Tag Archives: magic

May 25, 2010

Fairy Men

Title: Fairy Men

Genre: Fantasy

Rating: PG

Thoughts: This is the result of an idea I had on my way home.  There’s potential there for a larger story, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that right now.

——-

Jaid looked at the wax sealed, archaic envelope with her cramped, messy writing and then back up at the bird-like figure of Sr. Steward Geoff Edimon.  “You mean to tell me,” she said slowly, her head feeling like a helium balloon someone let go, “that we’re supposed to cross into the Fae World, go back in time, and meet up with our boyfriends – four – hundred – years in the past?”

Geoff calmly nodded, peering between Jaid and Ami, gauging their reactions.  “Yes.”  As was expected, Jaid lead the attack while Ami looked shocked at first but after a moment of spinning her tires, she’d be backing Jaid up.  It’s what gave them so much potential to work together as a team.

The two girls looked at each other, the pain and worry they’d experienced over the last few days had taken its toll.  Jaid’s pale, freckle flecked skin was normally a perfect alabaster; now she sported dark circles around her eyes, scratch marks on her arms from absently scratching and her long red hair stuck out in a curling halo of chaos.  Similarly, Ami’s usually glowing, tanned body looked pale and gaunt, her eyes swollen and read with her lower lip swollen from nervous biting.  Her blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and she wore one of Iain’s discarded t-shirts.

“How do we – how are we supposed to know this isn’t a trick too?  They took Cayden and Iain!  Geoff, they’re Dark Fae!  They’re pure-bloods!”  Ami gestured wildly with her hands, “Jaid and I – we’re just humans.”

“But you have potential,” Geoff’s calmness persisted.

“Then why didn’t someone start training us years ago?  Why just two years ago?”  Jaid looked at the envelope with a growing sense of unease.  The words on the paper sounded like her, but the Dark Fae were capable of too many things.

“I don’t know.  Cayden and Iain made that decision as your leannán.”

“Geoff,” Jaid hissed, her cheeks crimson, “we’ve never – uh – Geoff!”

The man drew in a deep sigh, and fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve.  “I don’t know all of the details, but I have served Cayden and Iain for many years and I hear them talk sometimes.  I might not believe these words if I didn’t know the Master’s, but I’ve heard them talk about four hundred years ago, when the two of you appeared like visions of angels, wearing their First Swords and telling them it was time for your Hundred Year Training.  Doesn’t it seem odd that they have not initiated you?  That you have not already begun?  That they’re doing little more than teaching you tricks?”

The two girls shared uncomfortable looks.

“Jaid,” Ami gripped the other girls arm, “I can’t live without Iain, and there isn’t anyone to rescue him.”

“We could fully cross into the Fae World and get the help of the ancients,” Jaid said without conviction.  “And then risk coming back here decades too late to do anything useful.”

The two girls locked eyes and groped for each other’s hands.

“But, Geoff, we have to cross into Fae to go back through time,” Ami’s face scrunched up as she tried to think through the details.

“I wrote instructions,” Jaid laughed and unfolded the envelope.  “God, I even wrote things I should bring.  Look, a straightner.”

“So what’s – what’s our first move?”

Jaid squeezed Ami’s hand.  “According to my list, get their First Swords.”

“I have those.”  Geoff went to a trunk that had sat against a wall, unopened for as long as they had lived here, and picked up two, long wooden boxes.  “The First Swords,” Geoff said reverently, placing a box in front of each girl.

In silent agreement the two girls didn’t touch them – yet.

“Okay, so we need to pack and then what?”  Ami was almost visibly pulling herself together.

“We leave.”  Jaid and Ami shared a scared look and got up.

~ ~ ~

The two girls, loaded with the gear they had instructed themselves to pack, stood in the shadow of an old castle in front of what looked like nothing more than a ruin, a tumble of stones.

“Any idea what we’re supposed to say?”  Ami asked grimly.

“Not a clue,” Jaid shook her head and squinted up at the setting sun.  That moment of neither day or night was the easiest time for a human to slip into the Fae world.

“We’re doing this for them,” Ami fidgeted with the sword at her hip, the weight alien to her.  Her powers were for healing and magic; swords and fighting were foreign to her.

Jaid felt the weight of the twin blades on her back with more of an ease, as if she’d always been missing that weight.  She’d scoffed when Cayden told her she would be a battle mage like he was, but now she had to believe him.  “For them,” she echoed.

The Hundred Year Training was what they’d anticipated beginning at the turn of the new year; they’d secretly decided Iain and Cayden wanted time to just be with them before they had to push them every waking moment.  Now they found out that Iain and Cayden had known them, known them as their wives for a hundred years before.  All so that now, in the future, they could single handedly attack the Dark Fae.  Jaid thought it had the stench of prophecy about it, but she wasn’t about to give it the time of day; she had a Fairy Man to rescue.

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May 20, 2010

The Stranger

Title: The Stranger

Genre: Western, Fantasy

Rating: PG

Thoughts: For some reason I know several people who have been discussing westerns recently.  I don’t really like to write this genre though I know with my experience I could do it well, but I thought I would try something a little different.  Hope you other western-writers don’t mind.

——-

It’s said that when the Santa Anna winds blow, all bets are off.

The wind blew down on the town, blowing up column of dust and shaking the trees.  Horses stomped their feet and closed their eyes into narrow slits.  Men pulled bandannas up on their faces, making it look like a town of bandits.  A few out of season tumble weeds rolled across the main thorough faire and then the wind died.  As if a god of wind were taking a breath, for a moment everything was almost still.  The blue sky stretched over head and a few men blinked up, looking for some strange sign.  A woman hurried from one building to the next; who knew how long until the winds kicked up again?

One horse pricked it’s ears up, and looked off into the distance.

A horse neighed and a dot appeared in the distance, growing quickly larger.

Two men stood near a water trough, and squinted at the figure.

“Is that Robert?”

“Nope. Can’t be.  He’s gone up to the city to try to find him a wife.”

“Oh.  Right.”

The two men waited, watching the lone rider getting closer.  He had buldging saddle bags and a rifle strapped under his leg.  Despite the heat he wore a long, leather duster and his hat was pulled down low over his face.

“Good afternoon, gentleman.”

The two ranch hands jumped.  They’d been watching the rider getting closer but hadn’t realized he was so near.

“Howdy.”  One said.  The other spit on the ground and then looked back up at the stranger.  “You pass’en through or gonna sit a spell?”

“I’d like to find a meal and a place to stay.”  He had a cultured voice and two bright, smiling eyes.  Despite his dusty appearance, he was clean shaven and neat under layers of travel grime.

“Saloon has some rooms,” the talkative ranch hand jerked his head back to a brightly painted building.

“Wonderful.”

“Wanna leave your horse here?”  The ranch hand jerked his head towards the livery barn where people from the outlying farms and ranches left their horses and wagons while in town.  It was also where the stagecoach stopped.

“Yes, please.”  The stranger dismounted and pulled off two large, bulging bags and slung them over his shoulder.  He pulled the reins over the horses head and looked the animal in the eye, “He’s a little spirited, but will mind his manners.”  Smiling at the ranch hand, he handed over his reins.  “Better get inside.  There’s a storm coming.”

