Tag Archive | donor

Safe

For [profile] rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt for more of the Baram-and-his-house-elves story.

Baram and his family appear in:
Monster (LJ)
Memories (LJ)
One Sharp Mother (LJ)
The Life you Make (LJ)

Addergoole has a landing page here and on LJ

Jaelie looked at her new possession, back at her employer, and over to her child, before going through that cycle a second time, this time smiling. “All right,” she told her new Kept, “you heard the man. Viatrix?”

“Already on it.” Indeed, she was nearly to Baram already. “Shaina,” she called out to her oldest daughter, “get those kids inside. All of them, no arguments. Alkyone, can you help Jaelie and her new pet with the walls?”

“Got it,” Aly nodded. “Jae, I’ll get the back. Take a minute, get him up to speed before he puts a spear in one of us, all right? Make him safe.”

“On it.” She pointed at a bench, one she’d made herself, that would now need hours of repair from a stray axe swing. “You. Sit.”

He sat. He didn’t have any choice, but his expression suggested he was still affronted and surprised.

“I’d get used to it, if I were you,” she advised, amused. “You attacked us. You yielded, so you get to live. Doesn’t mean that we’re gonna follow Roberts Rules of Order or the Geneva Convention… you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“I understand the gist of it,” he answered primly. “We have been living here – ah, well, I have been living here; they had been, but they’re dead now – that is, in this country, in this world, for several months. Long enough to learn the language.”

“Good for you,” she sneered. “At least you’d learned enough to say ‘I yield.’”

“It seems to have turned out to be helpful,” he answered, looking a little ashamed. “But I do not know how it is you treat your prisoners here.”

“Well,” she pointed out, “you’re going to find out. And you’re not exactly a prisoner, now are you?”

“No? Err, that is, no.” He blinked. “No, sa’Briar Rose, I am not.” He bent his head in a show of submission.

“Very good. Now. Do not attempt to cause harm to me, the other adults of this family – Alkyone, Viatrix, or our employer, Baram. Do not attempt to cause harm to any child within our property, or to the children of the four adults of this family, ever. The property, for the purposes of your orders, is bordered by the stone wall, where its foundation stands right now, on three sides, the border finished by the line of hawthorn trees in the back. Do not leave said property without the permission of one of the adults here, henceforth defined as Alkyone, Viatrix, Baram, or myself. Do not…” She continued, watching his expression sink into defeat. When she had covered all the basics, she stopped; her throat was getting hoarse. “You can call me Jaelie when the children or others not of this family are around. When it is just the adults, you will call me mistress, or sa’Briar Rose.”

She smiled at him, although she knew it did not look friendly. “You can stand up now.”

He did so, smoothing his ripped and bloody pants. “Those orders were, ah, very thorough,” he coughed, clearly checking his mind to be certain even that complaint was acceptable. Jaelie smirked fiercely at him, and he continued. “Mistress. I was under the impression that you ladies were, mmm, young, due to your speech patterns, despite your fierce and very effective combat techniques.”

“We’re all under fifty,” she agreed. “We just had a very… thorough… education. And we believe in keeping our families safe.”

“I would love to see this school.”

“I’m sure the Director would love to get her hands on you, too. If you’re very good – or very bad – I may take you to meet her.”

“Oh. Good?” he asked weakly.

“Perhaps. Come on inside. You’ll be sleeping in my room. Be nice to my kids.”

“Ah, which of them are your kids?”

“Gerulf and Vondra. They’re the ones with green eyes, if it helps.”

“Green eyes. Right.” He looked so very lost. Jaelie patted his shoulder sympathetically.

“It’s not going to be that bad. We might be half-breed kids, but we know what monsters are, and we aren’t them.” No matter what their employer was billed as.

“Thank you,” he answered. “Ah… did you mention that one of the ‘adults’ here could heal… mistress?”

“Yes.” She patted his shoulder again. “Let’s take care of that before you fall over, pet.”

“Thank you, mistress,” he mumbled.

“I don’t have that much left for him,” Viatrix told them, “but I’ll keep him from falling over for now and take care of the rest of it tomorrow. Bossman was pretty badly ripped up.”

“I saw.” She frowned unhappily. “Did you get him to lay down and rest?”

“Only through threats and bribery.”

“Ah.” She winced on Via’s behalf. “If you need some help with that…?”

“You and Aly take care of the kids – and you’ve got this one to deal with.” She poked their new Kept in the ribs. “Right, you, what’s your Name?”

“Ah.” He squirmed uncomfortably, until Via poked him again. “Sorry. My name is Aloysius, oro’Briar Rose, clearly. I was Named the Pear.”

“Fruit or torture device?”

“You’re all very well-learned for… ah, yes. Both.”

“You might want to think on the merits of a new Name.”

He coughed again. “Well. I suppose, at the moment, that’s up to sa’Briar Rose.”

“Mmn. We’ll worry about that in the morning. I’m going to check on the kids. When Viatrix is done healing you, go into the kitchen and wait for me there. If you know how to do dishes without making a mess, it’s officially now your turn.”

“Yes, mistress.” Looking more than a little overwhelmed, he sat and allowed Via to heal him.

Jaelie headed into the living room, where Alkyone had herded the kids. All the kids. “Is it me?” she asked Jaelie. “Or did our child number double?”

“And then some,” she confirmed. “Kids’ friends from school. All right, kidlings, listen up.” She let her voice rise to drill-sergeant level. “I need you to split into two groups for a moment. If your mother lives here, over here,” she pointed to the left of the room. “If your mother does not live here, over here.” She gestured at the left of the room. “Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” called the boy who had told Gerulf that his dad was awesome. Slowly, the kids organized themselves, with a minimum of pushing and shoving.

“Please, ma’am,” one small kid said quietly. “Don’t make us leave. It’s scary out there, with the men with wings and things.”

“Stop making shit- stuff, sorry – stuff up, Xandra,” a bigger boy scoffed.

“I am not making things ups, Thomas Hidlay!”

Jaelie eyed the girl thoughtfully. “All right, all right. Line up for me, children who are not my offspring. Now. I want each of you to call your parents and let them know where you are. You first, loudmouth.”

“Hey, you can’t…!” another kid complained. “That’s mean.”

“Calling him loudmouth? Of course I can.”

“It’s not nice, though!”

“Well, is he nice?”

“No!” several other kids chimed in, but it was Vondra who protested quietly.

“Mom, he’s my friend.”

