Story Idea: Magic in the Forest

 

Excerpt: The Orphan - Rose scented shampoo

 

HE RETURNED AFTER hours of waiting. Her nerves screamed at her to go after him, help him, he may be in trouble, but just as she was about to abandon the dry hollow where she hid, he appeared.

Sunflower hit him in the shoulder. “Don’t do that again,” she snarled.

He merely laughed … and held out a holdall.

Eyes narrowed, she snatched it, opened it. Oh. Fresh clothes. Toiletries, including pads.

“We can wash in the pond we saw a way back.” Adin watched her rummage, clearly enjoying her reactions. “But first …”

She accepted the brown bag he shook with wiggling eyebrows. Food. Proper stuff-it-in food. Sunflower sat flat on the stony ground, and stuffed her face. Although cold, it was delicious. Fries, deep fried fish, pork sausages, savoury tarts, and a yummy chilli dip.

“How?” she asked around filled cheeks.

“Raided the clothes recycle bin to look presentable enough, washed up in a toilet in back of the local gas station, and then went shopping. Got some funny looks for the girl stuff, but so what?” He peered at her. “Charged my phone at the diner.”

Sunflower stared at him. “You went online?”

“That’s what took so long, yes.”

“And?”

“Your father put out a fresh appeal for you on your birthday, but I didn’t find anything else about you.”

Sucking the last of the sauce from her fingers, she prompted, “Fred?” She still called him Fred, easier to deal with him, as if he were no more than a character in a play.

“Dug some into Paul Paterson’s life. Seems he vanished around the time you did, so it’s definitely him. Folks have the kind of money to put him in that fancy school, but he was the fifth son, won’t inherit much. The bulk of the estate goes to the oldest.”

“Explains why he took me for ransom.”

“His folks have a reward out. They’re looking, as your folks are looking.”

“But he can’t go home, not until I’m dead.”

Adin nodded.

Sunflower rose to gather the remains of her meal. “Let’s get to that pond.” As they walked on after shouldering their gear old and new, she asked, “What are you not telling me?”

“He broke out from an institution. Committed for some mental disorder. His parents want him found because they say he is a danger to society.”

Closing her eyes briefly, she walked on. It explained his odd behaviour. How he taunted her. How he watched her. Yet, to be truthful, he did not actually hurt her. In some ways he, in fact, cared for her. Monthly feminine products. New clothes. Books, including the cookery kind. Sleeping tablets. Cough mixture when she had a chest issue.

It didn’t make sense.

She said as much.

“There’s such a thing as mental torture,” Adin murmured.

And wasn’t that the truth?

They reached the pond, and as the first rays of sunshine peered over the towering mountains, Sunflower forewent everything else to become as clean as she could be, revelling in the rose scented shampoo Adin had bought for her.

Ever would the smell of roses bring him to mind.

An orphaned boy searches for a lost girl.

A woman abandons her new-born at a motel in the back of beyond. Adin grows up unloved, bullied, and no one remembers him. He doesn’t exist.

Until he sees a poster for a missing girl on a lamppost. There is an instant connection to little Sunflower, kidnapped for ransom, only to disappear after the money is paid. He exists because he must find her. Alone, he searches, a journey that takes him into the wild places, meeting along the way some interesting characters.

In dreams he speaks to her, for she is the one who will remember him.

THE ORPHAN

Just published O Oleiro

 

Available in a few days from wherever eBooks are sold (Amazon takes a while longer, though).

Excerpt: The Orphan - Nowhere

 

HE BOUND HER, gagged and blindfolded her, put her in the back of a truck or van – she felt ridges under her and surmised it was more of a pickup – and then drove without stopping for many hours.

When they finally stopped, he dragged her by her foot to the edge, and snapped something cold and hard around her ankle.

“It’s a GPS tracking device. Run, and I can find you anywhere at any time. Nod if you understand.”

Sunflower nodded.

“If you attempt to remove it, it will trigger an explosive chip inside and you will lose most of your leg. Nod if you understand.”

Swallowing, she did just that.

“An alarm will sound if you are more than a hundred yards from my receiver. You will have ten seconds to return to range. If you don’t, the explosives will trip. Nod if you understand.”