The two ranch hands looked up at the sky, brows furrowed.  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

The stranger took his things and entered the Saloon.  A random assortment of locals were gathered around the bar, to which the cheerful stranger smiled and nodded his head.  “Hello.”

“Howdy stranger, what can I get for you?”  The bartender leaned over the old, worn wood and grinned at his new patron.

“Food first, I believe.”  He said thoughtfully and set his bags down on the floor next to an empty stool.
“Some beer second, and then a bath and a room if you have them.”  He left the leather duster on and sat down on the stool, folding his hands one over the other and fixing the grinning bartender with a more subdued smile.

“Right – vittles out in a jiffy!”  The bartender grabbed a glass and poured the parched stranger his whisky and then disappeared.

“You ain’t from ‘round here.”  A young man with a swagger in his step leaned against the bar on the farthest side.

“No sir, I am not,” the stranger replied, still looking cheerful.  Outside the wind began to rage twice as hard as before.

“Where ya headed?”  The young man asked.

“I haven’t quite decided,” the stranger shrugged and his smile deepened.

“Are you chas’en some’thin?”

The stranger didn’t reply immediately.  He tilted his head to the side and studied the ceiling as if thinking for a moment before his eyes drifted back to the hard stare of the younger man.  “You could say that.”

“Here’s your vittles,” the barkeep announced, reappearing through a swinging door.

“Thank you.”  The stranger picked up his bag, his plate and his cup and retreated to a small table near a window that was mostly blotted out with dust.  He sat there, alone and unmolested, staring out of the window, his face hidden by the brim of his hat.

The young man with the swagger watched him but didn’t say another word.

When the stranger was finished with his meal he brought his dishes back to the bar.  “I’d like to see about that room, please.”

“Sure thing!”  The barkeeper produced a round of keys and motioned for the Stranger to follow him through another door that his a hallway.  “Rooms back here,” he explained.  Passing by a window he paused, “Sky sure is getting dark.”

The stranger gazed out past the man, his eyes caressing the clouds that rolled in on the horizon as if he were looking at a lover.  “Yes, there’s a storm coming.”

“Well good thing you got here in time.”  The barkeep said and continued down the hall.

He put the stranger in a room on the very end and told him where the bathroom was.  No one saw the stranger for quite some time.  The storm blew in quick and hard, sending people running for cover and before long the saloon was packed to capacity.  Everyone was watching the storm rage outside; a few had started a game of cards, but most held drinks and peered out of the windows.

The stranger slipped in unnoticed and perched on an empty stool.

“There you are,” the bartender grinned.  “You were right about this here storm.  It’s raining buckets!”

The stranger merely quirked his lips and nodded.  He’d showered and though he still wore the duster and hat, they looked to have been brushed off, the grime of travel removed.  “Whiskey, please.”

“Att’a way!”  The bartender laughed and poured his patron his drink.

“Howdy pard’ner,” the young man sidled up to the bar.  “Fancy some cards?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have money to lose,” the stranger spread his hands apologetically and smiled.

“Well I’m sure you have other things you can wager.”  The young man eyed the strangers jacket, but couldn’t see anything else.  “You got a horse, don’t you?”

“Oh, but I need my horse.  I can’t part with him.”

The young man pursed his lips.  “You got a gun, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t need that, do you?  Not with the law men around.”

The stranger looked thoughtful, “No, I suppose I don’t need the gun, but it is awful nice to have around.”

“Well let’s play for guns, then.  My boys can put up theirs and you can put up yours.”

Outside the Santa Anna’s blew.  The stranger looked up at the roof and then sighed.  He leveled his smiling eyes at the young man and nodded.  “Alright, you have a deal.”

Six men crowded around a table, a deck of cards sitting in the middle.  They all held their hands close.  One man held his near his chest, glancing left and right suspiciously.  Another held his cards loosely and seemed not to care.  The stranger’s cards were face down on the table, his hands folded over them.  His gaze had drifted off to the window where lightning danced in the distance.  The young challenger glared at the smiling stranger.

“I fold.”

“Me too,” another sighed.

“Show’em.”   The young man barked.

“Two pair,” the suspicious man said.

The other yawned and laid his cards down.  “Straight.”

“Damn!”  The suspicious one wailed.

“What do you have, stranger?”

The stranger flipped over his cards, “Nothing.”  Indeed, he would have done better had he folded.

“Well I win,” the young man grinned and slapped his cards on the table.

“I hope you get better use out of my gun than I did,” the stranger chuckled.  His chair slid noisily out from under him as he stood, shaking out his duster.

The young man was about to say something when several drenched souls tumbled through the door.  There was a general commotion made and people began muttering about crops and bridges.  The stranger slipped up to the doors and gazed out at the storm as if seeing a long, lost friend.

“I’ll be taking that gun, mister,” the young man drawled.

“Yes, it’s in the barn with my tack,” the stranger said quietly, only paying half attention to the young man.

“I’ll take it now, before you run off with my rightful property.”  The young man folded his arms over his chest, glaring at the stranger.

“You don’t have much in the way of hospitality, do you?”  The stranger shrugged and before the young man could sputter a response, he continued.  “I’ll go get it now, if you must have it.”  He flipped the collar of his duster up and ducked out onto the porch where a lonely old dog lay alone, unbothered by the storm.  The stranger picked his way through the muddy street, water slicking his duster to his body and beating down the brim of his hat, but he made it to the livery no worse.

A few of the older patrons gave the young man disapproving glares but not anything else.

On the way back the stranger fought against the wind and the rain, his duster blown out behind him like wings.  Suddenly, lightning lit up the sky, throwing the strangers shadow out behind him like some gruesome creature of the night.  He lept onto the porch and stamped his feet, shaking off water and mud before pushing the doors open.  He had not lost his cheerful twinkle, but he looked put out.

“Here, I believe this was what you wanted.”  He pushed the wet mess of holster and rifle into the young mans arms and wiped more water from his face.

“Oh no!”  Someone shouted.  Outside the lightning struck close to town.  Once, twice, and coming closer.

The third strike hit the steeple of the church; the blast knocked it off of the building, leaving a gaping hole where once the obelisk stood.  It crashed to the street, rolling once, twice in the mud before stopping.  Lightning did not strike again.  It was hard to make out the lump of the steeple in the street but it let off steam.

“Was anyone out there?”  A small voice said.

“I’ll go and check.”  The stranger smiled, and strode back into the rain as if someone had invited him to go on a stroll rather than into a raging storm.

It was hard to make out his form from the saloon, but the stranger could see perfectly well in the near darkness.  He held his breath and neared the fallen steeple.  It was no longer an obelisk pointing at the heavens; in fact it was no longer straight or pointy.  It curled into a small form and lay in the middle of the road.  Gently the stranger knelt and put a hand on the lump.

It moved.

The stranger grinned and pulled out of his duster.  With one hand he helped the dazed woman sit up and with the other he slung his duster over her shoulders, hiding her.

