Flash: Muffins in the Morning

Photo by Jason Briscoe on Unsplash

“So what is today’s conference?” Merry asked while tying on the apron over her string bikini.

“The Forest are the men looking uncomfortable, and the women who are already well-buzzed are Home Contained.” Barack said while shifting an army of mimosa glasses onto one tray, working on his side of the bar near the hot spas. Hard at work on the other side of the bamboo appearing barrier, Aggie, the other waitress, arranged bite-size poppy seed bagels topped with avocado slices onto napkins with the cabana’s logo imprinted napkins. The final member of their team, Josh, was working the in-pool bar. It was always easier when the merman got assigned the pool duty. At the moment he was mostly swimming alone in the mid-morning sun while the guests watched from the poolside. Two kids from non-conference attendees slashed in the shallow end.

Merry shouldered the loaded tray with a soft charm said quickly under her breath to help the glasses stay steady and give her a smidgin of extra strength. She would pay for the magic later, they all did, but it boosted tips and prevented breakage. Aggie grabbed the food tray and the portable stand before leading the way to where a bunch of middle-aged witches and hearthwives with more money than sense giggled. After distributing the twenty champagne glasses to the direct sales specialists, Merry made her way to where a man had snapped his fingers at her.

Unlike the women in their bright variety of bathing suits and sunwear, comfortable in bodies that varied from having a personal trainer available on call to celebrating a love of food, the men wore nearly uniform green trunks with the logo for the international amusement park organization embroidered on their bottom hems. Bellies on display ranged from likely using the in-park gyms regularly without missing too much desk time to likely forgetting about the wife and children at home because of the office overtime. All of them sucked their bellies back as Merry walked through the tables, chairs, and lounges. She had been hired for her beauty and body and survived the probation period because of her competency and ability to master the minor serving spells the hotel required. In another two years her looks will fade enough from bikini-ready to transfer to an indoor waitress, but, for now, twenty-two and busty kept her plenty busy.

Beside the snapper laid out someone completely different from the rest of the Forest crowd, though he sported the same dark green trunks. Though on him, they looked unique, not a uniform. He must be a fae or some other magical decent; no human looked that good. Merry forcibly ripped her eyes from the shaped muscles and the skin that nearly, but didn’t quite, glitter in the sun to focus on the person who summoned her. “How may I help you?”

“About time,” the snapper said, “A beer for me and Mr. Monoceros will have a Blueberry Smoothie Smash.”

“Of course. Would you like our breakfast Sunrise Sandwich or a Beach Bundle as well?” Merry went for the upsell.

“If I did, I would have told you.”

“Of course sir.” She reached into the apron pocket to grasp the ordering stone.

“Actually, some solid food sounds delightful,” the sunbather interjected. “What would you recommend for a vegetarian, something grainy.”

Megan allowed her eyes to return to the younger appearing man. White-blond hair curled around where his face leaned against the cabana’s lounger like a lion’s mane. In the center of his forehead twinkled a white piece of ivory or gemstone. Oh, he was that Monoceros. It finally hit her. While he was not the richest person she had ever served at the resort, he would be one of the fingers on her first hand if she started counting.

“If you were in the Oceanside, our restaurant on the first floor, I would recommend any of our oatmeals.” She posed, turning shoulders toward him. Light flirting wasn’t just allowed, it was required. Merry knew she was as much a part of the atmosphere and decorations as the potted plants and expensive tiles. “You did say vegetarian, not vegan, correct?”

The man wiggled up to full sitting, removing the glasses hiding his golden eyes. “Yes. Honey, eggs, milk, are all fine.”

“Then I think you will love our multi-grain muffins. We have one topped with an apple sauce, and so moist it barely crumbles.”

“Delightful. Bring a selection if you have other fruit toppings.”

“Strawberry, blueberry, and banana. But the apple topping is the best. I will place the order sir. It will take several minutes to run them out from the kitchen. We can’t keep them properly warm out here.” Completely pulling out the order stone, she rolled it in her hand and concentrated on the drink and food order. “I will bring them as soon as they are ready. Would you like butter or honey with them?”

“Both if you have them.” The owner of the Forest eyes started as her feet and slowly worked his way up her bare legs to where her apron barely covered her bikini while she recorded his preferences, noting the name sewn on the fabric. “Merry, when do you get off work today?”

***

The waitress licked her lips, her eyes skimming over his body. Fleet bent one leg up to rest an arm on his knee. He knew the position tightened the little fabric he was wearing across his groin, not that the company green fabric did much to hide his interest. He studied her face as she kept it still, but her pupils expanded to cover much of her brown eyes.

