eFiction Magazine Issue No. 010 January 2011

ef iction Issue No. 010

January 2011 1

eFiction Magazine - January 2011

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Letter from the Editor

Masthead Editor-in-chief Doug Lance Submissions Editor Zachary Ankeny Blog Editor Megan Schwark

Happy New Year!

eFiction is the online magazine that publishes fiction from indie and published authors alike. Every genre can be found within its digital covers.

We welcome you to read the stories herein, because we know that you will find something you will adore.

To every dedicated reader who has downloaded the magazine or read it online throughout the year, thank you. You made 2010 fun for me as your editor.

To every author who contributed and made eFiction what it is today, thank you. My 2010 was incredible because of you.

This is the tenth issue of the magazine. eFiction has come a long way since issue number one. 2011 will be a year of growth and further development for the magazine. There are some improvements coming soon that will take eFiction to the next level.

Thank you again for making 2010 awesome. Here’s to another great year.

Your humble and grateful editor, Doug Lance

Would you like to contribute to eFiction? Email your credentials to Editor@efictionmag.com

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eFiction Magazine - January 2011

Contents

Contents Blood Binds: The Dragon’s Potentai Episode 9

Tonya R. Moore

Paladin Robert Turner

The Lesson Harris Tobias

Half Moon Inn Dean Steven Nichols

We Can Only Hope John D. Brooke

Garbage Day Miguel Almendarez

Contributors

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Page 19 Page 22 Page 25 Page 26 Page 29 Page 30

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Blood Binds Tonya R. Moore

When Helioselene advanced, she retreated until her back hit the wall. She let out a wheezing rush of breath.

“I am Lora.” The middle-kind’s words quivered as she spoke.

“As you can see, I’m neither a warrior nor armed. Allow me to apologize for the treatment you’ve received so for... please.” ”Ts-ck!”, slipped out of Hel’s swollen mouth. “Paltry sacrifice, for our trouble.”

Episode 9

The Dragon’s Potential Finale

Voices clamored up above. There was a sharp yell, followed by hushed murmurs. The one within Hel waited a few beats of a human heart. He heard the scuttling of oddly dainty boots, followed by the clinks and clatters of chains coming undone. A heavy metal door creaked open, rusty hinges groaning in complaint. The creature that emerged from the shadows and cautiously crossed the threshold was not what the one within Hel had expected, though sending this one made some kind of sickening and cowardly sense.

She was beautiful, in a somewhat beastly manner. The Lakvan middle-breed’s tell-tale horn was five-spiked, forming an oaken crown that had been polished with as much fervor as her carefully arranged hair. It was parted at the middle and layered down just above an elfin ear. She circumvented the soldier’s prone form, avid eyes never once leaving Hel. The fright that couldn’t be left out of those violet irises spoke volumes of what she understood of her precarious position.

Unlike full Lakvan males and females, this dichotomous subgender’s purpose had, over time, been relegated to servitude and

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forced facilitation of procreation. From their kind, they elicited a paradoxical mix of scorn and protectiveness. Even the most unforgiving might show mercy to a middle-kind, however the message here was still clear. Hel’s dragon was free to do with her as he wished.

“For you trouble?” She repeated, feigning idiocy, perhaps. “We took only necessary measures. I’m sure you understand. We had to make certain that you weren’t completely tainted by that--your vessel.”

Hel’s dragon snorted dubiously at that. “Why were you sent?

Your genetic role aside.”

“To be your guide to this city. And to offer... my body.”

“You’re joking.”

At the raised brow, she quickly clarified. “As a vessel.”

Hel’s gaze hardened. It seemed, this one wasn’t your ordinary middle-kind. She seemed timid enough but it was enough but it was obvious that she wasn’t used to being in a position where she was routinely required to hold her tongue. Opportunistic too, wasn’t she?

That last bit wasn’t issued by anyone else’s command. Though neatly suggested, her inflection suggested that it was an inspired claim.

“I see. So, you gave the order. To torture Helioselene.”

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“What if I did that?” The middle-kind demanded. “It is so strange?” she asked hastily, belatedly remembering to make a meager effort to not offend. “Do we not, all the time, break what we eat? One such as yourself deserves a container more suitable than mere cattle.”

“Do not presume.” The radiant one snapped. “The wayfarer-the vessel that I chose is not carrion dragged in from the hunt. Be thankful,” The now clawed fingers of Hel’s uninjured hand scraped along the skin at her neck. “Be very thankful she’s still alive or you would--all of you already be dead. Do you understand that, at least?”

Lora nodded jerkily. Her twitching tail made a sweeping sound against the stone floor and walls that grated on the nerves.

“Understood. H--how may I address you?

“You may address us as Zehi,” Helioselene’s dragon replied succinctly.

Lora’s eyes bulged. His meaning wasn’t lost on her. What he’d given her was a title, barely even a moniker. A line had been clearly drawn. She recovered quickly enough. Eyes, downcast, she gave a demure nod. “Understood.”

“You will take us to the one who sent you down here?”

Though Zehi had voiced it as a question, she had the good sense to realize that it really wasn’t. She led the way out of the dungeon. Zehi followed, marveling. Lakva, like psychotic sycophants went to brutal lengths to get what they wanted but kowtowed and groveled in the presence of those they deemed worthy of veneration. It made them so seemingly easy to manipulate. He was sensible enough wonder whether or not that was really the case.

There was a distant boom. The walls shook. There was another and again and again. It couldn’t be mistaken as anything but cannon fire.

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“Is this city under siege?”

“Ah,” her spine stiffened whenever she was lying, “I am... not certain.”

There was another barrage of weapons fire and the roars that became louder and louder were unmistakable. The heavy smell of cinder and dragon’s breath clogged the air. Something heavy crashed down from not too far up above. The stone walls rumbled, breaking.

“An army at your gate. Dragons at your tower. Sounds like your masters have gotten themselves caught in quite a quagmire, Lora.” The soft chuckle from the wayfarer’s throat stopped the middle-breed in her tracks.

Something niggled at the back of Zehi’s mind. A man who would be proud and tall. Hair that cascaded to the middle of his back.

Someone, once encountered while surrounded by fine silks and the faint scent of flowers mingled with sea water. For some reason, that calming image filled Zehi with nothing but a sense of foreboding but it was fleeting, gone as quickly as it had come.

“You have something here that they want? No... someone.

Someone that isn’t us. You certainly weren’t expecting us. Do you even know who summoned us?

She turned back to face him. She wavered. “I...”

Zehi turned. The place in which he’d been caged seemed to have several levels. Below the cell from which Zehi had just been released, the corridor kept winding down and down into a hollow darkness. There was something more troubling here than the sounds of fighting coming from outside. His gaze jerked downward. He peered down into the inky blackness of the wall-less side, frowning.

Something at the back of his mind was quietly urging him

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downward. There was no way for the one within the wayfarer to understand why. He desperately wanted to leave this place. Helioselene’s damaged arm was throbbing mercilessly, healing much too slowly for his liking. The raw and rotting smell of spilled dragon’s blood stained the walls and seemed to be seeping into Hel’s skin.

“What do you have down there?”

Scattered of shouts and the sound of running came from above, then the sounds of metal clashing. Another rumble shook the corridor. They both scrambled backward as a pillar of metal torpedoed down through the ceiling above, kept crashing downward, splitting the floor between Zehi and Lora. It continued its downward assault wobbling and pulverizing solid rock. The floor buckled beneath them. Helioselene’s body twisted. Zehi grimaced as the full force of its weight slammed her broken arm against the solid side.

Dazed, the middle-kind struggled to her feet at the edge of the gap between them. Shards of rock flying up had bitten into her neck and face. She didn’t seem to notice that she was bleeding. Zehi followed her gaze as it arced upwards. The fortress had cracked open like a fragile little egg, revealing swirling red sky and black shadows circling like vultures.

Her stricken gaze swept over to Zehi who grinned wickedly.

“Humans call this providence.”

The errant pillar had pierced the earth deeply. It was lodged upright and save for the devastation all around, it could have been there for all eternity--for anyone would know. Zehi heard chunks of stone dirt pebbles tumbling. He heard sounds of movement, against metal. He cautiously slowly circled the pillar. The one held there was chained. He’d ventured out of his broken cell but his chains kept him from going much farther.

The Lakva’s precious hostage was again--not what Zehi expected. For one thing the dragon--and yes, that was clearly a dragon, possessed a surprisingly human shape. His bare torso and feet were slick with sweat, mud and blood. He was spacing to and fro restlessly, the way all wild things that are caged are wont to do.

Blood oozing from a wound Zehi couldn’t see stained the muddy puddles all around a milky rainbow of hues. Dragons bled different colors according to emotion. This man was a cauldron of them. Black was dominant, black for dread. He was brimming with it. Overflowing. For them? The ones who’d caged him. All of them.