With tears seeping from under her blindfold, Sunflower nodded vigorously.

“If someone comes and you do not hide immediately, I will set it off myself. Do I need to say it?”

No, he did not. She nodded.

He lifted her to her feet, removed her bindings, ungagged her and shifted the blindfold down. He gave a strange smile and waved a hand. “You are free to move around within those constraints.”

First, she stared at her ankle. An ugly metal band sat there; a tiny red light glowed steadily. She believed him. It could do all he said. Escape was virtually impossible. Then she looked up to their surroundings.

A stone cottage squatted in the middle of absolutely nowhere, in a field of grass with nothing but a lone tree next to it to break the severity of isolation. There were no other homes in sight, not even a stable or pen or corral. The middle of nowhere. There was nowhere to run to, had she the ability to do so. There was nowhere to hide. No one would hear her scream.

Sunflower inhaled the fresh air.

Nowhere was by far better than a dank room in the dark.

An orphaned boy searches for a lost girl.

A woman abandons her new-born at a motel in the back of beyond. Adin grows up unloved, bullied, and no one remembers him. He doesn’t exist.

Until he sees a poster for a missing girl on a lamppost. There is an instant connection to little Sunflower, kidnapped for ransom, only to disappear after the money is paid. He exists because he must find her. Alone, he searches, a journey that takes him into the wild places, meeting along the way some interesting characters.

In dreams he speaks to her, for she is the one who will remember him.

THE ORPHAN

I listen

 

Orphan Excerpt: Adin in the North

 

In wild places, no one is ever truly lost.

ADIN

SPRING ARRIVED PAINSTAKINGLY slowly, but when it was in full swing, the glory left Adin breathless.

Harry Wilson, reading in his young companion an affinity for the natural order, made a suggestion. He needed to see his brother, he claimed, his brother having been the subject of his winter dreaming, often to leave him as speechless and unmoving as the first time it happened with Adin present. He would be away some time and would appreciate it if Adin would stay in the cottage and look after things for him. Just until he returned. Then Adin was a free agent once more, but was welcome to remain as long as he wished.

No hurry, he said. “Will leave only after the spring melt. Roads too dangerous right now.”

He then watched Adin think. He saw the lad study the trees, the surroundings, and smell the air. As spring gradually gave way to the beginnings of summer, Harry knew the boy had fallen as hard for the wild spaces as he had as a much younger man. He knew what the answer would be long before Adin himself knew it with certainty.

“I’ll stay.”

“Good lad.” Harry gripped his shoulder. “Will make sure you have all you need before I go. Unless you wish to come into town with me, spy out the lay of the land there for yourself?”

“If they know I’m alone here, I won’t be here long.”

“Yeah, the do-gooders will want to save your sorry ass,” Harry chortled.

THUS IT WAS that Adin spent the summer alone and unfettered in the wild northern spaces. The beginnings of manhood to come settled into broadening shoulders and developing arm and leg muscles, growing height, as he traipsed the spaces endlessly, discovering new sights with every step.

Harry was right. One found oneself out there.

While he unleashed his physical self during the day, at night his spirit delved nocturnal spaces. His dreams intensified.

At first, while Harry was still around offering insight, his dreams didn’t change much, except for colour. The images were more vivid, and he remembered more detail upon waking. Now, with no one watching, he soared into the unknown.

His wandering became about more than simply seeking Sunflower. In fact, it became about more than mere ‘wandering’. Adin sought to know the realm of the spirit, and therefore flew into spaces both awe-inspiring and terribly dark. By his reasoning, the more he knew, the better equipped he was to aid Sunflower.

On the day he and Sunflower turned fourteen, he finally spoke to her.

An orphaned boy searches for a lost girl.

A woman abandons her new-born at a motel in the back of beyond. Adin grows up unloved, bullied, and no one remembers him. He doesn’t exist.

Until he sees a poster for a missing girl on a lamppost. There is an instant connection to little Sunflower, kidnapped for ransom, only to disappear after the money is paid. He exists because he must find her. Alone, he searches, a journey that takes him into the wild places, meeting along the way some interesting characters.

