Be sure to check out The Spellbound Scribes blog!

As many of you know, I contribute to another blog, The Spellbound Scribes. We took a quick hiatus to revamp our blog and retool our thinking. But it is back up and we hit the ground running!

Be sure to follow me and my fellow Scribes to read some awesome creative and informative posts. You'll find flash fiction, story in the round, posts on writing craft, plans for world domination, things that go bump in the night, pretty much anything you'd like to see from a group of Paranormal writers.

Flash Fiction: Strange Desire

Its been a while since I joined in on Chuck Wendig's flash fiction challenges, but I had time this week and I really liked his challenge. He ordered us to open up our perfered music player and see what the first song was that came up and use it as the inspiration for this week's story. Once again we only had 1000 words to work with, but amazingly, I used less than the allotted number of words! So I opened my player and got "Strange Desire" by The Black Keys. Et voila!

Strange Desire

It was raining the first night I met Owen. His hair was dark and plastered to his head, water rushing off his jacket, making puddles around his boots as the door closed behind him, the bells jingling his arrival. Standing behind the counter I was able to watch him as he looked around the crowded charm shop, clearly confused and a little intimidated. Ronnie kept her shelves well stocked and if you weren’t careful, you could be paying for jars and jars of vervain, thistle thorns and violet blossoms as they tumbled to shatter on the floor.

If I hadn’t offered to watch the shop for Ronnie, she would’ve been the one to meet this green-eyed stranger. When he finally made his way through the maze of the shop he approached the counter, keeping a few feet back. The collar of his jacket was turned up around his jaw and the length of his hair swept forward, leaving very little face for me to see.

“Help you?” I asked.

“Um, yeah,” he said, jamming his hand into his pocket and pulling out a slip of paper. Passing me the damp note he said, “I need these things.” I pursed my lips as I read over the list, noting the very specific list of ingredients.

“You’re haunted?” I asked, the blunt question bringing his head up and he blinked at me.

“Pardon?”

“These items, you’re gonna do a spirit banishing, right?” I pressed, turning from him to get the white mistletoe berries that Ronnie kept behind the counter because they were so expensive and difficult to get.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hands in his jacket pockets as he tried to look around the store casually.

“Look,” I said as I measured out the berries, “you gotta tell me or I can’t sell you anything.”

“Why?” he demanded, looking at me again. This time I saw the spark in his eyes but his power of persuasion wouldn’t work on a witch so I didn’t look away.

“It’s the law, Green-eyes.” He blinked at me again, the corner of his mouth twitching in an almost smile. Finally he nodded and I went to gather the other items he would need.

“Have you ever performed a banishing before?” I asked, crouched behind a shelf, looking for the alcohol infused carnation petals.

“No,” he replied, his voice muffled by distance and shelves.

“They aren’t easy,” I said as I came around, the petals in one hand and the bundle of black candles in the other. “Ghosts are stubborn, especially if they don’t know they’re ghosts. You be sure to mean it when you do the spell. Most people can’t perform spells like these unless they’re witches or psychics, you know?” He didn’t respond, just kept staring at me, making me feel twitchy. I was just glad he blinked occasionally.

“Um,” the paper bag rattled as I tried to still my hand, placing his items inside. “Do you have red storax oil?” He glanced up at me, pausing in his motion to take out his wallet.

“Do I have what now?” he furrowed his brow at me and I found myself staring at the dimples it caused on his forehead.

“Red storax oil,” I repeated. “I’m pretty sure I know what spell you’re using, after the ritual you’re supposed to keep some of the berries in that oil.”

“Oh,” he said slowly, moving his eyes to the cash register. I quickly punched in his total, the machine letting out a loud chime as the total came up. He tossed a few bills on the counter and snatched the bag. Before I could give him his change he was turning away, making his way towards the door.

“Dude,” I called after him, catching his attention and making him glance over his shoulder. “Your change?” He came back, moving faster than my eyes could track and his fingers were suddenly brushing the back of my hand as he took the cash I was holding. I jumped back when I finally realized he was there, dropping a few of the coins on the glass countertop. The coins spun where they fell until they came twirling to a stop. I was holding my hand to my chest, staring wide-eyed at him.

“Red storax oil, you said?” he asked, his voice a little softer now than it had been before.