“It’s you,” she looked up at him with eyes like the stars, rain washing away the dirt and mud.

“I told you it would work,” the stranger said and gently wiped her pale hair away from her face.

“But – how?”

“When the Santa Anna blows, all bets are off.”

She stood with his help, wobbly as a new born animal.  “Are you real?  Is this another – “

“I am real.  Just as real as you are.  We don’t have to live in dreams anymore.”

The woman sobbed and leaned forward into the man’s chest, the rain falling around them.

Behind the man someone called out, “Everything okay?”

The stranger turned a little and waved, “Just fine, thank you.”

“We – we have to get out of here.”  She gripped the front of his shirt, her face lined with fear.

“We will.”  The stranger put his arms on her shoulders and gazed down into her face.

“But how?  They’ll come looking!”

The stranger chuckled and glanced at the barn where a horse neighed.  “I borrowed the West Wind.”

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May 19, 2010

Small Magic

Title: Small Magic

Genre: Fantasy

Rating: G

Thoughts: I started with a rough idea, which formed into something cool, and then I went and did something – and forgot where I was going.  This is what I finished.

——-

Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘mind over matter’?  I learned what that really meant when I turned eleven.  I’d always been accused of having an ‘active’ imagination, but when I turned eleven it took on a whole new meaning.

My birthday happened like it always did; with cake and presents and singing, but it was when I was blowing out the candles that I first had the inkling something was – different.  Most of the time I made outrageous wishes for my birthday, but this year I settled for wishing that my two friends, Molly and Candice, would stop fighting.  They were sitting at opposite ends of the table, refusing to speak to each other.  Molly would start talking anytime Candice did so you had to pick which one to listen to.  The day had not been going well.

As I blew out the candle something funny happened.  I made my wish and – I burped.  Everyone giggled and I did too.

“Too much orange soda!”  My mom laughed.

While we handed out cake, Molly looked at Candice, Candice looked at Molly, and they both said, “I’m sorry,” in stereo!  It was the best birthday present.

We ate the cake sitting on the back porch of my house, all of us girls, just enjoying the beautiful spring day.  I had a sleepover and we made a tent in the den and I didn’t think about my birthday wish.  I didn’t think about it until several days later.  I was riding my bike down the lane in front of my house.  It’s a little country road and no one drives down it except us so I was doing as fast as I could down the middle.  For no reason at all I fell!  I wasn’t wearing my helmet and I knew the fall would hurt a lot.  I thought about not falling, wouldn’t it be better if I were just flopping down in bed?

I hit the pavement and bounced.  Not like when you throw a rock at the ground and it bounces up and settles; I bounced like when you bellyflop on a bed!  The ground under me was soft and springy.  I didn’t hurt at all.  I rolled around on the ground for a little while before getting up out of the circle of squishy road.  It looked just like it had before.  I touched the road with my shoe.  It was still soft.  I concentrated on it being hard again.  I touched the road with my shoe again.  It was hard.

Grabbing my bike, I went back to the house and ran up to my room.  I sat in front of my mirror and looked at my face to see if there were any warts or scratches.  No warts on my face.  I hadn’t become a witch.  No scratches.  I hadn’t hit my head.  That was it.  I could do magic.

Now I know older people find it hard to believe, so I don’t tell them.  It’s like Peter Pan; sometimes you’re just too old to believe anymore.  Like Susan and Narnia.  Because I’d seen all the important cartoons, I set out and made a list for myself.

  1. I got one extravagant wish.  Any time anyone wishes for everything they want, it’s never good so I decided I would use my magic for one thing.
  2. I couldn’t tell anyone about it.  You see it in movies! The hero tells one person their secret and eventually someone spills the beans! Or gets you in trouble.
  3. I had to help other.  That’s what you do when you can do stuff other people can’t, right?  And it made me feel like I was a Hero.  Like Wonder Woman or Batman or something.

Those were my three rules.

They were even easy to follow.  Sure there were times I really just wanted a cookie, or to make the kid that makes fun of the way I write that I have to trade papers with in English stop making fun of me, but those would break my very important rules.

I did help people though.  The kid whose locker was always stuck.  The girl that gets picked on in the lunch room.  I even helped someone whose meter was going to run out as a cop was getting ready to write them a ticket.  Small things, but you have to start out somewhere right?

When I turned fifteen things changed again.  We moved into the city and my whole life felt like it was falling apart.  I had no friends.  If I thought one person making fun of my handwriting was bad, I now had a running commentary on just how awful everything about me was.  In short, I went from happy to miserable.

We lived in a nice town house, but it didn’t have a back porch with a view of the countryside.  After school I would walk down a few blocks where kids painted the sides of buildings and people gave you crazy looks if you were clean.  It was where I went to help people.  I couldn’t do anything extravagant.  I’d added that rule.

  1. One wish for yourself.
  2. Don’t tell anyone.
  3. Be a hero.
  4. Nothing extravagant.

If suddenly all the homeless people had homes and food and jobs someone would notice.  But no one noticed if pizza boxes with hot, steaming pizza were left in an alley, or if the kid playing basketball found a new basketball.

In four years I’d learned a lot about my magic.  It wasn’t so much magic as I – invented things.  I sometimes changed them, like I did with the road that first day, but I did much better when I needed to create things.  Pizza.  A basketball.  Shoes.  A jacket.  I kept things small; you never know how a small act of charity will affect the bigger picture.

I’m never going to be a masked hero, someone who swings in and saves the day, but I’m happy working small magic and making small changes.  Most of all, I like the smiles.

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May 16, 2010

A man who needs a heart

Title: Being Valter

Chapter: A man who needs a heart

Genre: Fantasy, Middle Grade

Rating: G

——-

She was furious but it didn’t stop her from turning and going straight home.  She hadn’t gotten this far on her own without being cautious.  She knew how to act cowed by people, it was better to take a little embarrassment than have everything she’d worked on taken away from her.  It didn’t mean she liked it.  In fact she’d like nothing better than to march up to that mountain of muscle and – and – well, she couldn’t do anything to him.

Fia slumped against the door in her small, cramped apartment and slid the bar over the door.  With a heavy sigh she began pulling off her kitchen clothes and hung them on a peg where they could dry and be washed later.  She washed up in a basin of water she’d brought up last night and changed into a well worn dress; it was frayed on the hem and at the cuffs and the style was old but it fit her better than her maid’s uniform.  Carefully Fia shook out the skirts, a fine covering of magic dust fell away; grimacing, Fia knew she’d need to sweep before she left tomorrow, she couldn’t take any chance of someone finding it in here.

Leaving her room she locked it behind her and went out the back door to the building where she rented her small room.  It was late afternoon and people were bustling this way and that, finishing things before going home to families.  She’d wasted much of her precious time.  Sour, Fia pulled the long wheat colored braid of hair over her shoulder and turned down a foreboding alley.  She was a daily traveler of these dark streets; were she not she might find herself in trouble, but the street toughs let her pass and avoided looking at her.  The closer she got to the shady areas of town the more people stepped out of her way and made a point in not being where she was.

