Jennifer M. Zeiger's Blog, page 51

Beauty Part Three

Welcome back for the last part to the story. I’ve really missed interacting with everyone and it’s great to get back to it. Any feedback would be much appreciated. =)

Beauty Part Three

She couldn’t stand it. Stuffing the ruby into her pocket, she ran. The main door was right there. She smacked into it before remembering to shove the locking bar up. Bolting across the porch, she tripped, stutter stepped down the steps and skidded on her hands and knees at the bottom.

Blood trickled from her palms and stained the knees of her pants but she didn’t notice until she stopped, puffing, at the tree where she was to meet Michael.

Roy’s smile stuck in her mind like the dirt under her father’s nails. He trusted her. Why?

“Got it?”

Lila Dean jumped. She wasn’t used to people approaching her. It was unnerving.

She turned, fiddling to pull the ruby from her pocket and be done with it. The rough corners snagged on the fabric.

Michael grinned, holding his hand out. The look froze her.  Something lit his eyes with an ugly light.

“What’s your little girl’s name?” she asked.

“What?” He finally met her eyes.

“Your girl’s name?”

His jaw twitched before he controlled it and his expression turned pained.

Is that real? Lila Dean wasn’t sure. The expression didn’t fit with what she’d seen a moment before.

“Laura,” Michael said.

It was just a name. Lila Dean’s fingers closed hard around the ruby still in her pocket.

I’m a fool.

“How old is she?” she asked.

The twitch came back in his jaw. Lila Dean took a step back.

“Five.”

He snatched at Lila Dean’s arm just as she jerked away. The sleeve tore. She ran, leaving the fabric in his hand.

He cursed and his heavy footfalls crashed after her. Lila Dean’s lungs burned. She never ran and now, twice in one night, she pushed her body for speed. Her chest protested with fierce fire and, judging from the crashing behind her, it wasn’t enough.

Giving up on speed, Lila Dean veered left, up the hill and toward the mine. Its dark, gaping mouth appeared before her. Without considering the dangers, she ran inside and rolled herself into one of the carts waiting inside. Her breathing rasped in the darkness, almost loud enough to echo.

Quiet!

She sucked in air and held it for a count of five before letting it out slowly.

“Stupid girl!” Michael’s voice exploded not far from her, amplified by the close space of the mine.

Lila Dean jumped and smacked the side of the cart. The thud echoed off the walls like a bell.

“Can’t hide in there forever,” Michael said.

The silence lengthened. Lila Dean listened. He was still there. If she held her breath, she could just make out the whisper of his breathing.

Peeking over the side of the cart, Lila Dean waited for her eyes to adjust until she could see the faint outline of the mine’s mouth. Michael’s dark shape stood there, leaning against the left side. He didn’t seem inclined to venture farther in.

Lila Dean decided to trust the dark. Unlike Michael, she wasn’t backlit by the faint light from the moon. Pulling herself out of the cart, she reached her hand out for the wall. Its rough, cool texture greeted her like an old friend.

“Had you believing,” Michael said and Lila Dean jumped again. Thankfully there was nothing to hit this time.

She glanced over her shoulder but he still leaned against the entrance.

“Didn’t think you’d care about details or I’d have had a whole picture in my head about little Laura…” he described his imaginary little girl. Lila Dean let his words cover the soft crunch of her steps. He paused and she paused until he started again.

“I do have gambling debts,” he continued. “Owe a lot and they’ll take a lot in payment. Maybe an arm or…”

Lila Dean’s hand hit empty space. She turned into the tunnel and, as she moved into it, Michael’s voice faded. It was a secondary entrance. Only there for if the entrance caved in but Lila Dean knew about it because of Sheldon Lea. The old spinster showed it to her right after the fire. He led her down it to relieve her fears of losing her father too. She wouldn’t lose both parents, he said—most likely. Sheldon Lea tended to be honest.

By the time she reached ground level and made her way home, it was late into the night. She wondered if Michael was still waiting at the entrance of the mine. Would he give up before the workers arrived?

Lila Dean cringed. She didn’t really care but her sleeve was missing, her palms and knees were bloody and her clothes were covered in dust from the mine. What would she tell her father?

She hesitated on the small porch but then squared her shoulders and entered.

A single candle burned on the table and her father sat writing in his ledger.

“Never again,” he said.

“Yes, Sir,” she answered.

He didn’t look up. Lila Dean went to her room to change, for once glad he didn’t look at her.

Pulling the ruby from her pocket, she set it on her nightstand, remembering Billy Roy’s smile. She’d wronged him. She wasn’t sure how yet but she vowed she’d make it right.

