Writer of Fantasy. Wielder of Red Pens.

Tag: more odds than ends (Page 8 of 20)

The Marble Witch

Read part one here.

He still didn’t know what to call his latest client. In his head, she was the Marble Witch, so named for her absolute stillness and the faint veins that traced her otherwise classically perfect face.

“Ma’am,” he tried. “I’m in the door, but I’m going to need more information about the target. Right now, I don’t know what to look for. And Celia — er, the CEO — didn’t act like she had any idea a pentesting team will be coming.”

A perfect lip quirked and froze into place. Her voice was smooth, exactly as you might expect marble to sound, if you were inclined to wonder about such things. “That’s the point of a penetration test, Mr. Ethonsen. Dragons’ arrogance is legendary.”

Dragons? He chose to ignore her exaggeration.

“Is this about Celia or her company?” He had a strict policy against divulging corporate proprietary information. Not after Tulsa.

“My investment must be secure.” The words were cool and polished.

It was the exact phrase she’d used when she’d hired him for what had seemed like a normal job. Then, he’d thought she was legitimate, easy money. She’d even had paperwork, although Hayes could never quite remember the name on the forms, and his scanned copies were blurred in exactly the wrong parts. He’d been convinced she was a board member.

Until she’d frozen him in place and wrapped a spiral of gleaming light-ribbons around his torso that no one else could see, then told him he wouldn’t be working alone on this case.

“You absolute slug.” The frog slammed the door open, wood banging against the wall and his tongue flickering in rage. “Do you think it’s as easy for frogs as it is for humans? You think I can just call up a turtle and get a rideshare home?”

“Geo, I’m sorry,” he began. Hayes had developed a begrudging fondness for his new boss’ angry minion over the past few days. He kept wondering what the Marble Witch used as leverage against the amphibian. “I didn’t think.”

“No, you didn’t,” Geo snapped. “Any idea how windblown I am after clinging to a minivan for fifteen miles? Chapped skin means something to my kind. Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“I didn’t know how long you’d be,” he protested. “Getting the badge didn’t take very long.”

“The mighty physical penetration tester couldn’t get lost on his way out?”

“The pentester was walked out by security!” Hayes raked his hands through his hair in frustration and slumped back into his chair. “And has been reduced to talking about himself in the third person. Look, I guess I thought I’d pick you up tomorrow.”

“I’m going to soak in a water bath,” Geo snarled, and turned to storm out.

The witch stirred from her statuesque pose. “Did you find anything?”

Hayes held his breath and tried not to move. He needed to know. Desperate, insatiable curiosity was what had gotten him into this field. If he’d asked, Geo would have slapped him with that long tongue.

Geo held one webbed hand on the door, but turned to face his mistress. “Three ways into the building that have no physical guard. Another that only I could pass. Easy pickings.”

“Go.”

The door closed silently, although a fresh wood chip on the back fell to the ground from the impact.

“There’s one more thing.” Hayes spoke into the silence, staring at the wood chip on the floor. If a magical, talking frog had that much strength…

“You need a daughter,” the Marble Witch replied. “Foolish, that.”

“It was.” He swallowed. “Children get sick easily. I can say she came down with a bug.”

“I expect better choices given your level of claimed expertise, Mr. Ethonsen. Not rash lies.”

Her voice froze him into unnatural stillness. He hadn’t felt this small since Kaylie Miller had laughed in his face when he’d asked her to the seventh-grade homecoming dance.

The Marble Witch lifted her head and caught his gaze with glacial ice-blue eyes, a hunter about to pounce on her prey. A cold sweat made his hairline itch.

“Bring me the snow that falls in sunlight, and I will make you a daughter for a day before she falls into detritus.”

***

This week’s prompt was inspired by a springtime shower of white petals and a twisted form of Leigh Kimmel’s prompt: The sun was shining, yet white flakes of snow whirled through the air.

My prompt went to Becky Jones: Dear ____, the email read. It’s been a while since I darkened your monitor.

Find these, and more, over at MOTE!

