kyle shook himself and focused on Selma. Now his first mate and best friend, she was the only one he’d told about his meetings with Donnan. Unlike his siblings, long abandoned in the States, Selma was his sister.

“Hey, you want me to spell you? We’re about thirty minutes out. You could go get some rest.” Selma’s grin was huge even though her red hair hung in limp, exhausted curls around her cute face. Thank goodness, Kyle thought, for cold clothes. He shook his head, but she squeezed into the cockpit with him. “Go on.”

He should say no, but he didn’t. Instead, he hurried out into rain whose temperature struggled to hover above freezing. In the galley he grabbed a couple cups of bad coffee and carried them to his cabin. He didn’t question how he knew where Donnan was. He’d been able to find him since their first meeting.

#

“The name’s terrible,” Selma said as she set her glass on the bar. “You’ll not be hiding anything with it.”

Kyle grinned, whisky glass almost empty, as he waved down the bartender for another.

“I think by now everyone knows,” he pointed out. It’d been ten years since he’d shown up in the village. Ten years of first working for his uncle, and then working to buy his uncle’s boat. Today he’d made the last payment and the newly christened Moby Dick was his, free and clear. His uncle Neil didn’t believe in banks and had insisted Kyle work off the price of the ship. Years of scrimping and living off meals mooched from friends had been worth it. His parents still pointed out he could sell the boat and go to school, though, which was why he didn’t call them often. Occasional emails kept their relationship as civil as it was.

The door opened as fresh drinks were set in front of them and Kyle caught the scent of the sea. He turned, but saw no one new inside. Why the scent of the sea should have caught his attention now, when the whole village smelled of the sea, was unclear. He slid his full drink to Selma and finished his other.

“Be right back.”

It wasn’t a hunch; he would tell Selma later when she weaseled all the embarrassing details from him. It was more like, he knew. If he went outside, then he’d see him. If he saw him he’d touch him. The thought sped up Kyle’s steps and he raced down the street to the beach.

“There you are.” That voice. Older now, his body under a little more control, Kyle didn’t make a sound. He was still instantly, embarrassingly instantly, hard. Kyle found Donnan in the tall grass at the edge of the beach and sank down to his knees beside him.

“Sometimes,” Kyle confessed as he ran a hand down Donnan’s bare chest, “I thought I’d dreamed you.”

“No, Kyle,” Donnan said before he gasped. Kyle’s fingertips were under the waistband of Donnan’s pants. “No alcohol fumes conjured me up. Only the sea, washing me ashore for an evening.”

“Then may the Lord bless the sea and the bounty she provides,” Kyle murmured as his fingers worked to free the sea’s gift to him. Donnan’s laugh made his whole body shiver and he didn’t need to coax Kyle’s body atop his. Nor did he have to work hard to get Kyle’s clothes off.

Much later, when the salt scented wind sent Kyle burrowing up against Donnan, he asked, “You’re not from here, are you?”

Kyle was too embarrassed to admit how he’d kept an eye out for him. Ten years and whenever the sea scent was too strong he looked around. How many nights had he spent sitting on the beach with only a bottle for company instead of the man he sought?

Fingers stroked down Kyle’s back as Donnan kissed his shoulder. “You’re a smart one, you are,” he teased. “Do you want a story then? Until you’ve recovered?”

“Oh, I’m sufficiently recovered,” Kyle said, falling for Donnan’s words too easily. His words and the feel of his fingers creeping lower down his back.

#

“Come to warm my poor drowned body then?” Donnan asked as Kyle stepped into his cabin and closed the door. There was little room to move around, but Donnan reclined on the bed, a thin blanket pulled up to his waist.

“Coffee,” Kyle stuttered despite his age. A man in his thirties should not be so affected by a bare chest. Even the perfect one in his bed. He’d forgotten the way the light dusting of hair grew thicker the farther down his eyes traveled. Kyle jerked his gaze away.

“It’s not coffee needed to warm either of us,” Donnan teased. His body shifted on the bed and the blanket slid down another inch.

“Coffee,” Kyle said again, more firmly. “Selkie.”

Donnan’s dark eyes, always warm and teasing, turned chilly. “You learned something since last we met.” He sat up and Kyle held out one of the cups, the hot splash of coffee on his hand unnoticed.

“It’s been five years,” Kyle said. Donnan didn’t take either cup so he set them down on the small desk normally folded up against the wall.

“Time does pass differently for me.” Donnan said. “We’re headed to the village?”

“Uh, yea,” Kyle said. “Are you really a selkie? I thought for sure I’d say the word and you’d laugh at the dumb American.”

“You’ve been here almost as long as you lived there, Kyle,” Donnan reminded him. The cold in his eyes was vanishing and Kyle stumbled into his gaze when the ship lurched. Donnan laughed and grabbed Kyle’s hand to tug him down onto the bunk. “I’ve done a foolish thing, Kyle. I’ve a need to stay on land for a bit.”

Donnan’s fingers worked the buttons of Kyle’s shirt one at a time. It wasn’t until his sodden shirt was tossed to the floor that Kyle found his voice again. Almost, it abandoned him again, when Donnan’s fingers worked to undo his belt.

“What did you do?”

“And wasn’t I a fool?” Donnan whispered as his hand slid into Kyle’s wet jeans. The damage done by the cold water vanished and Kyle moaned as Donnan’s fingers slipped past his boxers as well. “Dallied with the wrong girl I did and all this time you’ve been waiting for me, Kyle.”

Deep in his brain, Kyle could hear himself thinking, “Holy fuck! He’s really a selkie.”

Kyle pushed Donnan onto his back and tugged the blanket down. “I want to hear all about it,” he said before he kissed along Donnan’s jaw. “But not yet.” Donnan’s laugh turned into a gasp as Kyle’s mouth took his.

#

“Holy fuck! You fucked a selkie!” Selma was halfway to being more than three sheets to the wind. Kyle was bright red and slumped down in the corner booth across from her. “No wonder you abandoned me last night. Oh, I may have run your tab up a wee bit so don’t have a coronary when you get the bill tonight. Now…dish.”

Kyle looked at his whisky and resolved to stop at one. Who knew how many drinks he’d be paying for from last night? He would be annoyed, but his body still remembered Donnan’s touch and assured him it was worth it.

“Hey, I said dish!”

“You know selkies aren’t real, right?” Kyle asked. “I mean, they’re fairy tales.”

