Tag: urban fantasy

prompt: Set your story in a playground: two characters are having a serious conversation while on the seesaw/in the jungle gym/on the swings.

available at Reedsy

The two women sat in the unlit park, gently rocking their swings back and forth. What should have been a comfortable silence between them grew tense.

The younger appearing of the two wore a little black dress with a name tag that read “Heather Markham.” Her red hair was piled in a mess of natural tight curls above a pale, unlined, freckled face with bright green eyes. She stopped her gentle swinging and looked at the other. “I was hoping you’d remember our spot.”

The other woman, wearing a smart suit and a name tag that read “Jocelyn Josephs.” Her bobbed medium brown hair was shot through with hints of grey. Around her large, deep brown eyes, the start of crow’s feet showed in her olive skin despite all her efforts to hide them. “Of course I remembered. It’s like you haven’t aged at all.”

“That’s why I had to leave early. I was making people uncomfortable.”

Jocelyn laughed. “Some things never change. ‘Creepy Heather’ they used to call you.”

“I never understood why you hung out with me,” Heather said, “even though they started picking on you when you did. But, thank you for that, Jo. Without you I don’t know if I’d have made it.”

“You were the most together person in my entire life at that point. More than me, for sure, and my parents were off in ‘Last Days’ conspiracy theory land somewhere.” Jocelyn switched from swinging to rotating side to side in the swing. “Did you know my dad was a flat-earther — way before YouTube trolls, hell, there was no internet then.”

“What?!” Heather nearly stood from the swing. “That’s nuts.”

“Biblical literalist. Even where it contradicted itself. Especially where it contradicted itself.” Jocelyn chuckled. “Every time I’d point out an impossible contradiction in the Bible, he’d just say, ‘Through God, all things are possible,’ as if that solved it, and then he’d smack me for backtalking.”

“Shit. Sorry I brought it up.”

“You didn’t, silly. I brought it up. I’m over it.” Jocelyn sighed. “I wish we’d stayed in touch after we went away to college.”

“Yeah.” They swung in silence for a few minutes before Heather said, “Speaking of remembering our spot, you wouldn’t happen to have a joint, would you?”

“No, but,” Jocelyn said reaching into her purse and pulling out a bag of gummies, “I do have edibles. Start with a quarter of one and give it half an hour or so to hit.”

Heather laughed, taking the offered treat. “The creepy twins strike again. Edibles at the forty-year reunion.”

“This is nothing,” Jocelyn said. “Howard Mc-What’s-his-name was doing lines of blow in the bathroom with anyone who wanted some. Gathered quite the crowd.”

“Coke-bottle glasses Howard? McSween? The scrawny band and theater kid? That Howard?”

“Yeah, that Howard. He’s bald on top now. Still as small and scrawny, but his suit looked expensive as hell. Showed up in a limo — the private kind, not the hired kind. License plate was ‘HOWARD4.’”

“Wow. So how did you find out he was doing blow in the bathroom?”

Jocelyn laughed. “It was the women’s bathroom!”

They laughed at the incongruity of it and returned to swinging in silence.  The half-moon peeked out behind the broken clouds that drifted across the sky.

“Did you ever get married or have kids?” Heather asked.

“No. Dated a few guys, and a few girls, but nothing ever lasted.” Jocelyn didn’t dare to tell Heather that she was the reason that no one else measured up. “Honestly, it’s made it easy to focus on work, since I cut my family out right after high school.”

“Sounds lonely,” Heather said. “For obvious reasons, I’ve avoided long-term relationships.”

“Do you think anyone other than your parents knew we were together, then?” Jocelyn asked.

“No. I think they were too busy calling my mom a witch and saying we were freaks.”

“I’m just glad your parents were cool with us,” Jocelyn said.

“They were cool with anything involving you. They still ask about you all the time.”

Jocelyn looked at Heather, an unasked question in her eyes.

Heather reached over and grabbed the chain of Jocelyn’s swing. “I know you want to ask about my appearance, but don’t know how.”

“Well, yeah, at first. But then I remembered your parents both looked so young compared to mine.” Jocelyn put her hand on Heather’s. “You started out with good genes.”

“Well, yes and no.”

“What do you mean?”

“What makes us look young has a certain…downside.” Heather turned her hand over so that she was holding Jocelyn’s.

Jocelyn squeezed her hand, noticing that it was cool. “Don’t you dare tell me you’re sick! Do you need a kidney? You can have one of mine. I hear they can do liver transplants with only part of a liver if you need that. Bone marrow is a no-brainer.”

Heather laughed. “Thanks for that, but no, I’m not sick per se, but….”

Jocelyn raised an expectant eyebrow. When no follow-up came, she said, “Heather Helen Markham, if you don’t tell me now, I’m going to start calling you ‘HeHee’ again.” She sang the ‘HeHee’ in a Michael Jackson impersonation.

“Anything but that.” Heather took a deep breath. “I guess I’ll just come out and say it. I’m not aging for the same reason my parents don’t age. We’re vampires.”

“Ass! I thought you were being serious.” Jocelyn poked at Heather’s arm, looking for a playful reaction. When it didn’t come, she was at a loss for words.

“I am being serious.”

The look on Heather’s face told Jocelyn that she was, indeed, serious. “How long have you…thought you are a vampire?”

A soft smile crossed Heather’s face. “I don’t think I’m a vampire, I am one — a born vampire. We age like regular humans for the first twenty or so years, then we pretty much stop — unless we don’t feed.”

“But — you eat food, you drink wine, you even had an edible, I saw you in the sun earlier this evening. It doesn’t make sense.” Jocelyn shook her head. “Maybe I’m imagining this.”

“You’re not imagining anything, Jo.” Heather grabbed Jocelyn’s hand again. “What you see in the movies is bullshit. We don’t turn to dust in the sun, we can eat and drink, we just need a couple quarts of human blood once a month or so to keep us healthy. Without it, we age rapidly and starve to death, regardless of whatever else we eat.”

“It’s not funny anymore, Heather.” Jocelyn pulled her hand back and crossed her arms. “Quit playing and tell me what’s going on.”

Heather sighed. “Can you see the top of the play castle tower over there?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Before Jocelyn could blink, Heather was gone from the swing next to her and crouching atop the tower. “This,” she called out.

Just as fast, she was back in the swing next to Jocelyn. “W—was that a magic trick? Some kind of illusion?”

“No. Look at my teeth, tell me what you see.”

Jocelyn looked. “I see your teeth, they’re normal like alwa—” she cut off as Heather’s canines seemed to grow. From the close view, it was obvious they were sliding down, then the angle shifted  as they locked into place. She reached out and touched the tip of one and found it sharp.

Heather’s eyes shone in the dim moonlight. Her canines shifted their position again and retracted into her gums. “Say something.”

“Why? Why are you telling me?”

“There are two ways that vampires come to be. Some are born, like me. Some are made, like my mother.” Heather took Jocelyn’s hand in her own again and held it with a gentle touch.

