The Petitioner’s Cairn Pt 2


Sharon’s note: I remember when I thought that strange objects I found had magic just because they were strange. It was earlier this morning. A dead woman’s teeth, even fake ones, sound like they they should be magically significant, don’t they? Waning: Author is reveling in the fact that writing a world means that if she thinks something sounds special, then it is.


While he did follow me, Panther grumbled the entire way. When I reached up to poke his ear like I did when he was in his cougar form he snapped at me. His human teeth clacking together an inch from my thumb as I danced back out of reach. That made me smile. Panther was really fast. If he had wanted to bite me, he would have. 

It didn’t take long to reach the Cairn. Anything in the part of the woods that townspeople were allowed in wasn’t far. It wasn’t even impressive, just a pile of flat white rocks. One stuck out further than the others like a shelf. There was a bundle of dead flowers on it.

“Cool. That must be where we leave the offering.” I dug in my bag.

Panther kicked at leaves on the ground. “Please, Molly? I have a really bad feeling about this.”

“Is it a magic feeling?” I perked up. Panther never wanted to talk about magic. 

His nose wrinkled. “No. I’m not an oracle or anything like that, I just don’t think this is a good idea.”

I stopped moving, jar of peanut butter in my hand. “You’re afraid of this Alon guy.”

“No, I’m not,” Panther blurted out. He crossed his arms with his hands under his armpits and glared at the Cairn.

“Careful, boy. Our kind avoid lying for a reason.”  We both turned to see a man walking from the direction of the Woods. He was short, barely taller than me, with a shaggy brown beard down to his belly and equally long hair braided with gray beads and feathers.

Panther scampered between me and the shaggy guy. His arms were spread wide with his fingers crooked as he hissed like an angry kitten. “Back off, Alon.”

“Relax. You’re not in the Woods proper, so I don’t have to kill you, and I don’t hurt my parishioners.” Alon sounded smug. Panther crossed his arms again. I started, remembering why I was there.

“Oh, that’s right, here.” I put the jar on the shelf along with Grandma’s teeth. “I brought you a gift to ask for justice.”

Alon raised a bushy eyebrow. “What is that?”

I broke into a smug smile. “A whole jar of chunky peanut butter just for you, and my grandmother’s dentures. They were really expensive when she got them, and Mom would be super mad if she knew I took them, but they’re for you too.”

Panther’s shoulders slumped and he looked at the ground. “Please don’t kill her for being rude. She doesn’t know her gifts are dumb.”

“Hey!” I put my hands on my hips.

Alon laughed and Panther startled. “Don’t worry. It really is the thought that counts. Very well, girl. What do you ask for?”

Panther turned to me and waved his arms frantically. “No, Molly, please don’t!”

I ignored him and leaned over to peer at Alon. “I want justice for my friend’s parents.”

The smile fell off Alon’s face. “That’s not possible.”

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Witcher Man and the Case of the Guillotine Society, pt. 24


James’s Note: To paraphrase Terry Pratchet, kings seem like such a good idea. Especially when you picture your self with all the power. But there’s a reason people bristle at that kind of authority. Luckily the Witcher man never walks away from a case.


“So your thought is, why settle for a city, when you could coast around in the shadow of a Methuselah like Cuthbar and just step in to take his power whenever he eventually disappears.”

Anton gave me an appreciative look. “You’re very astute, Witcher man. That’s exactly the idea. Even now, very few vampires in the city have ever even seen Master Morgan. I’m his right-hand, everything goes through me. Someday, it will be a very easy transition for everyone to accept me as the master of not only the city, but all his holdings. With that kind of power, I could correct a lot of what’s wrong with vampiric society. The younger vampires are angry because the Masters have abused their power. The problem is not the power, the problem is how it’s used. Not only would they be better treated under me, they would also be better controlled under me. The world would be safer for them, as well as from them.”

Yep, it was exactly as I thought. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and Anton was driving the road grader. Don’t get me wrong, I fully understand the desire to make the world sit down, shut up, and behave. But free will and liberty are things. Kind of important things.

“While I’m sure you’d make a terrific benevolent tyrant, I’m sure you can see why some people might not prefer that.”

Anton gave a tilt of his head sideways, that seemed to indicate he conceded the point that some people might not like it, and also indicated that he didn’t care.

All of that still doesn’t answer my question Anton. What kind of game is Cuthbar playing at and why are you going along with it?

