Rites of Prejudice

Rites of Prejudice

The mage dashed down the fire escape, stalled by his grey threadbare trench coat catching on a rickety bolt of the railing.  Fabric pulled tight, jerking him back before ripping. The spark of a flattening bullet pangs off the steel level where he should have been. The luck spell had gone off late, only now doing its job.

Daring a glance up the mage observed the gunman leveling a revolver for another shot.  Dive rolling down the next flight of the poorly maintained stairs the mage’s weight collided with the all too thin rusted guard rail. The eroded metal gave way without a sound showering the ground with brown rust flakes. The mage fell, landing upon the plastic lid of a dumpster face down. Wind exploding from his lungs and stars swimming before his eyes.  Rolling to his back sucking in oxygen the mage focuses up at the gunman resting comfortably on the level above him, pistol at the ready.

The hammer of the revolver slammed home, a slender wisp of smoke exits the rear of the gun, yet the firearm failed to bark as before. Snarling, the gunman pulled the trigger again, the mage rolled off the dumpster as the shot went wide.  Zigzagging the mage raced for the mouth of the alley to the open street beyond. The mage did not have to look over his bruised shoulder to know the thug would give chase.

Running head along into street the mage threw up his hands as an oncoming car slammed on its brakes. The engine of the yellow 1957 Chevy roared in annoyance. The painted flames shifted subtly along the hood draping along the flank of the vehicle. The mage locked eyes with the driver who apparently was just as surprised. Scraping his finger from his earlobe to the corner of his mouth, the mage’s sight instantly changed. The world exploded in a dazzling shimmer becoming surreal. The classic car shimmered with magic, as did the driver.  The man behind the wheel adjusted his sunglasses bringing on a similar effect. A split second of irony passed between the two mages as they assessed the other.

Any in depth examination was postponed as the windshield of the immaculate car spider webbed caving in centered around a hole the size of a marble. The mage’s vision blackened along the edges as his heart rate threatened to spiral out of control. The driver’s face was hidden behind a field of broken refracting glass and a sheen of bright red over it.  Adrenaline pounded through the mage as he rounded the car, yanking open the door. Thinking of only survival the mage shoved the now dead driver over placing himself behind the wheel. People walking along the street are slow to react, yet begin to run away from the vehicle.

A thud hits the passenger window, the mage catching a glimpse of the gunman’s face as the thug whips the pistol against the glass only to have it rebound with no effect. The mage presses the accelerator and rips through the traffic light ahead, weaving through the crossing traffic to a myriad of horns of alarm and anger.  Turning sharply he loses sight of the gunman, angling the car towards the freeway.

Bursting past the on ramp the mage hits the wipers cursing as they get stuck on the broken glass, the fresh blood on the inside of the windshield a further hindrance. The former driver droops forward, blood smearing from the head wound along the lower edge of the passenger side window.  Lights and sirens ignite and pull up behind the obviously  fast moving crime scene.

The mage grumbled, “Great, just great. Now what else?”

Keeping the pursing police car in the side mirror the mage felt his power gather as he centered himself. Focusing on the squad car the mage could feel his senses extend and branch out. The mage’s eyes traveled to the hood of the chasing car and then through the metal to the engine beneath.  Ethereal power mixed with arcane words as the mage chanted. Forced into being, the magic coursed through the mage, out his eyes to the mirror and enveloping the squad car.

The racing public service vehicle began to slow, its authority lights winking out. The engine whined as the electricity to keep the car moving died.  The officer grabbed for the radio only to find that it too had died. In seconds the chase was over and the mage let out a long breath before dabbing at his nose. Fingers slick with blood, the mage squinted. Improvised magic always carried a price.

Leaving the freeway the mage pulled the car into a parking lot on the outskirts of Sparks Nevada. More power came forth as he placed a hand on the ruined windshield. In his free hand the mage clutched a crystal of rose. Channeling the essence of the stone the mage stared at the broken window. Slowly the blood evaporated from the broken glass and the glass began to reform into one piece. The crystal turned to powder in his hand before it was fully finished leaving a pair of long cracks in the window as a result.

Leaning his head back to stop the bleeding he closed his eyes as his mind readied to set about sorting out the events of the day. As his nose stopped bleeding the mage pulled a wad of hastily wadded bills from a pocket. Counting the money, he chided himself.

A lousy two grand, that puts me eight short. That spell should have worked properly. If only that idiot had drunk the shot sooner he would have never seen it coming. Not that I needed it, I had a full house aces up.”

Looking at himself in the rear view mirror the mage shook his head, “What a mess. Debts out the ass. Now I got a dead mage and a car that is hot in more ways than a diamond has facets. I should have stayed in the academy.”

Sitting back in the seat the mage shivered, hand slowly angling the mirror to the backseat…

The mage felt his body go ridged, his eyes taking in the form propped up in the backseat. Glassy green eyes stared blindly forward and through him. Black hair ran down slender shoulders, cascading over a simple blue hoodie and jeans. “Uhhh Hello there?” The mage wilted inwardly.

The figure in the backseat stared forward still, giving no response. Gingerly the mage turned taking the figure in fully. Recognizing what was he sighed in relief before his mind raced with alarm. “You are just a construct, a vessel of information.”

The mage’s mind ticked over into renewed panic. “Someone is going to come looking for you! Shit! Shit! Shit! This couldn’t possibly get any worse!”

In response to the mage’s dismay the glove box on the car slid open a streak of green exiting and right for him. Defensively the mage thrust out an arm catching the streak. It felt soft and in more pleasant circumstances, cuddly.  Blunt teeth nipped the sleeve of his coat, a voice chattering in his head. ‘Die you cowan scum!’

The mage managed to keep the fluffy blur at arms length. Emerald green fur struggled in his grasp, overly large ears shaking vigorously as the thing continued to try and maul the sleeve of his coat. ‘I might dissipate but not before I damage you!’

Gripping the beast with both hands the mage held the green furred rabbit as still as he was able. “What the hell are you talking about? What are you?”

A sudden stream of urine from the rabbit struck the mage in the face surprised, he let go. The rabbit blurred launching itself off the body in the passenger seat kicking at the mage. Car rocking as the mage adjusted, the rabbit was swatted aside only to rebound off the dashboard and back at the mage.

‘You killed my master!’

The mage ducked another leap, twisting to catch the rampaging rabbit by the scruff of the neck.  Slamming the bunny against the dashboard the mage held it there, its legs kicking uselessly. “I didn’t kill him!”

‘Bullshit you cowan, you aced him to get the repository!’

Gritting his teeth, the mage seethed. “Look. Don’t call me that again. I have formal training. I’m not one of those mistakes running around out there.”

The rabbit huffed, face against the dash. ‘Unlikely. So now what? What are you going to do now? A little bunny rape?’ Its legs kicking still as the volume of its mental voice grew to a fevered pitch.

Sighing the mage let the rabbit drop, “I didn’t kill him. Just give me a chance to explain.”

The rabbit dove under the passenger seat, ‘Why should I dickwad?”

Keeping an eye on the direction the rabbit went the mage exhaled deeply. “Because I don’t know what is going on. You seem to. I’ll tell my side, and you fill in the blanks.”

‘Go on dickless.’

The mage explained his story, the debt, the card game he cheated at. The escape, the killing of the driver from his perspective; the whole time the rabbit probed every little detail.

Minutes passed and finally the rabbit poked its head out from under the seat. ‘You are a real loser, you know that? Still, -no shut up let me talk. He was my link to this world. He HAD a very important job to do. Now he is dead, the job needs to be done still and I need essence.’

The mage mulled the statement over. “That makes you a familiar. Look you will need a bond. Without one we are both screwed. I’ll bond with you to replace him. You direct me where I need to go so I can get clear of this mess.”

