Tag: short story

Trunk Stories

Core

prompt: Write a story about a team tunneling down into the centre of a planet.

available at Reedsy

“This isn’t science, you know, it’s a pissing contest.” Garvey gulped down the cold, bitter coffee, dribbling some into his orange beard.

“A contest between whom?” Sarah asked, her RP accent, clear, pale pinkish skin, short dark brown hair, and bright green eyes out of place amid the roughneck miners.

“Cutter and Frontier Fields,” Garvey answered, wiping his beard. His thinning ginger hair topped a permanently flushed face, heavily lined by weather and hard work. “Whichever one wins gets rich.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Marla said. She pulled a hard hat over her cropped curly hair, the bright yellow hat making her mahogany skin and deep brown eyes seem to glow. “We’re gettin’ paid. Are you trying to say you ain’t, Garvey?”

“Nah, man, I wouldn’t be doing this crazy shit if I wasn’t.”

“So it doesn’t matter, does it?” Marla set her empty cup by the coffee maker. “And don’t call me ‘man,’ man.”

“But you’re far more man than Garvey could ever hope to be,” Sarah joked.

“Y’all keep it up and I’ll switch shifts with someone.”

“Really?” Marla asked excitedly.

“Yeah. I was thinking Butler might want to switch.” Garvey laughed.

“Cheeky fucker!” Sarah bowed deeply. “I’m so terribly sorry I disparaged your indisputable, although fragile, manhood.”

“You ladies are killin’ me,” he said. “Let’s get to it.”

“How far did the other shift get?” Sarah asked.

Garvey looked at his data pad. “Second shift got three kilometers, third got almost one.”

“Third shift is digging now?” Marla asked.

“Yeah, I guess changing out the new style cutters is easier, makin’ it so’s they have time to spare now. Big boss don’t like no ‘spare time,’ so they’re gettin’ dusty.” Garvey held the door to the elevator open. “After you, ladies.”

“That’s more like it,” Marla said.

They descended the shaft in the cage, the conveyor across from them continuing its upward journey, pushing the drilled material up to the Martian surface. It meant that they wouldn’t have to start the drill from a stand-still for a change.

The previous shift met them at the cage, Butler handing a sledgehammer to Garvey. “God damn,” Butler said, “they just keep looking better every day don’t they?”

Marla pretended she didn’t hear him, but Sarah turned on the man, easily a head taller than her and built like a bull. “Fuck off, wanker,” she said. “There’s not a woman on Mars would piss on you if your hair was on fire.”

Marla let out a snort of laughter. Butler just stared at Sarah harder, as the cage lifted them out of sight.

As the drill ground away at the solid mantle, the roughnecks managed the coil that served as a wall for the borehole. It required constant movement, pounding the four-centimeter-wide band into the space left by the moving drill head.

With three of them, they could spell each other, two resting while one worked. As with all things related to the Mars Core Project, everything was organized in such a way to maximize the use of every second of every minute.

Sarah worked her away around the borehole, hammering the band into the space created by the drill as it dug down. The band was fed from a coil that fit around the cages and conveyor. Somewhere in the hardware near the surface was the atmosphere generator, while huge fans along the shaft kept the air circulating.

“End of chain!” Sarah’s call brought the other two to their feet, following the inner side of the coil, which was now painted with red stripes that grew closer together as it fed out.

When the solid red end of the coil exited the feed, Garvey and Marla grabbed the bright green start of the new coil and pulled it out to the edge of the borehole. As Sarah pounded the last bit of the previous coil in place, they overlapped it with the bright green portion of the new coil, which she pounded in place on top of it.

Satisfied that the new coil was in place and not in danger of springing free, they sat back down.

“You know,” Garvey said, “I wasn’t sure about being on a team with y’all ladies.” He glanced over at Marla, then looked back at Sarah. “Especially little Miss England.”

“Really? Afraid we’d show you up?” Sarah teased.

“Mostly afraid I’d be pullin’ more than my share. And afraid that I’d have to watch my language around you.”

“Yeah, not so much. ‘Little Miss England’ could make a sailor blush.”

The drill slowed as their shift continued, smaller amounts of rubble leaving on the conveyor. Glints of metal twinkled in the rubble and the drill began heating up more than normal.

“It’s gettin’ too hot!” Garvey yelled over the growing din of the drill. “Shut it down!”

Sarah hit the e-stop on the drill, bringing it to a shuddering halt. The sudden relative silence washed over them, only the sounds of the fans filling the borehole.

“Pull the center cutter and let’s have a goosey,” Sarah said.

Marla crawled down onto the back of the cutter head and released the catches for the center cutter head and hooked it to the overhead winch. Once she was out of the way, Garvey raised the winch to lift the cutter free.

There, beneath the cutter, was a polished metal surface. They had reached the core. He pulled the data pad out of his cargo pocket and took a picture to send it to the surface. “We’re here,” he said on the radio.

The voice on the radio responded. “We’re sending down the core drill. Pull cutters two through seven.”

“Pulling cutters two through seven, will radio when it’s done,” he answered.

All the drilling crews knew the plan upon reaching the core. Remove the center cutters of the drill, and the core drill, looking more like a giant, standard drill, would be lowered in. That drill was water cooled with cutting oil flowing around it at all times.

The goal was to drill a cavity into the core large enough to hold a critical pile of uranium. It was hoped that the critical mass of uranium would heat up the core enough to make it molten once again. With the core molten, more fissile material would be dropped into the borehole and sealed in.

This would, in theory, restart the Martian magnetosphere, improving the conditions for terraforming. At least, that was the theory.

The core drill moved slowly but steadily down into the metallic core, creating a hole a meter wide and fifteen meters deep. They closed out their shift watching the core drill being retracted back up the shaft as the last of the iron-rich shavings, curves of more than a meter long and several centimeters wide, were carried up the conveyor.

Sarah had already cut off the coil at a long slant, pounding it into the last section of un-protected wall. She carried the sledgehammer over her shoulder as they waited for the cage to return to the dorms.

“Well, I do believe that’s our last shift,” Marla said.

Sarah laughed. “Oh, you’re going to miss us?”

Garvey said, “It’s been real, it’s been fun, but it ain’t been real fun.”

“Of course it has, you cheeky git!” Sarah said. “Every minute you spend with me is another minute in heaven, and you know it.”

They rode the cage up to the dorms, where they saw the other shifts waiting, dressed in their bulky surface suits, helmets in hand, with their bags. “Pack up, we’re out of here in thirty minutes,” one of them said.

“Why the rush?” Marla asked.

“They’re bringing in the radioactives as soon as we’re out.”

“I guess they’re going to write off everything in the dorms,” Garvey said. “Here’s your chance to steal the coffee maker, Marla.”

“If I have room in my bag, you can bet I will.”

They rode the cage to the surface in silence, the bulky suits uncomfortable after the year of living in the sealed, pressurized borehole. They put on their helmets and checked each other for gaps or leaks before the cage entered the airlock.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Garvey asked.

“It might,” Sarah said, “though I doubt very much we’ll see it in our lifetime.”

“What are you going to do with your pay and bonus?” Marla asked. “I’m probably going to retire to the Arkansas coast…until I can claim a homestead here.”

“I’m not ready to retire,” Sarah said. “I’ll probably go back to lithium mining, unless I can get on with the Lunar mining crew; digging up rocks to turn into rocket fuel and air.”

Garvey shrugged. “I’ll probably get blind drunk for a while before I make up my mind.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Sarah said, “you’re driven to drink just to get over us.”

Their banter was cut short when a ground vehicle trundled past, pulling a train of trailers marked with radioactive danger stickers. “Looks like they’re starting already. I’d rather not be here when they figure out they used too much and blow up the planet.”

As the lift ship connected them with the interplanetary ship, on a never-ending loop from Earth to Mars and back, Garvey checked his data pad. “They hit criticality; the core is starting to melt.”

Marla watched the planet they’d called home for the past year shrink behind them as they headed for Earth, imagining what it could look like if she were ever to return.

