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“Bohemut’s Dream” by J. S. Welch

Bohemut’s Dream

J. S. Welch


In the water, the murky water, Bohemut rose. The lagoon was so dense that the darkness echoed upon itself as Bohemut’s snout broke the oily surface and sent up two plumes of salty mist into the early morning air.

“There he is!” Steven hissed. He pointed, squinting through his stylish horn-rimmed glasses.

“Where?” Michelle whispered.

Steven put his fingers on her binoculars and guided her to the subject’s location.

“Stop it!” Michelle’s voice rose in frustration.

“Shh.” Steven said quietly. “He might hear us.”

Both of them backed a step deeper into the heavy boughs of the forest that towered over the banks of the lagoon.

Bohemut seemed to have heard them, indeed. He lifted his head above the water, his skull alone was the size of a small herd of cattle.

Steven and Michelle held their breath, gazing in awe at the ancient magnificent of the breathing, supple mystery before them. Suddenly, with a whoosh, Bohemut dropped back into the lagoon and disappeared far into its smoky depths.

“Shitake mushrooms.” Steven muttered.

Michelle sighed, disappointed in herself. “At least he stayed a little longer this time.” She inspected her binoculars to make sure they were still clean, then stowed them in their case and absentmindedly handed them to Steven. Steven secured the case to a modified tool belt over his shoulder. “Yeah!” He grew excited “His head was huge!”

Turning, they walked side by side beneath the canopy of the forest. A carpet of grass dampened their footfalls, and they breathed in the sparse fingers of sunlight that crept softly through the morning mist.

“Yeah, massive…” Michelle’s voice trailed off as she gazed up thoughtfully at the fabric of leaves overhead.

Abruptly, Steven gripped her shoulder. She stopped alongside him, and they both saw a shadow step into their path.

“Going walkin’ on an early morning, are we?” asked the shadow.

Michelle glanced at the shadow’s shoulder, trying to discern if the golden patch of a park ranger was knit onto the sleeve.

“What’s it to you?” Steven challenged. Out of the corner of her eye, Michelle saw his hand stray up to his tool belt he still carried over his shoulder. His thumb casually flipped out the butt end of an orange extension cord, its three holes staring innocently out at the forest.

“What’s it to me?” The shadow repeated. “Well, nothing I suppose.” He stretched out his arm towards Michelle, and pointed at her wrist. “What happened there?” He asked.

Michelle shrugged. “I tore my sleeve on a chain link fence the other day.”

“The other day?” challenged the shadow. “Or, more likely, you tore it on a chain link fence this morning entering the park to visit a certain lagoon, “The shadow chuckled, and lit a cigarette.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Michelle’s voice quivered. She glanced side long at Steven, but he appeared calm, his hand still fingering the cord in his tool belt.

“Who are you?” Steven asked the shadow.

The shadow exhaled heavily, two plumes of smoke rose from his nostrils. “Me? Well I am just a concerned citizen.”

Michelle felt certain that his tone implied something far more menacing.

Still obscure, the shadow managed to lean against a tree trunk. Cigarette in hand, he gestured behind them. “I’ve heard folks say that all sorts of creatures have been spotted in that lagoon; mollusks, shellfish, invertebrates, bony fish, and even the head of the family, so to speak. Some say, at least.” The shadow brought the cigarette back up to his lips.

“Well,” Michelle began, when she saw Steven’s hand suddenly flick out towards the shadow, and the orange cord curled in a wicked coil, holding a braided metal cord with fish hooks woven in. The makeshift whip struck on target, cutting the cigarette in half, and hooking deep into the shadow’s face.

At least, it was supposed to. Michelle blinked. The shadow was gone. Steven’s cord lay upon the grass, and two plumes of smoke rose up from the cigarette halves.

Startled, Michelle looked fearfully at Steven. He looked back at her, and whispered “Michelle! Michelle, wake up!”

Michelle opened her eyes, feeling Steven’s grip on her shoulder. “Look!” He whispered, and pointed towards the lagoon.

Michelle looked, and saw two plumes of smoke (or, mist? She wondered groggily) rising ominously above the oily lagoon.

“Bohemut.” She whispered.

© 2014 J. S. Welch


“Stealing a Chance at Life” by Faith Hunter

Stealing a Chance at Life

by Faith Hunter


Shit. Shit. Shit. Jenny warned me time and time again that my arrogance would be the end of my devilishly charming thieving ways. My battered boots hit the asphalt hard and the ground crunched unhappily in protest. Footsteps close by echoed as loudly in my ears as my own feverish heartbeat, pushing me to pump my arms harder and my legs faster despite my aching muscles screaming for mercy. Why the hell did I listen to Ralfie? Fucking cheat sold me out to save his own neck. But it’s my own damn fault. Never should’ve tried to steal from the Valences, especially not their bloodthirsty family head Renaldo. Or at least never get caught. Sloppy. My breaths were becoming more ragged with each quickened step extravagantly showing off my blatant lack of regular exercise and overall poor health. Hell, if these goons haven’t caught me yet one can only assume how badly out of shape my pursuers really are. The first hopeful trickles that I might just get away with this fluttered through my spinning mind. A chuckle caught me right in the ribs as the world was suddenly flipped upside down; the ground fell out from under me and I less than gracefully fell flat on my face. Crackleberries, thought too soon. Bitter grains of earthy goodness and city sewage made their way in my mouth and settled uncomfortably before being promptly coughed and spat up. Gross. Running a mucked hand across my mouth did little to rid the infestation-taking place on my lips. Pain blossomed as fresh skinned spots made themselves apparent across my arms and legs. Gingerly I reached up to my numb forehead and brought back sickly-wet bloodied dirt that smelled suspiciously of copper…and blood. Aw shucks, guess I won’t be running for Miss Missouri this year, I thought sourly. Ah shit. My fingers reach around the side of my waist before sinking in to wet, ripped flesh and I bite down hard on my lip to stop from whimpering. Well, that’s not good. Dusting my hands off on my wet and mucky- and now newly ripped- bloodied trousers I rolled over and searched for the cause of my fall. Wrapped tight around the length of my ankle like a traitorous boa snake was a used and abused hideous neon orange and dirt covered extension cord. Footsteps crunched the pavement unforgivingly and forced me out of my momentary reprieve. Like dogs relentlessly hunting their prey in hopes of appeasing their master. Yanking forcefully at the distastefully colored death sentence strangling my only means of escape I stilled when the sounds of ragged breath drew dreadfully close. My heart was pounding like a jackhammer in my chest drowning out all else but the sound of my fear. Whimpering I pulled harder on the cord willing it to release me from it’s death hold. Giving up on escape I settled for subterfuge and attempted to nestle myself in the darkest corner in the alley. A few inches away a rat scurried near me and regarded me hungrily before I batted it away with the back of my hand. “I’m not food you vermin. Not yet.” Though I was feeling pretty close to nothing but pain. Leaning my head back against the rough chain link fence I tried to focus on sounds that might signal danger, trying harder to ignore the increasingly loud pounding of my head and heart and the freckled black spots closing in on everything around me.

“Come.” She said. No more, no less. This place is loud. Filled with strange sounds and crying and laughter. Spicy smoke trails through the main lounge hiding the leering faces that sit menacingly behind them. Her skirts trailing gaudily out from behind her in a multitude of haughty colors. My fingers itch to reach out and embrace the warm stretch of fabric. It looks like the sunset, I think idly. I glance up from beneath my paltry lashes and jump when I see her accessing me coldly. “Your dress. It’s pretty.” I mumble blandly. A faint trace of warmth flashes in her eyes before promptly returning to ice. “Yes, it is. Hope that you won’t have to wear one just yet.” She whispers. “Why, don’t you like wearing such pretty clothes?” I ask. “These clothes are a brand. They signify that we are not our own. They’re a death sentence.” She says. Why would clothes mean that she would die? “Are you going to die? Am I going to die?” I ask boldly. “I’ll tell you a secret.” She says, giving me the first true glimpse of a smile on her pale lips, but it was cold and emotionless. “We’re all already dead. We just haven’t stopped breathing yet.”

Funny, huh, living an existence in a cage only to die within the confines of another fenced cage. Cowering from death. But the thing is, I’ve spent my whole life dying. I’m still waiting for the chance to live. My dirty fingers smudged from the toxins of life wrap weakly around the grated fence and pull. Pull harder and harder despite not having any strength left to give. Yanking dreadfully weakly at my gateway to life.

I stood in the middle of the room in front surrounded by three large windows twirling in circles over and over and over. My small, chubby fingers ran over the length of the crimson fabric lovingly. It’s the first time I’ve been allowed such fine silks and I smile beside myself in joy. “Ah, you look so pretty love, so pretty.” Mistress Molly crooned, rubbing her fat fingers together eagerly. I half-listened to her rant and flinched away when she tried touching my face with her grubby fingers. I didn’t appreciate the wicked glint reflected in her eyes. My young mind didn’t pay much heed and continued to admire the full glory of the deep red brocade that nearly swallowed whole my underdeveloped frame. “Yes, yes he’ll like you just fine,” Mistress Molly whispered. My whole frame stiffened at the full meaning of her words. Young I was but not stupid. I knew what kind of business my parents had sold me to. “What?” I asked gingerly, not wanting to entice her temper. “Why, you’re to have your first job today.” She said happily. The silk enshrouding me became tighter, wrapping around me like a noose, making it hard to breathe. To think. I desperately didn’t want to think. “Maybe now you’ll actually be good for something other than cleaning out my kitchen cabinets and following that no good girl around,” she muttered darkly. My chest clenched tightly in anger. How. Dare. She. What right does she have to speak ill about Jen like that? Jen took care of me when I was left alone to die. She snuck me portions from her own meager helpings so that I wouldn’t rot away in the musty hole that they stuck me in six out of seven days of the week. Too small to lie down or sit up straight. My fingers roamed the corset-taking note of the obvious ill fit due to malnourishment. Tight fingers wrapped around the length of my hair yanking hard and unforgivingly. “You will not screw this up you little whelp.” A large burst hit the wall as someone flung the door in. “Take your hands off of her.” Jen’s voice. Jen. Relief flooded through me and began to purge the unease settling treacherously in my gut. “Who are you to tell me what to do? She is to serve today and earn her stay.” Mistress Molly spat, the turkey flap under her neck shaking angrily. “She is barely eight summers and you intend to whore her out to perverted, vile men?” Jen shrieked, her voice rising uncontrollably with her rage. “Those perverted, vile men will pay four times the rate for a specimen like her,” Mistress Molly chided, clucking her tongue like a chicken. “It is illegal. She must be fourteen summers before the law permits her to be bid for in an auction. I will report it.” Jen said, her rage spreading through the air until the first inklings of Mistress Molly’s fear began to mix with it. “You would not dare. You ungrateful bitch, after all I’ve done for you?” Mistress spat before hastily letting go of the iron grip she had on my hair and spinning out of the room. “I knew what the punishment was for selling children before their time in brothels. I thought the death penalty would keep me safe.” I mumbled in between hiccupping breaths. Jen wrapped her arms around me and gently stroked my hair. “I’ll keep you alive. For whatever that’s worth.” It was worth everything.