“I’ll be working Poolside all day, if you need anything else.” Her voice admirably remained steady. A smile brightened her face, one he called the Forest Smile of Welcome when they trained new park employees. She gave a slight bow to disengage and walked toward the overdone tropical bar near the spas where Kouris and Moralis shared a bubbling pool. Neither one back worked well, one because of military service and the other for a drop he had taken servicing rides back when he first started working for the Forest back in the seventies.

“Evan, start a background check on that waitress, the normal routine complete with what type of flowers and jewelry she likes. Have her in my rooms after she gets off work.”

The man at his side frowned at him. “Need I remind you about the modern rules?”

Fleet watched the female picked up their two drinks from the bartender and start returning their way. Her long legs gracefully shifted toe-to-heel through the light morning crowd, hips swaying in her gait. Biting short a squeal, Fleet stood and took a step to where his assistant sat. “Pass on the request to the security team.” Roussopoulos threatened to quit after the last time he brought a woman unannounced to his quarters.

Evan shied back, turning his head to the side in acceptance before pulling his cell phone out of the resort monogramed carryall beside him. He finished the call in time to accept his beer from the waitress. Merry turned to give Fleet his purple gin-laced smoothie.

“Evan reminded me of certain rules of consent,” Fleet nodded toward his assistant behind the waitress. “May I ask you some questions?”

About a foot shorter than him, the woman leaned back her head to focus on his face. She arranged her face in the Forest Welcome again. “I’ll be happy to give you any recommendations of the services we have available on the premises.”

“Is it against the rules to sleep with the clients?”

Her eyes did a quick narrow, then returned to bland pleasantness. For a second, Fleet considered switching what he wanted out of Merry. She would make a formable receptionist guarding Evan’s and the other upper management assistants. Maybe he could get both: a roll in the hay and someone to replace Vidales when the man left to take care of the child he and his partner were adopting.

Merry tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows, but didn’t answer.

“No means no, and I will accept that without repercussions, but I do want to make sure it is a ‘no’.” Fleet took a sip of his drink. “Are you attracted to me?”

“Yes.” Her lips changed from a polite smile to a more general one.

“She actually can give a straight answer, good to know.” He placed the drink on Evan’s table, before lifting a hand to tuck a lock of hair which had escaped Merry’s bun. Tracing a finger along her chin, he asked, “Do you have any commitments which would prevent you spending an evening with me?”

Merry’s eyes focused to the side. “I’m scheduled the opening shift tomorrow, so I will need to report to work at six, and I will need to be asleep by midnight at the latest, ten o’clock would be better.”

“Will spending the night moaning against my cock get you fired?”

***

Oh, well, that is a question isn’t it? Merry thought to herself. During orientation when she started working summers three years ago, everyone had unofficially been given permission, even encouragement, to “work” with the staff and the guests, so long as you didn’t date the people on your team. If you absolutely had to date people on your team, the Fae owners required one of the participants to switch teams.

She had played Check the Springs with several single men and one couple before, but no one in Mr. Monoceros’ tax bracket. “No, though I will have to inform my shift manager and I am not allowed to sign any non-disclosure documents. If you wish, I can show you the ones I was required to sign to work here.”

The rich man’s golden eyes glanced over her shoulder at … Evan, was it?

“We reviewed them before booking the premises. They are reasonable. No one here is allowed to talk to the press. Fae contracts, airtight. Police officers, yes, but not the press.” The snapper said behind her.

“I don’t care about the press,” golden-eyes said.

“I really wish you did,” muttered Evan.

The stone in her apron vibrated. “Oh, that is your muffins. Give me a second.” Merry broke away from the men to walk swiftly to where one of the Oceanside team brought out a covered tray.

Observing her surroundings as she moved, she noticed Josh had climbed out of the water and replaced Barak behind the main bar, so the bartender and Aggie could cover the rest of the guests. She mouthed sorry to him as she rushed past. Standing was possible for him, out of the water his fins became legs, but standing was still painful and only got worse the longer he balanced on two legs.

She would need to tell her team everything after Mr. Monoceros left, but they would cover for her.

*You get it, girl.* Josh sent back as he created more mimosas for the thirsty ladies.

Unlike most humans, Merry could hear merfolk in and out of water.  Barak descended from sea sharks, and they all had chipped in to get a talisman tuned to Aggie’s vibes to keep her in the loop. Valentine, the supervisor, was a member of the Fae court who owned the resort. The other two members of the team were new this year, fresh from the local high school just like she had been when she had started, and the human flavor of mortal. They couldn’t hear the sendings of the magical part of the team, and KC, bless them, fumbled the simplest of charms and had been relegated to bussing in the afternoon and evening. They wouldn’t be fired, because of the Employment Equality Act, but they wouldn’t be hired again next year.