The rabbit sneered, ‘Screwed? Well you are. I would just go back to the spirit realm and await a summoning.’ The mage gave the green rabbit a knowing look.  ‘Ok that might not be a great idea. Let me make it clear, you are no Frederick. You are not a replacement, so let’s call it, slumming for a bit. Got it?”

The mage shrugged, “Whatever you say. We got a deal?”

Green fur hackles, ‘Yeah we got one. Let me get this out first, since after this I gotta serve you, ok?”

The mage nodded and the bunny launched into a mental assault of verbal insults degrading the mage and his training, his lineage, his choice in clothes, and even his mother. Panting the rabbit hopped up in the mage’s lap. ‘Ok I’m done. Hurry, we are running out of time.’

Ritual began, it was short and brief as the two bonded, nearly exhausting both. The rabbit was linked to the mage its essence exchanged and exhilarated the mage.  A cat nap later the mage awoke to poke through the dead mage’s pockets. Pulling a wallet forth, he gazed at the drivers’ license.

“Terrance Frederickson.  That is a ghastly name. Let’s change that.”  A minor exertion of magic upon the plastic card and the letters fluttered to move. Some faded and others rearranged until the mage nodded his head in satisfaction.

“Terry Ford. Now that is a name I can live with…”

Why Me?

Why Me?

You are sitting someplace, be it the bus stop, in a library, at work. Doing whatever, relaxing, reflecting…etc. Basically minding your own business. Then out of seemingly no where someone comes up to you asks you an innocent question. It could be anything. ‘What time is it? Do I know you from somewhere? Hey, can you spare some change? How do I get to this place?’

Before you know it, their life story is coming out of their mouths and into your lap. Leaving you boggled at the absurd amount of information and a fair share of it is what is considered ‘Too much information’. It is as if they feel safe around you, comfortable enough to let their guard down. So they do so.

Why does that happen? You didn’t need to know that stuff, yet now you know it. All of it. Most people don’t have this sort of thing happen to them, unless you are a therapist. Why you? Why not some other person? What are you suppose to do with what you were told?

It is frustrating, like shake your hand at sky in exasperation frustrating. So what gives?

Well there is a reason for this. Take a look at life. The world around you. It is absolutely chaotic! Those that work magic, have a stability that most other people do not. They innately understand the under currents of how things work, and carve a stable platform from it. Yes, in essence you are a walking, talking, save point in the game of life.

Those that come to you and spill their guts instinctively recognize what you are. You are safe, a place to confess, vent, muse, and sort through chaos. They spend a brief time on your platform of order and are better for it. Frustrating yes, but not so bad if you understand what is happening. Those minutes change their entire world, even if you don’t say a thing. (Ever notice how you always have just enough time for the encounter?)

Sometimes you get called to action over it, sometimes the action is already taken place by you just being there. Oh, you did not sign up for this? Too late Skip, the moment your power touched this world that option was gone. No refunds. You change the world with every minute you are here, working spells or not. (Bad Sean Connery impression. ‘You are an agent of change, Mc’Cloud, accept it’.)

So what do you do with all that information? File it away. Use it. Follow up on it. Toss it. Forget it. Run screaming to the hills! It is not really a gift for you, it is them regrouping, processing, and in some cases letting go of something that burdens them. It is you that is giving them a gift, a unknown ear to speak towards.

I am bringing this up because of events in the world right now. Fear, injustice driven by it, panic, and hate. (Which is not a counter balance to this in any way.) Sounds like a huge burden, right? Well in order to change things we have to touch it, we have to touch them. You will be called into service more often as things progress. Just be ready for it. Listen much, even if you speak little in return.

English Bob,
Shade and Sweetwater

To Know, First Shadow 4

Watching Evonne storm out of the yard, William squinted. Teach her, magic? Preposterous! Fingers slowly working through the rose bush to the spot where the perfect flower had been plucked, William froze as a feminine scent reached him. With years of interaction with the dead he had trained himself not to freeze up on most cases. There were of course exceptions to the rule. Ivy wrapped in lavender betwixt with roses. Her presence always raised goose bumps on his neck, and caused his heart to beat faster. Whispering as he slowly turned to face the apparition. “Marie.”

The phantom folded her hands in front of her blurred emerald green gown, looking in the direction that Evonne had left. William could see her features clearly, signaling she was likely in a very emotional state. Reading glasses half hid the crow’s feet around her intense grey eyes. Laugh lines twisted into a sad frown, “Bill. Why is that girl upset?” Marie asked her voice like a tickling itch in William’s ear.

William shrugged, false concern filling his words. “She wanted to learn magic. I do not teach. You should not worry about her. We will not be seeing her again.”

Marie drifted close to the edge of the rosebush in front of her tombstone near the fence line. “I married a wonderful man. A powerful necromancer. I remember living well with him even though we were practically prisoners in this house.”

William felt his mouth go dry and a vice clamp over his throat. Every breath felt raw and dirty with guilt. “We had a good life together, even in the hard times.”

The apparition settled her gaze upon William, smiling sadly. “No matter how wonderful the cage, I still died a prisoner. You have a chance to free her, and yourself.”

******** ************ ************* ************

Storming down the dusty hallway William glared at the locked door at the end of the row of alcoves. The words of his departed wife ringing in his ears still as he clenched his hand into a fist to keep from shaking. The shadows played upon the door like oily snakes wrapping over the back of his frail looking hand as he closed it over the knob. Focusing, William filled the keyhole with liquid shadow. Its cold touches were invigorating as he molded the shadow to move the tumblers in the lock. The door swung silently inward revealing stairs leading down. Feeling the shadow rush over him, William let the embrace linger before snapping his fingers. The sound echoed over the space of the room as eldritch flame erupted from a dozen candles in their sconces.

Shattered glass and ruined piping littered the floor, smashed book cases leaned upon each other, spilled tomes left in a regurgitated heap near the center of the concrete floor. Gripping his cane William watched ghosts of the past flood the room, destroying his good work, confiscating relics of power. They ruined every book by throwing buckets of water upon them in the name of order and balance.

Sitting at the bottom of the steps William looked over the wreckage, regretfully as the ghosts faded once more. “I had no idea my cooperation would lead to the end of such beauty. I am so sorry.”

Leaning down he picked up a piece of shattered mirror before shaking his head and casting it back down. Sighing deeply William moved to stand, using his cane to balance. His eyes were drawn again to the broken piece of mirror, the reflection showing him the underside of the stairs. William felt his eyes narrow and a tight smile tug at his lips. “What do we have here?”

Gingerly he probed the underside of the stairs, his fingers catching on a simple screw that held a latch. Opening the latch, William held his breath. The wood slid with ease in the form of a shallow drawer revealing a thin stack of parchment. Leaning on the wall, he carefully shifted the sheets. Elegant cursive script filled the pages. Spell diagrams drawn with practiced ease. Notes, citations, cross references, and personal thoughts.

Choked with nostalgic awe, William talked to himself. “This is…these are, Marie’s novice notes on necromancy when I taught her.” Checking the under side of the stairs revealed five more compartments. “It is all here! Every basic lesson, everything I have forgotten or taken for granted!”

Hugging the pages, William yelled towards the top of the stairs, “Felix! Felix, get down here you mangy bag of fur!”

Felix flopped down on the top step of the stairs licking his feline groin, ‘What did you need, Master?’ the familiar canted with mock annoyance.

Grinning from ear to ear, William felt the pages in his arms grow warm as he addressed his familiar. “Find that girl. Then tell me where she resides.”