Shallow breaths, shallow heartbeats and the sounds of eager vermin fill up the empty void of silence in the alleyway. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired, like each of my limbs are covered in concrete and my head’s been hit by a freight train. Stupid. Everything just feels so stupid. Being sold by my parents. Being forced to work at a brothel. Being forced to steal. Getting caught. Not listening to Jenny. Soft tears trickle down and mix with the sewage coating my face. Ragged sobs rack my aching ribs and startle away my soon-to-be skin pickers. Nothing in this life has been mine. Sold into prostitution by those meant to protect me. Being starved and whipped and forced to steal. I’ve been doomed right from the start. A low, wretched laugh forced itself from the confines of my hoarse throat. Darkness enshrouds me like a thick fog, menacing and comforting. Why didn’t I listen to Jenny?

“Jenny, aw, Jenny don’t be like that. It’ll be a quick job. Ralfie says it’ll set us up for good. No more stealing. No more begging for the mercy of the merciless.” Jenny’s furious, but it’s not like we have a choice. A life full of dying ain’t no way to live. It’d been three summers since we escaped from the brothel together before my fourteenth summer. “I know I promised no more stealing, but Jim’s cut my hours at the shop and we need the money. We don’t have a choice.” Jenny spins round on her heel so fast the folds of her skirt turn furiously with her like a tornado. And with her face twisted in anger and her eyes alight with fire, it’s safe to say I’m looking at the eye of the storm. “That’s just it ain’t it? We ain’t never had a choice! If we want to live then we work until we die. Sell our hearts, sell our bodies, sell our souls for a measly scrap of food. What kind of a life is that?” She asks. I know it was a question towards me but since we both know the answer already I don’t bother saying anything. Her gaze cuts me sharper than the most honed of knives. “We’re all dead. From the moment we were born kicking and screaming covered in our mama’s blood. We were already pronounced dead.” Her words caress my skin sadly with the truth I’ve always known. “Maybe. Maybe we’ll die today. Maybe we’ll die tomorrow. But as for right this instant we are alive and I want so desperately to start living.” I break. Simple, truthful words. I want to live, I yearn for something greater than breath, hunger for something with more sustenance than food, something to quench this insatiable thirst that rasps my throat and suffocates me. I yearn for life. From the moment I met Jenny at the brothel I’d been sold to as payment for my family’s debt. From the second my wide innocent eyes met her weary and cold ones I knew that I was sentenced to a life of dying. Slowly. Piece by piece until I was nothing more than skin and bones. A hollow shell. But I resolved to live. “Jen. Please.” I plead with her. She regards me warily before a look of resignation shrouds her worn features. “Do what you like.” She turns to leave before stopping and rushing into my frail arms. “Be careful. Stay smart. Return to me. In order to start living you have to still be alive.” Tears. Salty and sweet traces down my face and I flick out my tongue to taste it. The sickly-sweet beginnings of life.

Rain. Soft and forgiving stroke trails down my face and mingle with my own bitter taste. It drenches me in understanding and pity and I hate it more in that moment then I have ever hated anything before it. More than I hated my mother and father for selling me at the tender age of six. More than I hated them for giving birth to me and using me as currency. More, even, than when they cried in agony when I called out for them as rough hands ripped me from their warm ones. I hate it with my woefully barren heart that has been ripped and broken and pillaged. I hate it with every inch of my stolen and battered body. I hate it with my every twisted and deliciously dark thought scouring through my mind. And more than anything I love it. I love it with all of my wounded soul, more than I have ever loved anything before it. More than when my mother first told me I was pretty and that I would make a good bride someday. More than when my mother and father baked me a cake for my fourth birthday despite how poor we were. More than when Jenny told me I was strong. Stronger than the strongest cruelties life had to offer. More than when she told me that I would survive, maybe not past tomorrow, but today I would survive. And despite myself a slow coming smile spreads across my bruised face as my lost soul rejoices in the soft, loving caresses of the rain. If even heaven weeps for me then I must be pretty damn pitiful. I crane my neck painfully to look up into the sky. But it’s bleary and grey with no stars to grace its great expanse. It’s like staring into an eternal nothingness. It’s like looking at my life. Black spots begin to reappear at the edges of my vision. I squint but I still can’t see what I’m looking for. There, a small white light. Small and frail breaks out from the cover of darkness and across the bleak dreariness of the night sky it shines. The rain grates down on me harder trying to cleanse me of an existence full of misery. It falls down my face and into my cracked and bruised lips. With every trickle I can taste what I have been so desperately yearning for. Life. And it tastes…so. Damn. Good.

Hey Jenny, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it back like I said I would. But I found it. In a sewage-ridden alleyway no less, hiding from Ralfie I found it. The meaning of life…my life.

© 2014 Faith Hunter


“Tin Violin” by Matea Wasend

Tin Violin

by Matea Wasend


My dad came home for the first time in two years four days after my fifteenth birthday. He usually brought something along with him from wherever he’d wandered to, and this time was no exception: he brought Amaryllis, and Tulip, and Daisy Mae.

You might be imagining him knocking on the front door and presenting me with a bouquet of birthday flowers or something, but let me paint right over that picture. We don’t have a front door; it’s more like a front curtain that just hangs down from the crossbeam we managed to shove into the side of the mountain. It’s no good for knocking, but it’s okay for keeping the house flies and fruit flies and every other kind of fly out while letting the breeze in, when there’s a breeze to let.

Also, Amaryllis and Tulip and Daisy Mae weren’t in a bouquet, since they’re people. Well, two people and a dog.

How it happened was this: Rex and I were fixing dinner and our grandmother was wiring a tin guitar when from outside there came floating in three notes of music, sweet as a spoonful of canned peaches. I dropped my knife with a clatter and Rex whirled around so fast he knocked pieces of slimy onion all over the floor. Only grandma did nothing, since she’s almost entirely deaf. There was a split second where Rex and I both stared at each other, and then we tore through the front curtain and down the narrow trash-packed lane towards the whistling.


Rex was up in his arms, whirled around, then deposited back on the ground. I was too big to whirl but we hugged and I touched his long beard, which made him look the consummate drifter, and he laughed as Rex and I asked ten questions each, stumbling over each other like uncooperative partners in a three-legged race.

Slow down, he said. You’ll use up all the question marks.

Come inside, I told him. We’re just making dinner.

How’s your grandma?

Grandma was our dead mother’s mother, and she didn’t much like our father on account of how his wanderlust had dragged him off the mountain and away from our mother for the first time when I was just a baby, and again and again in the years since. But they got along okay by sticking to polite basics whenever my father was around.

She’s fine, I said. Come in and you can see for yourself. There’s junk all over your bed, but while you’re here we can—

Actually, kiddo—I’ve got news for you, he said, and his face split into an infectious grin that jumped over to mine faster than the plague. I’m staying for good this time.

Are you serious? said Rex.

Dead serious, he said, and crossed his heart. Hope to die. Which is why I got my own place.

Your own place?

Yeah. Over by the fence.

Why’d you get a new place? We can all fit here.

Well, he said. This place is a little nicer.

He’d never had his own place before. I pictured his nicer new place—maybe it had wooden walls, and a real front door. Maybe it even had electricity; there were lights and power lines along the broken-down chain-link fence that had once, decades before, contained the trash, though now the trash contained the fence.

It’s a lot bigger, my dad went on. Two bedrooms, and a living room.

I thought about this. Having a real bedroom would be a definite upgrade, even if I did have to share it with Rex.

Perfect for three people, said my dad.

Three people? I said. What about grandma?

Grandma? my father said, as though he hadn’t thought of this. And I supposed he was right—she could stay by herself. Come to think of it, she probably wouldn’t want to leave her instruments anyway; in the last year alone her workshop had been looted three times, so she’d finally moved them all into the house so she’d be there to protect them if someone came calling. Now there were bits of makeshift tin can violin and tuba and guitar and clarinet hanging from the walls and ceiling and cluttering up the floors, to the point where I sometimes felt I was living in the stomach of a large beast with a musical appetite.

Just then a little dog came racing around the corner, tongue lolling, ears flopping like the wings of some awkward flightless bird. It had an orange extension cord tied around its neck for a leash, which was trailing along the ground behind it, and as it neared us the cord got tangled up in its paws and it face-planted right at my feet.


A girl came running after the dog, which had by then righted itself and started jumping up against my legs and slobbering all over the place. She almost tripped to avoid running into my dad. He caught her and righted her.

Zee, Rex, he said. This is Daisy Mae, and Tulip.

Which one’s which? said Rex.

Tulip’s the puppy, said the girl. I’m Daisy Mae.

I stared at her. She wasn’t from the mountain, that was obvious; nobody half so clean or half so beautiful lived here. It was an odd kind of beauty, since she was covered all over with pink splotches, like someone had splattered her with bleach and then laid her out to dry, but the spots only drew attention to the perfection that was her face.

I tore my eyes away and I waited for my dad to offer an explanation, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry. Rex came to the rescue with his standard forthrightness.

Why are you here?

My mother is Amaryllis, she said, as if another flower explained everything. Then a woman came walking around the corner—a pale and wispy vision of a woman, like something off the kinds of scrap advertisements for laundry detergent my grandmother used to hang around the house for decoration.

This is Amaryllis, said my father. My wife.

You better be careful of that dog, Rex told Daisy Mae, not seeming to blink an eye at the addition of two people and a dog to our family tree. People’ll eat dog around here, if they can get their hands on it.