One busy season, then a rehire probation through another busy season. And if you made it through those two, with the approval of the Fae Court, you arrived. A golden ticket at the resort for the rest of your life if you want it. Merry had her plan in place, work Poolside then Oceanside then move to the third floor’s Mushroom Ring where the best servers worked. Live in the staff huts and bank everything she can. If she failed as a server, switch to the housekeep side or maybe the front desk, though the Court limited those seats for the Fae. Retire between forty and fifty just like her mother and travel the world.

Walking back, Merry figured her mother’s cruise ship should be somewhere in the Mediterranean, docking in Santorini later today or tomorrow.

She kneeled gracefully beside the small poolside table and slide the tray onto the glass and metal stand after Evan removed his empty mug. “Bon Appetit.” Merry lifted the lid off the tray to reveal a dozen muffins plus small pitchers of the various sauces and honey she had promised, a piece of butter shaped into fan flowers. Still kneeling, she lifted one of the plates from the platter, picked up an oat and zucchini muffin, drizzled the apple sauce over it, and offered it to Mr. Monoceros where he now sat in a chair beside Evan.

Taking the plate from her, he said, “Just to let you know, I will not expect this kind of service when you aren’t working.”

“Believe me, If I am on my knees for you later today, I will expect the actions to be returned.”

***

 

“That can be arranged.”  Fleet took a bite of the muffin and tapped a foot at the flavor.

Merry smiled up at him. “Good, hmm? Honeysuckle is our morning baker.”

“How much to steal them away for one of my restaurants?” he mused as he finished off the muffin.

When he reached for the next, Merry tapped his hand and picked up his plate. She wiped it down, chose another muffin, this more purple tinged than the others where the first one had a light green tinge. “Considering she is one of the consorts to the queen, more than you can afford,” she said opening up the muffin and dropping in a bit of butter into it, before pouring strawberry syrup over the lot and returning the plate to him. “But one of her apprentices is about to become a journeyman this year.” Merry picked up another plate and looked over at his assistant; she whispered a word under her breath before asking, “Any nut allergies?”

“No.” Evan responded cautiously.

“Let me get you a light ale … no, I think you want coffee about now, one sugar, no cream, Turkish roast should work well.”

“Okay.”

With a plate in her left hand, the server tucked her right into the apron for a moment. She nodded. “Now, let’s get you fed too.” This time she picked the muffin with the least bits and bops to it, almost no visible seeds, and poured a very slight amount of honey on the top and passed Evan the plate. “Anyway Dolag Mac a’ Bhacstair is a half-Brownie and loves to bake but hates water. Her family comes from the highlands. If you have opening inland, or near forests—”

“All my parks are near forests.” Fleet interrupted.

“Right, of course. My apologies.”

He waved his hand. “You couldn’t know.”

Merry bowed her head carefully, to a precise angle that struck Fleet as very Fae. He wondered how long she had worked for the St. Louis Court. The head tilt body language of the court teased its way out of his long memory, basically it translated, *with all due respect, you are fucking wrong.* A head tilt completely respectful and rude at the same time, but that was Fae for you.

“It is in the name, the Forest. Pine Forest Park, Oak Forest Park, Black Forest Park.”

Goddess save him from Fae fastidiousness; they made great lawyers with their wordplay, but their demand of exact precision could be mind-numbing. “You are forgiven. And yes, I believe I can find an opening near a highland environment Mac a’ Bhacstair would enjoy.”

“She takes after her mother more than her father and bleeds red.”

Meaning full mortal. Fleet frowned. The half-brownie’s magic wouldn’t be as strong and might not work at all away from her mentor. And even if she did have full magic, he would only have a meager three or four decades of use out of the elf-kin. Less than he would like, but more than he had at the moment. He waited until Evan finished his muffin before saying, “See if there is interest.” Evan nodded and typed a note into his phone.

Merry prepped them both another plate, and edged a cup of coffee toward his assistant. He hadn’t even noticed it being delivered.

“Please serve yourself one. I don’t think we can finish all of these before we need to leave to start prepping for the opening ceremonies.”

“I ate before coming on duty,” she demurred before bouncing in place, sending her thighs jiggling.

And her breasts based on where Evan’s eyes ended up. Fleet pulled his lips back from his teeth in warning. Evan glanced away, taking a sip of his coffee. Merry didn’t notice their byplay, or at least ignored it.

“It’s hard enough keeping the weight off with all the great food around here. I absolutely cannot snack during working hours.”

Evan’s watch emitted two beeps. “Speaking of prepping for opening ceremonies,” he said tapping off the alarm.

