Tag: Wizard/Mage

Flash: N is for Noise

Erin Penn
Photo 102105844 / Victorian Kitchen © Stuart Andrews | Dreamstime.com

Clatter woke Abigail from her sound sleep. Below stairs, laughter and shouts passed between people, footfalls and dropping boxes pounded the floor. She took her time to roll out of her single as her brain caught up with reality, letting dreams drift away and remembering where and who she was. Still a servant, always a servant, she thought looking around her small dusty chamber. Abigail picked up her housecoat, wrapping it around her nightclothes and tying off the belt, before heading to the first floor down the narrow flight at the back of the sprawling manor.

The main floor was bedlam. Small children running about, a father yelling at a much larger boy to help his mother. Standing to one side in the modernized kitchen, Abby took the time to count the young ones. Three in all, in step-stool fashion of a little over two years apart. She approved of the new house master for not pushing his wife harder. Her guess is two, five, and seven, plus the sixteen- or seventeen-year-old boy who hadn’t come into his manhood muscles yet but seem to be stretching his height up quickly. A woman, as tall as her husband and showing more gray than him, carried a small box against her expanding belly marked in big letters – FRAGILE AND I MEAN FRAGILE – to set it on the area where the icebox used to be before returning to the house front.

A family.

The last owners were there just to change things. While she approved them getting rid of the heavy carpeting and ghastly colors the previous owners had installed in the seventies and eighties, when the two men had decided to destroy and replace the heart pine floors under the carpet instead of sanding and refinishing them, she chased them off. It did mean the fancy electrical was only half-installed, and the plumbing still didn’t run up to the third floor, but those flippers had no respect for the bones of her home.

“Mom!” The boy shouted, staring directly at her from the butler’s threshold. “Mooooom!!!!” His voice cracked as it went higher.

Abagail jumped a little. “You see me?” she whispered. It took a lot of energy to manifest during the day, so she wasn’t trying to be visible.

The boy nodded, while the pregnant woman ran up behind him.

“What?” she asked, huffing.

“Ghost.” The young man stayed on the threshold, but pressed to one side so his mother could stand beside him.

The woman’s eyes narrowed, clearly studying Abigail, making the ancient servant stand taller and retighten her housecoat belt.

The new house mistress asked, “Are we going to have a problem?”

“No ma’am.” Abby shook her head.

“I will protect what is mine.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Where is your space?”

Abby gulped debating. It wasn’t like a search wouldn’t show it, but did she want this woman to know right now?

“Where is your space?” The mistress said in a firm voice. “Don’t make me ask a third time.”

Abby dropped her eyes to the red tiles, nodding, before pointing up the back staircase.

“You will take me and Malcolm to it.” The woman touched her son. “Go tell Jonathan I want to look around upstairs before we get the furniture tomorrow. He’ll be glad I’m not trying to clean anything for a while, then come back here immediately. You need to learn this.”

“Yes Priestess.” Malcom took off running.

Smiling, hoping to get on the new mistress’ good side but not knowing how much the woman could see at the moment, Abby commented, “Your son seems to have only one speed.”

The woman chuckled, rubbing her belly, “All of them. Either full steam ahead or sleeping.” She stepped off the threshold and entered into the kitchen fully, going over to the box she brought in earlier.

“I helped the nanny back in the day.” Abby took a step back into the shadows of the stairwell, where she knew she manifested stronger. But she didn’t push energy into being visible, not yet. She didn’t know if the witch priestess would let her stay, and she might need energy to fight later. Abby would not go quietly; it wasn’t as though there was anywhere else to go if the woman tried to eject her. Having always been a willing and quiet servant since she landed on America’s shores, and measuring the strength of this woman’s personality, Abby didn’t think she would win, but this was her home. She would fight to stay by word or ghastly deed.

Although Abby knew she didn’t have it in her to harm the baby inside the woman, so her options were limited if worse came to worst.

The woman pulled out a half candle embedded in a disc candle holder with a finger loop on one end so one could carry it around without having wax melt down onto your fist.

