Preview of Short Story Collection: "Five Elemental Dragons: Cycle Two"

The first story of the Second Cycle of "Five Elemental Dragons". All original work © 2012 by A. Dameron, all rights reserved.

 

Mù: Wood

 

 

一棵树有这么多的声音：

静静地听着, 你会听到

琵琶, 二胡, 鼓

涂上红色, 预示着

龙的歌曲。

 

 

Yī kē shù yǒu zhème duō de shēngyīn:

Jìng jìng de tīngzhe, nǐ huì tīng dào

Pípá, èrhú, gǔ

Tu shàng hóngsè, yùshìzhe

Lóng de gēqǔ.

 

One tree has so many sounds:

listen quietly and you will hear

the pipa, the erhu, the drum

painted red, to herald

the dragon's song.

 

Courtesan's dedication to the maker of her pipa lute

32^nd year of the reign of the Iron Emperor

 

Shang Xin entered the Imperial Pavilion, the train of her blue gown whispering on the tiles as it

trailed behind her. Her hands cradled her erhu, the two-stringed instrument of her profession.

All eyes focused on her as she stopped in the middle of the Pavilion. She lowered her eyes, as

was proper, and curtsied as best as she could within her cumbersome silks.

 

The Iron Emperor sat on his throne on the south side of the Pavilion, with his family, courtiers

and guards arrayed all around him. His still-handsome features made Shang Xin's heart skip a

beat. She watched him beneath the lowered lids. As always, he cloaked his intentions within a

neutral expression, but she read his eyes.

 

Joy, sorrow, regret. The knowledge that all things, pleasant and not, eventually come to an

end.

 

Her heart broke into pieces. He knew...he knew what all the prophecies foretold. If those

predictions were true, his time in this mortal plane had grown short.

 

All this came between them in the space of a few heartbeats. She gave him the slightest of

nods to show him that she understood.

 

He stood from his throne and nodded back at her. With a sweep of his broad hand, he

indicated the empty chair in front of a row of pipa players. “Take your place and play for us.”

 

Shang Xin bowed her head, this time in acknowledgement. Carefully, she unfolded herself

from her crouch and glided towards the empty chair. Her eyes swept the pavilion, carefully

noting who was present. Two of the three gilded chairs next to the Iron Emperor also stood

empty. The Empress of the Black Lotus, the Iron Emperor's wife, was absent. If the rumors

were to believed, the Empress refused to be part of this world, and sought seclusion in the

temple.

 

Shang Xin didn't blame the Empress one bit. Not this time. Not with the Darkness

encroaching upon Shinwa.

 

But their daughter, Kai Ming, the Heir to the throne of Shinwa, was also conspicuously

absent. Perhaps she, like her mother the Empress, was visiting the temple. Shang Xin could

understand one of them being excused from this gathering...but both? This was quite

extraordinary.

 

The musician turned and sat, straight-backed, in her chair. Two attendants darted forward to

help her arrange her skirts out of the way. It gave her the chance to survey the rest of the Iron

Emperor's court—and her heart seized at the sight of the Heir's daughter, Kai Huo, sitting

resplendidly at her grandfather's side.

 

She is here and not among her soldiers. Her father must have given her an ultimatum. It

is the only explanation for her presence, and adorned in courtly robes instead of her

armor. The thought greatly amused Shang Xin. Kai Huo was her grandfather's pride and joy:

tall and proud, with bewitching black eyes and athletic build. The foremost general of the Iron

Emperor's military forces and a member of the Swordswomen. As noble as her grandfather,

and yet...Shang Xin sensed a thrill of Darkness within the Heir.

 

One of the attendants gently handed her the bow to the erhu. Shang Xin nodded her thanks,

then readjusted her instrument. The erhu sat almost vertically in her lap, the soundbox resting

against her left thigh, the bow held in an underhanded grip within her right hand. The pipa

  players also held their instruments at the ready, thumbs and index fingers poised to pluck

the silk strings. Further behind them stood the drummers, the gong and chime ringers. To

Shang Xin's left sat two dizi players, lips ready to blow into their bamboo woodwinds.

