Amanda Cook's Blog

A Train, Two Mages, and What’s Left of Their Friendship

It’s July, 2025. Life has been extra chaotic this year. I have no news on the writing front beyond the fact I’ve stopped submitting short stories and only very occasionally submit a poem if I even feel like writing one. It’s hard, folks. (Not as hard as life is becoming for many people, though. I know how privileged I am.)

Even though I’m not submitting them, I still have loads of short stories that have never been published. I’m thinking about collecting several of them along with some of my poems in a self-published anthology, just so my writing isn’t languishing on my slowly dying laptop or somewhere in a digital cloud. In the meantime, I thought I’d perk myself up a bit by posting one of my longer unpublished pieces here. It’s part fantasy / part alternate history, sort of Downton Abbey, but with magic and more trains. More Downstairs than Upstairs, too. The ending doesn’t tie up in a nice bow, which may be the reason it never got published. That, and there are angry, messy women here.

You have been warned. Enjoy!

A Train, Two Mages, and What’s Left of Their Friendship

Alinora sat at the bar in the lush dining carriage, enjoying a cocktail, when the all-too-familiar screech of the train’s brakes forced her to put down her drink. It was her last trip as an unemployed mage, and she had chosen one of Britain’s safest railways for the journey, hoping for a little peace and quiet. The fates, it seemed, had other plans.

With the brakes applied, the train listed as its momentum carried it meters along the rails. Bottles in a cupboard behind the bar escaped and crashed to the floor, spraying glass and astringent alcohol across the scuffed, dusty boards. The Ether lanterns between the windows swayed, casting strange shadows on the other travelers’ faces as they screamed and cowered under their tables.

The wail of the steam whistle, like a banshee in an Irish wood, warned of something ahead on the track. Alinora dropped off her stool and planted her feet. Not knowing what they were about to collide with, she stretched out her arms and pulled magic from the Ether, murmuring her most powerful incantation, a shield bubble that enveloped the train from the cowcatcher to the caboose. The wheels continued to screech as the train slowed, but the dining carriage stabilized within the protection charm.

“Don’t be afraid!” Alinora shouted. “I’ll make sure no harm comes to you.”

Another mage—one Alinora knew all too well—peeked out from under a tablecloth, her eyes wide under her periwinkle cloche. It had been a long time since the two had met while traveling the rails looking for work.

Alinora could feel her grip on the Ether fading. She scolded herself for having had too many martinis and not enough food at lunch.

“Clio, is that you? Come help me!”

The other mage shook her head before diving back under the tablecloth, and Alinora almost dropped her charm completely. Mages were legally obligated to keep the passengers safe while traveling. It was in their contracts with the British railway systems. How else was Clio supposed to be paying for a sleeper compartment?

Fortunately for Alinora, the train jolted to a bone-rattling stop before her shield gave out. With what little energy she had left, she roamed the other carriages looking for injured passengers. None of the cars had derailed, thank the gods, and there were only superficial wounds to heal, from a few scraped knees and palms to a knot on a head courtesy of a fallen suitcase.

Back in the dining car, she was murmuring her most precise abrasion charm over a woman’s cheek when Clio, looking both relieved and embarrassed, stepped into the aisle next to them.

“So, where you stopping off this time around?” Alinora asked. She handed the injured passenger a glass of water, deciding not to mention Clio’s unwillingness to help.

“London.” Clio’s voice was still sweet as honeysuckle, but with an uncharacteristic quaver added to the silk. As glamorous as always in her midnight blue traveling suit and matching gloves, she followed Alinora to the bar.

The bartender filled two tumblers with what was left of his gin, handing them with shaky fingers to the mages. Alinora took a swig and glanced over at Clio, who was fidgeting with her own drink.

“London, eh? What are you going to be doing there?”

“I’ve got a job at Selfridge’s in their design department,” Clio said with forced enthusiasm. “You?”

Alinora brushed at a smear of coal dust on her tweed skirt. She hated feeling self-conscious around the other woman, who looked as though she had just left her ladies’ maid’s capable hands. In all the years they had known each other, Clio had never taught Alinora the trick for repelling dirt.

“I’m on my way to London, too,” Alinora said, blowing a sweaty curl out of her eyes. “The king’s in need of another part-time healer on staff.”

Clio’s eyebrows disappeared under her cloche. “The king? When did you decide you were fine with working for the aristocracy?”

“When they agreed to pay me enough for my work.”

“Hmph.” Clio’s perfectly pink lips quirked at Alinora’s attempt at humor. She clinked her glass with Alinora’s.

“To getting what we want, then.”

#

Young Clio clung to the bustles of her mother’s taffeta skirts, hiding her eyes from the horrific scene at the bottom of the hill. With a snarl, Daphne yanked her daughter out from behind her.

“You need to see how the incantation is done.” The tall woman’s voice was thick with jealousy.

Clio stood frozen and watched the unfamiliar manor house burn, cringing back as two horses screamed and galloped away from the collapsing, smoking stables. It had to be done, her mother had said when she conjured up the first roaring fireball. Clio’s father, somewhere inside with that Sussex woman, had it coming to him.

A girl about Clio’s age stumbled from the stables, coughing and retching. She didn’t appear to have a scratch on her, though the hem of her faded dress was scorched black.

“Well, isn’t that interesting,” Daphne muttered. “I didn’t expect there to be any other competition here.”

She called on the Ether’s guidance as she performed her incantation for flame and death, directing it at the girl. Clio wished she could stop Daphne and make her leave that dreadful place. Even at the age of seven, she knew the girl had nothing to do with her mother’s rage.