In dreams he speaks to her, for she is the one who will remember him.

THE ORPHAN

Chapter 1: The Photographer

CHAPTER 1

CRISPY OUT. Caspar grinned, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, while inhaling the freshness. Perfect for Christmas Eve. Might even snow tonight.

Everyone was coming over in a few hours. His turn to host the Bell family this year, and he looked forward to the chaos, although his wife was super stressed, had chased him out into the cold because apparently every word he offered was criticism. It wasn’t and he knew Adele knew that; her perfectionist nature just made her so grumpy. Laughing, he wandered across the park opposite their home, heading to the small fishpond.

He also looked forward to unveiling his repaired camera with Tilio present, wondering at the same time what she’d give him this year. His sister sourced the best gifts, but man, the camera she gave him last Christmas needed work. He’d enjoyed every moment of it. Luckily, she found a box camera, circa 1880-ish, which used celluloid, and that meant it was fixable. A fixed-focus lens and single shutter speed that in the old days came pre-loaded with enough film for a hundred snaps or so, which then needed to be sent away to be developed and the camera reloaded with film. Simple as the concept was, that had been the part he had trouble with, as in sourcing the small parts to enable him to reload himself, never mind finding someone reliable to supply him with film. The shroud turned out to be a sales gimmick; a box camera didn’t need it. It fell apart anyway.

He hadn’t yet used the contraption, had waited for Tilio, but tonight he intended to capture festivities on the film he managed to instal three days ago. Might not end up offering much, but was worth the effort if it worked. Adele would be taking pics with her mobile phone, just in case, as she teased him last night.

The goldfish finned their way over on noticing him. As ever, he had a handful of pellets in his pocket, which he dispersed, kneeling then to watch them gobble it up. He’d love doing this with a son or daughter in the years to come, but not yet. He and Adele had agreed to wait until she turned thirty. Two years to go before they started trying. Ha, he had to get Tilio hitched. Wouldn’t it be perfect if a child of his and a child of hers grew up together? Cousins as close as siblings. She just hadn’t met the right man yet.

“Caspar!” floated to him from their porch. “Get back here now!”

Rolling his eyes. Caspar did exactly that.

THE FOLKS were installed in front of the fire. Cousins Molly and Sara, twin sisters, and their spouses Jason and Frederick – not Fred, mind, had to be Frederick – chatted around the table, helping Adele light candles, while baby Andy gurgled orders from his highchair. Molly’s tot, Adele had hissed in his ear earlier, not Sara’s. Sara was the pregnant one. 

Nursing a beer near the giant Christmas tree, Caspar watched everyone, loving every crazy minute. He noticed how Sara’s gaze strayed to his mother, and how sad she was each time she did so. The twins lost their mother six months ago, a car accident that took from his mother her sister also. The three women had hugged it out long on arrival; they hadn’t seen each other since the funeral. Maybe this gathering would help them accept. 

He noticed also how Adele made big eyes at him, and tapped her wrist. Right. Where was Tilio? Not like her to be late. Finding his phone, he called her, but it went straight to voicemail. Frowning, he made his way to their parents. “Mom? You spoke to Tilio earlier, right?”

His mother glanced at her wristwatch, one of the few people he knew who still wore one. “She said she’d be here at eight, Caspar. I told you. It’s half seven now.”

Had she told him? Probably, and he hadn’t heard her and therefore hadn’t informed Adele to hold dinner until at least 8:30. Bugger. His wife would chew his ear off when she heard this. Inhaling, he prepared to face that kind of Christmas music, but then, thank heavens, his sister made her entrance, yelling, “Hello, everyone!”

Loaded, too. Caspar almost rubbed his hands gleefully like a little boy. Seemed those giant bags she toted contained substantial presents. Awesome. Her moved in, hugged her, and divested her of her burdens.

“Under the tree?” he suggested.

“You’re agog,” she laughed.

“Totally,” he admitted, dragging her and her load to the tree. “Why were you late? You’re usually first in the door.”

Tilio rolled her eyes. They did that a lot, both, rolling the eyes. “Waiting for Andy’s toy to arrive.” She wiggled her body. “He’s so going to love it.”

