Jess Flaherty's Blog, page 8

Detour

Another fun little writing prompt that gone thrown out there in a group I’m part of and unsurprisingly I immediately thought of our own Ben Brody. –

A character of your choice walks in a city familiar to them. It is the dead of night. They witness a brutal mugging, featuring a nasty beating of the young couple they robbed. Your character manages to chase the criminal down into an alleyway. There are no witnesses and whatever tools your character uses for battle they have with them. How do they deal with the actions of the criminal? Play out the scene as you know they would.

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Ben’s heart slowed back down to normal as his preternaturally strong eyes took in the criminal huddled against the dumpster in the almost perfect darkness of the alleyway.

“Son of a bitch,” he grumbled more to himself than the sweaty, pale, maybe-teenager shaking and clutching the rather ostentatious purse he’d gotten off the woman up the street.

“This was a bad idea, kid,” he said sounding weary.

At first the kid said nothing, just panted and tried to straighten, but he caught his breath a little with the movement. Apparently one or both of the victims had gotten their licks in, Ben thought.

Finally the kid bit out, “Only kind I seem to have …” he trailed off for a minute. Then he lifted his head to meet Ben’s eyes when he heard him crunch over some broken glass stepping forward. “This belongs to a friend of mine though.”

“Looked like it belonged to the lady you wrestled it away from, buddy.”

Ben took another step.

“Technically I guess,” the boy, who Ben was now sure couldn’t have been more than fifteen said with a bitter laugh. “It’s my friend’s sister and her dirtbag boyfriend. He did some things … Bad things … And Steph had to leave home.”

There was pain in that voice, in that story. “Did the sister know?” Ben asked, trying to get the lay of the land.

The boy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. She knows he’s a piece of shit, but he has money, so she stays with him, let’s Steph’s parents think the worst. And we … she’s gotta eat, man.”

“Sister’s on the way the the hospital,” Ben said, his voice was a little stern but mostly just informative, wondering what the kid would do with the information.

“I’m sorry, alright. But only so sorry if you know what I mean. I can’t give this back. You saw what I did to them. I got no problem doing the same to you.”

Ben let the kid see his smirk. “I’m more than you bargained for, trust me. You can’t just go around hurting people for revenge or worse for money. Nothing good will come of it. I’m talking from experience.”

Another defeated shrug preceded the kid pulling the bag closer to himself. “I didn’t mean to have to hurt anyone, just get Steph some of her parents’ money for food.”

Ben noticed the boy’s ragged breathing then, but just said, “Doesn’t matter what you meant, kid. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”

He gave a short bitter laugh. He let his amber eyes glow just a little, just enough to let the kid see he knew from whereof he spoke.

The boy jumped back in fear and gasped, toppling over as he bumped into the dumpster.

The kid immediately started struggling to his feet, but stumbled. Ben’s first impulse was to take the bag back since the kid was in no shape to fight, regardless of his story, and just call that good enough.

Then he saw the way the kid was clutching his side, saw blood trickle between his fingers.

“Hey,” he said, stepping forward. “What the hell happened to you?”

“He cut me, the bastard cut me before I could even ask for money. That’s how the fight started. I wasn’t gonna just steal it.”

“He had a knife?” Ben asked, feeling a tingle of real anger.

“He always has a knife. That’s how he hurt Steph.”

Ben pulled back on his power, allowing himself to look entirely human again. “C’mon, kid. Lemme help you. You need a hospital.”

“The cops …”

“Didn’t ID you. Let’s get your friend that money and get you patched up.”

Ben slipped an arm under the boy’s shoulders.

“You were chasing me. Why are you helping me … whatever you are … and ..?”

“Just call me Ben. What I am is a demon, and why I’m helping is because I know what it’s like to be driven down the wrong road, kid.”

~ End ~

More about Ben Brody can be found here.

Nightmare

Another writing challenge prompt inspired me. This one happens in the universe of Always Darkest, sometime in the late spring.

Think of a word (any word you want) and search it on google images. Write something inspired by the 7th image. The word I chose was ‘nightmare’. This was the seventh image.

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He woke in the total dark of his bedroom and puffed out a sigh. He was probably up for the day now, if how heavily his heart was hammering away was any indication. The last wisps of the half-remembered nightmare still vying for his attention kept him from realizing how cold it was for a moment or two. Then, as he came more fully awake he shivered.

His blankets were probably all on the floor again. Thrashing himself into a state of no blankets had become all too common in the last few months. This had been one hell of a bad dream, too. At least the little flashes still dancing behind his closed eyes told him it must have been. He’d have to find his blankets and knew once he turned on the light, sleep was all over. He sighed again.

He rolled onto his back, pried his eyes open, and froze in instant horror.

His room was pitch black, not even the sparest light from the nightlight Chris always left on in the bathroom was cutting the velvety blackness around him. It was, however, being pierced by two laser points of reddish yellow light. They were unmistakably (to someone who had spent two thousand years in Hell anyway) the glowing eyes of an Ahemait.

The Ahemait were like the hunting dogs of Hell, seeking out and devouring those with hearts deemed unworthy. Ben was never sure who got to make that particular call, but to him it always seemed the Ahemait went after souls who were just trying to be decent in spite of being condemned to Hell. He’d worried they’d send one after him at some point for a while now.

He’d told himself a hundred times that the fear was ridiculous, that as far as Hell knew he was still their loyal soldier, sworn to execute his assigned duties to grow Hell’s numbers, and more recently to chase down the subject of the prophecy. But … But, but, but … He knew Bhaal suspected him. And it wasn’t below the god to go behind Lucifer’s back to rid himself of an annoyance.

He had a split second where he was glad that tonight was not one of the nights Mal had decided to stay. At least she was safe, in her bed, miles away.

When his eyes locked with the creature’s, it started to glow faintly. That’s when he could see it’s teeth for the first time. His hammering heart seemed to seize in his chest and he couldn’t catch his breath. He wondered if the dagger sitting on his nightstand would have any effect on this beast, wondered if it was possible to fight his way out. But at that moment he didn’t really believe he could move.