The End

Blessings,

Jennifer

 

Beauty Part Two

Thank you for returning for the second part to the story! I hope your week so far has been wonderful and the weekend coming up even better.

Now, without further ado…

Beauty Part Two

“Hiding?”

She jumped, splashing hot water across her front. To keep her pained cry silent, she bit her lip. Then she peeked over her shoulder.

The stranger.

“Maybe.” The word came out barely above a whisper.

“I meant what I said earlier.”

“Not exactly flattering.” Lila Dean went back to scrubbing bowls.

Footsteps and then the stranger stood across the barrel from her.

“Perhaps not,” he admitted, “but honest.”

“Maybe,” she said again.

“Want to help me with something?” The man grasped her arm, stopping her from drying a bowl. She looked up, surprised, but then couldn’t look away. He had that same quirk to his brow.

“What?”

“You’ve heard of the uncut ruby?”

Lila Dean swallowed, picturing Marcus Roy’s radiant face the day he’d emerged from the mine with the massive gem. It was the day the town knew it’d survive.

“Maybe,” she whispered.

The stranger sighed and released her arm. The expression on his face looked like relief.

“I need that ruby,” he said.

“Why?” the ruby was the town’s prize, the reason they still existed.

“Some men took my little girl,” he leaned against the counter as he explained. “They demanded the ruby in exchange for her. I couldn’t buy it even if Marcus Roy would sell and I can’t get to it. The only way in is through a window about your size.”

Lila Dean set the bowl down gently. It still sounded like a thud.

“You want me to steal the ruby?”

“For my baby girl, yes.”

Lila Dean frowned at her red hands as she tried to piece together what sounded wrong.

“Why you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The men who took your girl, they had to believe you could get the ruby. Why you?”

He grimaced. “While drinking one night I boasted about having a similar gem.”

“Why?”

“Nosy much?”

Lila Dean cringed and looked away. He wanted her to steal the town’s pride. Squaring her shoulders, she forced herself to look up and wait for his answer.

“Fine. I like to gamble. I needed the men to believe I could pay up when I couldn’t, so I bluffed.”

Her heart went out to this man’s daughter. Her own father may not like to look at her but at least he protected her.

“For your girl, I’ll do it but then you leave and you promise to protect your girl.”

The stranger put his hands together like he was praying. “Promise.” Then he smiled and stuck his hand out. “Michael.”

Lila Dean eyed the hand. Michael what? Everyone had a second name. She decided she didn’t care. The less she knew about him, the better.

“Lila Dean.” She shook his hand, feeling the slight pull on her scars.

“Let me show you this window.”

***

She wasn’t agile. Lila Dean gritted her teeth against the pain in her right side. Michael’s window was for the pantry in the Roy’s house. On the outside, the ground came up to just a few feet below the sill. On the inside, the floor dropped a good five feet, sunk below the ground to keep things cool.

Lila Dean’s left foot barely touched the sacks of flour stacked below. Her right foot sat stuck over the windowsill. If she’d been thinking, she would have crawled through feet first on her stomach and dropped both feet at the same time. Hindsight.

Instead, she’d crawled through like the sill was a fence. Left side first sideways.

Her right side screamed as she stretched just a little more to get her foot over the ledge.

Her scars burned like they were tearing. A whimper escaped her as her foot came free and she tumbled onto the floor.

She stilled, waiting for the pain to subside while she listened to see if her noisy entrance went unnoticed.

Nothing stirred in the dark house. Lila Dean rolled over to push to her feet. Moving through the kitchen and then the dining room, she gawked.

The kitchen could hold most of her house within its walls and the mineworkers could fit with room to spare at the dining table. So much space for just a few people. Like herself and her dad, it was just Billy and Marcus Roy. Lila Dean didn’t know what happened to Mrs. Roy.

She shoved the thought of the Roy’s from her mind.

In the living room, Lila Dean’s eyes were pulled to the top of the hearth. On a wooden pedestal sat a red gem the size of a strawberry, all rough edges and dark light reflected from the single candle left burning beside it.

She glanced around but only shadows cast from the candle flickered at the edges of the room. To reach the gem she stepped up onto the fireplace. The stone warmed the soles of her bare feet. Her fingers closed around the ruby. It was warm too.

“Lila Dean?”

She froze. Guilt made her hand shake. He said my name. Somehow, even in her moment of guilt, she felt gratitude that Billy Roy would acknowledge her. Silly…no stupid.

Turning with the ruby cradled in her hand, she met Billy Roy’s confused eyes.