“Evan, please get her contact information and coordinate with my schedule for us to meet tonight.” Fleet stood and helped Merry stand from where she kneeled, before lifting her hand further to kiss it, never breaking contact with her deep brown eyes, the pupils expanding to completely cover the green edges near them, leaving only a brown rivaling the bark of the oldest trees in his original forest. “Merry, Evan is my assistant. It isn’t that I don’t want to figure out the best time for us to meet, it is just I have no idea what my schedule for this week is. He or Rousso are going to be leading me around this building for the next three days. But…” Fleet turned his attention to Evan, “I would like Merry to get all the time which isn’t structured. All of it as she is available, understood?”

(words 3,075; first published 6/7/2024)

Romantasy Series

  1. Muffins in the Morning (6/5/2022)

Flash: Comfort House

Image by JAY WILDE (https://www.bhg.com/home-improvement/exteriors/curb-appeal/victorian-style-home-ideas/)

The horseless dropped me off at the corner. Pulling my collar up and my hat down, I dodged my steps through the puddles reflecting the gas lamps lighting the sidewalk. The cold raindrops struck my heated cheeks as I rushed to my destination, reminding myself what I wanted was a basic human need. There was no need for embarrassment.

The embarrassment should be society’s for putting the fulfilment of this need behind a ledger book. Certain things should not require coin exchanges.

965 Steward Lane was set back from the cobblestones street and cement walkways of the busy mixed residential and commercial sector. Trimmed in burnt orange, crisp turquoise, and mint green, the three-story Victorian building mixed well with the seamstress shop on one side and the breakfast house on the other where the owners lived above the first-story business. The rose bushes leading up to the porch shined in the nighttime lamplight, reds and pinks sparkling as rain continued to fall. It looked so ordinary and respectable, I questioned Widow Leery recommendation. Only the thin horizontal wooden sign of a snake coiled around a rod with a cluster of grapes on the left end indicated its business. As promised, the grapes and rod were not painted purple.

I was deprived, not depraved.

Even deprived to the point of tears, I hesitated turning to walk down the brick path. But who knows when I will get another childless night?

My daughters each previously had taken sleepovers but never on the same night. More will likely happen now the youngest was thirteen and Confirmed.

I should go home. One more night alone will make no difference. I remain frozen in place long enough, searching for an escape, either forward or back, my eyes find a small painted wooden sign attached to the open gate. Curious, I step to the side to be able to read the mint green words painted on the burnt orange sign.

Laughter and Hugs Provided

A sob escapes.

Yes, my babies have given me laughter and hugs by the armful for years. Only recently have they transferred these affections to schoolmates and neighbors to the exclusion of their boring mother. My sister, who rents us the fourth floor of her walk-up, as typical of her nature, remained more shrew than sympathetic shoulder. How her spouses tolerate her has been a mystery I have never been tempted to unfurled. I grew up with her; it was enough she was happy and willing to offer me aid, limited as it is, after Raymond died in the war.

I could use laughter and hugs.

I walk down the bricks and mount the four steps to the wooden porch. The front door opens. Taking a deep breath, I enter the establishment.

“Welcome to Elizabeth’s Comfort House. May I take your cover, Ma’am?” The butler bowed slightly, before straightening and holding out a hand for my wet hat and coat. Sharply dressed in a black jacket and white bow tie and cummerbund, the servant makes me feel vastly underdressed.

I glance around the area, one last-last chance to duck out or move forward. In the foyer sits the hostess, if not Elizabeth herself, she likely will claim to be Elizabeth. Her cotton dress, a blue-green turquoise, deep skirt covers the legs of her chair, beside her rests a guest ledger like one sees at hostels and funerals on a painted table with spindly legs. An empty overstuff chair, the upholstery embroidered with snakes and grapes, waited beside her for me. Beyond her guardianship laid what I seek, a tea room full of men.

Males willing to sell their time to women.

They appeared cleaned and mingled with females, some seated in tete-a-tetes, others standing in groups with three or four short-haired or bunned women around them. Above the gathering hovered oil lights, a clear statement of wealth and a warning the men were well protected. Few houses in town had access to magicians. But this wasn’t a house, it was a business. Any relationship I establish here was a transaction.

I passed my hat and outer coat to the butler before I touched my vest, verifying my wallet remained with me, and approached the hostess. I showed leg in a bow I learned when taking my daughters to dance lessons. At thirty-five and after a hard week on the manufacturing floor, the ligaments protested the stretch, but the delivery would have please Mistress Florence. The inspection of guests indicated my attire fell in the lower end of acceptable, so I felt the need to break out extraordinary manners to offset my appearance. I took the uptick of her polite smile as approval.