The beast took a lumbering step closer to the foot of his bed and blistering hot saliva dripped onto Ben’s exposed foot. The sizzle and immediate stinging pain was enough to break his paralysis and he reached out blindly in the dark, his hand closing over the cold handle almost instantly.

Unfortunately, even his demonically enhanced reflexes were tempered by his human form and the beast was on him before he could turn the knife toward it. He realized as its teeth tore into his flesh that it wasn’t here to extinguish him. It would keep him alive in the agony of being consumed for as long as it entertained it. After a while his own screams faded into the pain and even sound was just part of the tapestry of agony that could go on forever.

Ben bolted upright in bed, gasping. He realized he was in the larger bed they’d been sharing at Mal’s house. Then the rest of the evening came back to him and drove back the dream a little, let him start to catch his breath. Mal shifted next to him.

“Hey, are you okay?”

She was wide awake. He swallowed, feeling badly. She was already used to his nightmares disrupting her sleep and they hadn’t even been sharing a bed for all that long. “Mmmhmm,” he said, not trusting his voice to convince her it was true.

She sat up and turned on her light. “Nice try.”

He managed a slightly sheepish grin. “Okay … How about, I will be in a minute?”

She moved closer to him and put and arm around him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Mostly honest, I guess. I like Honest Ben.” She paused for a second. “What was this one about?”

He shivered. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She nodded. “Okay. Do you want to go downstairs, and I’ll start the coffee, or do you want to try to go back to sleep?”

Ben glanced across the room at his phone on the charging station on Mal’s dresser. It was only about 3 a.m. “We can go back to sleep.” he said. “I’m fine,” he added sounding less certain than he would have liked.

She pulled away a little so she could look at his face and gave him a small smile.

“I doubt it,” she said. Then she echoed his words back to him. “But you will be in a minute.”

She got up and got the extra quilt off the chest at the foot of her bed and spread it over Ben, then climbed back in and waited until he lay back down, finally smiling a little as he looked up at her. She snuggled as close as it was physically possible to be and wrapped an arm around him, resting her head against the shoulder of the arm he slid underneath her.

“You don’t have to leave the light on.”

“I know … But sometimes it’s better when I do.”

He kissed the top of her head.

She knew.

She always knew when to leave the light on. He said so and she squeezed him tight. He was never going to have to deal with the dark alone again. Not if she had anything to say about it. She was going to say so, but she realized from the softening of his breath that he had already started to doze off.

“I love you,” she whispered.

She didn’t see it, because her face was pressed against his chest, but even in his sleep, even after the terror of that dream, those words made him smile.

~ End ~

 

For more of Mal and Ben, click here.

Search and Rescue

Author’s note: Prompt in a writing challenge I’m doing – “Imagine that you are unable to leave the room that you’re in for the next 7 days. Chronicle each of the seven days using only 50 words each.”

That sounded boring, so I went fictional. ~ J

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Day One

Don’t know what happened. Maybe an earthquake or a bomb. I remember a loud noise and then jolting, slipping. If anyone else is still alive here I can’t hear them. It was late; people were starting to head home so maybe they all made it. My head hurts and I…

Day Two

This is the second day since whatever happened. I think. I might have passed out when I tried to write things down last time, pretty sure. I remembered people screaming at first. I found the vending machine. The glass was broken. The water fountain is only dripping. I’m so thirsty.

Day Three

Remembered the LED on keychain. Found water cooler. Not full, but better than drips. Head still hurts. Found baby wipes in Marci’s desk. Happy to wipe off blood. Remembered the daycare is down a floor. Sick. Can’t get into bathroom. Emptied a file cabinet for… Think maybe I hear scratching.

Day Four

There’re digging sounds over my head. Building must have collapsed. That was the slipping I felt. At least someone’s trying to find me. I’m so glad I found water. There’s not a lot of real food in the machine, but it’ll probably keep me alive. I hear the scratching again.

Day Five

The digging sounds are closer. If I hold my breath I can almost hear rescue workers shouting to each other between my heartbeats. The water is getting low, so I’m glad they’re getting closer … Something happened. I think it’s the same day. Part of this room collapsed. Vending machine was there.

Day Six

I still have water. Put trashcan under water fountain to collect drips. Working so far. I’ll be okay if I run out of the other. So hungry. They sound closer. I hope. Help coming soon. LED looks dimmer. Don’t want to waste it looking for food unless I get desperate.

Day Seven

Digging has stopped. LED died last night. Found something squishy in a desk. I ate it anyway. Didn’t throw up. Water cooler empty, but trashcan full. Scratching sounds started again. Louder. If I listen I can hear the others.

They’re looking for me.

But I don’t think they are alive.

Wrong Number

Another writing prompt. This one is actually from a couple of years ago, but I liked it a lot and couldn’t imagine revisiting it with something new. If you come up with something, I’d love to see it in the comments. ~ J

“Write a conversation about a man who calls a wrong number and ends up talking to an angry woman. End the conversation with the line ‘Well, I suppose so’.”

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Ed reached into the back pocket of his jeans for his cell. It slipped from his grasp and fell onto the floor. There was a distinct and depressing crunching sound. Someday, he thought ruefully, he would get his head out of his ass and buy a decent case. This was his third phone in as many months. He got carefully off from his perch on the barstool and retrieved his phone, sure Salvatore would let him use the bar’s phone, but knowing in his present state there was no way he could remember Frank’s number. And the bastard owed him one for playing Taxi the last time he’d tied one on. As he’d suspected, the screen was spider cracked all over. Crap. Crap. Crap.

He squinted at the icons through the web of broken glass and hit what looked like his contacts button. The destruction that used to be his iPhone caused him to swear quietly when he got a splinter of glass in this thumb as he tried to scroll. Between sucking his bleeding thumb, the fuzzy buzzing in his head, and the fact that he’d worked the early today following on 2nd shift last night he was only half certain that he’d hit Frank’s name, but he brought the phone up anyway.

