When college senior Jane Lamb dies suddenly, she discovers that the afterlife is less pearly gates and fluffy clouds and more standing in line at the DMV. But before she can spend eternity lamenting over her short, unremarkable life, she’s offered a do-over—as a Conduit, a reincarnated messenger contracted to reap souls.

Determined to do things right the second time, Jane takes the job and reincarnates as eighteen-year-old college freshman Liv Hartley. Only, the excitement for her new life doesn’t last. There are consequences to bearing the coveted infinity symbol tattoo marking her as a Conduit, and Liv quickly finds that getting a second chance doesn’t mean getting a better one. Possessive demons, stolen assignments, and a love life that’s decidedly complicated are all a far cry from the mundane existence Jane led. But with more questions piling up than bodies, there’s only one thing Liv knows for sure: life doesn’t get any easier after death.

Filled with sparkling wit, conflicted romance, and more spirit than a haunted mansion, Conduit is a fun-filled paranormal that explores the idea of regret, love, and what we would give to live twice.

Are you ready? We’re ready. Scroll for the reveal!

Make sure you pre-order and add Conduit to your Goodreads TBR list!

The post Cover Reveal // Conduit appeared first on REUTS | Boutique Book Publisher |.

If you want to read along with us and avoid the SPOILERS that will follow, you can pick up your copy of The Untold Tale from major online retailers.

About the book

Forsyth Turn is not a hero. Lordling of Turn Hall and Lysse Chipping, yes. Spymaster for the king, certainly. But hero? That’s his older brother’s job, and Kintyre Turn is nothing if not legendary. However, when a raid on the kingdom’s worst criminal results in the rescue of a bafflingly blunt woman, oddly named and even more oddly mannered, Forsyth finds his quaint, sedentary life is turned on its head.

Dragged reluctantly into a quest he never expected, and fighting villains that even his brother has never managed to best, Forsyth is forced to confront his own self-shame and the demons that come with always being second-best. And, more than that, when he finally realizes where Lucy came from and why she’s here, he’ll be forced to question not only his place in the world, but the very meaning of his own existence.

Smartly crafted, The Untold Tale gives agency to the unlikeliest of heroes: the silenced, the marginalized, and the overlooked. It asks what it really means to be a fan when the worlds you love don’t resemble the world you live in, celebrates the power of the written word, challenges tropes, and shows us what happens when someone stands up and refuses to remain a secondary character in their own life.

Part One: “I assume the body is a corpse.” Chapters 1 and 2

Part Two: “Information, at last!” Chapters 3, 4, and 5

Part Three: “Your brother is a slimeball.” Chapters 6 and 7

Part Four: “It’s not cheating to know your enemy.” Chapters 8, 9, and 10

Part Five: “I’m allowed to want it.” Chapters 11 and 12

Part Six: “I wasn’t any help.” Chapters 13 and 14

Part Seven: “That’s the magic of being a fan.” Chapters 15 and 16

Part Eight: “Scars are scars; they don’t just vanish.” Chapters 17 and 18

Part Nine: “Fill it with good.” Chapters 19 and 20

Part 10: Chapters 21 and 22

Pip and Forsyth have been back in the “real” world for several months when Pip surprises Forsyth with a trip…to a fantasy convention a la WorldCon, where Elgar Reed–Forsyth’s Writer–is the guest of honor. What’s more, she’s arranged for a private dinner for Forsyth to meet his creator.

For our final post on The Untold Tale, we’ve interviewed author J.M. Frey.

Q#1: You’ve said that The Untold Tale is about the power of imagination, of the written word, and all of that is closely tied with the experience of being a fan, particularly when you’re not, shall we say, the fan the author had in mind. In that way, could it be said that The Untold Tale exorcised a lot of particular emotions for you?

Oh, heck yes! The very first scene I wrote of The Untold Tale was the section (now chapters four and five) where Pip yells at Kintyre and Bevel for being brutes in the middle of the dinner and dance sequence.  (Though back then the POV was Pip’s and Forsyth didn’t exist yet as a character).

I did this specifically because I was writing to exorcise a frustration I had after a conversation with a male friend about fantasy novel tropes. We had argued in circles and circles, and realizing that I wouldn’t win this argument, I stomped into my office, shut the door, and wrote a scene where a female aca-fan shouts at a fantasy hero for being the reason she wasn’t taken seriously as a fantasy fan.

When I reread the scene again, I realized that I had accidentally invented a few characters that I might like to return to, and set about trying to figure out if there was a narrative here, instead of just a rant.  So it was meant at first to be an exorcising exercise, but it did bloom into something more, which incidentally allowed me to address more than one frustration, and to do so within the context of a plot and a character’s journey.

Have those frustrations with the genre been completely purged since I wrote the book? Well, no. I mean, there are two more books coming!

On a serious note: the thing is, me writing about how frustrating, and annoying, and scary being a female fan can be has not magically changed the way women in genre fiction, comics, conventions, and cosplay are treated. It has brought the issues into light for people who might not have already been aware of them, and it might have made some readers more aware that they exist, but it has not made them disappear. And until women are not objectified in fiction in ways that make others treat their real-life counterparts as commodities, groped and raped at conventions, trolled and stalked and doxed and told to kill themselves on social media for daring to work in SF/F, as long as disgruntled men shoot up campuses and blame the girls who wouldn’t date him for it, then no – my frustration, and anger, and sorrow, and hurt will not be exorcised.

The writing has helped articulate my horror, and hopefully in the reading of the books, others will learn to recognize the harmful trends and tropes and move beyond them.

Q#2: Reading The Forgotten Tale, I’d never have guessed that The Untold Tale was meant to be a standalone. They flow so well. What gave you the idea for Pip and Forsyth’s second adventure?

The Untold Tale was always really only meant to be an extended character-study with plot.  I felt, when I had reached the end of the book, that Forsyth had reached the end of his evolution as a character, that there was nothing left to say. The Untold Tale was pitched around as a stand-alone. A few publishers expressed a wish to see a series out of the world, but they wanted The Tales of Kintyre Turn, not a fantasy series from the POV of Forsyth.

As the whole point of The Untold Tale was explicitly to write something that wasn’t The Tales of Kintyre Turn, I wasn’t interested in discussing it with my agent. (Though, I don’t think any of those discussions were serious offers in and of themselves.)

REUTS Publications was the first publisher to ask what happened after Pip and Forsyth slip their pages. They were the first ones to really express an interest in turning Forsyth’s story into a series. While I had batted around ideas about what I could do as follow-up short stories and novellas (Ghosts was written nearly immediately following The Untold Tale), I hadn’t considered an actual trilogy of novels.

So, the first thing I did when my agent made it clear that yes, I really did have to entertain their offer for a three book deal, was freak out, panic, pour a glass of wine, and contact as many of my nerdy book friends as I could to ask what it was that they loved and hated about second-in-the-series books.

I had a conversation nearly a decade ago with Doctor Who writer Robert Shearman, about what it was like to be asked to bring back the iconic villains featured in his episode Dalek. He told me that he didn’t want to do Daleks. He’d always thought they were kind of stupid, as far as baddies went. They were defeated by stairs, they had plungers that did nothing, their whisk-guns weren’t terrifying, they sounded squeaky and wobbled when they moved.

But his wife challenged him, he said, to take everything he disliked about the Daleks, and to make it terrifying. What if stairs didn’t hinder the Daleks any more? What if the plunger did something? Something horrible? What if the creature’s voice was the very thing that horrified the Doctor more than anything else?

So I asked my friends, what do you love about second books? What do you hate? What annoys you? And I compiled this list and I recalled this conversation with Rob and I thought: “Okay. How can I make these weaknesses strengths? How can I be true to the tropes and stereotypes of second novels, but do it in a way where I flip them, the way I did with book one?”

It also helped that a television producer had been interested in the book as a series at the time and had pleaded with me not to write a “mushy middle book” that they would have to struggle to turn into a second season that wouldn’t get the show cancelled. With that playful threat looming over my head, I knew that the story had to be meaningful, had to flow organically from the first book, refer back to the first book, and build on what I had already started there.

Q#3: What’s your favorite chapter in TFT?

I like all the bits ones with the songs and poems that I had to make up. I love culture-building in books. I not-so-secretly hope that someone will one day compose melodies for them so I can sing my own songs.

—

The Forgotten Tale is out now! Pick it up from these retailers:

Smashwords | Amazon | Barnes & Noble

Forsyth Turn has finally become a hero—however reluctantly. But now that Lucy Piper has married him and they’ve started a family in her world, his adventuring days are behind him. Yet not all is as it should be. Beloved novels are disappearing at an alarming rate, not just from the minds of readers like Pip, but from bookshelves as well. Almost as if they had never been. Almost like magic.

Forsyth fears that it is his fault—that Pip’s childhood tales are vanishing because he, a book character, has escaped his pages. But when he and Pip are sucked back into The Tales of Kintyre Turn against their will, they realize that something much more deadly and dire is happening. The stories are vanishing from Forsyth’s world too. So Forsyth sets out on a desperate journey across Hain to discover how, and why, the stories are disappearing… before their own world vanishes forever.

In this clever follow-up to The Untold Tale, The Forgotten Tale questions what it means to create a legacy, and what we owe to those who come after us.

The post “Welcome to the madhouse, Syth.” The Untold Read-Along Part 10 appeared first on REUTS | Boutique Book Publisher |.

Guest post by Laurie McLean, Partner at Fuse Literary. Laurie represents the wonderful REUTS author, J.M. Frey.

When I first read The Untold Tale by J.M. Frey, I was amazed at both its audacity and its storytelling energy. The characters were like none I’d read about in an epic fantasy novel. The hero was the spymaster for the king masquerading as a fuddy-duddy second son whose older brother was a hero of legendary proportions. The heroine did not fit into preconceived notions of women in this fairy tale world. There was also something very mysterious about her background that we don’t find out about until mid-way through the book, so I won’t spoil it here.

Suffice to say that I loved this book and I set about trying to sell it to eager science fiction and fantasy editors in New York. I pitched the book and they all wanted to take a look. Months passed, as they do during the submission process. Then the rejections began to amass. It was too “meta.” The hero was not “alpha” enough. It was too long. It was non-standard. And the always popular and very general, “It’s not right for my list.”

I don’t know about all of you, but I am tired of reading the same old tropes in my sword and sorcery or quest fantasy novels. I search for new tales and new ways of telling them. I look for diversity in both characters and setting. I want the thrill of the adventure, but in a new way. That’s why I loved J.M. Frey’s The Untold Tale, as well as the second book which is launching in December 2016: The Forgotten Tale.

Frey strives for the diverse and unexpected in her books. This made it difficult for me to sell it to mainstream publishers who wanted more of the same that had sold so well in the past.

Frustrated beyond belief that I was unable to sell this series, I was giving a keynote at a writers conference in Seattle, and I mentioned that everyone’s path to publishing was different. I urged the hopeful writers in the room not to compare themselves to successful authors who had come before them (although everyone does), and I told the tale of my difficulties in selling a book of my heart.

Afterwards, as I was getting coffee (it was cold in Seattle that fall), two young women approached me and said that they appreciated my speech. They wanted to know more about the book I was having trouble selling. So we sat down and I waxed on and on about The Untold Tale and why I thought the quality of the writing and storytelling was superb, and how I couldn’t believe I hadn’t been able to sell it. One of them asked for my card, and as we exchanged information, she told me that she was an editor at a small-but-growing publisher in the Pacific Northwest called REUTS Publishing.

Bottom line: At that very conference, Kisa Whipkey asked to read The Untold Tale. She saw what I saw in that manuscript and bought not only book one, but all three books in the series plus several additional novellas, short stories and other bonus material in that world that would accompany the main event. Not only that, she also liked the second series J.M. Frey had shown me, about the first female pilot in a mechanized society reminiscent of World War I, The Skylark’s Song, and she eventually bought that as well.

The Forgotten Tale, the middle book in the series, is one of those rare breeds of middle books that actually carries its own weight. It is a rousing story in and of itself, and a worthy sequel to The Untold Tale. It deals with an apocalypse most of us readers would surely find horrific: the classic stories of our world are disappearing, and Forsyth Turn and his wife Pip must solve this mystery before all stories are erased forever. THE HORROR!

I hope I’ve intrigued you sufficiently that you’ll pick up a copy of The Untold Tale and its successor, The Forgotten Tale. J.M. Frey is just about done with the final book in the series, The Silenced Tale, and I am sure it will be equally enthralling.

‘Til then, I will remain a champion for all tales, comfortable and itchy, magical and harshly realistic, epically long or quickly consumed. To the bookshelves!

-Laurie McLean, Partner

Fuse Literary Agency

The post The Untold Tale…That Almost Went Untold appeared first on REUTS | Boutique Book Publisher |.

Rage rolls like waves from the mortal world into mine. The battle calls.

I answer. Born of the dark chaos of the beginning of everything, it is my purpose.

The realm of faerie stretches out around me. The wispy black of my dress shifts at my feet. Sadness weaves through my mind at the thought of war, of destruction. My shoulders straighten, and the raven feathers of my cape rustle, for before the fight, the choice exists.

Pixies scuttle across my path, animal-like noses twitching. “Our Queen. Our Queen,” they mutter.

Clumps of grasses wander from under my feet. “Make way. ‘Tis the Goddess of War.”

Under the draping branches of a willow tree, denizens of faerie skip in a circle, holding a human captive in the dance. The lilting tune of magic keeps him trapped in the mass of revelers. His wide, manic gaze unable to process the sights of strange creatures writhing in passionate movement. His body teeters at the edge of breaking.

Mortals. Playthings, falling under faerie spells so easily. Yet humans are more, their hearts able to change. If only they embraced their goodness. I glance at the man mesmerized by the glamour, his soul twisted by false visions of forever light. His strength forgotten, lost to the dark.

I do not pity him. He has chosen. Yet the shadow of sadness falls over my heart.

Large oaks sway in the breeze, carrying the scent of an oncoming storm. Once again, I am called to offer a different path to those going to war. An offer of wisdom. An offer few take. I have soared over battlefields, crying in agony over those who died in the fight.

A group of spiked sprigans race by on jagged limbs, holding a screaming, wiggling bundle. Their blue eyes glitter. The fae cause mischief, harmless pranks. They can’t help what they do, for it is their role to play. Men, however, have the ability to learn and grow.

I move with purpose through the ancient rowan trees, holding power, and conjure my staff. The bushes shake as Leprechauns dash beneath their branches, clutching shoes in their tiny fingers, gold jingling in their jacket pockets.

“The Morrigan,” they whisper. “The Morrigan walks.”

My name fills their minds with awe for I am death, forever called to battle. Forever giving my warnings. So many wars. So many deaths.

Man continues to destroy. Choices forgotten. Chances to take another path missed.

I pause at the edge of the forest and stare at the glade where faeries play magic games without worry or care, without love or hate. Groups of bluebells and yellow primroses dot the wild grasses, waving in a warm honey-scented breeze.

Bright red mushroom tops create a perfect circle, a place of magic. Creatures dance around the ring, passionately chanting, frantically waving their arms. Blue, green, and brown-skinned wonders shriek in glee. Teeth and spikes gleam in the light. Claws wave. Goblins stomp and mutter, their large ears flapping. Wings flutter and buzz as sprites flit through the air, giggling.

Play pauses as I enter the clearing. “Morrigan,” the call, bowing their heads.

I nod in return, sending blood red hair falling around my face.