“Forgive me for not standing, ma’am,” the hostesses smoothed the fabric over her legs, “skirts, you understand.”

Most women, when they entered the work world after the men went off to war, gave up the excess fabric. Manufacturing machines, no matter what the factory made, didn’t forgive dangles and snags. Long loose hair became a peace-time legend among the working class. But all of us older women remember the challenges of maneuvering the fabric.

“Of course.” Internally, I wonder what she is hiding beneath her petticoats. Was she the one responsible for the float spells and tucked a wand or spice within easy reach to protect her investments? I tilt my head to the chair beside her, “May I?”

Her lips twitched again and her eyes sparkled, granting approval with a small nod.

I sit, doing a pinch on the linen to keep my ironed lines sharp and the hem of the trousers just above my shoes, then turned my body toward her and the front door where I watched the butler go into a small side room to hang my coat. Inside the room, I could see windows facing the porch.

“I don’t believe I have seen you before, ma’am. My name is Elizabeth Kennedy,” she said as she pulled the ledger into her lap. “May I ask how you found us?”

“Frances Leery recommended your services to me when she found me adrift in melancholy a few weeks ago on my back porch.” Crying my eyes blood red more like. The calendar was above the bin in the kitchen, and I had noticed the date before walking down the stairs with the trash to dump into the containers my sister keeps in the alley. On the second turn fire escape, I remembered the date matched the day I received the letter which began “Mrs. Penkeeper, we regret to inform you…”

“Ah, many of our patrons seek our services for attending to this condition.”

“She did indicate that, dear friend that she is.” I hide behind my polite smile all the frustration I felt listening to Widow Leery taking Widow Penkeeper to task for not keeping up proper appearances as though we were close confidents, not block busybody and quiet neighbor. I think I would be less upset about her interference if she wasn’t right about my mental state and steps I needed to take to fix it and why.

“Even with an excellent recommendation from Mrs. Leery, to protect our employees, I will be asking you some questions.” The hostess reached for a peacock pen on the lower level of the table and twisted it out its inkwell.

“Please.”

“Your name and occupation.”

“Mrs. Edith Penkeeper, most people call me Dicey. I work for JJ Worthingtons, cutting the cards for textiles and helping with the looms.” I can read a bit, even upside down. “I see you record addresses, I live on Elm, the 300 block.”

“Thank you.” Elizabeth placed the feathered pen back into the jar and turned it until it was secure. “You do understand we only offer comfort, not the more … physical exchanges you might find elsewhere.”

I nodded. “One of the reasons I sought you out.” Widow Leery had given me the names of three places she frequented and this one sounded the safest.

“And, I apologize for the necessary, but our fees.”

I recited what I understood the cost of drinking tea surrounded by men to the cost of an overnight stay. She corrected me up and down and expanded the list of services they offered, including female companionship. “I’m interested, should I find someone amenable, staying the evening.”

“Very good. For the tea, the cost is five sheets. Leave it with the girl at the door. Should one of our gentlemen or ladies agree to escort you upstairs, you will settle the bill with them.”

“Thank you. Now, if you don’t mind?” I brace to stand and at her nod, lever myself out of the chair. “It has been lovely to meet you.” I make a slight bow, then spin on my shoe and make my way to the tea room.

At the door, a child, younger than my Wilma but old enough to do numbers well, waited beside a till. I pull out my wallet and remove a fiver. She thanks me neatly and I enter the room.

The customers and employees are easy to distinguish. The employees continue the theme of burnt orange and turquoise in patterned clothing of dresses on the women and lounging gowns with trousers for the men. Except for two, all the men and women employed by Elizabeth wore their hair long or in messy buns with loose strains begging to be tucked or pulled by the clients. One man had a clean-shaven dome but made up for the difference with a beard, and the woman shaved her black curls close, and displayed thick muscular arms. Both had already been drawn into personal conversations and had two or three green sheets of bills in front of them. One woman customer glared at the person who obviously had preempted her favorite comfort provider instead of mingling with the unclaimed people.

I traversed to the table with the teapots. In front of each was the name of the tea, most of which I had no experience with, and a small picture I guess of what plant they represented. I chose the mint, unwilling to risk my tastebuds on top of everything else I was attempting tonight.

“Leave room for cream on top, it helps cool it faster.” A deep voice rumbled beside me.

I turn to find a tall male beside me, he is pouring a cup from something marked with a bright flower and starting with a H – h-biscuits or something. “Thank you for the tip.” I smile at him. He is about my height and blond, not something I normally find attractive. His hair fell to his waist, and he bent deliberately to gape his lounging jacket to display a bare chest.

