Oh, it’s time for the bloghop already. I barely noticed how time flew by since I’ve been very busy writing a new novel. This is the third installment in Holly Lisle’s Moon&Sun series, an Upper Middle Grade or Young Adult fantasy adventure. The series got cancelled on Holly by her then publisher and it took her years to get the rights back. So she wrote several other novels and started a five book Romantic Suspense series she’s still revising.
With that she realized that she won’t have the time to get to the Moon&Sun series any time soon. Cue me. I asked her for the right to write the missing volumes of the series and the right to re-publish the existing books. And she agreed (squeal). So now I’m busy trying to work in someone else’s world without ruining it.
I howled. Three hours! The presentation’s revision had taken three hours!
And then the program crashed and took along all my painstaking work. Plus the original, but I still had a copy of that. My mind whirled and I wanted to rage. However it wouldn’t do with my boss in his office right down the corridor.
Overtime was no option either, with Ellie’s birthday party starting just after my work hours and her mother breathing down my neck about being punctual. If only I had a way to regain my work.
When the boss left his office, pretending to go to the toilet but really checking if we were busy, I opened a random eMail. A red logo flashed: an H written in fire surrounded by a wreath of pitchforks. Weird. The text under it grabbed my attention despite my preoccupied brain.
Frustrated? Angry? On a deadline? We can help. Call … and a phone number.
Yeah, that was spam, no doubt about it. On the other hand, what did I have to lose? And the phone call would be on the company’s dime. My hand reached for the headset and a few heartbeats later a warm alto greeted me.
“Hello dear, what can I do for you?” The woman was stunning, busty with curves in all the right places and long, dark tresses. If I hadn’t been so angry, I’d have found it hard not to stare at her generous cleavage. I didn’t need that kind of distraction. I only needed to calm myself.
“I know you can’t do anything about this but maybe I can vent?”
“Absolutely. Venting is completely free of charge.” There was a hint of a smile in the voice.
So venting I did. About the pressure everybody in the company was under, about my ex-wife and her demands on my time, about the little time I got to spend with our daughter, and about the sorry pay. Then I launched into my current woes and the fact that the presentation was due first thing tomorrow morning. When I was done, I felt empty. With a sigh I added, “Guess I’ll have to think of something to recreate that revision.”
“Or you can sign a contract with us and we’ll do the hard work for you.” The woman was smiling so hard, the top button on her blouse popped.
A second window opened right beside the one with the busty woman. This one showed an H with a golden ring and wings. Another weird one. The logo seemed to glow. I heard some grunting.
“Why won’t this … Ah! There.” The logo vanished and an incredibly beautiful person grinned at me. I couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman but it didn’t seem important. “I did it! It’s working!” Their smile turned serious. “You didn’t sign anything yet, did you?”
I shook my head, feeling more confused than ever.
Before the beautiful person could speak again, the busty woman chimed in. Her voice sounded somewhat strained. “We can easily extract your memory and restore the file to the way it was before the crash.”
“You don’t want them messing with your head,” the beautiful person said. “They are known for twisting thoughts and changing memories to suit their agenda.”
“Don’t believe him. We never touch anything not in the contract.” The woman’s smile intensified. She was positively glowing. “But if you prefer we can simply make a copy of you that exists long enough to redo your lost work while you go to make memories with your child.”
“We can promise that exact same thing, and we can deliver too.” The beautiful person glanced at the other window as if they could see it. “And at a much lower cost, too.”
“And,” the busty woman pulled her shoulders back which pushed her generous chest toward me, “I can throw in some fun time with a genuine succubus or three.” Another button popped, revealing more cleavage than I was comfortable with. “And we have no limits on what you can request after signing the contract. It’s for a lifetime of ease.” She bent slightly forward as if confiding something secret. “Fancy your supervisor’s position? It’s as good as yours.”
Gosh, that was tempting. Less work, fewer hours, at least double my current pay.
“Don’t throw your eternal soul away.” The beautiful person looked extremely worried. “Let me make a counter offer before you decide.”
Two clicks and both windows closed like they’d never existed. With a sigh, I sent my computer to sleep. I’d come back tonight, after my girl’s birthday party, and redo the presentation. Not the best solution, but one I could live with.
I shook my head in disgust. How I hated marketeers. They were coming up with better stuff every day. Thank God I was an atheist.
My colleague Chris Makowski is ready for the Bloghop too. He’s still revising his novel (with elves and stuff in our world, by what he posts about it, it’ll be a fascinating if dark read), so I’m hosting his story again.
Here’s his Bloghop story:
Two Feet
Chris Makowski
Get two feet closer!
Discharged yesterday and now I’m hallucinating voices.
Another bullet chews through the island, deflected by the good thick cast iron in there. Last one put a hole in my Magnalite dutch oven. He doesn’t know if I’m armed, but not stupid enough to dash in and find out the hard way.
Not a word, nothing after the flash bangs – someone hired a pro to finish things.
Bliss is big business, and I’m a headache.
Bullet by bullet, it’s hide and seek. Shoot low, shoot high, a few inches to the left and I’d be spurting instead of oozing blood. My open concept house being used against me, leaving me nowhere to go he can’t put a hole in me.
I’m running out of time fast.
Get Two Feet Closer!
Piece in a drawer I can’t reach, he removed the one under the sink – maybe the other one too, happy me, I’ve got a knife in a gunfight, and he’s a good ten paces into the living room, waiting, sixty feet out of my reach.
My foot twitches.
Get! Two! Feet! CLOSER!
I hear my imagination draw in breath.
You have nothing to lose, Charmyan Broussard!
A sharp twist toward the sink as another guess zips through where I had been, I set my feet against the base board and shove hard, a sprint for my life, come off the blocks and run damn it run hard run Run RUN!
Something rips out of me, through me, from me, he’s standing behind the couch, huge, six feet and then some, pistol coming around –
“MINE!”
BLAM!
I crash to the ground, slide under the table, kick the chair across the room – the couch flies out of the way, leaving me a clear view of …
Me.
A me carved of pure obsidian straddles his ribcage. Her – my – head turns, and that smile appears, the one I wore every time I put someone away.