“Ed, you son of a bitch,” was the icy greeting that met his ear.

Oh hell. “Ginny. Shit, I’m sorry.”

“You damned well ought to be!” There was more emotion in her voice now but, not unexpectedly, it wasn’t pleasant.

“Look, I didn’t mean to call you. I don’t even know what time it is.” Now he could hear that he was slurring a little. Damn, his bar tab was going to be impressive when he had to settle up.

“Color me surprised.” There was a lot of contempt there, but it wasn’t venomous as it had been the last time they spoke.

“I was just trying to call Franny for a ride. My phone’s busted.”

“Again? Just how drunk are you Eddie?”

He hated it when she just had his number without even looking at him. It was like freaking witchcraft.

Now Ed was starting to feel a little annoyed back. “Well, pretty damn drunk I guess. I hate my job.”

Her voice softened, “You’re still there?”

Ed was defensive, “Yeah, even though it blows.”

There was a knowing note in her voice now, “And you’re at Sal’s place to cope with that fact.”

His inebriation caused some petulance to creep into his voice. “I don’t wanna crash with my folks forever and I can’t do rent on my own.”

“That’s your own fault, Eddie, and you know it, so don’t try to guilt trip me. I haven’t even taken my sneakers off yet from job number two and I’ve got a 7:30 in the morning. Tomorrow’s Tuesday. In case you forgot.”

“I know what day it is,” he snapped, even though that was 100% not true.

He was pulling so many odd shifts trying to get enough money together to get back into school that the days were starting to blend into each other. The dorm was better than with his parents for sure, but damned if he didn’t miss the mattress on the floor of the crappy apartment he and Ginny had shared all semester, until he’d blown it over summer break. Getting fired, then arrested for pissing on that dumpster…at least that cop had been decent enough to just call it vandalism and not public urination. If he’d wound up on the sex offender registry for being drunk and stupid, Ginny wouldn’t even care enough to chew him out. She wouldn’t have answered her phone. She’d kicked him out after that; her name was on the lease after all; told him not to call her unless he dried himself out a little and got his shit together. She couldn’t afford to deal with his childish crap her senior year. She had law school admissions to worry about. He’d lost his financial aid and had to drop out of school on top of everything else.

“Ginny, I’m sorry. I’m trying to get myself together. I am.”

“Sure you are, Ace. Which is why you called me on your broken phone. By accident. From Sal’s. Where I am sure there is now a paucity of tequila.”

Now she just sounded weary.

“It’s not like that … I hardly ever do this anymore.”

“Really?”

She honestly hoped that was true. She actually loved the dumbass. She just wasn’t going to get sucked in to his bullshit.

“I haven’t been here in a couple of months. Hell, I’m the guy the old crew usually calls for rides now. And I know better than to get behind the wheel like this, myself.”

He could hear her breathing but she didn’t say anything.

“That why I was calling Frank for a lift. Douche owes me one. I picked him up off the strip a couple weeks ago and he puked all down the door of my truck. I had to take it apart and everything. Hot wings, vodka, and stomach acid are not the sweetest perfume a guy could hope to ride to work with.”

She gave a soft laugh. God, he’d missed that sound.

“I’m not sobstory-ing or anything, but my ‘rents got into another one of their ‘let’s throw things at each other and scream’ contests and I just had to get the hell out. I don’t know why I came to Sal’s. Just seemed like the thing to do.” He sighed.

“It seemed safe.” Her voice was quiet, sympathetic.

“Yeah … I guess that’s it.” He took a deep breath, and said in a rush, “Last place I felt safe was with you.”

She drew in her breath sharply. “Eddie, I …”

“I’m sorry … You don’t need me crying on your shoulder, even over the phone.” He sighed again. “Go take off your sneakers. Get some sleep. I know your lecture days suck.”

“Eddie,” she paused, not sure if she’d regret what she was about to say, but determined to say it nonetheless. “Do you want me to come and pick you up?”

He really did, but he took a second, not wanting her to hear the naked need in his voice and pretty sure he was too lit to hide it. “I … I don’t really want to go home. God knows they’re probably still at it.” He was met with silence, but it felt warm to him, like before all this. “Could I come over … Just to sleep on the couch? I’m off tomorrow; I’d clean your place to return the favor. Maybe we could talk when you get out of class … Please?”

When she answered it was full of her old humor, full of promise.

“Well, I suppose so.”

Dear Diary

I’m participating in a writing challenge this month. The first prompt is, “Put your music player on shuffle. Write 250 words inspired by the first and last lines of the very next song that plays. (Bonus points if you share a link to the song)”.

Below is the result.

The song is Social Distorion, Angels Wings

~ J

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From the journal of Ben Brody …

I never really stopped to give a damn what happened to me, beyond survival. That’s a Hell of a way to live, right? Even survival wasn’t always a priority. Some things cut so deep, you don’t care if you come out the other side, I guess. Then, even surviving just became about getting one over on the other guy, outlasting the bullshit, to prove I could.

I mean, I helped people along the way, sure. I’d like to pretend it was altruistic, too, but if I’m honest, it made some meaning out of my pain. And it passed the time. I get bored. You can get bored with suffering, too. Even agony becomes something you don’t feel after a while.

I’ve fought pretty hard to stay on this side of oblivion. I never knew why, never thought there was a much of a reason for the fight, other than its own sake. I think that’s how I knew I’d fallen in love with her. I suddenly knew what the point was, knew I’d stayed in the game for a reason.

Mal is a good reason for a lot of things.

There are days I still feel hopeless. Those days usually come after nights of dreaming what Hell’s got in store for me if they ever catch up to us. She never says much about it, but I know she knows about the dreams. She thinks there’s a way out, totally out.

And when she holds me, I have to believe it.

Read more about Ben’s journey in Always Darkest, Book I of The Arbitratus Trilogy

 

How Writing Feels

Nothing has ever cut me so completely with its eloquence about what my journey to becoming a writer felt like, and continues to feel like. I wanted to share it with you, in case you feel it too. ~ J

Merry Christmas!

