Strangels

I was sitting at a table, enjoying the slight chill in the air as I held my cup beneath my nose. The steam warmed the tip and the aroma of vanilla and honey made my mouth water. For the first morning of my retirement, I thought things were going well.

The first of them walked across the street and stopped a few cars down. She was beautiful in a way that I couldn’t have described the day before. All long, lean limbs and cute, captivating curves. I might not enjoy being alone, but it did make it easier to stare. Although as I looked at her clothing, an almost see through green sack of a dress with a pair of heavy, brown work boots and one spotted sock, I realized that everyone was staring at the woman.

When he friend appeared beside her, the woman at the next table gasped. I never asked if the gasp was due to him just appearing, and I was surprised that I hadn’t noticed him walking up, or if it was because the loose running shorts he was wearing left a portion of his anatomy hanging out down the leg. Honestly, I didn’t need to know. The man was so well built and gifted that I would have considered switching teams if he had asked.

I was lost in thought as a pair of children ran down the sidewalk. The little girl who was running from her brother came to a sudden stop when she saw the adonis standing in front of her. Her brother was distracted by the woman and did not stop. He plowed into his sister, knocking them both to the pavement in a tangle of skinned knees and bloody elbows.

As children often do, they began to scream and cry in response to their injuries. The whole of the little cafe’s patronage pulled their eyes from the visions of beauty to look upon the injured. The pair stepped toward the children, who ignored the beauties to focus upon their pains.

It might come as some surprise, but this is when things got weird.

The woman, her gown falling off of her to reveal far more than has ever been accepted as modest, knelt beside the girl and grabbed her face. She kissed the child full on the mouth before wetting her fingers in her mouth and then shoving one in each of the child’s ears. While giving the girl a double wet willy, the woman bent further forward and licked the blood from each of the child’s knees with a tongue that would have made an anteater proud.

The man, lowered his pants a bit around his bottom before squatting over the pursuing brother and lifting a single finger into the air. As he did, the sound of the gas he passed seemed to echo off the building behind me. I was aware of a car alarm going off, though at that moment I could not remember if it had been honking it’s warning before the fellow farted or not.

Both children were silent. The diners were silent. The passing pedestrians were silent. Even the cars were stopped at a red light. The only sound was that stupid car alarm.

The pair stood straight, and the sun reflecting off the windows illuminated them. For a moment, they were haloed in soft gold, then they each started walking in opposite directions. The children’s mother ran up to check on them and I looked back at the woman at the next table.

We made eye contact and I began to worry about her. She was pale, her lips a light blue, and I wondered if she would be able to keep her seat. Her eyes were wide and wild as she gulped like an old cartoon character. “The kids,” she whispered. “They were hurt from falling.”

I looked at them, and saw what the woman meant. No scrapes and no cuts. The boy looked nauseous and the little girl was wiggling her finger in her ear as if trying to dry it after swimming, but neither was bleeding anymore.

“It’s a miracle,” the woman said. Her words drew my attention back and I saw that she was clutching the cross hanging from her neck. “That was a miracle. They must have been angels.”

“Strange angels,’ I said, slurring the words together into a single unrecognizable one as I tried to make my brain and mouth work together after the spectacle. I licked my lips and cleared my throat before trying again. “Strange angels indeed.”

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Guardian

Each of the candles still had frosting on the ends. Little black spots of mold were there too, which is why I wouldn’t put them in my mouth to clean them off. Some of those little spots might have been cake, it had been chocolate after all, but I couldn’t tell the difference.

I picked up the lighter my dad gave me when he passed away and flicked open the metal top. One strike and I was able to melt the back ends to have enough wax to stick them to the mirror in my lap.

I only needed five of the twelve candles I had. Five for the points of the start I had drawn with a Sharpie. Twelve for the last time we had celebrated her birthday. I looked at them, trying to understand how it had been almost a full year ago.

She was growing up so fast. Almost a teen. Almost a woman.

I had to make sure she was safe.

I lit the candles, surrounded the mirror in salt and cut my hand so that my blood could be smeared around the edges. I was ready to summon the demon.

A perfect guardian. That is what I thought. What better protector for my angle than a demon.

The eyes looking back out of the mirror turned violet and I smiled. “What do you want?”, my reflection asked.

“I want to make a deal.”

The Hours #3

I opened my eyes to a sheet of gray and green. Trees limbs hovered above me, but did not move beyond a gentle swaying from the breeze.

