Judith Post's Blog, page 66

Muddy River Christmas

We’ve barely tipped our toes into December, but before life gets too busy, I thought I’d share a Muddy River Christmas short story to put you in the mood.  Even when life gets dicey, magic can happen:

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A MUDDY RIVER CHRISTMAS BY JUDI LYNN

Snow covered the ground in a white blanket. As I looked out my kitchen window, I watched my familiar, Claws—an ocelot—make his way to the river bank at the back of our property. The cat didn’t like snow, but he liked staying in our old Victorian house day in and day out even less.

I heard Raven’s Lamborghini pull in the driveway and make its way to the garage. A short time later, I listened to my fire demon stomp his feet on the door mat near the back door, and a minute later, he made his way into the kitchen. His black hair was messed by a sharp breeze. The cold air had colored his cheeks and his amber eyes gleamed. He looked more scrumptious than usual.

Sniffing the air, he put the bags he’d carted inside on our wooden work table. “The kitchen smells good. The ham and roasts make my mouth water.”

I nodded. Eight pies sat on the countertop, ready for our guests tonight. I invite my entire coven and their families to our house to celebrate Yule every year. Witches have no qualms with Christmas. We just celebrate it for different reasons than most. December twenty first is Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. Which means, from now on, each day grows a bit longer. So we eat and toast the birth of the Sun God, the Turning of the Wheel—our calendar. We put a Yule log in our fireplace and even decorate an evergreen tree. Of course, the stars on our trees stand for pentagrams, not the star of Bethlehem. And most of us exchange presents to rejoice in the flow of positive energy into our world, friendship, love, and peace on earth.

I already had a sweet potato casserole in the oven, roasted green beans with hazelnuts and feta, plain and oyster dressings, and a Waldorf salad. A few of my coven—not all of them were cooks—were bringing dishes to share, too. At the last minute, Raven had decided that wine and beer weren’t festive enough and had run into town to buy champagne.

Raven beat whipping cream while I glazed the ham. And then cars started pulling into the driveway. Sugi and Noira, who own the coffeeshop in town, arrived first. They’d offered to bring something, but they bake all the time for their shop. I’d told them to take a break and just bring themselves. Meda and Brown strolled in next with a large pan of scalloped potatoes. Chloe and Archer came with the famous mac ‘n cheese he serves at his carryout barbecue restaurant. The people and food just kept coming.

We were all raising our glasses in a toast when a burst of energy exploded near the archway to the living room and a man with a gun aimed at something popped before us. We stared at him, and he stared at us. I sniffed. A mortal. Then he turned the gun our way.

How in Hecate had he gotten here? My coven and I had protected Muddy River with wards. No enemies or mortals could pass them. But he had, hadn’t he? Someone had transported him to us. I raised my hand and chanted a shield.

“Stay back, or I’ll shoot,” he warned. He looked to be in his late twenties—a thin young man with wavy brown hair. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and a tweed jacket.

Raven scowled, and fire danced around him in a flaming halo. “I wouldn’t pull that trigger if I were you. If it hits Hecate’s shield, it could ricochet.”

The man’s eyes practically bulged from his face. Then he glanced at Archer whose fur was beginning to sprout. Chloe’s bear shifter didn’t like to be threatened. The shooter’s hand trembled, and he had to grip the gun with both hands to steady it. “Don’t take one step toward me, or I swear, I’ll take out as many of you as I can before you get to me.”

“We don’t want you here.” I frowned. “Who sent you?”

“Sent me? A minute ago, I was standing in front of a house where an old woman lives. She’s a witch, I know it. Owls come and go from her house. Green smoke drifts out of her chimney. Since I moved next to her, nothing’s gone right. She’s hexed me is what she’s done. I looked it up online. The only way to break a hex is to kill the person who sent it, but I couldn’t do it.” His shoulders slumped. “Who knows what will happen to me next? Maybe she’ll turn me into a toad.”

I stared at him. “Do you live in Pennsylvania?”

He jerked, caught off guard. “How did you know?”

Raven frowned at me, raising a dark eyebrow in question, and I explained. “My dear friend, Carlotta, lives there. She prefers everything old-fashioned, won’t buy a cellphone, so sends owl messages instead.”

“But Carlotta. . . “ Raven’s frown deepened, confused.

“Aurel’s wife is named that, too.” He was a vampire friend of ours. “But my Carlotta is ancient. We meet every once in a while at solstice festivals.”

“Solstice?” The man scanned us nervously. “Are you all witches?”

Raven grimaced. “No, but none of us are mortal.”

He stared, unsure what to make of that.

“What’s happened to you since you moved next to my friend?” Carlotta was a white witch, like me and my coven. “She wouldn’t curse anybody.”

His gun hand dropped to his side. “What hasn’t happened? My girlfriend dumped me. My publisher dumped me. And I found out I have cancer. Twice now, I’ve caught my neighbor stirring brews in her backyard and sending the smoke to my place. How do you fight a witch?” He winced at that and grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you. But. . . “

I shook my head, smiling at him. “If Carlotta made brews for you, she was trying to help you.”

Rubbing his forehead, he sounded frustrated. “I like her. She was always nice to me. At least, I thought she was. Until. . . “

I interrupted. “She must like you, too, but it sounds like she couldn’t cure your cancer, so she sent you here.”

He raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose before settling his glasses back in place. “Is that what happened to me? I was in front of her house, then everything blurred, and then I was here. She sent me to you?”

I hesitated a minute. “She knows lots of different supernaturals live here, not just witches.”

“Why does that matter?” Raven narrowed his eyes, studying the man.

“Witches might not have a cure for cancer, but if a vampire or a shifter bit him, their immortality would wipe the disease out of his system.”

“Bite me?” He stared. “No, that doesn’t sound like a good idea.” He backed toward the door. “Then what would I be?”

“One of us.” Raven gave him a level stare. “And we’re not so bad. You probably couldn’t see your family again, though.”

“Never again?”

“They’ll age,” Raven said. “You won’t. They’ll wonder.”

The man ran a hand through his hair, upset. “This was a bad idea. Can you send me back?”

“If that’s what you want. What’s your name anyway?” I asked.

“Jason. And I appreciate what Carlotta was trying to do. At least, I think I do, but I love my family. I don’t think I could choose to never see them.”

Archer spoke up. He was back in his mortal form—big and brawny like the grizzly he shifted into. “How far has the cancer progressed? How long will you see them anyway? And do you have good insurance? What will it cost for them to watch you die?”

Jason winced. “I’ve already decided not to fight it, to only take meds for the pain.”

Meda’s husband, Brown—a deputy sheriff who worked with supernaturals and mortals—gave him a sympathetic look. “Raven and I could fake your death, something fast, so that your family would think you died in a car accident and your body burned to ashes. In some ways, that would be kinder to them.”

Jason’s eyes went wide, clearly shocked. “You do that?”

“We’ve done it before.” Brown glanced toward Raven, who nodded.

The poor man looked so overwhelmed, I took mercy on him. “We’re not trying to pressure you into anything. Carlotta must think you’re worth saving, or she wouldn’t have sent you here. But we won’t harm you, and neither will she. She can even concoct brews to take away your pain. They’re better than meds. This isn’t an easy decision, though, so take your time.”

“I don’t have much time.” His shoulders drooped.

I sighed. “You have to decide. Until you do, we can send you back to Carlotta. And for Hecate’s sake, lock that gun away.”