Anton sighed with a sound that contained a couple of centuries of exhaustion.

“I’m going along with my Master’s plan, Daniel, because it’s for the best. Yes there is information you don’t have. No, I’m not going to give it to you. And if you’re smart, you’ll stop looking for it now. No good comes from you pressing this matter further. I told you what I told you in the hopes that you would believe me when I say that for the good of this city, you should take your money and move on with your life.”

It was my turn to make a noncommittal gesture. “Fine Anton, have it your way. Give me my money and I’m out.”

Anton slid the briefcase across my table and got up to leave. Just as he was walking through my front door, he turned back and looked at me.

“You’re not dropping this, are you with Witcher man?”

“I don’t know what would give you that idea,” I said, giving him my very best innocent look.

He matched my look with one of well-bred discussed, and left.

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Witcher Man and the Case of the Guillotine Society, pt. 23


James’s Note: In this episode, we find a few more things that aren’t what they seem. We also get to know Anton a little, and find out what he’s really playing at.


“Master Morgan disagrees. In light of recent events, he thinks it’s obvious that mistress Pavlovic killed his brother. Their rivalry was long-standing and well-known. The signs pointing to the Guillotine Society were no doubt placed at the scene to deflect suspicion from her. Seeing as how she is now dead, Master Morgan does not feel any further action is required. You will notice that there is a sizable bonus in the briefcase, owing to the fact that you not only brought the truth to light, but also avenged Master Morgan’s brother.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and downed the Mug of coffee I was working on in one long drag. It didn’t help head off the headache that was developing. “So you’re telling me that your boss, who was ready to go to war with the Guillotine Society, is now ready to say oops my bad and call the whole matter closed?”

“Master Morgan is more than willing to admit he’s fallible. It seems that he was duped exactly as intended.”

I gave Antonn a hard looking over. In the short time I had known him, he had proven to be a surprisingly astute and open-minded person. I decided to take a shot and aim for his Humanity. Which, I will admit, is an ironic tactic when dealing with a Vampire. “Look, Anton, can we cut the crap? Your boss is jerking me around here. First he just wants me to green light his slaughter of the Guillotine boys, now he just wants me to take the money and run? I know old vamps get bored, but I’m having a hard time thinking there isn’t something I’m missing here.”

Anton sat back and sighed. I felt this gesture was overly dramatic seeing as he didn’t have to breathe. He actually stared at the ceiling for long enough to make most people intensely uncomfortable. Fortunately, I am comfortable being uncomfortable. Finally, like I had just wandered into a different conversation, Anton said, “Do you know how old I am, Witcherman?”

This might have thrown some people off, but I was experienced enough at getting people to talk that I knew the best thing to do when the subject wandered off on you like this was to go on the journey with them. Usually, you’d end up back where you started and they’re likely to open up along the way. I eyed Anton appraisingly. “Well, you’re old enough that Cuthbar lets you handle things on your own, but young enough that you’re not really gunning for your own city. I’d guess around a hundred, maybe a little less.”

Anton laughed without humor. “I’ll be three hundred and fifty this Christmas.”

This took me back just a bit. He was even older than Israel. That was more than old enough to be a master in his own right. “Wait, if you’re rocking three centuries, then why…”

“Why am I playing errand boy to a Methuselah?” Anton interrupted.

I nodded, indicating he had nailed my question in one guess.

“Because I’ve been alive a very long time. Maybe not as long as my master, but longer than I have any right to. I’ve buried wives, children, lovers and friends beyond counting, both human and vampire. The world doesn’t have much left for me, but I’m still around because I want to leave it a better place than I found it.”

  I will admit to being a little bit surprised at the optimism I was hearing from Anton. I had pegged him for a cynical ladder climber, apparently unfairly. “So, then why aren’t you commanding your own City? If you wanted to make a difference, isn’t that where you’d do it?”

Anton, in that moment, looked as old and tired as he purported to be. “If I just wanted to help one city, then yes that would work, but that’s not what I want. Elder vampires are necessary. Due to the power imbalance, where we are so much more powerful than the humans around us, we tend to, let’s say misbehave more often than average humans.”

That I could certainly agree on. Although, to be honest, it’s not really a inclination I understood. It seems like the majority of creatures, human or otherwise, gain power over others, and immediately want to be in control. I’ve never really had that myself, in spite of the powers I’ve come to wield over time. Now, the path to Hell being paved with good intentions, that I understood. From what I was hearing from Anton, I was getting the impression that his problem was the same as mine. Or at least, what my problem would be if I didn’t watch myself carefully.

