Wednesday Briefs: Rose and Thorne 6 #9 (2.5)

 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.  

Vinnie and Ethan unexpectedly find Anderson waiting for them, along with a new mission. What's really surprising is that it involves Ethan's Uncle Benny! See what's happening in this week's chapter of Rose and Thorne 6. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them! Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!'

Rose and Thorne 6 #9 (2.5)

Anderson hesitated before responding to Ethan’s question. I could tell he wanted to say yes, but his Southern gentleman manners were holding him back from doing that, and I suspected I knew why that was. “I know your sister’s visiting,” he began instead. Told you. That man was nothing if not polite.

Ethan held up one hand immediately even as he said, “Sarah will understand. She was going home tomorrow anyway. I’ll explain what’s going on to her. There won’t be a problem.”

Especially since she’s mad at you right now.

Of course I never said that aloud. But I’m sure the same thought was flitting through Ethan’s brain.

“Thanks, Ethan. I appreciate that. More than you can imagine.” Anderson sounded relieved. “All things considered, I knew I could count on you. On both of you.”  He rose, just as Alex made an unexpected appearance. He ran into the room, giggling, his frazzled mother just a few steps behind.

“I’m sorry, he got away from me,” she apologized.

“No worries, I was just leaving,” Anderson said. He leaned down and offered his hand to Alex, along with a warm smile. “It was nice meeting you, young man.”

“Nice meeting you,” Alex dutifully echoed as they shook hands. I couldn’t help but think how cute he was. One glance at Ethan’s face and I knew he was thinking the same thing. My mind went back to the unfinished conversation of this morning and instantly doubts began to beset my mind.

Ethan obviously loved kids, so much he was talking about having them. I, of course, was not equipped to give him any. Maybe he was regretting our relationship. Maybe I was holding him back from his true destiny as a father. I didn’t want Ethan to finish out his life with regrets for what might have been, and I didn’t want to be the reason why he didn’t have progeny of his own.

Was I selfless enough to give him up to some woman who could fulfill his need for a child? I’d do just about anything for Ethan, but I didn’t think I could do that.

Lost in my own somber thoughts, I was surprised to glance up and realize Anderson was gone, and Alex was once again in his mother’s loving arms. Whether he liked it or not.

“I understand completely,” Sarah was saying. “Don’t worry about it. Do what you have to do.”

At least she didn’t sound angry. “Let me know what’s going on when you can,” she continued. “And tell Uncle Benny I love him and miss him.”

“I will, don’t worry. Hopefully when this is all over, we can all of us get together and do some serious catching up. We’re past due for that.”

Did all of us include the two Josephs, I couldn’t help but wonder.

“Amen to that,” Sarah fervently agreed. “It’s been too long, hasn’t it?”

“It certainly has.”

A moment of silence followed.

“Ethan, I…”

“Sarah, I…”

Must be that twin thing.

They both laughed, and just like that the tension between them was broken. At least for now.

“You know I only want what’s best for you,” Ethan said. “Both of you. I love you.”

“I know. And I love you too, Ethan.” She hefted Alex up a little higher on her hip as he tried to wriggle out of her grasp.

“Benny!” Alex insisted, pointing toward the kitchen. I suspected Benny was taking a nap, lying in what sun he could find. Part of his daily agenda. But he’d be up for playing if awakened.

“Okay, just a minute,” Sarah soothed her son, before adding for her brother’s benefit, “I won’t do anything foolish or stupid, I promise. Okay?”

“Okay,” Ethan replied. “Just know you can call me any time, day or night, okay? Vinny and I are always here for you, no matter what.”

My heart warmed at his inclusion of me, but I should have known better. That was just how Ethan was. Thoughtful and generous. No wonder that I loved him so very much. Which made the idea that I was potentially holding him back from attaining his heart’s desire all the more painful.

“I know, and I will,” Sarah promised.

“If you like, I can stay at the hotel tonight and you can stay here,” I said. My offer was sincere although I didn’t really want us to separate, even for one night, but I could understand his wanting to spend what time he could with his sister. I was determined to do the right thing, no matter at what cost.