“Yeah,” I managed, my voice catching in my throat. “We, ah, we don’t have any right now. The apothecary down the block should have some though.” He glanced to his right as if he could see the apothecary shop through the very walls of Ronnie’s shop. He nodded his head towards me when he pulled his eyes from the wall.

“Thanks,” he said, softer still, I felt a pressure over the swell of my shoulder, grazing my skin along the muscle, as if his very voice carried the caress of warm fingers.

“Sure,” I said, feeling my face flush.

He turned on his heel again and left the shop, the bells jingling again. I swallowed my heart and braced myself on the cool glass countertop. You’d think I’d never met a vampire before.


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Flash Fiction: The Unexpected Guest

Another flash fiction challenge offered by Chuck Wendig. What is awesome about this is that I am developing backstory on a character that I'm excited to start writing with once done with book 4 of my Elemental Series, Fire. This insallment is a prequel to this blog, and this one. Its based on the concept of "The Unexpected Guest." Enjoy!

I was almost out of vervain; I was almost out of a lot of my stores. I’d have to go visit Ronnie soon. I closed the cupboard, deciding against the potion I was going to make; if I didn’t do it right it would blow up in my face.

“Gonna have to find work soon, Artie,” I reached to scratch him behind the ears as he purred on the kitchen table. “We’ll both be eating canned tuna if I’m not careful.” Artemis rolled on his back, four black paws stretching in opposite directions before he became boneless.

I reached for the fridge door, poking through left over take out containers. Just as I grabbed a cold eggroll someone banged at my front door. A glance at the clock told me it was well after midnight. It wasn’t odd for someone to come by so late, but I wasn’t expecting anyone. I bit off a bite of eggroll and nudged the fridge closed with my hip. I grabbed my baseball bat on my way to the door. Sure, I could hex whoever it was or use my knock out powder, but if it was a friend they wouldn’t thank me for it in the morning.

I rose up on my toes to check the peephole just as my impatient caller banged again. I couldn’t see his face, but I saw the curly tuft of light red hair. I drew in a deep breath and caught a whiff of alcohol and sour garbage. Through the door I heard the distinct sound of a nose being blown, I prayed he had a handkerchief, but I doubted it.

“What do you want, troll?” I demanded through the closed door. I hefted my bat in one hand, munching the last bite of eggroll.

“Whot? Through the door now?” he whined.

“Why should I let you in?” I asked around a mouthful.

“I’ll pay!”

“For what?” I opened the door as far as the security chain would allow.

“For work,” he pressed. I did not work for trolls; even he was only half troll. Artemis mrrowed loudly, reminding me of the thought of sharing food with him.

“For the love of frogs,” I cursed, “Fine!” I snapped, slamming the door to release the chain. I stormed back into my living room. I kept the bat in hand.

“Thanks, Mattie,” he breathed, shutting the door behind him.

“Matilda,” I corrected, “only my friends call me Mattie.” I sat on the couch, leaving him the uncomfortable straight-backed chair. “What do you want?”

“I need to catch a fairy,” he said. He sat on the edge of the chair, knee bouncing and clutching a worn porkpie hat in his knobby fingers. The tuft of hair on top of his head didn’t hide his batwing-like ears; he might’ve passed for any other fae – maybe even human – if it weren’t for those ears.

“You’re serious?” I blinked at him.

“Yeah, whot of it?”

“Well, it’s dangerous for one thing. And I do mean fatal,” I paused to lick the oil from my fingers, watching his reaction. He seemed excited at my warning, maybe because I hadn’t dismissed him. “And it’s expensive.”

“I have money,” he rushed, jamming a hand in his pocket, pulling out a pouch. He pulled the thing open, spilling a small mound of jewels on my coffee table. They gleamed ruby red, emerald green and sapphire blue.

“That’s a start,” I kept my face schooled.

“Fine!” he threw a wad of human currency on the table. I didn’t want to need his money, but rent was up next week.

“What are you gonna do with the fairy once you’ve got it?”

“Never you mind!” he growled, finding some confidence.

“Well if that’s how you want it, then no,” I said firmly, waving at the door.

“Whot?” his jaw dropped.

“Look, I don’t aid and abet criminals, if I don’t know what you’re going to do with it, I won’t help you.” I crossed my arms over my chest and waited.