He looked embarrassed. Then he looked at our Yule meal. “Can I stay to eat with you?”

No mortals were allowed in Muddy River, but this was Yule time, after all. We could make an exception. Raven went to get another chair and I put another setting on the table. Then we all raised our glasses again, and this time, we did toast.

Jason filled his plate and listened to us talk. He smiled now and then but didn’t join in. I got the impression he was a quiet, thoughtful man. No wonder Carlotta liked him.

Finally, when we were finishing dessert, Meda looked at him and asked, “If you have a publisher, you must be an author. What do you write anyway?”

He blushed, the red creeping all the way to his hairline. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, mumbling, “Mysteries solved by witches.”

She burst out laughing. “And you make us the good guys?”

He nodded.

“No wonder Carlotta likes you.” She raised her glass to clink it against his.

“Do you have a big family?” I asked him.

“No, only my sister, mom, and grandmother. They live close to each other in California.”

“How often do you see them?” I’d been close to my family before they all died in the Salem witch trials. Sometimes, I still missed them.

He looked down, embarrassed. “Probably only once or twice a year, not as often as I should.” His gaze slid away from us and he grew distant. We left him to his thoughts. When everything was winding down, he finally spoke. “All three of those women are strong. They can weather anything. And I’m too young. I don’t want to die. If I decided to be a shifter, could I be one that turns into an owl?”

Brown grinned at him. “So that you can visit Carlotta? You can do that, can’t you, Hester? If I bite him and you rush magic into him at the same time?”

I nodded. “I’ll get him a potion that helps him shift easily, too.” We’d lost too many young Weres during their first shift, so I’d bespelled a brew to remedy that.

Jason took a deep breath and let it out with a gust. “Then let’s do this. Then I can fly to spend New Year’s Eve with Carlotta, can’t I? If she lets me in her house, I can shift where no one will see me. Maybe she’ll let me stay with her a while until I get used to the new me.”

I smiled but didn’t comment. If he moved in with Carlotta, he’d probably never leave. She was like that. Brown looked around the table. “I’ll wait to bite you until after everyone leaves. It’s going to hurt. A lot. But Hester can remove the pain once it’s done.”

It wasn’t until everyone said our goodbyes that we led Jason to the attic where I stored my books of spells. I looked up the correct one, and when Brown and Jason were ready, I wrapped Jason in my magic. Brown hadn’t exaggerated. The attack wasn’t pleasant, but I immediately eased the pain when it was finished. Half an hour later, Jason’s body transformed into an owl.

I went to the window at the back of the room and opened it. “Fly to Carlotta’s, tell her the news, and when you’re ready, drive your car back to Muddy River. Brown and Raven will do the rest. You might want to wait until after the holidays, so your family can enjoy them.”

With a nod, he stretched his wings and flew into the darkening sky.   Brown and Meda watched him before saying their goodbyes. Then Raven helped me clean the kitchen, and we settled in front of the yule log in the living room. Its last embers would die at midnight.

Raven shook his head, stretching his arm across the back of the sofa to rest it on my shoulders. “This was a Yule to remember.”

I had to agree. “A perfect night for rebirth. Jason’s life will just get longer and better, like the days.”

Tired of company and celebrating, Claws stretched across our feet, purring loudly. The hand on the mantel clock ticked one-minute past midnight, and the log went out. Time for bed. Tomorrow, the day would be filled with a little more light.

Tattoos and Portents–6

Raven and Hester stop at Aengus’s Druid settlement on their way back to Muddy River.

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Chapter 6

Raven decided to make a quick stop at the Druid settlement on the way home. “We should warn them, too,” he said.

Like the voodoo village, every house in Aengus’s settlement was gray, and the houses were arranged in a pattern—all of them the exact distance apart and facing toward the town square where the worship hall, healing well, and twelve giant stones stood. Each house was built the same, a Shaker style, no frills, no ornamentation, the only difference between them, the sacred tree in each back yard. Raven drove straight to the worship hall where Aengus, the head priest, and his wife Afric lived.

Claws opened his eyes when the SUV stopped, saw where we were, and closed them again. He’d been here with me before and knew we were safe. No need to stay by my side. When we knocked on the door, Aengus threw it open and beamed at us. “Welcome, friends! Come in. Come in. Lir’s here, too. We’re enjoying a glass of chouchen together. Join us.”

I’d had chouchen before, and it’s only safe in moderation. Made from fermented honey and fruit, it was more potent than anything I’d ever drunk. It took a lot to get a supernatural tipsy, but chouchen could do it.

We followed Aengus, a big bear of a man with a deep belly laugh, into his apartment behind the worship hall, and Lir and Afric raised their glasses to us in a toast. Afric was tall and whipcord lean with a sharp mind. She was the settlement’s lawyer while her husband was its judge. Lir traveled to sell and supply the settlement’s herbs and wares throughout the entire area. Young with flowing copper hair, his green eyes usually held a twinkle.

While Afric poured all four of us a drink, Lir asked, “What brings you here? We don’t see you often.”

Raven explained about Festus, the tattoo, and the vision.

Aengus’s dark brows pulled together in a frown. “And you say the tattoo held the vision the witch sent?”

I nodded. “She must be part Fae, too.”

“I’d love to see this tattoo.” His own forearms were covered with dark ink, and I’d seen his tattoos stretch to wrap around an enemy to hold him in place or squeeze him like a boa constrictor. He glanced at Lir, then at me. “Would you mind if we drove to Muddy River to meet this Festus?”

I smiled at both men. “You’re always welcome. You know that.”

Brown took a sip of his drink and coughed. Our deputy sheriff shifter had never experienced chouchen before.

“Be careful of that,” Raven warned. “It’s strong.”

“Now you tell us.” Meda held a hand to her throat. “I thought it would be like mead.”

Aengus’s laugh filled the room. “Druids are made of sterner stuff. When we make alcohol, we do it right.”

“I hope you have a potion for hangovers,” Brown grumbled.

“We don’t need one. We grew up on the stuff.” Aengus set down his glass and grew serious again. “You mentioned an undead. What is it and how do you deal with it?”

I explained about voodoo magic and shared what Jamila had told us.

“If a blast of magic can blow it to pieces, I’m guessing a strike of lightning would work, too?” he asked.

“If it’s a big bolt.”

He shrugged. “Then we can battle one.” Like witches and voodoo, Druid magic relied on Nature. We all used it in different ways.

When we finished our chouchen, we stood to leave. “It’s later than we planned,” Raven said. “We need to get home.”

“Should I call you before we come for a visit?” Aengus stood to walk us to the door.

I nodded. “Then I can let Festus know that you’d like to see him.”

“We’ll be soon,” he said.

It was dark when we reached Muddy River, but in December, that didn’t mean much. I looked at my watch. It was only seven thirty. I leaned forward in my seat to get Raven’s attention. “I’m hungry. Can we stop at Derek’s bar for supper?”

“A good idea.” Raven turned onto Main Street and five minutes later, he parked in Derek’s lot. When we opened our doors to get out of the SUV, Claws jumped out and ran to meet his other familiars, who were waiting nearby while their owners were inside. My familiar had seen enough people for one day and was ready for something different.

When we walked in the bar, conversation stopped while everyone stared at us. They’d heard about Festus and his vison and wanted to know more. Derek nodded for two customers to move over to make room for us.