Neat, huh? said my dad, as Rex plugged and unplugged a small television into a power cord and the screen flickered on and off. Place came with a television—can you believe it?

I sat there on the bed with my arms crossed, feeling as though someone had stuffed my eyes with pins. Every movement was excruciating; everywhere I looked I saw what my father had bought for his new family, and not for me. The place had electricity, like I’d suspected; it had a small and functional-looking kitchen area, two queen-sized beds in the bedrooms, and fake flowers tacked up all over the sturdy walls. I couldn’t tell one flower from the next, but I wish I knew which ones were the daisies.

You can come on over whenever you want, alright, bud? my dad told Rex, and ruffled his hair so he looked like the roosters our neighbors kept in a pen behind their house. It’s as good as yours.

Awesome! said Rex.

My dad turned to me. You too, kiddo.

Right, I said. Thanks.

I was thinking, my dad said. Maybe tonight you guys could come over for dinner? Zee, you could bring your violin. I’ve told Amaryllis and Daisy Mae all about how good you are on the fiddle.

He did, Daisy Mae put in enthusiastically. He said you’re like a prodigy.

I stood up. I have to go, I announced. I flicked Tulip off my bare feet, which he’d been licking as enthusiastically as if they were covered in molasses.

Where? said my father. School doesn’t start for another hour, does it?

I’m not in school anymore, I said.

Then where are you going?

His eybrows went up. Work? You on a crew now?

The Riddler’s, I told him. In spite of my anger I actually looked at him for a moment, to check for the pride in his eyes. I found it. The Riddler was one of the best collection bosses on the mountain, and even my dad knew that

That’s great, he said with an electric smile. Good for you, Zee.

I turned off my face before my own smile could appear. Yeah, well. I better go.

Hey—I have an idea, said my dad. Why don’t you take Daisy Mae with you?

My stomach fell faster than a tumbling trash-slide.


Yeah, he said. You can show her the ropes. Let her see how things are done around here.

Dad, I said. I—she can’t.

Why not?

She’s—she’s not on the crew. She can’t just—

Why not? You’ll increase your haul. Just swing by the Riddler’s and ask. I’m sure he’ll say yes.

That’s not how things work, I said. It took me months to get in. You don’t—

If he says no, you can send her back home, said my dad, who was obviously in one of his irrepressible moods.

But dad—

I realized suddenly I was putting on a whining show to rival Rex’s long-ago toddler tantrums, and stopped myself with an effort.

You know what? Fine. I turned to Daisy Mae. Let’s go.

Thanks! said Daisy Mae, and she practically bounced to her feet. Can I bring Tulip?

Tulip seemed not to have learned to walk very effectively yet. He tripped over the extension cord just about every thirty seconds, which was why after five minutes or so Daisy Mae ended up scooping him into her arms.

How can you find your way around here? she asked me, gazing around at the trash landscape that was the mountain—that particular glinting gray that, if you squinted at it in just the right way, became a prism of color. It all looks the same to me.

I ignored her question.

Wait out here, I told her when we’d reached the building—the only cement structure in a five-mile radius of refuse. This was where the Riddler lived, which put him among the elite percentage of mountain residents who didn’t have to put out buckets when it rained.

That’s okay—I’d rather come in with you, she said.

I clenched my teeth.

I nodded to a couple of other collectors inside, then headed for the Riddler’s office. He was on the phone when I stuck my head inside the door, but he shoved his hand over the receiver mouth to block out the noise and mouthed What Is It?

My dad’s in town, and he’s got—well, this girl is with him, and he wants her to come collecting with me today to get to know the mountain, I said, gesturing at Daisy Mae behind me.

The Riddler frowned and I felt vindicated for my earlier whininess.

I told him you wouldn’t like it, I added quickly. If you say no, I’ll send her back home.

Daisy Mae stepped into the office beside me, Tulip still in her arms, and it was like she’d brought the sun in alongside her the way the Riddler’s face brightened. He pointed at her as if to say This Her? and I nodded. Then his waving hand said Take Her Along.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if there’d been smoke coming out of my ears. I stomped all the way back down the hall, out the front doors and halfway to my route-start before I realized I’d forgotten my basket and had to go back for it.


Daisy Mae carried Tulip in one arm and a bushel of questions in the other. She slung them at me one after another and I offered up the bare minimum in return.

What are we looking for?

Anything valuable.

Like what?

I bent and snatched up a gleam of silver, which revealed itself to be a necklace with a teardrop pearl hanging on by a tenuous broken clasp.

Like this.

I dropped it into the basket on my back.

What do you do with it?

Take it to the Riddler.

And what does he do with it?

Sorts it.

Then what?

Sells the good stuff.

To who?

People, I said, not knowing a more specific answer.


I guess.

You’ve been under, haven’t you? Your dad told me. He said you got to play the violin in a real concert hall.

The audition that could have changed everything settled in over my eyes like a layer of film strip, the fancy stage chair and the snob-nosed judges and the sparkling water they’d given me to drink afterward that had made my throat burn. My grandmother had been hopeful, my father certain to the point of using words like When and Next Year. That had been just before the last time my father had left, and I’d been half-sure he’d been so disappointed that he’d never come back.

I’d love to hear you play, said Daisy Mae.
I don’t really play anymore.

Why not?

I sighed. Look—it doesn’t really make sense for us to search the same spot. We’ll just end up in each other’s way. Why don’t you go over there? Anything you find, just make a pile and I’ll come get it later. Yeah—all the way over there by that flag.

I directed her far enough away that she couldn’t talk to me without shouting. As I watched her for a moment, thrusting her clean hands into the garbage while Rex began digging enthusiastically beside her, the discolorations on her face seemed to squint and wink at me under the blazing sun.




I’d found a treasure trove—a bag of old mobile phones. Some of them were damaged completely beyond repair, but a lot of them looked like they’d hardly been scratched. I was sorting through them and placing them carefully in my basket, not wanting to damage them.

I think I might have found something.

Just wait, I said, and sorted through the rest of the phones. Then I walked over to where Daisy Mae was sitting with Tulip in her lap, pleased at my haul for the day; I’d get a good return. I found myself returning her smile automatically on the high of my own discovery.

What is it?

I’m not sure, she said. She gestured at the briefcase leaning against her leg. It’s just got paper in it, but I—

Paper? What kind of paper?

She undid the latches and flipped it open. Inside were stacks of green bills, the kind you’d be lucky to find one of in a month. I reached out and grabbed one stack and flipped through it—at least thirty twenty-dollar bills, all their balding puppy-eyed Benjamin Franklins looking up at me in quick succession.

What do you think? said Daisy Mae. Tulip found it.

Tulip found it, I repeated. My voice shook.

Yeah, said Daisy Mae. Think it’s worth something?

I threw the stack of bills down into the briefcase and stared at Daisy Mae’s eager face, at the beautiful contrast between perfection and malformation. I found that I was near tears.

This is worth more than everything I’ve ever hauled in put together, I said. Period.


Seriously. You’ll get a huge payoff for it. I turned away. Congratulations.

Me? said Daisy Mae. No—it’s yours, Zee. I was just helping.

You found it.

Tulip found it, she said. And you told me where to look, anyway. You told me this was a good spot. It should be—

It’s yours, I snapped.

Look, I said, turning back to her. That’s just how it works here, okay? You found it, you collect the money. I don’t want your charity.

I’m sorry, she said. I was just trying to—

Let’s go, I said. You need to get that in before someone takes it from you.


My father took us all out to dinner at one of the slightly respectable mountain versions of a restaurant the next night—really just a set of broken-down picnic tables under holey umbrellas—on Daisy Mae’s money.

To Daisy Mae! he said exuberantly, raising his beer in a toast, and the rest of us echoed To Daisy Mae, me just lip-syncing along.

And her incredible, fortune-finding dog! Rex added.

It wasn’t really a fortune, of course; it wasn’t the kind of find that could get you off the mountain and down under, into a life of air quality control and soft towels and fresh meat. Old paper currency was worth only a fraction of its original value. But it was definitely the biggest haul any one person had made in a year or two, and made all the more remarkable by the fact that Daisy Mae had found it on her first day as a collector—as my father reminded us all through dinner and over the course of three post-dinner drinks.

He was slurring a little by the time we made our way back to his, Amaryllis’ and Daisy Mae’s television-containing house in the fading light.

Good on ya, kid, he said, his arm slung around Daisy Mae in a fatherly way.

I saw the way she looked up at him, and knew that here in front of my own eyeballs was the very look I’d worn so many times before. My father was larger-than-life, and when he turned his gaze on you it was hard not to feel like you’d been singled out for a miraculous destiny. It hit me that I was watching my life on repeat, only played out by an un-scrawny, un-dour-faced version of myself. At first I’d hated Daisy Mae for stealing my father, but now I realized I hated her for how pathetic she was—the way she ate it all up, every little lie he promised her, just like Tulip scarfing down whatever half-rotted food he could get his little teeth on.

And I hated her extra because she did pathetic more beautifully than I ever could.


Once I’d realized this I stopped going over to my dad’s house as his daughter, and went over as an outsider to his family. And as an outsider, I could see all the telltale signs, starting about five weeks after my fifteenth birthday.

First my dad got all big-spirited and expansive, doling out affection and compliments and taking us all to the leveled trash pit beyond the fence to kick around a soccer ball, where he made dramatic diving saves while parodying the commenters we’d heard on his new television.

After that it was snappish irritability, and a cold detachment that lasted for a few days.

Then there were about twelve hours of cruelty, during which he hurt nobody physically but emotionally bruised everyone but me, me being pretty much protected by my new truth-seeing eyes.

You okay? I found myself asking Daisy Mae as we scavenged on the far end of my assigned route. The Riddler had made her my permanent collecting partner after that first day, and usually she asked the questions and I fended her off, but today she seemed to have left her voice at home. The night before, my dad had made a jibe about the discolorations on her face that had set her to blushing and petting Tulip in a pitifully transparent attempt to hide the fact that she was crying.

I’m okay, she said, and I wondered suddenly if she had a good singing voice. She sounded like she would—or maybe it was that she looked like a love song.

I was just thinking about our old home, she went on.

Where are you from? I asked, realizing that I didn’t know. My dad tended to dominate conversations, both as speaker and topic.

Colorado, she said.

I nodded, having no idea where that was. What’s it like there?