She puts a finger in his chest, swirls it, and a bluish glaze comes out. Then the finger goes into her mouth, slowing coming out clean.
“Delicious.” Her voice – my voice, only colder, a distant echo. “You’ll have to replace that.”
My gaze follows her finger. Missed me by that much.
“New toaster, check.” She’s still there, watching me.
“Call Dispatch.” Then she leans forward and speaks into his ear. “Heart attack. Should really have used less Peruvian powder before breaking in to my house. Beep, beep – bzzzzzt.”
“He’s dead?”
Her eyebrow Spock’s at me.
One yank and the drawer’s open – Glock’s missing.
“It’s over there.” A flip of her wrist points her fingers into the dining room. “You won’t need it. There aren’t any more.”
A tongue flickers over her lips. “Unfortunately.”
“What are you?”
Standing, she’s my nighshade twin, down to the dribbling smear where I banged my noggin ducking. “I lived under your bed, and knocked on your closet door. You carried me all the way from Port Goode to here, nightmare by nightmare.”
In an eyeblink she’s right by me.
“Don’t you remember your wish?” She crouches. “Over and over and over?”
Memories flow through my head. Days, weeks, months in the hospital, hooked up to bags and machines and monitors. In and out of consciousness, reliving the horrors they’d put me through.
All through, my one thought, my reason for survival.
Find Nathan Hill.
Find Philip Dale.
Put them both in a hole so deep their souls will never crawl out.
“Heart’s desire, released to the night,” she singsongs. All her teeth are sharp, many of them pointed. “You want them. I want to live in more than dreams.”
A hand stretches toward me. “So from now on, you be Good Cop, and I’ll be Bad Cop.” Even with the predatory gaze, her smile is warm. “They’ll never see us coming. Ça va juste?”
Oh dear, how time flies. It’s already time for the #free #stories again. You’ll find mine below and several more if you follow the links at the end.
By the way, I’ve published my short story turned comic in time for Easter. Unfortunately the print version is still somewhat wonky, but the eBook is fine. If you want to check it out, here’s the link to the eBook on Amazon.
We’ve been at this for five hours already. Don’t you think it’s time to come clean?
DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:
We know you did it.
KATHARINA GERLACH:
But I did not.
DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:
Then how come that the victim’s blood was found in your bathtub?
PO SCHULZE:
Yes, that was disgusting. What did you have to cut him up for.
KATHARINA GERLACH:
(crying) I didn’t. I’ve no idea how his blood got into my bathroom.
DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:
You can’t pretend his blood wasn’t there.
(crying)
PK SCHULZE:
And his DNA. You can no longer deny you killed him. Give us a confession and get it over with. Your honesty will be taken into account.
KATHARINA GERLACH:
(crying) I never killed anyone, and I wouldn’t if I could.
DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:
Stop lying!
(crying, loud slap on tabletop)
DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:
We know you brutally murdered a man. A booklover! A father! A husband! What do you think his family is feeling, now that you killed a harmless man?
UNNAMED MALE VOICE:
(loud) Harmless? Are you out of your minds?
PO SCHULZE:
What the …
KATHARINA GERLACH:
(voice still wobbly but with rising anger) Gregorian, get out of me, right now! You have no right to possess me.
GREGORIAN:
Yes, I do. But as you command.
DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:
Oh God …
(vomiting noises)
GREGORIAN:
It’s in your contract on page 746 second to last paragraph where it clearly states that I may possess you if you’re in danger of losing your soul, the one you’ve promised me.
KATHARINA GERLACH:
I wasn’t in danger of losing my soul!
DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:
Who are you? How were you able to be inside of her? Your exit … (gagging sounds) Why isn’t she dead?
GREGORIAN:
Now, that’s an interesting question, and one I haven’t managed to answer for quite a while. I’ve tried everything to collect her soul, but without success. But that’s nothing you mere mortals can help with. Leave her alone, so I can keep working on the answer to that puzzle. Aside from writing, she’s done nothing. Nothing at all to deserve this anyway.
KATHARINA GERLACH:
Gregorian, what did you do?
GREGORIAN:
I saved you. God forbid!
2ND UNNAMED M. V.:
(bellowing) Leave my name out of this, Gregorian.
GREGORIAN:
Sorry, Sir.
DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:
What the hell is going on here?
KATHARINA GERLACH:
I summoned a demon a while back—
GREGORIAN:
To fetch dog food, so she didn’t have to leave her precious grandson and her writing. Can you imagine that?
KATHARINA GERLACH:
Gregorian…
GREGORIAN:
(huff)
DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:
What’s that got to do with everything?
GREGORIAN:
Fell in love with her writing, I did, of course. Devlishly good! And that cretin didn’t want to read even one of her books. Did you know that he beat up his wife and kids regularly?
PO SCHULZE:
(whispering) That did come to light in our investigation, yes.
DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:
I still don’t see a connection. We’ve ruled the family out as suspects.
GREGORIAN:
I made him!
PO SCHULZE:
Made him what?
GREGORIAN:
Read one of her books. And you know what he said?
DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:
Well, obviously something you didn’t like. Probably that her books aren’t as good as you think.
KATHARINA GERLACH:
Gregorian! I’ve told you over and over again that you can’t just force someone to read my books. Not everyone likes Fantasy.
GREGORIAN:
I made him read one of the historical novels. And they are truly great. Plus they’re based on True Life.
KATHARINA GERLACH:
That’s not the point, Gregorian. Whatever you did to him happened in MY body!
DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:
So you do admit to killing him, Mrs Gerlach?
GREGORIAN:
She does no such thing. I killed that guy. His soul was so black, it already belonged to my Master anyway. So I simply extracted it. Then, I extracted the bones and dumped them somewhere in the wild. And finally, I made minced meat out of the rest and fed it to the hellhounds. She? She was lost in the planning of her next novel.
DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:
In that case, I arrest you for first degree murder.
(metallic chinks, poof sound)
PO SCHULZE:
Heh?
DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:
Where are you? There’s no place on Earth you can hide. We’ll find you.
KATHARINA GERLACH:
He’s been summoned back to hell. That happens quite often.