“We all want to hear what’s going on,” he told us.

Speedy, his cook, dashed from the kitchen. “First, let them order something to eat and drink. I’ve heard they were gone all day. Let them catch their breaths.”

All four of us ordered burgers. They were the best ones in town. Meda and I ordered wine, and the guys wanted beer. Once Speedy disappeared through the swinging doors to fix our food, people started asking questions.

Raven, our town’s enforcer, answered each one patiently. While we were talking, Festus and Wanda walked in for a late drink and snack—their usual habit. More questions were tossed at us.

Speedy had brought our burgers and fries when Boaz and Melodia walked inside and claimed a table. This time, we all stared. Our local vampire and siren rarely came to town, and when they did, they usually ate at Ruby’s diner down the street. Boaz had dark circles under his eyes. A bad sign. He was such a powerful vampire, he usually was in peak condition.

“What will it be?” Derek called from behind the bar.

“A whiskey sour for me,” Melodia said.

“Something strong enough to knock me out and help me sleep,” said Boaz. “Without dreams.”

I frowned at him. He was a financial advisor who usually worked from home. “Did you have to travel out of Muddy River recently?”

He blinked. “Only across the river, maybe a half hour from our house.” Melodia had to be near water, so their home sat close to the Ohio River banks.

“Past our town’s wards?” I persisted.

He nodded.

Festus stared at Boaz’s long sleeves. “Do you have a new tattoo on your left arm, one you don’t remember getting?”

Boaz’s jaw dropped. “How do you know?”

Festus raised his shirt sleeve to reveal his. When Boaz pushed up his sweater sleeve, both tattoos began to writhe and reach for each other. People squirmed to get out of their way. They pushed their chairs back to watch.

Intrigued, I stood and walked closer to see them better. When the tattoos touched, both men winced.

“Make it stop!” Boaz cried.

I laid my hands on each tattoo, and a current moved through my body, as if I was a conductor, joining the two. And just like before, the dreams played out like a movie in the air.

We stared at the same cage bars that we’d seen before, only this time, our witch must be pacing, because our view moved back and forth. We could feel her panic, hear her thoughts. She worried eventually someone would come to kill her to steal her power.

Footsteps shuffled on the stairs, and four undead clambered down the steps, balancing a stretcher between them. Four more brought a second cage and placed it across the cement room, then placed a new witch inside it. While she was still unconscious, a tall thin man with mocha skin and hair like a Brillo pad came to bend over her, sliced her wrist, and caught the blood from the cut in a drip pan. When he’d collected enough, he rubbed a foul-smelling salve on the cut to heal it. When he turned to leave, he glanced in the cage at her. And she knew. They’d drain her regularly to steal her blood and power, too. She wouldn’t let them. She’d fight it.

But as the men climbed the steps, and their footsteps faded away, so did the dream. It sputtered to a stop, and I placed my hand on Boaz’s forehead to recite my chant.

“You’ll only dream when a witch touches your tattoo. Now you can sleep.”

Tears slid down Melodia’s cheeks. “Those poor girls.”

When she grew emotional, she usually sang, and her song could lure men to their deaths. It wasn’t intentional. She didn’t want to harm any of her Muddy River friends. It was her instinct as a siren. I knew that, so I’d made a potion for everyone in Muddy River to make them immune to her melodies.

A dirge started low in her throat, but then she turned to Boaz, and when he blinked and smiled at her, she was so happy, a song tumbled from her lips. We all smiled with her. We could. We were safe. I’d made the potion extra strong to protect us from the couple’s daughter, Lust. Half siren and half vampire, the girl was powerful with long fangs. Her true danger, though, was that she could glamour and drain victims with her vampire energy or sing and enchant them like her mother.

For someone so young—she was fifteen and coming into her magicks—that much power put her in danger. There were always those who’d gladly steal it from her, like the voodoo priest we’d just watched.

I turned to Raven. “The second witch they put in the cage had black hair with a white widow’s peak and a heart-shaped face. That coloring’s distinctive enough, you should call Drago to see if it matches the description of the witch from his community who went missing.”

He nodded and reached for his cell phone.

By the time people asked more questions and we answered them, he put his phone away and nodded. “It’s her. Drago’s furious. He’s going to help us search for both witches.”

I still didn’t hold out much hope of finding them. If my birds couldn’t locate the voodoo priest, he was well-hidden. He might even have cast an illusion spell like we had for Muddy River. I clenched my hands into fists. I felt helpless, and that frustrated me.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Okay, today’s post is going to be pretty cheesy, but Thanksgiving brings that out in me.  I’m indulging myself.  My mother used to write out, by hand, her favorite poems and keep them in a notebook.  When she died, I got that old book with yellowed, frayed pages and faded ink.  She had a lot of favorites, but for this holiday, I reread “Grandma’s Patchwork Quilt.”  I couldn’t find it online, and she didn’t list its author, or I’d give whoever wrote it credit.  And just a warning.  My mom was a fan of rhyming and sentiment.  Not my usual thing, but sentiment’s all right on Thanksgiving when lots of memories, some good, some not so good, well up that form the tapestry of the cloth of our family and life.  And I’m grateful for all of them.

I

Did Grandma ever tell you about the patchwork quilt,

That lies across the sofa in her room?

It is made from scraps of dresses

That she wore when she was young

And some of them were woven on a loom.

II

Sometimes when it is raining, and I can’t

play out of doors,

She lets me spread it out upon the floor,

And as I choose the pieces I like to hear about,

She tells me of the dresses that she wore.

III

Oh, it isn’t just the dresses that she tells about,

Its the things that happened when she had them on;

And almost every little piece in that dear old patchwork quilt,

Holds the memory of a sorrow or a song.

IV

Oh, things were very wonderful when

Grandmama was young.

You ought to hear her tell about it all–

The ladies all were beautiful,

The children all were good,

And the men were all so gallant and so tall.

V

She called the quilt her memory beds,

And every little piece is a flower blooming in its scented fold.

There are red ones for the roses,

And blue for don’t-forgets,

And yellow ones for sunflowers of gold.

There’s one she calls “sweet lavendar”

That smells like baby clothes,

And one of purple, like the sunset skies;

Oh, I never ask about these or the gray ones like the rain,

For when I do dear Grandma always cries.

VI

My grandma told me once that life is just

like a patchwork quilt,

Of births, and deaths, and marriages, and things,

And that sometimes when you’re looking for a lovely piece of old,

You only find a knot of faded string.

But she says the red is redder when it’s by a

piece of brown,

And gray is not as gray by sunny gold.

Oh, I hope I’ll have a lovely patchwork quilt

like Grandmama’s

To show to little children when I am old.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Going Deep

I recently critiqued a manuscript for a friend, then started reading the latest novel of another friend.  It was ironic that they both dealt with life journeys, with taking hard knocks and overcoming them to become the best person you could become.

In my friend’s manuscript, she kept trying to grab happiness but circumstances kept stealing it away from her.  She wrote a good book, even though it was heart wrenching.  C.S. Boyack’s Serang dealt with the same things, but his made the journey more of a quest, an adventure.  Both books made me think.

I always considered myself lucky that I was born wanting and needing goals.  I’m by no means a perfectionist, but I knew I wanted top grades in school, and I wanted to teach elementary kids.  So many of my friends struggled with what they wanted to be “when they grew up,” with finding a sense of direction.  My goals might not have come easily, but I also got lucky that I had loving parents who believed in me.