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Here is an excerpt from Book II, Before the Dawn.

Merry Christmas.

 

And So, This Is Christmas

Ben had been worried that the news of the destruction being wrought by Heaven and Hell, most likely in an effort to flush them out, would set back Mal’s resolve to remain optimistic. He’d gotten up the next day expecting the worst. He found instead a woman determined to enjoy every moment. She blithely ignored news reports and dragged him out ice skating for the afternoon, or maybe took him on a walk around whatever town they were in to decide which place had the best pie through excessive sampling.

Everything went so well in the weeks that followed, he was a little ashamed of trying to protect her from the information. His reserve had caused more strain on their relationship than he’d realized. He knew she worried about his future, too, but, he resolved that he would deal with that only when he truly had to. He knew he sometimes held himself at a distance because of it and that she wondered why.

He wanted to do something to make it up to her but had no idea of how to begin. He lost a lot of sleep over it as they made their snowy way north over the month of December. When they finally made camp for the holiday weekend, he thought he had an idea, just something to reassure her that, no matter what, he’d do his best to give them the future she envisioned.

When Mal rolled over and reached out for Ben, his side of the bed was empty. She cracked an eye open, thinking perhaps she had overslept, but found it completely dark. She decided that he must be in the bathroom and started dozing again while thinking about their Christmas plans and hoping it wouldn’t set Teddy off. If Thanksgiving was any indication, holidays were going to be hard for him, but they’d agreed that doing normal things and helping him through when he struggled was better than walking on eggshells all the time. Better for him, too.

However, they were planning a very low-key day so hopefully it wouldn’t make him, and subsequently everyone else, miserable. She’d noticed when Teddy had a bad day, Ben was more prone to nightmares. He was so damned protective; he obviously felt like a failure when someone else had a rough time.

She was almost fully asleep again when Ben crawled back into bed. She moved closer and drowsily put an arm around him. “Baby, you’re cold,” she mumbled.

“I’m okay,” he whispered.

Still not really awake, Mal asked, “Why are you cold?”

“I was outside.” He burrowed more deeply under the covers and put one arm around her and one under his pillow.

Not even processing what he said, she slurred sleepily, “Should do s’magic an’ warm up.”

“Too tired. You’ll just have to snuggle me.”

She wrapped a leg around him too, as she came a little more awake. “Why were you outside?”

Ben kissed her forehead. His lips, at least, were warm. “I’ll show you in a couple of hours. Go back to sleep.” And as he warmed up, they both dozed off.

When his watch’s silent alarm buzzed them awake, it was still dark, although no longer the pitch black it had been when he came back to bed. Ben pressed his lips to hers and whispered, “Merry Christmas.”

“Ben,” she groaned quietly. “Why are we getting up in the dark?”

“Because no one else will be.”

He pulled on an extra layer of clothes that he stashed at the foot of the bed the night before. He handed her a set of his sweats that would fit over her pajamas.

“Bundle up,” he whispered. “I want you to come outside with me.”

As Mal’s brain slowly started working at normal awake speed, she remembered her brief stirring in the middle of the night, and curious, she pulled on the clothes. They tiptoed past their sleeping campermates, only pausing to grab their jackets, hats, and gloves, dressing in them as they slipped quietly out the door.

Their boots crunched on the frozen ground, reminding Mal painfully of home. They took a few steps into the dark and then Ben stopped and turned to face her. “I have something for you and I can’t give it to you in front of everyone.”

Mal gave him a sly grin. “It’s way too cold out here for that, Ben.”

Even around his hat and last Christmas’s scarf she could see him blushing in the moonlight, but he did laugh. “That’s for Christmas night.” She reached out and took his gloved hand in hers to let him know she was done teasing. Ben cleared his throat. “So, people have been celebrating this season for thousands and thousands of years.”

Mal nodded. “I know it; the return of the sun, rebirth, and all that. It’s nice, I think.”

“It is. It’s a time for new beginnings, right? Celebrating possibility?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, but the word rose at the end, almost a question.

“I got you something, just … to honor that …”

He trailed off, unsure of how to say what he was feeling. He decided to jump in with both feet and just give it to her. From the pocket of his coat, Ben drew a little leather book, the kind that snapped closed. Hooked onto the clasp was a silver pen, engraved all over with the Celtic knot in a delicate repeating pattern.

“I didn’t have a chance to wrap it … I just figured out what I wanted to give you earlier, I mean yesterday, when I went into town.”

He passed it to Mal, who took it carefully, feeling how beautifully smooth the cover was, smelling the warm leather, and admiring the scrollwork on the pen. She made a move like she would open it and Ben said quickly, “It’s a journal for you … I wrote on the first page though.” Mal paused, looking at him inquisitively.

“I wrote my promise to you, sort of, for after … I thought you could use this to write about our lives … once we get there, you know … You can read it now if you want.”

She smiled and shook her head. “I think I want you to read it to me … when we get there.”

She looked a little teary, but she smiled as she threw herself into his arms. It was so cold their coats sounded crispy rubbing together. After a minute she stepped back. “I got you something, too. Hang on.”

Before Ben could say a word, she’d slipped back inside. She wasn’t gone even two minutes when she came noiselessly back out carrying a small velvet jeweler’s box. He didn’t even have time to think before she thrust it into his hand, looking a tiny bit nervous.

Needing her smile back, Ben kidded, “Are you proposing to me out here on the damned tundra? Because that’s not very romantic. A guy wants to be swept off his feet you know.”

She didn’t just smile, she laughed; a real laugh. Ben had the melancholy thought that it was a sound that had become too rare in the last several months. He would do a better job of making sure they both got to hear it more often. He started to open the box, too curious about what could have made her look so nervous to wait anymore, but she reached out and stopped him.

“I found this story, in one of the books I was reading a while ago …” Ben dipped his chin, encouraging her to continue. “It was about the Devil.”

