Craig Comer's Blog, page 10
February 5, 2015
Desolation
Bood and Water!
Western Nebraska
Melanie���s thirst was insatiable as she pushed down again on the old pump handle, summoning another refreshing torrent of water. She drank, filled her water bottle, and then doused her head and neck, cooling her body down, slurping the last drops as the gushing flow trailed off into rivulets. She had had her fill. Not so insatiable after all, she mused.
The well pump was located in back, conveniently visible from the driveway of the farmhouse she had been approaching for the last hour. When she spied the pump, she had paid no mind to the state of the house, or to whether it was occupied or not. She regarded it now.
Before their escape module had crashed, she could see that all of North and South America were dark. This was no doubt the result of the giant solar storm that took out the ISS���s systems. She was pretty sure that anarchy reigned in the cities, but unsure if its ugliness had yet taken root in the more rural western states, where she was. Being one to not take chances, she approached the house with care, hoping that her caution was overdone, and she would find Ma and Pa Kettle having their Sunday dinner. Speaking of which, she was hungry.
She painstakingly peeked in each of the back windows, following the wrap-around porch, finding no one moving about. However, there were several signs of occupancy, and one in particular that caused her concern. Her vision and focus, previously lost in a haze of dehydration, were now sharp and hyper aware as she approached the back door. Its small window, about chest height to her, was broken. She peeked through the jagged opening, looking into the home���s kitchen. A light breeze blew through the opening, brushing the single curtain aside, and then letting it fall back into place. Each breeze revealed more of what she was looking at: lots of dishes and discarded food strewn around the kitchen; a wood-burning stove–it was on, its heat visible–and resting on top, an old camp-fire coffeepot with steam gushing from its spout; and a man.
Melanie hurriedly looked to her left and then right and then back through the breach again, attempting to will the curtain aside once more so that she could see. A man with crazy hair dressed in overalls walked out of a large pantry into the kitchen. He wrapped a folded towel around the coffeepot���s handle to temper the heat.
One of the porch���s old wood floor boards creaked, sounding an alarm behind her. She spun, shocked, as she was staring at the ugliest mug of a man she could ever remember seeing. Rotten breath and the words, ���What do we have here?��� spilled from a mouth missing several teeth. The gun he pointed at her and everything about him announced this was one bad dude.
ML Banner is a writer of apocalyptic fiction. Find out more about ML Banner here:
http://www.amazon.com/DESOLATION-ML-Banner-ebook/dp/B00OQJEGTC
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23508928-desolation
January 15, 2015
Nanovision
���This is our animal bay,��� noted the CEO with a wave of her hand. ���It���s in this area that we house a wide variety of animals for our medical research. We use these animals to extract DNA samples for analysis. Then, splicing their stem cells and combing them with nanites we are able to create medicines that will rebuild tissue, conquer diseases like cancer, eliminate infection, and possibly���though we���re not there yet, rebuild entire genetic sub-structures.���
���So why are all these animals injured?��� asked Judy, ���Was it done solely for product testing?
Judy���s observation stopped Ethyl in her tracks.
���No, no, heavens no!��� exclaimed Ethyl in disbelief. ���All the animals you see here were injured or sick long before arriving here. We have an arrangement with the humane society and veterinarians in the area to provide us with animals that need help. Every animal you see here was either sick, hurt, or abused, then abandoned or dropped off at the pound by their owners���most were ready to be put down. We rescued them. Here at NanoBytes we are about extending and improving the quality of life, so we provide them with sanctuary. This is a place where these animals can receive the attention they need along with the medical expertise necessary to cure them. From this relationship we are able to create drugs and medicines that can heal without invasive procedures. Here, let me show you.���
Ethyl took Judy to the cages near the end of the kennel. She stopped and pointed to one. Inside was a small kitten about four months old, sound asleep, with all four of its legs bandaged. Ethyl���s anger was evident as she related the story about the kitten to Judy.