My friend who wrote the manuscript wasn’t so lucky.  She married to escape her home, and then, after she was pregnant, discovered that her new loving husband already had a wife.  I truly hope her book finds a home someday.  In C.S. Boyack’s novel, Serang’s father died, and her mother couldn’t support her, so dragged her to the nearby temple for the monks to raise.  Serang felt cast-off, betrayed.

A romance writer I knew once said, “When you develop a character, always remember, none of us can escape our families.  They shape who we are.”  And I’ve always kept that in mind.  Both women in the stories had to rise above their circumstances to leave their pasts behind.  The monks helped Serang find her true self.  It took a lot more bumps and bruises before my friend’s protagonist finally rose above her past to find a new tomorrow.  But in her manuscript, the character kept asking, “What brings happiness?”

My daughter asked me that once when she was a teenager.  Not such an easy question to answer.  I tried with, “Finding a purpose in life.”  “But how do you do that?” she asked.  “Find what’s important to you, what brings you fulfillment.”  But that’s not really an answer either, is it, when you’re adrift?  I finally said, “I don’t honestly have a for sure answer.  But I know this.  You can’t say ‘I want to be happy’ and make it happen.  And you can’t count on other people to make you happy.  They can’t.  They can comfort you, love you, and be there for you, but they can’t give you happiness.  I’m a bit of a grump, and the more I tried to make myself happy, the less happy I became.  But when I looked  outside of myself, at other people, other things, I stopped worrying about it.  But everything in life is balance, and being a martyr or door mat doesn’t make you happy either.”  And somehow, eventually, she found her balance, and she found what made her happy.

In both books I read, the protagonists found happiness by achieving hard won goals.  But for each person, those goals are different, what’s meaningful is different.  We all have our own life lessons that we need to overcome, our own hardships.  I’m no philosopher, but I enjoy finding books that make me think while following someone else’s journey.  Serang had a wonderful humor that made the lessons entertaining and fun.  My friend’s manuscript pulled me in so deep, I didn’t want to give up on her protagonist, even though I was sure she was going to hit bottom.

I was on a writing panel recently where an author stated that cozy mysteries lately didn’t get much respect.  Let’s face it.  Comediennes hardly ever get nominated for Oscars.  But I enjoy fluffy books as much as I do serious ones.  They both have their own truths.  So for this week, whatever you’re writing or reading, I not only wish you happy writing, but I also wish you happy reading!

Tattoos and Portents–5

Raven and Hester finish their Christmas decorations, then visit the voodoo village in Kentucky.

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Chapter 5

All of the main rooms of the house were filled with Yule cheer by Saturday night. We even set the long dining room table with our best dishes and lots of greenery and candles. Working together, we’d managed to sneak in baking a few batches of cookies to freeze on Saturday afternoon. A good thing, because we were leaving Muddy River early on Sunday to drive to the voodoo village. There’d be no time for anything else.

Meda and Brown arrived at our house at eight in the morning, and we piled into my SUV for the trip. I sat in the backseat with Meda, and Claws sprawled between us. Brown rode shotgun to talk shop with Raven.

“Is your Lamborghini stored in the garage for the winter?” he asked.

“I can drive it in town,” Raven told him. “The witches keep the roads clean enough, but it’s not easy to handle on snow. The road that follows and crosses the river will only be cleared in a few places.”

We didn’t run out of things to talk about as we passed the snowy fields that led to Muddy River’s cemetery and after that, the Druid village. Then the fields stretched even longer, and the river bank wove closer and then farther away from the road. Towns dotted up occasionally but not often. We were still enjoying ourselves when Raven slowed to cross the Ohio River into Kentucky.

Before long, we found ourselves in Raven’s friend, Drago’s, territory. We didn’t stop to visit him, though. We continued on to the voodoo village. This time of year, the road that led to the hollow with its swamp in the center looked even more dramatic. The bare trees that lined the narrow lane arched overhead, their dark, twisty branches intertwining to form a web-like canopy. When we passed the last ones, we could see the houses in the distance.

Every house had gray shingles instead of clapboards and weathered, gray shingle roofs. And every door was black. The entire community blended with the gray skies overhead. The graveyard sat at the far side of the swamp with its brick church painted black and its bloodred trim and doors. I shivered at the thought of entering that building. The cemetery was even more intimidating with its altar clearly visible in the snow.

Raven and I had visited that altar with Jamila once when we took Marie’s body back to her aunt. The voodoo women had circled it as Raven laid Marie on top of it and the women threw flower petals over her. Then they’d chanted, and Marie’s spirit had lifted from her drained flesh and sped to the open grave they’d dug for her. She’d chosen to remain at the village, available whenever the women called for her. The memory still made goose bumps rise on my arms.

Raven drove straight to Jamila’s house, and we trudged up the snowy walk to her front door. Jamila opened it wide before we reached her house and ushered us inside. Claws hesitated before gluing himself to my side. Voodoo spooked him. A low growl rumbled in his throat at an altar that was the central focus of her living room, candles burning brightly on it. It was in stark contrast to the inside of the house, as bright as the outside was plain. The walls were canary yellow, and vivid masks decorated them. Her couch was cherry red, the easy chairs forest green.

“What brings you fine folk here on such a beautiful day?”

I wasn’t sure if she was being facetious or if she enjoyed the December gloom. As we sat, Claws curled at my feet, never taking his attention off Jamila. He stared at her, muscles tense, ready to spring. Raven motioned for me to explain our visit. I told her about the tattoos and dreams, the undead we’d seen in Festus’s vision.

After hearing my story, Jamila mumbled words under her breath and touched her fingers to the pouches she wore around her neck. I’d filled one pouch with witch herbs and spells for her, and she’d made pouches of voodoo magic for us. All of us wore both on our leather cords at all times. Then she said, “Good voodoo practitioners only work with spirits who want to dwell with us and communicate with us, like Marie.”

As she spoke, a whirl of energy circled the room, and Marie’s filmy spirit appeared before us. Claws swiped his paw, nails out, at her, and the mists swirled and reformed. She smiled, happy to see us. I, like Claws, still had trouble spending time with her since she was dead. Except she wasn’t. Her body was dead. Her essence was still very much alive. I had to keep reminding myself of that.

Jamila glanced at her as though hanging out with a spirit was an everyday occurrence. And maybe it was. “You got news for us, baby?” When Marie shook her head, Jamila chuckled. “She just came to say hi to good friends.”

Raven nodded toward her. “We’re happy to see you, too. It looks like the afterlife is agreeing with you.”

Marie’s spirit glowed for a moment and then returned to its usual wispy state.

Jamila pushed a strand of gray hair that had escaped from her turban back from her forehead and smoothed her long, flowing skirt, then grew serious. “You didn’t come here to catch up on our latest news. You came for answers. I wish I had more of them for you, but I can tell you this, only dark voodoo raises the dead.”

Raven leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “How do we fight the undead? I’ve never battled one before.”

“If you shoot or stab it, it makes no difference. You have to blast it to smithereens with your magic so that parts fly, burn it, or behead it. Then it turns true dead.”

I looked between Marie and Jamila. “Do either of you know who’s behind all of this?”

They both shook their heads. “An unknown spirit came to our village a few weeks ago, though, to spy on us,” Jamila said. “It couldn’t get past your wards, Hester, and once we spotted it, we drove it away.”