A stream of fiery dragon’s breath exploded from Daphne’s hand. It flew across the estate, singeing grass and topiaries in its path. With tears streaking her sooty cheeks, the girl planted her feet. The fire split around her small figure as though she were an obsidian statue sprung from the ground.

For the first time in her young life, Clio saw uncertainty in her mother’s eyes. Daphne hesitated before redoubling her efforts. She shot out a red-orange comet with a white-hot tail, forcing Clio to step back from its heat.

The stable girl closed her eyes and lifted her hands. She was too far away for Clio to hear the girl’s uttered charm, but its impact was instantaneous. A glittering, raging waterfall fell from the cloudless sky, wide enough to swallow up Daphne’s fireball. The incantation then moved toward the hill where mother and daughter were standing, like a storm gusting across the estate.

Daphne cut off her fire, but the waterfall continued its quest, an inexorable force quenching everything in its wake.

“Time to go home,” Daphne hissed.

She grabbed Clio’s arm and shouted a portal spell. Before they stepped through the hazy mirror in the air, Clio caught a glimpse of the stable girl. Her eyes were anguished and desperate as she let loose a downpour over the manor house large enough to snuff out all of Daphne’s work.

Shuddering, Clio waited in the Ether while her mother opened another portal to a railway station nearby. The image of the stable girl’s power in grief chilled her to the bone.

#

“Where are you coming from?” Clio asked after a long silence. The tracks rumbled under their feet as the train started moving again.

“Glasgow. Another, please.” Alinora handed her empty glass to the bartender, knowing full well she’d regret it in the morning. She didn’t care, as long as it meant she would sleep later. “I was at Baird Street. Whooping cough, tuberculosis, any disease that wandered in off the street. Difficult, but I got through it. You?”

Clio smiled sadly. “York. I’d been promoted to lady’s maid, but all the big houses are downsizing these days. At least they gave me a good reference for Selfridge’s.”

“Right.” Alinora sipped her fresh drink, the perfume of juniper, coriander, and citrus tickling her nose. “How’s your mum?”

“Mama’s all right, I suppose.” Clio stared at her glass, the wispy locks of her brunette bob falling against her rouged cheek. “I haven’t seen her in years. She’s sent a few letters from the asylum through my aunt. I think they’re treating her well. She doesn’t complain, at least.”

Alinora hmmed noncommittally. The world remained shielded from Daphne’s rage, at least.

Passengers lingering over their late lunches kept glancing at the mages and whispering to each other behind their hands. Self-conscious again, Alinora slipped on her dusty cotton gloves and stood.

“I really should get some rest. It’s been a long journey, already. It was lovely to see you again, though.”

“Do you have a place to stay in London, yet?” Clio blurted out at Alinora’s retreating back.

Alinora stopped at the door of the carriage and faced the other mage. Though Clio must have appeared nonchalant to the rest of the car, her eyes, half-hidden by the rim of her cloche, pleaded for Alinora to stay.

“The king’s staff is putting me up in a flat near the palace. Why?”

Clio dropped her gaze to the bar. She ran a fingertip along the lip of her glass. “Do you think I could come live with you? For a while?”

#

After the chatter of students faded from the long, stone corridor, Clio curled up on a windowsill across from the empty Incantations classroom and sobbed into her knees.

Another poor mark on an exam. Aunt Margaret would be furious. How long before the dowager pulled Clio from the magic college and placed her in an ordinary boarding school? Only so much of Clio’s trust fund would cover even the cheapest mage school, and Aunt Margaret had her own daughters’ dowries to think of.

“Are you all right?”

Clio froze. She discreetly wiped her cheeks on her jacket sleeve and hopped off the sill, murmuring the charm to smooth the wrinkles from her skirt.

“I’m fine.”

Standing outside the classroom doorway in her secondhand uniform, Alinora hitched her ragged bookbag up on her shoulder.

“Oh, it’s you,” she grumbled. “I thought you were someone else.” She gave Clio a wide berth as she headed toward the stairwell to the dining hall.

Clio grabbed her own handstitched leather bookbag from the windowsill. “Wait! Can I ask you something?”

The other girl stopped at the top of the stairs. While her air was one of practiced indifference, Clio could feel the contempt wafting off her.

“Sure, I suppose. What do ya want?”

“Well, it’s just . . . you’re so good in Incantations. Would you mind helping me?”

Alinora actually frowned. “You mean, you want me to do your work for you, yeah?” She shook her head. “Why do all you rich kids think I’m such an easy target? The answer’s no.”

She started for the stairs again, and Clio caught her by the shoulder. Alinora shook her off.

“Don’t touch me!”

As her shout echoed down the empty corridor, her hand shot up. Clio flinched, the memory of the stable girl’s water magic roaring in her ears.

Slowly, Alinora’s scowl softened. She dropped her hand, flexing her fingers as though they were itching to pull magic. Instead, she leaned in close and said in a low voice, “I want nothing to do with you, do you hear me? Just leave me alone.”

Clio stiffened. Despite still fearing the other girl’s power, anger rose in her throat. “I’m not Daphne!” she growled, tears pricking her eyes again. “Stop blaming me for what she did to your mother.”

“I don’t blame you.” Alinora’s gray eyes flashed with quiet danger. “But don’t think for a second I’m going to help you become as powerful as she is. Go ask someone else. I’d wager one of the fourth years would be more than happy to mentor someone with your aristocratic lineage.”

She turned on her heel and stalked away, long blond tendrils falling gracefully from her pinned coiffure.