2ND UNNAMED M. V.:
(whispering) I’m protecting him, Cat. He’ll not suffer for falling in love with books. After all, love is what’ll redeeem everyone.
KATHARINA GERLACH:
Thank’s, God.
DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:
Schulze, get the call out and add his description.
PK SCHULZE:
Is that wise, Sir? Considering he doesn’t have a skin or clothes or hair, only horns?
DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:
Who has?
PO SCHULZE:
The de … (pause) I don’t remember, Sir.
DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:
What are you still doing here, Mrs. Gerlach? Haven’t we dismissed you already? We’ve got a murderer to catch.
Since I missed out on the Bloghop in autumn for the first time ever, you’ll get not one, but two #free #stories on my blog today. You’ll find even more if you follow the links below the stories.
As to my writing, I haven’t done any aside from this short story. However, I have turned one of my short stories into a comic. It’ll still take a little while but I’ll be publishing it soon, hopefully before Easter. After all, it’s about the Easter Hare. I’m contemplating publishing it as a bilingual comic with the original short stories added. If this sounds like a good idea to you, please let me know in the comments.
And here’s my story:
What If
“What if there really were dragons?” Sitting on the ground in front of her French windows, Jane looked into the summer sky that dwarfed the grassy plain beneath where her father’s horses grazed. The sun was sinking rapidly. Another day nearly over. She sighed and tried to focus on something else. “Would they come and eat our horses?”
“Of course.” Her older brother Tom lifted his hands over his head, curling his fingers into claws. “And they’d eat you too!” He raked her back with his claws. They didn’t draw blood but they still hurt.
Jane knew better than to cry, but she couldn’t suppress a moan.
“Oh, little sissy, did that hurt?” Tom kicked her. His shoes were hard and they touched old bruises.
Jane fought her tears valiantly and didn’t make another sound. She watched Tom strode through her big pink and green room. The friendly floral wallpaper, the white feathery light fixture hanging from the ceiling, and the meticulously made bed were such a contrast to his nastiness.
Tom went to her writing desk, grabbed her diary, and grinned. “One day I’m gonna add something that gets you into real trouble with Dad.”
As if she’d ever put anything into that diary that didn’t align with Mom’s and Dad’s rules. And she’d trained herself to write so sloppy that he hadn’t yet figured out how to emulate her writing. So that rendered his threat useless.
For now.
Jane lowered her gaze, blinking away tears. Staring at the fluffy white circular carpet on the parquet floor with a sad expression often convinced him she was sufficiently subdued. Today too.
With her diary in his hands he turned to leave. “Room control is in ten minutes. I’d clean up if I were you.”
The door slammed behind him, and Jane looked around in panic. Was anything wrong? Did he bring in dirt? There wasn’t even a grain on the ground, so that wasn’t it. But there had to be something. She got up and searched the room in greater detail. Her heart raced as she examined every square millimeter of the room. Why couldn’t it be smaller? What had he hidden that didn’t belong?
When she lay on the ground, she saw two red lights in the darkness under the bed and let out a relieved sigh. He’d brought one of his robots. Well, she’d put it into the corridor and leave it there. That way he wouldn’t get her into trouble. Mom and Dad didn’t ever scold him for being untidy.
She shimmied forward and reached for the red eyed thing under her bed.
It hissed. Keep your fingers away from me or I’ll bite them off.
The voice sounded right inside her mind. Jane sat up and bumped her head on the bedframe. “Outch.”
Her gaze shot to the door. Had someone heard? Despite her fear of whatever sat under her bed, she peeked again. “Look,” she whispered, trying to add urgency to her voice. “I don’t care who or what you are. You need to leave right now. My parents will inspect my room in just a few minutes.”
So? They can’t hurt me. The voice sounded sullen and a little defensive.
“But me.” Jane forced the words out. Of course it wouldn’t mean anything to the creature under her bed. After all, they weren’t friends and only friends stood up for their friends, she’d heard. She couldn’t tell. She’d never had friends.
Well, it’s not like I want to be in a human’s dwelling. The scratching of claws on wood seemed to fill the room with a noise so loud that surely her parents would hear. Only inches away from her face, an emerald snout with countless gleaming white teeth grew out of the dark. It was big but not scarily so, and the red eyes seemed to look at her without malice. And Jane was good at detecting malice.
Someone chucked my egg under this, the head jerked toward the bed, so I hatched here. Are you stuck too?
“In a way.” Jane heard voices coming up the stairs and looked around frantically. “You need to hide.”
I need to leave.
“Good idea.” She jumped to her feet and ran to the French doors. They were a little hard to operate in summer, but they’d allow the creature, whatever it was, to flee before her parents reached her room. She pulled with all her strength and the right hand wing slowly eased open.
The creature was roughly the size of a grownup. A scale covered lizard with a tail, a teeth studded snout, four stumpy and clawed legs, and skin dangling from its shoulders. It rushed past her, spread emerald wings, and took off into the last rays of the sunset, just as the door to her room opened.
Had that really been a dragon? A real dragon? Jane’s heart thumped in her chest, as much from the surprise as from the knowledge that there was no way she could explain that to anyone. Least of all to her parents.
“Why is it so dark in here?” Despite her words, Mom didn’t switch on the lights. She seemed to be in a bad mood. A bruise had formed on her forehead. The usual. “And who said you could open the window?”
“I guess, you need some disciplining.” The belt slipped from Dad’s trousers with a swish that made her legs wobble. Not again. She stepped away from the open glass door as he stepped forward, rolling most of the belt around his hand, leaving the buckle to dangle.
“I just needed some fresh air,” she whispered, knowing fully well that there was no way she’d be able to escape his wrath. Already tears were running over her face.
“Don’t you remember the rules?” Mom pointed to Dad. “You have to ask your father for permission!”
Dad took another step forward, and Jane backed away some more, crying silently the whole time. “Please. I didn’t mean to. I just … I’m sorry, Dad. Please don’t hit me.” Sometimes, if she cried badly enough and begged enough, he stopped before she passed out.
Something dark shot through the open door, low to the ground and as black as night. Dad screamed as the shadow flew over his body with barely a hand-width of space between them.