Pentesters

Hayes’ satchel made an odd noise. The battered case looked incongruous enough against the authentic Persian rug – hand-woven, he could tell – outclassed by eons beyond the salary he hoped to make.

It might have gone unnoticed, if it hadn’t happened again. This time, a lengthy croak.

“Excuse me?” The woman behind the desk broke off her previous question with a sternness Hayes suspected she displayed most during hostile client negotiations. “I daresay your briefcase…ribbited.”

“I apologize, ma’am,” Hayes interjected with a tap to the top of the brown leather. “I silenced my phone for the interview, of course, but expect my daughter got into something that chirps. She’s a regular Houdini, hacking into things.”

“Like her father,” Celia commented. She settled back into the executive leather chair and steepled long brown fingers together. “A miniature coder. How wonderful. You’ll have to bring her to the company picnic next week. I bet she’d be an absolute terror.”

He covered his surprise and bobbed his head, nodding. “Well, of course. I’d be delighted. I’ve got the job, then?”

She extended a red-tipped hand toward him and gave him a fierce smile reminiscent of a shark that’s spotted a wounded tuna. “You do. Get with Kelly up front for the paperwork.”

“I’m so pleased.” Hayes kept babbling as he backed out of her office and into the sterile yet luxurious entryway.

Kelly turned and gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Paperwork’s already hit your inbox, as long as the address you provided is still good.”

He nodded, the adrenaline pumping still. One hurdle down. “Thanks so much. The whole process has been very organized.”

“Of course. Now, when you take the elevator, head for the basement. Security might as well get you your badge ASAP. Boss lady wants you to start tomorrow.”

It wasn’t until he was alone in the elevator – as posh as the rest of the building, but as art deco in function and speed as in style – that he held the case to his chest and dared a whisper. “You’ll have to keep it down, if you want to come with me. You promised to be quiet.”

A peeved, thin voice answered him sharply. “It’s instinct, curse you. I can’t help it. Besides, she was about to ask you a question you couldn’t answer.”

“Uh-huh. Your instincts kicked in right in the dragon lady’s plush lair?” Hayes laughed. “She likes power symbols. We can use that.”

A frog leg extended nimbly from a crack and made an unmistakable gesture with long toes. “Let me out when we get to security, noodle brain.”

“Yeah, I love you too, partner. Speaking of unanswerable questions, where am I supposed to find a daughter within a week?”

The elevator doors creaked open.

***

This week, nother Mike challenged me with: There were frogs in his briefcase.

My prompt went to AC Young: The dreams of a hero frozen into stone.

Go check it (and more) out over at MOTE!

Out

Find part one of this story here.

“Now I know why they called you in,” June said, following Shannon down a path already muddy from the tromp of soil and potsherds to the makeshift work facilities.

Peter’s presence at her back was a comforting contrast to the unease that had woven through her intestines when the archaeologist had mentioned a curse.

“Well, it’s been a while, but I remembered you helped a lot back in Arizona,” Shannon tossed back through the floppy hat that had been with her through decades of digs. “Not that us mere mortals were supposed to know exactly what you were doing, or that magic is real.”

“Magic is real?” Peter managed to channel his diplomat parents’ tone of interested, bland politeness with perfection.

“And you know it. I swear science will prove it someday, too. Plus, I’ve been around it — just enough, you know — that I can tell the mages. You sort of glow.”

“I told you she’d know.” June felt the corners of her lips twitch slightly. “Our good doc here is special. What you might call a sensitive. She gets those digs, the ones that freak everyone else out.”

The curly haired woman leading the way stopped with a sigh and pushed back her hat again. “This time there might be reason. We found this block of stone pretty quickly. You wouldn’t believe what technology can do these days.”

“LIDAR?” June shook her head in negation. “Never mind, tell me over a drink later.”

“What is this, an altar?” Peter paced around the pit that held the stone block in a slow circle. Oddly, this one held no volunteers or student workers like the other trenches. “Da would know what type of stone it is with his earth magics, but looks like your basic granite to me.”