Silently, I cross into the ring, sweeping my rowan staff in a circle as I spin. The pull of war guides me as I create the entrance into the human world. Swirling wind envelopes me. I slam my staff onto the ground and a shimmering wall extends into the air. I step through, travelling the place between worlds, where nothing and everything exist together. The rage of an oncoming fight tugs at my mind. My heart pounds with the heaviness of my task. I transform, covering myself in the guise of age. My shoulders hunch, back bending. My flowing hair turns gray and matted. I lean on my staff as my knees lose strength, but my mind remains sharp, my vision clear.

The centuries, but a fleeting moment for me, touch my mind with memories of struggles that have plagued the mortal world. The battlefields have changed from bloodied plains to dark alleys. The warriors have transformed from proud armored men and painted braves to frightened boys. Revenge resides in the hearts of men. The purpose of the fight lost to greed.

My soul twists with grief. I go to the road to grant a vision on the eve of battle in hopes that wisdom settles in their minds.

I walk as a shadow, my feet never touching the ground. A stream greets me, gurgling contentedly. I sit upon a large flat rock and gaze along the gravel road that will bring my warriors to me. Breathing deep the scent of the world of men, I wail. The sound creeps through the air, striking sadness into the hearts of people who hear it.

With a wave of my staff, bodies appear at the edge of the water, a tangled knot of bloodied arms and legs, of faces twisted with rage. Five men. Gory holes line their chests and heads. Their blank stares express none of the pain, the hate. All emotion gone, lost to the void. Waves of distress wash over my heart. Lives lost in the fight.

A battle yet to occur.

There’s still a chance. These can choose not to fall.

Carefully, I dip my hands into the stream and pour cold water over the bodies, letting it wash away the blood. A haunting tune flows from my lips, weaving through the dead and into the sky as I work. Red tinted water trickles into the stream, which sweeps away the sins of the future slain. Jagged silver branches line a glimmering area on the far side of the road. The doorway of death. Always with me.

I turn at a crunch of gravel and gaze along the empty path.

A group of five boys flickers into view, transported by magic, brought here to choose. Boys still, though they reached the age of manhood long ago, chosen to receive wisdom because of a glimmer of light in their souls. Laughing, they punch each other in the arms and slap each other on the backs. Stained pants and ragged shirts adorn these children. Their smiles fade and the jokes stop as they stare at the scene.

The road to war always leads to me.

I push knotted gray hair out of my face as I stand, leaning on my staff. Their eyes glow with confusion as their gaze travels from my bent form to the bloody mess on the ground by the river. Their lips curl up in snarls of unease when they take in the road and stream.

Gut jiggling, one steps forward, glancing at the bodies with a look of amusement for he sees only what his limited vision allows. He adjusts his worn, blue cap. “What’s this, old woman? Dead animals? Better get out of here before we hunt you!” He laughs, as do the four boys clustered behind him.

I gaze into his brown eyes, then throw my head back and laugh, cackling and shrieking.  The hatred darkening their hearts gleams in their eyes, but that doesn’t hide their weaknesses. They know nothing of true power, of the force they possess. My heart pounds at the challenge.

A lanky boy in back shuffles forward, running his hand through tight brown curls. “The wicked witch gave up her broom for a gun, hey Jeb?” he says with an uneasy chuckle.

Jeb extends a greasy hand. “Where is your gun, witch? Hand it over.”

I glare at them, pointing a crooked finger at each. The leader, Jeb, projects confidence, but can’t completely hide his fear. The lanky one shifts on his feet, his green eyes darting to the ground. The biggest of the group, strong and solid as a wall, scowls from Jeb’s side, and a round, grinning face hides at his elbow. And one other, standing a few steps away. Young. Uncertain. His dirty golden hair falls over his clear hazel eyes, as yet, untouched by bad deeds. He sends prickling ripples of interest along my spine.

Tapping my staff against the ground, I grind it into the blood-soaked soil. “I am no witch.”

Jeb saunters forward, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest. “Then who are you?”

“I am The Morrigan, the Phantom Queen.” I glance at the bodies on the shore, torn clothes, lifeless limbs. Once again, sadness creeps into my heart. “I wash away the sins of the dead.”

A snort of disbelief erupts from the biggest in the back. Jeb gestures to his friend with a wave of his hand. “Bear here doesn’t believe you, loony toons. And neither do I.” He spins, arms extended. “Anyone here think this crazy bitch should go back to whatever nut house she escaped from?”

The tall, lanky, and nervous boy raises his fist in the air. “Yeah.”

“Milo agrees,” Jeb hisses at me, then glances over his shoulder. “What about you, Zero? Do you have an opinion, newbie, or will you just stay silent like always?”

Sparks of fear light the eyes of the youngest, as he nervously sweeps hair from his eyes. Fire of hope flares in my mind.

I focus on the boy, his forehead wrinkled in thought. “They call you Zero?”

Jeb snaps his head around, eyes blazing. His bloated finger jabs in the air as if to intimidate me. “You don’t talk to him.”

A growl rumbles in my gut. Flames rage inside, leaping to my eyes, burning in my words. “Powerless mortal, I do as I please.” I shift my gaze to the boy hovering in the back, fighting the darkness trying to overtake his soul. “You, boy, what is your name?”

His lips tremble. “Z—”

“No,” I say with a wave of my arm. “Not the name these doomed souls have given you.”

He pauses and takes a breath, glancing at Jeb and the others. “Mitch.”

“There is hope for you, Mitch,” I say. “You do not have to share the fate of the others. None of you must suffer. I offer you all a chance to change, to take control of your lives before it is too late.”

Laughter rings from the group. Except Mitch, who stumbles back. Hope flutters in my mind.

“Look, Queen of the Crazies,” Jeb states. “No one here is going to suffer.”

I sit on my rock, gazing at the bodies lying next to the river. “You are headed to war. War always ends in pain, in loss. Death awaits you all if you continue.” I nod to the doorway, hovering on the road before them. Yet they don’t see it, no one ever does.

“War?” young Mitch says. “You didn’t mention anything about a fight, Jeb.”

Adjusting his cap, Jeb races to Mitch’s side, his hands gripping the front of his shirt. “It’s none of your damn business, Zero, you’re nothing. And you should know… there’s always a fight. Life is a battle.”

I shift on my stone seat, my thoughts drifting to the world of faerie, of dancing sprites and grumbling brownies, where love and hate don’t exist. Humans are granted those emotions and fail to appreciate the gifts.

Milo sniffs. “Yeah, Jeb’s right. Don’t listen to this old bat.” He pulls up his shirt, revealing the butt of a gun.

I hold up my staff. Flames flicker in my soul once again.

A high-pitched giggle comes from the round face peering out from behind the largest. “Watch out, she’ll hit us with a stick.”

I wave my staff over the bodies lying in crumpled heaps on the ground. “See, mortals. See your future.” Blood seeps from wounds, staining the ground and water. The sins of man a terrible curse. My heart grows heavy. But I do not judge. I do not pity.

“Whoa, shit,” Milo cries. “That’s no animal.”

“Old lady is a murderer,” Jeb says, his voice holding a tremor of fear.

“I did not kill these men,” I reply.

Movement sweeps through the group as they point weapons at me. Except Mitch, who furrows his brow, worry shining in his eyes. I stand, unmoving. Fear is unknown to me, worry not worthy of my company.

Jeb waves his gun. “Yeah? Then who did?”

“These dead are but shadows of what might be. Look closely. Do you not recognize them as the men that stand beside you?” My mind spins with the darkness revealed, with the choice they face. I merely offer a glimpse of the future, a choice.

Jeb snorts, but his smirk fades as his gaze fixes on the bodies.

Milo drops his arm. The gun falls to the ground with a thud. “That corpse is wearing my shoes and…” He raises a shaky finger. “That’s Bear’s vest. And that one looks like Zeke.”

“It’s us, Jeb,” the round-faced Zeke says, fear dripping from his words.

I turn to gaze at Zeke’s future, his lifeless features, his mouth open in a silent, forever scream. He’ll die first. “This is how you will be later, after the battle. I am washing the blood and sin from your limbs before your journey into the hereafter. Yet there is wisdom here as well as death.”

Jeb swallows. “Them, but… not me.”

I chuckle and bend down, reaching into the gore, pushing aside twisted limbs. My fingers close on the brim of a worn blue cap and pull it free. Bits of flesh fall from the hat and land with a splat. Jeb stumbles back, his hand reaching for the identical one on his head.

Mitch forces his way to the front. “You said we have a choice.”

Jeb flings his arm in front of the boy, trying to push him back, but Mitch shoves him away. “Tell me.”

Hope twists through me. “You may choose to leave this path of destruction.”

Jeb grabs his gun and points it at me. “Lies. Crazy bitch, you tell me to choose some other way, but I have the life, the power I deserve. I’ll fight for it all!” His eyes narrow, his soul darkening more. “Let’s get out of here!”

Jeb turns and the others follow the command, except Mitch, who gazes at me, longing in his eyes. He plants his feet.

“Bear,” Jeb says with a growl, “grab the newbie. He doesn’t get to choose.”

Mitch pulls a knife from his pants’ pocket and holds it at Bear’s massive chest. “Yes, I do.” He steps back, his face a mask of determination.

A bit of the darkness that covers my heart lifts. So rare are these moments of victory.

Bear glances at Jeb, who shakes his head.

“We’ll get him later,” Jeb grumbles, rage at having been disobeyed burning in his eyes. “Come on. We have work to do. Honor to defend.”

The now group of four wanders along the path towards war. They don’t look back. The silver framed doorway of death swallows them and they disappear, changing to black smoke, which disperses in the cold wind of death.

Mitch gasps. His knife falls to the ground. He stands perfectly still, his hands at his sides, fingers stretched out in shock.

My body straightens, grows stronger. Ratty gray hair transforms into smooth red waves. Unblemished fingers wrap around my dark wooden staff. “You are wise to choose change.”

“Who are you?” Mitch says, his mouth hanging open.

I sweep the staff in a circle, spinning it faster and faster. A glint of silver replaces the wood and I hold a sword in my hands.

“Now, I am wisdom. But my work isn’t finished.”

With a snap of my fingers the sword turns to smoke, hovering in the air at my feet.

Mitch gestures to the spot where Jeb and his group vanished. “What about them?”

“Death will take care of them. My work begins on the eve of war, but ends on the battlefield.” I wrap my cloak around my shoulders, the feathers rippling in anticipation of my purpose. “Go back, boy, and live.”

Sadness grows in my belly. My heart races, bringing fire to my eyes. Mitch cries out in fear, then turns and runs.

My body shifts, transforms into yet another version of myself. My cape becomes black wings. My feet grow talons. I push into the sky, the currents of air beneath my raven’s body filling me with power. Thunderclouds amass on the horizon.

Screams of rage. Echoing gun shots. But my shriek of agony drowns out the sounds of war.

The battle calls.

I answer.

Follow Kathleen on Twitter (@kathleenpalm)

The post PRW Runner-up Tour: Wisdom and War by Kathleen Palm appeared first on REUTS | Boutique Book Publisher |.

The grinding of ancient gears sounded like the rumble of a giant’s bones. It filled the cavern where Setna waited, breath held in excitement tinged with fear as he watched the gate slowly open before him. He didn’t fear what might lie beyond this gleaming metal door; his only worry was at what may not be present. So many years spent searching for it, so many dead ends. He didn’t know if his heart could bear another failure.

When the doors were fully parted, Setna shone his touch-lantern into the darkness ahead. The walls were smooth, constructed of the same strange metal as the gate. It was surreal; to step from these weathered catacombs into a place so sleek and alien. Setna had seen chambers like this before, one was where he found the touch-lantern currently lighting his way, but never had he encountered one so grand.

“Is this it?” Anherru asked, peeking over his brother’s shoulder. Anherru was the curious sort, which was why only he, out of all their siblings, had followed when Setna left their village. Back then, he’d been a gangly young man clothed solely in breeches handmade by their mother. Time had grown him upward, and their adventures had added some muscle as well, so he now wore the countenance of a strapping young man. Were they still in the village, Anherru would have been beset by marriage requests almost daily.

Setna knew he still looked much the same as when they had left. His talent had never lain in the strength of his arms or the speed of his feet; Setna’s only gift was a nimble and inquisitive mind. For many that would have earned then a peaceful life and uneventful death, but Setna had also been born without fear of the village’s taboos. He’d gone digging in the forbidden lands, started reading the hidden texts, and once his thirst for true knowledge was wet he thought it would never be quenched again. That was, until he learned of the book.

“It may well be,” Setna said, his voice soft and cautious. Not all of the old places welcomed visitors, and given how much effort he’d gone through to find this one it seemed likely there might be some countermeasures in place.

As they peered down the smooth metal hallway, blue lights began to flicker on one after another, until the whole of it was lit as brightly as if the sun were shining inside. Setna clicked off his touch-lantern but kept it close at hand. One never knew when darkness might descend once more. He stepped forward carefully, always watching for the changes that preceded a trap being sprung. Anherru was good for much, but he lacked the keen eye to spot such subtle warnings. Thus, Setna was the one who led the way, with Anherru staying close behind.

Their shoes made little noise as they walked across the metal ground, for these were foot garments of ancient build. Like most of their clothing and tools, their shoes had been scavenged from the forbidden sites that Setna and Anherru plundered over the years. Each shoe was light as whisper, yet sturdy as a father’s promise. The same could be said for their pants and shirts, though the price of looting rather than crafting was that their ensembles were mismatched. This trait, even more than the tools they wielded, marked them as heretics and scavengers; those who would seek to uncover what was sealed.

Setna and Anherru reached the end of the hallway, only the find it continued at a downward slope. They followed the path as it moved, first down, then to the left, and finally forward again. It ended in a vast room; easily the size of two villages put together, perhaps three. In this room was a large metal slab, atop which rested a sculpture of a man forged from metal and circuitry.

Setna’s heart paused it’s beating for a moment as his eyes fell upon what lay on the metal man’s chest. There was no mistaking it; even though it looked nothing the rough leather clad books Setna had grown up with, this sleek black device resting only yards away was unmistakably the object of his desire.

“The Book of Thoth,” Setna whispered, his voice restrained by awe rather than caution. “Just as the texts described it.”

“The Book of Thoth indeed it is,” said a new voice, one that was neither Setna nor Anherru. They searched the room, quickly finding the source. She was a beautiful woman, wearing strange clothes not unlike the ones Setna had found in his travels. Her most striking feature was neither her looks nor her wardrobe, however. It was the fact that she was composed entirely of flickering blue light.

The woman glided across the floor, moving with deliberation as she gazed upon the two young men. “You have come here seeking The Book of Thoth? The book that contains all knowledge, and was thusly sealed away from mankind?”

“I do,” Setna replied readily. He had not seen this particular bit of old magic before, but he’d dealt with enough to know honesty and forthrightness were the best methods to employ. “I seek to regain what our people have lost.”

“That which you seek was not lost,” the woman replied. “It was buried. Cast away and sealed so that those who survived might not follow the same path as we.”

“And who are you?” Setna asked.

“I am Ahura, wife of Nefrekeptah, he who first sought The Book of Thoth. It was his will that constructed it, and it was he who paid the greatest price for it. Tell me, those who would take the book, what are you called?”

Setna bowed deeply, which his brother mimicked moments later. “I am Setna, and this is Anherru. We have searched for years to find this treasure, and I must insist we depart with it in hand.” Setan pulled himself back up and rested his hand on the small satchel strung across his hip. “I do not wish to be rude, however I have learned much in my travels, and I have the power to take the book by force if needed.”