Sarah surprised me by enveloping me in a big hug, one that included Alex apparently, who thought it was funny and hung onto me as well. “You’re so sweet, Vinny, no wonder my brother loves you so much. We’ll be fine, don’t worry. You two just go do your job and watch over Uncle Benny.”

“I’ll call you later,” Ethan promised. “Maybe we can drop you at the airport tomorrow.”

“Okay, if you can,” she agreed. “If not, that’s why they make Ubers, right?” She gave him a quick wink before heading toward the kitchen with the excited Alex.

And now we were alone. And now Ethan was giving me a… look. The kind that meant trouble because I just knew he was going to ask me something tricky. Something I wouldn’t care to answer.

“I think I forgot to make the bed.” I plotted an escape route to the hallway, one that would dazzle Ethan with my speed of execution. But he was faster and blocked my way rather handily, his beautiful blue eyes boring into mine. How could I resist?

“Vinny, what’s the matter?’ he said gently.

 to be continued

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

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

 

Wednesday Briefs: A Witcher Christmas

 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.  

In honor of the season, I bring you a Christmas tale from one of my favorite fandoms. This is also the first fanfiction I have written from this fandom. I hope you enjoy a little bit of Witcher for the holidays! Don't forget to see what the other Briefers are up to! Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

A Witcher Christmas

“Tell me something. Has Geralt always been so…” Jaskier floundered for words, something he was generally not at a loss for, and finally finished his question with “crotchety?” The petulant bard kicked disconsolately at an object situated alongside the path, then yelped in dismay after discovering said object was a rather hard rock which would not yield to his misguided efforts to dislodge it.

The slim platinum blonde he’d addressed patted Roach’s cheek and briefly nuzzled the patient horse before turning back to her companion. “You’ve known him far longer than I have,” she said bluntly. “You tell me.”

“Well, yes, I know…” Jaskier waffled. “But you’re his… I mean, I’m not…”

“His child of surprise?” Ciri raised blonde brows at him. “Is that what you mean?”

“I suppose so, yes.” The bard scratched at his head, contemplating the cloudless sky with a thoughtful expression before continuing his lament. “What am I really? Other than the man who made the name Geralt of Rivia, the celebrated White Wolf, familiar to hundreds… no, I mean thousands, tens of thousands of people even,  in all the kingdoms and far across the land. Thank you very much.” This last sentence was half muttered to himself, and yet spoken loud enough to be easily heard. “I have suffered his slings and arrows, and endangered my own quite valuable life and reputation on more than one occasion in order to obtain the wondrous tales with which to regale his fascinated followers. And yet, what do I receive for my pains?” He paused dramatically, expectantly even, but was rewarded with silence for his efforts.

With an exasperated sigh, Jaskier reached for a bright red berry that grew on a clumpy bush beside the rock and plucked the fruit. He opened his mouth to prepare entry for his bounty, but the next moment, his hand had been brutally accosted and the berry had fallen to the ground. “Excuse me?” the indignant bard yowled.

“It’s poisonous,” Ciri said simply. And then added, with a knowing twinkle, “You’re welcome.”

Jaskier had to laugh, in spite of his attempts to remain glum. He really was a good-hearted fellow and generally rather happy-go-lucky. But sometimes, especially where Geralt was involved, he could be rather… sensitive. The smile turned into a slight frown.

“Doesn’t he believe in… you know… the season? As in ‘tis the season, good will on earth, and all the other sentimental dribble that makes the rounds at this particular time of year. Well, for just about everyone on earth but Geralt of Rivia, apparently. I composed a particularly well-worded and, if I do say so myself, well-sung composition proclaiming his vast prowess to the world, and what do I get in return?”

“But has he ever given you a gift at any time of the year, much less this one?” the practical Ciri pointed out.

Jaskier could hardly fault her logic, much as he would have liked to. Didn’t mean he was ready to admit to it, either.

“The Countess de Stael never hesitated,” he began but quickly realized maybe that wasn’t his best point of attack, which fact Ciri easily picked up on.

“Geralt isn’t sleeping with you,” she said. “And he also didn’t tell you to go…” She neglected to finish the sentence, for which Jaskier was grateful. He knew what the woman had said, and in just what tone those hateful words had been hurled at him. And while she had failed to wound his tender heart, his vanity had been pierced, which was just as painful, if not more. But in Geralt’s case, it was not vanity which cried out at the witcher’s seeming indifference.