“This just keeps getting more romantic. Be still my heart.”

“Be quiet and listen a minute, smartass!” Ben cracked up this time, thinking that his own laugh wasn’t a terrible sound either. “The Devil visited a blacksmith one day and asked for shoes for his cloven hooves.”

Ben knew this story. But he stayed quiet, wanting to hear her tell it.

“The blacksmith knew the Devil for what he was, and proceeded to shoe him, just as painfully and miserably as possible. To pay him back for any friends or family that might be suffering in Hell.” She paused, as a shadow passed behind Ben’s otherwise amused eyes, but he nodded encouragement. “So, the Devil, being the world’s worst wimp and completely unable to tolerate even the most minor suffering, ran off without his other shoe, vowing to never go near another smithy or even anywhere a horseshoe was displayed for all of time.”

“A piece of folklore obviously full of wisdom,” Ben smiled, waiting.

Mal looked at him expectantly. A minute passed. “Well, jeez, open it before we both freeze!”

Ben shook his head. “I wasn’t sure you were done. I know I’m the writer here, but someone should teach you how to end a story,” he chuckled.

Then he opened the little box and bit his lip. Resting against the velvet inside was a small pin. It was a golden horseshoe, entwined with a rose vine. Where the flower would be there was an exquisitely carved and polished garnet. Ben licked his lips, almost immediately regretting it in the biting cold.

“Mal, this is beautiful. But we can’t afford … Where did you even ..?”

“Don’t worry about money. I found it when I was looking through stuff for that lot auction a couple of weeks ago … My dad must’ve made it … It was right after I read that story. And I know that roses and garnets are supposed to represent my family for some reason … Between me and that horseshoe, I thought … I just want you safe … It seemed so perfect and I wanted…”

She was silenced by Ben’s mouth closing over hers. She could feel him clutching the little box. Then he slid it into his pocket, so his arms could go around her. After a minute, when they started to disengage from their embrace, Ben whispered in here ear, “I have something else for you.”

He took her hand and led her around the front of the RV. He was glad the noise of the generator would easily cover Mal’s delighted squeal of surprise when she saw what he had done. “So, I take it you like it?”

She hugged him again, bouncing a little, although he wasn’t sure if she was just pleased or if the cold was starting to get to her. Then she turned away from him to just stare at her gift. For a few minutes Mal was nearly speechless. They had all decided that a tree would be too much for Teddy. And honestly, it was close quarters in the RV without the addition of even a small version of Mal’s favorite form of holiday cheer.

But, Ben had found a way around, just like he always did. A few yards away from their campsite was a beautiful little snow-covered evergreen. But now, it danced with floating orbs of flickering light that reflected off the frost and icicles and looked as magical as it, in fact, was.

“I love it,” she whispered. Then she cleared her throat and repeated herself, so she could be sure he heard her gratitude. “I love it. Thank you.”

“It’s going to disappear the second the sun rises. The spell depends on the moonlight.”

“Oh,” was all Mal said, softly.

“I thought it would be better if it was gone when the others got up anyway.”

She turned back into his arms. “Good. It belongs to only us.”

They didn’t know it but, perhaps they could feel, they were both thinking the same thing. Neither of them had ever felt warmer on a cold morning, nor had they ever been more sure the future really held infinite possibility for them; that everything really could be alright.

In their own way, they were both very young.

 

On the twelfth day of Fic-mas, shades of present, future, past, try without success to make an impression that will last …

Boiled in His Own Pudding

The persistent drizzle made the trip back across the lawn about as pleasant as their visit inside had been. Even the spectacular tree and light display that graced the grounds of the edifice could not make the view appear cheery to the three figures plodding toward the sidewalk.

They should have opened a portal closer. All any of them wanted was to get home.

“Can you believe this guy?”

“It’s not like it’s the first time we’ve had an unsuccessful visit to this place, Present,” the young boy with close-cropped hair, dressed like he was auditioning for Newsies, grumbled. “Remember Nixon?”

“Ah, he wasn’t all that bad,” came the muffled response from under a sodden black hood. “His prospects weren’t nearly as depressing.”

The affable, brightly dressed man who’d first spoken sighed in such a defeated way, it made his companions both look at him with concern. “He can’t even see the truth of this moment. How could he possibly learn from the past, or consider the consequences of days yet to come? We should have tried harder.”

“Ah, Present, don’t let it get you down! How are the rest of us supposed to keep the spirit if you get all depressed?” the boy asked with some urgency. “Yettocome, help me out here!”

The hooded figure spoke again, trying to brighten his perpetually dark voice a bid to cheer his companion. “You did a fine job. Both of you. And I gave it all I’ve got. Sometimes you just have to see a brick wall for what it is, and stop running your head into it. You know?”

Present glanced at his companions. They’d only made it a short way from the imposing structure sloshing as they were over the muddy ground. “Maybe we should go back in there. Give it one more try. All together.”

“Full frontal assault?” the boy asked eagerly.

“Shock and awe?” the specter of hopeless futures suggested, and they could hear his grin.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s do it!” the spirit of the joy of Christmas, of living in the moment, said, managing some of his usual enthusiasm.