Clio stood utterly speechless. She had already asked several upperclassmen for help, but they had all sneered at her, knowing the circumstances of her situation. Gossip about what had happened in Sussex spread across Britain like her mother’s fire, and just like Daphne’s magic, it was difficult to douse. Despising herself for what she was about to do, Clio started crying again, loud, desperate sobs that brought Alinora to a halt.

“I was only a child! I couldn’t have stopped her, even if I’d tried. I’m not as strong as either of you.” Hiccoughing, Clio couldn’t help the babyish pout underlining her next words. “And you’re not the only one who lost a parent in that house.”

Silence muffled the corridor as Alinora stood gripping the banister, her knuckles turning bone white. The eventual slump of her shoulders showed Clio that victory was hers.

“All right,” Alinora said with a deep sigh. “I suppose I’ll help you.”

Delighted, Clio followed her new friend down the stairs. “Thank you! You don’t know how much this means to me!”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Alinora said. “If I find out you’ve asked me as some sort of bet, I’m never talking to you again.”

“There’s no bet, I assure you!” Clio balked at the very idea. “The other rich kids think as little of me as they do of y—I mean, the rest of the first years.”

Alinora’s eyes narrowed at Clio skeptically, but when they joined the throng in the dining hall, they ended up at the only empty table together.

As they ate and chatted, Alinora’s iciness seemed to melt. Clio couldn’t help but notice the other girl’s eyes were the same color as storm clouds heavy with rain.

#

“I don’t think living together again would be such a good idea,” Alinora said, tamping down memories, both joyful and not, that popped up like garden moles.

Clio puckered her mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re still bitter about what happened.”

“No, I’m not.” Alinora realized she was speaking louder than usual, thanks to the alcohol. She met the stares of the other passengers, and they swiftly turned back to their tablemates.

“I’ve apologized enough already. How long must I pay for my mother’s mistakes? For my mistakes?”

“Our living together has nothing to do with that.”

“Then, what is it?”

“I don’t think I could handle you leaving me again!”

Alinora’s confession hung over the car like the quiet before an impending storm. A passenger in a nearby booth coughed politely.

Clio dropped onto a barstool, her rosebud lips agape. With her own cheeks burning like Daphne’s flames, Alinora fled to the safety of her sleeper car.

#

Clio bounded into the flat, ready to burst with news. She rushed to their shared bedroom nestled behind a bedsheet and found Alinora propped up in bed reading a textbook.

“You’ll never guess what just happened!”

Alinora looked up from the page she was perusing and pursed her lips. She closed the book, set it aside, and folded her hands in the infuriatingly polite way that meant she was ready to listen to Clio’s nonsense. It was never nonsense to Clio, but Alinora had different notions about what was most important in life.

“I’m listening.”

Clio plopped onto her own squeaky bed and smoothed the wrinkles from her best skirt with the tiniest pull of magic. “So,” she said, barely able to contain her excitement, “I went down to St. Bartholomew’s and, wouldn’t you know it, they hired me for the assistant healer position over the infectious diseases wing!”

Alinora stiffened. Her gray eyes widened with . . . horror? She opened her mouth, but not a word came out, not even to congratulate her friend on such a grand achievement.

“Well, say something!” Clio prodded. “Aren’t you proud of me?”

“How did you know that position was still available?” Alinora’s response was soft and restrained.

Clio’s face grew warm from the sudden intensity of Alinora’s stare. She picked at a piece of imaginary lint on her blouse sleeve. “I happened to see the advertisement in the latest Mages Weekly. The one you left open on the sitting room table.”

The bedroom went frighteningly still, and Clio shivered, as though a ghost had slid down her spine. She glanced up from her sleeve and saw Alinora’s hands fisted in the hand-me-down quilt covering her bed. Her face was as red as one of Daphne’s fireballs.

“How could you?” she whispered hoarsely.

“What do you mean?” Clio blinked, wondering what exactly she had done to elicit such a response. Though Alinora wasn’t exactly the most cheerful of women, Clio thought she had grown much happier in the time since they started sharing a space and a life together. In Clio’s mind, they complimented each other beautifully.

Alinora leaped off her bed to tower over Clio. “How could you go after that job? You knew I was going to apply for it!”

“What?” Clio squinted up at her friend, still confused. The last time she had seen Alinora that angry was when Daphne had burned down the Sussex woman’s house, where Alinora’s mother had been a maid. Even then, Alinora had kept her rage to a simmer, working her waterfall incantation with more control than a girl of seven had any right to. This time, she was boiling over like a forgotten tea kettle. “But you never said! If I’d known, I wouldn’t have taken the interview!”

“I did tell you. A week ago. Right after tea. I mentioned the hospital was looking for a new assistant healer.”

Clio searched her memories and groaned inwardly. She had been immersed in a copy of The Lady magazine at the time, brimming with the latest fashion plates, and she had only half heard what Alinora had said.

“Well, I forgot, all right!” She smoothed the lace frills along the hem of her blouse to regain her composure. “And besides, you never actually said you were going to apply, just that the position was available.”

Alinora shrieked behind clenched teeth and waggled the book she had been reading in Clio’s befuddled face.

“Why do you think I’ve been spending so much time studying healing magic? It’s not been for my own leisure. I’ve been brushing up, so I’d be prepared for the interview.” She threw the book on the nightstand between their beds and sunk onto her mattress, covering her face with her hands. “It was my one chance at a good job in this city! A job I could actually do!” she said. Her fingers muffled another shriek. “And you stole it from me!”

Clio couldn’t believe what she was hearing. After college, they had decided to go to London to look for work, agreeing it would be much easier and safer to do it together. They had been searching for months, and they were running out of time and borrowed money. Now that Clio had found something with an income, she could pay their rent until Alinora found a position, too. They were finally going to be independent women, no longer reliant on wealthy relatives or indifferent charities.