“He’s had a hard life,” Ciri spoke up. “You have no idea what he had to endure to become what he is.” The look she gave him was at least somewhat sympathetic. Perhaps she could be a good influence on her guardian.

At some distant time in the future. By which time, Jaskier would most likely be dead and forgotten, except for a few lonely women whose lives he had enriched by his presence…

“I don’t ask for much,” Jaskier began on a different tack. “And I expect even less. Even so…”

“Even so, you hope.” Ciri’s voice was soft and somewhat gentle. He knew her life had gone to wrack and ruin ever since the death of her beloved grandmother, Queen Calanthe. Before that even, when her parents, Pavetta and Duny, had been lost at sea. She’d been on her own while searching for her destiny, aka Geralt. And although her experiences had toughened her, there still remained a shred of humanity. Something he often failed to find in his friend.

Was Geralt his friend, or did he simply tolerate the bard as a means to an end? The insecure bard pushed the thought away, but it insisted upon returning.

“I hope that he doesn’t just tolerate me,” he said in a rare moment of honesty which surprised even himself. He avoided the young girl’s direct gaze, instead busying himself with the brass buttons on his rather garish tunic instead. The sound of horse’s hooves mercifully brought the painful discussion to a close. Who could this be? Geralt had left on foot, and they were expecting no one else. Perhaps they should… hide?

He darted a nervous glance toward Ciri. She seemed not the slightest bit concerned. But of course, she was used to the unexpected, wasn’t she, after traveling with Geralt.

To his surprise, Geralt rode into view on a horse clearly not Roach. So not like him.

Geralt dismounted and tossed the reins at Jaskier.

“For me?” Jaskier was stunned.

“We need to make better time,” Geralt said abruptly. He mounted Roach and helped Ciri up before him. She gave Jaskier a knowing smile.

“Let’s go.” Geralt turned Roach’s head. Jaskier quickly mounted his gifted steed and followed.

“Merry Christmas, my friend,” he whispered.

And just like that, all was right with the world.

 

Now go visit the other Briefers and see what's up!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #22 (6.1)

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 visiting with Isabella, the genealogist Casey guided him to, when he is alarmed to discover the rednecks he had the run-in with are nearby. Abruptly leaving his gracious hostess, he goes to see what the idiots are up to and why they are seeking him. 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 #22 (6.1)

By all the gods, how had they managed to find me? I had to assume more than sheer coincidence was causing our paths to cross once more. I wasn’t so naïve to believe that if I’d remained where I was—in the shelter of Isabella’s garden—they would have simply gone along their merry way and made no attempt to invade Isabella’s peaceful paradise in a foolhardy pursuit of someone whose very nature they were clueless about. No, there was some agenda at play here. Whatever it was, I intended to take care of these fools, once and for all. But I would do it outside of Isabella’s knowledge and immediate vicinity. I would apologize profusely for my rude and hasty exit later, but her safety was what was paramount right now. That and finding out what they were up to.

I intersected the mangy group about a half mile away from Isabella’s home. They were apparently following the same path which I had taken to get there. The reason for that became crystal clear to me in an instant. They were huddled together in the middle of the deserted road. Thickets of trees and dense foliage flanked either side beyond which lay farmers’ plowed fields, but not another human in sight. Frank knelt beside his dog, grasping something blue that he held up for the dog’s inspection. “C’mon boy, you can do it. Find that ignorant son of a bitch.”

Except he didn’t say ignorant. But I wouldn’t allow myself to even think the racial epithet he did use. His language didn’t surprise me. I’d expect no less from a man of his low intellect and limited vocabulary, and I’m sure he knew a lot worse slurs he could hurl, given the chance. And then I recognized what was in his hand. That was a piece of my now discarded jacket he held, and that explained everything. They were deliberately tracking me, using that bit of torn cloth and the dog’s olfactory capabilities.  Probably still angry after our last encounter. Time to end this little game here and now.

At first they were oblivious to my presence, too focused on the dog to pay attention to their environment. At least not until I strode confidently into their midst. The dog was the first one to take notice. He gave a joyful yip and leapt up against my leg, as if requesting that I hold him.

He was the only one who was happy to see me.