“Tell me then, why do you seek this book?” Ahura asked. “Does your land not bear ample fruit, are the animals not bountiful and tame? You should know no sickness, and there cannot yet be enough of you for war to have been rekindled. Your world should be perfect, Setna and Anherru. We made it so when our time drew to an end. So pray tell me, why do you seek this book so fervently?”

“Because we know there is so much more beyond this impotent perfection,” Setna answered. “There is knowledge that can make us masters of the heavens and earth. I have read of the power that the old ones commanded. Your kind were like gods, and we are now mere mortals.”

“Gods, perhaps, but gods who destroyed themselves and nearly took the world with them. Your life is better, your kind happier. My husband was like you, Setna. He always wished to know more, always believed the next discovery or bit of knowledge would fill the burning inside him. The Book of Thoth was to be that which fulfilled him at last, a joining of all the knowledge that had been fractured and segmented by geography or politics. It was to be his happiness. Instead, it took from him his family, and his life.” The woman’s face grew sad, and Setna made note that she had said family, not merely wife. “You liken us to gods, Setna, but we were not gods. We were as you, and we reached beyond what man is meant to know. The true gods do not look lightly upon those who tread atop their toes.”

Setna nodded, chancing a glance at Anherru, who was looking less certain of being here by the moment. “Perhaps you are right, Ahura, but please tell me this: if the knowledge in the book is so dangerous, so forbidden, then why was it not destroyed? Why hide it in a shrine, rather than sending it into the heavens?”

Ahura dipped her head, looking at the ground, then at the metal man atop whom rested the Book of Thoth. “When we lost our son, I begged my husband to do just that. Our technology had grown too great, the lines between human and machine too blurred. He refused. When our society began to crumble and bodies withered away in droves, he refused. Even when the great ending came, and those of us who remained saw that only through destruction could salvation be attained, still Nefrekeptah would not tell us how to destroy the book. He believed to the end that it was our society that was flawed, we who lacked the sense of self to handle the world beyond. Nefrekeptah was sealed in this tomb, determined to hold the book until a new people were ready for it.”

“And you were left to stop him from doing that,” Setna realized.

Ahura nodded solemnly.

“I am greatly sorry for all that you have lost, but I’m afraid I remain resolute in my goal. Please give me The Book of Thoth, do not make me take it from you by force.”

“The book has never been mine to give,” Ahura said. “If you will not be denied, then you must take it from Nefrekeptah.”

A question died on Setna’s lips as he once more heard the grinding of ancient gears. From the slab, the metal man that Setna had taken for a sculpture rose, eyes burning with the same blue light as what glowed through the room. He moved slowly at first, shifting his mechanical legs onto the ground while clutching the book. As he rose, he took in the sight of Setna and Anherru, the latter of which was doing his best not to shiver in terror.

“If, after hearing my wife’s tale, you still demand The Book of Thoth, then perhaps you are indeed the right man to take it,” Nefrekeptah said, his voice a mix of strained notes conjured from a box deep within his metal breast. “But you must prove to me that you truly are worthy before I shall relinquish my greatest treasure, and sin, into your hands.” He gestured once, and a board of light appeared between them. On it were a set of draughts, much like what Setna had played as a child.

“Let us play, show me the mind that you feel is worthy of all the knowledge in the world. Should you fail to defeat me, I’m afraid you will have to remain here, lest you tell others of my tomb’s location.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t-” Anherru began, but Setna silenced him with a single glance. They had come too far, been on the road for too long, for him to turn back at the mere threat of imprisonment. He locked eyes with his brother, and mouthed a single word that neither Ahura nor Nefrekeptah could see.

“I accept your terms,” Setna said, coming forward to the board.

“So you have bravery. That is a good first step,” Nefrekeptah replied, also taking position. He moved a piece, to which Setna responded, and the game had begun.

“What will you do, should you win?” Nefrekeptah asked as they played. “Will you remake our world as it was? Will you try to elevate humanity beyond their humble status?”

“I will make a world in which our power and that of the gods is indistinguishable,” Setna answered. He chanced a look at Anherru, who gave a subtle nod, followed by three blinks. “I will raise our people to a place they never dreamed of.”

“You’re right, Setna, they don’t dream of it. I’d wager most of your kind is happy in the world we left them. They want nothing more than to live out their days in simple peace. Only you, and those like you, are different. You seek a new world, and you’ll drag the others along whether they like it or not,” Nefrekeptah said. He took two of Setna’s pieces in a single move, no expression on his mechanical face he surveyed the board.

“As did you before me,” Setna agreed. He made a defensive move, the sort that would only delay the inevitable. “It is the duty of those who see grander things to call them into existence. We cannot allow ourselves to be held back by the limits of the masses.”

“There is truth in that, but to be the conjurer, one must be willing to pay the price.” Nefrekeptah took three more of Setna’s pieces. “And here me well, child. There is always a price.”

“Then I shall pay it.” Another move by Setna, another failure to move closer to victory.

“No, I don’t think you shall,” Nefrekeptah replied. “You will lose this game within another round.” To illustrate his point, he took another two of Setna’s pieces off the board.

“To be honest, I knew that was coming. I’ve never been great at draughts. I am, however, quite adept at planning, strategy, and resource management. Now Anherru!”

On cue, Anherru took the device from his own bag, the one he’d been setting ever since Setna gave him the signal, and hurled it onto the ground. Lightning shot out from the ball, racing across the metal floors and stretching out through the most of the room. When it hit the brothers, nothing occurred, but Nefrekeptah found himself suddenly unable to move.

“Amulet of Ptah,” Setna explained, walking over and calmly removing the book from Nefrekeptah’s grasp. “Temporarily halts all of the old world’s wonders. Been saving it for years, just in case I needed it today. I’m sorry if you see this as cheating, but I think of it as showing exactly why I’m smart enough to handle the book’s wisdom.”

“Setna, we need to hurry,” Anherru warned.

“Right. Sorry again, Nefrekeptah. I promise to do right by your book.” With that, Setna and Anherru raced back through the hallway, up the slope and out the metal doors back into the relative safety of the stone catacombs. They kept on going, hurriedly running up and out lest they were followed. Only when they reached the cavern’s entrance and emerged back into the soft grassy hills did Setna pause to examine his prize.

At a touch the book opened for him, filling the air with diagrams, models, and numbers that Setna could not yet understand. That didn’t matter to him, though. What he saw was potential. Potential for what had once been, and what, under his guidance, could be again.

As he combed the books’ treasures for the first of countless times, The Amulet of Ptah ceased it’s sputtering, and movement returned to Nefrekeptah. He crushed the artifact beneath his metal heel, then turned and began walking back to his metal slab.

“What will you do when he returns, seeking guidance for the terror he has unleashed upon his people?” Ahura asked, watching her husband.

“First, I shall make him return the book. Then, he will supplicate himself before me. Perhaps then I will free him from the curse he’s put upon himself with today’s actions.” Nefrekeptah lowered himself onto the slab and looked around his tomb, the last vestiges of his once proud and vibrant culture.

“Then again, perhaps I will damn him to live with his actions. It would serve well as a lesson, to all who would dare to try and take up The Book of Thoth.”

Follow Drew on Twitter (@DrewHayesNovels)

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“Dude, close your mouth. You’re drooling.”

“I am not.” I shoved my brother, Ata, with one arm.

I returned my eyes to Kesi, the most beautiful woman in all of Kair. Clothed in a crimson leather dress, I studied that neckline many times, as it dipped between her wondrous curves. Her bare collar bone and shoulders were marked with odd foreign symbols, a privilege of the wealthy and highly educated. She adjusted her silken face mask, attached snuggly around her neck with a leather strap and clasp. The only parts of her face visible were her dark eyes, rimmed with smokey black makeup. Even her black hair, a short bob of thick, wavy hair was tucked behind the silk.

She sat leg over leg, her tall boots revealed under the hemline, on the exposed back seat of whatever was left of a car. That’s what Abbun called them. Mostly, these cars were left unmoving in the streets, many crushed by fallen debris or rotting with rust and vandalism. Only those with money and the ability to hire the man-power could make use of such a thing. Two burly men in full gas masks carried the front axel. I always referred to them as muscle. Two more flanked the back end to protect Kesi. Kesi’s family always had muscle around them, which of course, is necessary when you’re the richest person for miles.

Most of the car’s exterior had been stripped away, save for the front windshield and much of the frame, including the back tires. Abbun taught me everything he knew about these cars. He used to have one before The Great Cataclysm.

“C’mon, Akil, Abbun sent me to find you. He wants to speak to both of us.”

“Oh? Why didn’t you say so? ”

I started off in the direction of home with Ata. I pulled the terrycloth scarf up over my mouth and nose as we went. The wind always blew in gales, and pulled with it the sand of crushed concrete, glass, and other debris.

“I did, but you’re too busy drooling over Kesi.”

“I can’t help it. She’s the epitome of every man’s fantasy. Especially mine.”

Aka laughed. “Not mine. And news flash, she’s Pharaoh’s daughter. Never gonna happen.”

“Ugh, don’t call him that,” I shoved him again, this time nearly making him lose his balance. “President Tor is an unworthy tyrant is what he is.”

“I know, but it’s funny, since he lives in The Pyramid.”

I shook my head and looked up to the horizon, pulling my hood forward to block the wind. Twenty-two years ago The Great Cataclysm shook the world. Aka and I were only toddlers, but I can still feel the ground shaking in my memory. I don’t remember what the city looked like before, but now crumbled buildings were the lay of the land. The only things not completely destroyed by The Great Cataclysm were four skyscrapers. They fell in such a way, toward each other, that they never hit the ground, but rather, formed the four edges of a giant pyramid. You could see this thing from any spot in the city. They were owned by President Tor Masud. The enormous MASUD INC letters that plummeted from the building’s facade (according to Abbun) covered the bones of crushed employees.

We reached the decrepit remnants of a house we called our home, and we slid under the dusty blanket covering the partially collapsed entryway. Most of the upper floor collapsed into the main floor, but Abbun managed to clear away enough space for us to use the kitchen and bathroom, and our sleeping and hanging out happened in the basement.

Eshe, Abbun’s doctor, arrived at the top of the stairs as we entered.

“I thought I heard you guys coming. You can hear a mile away in these barren streets.”

She tucked her dark hair behind her ears with her fingers and lowered a pair of orange goggles over her eyes.

“How is he?”  I asked.

Her mouth bent into a small frown and she slung her backpack over one shoulder.

“I’m sorry, boys,” she said. “He doesn’t have much longer. I gave him some more morphine to get him through the night, and I replaced his oxygen tank. I’ll be back again in the morning. All we can do now is keep him comfortable.”

I swallowed a rock in my chest and held back the threat of tears. Men don’t cry in front of others, especially not a woman.

“Thanks, Eshe. We’ll take care of him.”

“I’m glad he has boys like you two to watch over him,” she said, as she pulled on a surgical mask over her nose and mouth.

She set a hand on each of our shoulders, then she pulled up her hood and disappeared behind us through the dusty blanket.

Ata and I descended the stairs, two at a time. We removed our dusty outerwear at the foot of the stairs and rounded on Abbun lying in his cot in the corner of the large basement. The oil lamps burned low. Ata must have forgotten to refill them this morning.

“My boys,” Abbun coughed. “Come, come.”

We knelt at his bed-side, and Ata took his hand. I set a hand on his leg. He had the well-worn face of a man who worked hard his whole life. And now he wore breathing tubes up his nose, as a badge of honor for working hard in a city plagued by sand in the wind.

He coughed hard, and I could feel it shake through his whole body, like his own body erupted in a mini-cataclysm. His wheezing was definitely worse than this morning, and he took great care in taking breaths before he spoke. Emphysema’s a bitch.

“I need to tell you…a secret.”

Ata and I exchanged glances.

“I told you before that I… worked for Tor Masud…”

“Yes, Abbun,” Ata said. “You were an architect and builder for him after The Great Cataclysm. You helped him stabilize his fallen skyscrapers. And then he stabbed you in the back and never finished paying you.”

Abbun laughed with a tough wheeze, and it ended in a fit of coughing. I held my breath and Ata must have too, as he grabbed my knee under the bed. When he caught his breath (or what he could of it), I was able to breathe again, too.

“There’s no stabilizin’ those things… he’s lucky they stuck that way.”

“So what did you want to tell us?” I asked impatiently.

He gave me a stern look before continuing.

“After the cataclysm… Masud had me construct… a huge vault. For all his riches. I knew the bastard would stiff me… so I built a secret panel… into the vault… from the outside.”

Wide eyed, Ata and I exchanged excited looks back and forth.

“When times were rough… I snuck in an’ stole a few coins… The wealthy never miss a coupl’a coins.”

“The map,” he coughed and continued. “is under my mattress… bottom corner towar’ the wall.”

I leaned over and tipped up the corner, finding a yellowed piece of heavy paper and pulling it out. I unfolded it and laid it out on the bed.

“You boys are old enough… to take care of yourself now… you’re clever little snaps… and ace thiefs…”

“You’ve taught us well, Abbun,”  Aka replied, giving his hand a squeeze.

“The entrance… is behin’ the third buildin’…” He took a long breath. “Steal only what you need… Don’t do anything stupit.”

“Of course, Abbun,” I said.

He coughed another hard cough and stilled, his breathing becoming more shallow.

“You need to rest now, Abbun.”

“Thank you, my sons…” He closed his eyes and dozed off.

The next morning, I woke to Aka’s screams. Abbun was gone. He stopped breathing at some point in the night. The man who raised us since he found us wandering the streets after the cataclysm was now just a memory. That evening, after we helped Eshe remove the body, Aka and I sat on the floor, the oil lamps burning lower than before. Now I know he forgot to put the oil in, but now I didn’t care.

Aka flopped over onto the floor and sighed.

“I think we need to get out of here and take advantage of that vault.” I said, breaking the miserable silence.

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, why not? Better than sitting here and sulking.”

He shrugged, and I dragged him off the floor.

Under the cover of nightfall, we made it to the back of the third building without so much as a sound, like the expert thieves we were. I found the lose panel, and unless someone was looking for it, it was nearly indiscernible from the surrounding façade. I felt for the edges and removed it slowly, sliding it into the nearby bush.

We slipped inside and found ourselves in a cool, dimly lit room piled with all sorts of treasures. Precious gems, gold bars, silver coins, copper and platinum scraps all sorted in large vats. Racks and tables were littered with precious jewelry and antiques from bygone eras under glass. There were numerous pieces of furniture, but we dare not touch those in case some alarm might trigger.

“Don’t open anything,” Aka hissed at me in the dark. As if I needed reminding.

After admiring the lot, we grabbed a handful of silver coins, enough to feed ourselves for a week, and slid back through the opening.

We did this every couple of days, and then one day, I had a crazy idea.

Kesi rode by in her armored chariot as we returned home with fresh vegetables from the market one day.

“Dude, give it up already. Now you’ll never have a chance with her.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “ How’s your first date gonna go, Akil?”

A goofy grin spread across my face as I thought of the notion.

Aka put on his best feminine voice. “Oh, Akil. You’re so charming. What is it you say you do for a living? Oh? You steal from my abbun’s stores at night?”

A smugness fell over me, and I scowled at him. Then we both burst out into laughter.

“That would be hilarious,” I said finally. “But seriously, I have an idea to get her attention.”

“And that would be?”

“I’ll tell you when we go back into the vault tonight.”