 

They all awaited the Iron Emperor's request.

 

He turned to Kai Huo, who stared up at her grandfather with a confused expression. The Iron

Emperor nicked his head at the marble stones of the Pavilion. Understanding dawned on the

girl's face, then she stood, untied the outer robe of her formal silks, and walked down the

steps. A murmur went through the court at the unusual action.

 

“I wish to see my granddaughter perform the hùdié wǔ, as a testament to her grace and

prowess.”

 

A shocked gasp went through the court. Shang Xin's eyes widened in surprise as the other

musicians hurriedly re-tuned their instruments. The hùdié wǔ, the Butterfly Dance, was

reserved for the Swordswomen, the defenders of Shinwa. It was normally hidden from public

view, a secret shared among those initiated.

 

But the Iron Emperor changed all that with a single command. Shang Xin's fingers gripped the

neck of her erhu in sudden panic. Of all the songs he could have asked, why that one? And

why now?

 

She shook herself out of her rampant thoughts. There was a reason. There was always a

reason, and it was not her place to question his reasons.

 

Kai Huo stood in her snow-white silk underrobe, long hair unbound and her bare feet upon

the marble tiles. She unsheathed the blade at her side, prompting another sigh from the Court,

this time in awe. Her weapon was truly made by a artisan, elegant and deadly at the same

time.

 

She glanced over her shoulder at Shang Xin. The curtain of black hair obscured her face, but

Shang Xin thought she saw the black eyes glitter in the light. “Kaishi,” Kai Huo commanded.

“Begin.”

 

Shang Xin touched the bow to the strings and played a single trembling note. The pipa joined

in, then the dizi and the drums, gongs and chimes, in an upswell of emotion. Kai Huo slowly

raised the sword, unfolding like a catepillar out of its cocoon, to greet the world as a butterfly.

 

The upswell exploded into a series of notes and Shang Xin chased them with her bow, her

fingers dancing upon the fretboard. She allowed herself to fall into the rhythm of the music, felt

its wind through her hair, and then her soul was flying upon the back of an Emerald Dragon.

 

The Emerald Dragon circled the sky above the Pavilion, its powerful wings beating against the

air. Shang Xin Saw without Seeing, the lone white-garbed warrior in the center, her sword

slashing and cutting invisible enemies on all sides. To her surprise, the Emerald Dragon spoke.

 

“Look there, deep within the blade. Do you see it, Songstress?”

 

Shang Xin narrowed her eyes. Yes, there, within the deep layers of Kai Huo's sword...was

that a mist rising? The ethereal smoke swirled and reformed into a second dragon. Flint gray

eyes, silver scales and claws...Shang Xin's breath froze in her throat. Was that...?

 

“My cousin, Tiě Wù. Iron Mist. The guardian of the sword,” the Emerald Dragon confirmed.

She angled again for another pass over the Pavilion. “He prevents Kai Huo from becoming

overzealous in her pursuit of justice.”

 

“Isn't that a thankless assignment?” The blunt question surprised her, even as she watched Tiě

Wù's transparent body whip around Kai Huo's in some strange counterpoint. To Shang Xin's

Sight, it appeared that Iron Mist formed a mystical barrier that pulsed in time with the music.

 

She understood and sped up the tempo. The Emerald Dragon also beat her wings faster,

gathering power and speed in flight. The symphony rose up again all around them, thundering

pell-mell towards its ultimate conclusion. The drums pounded, the chimes crashed, as Kai

Huo swept her sword for the final kill.

 

The erhu wailed a single cry, as the other instruments abruptly went silent, and the sword

slashed downward. A burst of Darkness exploded from around Kai Huo, slammed against the

protective shield made by Tiě Wù, and flare brightly at the impact. The Darkness vanished as

quickly as it had appeared.