The gall of Alinora to be so ungracious! She should have been thanking Clio, not arguing over who got what!

“Of all the—! I come in here to tell you I can keep us in the flat, and you’re upset because you think I took a job from you? It wasn’t yours to begin with, Nora. Anyone could have applied. Admit it, you’re just angry because I got to it first!”

“No!” Alinora dropped her hands, revealing red-tinged eyes. “I’m upset because no matter what you do, you always get your way. I’ve spent my entire life trying to measure up, and you, with your beautiful clothes and elegant posture and rich family, you just walk right into the first job interview you’re offered and get it on the first go. You don’t even know how to heal properly!”

“I do, too! I know how to do all kinds of minor healing incantations.”

“But not any of the major ones! And you’re shit at most of the ones you do know.”

Clio’s hand flew to her throat in astonishment. She had never heard Alinora swear before. “I am not!”

“You are! You’ve always needed my help to remember the difference between the abrasion charm and the bruise one. How do you think you’re going to heal whooping cough or scarlet fever if you can’t do the simplest of magic?”

Clio’s mouth shut with an audible click. She had been so excited to interview for the position, she hadn’t thought of what the job might fully entail. It was a posting for an educated mage when such positions were becoming rare thanks to new scientific discoveries, and she had snatched it up before anyone else could. The administrator had been so impressed by her school marks and poise, she hadn’t thought to ask him about what she would be doing on the job. Everything he had said after he offered her the position was immediately forgotten as she dreamed of having her own income for the first time in her life.

Alinora crossed her arms. Her tears had stopped, but her eyes were still puffy. “Did the administrator even ask you to do any incantations for him?”

Clio cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “Well, no.”

“Of course not. I’ll wager he took one look at your name, knew exactly who your aunt is, and handed you the position on the spot.”

“That’s not fair! This has nothing to do with my family,” Clio balked. “My aunt barely acknowledges me now that we’re out of school. There’s no way that administrator could possibly know I’m related to her. The old bat would have seen to it, I’m sure. No, he saw my marks and knew I would make an excellent assistant healer.”

Alinora lifted her hands in surrender, though her expression said otherwise. “All right, fine. But how do you expect to keep the job, hmm? Because once they discover you can’t heal more than a papercut, you’re going to be out on the street looking for work again.”

As she worried her lower lip between her teeth, pondering an adequate response, Clio saw Alinora’s textbook on the nightstand. “Perhaps,” she said cautiously, “you could help me. Like when we were in school.”

“No.”

The word was spoken with such finality, Clio actually flinched.

“No, I’ve helped you enough.” Alinora stood up and stalked past the bedsheet into the sitting room. There was a faint rustle of fabric, Alinora slipping into her coat. “I’m getting dinner on my own,” she called toward the bedroom. “And after that, I’m going to find a fresh copy of Mages Weekly. You better hope another position has opened up by the time I do.”

The door to their flat slammed shut.

Clio stared blankly at the spot Alinora had just left, her insides deflating like a pricked balloon. She hadn’t felt that way since she was a child, after her mother had discovered her father . . .

Alinora’s quilt lay bunched on her bed. Automatically, Clio straightened it with a pull of magic and a flick of her hand. She shook her head at the absurdity of it all. As angry as Alinora had sounded, the woman couldn’t deny she needed Clio just as much as Clio needed her. They’d been through too much together. This was just a little thing. It would blow over, like all of their other disagreements.

But her face when she left.

No, I’ve helped you enough.

Clio took in their spartan flat and Alinora’s untidy corner as though she was seeing it all for the first time. She didn’t have to keep living such a threadbare life now that she had paying work, especially with someone so ungrateful, someone who didn’t appreciate her for her particular skills and intelligence. Someone who thought she only got the job because she came from a well-connected family.

No, Alinora was wrong. Clio got the job because she was a good mage. She could pull Ether well enough, and she could master the more complicated incantations when she was working on the hospital ward. She could do it. And she would do it without Alinora’s help.

Nodding decisively, Clio retrieved her mother’s old suitcase from the back of the shared wardrobe. She fished out her clothes, leaving Alinora’s well-worn dresses behind, and mumbled the charm that folded everything neatly inside the case. After packing her perfumes and lotions and favorite magazines, she gave the flat a quick onceover. Then, she slipped out the door and never looked back.

#

Alinora tried to read the textbook on healing magic she had brought from Glasgow, but Clio’s presence on the train was too much of a distraction. Or perhaps it was all the gin. After rereading the same paragraph ten times, she threw the book onto the sleeper car’s cot and paced the short length of the compartment.

How could Clio ask her to share a space—a life—again after all that had happened? Apparently, leaving their flat in London without so much as a goodbye hadn’t affected Clio in the slightest. Alinora supposed that shouldn’t have been a surprise to her, but it still stung. The fact that Clio’s leaving still hurt so deeply, after all their years apart, surprised Alinora even more.

Someone knocked on her compartment’s door. With the shades drawn, Alinora couldn’t tell who it was in the corridor. Too tired and confused to answer, she pulled enough magic to lay a silencing charm over the space, hoping whoever it was would think she was asleep and would go away.

Another knock came, louder and more insistent. Reluctantly, Alinora opened the door. Clio stood on the other side in all her radiant beauty.

“May I come in?” She curled in on herself a little, looking genuinely apologetic.

After a slight hesitation, Alinora stood aside, allowing the other woman to glide into the compartment. The floral notes of Clio’s Chanel No. 5 wafted in behind her. She settled herself on the cot as though they were back in their old London flat and picked up Alinora’s book, paging through it with an indifferent air.

