What is it with the blasted dog and Thursday middle-of-the-night/morning jaunts? 1:49 a.m. and I'm wide awake after chasing her . . . AGAIN. ARGH! I'm going to have to buy her a harness, something she hasn't needed since she was a pup. But there's no help for it, because I'm SOOOOOOOOO not doing this again if i can help it. I can't afford to be this tired.
But tonight, since sleep evades, I'm going to try to write.
UGH!
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Deadline Insanity
OY!
Okay, we're in the last month of the book deadline. My mojo has returned and my muse is happy. But my BODY is trying very hard to say "screw you buddy." I love to travel. Travel does not love me. It exhausts me, which trips the trigger for a couple of the chronic medical conditions. UGH. Still, there you go. The deadline is the deadline. I am up in the wee hours writing, then writing again after the day job. The house is filthy (and will get filthier yet before I get the book finished). All of the many, MANY other things that a writer has to do to keep things rolling (interviews, sending swag, sending interviews OUT, updating information on the website, writing up proposals, etc., etc., etc.) have to wait unless they are absolutely critical. The book comes first as the books are the engine that drive the whole machine. It is a familiar scenario. That doesn't make it easy.
ANYWAY, I'm blogging quickly before I duck out and get ready for the day job.
The visit with the family was wonderful. Glad I went. But OY am I TIRED.
Now I'm off and running.
Be well. Be happy.
Cie
Okay, we're in the last month of the book deadline. My mojo has returned and my muse is happy. But my BODY is trying very hard to say "screw you buddy." I love to travel. Travel does not love me. It exhausts me, which trips the trigger for a couple of the chronic medical conditions. UGH. Still, there you go. The deadline is the deadline. I am up in the wee hours writing, then writing again after the day job. The house is filthy (and will get filthier yet before I get the book finished). All of the many, MANY other things that a writer has to do to keep things rolling (interviews, sending swag, sending interviews OUT, updating information on the website, writing up proposals, etc., etc., etc.) have to wait unless they are absolutely critical. The book comes first as the books are the engine that drive the whole machine. It is a familiar scenario. That doesn't make it easy.
ANYWAY, I'm blogging quickly before I duck out and get ready for the day job.
The visit with the family was wonderful. Glad I went. But OY am I TIRED.
Now I'm off and running.
Be well. Be happy.
Cie
Monday, July 06, 2009
New Website is Up!
The new website is up. It's gorgeous. Some of the information on the page still needs to be updated, but that's our problem not the designer's. PLEASE go take a look. We're very proud of it and comment here.
www:/ciecatrunpubs.com
Thanks!
Cie
www:/ciecatrunpubs.com
Thanks!
Cie
Back From the Trip
Went to visit the family for a few days. It was a great visit, but I am utterly and completely exhausted, and didn't get the chance to write as much as I should have. I will, however, worry about that tomorrow. Right now I'm going to bed.
G'night.
Oh, and Ellece, you are SOOOOOOO cool. Thank you so very much for MY swag, and my anipix. I thought I'd blow a gasket over the Rolaids pic. The people in the next hotel room thought I was losing my mind the way I was laughing. You're the best.
Cie
G'night.
Oh, and Ellece, you are SOOOOOOO cool. Thank you so very much for MY swag, and my anipix. I thought I'd blow a gasket over the Rolaids pic. The people in the next hotel room thought I was losing my mind the way I was laughing. You're the best.
Cie
Thursday, July 02, 2009
I KNOW it's not Friday, but . . . SERIAL
All right, fine. It's not Friday. It's three in the freakin' morning on THURSDAY. But I'm flying on Friday, and the dog slipped her chain while she was out in the middle of the flippin night at 2:15 because she just HAD to pee, and then she got out of the fence and led me on a merry (for her) chase all around the neighborhood (we're talking several blocks here), completely ignoring all of those lessons and obedience stuff because it would be so much fun (AGAIN for HER . . . at least until she got caught) and NOW I don't think I could sleep if my friggin life depended on it. Although I suspect about the time it's time to go to the day job my body will decide, WELL if you INSIST (SNORE LOUDLY).