 

Kai Huo collapsed on the marble, all energy spent, the sword tumbling from limp fingers. Her

arms and legs splayed out, the white silk arrayed all around her, and her face turned towards

the sky. Those black eyes gazed upward, and Shang Xin shivered at the utter satisfaction in

that face. Tiě Wù circled around the sword one last time before an otherwordly force pulled

him back into the steel. The Emerald Dragon threw back her head and roared in mourning.

 

And Shang Xin sat up straight with a jolt as the Imperial Court erupted into wild applause.

The performance had ended, the music gone, and her soul ached beyond measure.

 

“My Lady...your bow, your hands--”

 

The bow's single string lay broken in her lap. The erhu's twin strings had also snapped under

the strain, the silk hanging limply on the fretboard. The fingers of both her hands bled where

she had gripped the erhu and where the bow had cut into the skin. She looked up at the

concerned expression of one of the pipa players, but did not see it.

 

“Attend to the Lady! Her hands are bleeding!” the authoritative tone cut through the chatter.

Shang Xin managed to lift up her head and met the stern gaze of the Iron Emperor himself. His

callused hands held her wrists, even as the blood soaked the silks of her robe and dripped

onto the erhu.

 

I have seen the Darkness. I have played too long. Her arms trembled and she nearly

fainted where she sat. Shang Xin saw Kai Huo standing behind and to her grandfather's right,

the place of honor. Shang Xin thought she would become sick to her stomach at that sight.

 

“I can no longer play,” she whispered.

 

Kai Huo's brow furrowed in confusion, and the Iron Emperor's expression mirrored it. “We

can repair your instrument, Lady,” he said, almost tenderly. His grip tightened around Shang

Xin's wrists. “You will rest and heal, and grace us with your music again.”

 

It took all her effort to look up at the weathered face. She freed one of her hands and gently

touched his cheek. She could feel her soul grow lighter, as the wind carried her upwards,

upon the back of the Emerald Dragon, away from the Darkness.

 

“No, my Lord. My song has ended and another one has begun.” She managed a smile.

“Forgive me, Kai Ren. I will never touch the strings again.”

 

The silence in the courtyard deepened as the breeze stirred the chimes. Then they, too, fell

silent, like the broken strings of the erhu.

Snippet: The Promotion

Writing Exercise: Finish this line in a voice other than your own.

Right after they posted the results, I tried to...

push my way through the crowd that had gathered in front of it. I stepped on a few tones and kicked a few shins, but I didn't care. All that mattered was the grade. I wanted to do better than everyone else. After all the hard work, the tricky negotiations, the out-and-out bribes, I deserved the top slot. My skin crawled as I brushed against one of the upperclassment. I kept the distaste off my face. If this worked, I'd never worry about that bully and his posse ever again.

Finally, I found myself at the front of the screaming mass. The screens blared the point standing for all to see. I caught a glimpse of the top ten scorers. Arianna Blake, second. My breath froze in my lungs. Second place. Good enough to move to the next level. Good enough to move me into better quarters, better rations, better instruction. I was now in Delta Group and no longer in Gamma. No longer a plaything for the Uppers. Now I was an Upper. The realization gave me a heady feeling.

Then I saw who was in first place. Brian Satchett. He was now an Alpha. I squeezed my eyes closed.

One more year, I told myself.

But it was going to be a hell of a long year.

A Nanowrimo Confession: An Unorthodox Strategy to 50,000

2011 marks the second time I've done Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month). The first time was in 2006 and I barely sneaked over the 50,000 word goal...by exactly 18 words. I divided the entire piece in 'writing sessions' instead of chapters. That way I could see my progress from day to day and keep daily word counts straight. Each day, I picked up where I left off and just wrote what came to me. "The Silk Dragon" turned out to be a lot more coherent than I expected, especially at the end when I was grabbing at anything to keep going. That included kids' shows, mythology, and fuzzy yaks. Don't ask.

