R.R. Virdi's Blog, page 6

Dangerous Ways ARC Chapter Four

The following is copyrighted material. It is an ARC (uncorrected proof and not representative of the final—published version) if you like this chapter please support the release and thunderclap campaign. The links will be at the end of the chapter reveal. Thank you so very much for your support.

If you haven’t read Chapter one, two and three, please read the blog posts prior to this one. Ty for taking the time to read my upcoming work. Let me know what you think so far.

Dangerous Ways

 

The Books of Winter: Book One

 

R.R. Virdi

 

Copyright R.R. Virdi 2016

 

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

 

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

***

Chapter Four

 

“Uh, we’re going to visit a crappy car?”

“Not a Grand Marquis. The Grand Marquis.”

“Oh, thanks for clearing that up.” Cassie rolled her eyes. “You think they can help us with this mess?”

I can hope. “I believe so.”

With a twist of her hips, she flung her legs off the seat and bounded to her feet. She teetered, spreading her arms out wide as she tried to balance herself. “Woah, okay, I’m good.” She took a few deep breaths. “Alright, let’s go.”

I nodded for her to follow me as I walked to the furthest end of the main room. A single door made of honest iron, not steel, blocked the way.

“What’s back there?”

“A lot but, for now, you’re going to want the first door on the left. When you’re done, go to the next door down. That’s it.”

She crossed her arms, giving me an oblique stare. “What’s down there?”

I opened the door, giving it a gentle push. An endless hall of cobbled stone stretched before us. A never-ending number of doors were set into it. A single, curved metal rod hung on the side of every door, adorned with a single bulb emanating pure white light. The carpet was the style of those used in Hollywood events, reserved for silver screen stars. It was a hall that had no end in sight. The only visible thing was a carpet disappearing into darkness.

“Woah. It’s bigger on the inside than the outside.” She looked up at me, staring. “You’re how old again? Please tell me you’ve got a screwdriver in your pockets.”

I snorted. “You need to be clean when we visit. Old world, old rules. Traditions and appearances are important with the supernatural. A tip to remember.”

“Noted.” She hooked a thumb to the door I advised her to enter. “So, where’s that lead?”

“A shower.”

“Marry me,” she mumbled. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a long, hot, good one.”

I stared at her.

“You know what I meant.” She shook her head and huffed. “Perv!”

I adopted respectful silence.

She all but pounced at the door, leaping forward and swinging it open.

“Towels are inside.”

“What, you keep your bathroom stocked and prepared for guests or something?”

“Every room is stocked and prepared, always, forever.”

Her eyes widened and she turned to look back down the hall, staring for a long moment. “How many rooms are there?”

“If we survive this, I’ll show you. Go shower. Next room is a closet. Pick out something clean. A dress would be…” I trailed off when I felt her stare.

“Dress? Yeah, not happening. Nice try, though. You’re adorable.” She stepped into the bathroom, hooking her foot around the door and pulling with it. The door slammed shut.

Some creatures are partial to dresses, fine clothing, and regalia.

Shaking my head, I left the hall, making sure the door remained wide open. I did not need it to shut while she was behind it. Research. I need to do research. I leaned over to place my hand on a nearby table. I may have gotten a brief reprieve with my nap, but it wasn’t enough.

My leg spasmed.

I winced as the dull ache rolled through the limb. The clock ticked, and I debated throwing something at it. Being immune to time’s effects does not make one a fan of being pressed by it. Patience does not develop with years. In fact, it leads to an increase in stubbornness.

It was going to be my death.

My finger trailed over the edge of the table, running its way to the end and brushing against the siding of a bookshelf. I paused, pursing my lips as I looked at the rows of books. A single shelf fitted a hundred novels wide. The shelves went to the ceiling.

I’m fond of books. I shouldn’t have to defend myself. There is no knowledge that is not power, more so in the paranormal world.

My eyes felt dry and compressed. I knuckled them for a few seconds, hoping the pressure would alleviate some of my fatigue. It didn’t help. I stifled a yawn and searched for a certain book. In my library, that was a task.

Ten minutes passed before I found a large tome wrapped in a blue cloth. I thumbed it open, flipping through the various mythos within. Fifty pages or so passed before I found what I was looking for. My lip curled as I took it all in. A heavy knock pulled me from the book.

Cassie stood in the doorway, a plush white towel pressed to her head as she rubbed her hair. She wore a tight red shirt featuring a white puppy head winking, with its tongue out. A cowboy hat rested on its head and crossed revolvers sat below. Dark blue jeans, slim-fitting and in far better condition than her previous ones, hung from her hips. It would be a lie to deny that they looked appealing on her. She had replaced her sneakers with a bright turquoise pair bulkier in size than the last.

“Where did you find those?”

“In the closet. Your place is dope. It’s like Hogwarts with electricity, minus the moving staircases.”

I stared at her.

“Wait, you don’t have those do you?”

I snapped the book shut, nodding to the wall where my clock rested. “Come on.” Cassie fell in step as I walked her over to a rack sporting a variety of dangerous and unique implements.

“Oh, my God, you’re a psycho serial killer and you’ve lured me into your torture dungeon of doom!” Her voice morphed into something cartoonishly ominous as she waved her hands in an animated manner. “But, seriously, what’s with all the weapons?” Cassie’s finger moved from side-to-side through the air as she went over the rack.

“Things I’ve collected over the years. They’re going to be handy.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You think we’re going to need these where we’re going?”

I looked back at her, mimicking her expression.

“Yeah, right.” She sighed. “Stupid question.”

“No comment.”

A fist snapped out.

I groaned and rubbed my arm, glaring at her. It was a good punch. I hid my smile. If she was that feisty, we would be fine. The supernatural world was not nice. It didn’t care for the innocent or the ignorant. Venturing into it was certainly not for the faint-hearted.

I picked up a braided thong of cord wrapped in leather. Eight feet in length, the handle was simple smooth wood, polished and unadorned. The tip of the weapon ended in a thin barb no thicker than my pinky finger. I pushed it towards her.

She held up her hands, taking a step back. “Uh…a little inappropriate right now, isn’t it?”

“Do you know how to use one?”

Cassie shifted her weight, resting one hand on her hip. She shot me a look like I had said something incredibly stupid. “I can be as kinky as the next girl if the situation calls for it but, no, I don’t crack that whip.”

I couldn’t suppress the laugh. “Hold onto it anyway. Trust me, it can come in handy.”

“Where exactly are you taking me?” She looked a bit hesitant but took the whip from me.

“It’s light, versatile—”

“And leather is always in.”

I gave her a look.

“Sorry.” She gave me a weak smile.

“Its length will be handy in keeping things backs, and the end is iron-tipped.”

“And that’s important because?”

“Next lesson. Pure iron is a substance of man’s world; it belongs on our side. It’s a tool used to craft our weapons, shape our world. Outdated, sure, but even steel needs iron. It’s everywhere here and nowhere in the Neravene. To many creatures from that side, iron is poison; it’s their bane. Think of it as radioactive material. Iron can cause many creatures to fall ill or worse. It can kill them.” I let the last words sink in.

Her fingers flexed, tightening around the whip. “Oh. But wouldn’t steel be more practical? I mean knives and swords are steel. Heck, what about brass? Please tell me you’ve got some guns around here.” She extended her first two fingers as well as her thumb, tilting her hand sideways. “We could cap some trolls.”

“Bullets are brass, and, no, we’re not…capping some trolls.”

She wasn’t enthusiastic about that.

“Steel works, though not on all creatures.” I reached back without looking, wrapping my hand around a slender handle. It pulled free with a snickt. I flipped it over in my grip, pinching the curved, polished blade, as I handed it to her.

“Woah.” Cassie took the dagger in hand, holding it up in the light to examine it. Its handle was gleaming black, inlaid with gold filigree. The blade was slender and sharpened to the finest of edges. “This, I can work with.”

I smiled. “Here.” I handed her a dark, aged-leather belt with a series of loops hanging from it.

She took it without a word, slipping it through the waistband of her jeans. The whip hung from her side, tied in place. Its dark iron point absorbed the nearby light. With a bit of effort, she managed to get the dagger into the sheath dangling on the opposite side of the belt.

“Thanks, always wanted to get my G.I Jane on.”

I blinked, not sure what to make of that statement. Instead, I knelt, taking hold of a black metal toolbox resting beside the rack. With a snap of my thumbs, I flipped the latches and lifted the top. I fished through it.

“Seriously, dude, some people collect stamps. You’ve got sharp and pointy things. You ever think about stamps? They’re small, portable, cheap, safe. And hey, some come with pretty nifty artwork.”

I snorted and wrapped my hand around a piece of metal a tad thicker than my thumb. The switchblade tumbled through my fingers as I played with it for a moment. “Stamps can’t do this.” I depressed the button and the blade flicked out. I locked it back in place, rolling it through my fingers before passing it to her. “An extra knife never hurts. Hide it. Tie it to yourself somewhere discreet.” I held up a thin length of fabric.

Her fingers closed around the knife and piece of cloth. She pulled up the cuff of her jeans, holding the blade against her calf as she tied it in place. Pushing the pants back down, she looked to me. “What about you? I mean, if I’m going all Tomb Raider, this place isn’t going to be friendly. What are you taking?”

Between the rack and bookshelf was an empty space large enough to shove a broom inside. Well, not so empty. The saber was a little over three feet long, slightly curved and well-aged. The handle had held up well over the century. The guard was gilded.

“You steal that from the History Channel?”

“First man I killed.” My words fell with a great deal of weight. Silence.

Cassie licked her lips, eyeing the saber, then me for close to a minute. “Who was it? When?”

My mouth twitched. Killing someone is never easy. It’s not like killing monsters. It isn’t. Some people can be as close to monsters as possible—terribly evil—but most aren’t. Most people are misguided, prone to giving into their darker nature. That doesn’t make them bad. It makes them something else. I don’t know what and, believe me, I’ve thought about it for a long time. But you never forget the first life you take. You don’t let yourself forget.

I cleared my throat. “America was at war then.”

“With who?”

“Ourselves.”

“Oh, so you are old.”

“Yes.”

“Which side did you fight for?”

“Home,” I said, shutting my eyes.

“And that’s…?”

“Here. New York.” I hefted the sword, examining it. My mind flashed back to bright skies without clouds, and thunder cracking throughout the day. “He didn’t need it anymore.” I didn’t know what had happened to the sheath; in a hundred years, I had lost a lot of things. I fastened it to my coat, wedging it under the jacket’s belt.