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The Petitioner’s Cairn Pt1


Sharon’s note: More adventures of Molly and Panther. This is them a little bit older. I’m planning to jump around to different points in their childhood. It’s really fun so far, and hopefully you enjoy it too. Warning: Author is loving the protagonist, even if she doesn’t think this through completely.


When I turned around, Panther’s head was in my backpack and his tail was lashing happily.

I narrowed my eyes. “You better not be eating my sandwich.”

He pulled his head out, turned it to the side and sneezed. 

“I don’t know what that means.” I crossed my arms. “If you want to say something, turn human and say it properly.” 

Panther yawned widely and turned so that his butt was facing me. 

“Fine. Be a jerk.” I snatched up my bag and continued walking towards the woods. He always did this. He stayed in cougar form so he couldn’t talk. He did it because he knew it made me angry.

“Where are you going, anyway?” he asked.

I turned around with a smirk. “We’re going to the Cairn.”

Panther looked really stupid standing there, human, naked and wide eyed. “Why do you want to go to the Cairn?”

“Everyone knows that if you bring a gift to the Cairn, ask for justice, and really deserve it, that it will be done.” I reached into my bag and tossed him the pair of shorts I brought for him. “I brought peanut butter and grandma’s false teeth. That should be enough to get justice for your parents.”

Panther hopped on one foot to put on the shorts. “It may work like that for humans, but my parents were of the Woods, like me. I know the guy who accepts offerings at the Cairn. His name is Alon. He’s a jerk and he’s friends with my brother.”

“He has to do it.” I rolled my eyes and put a hand on my hip. “That’s the deal. I bring gifts, you get justice.”

“Only if he agrees to take them, there’s no way he’d do it for peanut butter and your grandma’s nasty old teeth.”

“It’s a whole unopened jar of peanut butter, and the teeth aren’t nasty. Mom kept them in a clean dry place, and she would be super pissed if she found out I took them. It’s a risk and a sacrifice or something, so that’s totally a thing. Besides, fairies like teeth.”

“Hey! One, I never said we were called fairies, and two, I don’t like teeth.” Panther put his hands on his hips and bared his own teeth, which made me giggle.

“Liar. You were the one who found grandma’s dentures and started playing with them.”

“That doesn’t mean I like them. It’s just really funny when I put them in the bear puppet’s mouth.”

“Yeah.” I snickered, then I grabbed his arm and tugged. “Come on. It’s supposed to be totally safe as long as we brought gifts and stuff. Jenny Simmons told me so. Is that wrong?”

Panther bit his bottom lip for a second then shrugged. “No, but this isn’t a good idea.”

I threw my hands up in the air. “Well why not?”

“I don’t know. It just seems like a bad idea.”

I started walking again and looked over my shoulder. “I’m going. Are you coming?”

“I’m your friend. I can’t let you go alone. You’d do something stupid. Something stupider than going in the first place, I mean.”

“Cool.” I grabbed his arm and started dragging him. “Come on then, stupid. You’ll feel a lot better when we sick this Alon guy on your brother.”

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Witcher Man and the Case of the Guillotine Society, pt. 22


James’s Note: Just when the end seems in sight, we find out things are more complicated than they seem. It looks like the details are messier than expected, and a Witcher Man doesn’t like messy details. Also, we learn about a most peculiar box. Don’t worry, I’m sure that won’t come up later.


After stepping out of the shower, which was itself a bracing experience as the hot water be against my myriad lacerations, I rubbed some healing salve on my superficial wounds, and bound my ribs with a bandage inscribed with runes to encourage healing. They weren’t broken, thank God.

 I grabbed the wooden flute I had been using and went into my study to return it to its place behind my desk. I passed the empty cage where until recently I had kept my tarantula. Not long ago, I had released him into my garden. Thankfully, the annual garden was not part of the destruction wreaked by our vampiric visitors. I still checked in with my spider weekly, making sure that he had everything he needed to remain a holy terror on all invasive species. So far, he had wiped out several non-native species of beetle and was doing battle with squash bugs. He was a very diligent little hunter, and I admired his zeal.