This year is a bit different. I have a starting point and an ending point, and the goal is to get from point A to point B. Yes, there is a (gasp!) plan. Like 2006, I've begun each day with a new OpenOffice document...so today's would be "Legacy of the Pearl Dragon 15.odt", with 14 other docs before it. Granted, the way that the story's progressed, that title will change in the next draft in December, but I stuck with it.

I'd planned a fantasy series several months ago, outlining it on Writer's Blocks, version 3. It was a grand plan, encompassing four fantasy lands based on real-life ancient civilizations, and a massive hero's journey and war. Of course, it got buried in the chaos of real life. At the beginning of November, it fit my ideas perfectly, so...

I write in 'snippets', scenes that jump around in time and place, so each day's writing is a hodgepodge of scenes that may/may not follow each other in sequence. That habit came out of jotting down ideas for scenes as they came to me, so I wouldn't lose them. The story also has a 'master document' where I cut and paste scenes in rough chronological order, so I can see where the novel's going and where it's been. 

Granted, there are some contradictory details, time goofs, wonky characterization, etc., but Nano is for writing, not editing. My inner editor has been in a padded room since November 1, ranting and raving, despite the luxurious accomodations. She'll be free on December 1, when I'm sure she'll return with a vengeance. I'll need an editor during that time, not during this time. So, Inner Editor will have to sit and cool her heels while the Muse decides to put in some overtime.

And I'm about 3,000 words shy of 30,000 as of today, November 15. I'm hoping to finally get this story told...then the process of paring and editing begins in December.

 

Snippet: The Haunted Kitchen

It only took her a few seconds to realize she wasn't alone. She glanced around the kitchen. The pantry was still empty, the fridge still leaking water, the oven still crusted with spaghetti sauce and grease. The floor still squeaked as she made a slow circuit around the kitchen island.

 

Goosebumps raised on her flesh. A sense of of hominess, the faint odor of burnt candy and sugar cookies. The lights brightened, although there was no electricity. Then she was elsewhere... 

An older woman bustled about in a gingham apron, dancing between stove and island. She checked the candy thermometer stuck in a ghostly pan, checked the torn recipe book. She brushed by the living as if she didnb't exist. Dumbfounded, she watched a dead woman running her long-dead kitchen.

 

 

Snippet: The Strange Girl in the Woods

I froze at the sound. Someone’s crying, I thought. There, up ahead in that copse of trees. I crept up the path. The wind stirred uneasily as I drew closer.

“Hallo!” I called. “Brauchst du Hilfe?” Do you need help?

There was a pause, then a small voice replied, “Nein.”

“Wo bist du?” Where are you?

“Bitte, lass mich in Ruhe.” Please, leave me alone.

I turned the corner and peered behind the stand of bushes. There, shivering under a pine tree, was a little girl, about seven or eight years old. Her wide eyes looked on me like a lamb about to be slaughtered. Her thin fingers clutched the threadbare shawl about her shoulders. She wore no shoes, only stockings.

“Poor girl,” I said, still speaking in German. “What’s happened to you?”

“Don’t come near me,” she pleaded. “Don’t.”

“I won’t hurt you. Let me help.” I took a few cautious steps in her direction. She cringed away from me. “You’re cold, you need help. I’m a doctor.”

She raised her chin. Anger warred with the sheer terror in her eyes. “Are you one of Them?” I heard the capital “T” in the word.

“Who are ‘Them’?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Them. The ones who took my family away.” Her brief burst of bravado fled as soon as it came. Her face crumpled and she began to sob. I knelt by her side. My instincts automatically catalogued her ailments: hypothermia, dehydration, lack of food. She was still strong, despite her hardships. This was no ordinary little girl.

“Let me take you back to my cabin,” I said, in a tone that allowed no opposition. “You can tell me your story after some food, a bath and warm clothes.”

“Aber, Frau Doktor...”

“No buts.” I helped her to stagger back to her feet. “What is your name?”

“Katya.” Suddenly, she seemed shy. “And what is yours?”