“That’s it? An old sword?”

“I’m already carrying all I need.”

She looked at me for an answer.

I tapped my temple. “Knowledge is the best weapon there is.” I didn’t mention what else I was carrying.

“Yeah, well, can you kill those trolls with your mind? Didn’t think so, Vader.”

Youth today have developed a variant of English that I really needed to learn.

I ignored the comment and cinched my coat. “Let’s go.” I nodded towards the iron door.

Cassie followed without making a sound. I could feel her stiffen as we entered the hall. “No lie, this place is trés creepy.”

“Want to know something, Cassie?”

“What?”

“This place still scares me.”

“How’s that?”

I walked over to the second door on the left, opening it. Long coats, a variety of boots, simple shirts, and well-made suits filled the closet. I looked back to Cassie, whose mouth hung open.

“When I came in here, the room was decked out like I’d won a shopping spree and raided the mall. Now it’s all changed. How?”

“It’s a mystery,” I said, my voice not quite convincing her of the lie.

“Mysteries are bullshit,” she muttered.

“I’ll tell you another time. Come on.” I shut the door, walking off.

Cassie sidled up beside me, keeping pace, refusing to let me out of her sight.

I stumbled a bit, placing my hand on the wall as Cassie sidestepped and bumped me with her hip. I eyed her.

She gave me a similar look.

I pinched my forefinger and thumb together, dragging them across my lips. “It’s a secret.”

“I’ve got two knives and a whip,” she said.

I felt it wiser not to say anything further. We moved past a dozen doors before I came to the one I was looking for. It looked like all the rest.

Don’t ask me how I can tell them apart. It comes with living in the place.

I opened the door and Cassie sucked in a breath. The room had that effect on people. I had found it when I first came across the property seventy years ago. It was one of the reasons I bought it.

It was like standing above a sea of storm clouds that stretched out as far as the eye could see. They sank and rose, expanding like they were breathing. Roiling through an infinite expanse, tendrils of electricity arced and crackled along.

Cassie stared ahead, lost—mesmerized by it all.

It got me too. It always did.

“Oh my God.” She let out a heavy breath.

“Look up.” I put my index finger below her chin and pushed with a gentle amount of pressure.

“Oh…”

Gaseous clouds of purple, pink, and red blurred together into a heavenly scene, all woven into a tapestry of galactic black. Innumerable balls of tiny white light pulsed and flickered at an unreachable distance. One such orb floated closer than the others, noticeably so. Another rolled by on our right. Twin moons.

“Where are we?”

“Right now, we’re in my home.”

“And this is?”

“The Way to where we’re going.”

She turned her head, looking at me while not quite taking her attention off the scene before us. Her body shuddered and she grabbed her shoulders, rubbing her arms. “It feels weird. It’s cool, like a nice breeze.”

I felt nothing. I kept that to myself.

“I’m creeped out, John. I feel something here.” She pointed to her stomach. “Like in my navel. Like there’s a hook in it and I’m being pulled. And there’s an invisible rope around my waist, helping that hook. What is it?”

“A Way.”

“What?”

“That’s what this place is, a natural Way. They exist in the world on their own, hidden. Most of them are buried or snatched up by and into the domains of powerful creatures. Not everyone and everything can open a Way of their own accord. I certainly can’t. It takes a combination of skill, power, and knowledge. In that regard, I have none. But, that doesn’t mean I can’t find my own path into the Neravene. It’s why I paid an exorbitant sum for this place.”

“Because there’s a Way here?”

I shook my head. “No.” I backpedaled from the door without looking away. My fingers clasped around another doorknob. I twisted and flung it open. The space behind me inhaled, pulling a rush of air past us.

Cassie turned to look at the newly revealed room and Way. Her eyes widened and took on a special light like two glimmering pools of fiery opal. The color in her face paled a shade. Her mouth moved but no sound came out.

I shut the door and gestured around me. “I bought this place because of them.”

She nodded and swallowed. “Yeah, makes sense.”

I placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her back the other way. “Come on.” I walked back to the other door with her. Fingers of white lightning streaked through the space above us, impacting the clouds. It dispersed seconds later. Lingering static occasionally spurted from random clouds.

“Now what?”

“We go through.” I patted her back in a reassuring manner.

“Through that?”

“Yes. Close your eyes.” I pushed her into the Way.

She screamed.

I’m not a terrible person for shoving her through.

I dove in after her.

***

End of ARC chapter four

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Hardcover proof and the ups and downs of publishing so far.

Dangerous Ways ARC Chapter Three

The following is copyrighted material. It is an ARC (uncorrected proof and not representative of the final—published version) if you like this first chapter please support the release and thunderclap campaign. The links will be at the end of the chapter reveal. Thank you so very much for your support.

If you haven’t read Chapter one and two, please read the blog posts prior to this one. Ty for taking the time to read my upcoming work. Let me know what you think so far.

Dangerous Ways

 

The Books of Winter: Book One

 

R.R. Virdi

 

Copyright R.R. Virdi 2016

 

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

 

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

***

Chapter Three

 

Entering one of the Ways, in the best of circumstances, can be disorienting. What followed served to redefine the word. A sea of green melted into a cyclone of colors. Blaring lights, snow, and the shades of the mortal world. The transition happened in a flash.

I landed hard. Equal parts fire and ice arced through my leg. Finding my balance was a task. Cassie slipped under my arm, helping support me. Grunting took effort, but it was the only sound I could make.

“Oh, my God!” Cassie let go of me and I stumbled. She grabbed my collar and reeled me back. A car horn sounded as a red and black cab swerved to avoid us.

“Asshole!” the cabbie called. His car slowed to halt a few feet from us and he leaned out. His face could absorb no more black. A cotton cap clung tightly to his skull. “Get your hooker out of the street!”

Cassie bristled, taking a step towards him. “Aw, hell naw.”

The driver ignored her, turning back to mutter something under his breath as he eased his car down the icy road.

She stood there seething until I decided to redirect her attention. I coughed, nodding to my torn jeans.

“Oh, crap, you’re bleeding!”

“There.” I pointed to the building ahead. It was an exact representation of what I had described earlier. A small brick building, something that had endured close to a century. No one smell could describe the aromas wafting from it. Only one word to sum it all up: wonderful.

“Help me?”

“Yeah, duh.” Cassie took my arm again, helping me hobble through the street as we crossed onto the sidewalk. “What now? Looks like they’re closed.”

“She’s never closed. Not for me.”

“Ooooh, girlfriend or something?”

“She’s too young for me.” I winced. The muscles in my leg spasmed, tightening like an electric current passed through them. “I live here.” The step up to the sidewalk caused a little whimper to leave my mouth. The winter climate did nothing to dull the pain.

“Now what?”

“This.” I rapped the forest green door with my knuckles. Nothing happened.

“You’re lucky I have a policy about kicking crippled old men.”

“I’m not old,” I groaned. My fingers curled into a fist, and I pounded on the door.

Metal slid against metal. Something clinked against the door. It was barely audible. A chain. The door juddered from the impact. “Ta-ti-a-na!” Each syllable was punctuated with another bang of my fist. A louder, more solid click sounded behind the door. I let out an agitated huff of breath as she took her time unlocking the deadbolt. The knob twisted, finally. Being over a hundred years old did not mean I’d mastered patience. Snow rushed in to fill the gap as the door opened, flowing into the store.

There was a fleshy impact. A rolling pin struck her palm, hitting it several times as she stared at me.

I forced a cheery smile. “Tatiana.”

Her eyes were beautiful, the color of faded dollar bills with inner rings of pale gold. They hardened for a brief moment.

“Jonathan Hawthorne.” Another wooden smack accompanied my last name. “Do you know what time it is?”

“No, no I don’t. But since when have I been concerned with time?”

She arched an eyebrow. It was the same color as her champagne hair, which was pulled into a neat and out-of-the way ponytail. Tatiana was the embodiment of Nordic beauty. Taller than the average man, built with the lean, flat muscle of athletes without compromising her chest or lower half. If I didn’t know any better, I would have said she’d cheated to attain the physique. But I did know better, and learned long ago to be wary near women toting rolling pins.

“I’d like to enter my home now. It’s cold and we’ve had a long day.”

Tatiana’s eyebrow rose higher as she regarded Cassidy. “You brought a guest. A young woman. Here?”

I could feel her stare become telescopic. “It’s not what you think.”

She blew out through her nose. It was near enough to a snort, without becoming one, to be impressive. Tatiana pressed the wooden pin to her hip as her hands came to rest there. With a simple shift of balance, she stood at an angle and regarded me in silence.

“What does she think it is?” asked Cassie.

“Nothing. Tatiana, move. Please.”

Her eyes widened before she finished her appraisal, finally taking notice of my leg. “You’re hurt.”

“Yes.”

She flung her arms into the air and I flinched for fear of the wooden tool going airborne and striking me. “Of course.” She scowled. “Don’t track any blood on my carpets. I just cleaned them.” She waved the pin at my face as a warning.

“I’m bleeding. I can’t avoid that. Plus, you’re the one keeping me out while letting the snow in.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. A dangerous gleam filled her eyes, but she stepped aside, beckoning us to enter.

I placed a hand on the doorframe as Cassie helped me lumber in. The warmth of candles filled the place that was part-bakery and part-home. Tatiana preferred candlelight to illuminate her home during the later hours of the night, especially after closing.

Old stone and polished wood made up most of the bakery. A fireplace, set in mottled stone, housed a crackling fire in the corner. Everything from the counters, walls and shelves, was made from well-cared-for dark wood. The paneling on the sides of the refrigerated displays had been replaced with a burnished walnut, carved with images from Scandinavian mythos and legends. The place was colored in rich greens and earth browns like a forest.

Most of the products on display were various versions of sweet breads. One piece was a rainbow-colored knot of dough sprinkled with powdered sugar. Saliva built in my mouth as I stared at it. The blood loss was making me hungry.

Tatiana caught my stare, moving over to pluck a piece from the display. She lobbed it to me without looking. It was an effort to catch it with one hand. I fumbled the treat a few times, nearly dropping it altogether.

“Get him downstairs, girl,” said Tatiana.