Trunk Stories

Reversal

prompt: Write about a character who tells a lie which turns out to be true — or a truth which turns out to be a lie.

available at Reedsy

The difference between an enchanted item and a cursed one is often one of perspective. Not discounting the truly cursed items that drive the holder insane or afflict with a deadly disease anyone that touches them. Those exist, but they make up less than two percent of all items currently labeled as cursed.

Miriam held the silver ring up to the light. It was the more common kind of cursed item. Someone had decided at some point that its power was twisted in some way and labeled it cursed.

She set the ring down on the counter, careful not to speak while holding it. “Tell me what you want for it, miss Tabita,” she said to the wizened old gnome woman behind the counter.

Tabita brushed her white curls out of her eyes, which sparkled their bright blue. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing, sweetie, but are you sure you want this one?” She pointed at a narrow band of gold in the display. “That’s a wish ring, you know. Special price for you.”

Miriam shook her head. “No thanks, too dangerous. This is the one I want.”

“Too dangerous? And this one isn’t?” Tabita shook her head. “If you’re sure, eight thousand.”

Miriam whistled. “That’s steep. Five.”

“Seven and a half, that’s coming way down for you.”

“I can go six.”

Tabita frowned. “Seven. I can’t really go lower than that.”

“How about we split the difference,” Miriam said. “Six and a half.”

Tabita’s brows knitted. “Tell you what, throw in a growler of the Dwarven ale you picked up last week, and we’ll make that deal.”

Miriam extended her hand for Tabita to shake. “Done.”

After running her credit card, Tabita said, “I’ll hold this for you here. You bring the growler and it’s a done deal.”

#

One fewer $300 growler of Dwarven ale in her pantry, and a cursed ring sealed in a cloth-lined, leather pouch in her pocket, Miriam set out for home. Once home, she set the pouch in her safe and locked it up tight.

Knowing how the ring worked, she sat up most of the night and planned how to best use it. She could use its effect on someone else, or herself. If she planned carefully, she could do both at the same time.

She spent a restless night, imagining scenarios where she used the ring to ruin a few, select people’s day. No. Not falling down that rabbit hole.

When she finally fell asleep in the wee morning hours, she’d hatched a plan. It would help her, and someone else that deserved it, far more than she.

#

The atmosphere in the office was glum. Everyone there knew that Elastic Front Business Services was struggling, having lost several of their largest clients to their larger competitor, Exeter Global. The sales team was having yet another motivation meeting, before getting on the phones and trying to drum up business.

As the HR director, Miriam spent a good deal of time one-on-one with Edria, the lithe, pale elf that owned the business. The state of the business obviously weighed heavily on her.

“Hey, Edie, what do you say we go for a walk?”

“Sure. I need to clear my head.”

They walked through the downtown corridor, Edria being candid with Miriam. “If we don’t get a lot of new business this week, we may have to shut down. It’ll suck for our existing customers, but if we can’t even keep the lights on, we can’t continue servicing them, either.”

They stopped in a convenience store, where Miriam bought a SuperLotto ticket, with numbers chosen at random by the machine. The chance of winning was one in three hundred million. It could be considered true, within reason, that she did not have the winning ticket. She also bought them both coffee and motioned Edria to sit with her on the bench outside the store.

“I have something,” Miriam said, “but I don’t know how much it will help. If you want to try it, I’m willing.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a ring that eats fear,” she lied. “But it only works once a year.” That part was true.

“How does it work?”

“I’m hoping we can both use it at the same time,” she said. “So, we’ll hold the ring, and on the count of three we both say out loud our biggest fear. Not like phobias, or anything, but concrete things.”

“Like having to close the business?” Edria asked.

“Exactly,” she said, “but more direct and concrete. Like, say, ‘We won’t get the clients we need this week to keep the business open’. Something like that.”

“Sounds silly, but I’m game.”

Miriam removed the ring from its pouch and held it in her palm. Edria placed her hand over Miriam’s, so they held the ring jointly. Miriam counted, “One…two…three.”

They spoke at the same time. “We’re not going to get the new business we need to keep my dream alive,” Edria said, while Miriam said, “This is not the sole, jackpot-winning ticket for the SuperLotto drawing tonight.”

Edria laughed and let go of Miriam’s hand. “That’s your big fear?”

Miriam carefully wrapped the ring and placed it, in its pouch, in her pocket. “Hey,” she said, “I’ve got a great job with a great boss, and I have faith in your dream. You watch. We’ll make it through this week, and then you’ll see your dream bloom.”

“I’m glad you have so much faith in me,” Edria said. “It didn’t seem to eat the fear, though. I’m still scared.”

“Maybe it takes time,” Miriam said. “Ready to go back?”

The scene when they entered the office was far more upbeat than the morning, and hectic. Salespeople were busy on the phones, and it looked like the support team was helping them answer all the calls.

Miriam smiled. “I’ll be in my office if you need me, Edie.”

Edria nodded and entered the sales area. She waited for one of the execs to finish their call, then asked, “What’s going on?”

The huge orc, his ochre skin offset by a dark grey suit and overly bleached tusks smiled. “Everyone’s leaving Exeter Global,” he said. “The former CEO just got a ten-year sentence for tax evasion, and the new CEO just got picked up in a scandal.”

“What kind of scandal?” she asked.

“Not really sure. Something to do with a trip to the Cayman Islands, an underage intern, and forty-million dollars of missing capital.”

The phones continued to ring, every line lit up. Edria shrugged. “We’ll take it. I’ll get out of your hair so you can handle the calls.” She raised her voice so everyone in the office could hear. “Anything you need to me to jump in on, just ring my line, I’ll step in where I can. And no grandfather deals for the clients who left and are coming back. They could afford Exeter; they can pay us full price for not being faithful.”

The day ended when Edria switched the phone lines over to the automated answering service. A running tally of new business had been scrawled on one the dry-erase boards in the sales area. New business totaling over two million in annual recurring revenue in one day.

“You’re going to be busy,” she said to Miriam. “We’ll need to hire more sales support, IT, and account managers ASAP.”

“Already on it,” she said. “I just need to know the open head count and the calls will go out.”

“That wasn’t a fear-eater ring, was it?”

“No,” Miriam said. “It’s a ring of reversal.”

“Isn’t that cursed? Are we going to be cursed for this?”

“It’s not like that,” Miriam said. “During its active phase, any reasonably true statement is made false.”

“Well, at least the name makes sense. And the curse?”

“No curse, just an enchantment. If someone gave you a ring, and you said something like, ‘I have everything I’ve ever wanted,’ and then suddenly didn’t, you would consider the ring cursed, right?”

Edria nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

“If, instead, you got the ring and said, ‘I don’t have enough business to keep my dream alive,’ and then suddenly, you do, would you still consider it to be cursed, or just enchanted?”

Edria considered. “Well, enchanted, I guess. As long as there are no strings attached.”

“None. I’ve been tracking this ring down for ten years now. It’s called the ring of reversal, or the ring of ill fortune, depending on who’s talking about it.” Miriam smiled. “I prefer the ring of reversal, myself. I still don’t know if it worked for both of us. It only has one use per year, but I’m exceedingly glad it worked for you.”

“We should go find out.” Edria held the door for Miriam. “We’ll go to the sports bar on Fourth for dinner. The lotto numbers always show up there. My treat, unless you actually win.”

#

As they left the bar laughing, Edria said, “Thanks for dinner and drinks. Does this mean I have to find a new HR director?”

Miriam put her arm around the small elf. “Not any time soon,” she said. “I may be 940 million dollars richer, but if I didn’t work, I don’t know what I’d do with my time.”

Trunk Stories

Do the Hard Work First

prompt: Write a story about a character who’s secretly nobility.

available at Reedsy

In a cramped kitchen in a bar in Anchorage, Alaska, a slight, dark-haired woman with pale skin and bright blue eyes sweated as she turned out burgers, fries, and assorted bar snacks. Working the early shift meant she got the lunch regulars, and a few die-hard barflies, but she avoided the crowded, noisy nights.

While the bar was ostensibly a “sports bar,” the large TV screens displaying whatever games were live couldn’t be heard during regular bar hours. During the day, however, they were tuned to cable news. As the bar was quiet it was easy to follow what was being said, if she wished to. Instead, Ana chose to tune it out and focus on getting the orders out.