“But we don’t need to go back tonight.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be great.”

He sighed. “Alright. Fine. Whatever you have planned, if it’s stupid, it’s all your fault, and you’ll take full blame. Got it?”

I smiled.

***

We slid back in that night, and I immediately went for a ruby broach and pearl necklace.

“What are you doing?” Aka hissed at me.

“Getting some attention.”

“You mean getting yourself caught? I’ve seen the guy shoot people in broad daylight. Surely he’s not gonna take this lightly.”

“Relax. He’d have to catch me first.”

I inspected the glass and ran my hands carefully along the base searching for wires. Nothing. I popped it up carefully and slid out the broach and necklace. Aka and I ran for it.

We did this three nights in a row. Each night, I’d take the stolen goods and stash them in a sewer drain a street over.

The fourth we snuck in, and I eyed a diamond ring on a far table.

“No, no!” Aka hissed at me. “No more jewelry. I think you need to slow down on the big stuff. If you make it a habit every night, you’re sure to get caught.”

I waved him off and made for the diamond ring. Aka sprinted by me to block me off, and tripped over something.

“OW! SHIT!” He hissed, biting his knuckle. “Not good. Not good.”

“What happened?” I asked, moving into the light for a better view.

Aka tripped a wire and his ankle was caught in a bear trap. Try as we might, we could pry the thing off him.

“If he comes back in the morning and finds me, we’re both dead. He’ll definitely come for you.”

I thought for a moment.

“I’ll be right back. Stay low.”

I ripped off part of my shirt and wrapped it around his ankle, then I sprinted out of the entrance and straight toward Eshe’s.

“Eshe!” I called, slipping under the dusty curtain of her home. “It’s an emergency!”

She appeared in her pajamas, holding an oil lantern up to illuminate my face.

“Akil, what is it? Who’s hurt.”

“I need you to come with me.”

Eshe and I returned to Aka with a bone saw and tourniquet. She pumped a syringe of morphine into Aka while I wrapped the tourniquet nice and tight.

Aka lay still and Eshe sawed through his leg. I held put my hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming out too loud. Once free, she pressed the hot oil lantern to the open wound to try cauterizing it as much as she could. We wrapped his leg in bandage, just enough so he couldn’t drip blood out through the door.

I carried him on my back all the way home, listening to Eshe nagging Aka and I for doing something stupid. She was right, but we avoided capture. So far.

“Eshe, thanks,” I said, laying Aka down in the bed. “But I think we’re going to need one more thing.”

She looked at me curiously.

“Masud’s gonna know someone’s missing a foot. Do you have a prosthetic we can borrow? And can you hang out here tomorrow? I have a plan.”

She sighed and shook her head at me in disbelief.

***

I was right. The next day, Masud made his round with two of his muscle, going door to door looking for their jewels and the footless thief. Their footsteps gave them away as they approached the house. We had dad’s medical stuff still strewn about the basement, and we collected it all on a table beside Aka’s bed. Eshe strapped the breathing tube around Aka’s head and turned the oxygen on for him. He already had an IV drip going since last night. Under the blanket, I strapped the prosthetic to his stub.

“Inspection from the President,” one of the grunts called as they descended the stairs. The other stayed upstairs, searching around for the hidden jewels. None of which he would find.

“I hope you won’t stay long,” Eshe said, taking Aka’s blood pressure. “I’m in the middle of tending to a patient. This emphysema is becoming an epidemic.”

Aka faked a good wheeze and deep cough. We listened to our father do it so much, we could both probably mimic it in our sleep.

“Such a young one, too.” Masud said with a tinge of pity, glancing down at Aka’s covered feet.

“And they’re getting younger. Reckless. This air is no good. Make sure you keep wearing your masks.” She addressed Masud and his muscle.

“Of course,” his eyes lowered to my feet, both bare, as my legs dangled off my cot.

“It’s an honor to meet you sir,” I bowed my head. “Please say a prayer for my brother?”

“May the light of Ra’s favor bring healing to your brother,” he said with a slight bow.

She turned her head to me, and angry scowl on her face. “I hope you’re learning from your brother’s mistake.”

“Yes ma’am,” I replied.

The muscle appeared at the top of the stairs.

“All’s clear, sir!” he shouted down.

“Very well. I will leave you to your mending.”

He tipped the brim of his wide hat and reaffixed his gas mask before climbing back up the stairs and through the door. I listened for three pairs of feet to be long gone before I exhaled a huge sigh of relief.

“Eshe, you’re the best.”

“You owe me big time,” she replied, sitting down in a chair by Aka’s bedside.

“Name your price, and I’ll give you what ever money you want.”

She shook her head and sighed.

“Just stay out of trouble.”

I’m glad she didn’t make me promise that.

***

Two days later, a decree went out on the front page of the daily newsletter.

I ran into the house damn near screaming in happiness.

“President Tor is throwing a party at The Pyramid this weekend! And Kesi is granting any asker a favor in exchange for a story of the cleverest thing he or she has done!”

I sighed and dropped myself in a chair.

“I mean, this is amazing! I can ask Kesi for a kiss. I… This is the chance I’ve been waiting for this forever!”

“Yeah, but it’s clearly a trap,” Aka chimed in.

“Yeah.” The excitement in my voice deflated. “Any guilty person could see that. Marud’s tired of being out-witted.”

“What are you going to do?” Eshe asked, changing the bandages on Aka’s leg.

I read the article in the daily newsletter one more time and tossed it on the table.

“Obviously. He didn’t find the mysterious foot’s owner, so now he needs a hand from his daughter.” Eshe smiled at her own joke.

Aka got her pun and laughed, and she laughed with him. For me, a lightbulb went off.

“Eshe, I’m gonna need a hand,” I said, turning in my chair.

“No way, Akil. I’m not helping with any more of your crazy schemes. You’re just lucky they worked so far.”

“No, I mean, I literally need a hand. Got a cadaver that doesn’t need… oh… up to his elbow?”

Eshe sighed.

“Akil, you’re crazy,” Aka said.

“I’m a man who knows what he wants. And I want Kesi.”

I leaned over the over the table, resting my head on my outstretched arms.

“I want her so bad…”

***

I pulled on my best trench coat over my hoodie and slid the gloved cadaver arm into the inside pocket. I wrapped Abbun’s nice neck scarf around, covering my nose and mouth, and headed out for the party.

There were no shortage of men in line to see Kesi, young and old. A few women stood in line, too. I wondered how many of them were there for something physical, like me. A bit of jealousy built up in me, and I pushed it back down. I spent my time productive, taking note of the entrances and exits.

A half hour nearly passed when it was my turn to see Kesi. I slid the cadaver arm into place, unbuttoned the front of the trench, and sat on a lush couch across from Kesi. She looked more radiant without the face mask, now that I could see her full lips and short dark hair framing her face with stern bangs. I spared just a second on her cleavage and focused on her dark-rimmed eyes.

“What is your wish?” she asked kindly.

“I wish for a kiss from your fair lips. I’ve seen you from a far, and there is no more beautiful woman in all of this barren land. Ra himself must have given birth to such a creation full of life.”

She blushed.

“You are quite a man of words, aren’t you?”

“And so much more…” I replied.

“Please tell me, flattering stranger, what is your greatest act of cleverness?”

I slipped my right arm out of the sleeve.

“Once, I lived near a very wealthy man. He caught my brother in a trap, and I cut his foot off. When the wealthy man came around to see if he could find the man missing his foot, I used a prosthetic to hide my brother’s missing foot.”

Her eyes lit with surprise at the mention of my brother losing his foot, and she calmly listened to the rest of the story.

“That’s definitely the most clever story I’ve heard tonight. So yes, I will grant you your kiss.”

I stood with her, and she came close. I angled my left side toward her, and she rested a hand on the cadaver arm.

She leaned in for a kiss, and met her lips with mine. I pushed against her in fierce passion, and she returned it. Whether she faked it or not, it was magical. I hesitated to let go, but I had to be the first one to do so for this to work. I dropped the coat and her lips at the same time, bolting for the door.

“I GOT HIM! I GOT…!” she shouted and fell silent.

I walked casually out into the partying crowd, taking my hood down and wrapping the scarf around my waist. Three muscle emerged from the room with Kesi and they combed the party floor. I slid past them and out the front door.

***

“How old do you  think he was?” Masud paced his study with Kesi sitting on the chaise lounge.

“About my age. It was hard to tell with his hood up, but he didn’t have any lines around his mouth.”

“So some hooligan is out-witting me?” His pacing picked up. “I still don’t even know how he got into the vault!”

“Abbun, if you really want to stop him, perhaps a catch to kill isn’t the answer.”

He stopped and looked at his daughter with wild curiosity.

“What do you mean? How else am I supposed to keep him from stealing from me? I need to put an end to-“

“Abbun. He’s obviously the cleverest man in all of Kair. Wouldn’t it be better to have him as an ally, rather than an enemy?”

“An ally?” Masud laughed.

“I’m serious! Which of your guards could steal from your vault without getting caught? Which of them could think of such an elaborate scheme to cover a crime in less than a day?”

She blushed at the thought of the next question before it rolled off her lips.

“Which of them could steal a woman’s kiss and disappear into the night?”

Masud massaged his bearded chin, staring off into space.

“Make him your security advisor,” she stated plainly.

His brows raised, and he turned to face her.

“That’s not a bad idea.”

He thought for a moment more, his  mouth slightly hung open and splitting into a grin.

“It’s settled. I will send out a decree to the papers for the morning. If the young man turns in the jewelry pieces he stole as proof, I will consider his hijinx up to this point as an elaborate job interview. I will hire him as my trusted advisor.”

Kesi smiled.

***

I walked into the foyer of The Pyramid, my backpack slung over my shoulder, and my gray hood pulled up over my head. It took me a day to think about this, whether or not it could be a trap, but eventually I decided to take the opportunity.

“Can I help you?” a muscle addressed me.

“Yeah,” I said, dropping the backpack from my shoulder and holding it straight out in my hand. “I’ve got a present for Masud.”

I jingled the bag and the coins and jewelry clanked around inside.

The muscle’s eyes went wide, and he summoned Masud on the walkie-talkie. It took only minutes before Masud appeared in the foyer, Kesi by his side.

“You… are you the cleverest man in Kair?” Masud asked.

Well, he didn’t call me a thief, so that’s a good sign. Kesi’s hopeful eyes looked me up and down, trying to remember me from the other night.

I threw the bag across the room, and it clattered on the floor at Masud’s feet with the weight of the jewelry inside. The drawstring broke open, and glinting gold, pearls, and precious gemstones glimmered from within. Masud looked down and back up at me with excitement.

“You’re hired!” He clapped and scooped up his treasure, counting it and making sure it was the stolen pieces. Satisfied, he looked up from the bag.

“Who are you, young man? What is your name?”

I pulled the terrycloth rags down to my neck and flipped down the hood.

“Akil,” I said. “Akil Bakari.”

“Bakari? As in old Bakari?” Masud’s eyes widened. “The architect?”

I nodded

“I hired him awhile back to help stabilize this building. He was a great architect. He built that vault that you snuck into. I assume he told you a way in?”

I ran an invisible zipper across my lips with my fingers.

“No information until I sign some employment contract.”

Masud dropped his shoulders and sighed.

“Very well then. I’ll have wine brought out and we can discuss over a drink.”

Masud turned on his heel and disappeared through the door.

“You’re one of twins, huh?” Kesi asked, walking toward me.

I nodded. “I’m surprised you know who I am.”

“I’ve seen you out and about with your brother.”

I smiled and tried to think of something witty and flirty to say.

“Did you mean it?” she continued. “What you said at the party the other night.”

My cool composure gave way to embarrassment, my confident face sunk into warm redness.

“Ehhh… I might have…” I winked at her.

She smiled, grabbed my hand, and pulled me through the door after her father.

Follow Felicia on Twitter (@Fifi_The_Ninja)

The post PRW Runner-up Tour: Steal Her Heart by Felicia Anderson appeared first on REUTS | Boutique Book Publisher |.

Romania is bloody cold. That’s the misconception some people I’ve spoken to have about vampires; we are dead, therefore we cannot feel anything, not even cold. And it’s true in a way, we don’t get cold in the same way that humans do, which is what they usually mean. But when you turn into a vampire, everything is heightened; no sense or emotion is left out in the beginning. A heightened sense of touch is what I’m getting at here; have something under your fingertips and it feels better if it was once good, worse if it was bad; rest a hand over a human heart and its beat hums; stand outside in a harsh wind and you may not get cold but the whip against you will cut into you like knives slicing at your skin.

I repeat: Romania is bloody cold.

Seriously, I was all for the bastards eating their way through Italy’s human population. Sad though it may be, Italy’s sun rarely lies about its warmth and I’m old enough to withstand being out during cloudy days. Sure, that meant I was still working at night most of the time, but night was relatively cool. Here in Transylvania darkness, the below freezing temperature has made sure I can’t feel my hands. I can’t remember the last time I had to wrap up – winter has definitely arrived.

But that’s not important right now. The dead girl half blanketed in the fast-falling snow is – or, more to the point, the vampires who killed her are. Pale, cold, a fixed stare that only gives me blank eyes, the only thing she can tell me is that they’re here. Which I already knew – I’ve been following the corpses left behind across Europe. They leave no marks, no trace of a signature, nothing except bodies drained of blood. I only know that it’s the same coven because, due to the amount of attention they’re attracting, vampires around them have dropped off the radar. It requires more skill to find my contacts than to find these freaks.

There’s nothing I can do for the girl, but the humans on the way can – the crunch of snow beneath heavy boots and the steady stream of nervous heartbeats sounding clearly around my ears tells me that the police are close by and have brought reinforcements. We’re too close to a settlement of Romani people, a village shrouded in folklore and mystery I haven’t yet had the chance to delve into. Whispers of curses and monsters, that’s all I know. That and it’s almost sunset; they want to get their job over and done with quickly, lest they get caught by the same monsters. Here all doors are locked when the sun goes down.

Smart move.

I head into the woods, losing daylight the further in I get. The dark has always been preferable to me; my senses heighten, makes me faster, stronger, better. Maybe; could just be my imagination, but I’ll run with it. Anything to catch my marks. And this is my first solo case since I joined the Council’s Guards, so I have to catch these marks. The humans’ sounds fade into nothing, their scents soon following, until I’m left alone in the cold, dark wood, the silver moon no doubt shining above my head but hidden behind thick leaves and looming trunks. Silence would be my only friend if not for the breaking of snow under my shoes; how I wish for silence. To lose my element of surprise at this point would make it a wasted journey. One home has already been destroyed, an innocent family slaughtered in their beds; they know that the Council is looking for them, won’t stay here much longer, and I haven’t spotted a single vampire from this coven since Germany two weeks ago. Luck and a blood trail brought me here, so if I lose them now God only knows where they’ll end up.

It’s a scent that stops me – rich, cold and undeniably vampire, I can only hope it’s one I’m searching for. But it’s not the scent I focus on. I can’t make out the second, it’s too muddled, almost like it’s being cloaked with magic; traits of vampire surround them, but there’s a healthy dose of human fear radiating through the trees, and if I had to guess from that I’d say a dhampir is coming my way. Part human, part vampire, and with blood just too sweet to resist.

The last time I fed escapes me.