I could feel Cassie’s body tighten. She didn’t like being called “girl” or being ordered about. I remained silent. Groaning, I nodded to a pair of heavy-set ebony doors festooned in Nordic art ahead.

Cassie paused before the doors. “What’s back there, the bat cave?”

“The pantry. Please stop talking.” The pain searing my shin and calf doubled. The muscle shook of its own accord. “Tatiana,” I rasped.

“I know!” Tatiana said. “You don’t have to remind me. I’ll get him.”

“Thank you.” I placed a hand on one of the doors and leaned into it. Cassie helped open the other. The smell of raspberries tinged the cool air as we passed into the back. Endless rows of jars lined racks, stuffed to the brim with fruit in the process of becoming preserves. I love raspberries.

Cassie’s voice was dry and unimpressed. “Don’t tell me you live back here, with the ingredients…”

I grunted. I limped past the racks, cupboards and equipment to a series of plastic flaps hanging over a doorway. Cassie followed along, holding me upright. “Through here.”

She led the way through. We entered a metal cage set into a stone wall. “You sleep in a cage?”

It was like something out of fantastical Victorian novel. An elevator made of soft metals, polished bronze and brass. A beautiful thing, highly impractical, and in need of constant maintenance. I liked it.

Everything around me dimmed. My hand flailed around before I found the wire gate. I swung my arm, sending the gate crashing shut. “Lock it.” My voice came out gruff, the moisture gone from my throat. I slumped against the wall as Cassie stopped supporting me. There was a click, thud as she locked the gate. “Lever,” I croaked.

Breathing was difficult. My temperature rose and I was sweating. Poison.

“Found it.”

I pushed off the wall, coming to stand in the center of the cage. My balance wavered. “Pull it.” Metal moaned, gears ground, and the cage shivered to life.

“This has got to be the most rickety-looking elevator I’ve ever seen.”

I didn’t respond. I sank to my knees, focusing on slowing my breathing. Calm, deep breaths, which hopefully lowered my heart rate. Whatever the poison was, I didn’t need my heart pumping it through my bloodstream any faster. Through my blinks, I was able to make out the aged stone walls as we descended. An itch developed between my ears, one I had no hope of scratching. Everything shook.

“Crap, this thing’s going to fall apart. I’m going to die in an elevator with someone older than Dumbledore.”

It took me a moment to rack up enough moisture in my throat to respond. “I’m. Not. Old.” The elevator came to an aggressive stop that rattled the metal bars.

“Worst. Ride. Ever,” muttered Cassidy. “Come on, Gramps.” She knelt beside me, easing my arm around her. “Don’t die. You’re supposed to be helping me, not the other way around.”

An indiscernible noise was my only response. Dull lights made up most of my limited view. A mess comprised of varied antiquities blurred by. “Chair.”

“You know, this single syllable crap is annoying. What chair?”

“Red chair.”

“Bravo.” I could picture her scowl. “Two syllables. You’re moving up. All right, here, let’s get you down slowly.”

My support vanished for a second. I fell an inch before Cassie’s arms wrapped tight under mine, cinching around my torso. She lowered me into my favored seat, an ancient couch I had found at a yard sale in the seventies. It was the same shade of red as a child’s fire engine, covered in velvet that somehow managed to remain perfect, and stuffed with clouds if I had to guess.

“Hot.”

“This isn’t the time to be hitting on me. Plus, I’m not into old guys.” Her voice wavered as she made the quip.

Humor is a great thing to calm one’s nerves. It deflects tension and heals wounds.

My coat stretched and pulled against me as she removed it. “Better?”

I lolled my head instead of making an effort to nod.

“Hey.” She patted my cheek. “You okay? Hey! Say something all Buddha-like.”

“It’s good…to be…home.” I struggled for breath after finishing.

She snorted. It was adorable to see a girl her age making such an indelicate sound. “Good enough. Crap, your leg’s a mess.”

“He’s always a mess,” came a tight, discontent, gravelly voice. “Aiyah, what did you do?”

“Who are you?” asked Cassie.

“The doctor, hsst!” Strong, thin fingers, calloused and wrinkled from age and work, cradled my leg.

“Shush me again and I’ll break your little finger,” Cassidy mumbled.

He ignored her, eyeing the wound I imagined. “Tch, bad. What did you do?”

“Got…involved.”

“Yaaaaah, stupid is as stupid does.”

I didn’t argue. He had a point.

A quick burst of breath left his mouth, making its way across my exposed skin. “Can’t do anything like this. Help me get his pants off.”

“Say what?”

“Pants, girl. Help me get them off. You want him to keep bleeding or let the poison to kill him?”

“Poison?”

“Aiyah, yes. Hurry.”

“So not how I planned my day.” Her hands came to my waist. I could feel her breath as she undid my belt. “Stuck here with two geezers, trying to get one of their pants off. Ugh, this is how pornos happen. It is so not happening here. Not happening.”

Honestly, I found her rant amusing. It helped with the pain, and there was lots of that.

Gasoline ignited within the wound and the surrounding area as the waistline of my jeans rubbed the skin. The only sound I could make was a sharp, pained wheeze. My stomach roiled like an ocean storm. Every inch of my body spiked in temperature. The only bit spared was my leg, which grew colder by the second.

“Alcohol. The good stuff; where is it?”

“Don’t you have medical stuff to clean it?”

“Don’t argue, child. Find it.”

Consciousness was a task to cling to. I pictured Cassidy’s reaction to being called a child. It helped. Maybe she would go as far as to hit the doctor for me. He deserved it on occasion.

“Man, this place is a mess.”

If I could’ve spoken, I would’ve rebutted with a quote from Einstein about cluttered spaces and minds. It may have been a mess, but it was my mess.

“Here, is this any good? It looks expensive. I mean the bottle does.”

When your vision dulls, your other senses compensate. More than a century of living also helps in honing them. I heard the liquid slosh, the top being undone.

“Here, sniff.” The doctor held the whiskey below my nose. I blinked, jarred by its strength. I smelled the dry aldehydes of hay, a hint of pinewood, and the sweetness of caramel. He clasped down a hair’s breadth above the wound. “This is gonna hurt.”

The smells dissipated when the bottle was pulled away. I could hear the liquor slosh around. My eyes were already shut, but I went as far as wincing. I set my jaw and tensed in anticipation of the burn.

Liquid left the bottle, but nothing happened. A dry rasp followed by a fit of coughs. “Ackh, tsch.” Another bout of coughs. “The good stuff always burns.”

“What about him?” said a scandalized Cassie.

“Need to steady my hands. Here.” More whiskey sloshed.

“Yeah sure, what the hell? Monsters, magic, trees, and bullshit.” I heard her take a swig. She let out a harsher fit of coughs. “Ugh, it’s like someone splashed vanilla into paint thinner.”

“Settles the hands and nerves.”

I wanted to protest about giving her the expensive eighty-year-old liquor. At her age, I didn’t think she had much experience with the harder spirits.

Cassie cleared her throat. “So does wine, but what do I know? My stuff comes out of a box by the gallon.”

The doctor’s hand shook. His grasp loosened as he chuckled. “Okay, hold onto your panties.” His fingers were rods of iron, applying enough pressure that I thought he would do more damage.

My body shook as it was enveloped in a cold that made winter seem like a cool autumn’s night. The limb went numb. Then came the other extreme, like my muscles were being grilled. The torn skin moved on its own. It felt like paper stretching too thin as my flesh folded, knitting itself together.

“Hey, old timer?” The doctor was taking a page from Cassidy’s book. Great.

“Will he…?” Her voice sounded like it was coming from further away. The weight in my skull increased and my couch seemed all the more inviting.

“Probably. He’s a tough old coot.”

I needed to keep Cassidy away from the doctor.

“He’s stubborn, too stubborn, but that can be a good thing here. And he’s survived worse. He’ll be hungry—”

The doctor was right.

“Thirsty—”

I was.

“And sleepy.”

It seemed like a good idea. Always heed the advice of your doctor.

 

***

 

The stiffness left my body when I woke. My muscles felt stringy, and my eyes protested against my decision to open them. A low groan escaped my mouth as I rocked my head from side to side, cracking my neck. My face snapped to the side as something flat struck my cheek. “Mmrgh!” I squirmed, placing a hand to my stinging cheek.

“He’s up,” said the soon-to-be-deceased doctor.

A face lined with eight decades of age greeted me. He had a complexion common in the Orient with all the features to match: narrow, intelligent brown eyes; thinned hair that had long ago turned white. If I were able to stand, the man wouldn’t reach my chest. Cassie was likely taller than him.

A small domed cap, too small for any practical use, sat atop his head. He dressed in a black turtleneck and blue pajamas depicting a British police box. Unlike most doctors, he didn’t carry any medical paraphernalia. His hands were coated in dried blood, and he wasn’t perturbed by that.

“Yeah, I’m up, George.” Every word pulled at the lining of my throat. “Why the slap?”

“Why not?”

I blinked, unable to refute that logic.

The pile of books resting on the floor tumbled over as something rustled. Cassie rose from her crumpled sleeping position. She placed a palm to one of her eyes, grinding it there. Her arms went up as she stretched and arched her back. She let out a light yawn, smacking her lips as she did. “Sup, Sleeping Beauty, feeling better?”

“I’m not sure. I had a horrible dream; I came across a young girl with a big mouth and an even bigger problem. She was falling between worlds. Trolls were chasing her, and I signed my death sentence by helping her. Did all of that really happen?”

She looked down to the hardwood flooring. “Yeah, yeah, it did.”

“Then I’m doing fine.” I leaned forward, giving her a smile. “What happened?” I pressed a palm to my temple, twisting it back and forth, hoping to assuage the drumming.

“You were poisoned,” said George.

“I gathered that much. By what?”

He shrugged. “Whatever it was, it was a pain to heal.”

George held up his hands. Blood coated them to the knuckles and crusted his nails. That wasn’t what caught my attention. Through the dark red veneer, his veins bulged like they had been replaced by steel cords. He gave me a knowing look. Something rippled below his skin, like a wave undulating through his veins. It rolled from his hand to his elbow before disappearing.

“Are you going to be fine?”

George exhaled, his voice coming out a bit drier than usual. “Probably. Going to be taking this, though.” He held up my whiskey. Half the bottle remained. “Good stuff.”

“I know. It’s worth a small fortune.”