She plated the burgers and rang the bell to let the Janice know orders were up. There were no more orders waiting, so she took the time to scrape the grill, clean and sharpen knives, and run the waiting rack of dishes through the washer.

“Ana, did you hear about Merovina?” Janice, the bartender of indeterminable advanced age leaned in the order window. She’d recently told Ana she had been working there for forty years.

“Another protest for elections?” Ana asked.

“No, but something big is happening. The government shut down all communications and isn’t letting foreign journalists in or out.”

Ana sighed. “No doubt it’s something manufactured to scare everyone into accepting things as they are.”

“While we’re not busy,” Janice said, “you never told me why you left.”

“I got asylum from the US because of…political issues.” Ana chuckled. “And they probably didn’t want me to go to Russia for asylum. Like I’d give them a reason to annex my country.”

“How can you still care about it when you had to run away in the first place?”

“I ran away to avoid an arranged marriage…to a seventy-year-old lecher.”

“How’s that political?”

“It was a political marriage. Besides,” she said, changing the subject, “I was publicly calling for the сборка to be elected rather than appointed by the crown.”

“Sborka?”

“Assembly, kind of like a congress or parliament.”

“Ah. So, the king decides who makes up the whole government?”

“It used to be all princes, lords, and dukes, but for the last hundred years or so it’s also included influential industrialists, and the ultra-wealthy loyalists.”

“Ah, I could see how that could get you in trouble.” Janice looked like she was going to circle back to the marriage question, when a large group of people in business attire entered.

“Looks like a three-martini lunch meeting just walked in.” Ana winked and got ready for the flurry of orders. She knew to expect every order to be personalized; no onion, extra tomato, bacon extra crispy, no salt, lettuce wrap, substitute this for that…the whole thing.

While it meant she couldn’t whip through the orders on muscle memory alone, it kept her mind occupied enough to not worry about what was happening in her home. Sure, she had a green card, and was probably going to be living in the US for a long time, but it still wasn’t home. Anchorage came close, at least in climate, and there were plenty of native Russian speakers.

She closed out the day at four, when the swing shift crew came in; three people to handle what she did on her own during the less-busy days. “Have a good night, guys,” she said on her way out.

Ana lay down on her bed, a mattress on the floor of a small apartment in the “rough” neighborhood. Sure, there were a few drug dealers and prostitutes, but it was nothing like Chicago’s South Side, where she’d been when she first came to the US.

She was woken in the wee hours of the morning by an earthquake. How the locals ever got used to them enough to sleep through them she didn’t know, but it was small, and nothing fell. Realizing that she wouldn’t be getting back to sleep, she opened her laptop and checked the news on Merovina.

So far, it was all speculation, as no news had come out of the country in more than thirty-six hours. The UK and US governments were demanding their reporters be allowed to leave the country, and instead, the Merovina government blocked all flights leaving the country, and limited inbound flights to those carrying Merovinan citizens. Those planes were then allowed to fuel and leave after the Merovinans got off, providing no one else got on.

In response to the increasingly tense situation, NATO forces and Russian forces began moving closer to the Merovina borders. Meanwhile, it seemed that the crown had followed the examples of more authoritarian states, cutting off the internet from the entire country.

Ana wondered whether it was a coup, or something else. Either way, she was in no position to do anything about it. She left for work early, stopping at an all-night diner for breakfast first.

The eggs and sausage sat like lead in her guts as she started the day. Janice was kind enough to not bring up the marriage topic at all in the morning. As it was a Thursday and between paydays, it would be slower than usual.

On days like this, she and Janice would do the grunt work. Scrubbing the walk-ins, clearing off every shelf in the kitchen and sanitizing, doing an inventory count on everything from toothpicks to saucepans, kegs to potatoes. As Janice was fond of saying, “If you do the hard work first, everything else is a piece of cake.”

Ana had finished the hard work and moved on to the “piece of cake” part of the day. She was busy filling out the order form for their vendors, when three people came in. A man and a woman in ICE police uniforms, and a man in a suit. Janice told them to sit wherever they liked, and the man in the suit shook his head.

“Ma’am,” the woman officer said, “we’re looking Anastasia Politskivina.”

“What’s the problem?” Janice asked. “Her green card’s still good.”

“Is she here, ma’am?” the male officer asked.

“I’m here,” Ana said, leaning through the order window.

“Could you come around and talk with us, please?” The man in the suit pointed to a table and the ICE officers sat there. “You’re not in trouble, and we’re not here to deport you.”

“Janice, could you get the officers some coffee? I’ll come out and talk to them.” While Janice moved behind the bar to get the coffee, Ana set her phone up to record the area around the table where the officers sat and made sure Janice saw it.

“Sure, sweetie.” Turning back toward the officers, she asked, “Cream and sugar? On the house.”

Ana came into the main part of the bar and joined the three at the table. She laid her green card, driver’s license, and Merovinan passport on the table. “What is this about?”

“Are you sure you want to talk about this here?” the suited man asked. “We can go somewhere more private—”

“Anything you have to say you can say here.”

He took a deep breath. “Our embassy in Merovina managed to contact us late last night. We need you to go home.” Before she could raise an objection, he went on. “Your father died two days ago…heart attack. In the absence of the crown princess, Minister Kosolovich has taken over, and is trying to get control of the throne. The people, however, want their rightful heir to return, or at least that’s what the protestors are saying.”

“The old crow that father wanted me to marry is running the country?” Ana snorted a derisive laugh. “No wonder it went to hell so fast. As if he could ever be a ruler. He can’t even control his own hands.”

“Will you consider it?” he asked. “You wanted democratic reform; this is your chance to make it happen. It would go a long way to relieving tensions in the area. Not to mention, you really should be there for your father’s funeral.”

Janice had been standing near the table holding the coffee pot and four cups, her mouth agape. “Y—you’re a princess?”

Ana smiled. “Yeah, glamorous, isn’t it?” she asked, flipping the edge of her greasy apron. “Janice, would you be upset if I quit?”

“Are you shitting me? Of course not! You go home and be the queen!” She laughed, then composed herself. “Oh, sorry, here you go, darlin’,” she said as she placed the cups on the table and began pouring coffee.

“I’m very sorry, Anastasia…and Janice,” the man said, “but there’s a private jet waiting at Anchorage International. The sooner we get you there, the better. You’ll fly to Dubai, then take a chartered Emirates flight to Merovina. We’d like to avoid making you look like an American puppet.”

“What about my apartment, and my clothes?” Ana asked. “My car can go to the scrapyard for all I care, but I can’t very well walk into the palace looking like this.”

“The State Department will take care of your apartment and car, and we’ve loaned you an assistant for a couple weeks. She’ll get you properly clothed, after a shopping trip in Dubai, and prepped to meet the government.” The man smiled. “I think she’ll find her job a lot easier than the ambassadors she usually deals with.”

“And am I an American puppet, now?”

“If the CIA got to you before we did,” the man said, “you might have been. The State Department would rather have friendly allies than puppets that need to be kept on a leash.”

“And Merovina has no oil, diamonds, or other exploitable materials,” Ana said through a half-scowl. “I should be glad of that, though. Otherwise, we would have been swallowed by the USSR, rather than ignored as insignificant.”

After thanking Janice for the coffee, the ICE officers stood up and shook hands with the man and with Ana. “We’re done here. Good luck, Ana,” the woman said.

Ana took off her apron and handed it to Janice. “I guess I won’t be needing this any longer. Don’t forget to order limes this week.”

“Before you leave,” Janice said, “come here and take a selfie with me. We had an honest-to-god princess working here!”

#

The funeral was broadcast world-wide, with Queen Anastasia bidding a tearful final farewell to her father, King Freidrich IX. In the weeks that followed, Merovina faced sweeping reforms. The entire 130-member сборка was disbanded, and elections for a new parliament of 200 were held.