She tried to say his name but all that came out  was a horse, “Roy.”

“What are you doing?” he still didn’t look away from her. She savored the moment that, for once, those brown eyes actually saw her.

“I—“ She dropped her eyes in shame. How could she say, I’m stealing from you? If he ever looked at her again, it’d be with anger and hatred. She couldn’t stand that.

She kept her eyes down.

She didn’t hear him move but a moment later his hand grasped her own around the ruby. He opened her fist to look.

“I see,” he whispered.

“Roy—“ again nothing else came out. She swallowed.

“Dean,” the tone was teasing. Lila Dean looked up in shock. His eyes were still confused but the anger she expected wasn’t there. “Don’t know why you need it but you wouldn’t take it without really needing to.” He closed her fingers back around the rough gem and stepped back.

He didn’t cringe at the scars lacing her fingers.

Lila Dean stared at him, confused. Then he smiled, a small lift to the corners of his lips.

She couldn’t stand it. Stuffing the ruby into her pocket, she ran…

To Be Finished on Tuesday.

Blessings,

Jennifer

 

 

Beauty Part One

After the last several months of upheaval, my husband and I are finally moved and settled into a house with internet. It’s amazing how much I took internet for granted until I didn’t have reliable access to it. I mean, internet’s everywhere anymore, right? Not exactly.

Anyway, no more moving woes. One plus to not being able to post for the last bit is that some stories have had the chance to germinate in my brain and now I get to share them with you.

This next one I might just have to make into a longer piece. Let me know what you think. It’s good to ‘see’ all of you again=)

Beauty Part One

“You’re beautiful in a pathetic sort of way.” His fingers held her chin, forcing her to look at him, to see his half grin like he was apologizing for his words, to see the quirk of his perfect brow as he waited for her reaction.

She imagined she was the bug some boys liked to pull legs off of. It couldn’t have been worse as the group on the field stared, shocked at first because he stopped to talk to her and then because of what he said.

No one spoke to her, almost ever. She was included simply by default of their parents assuming they’d watch out for her, poor, crippled Lila Dean.

The man released her chin with a disappointed click of his tongue. He pivoted and walked away, back toward Main Street.

“Who was that?” Billy Roy asked.

“Never seen him,” Andre Mel shrugged his narrow shoulders. He was an odd one just as his name indicated, but he was good with a ball so he was accepted.

“Creepy,” Mary Mae shivered.

They all agreed and turned back to their game without looking at Lila Dean. Billy Roy turned last, his eyes swept past her. He’d have seen her, truly looked at her, if he’d paused for even a second.

It was the closest any of them came to acknowledging her. Lila Dean’s stomach clenched with gratitude that Billy Roy came so close. He was the only one who consistently did so.

Pulling her legs tight to her chest, Lila Dean hugged them, feeling the pull of her scars down her right side. She’d never be pretty.

Photo courtesy of Sebring’s Snapshots

That was what fire did to a body. It robbed it of flexibility to play ball or smooth skin to dress up. It robbed one of acceptance.

Lila Dean stared at Main Street although the strange man was gone now. Why’d he come out just to say such cruel words?

***

She still pondered the question hours later sitting in the inn. Every one ate in the inn at night. The miners came in after work, trailing their dust and sweat with them like a cloud.

Lila Dean sat at the usual table, waiting for her father to gather their food. He brought two bowls and set one in front of her before digging into his own. Dirt smudged his face and out lined his nails.

She stared at him, watching him eat, but he never looked up. Maybe she looked too much like her mother except with a bunch of horrible scars. She didn’t know. Her mother died in the fire. Giving up that he’d look at her or say a word of blessing like other families did, Lila Dean spooned stew into her mouth. It tasted like mush soaked in gravy but she tilted her head trying not to lose any out the side of her mouth where her lips didn’t quite meet anymore. If she moved slowly, she usually managed without making a complete mess.

Her father finished long before she and, leaving his bowl, he stood to join two men by the hearth.

The men were Marcus Roy, Billy Roy’s father, and Sheldon Lea, an old spinster who refused to retire from the mine. They were her father’s friends but she’d never spoken with them.

Almost spilling stew down her front, Lila Dean returned her attention to her spoon, and caught the strange man sitting in the corner watching her. He tilted his cup to her and drank before looking away.

Lila Dean felt like a deer frozen in fright. What did the man want? He wasn’t a miner. He lacked the dirt caked around his nails.

Finishing her stew, she gathered the bowls and retreated to the kitchen, keeping her head down just in case the man looked up again.