“What did it want?” I asked.

Jamila’s laugh sent shivers down my spine. “I’m sure its master would like to control us, but the wards you put around our village wouldn’t let the spy pass. It sped toward one of the women here on her way home, and your pouch held it at bay. Your wards have exploded and sparked for a few nights now, but they’ve held. There’s no way past them, is there?”

I shook my head. “Not unless the voodoo master’s magic is stronger than mine, and it doesn’t sound like it is.”

Jamila smiled. “I didn’t think so. And I’d guess you’re dealing with a priest, not a priestess. Men like to control women if they can.”

“Not in my experience.”

She laughed. “That’s only because they can’t.”

“True. Most witch magic passes to female children. Males only receive their mother’s full power if no daughter is born.” I glanced out the front window at the women, bundled in heavy coats, standing on their front porches, watching Jamila’s house since we were visiting it. “Can you and your women protect yourselves against the undead?”

She winked at me and reached under her long skirt. A long, curved knife was strapped to her thigh. “The undead are slow. One swipe of this, and a head will be gone. We’re all carrying them for now, but we’re not planning on leaving your wards until it’s safer.”

“Can the priest’s magic hurt you?”

“I don’t know. He must be strong, maybe stronger than I am.” She pulled out the pouches that dangled from her leather cord. “I hope you and yours are still wearing yours.”

I pulled mine to show her. So did Meda and Brown. She gave a nod, reassured.

“Like I said, I wish we could help you more,” she told us.

Raven stood, ready to take our leave. “Is there anything else we can do to help you?”

Jamila grinned, looking him up and down. “If I had my women line up, you could mate with them to make wonderful baby girls for us. With your magic making ours stronger, no voodoo priest would dare mess with us.”

Raven glowered, and I laughed. “I don’t rent him out,” I told her. “He’s all mine.”

“Don’t blame you a bit, but it never hurts to ask.” She licked her lips, and Raven’s frown deepened. He started to the door.

Claws hurried to the SUV, anxious to leave. Meda was chuckling as we walked along side him. “They might have had more luck if they’d offered that to Brown.”

Her mate grimaced in distaste. “Shifters mate for life. No fooling around. What about witches?”

Meda’s cornflower blue eyes twinkled. “Not all of us are known for fidelity, but our coven’s sworn to it.”

“Good.” He grunted. “’Cause I’m not sharing. Bloodshed would be involved.”

”Exactly why we decided to be faithful,” I said, sliding into the back of the SUV with Meda and Claws.

As we drove away, Raven said, “I’ve had to deal with a lot of trouble because husbands and wives stray. Look at Drago. His wife fooled around and meant to steal his power, so I had to destroy her.”

Meda sat forward, leaning between Raven and Brown in the front seat. “Someone cheated on Drago? What more did she want?” Like all demons, the man was absolutely delicious. Not as tempting as my Raven, but tempting enough.

“She wanted power, and lots of it,” Raven said.

I’d forgotten about that. Drago made no bones about being a one-woman man, but when that woman aged, he left her for another one. Marie had replaced the wife Raven destroyed. And when Marie died, he’d immediately replaced her with another young voodoo girl, Spyrit. But the wife who’d betrayed him had been a succubus. She’d never age. He’d have stayed with her until tragedy took one of them.

“It wouldn’t hurt to stop at my friend’s house and tell him what’s happening,” Raven said as we sped along a country road. My demon didn’t know how to drive slow. Snow and slush splashed behind us. “He’s close enough to the Ohio River and the town Festus visited that he might have problems, too.”

Drago’s house was only fifteen minutes out of our way, so there was no reason not to stop. Since he wasn’t expecting us, we had to pound on his door and wait before he answered it. Claws left us, running toward the trees in the distance. He’d been in the SUV long enough, he was restless. Drago’s shirt was still partially open, and Spyrit’s hair was mussed. No doubt what they’d been doing. Both of them grinned when they saw us.

“My long-lost friends,” Drago teased, opening the door wider to invite us inside. His sandy-colored hair hung loose instead of being pulled back in its usual ponytail. He still looked more artsy than dangerous, but I knew better. I’d battled alongside him. “What brings you here?”

We sat in his spacious living room. His sprawling ranch-style house had an open concept with plenty of room to entertain, which he rarely did. Spyrit sat on the overstuffed white couch beside him, beaming. She laid a hand on her stomach.

“I’m pregnant,” she announced. “Jamila’s so happy, she calls once a week to check on me.”

“Congratulations.” I was happy for her. I knew how much she’d wanted a baby.

“Did you come with baby gifts, or are you here on business?” Drago asked.

This time, Raven explained about Festus and the voodoo priest.

When he finished, Drago’s brows furrowed with worry. “A powerful witch from our community has gone missing. She went to her booth at our public market to close it up for the year and never returned.”

We’d closed our market at the end of October and wouldn’t reopen it until early April. It was too far of a drive to bring much business during bad weather.

Raven shook his head. “Then more witches than one’s gone missing. You might want to warn your residents that there’s a voodoo priest who commands an undead and he’s stealing witches.”

“Maybe more than one undead,” Brown added. “All we know is what we saw in the vision.”

Drago’s shape blurred for a minute, but he took a deep breath to calm himself and decided not to shift. “I can deal with any undead. If I shift to my dragon shape, I’ll burn however many come. But I’ll spread the word so that the shifters and witches who live here will know what to expect and how to defend themselves.”

“Remind them that if spirits swarm them, they can do no harm,” I said.

“I’ll remind them that you helped us ward our entire community. If they stay inside our borders, they’re safe.”

Meda nodded. “Precaution is the wisest action right now.”

Raven glanced out the large picture window at Drago’s front lawn. Shadows lengthened across it. “It’s getting late. Hester teaches tomorrow. We should go, but congratulations again. And be safe.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Drago walked us to the door, then closed it after us. He didn’t like long goodbyes.

Claws raced to join us as we loaded into the SUV.

On the drive home, Raven said, “I was hoping to learn more, but I think the trip was worth it.”

Brown nodded. “We know this isn’t an isolated incident. He’s taken at least two witches, maybe more.”

“But why?” Meda twirled a strand of her wavy, blond hair around her finger—a habit of hers when she was thinking.

“That’s the big question, isn’t it?” Raven asked. “What is the priest after?”

************************************************************************

Book Cover Reveal

I’m so excited!  I finally get to share the book cover for Jazzi Zanders #4, coming out March 17, 2020.  I know.  Forever away.  But Kensington sent me the cover a while ago, and I couldn’t share it until it went up on dru’s book musings.  I love it when Dru hosts me.  She’s so supportive of mystery writers.  But today’s the day!  And now I can share the cover on my own sites.  Hope you love it as much as I do.  Tammy Seidick’s designed all of my Kensington covers, and I think she’s done a wonderful job.

https://drusbookmusing.com/2019/11/24/cover-reveal-jazzi-zanders-4/?unapproved=87750&moderation-hash=0391adf73a2cda700826dcb6866f71ba#comment-87750

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P.S.  It took me forever to notice the cute little skull for the “o” on the welcome mat.  Love it!

Tattoos and Portents–4

Chapter 4

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A witch I’d never seen before—and I know almost everyone in Muddy River—met me at my school’s door the next morning. I could feel her magic, and it was fairly strong.