“Andrea Weisgard.” At the sound of my name, she tried to pull away from me. “I’m American, but my great-grandparents were German.”

Katya shook her head. “I will only bring you trouble, Frau Doktor Weisgard.”

“Let me be the judge of that. Come on. Lean on me if you have to.” We started back down the path towards my cabin. The words to the Hippocratic Oath floated through my mind. “First do no harm...” I would help this poor girl, as best as I could.

But what was I going to do afterwards?

Snippet: Weapon of Vengeance

The smell of rain mixed with the dust of the Frontier Graveyard. Gray ash floated in the wind to settle into drifts like dirty snow. Crosses teetered on the mounds, but didn't fall. Those of questionable faith ended up here, between Heaven and Hell, with Earth in between.

Lucy Belladon rode the unpaved road towards the graveyard. Her homespun shirt and pants used to be white, but its original color was lost under layers of grime. Lucy wore her hat low on her brow, like the other drovers. She longed for the open range, but there was something she had to do first.

Telemachus snorted as he stopped at the gate. Lucky dismounted and patted him before walking into the Graveyard.Her eyes scanned the unmarked graves. "Fourth from the left, straight on till sunset," she murmured to herself.

The fourth grave from the left had a huge dirt mound over it. Lucy stood next to it, then oriented herself until she faced west. She followed the long lines of drunken crosses until she came upon the last one. The pale lines of a dying sun turned the earth bloody. She stared at the recently turned plot for a long moment.

"Forgive me," she murmured again.

Lucy knelt at the grave, took a deep breath and plunged her hands into the mound. The rancid smell assaulted her nose and bile rose within her stomach. Still, she scratched and scraped through the pile, clawing away the clods. Finally, a gray hand appeared, clutching a black scabbard. She dropped the limb and brushed the dust from the scabbard. Dark ebony, with caramel highlights, gold symbols etched along its length.

She slowly drew the weapon. The blade reflected the crimson sunset within its deep ruby shaft, glittering like congealed blood.

Lucy held the sword to her face in salute. "Thank you...I will not fail."

Behind her, the first drops of rain fell into the ruin of decaying bones.

Story Snippet: Cold Glass (1)

She could hear him, but she could not see him.

The footsteps echoed silently in her blood. She kept still and listened. the air congealed all around her, turning every breath into frosty smoke. She found herself praying to childhood gods, begging their protection. Please, please, please, don't let him find me...

Him. Him, with a capital "H". It was Him, the one with no name. He knew her every move, every moment, in this world and the next. Always watching, waiting for the ultimate mistake. She knew He was there, knew it without looking. Inner Sight told her so. She knew every inch of His body and Soul and that frightened her, to have that much power and still keep sane.

She curled herself up into a tight ball. The presence grew closer, so close that she could feel His touch. Her throat closed in around itself, and smothered her cry for help. A gentle caress made her skin hot and cold at the same time. Intimate knowledge, His for the taking. She whispered in fear and longing. Then His hand closed upon her heart and squeezed it...

*****

Her voice returned in a rush and she screamed. She flung the comforter away from her. A cool sea breeze fulttered the curtains and brought the sweet cries of sea gulls. Her head snapped towards the window at the raucous caws.

Morning. She was safe.

 

Snippet: An Explosion

The power went out in the lab.

"Dammit!"

Hubert stumbled into the dark room. The tinkle of glass beakers and the groan of abused furniture echoed in the blackness as he stumbled about, trying to gain his balance. His curses increased in volume when the lights didn't come back on.

"Great--just great--just as it's finishing. Twenty hours down the drain, damn this blackout...told Greenham to change those circuits! The greatest experiment of all time, ruined by punk kids blasting their stereos and sucking up all the power...heads'll reel once I get this sorted out--"

A soft bubbling sound came from the test tube in the analyzer. The liquid swirled in colorful mist as it evaporated into gas. It seeped out of the collection box and spread around the lab. Hubert smelled a blast of apple pie, just like when his mother baked pie in his childhood. He dook a deep breath and inhaled the wonderful scent. But where was it coming from? And why was it here? It didn't make any sense to his well-ordered brain.