Shannon nodded. “Pretty common in New Hampshire, obviously.”

June wrenched her gaze away from the polished stone. “Mesmerizing.”

“That’s the start of our problem.” Shannon pursed her lips. “Give it a minute.”

Birdsong filled the air with chirping as they waited, the distant mumble of conversation and overhead human sky travel cutting through the atmosphere of thickening tension.

“I don’t hear anything,” Peter said quietly. “Are you sure we will?”

June jumped as a knocking sound came from within the stone.

“It usually happens when someone says that,” Shannon said. Her lips were thin and tense, a brittle expression.

From within the stone, the clanking noise grew louder.

“It’s not just that something wants out,” the archaeologist said with an artificial level of conversationally to June. “It’s that whatever it is, it also knows we’re here.”

***

This week’s prompt was courtesy of Becky Jones: The clanking sound grew louder.

Mine went to Cedar Sanderson: The Finlays always had a dog, except for one terrible, glorious year.

Find it, and more, over at MOTE! New prompts tomorrow – get them in now!

Dystopia

They say home is where the heart is, but it turns out it was the hart.

Let me explain.

As it turned out, it all started with the deer.

And the first victim was my sister, who couldn’t stand to see an animal hurt. The hart staggered into the garden, she slipped outside with a cheery wink, and a laugh as I warned against antlers.

“Don’t worry so much,” she said. Her last words.

The last coherent ones, anyway. I still hear her, sometimes, slamming into the basement door and moaning.

***

A very quick blurb today, inspired by AC Young: “Home is where the hart is.” I’m afraid I got a touch morbid with it!

My prompt this week went to nother Mike, who investigated killer trees.

Find this, and more, at MOTE!

Potsherds

“Ready to get muddy?” Dr. June Porter asked with cheer. She didn’t wait for an answer before opening the SUV door and hopping out. It took a few extra moments to extract her backpack from where it was caught in the backseat.

“I’ve my appropriate game face on, one hopes.” Peter gave her a lopsided smile and pushed up his glasses. “I feel like a lad again, only now I’m old enough to know laundry’s work.”

She laughed and slung her bag over one shoulder, shutting the door to his shiny vehicle. “You’ll be fine. Plenty to do on an archeological dig. I’ve heard this is a good place to volunteer.”

He shrugged and gestured for her to lead the way. “As long as someone tells me what to do and lets me put another layer of sunscreen on before I’m an Irish tomato.”

They wove their way toward a rickety gazebo that held the most centralized bustle, dodging humans and trenches with ease. “Shannon?”

A woman in her mid-thirties looked up from under a floppy hat, dirt smudged across her nose and one cheek. “June. Welcome. This must be Peter.”

“Ready to work,” he said, and gave a cheeky half-salute.

“I’ll have to interrogate you to see what your skills are, but hauling dirt is always a job we can use a hand with.” Shannon gave his biceps an appreciative glance and dropped a wink in June’s direction.

“What’ve you got?” June asked. “Your call wasn’t specific.”

“Well.” Shannon leaned over a mud-crusted leather notebook that was perched precariously atop a stack of tablets, eyes wide and face dancing with excitement. “We’ve begun to find…some pottery!”

“Potsherds, such a unique find.” June rolled her eyes. “Why are you really here?”

“And why are you calling in mages?” Peter added.

Shannon nodded and shoved her mangled hat back to reveal ash-brown hair tucked into a bun. “Pretty and intelligent, that one.” The joviality slid off her face, replaced by concern and a hint of fear. “Follow me, and I’ll show you the curse.”

***

A quick snippet tonight that merges with an idea from a while back. This week’s prompt was “We’ve begun to find some pottery,” from Cedar Sanderson. My prompt went to nother Mike, to ponder what happens to the de-orbiting ISS. Find this, and more, over at More Odds Than Ends! New prompts coming tomorrow, with spares if you haven’t sent one in to play.

A Snippet

From something I’m working on, inspired by Becky Jones‘ prompt: I watched it fade into the distance.