Beautiful, she said. Trees and flowers and mountains—real mountains, not made out of trash. You would love it.

Do you think you’ll ever go back? I asked, a large part of me hoping she’d say yes.

Never, she said.

Why not?

Beauty isn’t everything, she said. The land is sick there. The people are sick. My mom… She trailed off, and I thought about Amaryllis’ big, glassy eyes and sickly demeanor.

That’s why I have this, she said, pointing at her discolored spots.

Zee? she asked me a few minutes later. Can I ask you something?


Why’d you stop playing the violin?

Though I felt like I’d kind of fulfilled my quota of Daisy Mae-outreach when I’d asked her if she was okay, I somehow found myself answering her with a portion of the honest truth.

No reason to play, I said. And nobody to play for.

What about Rex? And your grandma?

That’s not what I meant, I said. I meant—nobody important. Nobody who could make a difference.

We dug in silence for a while.

I think family is important, Daisy Mae whispered, but I pretended I hadn’t heard her and I said What?

And she said, Nothing.


After the cruelty, my father got drunk and repentant.

I’m not good enough to be the head of this family, he slurred to me outside the mountain’s closest approximation to a bar at two in the afternoon, after I’d been informed he was making a scene and left my route to go drag him home. Or any—any—any family. I’m not a g-g-good man. He swallowed hard, like he was force-feeding himself this guilt. I don’t deserve a f-family.

Well, you have two of them.

He nodded, and then vomited his repentance all over the trash mountainside.


I woke in the middle of the next night to a scuffling at our front curtain, and my hand was on my knife before I was even sitting up straight. But then someone whispered my name. I stepped outside to find Daisy Mae crying fat tears under my flashlight beam, Tulip looking sleepily up at me from where he sat on her foot.

Daisy Mae? What’s wrong?

My—your dad, she said. He’s—he’s gone.

I looked at her in exasperation.

You came all the way here to tell me that? It’s the middle of the night, Daisy Mae.

I—I thought—Daisy Mae looked down at the ground. I thought you’d want to know.

Why should I?

Because, said Daisy Mae. He’s your dad.

Not since you came, he’s not.

Zee, I—

You thought he’d stay for you? I said. Because you’re pretty and always get what you want?

She just looked at me. Tulip gave a little yip.

You’re an idiot.

I tried to slam the curtain, but it just flapped in the breeze.


Daisy Mae wasn’t at our meeting place by the chain-link fence the next morning, and I spent the whole day trying not to think about her, which meant I thought only about her—the flashlight hurt I’d glimpsed before I left her standing outside my house in the sweltering heat. I’d thought her a fool for expecting him to stay, but how many times before had he told me he was staying for good? He was a born salesman, my dad; he could sell a glass of water to a drowning man, just by flashing his pearly whites. And there was irony in that, since he could have made a good living at the mountain as a crew boss like the Riddler, if only he didn’t have that itch inside he could only scratch by staying on the move.

Even seeing all that now, it still hurt that he’d stayed longer for them than he ever had for me.


Three days later and Daisy Mae hadn’t showed up, so I grabbed Rex after school and we went over to the house that was my dad’s and now just belonged to the dried-and-pressed flowers he’d left behind: Amaryllis, Tulip, and Daisy Mae. Nobody answered when I knocked, though we heard Tulip barking and someone shuffling around inside.

Daisy Mae? I shouted.

Daisy Mae? said Rex. Open up! It’s us! It’s your family!

There was nothing, even though we knocked for five minutes and Tulip didn’t stop barking the whole time.

Come on, I said to Rex. I have an idea.


Rex was a smarter kid than I’d ever been at his age; he’d told me he’d known dad was leaving for days.

Whenever he starts complaining about the smell, said Rex. That’s when he leaves.

You mad? I asked him, as we walked back to our house.

He shrugged. I just hope Daisy Mae lets us back in so we can still use the tv.




The sky was darkening by the time we made it back, but we had our flashlights—all three of us, since grandma had insisted on coming along when I’d picked up my long-silent tin violin.

I miss your music, she said, as she’d told me every day since I’d quit, but this time I allowed myself to truly consider it.


She chuckled.

Nobody else plays my trash instruments quite so exquisitely.

What about me? said Rex, clutching his own, smaller grandma-made clarinet.

Except you, darling, she said, and it was a kind lie because Rex was abysmal at the clarinet.

We stood outside the house by the old chain-link fence, and the smell of rotting trash rose up around us in the heat, and somewhere my father step-by-stepped away from us to wander once more, and I played my violin until Daisy Mae opened the door.

© 2014 Matea Wasend

“Surprise!” by Victoria Steik


by Victoria Steik


“Did you bring it?” Mario said in a low voice to his older brother Louie, as they stood at the chain link fence marking the property line between their backyards.

“Yeah, I left it over there under the porch,” Louie said. Squinting his dark Italian eyes, he looked right, left, and all around. “We gotta be careful, Mario. We don’t want any snooping eyes finding out our plan.”

“Are you crazy?” Mario replied. “It’s frigging midnight, dark as pitch. Who’s gonna see unless that pain in the ass Chihuahua of yours starts yipping its head off.”

“Don’t worry about that. Chi-chi’s asleep in the bed next to Carla. He couldn’t hear a fire truck over her snoring,” said Louie.

Louie tiptoed the four or five steps to the porch, reached underneath it and pulled out the long orange extension cord. He plugged the male end into the outlet on the wall facing Mario’s house and then he grabbed the female end of the cord, stepped back to the fence and began shoving it through the metal mesh to his younger sibling.

Mario pulled the cord through the fence and alongside an old Dodge station wagon that sat on blocks against his side of the fence. He threaded the cord through the open wing-window on the passenger side of the Dodge and then walked around to the driver’s door. He opened it, climbed in and plugged some wires hanging from the ceiling of the car where the overhead light used to be into the cord. He slipped out of the Junker and quietly, but firmly, closed the door.

“Got it?” Louie whispered to Mario as he came close enough to hear.

“Absolutely,” Mario replied. “All they need to do is open that car door and the fireworks, so to speak, will begin.”

“Good,” Louie said. “I don’t want that pencil-prick little Anthony doing the horizontal hula in the back seat of a car with my sweet little Angela. She’s too good for that.”

“Oh yeah? Seems like I remember some young Lothario making moves in the back seat of that same car, when it had wheels, with a certain lovely young lady named Carla and that was the beginning of your sweet little Angela. Am I right, Romeo?” Mario teased.

“Shut up, you,” Louie swatted at his brother. “But that’s why I don’t want those two alone in that car tomorrow night at our Anniversary Party. They might think we’ll be too drunk to notice, but the head of this family pays attention when he needs to.”

“Okay, so all you have to do is flip the switch before the party so that outlet has power,” Mario said, “and you’re all set.”

The two brothers parted for the night with a fist bump at the chain link fence.


The next evening, the last faint colors of dusk had faded from the sky and the only lights illuminating the faces in Louie’s backyard came from the paper lanterns that Carla insisted Louie and Mario hang earlier that afternoon. Maybe it was the lantern light; maybe the Chianti or maybe the sun bronzed faces of family and friends gathered around the table that spread an atmosphere of love and peace to all.

Despite the heavy meal and numerous toasts to the happy couple’s marital success, Louie and Mario, remained vigilant, keeping a close eye on the young sweethearts. The teenagers sat on a bench at the very edge of the pool of light, Anthony holding Angela close, her head resting on his shoulder. Anthony stealing quick, but passion laden kisses whenever he thought no one was looking.

The ladies began gathering up the dishes and platters of food and carrying them to the kitchen. The men moved closer together to share more Chianti, Cuban cigars and conversation. Anthony and Angela casually strolled off into the shadows. Missing nothing, Louie and Mario smirked at each other and settled back for the show to begin.

Seated only feet from the chain link fence and the booby trapped vehicle, the men had to fight back the kind of laughter school boys share when they toss a plastic spider on the teacher’s desk while her back is turned.

The men could hear the shuffling footsteps in the long grass as the couple approached the car. They heard the click of the door latch and the low creak of rusty hinges. Then nothing: their plan was not happening. Louie could hear the rustling of clothing, passionate moaning and the smack, smack, smack of slurpy kisses.

He grabbed Mario by the throat, pulled him close and whispered, “Where’s the frigging fireworks? You said you had it all worked out!”

“I dunno,” Mario croaked out. “There must be a loose wire or something.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Louie growled.

“Angela Marie Stefano!” he shouted, “get your young ass out of that car and bring that worthless boyfriend of yours with you. Don’t make me come over there!”

The car door creaked open, then the rustle of clothing being frantically pulled on reached Louie’s ears and finally the sounds of feet running through the long grass, around the end of the fence and back into Louie’s yard.

“Jesus, Dad,” Angela screamed. “How could you!”

“How could you, young lady?” He shouted back. “Get yourself in that house this minute. And you, Anthony, you better get walking on home before I totally lose my patience and fix you so you’ll never walk again! Get outta here!”

Being a young man with excellent survival instincts, Anthony lit out down the driveway shoes in hand and shirttail still aflutter.

“See ya later, Ange,” he called over his shoulder as he ran into the night.

Mario and the other men who had witnessed this outburst of paternal rage exploded with laughter at the sight of Louie standing at the end of his driveway, shaking his fist high in the air as a final threat to the teenage boy. His friends’ laughter deflated Louie’s rage and he began laughing with them.

“Goodnight Louie.”

“Happy Anniversary you two!”

”Great party Carla.” the last of the partygoers called out as they headed down the block to their respective houses.

Breathing a deep sigh, Louie put his arm around his bride, escorted her back to the table and with a flourishing bow asked, “Care for a nightcap Gorgeous?”

“Don’t mind if I do, good lookin’,” she replied.

Just as he replaced the stopper in the bottle, they heard the screen door creak and there stood their precious Angela, hair in ponytails, wearing her fluffy slippers and Minnie Mouse pajamas.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said. “Nothing happened. Honest. Don’t hate me, okay?”

“Come here, baby girl,” he said opening his arms to her.

“I could never hate you,” he said as she snuggled him. “I just want you to stay Daddy’s little girl for a while longer, okay?”

“I love you, Dad. Goodnight!” She headed back toward the screen door.

“Hey Angela,” he called to her, “Flip that light switch by the door. We don’t need these lights anymore.”