He shook himself out of his stupor. Priorities were priorities! He needed some light to see what the hell he was doing...

His hand found a box of matches. "Ah! Here we go--" He struck one, and its flame glowed green.

Green?!

The explosion shook the lab and knocked a startled Hubert off his feet. A rainbow colored mist immediately reduced him to ash between one breath and the next. It rose from the destruction like an avenging phoenix and fled into the night.

Snippet: The Bowl-Off

Exercise: Setting/Characters. Write a short scene where you introduce characters interacting with each other in a particular setting.

 

The charity bowl was off to a good start. Teams from all the area leagues competed against each other. It was all for fun--everyone cheered each other and winced over splits and near-misses.

Dan Graham looked up at the scoreboard and groaned. His team was down by a good fifty pins. In the tenth (and last) frame, he had gotten an ugly 7-10 split and couldn't pick it up. He shot an apologetic look over at the next team. They shrugged their sympathy. This new team would bowl against the winner, and it wasn't going to be Dan's team.

Dan rolled his eyes as the final bowler got up to the lane. Steve Ayakamura was his best friend; he was the first to admit Steve was a better bowler than he was. The man just stepped up and delivered the job without much fanfare. Steve was always like that, whether it was on the bowling lane or busting perps as part of the vice squad. Still, it annoyed the hell out of Dan sometimes.

Crash! The first ball was a strike. Dan saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see an attractive dark-haired woman approaching him. She grinned and held out a hand. The other hand jangled a set of keys on a keyring.

"Hi, Mori." Dan pulled her into a hug that swept her off her feet. She laughed and hugged him back.

"Hi yourself, stranger." Mori Ayakamura grinned up at him, then glanced at the scoreboard."I see you're in trouble."

"No thanks to your brother," Dan complained. He saw the keys in her hand and chuckled. "You know, your brother's the only man I know who can get a 200 average and still forget his keys."

She rolled her eyes and muttered, "You should hear his wife complain."

Crash! Three strikes in a row, and Steve's score flashed upon the screen: 230. Dan groaned and said, "Well, that's the nail in our coffin."

Steve smiled as he made his way to his sister's side. It turned sheepish as he saw the keys. "Did it again, didn't I, little sister?"

Mori gave the keys a quick underhanded toss; Steve snatched them out of the air with his left hand, as quick as a magician with his illusions. "I swear, Steve, I'm gonna pin those damn keys to your trousers."

His grin widened at the familiar refrain. "Theresa would look at you funny if you did," he teased back. "You bowled yet?"

She shook her head, the long dark hair swinging at the movement. "We're still waiting. It looks like the team from Haverson's going to be our opponents this time around."

"They're tough," Dan commented. "We lost the Copperfield tournament to them last year."

"Well, we'll give it our best shot.," Mori said in an offhand tone. "It's all for fun anyway. If we're beat, then Steve'll pick 'em to pieces."

Steve shrugged goodnaturedly. "Whose the one being competitive here?"

"You're too nice, big brother." She winked at them and added, "Good luck." Then Mori turned and made her way back to the other end of the alley.

Dan watched her go. "She's a fiery one, your sister."

"She's soft under that prickly skin, but you already knew that."

Dan sighed. Yes, he knew. Mori and he were good friends, even lovers at one point in time, but it would never work out. They were too much alike; much too stubborn, much too fiery. You can't change her, and you know you aren't going to change. Dan put that thought aside with a hint of regret.

"Well looks like the second round's about to start," he said aloud.

"You going back to the station?"

"Nah, I think I'm going to stick around. Give you some moral support."

Steve made a face; it creased his broad features. "Gee, thanks."

"What are friends for?" Dan settled back to watch round two of the bowl-off.

Horror/Mystery Snippet: The Apartment of Contradictions

WARNING: Implied violent death and gore. You've been warned.