“I didn’t come here to quarrel over old times, Nora.” Though she appeared bored, the quaver from earlier hadn’t left Clio’s voice. She turned several more pages and, finding nothing to her taste, sighed dramatically before tossing the book on the floor.

“Why did you come here then?” Alinora asked, immediately diving for her book. She concentrated on the side that had hit the floorboards, brushing off every speck of coal dust that clung to it.

“I was serious about needing a place to stay, and I’d rather not lodge with some woman I don’t know.” Without warning, Clio’s tone shifted, becoming more cloyingly sweet than Alinora thought was possible. “We were comfortable in London before, you and I. Please say you’ll have me again, love.”

Alinora stopped mid-brush to glare at Clio. The nerve!

“In all our crossings on the rails, you’ve barely said more than a polite hello to me. Yet suddenly, I’m ‘love’ now? What are you really after, Clio?”

“Do I have to be after something to want to spend time with my dearest friend? We haven’t seen each other in ages!”

“And whose fault is that?”

Clio crossed her arms and huffed, her spine flawlessly straight. She had always received perfect marks in their finishing courses, and Alinora found she still resented her for it.

“Look,” Clio said with an exasperated sigh. “I confess I didn’t know how difficult it was for you after I left, and I’m sorry. Truly I am. Can’t we just forget about it and try to be friends again?”

Alinora spun to glower at the door. She found it difficult to look Clio in the eye when she talked of renewing a friendship tainted by her own actions.

“I don’t know.” It was all Alinora could think to say. Again, she silently berated herself for drinking more than was good for her. It was affecting her judgment.

“That’s all right. I can wait.” There was the briefest of pauses. “But it would be nice to have an answer before we reach London.”

Alinora rolled her eyes. It was just like Clio to try to push herself into Alinora’s life like she had in their school days. But she wasn’t that school girl anymore. There was something different about her.

Alinora peeked over her shoulder to get another look at the pristinely dressed woman seated on her bed. Outwardly, Clio seemed just the same as before, if a bit older, but there was definitely something changed about her. She kept eyeing the compartment’s plain, yet adequate amenities with an uncharacteristic and haunted hunger.

“What’s going on?”

Clio plucked a nonexistent thread from the sleeve of her coat. “What do you mean?”

“Do you really have a job at Selfridge’s?”

The other woman’s mouth twisted like she’d just sucked a lemon. “I told you my former employer gave me a good reference, didn’t I? It’s just a matter of applying for a position when I get there.”

Alinora couldn’t believe what she was hearing. And yet, she could. Clio hadn’t changed in the slightest. She slumped against the door, both exhaustion and the other woman’s relentless selfishness weighing her down.

“Be honest. You just want to live with me, so you’ll be that much closer to court, don’t you?”

Clio’s eyes bulged, her expression the picture of innocence. She started to deny everything, when someone frantically knocked on the compartment’s door.

“Lady Mage! Are you there?”

A bedraggled attendant stood in the sleeper car’s tiny corridor. He removed his cap from his sweaty head and wheezed as though he had sprinted the entire length of the train.

“I’m sorry to disturb, Lady Mage,” he said between gulping breaths, “but you’re needed urgently in the locomotive cab.”

Alinora scrabbled around the compartment for her traveling coat and yanked it on. “Tell me on the way there,” she said. As an afterthought, she grabbed Clio by the arm and dragged her out of the compartment with her. “If it’s this urgent, they’re going to need you, too.”

Clio sputtered in protest, but Alinora kept a firm grip on her as they followed the attendant to the front of the train.

“There’s a train derailed ahead of us, Miss,” the conductor shouted over the engine when they arrived. “We received word over the Etherwire they don’t have any mages on their manifest, and they’re having trouble righting the carriages. We won’t slow down in time without your help.”

Alinora nodded and positioned herself in the middle of the smoky, suffocating cab. After a noticeable hesitation, Clio stood just behind her, her stance not as wide and solid as Alinora’s. Pushing their earlier conversation to the back of her mind, Alinora gave the brakeman his instructions.

The two women stretched their arms as wide as they could in the stifling space and pulled magic from the Ether into their hands. Alinora chanted the words for her protection bubble as drops of sweat itched the skin between her shoulder blades. Beneath the roar of the engine, she could hear Clio reciting a half beat behind her.

Their hazy, translucent buffer shimmered in the air above them before settling on the front of the locomotive. Alinora shouted at the brakeman to apply the brakes, which screeched like frightened bats beneath their feet. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Clio straining to pull more magic than the useless trickle dripping from her fingertips. After several more attempts to strengthen her grip on the Ether, she shrieked in dismay and crumpled to the floor.

“Clio! What are you doing?” The train rocked dangerously on the rails, nowhere close to making a full stop. Alinora gritted her teeth and expanded the buffer. “Get up and help me!”

“I can’t!”

“You have to! Get up and be useful for once!”

“I. Can’t!” Clio’s voice cracked. Alinora glanced down long enough to see sooty tracks trailing her usually glowing cheeks. “I can’t pull enough Ether. I’ve burnt myself out. Like Mama.”

A frustrated growl rumbled like a train in Alinora’s throat as she pulled more magic than she ever had before, broadening and thickening the buffer until it was a massive, glittering balloon attached to the front of the locomotive. She extended it back, enveloping the entire train in her shield, hoping it would be enough to keep the carriages on the rails like the last time.

“All passengers! We are about to make a sudden, violent stop! Brace yourselves against anything bolted down!” the conductor called through his Etherphone.