Didn’t they realize it? Had they forgotten that much, even how to read the blood?

He was staring at Zehi as if his whole world had just tilted. He squinted, frowning as the dust between them cleared.

“What the hell, Hel?” He demanded in perfect Earth English.

“Why are you here?”

“Don’t interfere! You haven’t the right!”

He ignored her shout, gingerly began the downward descent.

The wayfarer’s belly tumbled uneasy as he passed the opening to what had been Hel’s oversized cell. Further down, the ground beneath Zehi was unstable. Picking his way through a labyrinthine mess of broken rock and twisted metal with Hel’s left arm, now completely clawed and scaly to just above her elbow. It took longer than Zehi anticipated or liked to reach the bottom.

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A funny thing happened the second Kyle’s reached to top of the crater. Scary, flying beast no longer in sight, he had a notion to maybe get a bit of a better lay of the land.

“Well, I get it now that dragons actually exist. So, I guess they evolved on some planet on some coil far, far away from Earth but to say this entire planet is dominated by dragons is a little... I mean, how do you explain that? What use would dragons even have for a fortress?”

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He pointed at the dark structure at the edge of the forest below. “Speaking of which,” He stopped in his tracks and turned to frown at his companions, “How’d they even get to Earth, to begin with. And why?”

Charls and Tallow weren’t paying attention. Not like that was new. Still, they were both making slow circles and staring up and around them at something that he couldn’t see, with more than just a little concern. That was normal in a really screwed up way too but the back of his neck was starting to tingle. Whatever it was that they were seeing--that he couldn’t, wasn’t good.

“What’s up guys?”

Tallow didn’t answer, she was busy making some kind of wide, sweeping motion with one hand. Similar enough to how she and Charls had brought Hel’s barrier down but something about what she was doing, didn’t seem quite the same.

“Another barrier,” Charls finally muttered, as if he barely even remembered Kyle was there. “Stay where you are,” he ordered, as an afterthought.

And why in the stars would Kyle listen to any command from the bastard? Without the collar, the sorcerer had no true power to push him around. Kyle took a few steps toward them. He heard the hiss and crackle in the air but couldn’t avoid the jolt of energy that knocked him back a few places. It stung wickedly where his arm had connected with the boundaries of the barrier.

“You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?” He shot Charls an incensed glare, didn’t miss the quickly fading smirk.

Tallow let out an harassed, “It’s self replicating! No matter how many layers I undo, they just keep reforming.”

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“Keep at it,” Charls grunted. “I’m impressed by the sheer number but I don’t think Helioselene is quite capable of creating infinite--” “You’re still saying Hel did this?” Kyle kicked at the dirt, aggravated beyond reason.

“Why are you still saying that she didn’t?” Tallow retorted.

“This is obviously her magic!”

“I don’t believe that.” Kyle suddenly became solemn. “I won’t believe it until I hear it from her.” He pointed at the dark shape in the distance. “I’m going to find her and bring her back. You two can stay here and keep playing around with that... thing.”

“Leaving without us is not a good idea. Between there are here, do you see any other signs of civilization?” Charls looked at Kyle as if he was stupid. “Why do you think that is?”

“As far as I can see, all I need to do is get to those woods and then there, from the wood-line.” Kyle inclined his head toward his intended route. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“So, you’re suggesting that you can run faster than a dragon can fly?” Charls’ brows went up sharply. “You can’t even move like a proper nightwalker.”

“What do you mean? Of course I can. Isn’t that exactly what I did back in Belinda?”

“You can’t be serious. You think that was something special?

The only reason you didn’t get captured right away was that only human guards were after you, at first. You couldn’t even evade Cardinal and he wasn’t even what I could call powerful.”

“The vampires of Belinda are also over civilized and weak.”

Tallow chimed in. “It wouldn’t normally be so easy to escape.”

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speculation, the earth around them started to buckle and quake.

“Screw you,” Kyle growled. “Both of you.”

“Your folly aside,” Charls seemed like he couldn’t get enough of the lecturing. “Ancient they may be but these creatures should not be underestimated, not even the old ones. If anything, old age just makes dragons senile. They become more violent and... indiscriminate about what they eat.”

“I may not like the idea of being some mythical beast’s lunch but it’s sure as hell not going to stop me from trying to get to where Hel is.” Kyle was disliking the wizard’s mocking tone immensely.

Charls was mostly just pissed someone had get one up on him. Honestly if it really had been Hel, Kyle was sure as hell going to give her a nice pat on the back.

“Then I’ll stop you,” Tallow retorted. “You’re bound to MY will,” Her eyes blazed. “Did you forget?” Her vehemence taking took both Charls and Kyle aback.

Kyle circled around to face her. “I didn’t forget but I happened to have learned a thing or two about the magics, traveling with you lot. You can’t exactly stop me from in there, can you?”

In both palms she held an orb about twice as big as her head.

The orb was blackened from the inside. Whatever it had contained had been incinerated completely, until nothing was left. She paid no heed to Kyle, Charls or Tallow. She simply stood there for the longest while considering the mountains around, the giant moon and finally, the looming fortress on the horizon.

“Right.” She seemed to have decided. “He left to go there.

Didn’t tell me and left without me...” She turned around. “Why would he do that? Why would he want to do that? Why would he NEED to do that?”

“Don’t waste your energy trying to compel him. Kyle and Hel have been bound by blood for longer than he’s been with you.” Charls spoke up before she could waste any more time arguing that point.

“Besides, I’m not above letting some idiot nightwalker die trying to help Helioselene. The truth is, we don’t know what she might have gotten into. This smells like Wayfarer business. That’s never a good thing.”

She waited expectantly, as if Charls and Tallow could maybe somehow provide her with an answer. When neither said anything, she turned back to face the distant city.

At this unexpected little revelation, Tallow tossed Kyle a nasty look that spoke volumes. “How do you know she’s in that place or even needs saving? For all we know, she might already be dead!”

“A logical enough conclusion.” Charls met her stare squarely.

“Who are you?

Before either Charls of Kyle could respond to that cruel bit of

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The latecomer shifted into the barrier, cloaked at first by a cloud of dust. She was petite and compact, as pale as pale could get-and this was a vampire thinking it. The woman was booted up to the knees, barely clad otherwise. Her sleeveless tank top and ridiculously short shorts were somewhat reminiscent of earth fashion. Some kind of staff weapon or long sword was strapped to her back. Despite her delicate form, her sparse clothing and the grace with which she moved suggested that she was the sort who fought often, and preferred to do so unencumbered.

“Should have returned by now. Would have if he could. They did something to render him unable to do so. That’s reasonable, yes?”

She asked as if looking for confirmation.

“Anna.” The woman blinked. “I thought I’d already said.

Didn’t I?” She frowned, seemingly puzzled. “Who are you? You never

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said either, did you?”

Tallow’s mouth opened, clamped shut at Charls’ barely discernible shake of the head.

ing her efforts to undo Hel’s spell. A quick snap of the wrist, several layers of the barrier were back in place. With all of the smoke swirling around, it was easy enough for even Kyle to tell. Its membranous thickness expanded, almost closing around him. He took a few hasty steps back.

“We’re travelers,” he said carefully.

“What just happened?” Anna demanded.

“Oh?” The woman called Anna considered his words. “And your were trapped here with me because...?”

“Couldn’t say.” Charls answered. “Any idea why you were? Perhaps for your protection?”

Although he asked, it was obvious he didn’t believe that one whit. Any slim hope any of them might have had that this new arrival was harmless, was already quickly vanishing.

“I don’t know,” Tallow was wide eyed. Lying, Kyle could tell. He didn’t have time to waste time wondering. His gaze swept to Charls who was staring at the strange woman trapped within the barrier, with them with strangest expression Kyle had ever seen him reveal.

“Kyle,” Charls called, doing a complete one-eighty. “If you’re going to run, now would be the time.”

“What? Why?”

“No...” She murmured. “Anju wouldn’t do this to protect me.”

She paced back and forth. Didn’t seem capable of keeping still. She stopped suddenly, letting the orb fall to the ground. She didn’t seem to care that it shattered to bits right before her, choking the air within the barrier with black smoke. She walked the boundaries of the barrier. Her intense gaze, once again, was locked on the distant fortress.

“Oh. Shit.”

“And I really do try, so hard.” Anna bit out with a horrifying sort of sincerity. She turned to smile at Charls in earnest. “To be good. You know?”

Kyle shifted back to wolf form. He sped down the slope at a dead run. He didn’t have to look back to know that the impossible creature circling above was following. He could almost feel the shift in its massive weight, the way it tossed the currents and made massive waves in the electrified air. When it roared, his hackles rose. He pushed forward. Harder. As far and far four legs could carry him. His eyes stung, tearing up in the sharp air. His throat burned, his lungs swelled near bursting. His muscles buzzed with that snap-crackle feeling you get when you’re at a dead run and the body stats forgetting it’s capable of anything else. As if he needed confirmation that he wasn’t just clippety-clopping at along at an idle trot.