The belt fell to the ground and the air suddenly smelled of urine and rust.
A bright flame shot into the air, catching the ceiling right where the light was. The feathers caught and a few seconds later, the whole ceiling was beginning to burn.
The shadow circled gracefully around Mom and came at Jane from behind. She closed her eyes, waiting for the end.
Spread your legs, the voice in her head said. Hurry. Or do you want to burn?
Although extremely surprised, Jane did as she was told. As she spread her legs, something warm and smooth and scaled slipped between them, lifting her off the ground. She opened her eyes, just as the dragon turned toward the open window. The fire was eating rapidly into the house’s wood. Tom stood in the door, staring at her and the dragon like he’d seen a ghost. Mom was dragging Dad toward safety. He seemed too stunned to realize his arm was badly mangled. Blood dropped from the hand that hung limp at his side and his trousers were wet, but he was walking.
As the dragon carried her into the mild summer night, Jane was sure her family would get out before the whole house burned down. She had no idea what the future would bring, especially with a dragon as a rescuer—or friend—but she was more than ready to face whatever the world had to offer, It couldn’t be worse that what she’d lived through already.
February 2024: Storytime Bloghop Chris Makowski – fellow author
Since I missed out on the Bloghop in autumn for the first time ever, you’ll get not one, but two #free #stories on my blog today. You’ll find even more if you follow the links below the stories.
Chris Makowski is a family man with more on his plate than he should have. It’s a wonder he can still find time to write. He’s currently revising a story in several volumes that he amicably refers to as “The Bricks”. Truth be told, I can barely wait to read them. Here’s his short story (same universe):
Eye of the Beholder
“It’s not like there’s ever a dull moment in the PGPD.” I pour Seamus another shot of the good stuff. “Last week started with a bunch of attic B&Es, the guy claims he’s making sure bats aren’t being abused. It ended with a cat ringing doorbells. Honestly, this sounds like a prank waiting for a punchline.”
“Nae, this is beyond the Port Goode Police, Arthur, more than a cat or someone busting into attics.” One swallow, and my informant’s hand shakily begs another. “I tell ye true. Go there. It nae be a prank, and if ye don’ stop it, then…” His head slowly lowers to the table and snores emerge.
I drop two bills on the table and nod at Jake. The bar’s safe enough.
Stolen: one pallet of fertilizer, a display of charcoal briquettes, every piece of chalk out of every school in Port Goode. The whole shebang landed on my desk because my partner is out on medical leave.
Lucky me.
Then again, how do you tell a straight-laced, hard-nosed detective from the great state of Washington there’s a reason we hang horseshoes over our doors?
I spin my keys and drive.
One stop for coffee, and I’m watching a warehouse only held up by old paint and rust. All the windows are broken and the sign has smeared to illegibility.
New gate lock though.
Maybe Seamus is right.
I check my piece. Wrong phase of the moon for silver.
Switch to the iron hollow points.
Near sundown, a rental truck pulls up. A short guy with a red stocking cap pops out and unlocks the gate. Hard to miss the cleaver on his belt. When he pulls in, two more guys – same cap, more sharp objects – jump out and start unloading. Red posterboard. Red cellophane.
When the warehouse door opens, my fingers tingle from all the magic leaking out, none of it good.
I’ve got the right place.
I cross the street, slip in the front door – lock’s broken anyway – call the cavalry …
Radio’s dead. Have to do this alone.
“Hey!”
Sure enough, a pallet of poop, a pile of coal, a pile of chalk, and startled redcaps looking at me – six of them, seventeen rounds means almost three each. I sight on the nearest. “As Paladin of the Pact between the Fae and the Folk, I hereby—“
Out of the shadows she flows, tall as me, with gray skin from toe to end of the leathery wings extending from her back and down her arms. A fire of red hair wraps around her, silver mail protecting her everywhere it isn’t. Her animalistic fur-covered face is a snub nose, long ears coming to a point, and a grin filled with sharp and hungry. The air crackles as her hand finds the barbed whip at her waist.
Redcaps I can handle. A Daughter of the Furies?
“—call for parley.” I quickly hold up my piece and place it on a dusty table. “Arthur Lane, Paladin of the Pact, Detective, Port Goode Police Department.” I swallow, remembering Seamus’ words. “Son of Emma Adelaide Harper and Asher James Lane.”
She hisses but waves the redcaps back. “Melantha, Daughter of Megaera. My father is unimportant.” Her whip sweeps the ground. “Amuse me, Paladin of the Pact.”
I gesture at the piles. “I don’t understand, your Magnificence—“
“Magnificence?” Her head tilts back with a cackle. “I am done with hiding behind glamour. I tire of you humans celebrating sticky romance and love conquers all – I watch your movies, read your books, all of it lies and nothing but!” She gestures to her redcaps. Three are forming heart-shaped boxes of cardboard and cellophane, and three are making candy out of chalk, charcoal, and – bile hits my mouth. “This time, your people will eat ordure, chew tastelessness, and know your shallow truth. Love is a lie. You are hereby judged and found wanting.”
“The Pact states—“
“He was human!” She spits acid. “He spurned me at a look, for all his words! I gave him the truth and he fled screaming!”
Hellfire and Roses – think Arthur, think – you can’t fight her, you can’t …
No, you can’t. But you know who can. “By the Pact, I call for Trial.”
The whip snaps. “You think to best me in combat?”
“Trial Veritas.” I keep my hands still. “You claim judgment on your evidence. I claim it to be in error.” When she comes close, I’m nodding. “Tomorrow. Jake’s. In a private room.”
“Not. You.” Her talon hovers near my nose. “A human. Unprepared, unspelled, nothing but what he is. Breakfast. When you fail, Paladin, you and yours will destroy Cupid’s Day alongside me.”
“Agreed.” I hold out a hand. Her grip nearly splinters my bones.
Outside, I find a pay phone. “Brian? Lane here. You know that guy we have in lockup?”
***
“It’ll be fine, Remy.”
He’s shaking. “I – I don’t people. People don’t – they don’t…” We gussied him up, but he still exudes nerd, dork, and geek.
I put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s this or a year for breaking and entering.”