“Are…are you asking me to…?”

Heather looked into Jocelyn’s eyes. “I’m saying, if you want to be a vampire, I’ll do it. I can’t think of anyone else I’d want to hang out with for a few centuries.”

Jocelyn watched the reflection of the moon in Heather’s eyes. She tried to weigh the consequences of the offer.

“You don’t have to decide right away,” Heather said. “I can wait as long as you need.”

Jocelyn looked at her former lover and still favorite person in the world. “I’ve already decided.”

prompt: Start or end your story with a character who gets trapped inside a museum overnight.

available at Reedsy

I had sat down in front of my favorite painting, Ah’-kay-ee-pix-en, Woman Who Strikes Many, 1832, a young indigenous woman I could swear was trying to tell me something momentous, something earth-shattering. This was something I did with some regularity.

The painting’s simplistic, flat style combined with details like the fringe of her robe and the texture of the pelt over her shoulder combined to bring a sense of immediacy and presence. She looked off to the right of the viewer, as though watching something in the distance.

I spent long hours imagining what she saw, what she wanted to say. At some point during the afternoon there was a commotion in the gallery, but I ignored it and tried to put myself in the artist’s place, standing by Ah’-kay-ee-pix-en, waiting for her to speak.

My focus was pulled out of the painting when the overhead lights dimmed, then shut off. In the glow of the EXIT sign and the dim emergency lighting, she looked more substantial, as though she were coming out of the canvas.

I stood, stiff after sitting for so long. If the power had gone out, there must be guards around somewhere. Determined to find one, I walked back through the galleries to the area by the gift shop.

The gate in front of the gift shop was down and locked. The clock on the wall showed it was half-past eight. Somehow, they’d closed the museum around me, an hour and a half prior. I wondered how they could have missed me, a regular patron in my regular spot.

There was nothing to be done for it, except to wait for the arrival of police and security. I was certain I’d passed through more than one motion detector. It might be confusing at first, but once the surveillance video was viewed it would be clear that my presence after hours was accidental.

With nothing else to trouble me for the moment, I went back to my spot. I sat down in front of Ah’-kay-ee-pix-en and marveled at how alive she felt in this light.

“You should always be displayed like this,” I said to her. “I’ve never seen you more alive.”

While part of me felt silly talking to a painting, another part of me didn’t care. “With no one else here, I can talk to you. I’m Joseph. It’s been a great pleasure of mine for years to sit here watching you, waiting to hear what you have to say, for you to divulge your great secret.”

“Nice to meet you, Joseph.”

I spun around to source of the voice, convinced a guard had found me while doing her rounds. A flood of relief tinged with embarrassment at having been caught talking to a painting washed over me. “Oh, thank god! I thought I’d been in here all night.”

“Already trying to leave?”

The woman that stepped into the light from the EXIT sign wasn’t a guard. She was far older, but I couldn’t help but recognize the woman I’d studied frozen in one moment for so long. “Yo—you’re….”

“Ah’-kay-ee-pix-en. Yes.”

“But, how?”

She sat next to me on the bench. “I’ve always been here, waiting, watching.”

“You’re not real. I’ve either lost my marbles, or I’m talking to a ghost…which means I’ve lost my marbles.” I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed them until spots showed up in my vision when I reopened them. She was still there, and I felt it when she punched me in the arm.

“If you can’t talk to me like the friend I thought you were, you can leave and never come back.” The fire behind her eyes stopped me from saying anything that would make the situation worse.

“I’m sorry, Ah’-kay-ee-pix-en.” I tried to pronounce her name exactly the way she had, but it still wasn’t quite right. I rubbed my arm where she’d hit me, trying to dispel the thought that it was already bruising.

“Accepted.” She smiled a half smile with a hint of mischief. “You think I have some great secret to reveal?”

“It’s the feeling I get from the painting.”

“That would be George you’re getting that from, not me. I can tell you exactly what I was thinking.” She stood and mirrored the pose from the painting. “I wish this white man would hurry up and finish and give me the two bits he promised.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, both at the way she delivered the line, and at myself for reading too much into things. “I’m an idiot,” I said. “I think, because I love this painting, I tried to find something deeper in it.”

She sat back down next to me. “It’s acceptable to love a piece of art for no other reason than you do. There’s no requirement that art is deep or meaningful. It’s like the sky; it’s there whether you look or not, and it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“I might have known that when I was younger,” I admitted, “but somewhere along the way, I let myself get wrapped up in being serious. I guess I didn’t want to think about all the hours of my life I’ve wasted just staring at things I like.”

“Is time really wasted if you spent it feeling joy?” she asked.

“That’s a good question.” We sat in silence for a while, looking at her younger self in the painting.

“Before they open, I’d like to show you something I enjoy,” she said, standing up and offering a hand.

I took her hand and stood. “By all means, lead on, ma’am.”

We walked through the silent galleries to stop in front of a sculpture. It was abstract, looking like a marble donut somehow warped beyond three dimensions. She ran her fingers along the flowing lines of polished stone. “You need to feel it.”

I looked around, wondering if this would get me in trouble, and then decided to follow her example. The marble was cool and smooth with no sharp edges or corners anywhere. “I understand why you like this so much.” I closed my eyes and let my fingers follow the contours that seemed to twist and turn with no rhyme or reason until my hand met hers.

I opened my eyes as she squeezed my hand. “The museum is opening soon. If you want to go, I understand, but I would very much like to see you again tonight.”

The overhead lights came on and I jumped back from the statue. Ah’-kay-ee-pix-en was nowhere to be found. I followed the sounds of voices to the gallery where her picture hung. A news crew was setting up in the gallery. The lead docent, two guards, and the president of the museum were in attendance.

I tried to get the attention of the guards, but they seemed preoccupied with what was going on. They were setting up a camera pointing at my usual spot, then rotating it around to point at Ah’-kay-ee-pix-en. Once they were satisfied, the reporter began.

“This is the spot where next Tuesday a memorial service will be held, and a plaque honoring the life-time member Joseph P. O’Cannon, will be placed on this bench. Joseph sat here almost every day for the last thirty-six years. Yesterday, he was here, in his favorite spot, when he fell unconscious and passed away.”

The camera pointed at Valery, the docent. “Joe was here pretty much any time we were open. He had a lifetime membership and continued to donate every year, going above and beyond. This piece, Ah’-kay-ee-pix-en, Woman Who Strikes Many, 1832, by George Catlin, was his favorite. I’d see him study this piece for hours on end. He used to tell me, ‘She has something to say, I just haven’t figured out what yet.’”

A tear rolled down her cheek. “We’ll all miss him, but I’m grateful he was here, not in a cold hospital room somewhere.”

The reporter took back the mic. “Mr. O’Cannon would have been eighty-nine next Tuesday, the day the museum will dedicate this bench to his memory.”

I watched the crew pack up the camera and equipment, after which the guards escorted them out. Valery sat in my spot and cried, and the president, Tom, stood behind her and patted her shoulder.