“Money,” he said.

“What?”

“I want money!”

“You have money!” I waved at the pile on my table.

“Phsst,” he shook his head, “that’s nothing compared to whot a fairy can give me.” He was practically drooling. He was an idiot if he thought he could get a fortune out of a fairy, but if that’s all he wanted then I could sleep at night.

“Alright fine,” I sighed, “but you don’t catch a fairy, you know.”

“How’s that?”

“You steal their token,” I said, walking into the kitchen and pulling out a wooden disk, some oil and herbs. I was careful to make sure he couldn’t see what I was adding to the mortar. I ground the mixture and applied it to the wooden disk. The grain stained a darker color. I whispered a spell over the talisman so he couldn’t catch the words. It was all done in less than five minutes.

“That’s it?” he asked skeptically, taking the talisman from me.

“You just have to find the field where their token is, it’ll lead you to it. Once you have it, they have to answer your call and grant you one wish.” I said.

“Whot’s the token?”

“A four leaf clover.”

“Whot’s so hard about finding that?” I couldn’t help but laugh.

“They’ll have hidden it in a field of clover. For every ten thousand three leaf clovers there’ll be one four leaf clover. That’ll find it,” I nodded at the disk in his hand. “Once you get your wish, you’ll have to give it back though, otherwise you’ll risk the wrath of the Sidhe.” I saw the flicker of fear cross his face before he clutched the disk to his chest, turned and was out the door with a slam.

I shook my head at him as I gathered up the money that would see me through the next six months easily.

“Careful what you wish for, troll,” I sang, counting the bills.

Flash Fiction Challenge: Midsummer-Moon Madness

Another nifty challenge set by Chuck Wendig. Almost didnt make it. But finally I was inspired.

Midsummer-Moon Madness

Even though I lived in the city, it was always important to me to celebrate the Summer Solstice. I needed to light the bonfires and let the smoke rush over me, keeping the evil spirits away. I couldn’t just ignore the celebration of new harvests. Mother always said, “Don’t tempt The Fates, Matilda.” But I was worried about tonight. Tonight was the full moon.

There hadn’t been a full moon on Midsummer’s Eve in five years. I gave one last swipe of mascara before tossing it into my makeup kit. I had started to shake thinking about the last time a full moon had risen on Midsummer’s Eve and I didn’t trust myself not to stab myself in the eye.

“Well Artie,” I said to my purring, smushed-face cat dozing on my bed, “we’ll just have to be on our toes tonight, right?” I adjusted the chain around my neck that my pentagram hung from. Checked my hair one last time and switched off the light.

The streets were alive with people even though it was the middle of the week. I had missed the parade because I was busy finishing up the last few orders of potions that had to be filled for tonight’s festivities.

“Mattie!” a familiar voice called. I turned to see my friend, Veronica, locking up her charm shop that acted as the ground floor of our apartment building. I waited for her to catch up with me.

“Hiya, Ronnie,” I greeted her as she rushed up to me.

“Full moon tonight,” she reminded me, handing me a purple ribbon. I held it up to examine it and found she had braided some amethyst crystals into it. I handed it back to her, holding out my wrist and she tied it for me.

“Thanks,” I said and Ronnie smiled proudly at her trinket. It was to ward off psychic attacks, her effort to combat The Madness. I shook my wrist to settle it more comfortably and continued on. We were headed for the Rolling Hills Park where the Midsummer Festival was held. We were still blocks away but we could already hear the noise of the crowd and music. The smell of smoke and food eased something tight inside of me.

“So what are your plans tonight?” Ronnie asked.

“Oh I’m just looking forward to food I don’t have to cook and the fire,” I said.

“Will you dance?”

“I expect so. You?”

“I don’t know,” she replied shyly.

“It helps you know,” I said, “helps the fire do its job.”

“You really believe in the bonfires, huh?” she looked sideways at me.
“Of course,” I nodded.

“Maybe I will dance,” she said. We didn’t speak the rest of the way, the sidewalk and streets began to crowd with people. We drifted apart once we were in the park, I knew we’d probably find each other again when the bonfire was lit.

I strolled through the grounds, taking in the salty savory smells of food. I bought a sausage roll pastry and munched on it. The drums were pounding through the air, making the ground vibrate. The sun was setting fast in the west. People were lighting torches to keep the dark away, casting long flickering shadows through the crowds and booths.