“He’s a year and a bit. He loves everything new anyway.”

“Oh, lovely, deflate my sails, will you?”

Together they packed her gifts under the tree, with Caspar noticing his was rather on the small side this year, but highly intrigued despite his disappointment. Nice shiny paper, wasn’t it? “Oh, sis, the camera’s ready. Gonna put it into action at dinner.”

She looked at him with her brown eyes, same shade as his, serious. “Are you sure? I get this shivery feeling every time I think of that thing.”

“Poo. The old man was just pulling your pigtails. It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

“First course is ready!” Adele sang out. “Come on now.”

FIFTY MINUTES later, the first toast and Adele’s delicious soup with crispy French bread slices behind them, Caspar fiddled with the box camera on its tripod at the head of the table, telling everyone to give him a minute. Fiddly bloody thing.

Other than Andy chatting away to the room while slapping his highchair’s table with his spoon, no one spoke. Having told them to be ready for the first photo, and that it could happen unexpectedly, everyone had pasted on a smile and now waited for the camera to go into action, facing him. Man, the pic would look so staged, but okay.

“Here goes,” Caspar muttered, standing behind the box, hands on either side of it. “Say Christmas balls!”

That loosened them up and he pressed buttons as everyone, including a laughing Tilio, shouted the words out.

A horrific gargle tore through the house.

Horrified silence was next.

And then Andy started bawling.

THE PHOTOGRAPHER

Book of Being so far

 Hoping to publish quite a few of the missing short stories in 2024 :)

When winter catches you - Orphan Excerpt

Chapter 11

Lost in the woods is found amid trees.

  

ADIN

 

ADIN WALKED INTO winter.

At the home, when winter came, the boys were soon ill. No one supplied them with extra blankets or warm coats, never mind heating in their rooms. In his long years there, seven boys died of lung diseases, and he also shuddered through the unbearable cold, coughing and sniffling.

Now he was prepared.

Iris showed him how to use her bank card and therefore he knew what to do to have cash in hand, but a child drawing a large sum alone would appear suspicious … or be an easy target. He might technically be a teenager, but he was small for his age, and did not have the strength to fight off bullies and thieves.

Choosing ATMs inside shopping malls worked well. Not only was he amid many and less likely to suffer a beating, but he was able to pretend he was drawing money for his mother. That was his story, if asked, but only once did an older woman enquire if he needed help, standing behind him with her own card ready. He smiled at her and told her his mother had shown him what to do.

He drew the maximum daily allowance each time, and then made the cash stretch. Less of a trail, not that anyone had cause to be looking for him.

He headed north, and as the weather worsened, he bought proper gear, a little here, a little there, never spending too much in one place. Each time he entered a store, it was with his needs in mind, and he’d head directly to what it was he sought, select the item, pay and leave. No window shopping. No indecision. Once a young girl at the till asked him where his parents were, him shopping for himself, and he said his father sent him to pay while he went into the store next door.

Every move he made ensured he was forgotten the moment he walked away.

He walked for the most part, tramping the minor roads. Sometimes he got a lift, usually from women who stopped and asked why he was alone out there. The story that worked best was an argument with friends while on an outing, and he left the fight, choosing to walk rather than wait for his lift. Generally, those rides took him into the next town or occasionally a bus station.

A few times he caught a bus, but found that worked best on weekends. On school days the old folks were too nosy. He took the train, too, but after a conductor said to stay put, he’d contact the cops to help him with adult supervision, he stayed away from trains.

Mostly, it was safer to walk.

He avoided cities at all costs.

Too young to secure accommodation in motels or hotels, he opted for the outdoors. One of the first items he bought, after sturdy hiking boots and thick socks, was a tent and then a sleeping bag, one with a built-in pillow. More and more the outdoors felt like true home. He could not understand why folk chose to live in cities. Swiftly he had camping in remote areas down to expert level. He was a survivor, after all.

Prepared as he believed himself to be, winter caught him off guard.

  

ADIN UNZIPPED THE tent flap, shivering. Whiteness greeted him. The snowfalls he’d heard talk of in the nearby town had arrived.