Sergei Kosolovich and everyone who backed his attempted takeover were forgiven, but the high court banned them from ever holding any political office. Ana’s first impulse had been to have them all imprisoned, but she didn’t want to be yet another Merovinan monarch that dealt with dissent by permanently silencing it. Instead, in her first public address, Ana said, “Treating harshly those who attempted to fill a vacuum would reflect poorly on the new Merovina. As such, the crown will not seek any further charges nor take any further action against them.”

In that same address, Ana did something few monarchs ever do; she drastically curbed the power of the throne, making her role more ceremonial than political. The newly elected parliament was made up of twelve parties, and more than a little messy, but the newly fledged democracy was finding its feet.

“The first order of business for the new parliament,” she said, “is to draft a new constitution befitting Merovina. Until it is drafted, passed by the parliament, and meets the approval of a referendum vote, we are still shackled with the old way of doing things. It is my deepest desire that the previous call for election, and the signing of the constitution will be my only actions as queen under the laws that are now more than six centuries old. I look forward to serving as your queen under a new constitution, in a new Merovina.”

Closing out her address, Ana smiled brightly for the cameras, and gave a closing line that left Janice beaming. “I have faith in my fellow Merovinans that we can and will create a new rule of law based on equity, humanity, and good will for our neighbors. As a dear friend often said to me, ‘We will do the hard work first, then everything else will seem easy.’”

Trunk Stories

Being Keith

prompt: Write about a character who can suddenly see through another person’s eyes — literally.

available at Reedsy

Ethics be damned, Mara was going to do whatever it took to change minds. Mathematic rigor, scientific evidence, even repeated verification by experiment, none of these convince as well as personal experience. It was the quest to make the experience of one person available to others that led to the device in front of her.

The real question, of course, was how well the device would translate the experience of her thirty subjects for the wearer of the halo. She’d try it herself, but she was already fitted with the prototype for the other half of the equation: an implanted interface that translated the signals of the brain to electrical impulses transmitted wirelessly to a receiver.

Mara smoothed her lab coat, her light brown fingers with bright red polish contrasting with its stark white. Her first subject was coming in; a fifty-three-year-old male with a highly conservative upbringing.

“Good afternoon,” Mara said, “please have a seat.”

He nodded. “Ma’am.”

“Just so we’re clear, when we place the halo over your head, you are going to experience what someone else is experiencing, in real time.”

The man shrugged. “As long as I get paid,” he said, “I can sit through almost anything.”

Mara smiled and placed the halo on his head. “Here we go.”

“When does it…oh!” His eyes closed and from the outside it looked like he was in REM sleep.

While he was under, Mara went over the questionnaire he’d filled out the day before. She wondered which of the subjects he’d be linked with. Every one of them was different, and there were no guarantees that any specific one was compatible with the person wearing the halo.

#

“Fuck you, faggot!” The two white men, one wearing a Confederate flag tee and the other sporting a collection of white supremacist tattoos, jeered at him.

Keith’s heart raced. He knew he wasn’t safe here, or anywhere really. This neighborhood was primarily black, like himself, but even his neighbors wouldn’t lift a finger to help. Being black in America was hard, and even harder when you’re openly gay.

The litany of abuse he’d encountered growing up played in the back of his mind. He was trying to determine the best course of action. It would probably be best if he rushed past them into the store. At least inside they weren’t likely to assault him physically.

As he headed for the relative safety of the store, the men moved to block him. That’s when another man stepped out the door of the store drinking a can of soda. Without hesitation he stepped between them. “What is your major malfunction?”

“Stay out of this,” the one with the tattoos said, “this is between us and the fag nigger.”

“I see,” the man said. “You’re just fucking morons.” He dropped the soda he’d been drinking and pointed at them. “This is your one warning. Walk away now.”

The tattooed man took a swing at him. He ducked out of the way and followed with a uppercut that knocked tattoo on his rear. Flag tee grabbed him, and in a well-practiced move, he reversed the hold and threw flag tee to the ground. “I said, walk away.”

Keith used the commotion to rush into the store. He felt awful for leaving the man to take care of them on his own but knew what would happen if police were to show up with him fighting a white man. Hell, any time police show up it’s bad for a brother.

Keith stood by the rack of carts inside the door, trying to stop the shaking, when the man came back in the store. He was tall, at least six feet, with sharp features, his skin sun-touched and peachy, with medium-blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and well-defined muscles Keith hadn’t noticed at first.

He placed a gentle hand on Keith’s shoulder. “You okay?” he asked.

“I—thanks. I think I might be, now.” The man’s smell was intoxicating. Keith wanted nothing more than to hold the man, and let passion take them. He pushed the thought away as hard as he could. Acting on impulse like that had gotten him beaten once in high school, and he had no desire to repeat that.

“Listen, those idiots are sitting out there in their truck. How about I accompany you while you shop and make sure you get out of here safely?”

“Y—you’d do that for me?” Keith asked. “You aren’t afraid of what people will say when they see you with me?”

“Hell, no. Fuck them.” He laughed and offered his hand to shake. “I’m David.”

Keith shook his hand, being mindful to be “manly” about it. Firm grip, don’t hold it too long, god he smells good…don’t be creepy. “I—I’m Keith. How did you learn to fight like that?”

“Nice to meet you, Keith.” David gestured for Keith to head into the store proper. “I’m an amateur MMA fighter and I teach at the dojo over on 12th.”

“Why did you help me?” Keith asked. “Not too many white dudes will stop to help a brother. Hell, not too many brothers will help a gay brother.”

“I could try to sound all perfect and say that I’m just a really good guy,” he said with a shrug, “but you deserve the truth. My little brother’s gay, and I’ve had to protect him from bullies all his life, including our own father.”

Keith knew all too well how that was. His own father had disowned him and kicked him out at sixteen when he came out. He didn’t know how many times he’d wished his father was right, that it was a “choice,” or a “phase.” When he was younger, he’d have given almost anything to be “normal.”

“As for the racist bullshit,” David said, “there’s nothing that shows ignorance faster than that. If I thought I was better than someone because of the color of their skin, I’d be dead in the ring in no time.”

They made their way through the store, Keith grabbing essentials, and finding out more about each other, with David dropping not so subtle hints about Keith meeting his brother. Finally, David invited him for a barbecue on the weekend.

“You really want me to meet your brother,” he said. “Why is that?”

“You have it backwards,” David said. “I want him to meet you. His taste in men is…not the greatest.”

“Well, meeting your brother is the least I can do to repay you. I can’t guarantee anything, though.”

“Fair enough.”

#

Mara watched the man as tears ran down his face. Time was running out, but the signal remained strong and steady.

He came out of it with a gasp and wiped his face. He took a deep breath and looked at his surroundings, then his hands, which shook.

“Take your time,” Mara said. “Coming back can be a little disorienting. Can you tell me who you were linked with?”

“I was…Keith Meadows.” He shook his head. “I mean, it felt like I was him. The memories, the men, they were going to—.” He took another deep breath and blew it out. “My…his whole life, and he never gives up. He’s so strong. I could never….”

Mara helped him up and led him to the out-processing room where he would get snacks to help him reconnect with himself, and a follow-up questionnaire.

After he had left, Mara called up his questionnaire to compare the before and after answers. The initial findings were promising. Where before he’d thought racism was a limited problem, he now saw it as a systemic issue. He no longer considered homosexuality as something perverse or unnatural, but just the way some people were born.

His exit interview included the strongest indication of why this program might work.

Eyes red from crying, and still sniffling, he looked into the camera. “Until I was Keith, I had no idea just how deep racism in this country goes. It’s not just the loud jerks like the two who attacked him, but the entire system. And without being a man feeling an attraction for another man, it’s hard to imagine that being ‘normal’ or the default. Living it and knowing that it’s who I am to the core made it clear, even though it wasn’t really me. There’s a part of me that still has a crush on my rescuer, David. I mean, Keith’s rescuer. If you told me last week I’d have a crush on a guy, I would have knocked you out. Now, it’s just something that happened.”

Trunk Stories

Pretend

prompt: Write about someone who everyone thinks is an extrovert, but is actually an introvert.

available at Reedsy

She was larger than life, her stride confident, her head high. She greeted everyone she passed, many by name. It didn’t matter whether they were security, mechanics, pilots, cleaning crew or just surprised, random strangers.