‘I thought you were going to let that one go, Master.’ The feline looked bored until it looked at William. Its ears folded back, it had not seen its master in such a state in years. His master’s shadow growing in the dying candle light, making the elderly man appear more menacing than ever. ‘Right! I’m on the job boss.’

To Know, First Shadow

‘Here she comes again. Are you going to do anything?’

William considers the cup of tea in front of him. The smoked salmon sandwich in his elderly hand smelled enticing. Glancing out the window of the second story of his home William angles his chair to get a better view. Placing the sandwich down the onyx plate he smooths out his salt and pepper goatee. “And what should I be doing, Felix?” His voice glides like well aged brandy addressing his familiar.

Felix leaps from the windowsill before rounding the chair to claw its way up the back of the chair much to William’s annoyance, while canting in his head. ‘Oh, I don’t know…make sure they don’t kill her? They do this five days a week, one day they are going to go too far.’

Giving a side long appraising look to his familiar, William shakes his head. “Getting involved is not something worth while to me. Besides, they don’t always get her. She has gotten much faster and by the looks of it she has a good lead on them today.” William finished his assessment with a sip of lukewarm tea.

Lowering his gaze William took in his perfect lawn, its twin bubbling fountains, welling into a pool. The sunlight of the late afternoon catches on the ever rippling pond. From the pool the overlapping water ran along stone black stone channels to constantly feed his prized roses that grew against the fence of the front of his property. Just seeing the roses always lightened his heart.

Up the street a teenage girl dressed in head to toe black raced down the sidewalk, working her legs in a sprint from her pursuers. Combat boots stamping in desperate rhythm, black backpack bobbing in time with her efforts to stay ahead of the pack that gained on her. Those that pursued the girl appeared to be of the same age, three girls two boys. Dressing in similar colors of blue and white they were definitely in some sort of club or group.

“One of them must be sick, there is only five today. There are usually six.” William muses aloud taking a pinch of the smoked salmon and offering it to Felix.

Felix single eye gaze considers the offer before taking the salmon, his feline features contently chewing though his tail trashes in agitation. ‘Those white lighters are worse than dogs. No respect for anything that is not just like them.’

William chuckles, “And you would know this how?”

‘You have me spy on them enough to know.’

“Touché.”

The elderly man watches as the runner drops her backpack to lighten her flight, racing past the front gate of his yard. Objects spill everywhere from the open flap scattering along the ground. The sixth pursuer makes his presence known having hid between to parked cars on the street. Bowling into the runner with a shove that sent the girl of balance and crashing to the ground. Clucking his tongue, William sighed. “Looks like the hounds caught the fox today.”

William watched as the five surrounded the girl very much like a wolf pack and hauled the teen to her feet. The last member of the group that William deduced to be the leader casually walked along the fence line. That slow smooth saunter of a bully in complete control. William dropped his tea cup as the leader reached through the bars of the fence and plucked a single red rose from the perfect garden. The boy inhaled upon it before tucking the perfect blood red rose to hang out of his breast pocket.

Anger welled up within William his eyes blazed with power yearning to be released. Old hands iron grip the arm rests of his chair with the ferocity he had not felt in years. Forcing himself to remain in the chair William watched as the group searched rifled through the accosted girl’s belongings, making sure a few ended up over the fence and in the front yard.

William never took his eyes off the leader, marking every feature. From the leader’s perfect blond hair in a long braid to his medium build, green eyes, to the slight limp that marked him as slower than the rest. How the leader commanded his underlings, how much sway he had over them. All of it carved into memory for later use.

Finally the group tired of tormenting the girl in black and left her slumped against the fence sobbing with her knees against her chest. With an entitled casual jaunt the group went on their way, tossing promises or threats over their shoulders to the fallen teen.

Felix shifted on the back of William’s chair near his shoulder, ‘Master?’ the familiar canted to his owner.

William felt the ice coursing through his veins. Looking towards the spot where the rose was plucked back to the group retreating into the distance. Pushing off the chair to his feet, William gripped his ivory cane. Whispering with cold malice to the window as the group fell from sight. “Invitation accepted.”

Crossroads 2

 

Shifting gears to try my hand at romance, or attempt to.

*********** ************** ****************** *********************

Crossroads 2

The Sandbox.

Elaine managed to get home close to midnight. Drenched to the bone, she shucked her wet clothes off. She liked keeping her apartment dark. Despite the mess she knew where just about everything was so she didn’t turn on the light. Padding down a rough carpeted hall she flounced on her bed, twining herself in the tangle of blankets.

The events of the day left her bewildered, laying in bed staring at the key in her hand. Opportunity, he said. This was beyond strange, who just hands a key to a shop to someone they just met? Closing her hand around the key, she held it close to her chest. She had to admit the possibilities were intriguing though the feeling that she would either sink or swim lent to some intimidation about the idea. Sleep came easy as Elaine slipped right into dream.

Elaine bolted upright, whatever she had been dreaming off was stolen by the sound of her alarm. Blinding groping for her cellphone she checked the time. Catching the device she peered at the time. Plenty of time to get up and get to her new job… Wait. New job? The key! She rolled in a near panic, shifting blankets trying to find it. Damn it! Rifling through discarded clothes on the floor, a sigh of relief escaped her lips, there it is! Determined not to lose the key again, Elaine looped it through a long slender cord and placed it around her neck.

Now to get dressed…what to wear? How do shop keepers dress? Well it was her first day and Elaine felt it best to make a good first impression. Ravaging the closet she pawed through the rack, black, black, more black. When did her wardrobe get so dark? Elaine slipped on a mismatched bra and panty set, she grimaced. She’d have to scalp up some change to do laundry soon.

Settling on one black blouse with a high neck line and flowering sleeves. Good start. Picking out a black skirt she slid on the garments and smoothed them out. Black on black, not so good, she reasoned. Breaking it up with a wide black belt with a golden colored buckle, she considered herself in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, eyeing the brush with distaste, now taking it up Elaine set about her task. Let the war begin…

Opting to wear her hair down, she tossed the evil brush on the counter next to the sink. Shoulder length, raven black hair, and black everything else. She looked like Death from the comics, minus the pale makeup. Tossing on a crimson marching band jacket, embossed with gold designs she nodded her approval. Much better. Adding a pair of gold plated earrings, Elaine pawed through her shrinking jewelry collection. Pentacle? No. Goddess symbol? No. She finally picked out a simple purple choker with a steel ankh in the center.

Breakfast consisted of a stale vanilla donut and cold rice she salvaged from the near barren fridge. The tough rice was washed down with liberal amounts of strawberry flavored milk right from the container. Looking at the bills tacked to the fridge with magnets, Elaine felt the pressure of stress assert itself. The apartment covered water, but that was it.

The electric bill bore a final notice that power was to be terminated in ten days, that was six days ago. Well at least she still had candles. Birthday candles. Rent was coming up fast, and her car was still impounded after it broke down north of Reno halfway to Stead. Screw that hunk of junk. Turning the power bill over she re-tacked it to the fridge just not wanting to look at it.

Buckling her favorite black calf high boots on, Elaine checked the time on her cellphone. She had ten minutes to catch the bus. A scratching sound came from the door to her apartment. Curious, Elaine opened the door and a blur of calico zipped past her.

Cursing, Elaine turned to follow the intruder. Prancing through her messy abode was a calico cat with bright orange eyes. Stooping to get at the animal the cat easily evaded the attempt. “Get over here!” Elaine said with annoyance, trying to corner the wily critter. No dice, she managed to brush her fingertips over its fur, but failed to get any closer. “I don’t have time for this! Come on, you are going to make me late for work!” The cat did not seem to share her appreciation for time as it purred and ran into her bedroom slithering under the bed. Checking the time, she would have to run. Shaking her arms in frustration Elaine fumed, “I will deal with you later!” and exited the apartment.