Two steps in and the scent grows, the natural mixing in with the artificial just right. Her perfume gives off a hint of raspberry, only adding to the heady aroma of blood that hums around frantic panting. Yeah, she’s definitely female. I focus on fear, keeps the hunger at bay and reminds me that I have a job to do. Despite working for the Council, I can never follow some of the Guards’ ideals – we hunt the monsters and save the innocents, they’re not collateral damage. Helping this girl is part of my job, don’t care what they say.

She’s in my line of sight when I turn, though with me still half-hidden among the trees she doesn’t notice me, not until she’s close enough for me to touch. I grab her, one hand over her mouth while the other presses against her waist and pulls her closer. Our bodies aligned, there’s less for the one hunting her to find. Body thrown back against a large tree, all I can do is hold her still and wait. Thankfully, she’s too afraid to fight me.

“Little girl,” a soft humoured, male voice sings from behind us. There’s no other sound resonating from him, not even the steady beat of footprints on the ground. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

A whimper escapes her, muffled by my hand, but it still causes him to pause, to listen. Mouth to her ear, my need for her to shush is barely a breath, though it seems to do the trick and that’s all I care about. Assured that she’s quiet and going nowhere, I release my grip on her side to wriggle my hand under my coat and grab my gun from the holster I not-so-accidently stole from a cop in Atlanta. The bullets are a design I took from Damian and Carter back in London, iron casing and filled with the blood of the dead – poison if you shoot anywhere but the heart, death if you aim just right or fire enough. It’s handier than a stake, I’ll tell you that. The gun, though, this is mine.

With it in hand, I already feel more confident about going after the unknown threat than I did and when the girl pressed against me sees it, her eyes bulge but her heaving chest lessens somewhat – at least she trusts something. I let her go completely, leaving her in our hiding place. Gun raised in a defensive pose, I step away, scan the area but see nothing. So I wait with bated breath, occasionally circling my surroundings, and listen for that same patronisingly gentle tone.

Nothing comes; I cross as much woodland as I can without leaving the girl too far away and all I come to is the crackle of branches as they scrape against the wind and the occasional droplets of snow that find their way through the leaves.

Her scream comes next and from the corner of my eye, I watch her try to escape his grasp. Her feet tangle and she falls to ground, her cries as she drags her own body backward in a futile attempt to get away forcing me into action. The rush back is fast and too long all at once; I get close enough to aim and that’s all I can do, while hoping I don’t miss or hit her, because his arms are gripping hers, forcing her to her feet, and his fangs – already dripping with blood – are at her neck.

“Hey!” is all I bring myself to say, just needing that surprise to turn him around so the bullet actually hits him.

He drops like dead weight, and so does she, however while he remains unmoving she is back to pushing away. Frantic breaths are back, accompanied by a steady stream of thick tears that paint her cheeks. Acknowledging her only for a second, I kneel at his body, cursing whoever will listen for the bullet hitting his heart – the body is desiccating before I’ve even gotten to him. Another dead body is no help in finding the coven… although maybe losing one of their own will anger them enough to draw them out.

“Is he –” the girl starts, sentence cut off by an involuntary sob. Her accent is local, but her English is strong. I face her, eyes cast downward to take in her appearance, however involuntary – the skinny jeans, the killer, black heels, the flimsy red material around her chest that is held up by decently sized breasts and held in by a tight, black corset. Thick black curls that bounce as she moves are her neck’s only cover. The girl is prime blood junkie material – no wonder he was after her.

“He’s dead,” I promise, hands digging into my pockets to find my lighter and reduce the body to ash. This far into the woods, no one should see it. Once done, I hold out a hand. She refuses to take it, frozen in fear. “It’s alright. I won’t hurt you.”

She doesn’t look convinced, in fact her body begins to tremble as she whispers one word that brings everything together. “Mullo.”

I’ve spent enough time around Skylar Banica to know that in Romani culture, Mullo essentially means vampire.

“Yes,” I admit. I mean, why lie when her home has more tales for my kind than I do? We’re in freaking Transylvania for God’s sake.”But I won’t hurt you, I promise. What’s your name?”

She seems genuinely confused by the gesture, as though a creature like me could never be so concerned or… human enough to ask. But I’ve already distinguished her – more or less – as dhampir, so she must know of more from our world. Or are there no good vampires on this side of the world anymore?

“Lena,” she finally tells me, her hand out to accept mine. Why does that name sound so familiar?

“Do you live in the nearby settlement, Lena?” She nods shakily and I let out a relieved breath. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

The walk to her home is stilted, full of nerves on her end. Every time I open my mouth to ask how she almost came to be dinner, I either snap it shut again because it sounds insensitive no matter how I phrase it or she hides her face and effectively ends any sign of communication. We end up crossing a small field that holds a rundown outhouse and a larger home a couple of hundred yards away. To my left, I can hear vague whispers from neighbours, but none of their houses are close enough to see. Lena stops at the front door.

“Thank you for saving me,” she whispers. “And for bringing me home.”

“May I ask why you were out there?”

“I was looking for my friend, did not get out in time,” is all she says on that matter. The urge to push for more information is strong, but she’s clearly in distress. I hold back and head out; I still have to find them, after all. “Please do not leave me tonight. I will answer your questions in the morning.”

It’s what I want; answers. Something doesn’t feel right, in the pit of my stomach I know that – I’ve trusted my instincts for a long time and I am rarely wrong. I may be new to the Council, but not to this game the coven are forcing me to play. But I have no leads, except this girl. I’m fairly sure I can take her if I need to – it’s how I know her name that bothers me.

“Alright,” I concede, if only to get out of the cold and find some answers. She’s hasty to invite me in, the door slamming shut even as I’m entering, and darkness envelopes us once more.

***

I need to feed. Dark circles, eye sockets that are borderline gaunt and clothes that are beginning to hang off my body. A healthy vampire, this does not make. I run a hand through straw-like hair to make it lie flat and turn away from the bathroom mirror, praying for blood soon, before I eat the girl. The girl who is still sleeping, despite it being almost noon.

I suppose I could wake her, storm into her room and demand the answers she promised me, but since she was almost killed last night I can’t quite bring myself to force her back to reality. That and I don’t feel comfortable entering a strange girl’s bedroom, though if it’s anything like the rest of the house it’s not much to look it. The whole structure is old, cracked; it’s a miracle the place hasn’t fallen down yet. The old stones crumble under my fingers and what isn’t caked in dust is black, like decay. An ancestral home is what comes to mind; there must be some sentimental or historical value to the property if neither Lena nor the village is willing to knock it down and rebuild.

The rest of the village is more modern; I’ve been wondering around since daybreak. Still older than the places I’ve been to over the years – hell, in the past few weeks – but I don’t fear for the lives of anyone in them. The village is a five minute walk from Lena’s home; granted, that isn’t long really, but to be alone with no immediate neighbours must get a little lonely. Or maybe that’s just me; always been around people, I have. Big family and all.

Lena finds me near the little square – a platform made of stone with a well in the middle.

“Children make wishes in it,” she says from behind me. Now that night has passed, she sounds a lot calmer, more eager to talk.

I turn to find her standing close enough to touch, yet we make no move to. She dressed more casually this time, all in black – the jeans, the jacket, the hint of a blouse I can see underneath. And her boots are sturdy with no heel, like a workman’s boot. Compared to me, with my washed out blue jeans, white t-shirt and plain blue shirt, she’s the fierce bounty hunter ready for battle and I’m an in-over-my-head school boy.

“I thought gypsies were travellers?” I ask. I knew this place from the moment I got here because of Skylar. The village, the well, the woods – Brasov County, a beautiful place surrounded by mountain, he said. Home to the oldest Roma settlement he knows.

Lena’s eyes narrow, her mouth twisted as she ponders my question. I haven’t offended her, it’s more of a cautious frown, but either the term I used or my ignorance has gotten to her. “We must live somewhere. My family chose Bran.” She glances around her, as though she can genuinely see the world as a map. I suppose she can in a way, seeing as she lives here she knows we’re just outside of it. “Kind of. People come and go, they are welcome here, but it is not like it was when we first settled. So few of the old families are left and I am the last of mine to be here.”

“That’s sad and all,” I interrupt, hoping I at least look sympathetic. “But I have work to do.”

“You have time. The vampires you seek are not going anywhere for at least three days and I know where they are.”

“Where?” That strange feeling is back; she is wrong, I know it.

“They are in the Lost World,” Lena is happy to admit, delicate shoulders rising and falling as she smiles. “It is a hidden place for your kind and others that wander. But you do not need to go there; they will come to you tomorrow night.”

“How do you know that?”

“You come here knowing nothing of your own kind and Romanian culture,” she points out, all but laughing at me.

“I’m from Tennessee, early eighteen hundreds, and I never paid much attention in world history.”

Smile never wavering, Lena curls a finger, gesturing for me to follow her, and with very little choice in the matter, I do so. The walk back to the house takes far less time with company. We sit along the broken up wall and all I can do is wait for her to speak.

“Tomorrow night is St. Andrew’s Night; the night of the vampires some call it. There will be a celebration for it here and they will come. Nobody will work tomorrow and the party is from dusk to dawn; yes, they will come.” The resigned tone of voice worries me; it’s as though she knew this all along, like she planned it somehow. Why, though, I can’t say. “St. Andrew is the national saint of Romania. He is also the saint for wolves; it is said they talk to you on St Andrews Night but hear it and you die. There was a boy here, a long time ago. His name was Andrei Vali and he controlled the wolves. Still does, though he goes by a different name now.”

“What name?”

Now her smile and the knowing gaze, the spark in her eyes that wasn’t there last night, scares me. “Tristan Valerius.”

Yeah, right. Scared or not, there’s no way she can get me to fall for it. “He’s just a ghost story told to scare dhampir children; the thousand year old vampire who can control the wolves and werewolves. He’s our version of Dracula.”

“Even Dracula was inspired by true events.” Her eyes cast toward the way to Bran Castle. “Before he was Tristan, he was Andrei and he lived her with the original settlers. The Valis were one of the old families, the second to settle. His best friend was the son of the first settlers. He did not care much for the boy’s twin sister, but they were inseparable. They were three and two when they got here. In their own way, they are the reason for night of the vampires, at least here at home where it started.”

“Why are you telling me this? I’m a stranger you met in the woods because you were being chased by one of the vampires I’m after,” I point out, probably unhelpfully because she looks determined to tell me no matter what I say.

“You are here because I came looking for you, Hunter,” she murmurs, ignorant to my shock. Nobody knows my name; I am not like Carter, I don’t ask for a reputation. I am a ghost; I do my work without being noticed. Getting caught is more likely to get me killed. Nobody knows my name… except my friends. “If you understand how that night came to be, you will understand why the coven you seek are here.”

They’re here because this is their next stop in their bloody tour of Europe… right? “You set all this up just to get me here to stop them?”

“I knew they were coming, yes, but I only set up the chase in the forest to get you here,” Lena assures me, though I find it hard to believe. I say nothing more, not quite sure I can, and she takes that as her cue to continue the story she thinks I need to hear. “The twins’ father became a sort of leader to the Roma who followed, because their mother was a Seer. She was his council. He was good and wise and fair. He taught his son to follow in his footsteps, but it was his daughter he doted on the most. When they were thirteen, their father died and the son took over his responsibilities. But he was too young and needed help; their mother found a new partner to be a father, a good man to the people but a monster in the house, and his sister made sure to keep the land safe, a promise to her father. Andrei helped his friend; it was their excuse to be together. It was a secret only two ever knew about; his sister and a vampire who came here seeking sanctuary three years later.

“The sister loved the vampire, would have done anything for him,” Lena whispered, her gaze darkening as she speaks. As the story comes together, so do pieces of my memory, her name is beginning to come back to me. I just have to fill in the gaps. “But one night their mother told the vampire the name of who he was meant to be with as a way of proving her gift and it was not her. Heartbroken, she wanted him gone. Her stepfather was meant to find her and the vampire together in the barn, not her brother and Andrei.”

There’s a pause before she continues, her eyes glistening though this time no tears are allowed to fall.

“He ordered Andrei to leave and sent her brother into the house, but Andrei followed and he watched her stepfather’s rage deepen so mercilessly that he was afraid they would die at his hand. So he got the vampire, who killed the stepfather but was too late to keep the family human. Their mother begged him to turn the twins, suffered living a few extra moments to make sure he did it. Then he and Andrei buried her, making two extra graves to pretend the twins were in them. The twins’ bodies were put in the woods and they got Andrei’s blood when they woke as vampires. Andrei came back to the village to tell the people everyone was dead because of the stepfather and as the oldest Vali boy he became leader. The vampire and her brother went in one direction, and the sister, still so distraught, went in another. The graves are over there.”

Without looking back, Lena points a thumb in that direction, where I can see the small stones that make up five resting places. Careful, I get to my feet to see them, the need to know that this strange girl is telling me the truth so strong it’s overwhelming. At the back of the outhouse I stop, eyes falling on the five names carved into rock. But it’s the last three that capture my attention.

Alexandru Banica, Annalena Banica and Andrei Vali. The twins and the lover.

The scent she carries changes, the cloaked magic she still has dropping and I know her name…

“Lena Banica.” Her returning smile is answer enough and cause for me to step back. I was wrong; delicate she may look, but I can’t fight a vampire who is over one thousand years old and has Banica magic running through her veins. “You – you’re a psychotic stalker, following around Nathaniel Vega. You’re wanted by the Guards. I should bring you in.”

“So I have heard, but no you will not. I am not who you are after, Hunter. Do you want to hear the rest of the story?”

The rest? I didn’t even want to hear the beginning. And I already know this story – Alexandru calls himself Skylar now, he’s already told me this. Could have let me know that the ‘beautiful country’ he once knew was his own home, though. It would have made this discovery a lot less shocking.

“What more is there?” The answer comes to me immediately after I ask. There are five graves here, but only four of them have died in her tale. “It’s St. Andrew’s Night, not St. Alexander’s Night.”

“Almost a year to the day two more vampires came to the village, one was Nicholas Vega. He was looking for his brother. We had been told why Nathaniel was running when he got here, but Andrei was the first person Nicholas saw and he believed the other brother. They made a deal.” Lena moves around me, pulls away the weeds that had grown over her father’s grave, then her own. She leaves the others to the elements. “Andrei did not want to lead our people, he wanted travel and adventure but he did not know how to leave. He asked Nicholas to turn him, said if he could go with them he would be able to get him to Nathaniel because Alexandru would there and since Nicholas was already a wanted man he had nothing to lose and agreed to stage it, although the fact that Andrei could control the wolves helped. He gave Andrei his blood and then led him to the square, demanded to know where Nathaniel was and when Andrei bravely defended our home and people, Nicholas ‘killed’ him. That is why it is St. Andrew’s Night, night of the vampires – because of Andrei’s apparent sacrifice. No one knows that he changed his name to Tristan and left.”

“How do you?” I dread asking, but force it out anyway.

“Because I was here,” she tells me simply. “This is my home; I was not ready to just leave it. Are you ready for the final part of the story?”

How a ghost story connects to a homicidal coven I’ve been tracking all over Europe – I’m not quite sure I’ll ever be ready. I nod all the same.

“A thousand years ago this year, about one hundred and fifteen years after Andrei was turned, he came back. Nostalgia, I think. He had a lot of fun while he was here, turned a boy from the city. That boy,” Lena whispers the word, delights in shudder I involuntary make, “is the leader of this coven you have been desperate to catch. Do you see now, Hunter? This massacre that has led you here, it is one long birthday party. And you, the thorn in his side, will become the icing on top of his cake.”