Then she is there, covered in a long, brown cloak with two bodyguards wearing red berets.
I rise. “Melantha, your date. Remy Hebert. Remy, Melantha.”
She sniffs the air, but there’s no magic here that wasn’t here in the first place. “Let us finish this, Arthur Lane.”
The cloak falls away. She wears nothing but herself. Bat woman.
Remy’s jaw hits the floor. “You…”
Her lips curl back.
“You – you’re – you’re beautiful … much like Diphylla ecaudata? You must be, I mean…” Stumbling, he pulls her chair out, his eyes glued to her face. “Can I? I mean, you must, but…” Blushing furiously and babbling like a schoolboy, Remy makes an absolute potato of himself, offering her this then that while filling her glass with the fine red wine I chose.
I see myself out.
***
“No idea, Chief. All the stuff is in the warehouse. No. Cash rental. Chalk it up to a prank.” I hang up the phone and make a final note in the case file.
“Send a thief to catch a thief.”
Then I change the first “thief” to “chiropterologist”.
July 2023: Storytime Bloghop Chris Makowski – fellow author
Surprise, surprise. Today, you’ll get not one, but two #free #stories on my blog. You’ll find even more if you follow the links below. Please do visit the other participants, and please leave comments. There’s nothing more rewarding that hearing from you. It means the world to us.
The Covenant
As the gate closed, shutting the maelstrom on the other side, Rupe counted quickly. Of the hundred that had set out, only three – Pista, Caram, Edda – remained, near death but determined.
In his hand, the kiehr glowed with the lives of those who had been lost. Everything else – tools, weapons, everything but the clothes on their backs was gone.
But they lived.
And wherever they were, it was raining. The forest around them remained dark and forbidding. But nothing was trying to kill them.
Yet.
“Quickly!” The others roused, their movements stiff and pained. “We must find shelter!”
He wanted to use the orb to find it. But the cost, the energy of those who had passed, would be irreplaceable. At least until they found a home here.
Randomly, he pointed. “This way!”
***
The manor was large and well-lit, even with the torrential rains falling. The three others had used tiny magics, barely enough to keep themselves dry. Even so, he felt the loss.
A flag waved forlornly on a post before the door. Thirty-seven stars on a blue field, then red and white alternating stripes.
A last hope. “We will bargain fairly, but dearly. And we will not suffer again, no matter the cost.”
Grimly, the little party marched to the front door. His fingers touched the kiehr.
I am sorry, he whispered as he took just enough magic to glamour them into finery.
Even so, he felt memories die.
***
When the door opened, a large man in stiff clothes with a face to match looked down on them. “The governor is…”
“We were called.” Rupe let his hood fall back enough to reveal his face, eyes glaring into the servant’s head. Believe me!
The man staggered. “Yes. Right this way.”
They stepped in, their spell keeping the rain and wet outdoors.
He gasped. “You – you’re not…”
“We were called,” Rupe repeated, the others pulling back their hoods, the glamour covering their shabby appearances.
His face gone white, the servant opened a double sliding door, surprising the other two men in there – one in a fine suit, the other in military garb with a sword on his hip.
Ambush? Terrified, Rupe strode in, looking from man to man. Neither had the sharp features of the Alfar. The sword remained undrawn.
“We were called. We came.” His eyes set on the soldier. “Name your bargain.”
“You?” A glass filled with amber liquid swished off the table and emptied into the man’s mouth. “I called you?”
Pista stepped forwards and put her fingers over the glass: it filled with a pale-yellow liquid. Rupe prayed none noticed the liquid came from her sleeve.
“Magic?” The soldier snatched up the glass. “Williams, close the doors.”
The servant, wide-eyed, had to be told twice before the doors shut.
And latched.
The – General? Colonel? – took a sip. “I’ve never tasted the like.”
“Bogyberry brandy,” Rupe announced. “Is your bargain for this?”
“No!” The other man circled slowly, taking in all four. In turn, each removed their cloak, allowing the full impact of the glamour to fill the room: two women of incredible beauty, two men of incalculable power.
Not four desperate people with next to nothing to their name.
“A moment.” Without an answer, the two stepped back towards the fireplace, anxiety and greed on their faces.
The papers! Edda’s voice sounded in his skull. A moment of looking at the table – papers, legal papers, and a map!
A chance.
“Power.” The two returned, avarice dripping from every pore. “We want power, power over our enemies, and power above all men!”
Might as well ask for the stars above.
Rupe turned his gaze on the soldier. “Four of us, four terms each.” Then he planted his finger onto the map, at the crux of an L-shaped land. “There. You will make there ours. You will set it aside as its own place, ruled by itself. And you will make this gift a secret from all others.”
The soldier sucked on his cheeks, but the other one nodded. “Easily done.”
Rupe waited, saying nothing.
The soldier spoke first. “I want power – political power.”
Rupe nodded.
“And power over the souls of a nation!”
Another nod.
“And I want–“
“You had your turn,” frowning, the suited man rapped the table. “I wish for my enemies to suffer. And I wish for Reconstruction to go on as planned.”
Rupe mumbled under his breath, then nodded. “Four and Four, as agreed. As best as we can provide, you will have what you ask when your part of the bargain is done.”
From nothing, a parchment with faint writing appeared. “Sign your names there. We shall make our marks.”
Too quickly, both scribbled names at the bottom. Solemnly, the four added theirs.
The parchment vanished. “The Covenant is sealed.”
As one, all four recloaked and turned toward the doors.
They passed out into the night, and it was as though they had never been.
***
“On this day, the fifteenth of March of 1870, Legislative Act 102 is hereby passed.” There was no applause. It was just another act of the Louisiana legislature, creating a new parish clawed from the parishes of Calcasieu and Vermilion. Few if any gave it more than a cursory read, forged as it was by the Governor himself, ostensibly as a favor to his friend, a paroled Colonel of the Confederacy.
Even fewer noted the asterisk in the act itself. And none paused to consider the few extra pages inserted due to that single symbol.
***
In the swamp on their land, their house built itself. Strange trees spread deep roots, their branches growing foreign fruit. Fresh water springs appeared.