This will be part of a companion prequel to the story I have in Bonds of Valor, releasing 24 March. I loved writing The Coward’s Shadow, and am typing as fast as I can to get the prequel done.

If you’re interested in watching at least one author stumble over her words from nerves, check out the YouTube launch tonight at 7PM Central!

***

A puff of wind blew the gossamer curtain into the solar, carrying with the delicate fabric the sound of clashing metal. Engela glanced out the solar window. Her matchmaking delight faded as she studied the practice fields. “War makes love come faster, child. Now. Let’s talk about putting you to better use. I need a researcher to delve into the archives. Altria needs to expand her options against the Kolung encroachments.”

“I read archaic forms of Altrian,” she offered, wrapping her hands around her skirts. Adacia kept her mouth firmly shut on explaining why. If Engela knew she could peruse the archives, the queen probably already knew Fogfield Province’s sad and pathetic library hadn’t been updated by the last five barons.

“So I hear. And let’s face it, dear…I can get most women to weave better than you, even for bandages. Let’s get you working in an area you’re better suited, shall we?”

***

My prompt went to Cedar Sanderson this week:

Check out more prompt ideas, stories, and methodology discussions over at More Odds Than Ends!

Time to Go

“How goes the waiting?” Selahi called as she came in on the power line for a landing. “Anything die yet?”

The other vultures continued to stare into the backyard of the latest dying place, the sweet scent of rotting garbage and bones wafting upward. None of them responded.

“Guys? Hello?” She settled in and started to preen, self-conscious that her feathers might be ruffled and unsightly. “Did I offend you?”

“Just look,” Jeskor hissed without turning his head.

She craned her neck around so fast a muscle twinged. “Good thing I like my prey already gone,” Selahi muttered. “And…”

Shining, glittering red came from the dump below, where something caught the light and made it gleam like a nuclear reactor.

Her beak watered at the thought of mutated prey. “What is it? Can we have it yet? Is it dead?”

“That,” creaked the white-streaked Ensor two perches down, “is called a dragon. And they are delicious. You missed the Salt Wars, but trust me, you won’t forget the taste of rotted dragon.”

She snapped her beak twice and mantled her wings. “It’s huge. We’ll feast for days. I haven’t had something new in so long. Just rabbits.”

“Evil, red-eyed little sots,” Beccki muttered. “I enjoy their demise, and regret not being the cause.”

A golden gleam approached from the west, for all the world looking as if the great airborne fireball had spit out a smaller, less predictable version of itself onto the earth.

Selahi’s anticipation dried up as she watched the gleam approach. “I think there’s another one coming.”

“Fire!” croaked Ensor, flapping his wings in futile effort. “Fire breather! Flee!”

The roar of flame proved him correct, and Selahi mourned the loss of her babysitter’s mate.

The vultures scattered, settling into a new flight pattern…keeping an eye on the ruby scales below.

***

A snippet here, though I think I’ll come back to it sometime. This one from Becky Jones was fun, and I hope she enjoyed the trade as well.

Lots in progress, and now back to work!

Magical Picket Fences

**New! Update at the end!**

Fourteen Years Ago

“Here’s one.” Mala circled an ad in the folded-up local newspaper pressed against her knee and wondered how much longer they’d be able to hold on before having to close. She felt a pang of guilt. Even the magical world wasn’t immune from the progress of time and technology. Perhaps she’d have been able to help keep her father’s paper open, if she’d made different decisions, if she hadn’t moved away —

But Pops was doing fine, with his new paranormal investigations gig, and when she looked at Lars, she had no regrets for the life she’d chosen.

The man in question came into the room with a jangle of car keys, carrying her jacket. “I don’t care where it is, we’re going to see it. It’s the first one you’ve sounded excited about in a week.”

She laughed, and opened her arms, pulling him down onto the sun-warmed loveseat with her. “Silly man, we have plenty of time to find a place. This one does sound perfect, though.”

Lars smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear and settled in close, one arm protectively wrapped around her. “Tell me about it.”