I couldn’t see Ah’-kay-ee-pix-en but I knew she was close. What I could see was a door that didn’t belong, in the center of the gallery. It had to lead on to whatever comes next.

I decided, for the day, that I’d wait until closing and talk to Ah’-kay-ee-pix-en some more. Maybe she really doesn’t have anything to teach me, but I might learn something anyway.

prompt: Set your story on New Year’s Day.

available at Reedsy

Late morning sun streamed through the sliding glass door, shining through the empty bottles, past the abandoned cups, to a large snack tray denuded of cheese, crackers, and dignity. Just past the tray, sprawled on the sofa, that same light stabbed through closed eyelids of Anika, exciting her photoreceptors and waking her mind that desired nothing more than to continue pretending nonexistence.

Why are the curtains open? she wondered. Ah, right, fireworks.

Anika crawled to a semi-seated position, her head throbbing. “I can’t do this anymore. I need new friends…I’m too old for this,” she said to the empty apartment.

A moan from behind the sofa told her she wasn’t as alone as she thought. “Who’s that? I’m too hung over right now to really care, as long as you’re alive.”

“Ugh. Do I have to be alive?” the other voice asked. It was a higher voice than she recognized, almost like that of a child.

“Seriously, who is that? Did somebody’s kid sneak in here last night?” Anika’s head pounded, but she wasn’t nauseated, so at least this wouldn’t be the worst she’d ever had.

“I’m almost as old as you, Dio, now shut up, I think I’m dying.”

Anika forced herself to her feet and turned around to see who was behind the couch. She looked, squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed them, then opened them again and waited for them to focus. “What the—”

“You’re not Dio!” The figure wobbled to its feet, barely four feet tall. It looked like a small woman in a light dress of silk with gold-covered goat horns on her head, a slightly flattened nose, light tan skin with a pale tinge of sickness, a small tail with brown and white fur, and brown furred lower legs ending in two-toed hooves also covered in gold.

“What are you and how did you get in my apartment?” Flashes of the previous night swam just behind her consciousness. “Wait, I thought I was hallucinating last night. Your name starts with an M….”

Anika pulled the blinds reducing the light in the apartment to a more manageable level. She moved to the kitchen to grab a large glass of water and a handful of ibuprofen. “Want some?”

“Water, please, I think I’m dying.” The little satyr — satyress? — pulled her light wrap dress tight. She looked around the apartment and lay on the sofa with a groan. “This is a comfortable place to die.”

“You’re not dying.” Anika set down a large glass of water and an ibuprofen. “First time drinking?”

“Of course not. I am Medea, favored of both man and Dionysus.” She moaned. “Maybe I’m no longer favored, though. Why else would he leave me here to perish in the mortal world?”

“Well, I’m Anika, you’re in my apartment although I don’t know how, and you’re not dying. You’ve seriously never had a hangover before?”

“Is that what this is?” Medea gulped down the glass of water. “Now we eat boiled cabbage to treat it? According to Aristotle, anyway.”

“Uh, what? No. Eww.” Anika refilled Medea’s glass and pointed to the pill next to it. “Take that pill — uh, just swallow it whole with some water — and I’ll order some breakfast.”

Anika gathered the bottles and placed them in her glass recycling bin, being careful to do so quietly. She followed that by collecting all the trash in a large garbage bag. Before she’d gotten past the kitchen, Medea was helping from the other end, gathering up the obvious trash, despite the fact that she looked as though she would fall over at any moment.

The apartment still smelled of spilt wine and booze, and could use a vacuum, mop, and carpet cleaner but Anika thought it was good enough for the moment. When breakfast was delivered, she sat on the sofa next to Medea and turned on the television to watch the Rose Parade as they ate their hangover egg sandwiches and hashbrowns.

Anika looked at the woman next to her, and the half-finished breakfast in front of her. “So, this is, uh, real?”

“What do you mean?”

“Dionysus…uh…Greek gods and satyrs and all that.”

Medea laughed. “Dionysus is real, but don’t let him know he’s still thought of as a god. He gets a big head about it.”

“But you said you were almost as old as he is, and he’s got to be at least Ancient Greece — roughly three thousand years old?”

“Closer to twelve thousand. I’m a few hundred away from eleven thousand, myself.”

“So how did he end up being the god of wine?”

Medea shook her head. Her color was returning, and a blush of pink showed under her cheeks. “He is as his nature, as we are all. His nature is that of fermentation. He learned the secret of fermenting grapes in Asia first. When he got tired of their mixed grape and rice wine, he went west, and taught it to others. Every time he got bored of the same wine, he’d move and teach new people.

“The Greeks liked it so much, they gave him his name and called him a god.”

“If you’re not gods, then…what are you?”

“We are our nature. Nothing more, nothing less.” Medea wiped her hands on a napkin. “Our realms are intertwined. Yours gives rise to our natures, our natures give rise to your reality. No one has been able to say which came first or whether one is more real than the other.”

“Does everyone in your realm live as long as you?”

“The oldest is life. She’s also been known as Gaia, but that’s not quite the whole of it. All life is her nature, not just on Earth. The second oldest is death. He has many names, but without his nature, life would not be able to continue. It is in life’s nature to consume death to further life, and it is in death’s nature to consume life.”

“What is your nature?”

“It is in my nature to be domesticated, cared for, and treasured, and to provide wealth.”

“How did you get your name?”

“Dio gave it to me, after he got his. He thought we should all have one. It’s easier than saying, ‘Hey, nature of domestication,’ after all.”

“What about dogs and cats?”

“The nature of Canis is older than myself and Dio…even older than humans, and just happens to have become my friend. The nature of Felis as well, though she tends to consider herself the domesticator of humans rather than the other way around.”

“All the nature spirits or whatever are related to one concept, then?”

Medea nodded. “We are as our natures and can be nothing else.”

“Then how did you end up here, getting hammered at my New Year’s Eve party?”

Medea thought for a moment. “Following is in my nature, but so is being stubborn. As long as I know I’m being taken care of, I can ignore the instinctive fear of the wild.”

“And?”

“I’m getting there. Dio often joins in a human celebration when he can get away with it. You probably didn’t notice him here last night.”

“It was pretty crowded, and I’m sure there was more than one uninvited walk-in.”

“He was here, and I followed him. I stayed hidden until the sky exploded in noise and lights. He returned to our realm, but I was transfixed. Once he was gone, I didn’t know how to get back, so I joined in the party and hoped no one would notice.”

“And I ended sharing a bottle with you on the balcony.”

“I’d never had such wine, but Dio says it is the perfection of his nature.”

“It’s not wine. It’s fermented grain that’s distilled to get the alcohol content high.” Anika turned her head side to side until her neck cracked.

Medea turned back to the television and pointed. “Hua Hsien would enjoy this.”

“What?”

“This celebration. Hua Hsien, the nature of blooming, would find this enticing.”

They watched for a while, until Anika asked, “What about the nature of humans?”