Tallow understood well enough. She hastily started revers-

The dragon’s shadow eclipsed him, as it it had swallowed him

“He’d do it to protect them... from me.”

“Pretty high handed of Hel to leave us caged here too.” Charles declared, hoping that Tallow would get his meaning. “She’s not sane,” He continued. “It’s as if she can’t trust us to be on our best behavior.”

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He needn’t have bothered asking. The thunderous flapping of wings filled the air directly above him.

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whole. What a ludicrously mocking parody of his present dilemma.

He didn’t have to look up to be aware of it banking sideways, like a cartoonist’s fat-bellied version of a plane. Insane! It was gliding effortlessly along as Kyle desperately zigzagged across the scrubby terrain. That damned fortress in the great distance ahead was playing hard to get. The more distance his Kyle’s feet chewed up, the farther away it seemed on the horizon. Forget that it felt like he’d already run miles and miles. There was little doubt about whether he actually had.

feet. His legs went out under him on the first try. Kyle tried again scattering leaves and dirt with his wild motions again. The wolf took a few steps forward but in animal form his instinct to run was too overpowering. Ears flattened, a low growl came out and although he willed and willed them to it, his fuzzy feet would absolutely not take a single step forward. It was useless trying while maintaining his present form. He shifted shape, not entirely confident that would make an ounce of difference in this weird world.

What the hell do you even do in a situation like this?

God. How had had he not seen this coming?

“So, you think you can run faster than a dragon can fly?”

Charls had inquired mockingly. The bastard had cast the bait and Kyle, like an idiot pretty much gagged at the bit to bite.

Kyle the Wolf plunged gratefully into a copse of trees ahead and not a moment too soon. It was maybe a good thing he hadn’t look back. He might have caught sight of the gaping mouth littered with huge, jagged teeth snapping shut juts bare inches away from his rump but he sure as hell felt it.

Kyle was moving too quickly to slow his momentum. He saw the kid, almost too late. A teenager wearing some freak-show facsimile of a skin-tight tee and something that suspiciously resembled plether dungarees, watching Kyle and the dragon hurtling toward him.

He just stood there like poster boy for some Future Kid from a 50’s dime novel--the only thing missing, the uber futuristic ray gun. He seemed infuriatingly unperturbed by the fact that some strange wolf had just gone tumbling sideways in his effort to avoid colliding into him. Kyle the Wolf crashed painfully into a nearby tree’s trunk, with a yelp.

The kid seemed only to have eyes for the leathery necked giant that came clumsily crashing through the bramble and moving over greenery behind him. Kyle twisted sideways. He scrambled to his

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The beast seemed to have forgotten about Kyle momentarily.

It floundered and bumbled under the tree branches, an awkward mess of scaly joints, clawed toes and leathery wings. The moronic kid--god could he even be more than sixteen? He still stood there, although the malevolent beast drew closer. It shrieked raucously and gurgled, mouth wide open over the kid’s head.

Kyle sprang forward. “What the hell are you doing?” He yelled at the brat. “Don’t stand there--” The kid’s head turned sharply.

“Who in their right mind would let prey tell them what to do?” He sneered. The disdainfully furious light in his eyes stopped Kyle in his tracks. “What the hell were YOU doing, Made One? Baiting him like that.”

The dragon’s impossibly huge head dipped low. It snorted, releasing a smoky of breath. It made a discontented sound, low in its throat. The mouth opened The next chuff of breath ignited the air between the dragon and the kid, who still didn’t budge. Blue and pale orange flames slid down the kid’s arms, then swept back up to his face, his unruly black hair. The kid didn’t scream, didn’t burn at all. He made an impatient gesture, tugged on the fibrous beard that drooped halfway to the ground from the dragon’s chin.

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“Behave.” He ordered. The massive beast’s twisted as it turn.

It uttered a hungry sound, a sound that Kyle did NOT like, a sound that grated on the ears.

“No,” The kid insisted, a reproachful hiss. He tossed Kyle an ill-concealed look of ire. “You cannot eat that. It’s an unclean thing.”

“I don’t wanna hear that from some cockeyed kid!” Kyle retorted, thoroughly wishing the stupid dragon had taken a chunk out of his arrogant head. Who the hell did he think he was he anyway?

“They’re supposed to hibernate this time of year but I guess he sensed that... something’s wrong.” The kid called out, watching the dragon retreat into the darkness of the woods. There was a hollow sound after a while, suggesting it had entered a cave.

“I thought you lot got smarter after being Made,” he began.

He threw up his hands in mock surrender when Kyle growled. “Alright, let’s forget that. Anyway I need you to listen carefully because we don’t have time for me to speak very slowly or use small words.

Here’s the really important bit. The woman that your friends are trying to hold in that barrier--”

“Um...” A long hard thinking stare and Kyle finally breathed.

“No. Seriously. How the hell would I know? Listen kid--” “I have a name. It’s Nate.” He stopped again waited a beat to make sure Kyle was still paying attention, as if there was anything else this weird going on.

“Right. My father is somewhere in that fortress. Should have been back by now. Days ago, actually. I need to go there, get him out before she decides to tear the whole place apart and by “the whole place” I mean, this entire planet.”

Kyle chuckled drolly. “I gather that in your book that counts as an explanation but just so you know, everything makes even less sense now.”

“Does it matter?”

“No. I still need to go there too and if my friend is there and needs help, I’d much rather be done and gone before some---what did you say she was?”

“I didn’t.”

“What makes you think--” “Okay.” Kyle waited.

“They are.” The kid bit out impatiently. He started pacing again. “You know it and now you know that I know it. Moving on.

That woman is my mother and right now, she’s very...”

“No one’s really sure,” Nate relented. “If I said she was a god, I wouldn’t be exaggerating but you’d probably just think I’m showing off.”

“Antsy?”

“I suppose you could say that.” He stopped, frowning over at Kyle. “The word I was going to use is insane. When she loses her temper she tends to lose her mind right along with it. Right now she’s at what I like to call a slow boil.” He went back to his pacing. “Can you guess why?”

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“I would too,” Kyle muttered, still not over the whole “unclean” thing.

“In any case,” Nate continued blithely. “Were that the case, she’d be a God of Destruction, the Let’s Leave No Stone Unturned Till Everything That Breathes is Dead, kind.”

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“Oh.” Kyle blinked. How was he saying all of these things without even batting an eye? “That’s some seriously scary stuff. How do you even sleep at night in a family like that?”

“Quite well, actually.” Nate shrugged. He unhooked one of the straps on his jumper. “That is, when I can catch a break. Because of my lineage and the Rath treatise, I have to be a glorified errand boy for the damned Council. Plus, there’s the whole After Dark night life-well, you know how it is.”

“I don’t, actually.” Kyle did an abrupt about face. “God. Why are you taking off your clothes???”

“What?” Nate’s sharp bark of laughter ground on Kyle’s nerves. “You mean to say you’re a prude too? You don’t move or think like a predator but you don’t smell like a newborn or like you were Made by a weakling. You’re definitely from the same Earth as I am. I can smell that. You have got to be the weirdest nightwalker, I’ve ever run across and I’ve met more than a few.”

“I had a unique upbringing.” Kyle mumbled, thinking that although he’d the good grace not to actually say it, Nate had probably killed more than a few too.

“Interesting. Anyway, the clothes have got to go right now because I’ll want to be able to wear them later. Take a few steps forward, why don’t you? I’ll need more room.”

Kyle did as requested but maybe that whole antsy feeling was contagious. Could, he wondered, things get any weirder?

“Okay, you can turn around now but don’t freak out.” Nate had switched to thought speak for some reason. “I don’t find your kind particularly appetizing. So, no worries there.”

Kyle discovered that things could and in fact had just gotten much weirder. He stared dumbly.

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“You’re a dragon.” he finally breathed.

“Yeah, that’s why I suggested not freaking out. Oh, wait.

Could you just grab my--” “You!” Kyle huffed. “Are. A. Dragon.”

Nate the Dragon snorted. “Really, wolf-man? We’re going to do this now?”

There was an earth-shaking boom. The tremor sent flocks of birds scattering across the sky. The dragon in the cave stirred, a low rumble echoing from inside. That boom had come from the hills, not the direction of the city.

“Let’s go. Climb on.” Nate rumbled. “Only a matter of time now.”

Kyle hesitated.

“Or you could foot it.” Nate snapped.

Kyle considered the distant between the woods and city, not to mention the mass of dread ballooning in his gut. He grabbed the kid’s clothes and scrambled onto the dragon’s scaly back. He firmly decided to let marveling over that simple fact wait till later. So would the majorly freaking out bit.