He gave me a lopsided, toothy smile. “That’s my fee.” His head fell back as he tipped the bottle. After a quick swig, he capped the bottle, sighing in pleasure. “Let me know if he has any problems, eh?” he said to Cassie.

She gave him a thumbs up before releasing another groan. George waved his hand in a lazy salute and turned to leave. Cassie groaned again.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Ugh, your booze is hardcore.”

“You shouldn’t have drunk it, regardless of what George said.”

“Yeah, old people are taking advantage of me lately, it seems.”

It was my turn to groan. She refused to let up with the old man comments. I’d lived for over a century. Physically, I was thirty.

“I don’t suppose you have a magical hangover cure down here?”

“If I did, I’d be rich selling it—richer.”

“Yeah, for real. What’s with this place? It’s like the Batcave—a really nerdy, less gothic, Batcave. Without his car and all the—you know—cool stuff.”

My home was one large room. The size could dwarf many a cathedral. Bookshelves reserved for the oldest libraries and universities ran along the walls without a break. Each one overflowed with books, loose pages, and random objects plucked over the decades. A warm glow of yellow spread across the place, coming from the lighting above.

My place was a mess. Random tables made of varying woods in different hues littered the place. An ebony piano—never played—covered with more books. There were maps of the mortal world and beyond. Antiques and magical items were in whichever spot I believed best upon returning home with them. And there was plenty of “cool” stuff. A point I vocalized.

“There is no end to cool stuff in my home.”

She laughed, throwing her hands over her mouth to stifle it.

I pushed my way out of the chair, teetering on my heels for a moment, before I tapped her skull with my knuckles.

“Ow, oh my God. Aagh,” She cradled her head. “You’re such a dick.”

“Don’t drink and criticize.”

She mumbled something incoherent under her breath. After she had finished massaging her head, she pointed to George, who was stepping into the lift. “So, what was that about?”

“He healed me.”

“Yeah, I got that. He put his hands on you and, boom, your leg pulled itself together. I almost upchucked, no joke.”

“Glad you didn’t.”

She stared, waiting for an answer. When I gave none, she pressed for one. “So, he a paladin or something? I mean my whole life’s gone D&D anyways.”

“No. If you want to know more about him, ask him.” There was a loud clunk as the elevator came to life, pulling up and away.

“And Tatiana?”

“Ask her.”

“Mysterious characters are so uncool.”

I shrugged.

“Come on. Something?”

“They earn their keep,” I said.

“Wait. What? I thought you lived under her bakery?”

“I live here.” I waved a hand at everything in sight. “This is my building, all three stories and beyond. They’re my tenants, and they pay well.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“Tatiana’s bakery does well, but that’s not why I let her operate here. And George is an acupuncturist. A good one.”

“Funny, I didn’t see him sticking any needles into you.”

“Which is exactly why he doesn’t pay rent in cash. They’re good friends. I’ve known them a long time.”

“Yeah, well, it’s all relative isn’t it?” She smirked.

I snorted. “Yes.”

“So how long is long?”

“Long.”

“Tatiana doesn’t seem that much older than me.”

I didn’t comment on that. “No? But she’s a good bouncer.”

Cassidy clutched her stomach and broke into laughter. I kept silent. If Tatiana heard I laughed about her, she would give me an enema with that rolling pin.

“Ohhh.” She stopped, blinking several times. “Seriously, what was in that stuff?”

“Whiskey. Really old whiskey.”

“Ugh. I’m done drinking.”

“Good.” I placed my chin on my palm. “Now we can focus on the monsters chasing you, the why, and what to do about it.”

“Maybe I could use another drink. Forgetting this is happening would be awesome.”

“It’s an option. Sorry to say it won’t do much apart from cause another headache.”

“Yeah, I know.” Cassie looked away, staring into a faraway place that only she could see. Several minutes passed before she got to her feet. The young woman took another look around my home before walking over to a cream-colored love seat. She plopped onto it. Her legs dangled over the arm-rest, kicking occasionally. Cassie buried her eyes in the bend of her arm. “So, we’re safe here right?”

I saw no point in lying to her. “I’m not sure. My home is safe, to an extent.”

She inched her arm away just enough to peer through it. But she chose to remain silent.

“Tatiana won’t let just anyone or anything through. Members of the Timeless are exempt from that. The ones who know where I live, that is.”

“And how many is that?”

“Two.”

“Yeah, but your…crew aren’t the ones looking for me.”

“Until I know for a fact who is and why, everyone is suspect.”

“But I thought you guys weren’t allowed to get involved with this kind of stuff.” She made a series of random motions with her hand.

I cleared my throat.

“Right, so, how many of them are rebels like you?”

“I don’t know. I’m the only one stupid enough to get caught.”

“Yeah, how?”

I sighed and stood up, pacing around the couch as I thought. I had no bearings on this, no idea of what to do, or where to go. Cassie was a unique problem. A human being with no magical background, possessing the ability to pass in and out of the Neravene without any knowledge of it. Technically, what she was doing was impossible.

The supernatural world held little regard for that word. My thoughts quieted enough for me to hear a steady tick. I turned to the miniature replica of a clock tower, which stood against the nearest wall, wedged between another bookshelf and a weapons rack fashioned out of ebony. The tower was something I had commissioned after the Blitz. The face was functional. I had a little over two days left before I would be called to inquiry.

Forty-eight hours to come up with a strong enough defense to justify my offenses. Two problems; two days. Either problem could get me killed. The clock ticked on. I might have stood outside it, but time waits for no man.

“John?”

The clock ticked on. Little shapes resembling odd creatures—some winged, some with exaggerated mouths—spread over bits of the replica. The gargoyles were a nice touch.

“John? What did you do?”

The clock ticked on. Time slipped by and I had an idea. “Another time.”

“What? Why? We’ve got a breather right now. Can’t we chill for a bit? Tell me some more crap about this other world.”

“I’m sorry, but I know what to do. Where to go.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. We need to pay a visit to the Grand Marquis.”

***

End of ARC chapter three

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Dangerous Ways ARC Chapter Two

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Dangerous Ways

 

The Books of Winter: Book One

 

R.R. Virdi

 

Copyright R.R. Virdi 2016

 

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

 

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

***

Chapter Two

 

Times Square was dense, thickly populated, and sported a symphony of colors. Old, with an air made up of chemicals and smog. The kind that clings to skin. We had clearly left that behind. One color dominated the scenery around us: green. Unmarred, lush, vibrant green. The air was as thick as the city’s, but richer, more alive—fresher.

Trees and plant life grew to heights unattainable in the mortal world. Lengths of shrubbery, standing well over seven feet, raced ahead to form intricate paths. This was a place untouched by man. It was enough for me to know where we were. Enough for me to regret getting involved.

There was a groan at my feet. I looked down at the source and sucked in a breath.

The hood must have fallen back during our tumble through the Way. Her hair was a shade of red that could have only come from a bottle. It hung past her ears in a layered bob cut. She reached up with a slender hand to remove the bandana obscuring most of her face.

I froze.

Her eyes were the color of fire opals, prismatic reds and oranges flecked with hints of green. They glimmered under the bronzed light falling upon us. The light within them intensified when she rose to her feet, brushing herself off.

“What’s wrong with you, dude? Are you crazy?”

“I’m starting to think so.” I kept my voice neutral as I offered her a hand.

She ignored it, removing her baggy sweatshirt to reveal a rumpled gray shirt. On it was a figure clad in black, armored like a strange samurai. Underneath it in bold white lettering: We Have Cookies. The shirt had seen better days. Its seam around the collar was frayed, and much of it was covered in dust.

She let the hoodie fall to the grass, wrapping her arms around herself as she rubbed them. Even at my age, I could appreciate her figure. It was the sort that could give younger men ideas and issues concentrating. She was a hair shy of five-foot-seven, lean and well proportioned. Her mouth moved to say something, but she cut herself short when she noticed our surroundings. Her eyes widened as she looked from side-to-side, ignoring my presence.

I gave her a moment to come to grips with our situation.

She spoke in hushed tones. “Where are we?”

“You…don’t know?” I fixed her with an oblique stare. One didn’t open a Way and not know where they were going. Something was wrong or she was lying. “You brought us here.”

“Listen, jerkoff, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my life is out of control at the moment. I have no idea what’s going on, where we are, or why it’s happening.” Her voice cracked near the end.

I watched her eyes take on a hollow look. She stood in place, quivering. Bits of grime, sweat and tear stains dulled her fair complexion. Her white and black sneakers were heavily scuffed. Her close-fitting jeans were tattered near the bottom. The knees were torn and stained in a manner indicating they weren’t done for fashion. She had been on the run for quite a while now.

“The only thing I know is…that you shouldn’t have gotten wrapped up in this.”

I silently agreed, but what was done was done. I’d gotten involved. No matter what I did, I was going to face the consequences. I decided it best to follow through. “We’re in the Neravene,” I said.

A blank expression went over her face. “That’s part of the Shire, right?” She gave me a weak smile.

Weariness took hold and I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger, taking a moment to massage my forehead as well.

“Just…stay away from me, man. You wouldn’t believe what’s happening, or the things chasing me.”

“Chasing?” I realized the stupidity of the question after I said it.

She glared at me. “Yes…” Her tone that suggested she believed me to be mentally deficient. “Like what happened in New York. Big guys that turned out not to be guys. Things trying to corner me in an alley.”

“Right.”

“They were monsters—”

“Trolls,” I said.

“Right, trolls, of course. What else would they be?” she spat. “Monsters are chasing me. I don’t know why, or why you stepped into this. I don’t know what to do or where we are!”

“Me either. Because I’m an idiot. We can figure this out. And the Neravene.”

She blinked before she looked to the side and muttered something I managed to hear: “Smartass.”

I ignored the comment, deciding it best to explain what I could, learn what I could and, if possible, find a way out. “The Neravene is the world beside ours.”

She turned to regard me, listening intently.

“It’s the world of many worlds—theoretically, infinite worlds. It’s the home of monsters and magic. Myths and legends. Creatures from stories you heard as a child, and some—if you’re fortunate—that you haven’t. Faeries, gods, dark and forgotten things, all of them have a place here. Some have managed to carve out entire dominions, kingdoms, and have considerable influence. This is a place with rules beyond any on the normal side. Time moves of its own accord here. Manners and knowledge can be more useful than any mortal weapon.”

“My life’s become Once Upon a Time…in a world of magical bullshit,” she mumbled.