Medea laughed. “Too big for a single being. There are at least a thousand, probably more. And new ones are showing up, and sometimes…rarely…an old one dies.”

“How does a being like yourself die? I mean, you represent a concept.”

“Concepts come and go. Some last longer than others, but those that are directly related to humans…,” Medea shrugged. “We tend to be the youngest and shortest-lived of all.”

A shimmering door appeared in the middle of the room, and an androgynous teen stepped out, scrolling on a phone, never looking up. “Medea, Dio sent me to take you home.”

“Who are you?” Anika asked.

The teen shrugged and continued scrolling.

“Anika, meet Nico,” Madea said, “the nature of artificial socialization. One of the ‘new kids.’”

“You coming, grandma? I don’t have all day, and Dio’s shook. Or I could just yeet you back over the fence.”

“I’m coming, Nico. It was a pleasure to meet you, Anika.”

“You too, Medea.”

The two beings walked through the shimmering door that disappeared as quickly and silently as it had appeared. Anika flopped down on the sofa and took a nap.

When she woke, she was certain it had been a dream, until she saw the settings for two, Medea’s half-eaten sandwich, the loose furs on her couch and shirt, and the clear hoof-print in last night’s spilled wine.

“Shit! It was real!” Anika shook her head. “I should’ve invited her and Dionysus back for next year.”

Her phone chimed, and she checked the new text from no number. “dio sez bet”

“What? Does that mean she’s coming, or—” Anika was cut off by another text.

“yeah duh”

“Thanks, Nico.” Anika knew there would be no more replies, as it wouldn’t be in Nico’s nature.

prompt: Start your story with someone buying a cursed — or perhaps blessed —mirror from an antiques store.

available at Reedsy

The glass was scratched, the silvering was cloudy, and the gilded wood frame was so ornate as to be ridiculous and fragile. Acanthus leaves intertwined with vines and flowers in a style that fell somewhere between baroque and rococo. It was the perfect amount of kitsch to brighten up the hallway. While mostly useless as a mirror, it suited her purposes perfectly. She had to have it.

Alyx turned the tag over. It was certain to be priced out of her range. She had a start as the price on the tag was only $20. This was an antique worth thousands, easily.

She lifted it, careful of the wood frame, and carried it to the counter. Laying it on the soft pad the owner of the shop threw on the counter, she said, “I think there’s a mistake. This is worth a hell of a lot more than twenty dollars. I’m willing to work with you on what you think is fair. Layaway or whatever.”

He took one glance at the mirror and shook his head, his wispy, white hair floating with each shake. The wrinkles around his mouth and eyes deepened as he smiled, his face a roadmap of expression.

“That’s the right price. It’s here on zero commission, and the owner just wants it gone.”

Alyx laughed. “Is it cursed or something?”

The avenues of mirth on the old man’s face deepened even more as his smile grew. “Nothing like that. He just says it’s too painful to look at since his wife died.”

“Oh, that’s…sad. I’ve got the perfect spot for it where it can bring joy again.” She asked if he could turn it over so she could look for a maker’s mark. It was so worn as to be hard to see, but she could make out “München.” Alyx handed the old man two twenties and refused any change.

#

As she hung the mirror in the hallway, light from the entry hit the frame just right, showing script in silver on one of the vines of the leaf-motif frame. Looking closer, she saw the words, “cognosce te ipsum.”

She took a minute to look it up on her phone…”know thyself.” She snorted at the silliness of the Socratic phrase, in Latin, on a gilded, German mirror. Since she was already searching the web on her phone, she tried to find some information about the mirror.

She found plenty on of information on the late baroque and early rococo period in German furnishings and design, but nothing that could point her closer to the origin of her mirror. A science article about how mirrors worked caught her eye, and she surprised herself by reading through the entire thing, remembering middle school and “the angle of incidence equals the angle of reflection.” The way that what one saw looking directly in the mirror was not what one would see when looking from a different angle.

Alyx stepped back to admire her new prize. Her reflection caught her eye. It was far clearer than could be expected with the condition of the silvering. Somehow, she knew that the old man was going to spend part of that twenty dollars on a scratch ticket that would win him $10,000, money that he desperately needed to keep his shop open.

She shook her head to clear it. There’s no way she could know something like that. The whimsy of the mirror was making her daydream.

When she looked in the mirror the following morning, her reflection was as clouded as she expected. Convinced that she’d been daydreaming, she left to face the day.

Work was stressful, with many customers convinced they knew better than her how to do her job. One of her coworkers, Shirah, asked her to join her for dinner. It was obvious to Alyx that something was bothering her, but she was in too foul of a mood to be of any help. She begged off and left as soon as she could.

She hadn’t thought about the mirror until she neared the antiques shop. On a whim, she parked and walked in to talk to the proprietor. His smile beamed, his eyes sparkling as she walked in.

“Can I give you a hug, dear? You saved my bacon yesterday.”

“Of course, you can, and what do you mean?”

He hugged her and stepped back, holding her shoulders. “I don’t usually get tips, and you gave me a twenty…anyway, I stopped to pick up bread at the convenience store, and thought, ‘Why not?’ I bought a scratch ticket and won ten grand!”

Alyx tried to hide the shock she felt. “Wow! That’s great.”

“I was in risk of foreclosure, all because I owed the last seven thousand on the building. With the winnings, I was able to finally close out the mortgage, and the shop is mine, free and clear.”

“Awesome!” She gave his shoulder an awkward pat. “Anyway, I just stopped by to see how you were doing and say thanks again.”

“No, thank you,” he said.

Alyx thought about nothing but the mirror the rest of the way home. She was still pondering what it meant, when she walked past. The mirror was too dark, her reflection murky. She knew that Shirah had taken her rejection badly and was in a bar, getting hammered — after which, she would attempt to drive home and die in a horrible accident that took two other lives.

Adrenaline shot through her system, goading her to action. She didn’t know where Shirah lived, but the bar might be close to work. Then again, it might be close to her home. There were too many bars to search them one-by-one.

Alyx took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. She looked into her murky reflection in the mirror. “What bar?” she asked herself. She still didn’t know, but she had a feeling; that would have to be good enough.

Following the feeling, Alyx drove, a meandering trip through the city, cruising by bar parking lots looking for Shirah’s unmistakable car. Her trip led her at last to a parking lot behind a bar close to work. Shirah was there, staggering next to her pink Pinto trying to fit the key into the door.

Alyx jumped out of her car and put her arm around her. “Come on, Shirah. You’re in no shape to drive, let me take you home.”

“Get off me! I’m fine! You don’t hafta…,” she turned and looked at Alyx for a moment before recognition crossed her face. “Alyx! You decided to come party with me!”

Her shouting had caught the attention of one of the bar’s bouncers, who stood with crossed arms, watching them.

“Sorry I turned you down for dinner,” Alyx said. “I could see something was bothering you, but I was too wrapped up in my own shit to pay attention. I’m here for you now.”

“Alyx!” Shirah leaned on her shoulder, the smell of liquor strong on her breath. “We should go to the club and get blitzed!”