Two days back he overheard a conversation about frequent blizzards in the region, and how snow piled many feet thick. Staring out over a landscape featureless, where yesterday had been trails and boulders, he understood he was in trouble. Not in this particular moment, no – he’d simply pack up and tramp back to town before conditions worsened – but long term. If this forerunner stymied him, shuddered him head to toe with the onset of what had to be minor cold, he could only imagine what a blizzard would do.

Time then to make new plans, the kind to see him through winter without calling attention to himself. Not once did he consider turning around and heading south in search of milder weather. Something summoned him north, and he chose to follow that inner directive. Or someone.

Sunflower summoned him.

She was in his dreams every night, her amber eyes pleading with him to watch over her. He would do more than watch over her in dreams; he would find her in real life.

Sunflower was somewhere in the north.

Therefore, Adin would bear winter, survive it, and continue his search with spring.

   THE ORPHAN

Blacktop in a Red Wood

 

MORNING LIGHT FILTERED through the canopy and birds sang greeting.

Ben stretched after uncurling from his hollow in the damp soil along the verge. Body heat had made the indentation for him. He hadn’t dared the wood behind. He doubted there were predators, but rather safe than not.

Wisps of mist floated like white ethereal arms about the tree trunks. It was so silent he felt entirely alone. But for wildlife, no one else lived in this world. Except a woman in a cottage not far away. North, a few miles.

He turned to gaze in that direction. A hollow feeling erupted in his stomach, and it had nothing to do with hunger.

Slinging his rucksack over one shoulder, he started walking.

There was no sign a car had ever passed here during the night.

Alayna lives as a recluse in the giant redwood forest far from prying eyes. When intruders break into her home with the intention of robbing and using her, a man with vivid green eyes becomes an unlikely saviour. The instant they see each other their fates are sealed. Ben and Alayna have the kind of attraction that reeks of a celestial mandate.

 She realises what Ben truly is, but he’s too young to know his real self. She sends him away to discover his destiny, telling him to play the music able to move stars, and awaits his return. Their attraction, though, is so visceral and overwhelming that Ben comes back again and again, each time finding it harder to leave the only woman who has ignited his soul.

 Alayna feels it too, because Ben possesses a kiss able to break worlds. His green eyes are an ethereal magnificence amid the redwoods, lighting the way for love, music, dreams and destiny to mark their paths, but such a connection has a price.

ETHEREAL MUSICIAN

Tartarology, Phasmophobia & Bomullock

 

Caturday: Spooky

 

Delver Images (Ilfin of Arc)

ILFIN OF ARC

Writer's Inspiration: Otherworld

 

Now available: the Potter's audio book!

 

Elaina Davidson · THE POTTER: Will you listen now?

Chapter 10: GABRIEL

 

The dude in the mirror is trying to kill her!

Ivy moves into an overgrown cottage in the back of beyond two days before Christmas. She soon discovers that the old place keeps old secrets. The mirror above her mantlepiece is not what it seems. Ash and oil footsteps appear from nowhere, as does writing on a wall.

Is her refuge haunted? Ha, well, she’ll decorate the bejeezus out of it, overwhelm whatever it is with pretty baubles and blinking lights. Not everyone loves Christmas as much as she does, after all.

A good plan indeed … until Gabriel introduces himself.

Old houses certainly do keep old secrets.

X

 

W

ait. I have a condition.”

Arms akimbo at her CD player - she intended to pop her carols disc in - Ivy glared at Gabriel in his robes. Why robes? Folk didn’t wear bloody robes like that a thousand years ago. Was it a sorcery thing? Never mind.

Ivy, focus.

“I am not here to negotiate,” he growled.

Actually growled. One read about that shite in novels, but who actually did it in real life? Come on, peeved folk didn’t bloody growl like big cats, not in reality. He did. Blimey, he sounded for a moment there like a sabre tooth, never mind a cuddly lion.

She stood her ground. “According to the law of the land in the present, I am boss here. You have scared the crap out of me and yet, here I am, helping you. Yeah, because I want you on your merry way, but truth is, I could’ve run out that door and left you to your waiting. Correct?”

He stared at her so long, goosebumps clambered even into her armpits.

“What is your condition?” he eventually asked.