Locking the apartment, Elaine dashed for the stairs, passing the elevator which was open. Mrs. Mapes struggled with her wheelchair, the front wheels caught in the narrow groove separating the elevator from the building. The door banged against the side rail of the chair attempting to close. Mrs. Mapes’s elderly hands tried to work the back wheels, as she swore up a storm. She belted out a stream of obscenities that would turn most career sailors into catholic priests.

Closing her eyes, Elaine knew she couldn’t leave Mrs. Mapes like that. “Need some help, Mrs. Mapes?” Resigning herself to the fact she was going to be late on her first day, so much for a good impression.

Mrs. Mapes frowned folding her arms, “Damn elevator. Yes I could use a hand, and a loaded gun to take care of that idiot of a landlord. I told him I needed an apartment on the ground. Why are you dressed like a streetwalker?” She grumped angrily.

Putting on a fake smile Elaine felt her cheeks flush at the insult. “It is my outfit for work. I got a new job. Let’s see here…” Gripping the front foot rest, Elaine felt her back twinge as she lifted the wheels out of its entrapment. “There we go.” Mrs. Mapes rolled the chair forward into the elevator.

Like a switch, Mrs. Mapes’s mood changed to that of a gentle grandmother. “Thank you dear. You better hurry if you are going to catch the bus.” Elaine’s shoulders sagged, “I won’t make it in time anyways. I guess I will be late for my first day.”

Mrs. Mapes snorts, “Not on my watch. I’ll give you a ride.”

******** ********* ********** ************** *********** ********

Elaine sat in the passenger seat of the van, as Mrs. Mapes adjusted the rear view mirror, and then the side mirror, and back to the rear view mirror. Inside Elaine groaned, this was going to take forever. “You buckled in, sweetie?” Mrs. Mapes inquired with a smile. Elaine glumly tugged at the seatbelt, showing Mrs. Mapes that she was indeed buckled in. The van pulled out of the parking lot slowly, and into the turn lane. A black Trans-am swerved cutting the van off at the light. Plying the brakes Mrs. Mapes gaped. “That was rude.”

Beeping the horn to show her annoyance the driver rolled down the window and angled an obscene gesture at Mrs. Mapes. Elaine rubbed her temples, and Mrs. Mapes’s eyes closed to slits. “Is that so?” her voice as cold as ice. The light turned green and the car sped away.

Slamming the accelerator Mrs. Mapes took off in pursuit. Elaine gripped the panic handle as the van fishtailed keeping up with the car ahead of them. Mrs. Mapes wore an expression of stone cold determination tailgating the car. The car changed lanes, trying to pick up speed, which only made Mrs. Mapes smile. “Oh no you don’t! You got more power under the hood and you can’t even apply it right!”

Elaine felt the color drain from her face as Mrs. Mapes dogged the car, “You are going to get us killed!”

Taking a hand off the wheel, Mrs. Mapes patted Elaine’s arm, appearing oblivious to the speed they were going and the surrounding traffic. That grandmotherly condescending tone took over, “There, there, dear. My husband taught me how to drive and he was a get away driver for bank jobs back in the seventies. Now hold on, this one is going to eat some gravel.”

Clinging for dear life Elaine gasped in horror at Mrs. Mapes neatly clipped the car at the rear of the trunk, and casually applied the breaks as the car in front spun out screeching into the loose dirt on the side of the road. The driver of the car was frozen in motion gripping the wheel, pale as a ghost and shaking like a leaf. With a sniff Mrs. Mapes rolled the window down and raised her middle finger majestically to the traumatized driver with a soft smile as the van crept by the scene.

“We just hit that guy!” Elaine exclaimed.

Harrumphing, Mrs. Mapes, shook her head, driving off. “That was a love tap. You kids these days, scrape your knee and you have to go to the E.R. Long gone are the days of backbone, I guess. Now I have seen some REAL wrecks….like this one time back in eighty two…” Elaine fell into a numb shock as Mrs. Mapes drove on, attempting to regale her with stories of wild car chases and stunts.

******** ******** ******** *********** ********* ******** **********

Pulling up to the shop, Mrs. Mapes finished her seventh story, growing a little confused. “I am not sure I actually did that one or saw it on TV, but I will never forget it. No sir ree, bob. Oh. Here we are. Have a great first day, dear!”

Elaine did not recall getting out the van, though she watched Mrs. Mapes drive off at the pace of a prowling ice-cream truck on the hunt for customers. Elaine patted herself along the arm, a Chinese method of grounding, assuring she was indeed alive and in her body. Checking the time Elaine managed a smile, she was only a minute late.

Fitting the key in the lock, Elaine entered the unlit shop. The smell of incense greeted her, sandalwood one of her favorites. Turning on the lights, she flicked the switch for the sign. The neon buzzed flaring to life. Something crunched under her foot; cringing Elaine prayed it wasn’t anything expensive.

Looking down Elaine frowned in puzzlement. Scattered all over the floor were pellets of what she assumed was dog food? Waving like a merry flag was a now empty plastic bag caught between the bars of the vent set near the ceiling. Jumping up, Elaine snatched the bag down, turning it over in her hands. Murmuring, she read the title of the bag, “Dragon treats, Barbeque Burned Barn flavor. For adolescent indoor dragons.” Her ears strained as she heard the sound of something scraping on metal from the vent. Rats! The store had rats!

Elaine plundered a phone book from behind the counter, tearing through it to the pest control section. She hated rats, and with trembling fingers she rapidly dialed the first number. Relaying her problem to the man on the other end of the phone, he sounded sympathetic. “Of course, what is the address?”

Elaine gave the address and the man’s mood instantly changed to reflect fear, “You ain’t got rats lady. Bye!” Click!

Stubbornly Elaine dialed another number, the same occurrence. Elaine called through a dozen names in the phonebook before giving up. It is not rats. No, I am not going in there. Get an exorcist. Click! Click! Slam! Seeing she would get no help anytime soon, she warily got a broom and swept up the pellets. Disposing of the ‘dragon treats,’ Elaine settled in behind the counter, eyeing the vent with suspicion.

Time dragged on, Elaine began to drum her fingers over the countertop. No one was here but her…and the rats. She convinced herself she might as well see the rest of the shop. Armed with the broom, Elaine poked around. The back office was overflowing with boxes and scattered paperwork. It would take months to go through it all. Before Elaine could explore the rest of the shop the bell at the front door jingled.

Another woman leaned in the doorframe, dirty blonde hair braided down her back. Imitation leather jacket slung over her shoulder. Tight blue jeans with black lace high top sneakers covered her lower half. Her appearance was average at best, taking off her sunglasses to chew on the tip. Her blue eyes considered Elaine, unimpressed. “You must be the new girl.” The statement came off as nearly dismissive and slathered with ‘Valley Girl’ overtones.

Bolstering herself, Elaine flashed a smile trying to be friendly, “Yes I am. My name is Elaine, Grey gave me the job, and I…umm I work here now.”

The woman clucked her tongue once, “Right. Look go get me some coffee or something.” Obviously not in the mood to be friendly.

Arching a brow Elaine peered at the woman, “Excuse me, miss…?” she asked tentatively.

A resounding snort came with a reply. “You are new, so let me fill you in. I’m Ruby Danes. You know, THE Ruby Danes, best reader in the city. I got the largest clientele any where. When I want coffee you get me coffee. I don’t get in until noon, no matter what the others tell you. The shop opens at ten. You are the only one here so you can’t do readings without someone else present to mind the store. I get the first three readings of the day, I take lunch at two to three and I am out at five. Shop closes at six. You with me so far?”