Anna didn’t buy Tallow’s little lie, though she said nothing of it for a spell. Only Charls caught it when her glittery gaze narrowed on the young witch. No time for a warning, he shifted within the barrier, knocking Tallow out of the way. He heard her scream as she hit electrified boundary of the barrier, then the ground. There wasn’t time to shield himself. Clawed fingers sank into his chest. Charls imprisoned his attacker’s wrist with one hand, trapping it barely short of piercing his heart.

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Furious, she tried to yank her hand away but his grip was unshakeable, if only for the moment. Her power battered at him and his at her. They both toppled to their knees. Charls wheezed, a small watery laugh when blood started trickling out of the corner of Anna’s mouth.

weakening, her rage only seemed to be growing. The earth beneath them buckled. The thunderous sound was of the mountain breaking.

“What the hell are you?”

“Weapon.” Anna’s head reared back for a second. When she faced him again, her voice had chance to something hollow, almost mechanical.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?”

With her free hand, the berserker reached back for her weapon. With one flick his, the sword went sliding sideways and out of the reach of her twitchy fingers.

“Whirlwind.” She yanked out his staff, tossed it sideways like it was nothing. She stood. Taller than before, enough to face him squarely, eye to eye.

“No you don’t. Fight fair dammit!”

“Why the hell should I?” She demanded, still trying to shake him loose. Her strength was intensifying.

“Tallow!” The wizard barked. “Get up and get back to work!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her clumsily struggling to get to her feet.

Anna’s free hand clawed at his fingers wrapped around her dominant wrist. Bones broke, tiny ones--he actually heard them cracking. With his free hand pulled hers away. He’d managed to smear the blood on the back of her hand from when she’d wiped her mouth.

Hit bit down on his thumb, breaking flesh. With their mingled blood, he made a sigil in the air. The incantation he yelled was good enough to immobilize her long enough to call his staff to him. He caught it as it came flying, plunged the narrow end deeply into her chest.

“God.” She finished with an arrogant glint, stormy energies swirling around them.

Her body was still changing. Bloody wings, leathery and clawed at the ends, bloomed out of her back and blossomed. She writhed and moaned from the sheer agony of it. Her eyes turned black, inky all the way to the irises. Countless pinpoints of light inside that blackness were glowing like stars. Energy throbbed inside her, made her skin glow and overflowed, spilling out all around. There was a sound, a hollow tinkling. It the sound stars made when they were singing. The barrier was starting to disintegrate.

She smiled meanly at Charls. “Try and stop me now.”

The chained dragon took in the damage that had been done to Helioselene. One arm hung oddly askew, the other hand was clawed and nothing near human anymore. He saw the crimson irises.

Anna howled, more out of frustration it seemed, then agony.

“What the hell have you people done?”

“Blood magic.” Charls managed, as he got to his feet unsteadily. “Most powerful there is.”

Trapped though she was, Charls knew it wouldn’t be for much longer. He hadn’t managed to hurt her badly and instead of

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Zehi matched his predatory gait, unconsciously. “We would ask you the same. You were the one summoned us here, yes? Why? “As a ranking member of the Council of Ancients, I sum-

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moned the Wayfarer because I knew I could count on her to help me with a certain task.” A frustrated toss of the head. “Why is a dragon--” Zehi regarded the prisoner disbelief. “You must know she carries a dragon’s potential? Why else would you summon her here?”

“I did not summon her here.” He shot Zehi a stricken look.

“I wasn’t aware that she carried... no, that doesn’t matter anymore.

I need to leave here. Now.” He yanked uselessly at his chains. “These chains are enchanted. I can’t shape-shift with them on me. Can you break them?”

“Doubtful.” Zehi mused, not certain that he wanted to even if he could. “Magic isn’t exactly the wayfarer’s strong suit.”

Zehi chuckled weakly. “This is hardly the time or place to worry about multi-verse jurisdictional protocol. The purpose of his travels is personal. He has no interest in the Council of Ancients. Infinitely ridiculous. This pissing contest between you Powers.”

“Well, yes.” Anju agreed immediately. “Nevertheless, I’m duty bound to voice a protest.”

“Duly noted.” Zehi snorted.

“Who are you?” He demanded of the prisoner after a while.

“What are you to Helioselene?”

“I’m Anju.” There was an impatient look. “Hel is my friend, my very good friend.”

“Can you transform?” The prisoner demanded impatiently.

“Not without killing my vessel and wrecking this city.” Zehi leaned against the jagged rock. “Actually, it appears I may kill her one way or another.” Zehi grimaced, sank down to the ground. He studied the scaly pattern on Hel’s left arm. It had spread all the way above the shoulder and to her neck.

“Apparently, not good enough to know what she carries or who she married. Could it be, she could not entirely trust a halfkind?”

Anju frowned, not particularly liking the slant of Zehi’s barb.

“We’re all entitled to our secrets.”

“Shit.” the man sighed heavily. “Can we do anything to stop it?”

city.”

“We need to leave here,” Zehi replied quietly. “We must return to the wizard.”

“The wizard?”

“Helioselene’s husband. For a member of the Selestine Order, something like this should hardly present a challenge.”

“Hel has a husb--” Anju stopped pacing. “A member THE Selestine Order?”

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“We want the reason you’re important to the people of this Anju’s chains clattered and he rubbed his face tiredly.

“Listen, there are no People of this city. What we have here, is an errant colony of middle breeds trying to leverage their genetic factor for political weight. Thanks to the idiots who allowed a sanctuary to be built on protected land, their leader is now claiming inherited rights of the spiritual king. They claim to be seeking to preserve this world’s heritage, while holding hundreds of Lakvan unborn and the dragons who sleep here hostage. My purpose here was diffuse the situation for the sake of the Sleeping Ones but as you can see...”

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Zehi chuckled hoarsely. “Negotiations have deteriorated?”

“Somewhat.” Anju smiled wryly. “Their leader--” “Let me guess,” Zehi turned to peer into the shadows across from whence he’d come. “Their fearless leader would be my enterprising little tour guide, yes?”

“You’re very clever.” Lora allowed, emerging from the shadows.

She turned her attention to Anju. “If you understand our plight, why won’t you help us? Would you rather see us murdered and burned than force them to accept us as equal and sapient beings? We are the ones who deserve to rule this world. It is not your duty as half-kind to support those who are descended from dragons?”

“I don’t know where you religious nut jobs get your information.” Anju spat. “Dragons are descended from dragons. Only dragons.”

“It suppose it all boils down to faith, doesn’t it?” Her eyes glittered fiercely in the dark.

“Faithful to the end, are you?” Zehi muttered. “Convenient how that precludes actually being out there with your followers, fighting to the death.”

vindication that you desire and if you don’t release me right now, you’ll have a much bigger problem than an army from the mainland breaking down your gates.”

“Do not preach to me, half-kind!” Lora hissed. “I will do whatever I think is necessary.”

A dragon trumpeted from directly above. The damaged foundation shook as the creature’s weight barreled down. Lora scrambled sideways, fear apparent.

“Don’t worry.” Anju chuckled. “This one won’t bite your head off. Probably.”

Something heavy settled down. There was a sound of fabric rustling, then footsteps. Two sets of footsteps.

“Oh god, Hel!” Kyle ran over to where Zehi sat. “What the hell happened to you?” He reared back. “Who the hell are you? What did you do to--” “Kyle Watson.” Zehi interrupted his tirade. “You should know us. We are bound, are we not?”

“Whoa,” Kyle leaned in closer, peering into Zehi’s eyes. “You!?

How did you... why did you...?”

“I won’t release you until you agree to help us.” She insisted.

“A Lakva may have procreated with a dragon in the past. Not in my lifetime and not so far as to affect the evolution of the middlebreed.” Anju yanked at the chains again.

They’d been enchanted in such a way as to render his immense strength inert. It was magic unlike any he’d ever encountered before.

“I empathize with your plight.” His gaze was earnest and unwavering. “What do you think you’ll gain from all of this? Not the

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Zehi directed Kyle’s gaze downward at Hel’s arms. “Damage control.” was all he needed to say.

“Hell...” Kyle breathed. “Looks like I missed out on quite a lot.”

“Glad to see you’re still alive, at least.” Arms folded, Nate leaned against the metal pillar. The look he shot Anju was a mix of relief and humor. “Awesome negotiating skills there, Dad.” Anju grinned briefly. “It’s in very bad taste to mock your par-

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ent.”

Nate shrugged. “Hey, at least I made the angry dragons go away.”

“Nathaniel—” “Relax, I asked nicely. You know, I was up there listening for a while.” he straightened suddenly, addressing Lora directly. “I won’t waste my time pleading with you to do the right thing.”