“Dark hair, handsome as all get out, always by the water, and dallies for a night.” Selma lifted a finger with each point and then said, “Check, check, check, check. Tell me about his dick.”

Kyle’s skin, not quite recovered from his earlier blush, turned crimson as he choked on his whisky. Selma waited with an alcohol assisted patience she normally lacked. He should talk to her about her drinking. She’d been doing more of it since Rory had broken up with her. Rory, an ass, had done it over text.

“Hey,” Selma said as she snapped her fingers.

“Selma, I am not going to sit here and talk about Donnan’s dick with you.”

“That good, yea?”

“Fuck yea,” Kyle said with a grin.

#

“I have to help dock,” Kyle said as he disentangled from the blanket and Donnan. The selkie watched him, naked and not quite sated looking, but Kyle drew on dry clothes and headed up to help.

“Was he still good?” Selma hollered over the wind.

“Oh, shut up!” Kyle said. Selma laughed, but they were too busy to talk. Once the Dick, as Selma liked to call it, was docked Kyle made sure all his hands were safely in their cars before he went back to his cabin. Selma had been hard to get rid of, but a timely call from her husband had worked in his favor. As had the quick text he’d sent to said husband making sure he called.  Once he was alone on the ship he went back to check on Donnan.

“Did you want to come back to my place? It’s not too far.”

Donnan had been dressed, back in his wet clothes, when Kyle made it back to him.

“Will you feed me?” Donnan’s voice made every question an innuendo. No, a promise of lascivious activities. Kyle didn’t bother to try to hide his shiver of desire.

“After you tell me what’s going on I’ll do whatever you want,” Kyle promised.

FOUR

Kyle’s little house, bought from his uncle along with the boat, was warm. He’d despaired it being such, but the woodstove had been doing its job while he was out. Kyle shed his coat and boots as Donnan, with no modesty, undressed down to a pair of mostly dry boxers.

“Umm. You can borrow anything that might fit.” Kyle went to the kitchen and started a fresh pot of coffee and dug in the fridge for something to heat up. Finding the remains of the other night’s chicken stew he carried the pot to the stove. Donna joined him, not having put anything else on, and sat at the table.

“What’s her name?” he asked.

“Cecilia. And she’s out to here.” Donnan’s hands curved and he extended them way past his stomach. “And she claims the babe is mine.”

“Is it?” Kyle asked as he stirred the stew.

“Could be. She believes so. And so she’s gone and stolen my skin and said she won’t return it until the babe is running around.” Donnan’s voice reminded Kyle of his grandmother’s when she’d spoken at her husband’s funeral. As if there was nothing to live for any longer. “I thought perhaps my father would assist me, but he did not come and the storm caught me by surprise.”

Kyle found a half loaf of bread and cut it to set on the table. Once he had everything ready he sat across from Donnan. Under the table the selkie’s foot ran up his calf. Kyle choked on his coffee before glaring at the other man.

“What are you going to do?” Kyle asked.

“What we’ve always done. Be bound to the earth until I can find my skin and be free.” The wind rattled the old glass windows to add to the mournful tone of Donnan’s words.

On the one hand, Kyle felt bad for him. On the other, well, if he was the father shouldn’t he take care of the kid? Especially since he could be like him.

“Won’t the child be selkie?”

“Ah, there’s the thing,” Donnan said as he quit playing with his uneaten food. “There’s no way to be sure at first. No offense, your food does little to whet my appetite.” His direct gaze aroused the same appetite in Kyle who dropped his spoon into his bowl.

“Then we’ll eat later,” Kyle said. Shoving his chair back he stood and grabbed Donnan’s arm on the way to the small bedroom at the back of the house.

#

“Why’re you doing this again?” Selma asked as they stood in the lobby to the small hospital two villages over.

Kyle’s eyes darted back and forth as his foot tapped restlessly on the floor.

“Kyle!” Selma’s voice echoed and drew several sharp looks. She ignored them. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because.” Kyle couldn’t explain it. For two days he’d let the crew rest. He wasn’t rested. Donnan had either been loudly lamenting the loss of his skin or distracting himself with Kyle. Not that Kyle had minded the latter. Still, by the third morning he’d readily agreed to Donnan’s too sly suggestion he go check on Cecilia. Kyle had brought Selma along for moral support.

“Excuse me? Are you Kyle?”

Drawn from his thoughts, Kyle looked up to see an older woman with a worn smile. “I’m Mary. Cecilia’s mother. We spoke on the phone.”

Kyle rose and took her hand as she stared at him with open curiosity. Selma faded into the 1970s printed sofa.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Kyle Sterling. Is Cecilia ok?”

“Oh, yes. She’s fine. Is this your wife?” Kyle turned bright red at the question. Especially since Selma laughed.

“I’m his ride,” Selma said as she stood. “Nice to meet you. Can Kyle see Cecilia?”

Mary hesitated, green eyes clouded and smile disappearing. “Cecilia is quite wore out after the labor. Did I mention on the phone? She went into labor last night.”

Kyle reached for Mary’s hand, unsure why. “Are Cecilia and the baby ok?”

“Babies,” Mary said, distracted. She gave herself a shake before smiling. “But if you say you’re a friend of the babes’ father then perhaps I should let you talk to her. Something has to help.”

Her words left Kyle more worried. Would she do something to Donnan’s skin? What would happen to the selkie if he were bound to the land forever? Kyle was sure it would be nothing good. Selma tagged along as Mary led them to Cecilia’s room. At the door she held Mary back and spoke softly to her, leaving Kyle to go in alone.

“Cecilia?” Kyle said to the petite woman lying in the bed. She looked as if she might be sleeping, but when he said her name again her eyes opened. Her black hair had been cut into short spikes and her eyes were the same green as her mother’s. She was pretty. Kyle could see why Donnan had been tempted even if she didn’t tempt him.

“Go away. I know he sent you.” Cecilia turned her head away, but Kyle only moved closer. “It’s not here. I’m not stupid. It’s somewhere safe and he can have it back when the babes are older.”

“What are their names?” Kyle picked up a chair and set it by the bed. The small noise it made caused Cecilia to look at him.

“Erynna and Clyde. After my gran and my father.”

“Did you know you were having twins?” The look Cecilia gave him was likely only bestowed previously on an idiot. “Sorry,” Kyle mumbled.