“All right, then, my apologies, Thomas. But please do call your parents.” She snuggled Vondra while Thomas made the phone call, mostly out of apology, partially because her babies were okay. She watched the kids on the phone, hiding here because here was safe, and held her own daughter even more tightly. She’d made the right decision, bringing them here. She’d made the right decision, picking a good monster to protect them.

And learning to protect them herself, of course. She glanced at the room where Baram slept, and smiled faintly. They were safe here. Other people’s babies might have to rely on them, too, but that was okay.

One by one, the kids called home. Some of their parents answered, and told them “stay put. Stay put and we’ll come get you.” Jaelie talked to the ones who wanted to talk to her, assuring them their kids were safe, safe, sound, and would be fed and cared for until they could get there. She’d take care of them.

The ones whose mother didn’t answer, whose father didn’t answer, she hugged, and told them the same thing. And “We’ll try again in the morning.”

Because there would be a morning. She looked out the front door one last time, and murmured a Working to the grass to eat what was left of their attackers. They would not have another morning, the interlopers, and Jaelie and her family would. And that was as it should be.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/184507.html. You can comment here or there.

“Self-Hating”

For meeks!

Meeks has posted a sketch (and on LJ) of the beginning of this story.

This is part of a continuation of the series –
Over the Wall (LJ Link),
The Black Tower (LJ Link,
The Pumpkin (LJ Link,
Skeletons (LJ)
Rule Three (DW)
and
Dwimors (LJ)

Zizny lowered its whole body into a crouch, until just its eyes and nostrils were regarding me over the wall. “You’re telling me,” it rumbled, “that your mother’s family are dwimors, and that, as well, that they are poachers.”

I could not meet its eyes at once – its head was simply too big. So I settled for looking it in one eye – and was suddenly thrown by the pronoun I was using to think about this creature, this person, my neighbor. “I’m sorry,” I asked abruptly. “You used ‘cx’za’ as, I believe, a pronoun for Jimmy. What pronoun is appropriate for you?”

The large head lifted, and Zizny showed me more teeth (very clean teeth; the ogres had had horrible dental hygiene) than it-she-Zizney had ever revealed to me before. “You are asking about appropriate grammar?”

“Well,” I shrugged uncomfortably. It would be very nice, right now, to back up, rub away, something. To put more distance between myself and this rather-irritated-seeming dragon. But Zizny was my neighbor. “I’m a student of the relations between the races,” I explained nervously.

“Academic curiosity, then?”

“Not at all! It’s really not academic to want to be polite to other people, is it?” For a moment, my pride was pricked, and I forgot to be nervous. “It’s not some scholarly study when these are the people you deal with every day!”

“‘People.'” Zizny settled back down. “For a grown adult dragon, the pronoun is ‘thez.’ But I do not object to you using ‘she’ for me and ‘he’ for Cthaiden. We have taken on those roles here, after all.”

“Aah.” I smiled ruefully at thez. “Thank you. It seems proper to use, well, the proper terms. It makes me feel more comfortable.” I took a long breath. “And it’s not a comfortable subject, Zizny. I can’t do anything about my grandparents and their family. I can’t do anything about their actions. Because, yes, they were poachers, hunters, and, I’m afraid, probably still are.”

Thez pinned me with a long gaze. “You are angry.”

“I am angry,” I agreed, “and Mortified.”

“Why?”

“I’m mortified that I have family that are… bigots. Worse than bigots. Relatively horrible people. And I’m angry about that, too.”

“And at the perceived assumption that you are like them.”

“And at that,” I agreed, very quietly.

“Anyone who would assume that, Audrey, has obviously not met you.” Thez set a finger on top of the wall, the claw curled around the stones. “If you were, indeed, a ‘monster hunter,’ you would be the most stealthy, hidden one ever. You have friends, as I have seen, with every race you have encountered.”

“Almost everyone.”

“Well, some people make it very hard to be their friends. But I do have a question for you.”

“Yeah? Yes?”

It tapped me on the shoulder very gently with a claw. “You call your family ‘self-hating.’ And you call them dwimors. You, I believe, are a dwimor?”

“I am,” I agreed. “We are.”

“Do you not risk, yourself, becoming a ‘self-hating dwimor,’ with the hatred and anger you are evidencing?”

“I… oh.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/181376.html. You can comment here or there.

Creeped Right Out

From rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt.

A continuation of Creeped, originally posted here and on LJ

Faerie Apoc, Addergoole Year 9 – landing page here (or on LJ)

Ceinwen scrambled for a handhold, anything to grab onto, her fingers finding nothing but water and more water, her feet finding nothing at all, even though she’d been on solid ground just a second ago. A pond. A sinkhole? This was ridiculous. She scrambled some more, flailing and trying to keep her head above water. She couldn’t see anything except the water and, what looked like a long way away, the hall. She couldn’t see the man like a tree at all, even though, even now, she wasn’t sure she wanted his help.

A strong hand, nothing like branches at all, grabbed her wrist and pulled her out. She flailed, trying to get her other hand around the wrist, managing just as she felt as if her arm would pop out of its socket. Thus hanging from a very strong-feeling wrist, dripping, over the impossible endless pool, she looked around.

She knew the guy holding her. Unlike everyone else around here today, he still looked human, normal, for a certain definition of normal; Thorburn was a big guy, especially for someone still in school, tall and broad-shouldered. In a school with sports teams, he’d probably have been a football player. Right now, he, dressed in a long-sleeved button down rolled up past his elbows, appeared to be playing fisher, with her as the fish.

“Easy, easy,” he murmured, pulling her to solid ground and setting her down next to him. Paying no attention to how wet she was, he held her against him, his hand settling across her lower back. “The halls aren’t safe during Hell Night.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” she panted. The guy with the pine needles was coming closer, walking around what looked like a very small sinkhole. Just small enough to nearly drown her.

“She looks tasty, Thorburn. Let us have a nibble?”

“Come on, Curry, you’re a herbivore. You’re not gonna chew on the girl.” Nevertheless, he was holding her tighter.

“I never said I’d eat her, but I might like a bite. She looks tender…”

“I’m not dinner,” she protested angrily, glaring at the guy… tree… thing.

“You’re already marinated and everything,” he leered. “Good thinking, wearing white.”

“Oh… Oh!” She clutched her arms over her chest, blushing, backing against Thorburn’s safe, human warmth.

“She does look good enough to eat.” And this was another voice altogether, gravelly, rocky… yes. She glanced up to see another big guy, and didn’t this school have any nice, skinny, small guys? She’d seen them, in her classes; they couldn’t have all Changed into monsters. She shrank further into Thorburn’s big-but-human strength as a walking statue, rough-cut of some black stone, thumped towards them. “Come on, Thorburn, cut us a piece.”