“Most people would have a hard time believing any of this.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been chased by monsters and fallen through openings in the air that have me popping out all over the world—worlds apparently. One time I ended up in France.”

I shrugged. “Not a bad place to be.”

“If you speak French.”

She had a good point.

“So what now?”

“You open another Way and take us some place safe,” I suggested. A gentle breeze stirred the wall of leaves and brambles ahead of us.

“I don’t know how…” The girl looked at the ground as she kicked a tall patch of grass. She hugged herself tighter than before, shutting her eyes and rubbing her palms against them. “It happens by itself sometimes, normally when I’m scared, or stressed, angry.”

“So what happened back there? I saw you open the Way by what looked like your own will.”

“I was freaked out is what happened. I pictured a garden, and wanted to be far away—” She broke off. “I like gardens.” There was something in her voice that made me not press the issue.

“Fair enough. Then we keep things simple. We, at the very least, move from here and keep moving until we find a way out by other sources, or you manage to open another Way.”

She took several steps back, and her body tensed. “Uh, hold up there. You think I’m going to go with you? Look, we just met. Yeah, you tried to save me, and no offense, but you did a shitty job. I don’t even know your name.”

A spasm shot up from my back to the base of my neck. Sharing one’s name in the supernatural world was a dangerous thing. Names are important. But I did it anyways. “John. Jonathan Hawthorne.” I extended a hand.

She wiggled her fingers, debating whether she would take my hand. I remained still, trying not to startle her. Her hand balled into a fist, one she flexed several times, before she forced a smile and mirrored my gesture.

“Cassidy Winters.” The first part of her name came out clipped, forced.

I shook her hand, giving her a reassuring smile. “Is Cassidy your real name?”

She bristled under the question, releasing her grip on my hand. Cassidy turned her head and eyed me askance.

“If you want my help, I’d appreciate some honesty.”

“Who says I need it? I’ve held out fine over the month.”

A month. This young girl had been on the run, with no one else, no support or guidance—from monsters—for a month. Shutting my eyes, I breathed slow and heavy, trying to see if I could shut this away.

Three days. That was what I had, at best, to solve this problem. Three days hence, I would be on trial. Missing that date would lead to two things: hunting me down, and separating my head from my shoulders. There was the option to leave her. One I refused to consider. Three days…Christ.

“Think about it.” I tried to keep my voice level. “You’ve been running for a long time, Cassidy.” She flinched when I said her name. “I know about this world. I’ve been a part of it for a long time. A very long time.”

“How long?” She continued looking at me out of the corners of her eyes.

“I lost track after a hundred years. If I had to guess, I would say I’m around one hundred and eighty.”

Silence.

A hint of her tongue slipped between her lips before she bit down on it and stopped any reply. Cassidy folded her lips, wetting them as she dealt with what I said. “You don’t look over thirty.”

“Technically speaking, I’m not.”

“Say what?”

“This is going to be hard for you to believe, Cassidy—”

“Funny, I could’ve sworn I used that line on you.”

I suppressed a smile. She had attitude. Good. That would help her—us—with whatever lay ahead. “I’m one of the Timeless.”

“Oh, word? Cool. Last time I checked that was a nineties album.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I’m not well versed in popular culture. “The Timeless are men and women who stand outside of time. They’re removed from the passage of it. We stand by and watch, record, observe, and are forbidden to get involved in the affairs of the world—mortal or otherwise.” I waved an arm to everything around us.

“Uh…huh. How’s the ‘not getting involved’ part working out for ya?”

“It would be better if you trusted me a bit more.”

“Give me more reasons.”

“I risked my neck to help you.”

“I noticed. Great job.” She clapped her hands in an exaggerated, slow manner.

“This isn’t my first time getting involved. For someone like me, there are consequences if we do it too many times.”

“How many times?”

“Three.”

“How many times is this?”

“The third.” Another gust of wind rolled by.

She put on an animated and ominous voice, making dramatic gestures with her hands. “What happens if you dick around in the world of mortals too many times?”

I dragged my index finger across my neckline.

“Oh. Thanks.”

I nodded.

“So, you’re in the penalty box, and I’m guessing this is going to make things worse. Death row?”

I nodded again.

Her voice came out rough. “Cassie. My friends—when I had them—called me Cassie.”

I took note of how she said it. It came naturally to her, authentic. The name she really went by. That honest exchange meant a great deal, even if she didn’t know it.

“Okay, Cassie, there’s a lot going on in both our lives. I know a lot about both worlds, and I promise I’ll get you out of here and see if I can get you some help.”

“How?”

“There are members of the Timeless far older than I. Someone might know something to help you.”

“Wait, aren’t these the assholes that are going to Benihana you?”

I stared at her.

She extended her fingers and arm, stiffening them like a weapon. With a turn, she chopped the air. “You know, shink, glurk, good-bye rough, rugged, and handsome mug?”

“I’m too old for you.”

She blinked. “Was that a joke? First off, I’m twenty-one. I’m old enough to do whatever. Drink, drive, and make bad decisions on my own. But props for the wit, Antiques Roadshow.”

This was going to be a long trip.

I stumbled to the side, swinging my arms to fight for balance as the ground trembled. Cassie fell to her rump, wincing when she landed.

“The hell was that?”

A deep, resonating groan emanated from below, and around us at the same time.

“Uh…” Cassie got back to her feet, looking in every direction. She took a few steps towards me. The ground shuddered again. A deep and irritated bellow echoed. The groans continued, each one accentuated by another tremor. “I’ve seen enough Jurassic Park to know this is bad.”

I tuned her out, listening, watching. The ends of the shrub-like pathway stirred. The wind wasn’t blowing.

There are many places within the Neravene. Some of them are pathways, old ones—important ones. They often lead to places of power, or the domains of lords, or worse.

We were in one of them. The Long Gardens. A place far worse than the name suggested. It represented nature in its entirety. Pure nature, untouched by man. A place tied to the old world powers of the Earth. And it had a temper.

Bark creaked. Trees standing higher than any skyscrapers shivered, showering us with leaves. Branches twisted and furled like decrepit fingers stretching from a long rest. A strip of ground rose. The earth protested, and a root thicker than a python burst out.

Soil rained down, and I grabbed Cassie by the shoulder. I shoved her ahead of me. “Run!”

“Yeah.” She took one last look at the tree fighting to uproot itself.

“Move!” I shoved her forwards, pointing to the passageway ahead.

Walls of flora surrounded us, and thunder echoed behind. The tree scuttled across the ground, its many roots moving like the limbs of an octopus. It wasn’t fast, but it didn’t need to be. Leaves peppered us as an invisible force stripped them from their branches. A series of lengthy, slender shadows danced across the ground, closing in on us.

“Duck!” We sank, struggling to move as the tree’s clawed limbs raked the air above us. A sizeable chunk of plant life was gouged out of the wall to our left, only to grow back in seconds. I gave Cassie a quick look. “Are you okay?”

She huffed out an irritated breath. “If I wanted to run, I would’ve taken track in high school!”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Netflix!”

“Can it help you now?” I pushed ahead, unable to see her reaction. Given her attitude, I imagined a fiery glare.

The greenery bristled, and my gut sank. Our surroundings burst into life with hostile intent. Thin, reed-like strands arced between the walls to form a thorny web.

“Watch out!” I tucked my head, pulling myself into the safety of my thick coat. Making my profile as large as possible without exposing any vulnerabilities, I tore through the sharpened blockage.

Cassie leaped through. A rogue vine lashed her cheek. She winced but didn’t falter. “Which way?”

“What?”

She pointed ahead. “Look!”

I turned to find the path forked into four paths. Truth be told, I wasn’t fond of any of them. The enraged tree bellowed again, as if frustrated it hadn’t killed us yet. All light within the shrub maze dimmed as a shadow spread over it. The tree fell.

“Left!” I barked.

“There’s two lefts. Which one?”

I let out a low growl then swallowed it. “Far left.”

She nodded.

We hit the corner hard, but not fast enough. I turned and a sharp lance of pain sliced up my thigh. I gritted through it. My fingers closed around Cassie’s shirt and I pulled. She collided with me, and I wrapped my arms around her as we tumbled.

A hellish symphony of cracking wood, breaking brambles, and quaking earth sounded off. The tree crashed. Dust, dirt, pollen, and white petals flew into the air, forming a cloud around us.

I blinked, staring at the gnarled branch that had landed a mere foot from us. Had the tree taken another step, it would’ve accomplished its goal. A gentle weight pushed against me. “Are you all right?”

Cassie coughed, clearing her throat. “You’re a clingy guy, you know that?” She planted a palm against my chest and pushed herself off.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve held a woman in my arms.” I gave her a light smile.

She snorted. “Yeah? You’ll have to keep waiting, buddy.”

Whatever magic compelled the plants to come to life had ended. The shrubbery lost its color, fading to brown as it rotted. Soon, we were no longer walled in, but stood in a field of plain grass. Trees surrounded the outermost edges. We watched the scene unfold in silence.

“So…that just happened.”

“Yes.” I nodded.

“That was bullshit.”

“How so?

“I oughta kick Tolkien’s teeth in. Helpful trees, my ass!”

A gentle fire filled my gut, and I had to wrap my arms around my torso as I rolled over. My laughter filled the field. The muscles in my stomach ached as I laughed harder.

“First reference you got. Ten points to grandpa.”

When I was under control and my laughter died, I said, “I told you, I’m technically thirty.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Tolkien would have appreciated the joke.”

Cassie did a double-take. “You knew Tolkien?”

“We talked, had tea. Nice guy, good listener.”

She arched an eyebrow, silently prompting me to continue.

“I may have told him quite a bit about the supernatural, creatures of myth, and magic.”

She blinked several times, putting it together. “Dude, I hope you’ve got a fat bank account packed with royalties.”

“Yes, to the first. No, to the second. Hundred-plus years of income and interest is a wonderful thing.”

“Don’t suppose you could buy our way out of here?”

I shook my head. My palms were raw, and I had to shut my eyes to help me bear the pain as I pushed off the ground. I offered Cassie my hand. She took it without hesitation. A good sign. She trusted me.

After hauling her to her feet, I reached out to brush the leaves and debris from the back of her shirt. “Come on, we should keep moving.”

“To where?”

“All paths lead somewhere. We just need to stay on this one long enough.”

“Yeah, or like the fortune cookie you just quoted, we get eaten by something.”