“What do you want?”

Before he might answer a nurse knocked at the door. “All done,” she said cheerfully as she and a second nurse brought the babies in. All Kyle could see were still, tiny forms wrapped snugly in blankets.

“Can I hold one?” he found himself asking.

The nurses exchanged a look Kyle didn’t understand before they turned to Cecilia.

“It’s ok,” she answered as she sat up and reached for the babe being handed to her.

Kyle’s hands nearly shook as the nurse placed a baby in them. It – she - made a noise and he tucked back the little hat she wore to see dark hair. She was sleeping and he traced her cheek with his pinkie. A clang from the hall startled him and he tucked her up against his chest. He looked at the door. Erynna stirred and wailed.

“Ah, it’s ok, Erynna,” Kyle whispered. “Just some big oaf. Never you fear. No big oafs here but me and I’ve got you.”

“Do you have your own children?” Cecilia asked and her voice was softer and hostile than before.  

“I’m gay,” Kyle said.

“Oh,” Cecilia said. “Then you’re Donnan’s friend friend.”

Kyle laughed, the sound too loud and making both babies stir. “I suppose I am. Although, well…I’ve no belief he’ll linger. He never has before.”

Kyle had never given it much thought. He enjoyed Donnan, but had never truly missed him. Not since those first years when he’d been a teenager. It was obvious he wasn’t the sticking around type.

“I can take her,” Cecilia offered. Kyle felt his muscles tighten as he held Erynna, but he rose and handed the baby to her mother. “I just need help,” she said as she held both babies. “I was in school. Online, you know? I want to work with computers. I don’t know how I’ll manage. Mom said she’ll help, but it’s just the two of us and she works.”

She was crying. Kyle had almost zero experience with crying women. He patted her shoulder awkwardly.

“My brother comes home in the summers, but he teaches in London and can’t be here all the time,” she continued hopelessly.

“I could help.”

Who said that?

Kyle looked around before he realized he’d said it. He was such a sucker.

“I don’t know you.”

“I know. I just…uhh…” Kyle stepped away from the bed. “Sorry. You don’t know me. I’m sorry. Fuck.”

Cecilia laughed as Kyle dropped into the chair again.

“Tell me about yourself,” Cecilia said as the babies settled down.

So, he did. Beginning with his break-up ages ago with Will and how he’d wound up in Scotland. Cecilia didn’t speak until he’d ended things, abruptly, with fishing Donnan from the sea last night.

“I never wanted kids,” Cecilia said into the room’s silence. “I was going to get my degree and get out of this backwards part of the world. Now I’ll be like my mom and stuck forever. I’ve never been anywhere.”

She was crying again.

Kyle stood and said, “I’ll go get your mom.”

He felt bad about fleeing, but he didn’t know what to say. More than that, he was afraid of what he might say. Because, seeing her lost and those small babies needing so much he’d wanted to offer to take them. Not that he knew a thing about raising children. Or had time. Or space. Or…

“Fuck.” He made it outside before cursing.

Selma found him leaning against her car. All her teasing died when he didn’t rise to it the whole way home.

#

“Don’t answer it,” Donnan said as the phone rang. The words were compelling. So was the location of Donnan’s hand, but despite that Kyle still rolled off the selkie and grabbed his phone.

He sat up when he saw the number and bit back a groan before answering it as Donnan knelt behind him and began to kiss his neck.

“Is he there?” Cecilia asked.

Kyle bit his tongue as Donnan’s hands slid around to his chest.

“I know he’s there. I’m outside.” She hung up.

Kyle swore, loudly, and stood up on shaking knees. He pulled on his jeans and tossed Donnan his pants. The selkie took his time and Kyle already missed the sight of him. They walked to the front door where Cecilia stood. Behind her, a car was parked with the engine running. The wind had died down, the storm moved on, but it was still cold and Kyle regretted not grabbing a shirt.

“Yea, not surprised I’m interrupting.”

“Do you have it?” Donnan’s voice held a note of longing Kyle had never heard before. “Cecilia, sweetheart. Please.”

Kyle was forgotten as the selkie and the mother of his children stared at each other. He felt like an interloper in his own doorway.

“Do we have a deal?” Cecilia asked.

“Yes,” Donnan said. “Of course. I told you. Let me see it.”

“I don’t have it here. I’m not stupid.”

Kyle recalled hearing similar words in the hospital. Wondering what was going on he reached for a jacket hanging by the door and slipped it on.

“Where?”

“I’ll take you there. After.” She turned and headed for her car. Donnan followed without a look at Kyle. Unsure of what to do, all of his uncertainty died when Cecilia opened the door and pulled out a car seat. She handed it to Donnan before retrieving a second.

A slow understanding dawned and Kyle felt as if the deck were falling out from under him. He was hurtling towards the railing and had no way to catch himself. This wild idea in his head was surely not truth. Only, there they were, hauling two car seats and a couple of bags up the path to the front door.

“I’ll just need them watched for a couple of days,” Cecilia said. Without looking at him. Kyle didn’t move, only stood. He couldn’t move. If he did they would bring the babies inside and be gone. His bones knew the truth. Cecilia and Donnan would drive away and he’d never see either again. What would Mary do? Would she think he’d kidnapped them?

“Kyle, sweetest,” Donnan said and even knowing what he did Kyle still shivered at his name on the selkie’s lips. “Just to let us fetch my skin.”

Did they see the understanding in his gaze? Did they care? Kyle stepped aside. It was too cold for the babies to be outside. No one spoke again. It was quiet but for the screech of gulls and the crunch of tires on gravel as they drove away. Until a wailing drew him inside.

What the fuck was he supposed to do? Kyle pulled out his phone to call Mary and tell her to come get her grandchildren, but as the babies wailed louder he dropped his phone onto the couch. Probably best to do it after they stopped crying.

EPILOGUE

Clyde was fussy. He always was when they left the Dick. Selma had any number of jokes to make up with that knowledge, but Kyle ignored them. Erynna was quiet, but she was always quiet. The doctor said she was healthy, but Kyle thought he saw some awareness in her that wasn’t entirely human. Would Donnan return for them someday and take them to the sea? Would he let them?

“See you tonight, pops!” Selma hollered as she loaded her kids into the car. The weather had been lovely today and Kyle had taken the crew and their families out for a short trip. He’d done some work on the engine recently and wanted to see how she was running. Tonight he was taking the crew out for a drink. Tradition. His first one where he needed a sitter, but Mary had agreed to come sit with her grandkids while he had a pint or two.