“No.” His voice was so very loud, this close to his chest. “No. Ceinwen is mine.”

“I’m what?” She twisted to look up at him; he was looking down at her very solemnly, very seriously. “Um… Ceinwen is Ceinwen’s.” Ug smash. Barbarian take girl. No thank you.

“You heard the girl,” the tree-man urged. Was that really Curry? He hadn’t seemed that nasty before. She stepped carefully away from Thorburn – the water was still right behind her – and glanced at the other men. Creatures. Maybe their nastiness was just hidden along with their weirdness.

“Yeah,” the stone guy agreed. “You heard her. If ‘Ceinwen is Ceinwen’s,’“ he quoted with a sneer, “then Ceinwen is fair game.”

“Fair game,” Curry echoed. “Come here, pretty girl. I wanna show you my cones. Then Basalt can show you his stones.” He giggles as if the horrible rhyming pun was the cleverest thing he’d ever said. Maybe it was.

“Um, no.” She stepped back towards Thorburn, just a little. “Not interested. Not big into the landscape features thing, sorry.”

Thorburn pulled her close again. “She’s mine, guys,” he repeated. More softly, he murmured to her, “It’ll make them go away. They’ll leave you alone if you’re mine.”

Basalt laughed loudly. “She doesn’t want to be yours, big guy. She wants us. She wants a real hard man.”

“A real guy,” Curry echoed, “not some cy-” the second man’s hand hit him hard across the jaw. “Ow, goddamnit! A real man. Send her over this way, big guy.”

Basalt glared at his friend for a moment, then turned back to Ceinwen, leering, beginning to come closer. “You’d have fun with us, pretty girl. And when we were done with you, well, there’s plenty of creeps wandering the halls. Plenty of guys who’ll want to have fun with you.”

“And some of the girls,” Curry leered, moving closer and closer, reaching out for her with an arm that seemed to grow.

“Leave her alone,” Thornburn rumbled. His hands were heavy on her shoulders. “I’ll take care of you, Ceinwen. Protect you from these creeps. From all the creeps.”

She turned to look at him, putting more distance between herself and the encroaching monsters. “Yeah?” she asked nervously. “You won’t let them touch me?”

He stepped forward, not sheltering her, but putting himself between her and them. “You’re mine,” he murmured. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“Aaw, don’t do that,” Curry whined. He was just a pine-needle away from her now; she backed up, scrabbling away from him, and found herself between Basalt and the water. Her foot slipped, and Basalt and Thorburn both grabbed for her.

Pulled between their two arms, she swung, scrabbling, over the pit. “Come on, pretty girl,” Basalt leered through a face like a landslide. “Come play with us.”

“She’s mine,” Thorburn yelled. “Let her go, Basalt.”

“I don’t hear her saying that.” Basalt tugged a bit, pulling her arms wide apart. Ceinwen bit back a whimper. “Come on, Thorburn, let go. Let us have our fun. You can have her when we’re done.” He licked his lips, even his tongue black and rocky. “Unless someone else outbids us.”

She lost control of the whimper, and it slipped out of her lips. “You’ll really protect me from them?” she asked, in a tiny voice. This was the twenty-first century; she wasn’t supposed to need a freaking chaperone. “I mean, I should be fine after today, but I’m… ow… sort of stuck.” She bit her lip, humiliated.

“I’ll protect you from all the creeps,” he assure her. “You’re mine.”

“I’m… ew. Ug Tarzan, me Jane.”

“You can swing from my vine,” Curry sniggered.

“Nothing like that,” Thorburn assured her. “Just… you know, think of it like an upperclassmen taking care of a younger student. Sort of a big-brothers little-sisters program.”

“Yeah, I’ll.. nevermind.”

“It’s not brotherly you’re looking for,” Basalt laughed. “But we sure as hell aren’t looking for a sister sort, either.”

Ceinwen, her arms beginning to go numb, looked between the two of them. “Thorburn,” she gasped, feeling his grip on her slip and fail. “I’m yours!”

Basalt swung her into his arms with impressive strength and surprising gentleness, her feet barely touching the water. Just as gently, he passed her over to Thorburn. “All yours, bro.”

Thorburn gathered her into his arms. “Now,” he murmured, “let’s you and me go have a talk.”

“I’d really like to eat first,” she protested. “I appreciate the rescue and everything, but breakfast…?”

He smiled gently, but it seemed to have an edge to it. “Shh,” he warned her, and put a finger over her lips. “we’ll talk, and then you can have lunch. But there’s some things you need to understand first.”

“…” It looked like she really did. Her mouth wouldn’t open; sound wouldn’t come out. She struggled upwards in his grasp, staring at him, gesturing angrily: what the hell?

He patted her arm. “Calm down and stay still until we’re in my room. You’ve said you’re mine. Now I have to explain to you what that means, and what it will entail.”

She calmed down, her lips still pressed together, and settled in his arms, still. Her mind was running in little circles, but they refused to be even all that upset of little circles. He had told her what to do, and she had done it. There hadn’t been any choice involved. There hadn’t been any… anything involved. She was… his? What the hell did that mean?

Two of the older students had been having a talk the other day, just them and her in the beginning of a class. The words “be careful what you say” had come up no less than four times. At the time, Ceinwen had thought it odd. Now, she wondered if it had been a warning.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/180816.html. You can comment here or there.

“Just Be Yourself”

From rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt.

A continuation of the Three-Way story.
3-Way originally posted here and on LJ, continued here (LJ) and then here (LJ and then
Here (Duet) and Here on LJ – and then here: Preferences (LJ) and here (and on LJ).


“I was hoping you’d be my girlfriend.”

Ahouva stared at Basalt. “You ripped out Kendon’s guts because you wanted a girlfriend? There’s got to be an easier way.”

“That was Jeremiah,” he demurred. “I beat them down until they yielded to rescue you.”

“I didn’t need rescuing!” More quietly, she added, “I was doing fine. I’d finally gotten to the point where I could make Kendon happy, where he didn’t yell at me much at all.” Now she was going to have to do it all over again with this guy. More subdued, and a bit nervous, she added, “you’re not going to be like Thorburn, are you?”

“Like him how?” he asked carefully. His knees were still touching hers. She should pull away, but she didn’t really want to.

“I’ve seen Ceinwen crying, when she doesn’t think anyone was looking,” she muttered.

“I’ve seen you do the same thing,” he countered, and she winced.

“Sorry! I don’t mean for anyone to see me; I’m just overreacting.”