I looked down, to see my ladies golden locks resting upon my chest, and sighed. We had all drifted into slumber and the boat had drifted to the bank. Waking to see Mary sleeping was enough reward to make this trip worth the effort. I looked around, checking the presence of the other three and then began shifting in an attempt to sit up without waking Mary.

The sky above us had grown gray, thick clouds hiding the sun from my view. I prayed that the rain would pass us by, fearing that a shower would ruin the ladies moods.

As I squirmed and wiggled I took stock of the trees we had settled under. They were thick trunked with dark, smooth bark that I did not recognize. I admit that I was no forester or sportsman, but I still felt that I should have some passing familiarity with the countryside I had grown up in.

My eyes traced the line of a thick vine around another near by tree. I followed it up to a sprouting of leaves and flowers and gasped. The flowers were bright green. Not like new leaves, but every bit as shiny as a christmas presents foil wrapping. The leaves were so dark green as to be almost blue and they were shaped like ferns rather than traditional ivy.

At this point, I abandoned my attempts to keep from waking Mary and instead sat up straight. She protested with a mumbled word before stretching and smiling at me. After a moment, the shock on my face made itself known through the fog of her nap and she stopped smiling while following my eyes to the Ivy.

“Carl,” I said. “Carl, wake up.” The biggest of our troupe was also an avid sports man. His home was decorated with the stuffed animals that he and his father and brothers had slain over countless hunts. “Wake up man. I need you to tell me where we are.”

“In a boat on the river,” he mumbled as he pulled Samantha tighter against his chest. “Where else might you think we are?”

His eyes opened, blinked to clear away the sleep and focused on the bank. A moment later, he was sitting up and leaning forward. His confusion was obvious and I felt my heart fill with chilling dread.

 

The Hours #2

We sat upon the river, intent on a relaxing trip, with the sky clear and the sun bright. The day was still fresh and we had a short time until lunch. My intention had been for us to stop at some clearing along the bank for lunch and then to push back out and continue our float. The river was slow and lazy, offering us just enough current to keep us moving along.

Mark sat in the back, making a cushion of himself for Samantha to recline against. She had removed her sweater, allowing the sun’s warmth to soak into her midnight skin. Mark’s fair arms rested on his knees and she traced her finger tips in lazy lines from elbow to wrist. I marveled at their contrasts, constantly amazed that neither’s parent took issue with the differences. Oh to live in such enlightened times.

Carl sat in the middle, fiddling with a tiny guitar. The poor sod had no voice, so instead of singing he just strummed tunes as best he could. I felt for him, alone in our group as he was, but  there was nothing to be done for it. He was an effeminate man who had attached himself to Mark and I as children. I would not exclude him for he had proven to be a fast friend over the years.

I had my own back to the prow of our tiny ship and Mary sat back in my lap as Samantha sat in Mark’s. I kept my face close to the back of her head, enjoying the smell of her hair as it mingled with the smell of honeysuckle the grew along the river’s bank.

We let the river lead us on and chatted as the sun crawled towards mid-day. Carl sat his instrument down and sprawled out, beginning to snore after finding a comfortable position. Mark and Samantha exchanged a few chaste kisses, but soon slipped into slumber as the warm spring day worked its magic on them.

Once they were asleep, Mary had turned and kissed me with such passion as to leave me light headed. She settled against me, murmured something about how lovely this idea had been, and promptly dozed off like the rest of my crew.

I could hear the heavy breathing of the four of them. I listened to the buzzing of bees as they raided the honeysuckle. I looked into the sky and watched a hawk soaring high above us. The great bird let the warm breeze carry it as we let the river carry us and I wondered if it could fall asleep as it glided along.

As I began to slid into the warmth and darkness that my friends had already fell to, I thought I could hear distant bells. “I wonder if there is a wedding,” I mumbled, before I found my way into a lazy dream where Mary and I walked hand in hand down a wide country lane.

Found

“I couldn’t believe they spoke to me that way. How dare they. Where the fuck do they get off calling me a poser? What do any of them have to show for all their efforts?”

Jack kicked at a paper cup lying in his path. Between it being wet from the rain and the sounds of the storm, he didn’t get to hear the whack of his shoe as it sent the little cup out into the street.

“How in the hell do you get off telling someone they’re a noob when you haven’t got anything to show for years of practice?”

He stomped towards the train station, reliving his rejection with every step. The Ordo had declined his application. Marcus, a wide and bearded magician with a large reputation, had lost his temper when Jack had questioned his decision. “You lack any sort of results in your practice and you don’t show the discipline needed for our work.”

After a few more choice words, the group and expelled Jack.