Can you tell I'm a little FRUSTRATED? I KNEW you could.
Anyway, with that in mind, grab your bowl and hang on. Oh, and if the story's affected by my mood, so be it.
*******************************************************************
Chapter 1 -- I Hate Weddings.
Yellow eggplant arriving dusk.
I looked at the letters on the miniature screen, my brow furrowing. WTF?
"You have got to be kidding me." I talked to the creature in my hand. Yes, it was a creature. It LOOKED like one of those nifty hand-held telephone devices that are all the rage (to the point where the humans will risk life and limb to poke at them with their thumbs when they're indulging in life-threatening activities) and can do everything but tap dance. I would've preferred it look like a cat, or maybe a Labrador. But nope. The boss insisted. Probably because Celeste is allergic.
Ah, Celeste. My partner. Again not my choice.
My name is JoAnn. I'm a clairvoyant. A seer. If I ever get a handle on my "gift" I'll be a strong one. At least that's what they tell me. They being the Academy. Because I'm a clairvoyant, I got paired with a wizard, magic user type. In this case, Celeste. Celeste Rogan-Styles soon to be Rogan-Styles-Woodard. Yes, those Rogans, Styles, and Woodards. The ones who created the Academy after the last big infestation nearly wiped out civilization as we know it. (The "big three" as it were were very big on civilization. At least judging by their descendants.)
That she was paired with a former street-urchin, no matter how powerful, is a source of horrible mortification for Celeste. I know this because she's told me. Loudly. Ad nauseum. She has also tried to use every ounce of influence she and her family have to get the situation changed. Apparently Alara, the current Dean, was not impressed.
Damn it.
Her influence did manage to get us a seriously cushy assignment for our training period. There hadn't been an actual blight infestation on good ole earth ever. The blight, are nasty creatures. They're invisible to the naked eye. They don't smell. You can't taste them. But the damage they can do is truly horrific.
Here's how it works. A single blight latches on to a person. It soaks into their skin, becomes a part of them. It starts by feeding on the energy of their thoughts and emotions. Slowly, it turns them darker, and darker: anger, fear, despair, black rage, suicidal depression take over. And while it's feeding on their energy, it's breeding. Little eggs, no bigger than the head of a pin, form in the large muscles. MILLIONS of them. As they grow their shells put out enzymes that dissolve the muscle tissue so it can be absorbed as food for the unhatched babies. The host is being eaten alive, and doesn't even know it. He's just tired. Listless. No will to live. But at the same time enraged. "Life isn't fair." This is when it gets tricky. If the host suicides, the blight dies, and its offspring with it. Lots of those "murder/suicide" types are blight victims.
But sometimes they don't suicide.
Sometimes the eggs hatch.
Then you get riots, genocide, mass murderers, and worse. Things you don't even want to think about. Your worst nightmares don't even touch the edges of it. Although, I have to say the guy that came up with that Cthulu mythology was on the right track.
Blight can only be killed by magic. Even then it's not easy.
They can only be found by clairvoyants.
Thus, the two person teams.
And, my own, personal hell.
Now she's getting married. Oh freakin' GOODIE.
Of course, since we're a team, she has to have me in the wedding. Has to. Even though she (ever so politely) loathes me and I (considerably less subtly) would rather dance the macarena naked in front of a bunch of starving lions than have to go through the very VERY public humiliation of her wedding. Because she'll make it humiliating. Just to show everyone her martyrdom at having been paired with that. It's how she is.
The creature in my hand let out a pained squeak. My grip was starting to crush it.
"Sorry. Sorry."
But I'm not stressed. Of course not.
And stress is so good for my gift. And if you believe that, I have this bridge . . .
Yellow eggplant arriving dusk.
This time the words were underlined and in bold.
"I wish you could just talk to me. It'd be so much easier."
It sighed. A soft sad whisper of sound that would've probably passed unnoticed and unheard if I hadn't known that this wasn't a phone.
"I know, that's not how it works. I have to learn to control my gift. The better my control, the better we can communicate."
Unfortunately, I don't have control over my gift. If I had, I would've seen her coming.