“And you don’t think Ceinwen was?”

“Should I?” she asked nervously. “She seemed so level-headed, not a mess like me.”

He shook his head. “Damn. All right, this is going to tricky, isn’t it?”

“You could give me back?” she offered timidly.

He shook his head. “No. No, I’m not going to do that. After this, Kendon’s going to be worse than ever before.”

She winced, swallowing a comment. He’d just made things worse, no matter how you looked at it. “Then… tell me what you want from me?”

“Hold on, I’m still on your last question.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m kind of slow, so you have to be patient with me, okay?”

She nodded, not certain if the “hold on” meant to be quiet or not. That got her a real smile from him – he had a very nice smile, when he tried – and then a thoughtful sigh. “Okay. The short answer is, Thorburn and I took away different things from being under cy’Linden last year. I don’t know what he’s doing to make Ceinwen cry – I hadn’t known she was crying, though that explains some of the things Penny’s said – but I don’t want to do anything to make you cry.”

She stared at him. Kendon hadn’t liked her crying, either. “I can try not to cry…” she offered. Obviously she had to get better at hiding it.

He shook his head. “That’s not what I mean, Ahouva. I mean – you asked if I was going to be like Thorburn. And I’m telling you no, I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to be like Kendon, either.”

“Okay?”

He frowned, and she, wondering how she’d managed to upset him already, cringed. That just made him frown more deeply.

“Every evening, I’m going to ask you if I have done anything to upset you. I’m going to want – and order –to know everything, so if you have to write it down in a notebook to remember it at the end of the day, do that.”

“Okay?” This sounded like an excuse for punishment waiting to happen, but maybe she could change her definition of “upset?”

“If something bothers you badly enough that you want it to stop right away, tell me right away. Right then. Even if we’re in public.” He touched a finger to her nose. “I do not want to be upsetting you.”

She winced again, and nodded, because he seemed to want her to agree. “Okay? I mean, yes, sir.”

He sighed quietly. “Okay.” He seemed to be willing to let it go, at least. Maybe she’d be able to work around it. “On to your second question.”

She was getting lost. “Okay?”

“What I want from you.”

Oh, that one. She nodded, eyes down. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s Basalt,” he corrected gently. “I’m really not fancy enough to be sir for anyone.”

“Yes, Basalt.” She peeked up at him. “Not ‘master’ either?”

“Does it – be honest with me – make you happy to call someone master?”

Yes. No. Yes? “Maybe?” she offered carefully. “When I called Kendon master, sometimes it made him happy, and sometimes it made him angry.”

“But what about what you like?”

“I like having my owner happy with me!” Why did he keep asking what she liked? Why wouldn’t he tell her what he wanted out of her. “I like knowing what the right thing to do is!”

He sat back, lips closed tightly, and Ahouva quailed. Now she’d done it. Now he was going to be mad at her, and he was going to … what was he going to do? She peeked at him cautiously. She didn’t know what came next with him.

He had his face in both hands. “This… is going to be interesting.”

“You can still give me back.”

“No. I won’t.” He dropped his hands. “When you came here, you were a mouthy, bright, clever new kid. I liked you like that.”

“Nobody else did,” she muttered.

“Even if that’s true, which I doubt, they don’t matter, do they?”

Now he was on ground she understood. “No, master.” She smiled cautiously at him. “What you want is what matters.”

“Exactly. Good girl,” he added, saying the words very carefully. She shivered at the good feelings his words sent through her, as condescending as they were. He was happy with her?

He patted her shoulder gently. “What I want is you to be yourself. And I think that’s going to be trickier than I originally thought.”

She nodded, biting her lip. “How will I know what you like, then?”

“Mm. If you really bug me, I’ll let you know. But look, Ahouva, I’m really not that bright, and you are.”

“I’m not that clever. Kendon had to correct me all the time.”

“That’s because Kendon is an asshole, not because you’re not smart. When you came here, you thought you were pretty bright, didn’t you?”

She dropped her head. “I was stupid. I didn’t know how the world really was.”

“You were smart – are smart. You just didn’t know how to handle this place.”

“Kendon was teaching me.”

“Kendon was teaching you how to be a good little pet.”

“Isn’t that what being Kept is?”

“Only if that’s what your owner wants. What I want, as I said, is a girlfriend. You. Smart, mouthy, and clever.”

“Oh.” She blinked at him uncertainly. “What if I can’t be that anymore?”

He sighed, and, before she could say anything else, pulled her into his lap and cuddled her against him. “Then we’ll have to figure that out together.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/169433.html. You can comment here or there.

Aetheric Cleansing

For JanetMiles‘s commissioned prompt.

After Estate (LJ) and Lost Spirits (LJ)

and in the same setting as Heirlooms and Old lace (Lj)

“Three liters of water, boiling, with four cc of salt and one cc of rue. Testing with item one-seven-seven, ivory and brass dip pen.”

“Got it,” Johias nodded, and then, a moment later, “no. The aetheric resonances are still off the scale. What was your aunt up to, Ruan?”

“Wish I knew,” she sighed, pulling the pen out of the boiling water. “What’s next, salt, angel’s-tears, and holy water?”

“That’s after the holy water with rue. Here.” He handed her a towel, which she used to carefully wipe down the pen. There was no ghost inhabiting this one, yet, and if they were successful, there never would be. “Talking to the ghosts, they don’t even all seem to have known the woman. I suppose they still could have wronged her, if she was the sort to take offense at small things…”

“She was the sort to bind spirits into torment for her pleasure – well, for whatever purpose she had. I’m glad I didn’t ever get to know her. Holy water with rue, three liters boiling, one cc fresh.”

“You know,” he pondered, as he readied the aetheric detector, “it’s possible she had one of these set up for herself, as well.”

Ruan froze. “You think my father’s sister is in one of the ghost traps?” It still felt wrong to call Tansy an aunt.

“Well, it’s a possibility, at least. We haven’t checked for non-vocal ghosts because the ones we found were so very vocal.”

“I…” She dunked the pen very aggressively into the water and counted down seconds. “Ten.”

“Less aetheric resonance, we’re down to a measurable number. Nine point seven five.”

“That’s at least an improvement. Johais – I don’t like this woman very much.”

“I can’t say I fault you. Well, we could, perhaps, get some answers out of her if we did find her.”

“We could,” she admitted slowly, taking a towel and drying off the pen again. “All right, let’s try the salted holy water.”

“You don’t like the idea?” He aimed the detector at the third pot of water.

“Everything about the woman makes my skin crawl. She was evil, Johais, and that is not a word I use lightly. Evil, nasty, impolite… and I worry that she could, in some way, rub off on me. I don’t want to wake up evil.”