The three figures turned, and marched with determination back inside, their invisible presence sending a thrill through the minds of the Secret Service agents they passed along the way.

~~~~

They were almost to the sidewalk before any of them spoke again. Past ran his hand through his short hair. “Well, it was worth a try anyway.”

Present nodded. “I think maybe the second wave got to him a little.”

Yettocome shrugged, the movement just visible through his heavy robes. “Maybe. But have you ever met anyone less self-aware in your whole afterlife?”

Past grinned. “I don’t think that’s the problem. I think he’s too self-aware. If my ego were half that good, I’d have taken over half the other realms by now.”

A chuckle bubbled through the party as they approached the portal home, glowing faintly blue in the misty early morning of Christmas.

As they prepared for the return journey, Present gave a little nod, more to himself than his companions. “No, seriously though,” he said. “I think maybe we might have made a difference.”

“Not to burst your bubble, man, but …” Past held up a glowing rectangle for his friends to see.

“But what?” they asked together, not quite sure they wanted to know.

“He’s tweeting about us.”

– End –

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On the eleventh day of Fic-mas, some happy news to share; in life, perfect moments are only too rare …

What Child is This?

“Ari.”

“Mmmm,” he mumbled.

“Ari, c’mon. Wakey, wakey.” She jostled his arm gently.

He finally peeled one eye open. She was lying next to him, beaming and looking not the least bit sleepy. “Morning, Maggie.”

“Good morning, Sleepyhead,” she grinned.

He frowned, running his hands over his face, trying to brush away the cobwebs clinging to his thoughts. The ordeal of his trial in the Angel’s Court of Heaven, say nothing of the change to his magic that the sentence of more or less joining humanity had wrought, left him a little worn out these past few weeks. And for Christmas Eve, Maggie had wanted to go to the midnight mass to honor her mother’s memory.

He yawned, “What time is it?”

She sat up, like she couldn’t lie still for another moment. “It’s already seven. You know, Ari, if we want to make good parents we shouldn’t make a practice of lounging in bed all morning, especially on Christmas.”

“Mmmm,” he mumbled again, and his eyes seemed to want to drift closed.

Clearly he hadn’t processed what she said, she thought with an almost wicked grin. “Ari, since when did you start sleeping in, by the way? You’re usually up with the sun!”

“I know it … I’ve just been a little tired lately … And we stayed up so late last night.”

She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Are you feeling okay?”

He opened his eyes again and smiled up at her. “I’m good, Mags, honest. Just … That trip Above wore me out. I’m catching back up though.”

She frowned for a minute, looking concerned. Ari’s friend, who called himself Matt, but who was clearly a pretty badass angel with some clout, had come and told her that husband had business in Heaven and had sent Matt to keep an eye on things until he could return.

When Ari came home, he’d looked awful, had been tired and pale, and had slept the weekend away. But he’d assured her he was fine then, too. Just said he’d finally managed to arrange things so they could be together now, and forever, without much in the way of interference. It had been such welcome news, and he seemed so disinclined to talk about it, she’d simply let it go.

Now, she touched his face. “Are you really alright? This new being mostly human thing … Are you coming down with something? Can that even happen?”

He grinned and shifted himself into a sitting position. “I really am. And I honestly have no idea, Maggie. It’ll be a few months before everything’s settled, I think. But my friends are looking out for us.” He leaned toward her and kissed her cheek. “All I need is a cup of coffee, and then I’ll start our Christmas feast. I hope you’re prepared to help though, because I may need a sous chef for the meal I have planned for us.”

The lines of Maggie’s face had smoothed again, and she was once again smiling so broadly it was crinkling her eyes and lips in the most charming way possible. “Good! And I’d be happy to help cook. After.”

“After what?”

To Ari’s surprise, Maggie produced a small, neatly wrapped box from her nightstand.

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” she said almost breathlessly.

“Maggie,” he said, almost complaining, “We agreed. No presents.”

He blushed, feeling badly that he must have misinterpreted her suggestion. He’d spend a couple of weeks torn between ‘you really shouldn’t because she asked’ and ‘you really should because it will make her smile’ and he’d gone with what she’d asked. Maybe, he frowned, maybe he had guessed wrong.

He looked down at the box and then up into her face with an apology in his eyes. “Maggie, I didn’t …”

“But you did,” she insisted. “Open the box! Open it, open it, open it!” She bounced a little on the bed, jostling him into her.

He laughed fondly. By God, he loved this woman. “Alright!”

Ari peeled back the paper carefully, which only led Maggie to lean closer and get her hands on it to tear the paper more quickly. “Open.” She kissed his forehead. “The.” A second kiss, this time on his cheek. “Box.” Another kiss landed on the other cheek.

He held the box away for a moment. “If I keep stalling, will you keep kissing me?” Ari asked with an unmistakable twinkle in his eye.

“No! I’m going to hold my kisses hostage until you open that box!” she laughed.

Ari grinned, “I guess if the ransom for more kissing is just tearing some paper …” He left it hanging for a moment. “I have no choice but to give in to your demands.”

She gave him a teasing scowl and he pretended urgency in tearing way the rest of the paper and lifting the lid.

Inside the box was a small card, lettered in Maggie’s almost artistically perfect handwriting with the simple note, “We’re having a baby!”

He looked up from the card with a smile. She doesn’t know that I know. Of course, she doesn’t. Gotta play this cool.

“Really? That’s amazing!” he said with what felt like an appropriate amount of excitement.

Her eyes widened and there was a little flash of realization there, even as her mouth dropped open. “You knew.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Um …”

He felt his face reddening again. Perhaps he should have said something when he first returned, but … He’d had his reasons for staying silent. Surely she would understand that. Instead of explaining himself though, a naked truth felt like the better course.

“Yes.” he admitted sheepishly. “I did.”

“Why didn’t you say something, Silly?”

He grinned with relief. She called him silly. That was a pretty good sign that she wasn’t upset with him.

“I … um … I suppose … I didn’t want to ruin it for you.”

She cupped his face again, looking into his eyes with something very like sympathy. “It’s still like you’re so new to this whole ‘personing’ thing.” His eyes narrowed with just a little hurt, like he believed he’d really done something wrong, so she went on quickly. “But it’s incredibly sweet and beautifully clueless all at the same time,” Maggie teased.