“Okay, Pop.”

“You’re such a good Daddy, Lou,” Carla whispered to him as he held her close.

“Aw, enough about Daddy. How about some sugar for Mama?”

“I know why you were so worried about them being alone in that car,” Carla said. “I remember the back seat of that car. I wonder if it might be as fun as it once was.”

“You little vixen,” Louie teased, nibbling on her neck. “Why don’t we just find out? I’ll race you.”

They took off running around the fence, giggling and stripping off clothes as they went. Louie reached the door just one step in front of his wife. The moment he pushed the button and pulled on the door, the latch opened up and four different car alarms began blaring, headlights, tail lights and turn signals began flashing and a recording of the Boston pops playing the Star Spangled Banner began blasting, set on ten, through the super deluxe stereo system Mario had devised just for the occasion.

© 2014 Victoria L. Steik


“Regime Change” by Kalyna Conrad

Regime Change

by Kalyna Conrad


“What are you doing here?”

Des turned to face the chain-link fence and the tall, pale man on the other side of it. His half-brother glared back at him with cold liquid silver eyes. Des grinned, “Always a pleasure to see you too, Sam.”

“You don’t belong here, you son of a whore.”

“I’m still your brother, Sam.” Des replied, “And that whore was your mother too, just in case you’ve forgotten.”

“How dare you speak of her.” Sam hissed, “She was a saint and you killed her. If she hadn’t been raped by that filthy Shadow Fey, you would never have been born and she would still be alive.”

Des sighed. This was the same argument they had every time he came home for a new assignment. It was becoming something of a ritual.

“She wasn’t raped and you know that,” he replied.

“She was, you filthy bastard.”

“Look,” Des rolled his eyes, “I’m really tired and I don’t feel like doing this right now, so will you just let me in, already? Da– ahem, the king wants to see me.”

“Very well.” His half-brother grumbled, tapping a pattern against the joints of the fence between them, “But you’d better make this quick.”

The metal mesh between them flickered and disappeared, revealing itself for the glamour it was. Des stepped through with a nod, “Thanks.”

Sam grunted and spun on his heel, trudging into the sad little copse of trees behind the fence without looking back.

Des followed.

As they passed through the second layer of trees the air around them shifted, cooling as they passed through the invisible gate between the modern world and the Fey one. The light dimmed as they passed between the ancient trees of the Old Forest, the kingdom which Sam’s father–and Des’ stepfather–was king.

Crossing the breadth of the hundred-acre magical forest in mere minutes, they emerged into a clearing facing a huge, ancient oak tree with an elaborate door carved into the front of it. Sam led the way inside.

As always, when Des stepped through the huge gilt doors into the main hall he was once again transported back to his childhood, growing up in these very halls, spending all of his time with the servants, hiding in the kitchens, ducking both his father and his elder brother for fear of yet another undeserved beating. It wasn’t until he reached adulthood and began to manifest his Shadow Fey powers that the king had finally realized how useful his wife’s unwanted, illegitimate child could truly be. After all, every kingdom needed a good spy, and if that spy could melt into shadows and travel from one pool of darkness to another, well, all the better.

They entered the audience chamber and Des walked down the lush red carpet, straight towards the dais where the king sat, his younger brother and chief advisor, Jerrin hovering at his elbow. Des kept his head high and his eyes up as he approached the throne. The king squinted back, disapproval in every line of his face.

Des stopped before the dais, gave a cordial nod to Jerrin–the only member of the Arlatly family who had ever treated him as an equal–and stared the king in the eyes for a moment, just to be clear that he wasn’t afraid of the old man. The king’s squint narrowed with disapproval so Des grinned and dropped to one knee, pressing his right fist to his chest.

Sam grabbed the back of his head and shoved down, forcing Des’ forehead to the floor. He bent down and twisted Des’ head into the carpet as he hissed in his ear, “Show some respect for your king, slime.”

He let go of Des’ head and straightened, but Des had the sense to stay down.

“You wanted to see me, your majesty?” he mumbled into the carpet.

“Yes,” the king paused, “I have a task for you.”

Trying to keep the weariness out of his voice, Des gave the formulaic response, “I live to serve. What would you have me do?”

“I need you to fetch me a girl.”

Des’ head popped up in surprise, “Excuse me?”

Sam kicked him in the rump.

Resisting the urge break Sam’s foot, Des dropped his head back to the carpet, “Do you have a particular girl in mind, or will anyone do?”

“Very funny.” the king snorted, “Of course there is a particular girl. Her name is Katie. Her address and photo are in here.” A folder landed on the floor right in front of Des’ nose.

He picked it up and stood, opening it to examine the papers within. A photo of a small woman with soft, short dark hair and bright eyes stared back at him. Huh. She was cute. He flipped the picture to the side, scanning the information document. She lived in the human world. Just outside the chain link fence, in fact.

Suspicion tickled the back of his mind. The king wasn’t generally in the habit of kidnapping innocent human women. Especially so close to the gate. He knew better than anyone that the Fey could not afford to draw attention to their world.

“What do you want with this girl?” he blurted.

Sam cuffed him in the back of the head, “That’s none of your business, peon. Just bring her here.”

Des spun on his brother, “Now hold on. I’ve done a lot of unsavory things for this family, but I will not be responsible for harming an innocent girl.”

“And what makes you think she’s innocent?” Sam reasoned, “She could be a traitor, a murderer, any number of horrible things… where would your saintly conscience stand on grabbing her then?”

“Obviously if she had done some wrong I wouldn’t hesitate in bringing her in, but you forget I have her file in my hands. She’s clean as a whistle.”

“Who cares?” his half-brother sneered, “You don’t get a say in this. If you won’t take Pop’s order as head of this family, you still have to obey him as king.”

“Oh, rein it in, you two,” the king grumbled from his dais, “I’ll make you a deal, Desimund, you bring me this girl with no questions asked and I will release you from your servitude.”

Now that made Des pause. Even Jerrin and Sam looked surprised by the offer.

“Complete freedom? No strings attached?”

The king nodded, “I’ll even throw in a tidy little house and a small estate. I’ve got the key right here.” He produced a sleek iron key. “I was saving it as a little place to set up a mistress, but I’m much happier to have my toys closer to home.”

Des hesitated, biting his lip. His very own house and estate? That was very tempting.

“Do you swear this girl will come to no physical harm?” He demanded, trying to add at least some value to this most recent complete capitulation of his morals.

“Of course,” the king nodded, adding with a little snicker, “We will treat her as a daughter.”

“I will make sure of it.” Jerrin added, his silver eyes boring into Des’, communicating a more eloquent promise than words ever could.

Well, he wouldn’t have taken his step-father’s word on its own–the man was notorious for his whimsical cruel streak, which he usually vented on Des–but if Jerrin was willing to give his word it was likely all right. Especially if it meant he’d finally get his freedom.

He bowed low, only feeling a slight pinch of morality, “In that case, consider it done.”

“Good. You have two days.”

He laughed and spun on his heel, “I’ll see you in a few hours.”


Des stepped out of the shadow cast by a shiny silver SUV and paused, scanning up and down the rows of little post-war houses in this quiet suburb. The street was deserted – as well it should be at nearly two in the morning.

He slipped back into the darkness, emerging into the garage shadow of the girl’s house. He peered through a small window set into the side of the garage, which happened to be open just a crack. It wasn’t dark enough for him to cross the room as shadow, and too dim to tell what was in there, but at least there was enough darkness just under the window for him to get in. And the garage was attached, so odds were good the door to the house was unlocked, which would save him the trouble of picking a lock. There was no doubt in his mind that this was his best bet for gaining access to the house without waking a soul.

He grinned. This would be too easy.

Careful to take silent steps, he slipped back into the shadow and passed through the open window on a wisp of darkness. He re-solidified and stepped out from against the wall into the moonlight streaming through the window. The door to the house was not only unlocked, but he could see from where he stood that it was ajar.

Yep, definitely too easy. This mission was turning into a breeze.

Eyes and ears fixed on the gap into the house, Des took two steps–and tripped over a box sitting in the middle of the floor. The box made a tremendous clattering sound as he stumbled over it. It sounded as though it was full of dishes or pots, but that wasn’t the worst part.

Once he’d lost his balance he went sailing headlong into a shelving unit which lined the wall next to the door. The overburdened metal shelves gladly gave up the fight as he plowed into them with his face. A wall of cardboard boxes, lawn chairs, hockey sticks and other assorted items rained down on top of him as he landed hard on the concrete in a tangled heap.

Damn. There was no way that noise hadn’t woken everyone in the house and maybe even the neighbors. He had to get out of here. Struggling to get to his feet he ran afoul of some sort of smooth, leafless vine which wrapped itself around him like a boa constrictor and wouldn’t let go. The thing was relentless, the more he moved, the tighter it got. He cursed softly to himself and wriggled some more, but it was no good. He was trapped. The chit must’ve known he was coming for her and set this ingenious trap. She’d even made sure he’d land in a patch of light so there was no hope of dissolving into a shadow.

He ground his teeth and stilled, trying to figure out what to do next.


Katie woke to a huge crash. It had come from the garage. Breathing through the adrenaline spike that had shot through her system at the sound, she glanced at the clock. Two in the morning. Maybe it was just a raccoon or some other rodent that had found its way in and was looking for some kind of tasty snack?

A second, much larger crash sounded from the garage. Okay, that was way too loud to have been caused by a rodent.

Fighting to master her building fear, she eased out of bed and fumbled through the dark until her fingers found the crowbar she kept behind her headboard for just such an occasion. After all, a woman living alone could not afford to take any chances.

She crept down the stairs, trying to will her heart to resume a calm, normal rhythm as she dodged every creak and groan, but it was no use.

As she approached the door to the garage she couldn’t help but notice that it was open a crack. Had she left it like that? Was the intruder already in the house?

She plastered herself to the wall and scanned the hall. She saw no movement or unusual shapes, but that didn’t mean much, they might already be in the kitchen or something. Careful to stay alert, she inched towards the door.

As she got closer she could hear the clear sound of a man swearing under his breath drifting from the garage.

Oh god.

Well, she still had the element of surprise. She considered sneaking away to call the police, but was sure the intruder would be through the door before she could get to a phone. No, she would have to subdue him first and then make her phone call. Luckily she was no coward.