The kitchen sat empty as the cook was eating with the men in the main room. Lila Dean dumped the bowls into the barrel full of hot, sudsy water and buried her hands in after to wash the dishes. The heat stung her left hand like tiny needles but her right couldn’t feel it except as a dull sensation of warmth.

“Hiding?”

She jumped, splashing hot water across her front. To keep her pained cry silent, she bit her lip. Then she peeked over her shoulder.

The stranger…

To Be Continued on Thursday.

Blessings,

Jennifer

It Comes In Buckets?

Who knew?!

But unlike beer coming in pints, life’s complications do not make me want to jump up from the table to get more.

All whining and complaining aside, let me lay out what’s up in a nut shell so it’ll become clear why there’ll be another couple weeks of silence on Adventure Awaits You.

Sleep and Deprivation were beaten away with a stick and a twenty hour drive in a moving van from Colorado to Washington. I’m still trying to figure out how a dog, two cats, my husband and I all made it safe in the cab with only a few scratches to show for the chaos. Let’s just say my husband now calls one of the cats “The Devil Kitty.”

Anyway, due to a communication snafu with the housing company, we found out last minute the house we were moving to isn’t available until the beginning of June…Ummm. Snafugit!

Moving on, partly due to Nate and I wanting to be near his new job and partly because it’s hard to find housing with three pets, we decided to wait for the house.

Hello temporary housing…with spotty internet. My frustration level just checking email tends to sit near the red. It’s amazing and a little sad how reliant I’ve become on reliable internet. It’s like phones now a days, where you just assume it’s going to be there.

Rest assured, once we’re in permanent housing, the adventure will return. Muhahaha!

But for now I’m on stollen internet time. Shh. Don’t tell. I’ll sneak in when I can but if the internet Guru doesn’t allow it, please have an amazing May.

Blessings,

Jennifer

Sleep and Deprivation

This post comes to you from Sleep and Deprivation. I.E. 10 hour night shifts for the past 5 days.

Sleep and Deprivation would like to convey their sincerest apologies for robbing Zeiger of coherent thought…thus why they are writing and she is not.

Also, they would like to inform the awesome Blog-O-Sphere that the Zeiger family will be moving soon and will be lacking internet for an unknowable amount of time. This makes Jennifer very sad as she loves the interaction here and on other blogs. So Sleep and Deprivation feel fairly comfortable in saying Jennifer will be back on the blog as soon as she can.

But for now she must finish out her last week of night shifts and fit packing in somewhere in the in-between. Sleep and Deprivation will run amuck until sometime in May.

Until then, sweet dreams, sugar plums and all that, to those who are able to acquire regular sleep.

Sincerely,

Sleep and Deprivation standing in for Jennifer Zeiger.

Fixing Genius Option Aa: Try the Cable

Welcome to the conclusion of the adventure! Thank you to everyone who participated. I hope you enjoy=)

Fixing Genius Option Aa: Try the Cable

Using the mice will probably get them all killed and although they’re annoying when they wake you in the night, you don’t exactly have a death wish for them.

And breaking the ceiling seems extreme.

So you point at the cable, “lets try more cable.”

Edwin nods vigorously and snaps his fingers at his colleagues.

With a jump, five of them race to the platform and release the lever. The platform whooshes away and you hear a collective “weeeeee” as they disappear.

It’s moments later that you hear another “weeeee” and the five Scholars reappear on the lift huffing for breath. You don’t know how they made it so fast but you haven’t the time to ask as another bolt of lightening sends the scope rocking on its base. You’re not sure you’d get an answer anyway.

The Scholars bring over a gigantic coil of cable.

You sigh, realizing your chances of this working are slim and the likelihood of you getting the stuffing shocked out of you is extremely high.

“Okay,” you say, “lets ground the cable to the ground outside, can we run it out a window?”

The Scholars all look at each other and then at their toes like a class full of students reluctant to be picked.

You suppress the urge to growl.

“I saw a window on the lift ride up,” you say, “if you have to break it, do so, then run the cable out until it hits the ground.”

You toss one end to a short man to your right.

He yelps but catches it and stares at it like it’s a snake.

“Now!” you shout and he jumps toward the lift with two other Scholars following behind.

Good.

“Do we have something to insulate the cable with?”

Edwin shrugs.

You grab him by the shoulders and shake him. The contact sends an odd cold feeling through your hands but you ignore it. “We don’t have time for you to be evasive. Go get whatever you have that will insulate! Now!”

Edwin hops toward the lift platform and you resist the urge to kick him.