Clio crawled across the floor and grabbed a handhold near the door of the cab. Alinora stayed put while the brakeman gripped her arm, looping his other elbow around a pipe.

The jolt on impact was like the explosion from a cannon blast. Alinora lost her footing and toppled onto the fireman. Clio cried out and the conductor coughed and moaned somewhere behind them. The sweltering roar from the firebox and the hissing steam whistle covered any screams from the nearest carriages.

Gasping for breath, Alinora waited for the strength to return to her limbs and the slight dizziness to subside before standing with the brakeman’s help. She swore to herself she was never going to drink again. Through his Etherphone, the conductor asked the passengers to remain where they were. A mage would come through to help those who were injured.

“Do you need anything before you make your rounds, ladies?” the conductor asked.

Clio shook her head from where she sat on the floor, looking small and numb. Alinora coughed and asked for some water. As she waited for an attendant to fetch a glass, she slid down next to Clio, letting her jelly legs rest while she healed a scrape on the other woman’s knee.

“We don’t have the time now,” she murmured, “but I would like to know what happened to you.”

Clio’s hands trembled violently in her lap. She lifted her head, and for the first time in their long friendship, Alinora saw real fear in Clio’s eyes.

“Do you think you can help me, Nora?” she whimpered.

Alinora melted a little. “I don’t know,” she said gently. “I’ll try.”

Clio nodded as tears bubbled on her lashes. The conductor handed Alinora a flask of water, and she downed it before leaving her forlorn friend on the floor of the cab.

Despite all that had been said and done, she hoped Clio would be all right.

#

Clio sat on a bench between a group of coal miners and a family that had scraped together enough money to ride coach. She dabbed a handkerchief against her sweaty forehead, wishing she could make the train go faster. The collision had reminded her of how little power she had left. But seated there in coach, knowing Alinora was mere cars away resting in her quiet, tidy sleeper car only made it that much more unbearable.

Unable to endure the noise and heat any longer, Clio pushed through the crowd to the exit. She wandered the rest of the train, finding herself back in the empty dining car. The sky was violet along the horizon, the Ether lanterns giving the carriage a soft, inviting glow. She asked the bartender for water and took it to one of the booths, sliding to the window to watch the sun disappear behind the Spring green hills. Stars speckled the sky, like a cobalt blue ballgown studded with diamonds.

The door to the dining car opened, and an exhausted Alinora sagged onto a bar stool.

Clio immediately wanted to run to her, to thank her for listening when Clio poured her heart out about her weakened state. To thank her for attempting to heal Clio’s connection to the Ether, though nothing Alinora had tried worked. To plead with her not to throw their friendship away.

“I’ve been making my own way for far too long to go back to what we had before,” Alinora had said. “I’m sorry, Clio, but I don’t think I can ever trust you again.”

As Alinora sipped her nightcap at the bar, she glanced over her shoulder and caught Clio staring. She stiffened in her dusty traveling coat. Then, smiling sadly, she bobbed her head in acknowledgement and left the car with her drink.

They had said all there was to be said, and that was that.

Clio remained in the empty dining car, drinking her water until the world outside was clad in night. As the constellations moved with the train, her mind whirred with new hopes and new possibilities. Like Alinora, she had made her own way in the world for years.

She could do it again when she reached London.

THE END

Copyright (c) Amanda Cook, 2025

Thanks for reading.

A. Cook

A Poem for Your Screaming, Frustrated Soul

So, how are you?

If you’re one of about half of Americans, like me, you’ve probably been screaming internally since January 20th. Actually, it’s probably more than half of America at this point. I think someone somewhere is screaming about something in every corner of this country right now.

In honor of our collective frustration over *gestures at everything*, here is a poem I wrote this past week as my own form of resistance.

Anyway, that’s all I have. Go call your reps about the things you most care about that could be under threat as I type this. Go make your art, no matter how badly. And make sure you take time to rest when you can.

As always, thanks for reading.

A. Cook

Art for the Times We’re In

It’s January 2025, and the year has already started off rough. Bitterly cold, more snow than we probably need, and a certain person is now president of the United States. Again. Also, one of my favorite authors turns out to be a horrible, horrible person. The allegations against him were made public last summer, and I was horrified by his behavior then, but a new article this month painted an even more horrifying picture of what happened to his victims. And his response to the allegations was basically a non-response with zero actual regret for the women he victimized. (I will not be naming names. Based on some of my art and one particular cosplay that I love, you can probably guess who I’m talking about.)

I’ve been in such grief and rage over it all, I wrote a poem about it, because sometimes, that’s how I have to process things. Also, when there’s so much garbage in the world, it’s best to counteract it with something beautiful, even if it’s grief-stricken, too.

I don’t have much else to say. It’s a new year. We have a new, terrifying administration governing our country. The next four years are going to be rough for many. I’m trying to focus on my family, friends, and community and doing the work locally where I can. And I’m trying to find joy and beauty where I can to keep life bearable and survivable.

I hope wherever you are, you are safe and warm and surrounded by beauty that brings you joy.

Speaking of making art, here are some sketches I’ve done recently that I’m particularly proud of.

As always, thanks for reading.

A. Cook

I Know What I Did This Summer

Summer technically doesn’t end until next month, but already, my kids are back to school, which means our Summer Break is officially over. It went by in the blink of an eye, full of travel and fun with some actual rest managed in between.

I finished the cosplay I’d been working on in time for Gen Con Indy at the beginning of August. At the end of last year, when Doctor Who celebrated its 60th Anniversary and (my favorite Doctor and actor) returned for three glorious episodes, I decided to revisit my Doctor Who cosplay, but as Fourteen instead of Ten. Surprisingly, I found someone online selling the screen accurate brown with blue and white striped tartan wool I knew I would need for Fourteen’s waistcoat and trousers. I bought the fabric and then procrastinated on starting the cosplay.