“You’re already there.”

“Nuh-unh. This isn’t the club.”

“Blitzed, Shirah. You’re already blitzed.”

“Hah hah! I am! Fuck Kevin!”

“Oh, dear. What did he do this time?”

“He broke up with me ’cause I’m a miberable…mibral…miz…er…a…bul bitch. That.”

“Why don’t I take you home so you can have a shower and a good cry?”

“I can’t go home. Kevin’s shitting his move out — moving his — you know what I mean.”

Alyx led Shirah to her own car and got her settled in the passenger seat. She looked up at the bouncer, who mouthed the words, “Thank you” and smiled.

#

Alyx got Shirah settled on the sofa with a blanket and pillows, where she fell into an instant sleep. She walked down the hallway and looked at the mirror. Her reflection was clear again, and a faint light appeared around her, and she knew what was to happen.

Shirah would have a rough morning, overwhelmed with embarrassment. It would be the final straw. She would call out from work in order to go to an AA meeting and begin the process of reclaiming her life. Someone else she didn’t know would make it home — safe — in time to save the life of their partner from an allergic reaction.

“Know thyself. Angle of incidence…incidents?” she asked her reflection, as she moved about the mirror, changing her viewpoint and the reflected view. She wondered what it would be like to live with the mirror if she hadn’t rushed out to pick up Shirah. She had a moment of terror. Every decision, every action, shines out and reflects off those around, sometimes impacting those far outside the initial influence.

The thought occurred that perhaps the previous owner had made a choice that contributed to the death of his wife. Having that black cloud of knowledge had to be too much.

No, she thought, I won’t live in terror just because I know how my actions affect others. I’ll use that knowledge to be the best person I can be. Of course, there was — unspoken even to herself — still a glimmer of terror in the back of her mind that would drive her every decision for the rest of her life. She knew now, that even the smallest incidents could reflect in harsh angles.

prompt: It’s the last evening of your vacation and you’re watching the sunset with your friends/partner/family, wishing summer would never end. But just as the sun dips below the horizon, you notice it returning in reverse.

available at Reedsy

Amber had started her vacation alone, with the idea that she would spend it on the beach watching the ocean, meditating, and finding her post-divorce inner peace. Instead, she met Doralis the first morning, and spent most of her time with the local woman. Still, she found the inner calm she sought whenever they were together.

When Amber first met Doralis, she was struck by the beauty of the lithe woman with deep brown skin warmed by red undertones, a few strands of grey in her dark dreadlocks, and eyes that sparkled on the edge of brown and black with an ageless intensity. After the first morning they spent together on the beach, it was Doralis’ personality and perspective that kept her interested.

Compared to her new Dominican friend, Amber was a ghost. Thanks to the liberal and repeated application of SPF 100, she hadn’t burned but had a hint of a tan that she hadn’t seen since college. The sun had faded the ends of her hair from a mousy brown to the strawberry blonde it had been in her childhood.

“You all right there, Amber?” Doralis asked, bringing her out of her thoughts.

“What’s that?”

“You all right? You’re looking too thoughtful. Dame dato.”

“It’s just, my flight home is tomorrow. There’s nothing waiting for me in Newark outside of my job and an empty apartment.”

Doralis put a hand on Amber’s shoulder. “You know, girl, there’s a lot more to you than just your relationships.”

“I know.” Amber grasped the other woman’s hand. “I feel more myself, more comfortable, here than anywhere else.”

“Is it the place, or the company?” Doralis asked with a wink.

Amber chuckled. “Maybe a little of the first, and a lot of the second. I just wish this could last a little longer.”

“I understand. You have beaches there?”

“Hah, not really. There’s a beach in Brooklyn, but it’s not like this.”

“Maybe not the same, but you make friends easy, no?”

Amber shrugged. “I don’t know about that. I’m usually pretty shy. You’re just so easy to talk to. It’s like you’re a best friend and trusted elder at the same ti—I’m sorry. My god! I didn’t mean it like you’re old….”

Doralis broke off her apology with laughter. “I know what you were trying to say. Don’t worry about hurting my feelings about age. You’re still a child to me, so it’s fine.”

“I don’t feel like a child. After the divorce, I feel like every second of my thirty-two years.”

It was Doralis’ turn to chuckle. “Exactly. A child. And before you ask, I’m older than I look.”

“I wasn’t going to ask that. I do have a question, though.”

“Ask.”

“Is it okay if we just stay here and watch the sunset?”

“Of course. You know you can write to me when you get home and I’ll write back.”

Amber sighed. “I want to,” she said, “but realistically, it’ll be sporadic and rare. I’m terrible at keeping in touch with text and email, written letters will probably be worse.”

“At least you’re honest.” They sat as the sun lowered on the horizon, the sky turning pink and orange. “Waiting on a letter from a friend is not a hardship. I’ll look forward to them. Besides, I can’t control you any more than you can control me. The only thing we can control is our own self.”

“Thank you, Doralis.”

“¿Para qué?”

“Para todo. You let me open up and be me. You haven’t talked down to me, you’ve been a friend, even when I was a blubbering mess.”

“It’s easy to be a friend, when you find a friend, no?”

“Yeah. You are easy to be friends with.”

“So you say,” Doralis said, “but many find themselves uncomfortable in my presence. I should thank you for talking to me like a normal person. That hasn’t happened for a long time.”

Amber sighed. She worried how her question would be taken, but Doralis had opened up the subject. “If it’s none of my business, that’s fine, but…why do the locals avoid you? You’re so kind, it doesn’t make sense.”

A soft smile played across Doralis’ face as the sun began to sink below the horizon. “It’s easier to blame things on me, than to take responsibility. When things go wrong, I am too often the chivo expiatorio — the scapegoat.”

Amber leaned on the smiling woman’s shoulder. “That’s dumb. All they have to do is spend some time with you, and they’d know you’re kind.”

“I try to be,” she said. “I try very hard.”

“I wish this wasn’t over yet. I’d love to spend more time with you.”

“Hmm. What if you had another three weeks?” Doralis asked.

“That would be awesome.”

The sun disappeared below the horizon, and Doralis raised a hand. The sun began moving back up.

Amber sat up and looked from the horizon to Doralis and back. The sun was moving backwards in an increasing tempo. All around them, people moved backwards at faster and faster paces while time for them still flowed normally. Meanwhile, a beatific smile played on Doralis’ face while her hand hung in the air.

The sun finished its reverse trip and set in the east, rising again in the west to complete the circuit over and over. Twenty times the sun reversed in its course before coming to rest in the morning hours of the twenty-first trip.

“How?”

“I’m older than I look,” Doralis said. “In fact, I’m older than you can imagine.”

“You can control time?”

“Remember what I told you about control just a little while ago?”

“The only thing we can control is our own self.” Amber thought for a moment. “You’re telling me that you are time.”

Doralis smiled. “I am. Now you know why people avoid me. I try to be kind, but my nature leads to….”