He surged forward, grasping her by the waist. The tips of his wings touched the ground briefly before he surged upward and out of sight. He spun her around, so that her back was to him as they broke through the ceiling. He held her like that, ignoring her shrieking and writhing. He spun around a few times, wings making a heavy noise.

He wasn’t fully transformed--couldn’t, since he actually wanted to to be able to talk. When he stopped he roared at her.

“Stop making noise!”

It was enough to make her go completely still for a few seconds.

“Look down,” He ordered roughly. There was hardly much of a battle raging in the courtyard. “You’ve already lost your battle. This is your chance help what’s left of your following.”

He whirled her around suddenly. She couldn’t help crying out.

“Now look over there, at that mountain. You see that mad, bright light? That’s a barrier on the verge of breaking. Do you want to know what’s inside?”

She didn’t answer. Not that he was really waiting for one.

“That’s death to everyone on this planet. My father wasn’t ly-

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ing. I can’t stop it. I could die trying but I can’t stop her. She will level this whole city. Maybe this whole world. Let him go. Now, please.

Tell me you will or I’ll drop you, sit back and watch this whole world go tumbling down. I’m not like my father. I don’t mind letting it all burn and burn until there’s nothing left. The only truly peaceful end to all stupid squabbles and all that. I’d call that a paltry sacrifice, for my trouble.”

“My mother,” He informed her pleasantly. “I am just like her.

Just. Like. Her.” The barrier broke, an explosive screech. “That’s your cue, Lora.”

“I...” She released a shaky breath. “I will free him.”

“Good thinking.”

When he set down and her feet touched the ground, Lora was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Anju watched her hastily settle at his side. She fumbled blindly with the chains. Her hands were almost too unsteady to be of any use. She whispered a watery cant as she worked.

Anju looked to his son, with no small degree of censure. “Nathaniel...”

“What?” He folded his arms and leaned against the pillar, unrepentant. “I just talked some sense into her. That’s all.”

Anju was already changing form as the chains fell. He took to the air, horns and muscles bulging and shifting, fiery breath and all. Barely in time, just above the fortress, he clashed with his match head-on. The air exploded with cosmic echoes of thunder and flash.

Whips of lightning crackled over head. The red dragon seemed to be doing his damnedest to urge what Kyle could only currently see as a furious light, as high into the clouds as possible.

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to get any deeper, it did.

“Oh, look.” Nate breathed. “Fireworks.”

To Kyle’s eternal consternation, Nate seemed more awed than troubled by his parents’ fight raging overhead. The vampire suddenly found himself sorely missing his quiet little hidey-hole of a house in the desert. How much more insane could things get, traveling around with this lot?

The walls shook again. Something heavy tumbled.

“Shouldn’t we maybe try to find a way out of here before these walls collapse around us?” He hissed.

Nate knelt before Zehi. “I suppose moving through walls ought to be as simple as moving through worlds but moving all of you would require a spell.”

“Does Helioselene know what she’s really carrying around inside of her?” He asked, at length.

Zehi eyed Charls squarely. “Much as she knows what really happened to your son.”

Charls stilled. He continued working the spell after a calming breath. “When do you intend relinquish control?

“Don’t fret,” Zehi smiled, perhaps a tad meanly. “We’ll return to our previous roles as soon as this body returns to a state that Helioselene can tolerate.”

“Make no mistake,” Charls huffed under-breath. “I am grateful for what action you took. For her sake.”

“As am I, to you.” Zehi returned, no love lost there. “For her

Zehi nodded. “You leverage. I’ll handle the incant--” sake.”

Their surroundings tilted. The lot of them, save for Lora were in the copse of woods where Kyle had met up with Nate. Charls was waiting there, his disposition as sour as any of his companions had ever seen. He was bruised and bloody, so maybe he had good reason to be angry.

Discomfited, Kyle edged away and joined Tallow and Nate at the edge of the wood-line. He eyed the sky uneasily. Although safely far away, the flashes and rumbles coming beyond the clouds didn’t seem to be abating in frequency or intensity.

“Er, shouldn’t we maybe do something about--”

“Never mind,” Zehi chuckled.

“Heh,” Nate shrugged. “Saves me the trouble.”

“Helioselene, I believe I deserve an explanation.” Charls rumbled, crouching beside her listless from, as he readied a healing spell.

“Like what?” Nate laughed, appallingly unconcerned. “They’ll probably be at it for a while. Anyway, you know how it goes. I’ve got things to do, people to... see.”

Zehi eyed him archly. “The wizard thinks I’m someone I’m

He snickered at that supposedly clever substitution for the obvious and with a brief wave, he was gone.

Although Kyle didn’t think it was possible for Charls’ frown

Kyle turned to Tallow to find her--bruised and more than just a little bloody but grinning like a loon.

not.”

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“What so funny?”

“Well,” she offered hoarsely. “Today was a real disaster, right?”

“Right. One huge mess.” Where the hell was she going with this?

“None of it was our fault.” She leaned against him tiredly, still smiling. “How’s that for a novel experience?”

Kyle couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“Nice guy, that Nate.” She said idly, after a while. “he meant to say “kill” didn’t he?”

“Yup.” Kyle nodded.

They stood there for a while, watching the explosive lightshow in the sky.

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Paladin Robert Turner

From his vantage point on the rocky hillside, T.K. watched the knight leave the sanctuary of the monastery. He had waited a long time for this chance to catch the warrior alone in the open. Fighting his way across the rocky terrain over the last six hours, he had finally managed to reach a position from which he could kill one of the enemy knights and take his armor. As he watched the flickering figures on his computer screen, the gnawing in his stomach reminded him it had been almost eight hours since he had eaten lunch. In a few minutes he would attack the knight with his fire bolts which should easily penetrate the warrior’s armor and kill him. Then T.K.’s alter ego, the mighty wizard Tkmag20, could carry away the knight’s prized amentian armor, and he could quit the game for the night satisfied with his success. Perhaps success here would translate into success in the real world, but then, his virtual and his actual worlds weren’t really related, or were they? Sometimes he wondered.

He had moved back to his hometown a year ago after his discharge from the army where he had trained as an x-ray technician.

Working in radiology at Lanier General Hospital, he had resumed his courtship of his high school sweetheart, Amanda, who also was

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employed by the hospital in their medical records department. He loved Amanda and thought that perhaps by combing their salaries and moving in together they might be able to get married in the spring. She didn’t share his interest in gaming, however, and could not understand his fascination with the fictional universe which lay within his seventeen inch monitor. She preferred the world of the so-called reality shows and dramas created by the studios which she watched on her thirty-three inch television. Perhaps they would some day graduate to the forty-six inch LCD and Blu-ray system they had seen at their friend’s house the other night. Although they were impressed by the high definition possible on the new sets, he had been most interested in an episode of a western they had watched which had been made during the black and white television days.

His friends had watched much of the series and told him that this gunfighter, who liked chess and opera and quoted the classics, was a model for many of the characters who showed up later in the media.

Although several days had passed he still enjoyed replaying in his mind the theme song which evoked for him images of knights and their heroic exploits in foreign lands.

Tkmag20 struck the knight from his superior position and as predicted quickly overcame him while suffering only minor loss of vitality from the slashing of his adversary’s powerful two handed sword. As he gathered his loot and prepared to return with it to the safety of the monastery he saw his teammates, distinguished by their matching golden capes, approaching over the crest of the hill.

“Show us your kill,” said the leader, an archer several levels above that of T.K.’s wizard.

As he picked up the last of the knight’s shining armor the wealth indicator over his head changed revealing to his teammates the significant increase in wealth which his conquest had produced.

Before he could move or speak he was hit with a barrage of arrows and fire blasts, and although he ran for the monastery’s gates, he was not fast enough to reach them before dying and losing all of his possessions. “Arrrgh,” T.K. thought later as he toasted his cheese sandwich in the toaster oven, “another wasted evening — well not entirely wasted since I did gain experience points from killing the knight — but I’d better get to bed soon since my seven-to-three shift

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will be starting again first thing in the morning.”

T.K. sat across the table in the cafeteria at lunch the next day and listened as Amanda told him of the trials of the people surviving on the primitive island created by the studio for her latest favorite show. She looked so good in her red sweater sitting across from him. She didn’t seem to mind that he still had on his blue scrub suit from his morning tour taking x-rays for patients from the hospital’s outpatient department, but he knew better than to tell her about his gaming experiences. They had finished their macaroni and cheeses, one of the better dishes served in the cafeteria, and were starting on the peach cobbler, which was another of his favorites, when he told her about the elderly lady’s routine chest x-ray he had done that morning. There was a density in her lung that the radiologist, Dr. Chandler, had found to be suspicious and had suggested obtaining magnetic resonance imaging of the area.