"THERE you are." Celeste's voice was a long-suffering whine. "Do you have any concept of proper behavior? No. Of course not. And even if you did, it wouldn't matter. You don't care. Never mind that it reflects badly on me. My supposed 'maid of honor' disappearing from the festivities without so much as a word."
"You didn't want me there anyway, and you know it. This way you can just blame it on my general lack of breeding and manners." Rather than making snide, disparaging remarks that I was supposed to be too stupid to understand that kept everyone chuckling at my expense.
"That's not the point!" She pouted and stomped her little foot. She looked pretty doing it. Of course. How could she not? She might be a grade-A, full-bore starts with a B and ends with an itch, but an unlimited supply of money can provide one with magical and medical adjustments to any little physical imperfections. Not that there had been a lot of those to begin with. She is a tiny, delicate looking creature, with a perfect features, golden ringlets, and her blue eyes hold all the warmth and compassion of the antarctic plains. "You're making me look bad."
"Consider it payback for last night's remarks." I suggested.
She stared at me, her mouth forming a silent little "o" of surprise. She didn't even seem capable of speech. That was all right. I really didn't want to hear anything she might have to say anyway.
Last night had been the rehearsal dinner. The food had been excellent and expensive. The entertainment had been had at my expense. I was still stinging from it. Good manners weren't what had kept me in my seat. It was pure self-preservation. Because if I made a scene. If I called her on it, confronted her outright in front of all of these notables in this oh-so-public setting, I would be committing career suicide. Maybe even committing literal suicide. Because there are other, less cushy places where I could be assigned. Places where the life expectancy of a Guard is hideously short and the end is excruciatingly painful. They'd make damned sure to arrange it, too. If I didn't "behave."
And the scary part was, I was beginning to think it might be worth it.
"I didn't mean it like that." She lied. Of course. What else could she do?
"Bullshit." I sounded tired as much as angry.
"It was just a joke."
"No." I corrected her. "It was an entire evening of jokes. At my expense. Meant to humiliate me and show everyone how much better you are. We're alone here. You don't need to lie, or pretend. And neither do I."
She blinked again. Whatever she'd expected from me, it wasn't brutal honesty.
"You really do hate me."
"Oh yes." I smiled at her for the first time. It wasn't a nice smile. And she shivered.
"Then why did you fight the reassignment. Are you really that ambitious, that you'd insist on being tied to someone you hate just to use their connections."
It was my turn to blink stupidly. "I didn't."
"Of course you did."
"Nope." I recovered some of my aplomb. "My application for reassignment probably beat yours to the office."
"Then who? Why?" She was outraged, and it brought a flush of color to her pale cheeks.
It occurred to me that we'd finally found something we actually agreed on. "What's say we find out?"
Can you tell I'm a little FRUSTRATED? I KNEW you could.
Anyway, with that in mind, grab your bowl and hang on. Oh, and if the story's affected by my mood, so be it.
*******************************************************************
Chapter 1 -- I Hate Weddings.
Yellow eggplant arriving dusk.
I looked at the letters on the miniature screen, my brow furrowing. WTF?
"You have got to be kidding me." I talked to the creature in my hand. Yes, it was a creature. It LOOKED like one of those nifty hand-held telephone devices that are all the rage (to the point where the humans will risk life and limb to poke at them with their thumbs when they're indulging in life-threatening activities) and can do everything but tap dance. I would've preferred it look like a cat, or maybe a Labrador. But nope. The boss insisted. Probably because Celeste is allergic.
Ah, Celeste. My partner. Again not my choice.
My name is JoAnn. I'm a clairvoyant. A seer. If I ever get a handle on my "gift" I'll be a strong one. At least that's what they tell me. They being the Academy. Because I'm a clairvoyant, I got paired with a wizard, magic user type. In this case, Celeste. Celeste Rogan-Styles soon to be Rogan-Styles-Woodard. Yes, those Rogans, Styles, and Woodards. The ones who created the Academy after the last big infestation nearly wiped out civilization as we know it. (The "big three" as it were were very big on civilization. At least judging by their descendants.)