“I wish for light in my space, whether grey or bright. The ivy has overgrown the windows, and that makes me feel claustrophobic also. So, if you could remove the ivy … not everywhere, but so it’s pretty, an adornment rather than a strangler vine taking all light away. You know? You can do that, right? A finger snap?”

Baby Jesus in a hay bale, she was rambling. His unblinking blue stare made her nervous.

“You wish for a picture book cottage.”

She sucked at her teeth. Did she? All pretty and countrified? The kind she always drooled over in lifestyle magazines? Yes, she wanted that.

Shrugging, she admitted to it.

Gabriel smiled then. The gesture entirely altered his stern features. Wow. Pity about the thousand-year gap.

“My wife wished for that also.”

Right. A man in mourning. Put them flutter bugs back in the jar, girl.

He snapped his fingers. “It is as you wish.”

Of course, it was now too dark to notice the difference, but Ivy moved to the nearest window and grasped the grimy handle. After twisting and shoving a bit, she pushed the sash open. Fresh air swirled in, icy enough to reveal the threat of snow soon. No ivy remained over the window.

Grinning, she closed up again. This had just saved her weeks of painstaking and back-breaking labour. Damn, when a city girl got creative, she got creative.

“Thank you.”

Gabriel nodded and proceeded to light up every Christmas string.

True. That’s what they were doing. Luring a killer in with pretty baubles.

Sighing, Ivy shoved the CD in.

 

 

Near ten o’clock, having consumed the microwave turkey dinner for one she bought at the store the day before - she offered Gabriel a share, for the dinner was in fact enough to feed ten, but he claimed he had no need to eat - Gabriel’s End was one giant Christmas beacon.

Inside, at least. Flakes fell outside now, slow and soft, and thus Ivy put the outdoor strings off until another occasion. Maybe next Christmas … if she bloody survived this one.

Music soared.

Colours winked on and off.

Spices and gravy aroma permeated every space.

The fire crackled merrily.

The tree glowed as if fairies danced amid the plastic branches.

Tinsel twirled and glinted.

Clasping her hands together, Ivy got all misty-eyed. It was exactly as she envisioned. The perfect Christmas. Utter bliss. No one around to tell her how to behave.

Then her gaze fell on Gabriel in the shadows next to the fireplace. He waited there, still as a statue. Creepy. If anything did come through the mirror, he’d be in position to pounce.

Drat. What a way to spoil perfection.

Between ten and half-ten was the killer’s witching hour, apparently. They had discussed it, and now, as the electronic clock on her mobile lit up when the silent alarm she’d set kicked in, Ivy crossed warily to the mirror … and yanked the cover off.

An instant later she ducked and screamed.

A dagger came hurtling out of the darkness. It thudded into the wooden reveal surrounding the nearest window, quivering there like to a burrowing metal lizard.

Scuttling to her wall of unpacked boxes, Ivy cowered as a man in dirt-encrusted leather bespeckled with metal detail vaulted from the height of the mantelpiece and thudded to the hearth stones.

Washed out green eyes fixated on her, and then he leered.

Ambling closer, he hefted two wicked-looking knives.

Ivy screamed.

GABRIEL

Chapter 10: Ethereal Musician

 

Alayna lives as a recluse in the giant redwood forest far from prying eyes. When intruders break into her home with the intention of robbing and using her, a man with vivid green eyes becomes an unlikely saviour. The instant they see each other their fates are sealed. Ben and Alayna have the kind of attraction that reeks of a celestial mandate.

 She realises what Ben truly is, but he’s too young to know his real self. She sends him away to discover his destiny, telling him to play the music able to move stars, and awaits his return. Their attraction, though, is so visceral and overwhelming that Ben comes back again and again, each time finding it harder to leave the only woman who has ignited his soul.

Alayna feels it too, because Ben possesses a kiss able to break worlds. His green eyes are an ethereal magnificence amid the redwoods, lighting the way for love, music, dreams and destiny to mark their paths, but such a connection has a price.

Ten

  

A VIOLIN RESTED in its case on her desk.

Ben stopped dead when he saw it.