Brass candlestick holders were a common sight during her living years. Abby smiled, then started gnawing on her bottom lip as the woman waved her hand over the candle and it lit. A warning, that show of power, and the candle a tool now that fire was added. Abby did not like that at all.

Setting the candle aside, the woman pulled out a necklace with three small stones attached to it and placed it around her neck. She pulled out a second necklace, this one with a large metal charm and set it aside. Moving other things around, the woman finally settled on pulling out one ring and placing it on her right thumb, then closed the box and muttered a word to reseal the cardboard. When her son returned, he immediately crossed the kitchen to his mother’s position and put on the amulet she had set aside, then picked up the candle.

“Now, dead one, please.” The woman wave her hand upwards as she crossed the room to the plain wooden stairs.

“Mind the fifth step.” Abby warned.

“Malcolm?” The woman pressed aside letting her son wave the candle over the step. There wasn’t room on the narrow treads for him to pass, but he could bend over with the grace and dexterity of youth to examine the board in question.

“It’s cracked, mother.” The boy bent on one knee and placed a hand on the wood. “Has been for a very long time. Dry rot underneath.” He closed his eyes, humming. “The stairs are no good.” Malcolm looked up at their guide. “Not if you have any weight, but I don’t think the ghost knew that.”

The living woman’s gray-green eyes narrowed and Abby sweated. “I didn’t realize, I’m so sorry mistress.”

The priestess nodded slowly. “Very well.” She reached down and petted her son’s brown hair. “Is it possible to reach your space another way?”

Sagging, grateful for the reprieve, Abby said, “I’m on the third floor, so I think you can go around the front and get to the second floor. But the third-floor front does not connect to the third-floor servant area. You will need to get on these stairs at the second floor and I don’t know if upper flight will be any better than these.”

“They’re not.” Malcolm said. “The house was made from heart wood, oak and pine, some elm, except for these crappy stairs.”

“There was a fire in the kitchen in the fifth year, and it ran up the steps killing the servants and taking out the nursey. They replaced the stairs with these for the new hires.”

“Ah.” The woman nodded. “And you’ve been here ever since.”

Abby flushed, realizing she just explained her death and wondered what type of power that gave the witch. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I guess my visit will wait until another day.” The mother nodded at her son, and they retreated down the steps. At the bottom, the woman reach out two fingers and snuffed the wick. “Put that away please Malcolm.”

Abby drifted down following them, carefully stepping over the fifth tread even though it did not matter for her.

A small vulgarity came from where Malcolm was swinging his hand back and forth. He looked over at his mom, a blush rising up his neck to inflame his face, before he managed even quieter words over the box and it opened easily.

“We will talk more later, Miss,” the mother said. “But for now, I think we can share the house.”

Abby shook her head, and the witch frowned until Abby amended the statement. “I think we can share a home.”

Coming over to stand beside his mother, Malcolm exchanged a look with his priestess before he said, “Yes, we would like that.”

“Subject to further talks,” the mother added, running a hand over her belly, her voice softening, “but I could use the extra eyes with my crowd.”

A masculine voice came from the butler’s closet area, “Lizzo, is it okay to come in now?”

“Yes my love,” Elizabeth said, watching her husband enter the room, carrying their youngest on his hip.

Jonathan looked around the room. “Who were you talking to?”

“Just the house ghost,” the witch said, before looking over at Abby, “ghosts?”

Abby shook her head and held up one finger.

“Ghost.”

Noticing the two-year old focused on her, Abby wiggled her fingers at the baby witch who giggled at the attention and buried her head against her father’s chest.

“Okay,” the early thirty-something master of the house shrugged acceptance, “so the house is haunted.”

“Yes,” the older woman said.

Abby, now she had talked with the priestess, judged her new mistress to be just past her second-score birthday. The child in womb would likely be her last, maybe one more. Six was a strong magic number.

“But I think in a good way.” The witch leaned over and kissed her husband on the cheek. “You chose a good house.”

“Thank you mistress.” Abby said, exhaling slowly.