Johais kissed her forehead, just over the goggles, carefully. “Very unlikely.”

“Thank you.” They were alone, so she let the giddy smile she was feeling come out, just for a moment. “But you don’t know my family.”

“I have, to date, met thirty-five members of your family, counting the men, and that’s all your mother’s side. I’ve met four members of your father’s family, one of whom was, at the time, a ghost. I have a pretty good idea what your kin are like, my beloved. And I can easily see which family members you take after, and which you do not – and this one, this evil witch, if I may be so bold, is nothing like you.”

“You say the sweetest things. Holy water, three liters from St. James on East and Main, with three cc’s of salt and one drop of angel’s-tears, which, I will note, we’re almost out of.”

“Ready.”

She dipped the pen into the concoction, not, by this point, expecting much result. They had tried every suggestion from every aunt, cousin, grandmother, friend, quack, and even a couple from her father and uncles, and, to date, holy or not, water or vodka, nothing had given them the results they’d been looking for (although the blessed vodka had burst into flames, carrying with it a beautiful mother-of-pearl cigarette case said to belong to a former burlesque dancer).

“And… oh, my. That did it, Ruan. The aetheric reading just dropped to zero. Ruan, I think we found the solution… pardon the pun.” Johais was smiling from ear to ear as he set down the aetheric detector and hugged her tightly and rather inappropriately.

She didn’t mind. She pulled the pen out of the water and set it aside to hug him back properly, and, even less appropriately, kiss him very firmly on the lips. “You,” she murmured, “you wonderful man. I could not have done it without you.”

“I wouldn’t have had it to help with without you. This is a brilliant project, Ruan, a concrete application of research. And we succeeded!” The man’s glasses were fogging up, he was so happy.

“Once,” she pointed out. “Once, and with a very rare and difficult-to-obtain component. And we won’t know if we succeeded, in truth, until poor Mr. Anthony passes away.”

“Well, we have achieved something, at least! That’s… Ruan, did you kiss me?”

“I did. And you kissed me back.” Her own goggles were fogging as well; it had been a nice kiss, but not, she thought, quite that nice. “It was very pleasant.” She pulled the goggles off to clean them on the hem of her apron.

“It… what would your father say?”

“At this point, I believe ‘thank goodness you’ve managed to do something at all about Tansy’s mess.’ He’s quite embarrassed about the whole thing.” It wasn’t her goggles, she realized; the salted holy water was steaming over. She turned off the stove and moved it from the burner, then, to be safe, moved all the other vessels as well. The holy components had, after all, reacted very strangely to Tansy’s possibly-damned-artifacts. “Could you point the aetheric meter at the water, please?”

“That wasn’t quite what… well. Yes. But then I’d like to discuss this kiss again, if you don’t mind.” He stepped back away from her to point the boxy machine at the steaming water. “Ah… one moment, my glasses… hrm. Do did we simply transfer the aetheric connection into the water?”

She peered at the meter. “I don’t think so. There’s not nearly enough resonance left for that. It does make me wonder, though – and worry about pouring the water down the drain. Perhaps if we let it sit? As long as it doesn’t evaporate – I’d hate someone to die and then be bound to individual water particles throughout the world.”

“But it would be awfully convenient to know when he died.” Johais set down the meter and wiped his glasses off again. “Ruan, you kissed me.”

“Would you like me to do so again? To compare the results, of course, purely scientifically.”

“I do not believe there is anything at all scientific about what I am feeling, unless one wants to delve into biology. Quite messy.” The steam was curling his hair – and hers – and both goggles and glasses were fogged again.

“Johais, I’m fairly certain that whatever happens between us, it is going to be both biologic and messy.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/167824.html. You can comment here or there.

Rule Three

For kelkyag‘s commissioned prompt.

Dragons Next Door Verse. DND has a landing page – here (or on LJ)

This comes after Over the Wall (LJ Link),
The Black Tower (LJ Link,
The Pumpkin (LJ Link,
and
Skeletons (LJ)

The dragon next door studied me, its claws flexing and settling down. Pinned between my shame and my discomfort, I was growing testy, feeling like a small creature in the regard of a much larger predator – which, of course, I was – with a rather reasonable urge to run and hide.

But Zizny wasn’t the enemy. Zizny was my very nice neighbor, and grown women did not run and hide from their neighbors. Instead, I coughed, and regarded the dragon calmly. “You seem very interested in our past.”

“I have been thinking quite a bit about my own,” it admitted. “And also, after a conversation with the Dapples down the street, I have been realizing that I am as guilty of making assumptions as any of the small races are.”

Only to dragons and giants are centaurs considered a small race. I spared a thought to wonder what they considered the tiny races (the nano-scale? Our terminology predated such terms, although it was possible dragons could not focus sharply enough to deal with the tinies). But there were other matters at hand, so I put that aside for another day. “Assumptions?” Anything to avoid talking about my family, please.

“Assumptions. For instance, that the centaurs were a family group.”

I admit, I felt a little smug. Only, I need to point out, because I’d made such a stupid mistake when it came to the Smiths and gender, and was still feeling the need to redeem myself.

The smugness just made me feel guilty, though, and I admitted “I’ve done the same. I suppose we all do; Smokey Knoll is a… very varied area. It’s hard to find two households from the same culture here, any given culture.”

“Indeed.” It dropped its jaw in either an invitation to climb inside or a parody of a laugh. “I thought all humanoid races were the same for quite a while.”

“I’ve found a tendency to overlay human society and perceptions onto other races,” I could admit comfortably now. “Gender roles included.”

“I think it’s a common habit,” it nodded. “Especially when your race is the dominant one in an area. Humans living in the dragon caves up north have often adjusted to our habits, as much as they can, so we attempt to do the same here.”

“I’d noticed,” I smiled. It would be interesting to live in a dragon cave; I could imagine that Sage would love it for his research. Maybe when the children were grown… I sighed.

Zizny blinked, far too perceptively for my comfort. “I will be sad when Jimmy flies the nest,” it admitted quietly. “There are so many predators out there that I cannot protect cx’za from.”

I nodded. “Yes. I worry about the decisions Jin will make, left on his own.”

Another perceptive glance. “You did not make good decisions when you were his age?”

“I didn’t have a lot of room to make decisions when I was a teenager.”

“No? Someone else made them for you?”

“My parents. My grandparents.”

“The same ones that you did not invite to your wedding to Sage?”

“The same,” I agreed tiredly. “That was one of the first decisions I made on my own. That was Rule Three.”