I opened the curio cabinet that sits behind my desk and replaced the flute. As I did, my eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to a heavy wooden box that sat on the top shelf. I tried not to think about that box anymore than I had to. It had been in my family for three generations, ever since my grandfather got his hands on it. Every Witcher man since him, meaning my father and I, had been tasked with protecting that box. I didn’t know what was in it, but I knew it was as powerful as it was dangerous. 

My dad once told me that if that box was ever opened, it would make the Apocalypse look like a Sunday picnic. Grandad, who unlike my father, may have actually known what was in the box, told me that the only way that box should ever be opened was if the world was totally screwed anyway and it couldn’t possibly get any worse. Even then, it would probably get worse, but at a certain point you just have to say screw it and do something. I’ve often wondered what would be bad enough to make me open it. Probably when things were bad enough that opening it didn’t sound completely insane anymore. 

I really hate that box.

Replacing the flute and relocking the cabinet careful not to touch the box on the top shelf, I made my way to my bedroom. I really hated having to sleep during the day, but sometimes there’s just no help for it. If I didn’t get some sleep today, I’d be screwed since there was no way I was going to get any sleep that night. I finally crawled into bed, and had to use every meditative technique I could think of before I finally drifted off to sleep.

When I woke up that night, I brewed the strongest coffee I could manage. Considering I had access to world-class coffee beans and a nifty French press, that was some pretty strong coffee. Every once in a while, I considered throwing in a few coca leaves. But, even though they’re nowhere near as dangerous as the refined product made for them, the last thing I need to add to my list of troubles is an opiate addiction. So I stuck to the caffeine.

Israel was still asleep in the guest room when I got a text from Anton saying he was on his way to meet me. A little while later, I was pouring Anton and myself coffee in my kitchen. Coffee is one of the few things in the culinary world vampires can still consume, and Anton was grateful for it, since it seemed his night was not off to the best start. He had brought a black briefcase with him, which he slid across the table to me.

“I know you prefer cash, so I arranged your payment accordingly. Master Morgan wants to thank you for your efforts and we’ll be in touch if we ever need your services again.”

I managed to squint at Anton while simultaneously raising my eyebrow. I’m talented like that. “Don’t get me wrong, Anton, I like briefcases full of money as much as the next guy. It just seems like you’re missing a key feature of the situation. Mainly the fact that I haven’t actually done the job you hired me to do yet. I still don’t know who killed Conchobar. Hell, I haven’t even ruled anyone out.”

So You Build Yourself a Snowman


Sharon’s note: So, this was supposed to come out the week of Christmas, but, you know, life happened. As kind of an apology, here is a little bit longer story, my belated Christmas present from me to all of you. Warning: Author has never actually built a snowman, and feels this may be a shortcoming in her life.


“Mom,” Billy said, bouncing on his heels.

“Just a second, Sweetie.” His mother held out a single finger in a gesture of ‘wait’ while not even looking away from the screen. “Come on, Sam. I’m asking for a couple of hours on one freaking day. You even told me that your office is closed.”

“Yeah, well that doesn’t mean that I don’t still have work to do. I work from home most of the time right now.” Billy couldn’t see Uncle Sam, but he sounded mad.

“I’m asking for a couple of hours on Christmas Day. It’s been eight years since you’ve made it for Christmas-”

“Dad was the one who said he didn’t want to see me!”

“Dad’s been dead for two years!” When his mother yelled, Billy jumped. He’d been just about to poke her shoulder to get her attention. “You and Dad had a stupid fight over money, and because both of you were too stubborn to appologise and work out your differences like adults he died without you ever saying another word to each other. Do you really want to do the same with Mom? She’s sick, and there’s a really good chance that she’s not going to make it to next Christmas. Because of this stupid virus, we can’t even meet up at her hose to see her in person. Can you really spare time to argue with me here, but not give your mother two stinking hours?”

They were both quiet for a second, so Billy proceeded to poke his mother. “I’m hungry.”

“There’s left over pizza from last night in the fridge. Go ahead and start heating some up.”

“Hey, that you, Billy-boy?” Uncle Sam’s voice sounded a little thick, like he had a cold. 

Billy pressed his shoulder into his mother’s while he squeezed himself into the camera’s view. “Hey!”

“Dang, you’re huge. How old are you now? Fourteen? Fifteen?”

Billy brayed. “I’m ten.” 

“Billy, go make yourself some pizza, okay?” His mom rubbed her forehead.

“I want you to make it.” He poked his mother in the arm again.

“Are you saying that you’re not making your own food, little man? At your age?” Uncle Sam started laughing, and Billy’s mouth puckered like he bit a lemon.