���Some heartless, sick, son-of-a-bitch, if you���ll excuse my French, decided to torture this poor creature by cutting its legs off with pruning shears. It was left to die in a garbage can. Can you imagine? Someone found it and brought it to one of our vets, who stabilized its condition then brought it here where we immediately began nanite infusion���the only option available if this kitten was ever going to walk again.���
There was an extreme look of pride in Ethyl���s eyes as she explained what they did next.
���We extracted the kitten���s DNA and broke down the various genomes that relate to the growth of its extremities. Then, using coded stem cells fused with nanites and lizard DNA, which has the ability to rejuvenate cells, we began a series of injections and already we���re seeing results. It���s only been two weeks but each leg has grown a full quarter inch in size with no deformities or cellular degeneration. We���re very excited and hopeful that this little thing will regain the full use of all four legs.���
As a young boy Paul Harry cut his teeth on Marvel Comics, Edgar Rice Burrough’s serial novels,(John Carter & Tarzan)and classic movies like “The Day The Earth Stood Still.” Paul also spent many days reading classic science fiction works by authors such as Asimov, Heinlein, Clark, Silverberg, and Bradbury to name a few.
In school his favorite subjects were English and Theater Arts. It is the combination of all of this that led him into writing, especially screenplays. Paul loves the visual medium of movies and television though too many movies today put special effects ahead of the story. He thinks the greatest compliment he’s received about his writing is that people can see the visual images he creates as he writes.
NANOVISION is his latest novel and he thinks readers will have a lot of fun with it. In writing the novel he used his forty years of experience in the Las Vegas gaming industry as a background for the story. So for those of you who might ask���Are the casino scenes real? The answer is most definitely, Yes!
His other works on Amazon are: THE 5 MOONS OF TIIANA, and THE GARDEN, The Unauthorized Biography of Adam and Eve.
https://twitter.com/Sphere_Books
January 8, 2015
Telemachus and Homer
Hera’s garden was beautiful. Every species of plant on the planet was represented, and there was a flower for every conceivable color and scent. Each gentle breeze brought a kaleidoscope of aromas to one’s nose, and it was so refreshing that it distracted Amaryllis and Homer from their reality, but only for a moment.
“Oh, no!” Amaryllis screamed.
“What?” asked Homer, not realizing that they were separated from Telemachus, and Manos.
“Telemachus! Manos! They are not here!”
“What?” Homer said incredulously.
“They collapsed on the rocks as they tried to enter Hera’s garden, and they are not moving.” Amaryllis was glad that Homer could not see, because Amaryllis could not determine whether Telemachus and Manos were even breathing. “Stay right here, Homer, I will go check on them.”
“No!” Homer yelled, reaching in the air, hoping to stop Amaryllis from leaving Hera’s garden.
“I’m not leaving them.” Amaryllis argued.
“You have no choice. You can only enter Hera’s garden once. If you leave, you won’t be able to re-enter, and you know that we need to obtain the sphylem sap.”
A tear rolled down Amaryllis’ cheek. She was forced to choose between leaving Telemachus, whom she promised to protect with her life, and leaving Homer, Ithaca’s only hope for a future. She had promised Odysseus that she would protect his only son. She had promised that son that she would carry out their mission should he fall and would protect Homer. She had promised herself that she would not fail. She wanted to honor all of those promises, but that goal was becoming increasingly difficult to attain. “Then let’s hurry,” Amaryllis said without emotion.
“Agreed. Can you see a waterfall?”
“Yes.”
“Lead me there.” And the two began their own journey, without either Telemachus or Manos.
Scott Locke is a graduate of Brown University with a concentration in biology and of the University of Pennsylvania School of Law, where he earned his J.D. Scott has published many articles on various aspects of intellectual property. Telemachus and Homer is Scott’s first publication of fiction.
http://www.amazon.com/Telemachus-Homer-Scott-Locke-ebook/dp/B0089XB3WY/
http://indiereader.com/2014/09/telemachus-homer/
https://www.facebook.com/MANDEMik/posts/200246670102582
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7990125.Scott_Locke
December 27, 2014
Ennara and the Fallen Druid
A butcher’s stand was a clear shot across the bazaar. Legs of pig, lamb, cow, and whole chickens hung, curing on a sturdy awning.