Mostly, I was busy, but also, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to attempt the trousers. I’m going through perimenopause, and my body weight has fluctuated considerably over the past few years due to the pandemic, chronic illness, and back pain. I was afraid that if I made the wool trousers, not only would they be too hot for an Indiana August, but I might only wear them once before gaining or losing weight again. I think it was my seeing in a kilt in one of his first episodes as the Fifteenth Doctor that gave me the idea to attempt one for this cosplay. Not only would it be a lot cooler to wear (both in terms of temperature regulation as well as just being plain cool), it would be a nod to both Ncuti’s and David’s Scottish heritage. Also, I could adjust the fit later as my body changes over time.

Thus, began my journey into the art of kiltmaking. I bought a book and went down the endless rabbit hole of YouTube videos before finally getting up the courage to start. I made some personal choices and deviations throughout the creation process, including using my machine to sew the pleats, which is a no-no in traditional kiltmaking, but I would still be hand stitching those pleats to this day if I hadn’t. The end result is far from perfect, but it turned out beautifully anyway, and it did the job better than expected on the day. I also decided to try my hand at some tailoring techniques in the waistcoat’s collar and lapels, which also turned out great. I even did a makeup transformation, a la Rachel Maksy, to make my face appear more like David’s, though I wore a mask at Gen Con, so nobody could really see it anyway.

Gen Con itself was fun, but super crowded and a bit overwhelming. I participated in three writing classes through the Gen Con Writer’s Symposium and came away from the con with more writing than I had done in a long time, which made it all worthwhile. I also demoed several games, played some with friends and my family, and generally had a blast. Because the kids were able to attend the entire convention with their dad and I, it was an extra special convention for all of us.

Now that the convention is behind us and school is back in session, I’ve returned to having the house to myself during the day. The weather here has been absolutely gorgeous for the past several days, which allowed me to get a nice walk in around our local university’s campus and a much needed sketching session. My spouse and I have finally started watching “The Last of Us,” which is so much better than I thought it would be. (I’m not a horror fan.) In celebration, I decided to sketch a sad, protective as Joel Miller for my next portrait.

As far as writing goes, I have several pieces out on submission, but I haven’t had anything accepted in a long while and the rejections have been coming very slowly. I just started revisions on a trunked story to see if I could turn it into something else for a submission call. We’ll see if anything comes of it. I hope to work on more poetry and maybe even publish a chapbook (or find a small press to publish it for me). Everything is up in the air, right now, and surprisingly, I’m okay with that.

I suppose that’s all for now. I hope you are having a wonderful August and staying comfortable wherever you may be. Have a great finish to your own holidays and restful beginning to your next season.

And, as always, thanks for reading.

A. Cook

One More For Good Measure: woman in this world

I was supposed to go to the beach with my immediate and extended family this week, but instead, I stayed home to recuperate from an ailment and take care of my chronically painful back. It was a quiet week of rest, crafting, taking in the beautiful weather, and watching TV and videos. During that time, my creative well refilled enough to write a new poem. It’s too raw and of the moment to sit waiting for an acceptance from a market, so I’m sharing it here and on my social media.

Content Warning for mentions of death and war

I hope wherever you’re at, you are safe and comfortable and able to rest from whatever the world is flinging at you.

As always, thank you for reading.

A. Cook

Another New Poem: “The Parts of Me They Trimmed”

May was a whirlwind of end of school events, culminating in a trip to London and Paris with my spouse for a very late 20th Anniversary trip. We had an amazing time walking, sightseeing, visiting museums and historical sites and churches, and eating delicious food. It was the kind of trip that changes a person, and I’m so glad we finally did it. When we returned home, we were already well into June. I spent the rest of the month relaxing into summer, working on a cosplay, celebrating my birthday, and trying to stay as cool as possible.

And July is beginning with the best news yet! Today, the speculative fiction magazine Kaleidotrope published my poem, “The Parts of Me They Trimmed,” in their Summer 2024 issue. It’s available to read for free online, and I’m so happy to finally see it in print. I have a draft in Word that says I wrote it in 2021, but I think I handwrote it long before that, tinkering with it until I got it just the way I wanted it. And then, it took a while to find the right home for this small, strange poem that a mutual online dubbed “horrifying, devastating, and beautiful,” but I’m so glad it landed at Kaleidotrope. If you’ve read most of my other work, you’ll discover this piece is unlike anything I’ve had published before.

Thanks to Fred Coppersmith, the publisher and editor at Kaleidotrope, you can find “The Parts of Me They Trimmed” here.

And since it’s getting quite late here, I must be off to bed.

As always, thanks for reading.

A. Cook

A Poem in the Final Hours of National Poetry Month

I’m a day behind (Happy May, all!), but I wanted to share a poem here that I posted to my socials last night as a final thought before National Poetry Month ended. Usually, my poetry stays in a draft folder, never to see the light of day. Occasionally, I send my poems out to see if anyone will agree to publish them. I’ve had minimal luck on that front. And sometimes, I just want to show my words to the world.

Happy National Poetry Month (late), 2024!

As always, thanks for reading.

A. Cook

New Poem Day: “Guidelines for Living Your Fairy Tale (in no Particular Order)” in The Future Fire!

Wow, a new update, already???? (Also, my spouse and I have been watching a whole lot of “Succession” lately, but I will always and forever love Matthew Macfadyen as Mister Darcy in the 2005 adaptation of “Pride and Prejudice”.)