He comes back a bit later with some type of rubbery blanket.

Throwing it over the cable running from the roof, you allow yourself a sigh.

The small Scholar who you charged with grounding the second cable scurries back to you. He hands you the free end and gives you a wide grin.

Ugh! Creepy.

“Everyone stand back.”

What you have in mind isn’t exactly a clean way to ground the cable, but you don’t have a lot of time, so you’re willing to try it.

All the Scholars back against the wall.

You lay the free end of the cable over the rubber blanket.

One, two, three…

You pull the blanket out from between the cables, rolling the top one into contact with the charged one beneath and duck out of the way.

Your hair stands on end.

Holding your breath, you wait.

Cheering makes you look up. The Scholars have their hands raised into the air and they’re shooting static back and forth from their hands like it’s a ball.

Relief laced with apprehension settles in your stomach. The crazy Scholars have their static back. Glancing at the scope confirms it’s calmed to mahogany from ruby red.

You scrub your face with your hands, allowing your stress to drain but as you rub your face, an odd tingling covers your head. You pull away your hands only to find the hair on your arms standing up and light sparks tracing your finger tips.

Oh daft.

The static was supercharged. The extra had to go somewhere.

You stuff your hands in your pockets as Edwin comes to hug you. Awkwardly accepting the embrace, you back away with a slight bow.

“I would not suggest trying that again,” you caution. “Now, thankfully our attempt to diffuse the situation worked. I’ll bid you goodnight.”

“Oh, yes, yes.” Edwin agrees and leads you out.

As you walk away, you look down to find a mouse walking beside you. It follows you home and curls up on the rug in front of your hearth.

Interesting. You’ve now gained sticky static and a pet mouse that can teleport.

Staring at your hands, you shudder. Now you just need to figure out how to handle the static. With a glance at your bed, you grimace. The bed’s in pieces from when the static shot from you to it. Learning to handle the static could take a lot of time. But you’re not willing to go to the Scholars for answers. You’ll just have to figure it out as you go.

The End

Blessings and I hope you have a wonderful week,

Jennifer

Fixing Genius Option A: Offer to Help the Scholars

I think this is the first time I’ve had a straight up tie in the voting…I’ve never figured out how to handle a tie. So for this time, I’m posting the option that hasn’t already been explored. The first time this story was run, readers asked the mouse for advise. So this time we’ll go with the other option and offer to help.

If readers have any suggestions for handling ties, I’d love to hear them.

In the meantime, thanks for stopping by and I hope you enjoy =)

Fixing Genius Option A: Offer to Help the Scholars

You’ve suspected before but now you’re absolutely certain. The Scholars are insane. They’re smartish magicians with no small amount of something off in the head.

Great.

But if you refuse to help, they’ll probably destroy the mansion and the town of Mandril in the process.

“All right,” you say, “I promise not to tell anyone about what I see here.”

The Scholars start bouncing on their toes and they all grin at you. It’s kinda creepy.

“So what kind of ideas do you have to pull the static from the scope?”

Thankfully your question pulls their attention from grinning at you and they all huddle together to discuss. The mouse takes the opportunity to release its hold on your sock and skitter across the floor to disappear into a small hole in the marble wall.

Thanks for abandoning me!

Like it heard you, it peeks back out, you hear a high pitched twittering and then it disappears again.

“Here’s our thoughts,” Edwin says.

You raise a brow and wait for him to continue.

He glances nervously back at his colleagues but then squares his shoulders.

“Use extra cable to pull the charge from the scope to the ground,” he ticks the first option off on his index finger, “use the mice to disconnect the scope from the cable,” second finger ticked off, “or…”

A crack of lightening makes everyone jump. The vibrant tendrils of electricity collide into a single bright stream connected to the rods on the roof. It races through the cables and into the scope, which turns from its usual mahogany color to a bright ruby red.

You know little about Massidion but what you do know is it explodes if overloaded. Stories involving the substance almost always end with it going boom. Big boom.

“Or?” you prompt Edwin.

He frowns.

“What’s the third option?”

“Oh, break the ceiling and flood the room for the charge to release into the water.” He grins. You could count his teeth if you wanted to.

“Really?”

“Yup. Those are the options we can think of.”

“And what about your sticky static?”

There’s a yelp and you look over to see one of the other Scholars shucking his apron off. The apron turns to ash on the floor and the man looks at the scope like it made him touch it.

Brilliant Scholar.

“We think when the charge dissipates, the static’ll return to us.”

You don’t point out the problems in such an assumption. If they loose their sticky static, it’s their own fault.