Ennara shuffled to the rear of the cheese vendor’s stall, crouched low, and aimed. “Mag gwihuwo!”
A fine finger of black smoke curled toward the meat shop. As the ashy spell landed on the animal parts, they twitched. A woman walking by the stand shrieked. The butcher looked up, his eyes bigger than eggs and his mouth in an “O.” Several shoppers shouted in astonishment. Others yelled and ran.
A passing monk cried, “The devil is among us!” as six headless hens wriggled their way off the hooks and scrambled on the ground, flapping their featherless wings.
Then the lamb legs got free, and there they were, bouncing round the empty area in front of the butcher’s stall. The crowd parted. Some ran home. Others ran inside stores and shut the doors, but many stayed to see what would happen. The center of the plaza was clear except for the butcher, who hid in his stall clutching a cleaver, the city sentinel, still holding Kithe, Mr. Dulfsnark, a dozen reanimated chickens, five dancing legs of lamb, and a menacing zombie hog.
The watchman spun around as the gathering dispersed and saw the reanimated meat. “What the…?”
A chicken bolted for the man’s leg. He released his grip on Kithe and punted the creature away. The chicken flapped its wings as it whizzed through the air and smashed into a vegetable cart.
Mr. Dulfsnark made a mad grasp at a bouncing leg of lamb and struggled to hang on to it.
“Hey!” the butcher called, “You’ll be paying for the lamb, Dulfsnark!”
“I’ll give you three copper for it, Hormmork!” the man shouted back.
“I won’t take less than two silver!” was Hormmork’s reply. “That was my best lamb!”
“Six copper!” The plump man fought with the leg. “Not a copper more!”
“One silver, six copper!” Hormmork called.
The hog sniffed at the air, focused its white eyes on the plump man, and charged. He screamed and was knocked to the ground.
“One,” Hormmork yelled, “one silver.”
Mr. Dulfsnark held up the leg and received a well-aimed shot to the jaw. “Ow!” he cried. “One silver, but you’ll throw in a chicken, too!”
Angela Myron was born in Vancouver, Canada and lives in Los Angeles, California with her husband and twins. She grew up in the piney forests of southern British Columbia, studying tiny blue bells, dodging cacti, and creating fantasy worlds in her back yard.
Angela studied biology and professional writing at the University of Victoria in Canada and at San Francisco State University. She wrote grant proposals for nonprofits, computer software manuals, and freelance journalism before writing fiction.
Author Website: www.angelamyron.com/contact.html
Author’s Amazon Page: http://www.amazon.com/Angela-Myron/e/B00DDSIAFS/
Author’s Goodreads Page: https://www.goodreads.com/angelamyron
Buy the book: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00DD89L24/
December 18, 2014
Henge (Le Fay Series: Book One)
The cafeteria is bustling as always. Like clockwork, everyone goes on break at the same time. People line up at serving counters and then quickly fill up the rows and rows of tables. The room smells of stew and cobbler. Merlin emerges from the south doorway and makes his way to the food line. He glances at his watch. Just as I approach to join the line behind him, Vivian cuts me off. “Merlin, I hear you saved Guinevere’s life,” she says.
Merlin knits his brow. “Well, it wasn’t really me…”
“Everyone saw your water magic,” Vivian insists.
I roll my eyes. Vivian pushes her flawlessly straight locks back and gazes at him coolly. Is she really impressed? It’s hard to tell. But when she looks at him again, there is a sparkle in her eye and a crack of a genuine smile. Vivian is a mystery—she keeps her mouth shut during lectures. When she does speak, her voice is clear as a bell.
Everyone studies Merlin with awe. The chef behind the counter declares that Merlin should have his meals on the house for a whole month. People line up behind me whispering of his heroic deeds, putting the fire out on the lab, and saving Guinevere. I tighten my lips. Am I invisible to everyone? Is Merlin truly that much more in the foreground than me?
Merlin begins to reply, but the crowd becomes distracted and hushes when a knight enters the cafeteria. Sir Lancelot. People part for him as he looks around with commanding eyes. The girls all smile at him, hoping to catch his attention. He scans around for several seconds, then, he meets my eyes. My mouth goes dry. The whole room watches as he walks up to me, and it’s as if everything is happening in slow motion. As he approaches, I feel that I am getting smaller and smaller.
