Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #15 (4.3)

Good morning and Happy Hump Day ! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.  

Char is trying to figure out what Tyrone is doing when Casey brings him some good news,  the name of someone who might have information for him! Of course, Char just lost use of the ride he stole, but that can be overcome, right? See what's going on in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #15 (4.3)

Tyrone who?

The next moment, my irritation was a thing of the past. I restrained the impatience that demanded I snatch the paper from Casey’s outstretched hand. They weren’t about to tease me on a matter of such vital importance to me, this much I knew.

“Now, I don’t really know how much information this woman has,” Casey warned me, but I was honestly not foolish enough to hang all my hopes on one particular star, so that didn’t faze me. “I met her on a genealogy forum, and we’ve been talking a little. She’s interested in local history too. Her family has lived in the same place since well before it was Greene County. While they didn’t own slaves themselves, they had neighbors that did, back in the day. Her name is Isabella Buford, and she lives out near Cabool. I’m afraid it’s kind of in the middle of nowhere, but she says you’re welcome to pay her a visit any time. She works from home and doesn’t leave the house very often.”

That’s all I needed to hear. No time like the present. I glanced at the scrap of paper and memorized the address before I tucked it into my pants pocket, then secured my phone. I had gleaned all the information from these two books that I could, so I handed them back to Casey, along with my thanks. She clutched them to her securely. I could tell she seemed as excited about my prospects as I was.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for.” Her voice rang with sincerity. I’d never known a nicer person, outside of Mama Lil. “I’m still looking for more documents, of course. And I hope to hear more from other genealogists, but this sounds like a good lead, doesn’t it?”

“It does indeed,” I concurred. “I’m greatly indebted to you, Casey. Your help has been invaluable. I’m sure I’ll be back before too long. I’ll let you know what I found out, one way or another.” I made a mental note to bring her a gift when I returned. I knew she didn’t expect it, but I was raised to have manners, even if I didn’t always choose to exercise them. And if she wouldn’t take anything for herself—which was always a possibility—she couldn’t object if I contributed to the makeshift food pantry she operated for the benefit of the community inside the library. Regardless, I was determined to do something to show my appreciation.

I murmured my good-bye and headed immediately to the parking lot. Only then did I remember I’d just lost my current mode of transportation, as the LeBaron was now off limits, no doubt waiting to be towed away at the behest of the police officer. The man was nowhere in sight, undoubtedly in hot pursuit of his imaginary young car thieves. Stealing the vehicle again would just be asking for trouble.

“I have a car.”

How did he continue to catch me unawares? That was something few people ever achieved, which only added to my growing irritation with him. And why had he followed me out? I’d certainly not invited him to do so. Not bothering to respond, I glanced about the lot, but I didn’t see the vehicle Tyrone had stolen the night before, the one which he’d acquired from my last meal.

“I ditched that and got another one,” he said, although I hadn’t asked.

“In case you’re wondering why I never get caught, I switch the plates with a different vehicle. Most people don’t bother to look at their own license plates. And I make sure the new ones are from a different make and model, so the police don’t think to run them. Not as long as I obey all traffic laws, anyway.” He gave me a most cheerful grin. “I also make sure not to take vanity plates. They stand out too much. Those are a great deal more noticeable.”

Again, he earned my somewhat grudging admiration. I’d have to remember that technique in the future.

“I can give you a lift wherever you’re going,” he offered, pointing to a nondescript sedan that sat just a few feet from where we stood. “I’m headed that way anyway. Toward Cabool, that is. I would enjoy your company.”

Why was this human so desirous of my companionship? Didn’t he realize that my very proximity had the potential to be fatal to him? That if I chose, I could make him into a midnight snack… or more? Or did he imagine I only drank the blood of people I’d never conversed with? I could certainly disillusion him on that point, as I was no stranger to the art of verbal seduction by any means. I knew how to draw my prey in with pretty words and gestures. Few could resist me when I was at my most charming. When I didn’t lose control—which was most of the time… or close to it—I left my victims with a lingering headache and only vague memories of what transpired between us. They would never remember me, of course. I would be but a hazy image in the back of their mind they could never clearly see. A sweet dream of love’s promise that was never to be, and certainly never consummated. That was never going to happen.

Blood drinking? Ah, that was another story.

“No thank you,” I managed to get out between clenched teeth.

I hesitated for just a moment, and apparently that was all he needed to make his move, taking me by complete surprise.

How, you ask, did he do that? He hugged me. Straight out hugged me.

Before he could utter a single other word, I disentangled myself from his embrace and took my hasty departure.

This Tyrone could be the death of me yet.

 to be continued

Now go see what's up with the other Briefers!