Another snap of lightening draws your attention. The scope rocks on its base from the force of the charge.

“Okay,” you say, “We’re running out of time.”

Do you say…

Aa. You’ll try the cable?

Ab. You’ll have the mice help?

or

Ac. You’ll break the ceiling?

Blessings,

Jennifer

(Please post a comment with your choice. Heads up, after feedback, one vote per comment per day please but comment as much as you like=) This makes counting votes easier. Voting will end at 8pm Mountain Time Monday. Tuesday I’ll post whichever option gets the most votes and we’ll see where the adventure finishes!)

Fixing Genius 2

Of all the adventures I’ve written so far, this was one of the most fun to write. I just had to rerun it to see how readers would choose for a second time.

Welcome to the adventure. I hope you enjoy=)

Fixing Genius

Photo courtesy of Sebring’s Snapshots.

The walkway is stone, multicolored but still dull due to the overcast sky. The deep gray clouds threaten rain in torrential amounts but they haven’t opened the floodgates yet.

You lengthen your strides, just waiting to feel the first splatters of water on the back of your neck.

Of course you were summoned at the worst time of year to travel. The Scholars never take such ‘minor’ details into consideration when they need repairs. All they care about is that their precious equipment works, now!

But the Scholars won’t suffer a repairperson to live in their blessed mansion. Oh no, it would taint their studies.

So you and the few others who know anything about the equipment live down the coast about 20 miles away in the town of Mandril.

When the Scholars need repairs, they send a mouse. Any time of day.

You woke about midnight with the tiny messenger sitting on your stomach twittering at you. The mice always come to you when they’re sent at night. They know you’re the only one who doesn’t threaten to kick or cook them.

Marrick, another repairperson, kicks the poor creatures any chance he gets.

And Adrianna grabs them by the tail and holds them over steaming pots just so they know she’s not pleased.

Your irritation at being woken shows but you never take it out on the messenger. No matter how tempting it might be.

Instead, you take your time collecting your tools and donning warm clothes.

Then you meander to the mansion, knowing the Scholars will be in a frenzy because it’s almost been two days since their piece of equipment broke.

The mouse at your feet skitters faster as wet drops splatter the stone.

You agree. Irritating the Scholars isn’t worth getting soaking wet. It’s not like the Scholars will offer you dry clothing.

To your right the ocean swells with white caps just before breaking on the beach. It knows a storm’s in the works.

Luckily the mansion sits on a cliff and rarely do the waves reach its walls.

You hike up the walk as it rises toward the mansion. The ocean below you continues to roar as the wind kicks up.

The mansion rises before you, a great marble structure that stands out starkly white against the drab background. It’s circular with narrow slots for windows. Light shines through some of the slots in an unorganized pattern.

At least some of the Scholars are awake.

Hopefully one of them is inclined to answer the door.

Banging the knocker, a hand holding a gong, you wait and your mouse guide snuggles under your left pant leg out of the rain. His whiskers tickle your ankle and you hold in a shiver, reminding yourself the little creature, or one of its brothers, has helped you in the past.

The door creaks open to show a narrow face with a long nose.

It’s Scholar Edwin. You think. The Scholars don’t usually give out their names but you’ve picked up a few.

Edwin steps back to allow you in. His gangly frame is covered with a chest to toe apron.

Part of the apron’s smoking.

You point to the spot and Edwin goes cross-eyed looking down at his chest.

He licks his fingers and tamps out the smolder.

“Darned scope,” he mutters.

“What needs fixing?” You ask before he disappears.

“Darned scope,” he mutters again and continues walking.

Maybe one of their magnifying glasses? You follow Edwin. He climbs up several flights of stairs and then walks to a platform against the wall.

He steps on and waits for you, giving you a look like your mother’s evil eye when you were young.

Okay, you step onto the platform and feel a tickle on your ankle. It’s the mouse, clinging to the top of your sock and quivering.

Edwin gives you an evil, mischievous grin and throws the lever to his side. You didn’t see it before because it was sunk into the wall behind the Scholar.

The platform whooshes and your stomach sinks out the bottom.

Edwin cackles as you escalate up the wall. Up and up and up with cackling laughter the whole way until—thud—the platform stops in the room just below the mansion’s roof

You know this because the entire ceiling’s glass and the rain’s crashing into it with fury.

Edwin points to a large machine in the center of the room. A round thing with glass at either end, one side huge, the other small enough for an eye.