She looked nervous. “We just moved to Muddy River. I’m half witch, and my husband’s half warlock. Our daughter’s ten and has no magical training.” She motioned to a young girl sitting in their nearby car. “We live a little outside of town, near Aurel and Carlotta. He suggested sending Blythe to your school.”

Aurel was a vampire who’d helped us in several battles lately. Raven and I were fond of him and his newly changed wife. In fact, they were two of the people we’d invited to our house for Yule dinner, along with Derek and Prim and others. Aurel and Derek enjoyed sharing stories of being vampires. They both loved celebrating Yule with us.

“Derek and I talked, and we could never go out in the light until we came to Muddy River,” Aurel told me. “Your potion protects vampires from the sun. We spent decades living our lives in darkness. Celebrating the yule log’s warmth and light has special meaning for us, in fact, for every vampire in town.”

If Aurel recommended my school to his new neighbor, there was no way I’d turn her away. I smiled to reassure her. “Blythe will be a little behind everyone else, but we’ll help her catch up. First, though, I need to know what kind of witch she is—earth, air, water, or fire.”

The woman motioned for the girl to join us. She reluctantly got out of the car and came to us. Blythe was average height for her age with the pinched expression of a worrier, clearly self-conscious.

I waved my hand to unlock the school door and motioned them inside, trying another smile to put Blythe at ease. No luck. She glanced at Claws nervously.

“He’s my familiar,” I told her. “He loves my students.”

She stepped a little away from him.

I gave up on niceties and said, “Let’s find out what kind of magic you have. Throw energy at me.”

She blinked. “I don’t know how.”

“No problem. Just raise your palm and try to shoot me. Don’t worry. You won’t hurt me. I can block whatever you throw.”

She raised her arm, aimed her palm at me, and a weak flow of energy fizzled before it reached me. “That’s a start. You’ll get better at it. You’re a fire witch. There are a few others in my classes.”

The girl’s shoulders stooped as she sank into herself.

I tried another tack. I turned to her mother. “By the way, I’m Hester Wand, the high priestess of Muddy River’s coven. My mate is a fire demon, Raven Black, the town’s enforcer. Welcome to Muddy River.” I looked at Blythe to include her in the greeting, and she moved to stand slightly behind her mother.

“We’re happy to be here.” The woman placed a reassuring hand on Blythe’s shoulder. “Thank you. I’m Bronwen, a ceramic artist, and my husband’s Evander, a landscape painter. We hired a graphic artist from Muddy River—Tristan—to create a website for us and another Muddy River resident—Festus—to advertise it for us. That’s how we heard of Muddy River and decided to move here.”

“I’d wondered what brought you. Not many people know of us.” Any more conversation was cut short when the school door opened and students rushed inside. As Asch passed me, I motioned for her to join us. “Asch, we have a new student. She’s a ten-year-old like you.” It would be nice for Asch to have another student her age. I knew she’d felt a bit like the odd girl out with only younger and older students to mingle with. She was tall for her age, so looked older, but inside, she was still a fourth grader. “Blythe’s a little nervous meeting new people at a new school. I thought you could make her feel more at home.”

Asch’s grin widened as she reached for Blythe’s hand. “Come on. I’ll help you get started.”

Blythe hesitated, but Asch gave her a tug, partially dragging her to table.

I hadn’t had time to write the day’s lessons on the board, so said, “This would be a good time for each of you to study your grimoire’s before today’s lessons. I’ll be with you soon.”

Drawers opened, and my little witches reached for the books of spells. Asch motioned for Blythe to sit closer as she showed her the pages of her book.

I turned to Bronwen. “May I ask if there was a reason your family decided to move here now, after the school year started?”

Bronwen’s expression turned serious. “We’d have stayed south of here in Kentucky, but too many bodies started disappearing before they even made it to the grave. Actually, before they even made it to the morgue or funeral home most times. It worried us.”

“Where did you live in Kentucky?” I asked.

When she described the area, I realized it was close to the town where Festus had traveled. A frisson of excitement sizzled through me, but I didn’t have time to dwell on that now. I had a class to teach. I thanked Bronwen for coming and went to the board to write down lessons for each grade group in the room. Even as I wrote, though, I could hardly wait for the day to end. I wanted to share my news with Raven.

As always, when I wanted time to pass quickly, it didn’t. We had a good day, and the students were as excited about the new spells I was teaching as they were about the upcoming holidays, but my mind kept wandering to Bronwen’s news. When the day finally ended, Claws and I walked faster than usual to get home.

Raven looked up from his laptop when we burst into the kitchen. He’d already poured a glass of wine for each of us, and he pushed his work away to hear about my day. When I told him about the new family who’d moved here and why, he frowned. “You mean someone dug the bodies up?”

I shook my head. “That’s not how she made it sound. She said that the bodies disappeared before they made it to the funeral home. No embalming. They died and disappeared.”

Raven leaned back in his chair, rubbing his strong jaw. It had the hint of stubble, and he looked sexier than usual. Frowning, he said, “Brown and I have been working together on this missing girl, but he’s had to spend most of his time on a murder case in one of the mortal towns he’s in charge of. He’ll be happy we’ve made a tiny bit of progress on this.”

“Is he coming with us to the voodoo village on Sunday?”

Raven nodded. “Him and Meda both.”

That made me happy. Meda was in my coven, and I enjoyed spending time with her. We could gossip on the long drive.

Raven grinned at my expression. “She wouldn’t let Brown come without her, said that she’d sit in the backseat with you, and you two could catch up on the way there.” My fire demon had spent decades avoiding close contacts of any kind and was just beginning to appreciate the joys of having strong friendships. It amused him to watch me and my coven get together.

He told me about his day, mollifying residents who were complaining that there should be more holiday decorations in town, before we climbed to the attic to take my Yule decorations out of storage. The third floor of my home was spacious, and I used most of it as a workroom to study magic and perfect new spells and protective pouches. I’d made a study on the first floor for Raven, but he preferred to work at our old wooden kitchen table.

After we dragged all of the boxes downstairs, we started making supper together. Nothing fancy—pork chops and sautéed apples with a salad. Once we ate and cleaned up, we went back to decorating. When we finished, cauldrons, wands, moons, and stars hung from tree branches, and a witch dressed in a black pointed hat and long black dress sat on the fireplace mantle with her legs dangling over the edge, dressed in red and green striped stockings.

We stepped back to study what we’d done.

“I like it,” Raven said.

So did I. The kitchen could wait till tomorrow night. We grabbed our books and settled in the living room to relax. By the time we left to visit the voodoo village on Sunday, the house decorations would be done.

Was This Really a Good Idea?

You know how sometimes, you want more than you can handle?  More than you need?  And you fuss over it and think you can have it all…and you should know better?  Well, I might have done that.

I love writing Jazzi mysteries for Lyrical Press.  And I love writing Muddy River to put up myself, because I have fun writing them.  And that in itself should have pleased me.  Except then, I thought of a straight mystery idea, and I really wanted to write that, too.  So I am.

When I work on Jazzi, it’s the only thing I concentrate on.  I put all of my energy into one book.  But I just sent in my 5th manuscript, and I didn’t have that many revisions, so I finished them, too.  And now, I have a little play time before I need to start the next one.