“I’ve been curious about your marital ‘rules’ for quite some time,” it admitted. “Tell me, what is Rule Three?”

“Rule Three.” I smiled wistfully, remembering. “We hadn’t been dating long, Sage and I, but I was having a bad time of it. I kept running into things where I’d say ‘my mother’ this and ‘my mother’ that, or if it was really bad, ‘my grandmother.’ It had to get really, really bad for me to mean Grandmother Austen, my father’s mother. Usually I meant the one who was paying my tuition to the Pumpkin. It wasn’t so much that I lived in fear of disappointing her as that I knew, without a doubt, that everything I’d done since being conceived was a disappointment. Grandmother O’Reilly is like that.” Even all these years later, it made me wince to think of it.

“Impossible to please? Judgmental?” Zizny asked, in what I thought was a sympathetic tone. “She sounds like a very difficult woman.”

“That is a very, very good way to put that. Very apt. She never approved of my mother’s marriage to my father – my dad’s family is dirt poor, what Grandmother O’Reilly would call ‘trash.’ I was a failure in her eyes just existing; she sent me to the Pumpkin in hopes that it would either kill me or, somehow, redeem me.”

“A lovely family.”

“She’s the best of the lot. But she was hanging over me in my head, this specter of everything I was doing wrong, and I know it came out in how I acted, in what I said. Finally, after the nine hundredth or thousandth time that I said ‘my mother’ or ‘my grandmother,’ Sage sat me down and had a talk with me.”

“‘I am not dating your ancestors,’” he said. And that, even now, made me smile. “‘I am not dating your mother, and I don’t want to marry her. I want to marry you.’ And that is how he proposed to me and instituted Rule Three all at once.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/166596.html. You can comment here or there.

Neighborhood Watch, a story of Dragons Next Door for the Giraffe Call

Consider this a down payment on kelkyag‘s commissioned request.

Dragons Next Door Verse. DND has a landing page – here (or on LJ)

This comes after Fears (LJ Link) and Loopholes (and on LJ).

The neighborhood had been getting weird.

Juniper, babysitting Baby Smith as she did most afternoons after school, found that there were three pixies sitting in the windowsill – not kids, either, but adults, armed with tiny spears and wicked-looking knives. She fed them sugar-water and a well-diced tomato, and, since they didn’t seem to want to play, went back to reading to Baby and playing Pirates Against the Mean Monarchy and Princesses Held Down by the Cruel Oppressors and Adventure on the Island (which was her favorite, though it helped to have more people).

Baby was starting to follow what she said, although it still only answered on belches and burbles (and the occasional tiny steam-gout, which mostly only curled her hair). But even Baby noticed something was up when the Harpies started flying by the next day.

It only got weirder. Juniper would have thought that the Smiths and her parents had decided she couldn’t be trusted, except that all the kids in the neighborhood were getting the same treatment. Three centaurs had started galloping alongside the bus home from school – just their bus, just the bus to Smokey Knoll, not the busses to the human neighborhoods – and the gremlins that you never saw were suddenly a little bit visible, sticking out of mailboxes and, on more than one occasion, hiding in Juniper’s backpack.

“It’s the poacher, isn’t it?” she asked Jin, who was spending a lot more time around the house lately. She didn’t know if he’d answer her – Jin was in that weird place between kid and grown-up – but when he nodded, she risked another question. “Nobody poaches human kids. I can see protecting Baby, but what are the gremlins doing following me at school?”

Jin’s face did the switch-thing it had been doing lately, kid-adult-kid, and, instead of giving her a decent answer, he squished her into a hug.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/165780.html. You can comment here or there.

Trash and Treasures, The Aunt Family, for the Giraffe Call

For JanetMiles‘s commissioned prompt.

Just after Heirlooms and Old lace (Lj),

and in the same setting as Estate (LJ) and Lost Spirits (LJ)

Commenters: 0

It took Evangaline’s family less than a week after her yard sale to start coming to her with complaints.

She had been expecting the nosy visits, wanting to see what she was doing with the old house, now that she had managed to clear out some of the clutter (or throw away priceless family heirlooms, depending on who you asked).

She had anticipated the complaints about her color choices, the inappropriate gifts of things to make the house the way her cousins, sisters, aunts, and grandmother thought it ought to be; she had come armed with several stock phrases to fend off opinionated relatives, the chief among them being, “If you’d like to live here instead of me, I’m sure you could paint it however you wanted.”

She had three unmarried nieces on whom she refused that line, however, and she paid close attention to the opinions of the youngest, Beryl. Their tastes weren’t identical, but there were enough similarities that she could allow Beryl to design a guest room to her own tastes – with the added benefit that such annoyed, distressed, and confused Beryl’s mother without in anyway giving her ground to stand on. There were benefits to being the maiden aunt.

She was still stripping out old molding and repainting the walls, taking every spare moment of time between work and other commitments to work on the house before inertia could catch up with her and resign her to chintz and floral patterns, and so she was in her oldest clothes and up on a stepladder in the living room when the first of the complainers came stomping in.

Her Aunt Antonia hammered a cursory knock at the door and let herself in, the way she probably had when the house was owned by her sister Asta. “Eva,” she snapped, “this rose you sold me is trash.”

“Hello, Aunt Tony. There’s tea in the kettle and cookies in the jar. I’ll be just a moment.” She didn’t bother turning to look. If she turned to look, she might make eye contact.

“Did you hear what I said? The rose is broken.”

“I’ll be right with you. I just need to finish the crown moulding or I’ll get lines.”

“Strip it and do it again. It’s a horrible color anyway. Asta never would have used something like that.”

“But she willed me the house, Antonia. I’d pass it to you, if you wanted it…?” It was a safe offer, after all.

“Tea in the kettle, you said?” Her mother’s oldest sister huffed into the kitchen, giving Evangaline time to finish painting the lovely plum shade onto the elaborate crown moldings. She wondered, in passing, if anyone else had ever noticed the sigils and signs painted tone-on-tone in the shadowed portions of the trim. She wondered if that’s why they were so worried about her redecorating.

She picked up her tools quickly, rinsed the brush in the laundry-room sink and then, having kept her aunt waiting long enough, headed into the kitchen. There, Aunt Antonia was perched uncomfortably on the narrow chair Eva kept bare of books or paperwork for just that reason, eating a cookie and drinking heavily creamed and sugared tea.

“Finally,” she huffed. “This place is a wreck, Evangaline.”

“I’m still moving in,” she answered placidly. “There’s a lot to be done, and a lot of moving about, and-” she brought it up even though she knew better “-I’m working it all around my job.”