She stopped outside of a set of shallow steps going down to a door below street level.  Several colored lanterns hung around it and paint that had once marked the door brightly was now dull and chipping away.  Fia knocked in a triple rhythm and then slid inside the door, closing it behind her.

Inside the apartment was hazy with burning incense.  There were pillows and rugs spread on the floor and in the middle of the common room on the right was a low, squat table.  To her left was a small kitchen, partitioned off with a half wall.  An old, foreign woman turned and looked at her; she merely grunted and went back to what she was doing.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Fia murmured and went to stand beside the old woman.

“Cut these.”

Fia did as she was told, slicing vegetables for a stew and combined the ingredients in a pot and put it over a fire in the hearth.  The old woman had moved on to slicing up other things and crushing bits together on a separate stretch of the kitchen.  From this vantage point she could stand in the kitchen and gaze out over the rest of the room, as if it were her kingdom; and for all intents and purposes it could be that these set of rooms were her kingdom.  Mommy Fortuna was a woman who set her own laws and rarely went outside of her domain.  People only came looking for her because they knew of her skills and were willing to do what was necessary.

Most of the time Fortuna supplied healing remedies, foul smelling concoctions that applied to the body and healed quickly.  It was only the wise who realized the reason her potions and salves worked so well was because they were infused with magic; that medium reserved for only those highly educated.

“Why you late?”

“Some strange things happened in the palace today,” Fia leaned her elbows on the counter.  Her feet hurt terribly, but she wanted to watch Fortuna at work.  She learned so little each day it was maddening, but she knew she had to take it slow.  “The Royals are being strange and then they weren’t going to let me out of the palace and then I had to get away from this street tough hanging around the palace.  I didn’t mean to be late, honest.”

Fortuna smiled and held out a piece of something Fia didn’t recognize.  Wary but obedient, she opened her mouth and let the old woman put it in her mouth.

“It good.  Chew!”

It was tasteless at first, but then seemed to melt in her mouth into a sort of mushy, liquid warmth.  “Mmm, what is it?”

“I no have word for it.  It help you open mind though. I need you help me tonight. Man with no heart come in. He need heart.  I need your help.”

Sometimes Fia didn’t understand a single thing Fortuna wanted her to do; tonight looked like it would be one of those nights.

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May 15, 2010

Ch 4: Somethings you’re better off not knowing

Title: Being Valter

Chapter: Somethings you’re better off not knowing

Genre: Fantasy, Middle Grade

Rating: G

——-

A direct approach would get him nowhere.  Stiig had forsaken the main palace entrances for the servants gateway, but the two guards stationed there had wanted to challenge him.  As wrong as it felt for two foreign men to be standing guard on the palace, they did wear the proper livery and Stiig could not justify knocking their heads together, so he’d retreated to gather his thoughts.  He was at a loss for what to do; he had always heard that palace servants had lose lips and he’d hoped to capitalize on that.  But no one was coming or going from the servants entrance.

Something just wasn’t right.  Why hadn’t the prince come to greet them?  Who were these strange men in their country’s colors standing guard at the palace?  Mid-thought, he heard a grunting and a few leaves fell from the tree in front of him.  And then legs appeared!

Things were only getting stranger.

A young woman slithered out of the tree and landed on the empty avenue with a heavy thud.  Duty bound to protect his country from any perceived threat, here was one he could investigate.  Before she could run away, he put a hand on her shoulder, holding her in place.

“Where are you coming from?”

Her whole body jerked, and then slowly she turned around.  She looked at him like something might look at a manack before it snapped up its dinner.  Her eyes took up nearly half her face and she smelled strongly of soap.

She clasped her hands in front of her breast and looked up at him pleadingly.  “They wouldn’t let me leave, and I have to get home,” she squeaked out.

He had thought she was only a girl, but she was just a very small woman.  Stiig was useless at determining women’s ages so she could be five years younger than him or ten older and he wouldn’t know the difference.  “Why not?”

She shuddered again in his grasp, as if his voice were the trigger to her spasms.  “I don’t know sir.  Things are strange.”

“Strange?”  He bent down and put his face on level with hers.  “How so?”

She licked her lips and shifted her weight.  “Well, sir, these strange, foreign fancy men come to see the Royals.  The army men came back and the prince didn’t go out to see them.  And then there are strange men posted at the gates and no one knows who they are.  No one is saying anything, I’m only a scullery maid, I don’t know anything.”

For a scullery maid she spoke well, as if someone had taken the time and effort to educate her.  Stiig looked her over; she was wearing sturdy clothes, splattered with food and wet in places.  She seemed to be telling the truth and anyways, she wasn’t going to be involved with this.  She was just a scullery maid.  Stiig needed to find a magician; someone who would have the power to know what was going on.

“Who were the men who came this morning?”

She shook her head, the scarf wrapped around her hair moving with the motion.  A strand of wheat colored hair slipped out to caress her cheek.  “I don’t know, sir.  I’m only a scullery maid.”

“Right,” he let her go and stood up.  By all accounts he was being paranoid; these men could be envoys, diplomat types who would see to government matters he wouldn’t understand.  But Stiig couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.  “Go home,” he waved her off, transferring his attention to the wall and thus his second problem.  Getting to the bottom of this.

Paranoid he might be, but usually for the right reasons.  He’d survived long years fighting barbarians.  He’d kept himself and others alive by listening to his hunches and right now they were screaming that something was very, very wrong.  He’d decided without realizing it that he was getting into the palace.  There were bound to be guards inside who knew what was going on and would tell him; if he could just find the right people he could calm his nerves or raise the troops.

“You’re not going to – do anything, are you?”

He’d dismissed her already in his mind and was surprised that she hadn’t left.  She stood stock still, gazing up at him, her eyes unreadable and – the fear gone.

“You’d be better off not knowing.”

Her face grew tight and she looked at him with a modicum of authority that surprised Stiig.  “Who are you?”  She put her right hand out, spreading the fingers as if to receive something from him.

He looked down at her hand, which she snatched back, her cheeks flushing.  She was educated, but she was also a scullery maid.  “You’d be better off not knowing,” he repeated with more authority.

“I’m in service to the Royals.  I have a right to know and if you’re threatening them it’s my duty to stop you.”

Stiig grunted; the fearful little mouse had grown teeth, inflated on its good luck so far.  “Look, scullery maid, you said so yourself that things aren’t right.  Then why wasn’t it your law abiding citizen’s duty to look into it?”

Her cheeks turned a remarkable shade of red and her eyes snapped down to the ground.

Chuckling again, Stiig put his hands on his hips and looked down his nose at her.  “Thought so.  Run on home, girl.”  He watched her walk stiffly away, just to make sure she really was leaving and not going back to tell the guards.  Once he was safely alone, Stiig hauled himself up into the tree; the branches groaned and creaked under his weight but held.  He had to force his way through the branches where he girl had been small enough to wiggle through without leaving much of a trace; anyone with eyes would be able to tell someone had come this way.  He didn’t like doing it, but once he was safely sitting on the wall Stiig used his feet and kicked the lowest hanging branch until it splintered and fell to the ground; now his trail looked like a falling branch.