She ran her fingers along the wall until she found the light switch and pulled in a fortifying breath. Counting to three, she flipped the switch and burst through the door with a wild scream, crowbar raised high over her head.

“Holy hell!” The man shouted.

Katie stumbled to a stop and had to swallow a laugh.

The intruder, a lean man with black hair and olive skin, was lying on the floor, impossibly tangled up in a long, orange extension cord. He was watching her with startled, wary black eyes. Only, they weren’t normal black eyes. The entire orb was black; no iris, no pupil, no white, just a shiny black pool gazing out of his face.

The crowbar drifted down to her side as she gaped, feeling herself falling into the depths of those black pools. That was when she noticed that his eyes were not the only part of him which looked non-human. His cheekbones were high and pronounced, giving his face a sleek, windswept look. His ears, while not actually pointed, were not the normal, rounded ears of a human.

He cleared his throat, “Hello.”

She blinked, “Um, hello.”

“Are you planning to bash my head in with that thing?” he asked, pointing at the crowbar with his chin. His voice was deep and smooth, with a musical lilt.


“Are you planning to do me in with that crowbar.”

“Oh,” she glanced down at the thing in her hand and dropped it, letting it clang to the floor, “no, I suppose not.”

“Excellent. In that case, would you mind giving me a hand? I seem to have fallen prey to one of your traps.”

“Traps?” A chuckle leapt out of her throat, “That’s not a trap, it’s an extension cord.”

A small growl rumbled from his chest, “It’s not funny. And I don’t care what it is, as long as you’re willing to help me out of it.”

“Oh, of cou–” she stopped. “Wait, what are you doing my garage? Are you going to murder me if I let you go?”

He rolled his eyes, or at least she got the impression he did, “Murder you? Why would I murder you?”

“Because you broke into my house in the middle of the night? I’m not stupid, you know, I watch TV. Burglars always murder anyone unlucky enough to be home when they choose to break in.”

“That’s absurd,” he snorted.

“No it’s not.” She raised her chin, “You could have all kinds of sinister reasons for being in my garage at two in the morning. I don’t know you.”

“Fine,” he grunted, “hello, my name is Desimund Arlatly of the house of the Great Oak, and you are?”

She replied without thinking, “I’m Katie… Katie McDougall.”

“Wonderful. Nice to meet you, Katie, now would you please help me out of this mess?”

“Well, all right,” she hesitated, “as long as you promise not to murder me or steal my stuff.”

He looked her square in the eye, “I promise.”

Setting aside her lingering uncertainty, Katie moved over to him and began the process of unwrapping the extension cord from his body. She grabbed one end and began unwinding it, but it was clear that he would need to stand up so she could work her way around him.

“Can you stand?”

He shook his head, “Not on my own, you’re going to have to help me.”

“Oh, um, ok.”

She reached for him but pulled her hands back, too shy to touch him and uncertain of how to help, “What should I do?”

“Help me sit up.” He replied, illustrating by trying to struggle into a sitting position.

She got behind him and put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him up. He was warm under her touch and she had a sudden urge to run her palms all over the smooth plane of his back, or slip her hands around his chest and press her cheek to the heat of his back.

Shocked and embarrassed, she pulled her hands back. With a very creative curse he tipped backwards again, slamming into her. He smelled like the forest.

For a single, still moment they froze that way, his shoulders cradled against her chest, his short dark hair tickling her nose. She pulled in another surreptitious whiff of him and couldn’t be sure, but he seemed to be doing the same. One thing was certain; he wasn’t trying to get away from her.

Ignoring the blush warming her cheeks she put her hands back on his shoulders and pushed again, better to keep this all business instead of imagining things that weren’t there.

After a bit more grunting, swearing, and pushing, they managed to get him to his feet. Careful not to let her fingers linger on his skin, Katie unwound the extension cord. She could feel his gaze like a living thing crawling through her hair as he watched her, his expression caught somewhere between unhappy and confused.

Finally the mangled nest of orange cable lay on the floor and he was free. She took a few quick steps away from him as images of curling into his grasp filled her mind.

She raised her eyes to his, “There, better now?”

“Much, thanks,” he nodded.

“Good, so you can go now.” She took another step towards the door, away from his tempting heat, and hit the garage door opener.

“Not just yet,” he replied, gaze intent as he took a step towards her, “I can’t leave until I have what I came for.”

Panic choked her, “But… but you said you weren’t going to rob me.”

“I’m not.” He took another step towards her, but she was rooted to the spot, unable to move, let alone run, “I promised I wouldn’t take your stuff and I never lie.”

“But you said…”

A third step and he was a mere breath away from her. She should turn, she should run, but all she could do was stand there, eyes wide with fear as she stared up into the unfathomable black depths of his gaze.

“I’m here for you.”

His hands lifted, curling around her waist. Terror flooded her mind, but couldn’t quite seem to overcome her body’s very positive and very inappropriate reaction. He picked her up as if she weighed nothing and threw her over his shoulder. Turning off the garage light, he hit the opener button and bustled out onto the driveway, ducking under the closing door. He was awfully thoughtful for a kidnapper.

He started down the street for all the world as though he were taking an evening stroll.

She finally found her voice, “Hey, Desimund, put me down or I’ll scream.”

“No can do, and I prefer Des.”

“Well, I warned you.” she snapped, opening her mouth and drawing a big breath.

Just as she was about to let out one heck of a shriek he stumbled, bouncing her on his shoulder and knocking the wind out of her.

“Oops, my bad.”

She could hear the grin in his voice. What a jerk.

She didn’t dignify him with a response, instead she drew breath again and–

He bounced her on his shoulder again and this time she choked on her breath.

“I don’t want to knock you out, sweetie, but I will if I have to,” he warned.

“Yeah, right.” She pulled in a third breath.

He heaved a long-suffering sigh and raised his other arm. There was a quick sharp pain in her bottom and the edges of her world started to blur. She tried to scream, but her vocal cords wouldn’t cooperate.

The last thing she heard as her world dropped to blackness was his voice, “I warned you.”



Sam was waiting at the chain-link fence for him when he returned. His brother’s chilly liquid silver eyes warmed as they came to rest on Katie’s rump which was high up in the air as she drooped over Des’ shoulder. Des had to resist the urge to pull the girl’s nightshirt lower over her backside.

“That was quick.” Sam grinned, activating the opening sequence in the fence.

As Des stepped through, Sam reached for the girl. For some reason he couldn’t fully explain, Des was reluctant to let his brother touch her, so he took a step back.

“Come on, hand her over.” Sam wheedled, “I’ll take it from here. I’m sure you’re eager to get to your new home.” He produced the elegant skeleton key which now had a map tied to it.

Yes, he was eager to get to his new home, to settle in and start making the place his own, and most importantly to be free of his duty to the king, but in his eyes, his mission wasn’t finished until he delivered the girl to the king personally.

He shook his head, “Nope, my mission was to deliver the girl to the king, and that’s what I’m going to do.” He pushed his way past Sam and started down the path into the Old Forest.

Sam had to scurry to catch up with him, “But she’s a gift for me,” he whined, “I don’t see why I can’t start enjoying her now.”

“What?” Des stopped so abruptly that Sam nearly crashed into him, “What did you say?”

“She’s my birthday present.” Sam repeated, his expression hungry as he smoothed a hand over Katie’s bottom, “If you take her to Pop he’ll just hand her over to me, so I don’t see why we can’t skip the middle man.”

Sam might have been lying, but it was impossible to tell. Something like dread formed a rock in the pit of Des’ stomach. He ignored it. It was no business of his what happened to the girl once he turned her over to the king. He would be free and that was all that mattered.

He kept walking, “No way. I promised to deliver her to the king, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

With a huffy sigh Sam took up his position behind Des, “Well at least I can look at her while we go.”

They entered the audience chamber to find the king and most of the courtiers assembled, bleary-eyed and yawning. Odd for this hour, but not the strangest thing he’d ever seen.

Des strode straight up to the bottom step of the dais and bowed to Jerrin and his step-father, depositing the girl on the steps before raising his gaze to the king’s silver eyes, “Here she is. Now keep your word. I want my reward.”

The king gave a sly smile, “Of course, but first, one more thing. Wake her up.”

Pulling a vial of smelling salts from his pocket, Des knelt and waved them under the girl’s nose. She started to stir instantly. He watched as her head lolled and her eyes fluttered open. How had he not noticed her lovely sea-blue eyes when they’d been speaking in her garage? She met his gaze and her cheeks pinkened with a becoming blush as a small, uncertain smile flickered on her lips.

He felt a tiny answering smile curl his lips in return, “Hello again.”

“Hello,” she frowned, “Des, was it?”

“That’s right.”

“What… what happened? Where am I?” She glanced around, quick rage building in her gaze as it flicked from the ceiling to the assembled courtiers, over his shoulder to where Sam stood, and finally back to Des, “You! You… you kidnapped me!”

“Um, yes.”

With a shriek that would’ve made a banshee proud, she launched off the steps quicker than he would’ve believed possible, given the amount of tranquilizer still in her system, and collided with him. Next thing he knew he was flat on his back and she was straddling him, the hem of her nightie riding somewhere around her hips. She pulled back a fist and slammed it into his right cheekbone.

The assembled crowd gasped, except for one muffled chuckle which sounded suspiciously like it had come from Jerrin.

“That’s for kidnapping me!” She shrieked.

Another fist, this one to his left eye, damn but the girl had good aim, “And that’s for lying to me!”

“But I didn’t–”

She stopped his words with a fist to his jaw, “Not telling the truth is the same as lying, you bastard!”

Gods how he’d always hated that word.

The courtiers were chuckling all around them now.

That was it.

He caught her next punch in his hand and deflected it to the side, pulling her down on top of him. He felt the softness of her body crash into his, but was too angry to pay attention to the need that speared his belly.

Curling his free hand around the back of her neck he pulled her down and held her nose-to-nose with him, making sure he had her full attention, “Now listen very carefully, I didn’t lie to you. I’m also not taking you back, no matter how much you pummel me, so I recommend that you stop making a spectacle of yourself in front of the entire court and make the best of this. You can start by getting the hell off me.”

The rage in her eyes faded to bewilderment and self-loathing slithered through him, but he didn’t let it show.

“You need to let go of me.” She whispered, her sweet breath brushing his lips.