 

"Okay, I'll be in the next room if you need me." 

"Fine." Alondra pushed open the door to the penthouse apartment. Dust tickled her nostrils as she swept her flashlight across the room. Nothing had been touched: the antique chairs, sat in the foyer, their cushions ripped and torn and never replaced. As she moved into the sitting room, it was as if she had crossed a barrier of time.

An old piano stood in the corner, its keys yellowed. Pictures still adorned the mantelpiece. Alondra reached out and wiped dust off one of them; an unsmiling schoolmarm glared back at her. A Tiffany glass lampshade sat on a writing desk. She pulled at one of the drawers, but it was locked. She glanced at the low marble table at the center of the room. A bottle of whiskey was surrounded by four glasses. 'Glenlivet 1874' read the label. Alondra's light paused on the tableau for a long minute before the realization hit her.

There was no dust on the whiskey bottle or the glasses. In fact, the ice in those glasses were still melting. She brought her flashlight on the floor; distinct footprints led from the table to a door leading into the bedroom.

That door stood ajar.

"Owain?"

"What?" came his voice from the storage room.

"I think I found something."

He climbed down the ladder and landed in front of the open apartment door. Like Alondra, he swept his flashlight around the room as he came in. He saw the drinks, the melting ice, the footprints.

"Very recent," he murmured. "Maybe right before we got here. Damn waste of a fine Glenlivet, though."

Despite the situation, a smilled tugged on her lips. "Mind covering me?"

He nodded. "RIght behind you."

They approached the bedroom door and positioned themselves on either side. Alondra counted silently to three, then kicked the door open, sending more dust into the air. She burst in, but even her training didn't prepare her for what she saw.

A huge canopy bed was draped by curtains, white silk gone yellow. One dessicated skeleton lay at the foot, two others on the bed. Reddish-brown splatters painted the walls, and a shattered skull lay in a corner. A white candle sat on the bureau next to the bed with the faint odor of lavender.

"What the bloody hell--?" Owain whispered.

"Curiouser and curiouser," said Alondra, quoting 'Alice in Wonderland'. The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight on end as she approached the bed. The two skeletons were entwined together in a lovers' embrace, as if they had died making love. She shivered as she made a quick visual inspection. There was no sign of trauma, no broken bones.

"Well, the skull belongs to our friend here," Owain said, pointing to the skeleton on the floor. "Someone kicked it over there, someone very recently." He scowled at the stains on the wall and went over to the largest patch. His gloved hand touched it gingerly and came back red.

"Alondra--"

"This doesn't make sense." She examined the candle; her own finger left an imprint in the wax. "Owain, let's get out of here."

"Too right," he agreed. They backed out of the strange bedroom and into the sitting room, not stopping until they reached the outer hall.

"This is weird," she said. "No one's been in there for fifty years or more."

"No one we know of," he corrected her. "I think we've stumbled into more we can handle. Let's leave this one to the quantum experts, shall we?"

Alondra nodded and wiped sweat off her brow. "There were four glasses of whiskey and three skeletons--"

"The dead don't drink, even if it's good Glenlivet," Owain said with a touch of dark humor.

She chuckled. "You're right, but--"

A groaning noise cut her off. She spun around and found another door slightly ajar. Again, they approached this new door with caution. This time, Owain entered first.

"Bloody Christ!"

A man lay sprwaled in a grimy, claw-footed tub, his eyes open, a trickle of blood from his mouth. This was definitely no skeleton; the smell of whiskey mixed with the smell of death.

Owain tapped his comlapel. "Team Three: we have a victim in Five-One-Five-Two."

Alondra swallowed her disgust and knelt beside the tub. She felt the man's forehead: cool, but not cold. A brief examination revealed a broken neck, possibly from falling into the tub, but that wasn't what bothered her. The man was sprawled in the same manner as the skeleton on the floor of the bedroom. His pants had been torn off him, and--

She turned away, gagging. Owain was at her side, holding her tightly until she recovered enough. 