“You’re pessimistic.”

“For as long as I can be, but how long will that last?”

I fought to restrain another bout of laughter. “Touché.”

With the walls gone, it felt harder to navigate my way out. The paths offered us some forced direction. Without them, we had nothing. As far as I could see, what lay ahead of us was endless green: plains and small, rolling hills. None of which gave any indication of how to leave the Neravene, except for my original idea—walking.

Adrenaline had run its course, leaving weariness behind. My posture sank, and I stuffed my hands into my pockets, bearing down on them to support myself.

“Hey.”

I didn’t stop moving. Time wasn’t something we could afford.

“John.”

I stopped. She had said my name perfectly, reminiscent of a tone mirroring one person’s alone: my mother’s. I suppressed a shudder. A mother’s tone can always send a tingle down a man’s spine.

“Yes?”

“Look, I know things just got crazy, being chased by Giving Tree back there…but, can we stop?”

I looked at her, giving her a silent response.

“Please? I don’t get much time for rest or breaks with what’s been going on. Especially with people, someone to talk to, someone who—you know—knows things about monsters and magic and all of this.”

“Sure, we can stop. One thing, however: stay vigilant. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

Cassie arched an eyebrow, regarding me with a mixture of surprise and appraisal. “I don’t know if you’re being literal or a smartass.”

“Yes.”

Her body shook. She managed to hold out for several seconds before she lost control and burst into a fit of laughter. After a minute, she pulled herself together, coming to rest cross-legged on the ground. Her hands settled on her ankles as she leaned forward, getting comfortable.

I chose to remain standing.

“So,” she said.

“So?”

As she exhaled, Cassie moved her arms back and used them to brace herself as she straightened and leaned back. “What else can you tell me about this place? I’d like to know more about not-so-Wonderland, since I’ve bounced in and out of here before, now that I think about it.”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, I didn’t stay long. Like I said, I don’t have great control over this. It just happens. Sometimes I’ve popped into places that look like they’re out of books or movies, then poof”—she clapped her hands—“I’m back in the normal world…just millions of miles away. The first time it happened, I was in my backyard. I don’t know where I ended up, only that when I got back, I had been missing for eight hours.”

“Time moves at a different rate in the Neravene. Worse, there’s no accurate way to gauge the variances in its passage. Minutes can become hours…hours, days or longer. There are stories of people crossing over and losing years, Cassie.”

She shuddered.

“Do you mind if I ask a question now?”

Cassie stared. Her breathing quieted. “Yeah, sure, I guess.”

“Why are you alone? Where are your parents?” I would have gotten more of a response had I dropped a bucket of ice on her.

She looked at me, unmoving, unblinking, then her stare passed through me. “Mom’s back home, in Baltimore.” She cut herself off, turning to look off in the distance. “It’s not exactly easy to go, ‘Hey, Mom, guess what? I’m falling through weird portals into different places, and even worlds; my life’s crazy.’ I couldn’t bring her into this.” Cassie gripped herself tight, looking at her knees.

I dropped my voice to a soft and reassuring tone. “No, no you couldn’t. But I’m sure after this is all said and done, she would love to see you again.”

There wasn’t a single tear on her face, but she sniffled. “Yeah,” she said, her voice dry. “Then there’s my dad.” She broke off again; I didn’t press it. “He walked out on me and my mom a long time ago. I think I was five.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Her voice was still rough, and the apology passed over her.

“Are…are they both mortal?”

She looked at me like I was speaking gibberish. “No, they’re frickin’ Faeries. Duh, they’re normal. Kind of why I’m losing my shit with all of this.”

“Right, sorry.”

Cassie’s mouth moved, but she didn’t respond.

“Do you mind if I ask one more thing?”

She nodded.

“How do you do it? If you’re mortal, in truth, you shouldn’t be able to open a Way like that. You shouldn’t be able to open one at all.”

Cassie shrugged.

“Is there anything you can tell me? You said it happens when you’re scared. Do you see anything? Feel something? Smell?”

A light breath left her lungs. She blinked several times and swallowed. “Honestly, it’s a lot. It’s kind of like an overload of everything.”

I pursed my lips. That didn’t sound right. From everything I knew about the Ways, opening one consisted of focus, control. There was intent behind opening one, knowing exactly where you wanted to go. It was never random, and there were limits to where one could go, regardless of power. Navigating the Ways was no different than driving on roads. You had to know the streets and where they lead. Without that, you couldn’t access the roads necessary to reach your destination.

Cassidy Winters didn’t seem to have that issue. Passing through and into places she had never laid eyes on, into worlds she knew nothing about.

She was powerful. And dangerous. More than she realized. Both reasons warranted her being hunted.

“What can you tell me? Choose an incident, any of them.”

Her nose twitched, and she ran her tongue over her lips. “Um, when I ended up in France. I panicked. I was being followed by something. It was night. Whoever—whatever—they were, they weren’t big and dumb like the trolls. They were shorter than me, wearing—I swear to God—a cloak. I started running and they followed. Don’t ask me how, but they went urban ninja and were bouncing on the rooftops, watching me from up there. I just wanted to be away, anywhere.

“I’ve thought about France a lot. I wanted to go there once for a summer break. I kept running, and I just knew what to do. It was like hitting your head, a flash of colors, not just the reds you imagine. Red, flashes of lighting, white and blue, green and yellow. Between it all, I saw images of France I’d seen before. Posters, brochures, the occasional travel ad. I remembered a piece of a television show I saw once. I imagined what the beaches would smell like, the streets, and the food. I thought about how Paris would sound with all the people, traffic, and noise.”

“And then?”

“And then I just wanted to be gone. I wanted to tear away everything in front of me and be somewhere else. I wished I could pull the air in front of me away, replace it with another place…and I did.”

All of what she said sounded difficult and, to many a being, it was. Creatures with years of experience in navigating the Ways would struggle to do what she had. And she had done it with more ease than she knew. The Neravene had more rules than I could recount off-hand. Cassidy Winters had broken many of them. You cannot simply tear a Way to a place you’ve never been before. That’s not how it works.

You have to know. Knowing—knowledge—it’s power in this world. A person or creature has to have been to a place before, or have the knowledge of how to get there at least. They cannot simply open a Way and hope for the best. Yet Cassie was doing that on instinct.

One hundred and eighty years and, in all that time, I had never heard of something—someone—like this. The grass below my feet bowed to the side as a breeze flitted through. Nothing seemed out of sorts, but a solid lump formed in my stomach. I cleared my throat. “We should go.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Probably nothing. Just a feeling.”

“Yeah, I can roll with that. A month of playing Carmen Sandiego with monsters makes you trust those feelings.” I offered a hand, which she ignored. Cassie got to her feet without aid. She brushed her shirt with a few quick movements and patted her backside. Minute cracks rang out as she torqued her neck to the side. “Alrighty then, where to?”

“Anywhere but here.” I took several steps, using my long strides to carry me a few feet away from Cassie. A faint glow of pale tangerine hung on the horizon. It seemed like as good a place as any to walk towards.

“Yeah, good point, but it would be nice if anywhere had an address.”

“Addresses are irrelevant. Wherever you go, there you are.”

“I think I heard that once in the school of No Shit, Sherlock.”

“Buckaroo Banzai,” I informed her.

“Well, sure, I guess there’s bound to be some pretty wise strippers out there.”

I breathed through my nose, fighting not to sigh.

The wind increased. Leaves danced, carried within a stream of air rushing by us. Debris from the earlier tree crash mingled with the gust of wind swirling past. Twigs, leaves and earth spun in a small storm. The wreckage whirled like a child’s mobile.

“Okay, that’s a ten on the weirdness meter.”

“And what did the giant tree score?” I asked.

“Shut up.”

The debris grew closer. Odd bits clung together, taking form. Grass rose to dwarf me, bending and widening like a curtain. Within seconds, the earthy material took shape: a bipedal figure. Its visage was masked behind a cloak of grass that spread over its face, as well as the rest of its body. The entirety of the mass was shrouded from sight, save for what I presumed were its eyes.

Pulsating orbs were visible from behind the grassy cowl. They shifted in size and hue. In truth, it looked like they changed material. One moment they were clods of dirt, the next, dancing blades of irradiant grass. I saw every imaginable color and style of gemstone pass by, the color and look of bark, and the orbs continued to morph.

A basso burble formed in its throat. The ground shook. It spoke and I felt pressure, like the world was tightening around me. My body grew weary, and my legs quaked, struggling to hold me upright. I glanced at Cassie. Her body was doubled over. She braced herself on her thighs.

“You are trespassing.” There was no malice or harshness in its voice, only weight.

I worked to clear the invisible blockage in my throat. Spreading my fingers, I raised my hands in the universal gesture of calm and placation.

“You are trespassing. Leave now and no harm will come to you.”

I took a chance and spoke. “Apologies, but we cannot. We stumbled into your domain by chance. We have no ill intent; we are trying to leave—”

“Immaterial. Leave now. This domain will not tolerate the touch of man. I…will not tolerate it,” the being rumbled.

I didn’t know much of the Long Gardens, but I had an inkling of whose domain they belonged to. I wasn’t sure, but it was enough to prompt me to take another risk.

“Cassie,” I whispered.

Her voice rose several octaves, coming out in a near squeak. “Uh…huh…”

“I need you to imagine something for me. Can you do that?”

“Uh…huh…”

The ground trembled. Finger-like cracks spread through the earth. It was like watching glass develop cracks only to have them worsen. Fissures formed around us.

“You are not welcome here. Leave now!”

“Cassie, picture a two-story building. It’s made of brick, something that’s endured for decades and it shows. A green sign with white, flowing lettering. I want you to smell cinnamon, sugar, and baking sweets. Imagine your favorite confectionaries as a child. Two large windows filled with cakes and stacks of brownies.”

“I don’t want to die hungry, John.”

“Just do it,” I hissed. “There’s a yellow fire hydrant just outside, and a payphone.”

“Okay, now what?”

“Be gone!” roared the entity. The ground erupted. Roots leapt from where its arms should have been, twisted and sharp.

“Cassie, I want you to be there, not here. I want you to pull the air away. I want you to be there!”

She trembled. Her face was a tight mask of concentration, but she did as I asked. Cassie swept at the air and it parted. The Way was different than before, a wide maw of the purest glowing white.