“Do you think I really have to have more tests?” she had asked him as he was taking her from scheduling back to the outpatient receiving area. “They told me that Medicare would pay for the chest x-ray but that I might have substantial co-pay for this special study.”

He knew Dr. Chandler had sent for some old films she remembered having had taken at the hospital ten years earlier, but they had been removed from the department for recycling. In the hospital’s efforts to cut storage costs in the face of continuing decreases in its collectible reimbursements, her oldest medical records had also been recycled.

He also knew that he was not to discuss test results or finances with the patients — that was for the doctors and the administrators — but he had gotten to know Matilda from her frequent visits to the department with her husband who had died at their hospital several years ago. T.K. had come to admire her courage in the face of her husband’s devastating illness, and he knew she would have difficulty in her present circumstances with the co-pays the hospital and the radiology group would expect to collect for the imaging study.

“I am sure Dr. Chandler wouldn’t have ordered the MRI if it weren’t necessary,” he had told her, wishing the system were different and that he could do better for his patient.

Amanda sighed when she heard T.K.’s story. “What a shame,” she said. “I think they are holding those old films in the warehouse

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on River Street and haven’t even gotten them to the recycler yet.”

“It’s only a couple of blocks away,” said T.K. “I can go over and look now and hopefully be back before the afternoon rush starts.”

The old films were in piles by years and numbers on the floor of the warehouse. After twenty minutes of frantic searching he found her folder with the chest x-ray. He held it up, and by the dim light cast by the one bare bulb of the light socket hanging from a cord in the ceiling, he thought he saw the same opaque density he had seen in her left lower lobe. “Bingo,” he thought. “I can’t wait to get these films to Dr. Chandler to see what he thinks of the spot. For Matilda’s sake I hope it hasn’t changed over the years.”

He got back to the department fifteen minutes after his lunch hour had expired, and the afternoon patients were already lined up waiting for their studies. He signed in and put the old film jacket with a note in Dr Chandler’s box for reading. In the afternoon’s avalanche of bone, chest, and abdominal studies he had almost forgotten about the chest x-ray when the supervisor, Mrs. Coulter, called him into the office at the end of the shift. She was holding a printout of his timesheet in her hand.

“Fifteen minutes late for the afternoon studies, I see, Mr. Konigsberg. This, of course, will go on your record.”

He tried to explain about the old x-ray and the patient, but the office administrator kept repeating that the department was understaffed and incidents such as this were major contributors to its overall inefficiency. He gave up and returned to his apartment contemplating the unfairness of life, in general, and a system ruled by certain administrators, in particular.

Perhaps a little gaming would take his mind off his troubles.

He had started playing the game while visiting his young nephews for the holidays several years ago. As gaming technology improved, they had moved on to specialized systems with more intricate graphics and more violent action. Since he had become good at this one, he had stayed with it. Now most of the other players were younger, and as had been painfully evident last night, less interested in gaming ethics than in immediate gratification and virtual wealth accumulation.

He obtained a team cape, this time a sky blue one, from a player building a team just outside the combat area and entered from

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a side entrance into a field littered with arrows, bones, and abandoned weapons from the ongoing battles. Here and there he could see blue caped friends challenging knights, wizards, and rangers with different colored capes. As usual, there was no dominant group, and he fought his way across the field, aiding his team members when he could, and picking up food and supplies as he went along. The battles shifted to the woods and over the rocky hills, and he again found himself above the monastery.

“Oh great,” he thought, as a knight emerged carrying the most highly prized of the game’s weapons, a ruminain two handed sword, “another chance for success and another disappointment in the offing.”

Tkmag20 won, as he had the night before, but this time his vitality was severely compromised and teammates coming up the road had already begun pelting him with their arrows. One of them, an archer who called herself Jasmine, hesitated, and, recognizing his cape, called to the others to stop attacking him.

“We don’t back-stab our teammates even if they have a good kill,” she said, as the group went off down the road in search of other prey.

“How refreshing,” he thought as he limped toward the safety of the monastery, “there are still players coming up who have some respect for the principles of fair play.”

He guessed it was experiences such as this which kept him playing despite all of the disappointments. It was getting late, however, and he realized he had best quit his evening gaming and get something to eat. Seven a.m. would arrive before he knew it, and he sure didn’t want Mrs. Coulter to write him up again tomorrow for being late.

He signed in at seven and picked up the message in his box from the administrator ordering him to report to the radiologist’s office as soon as he arrived in the x-ray department.

Dr. Chandler was sitting at his gigantic, weather-beaten, imitation walnut desk behind the stacks of unread films from the night before. As the junior member of the five physician radiology group which had contracted to provide services to the hospital last year, he had been assigned to read the films taken overnight and

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always seemed to be behind in his work. He had, however, impressed the staff and the other physicians with his attention to detail and his concern for the patients despite the relentless pressure from the administrators to bring more cost effectiveness to the department.

“Have a seat,” he said, turning toward T.K. and away from the view box holding the films he was reading. “I wanted you to know that I have talked to the administration. They are adding a note of commendation instead of a reprimand to your record. I was able to compare the films you recovered to the ones from yesterday, and since the density had not changed, we know it is benign and that no further studies are needed. They weren’t happy with losing the reimbursement from the MRI, but for us the welfare of the patient should always trump that of the financial administrators. By the way, my partners and I are opening an outpatient diagnostic center down the street, and we hope you would be willing to join us.”

“Will the hospital let you set up this close to them?” T.K. asked.

“They aren’t real happy with us, but they know that this is the wave of the future, and we certainly can provide outpatient radiology studies for the patients much more cheaply than they can,” said Dr. Chandler. “Our group will continue reading their x-rays, and they have authorized me to look for good people to staff our center. I was reading through your records, and I think you are the perfect person to help me get our new facility going. The area needs these services, and we need people like you to help us get them started.”

“It sounds great,” said T.K. wondering if he had mixed his worlds and if this was really happening.”

“I don’t know if you are aware, but I majored in comparative literature in college before I went to med school. One of my favorite studies was the Chanson de Roland about a Paladin who went around doing good deeds while helping Charlemagne found the Holy Roman Empire. We can’t match what those guys did, which may be more mythical than real, but at least we can try to do the best we can for our patients.”

“What a great morning,” T.K. thought as he left the office.

Matilda had no cancer and was home-free with no expensive MRI to pay for. He was off the hook with the administration, at least for now, and might be getting a higher paying job with people who cared

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more about the patients than bottom line finances. Or did they?

He was never sure about such things. He would miss the free lunches at the hospital with the macaroni and cheese and Amanda.

But who knows, they might start spending more time in the evenings together. She might even be willing to give up some of her television watching, or at least be willing to watch some of the old programs with him; and he could, reluctantly, give up some of his gaming.

They both liked music. She might be interested in going with him to the jazz concerts at the library. He had tried listening to music while Tkmag20 was fighting, but it just wasn’t the same, somehow, as hearing it live in the real world.

The Lesson Harris Tobias

I was doing research for my crime novel. The old Don was gracious enough to grant me an audience. We met at The Knights of Geribaldi Social Club. A private club in Little Italy. The Don sat alone at a table in a dumpy room. There was a guy behind the bar and two rough looking guys playing cards in the corner. It looked like a scene from a low budget Mafia movie. The Don offered me a seat and called for an espresso. He offered me one but I shook my head. “No thanks, it keeps me awake,” I said like an idiot.

“What, you’d rather be asleep,” said the Don. Blushing, I took out my notebook and asked him what it takes to be a good thief.

“What’s it take to be a good thief?” The old man sat and pondered the question for a while before answering, “Balls and luck and smarts of course but something else too. Something hard to describe.

I can’t put it into words but I can give you an example. The old gray head nodded as the Don thought back on his days as a young hoodlum working his way up the ladder.

“There was this kid, Vincent Testarosa. He was a little older than me. Already a made guy. His specialty was robbery. He liked the

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smash and grab. Get in, get the loot, get out. Bing bam boom. Sometimes it’s the best way. No one ever accused Vinny of being smart,” the old Don said settling into his chair. He sipped at his espresso and tented his fingers to signal he had a story to tell. “Cruel? Sure, he had a mean streak. Ruthless? He had a hell of a temper. Lucky? Absofucking-lutely. One of the luckiest guys I ever met. But smart? He had his moments but he didn’t have that certain something.

“Vinny was like a shooting star. Only he did his own shooting— from a Colt or a Smith & Wesson, if you know what I mean.

Take the Diamond Mart fiasco as an example. As crazy and brazen a heist as I’d ever seen. In broad daylight Vinny and three goons walk into this big jewelry store. They make the security guard, four clerks and four customers lie on the floor while they sweep the contents of the showcases into pillow cases they brought with them.