This isn’t just any scope. This is the Telescope. Pride of the mansion. Made of Massidion, an extremely rare material rumored to hold magical properties. The fact that the scope sits in a Scholarly mansion is a bit of irony. Scholars always scoff at magic, although, now that you think about it, you’ve never heard these Scholars say a word one way or another.

Photo courtesy of Sebring’s Snapshots.

Several Scholars stand around it holding their chins and muttering. One holds out a tentative finger and the contact with the scope zaps him.

He yelps and jumps back, part of him smoldering. Judging from his apron, this wasn’t his first time touching the thing.

In fact, all of the Scholars bear black dots all over their clothes.

The best and brightest—don’t come to the mansion but somehow these men and women still surprise the academic community year after year with their discoveries.

How is beyond you.

As you approach, your get a few “finallys” and “about times” but the Scholars step back.

“What happened?” You ask.

They all look at their toes.

“Can’t fix it if I don’t know,” you push.

It’s Edwin who steps forward.

“Struck by lightening,” he confesses.

“How?”

The telescope’s covered and grounded. It shouldn’t even be holding a charge, for that matter.

They all point to a large cable running across the floor and up the wall. It leads to several large metal poles on the roof.

They meant to strike it with lightening. They’d rigged it!

“It’s holding a charge. What’d you do to it?” You ask.

They all give you suspicious looks.

You simply wait. They’re always like this when you need more information.

Finally Edwin mutters, “Sticky Static.”

“What?”

Edwin swallows and then holds out his hands. “The charge comes from us. We all infused the scope with it.”

You eye them all, a bit apprehensive. Of all the times you’ve been to the mansion, you’ve heard nothing like this. The only people who claim to channel charges were Magicians. Were these people Scholars and Magicians?

“Sticky Static,” Edwin says again and points at the scope. “Massidion will hold any sort of magic. We gave it our magic.”

They are Magicians! Or so they claim.

“In heavens name, why?”

“Stronger charge,” Edwin says, his eyes wild. “Couldn’t electrocute ourselves, so we moved the Static to the Massidion. Now we can’t get it back.”

You’re jaw drops. They want more power!

“What do you mean?”

Another Scholar touches the scope and yelps. “It pulls more charge from us!” he exclaims.

“And what do you expect me to do?” you ask.

They glance at each other and then at their toes.

“Get the static out of the scope,” one mutters, you’re not sure which.

“How?”

“We’ve a few ideas but…” he leans in and whispers, “you can’t tell anyone what you see.”

You feel the mouse, still clinging to your sock, start to shake.

Do you…

A. Offer to help them?

B. Refuse?

or

C. Consult the mouse?

Blessings,

Jennifer

(Please post a comment with your choice. Heads up, after feedback, one vote per comment per day please but comment as much as you like=) This makes counting votes easier. Voting will end at 8pm Mountain Time Wednesday. Thursday I’ll post whichever option gets the most votes and we’ll see where the adventure goes!)

Stalking Prey Part Two

Welcome to Thursday and the conclusion of Stalking Prey. Some stories flow nicely and some seem like pulling teeth while writing. This one, honestly, was a bit like pulling teeth. So although I’ve posted the story, I feel it could definitely use some work…perhaps in foreshadowing, characterization, maybe in the world building itself. Moyra doesn’t feel very fleshed out to me. So I would welcome any suggestions or comments you might have.

Otherwise, I hope you enjoy and thank you for stopping by =)

Stalking Prey Part Two

“I…” Moyra hesitated. Was she imagining things?

Then, remembering the smell, she pushed on and explained her unease.

“Lion, eh? All you got is that knife?” Master Ryan pointed a large hand at the hilt she grasped above her belt.

“It’s all I brought,” she admitted with a sheepish grimace.

“Well, that won’t do, let me get Layin’s bow and long knife.”

Moyra opened her mouth to protest but he was out of the room before she could speak up.

Layin was Master Ryan’s daughter but Moyra had never met her since they were several years apart in age. She had some misgivings about borrowing from a girl she’d never spoken to.

Maybe she could buy a better weapon from Master Ryan instead of buying chickens today. The chickens could wait. With that idea in mind, she moved to follow where the large man disappeared.

She ended up traversing the shop into the house behind and exiting through the back door into the yard where Master Ryan had several fires going to smoke meat.

Stacks of wood lined the yard. By one of these stood a slim girl chopping wood. Although she was slim, she was five years Moyra’s senior.

Moyra hesitated. This was the first time she’d seen Layin up close. Considering her father, she was very slight but she had his dark, curly hair.

The girl glanced up as the door swung shut and paused.

Moyra smiled but the expression froze on her lips.