“I can to!” He stomped, which made his uncle laugh harder. “I just want Mom to feel like she’s useful and stuff. You know, since she’s getting old.”

“Gee, thanks.” Billy’s mom frowned at him. “Now go on. I’ve got to finish talking with your uncle, then I’ve got to make some other calls.”

“Bye, Billy-boy.” His uncle called as he walked away. Billy didn’t answer as he stomped away. 

The last few days Billy’s mom had been talking to people constantly trying to set up a Christmas thing for his grandma. He didn’t know why. Grandma barely knew who anyone was anymore. On a good day, she thought he was Uncle Sam. His dad was barely home anymore because of his work at the hospital. Billy was tired of being alone and didn’t want to eat leftover pizza. He grinned.

His mom’s purse lay open on the kitchen counter. It only took a moment to fish around inside and find her walet. Billy grabbed a twenty and shoved it into his pocket. Giggling, he dropped the wallet back in her purse and ran out the back door. He was going to go down the street to get himself some chicken nuggets. 

Snow piled up on either side of the road, and cold bit Billy’s exposed face and arms. He wished he’d thought to put on a coat before leaving the house, but there was no way that he was going back to the house just for his mom to ignore him. Soon, she’d get off of all those stupid calls, and she’d realize that he was gone. She’d be worried, but then he’d come back, and she would realize how she’d treated him. 

Not far from the faded yellow roof of his favorite burger place, the wind kicked up and Billy jumped between two buildings to let the gust die down.

“Hello there. You aren’t dressed for the cold.” 

Billy squawked and spun to see an old man leaning against a brick wall. He was bundled up like it was even colder than it was, so it was hard to tell if he was just really fat under the quilted parka, or if he was just wearing that many layers. His face bore a passing resemblance to Santa’s, if Santa had skin like old shoe leather and bad teeth. The beard was passible, though.

“What do you care?” Billy frowned at the discount Santa.

“I was just wondering. The warm front is supposed to be here until tomorrow. I thought maybe you were confused, is all.” The old man laughed, and it wasn’t quite a proper ‘Ho ho ho’, but it was close.

“Whatever.” Billy rolled his eyes, and went to leave the old weirdo behind, but the second he left the alleyway’s protection the wind came screaming down the lane, causing him to jump back.

“Why are you out here without a jacket? Do you not have one?” The old man leaned over so that his and Billy’s faces were even. 

“I have one!” Billy snapped. He didn’t want this weirdo thinking he was poor. “I just wanted to get some food. I’m not going far.”

“Do you not have food at home?” The old man used one of those syrupy tones that you used with really little kids.

“We had pizza and stuff, but Mom wouldn’t heat it up for me. I decided that if she was going to make me get my own food, I’d just go and get whatever I want.” Billy crossed his arms and grinned proudly. 

“Do your parents not pay attention to you?”

“Not lately. Dad’s too busy with this whole virus crap and he’s never home. Even when he is home, he says he’s too tired to play with me.  We only play video games together like a couple of hours on Sunday. Mom was there, but like the last three days she’s been busy trying to get together this whole video party set up for Grandma. She’s said it’s because this is our last chance to have a holiday together, but I don’t know why she cares. Nobody in our family likes anyone else, and there’s never been a Christmas where everyone was there. And it’s not like Grandma would remember it anyway. It’s like Mom even said once when she thought I couldn’t hear her; there’s no bats left in that belfry.”

“Poor boy.” The discount Santa said, flatly. “Did it ever occur to you that this is more for your mother? So that she can have a good memory with her family before her own mother is gone forever?”

Billy wrinkled his nose. “No. That’s dumb.”

The old man tapped his lip for a moment before grinning widely. “You know, I think I have exactly what you need.”

Billy took a step towards the road. “What?”

With a flourish the old man reached around behind his back and pulled out a decrepit black top hat. “Ta da!”

“What is that?” Billy scrunched his face in disgust.

“Why it’s a magic hat.” He twirled it between his hands. “Haven’t you ever seen a magic hat before?”

“There’s no. Such thing. As magic.” Billy broke the words up for emphasis and smiled proudly at his worldly knowledge.

“Oh yeah?” The old man raised an eyebrow, and when Billy nodded he said, “Then where did I get the hat from?”

Billy thought long and hard about that, walked a circle around the old man, but couldn’t see where he’d have pulled the hat from. Frowning, he said, “It still could be some sort of magic trick.”