“I can’t get off of you if you’re still holding me down.”

“Oh,” he released the back of her neck as though it were on fire, “of course.”

Sam chose that moment to swoop in, offering a gallant hand, “Are you all right, my lady? This oaf didn’t hurt you, I trust?” He helped Katie to her feet before delivering a solid kick to Des’ ribs.

Katie shook her head, “N-no, I’m fine.” She looked around, “Wh-where am I?”

Des watched from the floor as Sam dropped into a deep bow and pressed a lingering kiss to her fingers, “You are in the main audience chamber of the palace of the Great Oak, seat of the ruling family of the Old Forest for the last few thousand years.”

Stunned, she replied, “And who are you?”

“I am crown prince Samuil Arlatly, of the house of the Great Oak.” Sam bowed again and swept a hand toward the dais, “And this is my father, king of the Old Forest and head of the Arlatly family.”

The similarity in last names did not escape Katie’s somewhat bewildered notice. She looked down at Des. “You’re a prince?”

Sam laughed, pulling her attention back to himself, “Oh, no. Des is nothing more than a bastard; a by-blow of my mother’s. The family name is strictly a courtesy extended to a useful vassal.” He threw a contemptuous glance down at Des, “He could no more rule the kingdom than I could become a peasant.”

Feeling exposed and awkward, Des finally pushed back to his feet, ignoring Katie and his brother and turning to the king. “I believe I am owed my reward now.”

“Of course.” The king replied waving a hand at Sam, “Give him the key, son.”

Withdrawing the key and map from his pocket, Sam let it drop to the ground, forcing Des to bend and pick it up.

He snatched it from the ground and turned to leave, afraid to look at Katie in case he gave into the strong urge to grab her and run for the hills.

“Don’t you want to stay for the party?” Sam teased.

He stopped and turned back to his brother, “What party?”

“My engagement party, of course.”

“Engagement?” Katie frowned, “Who are you getting engaged to?”


“What? No!” She pulled out of Sam’s grasp and backed up, “I’m not marrying you.”

“Oh, yes you are!” Sam growled, catching her and wrestling her into his embrace, “Tomorrow, in fact. I’ve been watching you for years. We’re meant to be together.” He stroked a rough hand through her hair, leaving it mussed, “I’m offering you the chance to become a princess, isn’t that what every girl wants?”

“No!” She shrieked, struggling to free herself from Sam’s hold, “I don’t even know you!”

“Trust me,” he purred, one hand dropping to the hem of her nightie, pulling the fabric up over her hip, displaying her lacy blue underwear to the entire court as he dug his fingers into her flesh, “you’ll love me. I’m amazing.”

Sam bent his head, capturing her lips in a savage kiss as his hands plastered her body to his. She tried to turn away, but Sam was stronger, grabbing her by the back of the head and holding her still as his hips began to roll against hers.

Good Gods, Sam wasn’t going to rape the girl right here in front of the entire court, was he?

“Samuil Arlatly, stop that right now!” Jerrin thundered from his place next to the king’s throne. Their uncle had a surprisingly commanding voice when he wanted to.

“Stay out of it, Jerrin,” the king warned.

“No.” Jerrin retorted, “I put up with much in this court, but I will not stand by and watch an innocent woman violated for your amusement.”

Every eye in the room was locked on Jerrin, and most of the courtiers’ mouths were hanging open. No one had ever spoken to the king like that in public.

And with good reason.

Des could only watch as his step-father hefted his scepter in his right hand and swung, driving the studded ball on the end deep into Jerrin’s gut. Jerrin coughed and sputtered, collapsing to the floor next to the dais.

“Anyone else have something to say?” the king taunted.

Silence met his words.

Sam pulled Katie’s nightgown up even higher, sliding his free hand up to squeeze her breast.

Des scanned the room. Every single one of the courtiers stood, gazes fixed on the marble at their feet, hating the scene before them, but unable to do anything about it. Sam was the crown prince, after all.

Well, somebody had to do something.

It looked like it would have to be him.

Tucking the key to his new home deep into his pocket so that it could not be taken away from him, Des strode right up to Sam and Katie.

The girl’s eyes were wide with terror as they fixed on him. There was no doubt she expected to be raped.

“Let her go, Sam.”

His brother ripped his mouth away from Katie’s to turn a sneer on Des, “No. She’s mine and I’ll do as I please with her, so get lost.”

Sam was a bully, but Des knew, when it actually came down to brass tacks, that he was far more accomplished at hurting people. He let some of that knowledge slip into his voice, “Let the girl go before I have to hurt you.”

Now that got Sam’s attention. He released Katie, shoving her backwards where she stumbled into the arms of a waiting guard, and turned to face Des. Des kept his eyes off the rather prominent erection making a ridge in his brother’s trousers and returned the man’s glare.

Sam lashed out, slugging Des in the gut. Des doubled over as his breath left him.

“Anything else you’d like to say before I beat your ass into next week?” Sam leered, looming over Des.

“Just this,” he wheezed, pulling himself upright and catching Katie’s eye over his brother’s shoulder, “you might want to duck.”

Katie snatched the guard’s dagger and spun, waving it in the man’s face. The man lifted his hands in surrender.

Sam turned to see what was going on and Des took advantage of his opportunity to drive a hard fist into Sam’s kidneys. His brother squealed and dropped to his knees.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” Des grunted, kicking Sam in the ribs.

His half-brother went down in a heap.

“Stop this at once!” the king bellowed, “Guards, arrest him!”

Des delivered one more kick to Sam’s inert form then put up his hands. After all, what had he expected? He’d known he was in for it the moment he’d decided to pound on the crown prince.

Two guards appeared from within the crowd of stunned courtiers to flank him. He didn’t put up a fight as they pushed him to the foot of the dais and down onto his knees.

Katie landed on the carpet beside him, the guard she’d been threatening having stripped her of her weapon with little difficulty.

“Well done,” he whispered.

She huffed, “Thanks… and thanks for saving me.”

“Silence,” the king decreed, “Desimund, you leave me no choice but to find you guilty of treason. You will be put to death at with the last rays of the sunset this evening. And as for you,” he turned his gaze on Katie, “you will marry my son. Tonight. Immediately following the execution.”

He raised his eyes to the room at large, “You will all prepare for a feast, for tonight we celebrate the death of a traitor and the marriage of a prince.”

This declaration was met with stony silence. Apparently Des wasn’t the only one who’d been mistreated by Sam and his father.

The guards hauled Des to his feet and began marching him down the carpet towards the doors. Each face they passed was suffused with pity or outrage instead of joy.

The guards tossed him into a cell in the dungeon which was ringed with sealed lanterns intended to dispel every shadow but paused before turning to leave. The bigger one–Ted?–spoke, “We’re right sorry about this, sir. There ain’t a person in this kingdom who don’t know how hard you worked for us. There’s plenty of folks round here who’d rather see you on the throne than that old tyrant and his disgrace of a son.”

The other guard nodded.

Des smiled, “Thanks, I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“T’weren’t nothing but the truth, sir.”

Then the door closed and Des was left alone with his thoughts.


Katie found herself separated from Des, escorted up the main stairs and down a walnut-panelled hall lined with regular doors. The guards opened the last one on the right and tossed her into the room beyond. It was a well-appointed bedroom done entirely in blue. As the door slammed shut and she heard the guards take up positions outside the door, a short, mousy woman in a blue dress rose from a chair by the fire.

She curtseyed, “Good day, my lady. My name is Catriona; I’m here to help you prepare for your wedding.”

Wretched dread plunked into Katie’s gut, “Hello Catriona, it’s nice to meet you, but I won’t be getting married.”

The woman’s eyes widened, “Oh, but you have to, my lady, the prince demands it, and what the prince wants, the king grants.”

“He’s not my king.” Katie retorted.

“But… but he’ll have you executed if you disobey… just look at poor lord Desimund. Faithful to the crown for his whole life, one wrong word and now he’s going to die.”

The very sound of his name dispelled a little of the despair clutching at her heart. She couldn’t help herself. “Do you know lord Desimund well? He seems like a nice guy.”

The other woman’s eyes lit up and she grinned as she bustled about the room, preparing a huge fluffy pink dress as well as some punitive-looking undergarments, “Oh, lord Desimund is indeed a true gentleman. The king forces him to do horrible things and the poor man is so loyal that he does them, though you can see he doesn’t like it. And he’s never been anything but kind to the serving staff.” Catriona bustled back over to Katie and lowered her voice to a whisper, “Many of us wish that he was the prince instead of Samuil–or even that he was king.” She shook her head, “But that’ll never happen now.”


Des sat in the centre of his cell, hugging his knees, and let despair claim him.

For so much of his life he’d been walking a fine line; balancing on the edge of his step-father and brother’s contempt, it was really a miracle that he hadn’t been put to death for some minor slight before now. And the worst part was he couldn’t save Katie. Yes, uncle Jerrin had promised to look out for the girl, but after today’s little display it was clear that he was in no real position to help. He didn’t resent his uncle for that; the man was a lone beacon of goodness in a rotten family. But still, it was a double insult to go to his death knowing that the innocent girl he’d delivered into his step-father’s care was in for a lifetime of abuse at Sam’s hands.

The very thought made him see red. She didn’t deserve a fate like that. She’d been kind enough to free him and trust him and how had he repaid her? By snatching her away from her life to become his half-brother’s sex-toy.

For the first time in his life, he felt truly capable of strangling his brother to death and damn the consequences. After all, what more could they do to him? He was already going to die. Surely there’d be at least one shadow on the way to the block. If he was quick he could probably strangle Sam before the guards had time to react.

A noise at the door to his cell caught his attention and he looked up. Uncle Jerrin stepped into the light and let the door fall shut behind him. Once he was sure they were alone, he spoke, “I do not have much time, Des. The guards are covering my visit as well as possible, but if I’m gone for too long my brother will suspect something.” He whipped off his cloak and covered the six lanterns by the door, standing in the centre of the room. His shadow stretched out behind him and he gestured to it, “Hurry, there’s a dark nook just around the corner to the right.”

But Des shook his head, “No. I appreciate the gesture, Uncle, but I’m done with running and hiding. I’m going to face this head-on.”

Jerrin blinked at him, “Please, you must go. I will not have your death on my conscience.”

“And what about Katie?”

“You mean the girl?”