“Entropy, decay? Yeah.” Amber laid her head back on Doralis’ shoulder. “Not your fault, any more than I can be faulted for breathing. You’re still the most comforting person I’ve ever met.”

Doralis let out a short laugh. “I like that you still think of me as a person, even when you know what I am.”

Amber shrugged. “What you are doesn’t matter as much as who you are, and who you are is my friend.”

prompt: Start your story with someone walking into a gas station.

available at Reedsy

Midday shifts during an excessive heat warning were quiet at the gas station, and Lenny took advantage of that. The pumps had been turned off for over forty-eight hours, waiting for a fuel delivery that continued to be delayed.

He leaned against the cigarette display behind him, letting the stool tip on two feet. With no gas, no one was showing up to buy overpriced snacks and drinks. No one, that is, except the kid that struggled to pull the door open, then stood in the middle of store, in the flow of cold air from the air conditioner.

He’d seen pictures of cosplay online, but this was on a different level. Made up to look like some sort of green creature with long, pointed ears and pointed teeth with large canines both top and bottom, and what Lenny guessed were black-out contacts on very large eyes.

“Hey kid, Halloween’s a long way off.”

She turned toward him. “Kid?”

His first guess was that she was five or six based on her height, but as she looked at him now, he realized that she had a few faint lines around her eyes, and a figure that was far more mature than he’d guessed. He sat upright, the front legs of the stool clacking as they hit the tiled floor.

“Oh, god! Ma’am, I am so sorry. I just saw you walk in rather than drive, and you’re so short….” He cleared his throat. “I’ll, uh…like, still need to card you for cigarettes or alcohol, sorry.”

“What should I expect from a human?” she asked aloud, looking up at nothing in particular.

“That’s a really good costume — cosplay? — whatever you call it. Like, the skin and eyes look real. How did you do the teeth?”

She glowered at him. “What the hell don’t you understand? I am not wearing a costume or disguise. This is me.”

Lenny cocked his head. He wondered how far she was willing to push it. He’d heard of people who had other personas in their costumes. Well, if that’s what she wanted to do, it wasn’t hurting anyone.

“Is there, like, anything I can help you find?”

She pointed at the display on the counter near the cash register. “What potions are these?”

“Uh — those are energy drinks,” he said, pointing at the sign on the display.

“Do you have any healing potions?” she asked. “My sister’s injured.”

Lenny puzzled over how to answer that. “Um, there’s aspirin and stuff on aisle four.”

“Can you show me?”

“Yeah, it’s quiet.” He locked the register, dropped the keys into his pocket and led the small, green woman to the aisle with the first aid supplies.

She began pointing and asking what everything was. Lenny interrupted her. “You can’t read? That’s fucked up. Where did you grow up?”

“Not on this world,” she said.

“Okay, fine. Where did you learn English then?”

She sighed. “This ring,” she said, pointing at a ring on her left thumb.

“You learned English from a ring?”

“No, it translates spoken language. Simple magic.”

Lenny raised an eyebrow. She really was dedicated to the whole bit, but he was getting tired of it. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go back to the register.”

She grabbed his elbow, her thumb digging into the ulnar nerve, turning his attention back to her and nearly putting him on his knees. She removed the ring from her thumb. “Grrshazink rashishlk brszdilknuch.” She held it out toward him, urging him to take it.

Lenny took the ring, and she kept babbling nonsense and motioning that he should put it on his left thumb. It was too small, but he thought he’d humor her anyway. He turned his back to her so she couldn’t see when or if he put the ring on.

As the ring settled comfortably on his thumb, growing three sizes to do so, her babbling turned back to English. “…and if you think you’re so much smarter, why don’t you read the writing on my shirt?”

Lenny spun around. “I—I didn’t know it was writing. I thought it was just a design.”

“Now you know how I feel looking at all this,” she said with a sweep of her arm.

“But how did…the ring grew…but—”

“Let me guess,” she cut him off, “this is one of those ‘There is no magic’ worlds, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s….” The ring vibrated with an energy that Lenny found both soothing and disquieting. The unease won out and he pulled it off his thumb and handed it back to her.

“Magic is everywhere,” she said, after she put the ring back on. “Your world probably forgot it a long time ago, unless you figured out physics first and still haven’t discovered magic.”

“I haven’t asked yet, but what’s your name?”

“Ishgurk,” she said, “but everyone just calls me ‘Ish.’”

“Ish, I’m Lenny. Uh, welcome to Earth?”

“Lenny. That sounds like a warrior’s name, but you don’t look like a warrior.”

“I’m not. It’s actually a pretty shit name here, but my parents are like, huge Simpsons fans.”

“I think your name is just fine. Now, if you’d help me, I need medicines for swelling, pain, some bandages, and antiseptics.”

As she talked, Lenny pulled items off the shelf for her, and she followed up by pulling another dozen of each and handing them to him.

“Maybe you should take her to the hospital?”

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “And what are they going to say when two goblins walk in?”

“Oh, right. I—I’ll set this up by the cash register,” he said, his arms full.

“What kind of food and drink do you have?”

He dumped the first aid supplies on the counter and returned to her. “We have hot dogs over there, and frozen dinners, but our microwave is busted. Candy on that aisle. Drinks are all in the cooler on the back wall.”

She looked up at the hot dog machine and took a deep sniff. “Make me two of those,” she said.

Lenny put together two dogs for her, adding every topping as she just agreed with each one as he asked. While he was closing the lids on the hotdog boxes, she took one from him and devoured the hotdog in the time it took her to walk to the drink coolers.

“I need something like a strong tea,” she said. “I’m tired and still have a ways to go before my day is done.”

He stood beside the cooler and began pointing out her options. “These are tea, but not very strong, these are iced coffee, stronger than tea, with a load of sugar and cream, and these are sodas, mostly sugar with some caffeine—”

Ishgurk interrupted him. “Without sugar, and no cream, please.”

He pointed to the energy drinks on the top row. “These are all sugar-free, but they’re still sweet. They’re, like, five or ten times more caffeine than the tea.”

She nodded and waved her hand toward the cooler. One of the cans on the top shelf rose into the air and glided gently down to her waiting hand. “Oh! It’s so cold!”

“Yeah. Are you sure that’s the one you want? It’s pretty strong.”

“What is it flavored with?”

“Just, like, citrus or something.”

“Good enough.” She carried the drink to the counter. “Since you have cold boxes, do you have ice?”

“Sure. Let me grab you a bag.” Lenny pulled the keys out of his pocket, opened the locked ice chest near the register, pulled out a bag, and re-locked the chest. “I’ll just get you rung up here real quick.”

He scanned the items, loading them into bags as he went, the total climbing on the register. After scanning the drink Ishgurk still held between her hands, he said, “Your total is 76.57.”

Ishgurk set the drink on the counter and reached into a pouch she’d pulled from inside her shirt. “Will this work?” she asked, holding out two small, unadorned, golden disks; like blank coins.

“Um…is that, like, real gold?”