“Ms. le Fay,” he says. “I apologize for interrupting your break. Do you have a moment?”
“Yes, sir,” I reply, barely finding my voice. Merlin raises his brow at Lancelot. Vivian gapes, spellbound.
Lancelot motions for me to follow him. My walk is mechanical as my heart races with each step. Everyone is staring. Has Sir Lancelot recognized my good work at the fire scene or am I in more trouble? We pass by Isolde, who holds a tray in one hand. She hastily tucks a wavy strand of hair behind her ear with her free hand. “Good day, Sir Lancelot,” she says.
Lancelot nods in her direction, which causes her to blush furiously. Once he’s past, she glares at me.
Realm Lovejoy is an American writer and an artist. She grew up in both Washington State and the Japanese Alps of Nagano, Japan. Currently, she lives in Seattle and works as an artist in the video game industry. CLAN is her first book. You can find out more about her and her book at realmlovejoy.com
Website: http://www.realmlovejoy.com/index2.php
Blog: http://realmlovejoy.blogspot.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorrealmlovejoy
Twitter: https://twitter.com/realmlovejoy
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23151530-henge
December 15, 2014
An Emerging Threat
Oliver lost count of the platforms they passed before the swaying cart slowed. Ahead the overhead lights grew in size, brightening the area with an unnatural glare. For the third time he tried to get some information on what was going on. “Sirs, where are we going? Have I done something wrong?”
Stony, expressionless faces looked through him and no reply was forthcoming. Oliver sighed, slumped back in his seat and watched a large gold- en hued wall and massive gate creep into view as they slowed. They came to a stop on what seemed to be the bottom of the chasm, a flat stony surface covered in rock dust. Here, the rail line ended.
Enter here for a chance to win a free copy of An Emerging Threat!
A cheerful looking goblin strolled up and en- gaged the cart’s braking system before looking the occupants over. “Welcome be to you young friend.” He said to Oliver. “What brings you to the ‘Floor of the Sea’ as we call it?”
Before Oliver could reply one of the armored goblins spoke sharply in their grating language and the rail worker quickly backed away, his cheerful look fading into something closer to apprehension.
Oliver was led to the large metal door. Two torches stood on either side of an inscribed plate embedded in the wall. Just above the plate hung a rope. The leader of the soldiers reached up and pulled hard on the rope once and stepped back to join the other two soldiers. Nothing happened at first, then a low rumble of sound came from be- hind the wall and then silence once again.
Oliver started when the gate began to open. Slowly, the heavy door swung on silent hinges, opening into darkness. As the group moved through the gateway, small pinpricks of light flamed to life. Candles, hundreds of candles standing on narrow stone pillars, lit the space beyond the wall. Behind each candle stood a young goblin, alternating male and female. They were spaced every ten or so paces.
The illuminated area showed that they were moving through a cleft in the cliff face, winding as it followed the natural curves of the rock. A cold draft of air made Oliver shiver as they walked. The silence was just about to make him crazy when the trail widened and the line of candles ceased.
Ahead was a solid wall of darkness. The soldiers halted and stood quietly. Oliver waited with them, shivering in the subterranean cold, glancing at the solemn candle bearers around them.
The sudden boom of a drum shattered the silence as more candles flared to life. Oliver drew his breath in sharply. The group stood at the entrance to a long natural cavern, not unlike the one underneath Sun Fire Citadel. The floor was not smooth, jagged rock shot up in all directions, making the room look as if a giant mouth had opened. At the far side of the cavern a score or more goblins stood gathered around a single goblin seated on what appeared to be a throne. The hall was formed out of living rock, the throne itself little more than a shelf of stone bordered on each side by two round boulders.
Waved forward by another armored goblin that stood next to the throne, Oliver’s group crossed the distance between the entrance and the rough dais. The three goblins that had brought him knelt on one knee, plate armor folding smoothly as they moved. Oliver quickly did likewise, returning to stand upright with the guards. Only then did he meet the eyes of the goblin sitting on the throne.