That she was paired with a former street-urchin, no matter how powerful, is a source of horrible mortification for Celeste. I know this because she's told me. Loudly. Ad nauseum. She has also tried to use every ounce of influence she and her family have to get the situation changed. Apparently Alara, the current Dean, was not impressed.
Damn it.
Her influence did manage to get us a seriously cushy assignment for our training period. There hadn't been an actual blight infestation on good ole earth ever. The blight, are nasty creatures. They're invisible to the naked eye. They don't smell. You can't taste them. But the damage they can do is truly horrific.
Here's how it works. A single blight latches on to a person. It soaks into their skin, becomes a part of them. It starts by feeding on the energy of their thoughts and emotions. Slowly, it turns them darker, and darker: anger, fear, despair, black rage, suicidal depression take over. And while it's feeding on their energy, it's breeding. Little eggs, no bigger than the head of a pin, form in the large muscles. MILLIONS of them. As they grow their shells put out enzymes that dissolve the muscle tissue so it can be absorbed as food for the unhatched babies. The host is being eaten alive, and doesn't even know it. He's just tired. Listless. No will to live. But at the same time enraged. "Life isn't fair." This is when it gets tricky. If the host suicides, the blight dies, and its offspring with it. Lots of those "murder/suicide" types are blight victims.
But sometimes they don't suicide.
Sometimes the eggs hatch.
Then you get riots, genocide, mass murderers, and worse. Things you don't even want to think about. Your worst nightmares don't even touch the edges of it. Although, I have to say the guy that came up with that Cthulu mythology was on the right track.
Blight can only be killed by magic. Even then it's not easy.
They can only be found by clairvoyants.
Thus, the two person teams.
And, my own, personal hell.
Now she's getting married. Oh freakin' GOODIE.
Of course, since we're a team, she has to have me in the wedding. Has to. Even though she (ever so politely) loathes me and I (considerably less subtly) would rather dance the macarena naked in front of a bunch of starving lions than have to go through the very VERY public humiliation of her wedding. Because she'll make it humiliating. Just to show everyone her martyrdom at having been paired with that. It's how she is.
The creature in my hand let out a pained squeak. My grip was starting to crush it.
"Sorry. Sorry."
But I'm not stressed. Of course not.
And stress is so good for my gift. And if you believe that, I have this bridge . . .
Yellow eggplant arriving dusk.
This time the words were underlined and in bold.
"I wish you could just talk to me. It'd be so much easier."
It sighed. A soft sad whisper of sound that would've probably passed unnoticed and unheard if I hadn't known that this wasn't a phone.
"I know, that's not how it works. I have to learn to control my gift. The better my control, the better we can communicate."
Unfortunately, I don't have control over my gift. If I had, I would've seen her coming.
"THERE you are." Celeste's voice was a long-suffering whine. "Do you have any concept of proper behavior? No. Of course not. And even if you did, it wouldn't matter. You don't care. Never mind that it reflects badly on me. My supposed 'maid of honor' disappearing from the festivities without so much as a word."
"You didn't want me there anyway, and you know it. This way you can just blame it on my general lack of breeding and manners." Rather than making snide, disparaging remarks that I was supposed to be too stupid to understand that kept everyone chuckling at my expense.
"That's not the point!" She pouted and stomped her little foot. She looked pretty doing it. Of course. How could she not? She might be a grade-A, full-bore starts with a B and ends with an itch, but an unlimited supply of money can provide one with magical and medical adjustments to any little physical imperfections. Not that there had been a lot of those to begin with. She is a tiny, delicate looking creature, with a perfect features, golden ringlets, and her blue eyes hold all the warmth and compassion of the antarctic plains. "You're making me look bad."
"Consider it payback for last night's remarks." I suggested.
She stared at me, her mouth forming a silent little "o" of surprise. She didn't even seem capable of speech. That was all right. I really didn't want to hear anything she might have to say anyway.