“Let’s get you home and in a bath,” Kyle said after the kids were secured. “So Granny Mary doesn’t think I used you for bait.”

They laughed and he smiled.

#

Mary knocked at the door as Kyle tried to feed two kids at once. Someday, likely by the time they were holding their own spoons, he’d get the hang of it. He ignored the cranky complaints as he stood and hurried to get the door. Only, it wasn’t Mary. Hello! Kyle willed his body down, but it was hard going. Whomever this stranger was, at least he’d brightened the evening for a moment.

“You lost? You probably missed the turnoff about two miles back.”

“Uh, Kyle?” the red-headed man asked. “I’m Ewan. Umm. Mary’s sorry, but she can’t make it. Her work needed her late. She asked me to come out and cover for her until she can make it.”

Clyde screeched and Kyle glanced over his shoulder. “Look, come in. Who are you? Sorry. Excuse me.”

He hated letting a stranger in, but if he didn’t feed Clyde he was liable to magician himself out of his highchair again. The door closed and he grabbed his phone off the counter to see if Mary had called. No calls.

“I’m sorry. I thought she’d told you I was back. I’m Cecilia’s brother. Home from London for the summer. You, umm, you did know Cecilia had a brother right? You weren’t- That is- Mom said you and her had been casual.”

Kyle stuck his tongue out at Erynna who blinked in response. Kyle shook his head and offered her another spoon of some gross looking concoction she adored. When she smiled so did he. No, Donnan would take her over his dead body.

“Uh, Cecilia and I never dated,” Kyle said as he heard Ewan shuffling behind him.

“Oh. I’d just assumed.”

“Clyde, Erynna this is your uncle Ewan. Say hello.”

“Are they talking?”

Two sets of dark eyes left Kyle to look up at the new body in the room. Erynna blinked, it was her favorite trick, and Clyde leaked food from between pursed lips. Before Clyde could cry Kyle had the spoon ready. He was wise to the boy’s tricks.

“No, not talking. You can have a seat. Listen, no offense, but until I can get ahold of Mary I hope you understand why I’m not keen on leaving my kids alone with you.” His kids. Their parents had left and, as Kyle had suspected, never returned. It had only taken the first night for Kyle to realize he wouldn’t let them go. Mary had been alarmed, but relieved, not to be raising babies at her age. The daughter of his neighbor was paid handsomely to watch them when he was out on the boat, but any other time he was home with them.

“No, I understand. Well, wait. I thought you were the father?”

Kyle laughed until Ewan’s hip brushed against his shoulder as he moved to a chair. Ah, yes, that body. The one he’d been happy to check out at the front door. One thing about being a single parent: He’d been without for too long.

“I’m gay.” May as well kill the comfortable mood now.

“Liar.”

“Why would I lie about that?” Kyle twisted around in his seat to see Ewan better and wound up with the spoon he was holding bumping into Erynna’s cheek. She screeched in annoyance. Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t quite as fast as he usually was. Not with the way Ewan was looking at him. HELLO! his body said once more. Kyle silently agreed.

“Listen, let me get them fed and cleaned up and in bed and I can tell you the whole story. Although you won’t believe it.”

“You never know,” Ewan said.

Kyle caught Ewan’s eyes before he let his gaze travel down his body. “No,” he said before standing. “But I think I’d like to someday.”

Ewan blushed.

Kyle grinned.

And Erynna and Clyde stared out the kitchen window as a gust of sea air carried the scent of brine into the room.

 



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Story One - An Abominable Gift

Welcome to day one of my Week of Short Stories! None of these stories will be seriously edited. I'm writing and posting within 24 hours after all.

This one came about from several ideas I've had over the last few years. Perhaps, one day, I'll retool it it into the military sci-fi romance novel I'd envisioned. For now, here's a few thousand words about a colony world, aliens, and a woman who doesn't quite fit in.

 

An Abominable Gift

 

 

ONE

 

Explaining to the children was always the hardest. They looked up at me from their beds, bright yellow eyes shining with a growing trust I would be forced to break. I lifted my hands and made the sign for “attention.”

Six children sat up in their beds.

My heart broke six times.

“They said no,” I signed. “They said they were full.”

None of the children spoke. They wouldn’t until I’d left. We’d only been together for three weeks and they had not welcomed me to their clan yet. I wish I could say the same. If I could harden myself to this situation I wouldn’t spend my nights sobbing.

“I’m so sorry,” I signed. I watched them move, long scaled limbs lowering themselves to the floor and converging on the smallest of them. Her feathers spread into a crown at the base of her skull and I was struck by the crimson and gold flash. “We can try again. In a day.”

They paid no attention to my hands now. They clustered around her, stroked her arms and legs, and were petted in return. I left them alone, and in a direct violation of protocol, turned off the cameras in the room. Privacy was all I could do for them and it seemed nowhere near enough.

“Claire, the cameras turned off.”

I drew my arm across my eyes before I faced Doctor Whitcomb. We rarely agreed on how to deal with the aliens. His one desire was to study them, but I only cared about finding them a home. They deserved a home. Their parents had sent them here to find a home.

“I know,” I signed.

“I can see your implant is in.”

I really disliked Whitcomb.

“Claire, we need to observe them. Turn on the cameras.”

“Turn them on yourself,” I signed before leaving. My boot heels made more noise than necessary as I walked down the hall to my small room. When my door didn’t open. I slammed my hand against the palm reader and it flashed red. A deep breath later I tried again, palm pressed gently against the black glass plate. Still nothing.

I walked down the hall to the maintenance panel. The iris opened and a green light appeared. I held up my badge and waited for the beep.

“Assistance forthcoming, Doctor Randall.” The screen brightened and the words were repeated until I pressed the accept message button. At my door I waited. Followed by more waiting as I watched others in our research group move past me as if I were invisible. Annoyed, I popped my earpiece out and leaned against my bugged door in silence.

#

I should be used to it, being an anomaly. To most of our team I was as much a creature to be studied as the aliens who came to our colony seeking shelter. My parents had been Fundamentalist Seekers. Our sect did not believe in physical modifications. Those of us born, like myself, with some perceived defect, lived with it. My family, when I was born, had learned sign language. My “defect” was why I had been recruited to this scientific team. The team I couldn’t stand most days.