I sprinted towards her, praying I’d make it before we were impaled. The roots hissed by as I grabbed Cassie. “Rargh!” My leg faltered as heat enveloped my shin. I kept hold of Cassie and pushed through.

***

End of ARC chapter two

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Dangerous Ways ARC Chapter One

The following is copyrighted material. It is an ARC (uncorrected proof and not representative of the final—published version) if you like this first chapter please support the release and thunderclap campaign. The links will be at the end of the chapter reveal. Thank you so very much for your support.

Dangerous Ways

 

The Books of Winter: Book One

 

R.R. Virdi

 

Copyright R.R. Virdi 2016

 

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

 

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

***

Chapter One

 

When I stood here well over a hundred years ago, Longacre Square was the center of New York’s carriage industry. Today, Times Square was a colored pinwheel caught in a blizzard. A neon-washed blur of flashing screens and scrolling marquees. The streets thronged with endless crowds, everyone bundled tight against the snow.

As good a place as any for my sentencing.

There would be an inquisition first. There always was. Old people loved tradition, even when it carried little meaning. It would be a formality—nothing more.

I turned up the collar of my gray trench coat against the buffeting December winds and ice. An occasional flurry of snow made its way through, causing the muscles in my throat to stiffen. I rubbed a hand across my neck, realizing that if I didn’t figure something out, I could kiss it goodbye.

I wasn’t too fond of that outcome. I’m rather attached to my neck.

A gentle throb filled my shoulder as someone jostled to move past me. The side of my coat brushed aside. The person’s fingers moved with deft purpose.

At one point in time, this place was also known as Thieves’ Lair.

I shifted my weight, bringing my hand up and clamping it around their wrist. I twisted; they stumbled forward—empty-handed.

He gawked at me, off balance. The kid was mid-teens—red hoodie, jeans, remarkably plain-faced.

I waved an admonishing finger, and he took off. It wasn’t worth pursuing. The wallet was empty. I’d learned long ago to stow my valuables somewhere harder to reach. My hair plastered against my skull as the storm built. I ran my fingers through the dark locks, shaking my hand free of excess water from the snowfall.

People bustled by, making it difficult to navigate and, more importantly, clear my head.

Inquisitions weigh heavily on a man’s mind.

A sickly sweet smell tickled my nostrils. I stopped abruptly, causing an agitated huff of breath from the person trailing me. They swore as they stepped by, casting an angry glare over their shoulder. I ignored them. Instead I focused on the disheveled man sitting with his back against the aged concrete.

His skin was dark and weathered like old leather, covered in a mat of wiry, coarse hair of steely gray. Thin strands, like fishing wire, hung from beneath his woolen hat, a patchwork of red and yellow yarn. He spread his mouth upon seeing me. Yellowed teeth—some of which were missing, others crooked and chipped—greeted me. He held out a dry, cracked hand. The fingernails were overgrown and caked in grime. His canvas coat, several sizes larger than him, rustled as he moved.

And he reeked of the smell you’d expect to find in a candy store.

I didn’t expect to see his kind sitting on the street, begging, with his legs buried beneath layers of tattered blankets. I reached into my coat, dipping my fingers into the breast pocket. Removing my real wallet, I flipped it open. Something jingled.

The old man’s earthy eyes sparked with a hungry gleam.

I pulled out several small bills as I fished for something else. The greenbacks did nothing for him. He didn’t spare them a look. Copper coins fell into my palm as I upturned the wallet. He jerked, restraining the impulse to lunge forward. I spread the pennies between my thumb and forefinger, making sure they were in his view. Bowing my head, I held them out for him to take. His hand darted out with surprising speed, but I pulled mine back in time. “I want your ears to the ground; you hear of any trouble from the other side, let me know? I’m in enough of it as it is.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving the coins.

I smiled and dropped them into his palm.

A McDonald’s cup appeared out of nowhere. It might as well have been magic, but I’ve seen enough of that to know it wasn’t. The cup was near the point of overflowing with coins, copper ones.

Old people aren’t the only ones bound by tradition. Some creatures are just as stubborn in breaking habits.

I touched my first and middle finger to my forehead and gave him a mild salute.

He returned a wide smile.

A strong chill racked my body, and I pulled my coat tighter. The bottom of my jeans pulled tight against my ankle when I took a step. I looked back over my shoulder. The old man nodded to one side. I followed his gaze.

Coming down the street towards me were two figures wrapped in more layers than the weather warranted. The muscles in my back stiffened. I kept my eyes on the approaching duo. If the smell of sweets wasn’t strong before, it was overpowering now.

The sides of their parka hoods were drawn shut, obscuring their faces. One wore blue, the other black. They were built with the proportions of competitive bodybuilders. I kept my eyes trained on them, making the effort to keep my lips from moving as much as possible. “Friends of yours?” I chanced a look at the old man from the corner of my eyes.

He offered a hapless shrug, rubbing his fingers together in a symbol that couldn’t be misconstrued for anything else.

I exhaled through my nose and fished out a handful of pennies, tossing them to him without looking. “Advice?” I wasn’t sure if he heard me through my tight-pressed lips.

“Run.” His voice was like thick smoke.

My hand brushed against a flat sliver of metal in my coat. I clenched a fist around it and thought again. I was already in trouble. Starting a fight on the streets of New York would assure a one-way outcome in my sentencing, even if it was self-defense. I heeded the homeless man’s words.

I turned on my heels and ran—

—and felt something impact my chest, sending me reeling. The newcomer fell to the ground, scrambling to avoid passersby who shot the pair of us odd looks as they walked on. The hood of their oversized, gray sweatshirt managed to stay up. A pristine white bandana hid most of their face. Truth be told, I paid little attention to strangers on the street. I’d seen too many thousands over the century.

I offered the fallen stranger a hand, casting a quick look over my shoulder. The pair following me hadn’t made any hasty moves. They strolled towards me at a casual pace. A perfume of cotton candy spread over the area, noticeable by the crowd who covered their mouths and noses as they went about. Clothing rustled as the hoodie-clad person righted himself. He brushed a caking of frost from his jeans.

“Sorry.” I took a step towards him, offering an apologetic smile.

He tilted his head to the side, staring past me.

I followed his look.

He went rigid when his gaze fell on the parka-clad pair advancing towards us. The pair stopped. Even beneath the heavy jackets and layers, it was obvious when they tensed. Their posture shifted in the subtle manner of a predator spotting prey. Both men hunched, setting their massive shoulders, glaring past me.

I turned back to look at the person I had bumped into. It was a moment’s stare. The kind when a deer sees the pack of wolves hunting it.

And that’s when I was thrown to the wolves.

The gray-hooded-figure lunged, using all of his weight as he crashed into me. Both palms slammed against my chest. I stumbled back as he tore off. Arctic needles pricked my hands as I landed against the freezing sidewalk.

The burly pair of men burst into action, moving in long strides that should’ve been limited by their restrictive clothing.

I scrambled to my feet, tensing for a fight.

An arm built like a large log struck my shoulder, pushing me aside. The second of the pair rushed by, shoving me the other way. I tumbled to the ground.

There was something else under the pervading odor of sweetness they oozed. I fought not to retch against the undercurrent of raw sewage, badly preserved fish, and rancid meat.

I knew that smell. And I knew well enough to stay out of the way of monsters.

Stubble tickled my palm as I rubbed my hand across my face and I spat. “I don’t need this, not today.” I righted myself and watched the pair chase after the bandana-wearing person. The trio made quite the scene through the crowds. The figure in the hood slipped between people with practiced deftness and skill. The mountainous duo didn’t bother with subtlety.

I flexed my fingers, pumping a fist several times. Don’t do anything stupid. You can’t afford any more slip-ups. Don’t get involved.

“Damn it.” I took off after them, taking the same approach as the pursuers. “Move!” My forearm glanced off a man’s back as I rammed him to the side. I didn’t turn back to see his reaction. I didn’t need to; I could hear the string of obscenities.

Pursuits aren’t about being fast, being agile, or even being smart. They rely on keeping your quarry in sight. As long as you have an eye on them you can track them, wear them down, or come up with a multitude of ways to catch them. If you can see them.

It wasn’t easy in the crowds of Times Square. The longer the chase went on, the higher the chance of losing them.

I maintained a line of sight on the one wearing the blue parka. My throat dried and ached the more I inhaled the winter air. The mass of people became watercolors swirling together. I pushed them from my mind, honing in on the dark hues of the parka. I leapt, twisting my profile to slide through a gap between people. I landed hard. A jolt went through my shins as I almost slipped on the frosty sidewalks.

The blue coat vanished into the crowd.

“No!” I picked up my pace, barreling through the masses and eliciting angry shouts and threatening gestures. A flash of dark blue turned down a passageway off the street. I sped up, swinging my arms for what good they would do. The turn came up and I ran into it too fast. A fist-sized pulse flared within my shoulder as I ricocheted off the brick wall. I grimaced, rubbing the spot. There would be a sizeable bruise.

“Nowhere to run now,” a voice up ahead called. It was guttural, awkward. I imagined a bullfrog learning to speak English.

I squinted, trying to peer through the evening light and darkened length of the alleyway. The dark blue figure advanced towards something unseen. The person in the gray hood, I wagered.

“Mine,” grumbled another voice. A second later, the figure I had dubbed “Blue Hood” stumbled into my vision. He snarled and hunched, taking an aggressive stance.

Blue Hood grumbled. The air around him bowed and waved. Even the snow avoided the area around his body. The noise grew in intensity and, for the briefest of moments, I felt it as a gentle pressure against my skin.

I regretted my involvement.

Blue Hood took a step toward their hidden cohort. “Not yours; mine!”

His pal answered back. “Boss don’t care. Just wants ‘em gone. Mine. I’m older.”

The blue hooded one bristled. “I’m bigger.” They took a step into the dark. If things got out of hand, whoever was in the gray sweatshirt could get seriously injured, or worse. Two sets of basso rumbles echoed down the alley.

That settled it. I set my jaw and walked down, trying to close the distance as best I could. When I was close enough to be heard, but still out of arm’s reach, I barked, “Hey!”

The deep rumbling ceased. I couldn’t see a thing, but felt their eyes. The three of them were watching me. I raised my hands above my head, working to appear as non-threatening as I could.

“Hey,” I repeated, trying to keep their attention on me.

“Who are you?” asked Blue Hood.

“Hrmm, leave,” ordered his pal.