So I decided to try my hand at something completely different–the straight mystery.  And it’s a challenge, but I like it.  The problem is, I’d already plotted the entire next Muddy River, and that story just kept pestering me.  It wanted written.  So did Old Friends, New Habits.  So I came up with an idea.  For right now, and maybe never again, I start my day by writing a chapter of Muddy River.  I’ve thought and thought about this book, so it’s just getting the words down.  And the story excites me as much as I thought it would.  When it’s lunch time, I put Muddy River away for the day.

HH and I always take our time over lunch, catching up with each other and yakking about anything and everything.  And that clears my mind so that by the time I get back to my computer, I’m ready to start work on a new chapter for the straight mystery.  I shared a chapter of it with you earlier.  I have it all plotted out, too.  (I can’t write without a plot.  For me, it’s like driving across country without a map.  Who knows what route I’d take and where I’d end up).

I’ve been doing this for two weeks now, and so far, I like it.  I don’t think I could do it for long periods of time, but I only plan on trying it between Jazzi books.  Both of the fun books will be shorter than Jazzi’s, so they’ll go faster.  I have no idea if I’ll get them both done at the same time, but I might.  I’m not even certain what I intend to do with Old Friends, New Habits.  But for now, I’ve been writing like a mad woman and enjoying myself quite a bit.  (Don’t look at the dust in my house, though).

I’m hoping that by January 1st, I’ll be ready to start pounding away on The Body in the Beauty Shop (another working title).  House cleaning and decorating for the holidays has to wait for the weekends to get done.  But in January, things slow down, the weather gets cold, and I hibernate.  The perfect time to hunker down to serious work.

Hope words are piling up for you, too, especially if you’re participating in NaNo.  And if you’re not hitting the keys at the moment, hope you’re doing something else fun.  For the rest of us, Happy Writing!

Tattoos and Portents–3

Witches in Muddy River love the Yule time spirit.  Hester and Raven decorate their home to celebrate and to invite her coven over for a Yule Eve get-together.  Unfortunately, as usual, they’re trying to help a kidnapped witch while they hang cauldron, wand, and pointed hat ornaments on their tree:

Chapter 3

It was dark outside, and that always made me feel like it was later in the day, but it was actually only a little after six. Soon, we’d reach the shortest day of the year, and then gradually light would return to our world. In the meantime, we’d don trees and eaves with strands of colored bulbs and light candles to chase away the gloom.

Raven and I headed to the kitchen to start supper. We enjoyed cooking together. He poured us each another glass of wine, then he started slicing onions and peppers while I sliced skinless, boneless chicken thighs to make a quick curry chicken.

Claws padded to the wooden work table to beg for a snack. He wasn’t as fond of hunting along the river banks when snow covered the ground. I tossed him a chicken thigh, and he happily chomped on it. Raven voted on serving the curry with Ramen noodles instead of rice, which made our prep even easier.

“Do you still want to work on putting up Yule decorations?” he asked, as he searched for a bag of frozen stir-fry vegetables in the fridge. This was one of the laziest meals in our repertoire. “We have everything decorated outside the house. You were thinking about starting on the inside tonight.”

“I’d like to put up all the greens and garlands tonight, if we can. Then we can add to them during the week. Once the house is decorated, we’ll starting making as much food ahead as possible for our Christmas Eve get together.”

I invited every witch in my coven, along with their families, to our house for a Yule celebration. That made for a houseful, including their husbands and children. I didn’t make traditional holiday food since they’d have that with their families on Christmas day. So would we. Since neither Raven nor I had families, we invited other friends without any to our house for ham, turkey, and prime rib. They brought side dishes and desserts.

For Yule Eve, we offered party food—shrimp and andouille gumbo dip, sausage Parmesan palmiers, and baked Brie spanakopita, among other things. And I made lots of cookies and candies.

Witches might not celebrate the traditional Christmas story, but white witches value Goodness, Kindness, and generosity of spirit as much as anyone else. And we esteem Nature, so placing a yule log in the fireplace and decorating an evergreen tree are traditions we can appreciate, as well as gift giving to show love and appreciation to one another.

Over supper, Raven and I shared our day’s events. Raven was working a missing person’s case at the moment. A young witch who lived in a nearby mortal town had disappeared. Luckily, Brown, a shifter and deputy sheriff who worked for mortal law enforcement was investigating it. Brown had moved to Muddy River when he mated Meda, one of the witches in my coven.

Raven explained, “The girl’s parents think she ran off with a cat shifter who lives two towns away from them. He disappeared at the same time. The two think they’re in love. His parents didn’t approve of him seeing a witch.”

I rolled my eyes. “His parents must be pure bloods?” There weren’t many of us left. Most supernaturals these days had intermarried, shifters and witches mating with each other or incubi or whatever other species happened to live nearby.

He nodded. “And proud of it. They’d picked out a nice shifter girl they approved of for him.”

I snorted. “Kids don’t put up with arranged marriages these days. At least, most don’t.” I stabbed my last piece of chicken and swiped it through the remaining curry sauce. “Do you think the missing witch could be the young girl in Festus’s dream?”

“It’s possible.” Raven frowned, frustrated. “We haven’t been able to find any kind of trail—no credit cards, food stops, nothing.”

“Did Brown report their car’s license for law officers to watch for?”

Raven nodded, growing more serious. “In the dream, there was an Undead. Witches don’t make those, right?”

I shook my head. “Voodoo rituals deal in spirits and dead bodies.”

“I remember the spirits at Marie’s voodoo village in Kentucky. I know you want to work on decorations this Saturday, but maybe Sunday, when you don’t have to teach, we could drive there and see what Marie’s aunt can tell us.”

“A solid plan. Jamila might be able to help us.” We’d gotten tired of calling the head priestess Marie’s aunt, so finally asked for her name. “I’ll be ready to get out of the house and do something different by then.”

We finished supper and cleaned up after ourselves, then Raven trudged to the trunk of my SUV to drag in the eight-foot pine tree he’d bought in a mortal town. We couldn’t bring ourselves to cut down a live tree, but mortals had no problem killing them to sell.

I filled the stand with a special brew that would keep the tree green and fresh. Then we strung small white lights all over it. Claws kept circling the tree to sniff it. He batted at the bottom string of lights. He might be an ocelot, but he reacted to Christmas decorations much like any cat.

We decided to add the ornaments tomorrow night—the stars and moons, cauldrons and witches’ hats in various colors. We’d need a ladder to place the golden pentagram at the top, much like a star—only for us, the five points represented earth, fire, water, air, and spirit. Then we put candles everywhere in the room. I waved my hand, and they all lit. Raven grinned, tugging me close to his side. “It’s beautiful.”

“Did you ever bother to decorate in your bachelor days?” I asked.

“Not once, but I always had more Christmas goodies than I could eat. I used to walk down streets to give them to the homeless.” When the man was single, women tried to lure him with casseroles and baked goods, besides throwing themselves at him. My demon is stinking hot. Why he chose me, I’ll never understand, but he was happy with his decision. And so was I.

We climbed the steps to our room in a cheerful mood. Moonlight beamed in, and we fell asleep bathed in its silver light.

 

Are you lucky if you have a warrior monk as a mentor?

I’m so happy to invite C. S. Boyack to my blog today. I’ve visited his blog many times: https://www.facebook.com/ColdhandBoyack and consider him a friend, even though we’ve never met. He’s recently released a new novel, SERANG, and I’m halfway through it right now. I loved SERANG in the novel, VOYAGE OF THE LANGERNFISH, a fantasy/pirate/adventure novel, and I’ve been waiting for this prequel that tells her beginning story.