It was the screaming that I registered first. Once I stepped out of the midway into the clearing with the Great Bonfire ready to be set aflame, I saw people running for their lives. I froze instantly. The bracelet around my wrist humed with life. There was a woman frantically searching for her baby. I heard it crying to my right, its wails lost among so many other raised voices. I dashed in its direction, finding a small boy, not even two-years-old yet, hidden by a trashcan. His onesie was torn and his face paint was smeared with tears and dirt. I scooped him up in my arms and ran for the woman.

“Oh bless you!” she cried as she took her baby from me, leaving me with only a smear of blue paint on my shirt.

“What’s going on?” I all but yelled at her to be heard. She had already started to turn away, but stopped to answer me.

“It’s the madness,” she said. “They’re overcome, save yourself.” And with that she was gone. I turned to look down the midway and saw that finally the commotion was reaching the people therein. Fires were being extinguished and people were running for their lives.

I turned back to the clearing. The torches had been extinguished – by accident or by design I didn’t know – that surrounded the Great Bonfire. In the shadows I saw figures running around the mass of wood, attacking and tackling people. I heard the snap of bones and a sick sucking noise that made my stomach roil.

One of the moon-stricken raised his head from his victim’s limp body. I slapped a hand to my mouth. He was half man, half monster. The bones of his face had elongated, stretching the skin. His eyes had bled to black and glinted in the moonlight. His fingers were long and sinister with claws and blood dripped from everywhere.

I ducked behind a trashcan before he noticed me, feeling my bracelet vibrating against my wrist, nearly burning me. I risked a glance and saw there was one last torch still burning on the other side of the bonfire structure. I needed to light the Great Bonfire.

“Mattie!” I nearly screamed as Ronnie snuck up behind me.

“For the love of toads, Ronnie!” I hissed at her.

“What do we do?” she whispered desperately.

“Stop having the festival when there’s a full moon,” I grumbled, glancing around the can again. The monster had moved on, leaving the body behind.

“Mattie!” Ronnie pressed.

“I think we need to light the bonfire.”

“How? All the fires have been put out,” her voice cracked.

“Not all of them.”

“You don’t have a fire spell?” she asked.

“Not one I can launch and it takes time, time we don’t have. Do you have a spell?”

“No,” she shook her head sadly. “I just have charms.”

“Then we have to get around to the other side and get to that torch before it’s put out.” Ronnie nodded at me, hiccupping in fear but there was resolve in her eyes. We crept out of our hiding place, keeping crouched low to the ground. We dashed from trashcan to trashcan, making it half way around the circle before we had to pause again as one of the moon-struck ran into our path, pausing to throw her head back and howled at the moon. Ronnie ducked her head and covered her ears. My heart pounded in my chest, I was sure it would rip itself out if one of those things caught me.

When the monster ran off in search of another victim I waved at Ronnie to follow me. There was no where else to hide. We ran full out for the flaming torch. Ronnie screamed behind me as a moon-stricken one tackled her. I skidded and stumbled to a stop, so damn close to the torch. I spun around. Ronnie was thrashing desperately under the monster that pinned her to the ground. I ran to them, reared my right foot back and swung full force, kicking the monster in the temple. Pain shot through my leg as my foot connected but he fell to the side and Ronnie scrambled free.

I grabbed her hand and we ran. Together we grabbed the torch and wrenched it free of the ground, nearly falling over each other as we did. Normally a prayer of thanks would’ve been chanted before the Great Bonfire was lit, but there was no time for that now. We threw the flaming torch through the air. It landed half way up the structure, the bundles of tinder caught fast and within seconds the Great Bonfire was blazing, lighting the dark clearing and smoking with vengeance.

The billowing clouds of grey smoke filled the park, washing over us. I inhaled the smoke gratefully, never coughing. Among the screams of the injured and pursued a chorus of howls rent the air. Soon the howls became screams and the monsters fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Bones slid back in place, claws retracted and color came back to their eyes. They laid motionless on the ground as an eerie silence settled over the clearing. Only the snap and pop of the fire could be heard. Gradually people came back to the clearing, kicking the moon-struck, checking to see if any of them were alive. They weren’t.