His people would live.
Reverently, Rupe put the kiehr at the highest point, the better for it to pull from this land so nothing inside would be lost.
And on a wall, he hung the agreement, a thin pane of clear sap protecting it yet allowing any to read. And it was with an unsavory smile he read through the whole.
“Four and four,” he muttered to himself. “These people cannot count. And they never read the fine print.”
This time my story for the blog hop found me, but read for yourself. Along with my #free #story, there are plenty more. BTW, the story about the Easter Hare and BB Wolf from the last Bloghop is currently getting turned into a comic. I can barely wait to show you. But for this hop, I wrote about a nightmare you’ve all had. I very much hope you’ll like it, and let me know if you “got it”.
Remember to visit the other participants to read their stories, and please leave comments. There’s nothing more rewarding that hearing from you. It means the world to us.
Desire
The scent alerted me and drew me to her. Hot blooded innocence woke my craving so bad, my stomach grumbled. Imagine my surprise when I found the window unprotected; unprotected and wide open, like an invitation!
Of course I didn’t hesitate. I flew with economic wing beats to where the aroma came from. I could taste the tangy, metallic blood, pulsating under her skin already.
Naturally cautious, I circled the room once, twice, three times, but there was nothing remotely dangerous for me. So I closed in on her, looking for the best place to land.
Her hand shot out, and I jerked back. Thankful for my fast reflexes, I flew higher. Was she still awake? Had she just lured me in to kill me? I gazed down at her.
She moaned and stirred, so I gave her more room and settled in the shadow above her wardrobe. Waiting for the right moment, I observed her.
With the summer night’s heat, she was wearing a nightshirt so thin, it was more revealing than hiding anything. Fighting the urge to strike immediately, I longed for her to fall into deep sleep.
Her breath slowed.
Her blood called, driving me insane.
Again I flew.
Closer and closer. She barely moved.
Gently, I landed, touching the skin of her throat ever so lightly.
So close. Her blood pounded, only a thin layer of skin away. With one swift, determined move, I pushed my mouthparts through the outer layer. Sweet blood shot into me as I released saliva to keep it from congealing and sucked greedily.
Soon, I’d leave and she’d have no memory of my bite except for a small, itchy swelling.
Again it’s time for a blog hop with #free #stories. There’s so much been going on in my life (my father was run over by a car, my husband totaled our car, visits from the kids, Easter, a nasty head-cold twice) that I didn’t write anything at all for the longest time. I’m all the more thankful for the challenge because it forces me to get back into my writing routine. This time I wrote a really silly story (my editor said it needs to be an animated cartoon) and very much hope you’ll like it.
Remember to visit the other participants to read their stories, and please leave comments. There’s nothing more rewarding that hearing from you. It means the world to us.
The Big Bad Wolf and the Easter Hare
The minute I saw her silhouette through the milk-glass-window in my office door, I knew she spelled trouble. Trouble for me. Those long, sinuous curves of her ears made me want to chase her, and not just for a night.
I managed to shove my bourbon glass and the bottle into the cabinet under my massive oak desk before she finished knocking.
“Come in.” I held my breath as I watched her enter.
“Are you B.B. Wolve?”
“The one and only.”
She sank into the black leather chair, a beam of light playing on her lovely white fur. I found it hard to speak, so I didn’t.
“The Easter Bunny vanished. If you find him, I’ll pay you three more.” She bent forward and placed three golden eggs on the table—more than I’d make in whole year in my business. I told you she’d be trouble. But with that kind of payment I was ready to face anything the world could throw at me.
“When? And where was he last seen?” Of course I still had a few questions, but the next one was to satisfy my own curiosity. “Are you related?”
“The Color Hens were the last to see him. They said he picked up the eggs for the Americas but didn’t show up for the Northern Europe load.” She crossed her looooong, slim legs, and I found it hard to concentrate on her voice, regardless of how sexy it sounded. “I’ve organized a couple of rabbits to take over his route, but they are only a temporary solution. We need him. Especially in Germany people insist on an Easter Hare, an Osterhase.”
Speaking past the lump in my throat without giving away how much she’d got me off balance was hard, so I kept it short. “Deal!”
***
The Color Hens weren’t very happy to see me, but they gave me a hint to follow. “After the last Easter, he let himself go,” their leader said. “Insisted that next to no one was interested in an Easter Hare any more and that it’d be much better to leave Easter to the bunnies. Stayed in bed most of the time. We sent him to the White Lady for counseling and it worked like a charm. He was full of energy when the time came this year.”
I knew it would be no use to talk to the White Lady. She never answered questions, claiming customer confidentiality. I’d need to have a letter from the king to make her divulge information. But the sweet little bunny in her front office was a different matter altogether. She’d helped me out more than once. So I called her.
“Oh, it’s you.” She sounded sheepish. “Sorry to say, but I’m no longer interested in our hunts. I got engaged just before Easter.” If she were a cat, I swear she’d have been purring.
“Caliwandalous.” I forced myself to smile. She deserved to be happy. “Could you give me a hint or two about where I could find the Easter Hare? Please, Sally.”
A long silence.
Then, “Have you talked to the pigs?” and a click that ended the call. Wow. That was weird. But all in all, talking to the pigs was a good idea. If they didn’t know where the hare was, no one would.
***
“Hi hon, come for some huffin’ ‘n puffin’?” Mother Sow grunted as she closed the gate to their part of the city behind me. Wriggling her rear, she led me along the trampled earth path to the Arena, an auditorium for the daring and the lewd. “Long time no see, B.B.”
I shuddered at the mountain of flesh in front of me. How could she have become even fatter? Still, my voice didn’t shake. “Nope, I just came to talk to Junior.”
“He’d be in his house.” She pointed to a poorly-built brick house at the end of the path, overlooking the Arena, and a few heartbeats later the door closed behind me. The single room smelled of pig—what else—and had food piled up in one corner, straw in another.
“Ah, Big Bad!” Junior rolled off the straw and walked toward me with outstretched arms. “What can I do for you this time? I’ve got some really nice bunnies for a sensual hunt, and a little mouse in a teapot for blowing exercises.”