“You don’t need to work now, you know. The family trust fund will take care of you.”

The trust fund had been left over from an era when women did not, as a general rule, work outside the house. Eva shook her head. “I like working. The house will take as long as it takes.”

“But you can’t properly host company until it’s done.”

“Well then, I will improperly host company until then,” she answered tiredly, clearing off the comfy seat and taking two cookies for herself. “Now. The rose?” Maybe then she could get her out of here.

“The rose is broken! When Asta was a little girl, it used to smell like flowers all year round.” She waved the glass sculpture indignantly at Eva. “Now it smells like stinkberries.”

Eva took it from her Aunt carefully. It hadn’t smelled like either flowers or stinkberries to her – and now that she sniffed it again, it seemed to small faintly of rosemary and sage. “Mmm. Perhaps it is.” Safer to agree than to suggest that her Aunt’s personality stank. “I’ll refund you the twenty-five cents you paid for it.”

“But it’s a treasure! It’s worth hundreds of dollars! The craftsman who made those was a friend of Aunt Ruan’s; he only made a hundred.”

“Mm, but you paid twenty-five cents.” She pulled a quarter out of her pocket and passed it over. “If that’s all…”

Aunt Antonia was only the first of the visits Eva received as a result of her yard sale. Some admitted quietly that the item they had gotten was a family treasure, charmed or enchanted or cursed in some useful manner, and worth far more than they paid. To them, Eva said “Keep it. It’s still in the family, after all, and I don’t need it.”

Some complained that the item they had thought was a steal turned out to be trash; Eva refunded their money if they were willing, or sent them on their way if they couldn’t let go of the thing. Some wanted to know what she’d sold and to whom; she did her best to ignore the ones that made that question sound like a demand. She had an inventory, of course, but it was none of their business.

She didn’t want to admit, either, that she hadn’t known about all the enchanted items she’d sold, some of them to complete strangers. She was fairly certain she’d kept the nastiest ones in the house, and the most powerful in the family, but the more complaints she got, the more stories of “Aunt Asta’s friend” or “Aunt Ruan’s associate” she heard, the less certain she was.

The complaints about the yard sale trinkets, like the complaints about the house, surged and trickled off, until she allowed herself to believe, two months later, that she was done with family meddling for a while. She had her music blasting, all the window open to the unseasonably warm autumn day, and her skimpiest, oldest tank top on over a neon-pink bra when her Great-Aunt Rosaria knocked on her door.

Eva tried not to squirm with embarrassment as she poured her grandmother’s sister a mug of fresh tea, having cleared off the most comfortable chair in the living room for her.

“The place is coming along well,” Rosaria murmured. “I see you re-did the protections – but, interesting, you got rid of the evil eye, there. I always thought that leant a certain urgency to door-to-door salesmen’s visits for Ruan.”

“I didn’t like the FedEx guy dumping and running quite so much,” she admitted nervously. “You don’t mind the plum?”

“I think it makes it look like a French Whorehouse in here, but if you want that look, it’s your house. That’s how the thing is set up, after all.”

“Thank you.” She wracked her brain, trying to remember what her oldest surviving relative had bought at the yard sale. “No problem with the doilies or the ash tray then?”

“Aah, the tatting whines sometimes on a cold night, but it’s always done that. Surprised Asta kept it around. And the ash tray – well, when you want that back, dear, come and get it. I came to bring you these.” She pulled an ancient-looking ledger book and a slightly-more-modern spiral-bound notebook from her bag. “I can’t find Elenora’s or Zenobia’s, and neither could Asta – you might try between the walls.”

Not wanting to look greedy, Eva leaned forward carefully towards the books. “I’m sorry…?”

“Their catalogs. Asta gave me these before her death, to keep them out of her sisters’ hands. I wanted to see how you handled the hodgepodge on your own before I gave you her notes.”

Eva’s heart skipped a beat. “And…?”

“I’ve been watching you since you moved in here, dear. I’d say you’ve been showing very discerning eye.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/163546.html. You can comment here or there.

Frying Pans, etc.

For The [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s commissioned prompt, a follow-up to Fae-Bane (LJ)

Faerie Apoc, Addergoole Year 9 – landing page here (or on LJ)

Commenters: 0

Timora had two little brothers and an older stepbrother. The moment the hand covered her mouth, she did what had worked so many times before – she licked it.

“Ew!” The hand pulled away, giving her a chance to turn around and see her would-be assailant. The boy held up both hands defensively, then quickly dropped one to wipe it on his pants. “Just… be quiet for a minute, okay, and come here in the shadows. I swear I mean you no harm today.”

Today. She nodded uncertainly, and let him tug her deeper into the shadowed hallway, trying not to stare. It was hard; even in the dim light, his eyes gleamed green – and slit-pupiled, like a cat, which, given the tiger-like ears sticking out of his hair, made sense. She reached out to touch one, wondering if they were on some sort of headband. She’d seen some of the upperclassmen with – Calvin said it was a Mask, like a glamour out of a fairy tale – with their glamour down, but she hadn’t been brave enough to touch. Now – well, he didn’t look scary at all. He looked, if anything, like he was afraid of her.

His ear twitched, and he chuckled nervously. “They’re real,” he assured her. “Now… please don’t scream, okay? I can’t protect you if you make me run away.” He gestured dismissively to a complaint she hadn’t voiced. “Okay, okay, you can do pretty well making everyone else run away too. But… you’ve noticed some weirdness?”

Timora pinched his ear pointedly. Weirdness, said the boy with cat ears. Siberian tiger ears, she was pretty sure. And oddly familiar, although the stripes were throwing her off.

“Ow! Yeah, okay. And some of the strangeness is… inhuman…?”

She didn’t pinch his ear again, much as she wanted to, instead wiggling all her fingers at him: oooh, scary woogy stuff.

“Yes, that, exactly. All right. So, did you wander the through the Hallway of no Sound?”

Hallway of no… She shook her head, then nodded it, hoping he got the point – she understood. Would her voice really scare people away? Or was this another stupid prank? “Calvin…” she began, and stopped when the boy’s ears went flat.

“Calvin ran away when you screamed. Ass that he is, he was probably waiting to trap you.” He shook his head – more and more, she thought she ought to know him, if only he weren’t so catty – and kept talking before she could try voicing another objection, or the oh, god, I made him run away, now he’ll never go to a dance with me. “I know he seemed nice, Timora, but a lot of people are really nice around here until Hell Night.”

“How…” Was she going to have to go through life mute? She pressed her lips together unhappily.