“Vinny plugs the security guard who he thought was trying to be a hero, and on the way out, he shoots Morty Goldberg, the store owner, just for the hell of it. They walk outside and disappear into the crowd. 250 grand worth of jewelry in their sacks in less than four minutes work. Pretty good and lucky wouldn’t you agree?”

I nodded my head in agreement. This was juicy stuff. Just the kind of story my novel needed. The old man called for a bottle of grappa and two glasses. He poured the clear liquid into two shot glasses and gave me look that said drink up. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. I downed the liquid in a single swallow and thought I’d die.

Red faced and gasping, I watched the Don take little sips of the fiery stuff and chuckle to himself.

“They probably would have gotten away with the whole thing except one of the goons left behind a pillow case with the name of the hotel stamped on the inside. The cops show the store’s security camera footage to the hotel clerk and find out that Vinny and the gang are still checked in to room 606. They’re upstairs drinking and counting up the loot.” Here the old man has to pause and catch his breath from laughing at the memory. He dries his eyes and continues.

“Wait, it gets better. The cops bust into the room. When the shooting stops the three goons are dead but Vinny’s not there.

Where’s Vinny? He’s down the hall, in the linen closet banging the chambermaid.” The old man laughed long and hard. When he re-

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gained his composure he sipped his coffee and said, “So what would you call that, lucky or stupid? Probably a little of both. But the point I’m trying to make is something was missing from the heist. Are you following me?”

“I’m following the story,” I told him, “but I don’t understand what your getting at.”

“You want another example of being smart and being stupid at the same time?”

I said I did. The Don poured us each another shot of grappa.

This time I sipped it. He smiled. “You’re learning,” he said.

“Remember the old Seaman’s Bank on Avenue B? I remember when Vinny robbed it? He had a foolproof plan he said. A plan which went to shit the minute someone pressed the silent alarm and the cops surrounded the place. It was a scene right out of Dog Day Afternoon. Cops everywhere. SWAT Team, snipers on rooftops, the whole block surrounded. Vinny and his boys trapped inside with a dozen hostages. What a mess. What the cops didn’t know was that the hostages were all blindfolded from the start and couldn’t see a thing.

“Vinny got on the phone with the hostage negotiator and started reading off a long list of demands. He wants a helicopter, he wants bullet proof vests, he wants lunch, he wants this, he wants that.

The negotiator is pulling his hair out, frustrated. Vinny won’t let him get a word in. The guy’s about to loose his temper when there’s a white flag at the door and about ten hostages come out. They’re still blindfolded. The cops grab them and take them to the secure area they set aside for hostage de-briefing.

“The negotiator thinks they’re making good progress and he calls Vinny to resume negotiations. Again Vinny gives him a list of demands. He wants a pepperoni pizza, he wants a pair of bowling shoes size ten, he wants a six pack of imported beer. The list goes on and on and again the negotiator can’t get a word in. Vincent won’t answer any questions about how many more hostages he has—nothing, just more stupid demands.” Here the Don gets a wistful look in his eyes and chuckles to himself at the memory of that long ago day.

“Now the reason Vinny wasn’t answering any questions was because Vinny wasn’t on the line. The negotiator was talking to Vinny’s answering machine thing. Vinny already left the bank with

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the first group of hostages. He’s got his cell phone in his pocket and instead of it saying ‘I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone right now, please leave a message,’ Vinny has programmed it to read off this long list of demands. Makes me laugh just to think about it.” The old Don signals for another espresso and asks me again if I want one.

This time I accept. Anything but more grappa. When the little cups of foamy liquid are delivered, the Don takes a sip and continues.

“Of course things got a little dicey in the hostage holding area when one of the goombahs pulls a gun and shoots a detective in the face. There was a big gunfight. Cops and hostages running for cover. Vinny somehow slips away in the confusion. He has about 60 grand taped to his body. The rest of the gang is either killed or captured.

“So you tell me, was Vinny stupid, unlucky, brilliant or what?

If he was improvising, you got to admit, it was brilliant. If that was his plan all along, it was also brilliant and he was a little unlucky.

And, if that was his plan but he hadn’t worked out the part at the end where you’re supposed to get away with the loot, then he was stupid.

Are you starting to understand?” The old man look at me.

“I think so,” I said. “You’re saying it takes more than guts and luck to be a good thief?”

“That’s part of what I’m saying. You want another example?

You’re a slow learner.” The Don sighed and looked at me like he was trying to teach a retarded kid how to drive. He refilled my glass and launched into another round of story telling.

“There were so many stories like that about Vinny, he began to get a reputation as a jinx. It wasn’t safe to go on a job with him. Guys were scared to sign on with him. He was forced to recruit from the lowest of the low—psychos, young punks, drunks and junkies. Everyone else thought he was cursed. So all he had was a bunch of amateurs for his last job. This time he was going for the big score.

Diamonds again. This time it was the Diamond Exchange itself—a big diamond wholesaler on the top floor of a building on 74th Street.

“Vinny knew a guy who knew a guy who worked in the building and could let Vinny and his crew in through a service entrance.

Vinny had the gang dressed in overalls with the name of some elevator repair company on the back. There’s no security on the service

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door so Vinny and the boys march in and take the elevator to the top floor. They stop the elevators and barricade the exits. Then Vinny pulls the fire alarm. When the Diamond people start coming out, Vinny grabs them and locks them in an office. He grabs the big boss and forces him to open the safe.

“So Vinny has a fortune in diamonds but no way out that anyone can see. By now the fireman are pounding on the doors of the blocked exits. Vinny lets them in and locks them in an empty office. He takes their uniforms. The gang runs down the steps dressed like firemen passing all the cops running the other way. Everything is going great until they get to the ground floor. The fire-chief doesn’t recognize them and raises the alarm. Again there’s a shootout. This time Vinny’s luck runs out. He’s shot, captured, and locked up. They throw the book at the guy. He’s charged with a whole laundry list of crimes including a few counts of murder. The wind up is Vinny gets sentenced to sixty years.

“So we fast forward twenty years. Vinny is now fifty four years old. He’s spent a third of his life in prison. He’s been a model prisoner and finally eligible for parole. The guards are taking him to his first parole hearing. He’s got two prison guards leading him along. Vinny’s in cuffs and shackles. Hands behind his back and ankles chained.

So he’s shuffling along. He finally has an opportunity to get out of the joint and maybe start over but he’s still Vinny—smart, lucky, stupid all mixed together. I’d give a thousand bucks to know what he was thinking.

“Anyway, he’s in the elevator with the two guards. They’re in front of him facing the doors, he’s looking at the backs of their heads and feels the railing at the back of the elevator car. It’s firm and solid and just the right height. Vinny grips the rail, lifts his legs high in the air and slams both guards in the back of their heads. They smash into the elevator door and fall to the floor just as the door opens. There’s no one in sight so Vincent finds the key and opens his restraints.

Then he takes both revolvers from the guards. One guard begins to stir so Vinny smashes him a few licks. Just to make sure, he smashes the other guard too.

“Then he takes off down the hall and bursts into the hearing room where the parole board has convened. Lots of screaming and

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shooting. Cops and security guards come running. Another shootout.

This time Vinny is mortally wounded. The toll is three dead and six wounded. Vinny bleeds to death before the medics can get to him. So you tell me, was he lucky? Stupid? What’s the difference, he’s dead.”

Now I understood what the old man was trying to tell me. I sipped my espresso and gathered my thoughts. The Don waited to hear what his dim pupil would say. “You’re saying a good thief brings back his gang and the loot. It doesn’t really matter how. A good thief is a successful thief.”

The Don relaxed in his chair. He patted my hand. The audience was over.

Half Moon Inn Dean Steven Nichols

Every morning at six, I used to walk down the grand staircases, which lead to the lobby. I could not help it remembering the happy days of growing up into what it was. Half Moon Inn. My great grandfather built the place as his home. Early 1950’s, my family rented the extra rooms. Because of its location, the place became popular to celebrities. As time passed, my father added more rooms and named it, the Half Moon Inn. My great grandfather’s portrait was hanging on the wall above the staircase, between the lobby and the first floor, overlooking the entrance.

Business was good, celebrities, tourists and locals were filling the dining room and the guest rooms. The pleasant atmosphere, filled with laughter, and happy people made, Half Moon Inn, well known in the entire Boston region.

Then one night, everything ended! It was around 11:30 the night after the Fourth of July celebration. The guests, in the dining room were exchanging greetings and jokes while finishing their last drink, by midnight the dining room was empty, I went in the veranda, and gazed upon the silent bay. The

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hypnotic reflection of the moon, on the peaceful water of Cape Cod, made me feel lethargic. Then through the misty air, came blood, rage, death, and destruction.

They came from the ocean, their black horses galloped faster than the wind, and as they killed everyone, they stopped to watch and gaze upon the victims with a smile of victory.