“Kai,” she called with a wide smile, “see anything I should worry about?”

“Nope. You were right on the reactor coils, though. I replaced ‘em all during the overhaul.” He held out a data pad for her signature.

“Thanks. Not too expensive, I hope?”

“Don’t worry about that, Edria. You’ve still got credit remaining with us, and I gave you a discount.”

“I told you, Kai, just call me Ed.”  She thumbed the pad, recording her print and approval. “And tell that kid of yours I’ll bring back a piece of asteroid for her.”

“She’ll love that. Safe trip, Ed.”

She walked to her ship, where a dock worker was disconnecting the charging and fueling lines. “Hey Tam! How are you feeling after last night?”

“Not too bad,” she said. “I’m a little tired, but it was a good party.”

“We’ll have to do it again when I get back.” Ed winked.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Tam said. “It would drive me nuts being out there alone for a month at a time.”

Ed laughed. “We all make our sacrifices,” she said.

“You’re all set,” Tam said, giving her a thumbs-up.

“Thanks, Tam. Tell the rest of the crew that the first round’s on me when I get back.”

She settled into the pilot’s seat of her scout ship and checked that all instruments were green. “Ground, long-range scout Jackal requesting clearance for lift-off and immediate self-initiated jump.”

“Long-range scout Jackal, ground control. There’s an increased mandatory clearance of 250,000 kilometers from the jump gate for self-initiated jump.”

“Roger, ground, 250,000 K clearance. How are things, Jules?”

“Things are good, Ed. You are cleared for lift-off and vector seven-zero by one-four by three-five-eight off-plane for immediate jump once past minimum clearance. Have a good trip.”

“Thanks, Jules. Scout Jackal lifting off.”

After an initial burn of four gee, Ed broke orbit at a steady one gee acceleration for two hours, putting her at the minimum distance to make her jump to warp. Once she had initiated the jump, she turned on artificial gravity and slouched in her seat with a sigh.

The hum of the reactor, the sigh of the air handlers, even the rattle of the toolbox tie-down that she hadn’t gotten around to tightening…these were the sounds of sanity. She’d been in dock for five days, and it had worn her to nothing.

She had nine days to system R-795, then another twenty days of taking asteroid samples before she needed to return. Prospecting for mining companies wasn’t a terribly glamorous job, but it suited her. Time alone, time to recharge.

“Um, hi?” The voice behind her was quiet, timid.

Ed spun around in her seat. “Who are you? How did you get on board?”

“Hi Ed, I’m Sil,” the slight woman said, “and I overheard in the bar that you were leaving this morning and wouldn’t be back for a month. If you can drop me off at the other end, I’ll work for my passage.”

Ed groaned. “Unless you want to be dropped off on an asteroid in an unsettled system, there is no ‘other side’ on this trip.”

“Oh.” Her head dropped. “So, you’re going back to Parvati. Shit.”

“What are you running from?”

“I owe someone,” she said, “and it’s bad.”

“Well, there’s plenty of food, if you don’t mind ration bars, and we’re not going to run out of water or oxygen.” Ed turned her chair back toward the control console. “Just give me peace when I ask for it, and we’ll figure something out.”

“The way you were in the bar, and the way everyone talks about you, I thought you’d be more…outgoing.”

“That’s an act. As long as I’m friendly with everyone there, I get better deals on maintenance, get bumped to front of the line for clearance, and get more contracts. It…takes a lot out of me, though.”

“You prefer being alone?”

“Very much so. And now is one of those times where I need to be.” Ed checked the console, even though there was nothing for her to do at this stage of the trip. “The food locker is the green door down next to the galley; you can sleep in crew room three.”

“Thank you.” Sil left the bridge and searched for the crew quarters. Room one was open; lived in but clean and orderly. Room two was stacked with storage containers. Room three contained a cot with a mattress, pillow, and a single blanket. It had its own air shower and toilet and was just across from the galley.

#

The following days were awkward. Ed felt it was taking longer than usual to get back to normal. Even when she didn’t see Sil in the crew quarters hallway, or hear her in her room humming, or more often, sobbing, she still knew she was not alone on the ship. Her ship. Her quiet place.

By the last day in warp, Ed was feeling more herself. She took a deep breath and turned on the intercom. She’d never used it but was glad to see that it worked. “Sil, we’re breaking warp in ten minutes. Be prepared for a moment of zero gee, then meet me in the galley when gravity comes back on.”

She clicked through the procedures and artificial gravity cut out as the ship diverted power to the shields before stripping the warp bubble. The gravity came back with a clatter from the toolbox. I really need to tighten that strap.

Sil was waiting for her in the galley, standing in the corner. Ed pointed to the small table. “Take a seat. I have a post-warp ritual.” Without waiting for a response, she pulled out prepped ingredients and began cooking. She was silent as she measured, heated, stirred, spiced, and tasted for balance.

Setting two paper bowls of a hearty bean soup with a soft-cooked egg on top, Ed said, “Real food.”

“Thank you.” Sil’s eyes were red from crying, and Ed took her first good look at her. She couldn’t be more than twenty.

“Tell me more about your debt.”

“I…borrowed some money to pay off a gambling debt, but….” She stared into her soup.

“You gambled that away, too.”

Sil nodded.

“How much?”

“Two hundred thirty credits.”

Ed pursed her lips. It was sizable, but not insurmountable. If this job got her a normal finder’s fee, Sil’s debt plus fuel, oxygen, water, and food would leave her at break-even. If not, she still had a thousand credits in the bank. “What did you do in your mandies?”

“Man…mandatory service? I was a freight loader.” Sil sniffled as she ate the soup, taking her time with it.

“Familiar with what a mining scout does?”

“No.”

“We catalog and measure the asteroids, test their gravitational pull, and determine their mass. Based on mass, we can guess pretty well what they’re made of. If it’s metallic, we take a sample and move on to the next.”

Sil nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Most of it is record-keeping.” Ed drained her bowl and dropped it into the recycler. “If you can keep up with the record-keeping part, I’ll pay off your debt when we get back.”

“Th—thank you.”

“Don’t start crying now, please. I don’t know how to handle it.”

Sil sniffled. “Sorry.”

“Enough of that. Let’s go to work.”

#

They fell into a rhythm by the end of the first week. Ed would pilot the drone to catalog asteroids and measure mass while Sil recorded. They’d break for lunch, then Ed would pilot the drone back to any promising asteroids to drill a sample. She drilled a couple extra for Kai’s daughter while she was at it.

In the evenings, Sil would take a turn piloting the drone, getting the feel of the controls. She said  she didn’t need as much sleep as Ed and would use the extra hours scouting. Ed was sure she was just trying to make up for the promise of paying off her debt.

It was the middle of the second week when Ed rose and found Sil waiting for her with wide eyes. “You find something?”

Sil passed her the data pad. “I think so.”

Ed looked over the data. “Where is this? 6,000 kilometers radius, 1.1 gees. It’s the size of Mars and heavier than Earth. Sounds like the core of a planet. There’s nothing like that in the belt.”

“Largest moon around the gas giant we passed last night.”

Ed checked the navigation logs. “You pulled us out of the belt for this?”

“Sorry. It was giving me weird gravimetric readings when it came out from behind the giant. I had to check it out.”

Ed grunted. “Make me some coffee, and let’s get a closer look.”

As the Jackal pulled into a stable orbit around the heavy moon, Ed fired up the ship’s sensors. There was plenty of data they could pull from here, but more would be available if they landed. She didn’t want to land if it was dangerous, though, and it was clear right away that it was.

“I want to land there and get a sample, but I can’t.”

“Why?” Sil asked.

“Radioactive.”

“There must be a lot of fissile material in the core.” Sil’s eyebrows furrowed. “Can the drone take a sample?”

“It could,” Ed said, “but it would never make it back into orbit. Its max is 0.2 gees.”

“Well, at least we have some data.”

Ed smiled. “Yes, and these readings are enough to bump my pay for this job to about four times normal.” She looked at Sil. It was the first time she’d seen Sil smile. “Half of that is yours, since you were up to catch the readings.”