“Magic, but not a trick. Go on, take it home and try it out.”

“What do I do, put it on?” Billy stared inside the hat and made a face. It looked really dirty.

“Don’t you know the song, boy?” The old man laughed and hummed a bar.

“Frosty the Snowman?” Billy stared at the hat with new interest. “So this thing can really bring a snowman to life?” 

“I guarantee it.” The old man smirked. “You should go home and try it out.”

Billy had never made a snowman. He’d seen snow before, but there’d never been enough to actually do anything with. It was a lot of work. 

After the old man had given him the hat, he’d gone home, eaten a slice of cold pizza, bundled up, and then started construction. His mother hadn’t even known he was gone, which made him mad. She tried to call him in, but he’d ignored her and just continued to build his new snow friend. 

Almost three hours later, he’d finished. It wasn’t a perfect snowman. They didn’t have any coal, but charcoal briquettes were practically the same thing, right? Anyway, they made a good mouth, lined up into a smile. Billy’s mom only bought baby carrots, so the nose was a little stubby. When he got to the eyes, he remembered that they were supposed to be made of coal, but he figured it was too late, so instead Billy broke the arms off an old pair of sunglasses and used those. With an old scarf his grandma had made him but he never wore because it choked him, it was all finished.

Chortling to himself, Billy produced the top hat and walked it over to the snowman. With great gravity, he placed it on the mostly round head. “I hereby name thee Frosty the Second.”

The snowman shuttered like a wet dog and Billy fell back with a squawk. 

“Oh my, oh my, there’s so little time,” Frosty fretted, wiggling like a giant white worm. Only then did Billy realize he forgot to give the snowman arms.

“So where are you taking me?” The little boy launched to his feet, eyes and grin wide.

“Take you?” The glasses contracted like a blink. 

“Yeah. You’re a magical snowman and I built you. Now you take me on some magical adventure while my parents are being jerks by ignoring me.”

“Why would I do that?”

Billy sputtered. “What do you mean why? This is how it works!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I can’t worry about it now.” Frosty undulated in a way that Billy found a little freaky. “The heat wave is coming!”

“So?” The boy snorted. 

“So, I have one night to live. Tomorrow the warmth comes, and I will melt and die. I must see as much as I can before I disappear. I can’t even touch the world before I go.” The snowman focused on Billy in a way he didn’t like at all. “You! You said you made me. Why would you make me incomplete like this?”

Billy’s stomach began to churn. The way the charcoal mouth twisted as words came from nowhere wasn’t right. “I don’t know. I just forgot, okay?”

“It is not okay.” Frosty hopped, making a heavy thump against the ground. “You have made me broken. You are a child playing god, and I curse you!”

The snowman raised his head to the sky and howled. Billy screamed and ran inside, slamming the backdoor behind him.

“Sweetie? Is there a dog in the yard? I thought I heard something.” Billy’s mom was back at the computer again.

“N-no. I mean, there was, but it ran away,” Billy stammered. He didn’t want his mom to go out there with the crazy snowman thing. “I’m just going to stay inside for now in case it comes back.”

“It wasn’t that weird nippy lab again was it? I’ve called animal control on it twice now.”

“Um, yeah. Yeah it was.” Billy peered out the kitchen window. 

Frosty was sitting in the middle of the yard, smiling again. His charcoal mouth wiggled in a horrific motion that might have been a laugh, then he dropped to the ground and slithered to the fence before launching over it with ease. 

Billy whimpered, before scampering to his mother’s side. He struggled for a second to figure out what to say. She wouldn’t believe him if he told her he’d accidentally brought to life a crazy, armless snowman. “Mom?”

“Yeah, Sweetie?” She looked away from the screen. There was some kind of shopping website on it.

“What’cha doin’?” He peered around her shoulder, curiosity momentarily shoving away his dread.

“I am ordering food so that Grandma and Uncle Charlie will have a good Christmas meal. You know he isn’t much of a cook, and Grandma shouldn’t be in the kitchen much anymore.” His mother’s smile faltered. “I got on to Sam for not being a good son, but I haven’t really been a good daughter. I’ve been leaving all Mom’s care to Charlie, because it’s easier that way. Now, there’s so little time left, and I can’t even go see her. The best I can do is send her a turkey that someone else made and browbeat the children she doesn’t even remember half the time into having a video chat with her.”