Last night had been the rehearsal dinner. The food had been excellent and expensive. The entertainment had been had at my expense. I was still stinging from it. Good manners weren't what had kept me in my seat. It was pure self-preservation. Because if I made a scene. If I called her on it, confronted her outright in front of all of these notables in this oh-so-public setting, I would be committing career suicide. Maybe even committing literal suicide. Because there are other, less cushy places where I could be assigned. Places where the life expectancy of a Guard is hideously short and the end is excruciatingly painful. They'd make damned sure to arrange it, too. If I didn't "behave."
And the scary part was, I was beginning to think it might be worth it.
"I didn't mean it like that." She lied. Of course. What else could she do?
"Bullshit." I sounded tired as much as angry.
"It was just a joke."
"No." I corrected her. "It was an entire evening of jokes. At my expense. Meant to humiliate me and show everyone how much better you are. We're alone here. You don't need to lie, or pretend. And neither do I."
She blinked again. Whatever she'd expected from me, it wasn't brutal honesty.
"You really do hate me."
"Oh yes." I smiled at her for the first time. It wasn't a nice smile. And she shivered.
"Then why did you fight the reassignment. Are you really that ambitious, that you'd insist on being tied to someone you hate just to use their connections."
It was my turn to blink stupidly. "I didn't."
"Of course you did."
"Nope." I recovered some of my aplomb. "My application for reassignment probably beat yours to the office."
"Then who? Why?" She was outraged, and it brought a flush of color to her pale cheeks.
It occurred to me that we'd finally found something we actually agreed on. "What's say we find out?"
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Question and Serial
Okay, I have a question for y'all. The blog has always had a black background with white lettering. But I have been given "the lecture" that it's hard on the eyes for people to read white on black.
Is it? Do you want me to change it?
Thoughts?
Okay, next thing. Holiday weekend coming up. Saturday morning will be a busy one. So the Serial is being posted Friday instead. We're even starting a whole new story. Since I make them up as I go along, I haven't got any real clue where it will go, or even what style it will take on. I've been in kind of a frisky mood though, so there'll probably be some humor involved. Maybe. Unless things go south, in which case we could get brutal. We'll just have to see.
Just so's you know.
So get your game face on a day early.
Cie
Is it? Do you want me to change it?
Thoughts?
Okay, next thing. Holiday weekend coming up. Saturday morning will be a busy one. So the Serial is being posted Friday instead. We're even starting a whole new story. Since I make them up as I go along, I haven't got any real clue where it will go, or even what style it will take on. I've been in kind of a frisky mood though, so there'll probably be some humor involved. Maybe. Unless things go south, in which case we could get brutal. We'll just have to see.
Just so's you know.
So get your game face on a day early.
Cie
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Hi Guys! (Waves vigorously.)
Hi! Waves Vigorously!
Hi Guys! Okay, I've only got a couple of minutes. But I thought I'd stop in and catch you up on things.
First, the heat is miserable. I used to love summer. But a bout of heat prostration has made me not able to process heat well physically. (I don't know if it is an official permanent side-effect, or just something I believe, but I've heard it from a guy who had heat stroke too.) Still, things like yard work don't do themselves. So with the back yard grass up to my knees, and the temperatures showing no sign of dropping much below triple digits (and the guy who usually offers to come do my yard for $20.00 mysteriously MIA -- probably too sensible to try it in this heat) I decided to wait until sundown when the temps were at least a little lower and go for it.
Amen I say unto you UGH! Oh SOOOOOOOO UGH!
But it's done. Unfortunately its the next morning and I'm still pooped. Still, I got quite a bit of writing done this weekend. Tightened up the plot planning. Did some research. By the end of next weekend I should have the whole thing gelled enough to actually TALK about it without going blank and panicking, thus losing at least 2-4 days of writing time.
We've gotten the people hired to take over the newsletter, put together and up the new website, and are talking about the possibility of a forum after all. The art work should be just about ready for the bookmarks, ads, etc. SO, things are moving forward at a good clip.
Oh, the fledgling birds on the porch are grown and gone. Mom and dad bird were at it again, and based on their behavior, I'm thinking there're more eggs incubating. I like birds, and they are providing endless distraction to the kitties. Although I must admit the blinds have suffered for it.
Okay, gotta go.
Take care.