“It’s a full acre of land. Four bedrooms, two and a half baths. Room for a garden, and ends on a lake. And reasonably priced to boot. I’ve no idea why it hasn’t sold before, so could be a lot of work.”

“Enough space the neighbors won’t see us using magic to fix the place up.” His beard tickled her jaw. “Hey, what’s this?”

Writing formed underneath the neatly printed typeface. Handwritten, in ink, as if one of her father’s ghosts were writing it as she and Lars watched.

Magic portal access in backyard included.

“Now we know why it hasn’t sold,” Mala breathed.

“Old-school,” Lars observed. “I haven’t seen the mundane eye-skip spell since I was a kid.”

She grimaced, turning her head against his. “A portal, though.”

“Quite grand, having one in the backyard rather than using a public transport. Convenient to get to the Department every morning.”

She held his hand over her stomach. “We have more than ourselves to think about now. What if he stumbles into the portal?”

“Oh, we’ll solve that problem by pretending it doesn’t exist.” He rubbed her belly and kissed her temple. “Or the more reasonable solution, darling.”

Mala looked at him questioningly.

“A fence, darling. We’ll put up a fence.”

***

**Keep scrolling for an update to this post**

This week, I remembered it was Tuesday, huzzah! I’ve got something in the works this dovetails with nicely, so I combined my missed prompt from AC Young last week – the problem that doesn’t exist – with this week’s, from Becky Jones, about the advertisement with a magical portal in the backyard. Cheers! Find these and more at MOTE.

Update! Just received this in the mail. My name isn’t on the cover, but my story is. 😉 Coming 24 March!

CatSatNav

“You’re doing what?!” Beth asked. Her expression was comic, mouth hanging open and nose crinkled. She saved her coffee mug from spilling onto the living room rug and shook her head, braids rattling.

“Yeah, I know. I need help. This assignment is whacked.” Blade poked at his keyboard in frustration. “‘Design an intuitive navigation system for cats. Dude, I don’t even like cats.”

“What’d Fritz ever do to you? He’s just curled up in a ball over there.” She pointed to the corner where a fluffy ear was barely visible over a squashed pillow. Both ear and pillow looked raggedly well-battered.

He held up a hand. “I’m not going there, but I was trying to avoid allergy meds and you knew it.”

“Lucky the rent is so cheap and you have a fantastic roommate.” She batted her eyes at him. “Seriously, is this a joke? Fritz is about a hundred years old. He sleeps all day, then maybe jumps straight up, does a backflip to his food bowl, and takes another nap.”

“Huh.” Blade rubbed a hand over the itchy scruff on his chin, feeling his brain start to function again.

“Then it’s actually appropriate for a week two exercise in whatever-funky-name they-have-for-this-particular-coding-language 101.”

“So if I treat this as an exercise in practicality…” His voice trailed off as he began to type.

Beth rolled her eyes, knowing he wouldn’t hear her anyway. “Good boy, Fritzy.”

***

This week’s prompt was inspired by Chat GPT. Check out more at MOTE!

Star-Crossed Lovers

“You know I love you, John,” the hologram began, and the look on her recorded face was so earnest he knife-handed the replay. The woman he loved stilled, a sad apology still frozen upon her lips.

“I’ll be damned if you Dear John me on our anniversary, Fedora.” He yanked shirts out without looking and slammed the drawer, so close it caught the tip of his finger. It throbbed as he continued packing with hands grown awkward. “Your happiness was worth the risk of going to space. But if you won’t come to me, then I’ll have to head to you.”

The tabby on the bed flicked her tail in response. Fedora, her hair unnaturally short for the days spent in zero-grav, watched it all with an unblinking stare, even as yawning fangs emerged from her chest with a yowl.

“Fine,” he snapped, and dug in the closet until he found the carrier he’d bought half as a joke, the one with the sturdy viewing bubble and its own emergency oxygen supply. “But you’re lucky the station even allows you to come with me.”

Fedora watched it all, until he left her silent and still, in the empty, grief-shattered home they’d once shared.

He regretted the decision to bring the cat as he argued with the spaceport’s ticket salesbot. “How much extra for this rat catcher?”