I shook my head. I’d told him three years ago when I’d opened my agency that I was no longer interested in such activities. “I just want to know where the Easter Hare is.”
“Never seen him. Isn’t he still on duty?” He smiled as innocently as a piglet, and I was ready to leave again—when my gaze fell on the food.
“Oh, haven’t you?” I pointed to a colorful egg half hidden in the tower of food. “How about you tell me where he is, and I’ll not tell anyone he’s been here? After all, he’s quite a prominent figure at this time of year with lots of journalists clamoring for an interview.” I left the threat hanging, satisfied that Junior paled to a slightly dirty pink.
“He went to the Big Forest.”
“Why?” I held up my hand. “No, better tell me what you said to make him go there.”
“He wanted to know where Orion set up his bear traps.”
My jaw dropped and it took me a while to recover from the shock. “He’s that suicidal?”
Junior shrugged, but I no longer cared. I nearly ripped the door off its hinges and started running. Time was of essence.
***
It was already getting dark in the Big Forest. Thankfully my nose was still as good as it’s always been. Keeping it close to the ground allowed me to easily follow the hare’s scent, and soon I caught him staring at a piece of the path. Half hidden under twigs, I could make out a big metal oval with teeth and a central metal disk—the trigger.
“Don’t!” I gasped for air. “Don’t kill yourself.” I’d love to grab him and pull him away, but I’m so winded and he so ready to throw himself onto the trigger, I’m worried I’ll kill him accidentally.
His gaze fell on me. “It’s egg shaped,” he whispered. “Why does it have to be egg shaped of all things?”
“No clue.” I fell onto the grass, breathing hard. “What about Sally?” It was a long shot, but I was quite sure he was her fiancee.
“She’ll find someone else.” He looked at me with despair in his eyes. “Can’t you just eat me?”
“Not my cuppa any more.” I sat up again. I’d fought with wild boars, bears, elk, and even a wolverine. But his black cloud was worse than anything I’d ever encountered. I inched closer whenever he wasn’t looking at me. “An extremely beautiful white doe asked me to find you, and I’m loath to disappoint.”
“My sis Ruby. She’s such a bully.” He sighed and turned back to the trap. “For all I care, she can run my business, but no. The Easter Hare has to be male. And he can’t be a bunny. What a ridiculous notion.”
He was quite good at imitating the white doe’s voice.
“That’s still no reason to throw away your life like this.”
He harrumphed and jumped.
I grabbed his shoulders and jerked him back, twisting around to get him as far away from the trap as possible.
SNAP—the trap’s jaws closed and pain shot through my rear end.
My tail!
I howled in pain but didn’t let go, no matter how much the hare struggleds.
“There they are.”
A full medic team surrounded us, but I recognized Ruby’s voice. She must have followed me the whole time and I hadn’t even noticed. What a woman! I glanced at her while the paramedics tried to free my tail from the trap. She’d even brought Sally.
“Come home, honey.” Sally’s voice was low and meant only for the hare. “The Lady says she can help you if you let her.”
“I hate my life.” The hare sounded no better. “And Ruby insists on keeping up traditions.”
“I’m sorry.” Ruby’s voice wobbled. “I didn’t think it was this serious. We’ll find a way to change how things are handled. I promise.”
I cleared my throat. “And I’ll help. If I can learn to live with half a tail, surely the Germans will get used to an Easter Bunny. It’s not as if most still know the difference between a rabbit and a hare anyway.”
Everybody laughed at that, and the tiniest of smiles made the hare’s lips twitch. I was sure that with the available help and a few changes in management, he’d recover.
Smiling most beguiling, I turned to his sister. “Would you agree to a date with the owner of six golden eggs?”
January 2023: Storytime Bloghop (plus a tiny bit about the kickstarter)
I’m slowly getting back into the swing of things. The kickstarter is such a great motivation to get back to writing (it’s in its final throes … ehm week, and I think we might even get to the last stretch goal yet). Also, I settled into my new flat just fine. My story for the Storytime Bloghop is the first one I did using dictation, and although it needed some revising, it turned out better than I’d feared. And writing it went much faster than typing. I’ll try dictation on my novel next.
For now, I hope you’ll like this blog hop’s #free #story. Remember to visit the other participants too. And please leave comments for us. We love to hear from you. It cheers us up and means the world to us.
Fetching Water
I went to fetch water like Mom had ordered me to. It was Saturday and the whole family wanted to take a bath. For that we’d need a lot of water. I already hated carrying the heavy buckets, and I hadn’t even reached the river yet.
The sun shone through the gaps in the forest’s canopy and sweat ran down my neck, despite the cold of the winter morning. When I neared the river, the trees ended and the sky spread blue and endless toward the distant mountains. It was the perfect day for an adventure but none was forthcoming, and Mom had made it pretty clear what she thought of the make-believe adventures I’d played yesterday.
A flight of dragons was flying overhead, returning to the mountains with two Aurochs, and there seemed to be another group further in the distance. Since they didn’t eat much it meant that they’d have their annual maturity-feast soon.
I envied them their strength. If I were a dragon, I could carry enough water for a whole week of baths in no time. Angry with Mom—punishment was one thing but why had she ordered me to do this without any help at all?—I kicked a new stone, the size of my dog. Where had this come from all by itself anyway?
“Ouch.” The stone turned a scaly snout toward me.
Holy cow. It was a dragon, not a stone. Judging by its mottled dark blue scales, it was a male youngling. Since I’d never seen a dragon this close, I just stood and stared.
“What did you do that for?”
I apologized and then asked him why he was here.
“Well,” he said, “I’m trying to find out how to start my fire. I’ve experimented with so many things already. I ate coals, drank my parents’ fire, I even participated in a weird ritual, but nothing helped. I still can’t breathe fire.”
He seemed friendly enough, so I sat down beside him and pondered his problem, although what could I, a mere human, do to help him? Still, I couldn’t just leave a baby dragon without helping him, could I? My mind wandered to the way Mum made fire when my little brother forgot to feed the embers again. Tentatively, I said, “What if your fire only starts with something that hasn’t got to do anything with fire at all?”