She steps away, walks backward to the house, with a smile sweet as sugar. I wish to follow her, to demand how she knows all of this, why she brought me here and insisted on telling me this story when the simple fact that I’m in way over my head was easier to say.

“Tristan Valerius may be a ghost story, Hunter, but Andrei Vali is as real as you and me, and he has created a nightmare. And he will be here when the full moon rises.”

Callously, Lena turns away from me, leaving me with one dangerous question.

“Will you?”

Follow Sam on Twitter (@GonnaBLegendary)

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Nobody knows why she screams. A haunted, wailing sound better found in ghost stories.  Nobody knows what keeps her up at night, crouched low to the ground and hidden by shadows. Wild, red hair frames her petite, round face, covers half-crazed eyes and becomes tangled between her lips, muting her whispers of nonsense.

It is coming.

She does not understand her own actions, her words, her mind. Hands press against her ears, harder and harder, wishing the noise away. The endless murmurs swim in her head and breathe new terrors.

It is coming.

The house has become accustomed to her wails, they squeeze their eyes shut, turn their heads and cover their ears with pillows at night. They avoid her, her room, the very house by day. She no longer recognises who is around and who is gone, who is real and just a figment of her imagination. Fatigue catches up to her, fills her aching bones and frail mind until she is nothing more than a whisper among the village. They no longer remember her warning.

It is coming.

***

The air is thick with fog the day she runs away. Her eyes remain on guard along the ground, the sunlight hidden among the clouds and making her surroundings too hard to see. But she keeps on going, not caring that her shoes are slick with mud that still squelches under her feet from last night’s rain or that goosebumps line her arms and legs as shivers crawl up and down her back. Her coat had been abandoned on its rack, lest her parents realise she is no longer in the room they never bother to check, and she is clad only in her nightgown and the shoes she had found stashed under her bed at dawn.

They do not matter. Maybe someone will recognise the small girl she once was in the body of the teenager looking for solace and take her home. Maybe her parents will search her room, even if it is only to know why the screaming has stopped, and come looking once they know she has gone. Until then, she will keep walking. She hopes that she will come to the sea, find a boat that will take her and leave Ireland forever, that England will embrace her, or even somewhere warm and exotic – she has never been to Europe before.

She hopes that someone will cure her rather than lock her away.

The whispers have not stopped, in fact they grow worse. The constant buzzing in the back of her mind now comes with pictures that plague her vision. Smoke circles the horizon, whips against her face, her legs, her chest, and then forms a figure before dropping to the ground and lying unmoving. Still as death. Then it is smoke again and the picture starts over. Surely someone can cure that.

“Anna?”

The soft, curious voice startles her, has her turning to find it. Her eyes crease in an attempt to see through the mist, to catch the shadow of the male who called her name among the shapes that surround her. She keeps still, hoping that if she stays in place than he will come to her. Or maybe it is because he might not find her. Because if dread is coiling in her stomach, creating a mess of knots that stab at her insides and seize her very heart, then he cannot be good. But she forces herself not to listen to it; the voice is so sweet, so unsure, that he simply cannot be bad either. Besides, she barely believes anything that might fall from her lips; this is no different.

She turns back the way she is heading and there, standing in front of her and growing with each passing second, is the shadow that slowly grows, takes shape and becomes a real boy. He watches her with wide, green eyes that seem too big for his innocent, freckled face. Wavy strands of brown hair fall out of a familiar, raggedy cap. The tiny boy she remembers in the lanky teenager stopping in front of her is back.

“Thomas.”

His smile still lights up a room, his front teeth still crooked. It dims the moment he realises that she is shivering and pulls of his coat. “Here, you silly girl. Ya must be freezin’.”

She does not move, allowing him to place the coat over her shoulders and closing it around her. She until she is close to warm before putting her hands through the arms. “Thank you.”

“What ya doin’ out here, Anna? And hardly dressed? Ya should be at home.”

“No! Don’t make me, Thomas!”

He jumps back, surprised by her forceful tone. His hands are raised in front of him. He is sceptical about doing as she says, worried for her; he cannot hide his emotions in his eyes, they swim around the edges for her to see, colliding with one another as he is made to choose. But she knows, somehow, that he will not send her back. Sweet Thomas, who always stuck by her in school, never had a bad word to say. He would sneak away when she asked, lie when she needed it. They were the best of friends once and she had loved him a little bit. It may have been a long time since they last saw each other, but he has not forgotten that.

He glances past his right shoulder, then his left. Then he holds out a hand. “Come on. I know where ya can get warm.”

He takes her to the old shed, the tiny thing he has in his back yard that had no use before they used it as a fortress and had no use after they parted. They are much too big for it now, his head brushes against the roof, but it is warm and safe and she will take it over the house any day. He leaves her almost immediately and her good wishes go with him, allowing fear to fill her up again. The buzzing drowns out all over noise, the whispers start to shout and now that he is not with her she remembers that the air around him is wrong. He is wrong.

She still does not understand.

He comes back with tea, smoke rising from the mug and likely burning his hand with the way he holds it. But not an ounce of pain is revealed in his eyes, nor is there gratitude as he hands it over. Her hands wrap around the mug, the hot, milky liquid burning her mouth and throat. It makes her smile.

“Done a runner, Anna?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

“Aren’t ya glad to see me?” she asks instead.

“Always. You were kept in that house far too long, weren’t right.”

His smile never wavers, his eyes never narrowing. That is what she loves about him the most; his honest nature. He can never say a bad word to anyone about anyone, but he can never keep quiet about injustice either. He is just a lot nicer about it than the rest of town. He could make a curse sound like a compliment if he ever actually cursed, though she had tried… once.

“They don’t know why I scream,” she admits after too much silence. “The doctor, he calls ‘em night terrors, but Ma and Da don’t believe him.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” she starts, head up to lock eyes with her friend, “they don’t just happen at night.”

“How much do feel the urge to scream?” he asks her, leaning forward. His nervous curiosity gets the better of him. That was something she used to love, know how to use it to her advantage. Now she is scared for him and the strange air he carries.

“All the time.”

“Do you wanna scream now?”

Her voice is whimper, barely heard and achingly sad. “Aye.”

“Then scream, Anna.”

She screams.

The buzzing crackles.

***

They find her in the shed and send her home, but now that she has been out, now that she has found him, she refuses to remain locked away. He waits for her by the gate, around the corner so they cannot see; she climbs from the bathroom window, where the tree provides a ladder that protects her fall and the shrubs keep her out of sight.

In the dark, they can do whatever they like and it is as though they are children again, creating stories and playing games. Running away from home. All the way, she is watching the air he carries, hides the winces when the whispers become a rumbling and hold back the screams. He let her once and they were caught; she will not let that happen again. She will keep him from her nightmares for as long as is possible. That is what good friends do.

One night, he kisses her.

“It was meant to be on the cheek,” he mutters, red faced and eyes down. “To say goodbye. But ya moved.”

She kisses him right back, square on the lips and without a trace of pink touching her cheek. “I hit my mark,” she tells him and disappears up the tree.

More nights continue much the same way and in her brief moments of happiness, she finds a way to block out the never-ending urge to scream. With his face in her mind, she eats well. When his kiss brushes against her lips in her dreams, she sleeps soundly. She can almost believe that the air is not wrong, that he is okay. Her parents notice, smile at her returning health and find her in the day to ask about her. The pretence of normalcy is a welcome one and she no longer sneaks out.

He does not show up that night. She steps out of the front door and walks along the gravel path to meet him at the gate as usual. The horizon is a beautiful sight, full of vibrant reds and oranges that come with the setting sun, but she cannot appreciate it with him with her. Now that he is away from her again, she misses his wit, his refreshing logic for simple things, his company. The urge to find him comes from her very bones, the need to do something so bad it aches, but she does not move. He might come, late and full of apologies, but here nonetheless. She should wait.

The sky darkens, remaining cloudless, though still giving her no light with which to see. Like the morning mist, she moves blindly once she finally chooses to look for him. Dread once more coils in her stomach, creating terrifying knots that crawl steadily through her body. The rumbling inside her mind starts to roar, over and over until all she can think is those three seemingly innocent words.

It is coming.

She goes to their shed, sneaking around to his back garden and climbing over the fence. Not even the light from the house is on to guide her path, but she knows the garden and has a good idea as to where the shed is and when to stop. Her hands reach out, ready to touch it. No touch comes.

Under her feet, the crunch of grass disappears and the harsh thud of wood hitting her leg takes its place. The pain startles her, has her biting her lip to keep from being noticed. Then she freezes, because if planks of wood are scattered along the floor then that means the shed is gone. Their shed, their solace, no longer exists. The sudden rush of emotions feels natural to her, the sadness of losing such a place. The unbearable heartbreak does not. How can she feel such a thing for an inanimate object?

The dread does not leave her, the roar does not cease and his face in her mind brings tears to her eyes. For it is not his usual bright smile and wide eyes, but a pale, cold exterior, with dead eyes and painted in blood. His body lays still, a plank cutting through his stomach.

He was inside when it collapsed. She cannot see him in the dark, thanks God she cannot, because her mind is detailed enough. The roaring, loud and clear and in his sweet voice, assures her it is true.

It is here…. Scream for me, Anna.

She screams.

Everything ends.

Follow Sam on Twitter (@GonnaBLegendary)

The post PRW Runner-up Tour: Scream by Sam Hardy appeared first on REUTS | Boutique Book Publisher |.

The sun was warm on her back as Rhodopis walked along the river, her sandals skimming over the harbour’s metal platform. She felt free, the wind blowing her golden hair about her face and brushing her bare arms. As she reached the end of a jetty, she heard someone call out from the watch tower. Perplexed, she looked up to see a man leaning over the edge, pointing down the river.

Rhodopis couldn’t imagine what could be wrong, nothing ever happened in their little fishing town. Then she heard it, the droning of engines and she turned on her heel. Surging up the lake was a hover ship made of cruel, black metal. She could hear people behind her fleeing from the pirate ship but she could do nothing but stare at it as it drew up alongside the jetty, sending a spray of water over her.

Finally, she persuaded her stunned legs into movement and she turned, fleeing towards the town across the empty harbour. There was the sound of many feet behind her, clanging on the metal. A hand encircled her arm and she was pulled to a stop. Rhodopis kicked out at her assailant but their grip was strong.

“I got one,” the man said to another, tall man who leaned down over them. “Will this one do?”

The second man leant forward and studied her. “Good. Take her on board.”

Rhodopis continued to struggle as he pulled her back to the jetty. If only she had followed the advice of her dear mother. “Don’t go down to the harbour by yourself,” she had told her, “you wouldn’t want to get taken by pirates would you?” She had ignored her mother’s warning and now here she was.

The engines of the hover ship were still running, assumedly to allow the pirates a quick escape if need be. She’d never been on a ship before but she didn’t have a chance to look around before she was pushed down into the belly of the vessel. Many eyes looked up at her from the darkness as she was led down and fell onto her knees amid them. Several more girls came after her before the doors were slammed shut and they were left in complete darkness.

Rhodopis took a deep breath and forced herself to remain calm as the ship rose into the air and lurched forward. Even at night the moon provided some light, but here there was none. The darkness pressed in on her. It was difficult to breathe.

She lost track of how long she was shut inside the room for. They stopped twice more and the room began to become cramped. Someone’s elbow or knee, she wasn’t sure which, was wedged into her side and she couldn’t move her legs for fear of kicking someone. Sweat trickled down her spine as the heat in the room began to increase. Her mouth was dry and she longed for water, even a sip, to satisfy her thirst.

After what felt like days someone came down and brought them food and water. There wasn’t much to go around though and it was difficult to organise in the darkness. She had a morsel of bread and a few gulps of water, nothing more.

Finally, the doors were opened and one of the pirates led them up onto the deck. The bright sunlight stung Rhodopis’ eyes and she had to close and reopen them several times before she could stand to keep them open. She had no idea where they were but everything seemed so strange. The buildings were sleek metal like the ones in her hometown in Greece, but some of them here were like triangles. What was the shape called? Pyramids? And there was sand everywhere, it blew in her face and swirled around her feet as they were led off the boat and ushered through the busy streets.

Before she had much time to take in what was happening she was being pushed up stairs and onto a round platform where she and the other prisoners were lined up. A crowd was gathered before them and many were shouting and jeering. A hand was placed on her shoulder and she was pushed to the front of the platform.

“Young girl, fit, healthy, capable of much work.”

Rhodopis gazed around her, stunned. The people were still shouting. The sun reflected off a nearby building and she struggled to see. Even in her tunic and sandals she was sweating in the baking heat. Unless, it wasn’t the heat and it was the fear and trepidation creeping up on her.

“Sold.”

She looked around in confusion as she was led off the front of the platform and handed to an elderly man, her manacles being removed. He smiled at her and took her arm, leading her away from the shouting crowd and the platform where the other prisoners stood.

“What is your name, my dear?” the man asked.

“Rhodopis,” she replied timidly. “What is this place? What country?”

“Why, you are in Egypt,” the man said with a laugh. “Did you not know?”

Rhodopis shook her head and looked to the floor, feeling ashamed and foolish. “May I ask another question?”

“Of course.”

“Why did those pirates take me prisoner? And why did they give me to you?”

The man gave her a quizzical look but answered her question. “They took you so you could be a slave, I bought you.”

Rhodopis’ eyes widened and she felt like she may be sick. Would she ever return home? Her family would be so worried about her, they may even think she were dead.

The old man patted her hand gently. “No need to worry, I’ll look after you well.”

Rhodopis didn’t have the heart to reply and let him lead her to a house overlooking a river. She was so wrapped in her thoughts, trying to come to terms with what was happening to her, that she hardly took in anything she saw.

The man led her to the back of the house and then let go of her arm and went to one of the trees. Then he lay down beneath it and closed his eyes. Not knowing what to do, Rhodopis looked around her and spotted three girls about her own age heading towards her.

“Who are you?” one of them demanded, her arms folded across her chest.

“My name is Rhodopis,” she replied. She couldn’t help but feel small under their gazes.

“Why is your hair so pale and curled?” one of the others asked, picking up a strand of her hair.

“And her eyes are so green,” the third added.

Rhodopis attempted to move away from them but they simply followed. Their hair was black and straight and their eyes brown like bark. She felt suddenly self-conscious about her appearance. In Greece, she simply looked like everyone else. Here, she was an oddity, a stranger. She longed to be back home.

“And her skin so pale.”

“You must do chores for us,” the first girl said, grinning. The others nodded in approval of the suggestion. “One of my robes needs mending.”

“And the floor in the parlour needs sweeping.”

“And the washing needs drying.”

“Are you not slaves too?” Rhodopis dared asked. She could sense the anger blazing in their eyes and regretted asking.

“Yes,” said one of them. “But you are new, and terribly odd looking, so you have to do the chores and prove yourself.”

Rhodopis spent many a day thereafter doing the bidding of the other slave girls. She looked to the old man who had bought her but he always seemed to be sleeping under the tree. There would be no help from him.

One day when she was sat by the river, staring out at the great expanse of desert before her and thinking of home, the old man approached her, holding something behind his back. “I have something for you.” Then he revealed a pair of red slippers which he held out to her.

Rhodopis gasped and beamed at the man. “For me? They are beautiful.” She hesitated, her hand held out to take them. Should she really accept such a gift? But they were so pretty and she took them from him, replacing her worn sandals with them.