"There's our number four," he said grimly, "and apparently, something decided to do more than just break his neck and clip his manhood."

She took another deep breath; there was a job to do. "All right, let's secure this area for the quantum team, and--"

Owain felt her tense up. "What is it?"

"Owain, we aren't alone."

He looked over his shoulder to see three figures standing behind them, blocking their only way out of the room. And all three glared at them with malevolent eyes.

 

Snippet: The Card Game

"Hey, glad to see ya! Thought you wouldn't show up." Mac shuffled the cards again, his fingers twirling them easily.

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind," Austin said.

"I'm glad you did," Mac Replied. His eyes met Austin's directly across the card table, his blue eyes to Austin's brown. Mac's dress code was comfortable, but casual, so he wore his lucky sweats. Bren, to his left, still had his knit cap perched on his head like an obnoxious helmet. 'Admiral' Drake proudly wore his flight jacket and 'USS Enterprise' cap. Thomas the Nerd wore a ridiculous smoking jacket. Adela, the lone woman, a dark overcoat.

But Austin, Austin was different. A white polo shirt, tailored slacks, all nice and neat. Definitely not the type you'd find around the poker table in a seedy apartment. Certainly not in Mac's apartment. As Mac gazed at him, he saw a fellow predator. A fellow rebel. A fellow risk-taker. One of his own kind.

Austin saw the gaze and smiled.

"So," Mac said, finally acknowledging the other players. "You all know the rules. Opening bet is fifty."

Chips flew and landed in the center of the tagble. Austin waited till he was the last, then he placed a single chip. It was red, not yellow.

Five hundred.

"Cocky, aren't we?" Adela asked him as she batted her eyelashes. She deliberately took a deep pull of her Guinness and put the bottle on her open chip box.

Austin's smile widened. THere were chukles all around, except for Thomas, who only glared at Austin.

"Only when necessary."

Mac smirked. "Let's start."

Mystery story snippet #1: The Ring

"My lady, I don't understand--"

"This is yours, is it not?" Doña Matilda held the silver ring up to the light. The scroll design on each side resembled the canopy of a tree. A clear, square-cut faceted diamond topped it.

Geraldo nodded, "Yes, but--"

"What was it doing in her room?"

"I don't know, Milady. I've never been there."

"Never?"

"Never."

"Even to visit?"

He scowled and replied, "No, I would never go there uninvited. I do have some sense of courtesy."

"Of course." Matilda's voice dripped sarcasm. "So a ghost took your ring and left it in my granddaughter's room."

"I don't believe in spirits, Milady. Someone must have taken it to her."

"Why would someone do that?"

"To frame me. I can think of no other reason."

Matilda laughed, high and bitter. "My granddaughter had been in seclusion, Geraldo. No one has visited her."

"There must have been maids, servants, ladies--"

"No one, Señor. No one. She wouldn't even see me, her grandmother." Matilda stared at the ring, turning it round and round in her tiny fingers. "As you can imagine it, she died in squalor. My little Raquela, dirty and disheveled like a street rat, and cluching your ring."

He shook his head. "I had nothing to do with her death, Doña. True, my ring had been missing for some time.I even sent my squire to the barrio to look for it."

"So if it was not you, it was your squire. Bernardo, isn't it?"

"I cannot believe he would kill Raquela--"

"Have you asked him?"

His tone was ironic. "Do you honestly think I'd ask him, 'Oh, by the way, did you murder Doña Matilda's granddaughter?'"

"You would have, if you'd cared enough."

"Dios," he snorted. "She pushed me away, not the other way around. She asked me to leave her alone and I honored her request. As I said, I have a sense of courtesy."

Matilda shrugged. She regarded the ring with new interest. "Then you would allow me to question your squire."

"Certainly, Doña. I'm also curious at what he has to say. As for my ring--"

She looked up at him, her dark eyes glittering in the light. "I believe I'll hold onto this a little while longer, Señor. After all, it is evidence."