She bit into one of the disks, leaving an impression of her teeth. “Pure gold. 24 karat.”

Lenny put his hand out. She dropped them in his palm, and he was surprised at the weight of them. He put them on the digital scale, where they showed up as just over one-half-ounce together. A quick search on his phone found that the gold value in the two coins was around a thousand dollars.

“That’s, like, way too much,” he said. “Your total is less than a tenth of that.”

“Keep it,” she said. “I may still need your help later. My sister — the perfect one — is injured, and until she’s capable of moving easily, we can’t open a new portal. This place is close to where we’re hiding and has supplies.”

Lenny swiped his own debit card to pay for her purchase. “Are you sure, Ish? I mean, it’s…a lot.”

“I’m sure. If my sister is feeling better in the morning, we’ll come back together for more hotdogs. I liked it.”

She took the bags from the counter one by one, and they disappeared into the pouch she’d pulled the coin from. Lenny watched wide-eyed at the casual display of magic. Whatever he thought he’d known about the universe had been upended.

“So, like, what’s the deal with your sister? You don’t like her?”

Ishgurk sighed. “I love my sister, honest. It’s just that she’s got the perfect darker green skin, jet black hair with no green streaks—”

“I like your green streaks.”

“—longer fangs, and the prettier name; Grzzniksh. On top of all that, she’s a gifted mage while all I can do is light telekinesis. I could never wrap my head around the advanced math for magic.”

“I think Ishgurk is the prettier name,” Lenny said, “and you have nothing to worry about in the looks department. I mean, like, you’re small but you’re cute…attractive, I mean. You could get a guy — or girl, if you prefer — easy. As for math, that’s what calculators are for, and advanced math is beyond most everybody, probably. Besides, you’re the one taking care of your sister.”

“Thanks, Lenny. Even if you’re just saying it to make me feel better, it makes me feel better.”

“Just calling it the way I see it.”

Lenny saw her puzzling over the can and showed her how to open it. She seemed delighted with the novel experience. After a tentative sip, she guzzled down the can in seconds before letting out a massive belch and falling into a laughing fit.

Worry setting in, Lenny asked, “Are you going to be okay? That’s a lot of caffeine for someone so—”

Ishgurk smiled wide. “I’m fine. In fact, that’s better than a vigor potion! I’ll be having another in the morning,” she said, handing him the empty can.

“Wait,” he said. He grabbed a pre-paid cell phone off the display behind him, rang it up and ran his card again. After opening the box and activating the phone, he dialed it from his phone and added his number to the contacts. He set the permissions to allow both phones to see the other’s location.

He showed her how to call him and had her do so for practice. While he understood what she was saying from standing next to her, her voice from the phone was not translated.

“Okay. If you’re in trouble, call me and say ‘Help.’ Take off your ring and tell me your word for help.”

She took off her ring and said, “Grrsh.”

He said, “Grrsh, help.”

“Hellup,” she said, before putting the ring back on.

Lenny smiled. “If you call and say help in your language or mine, I’ll know you need me. We can both see where the other’s phone is on this app here so, I can come right away and help, or you can find me if you want.”

“How will I know when you are here?”

Lenny pointed to the location of the phones on the map. “If my phone is here, I’m here.”

“This is a map, and these lines are streets?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice to know that humans on this world are kind to goblins,” she said.

“Well, I would guess that most would be if they talked to you. Some, though, don’t even like other humans. So, maybe, some humans on this world are kind to goblins?”

“As my sister, the great and ever-precise mage and mathematician would say: ‘We know that at least one human on this world is kind to at least one goblin.’”

“As soon as she’s well enough, bring her by to see me and we can make that at least two.”

prompt: Start your story during a full moon night. 

available at Reedsy

Reba traveled often for work. I knew that going into the relationship. But this trip was different, it wasn’t right. She was going to be away from home on her thirtieth birthday — on a weekend no less.

I called her boss to find out where she was so I could fly out and surprise her. For months I’d saved up to buy her the diamond bracelet she always eyed as we walked past the jewelers, and I wanted to give it to her on her birthday.

Her boss was confused. “Isn’t she home with you?”

“She takes these two-day trips all the time. You mean it isn’t for work?”

Her boss stammered a bit and said, “She takes those two days for…medical reasons.”

“What?” I asked.

“You know…bad cramps and such?”

“But that’s not when…,” I muttered to myself.

“I’ll pretend this conversation didn’t happen, since she’s the best salesperson we have, and I don’t want to have to let her go. Hope you find out what’s going on.” With that, her boss hung up.

I looked at the calendar on my screen. Her two-day work trips for the past eighteen months were regular…every twenty-eight or twenty-nine days. I added the date of her last menstruation and let the online calendar work out her expected cycles.

That’s when I saw it: she was always at peak fertility during her travel. Was she hiding from me to avoid pregnancy? She was on the pill, and I’d assured her that even though I want children someday, I would defer to her wishes.

It was time to do something I’d never felt the need to: I would look up her phone’s location. She — or at least her phone — was near the airport amidst the cheap hotels and long-term parking lots.

Her gift secure in my pocket, I left determined to find her. In the large circle that marked her phone’s location were three motels, two storage places and a long-term parking garage.

I eliminated the long-term parking first. As soon as I walked into the structure, I had no bars. That meant it wasn’t likely she was here. I drove through the motel parking lots slowly after that. No sign of her car. Just to be certain, I asked at the desks of all of them.

I went to the first of the two storage facilities. The gate required a code or keycard to open. I stopped beside it to walk around and look for her car, when the stereo in my car dinged.

It recognized the Bluetooth from her phone and asked if I wanted to connect. She was here…close. I tried calling her. I thought I heard her phone ring, but it could’ve been my imagination. When it went to voicemail, I hung up and tried texting.

After waiting for what felt like an eternity, I decided I had to do something. The fence was tall, but climbable. There was a section where the razor-wire top was missing. I hoped anyone seeing the car would see the “Moore’s Locksmith” signs on the doors and decide I was meant to be there.

Hoping for the luck of not being seen, I climbed over the fence into the storage yard. I stood silent for a moment, half-expecting a guard dog or security officer with a gun. When nothing happened except the sky darkening a bit during sunset, I walked to the drive between the storage buildings.

Her car was there, in front of a small unit. The unit door was locked by a deadbolt, easily picked. I opened the door to a scene that I was not prepared for.

Her clothes, shoes, phone, and overnight bag were stacked neatly near the door. At the rear of the unit, she sat naked, a chain bolted to the floor connected to a metal collar around her neck.

“Reba! What’s going on?” I asked. “I’ll get you out of here.”

The only other thing in the unit was a key hanging from the wall. It was easily within her reach, but I grabbed it anyway.

“No! You have to leave, Alex. You shouldn’t be here.” Her eyes shone in fear, and something else. “It’s starting, you have to go!”

I started to move to unlock the collar when she bared her teeth — fangs — and growled with an inhuman voice. “Go!”