Getting down was easier than getting up, so he was able to lower down onto the springy grass without much trouble.  The only issue was that he had no idea where he was on the palace grounds.

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May 15, 2010

Ch 3: Attempted escape

Title: Being Valter

Chapter: Attempted escape

Genre: Fantasy, Middle Grade

Rating: G

——-

Fia kept her head down and hands in the pots.  It was well after lunch and yet no one knew anything.  People came and took food away.  They brought plates back.  Yet no one said a word.  Usually the kitchen was full of laughter and noise; Fia liked it because she could be quiet and no one would notice her, but she heard everything.  Today the silence was painful.

As the girls left, leaving just Cook and Fia at last before the evening staff took over, Fia was startled by Cook suddenly walking over, turning a bucket on it’s end and sitting down with a heavy sigh.

“What’s wrong, Cook?”  Fia finally got out.

“I don’t like this, girl, I don’t like this one bit.”

“What don’t you like?”  Fia ducked her head and heaved one of the largest pots onto the counter space she’d cleared off for it to dry.

“Whatever is afoot.  There is something nasty going on.”

“But we haven’t seen anything.  Maybe the men who came today were just some fancy men, come to talk to His Highness.”  Fia’s hands worked of their own mind, washing the remaining pile of dishes by muscle memory.

“But High Highness never left the palace today!”

“But there are days when he doesn’t leave at all.

Cook looked Fia in the eyes.  “Soldiers returned today.”

Fia gasped, a cast iron pot lid splashing into the soapy water.  “Soldiers returned?”  Her eyes grew large as eggs.  “And the prince – “

“The prince never left the palace.”

Fia felt cold all over.  It was tradition, dating back to Valter himself.  Only under near death circumstances had the sitting monarch not gone to pay the military its thanks.

“Maybe something’s wrong.”  Fia ducked her head and fished the lid back out of the water and finished cleaning it.  “Maybe he’s sick?”

“Then why no magicians?  Why no soups?”  Cook shook her head, “No, if it were that we would have known.  Doctors would have brought us recipes and oversaw the cooking themselves.”

As much as Fia didn’t want to admit it, Cook sounded right.  “I – I’d better hurry up then.”

“Mark my words, Fia, something ain’t right.”

——

Fia tugged the shawl she’d wrapped around her head, making it just a bit more snug and hunched her shoulders.  There was something not quite – right – about the guards posted at the servant’s gate.  Fia didn’t speak to them, but she knew all of their faces and if hard pressed she could probably remember their names as well.  These she did not recognize.  Their uniforms were also brand new, but they were far too old to be new recruits.

The only thing Fia wanted was to remain unnoticed.  That was how she survived; she drew as little attention to herself as possible and got along fine.  It was when people noticed you that you had problems.  There weren’t any others on their way out or in of the palace; just Fia.  The guards watched her approach; no, they waited for her.  When she would have walked past, one stepped in front of her.

“Here, you, girl,” he looped a thumb in his belt and glared down at her.  “Where are you off to at a time like this?”

“H-home, sir.”

“It’s such an odd hour,” his companion leaning up against the yawning gateway remarked.

“I scrub pots, sirs.  I leave when the pots are ready for dinner, and not before.”  Her voice was quiet, hesitant even, but it didn’t fail her.

“Really?”  The first said, his chin jutting out.  “I think you’re skimping your duties, you are!  You’re off to meet some no good boy instead of fluffing pillows like you’re supposed to!”

Fia’s jaw dropped a little and she looked up into the man’s face.  His features, so dark and lined and brown, were foreign to her.  Whoever he was, he was not from the parts near the city.  Glancing at the other guard, Fia had the quickly swelling paniced feeling the hunting birds sometimes seemed to catch.  If she had wings, she would be beating the air with them, her feathers fluffed out.

“Look at her!  You caught her in a lie,” the second laughed and took a bite out of an apple.

“Why don’t you be a good little girl and go back to where you’re supposed to be.”

A little part of Fia rose up inside of her.  She didn’t know who these men were, or why they were here, but they had no right to talk to her like this!  She was Fia, she had Talent, she had hard bought education, and she would – continue to bow her head and get by being looked over.

“Yes sir,” she curtsied, “my mistake.  Please forgive me.”  She turned and scuttled away as quickly as was dignified.  She couldn’t run, because they would remember a girl who ran, but walk away and she became yet one of the many trying to skirt duties.  There were other ways out of the palace walls, if you were but crafty enough to find out.

Out of sight, Fia skirted some green houses until she could walk freely, hidden by hedges and orderly planted things.  Working at the palace was not exactly prudent for one like her, but it was the last place one might suspect her to be, so in her mind it made perfect sense for her to be there.  She had made conditions.  She had to have multiple ways out of the palace; she was just going to exploit one now.

Standing under the inviting boughs of a tree, Fia looked around to see if anyone was watching.  She even stretched and smelt some of the fragrant blossoms growing on the vines that clung to the stone wall.  Satisfied she was alone and unobserved, Fia hiked her skirts up and hoisted herself up and onto a low hanging branch.  Her arms shook with the effort; hauling pots and pans all day left her arms like rubber.  Grunting, she pulled herself up and sat huffing and puffing, her legs dangling.

The wall wasn’t too tall, and this tree provided an excellent way over and down, thanks to its drooping branches.  The only bad thing was that the leaves grew so thick and numerous this time of year that she couldn’t see anything of the street below her.  Fia had to inch herself along the branch until she was at the spot that curved towards the ground, as if the tree were trying to touch its own toes.

Fia worked her legs through the branches and let herself drop.  Her feet slapped the ground harder than she would have liked, and she grunted heavily – but she was out.  Wiping sweat from her brow, Fia picked a twig from her hair and lifted her foot to take a step; she had lessons to get to after all.

“Where are you coming from?”  A voice boomed behind her, deep and rough like scrubbing stones.

Wincing, she turned around to gaze at a young man, near her own age, whose size dwarfed that of the wall and all that around them.  He had the sort of face that could only be crafted; the fine, strong lines of cheek and jaw, his jutting brow and – well – the rest of him.  He was a statue come to life.  And he had his hand clamped tightly on Fia’s shoulder.

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May 13, 2010

Attack of the Roaches (picture book!)

Title: Attack of the Roaches

Genre: Picture Book

Rating: G

Thoughts: First, I have a severe hatred of roaches.  Yes, this is sort of based on that.  Second, omg this took forever and the pictures aren’t that detailed! I don’t know how Hyperbole and a Half does it.

——-

Once upon a time there was a girl who lived happily in a pretty home.


On day, this home was invaided by giant cockroaches. They were terrible! They ate things. They crawled everywhere. They drank her Dr Pepper!

The girl lived in fear of the roaches.

And then one day a nice salesperson came to her rescue.  He told her about this magical mist that makes roaches go away.

The girl bought the magic mist and took it home and that night she waited for the roaches to go on their nightly raid.

They crawled into her kitchen, waving forks and knives.  One ate her breakfast, another went for a birthday-cake, and then one went after her last Dr Pepper.

The girl lept out of the pantry and began spraying the magic mist.

The roaches realized too late that the magic mist had real power.