“Rover!” Frank remonstrated, shooting his dog a baleful glance. “What are you doing, you stupid mutt?”

“Looks like Rover found him, just like you told him to.” Joey sounded disconcertingly smug.

“Looks like he found us,” Caleb corrected him. Or maybe it was Donny. They all looked alike to me. Plus I didn’t really care to remember which one was which. Frank’s identity was made easier to recall only because of his dog.

“Shut up, all of you!” I snapped. Leaning down, I scooped up the overly excited canine. He immediately licked my face, which I tolerated, mostly to irritate Frank. My secondary motivation was to remove him from harm’s way before anything went down.

And something was surely going to go down. How could it not?

I drew in deep breaths, attempting to calm myself before I made another move. As I’ve mentioned before, I am generally not a man of violence unless forced to it. I adhere to the age-old adjuration of do no harm. But I was willing to make an exception in the case of these idiots, and that knowledge did not sit well with me. They were mostly harmless, after all. Was stupidity a valid reason to kill someone? If so, the world would surely be littered with more corpses, not to mention being a nicer place to live in.

“Tell me why you are stalking me?” I addressed the group at large, but they all glanced toward Frank, as if they didn’t have a brain cell between them that could act independently of his leadership. So I followed suit and glared at Frank as well.

He made no immediately reply but reached out toward me as if he intended to snatch his dog. He’d barely begun to move when I took a quick step back and thus easily outmaneuvered him, my reflexes being far superior, of course.

“I’m sorry, was the question too complicated for you?” I snarked. Rover yipped, as if in support of my comment.

Frank’s face suffused with anger mixed with embarrassment, no doubt, and his so-called friends snickered. So much for group loyalty. He narrowed his eyes at me and found his tongue.

“You’re too uppity for your own good. You need to learn your place among your betters.”

I was torn between anger and the desire to laugh at his so-cliché words. I had hurt their poor little feelings when I didn’t just let them hurt me, and had in fact fought back. They couldn’t seem to stomach the idea that a black man had bested them.

I could hear the sound of a car engine and braced myself to see a vehicle come over the hill toward us, but the sound ceased. Nothing to do with us, I reasoned, and returned my attention to the rednecks standing in the middle of the road.

“Betters? You?” I scoffed. “Excuse me, but who did I leave lying on the ground just a short while ago? Or have you forgotten?”

“You cheated!” Frank shouted angrily. “It wasn’t a fair fight.”

Oh right, four against one and he had the nerve to talk about fairness?

Just then I heard a gun cock. At the same moment, Rover leapt from my arms toward the newcomer.

Why was Tyrone standing there, large revolver in hand, aimed toward the rednecks?

“Hey guys, what’s going on here? And why are you trying to abuse my friend? Didn’t your mama teach you better manners than that?”

 to be continued

Now go see what the other Briefers are up to!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #18 (5.2)

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.  

Leaving Tyrone behind, Char is on his way to talk to a woman who may have answers he's looking for when he comes across some rednecks having fun with guns. Deciding to skirt the situation, Char finds himself outed by a dog! 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 #18 (5.2)

So much for making a stealthy exit.

If there’d only been one of them, I could have ended the matter quickly and efficiently and been on my way. Four, however, was a bit trickier which I realized as his friends came rushing up, no doubt to see what was going on.  Not that I couldn’t handle them, but I was loathe to make a fuss. And I had things to do that didn’t include going toe-to-toe with a group of drunken rednecks. I eyed them all suspiciously while calculating my next move.

“Who the hell’s this guy?” This came from Caleb, the one with lady issues. He glared at me, his anger no doubt fueled by the needling he’d just received at the hands of his buddies.

“Yeah, who the hell are you?” Donny the target setter repeated, as if I was hard of hearing or something. Or too stupid to realize they were speaking about me.

“I’m asking the questions here.” This came from Frank the dog owner, asserting his right to be top dog among this group of idiots. Not as though that was any sort of honor, but perhaps it was the highest one he could ever aspire to.