His heart had thundered during the night and his blood had raced. Every emotion hidden and unknown had surfaced until flesh was soul and time was as ancient and unknowable as the cosmos. She emptied him from the inside out and then she remade him.

That quickening was now as nothing as to what assaulted every sense he possessed.

A violin.

Music.

In the filtered light of this new day, he approached it as if it was a viper. Already his hand reached to take possession. The contradiction between thought and action created theories of chaos in his mind.

The desired object was in his hands.

This was a work of art, an instrument lovingly crafted.

An ache grew in his gut.

Alayna paid a lot of money for this. Why?

“To hear you play,” she whispered behind him.

He did not move. He simply stared at what he held in his hands. The ache sought release.

“You know yourself now …”

“Do I?” he croaked.

“You have a fair idea and it will become clearer as you move forward.”

He swallowed. “So?” But those answers were of less importance to the growing pressure within him.

“Knowing means leaving, Ben. You returned to understand that … and to accept it. You must go forward, never back.”

Her hands were on his shoulders, warm through the thin shirt he’s shrugged on to stave off some of the chill. He took great comfort from her touch, now. Every word she spoke was only truth. This was finally relief.

“We have an ages difference that won’t hold up in this society,” she murmured.

He turned then. “Ages?” he said, his gaze intent.

She did not blink. “Yes. Ages.”

“How old are you?” The words tore from him. Suspicion could now become fact.

Even now she wouldn’t give him that. No lies, but not straightforward fact either. “Too old. Very old. We are old souls both.”

She intended to leave him with only his suspicions. She intended to keep to the rumor of what souls were capable of.

He dug deeper. “How old am I? I do not mean my soul.”

Alayna blinked. “That would be the real question, wouldn’t it?”

And that answered it for him.

Smiling then, he lifted the violin to his shoulder, tucked it under his chin, sensing the knots unraveling inside. Already notes floated into his blood.

“And you want to hear me play before I hit the long road.”

Her sigh settled over him like a warm blanket. “It will be your final gift to me.”

He lifted the bow. It settled whisper soft onto the strings. Fingers found the right chords automatically. This he knew; this was his true self.

The first angelic note soared, and every bird in the forest fell silent to listen.

Tears coursed freely over Alayna’s cheeks.

Worlds far, far, away knitted back together as the flows of energy flew along the musical curves of creation itself.

It was her final gift to him as well.

ETHEREAL MUSICIAN

Domovoi

 

Chapter 1: The Jeweller

What does a girl do when the fantastical creatures she creates for a charm bracelet come to life?

 Emily questions her sanity when troll lifts his mace and wizard defends with his staff, and hightails it out of her studio. When her dad phones the next morning to say he’s coming over, she is beyond relieved. In the light of day, with her dad present, her imagination can’t play tricks … right?

Holy smoke! Even Dad is gobsmacked by what he sees. Elf brandishes his flute like a knife and fairy bites troll … how is this real?

Only one thing to do now.

Call in the cavalry because Mom will know what to do … right?

 

ONE

HOLY SMOKE!

My chair screeched as I shoved away from my workbench. Right, seriously, I’ve burned the midnight oil a few too many nights now; how else to explain my current hallucination? Ha, chances were, it might also be fury making me see things. Yeah, definitely. When a girl was angry, the real world was out there behind a haze of righteousness, and only her own mutterings and, face it, visions, made any kind of sense.

You know the state, am I correct? Even your favourite pasta ends up tasting like crap because it may be something you once enjoyed with the one making you so mad in the present, and right now you need no bloody reminders. Yeah, you know the feeling. So, you know where I’m at.

Still.

Weird.

Inhaling one of those mighty breaths that folk tell you will calm your heart palpitations, I stared at the scarred bench I inherited from my dad. Oh, he was still very much in the land of the living, but he gave it to me a few years ago when he and my mom downsized. I think he was secretly relieved his favourite bench wouldn’t end up as firewood somewhere.