Then as they raised their arms into the air, pointing blood stained weapons to the sky, they called upon the Angel of darkness, and they offered him the sacrifice.

A shadowy figure appeared beneath my great grandfather’s portrait. I recognized him. He came from the dead, to defend life.

Thunder and lightning struck the ground, far across the sky, I saw the infinite light, and touched by the Angel, I was no longer mortal.

With my great grandfather by my side, we fought the armies of darkness. At sunrise, the soldiers of death one by one, descended into the ground leaving behind them destruction and sorrow, and the promise that they will come back.

My great grandfather looked at me, smiled, and as he faded into the air, said.

“It is time for me to rest. It is your war now” Ever since that night, I am roaming the earth, to protect the innocent, and battle evil.

My name is Gabriel; this is one of my stories.

We Can Only Hope John D. Brooke

Hope, a brilliant young archaeologist, worked at the prestigious State Museum as Curator of Hellenic Greek Culture. She adhered to a high moral code but was not prudish. The Golden Rule was her yardstick of human behavior. Breathtakingly beautiful, she did have one tiny flaw.

She could not resist garage sales. Last Saturday, for two bits, Hope bought a pair of antique white figure skates. Not her size, but she loved how they looked. At home, she tried to clean them up and felt something lumpy in the right boot. She reached in and pulled out a structure encased in linen. Unwrapped revealed an aromatic dark red wooden box, covered in intricate carvings of ancient Greek words and symbols.

Hope caressed the candlewood box and forgot about the skates. Insatiably curious, Hope was startled, as she translated the warning inscription on the lid. “Ελπίδα [Hope] opened this lid and inflicted wickedness and savagery into the world. Only Ελπίδα

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[Hope] can return the evil into this box.” An icy chill ran down her spine.

“The Earth is certainly brimming with evil and violence, or my name isn’t Hope,” she sang aloud, “Serendipity or simply synchronicity?”

She pondered over the warning. Perused the remaining words and discovered a cryptic code was the key to unlock the box. She shook the box reverently, it seemed empty.

dustrial complex bunch.”

“They’ve tumbled to the fact your theory would cause permanent peace to break out all over the world.

The pizza arrived. They sat down and savaged the hot food.

“You’ve witnessed my violent surprise, now you can show me your peaceful one,” exclaimed Hector.

Hope opened her attaché case and removed the box.

She quickly figured out the code, but did not attempt to open the box. Hope wanted to share her good fortune, she thumbed his number into her Blackberry.

“Hello, Hector; Hope here… yes I’m fine, thanks. Just wondered how you’re progressing with your Molecular Super String thesis? Wonderful, you published it already! Cool! Can we get together?

Tonight! Super, your place for pizza? I’ll bring the Chianti; you order a medium pizza with our favorite topping. I promise you a surprise!

‘Till 6:30, Love you, bye.”

Hope arrived at Hector’s loft, the door was open. She found him beaten and dazed. She went to his aid. Wiped the blood off his handsome face, he was furious, his place vandalized.

“Who did this, why?” She asked.

He ignored her question, “Well they didn’t scare me! My theory had already been published.” Hector staggered to his feet. “Did you bring the wine, I could sure use a glass.”

“Of course, now answer me, who do you think did this and why?”

“Wow! Looks ancient. Stolen from the museum?” he kidded her.

“No! There’s a message of Hope and the key that opens the lid. I had a ‘crazy wisdom’ idea, lets see if I’m right.”

Hope pushed a series of carved symbols. The lid cracked open, releasing a puff of delicate perfume. ”She repeated the translation: “Only Ελπίδα [Hope] can return the evil to this box.”

“Holy synchronistic, my theory states, as you know, positive gravitation attracts negative violent evil human vibrations into a black hole. I believe this box contains original dark matter. Let’s find out.”

Hope opened the lid fully.

The box made a slight growling noise. The violent headline on the New York Times, lying on the desk, disappeared, followed by the front-page stories that contained lies, evil, and horror. In nanoseconds, blank paper replaced all abusive pictures and text.

“I’m not sure, suspect our wonky government; military, in-

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Hector turned on the TV. Gruesome scenes playing on every channel suddenly vanished in a steady stream of visible electrons that flowed into the box. Trembling, Hope, closed the lid. A text message crawled onto the flickering screen. “Warning! It is a Federal Offense to manipulate programming on protected channels. You are answerable to our authority.”

Hope opened the lid again, sucked in brutish content from TV networks all over north, south, and Central America.

Next they turned to the Internet, and the Middle East. Negativity of Iran, North Korea, Israel, and Palestine disappeared into the box’s dark matter, violence transformed into melodic music. Russia and the Balkans joined the beautiful, peaceful revolution. China and Japan’s negative messages vanished.

Peace permeated the web. The Internet highway was cleansed, as barbaric negativity was sucked into the box.

Newspapers, newsletters, and magazines vanished without paid adverting prevarications. Evil filmmakers and purveyors of corruption collapsed along with Wall Street and the financial chicanery of Dubai, London, Zurich, and Shanghai. Organized religion and governments told the truth as their power shriveled.

Love burst out of economic bondage. The world was free of slogans.

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Garbage Day Miguel Almendarez

When Tom told me his parents were getting divorced, and he was moving away, I almost cried. It’s pretty embarrassing. Tom himself was completely stoic; of course that was just Tom being Tom, and I would have expected nothing less. Not that I expected any of it.

I wouldn’t call Tom my best friend, but we hung out. We had separate cliques -- he was athletic, I was bookish -- but our friendship occupied a comfortable middle ground. We could both talk movies, music, videogames; as little kids we’d played outside together, riding bikes and hiking the hills around our neighborhood. Now we had a solid rapport. If it’s not too corny to say, I admired him: he seemed to have everything together.

So when he told me his dad was leaving -- and so was he -- I was stricken. Something I’d taken for granted was suddenly broken, beyond repair: it was a permanent change, wrenching as death, and I wasn’t prepared for it. Just that morning I’d seen Tom’s dad getting into his car and waved; he’d waved back. Now I felt deceived.

“When are you leaving?” I said when he told me. We’d just gotten off the bus, between our two houses on opposite sides of the street.

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“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, squinting into the distance, as if he could just about make out his strange new life on the horizon. It was winter, but there was no snow: everything was cold and gray and arid. Our breath escaped us like writhing little spirits, like our own ghosts.

“I mean you’ll finish the school year, right?”

“I don’t know.”

That night in my room, I looked up from my geometry at his house across the street. The sun was down but it wasn’t really dark, not yet: the big, comfortable Tudor house sat in the cold like a refuge, full of warm light. But it wasn’t a refuge: it was worse inside than outside.

Then Tom came out the garage door, wheeling a huge garbage can. He pulled it up the driveway, surprisingly slowly -- it must be loaded. He hauled it toward the street, his clouds of breath dissipating as he labored. Did he see me in the window? I raised a hand in tentative greeting, but he just kept trudging along.

He got to the street and set the can in place. It struck me as somehow astounding that he was taking out the garbage. How could he act the same as always? Life was decimated. I waved my hand back and forth, but he turned around, toward his house.

He didn’t go back in, though. He stood facing the house and, beyond it, the bare woods; and beyond them, half-visible through them, the lights of the local state highway. The highway ran through a business district back there, and you could see neon signs for stores and restaurants, dozens of everyday places glimpsed through the trees. I thought about those places, and the people in them: families, parents, children, their lives the same today as yesterday. Tom didn’t move.

I bent down to my homework. After a while I looked up, and he was still standing there beside the garbage can. I went back to work. The last time I looked, it was almost completely dark, and I could barely make him out against the highway lights.

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Contributors Robert Turner

Robert Turner, M.D., was born in New Jersey and grew up in West Georgia. His work has appeared in a variety of medical publications. He learned gaming from his grandchildren and now lives in West Palm Beach, Florida, where he is at work on his first novel.

John D. Brooke

John D. Brooke is an expatriate Canadian living by the Sea of Cortez in Baja California Sur, Mexico. He was a senior advertising scribbler and is now an emerging writer of published poetry, published flash fiction, and a soon to be published novel. Find more from John here. http://holysmokeandmirrors.com

Harris Tobias

Harris Tobias lives and writes in Charlottesville, Virginia. He is the author of several novels and hundreds of short stories. His fiction has appeared in Ray Gun Revival, The Calliope Nerve, Literal Translations, FriedFiction and other obscure publications. You can find links to his fiction at: http://harristobias.blogspot.com/

Miguel Almendarez

Miguel Almendarez is an award-winning screenwriter and a recipient of an “Art Within Labs” screenwriting fellowship. He has lived all over the United States and worked in many different fields, from spiritual music performance to construction to financial services and of course, to writing screen plays and short stories. His publications include ‘The Ascentos Review’ and others. He is currently working on a new screen play and a book.

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