Too much for me.

I move to where sugar cubes, what a luxury, I might just come back for the tea, and milk options were stored at the end of the table. “What are you drinking?” I asked.

“Hibiscus, I just love the color and the tart flavor.” He tipped the steaming teacup toward me so I could see the rich color.

“That is beautiful.”

“Almost as beautiful as you.”

I laugh lightly. A real laugh. I hadn’t been flirted with in fourteen years. Drafted, Raymond left to before he even knew he had given me a second child. “Hardly, but thank you.” I take a sip. The mint was a spearmint base tea, sharper than the peppermint I expected. I put the cup down to swirl in a sugar cube. “Dicey.”

“Harvey. Would you like to join us under the green globe? We are speculating which portals are likely to be active during opening season.”

I look up at the oil lamps and notice each is a different color of glass and that the area under them are cleared of chairs but full of people. “Hm. Maybe later. Again, that you for the creamer hint, Harvey.” I move away toward a different globe, not really wanting to talk about a subject little better than the weather. The portals no longer poured out enemy monsters, but the Messmer magic left tears in reality’s fabric which reached their height of activity in late October. Scientists were working on ways to close the portals permanently, but so far nothing even shrunk them or contained the magic when they opened.

The yellow globe had people talking about the local stage production, and the traveling orchestra coming out of Newer York City. Purple picking out the politics of the Commissioners Board. I wondered if the conversations changed night to night, or even within a night. I ended up on the edge of the red globe where people debated the merits of the recently released novel Anthem. Between children and work and block duties, I didn’t have any time to read. Personally, I thought the author divorced from reality with her staunch stance against mysticism and magic.

“You look bored.” A man whispered in my ear.

I looked up, and up some more. This male towered over me by a handful of fingers spread wide. Brown hair, nearly auburn in the red light, rioted in curls around his shoulders. “Well, I’m not anymore.” And it wasn’t just because he wore his lounger close to his body, or his green eyes contained the exact green of cornfields drying for harvest, but he felt comfortable. My belly uncurled from tension for the first time of the evening.

He chuckled. Retaining eye contact, my gray to his green, he reached for one of my hands holding my teacup and pulled it up to his mouth slowly. “My name is Albert.” He kissed my knuckles, then returned my hand to my nearly empty cup.

I near swooned. I shouldn’t. The man’s face was virtually unlined. My best guess was twenty, maybe twenty-one. But instead of moving away, I stammered, “Dice, Dicey. People call me Edith. No, I mean I’m Edith and people call me Dicey.”

“A hooligan growing up, were you?”

A laugh escapes. “At least some thought so, before we moved to the city.”

Albert reached out his broad hand and rubbed the fuzz where I cut my hair with a thumb. I only leave the very top thick where I can tuck it into a cap. The sides I keep short for when I have to climb into the looms and put in the new pattern cards. “This is a beautiful black.”

“Thanks, I’m surprised it hasn’t gone gray with my teenagers.”

“You have children?”

“Two of them, girls.” I bit my lip. Of course they were girls. If either of them were boys, I would have been remarried and not need his services.

“Are they as beautiful as you?”

“I’d like to think so.” I take a sip of my tea and realize it is empty. “Oh, um. Do you have a tea you would recommend?” I ask while walking over to the table.

“Have you ever had rose tea? Elizabeth makes it from our gardens here.”

“No I haven’t.”

***

I wake in the morning, light flowing in under my curtains, to the scent of cotton and female musk in my nose where it is buried in a swirl of black hair. My arm is secured around Dicey’s body and she is curled perfectly into my form. My morning wakeup call presses against her back, so I lift away, taking time to admire the mark I left on her shoulder where it could be covered for her work.

While we aren’t licensed for breeding duties, we did have a wide range of activities we could offer at our discretion as part of our services or personal interest. My personal interest included marking this woman. I ran my fingers over the lip-shaped bruise, pushing just an “h” worth of hex into my temporary claim on Dicey, before slipping out of bed and down the hall to the third-floor water closet.

When I come back, I find her in the hazy stage of waking between dreams and duties. My heart leaps when I see the brightening of her sleepy face, then sinks when her visage closes off like a door as she remembers where she is.

I got a battle to overcome, but I will win.

Wizards get a lot of leeway claiming spouses. After two years general service, we could pick out up to four wives where the average man was limited to two and the second one was assigned. I only had a few more months until I was twenty and completed the mandatory comfort duties, after which, I will be picking up her as a spouse. Her aura called me across the room last night, and now I know she exists, I expect it will call me across the city.

“How long before you need to go home?”

“The kids are old enough to let themselves in,” she whispers sadly, “but I should be back to make them lunch and help them with block duties this afternoon.”