“Thanks.” Her smile dropped. “I’m sorry I stowed away and took your alone time. I…like alone time, too.”

“Maybe that’s why you aren’t on my nerves,” Ed said. “Anyone else, I’d have gone crazy and spaced them by now.”

“So different from how you seemed at the bar.” Sil shook her head. “I could never do that; be friendly and loud like that.”

“Sure you could. It’s just pretend.” Ed sipped at her coffee. “The trick is to get out before you’re too tired to pretend anymore. Getting the reactor overhauled meant more time than usual in dock, and I was at my end by the time we left. Sorry if I was a bitch to you.”

“Ed,” she asked, “do you think I could work for you for a while? I—I mean, after this?”

“You’re getting pretty good with the drone.” Ed pondered. “I thought about getting a pet. Just because I don’t like being around crowds doesn’t mean I don’t get lonely. You might be a better choice, though. You can feed yourself; you can hold a conversation on the rare occasion I want one, and we can get more work done together than I can alone.”

“Is that a yes?”

“On one condition.” Ed finished her coffee and dropped the cup in the recycler. “No gambling.”

“It was my way to hide, when I couldn’t stand the crowds,” she said. “No one thinks twice about a person staring at their cards and not talking.”

“We’ll work on that,” Ed said. “This is where I hide, so I understand. The usual scout job is twenty days on site, unless it takes longer to find anything worth mining.”

“I suppose we have enough to go back now, huh?”

“We do,” Ed said, “but I’d rather spend the full twenty days out here.”

Sil smiled for the second time. “Thanks, I’d prefer that, too.”

Ed broke orbit and returned to the belt. “I think we’ll get along fine.”

Trunk Stories

Grab It Where You Can

prompt: Write a story where a character runs into someone they’ve seen in their dreams, or enters a building they’ve dreamt about before.

available at Reedsy

She was in my dream again. Six feet of whippy muscle under pale ochre skin with a splash of deep brown freckles across her nose, one tusk chipped just enough that it was noticeable, thick, black hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wasn’t a beauty, small and thin for an orc, and kind of plain. Still, like every other time she showed up in my dreams, my heart skipped.

I stood under the shower, both to wake myself and to clear the dream girl from my head. Orcs weren’t usually my type. In fact, the only girl I’d ever dated that wasn’t human like myself was Gwendolyn, the gnome I dated in high school. We made an odd couple, the captain of the girls’ basketball team and the nerdy little gnome.

There were chores to do, and I needed to get my head in the game. I rinsed out the memories of Gwen, and the dream girl was there again every time I closed my eyes. To keep my mind on task I began reciting my grocery list. It was all in my phone but thinking about it before I got to the store helped me plan out my route. That was something I’d picked up from Gwen, looking at tasks in terms of efficiency.

Normally, I’d do all my running around in sweats, no makeup, hair pulled back and allowed to fluff itself into a semi-afro puff. For a change, I dressed in jeans and a loose top. I held the concealer in my hand, looking in the mirror. I thought about covering the vitiligo, then thought against it. I hadn’t hidden my skin since high school, and there was no reason to start now. My skin was a medium red-brown with patches of pinkish white. One patch intersected my right eyebrow, that half of it white rather than dark brown.

I put on some lipstick, since I still hadn’t gotten comfortable with my pale lips in the center of a large white patch on my lower face. Satisfied, I left to do my weekend chores.

Self-consciousness didn’t set in until I was pushing the cart with its wobbly wheel through the grocery store. Here I was, dressed up for someone I dreamed about. No one seemed to be paying any attention to me, except for the guy that ogled me openly. He was quickly dissuaded when I glared at him, though.

Most of my shopping done, I only needed to go to the deli counter for some ham. I turned the corner around the large coolers of energy drinks next to kombucha and overly sugared vegetable juices and there she was. Not right there, but behind the deli counter. Had I seen her there before, and my brain was reminding me?

I walked up to the counter to order, and she turned and asked, “How can I help you?”

My heart stopped for a moment, then began to pound. I stammered, unable to speak. She was no raving beauty, but something about her lit a fire inside me.

“C—can I help you?” she asked again.

“Sorry, you just…,” I said, “I thought I recognized you. How long have you worked here?”

“I just started today.” She smiled. Her smile was crooked, genuine, and completely breathtaking.

“I—uh, one pound of honey ham, please.”

“I’ll get that started for you. Anything else?”

“Your number,” I muttered under my breath.

She laughed. “You really don’t remember me, Angela?”

“I—no, but I’ve been seeing you in my dreams for a couple weeks now.”

“That would be a crappy pickup line, if I thought you were making it up.” She was already an inch shorter than me, but she squatted down another foot and held her hand out as if giving me something. “Great game, Angela. I warmed your towel on the heater.”

It snapped into place. “Grace! You look so different!”

“I’m not the short, chubby orc anymore,” she said. “Now I’m the short, scrawny orc.” Her laugh was genuine; not melodic or angelic or anything of the sort, just a hearty, genuine laugh.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you. But, how…?”

“I got back into town a couple weeks ago. I saw you going into Crazy Clara’s with another woman. I didn’t think you saw me, though. I waved and you passed by.”

“I must have missed it, at least consciously.”

“Was that woman your girlfriend?”

“Huh?” There was a hint of pink rising in her cheeks, the same blush I’d seen a hundred times before when the awkward little towel girl would give me my special towel. “No, just a coworker. You should’ve come into the bar.”

She turned away and reached into the case to pull out the honey ham. “I’ve never, um, been to a gay bar.”

“It’s a great place to hang out. And not everyone there is gay.”

She still hadn’t looked back at me, setting up slicer. “With the way my parents were, I guess it still feels…I don’t know.”

“Conservative parents?”

“They…were.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“I came back to take care of the house after the accident.” Tears pooled in her eyes, and I wanted to run around the counter and give her a hug.

One of the other deli workers came and whispered in her ear. She nodded and the other woman took over slicing the ham as she walked around the counter to where I was.

There was no intention in my hug other than to offer comfort, but it felt like so much more. She laid her head on my shoulder and wept. “I miss them so much.”

“I’m so sorry.”

We stood like that for a few minutes until she composed herself. “Here I am all grown up, and you’re still protecting me.”

She and Gwen ran in the same circles, although they weren’t close. Still, I’d threatened the bullies off her a time or two in high school. I guess I always did feel a little protective of all of them. “Just being me,” I said.

She stepped back. “Sorry, I bawled all over your top.”

“It’ll dry.” Before I realized what I was doing, I’d begun to wipe her tears with a gentle thumb, and she leaned her head into my palm. “Sorry if that was too forward of me.”

Grace sniffled and shook her head. “No, I liked it.” She took a deep breath and looked at the floor. “Could you go to the funeral with me?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

I took her hands in mine. “Of course. Just tell me where and when.” 

“Thanks. I don’t think I can handle it alone, and everyone’s gone.”

“Give me your phone,” I said, “and I’ll put my number in. You can call me any time, whether you just want to talk or whatever.”

She unlocked her phone and handed it to me. As I put my number in, I said, “And after you call me, I’ll be able to call back and ask you out on a date.”

When I handed her phone back to her, she immediately called my cell. It rang once and she hung up. “Now you have my number.” Her cheeks were burning red.

“You’re really cute when you blush,” I said. “I’ll call later this evening.”

She nodded and went back around the counter, where the other deli worker was waiting. There were whispered words between them, and Grace handed me the package of sliced ham. “I get off at four. Remember where my parents’…my house…is?”

“In the cul-de-sac off Druid, near the big park?”

“Yeah, the bright yellow house. The funeral is tomorrow. If you could pick me up at home around nine….”

“I’ll be there.” I smiled at her, my heart aching at the sadness I saw in her eyes. “I won’t let you go through this alone.”

“Thank you, Angela.” She leaned against the counter. “You know what Mercy just told me? She said we’re a sweet couple.”

“Well. You’re certainly sweet,” I said.

“I—I feel guilty.”

“Why?”

“The funeral is tomorrow, and I’m sad, but I’m also happy that you’re here.” Tears pooled in her eyes again. “It’s not the right time to feel happy.”