The girl’s home was liberated!  She was happy and free to drink her Dr Pepper in peace.

The end.

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May 6, 2010

Pele’s Story, Part III

Title: Pele’s Story

Chapter: Part III

Genre: Paranormal

Rating: PG-13

——-

“What’s going on out here?”  The doors ripped open and Dius stood in the space staring at the scene.

Pele stood between her desk and her brother.  Don lay on his back, sprawled with his head lolling to one side; eyes closed and mouth open slightly.  His breathing was loud, like a wind vane.

“Is it too difficult to take care of him?”  Dius slammed one of the doors shut behind him and walked over to glower down at his son.  “Can you not handle him, Pele?  Is that too much for you?”

Peles lips became two hard lines as she focused on calm breathing.

“ Well, what are you standing around for? Can you not do this simple job?”

“I’ll take care of it, sir.”  Her tanned cheeks grew red; Pele looked down, feeling anger and shame.  No, she hadn’t taken care of things.  Don had made a mess and it was all her fault.

“Sometimes I wonder why you’re still around.”

Dius turned on and stalked back to his lair.  “Clean up this mess or it’s you that’ll be cleaned out of here.”

——-

The darkness hugged her as the wind whipped her like her father’s words.

The hover bike navigated the streets with an almost sentient eagerness.  Pele idly wondered if she had endowed the contraption with magic at some point but dismissed it.  Granting life was not an interest of hers.

Pele was glad for the time alone on the bike.  It gave her a quiet time alone with her thoughts where she could shed the proper creature she had to be for Daddy, and what she became nocturnally.  By the time she pulled up into a crummy looking garage, hoses and tools hanging from the wall, a large sedan parked in the bay next to her.  Pele lifted her helmet off and shook out her long black hair as the garage door slowly descended, shutting out the street traffic.

“Hana mana Akau.”  Pele turned and nodded at the greasy woman standing by the doors.

“Hana mana Pele.”  Akau nodded and turned towards a yellow painted door, preceding the younger woman.

Sitting on the floor in a small room buried under the obvious structure, were three women, all with islander features like Pele; hair so dark it was more than black, brown eyes that smoldered, and skin that glistened from the sun.  The sat knee to knee around a small bowl of incense, only a few candles providing light to see by.

These were Pele’s mentors; her teachers.  They had taken her on because they shared a nationality, but they kept her because she had become one of them.

“You killed the wolf?”

Pele nodded to Akau and accepted the cup of pungent juice she was handed.

“Did you strip the magic from him when you were finished?”

“Yes, Kahoku.”  Pele held the cup just under her chin.  “I took back all that was mine.  The magic and the chains.  I left nothing.”

Kahoku nodded and prodded a bowl with her finger.  “Death will bring the Alaka’i.  He will want to know why someone was killed.  You did not do it cleanly, did you Pele?”

She didn’t respond at once, but looked between Akau and Kahoku before shaking her head.  “No, no I did not.”  Neither showed signs of approval or disapproval and Pele was uncertain of their opinion about what she had done.  With disgust, Pele continued talking, “Lord High-and-Mighty has other things to deal with.”  She grimaced and sipped the juice.  “Other holdings are having problems.  They know that here the rules are more relaxed.  He will have to deal with an influx of new people.  Where to put bodies when we already occupy all of the space within these walls?”

“I heard that the Council wanted to request the expulsion of all demons.”  Akau swirled her own cup, dark eyes staring at a flickering flame.

“The vampires want the demons gone.”  Kahoku shrugged and picked up the bowl, fishing out bits of dried fruit and slipping them between her lips.

“The vampires want demons, animal-shifters, and all creations gone except for humans.  It’s rumored Springtown was destroyed because the vampires drove out everyone but the humans and those they kept like dumb sheep for the slaughter.”

Kahoku and Akau looked at Pele with skepticism that thinly veiled fear.  Fear.  The reason so many of them did anything at all.

“How do you know this?”  Leave it to Akau to be direct.

“Because a whole crew arrived two months ago, asking my dad for permission to stay in Lost River.  He told them to take the western northern slums around that werewolf pack.  They told us what happened in Springtown.”

“So some new toughs move in. So what?”

“Kahoku,” Akau put a hand on the older woman’s knee, “think about the others on that side of town.  Have we heard anything from them?”

Kahoku’s brow furrowed and she shook her head.  “They are a silly group.  They are not smart, either.  They get themselves into too much trouble; it doesn’t bother me if we haven’t heard from them.”

“You mean Jessica and the others, you haven’t heard from them recently?”  Pele sat her cup down sharply and looked at the old woman with large, serious eyes.

“No, but it’s not uncommon for them to get lost in their drink and their men and.”

“I’m going to go check on them.”  Pele stood up, kicking over her empty cup as she stood.

“Pele, wait.”  Akau held out her hand, the gesture enough to still the younger woman.  “You should not go near that pack.  What if they smell you?  That alphas corpse will smell like you.”

“I don’t plan on playing with the dogs.”

The two women did not try to stop Pele when she left the garage, the night yawning over her as she weaved through the evening traffic to the other side of town.

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May 4, 2010

Pele’s Story: Part II

Title: Pele’s Story

Chapter: Part I

Genre: Paranormal

Rating: PG-13

——-

The wolf would have snarled; the hatred in its eyes made that clear.  Pele walked a slow circle around the wolf, tapping her chin thoughtfully.  “You need to go away, but I thought that since you needed to be off’d anyways, I’d have some fun.  I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together.”  She grinned like a little girl with a new doll, and were this another setting, a pretty garden or a home – that grin would have been commonplace.  But in this dank cell, it was ominous.

The silver chains rattled as she picked them up by one end and let the rest of the length of chain trail behind her like the train on a dress.  She searched the floor until she found what she was looking for: rings.  Some werewolves were so violent during their transformation that they seriously hurt themselves, so to protect both the wolf and the rest of creation stakes were driven down ten feet and imbedded in the natural foundation of rock under the city.  Metal reinforcements made a network of crossbeams under the cell, and concrete and the paving stones finished it off.

Pele attached each of the four chains to their rings and only then did she turn back to the silent, still werewolf.  “Oh I’m sorry,” she purred, “are you having difficulty breathing?  I’m sure that must be excruciatingly hard on you.  I thought you might have passed out my now.  Well, we’ll just put these on.”  She knelt close enough to the wolf that its fur brushed against her tanned skin and ticked her nose.  The cuffs closed with a metallic clink on each limb.  “There we go.  Now, just to make sure you don’t try anything nasty, I’m going to wench you into place.”

Sauntering out of the cells she had to cross to what appeared to be just another shadowed corner.  The chains were pulled down into the ground, taking up the slack until they were stretched taunt against Pele’s spell.  “I’m going to let you go now.  Be a good boy, and remember to be quiet.”

It didn’t take words to dissipate a spell, but Pele liked to be dramatic.  She liked this feeling of power and hording it over this creature – just like her twisted father held the darker side of the city in the palm of his hand.

“Ku’oko’a.”