“The light says it is only six. We have a couple hours.”

I go over to the bed, sit on the side, and bend over to kiss her. Thoroughly.

(words 2,859, first published 1/21/2024)

Flash: Prom Wait

Photo by Obi – @pixel6propix on Unsplash

The parent photo shoot took less time than expected, even with five pairs of parents, a singleton who drove in from a different state just for the day, and four grandparents between them and their dates, so Daphne and Rozzlindra were stuck watching from the car as their prom dates did a quick pickup basketball game. It sucked because Rozz just lettered and would have stomped their combined asses if she wasn’t wearing a mermaid skirt.

(words 76, first published 9/14/2022  – from a picture prompt for a Facebook writing group. Aim is about 50 words)

Flash: Summoning

Acquired from the internet – tweeted by @MicroSFF (has lots of cool micro stories)

This appeared as a prompt for a Facebook writing group I’m part of – aim is 50 words, I went a little over. The question, using this as an example, is what would you be summoned for?

***

When the familiar tingling happened, I apologized to my client before disappearing, confident my coworkers will cover for me, unlike some others. I was growling when I appeared within the summoning circle surrounded by the demons of Hell. “What is it THIS time!!?”

As one, they took a step back.

“Sorry to be a bother, but, well, some of our clients need help with their taxes.”

I glared. “They’re dead.”

“Only thing certain in life is death and taxes, and death is optional for the immortals.”

“Still dead if they’re yours.”

The horned devils shuffled their feet. “Russia is taxing its supernatural population to help pay for the war.”

“And you expect me to help?” I spun to the one holding the blood squeeze bottle used to create the circle. “Or help them dodge?” I stepped outside the circle, where they misadded six cryptocurrencies sales from whoever’s self employment tax form they used as the basis for the ward.

“Dodge!” It screamed back-peddling. “Dodge. Dodge. Dodge. Please don’t hurt me.”

“I won’t make you do word problems this time.” I promised, picking up the pile of papers beside the United States form they exploited to summon me . Russian tax code wasn’t my strong suit, but I knew a guy.

(words 210; first published May 15, 2022)

Flash: A Sense of Place

Photo by zengxiao lin on Unsplash

The migration brought the normal crowds. First, the winged creatures landing in the opened space in the woods, next the four-legged creatures traveling from here to there, and finally the two-legged creatures following in their wake. One group of the two-legged non-furred beings stopped for a time, enjoying the spring berries and early summer leaves while feasting on one of the four-legged animals they brought down with sling spears. A stream curled through the area, further away this century than last century as a bend met on the far side and connected. Still, enough water for the plants to be healthy, the resident creatures to drink deep during the summer heat and winter cold, and the land to thrive.

One of the visitors did a curious thing. It gathered a pile of stones and placed it near one of the large trees on the edge of the clearing. It shared a word for the pile with its herd, giving the place a name and the stones soaked in the naming into the ground creating a sense of place.

The group returned when the leaves changed colors, eating different plants but the same animals. This visit was shorter as they chased the four-legs creatures back to greener pastures. During the visit, they added more stones to the pile while righting those knocked down in the storm or moved around by the local residents. The place, proud of its name, hoped to draw those that named it back noted what plants they liked for the spring and the fall and encouraged the rejected seeds in the midden pile to grow.

The two-legged herd returned year-after-year to the named place. The spear-slings became supplemented with and eventually replaced by bows and arrows. The fire pit grew complicated, hardening clay from the nearby stream. Dyed and decorated leather and skin sheets replaced makeshift leaf and bough shelters.

One spring, a two-legged creatures broke a leg. These animals could not stay standing with only one leg to balance on. This had happened before and the midden pile had the bones telling the ancient tragities of those who can no longer walk. This time was different. Others of its herd used their upper limbs to stablize the leg with a stick, but chasing the migration would be beyond the damaged creature for several weeks. One volunteered to stay behind with them, smaller than the broken one, but clearly an equal in some way as they shared sleeping furs.

Before leaving, the group cleared space, made a small fire pit, and set up a leather shaded lean-to. They lined the fire pit with some of the rocks from the naming pile, creating a hearth to aim the heat into the shelter against night time chill.

The name had changed over the years, yet the sense of place remained.

The herd left clay pots, wicker baskets, and dried meat behind. The small one used the first empty clay pot to gather water from the stream. At this time, the stream twisted closer to the named placed; within the time a sprout grows from see to first leaf, a hard path carved through the woods from the clearing to the water. The local rodents and herbivores had kept the plants along the way low to the ground, the human cleared it to dirt. It set up snares and traps, keeping it and its mate in food. They tested vegetation and ate well from the nut-bearing trees when the spring berries faded.