Elaine chewed her lip, tucking her annoyance back. “Yes, I am hearing you just fine. I was told I get to do readings here. If I don’t get to then what do I do?”

Brushing past Elaine, Ruby rolled her eyes, “Stock shelves. Dust. I don’t care. Oh and you have to do all the heavy lifting when the shipments come in. My doctor who is also my beautician says if I lift too much I could get stress winkles around my eyes. Now go get the coffee, and hurry. If customers show up I don’t know how to operate the register.”

Beside herself now Elaine felt her eyes fall to the floor, “But…I don’t have any money.”

A deep, painful, exasperated sigh came from Ruby. “Fine. Here.” Shoving a pair of singles at Elaine, “I take two sugars, and a half dab of crème. Do I have to show you where the store is too?”

Forcing her smile to remain intact, Elaine said. “I know where it is, be right back.”

****** ******** ********** ********** *********** *************

So the day went, Ruby took in a pair of readings, and gossiped on the plethora of social media sites she belonged to. Elaine rearranged the books, dusting off decks of tarot cards still in their packaging. She busied herself with watering the plants and humming one of her favorite tunes to keep her spirits up. People came and went, mostly to browse. Ruby left without saying a word at four thirty, leaving Elaine alone in the shop again.

Sullenly Elaine huffed deciding to dry mop the shop early. With Ruby blocking her on reading times how was she supposed to make any money? Elaine understood pecking orders and she had been shunted right to the bottom of one. Lifting the mat at the front door, a piece of paper fell free. Taking up the slip Elaine found herself chewing her lip furiously, it was a fifty dollar bill. Did someone drop it? Or had it always been there?

Elaine knew she could use the money, and warred with what to do with it. Reluctantly she headed to the counter, pressing the key to open the drawer. Nothing. Frowning Elaine peeked over the counter, and pressed the key again. The total counter sprang to life, ringing up seven oh seven. From her angle it looked more like ‘L.O.L. Great, the machine is busted, she thought. Fishing out the key she attempted to open the drawer with it. The key turned but it failed to open. Looking at the bill once again, she placed it under the strap of her bra. “If this belongs to anyone I swear they will get it back.” Elaine said.

The chimes in the store clinked softly as the air kicked on. The sound mixed beautifully as if orchestrated, carrying a familiar pacing. The tune she was humming earlier? Shaking her head, the place had to be playing tricks on her. Going over the chores that remained, Grey had mentioned feeding the dragons. Yeah, dragons right. Dragons in this store, where would they fit? She mused.

Elaine’s cellphone rang causing her to look upon it. She didn’t have any minutes left on it and hadn’t for two weeks. Still she could receive calls, at least. Eyeing the number she didn’t recognize it. Perhaps it was good news? Though, Elaine highly doubted it.

Putting the phone to her ear, “This is Elaine.” The line clicked as an automated message took over. ‘Hello this is Nevada State Power Company. Our records show…’ Elaine felt her heart sink. This was it, they were going to terminate my service, she thought.

The message continued, ‘That there has been an error on our records. We apologize for the double billing for the month of November. You account is credited with your last payment of two hundred dollars to this months bill of one hundred eighty dollars and fifty six cents. No payment is due at this time. Press one if you believe this message is in error, or two to repeat the message. Thank you, and have a nice day.’

Elaine covered her mouth, pressing two, listening to the message again. Pressing the number once more, now in awe of every repeated word, Elaine smiled. Closing the phone she giggled and spun around, arms wide looking towards the ceiling. One problem down, and if no one claimed it, there was actual money in her bra.

What the heck feed the dragons, she thought. This place was weird, but it might actually work out. Rummaging in the over crowded back room; she found a box containing the ‘Dragon treats’. “Hmm what flavor?” Elaine said aloud, playing along still not convinced there were dragons. “Let’s see what we got. Maiden Chew. Knight Surprise. Unicorn Flank. Villager Tears. Who comes up with these titles?” She made a face and took up a packet of ‘Unicorn Flank’.

Elaine winced as she heard scuttling in the vents, “Please don’t be rats. I wish you were actually dragons. Just not rats.” Taking the package she cast around looking for a container. Finding none, she scooped a brass cauldron off the shelf. Placing the decorative pot on the floor, she opened the ‘food’ bag open and poured the contents within. “Come and get it, I guess.” Elaine said with uncertainty. Not knowing what to expect, she stepped away from the improvised dish.

Watching the vent, Elaine waited. Minutes passed by, before she laughed at herself. “Dragons are not real, just spirit stuff. They are just in the spirit world.” Shutting off the lights, she shook her head making her way out of the shop for the night, flipping the sign to read closed. She patted the railing of the store, “I’ll be back tomorrow.” She had no idea why she said those words, but felt it was right.

Redemption Road 2

********** ********** ************ ******** ******

Brett flinched as the morning sun cast over his closed eyes. Groaning he turned over stiffly, falling off the narrow bench he had been apparently sleeping on. Lifting his head Brett scraped his knuckles on the concrete sidewalk in an attempt to stand. His coat felt heavy, causing Brett to stagger. Steadying himself on the bench his eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness of the day. Just under the bench lay a quartet of roses, neatly entwined together with a woman’s blue G-string. The Baron, must have had a wild time, Brett thought.

Sitting on the bench he checked his coat pockets. They were filled to bursting with hot sauce packets. Tiny shot bottles of rum, most of them empty. Scraps of paper filled with phone numbers. Poker chips adding up to two hundred sixteen dollars, eight key cards to hotel rooms, and a switch blade knife with the tip broken off. Muttering aloud, Brett said. “Baron. Baron we had a deal. How am I to get to Vegas?”

Looking over his surroundings Brett found himself across from the train crossing in Sparks. Behind him was a building, a massively ill kept warehouse. Its wooden sign swung miserably from its hooks. The sign read, Empire Movers. A Peterbuilt semi lounged in the shrinking shade on the side of the building. On the hood of the semi rested a small man in a brown leather duster curled nearly in a ball.

Brett stood, feeling his legs growing steady, able to put weight upon them once again. The scent of magic reached his nose, peculiar as it was old. Running his left index finger from his ear lobe to the corner of his mouth in the form of a squealer scar Brett activated his true sight. The building took on an almost static overlay, shining with green in various spots. The man on the hood of the semi truck shimmered as well. Concentrating on the building Brett could see phantom vines of green growing on the structure.

An icy pit in his stomach sprang to life growing, this was a fairy hold. His knowledge on Fairies was scant at best, he had seen what they could do, but never encountered one in person before. Still it looked as if the Baron had led him here.

Crossing into the lot of the building the front door flew open. A woman with dyed blue hair stepped into view. Ageless in appearance her attire was in the fashion of the nineteen eighties. Short leather skirt, with strategically holed shirt with a faded band logo, and calf high boots of plastic rounded out the outfit. She sniffed the air, her eyes held a feral glint to them as she centered her look on Brett. Her lips twitched in the form of growl, teeth bared.

Brett approached slowly, showing that his hands were empty. The man on the hood had disappeared from sight. Flanking the woman at the door came another man; rotund and barely fitting in his biker leathers. He gave no sign of acknowledgment to either the growling woman or Brett. Where the woman was obviously hostile, the man gave no sign of emotion at all. The woman finally barked, “That is far enough, witch!”

Keeping his hands where they could see them, Brett composed himself once again. “I mean you no harm. In fact I believe I need your help.”

The woman lurched, only to be held in place by a thick arm of the large man beside her. “We want nothing to do with your kind! Scram!” She said with barely concealed contempt.