A cheer rang through the park and Ronnie and I were gathered up, held above the crowd as they chanted our praises. Ronnie was crying and I realized so was I.

That night we danced. We danced until the sun rose and the bodies of the moon-struck disintegrated with the suns early light.

Flash Fiction Friday - Warning: Lots of Profanity!

The dirty little mind of Chuck Wendig said this: “Profanity is fun. Profanity is a circus of language where the clowns are all insane and the elephant just stepped on a trapeze artist and something somewhere is on fire.” And has proposed a challenge to incorporate crafty profanity in this week's Friday Flash Fiction. I hope you enjoy:

That Stupid Mother Fucker

“Dirty little numb nut bastard!” I threw my keys into the bowl on the table by the front door, slamming the door shut with a kick. “Goddamn fucking gremlin thinks he can cheat me!” I screamed at the ceiling.

“Mrrrow!”

“Ugh,” I sighed. “Hello baby,” I bent down and scooped up my cat, Artemis, before I tripped over him. He purred loudly in my arms becoming boneless as I buried my face in his fur, stepping out of my wet shoes, kicking them away.

“Alright, Artemis, it’s time for Mama to perform a little payback for that shit-faced dick weasel,” I whispered, feeling a sense of giddiness come over me as I walked into the kitchen. I set Artemis on the counter and poured him some cream from the fridge so he’d let me work in peace.

“So he asks me to make him a fucking spell. I make the fucking spell. I gave him the fucking spell. And what does that stupid mother fucker do?” I asked the cat as I slammed my spell pot on the stove top. “He stiffs me!” Sparks erupted from my fingertips in blue and white in my anger.

“Says he doesn’t need the spell anymore. Says I took too long to brew it. I told that maggoty piece of dog shit that it would take a week to brew! A whole fucking week of my life out the goddamn window!” I snatched a wooden spoon from the utensil holder on the counter, spinning it in my hand. “Well this is one bitchy witch he shouldn’t have fucked with!”

“Mrow?”

“Yep, that’s exactly what I was thinking.” I hit the side of the pot with the spoon; the flames erupted underneath, the clang echoing in the silent kitchen. I started gathering items from of the cupboards.

“Thistle thorns, oil, peppercorns, chicory, dandelion,” I listed off the ingredients as I found them. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to get that much fucking Mistletoe? In the fucking middle of Summer?” I asked Artemis as I poured the oil into the heated pot, letting it come to a boil before adding the other ingredients.

“Double, double, boil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble,” I sang, stirring the pot.

“Mmmrrow,” Artemis stretched long before jumping off of the counter to curl up under the tiny kitchen table.

“Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d,” I rummaged through the cupboards again, coming back up with a small bottle, stopped with an eyedropper. When the potion bubbled with a noxious smell I tapped the pot with the spoon again, extinguishing the flames. The bubbles died away quickly. Unscrewing the stopper I dipped the eyedropper into the potion.

“Let’s see how the little fuck likes this spell.” I twisted the cap back onto the now full bottle. Holding the little bottle up to the light I shook it roughly and spoke the incantation, “By the power of the moon and the light of the stars, for every lie spoken mark his face with scars.”

I pocketed the vial and pulled on my coat, stepping into dry shoes and grabbing my umbrella. I found my keys in the bowl and grabbed my purse, “Don’t wait up for me Artie, Mama’s gonna be late.”

The cab ride was short and terrifying in the dark, rain soaked streets. I flew out of the car and into the hotel lobby. I nodded at the doorman as I passed, I had never stayed at a hotel nice enough for a doorman but this prick wouldn’t pay me for my hard work?

“Bullshit,” I muttered, earning a look from the same doorman.

“Floor, ma’am?” The elevator attendant asked as I walked on. I cringed.

“You know, you’d get better tips if you’d just called every woman ‘Miss’, stupid jackass.” The attendant blinked at me, a little frightened. “Ugh, the penthouse, please,” I added grudgingly.

“I’m sorry, you have to have a pass for the penthouse,” he replied meekly.

“Oh, right, here you go,” I said, pulling out a handful of memory dust, blowing it in his face. His features went slack, all recognition gone from his eyes. I reached past him and pushed the button for myself. I tipped him when I stepped off, slipping the dollar into his jacket pocket.