I was sorely tempted. Getting involved was my problem. One that had landed me in an inquisition. Some people never learn.

I took several more steps, praying they would take no hostile action. “I just want to know what’s going on. When two people follow a third down an alleyway, it raises questions.”

The cavernous grumbles sounded again, but I pressed on.

“Go away—”

“—or you next,” cut in the second voice.

“Next for what?” I was close enough to make out the pair now, their outlines at least.

Another rumble left their throats. I could see the vague shape of the third figure, huddled against the brick wall at the end of the alley. He shuddered, arms wrapped tight around himself. I had a feeling it had nothing to do with the cold.

I let an edge of heat into my voice. “Next for what?”

I sucked in a breath as my feet left the ground. Two fists clenched the collar of my coat, holding me with ease. The hood of the black parka fell back to reveal the face of gruesome man. It was too solid and layered in generous mass. There was no grunt of effort as he shifted his body. The world sailed by.

Pain blossomed across my left shoulder blade, making its way to my right as I hit the ground, rolling through the snow. I blinked. The muscles in my throat fought for air as my lungs pumped in futility. Lying there was not an option, and doing something—anything—was beyond my ability. The gray-hooded figure was within arm’s reach. My head lolled to the side. The man in the black parka approached.

He cracked his neck. The air around him shimmered, and his features changed. There was no subtle transition. His head and face increased in mass, becoming inhumanly thick and flabby. The creature’s skin was a pale, unhealthy gray with a wet sheen. Purplish lips, missing a chunk of flesh, pulled away from its mouth. A handful of teeth remained, chipped into broken, sharp edges. Bits of rotting meat hung between them.

The putrid odor increased.

Fabric tore as the monster took its true form. It towered well over eight feet, built of ropey muscles engorged to grotesque proportions. The creature’s body was bare save for a haphazard assortment of clothes tied together in a makeshift girdle. Its hands dwarfed my skull, and, if things continued the way they were, those hands would crush my head.

“Trolls.” I coughed and spat. “It had to be trolls.”

The advancing creature was missing a fair bit of his left ear. It looked gnawed on. It pointed to me. “Mine.” The troll jabbed a finger at the shivering figure behind me. “Yours.”

Blue Hood chortled and followed the example of his compatriot. He dropped the illusion. Shreds of clothing fell to the ground.

The cold and being tossed by the troll left my fingers hesitant to move.

“This is bad,” someone whispered behind me.

I grunted, trying to dig into my coat.

“I’m sorry for this,” said the figure in the gray hoodie.

“For what?” I turned to look at him, and for the first time that day, my loss of breath had nothing to do with physical reasons.

His hand slashed diagonally through the air. Silver light burst into existence, a tear in the space before me.

A Way. The stranger had opened a Way.

My collar constricted against my throat as he hauled on my coat. “Come on!”

Both trolls let out defiant snarls and lunged. I kicked, bringing myself to my feet without proper balance. I tumbled back. My newfound friend held onto me.

We fell through the tear.

***

End of ARC chapter one

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Dangerous Ways is up and a ready

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You want to take it a looky? Do you? Yes you do!

Uncertainty sucks. Suck it up!

Uncertainty. It’s a big part of any art. It just is. It sucks. It just does.

What can you do about it?

Write anyways? Sure. Of course you can.

Does that solve the initial problem, no?

It’s a looming redwood of a tree. Some days it’s going to tower over you, casting a lot of shade over you and your dreams and confidence.

You know what? That’s okay.

Because you can write in the shade!

But seriously, it’s okay to be uncertain.

Yeah, fear’s scary. It always is. But you know what? Sometimes, sometimes it pushes you to think outside the box. It pushes you to get creative, to find ways to subdue the very thing, the very uncertainty. It makes you want to find a way to shut it up.

It makes you want to find a way to up your game.

That’s okay too. Remember that.

Use it.

Heck yeah writing is uncertain. But you know what? That is part of the fun. No, it really is.

Writing stories that have you wondering if they’ll be okay or do horrible. Next thing you know, they do amazing.

You learn. And that’s okay.

Writing is an art.

People always try to put out formulas and stuff. And some work some of the time for some of the people.

It’s writing.

It’s okay, we’re all making it up as we go along. And I don’t mean pantsing. I mean, all of it. Our careers. Our base ideas. Our technique and progression. Our ways to make it work.

You’re not supposed to know.

I’ve met bestsellers and some living legends and you know what?

They’ve all said it.

“Nobody really knows what they’re doing.”

That’s okay.

You’re allowed to just make good art, the best you can, and repeat it.

Do it enough, and yeah, you’ll catch some attention and make some waves.

There’s nothing wrong with that.

Stop worrying about your ideas if you can and give them a chance. And hey, if you can’t stop fretting, that’s okay. Write them anyways, worry through them…and still give them that chance. You never know.

There’s nothing written in stone telling you that this idea can’t be/won’t be great.

There are never any guarantees.

I wrote The Grave Report because I wanted to. I still want to, no matter how much it scares me. No matter how much I worry about fan receptions. Its future. Where it’s going.

Sure I have the metaplot down the line. But what about the small things?

Long story short. I didn’t think it’d do well. But I did it for me.

I thought fantasy or science fiction was where I’d make my name down the line.

I thought The Grave Report was a fun indulgence…

…I was right.

…And I was wrong.

I pushed aside the indie conventional wisdom of pushing a series to book three, and instead, I took a break to sharpen my skills, expand my world and try something new.

So, instead of book three in my series coming out, I wrote book one of a new one in the same world.

I wanted to. I love the idea.

Everyone who alpha’d it, read it in beta, as well as two nyt best selling authors who got to sneak peak it in alpha…said it was my best work ever, and it was going to do wonders for my career.

The book’s not out. No one knows if that will happen.

But you know what? It’s nice to hear even after taking a risk.

And I’m happy.

Maybe it’s the wrong move. Hell, maybe it’s the best move I could’ve made. I won’t know till it comes out. And then…well, we’ll all know.

But, it was scary. I wanted it. And so far, in the aftermath, it looks like I’ve done right.

Worry kills.

Sometimes you’ll worry about your work. Your quality. Sometimes people will like and love your work more than you do.

Time to get candid? Well, I still have nightmares at times about book one. What if it’s not that great? What if it’s so rough and the only reason I’m doing okay is because nanos like me but the world hates me? What if the longer time goes on the book falters and does so bad in reviews that it hampers my entire series and thus future. What if…

^^See what I mean. And yeah, it gets crazy and keeps me up some nights.

But the thing is, it’s not for me to decide. I worry that all the time, and yet, many people have a better opinion of it, and somehow, me, than I do myself.

Sometimes it’s just better to shut up, and even if you can’t think highly of your work, just agree with the others who do.

It’s easier than arguing.

And, it’s out of your hands. People are going to like your work if they want to. You telling me you’re honestly going to want to change that? You want them to hate it?

Yeah…didn’t think so.

So, yeah, it can be scary. Opinions totally can be.

But if I told you tomorrow that reviews no longer mattered, they didn’t exist nor contributed to sales. Would you write easier knowing that? Many probably would.

Well, write knowing this, as much as you fear some things about your work, as much as you notice its flaws and worry for it, there are people out there who will and do love it. There are people who will only see the amazing bits of it. There are people who will cherish it and need it. For some it will be there most favorite thing.

So yeah, today, just go with this okay, that you’re awesome and so’s your work.

It’s early, I’m not in the mood to argue. Bad night’s sleep worrying over this shit myself so…I come with words from experience.

Now, to go find where they grow the breakfast foods at so I can grab a wild, breaktis!

Trust your ideas. Even the scary ones. Especially those.

You know that feeling, that one that buries itself in your gut and feels like a pound of poprocks and cola going off and within seconds your heart’s beating like it’s doing the lambada? That feeling you get when you get a plot bunny that’s OMG…yeah…maybe you should listen to it. Not just then, and get excited, I mean all the time. I mean when you’re writing it out and you get low. When you can’t see how it’s going to turn out and you’re afraid that it might be all that great.

Sorry, but it is awesome. That’s why you felt all of that, that’s why you got all excited. See, a part of you knows already. It’s no secret but you might need to hear it anyways. You already know what excites you. And if you can excite you, you can damn well bet it’ll excite others. You know what you want, and a great many people like and want the same things you do.

Remember that.

You’re not writing for everyone. You’re writing for you, and, the ideal reader. The people who will get your work. Who will love and hype it.

That’s who. They’re out there.

I know it gets scary sometimes. But hey, the best ideas are always scary. They force you to step up to a new level. They give you challenges to grow.

I learned this when back at the end of August I flew out to Colorado to hike Mt Evans, my first fourteener ever.

It was a scary prospect. The first 100 yards were challenging, even the experts who hiked ’em all the time were winded. It was scrambling over rocks, and climbing up with your hands and feet. It wasn’t a hike so much as a 100 yard inclined rock scramble.

But, we didn’t stop. We made it, took a break, then got back up and repeated up the snowy hill. Got to the top of that, the air was already getting thinner and we were getting about 1/3 the air while expending double the effort. That adds up.

But, we kept going.

We were warned that by the top we would be walking in 10 yard increments. They weren’t kidding. By the top the entire group was talking 30 steps, stopping, resting just fighting for air. It wasn’t muscular fatigue, it was oxygen related.

You’re lungs and heart felt like someone had tightened a drawstring around them, refusing to expand and suck in as much as you wanted. My temples felt like they were nursing two separate heartbeats and caught in a vicegrip at the same time. But…4 hours into it, we climbed 14k feet

It’s going to get hard. Great, cool, inspirational ideas WILL BE AND GET SCARY. All you have to do though is remember that you wanted this, you still want it, and you can do it. You always do it in increments.

You don’t sit down and belt out 100k in an hour poof done.

No, you sit down and write the first word which quickly becomes a sentence. That sentence to a paragraph and then pages depending on your word count.

Day one done.

Repeat.

Month to months later, you’ve got a draft.

^^All done piece by sometimes scary piece.

You repeat that whole process and soon you build a series.

By doing that, soon you build a career.

That’s all it takes. It’s not rocket science, it’s not impossible, but yeah, it can be scary.

The good thing about that is…you can work through scary. You just can.

So remember that. Yeah, you will have awesome ideas, and yeah, they will freak you out and terrify you at times, but remember that feeling you got when you first came up with them. When you first got excited.

Keep writing.