Alexandra Wolfe's Blog, page 27

A Lady of Letters: Part 1

10 St James’s Sq, London November 26, 1852 Dear Mister Turing, You arrived in a fluster on my doorstep yesterday without so much as a gentlemen’s calling card nor, may I say, wearing anything approaching gentlemen’s attire. And an uncovered head in public, Mr. Turing? Tut-tut. But let us set aside how scruffily dressed you... Continue reading →

Soulmate: Part 4

IT WAS TWO LONG BORING and tedious days that Kate thought she’d never get through. Twice she picked up the phone to call Susan. But, by Wednesday lunchtime, she decided Susan would probably call her that evening, and held off. On a whim she went back to the cafe she had stolen the Tribune from,... Continue reading →

Soulmate: Part 3

“So you see, I’m not the only one,” Kate said. Talking to Susan, though not about how her first day had gone or, how the week was shaping up to be a week from hell with Satan’s triplets. But about the ad she had found in the Herald Tribune. She sat in the quiet of... Continue reading →

Soulmate: Part 2

OFFICE LIFE WAS as chaotic as it had always been. Frantic one minute, dull the next. And, as always, accompanied by the usual assortment of zoo personalities; clashing, creeping, manipulating and gossiping. It was only lunchtime on her first day and already Kate knew there was talk about her, behind her back. Some things never... Continue reading →

Stone • Cold • Dead – WIP

PART ONE DRY CHOKING HEAT. She hated it. It burned into her brain and body, as well as her eyes, despite wearing protective goggles from the midday sun’s glare overhead. The grit was everywhere, even in her damn underwear. CIA Agent, Karen Stone, crouched down in the tight confines behind the huge boulder leaning in... Continue reading →

The Dark

THERE WAS NO LIGHT. That was precious knowledge. The realization of which had cost her more than she would have thought possible, if she had but known. Everything needs a context. And for the darkness to mean anything there had to have been a memory of light. The memory was fading fast. It would happen, and... Continue reading →

The Dioscuri Stratagem: WIP

PROLOGUE THE SNOW IS GENTLY FALLING almost in slow-motion. Thick, fat super clusters seem suspended in the air before his eyes. He blinks. White light stabs at the back of his eyes. He loses focus and stumbles forward through the snow, a hand reaching out to grasp empty air. Blinking rapidly, he regains his vision and staggers toward the black shape in front of him. His car. Fumbling in his overcoat pocket for his keys, he makes it to the luxury sedan. And leaning against the door for support, manages to insert his key and unlocks the door. The migraine is getting worse. He knows he shouldn’t drive. Knows it’s asking for trouble. But the fear gnawing at his innards has him turning over the engine and putting the car into drive, windscreen wipers on full, furiously batting at the thick snow. Lights. Lights, I need lights. He flicks on full beam, which does little to illuminate the ink-black darkness in the cul-de-sac. For a moment he panics. What the hell am I doing? His …

Soulmate: Part 1

THE AIR WAS damp rather than chilly, as Kate Mackenzie stepped off the back end of the big red double-decker bus. Which was nothing unusual for an average winter’s day here in London. If it snowed in the heart of the city you knew the rest of the country was in dire straights, or, at the least, up to its proverbial ankles in it. She smiled to herself and pulled her coat collar up round her neck. For someone who’d just spent the last three years living in Québec, in Canada, she was thankful it never snowed in the Big Smoke. Kate hated London, it was the last place on earth she wanted to be right now, but here she was, back in the rat race. Working in the acquisitions department of HarperCollins, back at the science fiction desk. Back where it had all began. Even though, this time round, she had moved up a few levels. That was only because of an impressive resume. She had racked up the miles never mind the years …

Jehanne D’Arc

SHE FELT A BEAD OF SWEAT trickle down her back, while others formed ready to soak her shirt beneath her encounter suit. The overwhelming urge was to scratch at the irritation from the carbon that leached out of the suit, but she couldn’t. Couldn’t because of the large rubber gloves covering her hands. Hands that rested either side of the communications rig, waiting. Waiting for a signal. A word. Anything that would tell her what was happening in her own little sphere of the war. She had not taken her eyes from the leader board, out front, in over ten minutes. Concentrating on the usually ever changing data. The lettered tiles were not flipping over. A fact that relayed the alarming truth. The battle was not going well. Four squadrons had flown out in the early hours of the morning to engage the enemy, through the thick fog that covered the tiny hamlet. The base lay hidden, nestled in the sheltering cover of trees. All but the runway that is. A thin ribbon of concrete …

It’s Just An Expression

“I need an expression, dammit!” Tom barked from the spotlit corner of the room where he was writing. Teddi closed her eyes, placed a finger in the book she was reading, and shut it. Two heartbeats, she opened her eyes, “How about pi as expressed as a fraction over—” she never got to finish as Tom yelled. “No, no, no, not a maths expression…” careful to not add the word ‘idiot’ at the end of his rebuke. “I need something witty for my main character to say to his girlfriend.” His head bobbed over his keyboard as if the keys themselves would start typing. Teddi chewed the inside of her lip. She knew it had been a mistake to let Tom have his ‘office’ there, in the lounge not four feet away from her couch—her reading couch. Ever since he had ‘moved’ in, putting his small computer desk against one wall, and setting up enough standing lights to illuminate the Eiffel Tower, she’s not had a moments peace to read uninterrupted. And woe betided her …