“Clueless?” Ari asked. “Too mean,” he huffed, and pouted unconvincingly.

There really was no guile to this man, Maggie thought. That was one of the things she’d fallen in love with, wasn’t it? How on Earth did she miss him knowing? That was why he’d been waiting on her hand and foot to the point of driving her a little crazy! She started laughing a little.

“What’s so funny?” he asked with pretended indignation.

“You,” she said. “But only in the most wonderful-amazing-unbelievably-lucky-for-me way possible.”

She wrapped him in a warm embrace and then sunk down, leaning her head against his chest.

“We’re having a baby,” she whispered, a happy catch in her voice as warm tears started to make his t-shirt damp.

Ari pulled her in closer, resting his chin on top of her head. “She’s going to be so perfect, my love,” he whispered to his wife, thinking to himself that with each day he treasured her more, and that nothing, nothing that had happened to him as the result of his decisions, could make this any less awe inspiring than it was.

Maggie’s head snapped up, bumping his chin a little, and she pulled away a bit. She was looking into his eyes, her own wide with wonder. “She?”

“Yeah. She.” He smiled at her, his own eyes filling. “And Maggie, she’s going to be amazing. She’s going to change the world.”

“You really think so? Is that some weird angel knowledge you’re trying to lay on me?”

“I don’t have that anymore. Not really. I’ll know more about how much things have changed for me soon. But, I’m not worried about it.” She picked up one of his hands and squeezed it. “It’s just me … Being her dad already, I guess.”

Maggie smiled then, and she looked so perfectly happy it almost hurt him to look at. “You’re going to be a wonderful father, Ari.”

She took a brief almost shuddering breath, her emotions a tangle of wanting to weep with joy and wanting to laugh at the deer-in-the-headlights expression her husband was currently wearing as he tried to figure out where their lives were leading them.

“We’re having a baby,” she whispered, snuggling back into his chest, coffee and breakfast, and preparing for later, forgotten for the moment.

She smiled into his shoulder. He felt it and squeezed her to him again. “I love you, Maggie. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Ari.”

– End –

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On the tenth day of Fic-mas, someone tries to make a deal, and accidentally his intentions are revealed …

Let’s Make a Deal

The well-worn path through the thick forest was dappled with the fading light of the weakening late autumn sun. The sounds of birds chirruping and flitting from tree to tree filled the air. A bubbling brook burbled away quite loudly in the near distance.

Lucifer sighed. Why any self-respecting “god” would make a home of such a rustic, uncivilized place was beyond his ken. Someone might think the smell of pine needles and decaying leaves was sweet perfume, but it made him wrinkle his nose.

He supposed there might be some charm to those smells on their own, if not for the underlying stink of mold and various sorts of decomposition. As he strode down the path, so packed down that his boots sounded like they were walking on stone, he began to notice the distinct aroma of dirt in the air, and just the barest hint of smoke.

He must be close. Yes … He could just make out the sounds of a fight coming from over the next ridge. He was just cresting the hill when the unmistakable crash and grunt of someone or something being throw heavily to the ground reached his ears.

“Who’s next?” boomed a great deep voice. “Come along! You can’t all be tired yet!”

Mumbled protests and pained groans rumbled through a crowd like distant thunder as Lucifer entered the clearing. “I would offer my services, Majesty, if you so desire,” Lucifer called out, a playful note in his voice and a sparkle in his striking eyes.

The gargantuan creature, who appeared as though he were hewn from solid oak turned and sized up the volunteer. When he took in who it was, he sneered. “I’m in no mood for your games, Morning Star. Leave this place at once. We’ve been clear that you are not welcome here. You never have been. And now you reek of your exile. The stench of Sulphur has no place on the wind of the Great Wood.”

He punctuated his pronouncement by spitting at Lucifer’s feet.

“Come now, Majesty. Is that any way to treat an angel in your midst? Especially one who comes bearing gifts?”

“I want no part of your gifts, or of angering your Father by trafficking with you. Now, off with you! If I’ve worn out my followers, there is nothing further to do here. And it is nearly my time. I must be ready.”

Lucifer waved a dismissive hand. “Very well then. If you’re really not interested …” He paused, allowing everyone present to hear the offer, as yet unspoken, start to evaporate. “I suppose the Holly King will be the one to benefit.”

A derisive snort practically echoed around the clearing.

“Go on with you! But I expect you’ll get about as warm a reception from him.”

A soft subdued laughter rippled through the other beings still dusting themselves off and licking their wounds around them.

Lucifer nodded, as though considering the words. “Perhaps you are right … But then, who knows? He’s ambitious … And the chance to rule the full year may be to his liking.”

Lucifer turned to go.

“You play a dangerous game, Angel. But you have captured my attention.”

“What unfortunate timing for you. I’ve been insulted and disregarded.” Lucifer drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders with a haughty tilt of his chin. “Good day.”

He turned as if to leave, more to hide his smile than anything else, as the subservient trees moved to block his path. Schooling his features, he gave an exaggerated sigh and turned back to face the Oak King.

“Very well,” he said, an air of longsuffering settling over his manner. “If you insist.”

“I believe that I do,” the Oak King said with dark menace. “What is it you were so eager to propose that you would now offer my enemy?”

Lucifer held out open hands, as if to say the Oak King was his preference for the offer anyway. “I wish to offer you my assistance in your upcoming battle for supremacy in the wheel of the year.”

The Oak King harrumphed impressively. “I need no help from any angel, man, or god. This time I will be supreme.”

“Really?” Lucifer asked with heavy skepticism.

“Yes, really.” The Oak King’s strange eyes narrowed. “I am ready this year. My reign will be unbroken.”

“Come now, Majesty,” Lucifer cajoled. “You cannot really believe that. It is the same every year. Each Winter Solstice is the same tired story; the Holly King will beat you and send you off to tend your wounds … Which you will do, biding your time until the dawn of summer, when you will return the favor.”

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying, Majesty, that this has been the same since time began. This has been your lot … Ebb and flow, dark and light, Yule and Litha, splitting the year and the power. This year will be no different …”

“Unless?”

“Unless you have help. My help.”

The Oak King seemed to consider the angel for a moment. Then he gave a short nod. “What are your terms?”