He was old, not old like Oliver understood, more ancient than any human he had seen. He seemed a part of the stone chair that held him. The gray skin was creased and cracked, the features loose. His hair was but wisps of white strands that stuck out of the simple iron circlet on his brow. The eyes were different. Alive, even young, they pierced through Oliver and made him lower his gaze and redden in shyness.
“Welcome to the Deep Fallows young human.” The voice grated like millstones. “I am Bosgar, leader of the Goblin race. It is my great honor to meet you. I had grown worried I may not last until this day.”
Oliver stumbled through his reply. “Good sir, it is I who should be honored. Is there something that I have done wrong?”
The room erupted in coarse laughter, the sound reverberating off the rock walls as even the candle bearers joined in. “Nay, tall one! You have done nothing wrong and I am sorry for the secrecy of your journey here. My captain enjoys putting fear into outsiders in general and he had to be talked into allowing you this deep.” Bosgar pointed with a smile to the leader of the three goblins that had escorted Oliver.
With a hearty bellow of laughter the accused turned to Oliver and embraced him, squeezing the breath out of him. “You be a right solemn human, and it did me good to see you not quake in your boots!”
Released, Oliver stood in relieved confusion, a smile breaking out as the laughter and conversation continued unabated. The goblin leader raised a hand above his head and all fell silent. “Now as to why you are here, we must talk. We do not allow humans access to this place for sport. My scouts have reported that the Citadel called Sun Fire is destroyed and that you were the only one seen leaving the island.” At Oliver’s startled look Bosgar raised his hand reassuringly. “They followed you to protect you until you could come before me. I have need of understanding what danger is on our threshold. I understand loved ones may have perished, but please tell us what transpired on that dark island as time may be of great importance.”
Oliver spoke haltingly. “Sir, it is as you say, I am from Sun Fire. I had never left until yesterday.” Bosgar bade him and the others nearby take seats and then nodded to Oliver to continue. Oliver then spoke of what he had seen, relating the events as best he could remember, hiding only the details of the cavern and its secrets. Throughout his tale the goblins looked at one another and made whispered comments back and forth.
When Oliver finished his story, the goblin Leader stood and clasped his arms with an iron grip. “Child, you will be from this day, a part of my people, a son of a lost island. We weep with you in your loss and rejoice in your life. You are welcome to stay here and need only ask for anything.”
Mark E. Lein grew up in small towns across the country, spending most of his childhood in the foothills of the Ozark Mountains of Northwestern Arkansas. Throughout his life, his favorite books have been sci-fi and fantasy, anything Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, and Terry Brooks and a little Isaac Azimov. Graduating from college in 2004, he became an Army Infantry and Intelligence Officer and continues to serve to this day. While deployed to Iraq for 14 months back in 2007-09, he began writing with this book in mind. His civilian work includes Intelligence Analysis and providing expertise with military training programs. He now lives in Tampa, Florida with his wife of 9 years, Emily, and his three children, Oliver, Lucy, and Alexander.
https://twitter.com/MarkLein12
https://www.facebook.com/TheSeekersBurden
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7375868.Mark_E_Lein
Buy the book on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Emerging-Threat-Seekers-Burden-Book-ebook/dp/B00G4LS6AK/
December 11, 2014
Hunter No More
Roger stood in the narrow access area of the mainframe chamber surrounded by alternating colour displays and the humming of intricate internal machinery. It was odd to think that this construction of crystalline circuitry represented the true Keith and Josella. He had always known they were machines, albeit incredibly complex ones, but this was not as he imagined. Knowing it and seeing it were two entirely separate things. He held his palm up to one of the panels and felt the tingle of static electricity dancing in the air. It made the hairs on the back of his hand stand on end.
When Keith had asked him to stay he had considered refusing and going home with the girls. But then, this wasn’t just about the Ochre, it was about every living human on his planet. He would have been no safer at home than on the ship, and if Keith’s mad plan didn’t work, then his family and his people would die anyway. By staying onboard he might beat them to it by a few hours, but that would be all.