Cia Nordwell

 

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #11 (3.4)

Good morning and Happy Hump Day ! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts. 

Char is at the library in Mason Spring, Mo, where the librarian, Casey, has been assisting him with his research into his family. Not an easy task at all. See what's going on in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

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An Unholy Alliance #11 (3.4)

As I scanned the lists, I pulled out my phone to take notes. Such an ingenious invention, this cloud. I was able to have access to my spreadsheets and word documents without the inconvenience of having to cart about a pc. I would crosscheck my sources against one another, searching for and take note of overlapping information. Since I knew the approximate area I was born, and somewhat of a timeframe, you’d think it wouldn’t be hard to locate members of my family…but you’d be wrong. Even if I had an actual name to search for, birth certificates were non-existent at that time, especially for slaves, since they were considered to be property, not persons. People assume that slaves were given the names of their owners for purposes of identification, but this wasn’t necessarily so. Add to that the fact that slaves were often passed down from one generation to another through inheritance and that muddies the waters, making it difficult to follow any particular family trail.

Sometimes I was able to locate bills of sale, but these too often offered scant information, omitting actual names but including such data as age, gender, and skin tone. In my case, I was stolen before I ever reached an age where I might be sold, before I was of any real interest to anyone outside of my family. And I came from an area where there were few, if any, plantations. Most slave owners in Missouri possessed small farms they needed help to work, often choosing to toil side by side with their slaves. That would have probably been my lot in life, had Dominique not taken a fancy to me and decided to make me her own, sometimes referring to me—somewhat facetiously— as the jewel in her crown. Sometimes I find it hard to reconcile the life I never had to lead—and what I gained in the process—with what my birth family must have gone through, the terrible life they must have led as slaves, so perhaps it’s fair to say there was a certain amount of guilt involved with my search.

On the other hand, I’d had to grow up with Dominique and the brothers from Hell. Not exactly a day in Paradise either. But at least I lived through what they dished out, when in the normal course of events I’d have died years ago. Some days I’m glad about that, other days less so. Which produces more guilt.

I’d recently begun to ferret out local folk lore, seeking stories about stolen children. A long shot? Maybe. But this entire enterprise went against all odds, so why not add a little bit more difficulty to the mix? Although so far, in that regard, I’d come up with bupkus.

I added a few more names to my spread sheet, comparing the two lists for families whose numbers had decreased in the decade which spanned them. I found none. There were names that were not present in the second census, but that could be for many reasons. Remember, there was a war on. People die in war. Not exactly encouraging.

“Here you go.”

I’d already detected the soothing aroma of the tea even before Casey spoke. Although blood was what I craved, for reasons beyond my control, tea possessed a quality that seldom failed to charm this savage breast, to paraphrase Congreve.

They set the delicate cup on the small table beside me. Like all traditional Japanese cups, this one had no handle. Cherry blossoms, aka sakura, adorned a black background. I lifted the cup and held it gratefully between both palms, relishing the heat it afforded, as she took a seat in a chair on the other side of the table.

I raised the cup to my lips and sipped, waiting for whatever she was about to say. I knew what she was really thinking—her eyes gave that away. She thought I should see a doctor because I was always cold, blaming it on poor circulation.

If she only knew.

But she was too polite to harp on that. She would let at least a few months pass before she brought it up again. No, I could tell she had other information to impart. I could only hope it was good.

But it wasn’t.

“So far, I haven’t found much from the Freedmen’s Bureau,” she admitted. “But they’re transcribing more and more records all the time. In the meantime, I’ve put out some feelers to an organization that specializes in regional folk stories. I’m waiting to hear from them now.”

The Freedman’s Bureau was the more popular name for the U.S. Bureau of Refugees, Freedmen, and Abandoned Lands. Set up after the Civil War, during the turbulent period of Reconstruction, it was meant to assist slaves in their transition from slavery to freedom.

Three guesses how well that worked.

In the end, it was every bit as corrupt and inefficient as you can imagine, and not very effective. But they did have some vital records, some that even predated the war by a little bit, and those were the ones we were after. Apparently that wasn’t going very well either.

“Anything in what I gave you?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. I still need to go through the books, though.”

“Well, take your time. I’ll stay as long as you like. I have some work to do myself.”

Besides running the library and its various organizations, Casey was working on her first novel. Didn’t I mention they were talented. Not to mention, generous with her time.

“Hey, it’s you.”

My head jerked up at that strangely familiar voice. What the hell was he doing here?

Before I could even word a reply, Casey had discreetly slipped away and Tyrone had taken her place. As if he had a right to be there.

“Small world, isn’t it?” And there was that smile again. The one I wanted to punch.

 to be continued

Now go see what's up with the other Briefers!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #10 (3.3)

Good morning and Happy Hump Day ! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts. 