“Hey,” I said, holding her hand across the counter, “there’s no wrong or right time or place for happiness. It comes in little pieces, here and there, and you have to grab it where you can.”

She smiled, a crooked, sweet smile beneath sad eyes, and squeezed my hand. “Grab it where I can. I like that. Call me after five?”

Trunk Stories

Beacon

It’s the third day I’ve spent in the barn, waiting on my batteries to recharge, and the fourth since I ran away. The solar cell I found and rigged up isn’t efficient, especially in these short, February days. The axe head I’ve been using to dig in the ice is near the broken door, and the bull hasn’t come in for the night yet.

…continue reading on Vocal

Trunk Stories

Ex Servitio

prompt: Write a story about someone losing faith in an institution.

available at Reedsy

Lil let out the smoke she’d been holding in, the buzz warming her brain. “I’ve always tried to do the right thing,” she said.

“I know, I know,” Viv answered before taking a deep drag from the pipe. She continued, her words muffled by the clouds of smoke that carried them, “That’s why I know you’ll do the right thing now.”

Lil ran her fingers over the patch on her sleeve; a seven-pointed star inside a circle, with the letters “CM” in the center. Below that, a patch with two parallel stripes crossing a third that sat at sixty degrees oblique designated her rank as servus inquisitor. Two simple patches that opened doors for her everywhere the Consilio Magorum had jurisdiction, which was to say, almost everywhere. She lay her head on Viv’s lap.

“I wish you could talk about it with me.”

“Me too,” Lil said, “but just like you, I can’t talk about an active case. Even when it should be closed by now.”

“What is your first instinct?” Viv asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, “I’m too high to think about it right now.”

Viv stroked Lil’s slick, red hair, brushing it out of her pale, freckled face. She traced the halfling’s pointed ears, eliciting a sigh. “You know I’m always here for you.”

“I know. That goes both ways.”

Viv chuckled. “I know. One thing you can tell me, though, why do you guys use Latin instead of 10 codes and normal ranks?”

“Same reason spell books are in Latin. Omnia latine altum videtur.” Lil grabbed Viv’s hand, her own pale skin contrasting sharply with the golden-brown of Viv’s. She kissed the hand, easily twice the size of her own. “Carry me to bed?”

#

Lil’s cell phone woke them far too early. Viv answered it, “Detective Sergeant Lilly Miter’s phone.”

The voice on the other end was less than friendly. “Vivian, I suppose. Get Servus Inquisitor Miter on the phone… now.”

She handed the phone to Lil with a look of resignation.

“S.I. Miter.”

“Two things; first, we have a location on the djinn. Second, I’m still waiting on your revised recommendation on the two wizards we have in custody.”

“I already gave you my recommendation. They’re not dangerous, and as they signed the agreement according to the Magic Users Accountability Act of 1963, we have to let them go, legally.” She sighed. “Send the location to my phone, and I’ll head straight there.”

“There’s a team on the way, you’ll meet them there. If you’re there first, you are not to go in alone. You got that?”

“Yeah… yes sir.”

“And if you’re not going to change your recommendation to MUAA them out, I’ll be forced to go over your head. It won’t look good for your record, and you’ll probably face an early retirement.”

Lil didn’t answer but disconnected the call instead. “I’ve got to go.”

“I figured,” Viv said. “Stay safe. I’m due in the office in a couple hours, I’ll head in early. If you get the chance we can have breakfast together, and maybe you can tell me what’s going on.”

“Maybe. You stay safe, too.”

“I’m not a field agent, just a forensic accountant. You’re the one chasing down rogue wizards, magical creatures, and dangerous artifacts.” Viv smiled. “I’ll watch out for violent file cabinets, though.”

#

In her dark blue uniform, Lil climbed the folding ladder that led to the driver’s seat of her issued black SUV. Large enough for an orc to drive, it had pedal extenders, custom rails to move the seat closer to the steering wheel, modified airbags for the close position, and the automatic folding ladder for her to get in and out. At first, she’d felt self-conscious driving the armored and magically warded beast, but she had since got used to it.

The location was close. She learned long ago that even though they didn’t have the same rights as police or federal agents, a black SUV with the Consilio emblem and flashing green lights was generally treated the same as emergency vehicles.

Lil arrived at the motel while the team was reporting they were still ten minutes out. She parked out of sight of the front entrance and walked up to room 217 on the second floor.

She rapped on the door. “Anunit, my name’s Lilly Miter. Karl and Sera sent me.” She used the names of the wizards in custody. They had begged her to find the djinn before the Consilio and get her to safety. After what she’d seen in the past few days, she was more inclined to do so than she would have been just a week prior.

“Please, Anunit. If we don’t get out of here right now there’s a team on the way which will arrest you, and you’ll never see the outside of a cell again.”

The door opened and a slight woman, human, with rich brown, olive-tinged skin, tightly curled black hair, and deep brown eyes stood in front of her holding a small bag. “Sorry, I needed to pack. Shall we go?”

Lil led her to her SUV and pushed the remote to open the passenger door. After climbing into her seat, she started the engine. “I’m in a bind, here.”

“I can see that,” Anunit said. Her eyes narrowed as she examined the halfling. Lil could feel the magic flowing off of her. “I have only seen one other mage of your kind. You are a ‘halfling,’ correct?”

“That’s right. But as far as public records go, I’m the first halfling wizard.”

“This was nearly 3000 years ago, in Babylon.” Anunit frowned. “I understand that your superiors wish to bottle me back up.”

Lil nodded. “They consider you a ‘magical artifact’ rather than a person.”

“How are Sera and Karl? Are they safe?”

“They should be,” Lil said, “but those same superiors are pushing me to declare them dangerous and lock them up.”

“Why?”

“The average time spent studying magic to become a mage or wizard of any talent is twenty to thirty years. When two formerly non-magical people were turned into powerful wizards with a wish, it upset a lot of the old timers.”

“And these ‘old timers’ are after me because I embarrassed them?”

Lil thought about it for a moment. “You may have a point there. I wasn’t sure what they were afraid of, but it may just be their own ego.”

“How did they respond to you, when you became a wizard?”

“They were a little surprised, but they weren’t negative about my ability. It took me longer than most. I studied for twenty-two years before I could bypass my innate magical resistance and do my first minor spell.” She smiled, remembering the past. “I signed the MUAA agreement right away and joined the investigative corps less than a year later. I’m still not sure how much of our ‘innate resistance’ is hereditary and how much is cultural.”

“The other halfling mage I met could not be fooled by a glamour, nor influenced by illusion, nor damaged by magical weapons, even.” Anunit leaned back in the seat. “What are we going to do? I thought you were going to drive me somewhere away from here.”

“This vehicle is tracked with GPS; there’s nowhere I can take you in it that I won’t be found.” Lil sighed.

“What do you recommend, Lilly?”

“Please, call me Lil. At this point, I’m not sure. I always thought the Consilio was doing everything they could to protect magic users… all of them. That’s why I joined.”

“What do you think now?”

“Now I’m beginning to wonder how many of the ‘dangerous’ wizards I’ve apprehended and put in custody actually are.”

“I can vouch for Sera and Karl. Karl is harmless by nature, and they only ended up as wizards because Sera wished for the power and resources to free me. Her wish was selfless.”

“I know. The truth-sayer that ran the interrogation knows as well.” Lil leaned her head on the steering wheel. “My honest opinion is that the Consilio want them marked as dangerous and locked away because they’re both as powerful as many of the Magistrorum Consilio Magorum and didn’t work for it. And you’re far beyond even the most powerful magister.”

“They wish to declare me as a thing rather than a person in order to possess me.” Anunit smiled, but there was sadness evident in her eyes. “Sera was the first in a very long time to consider me a person rather than a possession. Still, I am a human. I was before I was trapped and am again now.”

“They may also be concerned that you could make more wizards.”

“As long I was bound to the bottle, I had no choice in my actions. Now I do have a choice.” Her smile dropped. “Yes, if I wanted, I could make more wizards. That is not an experience I want to relive, however.”

“Why?”