(words 1,656; first published 4/16/2023)

Series: Under Contract

1. N is for Noise (4/16/2023)
2. Q is for Quicken (4/19/2023)
3. Y is for Yield (4/28/2023)
4. Z is for Zzzz (4/30/2023)

Flash: B is for Bear

Erin Penn 8 Comments

Photo by Adrien Tutin on Unsplash

“Get back to nature” the Fakebook advertisement appeared beside Jordan’s feed after she had hovered over a series of posts from some old school acquaintance-friends who up-bragged about their European backpack summer. At forty-six with her two kids off at college, the deep forest picture made her stare longer than it should. The green, the dark, she could feel the crisp autumn biting her ears as she shuffled through the image in her mind. It wouldn’t be lonely surrounded by all those trees.

“Witchy Wonder Time” floated from the bottom of the ad to the top. The animated cycle ended with fancy green and golden lines growing into words: Live your best life. An easy to remember link remained at the bottom throughout the ad.

Jordan put her computer to sleep and ignored her phone, blinking from two spam callers. Dishes, the last set from the kids coming by for Labor Day, needed doing, then seven months until Easter, spring break, before she would see them again since both of them separately were doing trips for the winter holidays with friends. Last year nearly killed her during the dark months after her youngest went off to his freshman year.

The sinks filled with hot sudsy water on one side and clear water on the other. Rubbing the water that splashed on her face with the back of her wrist, Jordan sighed, then submerged the glasses into the hot water.

If only she could work, but after years of taking care of her grandparents, her parents, her husband’s parents, and her husband as well as raising her two children, she had no work experience. Attempting fast food last year surrounded by teenagers had been embarrassing; being chastised by an eighteen-year old child for not filling out her time card correctly had sent her into a crying jag for two days. It wasn’t like she actually needed to work after inheriting from the parents, since both her and her husband had been only children. Still, having a reason to get out of the house would have been nice.

“Be careful with the knives,” she muttered before reaching for the first sharp utensil, submerging it, washing it, and putting it into the clear water. She washed the nine knives individually, then picked up the group and moved them into the drying rack. “Next up, plates.”

Getting back to nature would be out of the house. Could you imagine her backpacking across Europe? With the blisters, foreign languages, and people she had no understanding of. Spending her kids inheritance. That would be a nope.

But a simple, local camping trip? Would that be enough to get through the long months alone?

A “Witchy Wonder.” What is that about? Dancing in the woods around a campfire?

“Live your best life.”

Well, getting the last of the pots done certainly wasn’t Jordan’s best life. It had been her life, always had been her life, but not her best life.

She rinsed out the sinks and wiped them down, leaving the dishes in the drying rack to be put away tomorrow. The last day with more than one glass and plate for 206 days. … unless she let things build up. But since dishes was something to do, they got done every day just after the morning doomscroll on Facebook to see if her kids posted anything overnight. They never did after her last check when she finished watching the late news.

Jordan returned to the computer and woke it up. She typed in the link that seem to have burned itself into her mind. Witchy Wonders trips … wasn’t exactly a camping trip according to the site. For a small fee, about the cost of a new four-man tent, a witch would transform a client into an animal. Fascinated, Jordan dug deeper. Using the old “curses” techniques, modern witches transformed client into an animal with specific release requirements to release the curse.

The testaments, which recorded reactions a lot more unique than the normal “it was great” and “I highly recommend”, sung praises of spending a day as a frog, a weekend as a dog, and a week as a crow.

The disclaimer portion of the website stated some lingering affects of the animal choice could impact the personality and body; a list of most common reaction was provided. Sharper nails after being a cat, and those who had been horses nearly universally took up jogging after time in the pasture.

Further instructions included, the client must arrange for a situation of safety for their animal during their nature time. A final bit mentioned forms related to the release requirements.

A pop-up appeared in the bottom-right for instant messaging chat customer service. “Hello, my name is Jennifer, I see you have been on our site for six minutes, would you be interested in talking to a live representative?”

The cursor blinked once, twice, thrice.

Jordan typed, “Yes.”