The werewolf’s body uncoiled into spasms and jerks.  Its jaws worked in a silent howl, the lips pulled back into an evil snarl.  The chains attached to its forequarters were taunt, but the two attached to its hindquarters lay in two coils of silvery chain.  The wolf sprang forward toward the open cell doors, the only sound being the clanking of silver chain and its nails on stone.

“No, no, no, that’s not playing nice.”  Pele cranked the wench, hauling in the chain so quickly the wolf’s legs were pulled out from under it and its bulk landed on the stones with a sickening thud.  It’s whole form writhed and spasmed as the silver counteracted the shift and slowly human hands and feet began to form where before paw and claw had been.

She stepped forward, a hungry glint in her eyes as she grasped the bars and watched as the silver slowly and painfully transformed the wolf into a man.  It might have been creepy, for a thing that large to writhe so powerfully and yet never utter a sound.  Slowly, like a cat stalking a mouse, Pele walked the half circle back to the cell doors, her eyes enraptured by her prey.  The now man lay spread eagle on his stomach, chin mashed painfully into the stones so he could look through brown shaggy hair at her; even in a human form he still had a feral look to his eyes.

“We’re going to have fun together, lupo.”

——-

“Pele!”

Pele’s head snapped up from the monitor, “Yes sir?”

“Get in here.”

Her heels clicked on the tiled floor as she took the short, quick steps the tight pencil skirt necessitated.  Sliding through the doors that stood slightly ajar the young woman looked expectantly at a large brooding man sitting behind a spartan desk, dragging images around on a display with his fingers.

A thrill went through Pele as she realized Daddy was admiring her handiwork.  The gashes made by silver flayed flesh open, exposing sinews and bones.  Her plaything had been wonderfully cooperative.

“Don’t look if you’re going to be sick,” her brother, Abaddon, sneered from his comfortable place in a leather arm chair, a glass of amber liquor in his hands.

Pele returned his harsh gaze with a smooth one of her own.  It was pathetic how Don started drinking so early; he didn’t do anything.  Privately Pele thought, Donny doesn’t deserve Daddy’s attention like I do.

“Pele, pay attention!”

She snapped back to her father, Hemigidius – though most called him Dius for simplicities sake.  It wasn’t his real name, not even Pele or her brother Don knew what their father had once been called, though they knew that when he came to Comloth he took on the name to name himself a god.  He had even named his children after gods; Abaddon was the name of a destroyer god, Pele the goddess of destruction and creation from their native country.

“Yes sir.”

“I need for you to get law enforcement on the phone – preferably one of those vampires.  Then I need you to call the Alpha of that –“

“The northern pack,” Don offered.

Dius glared at his son, the gaze alone enough to cause the young man to gulp his liquor and pretend to be interested in his fingernails.

“Sir, if I may?”  There were three other men in the office, one stepped forward and spread his hands politely out to Dius in a gesture of subservient difference.

“Yes?”

“Allow me to contact the pack.  I can extend our condolences for the loss of an alpha male and offer a gift.  It could be beneficial to allow them to assume that this was our doing, but if all three packs put aside their differences and band together it could make things difficult for us.”

Dius nodded.  “Rotten time for this one to get himself sliced up,” he leaned back in his chair, the hinges squeaking as his bulk shifted back.  “Not that I’m sorry to see his hide gone – but he could have found a more convenient time to piss someone off.”

The man turned to Pele and smiled.  All the men who looked at Pele smiled; she was Dius’ daughter and though he might dismiss her for her gender, it was that very reason everyone else paid attention to her.  The snug dress hugged her curves and exposed just enough cleavage to be tempting; she filled just about every man’s naughty secretary dreams.  “Pele, could you arrange for a side of beef to be delivered to the pack?”

She jotted down a list of requests, things to placate the pack and people to call.  She painted a false smile on her face, the kind of vapid thing that deflected anyone suspecting her of being able to harm a fly.  Her worth to Daddy was that no one, not even Daddy, knew who took care of his problems.  But inside she was a swirling mess of emotion; she had done something wrong.  Killing the wolf wasn’t what Daddy wanted!  She had to figure out a way to fix it.  She knew in theory how to raise the dead, but hadn’t had the opportunity or need to test out her teachers instructions.

“If we can find out who did this,” Dius said out loud, pulling up a ghastly image of what had been done to the wolf’s feet, “hire him.”

All the voices in Pele’s mind stilled and behind a curtain of black hair she grinned.

“I’ll get those things for you right away,” she said quietly and left the office.

Pele sat down in her own chair, feeling a heady sense of accomplishment.  Daddy did want her.  Daddy needed her.  She could help Daddy.  Pele’s fingers flew over the keys as she quickly executed what the little man wanted to placate the wolves while she imagined telling her Kumu how successful last night was.  She would be happy for Pele but also reserved.  The witches, Kumu as Pele called them, were not fond of her father though they did bend to his will at times and occasionally he had need of their services.

That was why she had first decided to become Kumu herself.  After mother died and they were alone with Daddy, he called the Kumu and asked them to do something.  She would never forget that first time she saw the vein in his forehead pulse with fear, the way his eyes grew just a little bit bigger and the way his trousers twitched from fiddling with change in his pocket.  She knew at a young age the Kumu had power.  She hated seeing Daddy afraid.

At first Pele had wanted to kill the Kumu.  She tried, once, as a young woman to slit her Kumu’s throat but the woman showed her real power and Pele realized the best way to protect her father from the Kumu was to become one herself, and then he would never want for one again.  But he couldn’t know what she was.  He couldn’t know she was his black angel.

So she made his phone calls and arranged for the pitiful peace offerings to the mangy dogs who had lost one of their own with a smug smile on her lips.

“What are you smiling about?”

“Don,” she smiled a little larger.  Not even noon and he was drunk.  Disgusting.  “Is there something I can do for you?”

The door behind him closed with force, punctuating Pele’s suspicion that her brother had been expulsed against his will.  “You can suck my cock.”

She frowned, all pretenses of smiles and placating behavior gone.  “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re a genius.”  He took a few steps towards her desk, squinting at the open windows that let in the day’s sunshine with open arms.  “What are you doing, my worthless sister?”

“Working.  Unlike you.”  She tilted her chin up, annoyed that he was now her problem, interrupting her pleasant daydreams.  It would be easier for Daddy to like her better if Don weren’t in the way; it would be better if he would just disappear.  But Donny was family.

“Whose cock are you sucking these days?”  He crossed the rest of the distance between the door and her desk and shoved aside a stack of files so he could half-sit on the edge of the desk.

“That is none of your business,” she said sharply and gave him a warning look.

Ring. Ring.

Pele snatched up the phone, glad for the distraction, especially since it was from a normally helpful freelance demon.  Don continued to sit on the edge of her desk, breathing heavily and watching her until she hung up the phone.  She had decided to ignore him; he would get bored and go off to satisfy himself on some whore with a bit of blue ice and a bottle of whatever he was drinking this month and he would cease to be her problem until he needed Daddy to pay for something – and then she would have to take care of it.  But at least then it was more like taking out the trash than giving the cat a bath.