Speaking of the dog, he was still barking his furry butt off at me. Not aggressively, but more of an I’m here, pay attention to me manner. I could have flung him from me easily with one sure motion of my foot and thus ended his yapping. But I had no desire to harm the creature. I am not a cruel man I assure you despite the perhaps less-than-perfect first impression gained of me at the start of my tale.  Not to mention this pup seemed so very glad to see me, for reasons I could not fathom. In that regard, he reminded me of Tyrone.

I had to stop thinking about him. That was becoming a bad habit, one I needed to break as soon as possible. There was no way our paths would ever cross again.

The key here was to present myself as non-threatening to these morons so as not to provoke them into doing something stupid and or unwarranted. Like trying to fight with me. That would have been a losing proposition on their part. The only advantage they had over me was that they were armed and I was not. Not in any traditional way, that is. On the other hand, while I could have dealt with being injured, I was not about to allow myself to be shot when I could prevent that from happening. Still, I’d rather not resort to such tactics if I could avoid them.

I just wanted to be on my way, as quickly and as peaceably as possible.

“I’m just passing through,” I replied, although technically that wasn’t an answer to their question. But it was as close to one as they were going to get from me. I held up my hands in what I meant as a placating gesture, at the same time edging away from them. Unfortunately, they weren’t having any of that.

The four of them immediately spread out, encircling me. I spun warily, not sure what their intentions were. Not even sure they knew what those were. They certainly had no idea who they were dealing with.

“That’s a mighty fancy suit you have there.” That was Donny’s contribution. “You a drug dealer or something?”

Lawyers and drug dealers. Figured.

“Why, you looking for a new one?” I shot off. Probably not the best response I could have made under the circumstances, but sometimes I couldn’t seem to help myself. Sarcasm came naturally to me.

“Why, waddya selling?” That from the heretofore silent unnamed member of the group, the one who’d been playing with his weapon. Which he still held cradled in the crook of one arm, no doubt for easy access.

“Shut up, Joey,” Frank snarled. “You stupid or something?”

I snickered. Was that meant to be a rhetorical question?

“Yeah,” Caleb piped up. “For all you know, he’s a narc.”

“Like you’d know?” Frank accompanied his retort with a snort as he turned toward his friend, his dog and I at least momentarily forgotten. “Remember that guy you thought was some kind of undercover DEA or something? But it turned out he was just someone your girlfriend worked with. And he was the one she was cheating on you with.”

This produced a chorus of titters. Damn, I needed to get away from these fools. Just breathing the same air they did might put me in danger of my IQ dropping a few points.

“Come to think of it, wasn’t he black?” Joe added.

I groaned inwardly at the horrendous turn this conversation had just taken as four heads swiveled toward me in predictable unison.

“It wasn’t me,” I added helpfully. “Not my cup of tea.” Probably shouldn’t have said that, in retrospect.

“You mean my girlfriend’s not good enough for you?” Caleb took a threatening step toward me, gun still in hand. He was plainly working himself up over nothing, a clear case of bruised ego. The situation was becoming so ridiculous it was almost funny.

“You mean your ex,” Donny reminded him.

That seemed to be the straw that broke the proverbial dromedary’s back. Caleb let out a strangled cry and raised his weapon into firing position. But rather than venting his anger where it belonged, I found that he was targeting me, at point-blank range, no less.

I was having none of that. Before he had a chance to squeeze the trigger, I knocked the barrel aside and took a swing at him, connecting with his face, a punch that knocked him off his feet, flat on his back.

Three guns cocked simultaneously.

 to be continued

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

Cia Nordwell

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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 #14 (4.2)

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.  

So Tyrone managed to send the nosy policeman on a wild goose chase? Is that cause for celebration? What is he thinking? 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 happening with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #14 (4.2)

Enough of that. I still had work to do. No time for back-patting or smug self-congratulations, or whatever else Tyrone had in the back of his feeble little mind. After generously acquiescing to the hand gesture, I slid gracefully back into my seat and opened one of the two books that lay on the table. That should give him a clue that I was otherwise engaged and he should now gracefully take his departure from the scene. Ride off into the sunset (figuratively or literally, didn’t matter to me).

Of course that didn’t happen.

“That was a close one!” he exclaimed as he resumed the seat he’d never been invited to take.  “I think we handled that rather nicely, don’t you?”