Brett sighed, and felt something brush by, whirling on the movement, he instinctively swiped out at smaller man in the brown duster. Dancing out of reach the man chittered at Brett. “Missed me, and please don’t kiss me. He’s clean Ching! No weapons cept for some busted knife.”

The woman smirked, suddenly ducking the large man’s arm and loped towards Brett. Her fingers arched as if they were tipped with unseen claws. Brett threw up his hands making a quick sigil of warding. Ching skidded to a halt less than a foot away from him, her nose inhaling the air heavily. Looking about her expression grew confused; she couldn’t see the necromancer for the moment. He didn’t want to hurt her, but she may give him no choice. Brett had to figure something out, the spell was fading fast.

World Building

And so the Dyken were chosen over the Elves by the enlightened elder races to join them in the celestial heavens. The Elves would never forget this slight, now only seeking to eradicate the Dyken’s finest creation…humans. –The Prophet of Dust, Jurgen Cromwell.

Humanity struggled to rediscover it’s self. The wonders of the Dyken littered the world. Technology far advanced beyond the reasoning of the primitive human mind. The elder race’s departure caused the world to be buried in dust and storm that lasted nearly a century. The light of human existence dimmed, yet they persevered through the hardship. The humans were forced to take refuge under the earth or upon the highest peaks of the known world.

The humans endured constant attacks by the races created by the Elves. Short and powerful creatures that resembled humans slightly; a mockery of man called Dwarves. Unrelenting monsters of gray skin and murderous appetite called Ol-Gra that roamed the dusty wastelands of the world in search of human settlements. Numerous other species dotted the lands, created and forgotten by the elder races. Left to their own designs both animal and calculating.

The Dyken had formed humans into a caste system, hundreds to thousands; each caste with it’s own purpose and unique talents. After the Dyken’s exodus and the threat of extermination by the Elves the caste system fell apart. Castes were forced to mix and interbreed to survive. The unique talents the humans once possessed as a blessing by the elder race faltered. Occasionally the talent would emerge in a human born and seen as a sign that the Dyken still watched over humanity.

Once the dust and ash had settled humanity began to explore the world anew. History was jagged and often times had to be handed down by oral tradition. Much was forgotten by misunderstanding, or untimely death of the oral historians. Human knowledge of their own origins changed, and the Dyken took on the role of gods. Speaking of the Dyken in any other role became heresy.

The technology of the elder races could not be replicated save for the most primitive of constructs. Simple mechanics and steam power seemed to be as far as the humans could reach for the time being. Slowly and surely the world grew populated by man, discovering other lands and other humans that had survived the once dust choked world.

Leaders of men began to carve out great swaths of territory, forming kingdoms and resettling the lands. Forgotten cities were repopulated and the land settled. In the center of the reformed lands lay the Feista, the crowning jewel of the human world.

The capital of Feista rested upon a plateau, its towering ivory spires reaching towards the heavens, surrounded by ancient walls of metal and stone. Great iron beams spilled over the sides of the plateau, hugging the stone and plunged into the earth below. The capital was called Strider City, for legend spoke of how the city used to walk the land…

Terry 3

*** Warning Mature themes and shady antics are included. ***

Excerpt from Obsolete, a Terry Ford novel.  Under construction

Joey Cane considered the 8-ball of blue glittering powder in the glass vial before him. The pimp had purchased the strange substance for a thousand dollars, which was outrageous in price but somehow the man convinced him. Joey was told it would ramp his girls up to work all night and well into the next day. According to the man you could snort it, shoot it, smoke it, or even outright eat it. Suspicious still Joey had informed the man if the stuff was ‘bunk’ he would hunt down the throwback to the 70’s and ‘ace’ him.

The pimp frowned, recalling the man showed not the slightest concern to the threat, and even more concerning Joey had trouble remembering what the man looked like. A white disco outfit, black tie, platform shoes? Or was it sandals? Shaking his head Joey gave up and chose to get down to business, he would have to test it out on someone. Leaning forward on the couch Joey, opened the glass vial, a sharp scent of sweet cheese overpowered the heavy cigarette smell that caked the cramped hotel room he operated out of.

Tapping a bit of the powder out on the glass table top Joey carved the powder into a line with an obsolete sheriff’s card for food handling. ‘A little dab will do you.’ Joey remembered the instructions from the man. Fuck that, go big or go home. That was Joey’s motto. The pimp poured more onto the table top, turning the line of powder into a rail. Joey stopped himself cold as he found he was raising the card to his lips to lick off the residue. Drug users instinct…

Joey’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. The pimp’s hand went to his Walter PPK, as he rushed to the door, peering out the peephole. Sighing upon seeing who waited outside the door, he undid the latch allowing the person in. It was only Little Bo, one of his girls.

Little Bo was the first girl he took into his stable from what seemed like ancient history. Joey kept her on despite her lack of turning tricks in the last few years. Back in the day she could bring in almost two grand a night, six days a week. Divorced, and addicted to meth, she felt she had no other use than to be a prostitute. Now days, she could score a few hundred in a pair of weeks. Still, Joey kept her on as a sentiment if nothing else.

Little Bo hung her head, and Joey rolled his eyes. ‘Here comes the excuse’, Joey thought. Bo always had one, an inexhaustible plethora of circumstances that barred her from earning her keep. Little Bo began to mumble something. Scratching at her scarred arms, her ratty blonde hair looked brittle and fragile. Joey really wasn’t listening; he had heard it all before. Glancing at the table with the powder upon it; the dust seemed to beckon to be used. Half squinting the pimp mentally shrugged, why not?

Patting Bo on the shoulder, his smile was no where near sincere. “It’s ok, Bo. Hey I got something for you, a little pick me up.”

Bo wiped at her nearly jaundice yellowed eyes, as Joey guided her to sit at the couch in front of the table. Bo babbled on about how much she loved working for Joey and how good he was to her. ‘Whatever’, Joey thought. ‘Just snort the shit.’

Passing Bo a cut straw, Joey laced an arm over her shoulder. Answering the silent humiliated look she gave him, “It’s ok. It is all yours, Little Bo. I hear this is good stuff.”

Wiping her nose to clear it, Bo leaned down, placing the straw to the end of the rail, and began to inhale. She made it half way down the line of the drug before she wrenched her head back, coughing. Immediately she began to shake, cold sweat rocketing from every pore. Gasping for air, Bo’s back arched as the convulsions became more severe. Joey pushed the glass table away with his foot; users instinct once again coming into play. Preserve the drugs at all costs.

Joey winced getting off the couch with a half leap feeling as if he had been shocked. The pimp attempted to stop Bo from hurting herself, his hand grabbing for her shoulder only to receive another shock, this time stronger. Rubbing his numb hand he could only watch as Bo thrashed. What the hell was this shit!

Bo gave one last limb splayed gasp, eyes wide, and rolled off the couch face down on the floor. Joey’s heart felt as if was going to explode. Now he had a dead prostitute in his room, his headquarters, his little nook of the world. Shock leaded his movement as he gingerly crept over to Bo’s still form. Swallowing hard, Joey shook Bo gently. “Bo?” the pimp croaked, not wanting to be shocked again.

Bo was breathing in shallow rasps, much to Joey’s relief. ‘She wasn’t dead, just overdosed.’ Joey reasoned.

Carefully turning Bo over the pimp nearly leapt back again at the sight before him. Bo’s hair spilled over her shoulders, shining in the poor light of the hotel room. The prostitute’s wrinkled visage cleared up, growing taunt peeling away years of drug abuse and harsh sun exposure. Chapped lips smoothed, blemishes disappearing before Joey’s eyes. Bo took a deep breath her chest having filled out in the form of someone twenty years her junior. Seductively curved legs attached to a stunningly enticing rear greeted Joey as Bo rolled onto her side.