“The amount of energy I channeled for that left me weak and powerless for most of a year. Even when confined to the bottle, I never felt so vulnerable. If Sera hadn’t kept me hidden….”

“The team will be here any minute,” Lil said. “You can leave now, cloak yourself and head through the woods there. There’s a Cerberus bus station in the town about four miles west. I can give you cash if you need it.”

“I am hearing an implied or,” Anunit said.

“Or… you let me take you in to sign the MUAA agreement. Not at the Consilio, but at the FBI field office. It’s my next stop, anyway.”

“They are law enforcement, right?” Anunit asked.

“They are,” Lil said, “which is why I need to go there.”

“What do you wish to do there?”

“No wishing about it, I’m filling a complaint against the Consilio Magorum for holding Sera and Karl. It’s kidnapping, or at least unlawful arrest, and since they were both brought here across state lines, it’s a matter for the feds.”

Anunit’s eyes narrowed as she stared off into the middle distance. Lil could feel the magic swirling around her. “If you wish to do this, I will go along. This will most likely result in the end of your employment.”

“I’m aware, even without scrying. But if they’re going to act like this, they leave me no choice.” Three black SUVs like hers pulled into the front of the motel. Lil keyed her radio. “S.I. Miter to captus dolor. The room is empty, I haven’t gone in. Call in the forensics team and let me know what you find. I’m going to meet my wife for breakfast at the FBI field office. Dispatch, I’m ex servitio for one hour.”

The voice on the radio came back. “Confirmativum. Servus Inquisitor Miter ex servitio until 07:19.”

As she pulled out of the motel’s parking she said, “I’m probably ex servitio forever, after this.”

Trunk Stories

Jo Said She Didn’t Take the Book

prompt: Write a story in which the same line recurs three times.

available at Reedsy

“Jo said she didn’t take the book.”

“So where is it?”

They were both just over five and a half feet tall with medium reddish-brown skin, high cheekbones, and bright brown eyes. The identical sisters, distinguished only by the size of their puff hairdo, stood in the middle of the apartment. George, with the smaller puff, picked up a framed photo from the coffee table. It showed the identical triplets, Josephine, Georgiana, and Alice, better known as Jo, George, and Al, in matching bikinis on a beach in Oahu. The smiles were forced, as it was the first vacation they’d taken without their mother.

“I wish mom could’ve been there,” she said.

“George, get your head out of the clouds and help me find the book.” Al was frustrated, and it showed.

The book in question was a collection of short stories about three magical princesses, Jo, George, and Al, and their feats of derring-do and magical mischief. Every story was based on a real-life situation the triplets found themselves in, spun into a tall tale. As the girls grew older, so did the princesses in the stories.

“Sorry, Al. I guess it’s time to start pulling everything off the shelves.”

“We might as well pack while we look.”

George nodded her assent and set an empty box beside her. She began taking books off the shelf and stacking them in neat piles in the box. “Mom still has a couple of your textbooks from med school.”

“I saw that. And is this one of yours from MIT?” Al held up a book titled “Brownian Motion and Stochastic Calculus.”

“Heh, yeah, from my undergrad studies.” George’s vision blurred as tears pooled in her eyes. “Why did she keep all this stuff?”

“I don’t know.” Al was crying now as well. 

They continued in silence, boxing shelf after shelf of books, pictures, figurines, and assorted bric-a-brac. Hours passed this way, and box after box was filled and stacked in the living room.

“When does Jo get back?” Al asked.

“I texted with her this morning and got chewed out. She was in court and forgot to mute her phone.” George laughed. “Anyway, she should be back tomorrow for the weekend. Are you going home?”

“I think I’m gonna sleep in mom’s bed tonight.”

“Me too.”

They snuggled together in the king bed that night, as they’d done hundreds of times before, although always with Jo and their mother as well. George inhaled deeply, her mother’s scent still on the pillows. “I miss her so much.”

“I thought of something,” Al said.

“What’s that?”

“Jo said she didn’t take the book. Do you think mom might have given it to her before…?”

“She’s the oldest, so maybe. And she’s not above being technically correct.”

They woke in the early morning to the sound of the garbage truck emptying the dumpsters in the alley. It didn’t take any words for them both to understand that the other was just as tired and annoyed by the rude awakening.

“Al, make us some coffee?”

“Depends.”

George used her sweetest sing-song voice, “I’ll go pick up some pastries from the Donut Haven.”

“Deal.”

George returned with a small bag containing three raspberry danishes and sat down at the table with Al.

“Why did you bring three?”

“Habit. I almost grabbed a bear claw for mom, too.” She wiped the tears that threatened to fall and took a deep breath.

“That’s okay, Jo will eat it even if it’s stale.”

They spent the morning packing more boxes, each item a small memory. Just holding up the occasional knick-knack to show the other was enough to elicit a sad smile.

Lunch time rolled around and passed without either woman taking note. Where they had started out at a steady pace, they were now both moving as if through molasses. The emotional toll was heavier than any physical exertion. George handed Al a cold cola and opened one herself. They sat drinking in silence, eyeing the sizable stack of boxes they’d packed.

“Sisters! I come bearing gifts!” Jo’s sudden entrance startled them both. She set her overnight bag down, and a bottle of wine peeked out of the top. Her briefcase remained firmly in her other hand.

George jumped to her feet and ran to embrace her, while Al lagged slightly behind. “I didn’t expect you until later.”

“Court was adjourned early for the weekend,” she said. “Come here, Al, give me some love.”

The three held each other for several long minutes, George and Al in shorts and tee-shirts, Jo in a suit with her hair pulled back into a severe bun. Al grabbed at the elastic holding the bun in place and yanked, freeing her sister’s hair.

“Get changed and let me fix your hair. You gotta quit trying to wear white lady hair.”

“In a minute,” Jo said, raising her briefcase. “I have something to show you.”

“Is it the book?” George asked.

“I told you I didn’t take it. You’ll like this, though.”

The sisters made their way into the kitchen, where Jo opened the briefcase and laid a small sheaf of papers on the counter. While the others looked at them, she grabbed the danish that sat there and ate it. “Thanks.”

“What is it?” the other two asked at the same time.

“Raspberry danish, our favorite,” she said.

“No, you ass, this,” Al said, waving the sheaf of papers.

“Mom’s publishing contract. Jackie gave it to me the day….” She faltered and shook her head. “Anyway, they’re sending the original back in a few days, and plan on publishing next May, in time for Mother’s Day.”

“Jackie’s a nurse, why was she handling mom’s legal affairs?” George stabbed a finger in Jo’s chest. “You’re the lawyer in the family, you should’ve been handling it.”

“Quit poking my boob.”

“Besides,” Al said, “mom always said her stories only meant something to us, the three princesses.”

“Jackie apologized for it after the fact, but she sent it off to a publisher without mom’s okay.” Jo sighed. “When she told me that, my first instinct was to sue. Until I read the letter mom left me. She wanted it to be a surprise, once the contract was finalized.”

The three of them chatted trivialities while Jo changed and continued while Al fixed her hair into a matching puff. When the three of them finally matched, Jo asked, “What can I do to help?”

“Have you eaten lunch?” George asked.

“Nope. How about an early dinner at O’Toole’s? Then I’ll help pack up whatever’s left.”

Al sighed. “The only rooms left are the kitchen and the bedroom. I don’t know if I’m ready to pack up the bedroom.”

“Me either,” George said. “I want to spend as many nights in her bed as I can, since it’ll all be gone next week.”

Jo pulled her sisters into a close embrace. “Then let’s walk to O’Toole’s for dinner and drinks. Then back here to pack the kitchen and cuddle in mom’s bed for the last couple nights.”

As they walked out the door, George said, “Called it. She was technically correct.”

“Yeah,” Al replied. “Jo said she didn’t take the book.”

Writings

Walker

It burned against my chest, the beautiful, cursed thing. Its weight pulled at the string around my neck from which it hung, taunting, daring me to find her. My steps crunched the dried grass to dust, a dim sun struggled to pierce the everlasting amber haze, and still it goaded me on.

I took a drink from my canteen. One swallow, no more. Conservation was key to surviving the plains; conservation and avoiding the raiders. … continue reading at Vocal