Category: Text

Flash: Computer Matching

Erin Penn

Photo by Kelli McClintock on Unsplash

Summer studied the sheet. It would be her first date since she and Hammer parted ways. Sure the Utopia Match Personality System had matched them, and they got along, even signing a three-year contract with an option for another seventeen with offspring clauses. The mating should have worked; they had been successfully matched on many levels. But somehow it wasn’t enough for him, even at a nine on the compatibility matrix. He wanted to restrict further than code-acceptable and paired outside matrix options with a coworker.

The matrix disapproved of coworker matching for romantic purposes as the community narrows too far for emotional support.

But to drop from a nine to a mere five, the lowest the system allowed. Scary. Had she failed that badly? Did the code punish failure?

Especially her only failure. Her work was a standard seven, but she excelled at it and recently got upgraded to a specialty making it an eight match. Her housing, now that she no longer needed to take Hammer’s needs into account, allowed her to move into the tiniest studio apartment, gaining her a ten approval. Her circle of friends between work and housing ranged from seven to nine.

But five, a five for a potential love interest?

The male describe stood taller than her. Yes, it was superficial, but her chemical programming just didn’t do well when the man was shorter than her. Hammer soared eleven inches above her five four. This man, Merc, income was from handwork, physical labor, plumbing of all things in this day and age, with a side as art installment, whatever that means, while hers came from interviewing for work matches, in particular logistics and cataloging. His housing was the weird greenhouse mix on Mason Rd, with trees on the balconies and vines and flowers covering the façade set aside for those needing green spaces but not qualifying for employment in food production or other high land usage. She didn’t even bother looking at the personality traits and expansions.

May as well get it over with so she can get a different match next week. She clicked acceptance, then followed the prompts through possible food service locations midway between their homes. After picking three choices, she skipped activities. Hammer didn’t like to do much of anything but work training videos and encouraged her to do the same. His support got her three levels of promotions in two years, but the pursuit of labor had made her other interest fade to nothing. Since the person she would be meeting made his work through physical labor, he likely would be happy just sitting doing nothing except eating.

***

Merc growled at the newest match sheet. A cookie-cutter woman, average worker, gaining social status but claiming the smallest housing footprint allowed. The second page showed run of the mill opinions on political and social matters, coded within a character of the school standards. If the Utopia System didn’t require everyone to meet certain number of community credits weekly he would burn it and work on his sculpture all weekend. On the fifth page of the package, he discovered why the matrix thought he could tolerate the blonde yes-er for the two hours required meeting. She danced, or had opted for it in the adolescent levels. No indication of doing it since graduation and her first match.

Two years in that match with a small social penalty for leaving the contract early. That might explain the housing option, trying to regain points. A yes-er dropping below seventy-five on Optimal Community did desperate things. He wondered what she thought of his forty-six rating. He barely qualified for food benefits, not really a problem because of his work specially drew so few people and no matter how much Utopia pretended everything was computerized, people still drunk water and need to take shits. Plumbing let him live at an eighty Optimal.

The match sheet indicated acceptance on her part and gave three food options. The first ever-popular hydroponic Calorie Requirement Site and the other two recent upticks on Community links. His mistake for taking so long to respond. Having just rewired the hydroponic levels at the CRS in midtown, he knew the food would be substandard for about three weeks until the kinks worked out. And he hated places working on climbing the rankings, their food became the blandest repeatable inoffensive unimaginative product possible.

She had left the activity option blank, offering now options. He called up the midtown activity list for approved Community Activities for first Interactions, the list automatically set to show from most popular to lease, so he scrolled down to the bottom then worked up, The fourth from the bottom was in the same building as one of the uptick restaurants she had chosen.

Clicking, he made reservations for the calorie outlet and the activity provider for the next night.

***

Somehow Merc had made the meal conversation all about her, where Summer had grown up, gone to school, and her electives in school. He missed his calling in interviewing, she barely noticed the food in a place rated eight of ten.

After turning down dessert for the both of them, though as a physical worker his calorie allotment had to exceed what they ate, he offered his hand. “I know you hadn’t picked an activity, but I found one three floors up. Want to try?”

“Is it intensive?” she asked, shaking her hair back behind her shoulder, “I wouldn’t want you to put you out after you worked all day.”

He snorted. “I just ran pipes in crawl spaces for six hours, I could use something to shake things out.”

Together they walked out the restaurant and headed to the elevators for the City Block they were in. Looking up, she asked, “So what activity did you choose or is it a secret?”

“Level sixty-four,” he said stepping into the slide cart, with her taking the next one.

Hammer and her often shared carts, but Merc shoulders touched either side of the box on his own and she wasn’t ready to be that close to him, even for a three-level rise. He was a gentleman for the dismount, holding out his hand to steady her.

“No secret.” He stepped aside, allowing her to see the entire level was dedicated to ice skating.

She had never ice skated in her life. “I … how does this work?” Her eyes studied the few people gliding across the surface. What did this rank as for Community Activities, a fifteen? She had never seen an emptier place within Utopia.

“Don’t know, but should be fun to find out, that looks like the intake module over there.” He kept his hand on her elbow as they walked across the carpeted area.

The machine accepted their Community Credits and recorded their interaction. The ranking for points including bonuses for physical activity and creativity, and even then barely broke a fifty. Still, it didn’t drag down her numbers. Her regular midday calorie outings with her co-workers and evening activities in her City Block residence keep her records high. The Ice Skating, being outside her normal community and activities got additional bonuses for expanding her community.