Bo’s eyes opened to slits, she smiled and stretched with a half hearted moan. “That was some good shit.”

Joey looked to the vial lying on its side on the glass coffee table, then back to the prostitute. “Yeah…that is some world rocking shit. How do you feel?” The pimp’s mind reeled, slowly working his way through the shock and piecing together what happened. Huge chunks were missing from the equation.

Bo tore Joey away from his thoughts; her eyes glittered with hunger as she answered. “I feel like I need to go to work. Now. Right now.”
Joey half laughed, nervously. “Uh…oh..ok..you do that.”

Bo fixed her gaze upon the pimp, clawing her way up his body as he backed into the cushions of the couch. Joey fumbled for his cellphone, pressing speed dial his eyes bulging as he felt the belt of his pants being undone. Speaking quickly into the phone, Joey stammered. “Get all the girls back to the room, I got something new for you all. Hurry and fucking hurry!”

Bo gracefully took the phone from the pimp, snapping it shut and tossing it on the floor before having her way with her employer.

Empire 15

Ching gagged, half sitting up attempting to reach for her mouth and finding the hand restrained. Her other hand was free to grip the tube that ran from her mouth to an oxygen tank. Extracting the tube that ran down her throat, Ching coughed and sputtered, yanking on her restrained hand finding it handcuffed to the rear door of the van. The van was dimly lit, the walls covered with an array of medical tools and small racks of bottles. Many of the tools looked make shift or something out of a horror movie.

Suture took a drag off his cigarette, then a swig off a handle of Cutty Sark whiskey, the revolver glinting on his lap. Keeping the cigarette in his mouth the Under Folk took up the pistol, watching Ching. Suture grumbled with dark sarcasm, “Take it easy, you’ll rip the stitches on your pretty face.”

Ching lurched feeling the van rock lightly as she blindly took a swipe at Suture; missing cleanly by a foot. Suture cocked the pistol again, taking a swig off the handle of whiskey. “Knock it off, or I will put you down not out. I’m out of anesthetic, but I have plenty of bullets.”

Ching fumed; tugging at the cuff she began to calm her breathing. Obviously Suture had no intention of killing her yet. Ears flattening, Ching gently prodded her cheek feeling the expert stitches Suture had placed. Looking down, all her cuts had been wrapped, and the majority of her bruises covered with ice packs. Her eyes roamed to the Under Folk before her as he took another healthy swig of the whiskey. Ching’s throat felt coated with sand causing her voice to crack. “Water.” Ching said.

Suture snorted, setting the whiskey bottle down and tossing a saline bag to Ching. “Best I got. Are we going to be civil with each other, now?”

Ching ripped into the bag with her canines, the liquid pouring down her throat. It tasted salty and bitter, but it helped. Nodding her compliance to the question, she tugged on the cuff again, wanting release. Suture snorted again in response, blowing smoke out of his nostrils. “Not a chance. I want you word.”

Mentally Ching chided herself. That classic trait of paranoia Under Folk held had come to the surface. Mashing the bag flat to get as much of the liquid as possible, Ching crumpled it up and laid it on the van floor next to her. She’d have to give an oath. Her voice grew serious as she fumbled with the words. It had been months since she even considered giving such a thing. “I Ching Chang Chewie swear… that I will not harm you, Suture… by word or deed, until a darkened moon has passed.”

Suture gently set the hammer of the pistol forward, and placed the firearm on a box next to him. Smirking in a smarmy fashion the Under Folk shuffled forward, reaching in his lab coat Suture produced the key to the cuffs. Once released Ching rubbed her wrist working the circulation back into her hand. Tucking her knees under her, she took the bottle of whiskey Suture offered. Unaccustomed words tumbled from her mouth, “Thank you.”

Suture studied Ching, adjusting a few of the bandages, causing the fey wolf to wince and become self conscious of her torn clothing. Attempting to cover herself, Ching brushed the Under Folk’s prodding hands away. Suture withdrew and settled back allowing Ching some space.

“Gratitude is a good start. You are welcome.” Suture said.

Ching took a swig of the whiskey instantly regretting it, tucking her maw under her arm as she coughed, and passing the bottle back to Suture. Her eyes watered from the harsh liquor. “How can you drink that stuff? It’s horrid.”

“It is cheap, easy, and plentiful.” Suture replied and took yet another deeper swig from the handle. “How did you lose your item?”

Ching ran a pawed hand through her hair, looking at the various tools in the van. Bitterness swept through her body as Suture asked the humiliating question. “It was taken from me by other fey. I plan on getting it back.”

Suture cocked a brow briefly before his eyes grew cold. “That is against the laws we hold dear, what little of them we have left.” Kicking a small waste basket over to Ching, the Under Folk continued. “You are already showing signs of degrading.”

Ching looked into the basket, seeing tuffs of her body fur within. Swallowing, Ching turned her gaze back to Suture, “How long do I have?”

Shrugging bitterly Suture released a single ‘Ha’, his words carried shielded concern. “A few weeks, or a month or two, normally. No one knows; it is different for everyone of us. The more magic you use the faster it goes that we do know. If I would put a tag on your toe about it and factoring in the event that is up coming, I’d say you have maybe two days. Till the end of the hunt tops, if you conserve your magic.”

The Wild Hunt always drew hard on the fey’s magic. They would use it to keep the humans unaware of their actions, to track the prey, settle scores or protect themselves. Ching had been faced with death before, but to degrade was worse than death in her mind. Shoving the grief down, Ching set her jaw; she would not give in to a fate that had yet to be written. “Is there anything that can be done?”

Waving a hand airily Suture shook his head, “Unless you can get an item from someone else and break the law yourself there is no cure.”

Part of Suture relished giving out bad news; he loved destroying false hope with hard truth. Still she had come to him for help, and opportunity to even an old debt presented itself. Watching Ching’s reaction wane from determined back to crestfallen, before he added, “There is no cure, however there are treatments.”

Reaching into a small cooler that was hooked up to a crazed refrigerator motor, Suture pulled a small frosted glass jar out. Running a thick thumb over the iced container Suture sighed and offered it to Ching. “Here.”

Ching took the jar, trying to peer inside. A dark sphere floated frozen in place in the center of the jar. “What is it?”

Lighting up another cigarette, Suture gripped the bottle of whiskey tightly. Smoke pouring forth in a grey wave as he spoke.

“That is Jarvis’s eye. He got injured and asked me to save it. I couldn’t restore it, so I saved it. We are the essence of magic. You have to eat it, but it will buy you a few hours before you are going to need more. I don’t think I need to explain to you the obvious addiction that will follow.” The Under Folk said bitterly.

Ching shivered clutching the frozen glass in her pawed fingers, recalling Jarvis tearing apart Daphne SureFoot and devouring her heart in a fit of rage over a broken oath of love between the two. Ching did not want to replay the scene of Jarvis crying, but his mouth was smiling… Shaking her head, Ching switched the subject quickly. “Thank you. Why were you not at court with the others?”

Suture shifted uncomfortably, taking a drag off the cigarette followed by more whiskey. Motioning to the rear doors of the van Suture grew stern. “I am not required to be there, I have an arrangement with the matter. You should get going, dawn is in four hours.”

Ching cocked her head, puzzled. “Wait…what? We are all supposed to be there, it is the law.”

Suture opened the door to the van and prodded Ching, “Brush up on your lore, kid. I told you I have an arrangement. Out.”

Ching allowed herself to be pushed out of the van, the door sliding shut nearly clipping her fur. The head lights of the van sprang to life as the vehicle maneuvered leaving the alley. Ching watched Suture drive away, the cold of the jar creeping up her arm. Four hours until dawn. Four hours until all hell would break loose all over the city.