And that is how she spent most of the winter as a Bear.

(Words 834, first published 4/2/2023)

Flash: Attrition

Erin Penn

84942186 © publicdomainstockphotos | Dreamstime.com

Crunching underfoot within a forest is expected from leaves and last year’s ferns; in the forest of bones, the crunching is from some poor soul’s vertebrae from the Wars of Attrition. Not a place to walk through barefoot.

Not a place to walk through in general. The dead don’t like to be disturbed. Mourning for eternity, the skeletal trees radiated a perpetual winter chill from their bare branches, never budding with hope, despite the summer green and ripening fields Malloryson left behind. He would have never entered these damned woods if this wasn’t, ironically, his last hope. A stick, two days hardtack wrapped in a handkerchief, good boots, and, maybe, a ten-minute lead on his pursuers was all he owned at this point.

That lead became infinite the minute he passed into Dead Man’s Forest, for none but fools would follow him here. Walking around the forest takes days; not a single farmer’s path carved through the bones, chill, and unsettled dead of the blighted battlefield. Pushing deeper, Malloryson slowed his rush, confident the investigators would leave the walking dead man to the dead.

Water would be an issue soon, he thought, his mouth dry from his run. Last night’s gentle rains left red-tinted puddles reflecting oily rainbows, sitting strangely in the hollows between white roots digging into the black earth, bubbling yellow ooze clung to the wet edges like puss.

He pushed onward, looking for shelter and water, pressing against the horror each of his footfalls brought from the muffled crunching in the silent woods.

Once wizards walked here, summoning creatures from beyond to fight the rebel slaves. Humans died in droves, but for the hundreds of deaths, one or two of the monstrous beasts would fall, making the wizards vulnerable just long enough the slaves could kill a magical despot.

And then the cycle of destruction and death would start again, and end again.

Again and again.

And again.

The humans surviving the Attrition Wars didn’t win, so much as they didn’t die.

Malloryson’s hope was, like his ancestors, he was very good at not dying, so far. Unlike the burgomaster’s son, who he had accidently on-purpose killed. That soft throat needed to be squeezed to stop the poisonous words bubbling forth. It had been easy to squeeze tighter.

Malloryson didn’t regret the results. Some people are worth dying for.

The crunching of bones softened the spongy, squishing noises in his memory. A bubble, a gasp, a rattled wheeze.

The last echoed against the leafless trees. Not a memory.

The crunch of bones played counterpoint to the scrape of claws from some forgotten creature of the Wars.

Sucking sounds gurgled out from the mud as nearby bones cracked together into a new form.

A grimace splintered the blood-speckled rigor mortis grin engraved on Malloryson’s visage. Really, he had hoped to survive one meal within this cursed place. Part of his mind squealed “run away”, while another part debated if becoming a meal counted as the one meal he had hoped for.

He was done running. Too tired after hours of being chased by the investigators. If he was about to die, he wouldn’t die panting.

Instead he stepped forward to face the bone abomination, dead but refusing to admit it. Just like him.

Approaching the creature weaponless, Malloryson reached out his killer’s hand still dewed with the last breath of a hatemonger. The grotesque froze, tilting the head sideways, confused, before unhinging its jaw, exposing three rows of infinite teeth like a goose.

A mud-red tongue twisted out and looped around Malloryson’s hand, stripping the blood offering. Chill raided warmth from his arm. The tongue jerked back to the jaws of uncountable teeth, and Malloryson stumbled closer. He stared in the non-eyes of the forgotten bones and thought: how magnificent death looked.

A fitting last thought. Malloryson expected never to wake again. The return of awareness wasn’t kind.

(first published 3/5/2023, 650 words – Created from a Workshop attended at Ret-Con 2023 run by Tally Johnson. He provided thirteen possible visual prompts, all ghost/horror related. I choose prompt six which showed a traveler entering a forest of skulls.)

Flash: Phylactery (Purrson Part 3)

Erin Penn 1 Comment

Photo by Onur Binay on Unsplash

“Stuck on the sixth floor again.” Parson commented while waiting in front of the elevator, giving a side-eye to the woman beside him. Her black business suit hugged her curves and her black stocking gave a hint of fishnet in their patterning.