The dragon managed to look skeptical despite his scales. His breath condensed in the cold air, and he cocked his head as if questioning my sanity.
“I’m not kidding. Mom starts our fire with two stones. She hits them together, sparks fall onto the tinder, and set the wooden splinters on fire. Maybe you’re missing those stones. Have you tried eating some?” An idea crossed my mind. “Of course they would need to be the right kind of stones. If you help me carry home enough water for my family’s bath, I’ll give you one of our sets.”
“Deal.” He went to the river and began sucking up nearly as much water as I used to fill my buckets. I was quite glad that dragons had an interim stomach for transporting liquids. Imagine having to bathe in the half digested foodstuff in his real stomach. I shuddered involuntarily.
Side-by-side we walked to my village, a circle of wooden houses surrounded by a wooden palisade. Since most people stayed inside on a chilly day like this, no one noticed us slipping past the houses. Not that my people feared dragons, but none had ever visited the village before, and I worried they might politely ask him to leave. After all, an accidental hiccup would set the whole village ablaze, and they didn’t know my friend couldn’t do that yet. So I made doubly sure no one saw him.
Our bathhouse was attached to the side of the house and had a separate entrance. Mom had insisted on it to keep the water’s vapor out of the main house. She’d set up the the tub already, lined it with a white cloth, set the soap on the only stool in the room, and started a fire in the open hearth. The cauldron sat beside it, ready to heat the water I brought.
I hung it over the fire and emptied my buckets into it. It looked like I hadn’t fetched any water at all. This would take a while, even with the dragon’s help. I sighed.
The dragon peaked over the rim, opened his mouth, and emptied his interim stomach. But what was that? The water flowed from his mouth, and it flowed and flowed and flowed. He filled the whole cauldron with water. And my buckets as well. When he still couldn’t stop, he vomited water into the bathtub until he finally managed to close his lips. The stream of water stopped, and he stared at me with wide eyes.
I stared at him with wide eyes too. Could it be? It wasn’t impossible just highly unlikely. I mean when was the last time a dragon had been like him? Still, I voiced my thought. “You’re a water dragon.”
“There hasn’t been a water dragon in centuries.” His voice trembled, and he shivered.
Remembering my grandmother’s adventurous tales of the Mighty Waterdragon, I said. “You’ll get used to being special.” My grin went from ear to ear, I could feel it. “Would you let me join your adventures? Anything will be better than carrying water for a bath.”
“Well, that’ll be quite the surprise for my tribe.” The dragon visibly braced himself. “By the way, my name is Dracobert. If you want to be my partner in adventure, you’d better come to my maturity feast.”
I laughed. The bath would come in handy after all.
Behind the scenes, I’ve been very busy the last three months. I’m nearly finished writing an Urban Fantasy novel set in Hamburg, and the Indie Author’s Advent Calendar 2022 is ready. I hope many of you will join in the fun tomorrow. There are truly lovely stories in it this year.
To shorten the waiting time, here’s the Storytime Bloghop (a month later than usual, but everyone was too busy to notice, so please forgive us. Better late then never, right?) I hope you’ll like this blog hop’s #free #story. Remember to visit the other participants too. And please leave comments for us. We love to hear from you. It cheers us up and means the world to us.
Ark-Ship One
“Ark-Ship One, Longoustine. Report to base.” The voice from the loudspeaker crackled. The solitary bluish-gray crustacean on the bridge sighed. Luckily the search for a new home was nearly over, so he needn’t worry about repairing it any longer. His long-range sensors had already caught the data stream of a suitable planet.
“Longoustine reporting. Possible planet found. Commencing scouting endeavor. Requesting full weapon access.”
“The use of all weapons has been approved. Good luck, Longoustine.”
A few seconds later the vessel slowed and found a place in the orbit of the planet. The globe looked promising with its wide expanse of water. A little terraforming would easily submerge most of the land masses.
Longoustine observed the planet from above for four days. They were the hardest days of his voyage since he had to remain on high alert due to space junk. When his data scan was finally complete, he marveled at the results. The planet was perfect except for one minor detail. It held a semi-intelligent species, some kind of ape-like creature walking on two legs, mostly warring against each other. Naturally, their weaponry would not suffice to stop an invading army from his home planet.
Longoustine decided it was time for a peek. Since the planet’s atmosphere was too thin for his breathing organs, he ordered the ship’s transporter to deposit him in the middle of the biggest ocean. What was that? Why couldn’t he breathe? His handheld scanner showed that he was surrounded by water. He should not have difficulties like this. Still his intake valves seemed to be clogged. He used up eight of the ten time intervals he could hold his breath to clean the valves and grab a water sample. Then he reprogrammed the transporter to deposit him in a different ocean. Thankfully he sucked in oxygen.
A strange undercurrent caught him unaware and pulled him along. The more he tried to escape the current, the faster it got. More and more crustaceans appeared around him. Although they were a lot smaller than him they resembled his species strongly. Just when he realized that the tiny creatures around him were not intelligent, they were lifted out of the water and dumped onto a big metal surface.
“Oh look, we caught a lobster!” His universal translator managed to make sense of the garbled noises of the ape-man. “Finally something better to eat then shrimps.”
Longoustine froze. These creatures ate crustaceans? What kind of world was this? Where there more predators specialized on cracking exoskeletons? With a small sound Longoustine activated the transporter and returned to his ship, the ape-man’s perplexed stare burned into his memory. What if there were more dangers on this world than he’d anticipated?
During the next three hours he set up a new scan with very specific parameters. It took the ship a whole week to complete.
The perfect planet he thought he had found was infested with creatures hunting and eating crustaceans. Conservative estimates showed that even if they eliminated the worst species for good, the whole ecosystem would change for the worst. With the ape-men gone and the continent’s submerged, other species would thrive … and most would eat crustaceans. And even if their society could keep the threats in check, the ecosystem was so precariously balanced, all of his computer models predicted its complete breakdown.
Defeated, Longoustine reported his failure, set course to the next planet, and began to repair the loudspeaker.
As the gate closed, shutting the maelstrom on the other side, Rupe counted quickly. Of the hundred that had set out, only three – Pista, Caram, Edda – remained, near death but determined.