A tap on my shoulder pulled me back to the hallway and I looked up to see a face I didn’t recognize. He smiled and I put the ear piece back in. My fingers fumbled, as always, to insert it properly. I hated it, but no one was interested in learning my language. Their talk of inclusiveness only meant everyone was welcome to conform to their lifestyle.

“Doctor Randall?”

“Claire. I have no degree.” I had, to the minds of the rest of the team, an education hardly worth mentioning. They had graciously conferred some honorary degree upon me, likely to avoid tarnishing their own reputations by working with an uneducated yokel. Where I was from the only doctor mended bones and dosed out medicines.

“Claire. I’m Boden. Give me just a minute and I’ll get your door open.”

I stood next to the door and scratched my ear. I could forget the implant until I had to re-insert it. The doctors here said it was all in my head, but of course it was. My ear itched.

“Would you press your palm against the plate?”

I wiped my hand off on my shirt and laid it on the plate. Nothing. The red light flashed and I swear I heard Boden utter a curse. I tapped his shoulder and when he looked at me signed, “What’s wrong?”

His answer surprised me. Mostly, well, because he answered. He signed back. I might not have noticed otherwise that his right arm was mech.

“We’ve had this problem up and down the corridor today. Someone’s reassigned all rooms to people in other divisions. I found a work around, but it’s not working for you.”

I sighed as I signed, “Do I need to do voice print to get to my room?” I hated my voice. It wasn’t mine. I rarely wore the implant for it.

Boden shook his head. “No,” He signed. “Just…give me a few minutes?”

“I’ll go get a coffee. Do you want one?” He shook his head so I left him to argue with the electronics. We had stories at home about the dependence of the scientists on machines. The elders said one day they would lose their machines and their world would collapse. As if we did not have machines of our own. At least, should that end come, I would not have an arm go out on me.

In the dining room I pulled out my implant. Once I sat it on the table no one would bother me and I did not want to be bothered. Coffee and muffin in hand I sat in the middle of the room. The disconnected implant kept potential company away so I was free to sit and feel sorry for myself. For three days I’d been talking to the leaders at Linear. They ran the settlements at the base of the mountains and were often willing to take on Graff as part of their teams. Today, with no warning, they sent an abrupt decline message and refused to take my calls.

The muffin, some citrus thing, turned into a pile of crumbs on the table. Whenever someone would walk by I would brush them under a napkin. Wasting food was frowned upon and as a child I’d received several reminders of the fact. Accompanied by sharp words and swift switches most of the time.

Cold coffee was left in the bottom of my cup when someone sat across from me. Habit sent the pieces of ruined muffin under the napkin to hide. Boden smiled and slid a second muffin across the table.

“Waste not the fruits of your labor,” he signed.

“You’re not Seeking.” The words were too fast to stop and I hoped he could not read so swiftly.

Boden tapped his metallic arm and smiled. “I was told that, yes, but I continue to hope the path leads back around.”

“How?” I asked, muffin ignored.

“I fought the Ungur. The military rewarded me.”

Doctor Whitcomb said it was impossible to converse by sign. Words lost a part of their meaning without vocal emphasis. Maybe he was right if a person only cared about the sound behind the speech. Boden’s whole body told me all I needed to know about his military gift. Had he even been allowed home or had the elders sent word as he lie alone in a hospital somewhere recovering? I forced my hand to touch his. The abomination was warm. Surprised, I looked up and saw him grinning at me.

“Will you confess?” he asked before I jerked my hand away. Boden was exactly what we were taught was wrong. If our Great Mother had wanted him to have one arm he should have embraced her will.

Before I knew what I was doing I shook my head. The elders worried I was becoming corrupted by my time here and maybe they were right. I did the ceremonies every day, prayed for purpose, and sought to help those in need. And yet, I sat with a man I should shun and when he smiled at me I blushed. Because he knew my language, I was sure. Not because he was handsome.

“What are you thinking?” he teased with strong fingers.

“I’m worried about the Graff. I thought I had a home for their clutch. It’s been three weeks and the longer the delay the harder it will be.”

“The military-“

“No.”

I stood and left. I should have known.

TWO

I waited for the screen to light up. Boden had fixed my door. I went inside and set the lock to privacy. On my monitor I had three messages, two from Whitcomb berating me for the camera issue and one from my sister with a request to call. This is what I meant about our use of technology. Not that I wanted to follow the Lefthand Path. They lived in the woods and lived with nature, claiming that is what Great Mother wanted. Personally, I’d never read anything in the texts that said we shouldn’t have indoor plumbing.

“Claire!” Jeanette’s grin was huge and she made a show of tugging her sleeve up.

“Jeanette! Congratulations!” I signed. Her betrothal bracelet was green and red. Jeanette had been matched with Kirk and Lenore last year and carried two children for them. I’d always suspected they would marry her.

“Can you make it for the ceremony? It’s next month.”

I sighed and saw the light in her eyes flicker. No one understood. When I’d been approached by the city science team to help with the Graff I’d been excited. Once assurances had been made I would not be forced to have surgery my parents agreed to let me go.

“Hey, Jeanette?” I signed. “Do you remember someone named Boden? He enlisted against the Unger.” Any guilt at changing the subject died away as she lost the kicked puppy expression.

“Boden? Wait, Boden D’Aramitz?” Jeanette’s fingers stopped signing so they could make the ward against evil, a circle formed with her thumb and pinkie. “Claire, you can’t be around him. Is he there? The elders will revoke your permissions.”

I forced myself to smile and hoped she would take any oddness in the expression as merely the transmission’s fault. I didn’t want to go home. Part of my reason for wishing to avoid the wedding was because I feared they wouldn’t let me leave. They would see my fascination with the scientists and the Graff as corruption. A cleansing would be ordered and then, likely, a marriage arranged. Since I was unable to have children it would be a trinary marriage like Jeanette’s. I wouldn’t mind both a husband and wife, but I know myself well enough to know the feeling of inferiority I would experience being unable to breed.

“I only heard his name.” Had I been quiet too long? “One of the scientists.” Lying was a sin. The Great Mother despised liars. “No one has said he was here.” That, at least, was no lie.

“Claire,” Jeanette signed. “Please be careful. And come home.”

A red bloom at the bottom corner of my screen drew my eyes.