She smiled at him, her vivid red lipstick making the lips stand out against her pale skin. “Does it do that often?”

“All the time.” Parson waved at the top of the art deco style elevators where the number six remained illuminated. “To be fair, that floor has two large families with small children, and four retirees who have mobility issues. But it also just gets stuck.”

“So do we wait, or what?” The woman turned to face him, flipping her long black hair behind her.

“I’m not walking up to the tenth floor.” He laughed, giving her one of his best sexy smiles.

“And I don’t want to attempt twelve flights myself.”

“Oh, you are the new 1203.”

“And you are Parson, in 1004.” She put out her hand. “I’ve heard about you.”

Parson took the hand, but lifted it to his mouth for a quick air kiss, just above the skin. Enough his breath touched it and nothing else, while keeping his eyes on her black ones, pleased to see the irises expand. “All good things I hope.”

The new apartment renter licked her lips as he lowered their joined hands, his thumb rubbing where he nearly kissed her skin. “Um, yes,” she gasped a bit. “Well,” she rolled her eyes around and bit her lip, containing a little laugh, “depends.”

“Depends on what, beautiful new 1203?”

“What? Oh,” she laughed, “please call me Lore, it’s short for Lorelei.”

“Lorelei.” Parson rubbed her hand knuckles again since she hadn’t pulled back her hand. “Lovely to meet you.”

“Yes.” Lore shook her head. “They weren’t kidding about you at all.”

“Oh,” he raised an eyebrow.

“Sex on a stick was how Connie put it.” She looked down and clearly, regretfully, pulled her hand away slowly. “They say you are the apartment’s skank, but worth it.”

Parson hadn’t realized his reputation was included in the basic get to know the building’s amenities, but he couldn’t fault the accuracy. He was a slut but had managed not to anger those that lived here.

They both jumped when the doors of the elevator opened, letting out the Wojciks, including the twins still in the stroller. The single adults stepped apart for the crowd to pass through before stepping into the now empty elevator.

He let her push the button first, then leaned over to press his and asked, “So, you would like to see if it is worth it?”

Lorelei smiled invitingly. “You know, I just might. Let me freshen up from work first. Come up about eight?”

“Want me to bring anything?” He looked up as the elevator beeped another floor, judging his window, “Food, wine, a movie, … lube?”

Snorting, she shook her head. “I got leftovers and don’t drink.” She waited until the doors opened on the tenth floor before adding. “And plenty of lube and toys. See you in two hours.”

Parson stepped out of the elevator before it closed. “Two hours.” After the doors closed, he walked down the hall. “Whoa, I’ve might have met my match. This should be fun.”

***

The woman presently going by the name of Lorelei stretched in the Saturday morning sun, feeling all the little bites and scratches of the night. Parson was a vigorous lover. Definitely worth it. She approved.

Him sneaking out in the night, less so. She frowned at the tangled pink sheets where he had drifted off after their last round of love play. Then frowned deepened when the mound of cloth moved.

A tabby kitten fought its way from underneath the fabric.

“Oh, well, look at you.” Lore studied its orange fur, a few shades lighter than Parson’s red hair. She laughed in delight. “Is that you Parson?”

The feline’s blue eyes, an exact match to her lover from last night, snapped up to her then grew round. Its entire body froze.

Lore moved up to her knees, her black hair flowing over her naked body. Slowing her breath, she waited.

Parson darted, and she jumped, grabbing him up in her hands.

Little kitten razors clawed and needle teeth bit. “No-no. Don’t do that.” Lore moved her hands to the scruff of the kitten’s neck and turned the male cat belly up in her hands. She stared down, and after struggling a moment, the cat stopped moving and just stared back up at her, panting as though frightened. “I’ve never seen one so young before.” Lore shook her head “I bet you don’t even know what you are, do you?”

The cat mewed a question.