Cie
Hi Guys! Okay, I've only got a couple of minutes. But I thought I'd stop in and catch you up on things.
First, the heat is miserable. I used to love summer. But a bout of heat prostration has made me not able to process heat well physically. (I don't know if it is an official permanent side-effect, or just something I believe, but I've heard it from a guy who had heat stroke too.) Still, things like yard work don't do themselves. So with the back yard grass up to my knees, and the temperatures showing no sign of dropping much below triple digits (and the guy who usually offers to come do my yard for $20.00 mysteriously MIA -- probably too sensible to try it in this heat) I decided to wait until sundown when the temps were at least a little lower and go for it.
Amen I say unto you UGH! Oh SOOOOOOOO UGH!
But it's done. Unfortunately its the next morning and I'm still pooped. Still, I got quite a bit of writing done this weekend. Tightened up the plot planning. Did some research. By the end of next weekend I should have the whole thing gelled enough to actually TALK about it without going blank and panicking, thus losing at least 2-4 days of writing time.
We've gotten the people hired to take over the newsletter, put together and up the new website, and are talking about the possibility of a forum after all. The art work should be just about ready for the bookmarks, ads, etc. SO, things are moving forward at a good clip.
Oh, the fledgling birds on the porch are grown and gone. Mom and dad bird were at it again, and based on their behavior, I'm thinking there're more eggs incubating. I like birds, and they are providing endless distraction to the kitties. Although I must admit the blinds have suffered for it.
Okay, gotta go.
Take care.
Cie
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Sunday
Okay, it's Sunday. My "day off." Actually, it's going to wind up being my second day off. Oops. The little outing yesterday wound up taking most of the day, and while it was fabulous fun the weather was so hot (I think they said 106) that I was completely worn out by the time I got home.
Having had heat prostration once upon a time, I do not "do" heat well. Yes, the car was air conditioned, but we kept going back out into the natural oven to go between places, and even air conditioning can only do so much when it's faced with that kind of challenge.
ANYWAY, the dam has cracked, the book is actually moving forward nicely. I got a LOT of words done Friday. So I'm okay. I'll have to crank it tomorrow. But I can. Just so long as I keep the air on and don't try going out once the sun comes up. (Makes me sound positively vampiric!)
I have been given the honor of being invited to be on the Faery Court at RT in Columbus. I have accepted. BUT this means that I will be in LOTS of things like photos and videos. This is not a happy thing. After the debacle that was the acceptance video from the Career Achievement Award, we do NOT want to do this again. SO, I'm going to do the whole life change thing. It's okay. I'd started it already anyway. And I'm not fool enough to do anything drastic. People with chronic health problems should not do drastic. We just shouldn't. LOTS of reasons why.
SO, I bought a cheapy journal, have made my plans and bought a few special supplies and groceries. Periodically you should be prepared to hear me either crow or whine. Accept this and move on.
Now, having posted my warning label, and done my morning exercise, I am off to eat a suitably wholesome breakfast.
Toodles.
Having had heat prostration once upon a time, I do not "do" heat well. Yes, the car was air conditioned, but we kept going back out into the natural oven to go between places, and even air conditioning can only do so much when it's faced with that kind of challenge.
ANYWAY, the dam has cracked, the book is actually moving forward nicely. I got a LOT of words done Friday. So I'm okay. I'll have to crank it tomorrow. But I can. Just so long as I keep the air on and don't try going out once the sun comes up. (Makes me sound positively vampiric!)
I have been given the honor of being invited to be on the Faery Court at RT in Columbus. I have accepted. BUT this means that I will be in LOTS of things like photos and videos. This is not a happy thing. After the debacle that was the acceptance video from the Career Achievement Award, we do NOT want to do this again. SO, I'm going to do the whole life change thing. It's okay. I'd started it already anyway. And I'm not fool enough to do anything drastic. People with chronic health problems should not do drastic. We just shouldn't. LOTS of reasons why.
SO, I bought a cheapy journal, have made my plans and bought a few special supplies and groceries. Periodically you should be prepared to hear me either crow or whine. Accept this and move on.