Tawny fur with rounded ears moved on the stack of wood behind Layin.

Sound stuck in Moyra’s throat. A squeak escaped but it wasn’t loud enough to reach the girl.

The cat’s muscles bunched.

Where was Master Ryan? Moyra couldn’t place him but it was too late for him to be of help.

Layin sensed the danger. She started to turn with the axe half raised just as the lion leapt from its perch.

The stack of wood wobbled under the force exerted from the feline’s rear legs. Several pieces fell with soft thuds.

Moyra stepped forward, sound finally leaving her throat. “Down!”

Layin dropped with the axe swinging over her in a defensive ark as Moyra pulled her knife.

Photo courtesy of Sebring’s Snapshots.

It didn’t feel inadequate now. It didn’t register that all she held was a six-inch blade. It felt solid, the wooden hilt sliding through her palm in a move she’d practiced for fun millions of times. The flat of the blade slid into her waiting fingers. Moyra stepped again, rocking forward at the same time the knife left her hand.

The knife made a soft hissing sound like steam escaping a kettle before it boiled. Neck out stretched and jaws open, the cat’s head jerked as the knife slid home into its glittering eye.

Layin cried out. Her axe narrowly missed the fur on the lion’s belly. With a thud, axe and cat hit the ground with the girl berried beneath.

Moyra’s muscles wouldn’t move. Hearing the door behind her, she glanced back to find Master Ryan standing there, mouth and eyes wide while he held a bow and long knife in his hands.

“Layin!” he dropped everything to rush to his daughter.

Moyra held back, afraid of what he’d find.

Shoving the large cat off his daughter, Master Ryan flinched back as the cat jerked. It wasn’t alive though. Morya stared at the one good, open eye. There was no life in that glassy gaze.

Someone coughed and Morya jumped, relief flooding through her as Layin sat up. Master Ryan enveloped her in a hug. He looked at Moyra over the girl’s curly hair.

“I believe you can have chickens free for the rest of your life,” he announced.

Morya chuckled and collapsed to the ground, her muscles finally relaxing. At least she could go home without worrying now.

The End

Blessings,

Jennifer

Stalking Prey

Welcome to a new week=) The idea for this story came to me from my six-year-old niece. Gotta love the creative mind of a child.

Thanks for stopping by and I hope you enjoy.

Stalking Prey

No sound warned her. Nothing moved to catch her eye or snapped a twig to reach her ears. But the trees were hushed. The squirrels had fallen still and the birds fled to the sky, leaving only the wind to rustle half dead leaves.

Tension built a shiver between Moyra’s shoulder blades. She gripped the hilt of her knife in her sweaty palm as she scanned the woods, trying to place the predator that stalked her.

It could be a bear. They had yet to retreat to hibernation and she’d seen one scruffy male just two days previous. But she doubted it. Bears didn’t usually stalk prey.

A musky odor, heady and thick, wafted on the wind. Moyra’s shiver traveled her spine.

Mountain lion. She’d seen a few in her time. Old Tyner even had the skin of one that he wore across his shoulders with the ears sitting on one shoulder like the round tufts could still hear. She’d stared at that pelt for hours listening to the old man spin tales.

But she’d never been close enough to smell one. Old Tyner’s description fit it perfectly though. The musk stuck in the nose like wood smoke and body odor.

Moyra gripped her knife until her knuckles felt close to popping. She hadn’t brought another weapon. The walk from the house to the butcher wasn’t far, and she hadn’t figured she’d need an actual weapon.

The short knife felt inadequate. It wouldn’t stop a lion, not by a long shot.

Moyra stopped scanning and moved forward with light, tense steps. Stories always said you only saw the lion when it was too late.

She wasn’t sure she believed it but there was no use wasting time looking for the feline when it was unlikely she’d find it.

The trail was clear with soggy dead leaves to deaden the sound of her steps. Moyra felt like a deer, ready to bolt but scared to trigger an attack.

The musky smell stayed strong in her sinuses the whole way to the butcher’s. Moyra couldn’t tell if it was simply imprinted in her nose or if the feline was pacing her. Knocking on the rough wooden door of the shop was a relief.

“Miss Moyra! Here for some chickens?”

“Yes, Sir,” Moyra answered Master Ryan as the thought of carrying squawking chickens home with a mountain lion made her shudder.

Master Ryan noticed.

“You don’t like chickens?”

“Oh, it’s not that.” Moyra glanced over her shoulder as she entered the shop.

“Something else?”

“I…” Moyra hesitated. Was she imagining things?

To Be Finished On Thursday

Blessings,

Jennifer