I made no response as I searched the index of each book for those subjects I was interested in, taking note of the appropriate page numbers. On the whole, the general history book was disappointing. The only information I found of interest concerned the Battle of Wilson’s Creek, which was fought about ten miles outside of Springfield, Missouri in August of 1861. Which was about the time when I lived, and the place where I disappeared from, or so I’d been told. I couldn’t be sure the events were connected, but I also couldn’t swear they weren’t.  Dominique was always tight-lipped when it came to information regarding my origins. As if she had something to hide. I couldn’t imagine what that might be, but I also didn’t put it past her to have lied to me. Deceit came naturally to that woman. Even the Families knew better than to trust her, and they’d known her far longer than I had.

The genealogical history seemed more promising. I pulled out my phone, which I had quickly pocketed when I’d been so rudely interrupted, and began to add names of various families to the spread sheet. I would cross-check that against the census lists later. Reaching for my tea, I took a sip, allowing the warmth to flow through me in a welcome tide.

I wonder if green tea is really better for me.

I shook off the intrusive thought with a growl. The last thing I needed to do was take advice from that clown.

I mentally braced myself for further annoying conversation that I would choose to ignore, considering his tendency to babble. When that wasn’t immediately forthcoming, I briefly glanced his way. I knew he hadn’t gone, as I would have felt his departure. Besides, I was fairly confident that he would have said something to announce the fact he was leaving. To my surprise, he had his nose quietly buried in a book he must have pulled from a nearby shelf. He actually seemed quite engrossed in it.

I peered at the open pages, without the slightest hint of subtlety. From what I could make out, the object of his keen curiosity was a textbook on hematology. I frowned, even as I wondered what his interest in that particular subject was, then decided I didn’t care and returned to my own business.

A few minutes passed in silence between us. I could hear patrons coming and going, interacting with Casey in hushed library voices. I could hear the sounds of motor vehicles on the street, a moderately light day for traffic. And yet Tyrone managed to maintain a level of quietude I was surprised he even possessed.

Perhaps it was this unnatural level of stillness on his part, when heretofore I’d noticed a profound propensity for excessive verbiage, which prompted the question that under other circumstances I would not have deigned to utter.

“Why?”

I had to repeat myself twice before he looked up from his book with a slightly dazed expression, as if he’d been so focused he’d forgotten where he was. He blinked at me a couple of times, resembling a sleepy owl, before he responded.

“Why what, Char?”

I tried to swallow a growl at his persistent familiarity, but I failed somewhat, to my chagrin, and he flashed me a small smile, as though he considered this sign of my perturbation to be… cute, maybe?

Why did he have to push my buttons so easily? Better question was why did I let him?  I’d always considered myself impervious to such machinations. I’d hardened myself at the hands of masters—namely, my mother and brothers.

Forcing myself to regain my composure, I continued. “Why are you studying… that?” I waved one hand blithely toward the tome in question.

“Oh… that,” he echoed. Was it my imagination or did his cheeks just pink a little, as if he’d been caught doing something he’d rather not admit to? I knew I wasn’t imagining the blush. I was an expert when it came to blood flow, after all.

“Just doing a little research,” he finally admitted. Raising one hand to his forehead, he scratched at it lightly. Probably a delaying tactic while he sorted through his thoughts for some reason I would accept and not examine too closely. “I have a theory about something, but I wanted to dig into it a little before I said anything.”

Before he said anything to who… me?

“What the devil are you talking about?” The more he spoke, the more confused I grew, and that was a feeling I did not care for.

He help up both hands now in a defensive posture. “Honestly, just give me a little time. I don’t want to get your hopes up, in case what I’m thinking doesn’t work out.”

I was on the verge of telling him I had no hopes, and nothing he could say or do would dash these nonexistent hopes, but at that serendipitous moment, Casey appeared, obviously excited about something.

She waved a piece of paper at me, even as she cried, “I think I’ve found someone you’ve been looking for!”

to be continued

Now see what's up with the other briefers!

Cia Nordwell

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #12 (3.5)

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. 

Charlemagne is less than pleased when Tyrone shows up at the library where he is trying to research his family. How and why? 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.

An Unholy Alliance #12 (3.5)

The last thing I wanted to do was create a scene. Not there and then. Later? Well, I wouldn’t guarantee anything about what might occur, given the opportunity.