Now, having posted my warning label, and done my morning exercise, I am off to eat a suitably wholesome breakfast.
Toodles.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Saturday (Very Early) Morning Breakfast Serial
Ah, insomnia. But there you go. You know the drill. Bowl? Milk? Okay.
***************************************************
I opened a seam into the first-floor bathroom of Cassandra's house. Strange? Not really. It was the one place I was pretty sure wouldn't be affected by a pitched battle. I could seam in there and not be in the way.
I appeared in the middle of the ancient-claw foot tub, and almost fell on my ass. The house was shaking. Not just a little either. We're talking major tremors, resulting from explosions.
Oh shit.
I could smell smoke, even feel heat rising up through the floor as I ran. I could feel Cassandra's pain. I don't know how. But it hurt, making me stumble as I made my way to the staircase leading down to the lab.
As I steadied myself against the stairwell wall I realised, I still had the Ladysmith in my hand. It was loaded, but the safety was on. I remedied that, and continued downward, moving as quickly and quietly as I could. Not that anyone was liable to hear me over the sounds of battle and Cassandra's screams of pain and defiance. Still, I was hoping for some semblance of surprise.
I should've known better.
After all. Tracker had tied himself to the shields. He'd have felt me coming. I was two steps from the bottom when he turned to me with a cold, hard, smile on a face that both was, and wasn't as familiar as my own.
"Well, well, you're finally here. Hoping to save the day?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. It was one thing to have Cassandra say we were betrayed. It was another to see, with my own eyes, that Tracker was the betrayer. Tracker, my best friend. It didn't make sense. I felt a wave of pain that had nothing to do with Cassandra's injuries, or my own exhaustion. It was purely emotional. I fought not to let it show, and failed.
He laughed. "I guess I played my part well then. I'm the last person you would've expected to betray you." With insulting casualness, he threw a blast of magical energy at me. I got out of the way in time, moving behind a ruined counter for cover, steadying the gun to take aim.
"Still no magic? Then they interrupted in time. Too bad for you."
He lobbed a ball of energy up so that it hit the countertop, spreading like magical napalm, over the formica, down the sides of the cabinets. Everywhere it went, it burned white hot, like magnesium. The light from it was bright enough to make my eyes water, or maybe that was the smoke, because smoke was filling the basement making my breath burn in my lungs. Through watering eyes I saw Cassandra's form, crumpled on the ground in the center of her summoning circle. Not far from her was a large, still smoldering corpse that had once been Lucy.
A tidal wave of rage surged through me. With a roar of defiance, using a two-handed grip, I began firing the gun. Steady, measured shots. Of course he was shielded against them. That wasn't the point. He thought I didn't have offensive magic; thought the gun was my only weapon. When the last shot was fired, he'd let his guard down. When he did, I was going to kill him.
I pulled the trigger that last time; saw the concentric rings of light and shadow as the bullet impacted his shield an instant before he dropped it entirely. Gathering my will and my power, I prepared, and threw, my best magical punch at him.
But in the instant I released the power I felt something else. A seam was opening, the shields had crumbled enough that someone was coming through. Whether it was a friend or enemy I had no clue. I turned, readying myself. But so did Tracker, and my blow, which would have killed him had it hit full on, only clipped him, setting his right side on fire, sending him into a staggering spin as he screamed hideously. I saw Buford step through the seam, Eleanor's limp form in his arms, his body interposed between me and his son. I shouted for him to get down, but he simply stood there, in dumbstruck horror. And before I could move around him, before I could do anything, I felt another seam and knew that Tracker was gone.
# # #
Helena and Evan were dead, the church burned to the ground around them. Lucy was dead; Eleanor and Cassandra gravely enough injured that they will never fully recover. I didn't chase Tracker. It was more important that I get the wards and shields back up around the house and its contents. And it was more important to me that I save my friends lives if I could.
The battle was over. Not the war. He'd be back.
And I'd be ready.
THE END
***************************************************
I opened a seam into the first-floor bathroom of Cassandra's house. Strange? Not really. It was the one place I was pretty sure wouldn't be affected by a pitched battle. I could seam in there and not be in the way.