“I have to go. I love you.” I disconnected and pressed the button. The words flashed across the monitor and I left so fast I forgot my implant.

#

I tugged at Boden’s sleeve to get his eyes on me. “What are you doing?”

“Claire. They agreed to the transfer.”

“Like hell they did!” I didn’t even blush as I swore. “You can’t take them.”

The military was leading the Graff from their isolation room. I shoved past them and stood in front of the small clutch.

“You do not have to leave with them,” I signed.

They clustered around her, stroked her arms as her feathers spread. I thought she looked anxious, but as Whitcomb liked to point out, I had no formal anthropological training.

Her clutch, her brothers, kept the rest of the people away from her, but they let me step closer. I touched her elongated fingers and once her eyes were on me I signed.

“You do not have to leave with them. I will find you work.”

“They have offered work.”

“You don’t need to do this. I have other options to try.”

“Do you not think us tough enough? We are the Tirr’ak. Our people were mighty. It was us who fought off the Unger when they destroyed our home.”

I hadn’t known that about them. The Graff rarely spoke to me about their battles. When the Unger had attacked they had fought and then scattered throughout the solar system. Many of them came here and we worked to integrate them into our works either here in the city or farther out.

“We are Tirr’ak.” They signed together. “We will fight.”

“This is your fault.” Boden watched as I called him every word I’d ever learned in secret from my aunt who was also deaf. “They’re children!”

No one seemed to care about that fact but me and I watched the Graff follow the soldiers out.

“Claire.”

I shook my head and spun away to see Whitcomb watching from the door to the observation room. My hands shook as I approached him, but he stepped back and the door closed. Well, he wouldn’t have understood me anyway. A soft touch on my shoulder turned me around, but I didn’t want to talk to Boden. I ran to my room, but the panel flashed red when my palm touched the glass.

The red light mocked me as I tried over and over to get my door to open. Since I had left my implant I couldn’t even use the voice print. They had insisted I voice print with it and not my real voice. With no other option I left the building.

THREE

The city parks were tame in comparison to our own. Should I even call myself a Seeker any longer? My worry over the Graff had given me an excuse to not cleanse myself after speaking to Boden. After touching him. I had been so happy to have someone to talk to I had not worried about my soul.

Maybe Jeanette was right and I should go home. Cleanse myself of my sins and accept a role I didn’t desire. If the military were recruiting the Graff it was only a matter of time until all work with them transferred to the base across town. A base I would get no access to as I had no citizenship papers. Technically I was a foreigner here.

The weight of aloneness was too much and I stood and left the carefully manicured paths of the city park. As I dove deeper into the wild underbrush I stopped caring about holding back my tears. Who would see here? Even if I ran into someone wouldn’t they be hiding from their own lives? Eventually, once I felt well and truly lost, I stumbled to a halt under an ancient tree. I slipped off my shoes before I reached for a branch and then braced my feet against the trunk.

Once I was high enough I pressed my back against the ancient wood and closed my eyes. Wedged as I was, between limbs and trunk, I didn’t fear tumbling down and fell into a depressed sleep.

#

My dreams ran wild in the cradle of the old tree. They were full of feathers, scarlet and gold plumes that dripped blood from their pointed ends. I sat up with a gasp. The terror of my dreams forced me to wakefulness and I clawed at my face before I realized it was not blood, but rain, that covered my skin. This would make it harder to get down the tree, but not impossible.

My feet touched the damp grass and I looked around for my shoes. They were gone. Where had they gone? Sometimes those with no home slept in the park, but why would they take my shoes? Modesty asked a more important question. Had they seen me climbing up and down the tree in my skirt? Well, I didn’t care for my shoes enough to hunt them.

As I stepped out from under the tree I realized how bad the storm had become. The full branches had protected me, but without them I was instantly soaked. Dashing back under the tree I sat down and waited. I had nowhere to be right now so there was no sense getting wetter. Unfortunately, the storm showed no signs of abating and as daylight diminished I grew cold. Fires were forbidden in the parks so I would have to brave the rain or freeze.

Deciding to brave the rain I stood and then froze when someone stepped under the tree. The dim light made it hard to see the movement of his hands, but I didn’t care to see what he had to say. Boden frowned and stepped closer so I stepped back. The trunk of the tree stopped my retreat and he hung a light from one of the branches.

“Claire, will you please talk to me?”

I shook my head.

“I want to explain.”

“Go away, abomination.” I’d wanted to hurt him. I signed slowly, carefully, as if to a young child learning his first words. He flinched and I felt uncharitable glee. To which I instantly added guilt. I was supposed to seek charity all the time. He turned away from me and I thought he would leave, but he didn’t.

“You’re freezing,” he signed when he faced me again. From a bag he pulled out a coat. If I thought I could not feel worse, I was wrong. My word wasn’t wrong. Boden was an abomination. I’d be surprised if his arm was the only mech that corrupted him, yet he showed more charity than I. He draped the coat over me and then pulled a small heat generator from his bag as well. Soon my teeth had stopped chattering and when he laid a waterproof blanket on the ground I sat.

“Thank you,” I signed.

“Did that hurt?” he asked back and I ducked my head.

His hand, the real one, settled atop mine and I lifted my head up to see him smiling.

“I’m sorry. Are you hungry?”

“I want to help them. Not leave them indentured to the military. Is that why you came to fix my door? Which is broken again, by the way. To see if I would help you steal them away?”

“Is that what you think? That we’ll force them to stay?”

“They forced you to accept mech!”

Boden shook his head and I was stunned enough I almost missed his words.

“They offered, yes. Despite my file showing I was a Seeker. And I said yes, Claire. No one forced me to become an abomination.” He mocked my words with his own.

“Why?” I demanded.

“Because I like my work. I’m good at my work. I enlisted and never intended to go home. When I was wounded I took it as a sign.”

“Of the Evil!” We did not say the Evil’s name. To name it conferred more power upon it.

“No, Claire,” he signed. “I know you understand. You’ve been here six years now and still refuse corrective surgery.” I shuddered at the words, unable to stop the automatic reaction. “But, you also won’t go home.”

“I’ve been home!”

“Four years ago. For your brother’s initiation ceremony. Not a single visit since then. Admit it, Claire, you don’t want to go home.”

He was wrong. He was also sitting close enough our knees touched. I should move.