As the man walked away back to his tree she looked up at the three girls watching her from the house. Swiftly, she turned away from them, not wanting to see the hateful looks in their eyes. As much as the shoes were beautiful, she almost wished he had not given them to her. Now they only had more reason to hate her.

As evening drew in she left her place by the river and returned to the house. She could hear the other girls chattering in the servant’s quarters and braced herself before entering. They were holding hands and skipping around with massive grins on their faces. They didn’t pay any attention to Rhodopis as she walked over to her bed.

Eventually she plucked up the courage to ask, “What is happening?”

The girls looked over at her with sour looks, but one of them answered her question anyway. “The Pharaoh is holding an event in Memphis and everyone is invited to attend! There will be singing and dancing and oh it will be wonderful.”

“When is it?” Rhodopis asked. After spending so much time in the house she was looking forward to going out somewhere, although she didn’t have any nice clothes to wear. Perhaps this was why her master had bought her the red slippers.

“Tonight.” It was only then that Rhodopis noticed the pretty outfits laid out on each of their beds. Her heart sank, for she had nothing so lovely to wear.

“You shan’t be coming of course,” one of them said as she helped the two others finish arranging their clothes. “There are clothes need washing and we expect them done once we return.”

“But I should like to go too,” Rhodopis protested.

The girl gave her a withering look. “Of course you can’t come with us. The chores need doing.”

Rhodopis watched sadly from the bank as they were carried away down the river in a boat, to the celebrations she would not be able to partake in. With a heavy heart she collected the washing from inside and set about her chores. She removed her slippers so as not to get them wet and sang of times gone by as she washed the girl’s clothes.

The chill, night air seeped into the bare skin of her arms but she hardly noticed. The moon shone bright, making silver ripples in the river. The trees and rushes swished in the wind and Rhodopis had to tie her hair back to prevent it falling in her face.

Just as she was finishing her work she looked up to see a falcon sweeping down towards her. She cried out in panic, certain it was going to sink its claws into her. Instead, it gripped one of her red slippers and flew off into the sky with it. Rhodopis sat there a moment, stunned, with her hand on her heart and waited for it to stop racing. Why would the God Horus take her shoe from her? She picked up the remaining slipper, a heavy sadness falling on her shoulders. At least the other girls could not be angry with her for wearing them, now, for she could not go round in one red shoe.

***

The Pharaoh, Amasis, looked out at the crowd of his joyous subjects, trying to look interested in the event. These kind of celebrations bored him and he leant his elbow on the arm of his throne. He was becoming tired of the whole thing. He would much rather be out riding his chariot.

Just then, something seemed to fall out of the sky and as Amasis peered closer he saw that it was a falcon, heading right for him. The nearby guards hurried to stand before him but the Pharaoh barked at them to move aside. It simply dropped something into his lap and flew away. The subjects nearest to him stared at what had been dropped, gasps ringing out through them. The advisors gathered around him were silent. In his lap was a small, red slipper.

“Surely, this is a message from Horus,” Amasis said, more to himself than anyone else, and picked up the slipper. He shot to his feet and turned to his advisors. “All the maidens in the kingdom must try on this slipper, and whoever so fits it will be my queen.”

“But, sir, is this really a wise way to choose a queen?” one of the advisors said timidly. “A political alliance would be a better choice.”

“It is a message from Horus,” Amasis replied, already heading up the stairs of the palace. “Get my chariot ready.” He strode across the entrance hall and a servant called for the elevator.

Once inside his rooms, Amasis removed the celebratory headdress and items, exchanging them for more travel appropriate clothing. When he reached the back of the palace his chariot was already waiting, with guards in two others to accompany him. The chariot hovered above the ground and shone with gold leaf. It was drawn by an energy ball that glowed red and hovered also.

Amasis climbed on board and they left the city, heading in search for the owner of the red slipper. After searching the land for three days with no success Amasis returned to the palace to speak to his advisors. “She must be here in the kingdom somewhere,” he said as he paced in front of the throne.

“Perhaps it is not to be. Maybe you are not meant to find her.”

“No,” Amasis said firmly. “It is a message from the Gods. The girl will be my queen.”

“Then take the hover barge and go up the river in search of her.”

Amasis grinned at the advisor. “Excellent, excellent idea. Prepare the barge, I will depart as soon as it is made ready.”

***

Rhodopis looked out at the river from the house. The other servant girls had said the event had been awful, and they didn’t even get to look upon the Pharaoh. Still, she wished she had been able to go. As she was watching the world outside she heard the sound of trumpets and round a bend in the river emerged some kind of hover boat like none she had ever seen before. It was adorned with gold and coloured silks and seemed magical as it approached.

At the sound of the trumpets the other girls joined her at the window and gasped. “It is the Pharaoh, he must have come so we can try on the slipper!”

“Try on the slipper?” Rhodopis asked.

“Never you mind,” they told her. “You stay out of the way.”

They hurried down to the landing where the boat was just pulling up. Rhodopis followed them part of the way and hid amongst the rushes, peering through the tall grass. From the boat stepped a man swathed in silks and wearing a red and white crown. The servant girls bowed to him and he held out a slipper.

Rhodopis’ hand flew to her mouth, it was her red slipper. How could the pharaoh have come to have her shoe? She was about to run from the rushes and claim it as hers but hesitated. The other girls would surely hate her even more if she did. She stayed where she was and watched the girls attempt to squeeze their feet into the slipper, even though they knew it to be hers.

As the Pharaoh took back the shoe and turned to go he paused. Rhodopis’ heart stopped as he began to walk towards her. He looked down at her where she was hidden amongst the rushes. “Will you try it on?”

Rhodopis looked at the furious faces of the servant girls but swallowed her fear and stood. She found herself mute, unable to find any words in the face of such a handsome, powerful man. He held out the slipper and she took it, sliding it onto her foot easily. Then, she took the matching one from out of her tunic and placed it on the other foot.

The Pharaoh’s eyes lit up and he took her hand, leading her from out of the rushes. “What is your name, child?”

“Rhodopis,” she replied quietly.

“She shall be my queen,” he announced to his attendants on the barge who cheered and bowed.

“But she is a slave,” one of the other girls exclaimed.

“And not even Egyptian,” cried another.

The Pharaoh looked down at her, a smile still spread across his face. “She is Egyptian, in her own way, for her eyes are such a dazzling green as the Nile, her fair hair the colour of papyrus and her skin pale and rosy as a lotus flower.”

Rhodopis’ heart swelled and she tried to calm her beating heart. She was sure she was blushing, but he didn’t seem to notice. After receiving such scorn from the other servants his compliments were foreign to her. It felt good to be appreciated, something she had not experienced for so long a time. She felt certain that the Gods had been watching over her, and she thanked Horus for what he had done for her.

The Pharaoh led her onto the hover boat and took her into a private area with walls of purple silk where they stood, he still holding her hand. A robot came over to them holding glasses of drink but he sent them away.

“My name is Amasis,” he said. “I hope you do not find me silly for making you my queen. My advisors do.”

“No I do not,” Rhodopis said quickly, not wanting to offend him. “May I ask how you came by my slipper?”

“It was dropped in my lap by a falcon,” he explained.

“The same falcon must have taken it from me,” Rhodopis exclaimed.

Amasis put his hands on her shoulders. “The Gods have brought us together for a reason, I think. You will be a good queen.”

“I do hope so,” Rhodopis replied. She suddenly felt very self-conscious, of her appearance and her station.

He put his fingers under her chin and lifted it up so she was looking up at him. “I know you will.”

Rhodopis hardly dared breathe as he leant down towards her. Their lips met and it felt like she was melting into him as he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. For the first time in a while she felt wanted. There would be no more of those slave girls laughing at her and telling her what to do. She had found her place, and by some miracle it was by the Pharaoh’s side.

Follow Megan on Twitter (@mtwilsonwrites)

The post PRW Runner-up Tour: The Red Slipper by Megan Wilson appeared first on REUTS | Boutique Book Publisher |.

Torches blaze to life as I step into warm white sand, my legs shaking with fatigue. My chest sighs with every labored breath. Ragged remnants of a tattered dress hang at my knees. I sweep tangled hair from my face.

How did I get here? Where is here?

I glance behind me into the deepest dark, like my past. For no memory of before this place exists in my mind.

A song twists through the air, bringing my attention to figures wrapped in cloths. Hope flutters in my heart. Maybe they know me.

A crowd gathers, faces shining in the firelight. Dark eyes glimmer from under worn cloths that cover their heads. Wrinkles spread from encouraging smiles. Children peer at me from behind parents’ legs, eyes wide with wonder and pale cheeks dotted with the rosy color of … love.

Do I know them?

As they grow closer, I open my mouth to speak, but press my hand to my chest, as I gasp, failing to form the question. A question in desperate need of an answer.

Who am I?

Their chant strengthens. “Darkness has fallen. Bring us light.” The words weave through the flickering flames.

Panic strikes as warm hands clasp mine. I quiver at their touch, gazing from one face to another. Faces that hold only kindness. They lead me to a path of stone lined with torches, the fire struggling to push away the black. People stand at the edges of the light, heads bowed and arms outstretched. Beyond them white rock walls stretch up, disappearing into the dark.

The place tugs at wisps of lost memories.  

“We, the people of Geb, rejoice for you shall enter the dark to save us.”

The dark? My stomach knots in fear. I raise trembling hands to my face and gaze past the visible into the blackness that devours the world.

Save them? I don’t even know myself.

The crowd parts. A broad-chested man approaches, pulling the cloth from his head. Light hair, gradually darkening to blue, falls to his shoulders. “I am Hu. I shall lead your voyage.”

Warmth spreads through me at his voice. I swallow, forcing out words. “Who am I?”

His smile paints his eyes with glee. “You are the Light-bringer.”

A slight woman, with happy wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, offers a new bright yellow dress. “I am Sia.”

I jerk in surprise as she pulls the worn clothes from my body and slides the new garment over my head. I nudge it over the curve of my hips, relishing the fresh scent, the smell of hope.

Sia beckons me to follow. As we walk, people place flowers at my feet.

The sound of rushing water sends joy skipping through my heart. My pace quickens as a longing to join the water swells in my chest. “The river calls.”

Sadness glimmers in Sia’s eyes. “So it does.”

My breath hitches in my chest, a lump catching in my throat.

“Why?” I ask.

Sia bows her head. “You are chosen.”

“So you say.” My voice trembles with unease. Yet I cannot shake the draw of the river.

There is something I must do. A reason for my existence.

I stop on the shore, the people a silent mass behind me. A stocky woman kneels before me, her eyes shining in the dancing flames. She strokes my skin with a soft cloth, wiping away a layer of grime until my golden skin glows. “I am Heka.”

With a gentle hand, she cleans my face. Something tugs on my hair and I turn. A group of girls work their fingers through the knotted mass until my hair lies in a smooth sheet of bright blue over my shoulder. My fingers run along it until reaching the golden tips.

Torches light near the river as a wooden boat floats silently to shore — a plain craft with four bench seats and a large platform adorned with orange flowers and blue grasses.

Hu climbs to the white sand. “I present Set.”

Another man, lean and muscled, his eyes blazing. A jagged scar along his face makes me shiver.

Sia and Heka join them at the river’s edge then all four bow to me then take their places in the boat. I step back, fear crawling along my spine.

Hu reaches his hand to me. “Light-bringer.”

I spin, the need to run racing through my mind. “Where will the river take me?”

Hu steps from the boat and places his hands on my shoulders. “You will see.”

“Who am I?”

“A discovery meant for the journey.”

I stare at the river, its song winding through my mind, hypnotizing me. “One I am destined to take.”

Hu fixes his dark eyes on me. “So it is.”

“Why?” I whisper, fighting the inner force pushing me to the river.

“Without light, Geb and her people will perish.”

I glance over my shoulder. Young and old, the inhabitants of the world stand. Hope clear in their eyes. Darkness seeps into my thoughts.

Save them? I don’t know them.

Hu directs me to the platform, between four burning torches.

The boats rocks as Set pushes us from shore. Panic and fear twist in my belly, but the sound of the river soothes my mind, like a mother singing to their child. This is where I should be.

However, I am no one’s champion. Why should I save them?

I will search for answers to my questions. I will know myself.

The current catches our craft, sending it along its path. Hu, Sia, Heka, and Set stand by the benches. Their simple brown garb billows in the wind.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

Set turns and raises his hands high. “Into the deepest levels of The Afterworld.”

My fingers twist in my hair. “Who am I? Why do I have to save you?”

“Find the light. Find yourself.” Heka chants, her round face shines with strength.

All eyes fall on me. Pity lines their faces.

“Why me?” My fingers curl into fists. They know the answers. Why won’t they speak them?

Set’s dark eyes narrow, wrinkling the long scar tracing the side of his face. “Because you are chosen.”

“So you say.” Anger burns in my gut, mixing with my confusion and fear. I hold no memory of me, yet these people have deemed me their savior. “I do not know you or your legends.”

Set’s lean form tenses. “You will.”

I will?

Unease sweeps through me and I turn from the boat and its occupants, but beyond the ring of light, exists only darkness, threatening to swallow me.

Silence crawls out from the black and engulfs us.

My crew stands tall. Focused. Prepared. No worry creases their brows, only determination.

My bare feet shift on the wood platform, trying to keep my balance as the boat rocks, rising and falling. Worry plagues my mind. The questions continue to whirl in my head, demanding answers. I exist in a void of nothing and travel into the darkness of death.

“To find light,” I mutter. But not just that. “To find myself?” My hands clench.

Sia faces me, her face etched with concern. “You must bring light to the world. In so doing, you will learn the truth, you will know everything.”

I stare at her and press my hands to my sides, trying to control the shaking.

But I don’t want to know everything. I want to know me and why the desire to travel the river burns through me.  

The wind whispers through the black… cold, uncaring.

“Entrance ahead!” Hu shouts.

A chasm looms, like a mouth of a creature waiting to swallow us. My heart stops and sinks into the pit of my stomach. The river churns, sending drops of water splashing onto my feet. My breath hitches in my chest as the darkness reaches for me. I fight the desire to scream.

Torches send flickering shadows racing across the faces of the crew. Their brows crease in concentration as they man the paddles. Their eyes shine with determination, not panic, as if they have traveled this path many times.

I stumble off my place of honor, swaying as the boat lurches side to side. My hands grip Hu’s strong shoulder to steady myself.

He glances at me. “Light-bringer, only you know the words so we may pass.”

“Pass through what?” I cry. My knees wobble.

Set laughs, running his hand through his hair, blue strands dancing in the breeze. “The gate into The After.”

The water swirls around the boat as my companions fight the current, driving us into the dark. What words? I can’t remember my name let alone words. Panic builds in my mind, blocking out all rational thought.

A massive green-scaled body ripples through the water. Waves crash against the sides of the craft, knocking me to my knees. My palms smack the wooden deck, a package sliding in front of me, pointed sticks and jagged rock edges peek out from under the cloth. Weapons?

“Light-bringer!” Heka’s bright smile appears before me, her hands resting on my shoulders as she helps me stand. “The words. Only you know the magic.”

My mind spins, but through the panic, a thought shines clear. I raise my arms. “Be calm and grant us passage.”

One by one, six giant serpents, each capable of swallowing our boat whole, slither from the water and coil upon the land, three on one side and three on the other. I glance at the bag of weapons then back to the beasts. As we pass, they shriek, and, when my eyes lock on theirs, they quiet. Struggling to breathe, I step backwards and sit on my platform. “How… did I do that?”

“You are the Light-bringer,” Sia says as she frees the weapons from their wrappings.