I appeared in the middle of the ancient-claw foot tub, and almost fell on my ass. The house was shaking. Not just a little either. We're talking major tremors, resulting from explosions.
Oh shit.
I could smell smoke, even feel heat rising up through the floor as I ran. I could feel Cassandra's pain. I don't know how. But it hurt, making me stumble as I made my way to the staircase leading down to the lab.
As I steadied myself against the stairwell wall I realised, I still had the Ladysmith in my hand. It was loaded, but the safety was on. I remedied that, and continued downward, moving as quickly and quietly as I could. Not that anyone was liable to hear me over the sounds of battle and Cassandra's screams of pain and defiance. Still, I was hoping for some semblance of surprise.
I should've known better.
After all. Tracker had tied himself to the shields. He'd have felt me coming. I was two steps from the bottom when he turned to me with a cold, hard, smile on a face that both was, and wasn't as familiar as my own.
"Well, well, you're finally here. Hoping to save the day?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. It was one thing to have Cassandra say we were betrayed. It was another to see, with my own eyes, that Tracker was the betrayer. Tracker, my best friend. It didn't make sense. I felt a wave of pain that had nothing to do with Cassandra's injuries, or my own exhaustion. It was purely emotional. I fought not to let it show, and failed.
He laughed. "I guess I played my part well then. I'm the last person you would've expected to betray you." With insulting casualness, he threw a blast of magical energy at me. I got out of the way in time, moving behind a ruined counter for cover, steadying the gun to take aim.
"Still no magic? Then they interrupted in time. Too bad for you."
He lobbed a ball of energy up so that it hit the countertop, spreading like magical napalm, over the formica, down the sides of the cabinets. Everywhere it went, it burned white hot, like magnesium. The light from it was bright enough to make my eyes water, or maybe that was the smoke, because smoke was filling the basement making my breath burn in my lungs. Through watering eyes I saw Cassandra's form, crumpled on the ground in the center of her summoning circle. Not far from her was a large, still smoldering corpse that had once been Lucy.
A tidal wave of rage surged through me. With a roar of defiance, using a two-handed grip, I began firing the gun. Steady, measured shots. Of course he was shielded against them. That wasn't the point. He thought I didn't have offensive magic; thought the gun was my only weapon. When the last shot was fired, he'd let his guard down. When he did, I was going to kill him.
I pulled the trigger that last time; saw the concentric rings of light and shadow as the bullet impacted his shield an instant before he dropped it entirely. Gathering my will and my power, I prepared, and threw, my best magical punch at him.
But in the instant I released the power I felt something else. A seam was opening, the shields had crumbled enough that someone was coming through. Whether it was a friend or enemy I had no clue. I turned, readying myself. But so did Tracker, and my blow, which would have killed him had it hit full on, only clipped him, setting his right side on fire, sending him into a staggering spin as he screamed hideously. I saw Buford step through the seam, Eleanor's limp form in his arms, his body interposed between me and his son. I shouted for him to get down, but he simply stood there, in dumbstruck horror. And before I could move around him, before I could do anything, I felt another seam and knew that Tracker was gone.
# # #
Helena and Evan were dead, the church burned to the ground around them. Lucy was dead; Eleanor and Cassandra gravely enough injured that they will never fully recover. I didn't chase Tracker. It was more important that I get the wards and shields back up around the house and its contents. And it was more important to me that I save my friends lives if I could.
The battle was over. Not the war. He'd be back.
And I'd be ready.
THE END
Coming Along
Okay, up until now I have been mojoless and somewhat stuck. But, it seems she's back, and the muse is a little bit happier. So now things are starting to roll. This is good news for the book (and the deadline). But it is bad news for posting and other things. Because when the muse is standing there with a bull-whip in her hands, she aint a gonna let me do no foolin' around. Got it! I will WRITE. I will write WHAT she says, just as fast as my little fingers can type!
So if there aren't too many posts for a bit, understand. It's not my fault. (OUCH! I'm DONE already! JEEZ.)
So if there aren't too many posts for a bit, understand. It's not my fault. (OUCH! I'm DONE already! JEEZ.)
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