“I read your file before they sent me to talk to you, Claire. You’ve spent more time with the Graff than anyone. Their leaders speak well of you. I’ve seen your reports on integration. Despite what Whitcomb says, you’re the best source for information on the Graff.”

“What does Whitcomb say?”

“Nothing that matters. Claire, the military is prepared to pay for you to get a degree. Once you have the proper credentials you can work anywhere. We need your help.”

“To turn them into soldiers!”

“The ones who wish to, yes. Why should they be denied? We need soldiers, Claire. The Unger will return someday.”

I’d never heard that before. No one talked about the Unger except in past tense. We’d beaten them. We’d driven them back. They had left.

“Claire, in four years you could have an actual doctorate. Less if you worked hard and I know you work hard.”

“Because you spied on me!” I accused.

“I researched a potential asset. I was asked to make contact despite my status as an abomination. Claire, will you at least come and listen to General Suharto?”

My fingers were already forming a no, accompanied by several other choice words, but I stopped myself. Would it be so terrible to hear out this general? Had I slipped further off the path for even considering it? Would they even want me if I denied surgery? I couldn’t do it.

Warm fingers stroked my hand and the weight of the metal felt weird. I wondered why he’d not had a full reconstruction. Was this Boden’s way of defying his past? The thin layer of false skin over his arm was nearly transparent. There was no hiding his mech. I felt like my skin burned with corruption at the touch, but I shoved the thought aside.

I pulled my hand free to ask, “Would I be working with you?”

He nodded his head.

“Would I have to get surgery?”

He shook his head.

I laid my hand on his. The contrast between real and fake, dark and light, was distracting. The touch didn’t feel wrong. Surely I had fallen from the path. Even now the Evil crept into my soul. Should I fight it? I should. I should cast him out by turning from Boden and his temptations. I should return home, marry, and forget the Graff. Somewhere I had strayed, but it was not too late for me.

Boden’s other hand cupped my chin and lifted my eyes to his. “Claire?” his lips formed. I preferred when he signed over having to read his lips, but my hand was still atop his.

Suddenly I was nothing but afraid and I pulled my hand away and twisted my body around. The chill from my damp clothes was not the only reason I shivered. If I took the offer, even if I only met with the general, I knew my fate was sealed. My family would cast me out. My siblings would never speak to me again. I would be alone. Alone, but I could continue to help the Graff.

Is that what She wanted from me? Was my lack of hearing not Her only gift? Was this it? To be shunned and alone for the rest of my life, but able to help so many. Charity was Her greatest wish of those who were Seekers.

Or perhaps I bent my own desires into a form I could rationalize as representing Her wish. The Evil could, even now, be working through me to get its desires. Still, deep down, at the base of my soul, I knew what I wanted: To stay.

Which was why, when Boden’s hands laid on my shoulders some time later, I turned to face him. My kiss took him by surprise and I felt good. His files hadn’t told him everything he needed to know. The first kiss warmed me up. The second was hotter, like boats burning on the shore of an unknown land. Like that, my fate was sealed.

The elders had never succeeded in driving out my lustful thoughts. I suppose I’d only done so well here because there were so few I found attractive. Boden though, he was almost a reminder of home. Which was why I let my lustful thoughts take over. I don’t know why he did. Maybe I reminded him of home as well?

Whatever the reasons, we sealed my future under the tree in the middle of a storm. I had been right, the arm was not his only mech. Even so, I would stay, go the city’s school, and work with the military. I would embrace Her gifts. Even if those gifts tore me from my family.

“Claire?” Boden signed.

“Can I still work with the Graff while attending these classes I must have?”

“Of course.”

“Then I will stay.”

He pulled me close for another kiss and I let him. After all, who was to say what gifts She was going to give me for accepting this path? I would accept them all, even if they were abominations.

 







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Pitch Slam and Twitter

Twitter is something I've avoided for a long time. I truly feel that society trying to carry on conversations with a hard character limit is bad. B-A-D. We should be encouraging people to be verbose and explain themselves!

That said, Twitter is a useful tool and I've taken the plunge. Find me there @PeggyLeeCarpenter. Truly original!

In other news, I've taken the plunge and have entered Pitch Slam. I've submitted to both the Pitch and the First 250 rounds and been a lucky lottery winner for feedback in both. Let me tell you, writing a 35 word pitch is HARD. Thankfully, I received awesome feedback and hope my pitch is better now! I'm awaiting my feedback for the first 250 words of my book. Follow #PitchSlam on Twitter!

Wednesday is the full round where selections are made to be shown to agents who are participating. It's my first contest and I'm excited and nervous. I'm super thankful for the feedback and it was well worth it even if I don't make the final round.

Siren's Call is out still with Avon. I'm using The Mad Baron's Doomed Daughter for Pitch Slam. Can I just say...I really love these two books. I look at them and see how much better I've gotten since I started seriously writing about three years ago. There's a long way to go to be great, but right now I am pretty darn happy with looking at my stuff as being good.

So, that is where I am at as October rolls towards the inevitable Halloween conclusion.

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Online v IRL

Despite my chosen hermit lifestyle, I enjoy being around people. It's fun to talk and listen to other people talk and then tell them goodbye and return to my air conditioned hermit cave. I especially like the talking part. I love to talk. Loud talking as I share stupid jokes and stories about how I was tormented as a child is a thing I love above all others.

Seriously, do not ask about the slide incident. I was so viciously wronged on that day I still have not forgiven family members. You know who you are. Wait, do ask, because I love to tell the story! It's hilarious. No, it's not.

Shawn, the beloved man who puts up with me, once told someone I have a book of grudges. He's correct. He can get furious and then get over it, but I remember always. I don't DO anything about these wrongs, but I do remember them! More stories to tell, after all. With much emotion and gnashing of teeth do I love to tell these stories.

In person.

Online, I do prefer to be quiet. I join groups on Facebook and follow people on Twitter and even have this blog. None of which I actually talk on much. I like to read what people say and occasionally read what other people say out loud to my husband. Especially funny tweets as he has only recently taken up FB reading with any regularity and still never visits his twitter page.

Considering my current hermit status in real life I think it would be a boon to switch these up. I would rather avoid people IRL as I so rarely come in contact with people outside the family. If I lived in a bigger town with more options for delivery of items I might never step foot outside. Then I could be funny and interesting and, well, louder online. Where I feel I should be louder because people should find me interesting so when I publish a book they want to see what that interesting person wrote!