Lucifer blinked. This was going better than he hoped.

“Simple quid pro quo.” He waited a beat. “I help you defeat the Holly King, for good and all, allowing you to reign over the whole year, bring light and warmth as you choose, and you … Well, all you have to do is answer my call when I need you.”

“Need me for what?” The Oak King knew the answer, but he wanted Lucifer to say it.

“You know,” the angel said with a smirk.

“Do I, now?” The Oak King gave Lucifer a knowing smile. “Maybe you should lay it out for me anyway. It behooves one to be clear of the terms when it comes to entering into arrangements with the Lord of the Underrealms.”

“Very well, then, if you want to be that way … You back my claim to the Throne of Heaven when I am ready to make another bid for it. Happy now?” he said with a bit of true irritation.

“Seems a bit one sided as far as deals go, Morning Star.”

“I’m offering you dominion over the wheel of the year on Earth. All I’m asking is a little support. How is that one sided? Or perhaps I should say, how is that one sided in my favor?”

“You are offering me, a minor deity in the grand scheme of things, assistance in beating another minor deity. And this is a thing well within your power as an Archangel, fallen or no. And in return you ask that I help you defeat One who could bind me below with the Old Gods, or banish me to any number of dark dimensions, say nothing of His power to simply unmake me while creating a whole other universe. I am nothing in this fight between the realms. The humans have given me form and power. I’m a mote of dust to your Father!”

If it were possible for a tree to pale, The Oak King did then, considering the implications of even considering an arrangement of that magnitude with Lucifer.

“As far as deals go, this is a raw one.”

Lucifer sniffed. “If you only look at the negatives.”

“There are positives?” the Oak King asked incredulously. “I’m a realist. Honestly, Lucifer, I’m not seeing an upside here. And, much as I hate saying it, the Holly King is too smart for your offer as well.”

Lucifer decided to change tack. “Why is it you always lose and win, once each per year?”

The Oak King was taken aback. He stood blinking and scratching his chin in contemplation. “Well … there are many reasons …”

“No. There is but one.” His smile said it was obvious.

“Alright then. Educate me.”

“Because the humans like it that way, and so, being the people pleaser that He is, it has been ordained by God that it be so, that you share the title of King equally for all time.”

“No! No, that can’t be true!” he shouted.

“Ah, but it is. I have seen it written.” That was going a bit far, but it wasn’t outside the realm of what he knew to be true, and it certainly served the intended purpose. “And if we break this rule … this one decree … then we’ve,” Lucifer paused, hoping the Oak King would pick up his thread.

“Broken His hold on Creation … Yes, I see it now.”

Lucifer smiled, and no amount of telling himself to keep his true feelings hidden could keep it from being somewhat wolfish. “I knew you would.” He paused. “So, do we have an accord?”

The Oak King nodded. “In principle. But I want details of your plan. How will this be executed?”

“Simple.” Another smile, this one more conciliatory. “As the fight begins, read these words.” With a small rustle, a folded paper appeared in Lucifer’s hand. “Do not, under any circumstances, open this before your battle. The effect is immediate, and temporary.”

The Oak King took the paper, turning it in his hands, careful not to break the seal. “What happens when I read the words you’ve given me?”

“A spell that will grant you a portion of my primordial essence. A tiny sliver, but it should be enough to cast down your adversary.”

A sliver of the power of an Archangel was a great plenty. “We have a deal.” The Oak King spat in his hand and held it out to Lucifer. “The King of the Year will stand at your side and help you gain the Throne.”

Such an earthy gesture. With a small grimace of distaste, the Arch mirrored the Oak King’s gesture, and held out his hand.

“Let’s stop right there, shall we?” A firm hand gripped both beings’ wrists, keeping their hands from clasping to seal their arrangement.

Quite unable to move, and furious because of it, the Oak King roared, “Who is that would dare touch ME?”

“That would be Asher,” Lucifer said glumly as a grudging introduction. “He’s no fun at all.”

“Asher?” the Oak King asked, eyes wide. “But the Keeper is only a legend,” he protested.

“As for being Asher; guilty as charged. And I might admit to being a legend, but a very real one, for all of that,” the plain man, dressed all in black said with a wry twist of his lips. “And as such, this little bit of dickering over Creation stops now.”

Asher released their wrists and deftly plucked the paper from the Oak King’s hand.

“I’ll just take this, and Lucifer and I will let you get on with your preparations. Honestly, I don’t know why you’re bothering with this guy,” Asher nodded at the irate Archangel. “He’s a notorious liar, and besides, you’ve got this.”

“Wait, you really think so?” the Oak King asked, looking both a little startled and quite flattered.

“This is your year, my friend. Mister Holly has met his match.” Asher clapped him on the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse us …”

There was a blinding flash and Lucifer found himself back in his apartments in Hell. The throne at the center of his receiving room a mocking presence that he didn’t want to look at.

It would have been better if he were alone. And mostly he was, save for the grating lordly presence of the man, the myth, the legend … the eternal pain in his ass … Asher.

Prying his lips open around a clenched jaw, Lucifer spat, “That was not your concern, Keeper!”

Asher replied with a tight smile. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He let the coldness of his voice quench some of the fire in Lucifer’s eyes. “And I assure you that if you ever directly attempt to interfere with events within my purview again, I will show you what a real exile looks like.”

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for Lucifer to respond. The angel simply started back, clearly caught between setting the cold levels of Hell afire with his anger and completely at a loss.

Asher prompted an acknowledgement. “Are we clear?”

Finally, Lucifer managed, “Yes, Keeper, we are clear.”

“Very good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a fight to attend. Someone has to be there to declare the draw, don’t you know.”

Lucifer pasted on a forced smile. “A pleasure as always, Asher,” he said in a small voice.

Something very like a smirk flitted across Asher’s face for a second. “Oh, and Lucifer?”

“Yes?” he asked heavily, frustrated by being thwarted at every turn in just trying to gain a moment’s advantage.

“Have a merry Christmas.”

“A what?” he frowned.

“Never mind,” Asher said, and this time the smirk was unmistakable. “It will make sense in time.”

Lucifer sat down on his throne, in the now empty reception room, rested an elbow on the arm, and his head on one hand.

“What the Hell is a Christmas?”

– End –

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