“Rodents are not yet an on-station problem, sir. Cats are therefore permitted as a luxury item of baggage and subject to additional fees. It’s quite clear on our website.”

The robot’s bland enunciation was somehow a condescending snub.

“The policy may be revised once the station is fully inhabited and functional terraforming has begun. Do you still wish to purchase a ticket at this time?”

He smacked a fist onto the counter. “It’s this or retirement.”

“I’m sorry, but that is not an answer.”

“Yes, blast it.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, then unzipped his jacket to access his spacepass. “Retirement wouldn’t be right without her anyway.”

“John?”

That voice – dulcet, surprised tones he’d heard only this morning, leaving the void of a fractured heart. John turned, disbelief and hope warring in his throat. “Dora. My Fedora.”

She rushed him then, duffle bag slung over one shoulder, wrapping him in arms grown fragile from months on station.

He spun her around, ignoring the bleating bot and irritated passengers dodging her long legs swung wide.

The cat’s squall from the specialty backpack brought him to a slow halt.

“What are you doing here?” Her laugh was casual, confused. “Did you come to pick me up? How did you know I’d be on this flight?”

He dropped a kiss on her forehead, rescued his bag with one hand from the slow approach of a security bot, and hugged her close. “I came to get you back.”

“What?” She started to laugh again, then sobered. “Did you get my message?”

“Yes.” The word was terse, dropping into the mix of announcements and happy reunions.

Fedora looked at him, patted his stubble with one hand, and tugged on his jacket. “Come on. Let’s go find one of those outside benches. I want to feel sunlight on my face again.”

They sat in silence, waving off taxis, his arm wrapped around her frail figure. The tabby rested at their feet in her bubble, watching traffic and travelers with alert ears and whiskers.

“Why?”

She snuggled into his shoulder, burying her face into leather and flannel.

“Two days ago, there was an accident.” Dora rubbed a thin hand over her eyes. “At least, it looked like one. I suppose it could have been clever sabotage. Space does strange things to people.”

He hadn’t thought it was possible to pull her closer.

“The matériels mix was wrong, and just as we pressurized and thought we were safe…Suddenly, there’s a damn hole in the wall. The one we spent a week building. Just crumbled away.” She shuddered. “Air rushing through, and I’m just standing there, in space with my helmet off, wondering why there’s a hole in the damn wall.”

The sun’s comforting warmth was incongruous with the sobs wracking her body.

“Kayla and Bob didn’t make it.” A security announcement in four languages nearly drowned out her words. “Bob, you know he has – had – a thing for her, and I knew he wanted to go to her. But our training is clear. You help who’s closest. And that was me.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “I saw his eyes flicker, and once I’d snapped out of shock and got moving, I pushed him aside. Got my helmet back on and oxygen flowing.” She pushed her short hair back, a habit space hadn’t broken of her even after years. “The rest of the wall had collapsed on both of them.”

He didn’t have words, so he stroked her hair.

“The job wasn’t worth the cost anymore. Not if it meant losing you.” She wiped her eyes. “I’d already lost my crew. So I sent you that message and told you I was coming home.”

“I probably should have listened to the whole holo,” he admitted after watching a pigeon peck at the cat’s plexiglass bubble, secure in its taunting in the way only city pigeons had.

“Wait. Why were you here, John?”

“Coming to get you back.” He shrugged, as much as he could without dislodging her from his arms.

“You hate space,” she said in a whisper.

“And I wasn’t about to let it have you permanently,” he answered simply. “Though I’m glad you caught me before I paid for that ticket.”

Her laugh turned into a snort this time. She nudged the pigeon away with an outstretched boot. “Worse, before you paid for your really expensive and angry carry-on.”

“Means I didn’t have to pawn this.” A brilliant rainbow cut through the spring afternoon’s glow. He held the open box toward her. It’d taken some doing, tugging it from his jacket pocket and opening the box one-handed. “What do you say?”

Her kiss cut off his question.

“I say let’s go home. Forever.”

***

MOTE

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