Alas, I think I am a hopeless cause. Which is sad considering I met my husband on the internet. Back before that was a socially acceptable thing. It's a funny story. If we ever met I would love to tell it to you.

 

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A Duke to Remember

Pre-orders are up for the winning chapters of Avon FanLit. You can find it here: http://www.harpercollins.com/9780062458957/a-duke-to-remember

All of the winners are super talented. You should pre-order this and you should watch all of these ladies as great things are ahead for them, I am sure!

And stay tuned for some changes on the website!

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On minor discomfort and misbehaving characters

I spent the weekend thinking I should write, but a disgusting headache most of Saturday stole my will to do anything but whine and be sad for myself. So, I said I should at least do a blog post, but I couldn't be bothered as I was busy wishing I felt better.

Sunday came and I felt better, but was busy doing all the things I did not do on Saturday.

Today I am better. I've managed to write about 1000 words on the Mad Baron's Doomed Daughter. My characters are frustrating me and I have a feeling a lot of what I've written lately will require cutting. Surely this constant back and forth will resolve itself. In the meantime I will let them meander a bit knowing I can take a figurative red pen to them later. They are all like nervous dogs being tossed into a new pack.

I was looking over my first novel, written three years ago, and how sad. Sad. The whole series will be getting a rewrite. Which means I have about 400k words to redo. Although not this year. This year is already full, but next year I'd like to make time for that as well as new writing.

There also needs to be time made to work on the website. I want to do more with it, but every time I think of it there's something else to do. I should plan my time better. Even typing the words is to laugh. Myself and time management go way back. There's a bitter feud between us and there can be no winner.

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The Click Moment

At least, that's how I see it. Yesterday I finally reached the point in the story where two of the main characters made that first connection. It's going to be a rocky road for them over the next five books, but they've started the trip. This was not the first time they've been alone or even the first time they've talked, but it was the first time they managed to find a little chink in their own prisons so they could reach out. Disa is seriously fucked up from a lifetime of near solitude and decades of torture. Sorvjorn is less so, but he has plenty of demons of his own.

This is not a romance novel. There's no couple HEA at the end of book one. Instead it's a slow unfolding of a friendship that may or may not get to something else. I don't know yet. The characters are still too new to one another to know what will happen. I thrive on the unknown and chaos when writing so this doesn't bother me in the least. Still, the click moment. I love it and I am impatient to see what happens next.

 

“No,” Sorvjorn said as he forced his feet to stay in place. “No, don’t cry, Disa. Please.” He lost the battle of wills and shuffled closer, hands at his sides. “I don’t want to make you cry. I won’t touch you. Promise. I know you don’t want me touching you.” The words stabbed in his heart, but he couldn’t entirely blame her. He was too big, too different, to attract much attention from the prettier women. “Look, I’ll go get wood. You light that lantern, Disa. Get some light in here and close the window and I’ll bring back wood.”

Disa’s head lifted and he smiled at her. “The door doesn’t lock on the outside,” she said.

“So?” Sorvjorn asked, puzzled.

“So, how will you lock me in? What if I run off?”

“I’m not your jailer!” Sorvjorn said hotly. She recoiled from his anger and he winced. “Disa, I was worried about you. I am worried about you. But if…if you don’t want me here I’ll go get you wood and something to eat and then leave you.” He wouldn’t go back to Laelia who would lecture and interrogate him.

“I’m a freak,” Disa said. “Why would you want to be here? You could be anywhere. With anyone.” She shuffled to the window and pulled it closed after knocking snow from the sill. “I don’t understand.” In the dark she turned and stared at him. “You touched me.” It was half an accusation and Sorvjorn didn’t know how to respond. “No one touches me. Not even the ones who like to scare me and threaten me. No one touches me. But you did. I don’t know why.”

Sorvjorn watched as she tried to light the lantern on the counter. He added oil to the list of items to buy. “Disa,” he said when she gave up. “I don’t think you’re a freak. And it sounds selfish to say it, but part of why I like being by you is that you keep us calm.” Disa’s laugh was short and sharp. “Not just him,” Sorvjorn said. “Laelia forces him to be calm. She makes us two people and we aren’t. We’re one person and we don’t fight around you. I don’t know why.”

In his coat she looked small, but she wasn’t. He liked that she was almost as tall as him. He didn’t like how thin she was because it meant she wasn’t eating. “You need me.” He almost missed the words, intent on staring at her. She was pretty. What were a few scars? Or even more than a few? He wanted to kiss her.

“Uh, yea,” he managed. “I think so. Liked touching you. Like being useful.” They weren’t so different, he thought. “Won’t touch you though, Disa. Promise. Only, maybe someday, you might like to hold my hand. Would like that.” She didn’t say anything. “I’ll, uh, go get wood. Will you wait here for me?”

“I will,” Disa said and he smiled. He left her there in the freezing room and hurried to the market. He took a wrong turn twice, but was back in less than an hour.

 

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What am I working on?

My amazing beta reader/editor is working his way through Siren's Call. Right now he's about a third of the way through it. What happens when he's done? I am not sure. I'm glad to have his gracious assistance because my husband is not much of a historical romance fan. It does help that it takes place aboard a naval ship. He's a huge fan of sailing ships, as am I, and his knowledge is certainly within easier recall than mine. This was my first foray in to a romance structure. My other books have had romance elements, but never have I done a book with that as a core plot. It was tough, but I'm pleased enough with it. 

I am working on book one in the Mad Baron's Doomed Daughter series. I'm planning on doing six books, one for each of the dead gods' replacements. The setting is an alternate Earth where Ragnarok has occurred. It was fun to dive in to this as it's definitely darker than Siren's Call and I tend to get a little dark in my writing so keeping that tamped down in my romance novel took a little work. Although it has several dark elements. 

And, of course, I am still learning to fine tune the website. As I'd rather be writing a book than web content this is slow going. 

Once I finish this book I am not sure where I will jump next. Perhaps I'll seriously sit down and work seriously at editing and adjusting my post apocalypse series. Which needs a name. I also have ideas for several sequels to the romance book, plus another Angels book, plus the rest of the Mad Baron series. If only I had a couple extra brains!

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Here we go!

This blog is where I'll post longer thoughts and ideas. I'll also post a few excerpts from my existing and WIP projects. That's a lot of words to pull stuff from. Hopefully some of them are even good. 

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