“She is too well-guarded for even you to save. You must forget her.”

“And if I can’t?”

“I will do my best for her, but her life is not worth more than yours… please, Desimund, go!”

“Well I happen to believe her life is worth more than mine. She’s an innocent and I brought her into this mess. I’m staying right here. I may not be able to do much for her, but my best shot is tonight at the execution. I will do what I can or die trying.”

Jerrin made a plaintive noise, “I cannot make you go, but I do wish you would.”

Des just shook his head again.

“Very well, then. At least take this.” His uncle pressed something cold and metal into Des’ palm and collected his cloak. He paused in the doorway, his silver gaze gentle, “You never cease making me proud.” He slipped from the room and shut the door behind him.

Des looked down at the dagger in his hand and smiled. It wasn’t big, but it was enough to kill Sam.


Katie stood on the makeshift altar in the middle of the clearing in front of the castle, which, much to her surprise, appeared to be carved from the biggest, oldest oak tree she’d ever seen. It had taken two guards, Catriona, and a footman to hold her down long enough to cram her into the ridiculous dress she now wore, but in the end they had overcome her. So here she stood, her ankles shackled together and those shackles chained to the floor under the bell shaped skirts of her frilly pink dress, watching the doors of the palace for what would be her last glimpse of Des. She told herself there was nothing romantic about he desire–no, need–to see him one last time, it was simple gratitude. He was going to die because he stood up to defend her. Other than the kidnapping he’d seemed like a decent sort of guy, he didn’t deserve this.

The main doors swung open and Katie felt her heart leap, but it was the pale Prince Samuil who strode through the door, not Des’ dark self. The prince paused on the top step and raised his arms.

The assembled courtiers clapped in a subdued sort of way.

Prince Samuil raked the crowd with a warning look and raised his arms once more.

This round of applause was more enthusiastic.

He strode across the grass and climbed the steps to take his place next to Katie on the altar. He leered down at her chest. This dress did do quite a lot to frame her cleavage.

“Ready to be a princess, my love?” he sneered.

Katie snorted. “I’m not your love.”

“Hmm,” he curled an arm around her waist and pushed her hip against the ridge in his pants, “give it a couple hours.”

He bent to force another kiss on her, but at that moment the doors to the palace burst open again and the king strode out to another round of subdued applause. The prince released her and turned to watch as the king proceeded down the steps, a shackled Des following behind flanked by two guards, an epic black eye blooming where she’d punched him earlier. He was followed by the other man who had been on the dais in the audience chamber this afternoon. Some kind of advisor if she had to guess, though after his outburst and subsequent beating this afternoon, his advice clearly wasn’t always welcome.


The advisor was walking behind Des, his liquid silver gaze fixed on Des’ back, a look of deep regret on his face.

In fact, out of the entire crowd, the king, the prince, and Des were the only ones who didn’t look wretchedly unhappy. Des was actually smiling.

He must be insane.

Or on drugs.

He glanced up at the altar on his way by, the black pools of his eyes shining as he offered Katie an encouraging smile. He turned his gaze on the prince and his smile turned sly, a subtle threat written in his look.

The prince just sneered back at his half-brother, “Why so happy, Des? Finally getting what you deserve?”

Des didn’t bother answering, instead his gaze flicked to a spot on the altar just behind the prince and his grin widened.

Katie glanced behind the prince, but didn’t see anything remarkable, just the loose boards of the temporary floor.

As though offering its own farewell salute to Des, the lowering sun broke from behind the clouds which had been concealing its light, casting sharp, dark shadows of the trees across the floor of the clearing.

That was when all hell broke loose. There was a shout from somewhere in the crowd as Des and his guards passed into one of the shadows and Des disappeared. Katie blinked in disbelief. He’d been there one moment and gone the next, shackles and all.

The two guards whirled searching the clearing, but no one expected what happened next.

Somehow Des materialized in the darkness of the prince’s shadow on the altar. He stepped forward and threw is manacled hands over the prince’s head, pulling the man back against his chest. His eyes were dancing and there was a devilish grin on his lips as something bright and silver flashed between his fingers.

The prince’s eyes flew wide and his mouth dropped open. He began making little choking sounds as red blood bloomed against the pale skin of his throat.

“What’s the matter, brother?” Des purred in the dying man’s ear, “Finally getting what you deserve?”

He lifted his hands and stepped back, letting his half-brother drop to the crude wooden floor of the altar.

Katie opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Des flashed her a blinding smile and winked, “Just a moment, my lady, I have one other thing to take care of.”

Meanwhile, the king had managed to regain his wits and was now screaming himself purple ordering his guards to surround him and capture the rogue Shadow Fey.

Katie could only assume he meant Des.

The man in question stepped behind Katie. Was he seriously going to use her as a shield? What a coward. She whirled to tell him so just in time to see the last glint of his black eyes as he dissolved into her shadow.


A woman screamed and Katie whirled back to face the clearing. Des had somehow managed to get inside the circle of guards and was currently pressing the small silver thing in his hands to the king’s white throat. The guards, for their part, were scrambling to rearrange themselves in a way that might be useful to their master. They were well trained. It took them only a moment to draw their crystal swords and train them on Des.

“What are you waiting for, you clods?” the king screamed, “Kill the traitor!”

Des did not look in the least bit afraid. He shrugged, “Well, who’s going to be first?”

No one moved.

“That’s what I thought.” Des muttered. He turned his gaze to the king’s face, “Just so you know, I never really considered you my father.” The silver in Des’ fingers flashed again and another pale throat ran red.

He let the king’s body drop to the ground, let go of his little knife, and raised his hands, “All right gents, you may now execute me.”

The ring of guards around him just stared, clearly unsure whose orders to obey now.

Des laughed, “I believe in a case like this the crown reverts to the king’s younger brother.”

All eyes turned to the king’s advisor who looked nothing short of staggered.

Finally, one of the guards surrounding Des who seemed a little more experienced than the others grabbed Des by the collar and pushed him over to the advisor, throwing him down in the grass at the man’s feet.

“What should we do with this traitor, my lord?” the man asked, his tone full of wariness.

The advisor seemed to come back to himself with a thump. He looked down at Des’ dark head, back up at the guard, and then out over the crowd. He swallowed. “Let him go.”

A palpable wave of relief washed through the assembled courtiers, followed by a huge cheer.

As one of the other guards rushed over to undo Des’ manacles, the first guard returned to the king’s body, plucked the delicate silver crown from his head, and placed it on the advisor’s brow, shouting “All hail King Jerrin!”

“All hail King Jerrin!” the crowd returned, bursting into jubilant cheering and applause.

King Jerrin, for his part, was blushing.

Des, meanwhile, had retrieved the keys from the guard who’d freed him and climbed up onto the altar. He smiled down at her, “I hear you’ve got some unwanted jewelry under that skirt of yours.”

A laugh wrung itself out of her chest around her immense relief and she smiled, “You heard right.”

“Well then, pardon my forwardness.”

He dropped to his knees and lifted the edge of her skirt. He let out a low whistle, “Wow, they were serious about keeping you here.”

The warmth of his fingers brushed her bare ankles as he unlocked the iron rings and she laughed again, “It did take four people to get me into this dress.”

Des popped back to his feet with a grin, “And what a lovely dress it is.”

She punched him in the arm.


They shared a little laugh which dropped into an awkward silence.

“Oh, by the way, I’m sorry about this.” She mumbled, brushing her fingertips across his cheekbone below his black eye.

He shrugged, “Don’t worry, it happens all the time.”

“So, um, what now?”

“Well,” he surveyed the clearing where the courtiers were busy taking turns offering the new king their warmest congratulations, “Now that Jerrin is king, I think things are really going to turn around here. He’ll be an excellent ruler. He’s the fairest, most well-reasoned person I’ve ever known.”

“I meant what’s next for you, you dolt.”

“Oh.” he turned to look at her, “I hadn’t really thought about that. I suppose I’ll be taking possession of this.” He pulled large, iron key out of his pocket with a piece of parchment tied to the loop end.

“A key?”

“A house, actually.”

“Ah.” A flutter of disappointment beat against her heart. What had she really been expecting? They barely knew each other. “And me? Do I get to go home?”

Something sad flickered across his face, “Yes, of course. I can’t keep you here.”

Was it just her imagination, or did he sound sad about that?

“Shall we?” He gestured towards the bottom of the steps.

She walked down the stairs and he followed, passing her when they got to the grass.

“This way.” He grabbed her hand and warmth shot through her, but didn’t seem to affect him one bit.

Hand in hand, he led her out of the clearing into the forest. They walked for what seemed like mere minutes before they came to a chain-link fence, more specifically the chain-link fence that ran along Castle Boulevard a mere few blocks from her home. Confused, she turned, looking back the way they’d come. How could that whole crazy kingdom exist so close to her community without anyone knowing about it?

The forest behind her looked the same as it always did, small and devoid of any magical kingdoms.

“How–?” She blurted.

Des stopped at the fence and turned back to her, “Oh, the Old Forest isn’t actually part of your world. This copse of trees just happens to hold a gate between your world and mine.” He lifted a hand and tapped a series of joints in the fence. A large section of it dissolved before her very eyes.

Katie gaped.

“It’s a glamour,” he explained, “a magical illusion. Though, from your side of the fence it’s perfectly solid.”

He fell silent and they stared at each other for a moment. She studied his face, memorizing his funny black eyes, the slight point to his ears, his careless black hair and the warm scent of forest that drifted from him.

“Will I ever see you again?” She asked.

His eyebrows drifted up, “That depends. Do you want to?”

She shrugged, “Maybe.”

“Well, don’t try and find me. The Old Forest may seem benign, but it has a nasty habit of eating humans unwary enough to wander into its clutches. However, if you like,” he glanced down at the ground, “perhaps I could come and visit sometime.”

She reached out and lifted his gaze back to hers, smiling into his eyes, “I’d like that.”

His expression brightened, “How about Thursday?”

“It’s a date.” She sighed, “But for now I should get home and get out of this ridiculous outfit.”

“Ah, right.” He stepped aside to let her pass through the fence.

Once she was on the other side she turned back, took one last look at him through the now-solid chain-link and blew him a kiss.

He grinned and blew one back.

She turned and hurried down the street, hoping he didn’t see the little skip in her step.

© 2014 Kalyna Conrad