But seriously, I’m just jumping in to announce a poem of mine has been published in the latest issue of The Future Fire! The editors decided to make Issue 2024.69 their “Hopeful Issue”, and I was thrilled when they said they wanted to publish my poem, “Guidelines for Living Your Fairy Tale (in no Particular Order)”, alongside other poems and short stories about hope and utopia with words that bring optimism and comfort. It’s the kind of issue that’s really needed right now, and I’m “hopeful” my little poem about following your own path might bring an extra smile to those who read it. Also, the artwork the editors commissioned, by Joel Bisaillon, is just gorgeous!

Not much else is happening with me and my family. We had a wonderful Spring Break in New Orleans, Louisiana, in March. I’ve been planning a trip to London and Paris with my spouse in May/June to celebrate our very belated 20th anniversary, which happened during the days of lockdowns and distance learning. My kids are in their final months of the school year, and summer will soon be upon us. I’m looking forward to several weeks of rest and travel before our oldest kid starts his last year of high school in the fall. It’s amazing how fast this year is flying by already!

I haven’t written any new stories since February, but I’ve been having loads of fun sharing my poetry with a weekly virtual writing group. I’m seriously thinking about publishing a chapbook, because I know I have enough poems to fill one. I might even have enough to make two. And maybe I’ll even add in some sketches or other artwork to liven up the pages. We’ll see.

I hope you’re having a wonderful season wherever you are, and as always, thanks so much for reading!

A. Cook

New Story Day (About A Week Late)!

I’m just jumping in here real quick to say a new story of mine has been released into the wild! (Also, I wanted to share my latest sketch, which is Pedro Pascal at the most recent SAG Awards, because he was so completely adorable, and I really loved how this drawing came out. Anyway . . .)

Last May, I attended one of my favorite local conventions for writers and creatives, called Mo*Con. It’s run by a truly amazing writer, teacher, and community organizer, Maurice Broaddus, and he always puts together an incredible lineup of writers and artists for panels or just to chat with informally. He also finds way to have the best food ever served up at meal times. During Mo*Con 2023, he had a little Flash Fiction Contest and encouraged the writers in attendance to write a flash story based on one of the paintings on display. The artwork at the con was by a talented Indianapolis artist, Rae Parker, and one of their pieces really spoke to me. It was a painting of two Black women wearing vintage dresses and hats, and one of them was holding a bouquet of flowers. I wrote up a little time travel story about those two women and submitted it to the contest.

Some time over the summer, Maurice informed me that my story was voted runner up in the contest, and he was hoping to get it published alongside the winning story on Apex Magazine’s blog, a professional speculative fiction magazine that he also guest edits. And lo and behold, that story is now out in the world!

It’s called “I Left My Heart in the Timeline,” and you can read it at Apex’s blog here just under the winning story, “Ready for Battle,” by Madisen Ray. I’m really happy with this little piece of mine, and I’m so grateful to Maurice for providing the unique opportunity of getting it published in a pro magazine.

That’s all I have for now. My kids’ Spring Break is next week, and I’m looking forward to traveling for a few days, and then, the end of the school year will be here before we know it. And then, my spouse and I will finally be celebrating our 20th anniversary (almost 3 years late) in London and Paris at the end of May. I cannot wait.

As always, thanks for reading.

A. Cook

Happy New-ish Year!

So, what’s up?

Not much here. Or at least, not much that I really want to talk about. It’s 2024, and here in the United States, another national (and state level) election is on the horizon. I am super stressed about what the outcome will be, because it will affect me and my family in a multitude of ways (along with the rest of the country, of course).

I took a long break from writing at the end of 2023 and decided to turn to visual art as a way of coping and healing from a disappointing year of virtually no sales and burnout. (I actually did sell a story–to a professional market, no less–but I have no idea when it will be published. So, yeah. Disappointing.) I loved to draw when I was a kid, and I took art lessons as a tween/early teenager, so I could enter pieces in my county 4H fairs. I did fairly well competing, but I never really thought I could be an artist in the professional sense.

2023 hit, and I really needed to do something with my time other than prodding words from my mushy brain. I bought a watercolor set that came with a sketch pencil, took some simple online painting and drawing courses on SkillShare, and then went to town. I have painted several pieces as gifts that have not gone to their respective homes yet (thus, they’re not being shared here), but I also decided to break in a sketchbook I bought ages ago and never used. Instead of NaNoWriMo in November, I sketched practically everyday and found I have an affinity for faces. This was helped by the sheer quantity of fanart I was consuming on Tumblr, which gave me the itch to try my hand at it, too.

Here are several of my favorite pieces sketched over the past few months. Enjoy!

These are in no particular order, but you can see the dates in the corners of most of them, so there’s a sense of my progress. (You can also tell which faces I tend to gravitate to the most. I maaaaaybe got into a couple of fandoms last year a bit more than is healthy for me.) I’m really proud of what I’ve accomplished so far, and I’ll continue to use drawing (and painting) as a way to heal my mind when it’s too overwhelmed by the world.

In the meantime, I am writing again thanks to a weekly “flash fiction competition” in one of my online writing communities. It’s been fun and engaging, and I’ve needed the opportunity to just write stuff off the top of my head to a deadline. I’m planning on submitting a few of my stories after they’ve been revised, but I’m keeping my expectations low this year. The publishing industry as a whole is completely bonkers right now. So much so, I may actually self-publish again. We’ll see.

That’s all I have for now. I hope you’re having a better start to 2024 than I have, and if not, I hope you get as many chances to rest and heal as possible this year.

And, as always, thanks for reading.

A. Cook