“I need to find a way to show them how wrong they are,” Jack said the words, needing to hear himself as he declared his intentions. “I need to teach them the error of their ways.”

this time, he kicked an old metal garbage can. Even with the rain, he heard the hollow clang of his boot and then a few more as the can bounced down the sidewalk before smacking into an old car’s bumper.

When he got to it, the can’s lid was rocking back and forth. Jack kicked it again and smiled as it spun away like a child’s top. He drew back to aim at the can again, but stopped when he saw the yellow and black thing in the can.

It was a composition book, like the ones that he used for his journals, but yellow instead of red or white. The cover was creased and the book was swollen from use. On the cover, the previous owner had drawn an odd little star with extra lines popping off it.

Jack touched his arm, his mouth hanging open before darting forward to snatch up the book. He tucked it under his arm, protecting it from the rain with his coat and ignoring the chance that he was smearing something from the can on his favorite shirt. He hurried home, eager to examine his find.

He was lucky. His car was almost empty. So he took out the book, and pulled up his sleeve.

The symbols were the same. The sigil he had tattooed on his arm two years ago, the one he had invented to be his magical name, was drawn on the little notepad’s cover with a sharpie.

“What the hell.”

Whistle While You Work #13 – Final

Hennessy stood at the tower window with his arms crossed. He was frowning and his brow was furrowed to the point that his eyebrows came close to touching.

Below him, Tomas was loading possessions into his wagon. Maleena sat on the bench, crying.

The man was moving with frantic speed, throwing things into the back with no care for their condition. A few times, the sounds of a crash would make Maleena jump, but Tomas ignored her and rushed back inside for another load.

“Do you have any idea why this is happening?”

The air beside the wizard shimmered as the demoness took form. She looked out the window and shrugged a slender shoulder. “He would appear to be scared. His movements look frightened.”

“He almost died today,” the wizard said. “And he swears that he does not know how he got home.”

The creature said nothing.

They stood side by side for a few minutes, watching the carpenter finish and jump up beside his wife. He grabbed the reigns, snapped them hard enough to make the horses jerk, and left.

“He offered no explanation,” Hennessy said. “He refused to stop packing long enough to talk to me. Even Maleena could not get him to say anything.”

The Demoness said nothing.

***

She walked with slow steps. It was important to appear strong, but she was terrified.

The last messenger who delivered bad news had been dragged through the fields until only the stump of his arm remained.

“You have news?”

Lady JoTaugh jumped. The voice behind her revealed nothing, yet she was sure it held pain.

“The new mage has fled. His fear drives him away from his destiny.”

“Then he is not the one we needed.”

She turned around and looked at her lord with confusion. “I thought he was the one.”

The demon lord smiled and stepped closer. “No, the idea of a chosen one is a lie. The only thing that matters is finding one who will do what we want.”

“There is no chosen one?”

“There has never been a chosen one. Throughout the worlds and all the times, there is only the one who takes action. The lucky one, not the chosen one.”

Whistle While You Work #12

Tomas opened his eyes, looking up at the ceiling of his room in confusion. He was confused, but the memory of the ebony woman was clear. The memory of the runners chasing him was clear.

How he had ended up in his bed with Maleena’s body pressed against him was not clear.

She shifted and moved, the sensation of her hot skin rubbing against his painting a smile on his face. Tomas felt twinges of pain from the scrapes and bruises he received trying to escape the runners, but the feeling of his wife lying beside him chased the aches away.

Tomas wound his arm around her and she made a purring sound. He closed his eyes again and traced a line down her back. She placed her palm on his chest and slid her hand over his body until he groaned.

“You are awake and well.”

His eyes snapped back open and Tomas gasped.

Lady JoTaugh sat up. Tomas stared at her with his mouth open.

“How?”

She smiled. “I have returned you to your bed after you fell.”

“But?”

The creature smiled. “Shhhh. I will return to you soon. We have a great number of things to discuss.”

“What?”

She traced her fingers over his chest. “All wizards are made with training. I heard you whistle, you can do it. I wish to help you.” She leaned forward and placed a kiss on his chest.

Tomas’s mouth moved, but no words came out.

When the door latch clicked, Tomas jumped into a sitting position. He squeaked out a sound of terror as Maleena walked in, but his wife just looked at him in confusion before rushing to him.

“What happened? How did you get hurt?”

Tomas looked beside him, but the bed was empty.

Whistle While You Work #11

Lady JoTaugh bent at the waist and reached under the runner bird’s corpse. She gripped the Tomas by the front of his tunic, and dragged him out. He stared up at her with wide eyes while his lips trembled.