He hasn’t disappointed. The daughter of a fisherman, when her father dies on his ship, her mother can’t support her and takes her to a temple to be raised by warrior monks. If you haven’t read VOYAGE OF THE LANTERNFISH, no problem. This story can easily stand alone.

Welcome, Craig. And now that I have you here, I’m curious. How did you decide on the life lessons Serang must learn to develop into her full potential? And how did you develop a wise tone and philosophy for your various masters?

First of all, thank you for the invitation, and I consider my online connections to be true friends. We may never meet in person, but I have many online friends.

Serang is a child when the story begins, and she’s about to embark upon training that takes a lifetime to master. This isn’t just a physical skill, but emotional and spiritual as well. She comes pre-packaged with her own problems, and a child would dwell upon those issues. I focused upon her issues as a point for her growth.

Serang’s masters are older, more mature versions of herself. They all have a tragic history, but rose above that to find a quality of life beyond the traditional orphan or beggar. Basically, I took a wise man/woman character, then pointed that character at Serang’s problems.

 

I’m enjoying the character of Yong, who eventually becomes her master. Why does he befriend a rat? Is it perhaps because you, like me, were born in a year of the Chinese rat?

Ha! That could be part of it, and I am really focusing on that in a completely different book. It will come out in the Spring sometime. This is about Serang, so I’ll concentrate on her.

Master Yong is a wandering monk. This means he is a complete package, and an older reflection of what Serang is expected to become. In my mind, monks do not hold anything in particular in reverence or disdain. They seek to understand it, and its place in the world.

As a “wandering” monk, the wilderness can be lonely at times. It made sense for Yong to adopt a pet. The rat is portable, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t choose him from the Chinese Zodiac.

 

What gave you the idea for the giant catfish that can kill a person while he/she tries to reel it in for supper?

The goonch catfish is an actual creature swimming in Asian waters today. He has a reputation for taking the occasional child swimmer.

This is a fantasy, and while reality is a good start, I ramped him up a bit.

It’s rather amazing, but this story uses a lot of actual creatures. There are actual orchid mantises, camel spiders, and saiga antelope. In some instances, I used them as they are, in others I powered them up as needed.

 

This is, essentially, a fantasy coming-of-age story. What made you choose to write about a kick-ass female protagonist? (And I have to say, so far, all of the women in this book are intelligent and strong.)

I’ve been told I write good female characters. (I hope I do justice to my male characters, too.) Serang was pure dumb luck, if I’m to be completely honest.

When I wrote Voyage of the Lanternfish, I wanted an international cast to make up my crew. My vision was a grouping of society’s downtrodden people taking the world into their own hands.

Serang walked down the dock and joined the crew. At this time, she was fully formed and came with her own baggage, even a minor addiction to alcohol. Fleshing those things out in small doses, led me to the idea that she deserved her own story.

 

You write a few different genres. What are some of your other ones?

I refer to myself as a writer of speculative fiction. This is a big field, and includes science fiction, fantasy, paranormal, and all the sub-genres of those.

You could find any of those genres in my back-catalog. What I try to do is include that speculative element in all my stories.

Sometimes that element is fairly strong, like in my stories about Lizzie and The Hat. Other times, it’s present, but in a lesser form. Serang kind of fits that style. This isn’t to say there aren’t fantasy creatures and magical elements in this story, but it’s more about her personal growth.

 

On the blog Story Empire and your own blog, you’ve talked about how you develop your novels. You use a storyboard. Can you give a brief idea how that works?

I don’t know how brief I can be, but it’s worth a shot. I like a good challenge.

I use an app, but it’s basically just a cork board. Someone could tape things to the garage wall and do the same thing. I make one index card for the theme, almost like a mission statement. Then I make four columns to divide the three act structure of my story. (Act two gets two columns.) The tops and bottoms are major turning points in a story.

I fill out cards to mark all of those turning points, then give it some time. I add index cards to the board depending on each column, but aiming from the top of the column to the bottom. Think of it like driving from one town to another, but there are several routes to choose from. As long as you get where you’re going it works.

While the turning points keep my acts in order, the entire board keeps my writing in order. I free-write from card to card, and it tends to work for me.

I used to add photos and even checklists with things I want to include. Pinterest has replaced part of this for me, but sticky notes and checklists are part of the equation. As an example, I had a character once who had to go through the stages of grieving. I made a checklist and marked them off as he moved from step to step.

I still prepare a storyboard for each book, but they are getting more minimal with each outing. Maybe that comes from experience. One real advantage is I have half-a-dozen of them going at any given time. It isn’t hard to end one story and dive right into the next one. As ideas pop up, I add a card to that board.

 

Thanks so much for visiting. Before you leave, would you share a short excerpt from your book? And any other information you’d care to share with us?

Hmm, a short excerpt:

“I haven’t seen a single river monster. No crocodiles, gigantic snakes, nothing. I’m supposed to be exercising, so I’m going for a swim. The current is slow and steady here. If it works, you can try it, too.” She stripped off her hat, boots, and leggings, then dove over the side.

By swimming hard, she was able to keep pace with the boat. It had more area for the river to push, so she had to work to keep up. Eventually she fell behind, so she veered toward the rope and kept swimming.

“You’ll have to stop before you run out of rope,” Yong yelled.

“I know… but it feels good… to move lazy muscles,” she puffed between the words.

An extra puff sounded off to her left, and a strong odor of fish drifted over her. Another sounded off to her right. A series of rapid clicks were answered on the opposite side. A large grey fin broke the surface beside her.

Serang redoubled her efforts and gained slightly on the boat. A bulbous grey head broke the surface on her right. It had a long snout with a row of peg-like teeth the size of her little finger. She grabbed the rope and started pulling herself toward the boat. “Help me, Master.”

Yong laughed hysterically. “Hurry, before they eat you.”

How could her master be so cruel? The creature on her left passed underneath to join the other one. The clicking increased. More of the creatures surrounded her until there were a dozen or more. They started jumping, splashing water over her head. It sounded as if they were laughing at her.

Hand over hand, she finally reached the rope. Her muscles burned as she pulled herself above the water then groped for the railing.

Yong caught her wrist, pulled her onto the deck, then dropped her like a wet sack. “Thank you, Master. They could have killed me.”

“No doubt, but they never would.” One of the creatures leaped high above the water and looked at her. “These are river dolphins. They are benevolent creatures. Sometimes they help downing boatmen. They were checking to see if you needed help.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it was too funny.” He pushed his hat toward her. “Take the tiller. My turn.” He dove over the side.

***

Monastic life is all about duty, service, harmony. For Serang, a young girl abandoned at the temple by her mother after the death of her father, that life becomes all she knows. The monks give her purpose, and become her new family.

 

When political upheaval causes chaos throughout the land, Serang again loses everything and everyone she loves. Alone, she struggles to survive. She convinces a wandering monk to take her under his wing and complete her training. Thus begin her adventures through strange lands and her trials to become a confident, capable, independent adult.

 

This is a coming of age story set in a fantasy world. It’s filled with monsters and martial arts, difficulties and dangers. The serious situations preclude the story from the levity of its predecessor, Voyage of the Lanternfish, but it provides a compelling look at the origin of one of the saga’s most fascinating characters.

 

Purchase Link http://mybook.to/Serang

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