I was ecstatic. This workbench was part of my childhood, and I adored the solidness and loved every scar, burn, and hole drilled in error when a project went a mite haywire. How we laughed when the metal bit scored the bench rather than the dollhouse’s roof, the printer’s tray’s corner piece, the cat caves we made, birdhouses, until the day Dad nearly drilled through his thumb. He screamed, and given I had never heard him do that, I burst into tears. Man, Mom nearly floored both of us with her withering looks, which I now know were all about anxiety, not anger. She was in such a huff that the next day Dad and I giggled for hours about it. Dad’s thumb ended up wrapped for weeks, but it didn’t stop him from finishing the trellis for the sweet peas.

This old thing had stories to tell.

So, maybe old memories and my cocoon of anger now played tricks. I had been thinking about asking my dad to come over to fix the old sander - another item he passed to me - or more correctly, whether if I could get him to come over before his stated day next week - needed to sand the cabinet in my bathroom - while also swearing repeatedly about Pierre and his stupidity. Really, such a goddamned idiot! Had he been lying on the bench right now, I’d drill multiple holes in his nether parts, and then I’d start on his thick skull. Dick and head. Ha.

Rubbing my eyes, I stood up from the high stool I used when doing finicky work. Standing was for power tools and hectic wrenching and stuff but led to unsteady hands when engraving or creating the small details. Dad and I made the chair from an old wrought iron railing, and the damn thing was heavy, shrieked when dragged across the untreated concrete floor, but it did the job. It grew roots and held fast when I needed to be as unmoving as possible. Mom rolled her eyes every time she saw it; I nearly sliced my thumb off in the making of it. Bet the foam below the now threadbare seat upholstery still sported a blood splash or two.

Deep breath, Emily. Deep. Slow. Breathe.

Focus.

Approaching the bench, I breathed, in through the nose, out through the mouth, slow …

Holy smoke!

What was the matter with me? Yes, I had an over-active imagination, had to, to create bespoke jewellery, my passion and my income, but certainly not of the kind that had tiny metallic creatures come to life.

The commissioned charm bracelet would adorn the wrist of a little girl on her twelfth birthday in about three weeks, and her mother had asked for a host of tiny beings to link to the silver chain because her daughter loved the magical realms, ever had her nose in a fairy tale or fantasy book.

So far, I’d cast, sculpted and engraved a silver troll hefting a mace, an elf playing a flute, a fairy with spread wings, a dragonfly wearing a crown, a cat with a bushy tail, a wizard and his staff, and tonight I intended to put the finishing touches to a penguin cradling an orb on its webbed feet. The tiny characters, the size of a thumb nail, waited in a line at the edge of the toughened glass expanse embedded into a section of the old bench’s scarred top - finicky stuff required a smooth work surface, after all - while I ironed out the small sphere at the penguin’s feet - just know the girl would thumb it much like one rubbed a tiny buddha’s belly, I’d bet anything she wouldn’t be able to help herself - and caught, peripherally, a flicker of movement.

The troll swung his mace …

… and the wizard countered with his staff.

Nope. Uh-uh, oh no, not happening.

Life-like renditions wasn’t life.

The high stool screeched.

Next, I breathed like an expert at meditation. In. Out.

Seeing things, too tired - had spent many nights creating moulds, melting silver, and so forth, before starting on the details that made a piece come to life - ha! - while wrapped like a comfortable blanket in my fury thinking of my best friend Pierre and his idiot moves that might lose him the love of his life. Nicola, my other best friend, did not deserve his suddenly cavalier treatment. Pierre, meanwhile, acted the innocent …

Argh. Stop it!

Chatterbox mind, you know it, right? The thing that happens when you seek to distract yourself from something you’d prefer not to think about too much? Round and round your thoughts go, an insane rollercoaster and merry-go-round all in one, until you cop what you’re doing, and basically scream at yourself to stop being a nincompoop. Yeah, that. My chatterbox, if you haven’t yet noticed, was in overdrive.

So.

Where was I? Oh, right. I breathed, nose, mouth, et al, and moved closer to my workspace to check on the state of my sanity.

The cat bared its claws …

… and the fairy took to wing.

Nope, nope, nope. Seeing things. So not doing this. Gonna warm up the left-over pizza, guzzle a mug of strong coffee, and to hell with this.

Can you hear how hard the door slams as I leave the garage converted into my studio? Yeah, that.

JEWELLER