“Yes, you are something, my sweet.” A wide possessive smile conquered Lore’s slightly swollen lips. “Something I will love to have very much.”

Narrowing its eyes, the kitten hissed.

“No, too late. I’ve seen you.” She moved one hand to start stroking the kitten’s cheeks, and used the hand on the neck to start a light massage, slowly turning the cat over as it eyes closed in pleasure. “Such a hedonist. I’ll take good care of you.”

“We are going to be such good friends.” Lore stood, walking into her living room. While holding the kitten against her body, risking bodily harm but Parson seemed quiet for the moment, she lifted her favorite throw blanket from the back of her sofa, thanking the universe once again people don’t ask about pentagram patterns, and spread it out on the floor.

Dropping Parson in the center, she said the closing word and the seal raised.

“Now you just stay there while I shower and get dressed.”

(words 965, first published 12/4/2022)

Purrson Series

  1. Naturally Nocturnal (9/26/21)
  2. Purrson (10/2/22)
  3. Phylactery (12/4/22)

Flash: Punch a Nazi

Erin Penn

Photo by BENCE BOROS on Unsplash

“They’re back.” Rick had his back to the door as he whispered low enough no one beyond the bar could hear thanks to the additional enchantments the owner had added after the incident last week.

Drawing a deep draft for a half-giant, I glanced toward the door where the new bouncing staff held up their hands trying to deescalate the situation. Four to one wasn’t good odds. “Tats,” I spat, darkening my skin further, drawing up my hair into elaborate braids. “Take care the Pix’s top, could you?” I jumped over the bar and slid down the other side. “I got some lessons to teach.”

“Sure thing. Should I let the boss know?”

“Not going to matter.” I didn’t have the patience to be polite and play by human rules. My long stride ate the distance between the bar and the door.

“Look man, your club ain’t allowed here anymore since you guys broke sanctuary last week.” The fae bouncer kept their hands visible. Even wearing their male aspect, the winter Seelie was over a foot shorter than the lead vampire.

“Whatcha gonna do about it, fairy?” The vampire crowded the bouncer toward the wall, confident the three jackets he came in with would guard his back.

I scented with my tongue. The groupie vampires had been turned in the past month, and the were of the group had at most three moons since being bit. The lead vampire pushed a decade but wasn’t the sire of the babes. Smith really needed to clean up his coven or I would clean it for him. With an egg to consider, all unnecessary dangers in my territory needed to be eradicated soon.

“They are going to let me take care of it.” I crossed my arms over the black cropped shirt the wait staff used as a uniform. I shifted my mobility from the human appearing glamour to normal flight, then I pulled some extra weight from the plane where I stored my excess. Just six percent should be enough; it wasn’t like my present body presentation could handle more than that, especially since I restored the shape to slimmer version for work.

The vampire didn’t even turn around at my words, foolishly thinking after a measly decade and a nip of the teeth he now qualified as an apex predator. Cockily, he held out a heavily tattooed arm with a finger up. “One fucking minute doll and I will get to you.”

“Nah.” I grabbed the finger and pulled it down, along with the muscular arm, then yanked him toward me. The vamp had been a weight lifter in life, and at over seven foot, he weighed a meager three hundred pounds. I had moved 1,500 pounds of extra mass from my main form.

He moved, I didn’t.

I dead-palmed the punch he threw as he turned, wrapping my fingers around it.

His eyes grew round, before narrowing at the negroid features I had started wearing since Massey agreed to be my egg carrier. He tried to yank his hand away from my grip, and I let him succeed. I watched as his bigoted brain downplayed my danger because of the color of my skin and the shape of my nose, and maybe even the size of my breasts. Supremists often came with a side of misogyny.

“Fuckin’ cunt.” He gripped and ungripped his hand, testing the mobility.

“Tell you want, let’s do a one-punch contest. You win, we serve you. Hell, I’ll even buy the first two rounds. I win, y’all leave and never come back.” I spread my arms. “I’ll even let you go first.” I smiled with teeth showing, maintaining full human appearance. The expression didn’t seem to faze the gang members, but the crazy grin made the bouncer take a step back. Fae understood crazy. I nodded to Seelie. “Just hold up the line for a couple minutes if you can, this won’t take long.”