It felt strange to know that the fate of a world was in his hands; all because he had once swung a hammer at a man who was less than human. If he hadn’t swung that hammer then Keith would have completed his mission and departed. The revolution would have still happened, a ship would have been dispatched to destroy the population, and there would have been no defence, no way out.
It made him shiver to think about it. The galaxy was a cruel one and humanity was far from the top of the food chain. If the Hierarchy of machine minds could decide to eradicate the entire population of a planet just for convenience, then a human life meant nothing to them. The realisation left a bitter taste in his mouth. He felt both humbled and terrified. He also wondered what would happen if they did succeed. If the invading ship was destroyed would another one simply be sent in its place? Would the humans of Borealis be trapped into a war they could never hope to win?
The thought made him want to jump up and shout at the sky, demand the galaxy be righted and his world be left alone. They had no weapons, no space craft of their own. They were no threat to this Hierarchy, no threat at all. The very injustice of it made him want to lash out at the circuitry that surrounded him. He almost laughed at the thought – to lash out at the very creatures who were trying to save them? He could almost hear Keith making some amused comment about the stupidity of humanity.
“Roger,” Josella said quietly. “It is time.”
G.D. Tinnams has worked as a barman, a call centre operator, an IT support analyst, and a software tester. But during all this time he was also an insatiable reader of science fiction and fantasy books like Susan Cooper’s ‘The Dark Is Rising Sequence’, Orson Scott Card’s ‘Ender’s Game’, Robert Charles Wilson’s ‘Blind Lake’ and Greg Egan’s ‘Permutation City’. He is very fond of weird, mind-bending stories and decided quite early on to try writing some. ‘Hunter No More’ is his second novel.
December 5, 2014
Boombot: What Happened Here?
Are those cameras or lasers? Is the droid friendly or part of a schema of oppression? What is happening here?
Writing prompt, inspiration, or just something to enjoy. Your choice! If you come up with anything you want to share, post it in the comments.
Boombot by Ben Thornton
November 28, 2014
Empire of the Undead
It was a scorching hot afternoon and there was trouble at the docks in Joppa. The Roman Legion X Fretensis was departing after long months in the desert, and departing quickly, with more than three thousand men, siege engines, auxiliaries, pack animals, whores, and prisoners. The legions were bound for places like Iberia, Gaul, Britannia, or Dacia. Some few were even heading to the Eternal City, to Rome itself.
Only two days before, with the army inland, the port town had been a half-empty wreck that had been twice burned, and the inhabitants fled or dead. Today, however, the forces of Rome were on the march and the city was a chaotic wreck. Each unit marched with banners proudly unfurled. There were dozens displaying ships, still more decorated with bulls, and some few dared capture Neptune’s attention with the visage of the Sea God.
Haphazard stalls had been set up in the ashes, amidst still smoldering ruins, to sell water, food, and wine. One sweaty, bearded man was beating the side of a marauding camel as it sipped from a broken wine amphora. The streets of Joppa had never been meant to accommodate so many, and the bay was equally stuffed with ships of all sizes.
For all the teem humanity, the Roman army was nothing if not efficient, and they were well-practiced in dividing the spoils of war. Adult slaves were carried in cages, and those younger were chained together, or simply led onto already over-full ships. Piles of the plunder looted from the fortress of Masada were added, and then the centurions themselves began to board. Many slaves were sold outright to the slavers that accompanied every army, but the veteran men of Legion X Fretensis knew they could sell their slaves for much more once they reached Rhodes or Rome.
Ahimsa Kerp is the author of the historical horror novel EMPIRE OF THE UNDEAD from Severed Press and co-author of the mosaic fantasy novel THE ROADS TO BALDAIRN MOTTE from Reputation Books, as well as a contributor to many anthologies including CTHULHUROTICA and DEAD HARVEST. Ahimsa hails from the Pacific Northwest but has been living overseas since the aughts.