Having received word from the local librarian, Char heads to Mason Springs, eager to see what they found for him, and trying not to get his hopes up too much. See what's going on in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them! Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #10 (3.3)

I found Casey ensconced in what she liked to refer to as command central, seated behind a large pecan executive style desk with multiple drawers, flanked on either side by smaller wooden tables. She possessed a pretty decent computer set-up, one that included two monitors, an exterior hard drive, a laser printer, and more. The library had a definite online presence—luckily for me, or I might never have been fortunate enough to meet Casey in an Internet genealogical forum. Those Mason Springs residents who were computer literate could request books from within the library’s collections or from other libraries that were part of the same lending system, and these Casey kept behind the desk on a faux wood book case, waiting for the patron’s arrival. Of course they were connected to the Internet, which allowed ample opportunity for research and community outreach, and whatever else she wanted to do. I couldn’t help but regard Casey as a great asset to her community, as well as an invaluable source of assistance to myself, even though after two years I hadn’t located any specific information regarding my birth family. But I’d known going into it this would be a difficult task, and I might not find any of the answers I so diligently sought.

Casey rose to greet me as I approached. Music played softly in the background. I didn’t recognize what it was, but I found the melody soothing. “Good morning, Charlemagne!” She extended a hand which I held briefly in mine as I bowed slightly. Manners never go out of style, even old-fashioned ones. I had a strange upbringing. Doesn’t make me a heathen. At least I’d cured her early on of the need to address me as Mr. Toussaint.

“I was just about to put on some hot water. Care for a cup of tea? I just bought some Earl Grey.”

Despite the fact that it was summer in Missouri, which many people pronounced as misery due to the humidity, I was a huge fan of hot drinks since I tended to be chilly at the best of times. I especially enjoyed hot tea, and Casey knew it. How could I resist? As I’ve mentioned before, I do have a problem with self-control.

“Good.” Their dark eyes sparkled with humor that was almost contagious. Reaching under the desk, they brought out a couple of small, old books, and some printed material, which she handed to me. “I’d hoped to have a name for you,” she confessed, “but so far, nothing. I’ll have to get back to you later on that. Sorry.”

“No problem,” I assured her as I glanced curiously at what she’d found. Both books were small and handbound, as opposed to having been mass produced, with plastic covers. One volume was a genealogical history of southwestern Missouri and the other was a general history of the state. The papers appeared to be a list of slaves in Greene County in 1850 and 1860, probably part of a census taken at the time.

Just then, another patron approached the desk. Casey gave me an apologetic grin. “I’ll bring the tea back to you,” she said. “Usual place?”

“Yes, please.” I nodded agreement as I walked away, my mind already on the books in my hand, anxious to delve into them.

My usual spot was a niche in the science section, which was less frequented than other parts of the library. An oversized rattan chair with a delightfully soft cushion was my seat of choice. I nestled into place and turned my attention to the sheets of paper first.

I knew this was a long shot, but still I searched the rolls for… for what, I couldn’t exactly say. I didn’t have so much as a name to go by. I didn’t know exactly where I was born, or even when. By approximation, I calculated the year of my birth to be somewhere around 1861, so either right before the war started or right after. I wasn’t born Charlemagne, that much I knew. The name was given to me by Dominique, who thought it sounded grand for her little emperor, as she sometimes liked to refer to me. When she bothered to refer to me at all.

No, what information I did possess, scant as it was, had come from the woman who was more of a mother to me than Dominique could ever be. My nurse, governess, confidante… and so much more. The woman who taught me much of what I know today, taught me to read and write, to stand up for myself against my overbearing brothers. The woman who loved me as if I was her own… Mama Lil.

The woman who gave me the cross which even now I wear about my neck, although how she acquired it, I cannot say. Maybe I should actually describe it here. I could understand Tyrone’s fascination with it on first glance. But how to explain to him how much it meant to me, how it was all I had left of that remarkable woman?

To begin with, it’s known as a Canterbury cross, after the town in England. Silver, and almost square in shape, it differs from most crosses in that regard. On each of the four arms is a triangle, outlined in red diamonds. The triangle symbolizes the trinity—the blood, the life, and the death—of vampirism. On the curve of each arm small black onyx stones are set, and a square onyx lies in the middle of the cross. I know it’s valuable as a piece of jewelry, but it means so much more to me. I would not part with it for any amount of money.

Mama Lil passed many years ago, but I miss her to this day. Because of her love for me, I decided to uncover my roots. But the journey has not been an easy one. And Dominique has been no help whatsoever.

No surprise there.

 to be continued

Now go see what's going on with the other Briefers!

Cia Nordwell