While Merc had been fast about entering his information, his low Optimal Community rating had shocked her. How did anyone get that low?

After watching the required tutorial, Merc helped Summer get the ice skates on and she did the same with him.

***

“Then we made complete fools of ourselves.” Summer told the three co-workers on her next work day over their calories.

“Just how many times did you fall Summer? I noticed you having problems walking back and forth from the waiting room to the interview room today.”

Summer felt heat rise up her neck, indicating a flush which she hoped they would take the obvious reason for embarrassment. “A lot. I picked up some bruises.” She bit her lip, figuring what else would be Community Appropriate to share about her extremely long and unexpectedly energetic recreational days. “We laughed a lot.” She stuffed the some of the hydroponic leaves into her mouth.

“So second match meeting your next romantic require day or back to the matrix?” Jessmaine asked.

Grifter swirled her cup, so the bobbles knocked together. “With laughing, I vote for second meet, even if he left your bottom bruised.”

Summer managed to swallow her leaves without choking. “Yes, we made arrangements to meet again. He wants to go to the Tower Gardens but needs my Standing. They raised the minimum to get in the doors again. It’s like they don’t want the people who need open spaces the most from getting in.”

“You know it is just to encourage everyone to be part of the Community.” Jessmaine said, while folding up her recyclable plate and napkin. “Disruptors have to be controlled.”

Glancing down at the last of her salad, Summer swallowed the words, Do they though?

“Kind of you to take him there.” Grifter downed the last of her stimulant liquid before standing. “I hope you get more laughter.”

“I’m sure I will.” Summer picked up her scraps and joined them at the recycle area, controlling her gait for leftover soreness of the ice skating and the other activities she enjoyed with Merc. “Grift, don’t forget we need to fill five slots for the Hogshead Street Storage. I interviewed six people today and none of them had any businesses asking for transferred to new skill areas.”

Grifter pinched her nose bridge. “How much longer before we can put in a request to code training for logistics?”

“Three more work days.” Summer replied.

“Five days too long.”

(words 1,612, first published 1/12/2024)

Flash: Promotion

Erin Penn

Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

“So are you going to try for it?”

Grabbing the edge of the metal from of the drop ceiling, I glanced down at Mark where he is holding my ladder steady-ish. The accounting department had not moved the desks to the new layout for the upgrade to their printers, so the ladder straddled between two cubicles as I pulled down the wires. “Try what?”

“Eric’s position.”

“He’s leaving the company?” I put my head back in the ceiling. We were on a tight schedule this morning; contactors were coming by in the early afternoon for the installations of the new equipment and we needed all the wires in place, preferably before the day crew showed up. “I didn’t think he could.”

“Nah, but he got promoted nearly twenty years ago. He’s going to go down for his first topor any day now.”

“Incoming.” I yanked the heavy weight of the long cables we ran between the computer floor to accounting, dumping the coils below me.

“So how about it; you going to try? You have the seven-year minimum time in company, and, man, I would be happy to answer to you compared to Lynn or David.”

Leaving the ceiling tile out of position, I climbed down the ladder, dusted off my hands, and started separating the wires into the pair we needed. “It wouldn’t be a good fit for me.”

“Come on, you got everything man.” Mark kept his eyes on me as he pushed, barely paying attention as he tied the matched sets to a weight. He punched my arm as he passed by, taking the first two sets to the primary print station. We will need to run the other three pairs through the ceiling to the third secondary station and the two manager offices, but the weights will make it easier to grab while also keeping all the heft of the cable from pulling them back down the two floors to the computer department. “The experience, the master’s degree, employee of the month for our department more than any other.”

“That’s because I have no home life.”

“Which they love.” Mark said, his voice raising at the end in emphasis, as he did that head bob thing with hands, I guess from some television show, that I was never home to watch.

“Yeah, but vampire? That is a commitment.”

“You already been here for ten, which was longer than your marriage.”

“Yeah, but there is that eye contact thing.” I glanced his way before climbing back up the ladder, rotating on it until I had line of sight to Abigal’s office, her blinds wide open for the rising sun over the many skyscrapers she admired at night, then poked my head back up through the hole. I put a hand down for Mark to hand me the next neatly paired cords and the extendable pole to direct the materials to the right locations.

“Right, you are like autistic, autistic. I keep forgetting.”

“Can you imagine me trying to hypnotize someone?” I shove the Abigal weight to her office, extending the pole to its maximum of forty feet. “Look into my eyes.” I said with the cheesiest accent ever, then switched to a slightly hyper scared voice. “Nope, don’t do that. Never mind.” I got diagnosed in third grade and had wonderful therapy all my life, but certain things remain damn near impossible like crowds (I love my job where I keep things going during the day while everyone else works nights) and staring deeply into the eyes of the woman I loved.

We had two great years, two increasingly bad years, three wonderful children, and enough hell when she couldn’t take my quirks anymore to traumatize all five of us. The kids were teens now. Being a vampire wouldn’t be bad in relation to the family since the first torpor wouldn’t set in for another twenty and only lasted two years.

Still, I wouldn’t want to deal a bunch of neurotypical vampires for eternity. Trying to keep them up on the latest technology had been hard enough.

(words 680; first published 12/25/2025)

Flash: Muffins in the Morning

Erin Penn

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

Erin Penn

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: Summoning

Erin Penn

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)