Shelving my irritation, at least for the moment, I gave him a withering look. “Why are you here and how the hell did you find me?” I knew I hadn’t given him any clue as to where I was going when I’d received the text from Casey. I mean, why would I have? I hadn’t even said good-bye, or any variation thereof.

“Pure dumb luck,” he chuckled. “And a little bit of deductive reasoning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I caught him eyeing my tea a bit too suspiciously for my taste, so I protectively moved it closer to me, just in case he had designs on it. Let him ask Casey for a cup and see how far that got him. Although they were nice, and might just give him one, not knowing how annoying he truly was.

“What kind of tea is that?” He was glancing more openly at my cup now. I shot him a baffled look at the way he’d not-so-subtly changed the subject. Like I’d forget what I’d asked.

“What difference does that make?” I countered. “And you didn’t answer my question. How did dumb luck, which I suspect is something you’re more than passing familiar with, and a bit of deductive reasoning lead you here, of all places?”

Again he ignored me. “You should probably drink green tea. It’s rich in antioxidants. Do you know what those are?”

“Do I look stupid?” I snapped.

He shook his head. “No, of course not. I just don’t like to assume anything. Then you know that antioxidants, like those found in green tea, help to improve blood circulation. Considering your condition, I assume you need all the help you can get in that area.”

“It’s not a condition,” I blurted out without thinking through my words. And now I’d just admitted to being what I am… and didn’t I feel stupid. I felt my temper begin to flare. How was he able to manipulate me so easily? I found him…that is, Tyrone was… damn the man, he was very… infuriating.

I was beginning to lose my words, and that I would not countenance.

“I don’t need lessons in biology from someone like you! I’ve studied at more universities than you can even imagine. What have you done? Graduated from tech school?” Now who was making assumptions? I couldn’t believe I’d let myself be goaded into engaging in a battle of wits with this… this… person. To what end? I could leave here at any time and never see him again. And yet I didn’t.

I told myself that was because this was my library, not his. If anyone was going to leave, it would be him. But if I were to be completely honest with myself, that wasn’t the truth. Whether I was willing to admit it then or not.

“Sorry,” he chuckled again. His hand seemed to snake toward me, as if he intended to pat my arm, perhaps in some manner calculated to soothe the savage breast. I jerked back, maintaining a respectable distance between us. That should let him know I didn’t want to be touched. Not that I owed him an explanation, I just wanted things to be clear between us.

“I guess it’s the biologist in me,” he explained. “I love talking about it. Well, you may have noticed I just enjoy talking…”

Isn’t that the truth?

“…and most of the people I talk to don’t have a science background, so I kind of take that into account and I end up explaining things more often than not. I certainly didn’t intend to insult you, I promise. I have no doubt you know many things, probably a lot more than I do. I mean, you’ve been studying for a lot longer than I have, so it’s only natural. Plus you sound very well educated, if you don’t mind my saying so. I can hear it in your voice. You have a very nice voice, by the way.”

I couldn’t decide if I was more flattered or insulted, or some combination of the two. And this conversation was drifting farther and farther afield.

As if he could read my mind (something I was beginning to wonder about, I admit), he finally answered my question. “I heard it on the police scanner. The BOLO.”

The what? What language was he speaking? And what did he hear?

“You know. Be on the lookout.” He must have noticed the blank look in my eyes and forged ahead. “The car. The Chrysler I spotted in the parking lot. The timing was too perfect. I mean you take off, the car gets stolen, here it is and here you are…” He made a hand gesture and his face wore a you see what I mean expression.

“The blind luck came in that I just happened to be coming this way. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have seen it and figured out it might be you. I wasn’t positive, but I was fairly sure. And of course, as you can clearly see, I was right.”

I couldn’t tell if he looked more complacent or smarmy or just plain pleased with himself. A desire to leave was growing within me, but I couldn’t. At least not until I finished looking through the books Casey had found. The papers I could keep, they were just print-outs she’d made for me. But not the books. I couldn’t check them out, not being an actual patron, not even a resident of the area.

“Damn!” Tyrone whistled under his breath.

What now?

I glanced up sharply to find what appeared to be a policeman heading our way with undoubtedly foul intent.

What had Tyrone just brought upon me?

 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