“You got that right.” The lead vampire growled. “It won’t take long at all.”

“You agree? You tats leave and don’t come back, ever, if I win?” I carefully adjust my stance to make it look like I was bracing for a punch. Looking like you are walking while you are actually flying isn’t the easiest thing, but I had plenty of practice in a variety of forms and glamours.

“Yeah, sure.”

He blinked as the magic covenant slid into place.

“Sanctuary grounds. Don’t make contracts you don’t want enforced.” I smirked. The regulars quickly learned never to stiff a bill or skimp on a promised tip. Roderiguez didn’t run tabs. “Be sure to make the first punch count.”

“Oh, I will, bitch.” The huge undead took a step and swung hard. The power of his punch pushed him back a few steps, and he curled around his hand.

I was disappointed when I didn’t hear bones crunch. “You pulled your punch, that was stupid.” I moved to close the gap. “My turn.”

“Jump her.” The elder grunted at the younger vampires. But they weren’t his spawn, so they had the option to back off, which they took. I memorized their faces. Smart vampires made good neighbors, if they remembered to be smart and not try to be clever. Only the werewolf responded, transforming to full lycan shape and leaped at me. Either the lead vampire had were- control, a common enough ability, or the furry hungered for a pack and answered to an alpha orders. Hurting him would be like kicking a chained puppy. I backhand him gently into the babes. The two younglings grabbed him and hold him back.

To control the slap, I had turned toward the werewolf. The owner of Bar None frowned on killing customers, even unwanted ones.

The pack leader used what he thought was a distraction to jump at my back at vampire speed. At a mere decade, his speed was a joke. I easily spun, brought across just a minuscule portion of my talons into this form, and punched through his chest, holding his black heart hostage, before he understood what happened.

“That wasn’t part of the agreement. Ordering the fledging like that. It was to be you and I.” I stared up at him, letting a bit of my golden lizard pupils shine through my human appearance, and curled back my lips. “You broke Sanctuary.”

I squeezed my fist closed, then dropped the decaying corpse on the ground.

Wiping the blood turning into dust over my bare stomach, I turn to the remaining tats and jackets. “You were part of the agreement. You understand that right?”

The two vampires nodded their heads vigorously. The transformed wolf growled groggily, his broken jaw healing with audible snaps.

“Don’t come back. Let the rest of the gang know too.”

I dropped my chin to stare into the vampires’ black eyes, breaking the common-sense rule of never making eye contact with vampires. They were too young for it to matter. The werewolf tilted his neck, exposing his throat.

“You come in while I’m here, anyone with your colors, and I will remove you.” I kicked the shrinking dust pile to indicate how I would remove them. I taught lessons but only once. Supernaturals either had a learning curve or they didn’t. “Got it?”

They nodded.

“Go.”

The three children rushed out the door.

“Alphin, do a better job and sweep up this mess.”

“No problem. Sure thing.” The fae stumbled over their words. “On it.”

I turned around, forgetting for a moment to make it look like I wasn’t flying, the spin raised me an inch or so off the floor. Sighing, seeing about half the customers with their eyes wide staring at me, comparing the rumors of what they heard about last week against what they just witnessed, I shunted my talons and weight back to the other side and landed on the floor light enough not to crack the tiles. “What?” I asked the crowd, “Boss said no more tats. We are a Sanctuary. Anyone got a problem with that?”

People shook their heads and dropped their heads to their drinks.

“Remember to treat your waitresses with respect, because if you think I’m scary, you should see an annoyed witch.”

The wait staff chuckled at that one, all of them apprentices of the owner, a thousand-year-old wizard capable of maintaining a Sanctuary in a large metropolitan area, and one of the few being on the planet who remembered what it is like to hunt dragons. Some of the regulars joined in the laughter. By the time I made it across the club to slide across the silver-trimmed bar, conversations were restarting around the room.

(words 1,449; first published 1/19/2024)