****** ******** ******* ******* ******** ******** ******* ****** *******

Suture drove down the main road heading to Sparks, towards his next post. Gliding the van smoothly, Suture noticed his fingers were comfortably numb from the whiskey as he pulled into a fast food drive thru. Placing his order, Suture fiddled with the radio, adjusting the knobs finding a classical music station that wasn’t playing what he considered crap. Drumming his fingers impatiently Suture grumbled to himself.

The cashier at the window had her back to Suture, an overly slender arm taking up the bag of greasy burgers and fries as the drive thru window opened. Turning to Suture the Under Folk found himself staring into the straight razor covered gaze of Queen Bora. Dressed as an employee she wore a plastic smile, the right side of her jaw was smudged with used gunpowder. The paper cap she wore was tilted at a catty angle and fringed with blood and finger nail sized section of brain glued to the side. Her voice carried a hollow tone. “That will be fourteen ninety seven.”

Suture nearly soiled himself, but years of smoking and alcohol abuse never let it reach his face. Taking the bag, Suture grunted. “Nice move trying to take her out of the picture. Very sneaky.”

Queen Bora leaned closer towards Suture, “I don’t know what you are talking about, doctor. I have not made a move yet. All this is of their own actions. You however I could accuse of interfering. Now that will be fourteen ninety five if you please.”

Suture crumpled up a twenty dollar bill and pitched it at Queen Bora, only to watch the bill stop in mid air, straighten itself out, and begin to fold into origami shapes. Queen Bora leaned on the window sill of the drive thru, as Suture gruffly responded. “I owed Jarvis a debt, it got paid. No rule was broken.”

The queen plucked the folding bill from the air as it took the form of a paper rose. Placing the rose behind her ear, Bora sighed lightly. “I can see you are still mad at me after all this time. Would it comfort you to know that I almost fell in love with you?”

Suture stared at Queen Bora, his eyes squinting, heart beating rapidly. Sucking in a breath as his blood grew cold. “Keep the change.” Suture pressed the accelerator leaving the queen behind, in a rush. Jerking the wheel Suture guided the van into an alleyway, rolled all the windows up, locked the doors and burst into tears.

 

Empire 14

Ching moved along the sidewalk, tucking her remaining saber close to her side, she would have to hide it quickly to avoid unnecessary questions. It did not help matters that the local humans were staring at her as she walked limped by. Ching had lost her cellphone in the encounter with the bandaged beast fey. Payphones were a growing rarity these days due to the cellular age and chances were slender she would find one that was operational. Slipping into an alleyway Ching tucked herself in the shadows. The wolf fey was not lost, but without her cellphone and toting a sword around made things a bit more difficult.

Leaning against the first grease spotted dumpster that was nearly out of sight of the main street. The smell set the wolf fey on edge, at least she could smell again, Ching thought. Ching slid the cherished blade under it, swearing to come back for the trusted steel. Wincing in pain Ching felt the wound on her cheek from the ice-pick; it was still bleeding, painting the right of her torn and dirty blouse with a slender stream of crimson. Thoughts swirled in her head coming to rest upon the bandaged beast. Had it killed her mother? It certainly knew how to hunt, fight, and escape. If the struggle had not been so desperate Ching would have sworn there was something familiar about the beast.

Ching jerked her head up as a lone headlight barreled down the alley towards her, disrupting her thoughts. Sucking in her gut Ching plastered herself against the filthy dumpster as a human on a bicycle flew by. The cyclist nearly toppled weaving around the puddles that dotted the broken brick ground all but ignoring her. Ching squinted her ears flattening; the rider had come from other side of the alley not the main street. To her recollection the alley was a dead end, an ‘L’ curve between the two towers of Hardy’s Casino.

Left in the near dark once again Ching padded down the alley to the corner the bike had come from. Pain lanced through her side and her limbs felt over used and sore; still Ching peered around the bend of the brick border. A neatly parked white van, with the rear doors open greeted her vision. The slight whiff of hospital grade antiseptic staved off the smell of the alley garbage. Sitting on the edge of the open door was one of the Under Folk, though Ching had never seen this one before.

Short in stature like his kin, the Under Folk while plump in size moved with a honed dexterity with his hands. Wise and sour winkles creased his brow, his hair slicked back and stark white. Burning cigarette perched in his lips, the Under Folk sneered deftly rubbing a white clothe over a shining black object about the size of a small blanket. A body bag.

Ching had heard only rumors about this Under Folk, if it was indeed who she thought it was at all. Hearing Chaz’s voice in her head in a sing son fashion, ‘If your hurt with no help at hand, pray you find the Suture man. He has the answer to all your ills, if you keep his whiskey fill.’

It could be him. On the other hand the Under Folk had occasionally ventured into the city to kidnap humans to experiment upon, Ching thought. Ching took a deep breath and stepped into view, her voice shaky. “Suture?” Her boots crunched upon a field of broken glass, a single shard lancing through her boot into her foot though she hardly felt it in the state she was in.

The Under Folk set the cloth down and pulled a snub nose forty five caliber revolver smoothly. Leveling the gun on Ching, the Under Folk grumbled in voice that reflected decades of smoking cigarettes and drinking alcohol. “We’re closed, come back in a few days.”

Holding her side still Ching advanced, “I need help.”

Suture studied Ching, keeping the gun trained on her, his frown unwavering, “Unless you are hiding booze behind your back, we have nothing to talk about.”

Pride tightened Ching’s throat, her words growing pleading. “Please, I’m hurt.”

Suture leaned to the side and spit out the near butt of the cigarette, his feet slowly sliding to the floor of the alley, still watching Ching warily. “Yes, you look pretty banged up. Where is your item?”

Ching clenched her pawed hand into a fist, defeat mingling with her plea, “Lost.”

Suture cocked the hammer back on the pistol at the news; his voice grew bland, “Keep your hands where I can see them. You’re Ching, right? Your one of Jarvis’s brood, I owe him something.”

Ching swayed on her feet, as Suture began to approach her vision growing blurry, the heavy taste of chewing gum in her mouth. Ching didn’t even feel the eyes in her head roll up and close as she collapsed to the ground. Suture stood over Ching’s fallen body, lighting another cigarette watching the wolf fey breath deeply in slumber.

The enchanted sedative on the broken glass had worked perfectly, expensive, but worth it. A single cut of the glass could put down a bull elephant. Ching had fallen on a half dozen of the shards. Reaching down Suture grunted with effort, lifting Ching in a fireman carry back to the van. Smoke pouring out of his mouth as he dumped Ching inside the vehicle.

“I owe Jarvis, and you get to be the settlement.” Suture said, knowing Ching couldn’t hear him. Suture closed the door to the van behind him, opening a doctors bag he took out a scalpel murmuring to himself, “All debts need to be paid.”

****** ******* ******* ******* ******* ********* ********* ******

Jarvis dialed the number a twelfth time, each time it went to voice mail. “Ching! Call me! We are meeting at the warehouse!”

Hesh grinned from behind the wheel of the semi, “Relax, I am sure she knows what she is doing. Whatever she is doing or to whom ever she is doing it to.”

Jarvis growled, and forced himself from being drawn into a conversation with the mouse fey over this. Reiner had awakened and was pestering Hawg with questions in a confused daze with rapid succession. Who are you? Who am I? Where are my clothes? Where are you taking me? What is going on? Are we there yet? Hawg merely watched Reiner, not answering any of the questions fired at him, stonily blank as usual. Jarvis rubbed his temples feeling a tension headache build. It was like having two Hesh’s, one that thought he knew everything, and one that obviously knew nothing, Jarvis thought. It was going to be a long night…