A moon passed from fat to thin, then did so again. The larger biped regained use of its second walking limb. They debated chasing their herd down, but decided to wait for the others’ return. The smaller animal stitched together the furs from the rodents, the larger replaced broken clay utensils and made more of the baked mud items, experimenting with new dirt in the area. They expanded their lean-to and named the place good, reaffirming the sense of being.

It liked the humans. And missed them when they returned to their migration.

The next time through, those in the herd with gray hair decided to stay in the named place for the season. A sturdier shelter was created, the midden seeds became delibrate scattering, and the eldery enjoyed the rest from the constant travel.

Over time five shelters with holes dug deep to support beams and thatching created a year-round community. The flat land between the named place and the stream became cleared for a new invention: crops. The floors of each shelter became a mix of hardened soil and rocks from the naming pile.

The place grew, incorporating the crop-land and stream-bed and tree-line into its being. More than just a place, it became a territory.

When a different group of bipeds came and took fire out of the hearths and laid waste to the crops and the shelters, the place wept. Neither the invaders nor the migration herd returned for winter after spring after summer.

The humans had left their stamp on the territory. While the woods tried to claim the named-place, the trees and undergrowth never could grow as high plants in the surrounding soil after the years of habitation hardening the ground. The croplands accepted the woodland vegetation return, but keep a lot of the tasty plants the humans had liked in a seasonal bloom.

Dry times and dark times made several years bad for the resident animals and local plants. Fire ravaged the area, and the stream danced madly in the mud along its empty banks. It dug deeper, chasing upriver for new water sources, stealing a new feeding basin from a neighbor. The burden of greater amount of water filled isolated oxbow lakes while it twisted and turned in its deeper bed. The banks held the active water poorly, floods overflowing into the meadows the water cleared annually but never reaching the named placed, leaving its precious naming stones in place.

Eventually new humans return. They chose to camp closer to the stream. The named place tried to tempt the bipeds to live within its territory, ripening a bountiful offering of nuts and plants its old companions had enjoyed, scared for the new settlers being attacked by its angry, troublesome watery associate. The new humans brought their own seeds and their own animals, eschewing the migration meals of old. Their first homes dug into the floodplains, though moved further away from the river after each engorged spring.

Eventually one family, more interested in wood than crops, found the quiet slow-growth area. They dug out a basement, then built a tall fireplace for a central hearth, lining it with stones and rocks from clearing they had cut clear. The place sighed welcome to the family.

They gave the place a new name, similar in feeling to the names it had collected throughout the millennia.

The one it loved most meant “Home.”

Years passed. Dirt floors became rough wood. Rough wood became split wood. Then rugs. Then carpet.

The place did not like the synthetic carpet in the unnatural colors. The fabric flooring lacked the natural sense of animals or plants. Maybe it was inappropriate, but the territory called the rodents indoors to nibble on the edges of the carpet. It took nearly three decades as the humans counted it, but the carpet got replaced by hardwood floors from distant woods, stone tiles from foreign quarries, and wool rugs from sheep species never seen in the river basin’s area. Still anything was better than bright orange shag carpet.

New houses came and the area became a desirable cul-de-sac, backing as it did into protected wetlands. The named-place heart became known as Oak Court, but the territory still claimed the plains to the river where the children ran. The youthful upright bipedals with four-legged friends barking beside them returned from many adventures with pockets of rocks. Sometimes the piles remained outside as parents emptied pockets and cleaned dirty cheeks before allowing entrance. Other times a drawer became secretly set aside for the magical stones – a stripe of agate, an unexpected arrow head.

Old plants which civilized people no longer ate remained just in case, berries providing sticky juices for the explorers.

The named place kept the dirt soft for bare feet. in return, children picked up stones and moved them into piles throughout the flood plain, providing secret names to a place they loved well.

Sometimes the place chased off intruders, not wanting to be alone again. It removed the undersireables from the area. No attackers of its humans were allowed. No more fire starters. No more poisoners. Industrial surveyors got unexpectidly lost, their markers removed by resident animals. The place only wanted people who loved it.

Oak Court within Woodland Creek Terrace remained residental while bipedals landed on the moon, and on Mars, and, eventually, on Alpha Centari. One of its beloved humans took a stone it had found in childhood to the new place so distant from the named place. A place that had been named on maps, but never named with prescence. The rock had been cleansed for the distant travel; the used-to-be child wanting to take a bit of home with them. At the new place, they passed on a secret name.

The stones in the area heard the word. The sound soaking in, and a sense of place grew.

(words , first published 2/23/2024)