I strode up to the French doors and knocked loudly, another handful of dust in my hand so when the butler opened the door I was ready for him. Stepping past the stunned man I went straight for the wet bar and grabbed one of the crystal tumblers set with the decanter of whiskey. I pulled out my vial of truth potion and with a practiced hand I dripped three measured drops, swirling the glass to coat the rim before it dried.

“That should do the trick, you stupid mother fucker.” I set the glass back down and set the small lavender envelope on the silver serving tray.

The next morning, curled up on the couch under grandmother’s afghan, Artemis purring away on my lap and a steaming cup of coffee in my hand, I watched the news. I couldn’t help but smile as the video of the city mayor played on a loop, the pockmarks spelling out “I cheat on my wife with crab-infested-whores” covering his entire face.

The phone had been ringing all morning. My voicemail was full. But the only thing I was interested in was the knock at my door and the delivery boy who handed over my retainer fee plus interest. I sent him away with another lavender envelope with the invoice for the cost of the spell to break the hex on the poor mayor’s face. I knew there would be a second knock and another ten thousand dollars later that day. Until then the pockmarks would begin to fester and burst with puss.

“That stupid mother fucker,” I chuckled, scratching Artemis behind the ears. “Never fuckwith a bitchy witch.”

Flash Fiction Challenge: The Cocktail

Today the awesome Chuck Wendig proposed a 500 word challege to tell a story inspired by a cocktail. This is what I came up with:

Irish Gold

The elevator doors binged open. I stepped on to the black and white marble floor, heels clicking, nearly sparking in the reflection. The slot machines whirled, fake money clinked into the metal receptacles, yet only spitting out vouchers. He’d said to meet him at the bar, but there were five bars here. I flicked my bangs out of my eyes, pushing on sides of my too short skirt. It had seemed like a good idea when I was standing in front of the mirror.

I closed my eyes for a moment and tuned out the gamblers and smokers. I turned my head to the side, focusing on the men in the nearby bar. Seeking through the mélange of leaches and lushes I finally heard the unmistakable whine of Jimmy.

Making my way through the maze of blackjack tables until I finally came up behind him. He was ogling the waitress, a hand slipping out to graze her thigh as she reached across the bar. I hit him over the head with my clutch before she had a chance to.

“Thanks there doll,” she winked at me before spinning away.

“Pig of a human,” I sneered at Jimmy, sliding onto the barstool, careful to keep my knees together.

“Being human doesn’t make me a pig,” he whined. I spun in my seat, kicking him in the shin. “Damnit!” he swore, rubbing his leg. “Besides, I’m only half human.”

“Do you have it or not?”

“I said I have it, didn’t I?”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Well, I do.”

“Then hand it over.”

“Not until I get what’s coming to me.” He crossed his arms over his chest, bunching up the cheap suit jacket.

“Fine, what’s your price?”

“I want to be rich,” he lifted his hands in front of him, “So rich women will throw themselves at me.”

“Original,” I closed my eyes, taking a moment to saddle my temper. “Stop drooling.” I pulled out a black and white casino chip worth one hundred dollars, handing it to him.

“Is this a joke?” he demanded.

“Go over to the roulette table, place it on seven, let it ride twice, then zero, then seven again. That should get you plenty of money.” As I spoke Jimmy hastily wrote down my instructions on a cocktail napkin.

“That’s it?” he asked, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy.

“Well there is the small matter of the…” I held out my hand.

“Right, here!” Jimmy handed me the four leaf clover. If he hadn’t been half troll he would never have found it. I opened the locket on my chain and set it inside, breathing easier. It was pretty embarrassing being the first fairy caught by a troll.

I watched Jimmy scramble to the roulette table, placing the bets as I instructed. Before the dealer could give him his winnings for the last bet security swarmed over him, confiscating the black and white chip, slipping open the back, revealing the computer components inside.

“Got what’s coming to you.”

Cocktail Recipe
Irish Gold
Ingredients:
•2 parts Tullamore Dew Irish Whiskey
•2 parts ginger ale
•1/2 part peach schnapps
•splash of orange juice
•lime for garnish
Preparation:
1. Build the whiskey, schnapps and juice in a Collins glass filled with ice.
2. Top with ginger ale.
3. Garnish with a lime.