I startled and stepped backward into the security guard I’d been worried about. “What’s going on here? Is this your little perv hideout? Don’t move. I called the cops.”

I turned to see that he had a pistol aimed at me. “No! I’m trying to free her.”

“Give me the key and kneel over there, facing the wall.” He snatched the key from me and pointed to a spot near the door.

Not wanting to get shot, I did as he said. When he moved toward Reba, I heard a snarl that didn’t make sense. I turned to see the open collar hanging from her neck as her face lengthened.

Her fine features turned rough, then canine. Her entire form changed with a sickening sound of bones changing shape, long fur growing from her entire body. The security guard stood in shocked silence for a moment before firing a shot at her, hitting her in the shoulder.

“No! That’s Reba!”

She responded with a yip followed by a deep growl. The security guard ran, dropping his pistol as he fled.

She was a large wolf, wild gold eyes fixing on me, blood dripping from the wound. She let out a low growl and stalked toward me, her eyes darting back and forth between me and the pistol.

“Reba, I know you’re in there. It’s me. I brought a birthday present.” I pulled out the box with the bracelet and opened it and set it on the ground facing her.

She sniffed at the box, then moved until her teeth were inches from my face. My body shook in fear as she sniffed at me and whined.

Something caught her attention, and she stepped over me, growling at the open door. I could hear the voices of someone talking on a radio.

Two police officers stepped in front of the door, their weapons drawn. “Sir! Call your dog off, or we’ll shoot!”

“She’s not—”

I was interrupted by her lunge at the officers, knocking them out of my sight. The sound of gunfire, yelps, growls, screams and finally silence kept me frozen where I knelt in the unit.

An unmistakable howl called out. I walked to the door and looked out to where the full moon rose over the city. I saw no hint of the police other than fired shells and some blood that shone black by the moonlight.

I wondered if it was safe to try to get out of the facility. She may still be Reba, but she was dangerous. I had just about decided to leave when she jumped down from the roof of the facility and stepped to me in the unit.

“Reba, I’m sorry.” She limped, bleeding from multiple wounds. “If I hadn’t come, you’d be okay.”

She nudged my hand with her nose and whined. I fell to sitting against the wall, and she curled up next to me, her breathing labored. I pulled out my phone and searched for an emergency vet in the area.

“Yes, is there any chance you could come to the Right-Price Self-Storage? There’s a…wolf here that’s been shot multiple times…. That’s right, a wolf. No, right now she’s half-sleeping with her head on my lap but her breathing sounds wrong.”

I finished up the call and set down my phone. “I’m sorry, Reba, but I need to go open the gate and wait for the vet. Wait for me.”

I stood and walked to the door. She whimpered and tried to get up but failed. A large bloodstain marked my leg where her head had been. “Just wait here, please.”

I walked to the gate and found it open, the police car stopped just inside it, the red and blue lights still flashing. The officers were nowhere to be found, nor was the security guard.

When I returned to my former spot, Reba pushed herself against me as hard as she could and licked my hand. The vet called out from the gate, and I yelled to tell her where we were.

Reba growled when the vet moved close. I spoke in soft tones. “It’s okay, Reba, she’s here to help. I’m right here, you’re going to be okay.”

She seemed to understand, and the vet began looking over her injuries and treating them in turn. It was while she was stitching up a gash caused by a shallow hit that Reba snapped and whined.

Her body began to shift again. Once more, the sounds of bones changing shape, the whimpers of pain, and I watched as the partially stitched wound lost the hair around it and stretched as her shoulders moved back to a normal configuration. The vet sat staring with the suture still in her hand, stunned.

When Reba was herself again, she began to cry. “I’m sorry, Alan, I’m sorry.”

“Not right now, Reba. I think the doc has a few more stitches to do?”

“I—I’m a vet, not a…she’s…but….”

“Please finish up.”

The vet nodded and finished what she’d been doing. “I was going to call fish and game to have them come pick up the wolf, especially when I saw that,” she said, pointing at the chain and collar. “But I think I know what that’s for now. I won’t say anything; no one would ever believe it anyway.”

I nodded. “I didn’t know until it was too late. The cops and the security guard…I don’t know what she…I mean, she wouldn’t, she’s not like—”

“I’m not like that,” Reba sobbed, “but the wolf is. How bad did I hurt you?”

“Y—you didn’t.”

She sniffled and sat up, looking pale and tired, then grabbed my leg where blood had soaked my trousers. “Your leg.”

“It’s your blood,” I said. “You came back and laid on my lap.”

“I feel dizzy.”

“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” the vet said. She started to say something else, but her voice was drowned out in approaching sirens.

I helped Reba into her clothes, and we sat waiting for whatever was coming for us. Animal control, more police, and an ambulance all pulled into the storage facility, most of them heading for the office. One of the officers came into the unit, looked at the blood, the fresh bandages on Reba and the med kit sitting next to the vet.

“What happened here? Did the dog get you too?”

“It was a wolf,” the vet said. “Based on size, an adult female grey wolf.”

“We’ve got one officer says he was mauled pretty bad and the other had his hand chomped. They said they shot it several times, and the security guard said he had as well. Any idea where it went?”

“No, I scared it off,” I said. “It was already injured and limped off that way.” I pointed to the far end of the row of storage units.

“This was after it attacked the other officers?”

“Yeah.”

The officer looked around the storage unit and gestured to the chain and collar. “What’s this all about?” His hand rested on his pistol.

“It’s mine,” Reba said. “The unit, the chain, the collar…it’s all mine. Do you have a problem with the games I play with my husband?”

The officer swallowed hard and tried to look anywhere but at us. “No, no…you’re condults—I mean adults consent—consenting adults…you know what I mean.”

With that, the officer relayed where the wolf had gone — as best he knew — on his radio. “Do you need an ambulance?” he asked.

“No,” Reba answered. “My husband can take me. I’ll just leave my car here tonight. If you could, though, get the key for my collar back from the manager? I don’t think he approves.”

“If I manage to, I’ll get him to leave it in your unit, if that’s okay.”

“Perfect,” she said.

We waited until the officer left, paid the vet and said our goodbyes, and I helped Reba to my car. “Hospital?” I asked.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “Moonrise is in another fifteen or so hours. Two moons, every time. What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to get you home, feed you, give you some rest, and be there for you when you change and when you change back.”

“But what if I hurt you?”

“You won’t. You didn’t. There’s still enough of you in there to realize who I am.”

It was as I was pulling into the garage that the thought hit me. “What about the people you bit? Will they turn into…?”

“Werewolves? No. It’s a recessive gene. My great-grandmother had it, and one of my aunts does.”

“That’s why you don’t want to have children?”

“That, and I don’t want to accidentally eat one of them.”

“We could adopt. And we can work out a better place for you to be safe.”

“Can we talk about this another day? I hurt all over and I’m not looking forward to all these bullet holes moving around when I change tonight.”

“Sure.”

I helped her into the bed, ordered takeout, and watched silly movies next to her while she slept, waiting for moonrise.