After a moment, with him saying nothing, she checked her appearance. She wore only one set of eyes, so that couldn’t be it. She had hair, and it only reached to her shoulders. She turned to look behind her, checking to be sure the wings and tail were gone; then she turned back to him. “Are you uninjured?” she asked.

He nodded, but still made no noise.

The demon followed his eyes to her chest before remembering the mortal tendency for clothing. “Damn the stones.” She muttered the curse in her native tongue while straightening up. She hummed a few soft notes, willing a thin shirt into existence. “Will you be able to speak now?”

The man swallowed and nodded.

“Will you be able to speak now?”

“Yes,” Thomas stammered. “Yes.”

“Good.” Lady JoTaugh offered the carpenter her hand.

“Thank you.”

“Are you uninjured?”

Tomas nodded and turned his attention to the surrounding woods. At least a half dozen runner birds were scattered around. Most had their heads ripped off, but one looked like it had exploded. He turned back to the demon and asked. “Who are you?”

“I am Lady JoTaugh.”

Tomas stared at her, opened his mouth and then shut it again.

“What?” she asked. “You may ask any question you wish.”

“What,” Tomas began, stopped and licked his lips, then said, “What are you?”

“I am of the elements. I am a child of the shadows.”

Tomas’s eyes went wide and he grew pale. “How did you come to be here?”

“I was following you.”

She watched his eyes roll up into his head the moment before he fell. She hated it when they passed out like this. It was a sign of weakness. For this to work, he would have to be strong, not weak.

Whistle While You Work #10

The runner above Tomas slammed its foot down on his chest. The weight took his breath and he tensed up, waiting for the bird to strike. He heard a sound of tearing but felt no pain. Then, the bird’s weight shifted, allowing him to breathe. Hot liquid sprayed him and he assumed it was his blood spraying from a wound. He was dying, but not hurting.

Tomas offered his thanks to the heavens, assuming that his prayers for a painless death had been answered. He squeezed his eyes tighter as the runners squawked and fought for position.

Another heavy form fell on top of his face and it hurt. A sudden, sharp pain shot out from his nose and Tomas couldn’t help but to lift his hands up.

He had to turn his head and struggle with the body on top of him. Now Tomas opened his eyes, but he could see nothing beyond the feathers on the corpse which lay on top of him.

In front of him, a rain of black blood fell on last year’s leaves. After a moment, a few runners shot off into the forest away from him. The clearing grew quiet and the man took a deep, shuddering breath.

Then a small, black boot crunched down in front of him.

Whistle While You Work #9

Back at it after a nice vacation. This is when something like this really helps. A schedule and a deadline to get things back on track.

L. E. White

#9

Tomas lunged to his right grabbing a small tree and using it to whip his body to the side. Burning pain shot through his shoulder, but he ignored it as the sound of a runner bird crashing into the thorns told him just how close he had come to death.

Again.

The race of runners was bearing down on him, fanning out through the forest to box him in. He hadn’t had time to climb. They were too close for him to be able to get high enough to be out of reach for a jump. He was desperate, and he was scared.

He was running out of breath, but the race wasn’t.

Three trees stood in a rough line in front of him. Each had limbs that spread out low to the ground. If he could jump onto one of the low ones and then vault up to another, Tomas thought he might be able to lift himself up enough to wait the birds out.

A loud snap to his side spurred him to even greater speed. The carpenter’s legs and lungs both burned. Sharp pains in his side screamed at him to stop running, so he headed straight for the tree.

He leapt from the ground. As his lead foot came dawn on a limb that was no more than three feet above the forest floor, a blur of motion caused him to turn his head and look into the smooth black eye of another runner.

His next step planted his foot on the limb of the second tree. With his boots almost six feet off the ground, Tomas began to stretch towards a limb that was still above his head.

His mind did not register the snapping of the limb. He did notice that the limb seemed to be getting further away, but he just stretched, trying to reach further, unwilling to let go of the idea of his salvation being just ahead.

Tomas’s feet touched the ground, and tangled in the fallen limbs. His body pitched forward, slamming his face into the leaves. His breath blasted out as he came to a stop and he remained still for a second.

With a groan, Tomas rolled over, blinking his eyes to try and clear the spots away. When his mind caught back up to him, he looked up in horror. A runner bird stood above him, its head cocked to the side while it made a clicking sound.

Tomas could hear leaves rustle and limbs snap as others walked closer.

He closed his eyes and prayed that it would be quick.