Don’s hand clamped around her throat and he rolled her chair back until it slammed against the wall.  With more strength and speed than Pele would have guessed he possessed he hauled her up until only the tips of her toes were on the floor, her back against a photograph hung in a frame.  Pele struggled for breath as the sound of scraping sounded close in her ears.  The glass over the picture was cracked and broken in a few places, shards of glass cutting her bare skin.

Pele couldn’t breathe to speak, to give the magic in her purpose; she was powerless to her brothers superior strength.  The skirt constricted her legs so much she couldn’t even kick him in the balls!  She had to hold onto his arm with both hands to even get the smallest breath in.  Don’s breath smelled of liquor and onions and he leered at her – her own brother.

His two days of stubble scraped against the sensitive flesh of her breast as he rubbed himself against her.  Pele’s stomach clenched, revolted.  She knew her brother was depraved, but to go after his sister?  In their father’s place of work?  And in public?  Despite her own panic, his hold on her was growing shaky, she could breathe even.

“Donny,” she gasped.  It took a great amount of willpower, but she steadied her voice, making herself appear at least a little calm.  It would never do to beg her brother. “Please put me down.”

Glass scraped painfully across her skin as his hold on her throat relaxed and she landed heavily on her feet.  What breath she recovered was instantly shoved out of her lungs as Don pushed up against her, his mouth lost in the sea of her hair searching for her neck.

With the use of her hands, Pele had the advantage she needed.  She shoved her unsteady brother back and grabbed an arm, flipping him onto the floor.  She grappled a paperweight on her desk and hit him with it; not hard enough to bleed, just enough to stun him.  “Maka hiamoe,” she hissed and released the merest amount of magic.  Don slumped on the floor, asleep.

Quickly Pele put her desk to rights, and knelt over her brother.  If she could clean things up and put him in another room, no one would know what kind of sad shape Dius’ son was in.

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May 3, 2010

Pele’s Story – Part I

Title: Pele’s Story

Chapter: Part I

Genre: Paranormal

Rating: PG-13

Note: I started this in first person. I really don’t like it. The next bit will be done in 3rd and this revised at a later date so I can do more

——-

Daddy had been pleased when the pharmaceuticals lawyer finally agreed to his terms of purchase.

Daddy had been happy when the snitch he’d been looking for was found shot up with enough hallucinogens he uninhibitedly told Daddy all of his secrets.

Daddy would be happy when the werewolf disappeared.

I lifted the helmet off and sat it on the handlebars of my latest toy; a brand new hover-bike.  The night air was cool and in this poor area the air was fragrant with exhaust fumes and week old garbage.  Werewolves were disgusting creatures; it only made sense that this one would be here.  I tapped at the talisman hanging from my throat; my latest creation.  It protected me from tooth and claw; handy when facing off with a werewolf at the height of the full moon.

My plan had worked perfectly.

Even now I could hear the howls of the stupid beast, trapped by necessity.

The muscles in my face tugged my lips into a grin as I thought about what fun I was about to have.  The bundle of ‘gifts’ from Brangaty’s Precious Trinkets slung over my shoulder, all that was left to do was go inside.  As an afterthought I turned back to the bike and lay my hand on the headlight.

“Noho.”  A little flash of light and a speck of energy settled onto the bike; no one would be able to touch it.

Inside the cavernous building, one of the few made of ancient blocks of stone, it was clear it was no longer occupied.  This was good.  It meant I wouldn’t have to deal with anyone else; just my prey.

He was below ground, locked in a cell within a cell within a cell.  He wasn’t the first werewolf I had seen, but he had to be the biggest.  Dark eyes were bloodshot and ringed in a feral redness.  Though his coat of fur was a molted black and brown and showed scraggly in places, like he had mange or a skin condition, he was still a creature of power, of darkness, of night.

Like me.

I stopped at the outermost gate and looked in.  He was crazed.  There was no vestige of the half of man that lived inside of him, that kept his soul trapped within the beasts body, but he still looked at me for one almost lucid moment.

A predator recognizing another.

He began snapping the air and growling ominously and threw his bulk against the bars.  Curiously, I stood and watched; I was fascinated, not scared.  I took out the key from my pocket and fit it into the lock.  As the door clicked open the cell became deathly quiet.  That part of the beast that remembered being more was probably screaming at the wolf to run.  When he locked himself in this cell he would have been assured that he held the only key; a key that would be in the cell with the wolf under a fitted brick that wolf claws and teeth could not budge but human fingers could.  He had probably come to this shelter desperate, caught out too late by a series of unfortunate incidents that added up to disaster.

If a wolf, even one with such a good record as this one, were to kill any creature he would be put to death.  Just like a vampire or demon or human.  The no-death rule was probably what kept their society from falling in on its self; so many creatures were never meant to live alongside each other.

I pulled the first door closed behind me and flipped for the second key.

The wolf threw its self backwards and howled, head tossed back and pointed towards a grate in the ceiling where moonlight flowed down to bathe it’s horrid child in a pale glow.

Securing the second gate behind me I stood outside the last thing between myself and my prey.  Giddy to the point of laughter, I allowed myself a deep, throaty laugh.  It cut through the werewolf’s howl, silencing it.

“You think your kind is going to come and save you?”

It stared back at me, nose twitching.

“They gave you up to me.”  I sat my bundle down, the sound of metal clanking together sent a shiver through the wolf.

It bunched, as if to pounce, but stayed still.  Watching me.

“You want to see what I have?”

I pretended it spoke back to me, saying, ‘Yes, Miss Pele, I do want to see what it is you have.’

“Very well, I’ll show you.”

I flicked back the flap and spilled the silver chains out onto the stone floor.  The silver machete I grabbed and held out so that the wolf could see its’ own reflection in the polished surface.

The wolf howled and began throwing its self against the bars, but these very bars had held for generations of wolves.  So close to this much silver it would probably be salivating blood soon enough.  A single silver bullet would kill a werewolf, while silver chains would burn it away to nothing, leaving the man.

“I’m disappointed.”  I pouted, though the thrilling feeling of what I was about to do was bubbling up within me.  “I thought you’d like my present.”

It howled again, the sound reverberating off of the walls so loud it threatened to give me a headache.

“Stop that,” I snapped and stood up, machete in hand.  The great maws opened to howl again.  Rage at being disobeyed gnawed at me.  “Kulikuli!”  A crackling of white light shot from my outstretched hand and hit the wolf, knocking the air out of it and slamming the creature back against the bars.

Smug, I pulled out the third key.  “That’s why I use my native language,” I informed the wolf.  “There are so many things that can be implied that the magic takes different forms.”

The wolf recovered faster than I thought it would and bunched low, as if to spring at me. “Wailana,” I said sternly.  The energy transfer had already taken place; I just had to mold it to what I wanted it to do.  The form of the wolf glowed and the creature held perfectly still.

“It’s so much easier when you cooperate.”

I walked towards the creature, my boots making soft thumping sounds against the stone.  The wolf, stilled and silenced couldn’t do anything but glare at me with those feral red eyes.

“We’re going to have so much fun together.”  I grinned and ruffed the fur on top of the wolfs head, and tried to decide which part of him I would cut first.

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