Ahimsa’a website: http://obscureclearly.wordpress.com/
Buy the book: http://www.amazon.com/Empire-Undead-Ahimsa-Kerp-ebook/dp/B00O1CRQ1Y
Ahimsa’s travel blog: https://arewethereyeti.wordpress.com/
November 20, 2014
Touched: The Marnie Baranuik Files #1
Harry was smiling, showing lots of white teeth, no fang. Batten averted his eyes like he always did; I think he was afraid that if he saw fangs he’d have no choice but to face that, no matter how many revenants he’d dusted, he was intimidated by this one. I’m not sure he could live with that. Or maybe he sensed Harry might try to mindfuck him with his unearthly gaze; Batten should know I wouldn’t allow that. Not in public, anyway.
As though egged-on by Batten’s discomfort, Harry’s aura did a cold boil, a visible phenomenon. More than just his otherworldly presence filled the room: as always I could smell menthol cigarettes under his light, clean-smelling 4711 cologne. As he approached the bed with impossible refinement, I knew he was showing off. Harry didn’t have to move like that. It was a conscious choice and he was making a point: here comes power infernal and immortal. How could any human compare?
Harry was dressed like he’d been back on his Kawasaki so I guessed it wasn’t impounded. Big motorcycle boots, this time the leather as shiny and clean as the buckles. I wondered how long he’d been in the lobby shining the street salt off of them. His mid-length over coat flapped open to reveal black Levis hugging lean powerful legs. Black leather biking gloves looked so startlingly like part of a murderer’s kill kit on his death-pale hands that I could all but feel them squeezing my throat. A grey cashmere scarf snaked several times around his neck reflected the battleship grey of his eyes. I wondered where his helmet was. Undead or not, you crack your skull open and sandpaper the road with brain tissue, story-time’s over.
“Agent Batten. Bon nuit, trou du cul,” Harry greeted, mock-tipping an invisible hat. I couldn’t be sure, as my French is not good, but I thought Harry called Batten an asshole. He turned and performed a low, sweeping bow at the bed. “How does my lady?”
“I does spiffy, and you?”
“Apart from being heartily distressed by your atrocious grammar, I do very well indeed. As visiting hours have long flown, I cannot stay long. It is pure luck the nurse let me in at all.”
Luck, my ass. It was more likely terror; it wasn’t like Harry was putting any effort into blending in. The poor nurse was probably twisting security’s arms to come flush him back out. I wondered if there had ever been a revenant in this hospital before. Or any hospital in Colorado for that matter; revenant emergencies don’t require human doctors.
Harry handed me the thermos, and palmed two round white vitamins into my hand. “Doppio espresso macchiato, dash of cinnamon.”
“And suddenly, life is fabulous.”
“Because of me, or because of the caffeine?” He knew exactly how relieved I was to see that he was intact and healthy.
I humored him anyway, downing my pills then beaming up at him. Having his answer, he put his hand inside his coat and pulled out a jubilant bouquet of tulips in a rainbow of petal pink, spring yellow, and the vivid orange of tangerine peels.
“Tulips in January?” I exclaimed.
He laid them beside the bed. “For my beloved pet, most anything is possible. Surely fetching her favorite flower is no great task. Am I …interrupting?” Harry aimed the bristly indictment in Batten’s direction.
“Whether you’re here or not makes no difference to me, vamp.” Batten propped his elbows on the chair’s arms and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth.
“After some examination of the evidence, I should think you’ll discover how little I care about your existence as well, lad.”
“Funny,” Batten said with a calm smile. “Got the impression you’re threatened by me.”
Harry threw back his head and laughed with gusto. The sound of it raised goose bumps and then rubbed them with velvet. Despite the smiling and laughing, the moment was anything but friendly.
AJ Aalto is the author of the paranormal mystery series The Marnie Baranuik Files. Aalto is an unrepentant liar and a writer of blathering nonsense offset by factual gore. When not working on her novels, you can find her singing Monty Python songs in the shower, eavesdropping on perfect strangers, stalking her eye doctor, or failing at one of her fruitless hobbies. Generally a fan of anyone with a passion for the ridiculous, she has a weak spot for smug pseudo-intellectuals and narcissistic jerks; readers will find her work littered with flawed monsters and oodles of snark.
AJ cannot say no to a Snickers bar and has been known to swallow her gum.
Website: http://www.ajaalto.com
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12733205-touched
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