“Oh… sorry.” He made a complex hand gesture, and then, from behind him somewhere, produced a fedora. The hat went on his head – and the stripes and slitted eyes vanished, revealing a boy she’d sat behind in Lit and next to in History for two weeks. “I’m Porter.”

She mimed “Oh,” figuring that was safe enough, and gestured out into the hall and back to their hidey hole: What are you doing hiding here?

He was really quite good at charades. “The same thing as every other upperclassman on Hell Night,” he told her sadly.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/161126.html. You can comment here or there.

One Sharp Mother

For [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s commissioned request for more from the Baram story posted in Monster (LJ) and Memories (LJ)

Faerie Apoc, Addergoole Year 17 – landing page here (or on LJ)

Thanks to @inventrix and @dahob for the names.

Commenters: 0



Late October, 2011

Jaelie was in the garden when the gods attacked. The garden, such as it was, was her territory, her sanctum and responsibility. She’d been the first to be hired, such as it was, by Baram (“bought” might have been more accurate, but the pay was good and the work not onerous, and she had little to complain of), the first to come looking for him after graduation, intrigued by the legend he’d left behind, and she’d thus been the first to carve out her own place in his haven.

She’d taken to spending her mornings there, getting it ready for winter, mulching the beds and wrapping the trees. Baram didn’t mind what they did in the areas of the house and yard they’d claimed, so she coaxed hawthorn and rowan trees into a hedge along the back and grew tomatoes, peppers, potatoes (their employer was quite the meat-and-potatoes sort of guy), herbs and poisons along the fences, strawberries for the kids and squash for Viatrix. It gave her something to do with her free time, and a way to practice her Working and keep the magical muscles, as her former Mentor liked to call them, in shape.

Pruning the hawthorn – doing anything with the hawthorn, but on this day, she was pruning it – took thick gloves and a patient hand, Workings mumbled under the breath and a quick eye for trouble, so it wasn’t until the kids came yelling into the back yard that Jaelie realized their city had been invaded.

She counted noses with the force of habit – two, three, five, six, nine? Nine? Like every graduate of Addergoole, she had her two, and Baram’s other two “house elves” had theirs with them as well, (at least in Alkyone’s case, not out of any maternal sense, but because Addergoole taught you to never give up any advantage, and never give away anything for free). There should be six children, and – she counted again – yes, the six that were theirs were there, as well as, no, not three, another six kids from the neighborhood. Seven; they were trailing slowly in past her gates, looking around nervously.

“What’s going on?” she asked sharply, looking to the children that belonged here for an answer.

Gerulf spoke up first – the oldest and one of Jaelie’s by blood. “School got let out and nobody’s parents are home, but I knew you’d be here, so I figured this was safer.”

Safe was an acceptable reason to break protocol by bringing friends home. “Safer?” she repeated anyway. “What’s going on?”

“There’s monsters in the streets,” one of the kids’ friends offered. “And some sort of dragon in the air.”

“Shit.” She ignored the giggles from the kids not her own. “Ger, get them inside. You know the drill. Stop and let Vi and Aly know what you told me, then get behind the heavy doors.”

“Aw, come on, Mom.” He’d just turned ten and, with Baram as his male example, thought he was old enough to fight the world. “Can’t I stay and help?”

“No.” She pulled the trump card. “You need to protect Lilja.” Vi’s youngest was barely three years old, the pampered baby sister of their tribe. “Go.” She shooed them on, not wanting the mundane children to see what she was about to do.

~

Jaelie never knew if the creatures followed some sort of scent-of-Ellehemaei, or if it was sheer dumb luck that they stumbled into her hedge. By the time they arrived, her Workings had taken hold, and the sleepy hawthorns had transformed into an angry hedge. She wasn’t Named Briar Rose for nothing, after all, and the first creature through was nearly dead by the time he reached her.

To her flanks, Viatrix and Alkyone had finished the pit traps and were waiting with to burn and shock any intruders. They’d hoped they’d be lucky enough to be missed – even with the hedge, from the outside they still looked much like any other house on the block – but they weren’t taking chances. They hadn’t survived four years of Addergoole by taking stupid chances.

When the first creature broke through – fell through, really; her hedges were hungry and she’d taken lessons from Valentina as well as Valerian – Jaelie speared him to the ground. “Submit,” she demanded.

He coughed blood on her shoes, blood that slowly began eating at the leather of her boots. “Bitch,” he choked, “I’d rather die.”

Viatrix obliged him, her backhanded stroke casual enough to make Jaelie wince, while Alkyone turned to knock down the next intruder. Then a third came through, and a fourth, and the battle was on in earnest.

The combat was bloody and hard. Training her magical muscles or not, Jaelie had been out of school for six and a half years, and PTA meetings were an entirely different sort of battle. Her sisters in arms, younger, fresher, and cy’Fridmar, both of them, fared somewhat better, but the damn things kept coming. In all, Jaelie counted nine of the returned-gods monsters, although at least three of them could have been the same guy with an obnoxious power.

With every thrust and stroke and Working, with every cut she took and every stab she dealt out, Jaelie focused on keeping the intruders from the house, wondering, even as she fought and bled, where the hell their monster was. Where was the man who had bought their service with his protection and cash? Where was the monster she’d sought out because, of all of Addergoole’s legends, he seemed as if he’d be possible to work with? As the battle pressed on, the thoughts took two directions at once – damnit, where’s Baram when we need him? and shit, where’s Baram? If there’s this many here…

And then they had the last asshole pinned to the ground, three rowan spears holding him on place, and Viatrix was spitting out the line they’d already used five times. “Submit.”

“I yield,” this one choked out, through a mouthful of blood – thankfully not the burning sort. “Shit, you women are fierce. I didn’t think a halfbreed could…”

“Not the throat, Alkyone!” At the last minute, the former cy’Fridmar’s second spear went into the asshole’s chest instead.

“Yield better,” Jaelie told the returned-and-debased god, amused despite herself. “We’re not big on senses of humor around here.”

The god – probably a Grigori, or whatever they called themselves when they stepped through from the other side – coughed ruefully. “I place myself in your hands, because I don’t really want to die to-” he fell into a hacking fit for a moment “-day. What’s your Name?”

They shared a look, and, in the end, it was Jaelie who offered “Briar Rose.” She’d had lots of practice getting the tone right – laugh and I’ll kill you. He didn’t laugh this time.

“Then I am yours, Briar Rose, until you choose to release me.”

Her answer was cut short by a crashing from the front lawn.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/160866.html. You can comment here or there.