“I will not use those,” I reply, pointing a shaking finger at the long, stone blades.

Sia’s eyes meet mine. Her lips curl into a knowing grin. “We shall see.”

I pull my knees to my chest as we descend into darkness. The unknown lurks before me. Yet, I spoke the words to control the beasts. Maybe my memories and the key to my future lie within the black.

“The second!” Hu calls, the dark swallowing his voice.

I stand, squinting into the blackness.

The torchlight pushes into the space, touching upon walls that stretch up beyond the point of seeing. Slime oozes down the stones. Two massive wood doors, hanging between the structures, swing open with a croak. Hissing creeps through the air, crawling along my skin like icy fingers.

We float through the opening, the rock walls silent giants on either side. My crew crouches, their gazes fixed forward. With a whoosh, fire explodes around us. Shock races through my mind as heat brushes my skin. A clear thought tumbles from the dark corner of my head. I thrust my arms out, palms up. “Harm none.”

Continuous flames dance over our heads and lap at the edges of the boat, but the heat vanishes. Power tingles in my body as if my flesh will explode. Flashes of light flicker in my mind, sputtering as if trying to ignite a memory. As the fire dies and my mind falls silent.

I gaze at my hands. Confusion swirls in my mind. How had I done that?

“Be wary! The souls are drawn to the light.”

The shout pulls me back to the journey. Hu and Sia scramble to opposite edges of the craft, gesturing at the blackness. I turn. Dim light crawls over the shore, illuminating ghostly forms, wandering at the water’s edge.

“The lost ones,” I mutter. My breath catches as the knowledge leaks from the hidden corners of my mind.

“Yes, Light-bringer. Those who wander forever in the darkness of The After,” Heka says with a bow.

A splash sounds in the distance.

Hu grabs a paddle. “We need to move.”

I step onto my platform and sink to the floor as the others work to outrun the forgotten spirits, drawn to the light, needing to escape. If my memories remain lost, will I become one of them? One after another, bodies wade into the river, making their way to us.

I must learn who I am.

My fingers wrap around a paddle, and I plunge it into the water, pushing us to the next gate. Worry gnaws at my mind as the creatures close.

I gaze at the straining shoulders of my crew, those who will take me to my answers, wanting me to help them. But why should I?

Deformed hands creep over the edge of the boat. I suppress a scream as blank, white orbs that have forgotten what it means to see, appear. Mouths hang open in silent pleas. Whispers creep through the air, touching my ears and trailing along my jaw like unwelcomed kisses. My throat constricts, trapping a shriek. A paddle strikes with a sickening smack, knocking the no longer living thing into the water. Appalled, I stumble back, staring at Set, who delivers blow after blow until finally the onslaught ends and the third doorway is revealed.

“The Halls of Judgment,” Set whispers, narrowing his eyes at the scene.

Judgment? My mind trembles under the weight of the word.

The door slides up, clanking and creaking. Anxiety twists in my stomach. I pace my platform, glancing behind us. I could go back, I owe these people nothing. The force driving me to continue pulses in my mind. I gaze up at the door as we pass. Frustration prickles in the back of my mind. Save the world — a world I don’t know.

“The gates keep the kas from returning to our world,” Sia whispers. I glance at her, despair twists in my heart at the thought of existing as a lost soul.

Set’s raspy chuckle slips into the dark. “And the monsters are meant to keep the living out. Yet, here we are.” His arms extend, a fierce gleam lighting his eyes.

A faint glow flows over the shore where shimmering souls form lines. Waiting. Shuffling forward. Waiting. My nerves shatter and fall away. Everyone waits for something. For light. For answers. For a place in The After.

The faces of my comrades reflect the acceptance flowing from the kas. Someday they will stand in line, hoping to be shown salvation, fearing being trapped in the shadows. I can let them perish now, let the end claim them and their final judgment be declared. The lines fade from view, and Hu gestures ahead. Water crashes against doors made of bones. The sound of the water tugs at emotions buried deep in my mind, calling of life, of peace, of purpose.

Dark weaves through my head, around my heart. Yet my lip does not tremble. My feet set on the floor. “We shall pass into fear.”

Tendrils of smoke reach from the shadows and open the doors like giant hands. Silence flows out from the nothingness and clamps over my mind. Unease trickles along my spine. The torches flicker and die, leaving us in darkness. Heart pounding, I strain to pick up sounds of danger. Water laps at the sides of the boat. The scent of rotting meat makes me gag. A sudden scream sends shivers up my spine.

A cold wind sweeps behind me, bringing whispers.

Bringing doubt. At the end, I’ll discover that I am nothing.

Scrapes and shouts trickle out of the black as the crew searches for weapons, but fear cannot be beaten with stone blades.

A spark of strength burns in my soul, incinerating my doubt. The torches on the boat blaze to life. Black fingers retreat over the edge of the craft. I gaze down at a helmet, resting at my feet. Two glorious curving horns curl from the sides. I place it on my head as we cross the fifth threshold and travel through a fiery inferno.

My finger trails along the curving horns on my helmet. Strength flows in my veins. I could save the people of Geb. But why?

The sixth gate opens with a roar, exposing hairy beasts crowding the shore. Monstrous faces turn to us. Long snouts snort puffs of steam. Powerful legs propel them into the waves.

Hu raises his blade. “Protect the Light-bringer!”

Protect me? Why?I have done nothing for them.  

Set’s war cry fills the dark.

The mass of creatures descends upon us. I step to the back of the boat. Claws slash. Cries of suffering and pain echo through the dim light. Blood runs into the river, tinting it with rage. Set attacks with fervor. Hu, Heka, and Sia stab and block, spinning in defense.

My mind fills with memories of pleas for help, prayers. A purpose. My purpose. Like a wisp of smoke, it hovers in my mind then vanishes.

My companions bleed. They put their hearts into every move.

Fighting for me.

The calm river suddenly churns, the sound calling me from the edge of confusion. A wave crashes into the boat, carrying us towards the next door. Monsters screech in frustration as the water rises, drowning them. My crew huff and puff from their efforts. Battered and bruised they had been willing to give their lives for my journey.

For me.

Sia plops on a bench, hope shining in her eyes. “We grow closer to the end. Soon you will remember.”

“You will save us,” Heka says, coming to Sia’s side and smiling at me.

My insides flutter at the way they look at me like a savior, but more. The women tunr to each other, checking wounds, sharing words of comfort… of love.

I know love.

A wall of water glistens in the light. The seventh gate. The boat rocks and spins as the current sweeps us into chaos, tipping our craft. Icy water engulfs my head in a rush of confusion. My companions gone in a rush of bubbles.

Familiarity of the pressure, the quiet dark pushes away my panic.

I began in water. Somewhere, long ago, the river had given me life.

Why?

I break the surface, gasping for air.

To bring light.

Light always follows the dark. I gaze down at my hands, glowing golden under the waves.

Power. My power.

The light flickers, illuminating a sleek, black body and reflecting in yellow eyes. My chest tightens as if the jaws of this new horror have already caught me.

“The boat!” Hu’s voice rises above the whirlpool. His hand waves to the wooden structure bobbing in the water.

“Serpent!” Sia yells.

Worry creates a hole in my heart as my companions swim towards the boat. Jagged ebony spikes break the surface as it heads for Sia. An ache settles in my heart at the thought of the light in her eyes extinguished forever, of the world without Heka’s smile or Hu’s protective spirit.

I stare into the water the sense of remembering growing stronger. The people of Geb. My people?

“Light-bringer!” Set’s voice booms through the darkness.

A huge reptilian head emerges from the river, mouth open in a hiss. Green venom drips from its fangs. A tail whips out of the water, crashing down on my right. Waves push me away from the boat, from my crew. My stomach knots in fear as it slithers through the waves towards me.

If I never complete the journey, I’ll forever be a blank past and a dark future. Anger burns through my heart, ridding it of doubt. The tail strikes again, a sharp spike slicing the skin on my arm.

I scream, the sound echoing off unseen walls.

Hands grab under my shoulders and yank me from the water’s icy grip. I tumble onto the boat’s floor as Hu and Set face the monster, weapons raised. Heka and Sia force paddles through the water.

“Stay down, Light-bringer!”

My gaze settles on the pointed end of a stick. Shivering, I wrap my fingers around it and pull it to my side. I slam the end onto the floor and push myself up. “No.”

I will fight, for my memories. Flames paint the tense jaws and determined gazes of my crew, the warriors, with flickering strength. I stand next to them, spear raised. My fingers curl and uncurl around the rough weapon as I shift on my feet. My heart pounds.

The serpent strikes. Sharp teeth snap. With mighty growls, Set and Hu swing their weapons. I step back. My arm throbs from the wound. Strange thoughts of pride at my sacrifice weave through my mind. Hissing, the creature brings its tail up from the waves. My chest tightens as I call out a warning, but Set and Hu don’t hear me and continue to jab at its eyes and dodge the monstrous jaws.

A surge of power drives me forward, weapon raised. As the tail descends, I push the two fighters out of the way and duck. Body shaking, I lunge forward and throw the spear. Sparks erupt as it hits the monster’s eye. Holding my breath, I glance at my fingers, the tips glowing gold again. Shrieking, the beast whips its head back and forth before sinking under the waves.

Hu and Set scramble to the side and gaze into the river. Triumphant grins spread across their tired faces as they grab paddles, and join in the effort to find the next challenge. Our frantic paddling settles into a powerful rhythm until the river’s current finds us. We collapse to the floor, breathing hard.

Set bows his head. “Our thanks, Light-bringer.”

His words warm my heart. I saved them. My head whirls with thoughts of protection.

Is this who I am?

“You’re injured, Light-bringer,” Sia calls, rushing to my side. Her hands reaching for my arm, but never touching.

“So I am,” I say. I wipe the blood away and press my palm to the cut. Light flares under my hand, and when I pull it from my arm, the wound is gone.

No shock or surprise registers in my head. I am forever.

I gaze upon the eighth gate, looming over us, anxiety swirling in my belly. “Something bigger waits.”

Hu’s eyes harden. Set weighs his blade in his hand as if he knows what we will face.

I glance at Sia, my mind working to free thoughts from the dark corners. “Twelve passageways through The Afterworld.”

Sia nods. “To find the light.”

“Find myself,” I add. Vague images of water and light do not satisfy my questions. Yet the journey becomes more. My desire for my comrades to survive sparks.

Light crawls across the next gate. A strange calm descends upon me.

I will find the truth. I will save the world.

But why?

The final piece of the puzzle. The elusive, unnamable force pushing me. My purpose.

A door made of shadow swings open with a whisper. We glide through the water tinted black by the hate of The After, kept inside by gates and monsters. The dark surrounds us, clings to the very air, our torches incapable of burning it away. As we pass to the next gate, evil thoughts penetrate my mind, stabbing and twisting their barbed fingers.

Once again, my mind finds the magic and a golden glow extinguishes the darkness from our minds. Once again, we pass unharmed.

This makes me happy.

The light touches the ninth portal, created by a mass of bodies. Sickly green skin covers bony arms. Joints creak and pop as the creatures shift, crawling over and under each other. Constant moaning trickles through the air, winding into my head and sapping my strength. Clawed fingers reach for us as we pass.

Set stretches his shoulders and settles into a strong stance. Anticipation ripples along my spine. Souls, once the people of the city on the shore, now twisted, bones broken at odd angles, warped by The After. I stand and stare.

I know this place.  

Set points his blade at the shore. Creeping into the water, the kas fix their dead gazes on us. Heads snap from side to side on crooked necks. Mouths hang open in silent screams of desperation. Clambering over each other their pace becomes frantic, their arms reaching.

“They want the light. They think it will set them free,” Hu says.

But the light can’t help them.

The first to approach the boat loses its head as Set swings his weapon with skilled precision. Hu joins, cutting limbs from shoulders. My stomach churns as the stench of rotting flesh climbs into my nose. Heka and Sia jab the attackers back into the rippling water. The sounds of bodies smacking the water and grunts of effort mix into a grotesque song. I pick up a stone blade and it bursts into flames. Shock wraps fingers around my throat. I drop the weapon, which clatters to the floor.

“Help us, Light-bringer!” Sia pleas.

Her voice sets fire to a dark place in my heart, in my memory. The creatures creep into the boat, flopping over the edge. Falling to my knees, I plunge my hand into the water. “Sleep.”

The moaning stops. Twisted limbs straighten as the bodies sink beneath the water.

The boat jerks as the current carries us forward, leaving the horror of mangled bodies behind. Yet they will remain there, forever trapped in terror.

“Thank you, Light-bringer,” Heka says. Streaks of fear line her kind face and I resist the urge to embrace her, to take her from the fight. And not just her. All of them.

My people.

They love me.  

Set’s ragged breathing calms as he bows his head. “Good fight.”

“The fight is yet to come,” I say, staring at a distant glow. Who I am, who I will become rises up from the darkness of my mind. I stare at the blade sitting by my feet.

“The Tenth,” Hu says, his words hold fear and worry.

I will save them.

Tall gates smolder as if forever burning.

I reach down, grasping the stone weapon in my hand. My mind clears. The path reveals itself. “Apep! I come for you, for the light!”

The door raises, the water underneath steaming. With a roar, fire races along the edges of my blade, but fear no longer lurks in my heart. The flames lick my fingers, but do not burn.

Light blazes before us. Golden coils of a great dragon line the shore. I glance at Set, shifting beside me, stone weapon held firm in his hand. My chest swells with pride in my companion.

I turn to the beast. “I know you, demon.” For I do. I have faced him before, so many times.

A massive head lifts. Three bright blue eyes fix on me. Fear weaves through my body, but instead of crumbling under the pressure, a wall of strength forms around my heart and mind. My breathing calms as I turn to my crew, my saviors.

“The fight is mine. The way is set. I go alone to bring light to you, my people, because I love you, as you love me.”

I jump from the boat, the water splashing around my knees.

“The river will take you home,” I call over my shoulder as I fight through the waves. “This isn’t good-bye!”

My gaze locks on the creature as it uncoils and wraps around me. The dark place of The Afterworld falls away, leaving me standing on a pillar of rock, fiery blade high above my head. A great wind cries in my ears and tosses my hair around my shoulders.

“I will bring light to the people!”

The coils spin faster and faster, blurring together. In a flash, the bringer of death rears his head. My heart bursts with strength. My power renewed by the fight, the journey — one I have taken before. I thrust my weapon, the fire blazing. White hot light pierces the space between Apep’s eyes. A great roar sounds as the creature explodes. I stretch my arms, basking in the glow.

Find the light.

I turn. A simple wooden door hovers in the air. The eleventh door. Meant for me.

“Find myself,” I say, stepping forward. The portal opens. I face a frame, holding a reflection of myself. Curiosity flutters in my mind as a scene unfolds. My mirror-self emerges from water, golden skin glowing brighter and brighter as I rise into the air. Born of the river for the people. My purpose.

Never anything before. Never anything after. It is always. I am always.

The picture fades, leaving darkness. I remove my horned helmet and set it on the ground where shadows sweep it away. A cap made of feathers appears in the air before me, a curved beak protrudes over my face as I settle it on my head.

My hands glow, the light spreading up my arms, to my shoulders as I become what is destined. My chest fills with life. I step through the frame, the final gate, my fear wiped away, my uncertainty gone. Feathers sprout from my back and I leap into the sky.

Forever, I have been. Forever, I will be.

I am the light.

Follow Kathleen on Twitter (@KathleenPalm)

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