Tears slid down her cheeks. Billy hesitantly put a hand out to touch his mom’s shoulder. He hadn’t realized she was so sad. Her and the snowman had both said they didn’t have time. Billy started to cry too as he threw his arms around his mother. “It’s okay, Mom.”

“Not really, Baby, but it will be.” She sniffed, then smiled. “Come on, you can help me pick out some sides for Grandma’s dinner.”

“She likes macaroni and cheese.” Billy lit up, remembering the side his grandmother had always ordered in restaurants.

“Well, we’ll make sure she gets some, then.” 

Billy didn’t sleep well that night. He had nightmares about a giant snake snowman coming through his window to eat him. When he woke up it was late morning, his mom had all the windows open, because it was almost warm. 

As he climbed up onto the kitchen stool to wait for her to pour him some cereal, his mother said, “Sweetie? Why don’t you run outside real quick and grab all those things you put on the snowman. They’re going to get wet.”

Heart stuttering, Billy looked out the window, expecting to see Frosty glaring at him. Instead, he saw a lump of snow in the middle of the yard. It was the largest bit of white left in the yard, but even then it was mostly slush. On the very top sat the tattered old hat. The side gate into the yard opened, and the old man strolled into the yard.

“Mom!” Billy hollered at the top of his lungs. He looked around wildly, only to see she wasn’t in the kitchen. Slowly, he turned back to the window.

The old man stood over the rapidly disappearing remains of the snowman. He stooped to pick up the hat and twirled it as he straightened. Billy trembled as the discount Santa dropped the hat on his head and tipped the brim with a knowing smile. He sauntered slowly out of the yard and was just closing the gate just as Billy’s mom stumbled back into the kitchen.

“Everything alright, Sweetie?” She swiped at the hair in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I was in the bathroom. I came as soon as I could.”

Billy continued staring at the gate for a moment before turning back to his mother. “It’s fine. I just thought I saw the nippy dog again. I was wrong.”

“Okay. Give me just a minute and I’ll get you your breakfast.”

“It’s okay, Mom, I can get myself.” Billy got down off the stool. “I know you got stuff to do.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure?”

The old man’s smile haunted Billy when he closed his eyes. “Yeah. Go ahead and like, call Grandma or something. I know there’s not a lot of time.”

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Hard Hunting Pt 18


Sharon’s note: It’s easy to over look other’s problems. Most of the time, it’s done out of carelessness, not malice. Either one hurts, but it’s important to acknowledge the difference. People might not seem recognize your problems or limitations, but they aren’t doing it to be cruel. They may just not see it. Try to have a little faith. Yes, people suck, but a lot of time they suck less than you think they do. Understanding works both ways. Don’t be as careless as they are by just nursing your hurt over words instead of seeing their intentions. Warning: Author is getting dangerously close to screaming, “Can’t we all just get along?!”


Brain killed a lot of time telling me the sordid story of his love life. I felt a little bad for him, but mostly I just made sympathetic noises while trying not to laugh. It was a tale as old time, him falling for the wrong person and constantly chasing after them. When he told me that he switched the circle to the youngest boy, my heart squeezed painfully. The clock was running down so fast.

By the time I got to the gate I knew all about his job and the constant power struggle between management and the people who worked the floor. I’d never had a normal job, so I had to admit to a certain amount of curiosity. It sounded boring, but you learned the value of boring when you’re a Hunter. Boring meant nothing bad was happening. 

I almost sobbed in relief when I saw the gate. This late at night it was padlocked, but that wasn’t a problem. I had bolt cutters in the back, standard equipment for a Hunter, but I was fighting a clock. Not just the circle, but my own body. I hadn’t been particularly conservative with my energy, and if I exhausted myself, I wouldn’t be any good to anyone. 

I stomped the gas and launched the SUV at the gate. The metal tab that the chain was attached to tore like paper and the gate swung free.

“What was that noise?” Brian’s voice rose almost a full octave.

“That was just me getting to the park. I had to go through the gate.”

“What, did you just bust through it?” He snickered.

“Yeah. You know, for the fun of it.” It wasn’t a lie. It was kind of fun. 

“So you guys are here?” The relief in his voice made guilt knaw at my gut. 

I forced a smile so he’d hear it as I told him, “Yeah, were here, but we have to get in position. It will take a little bit, so hang tight, alright?” 

“Yeah. Were okay here. The wolf is just pacing. But . . .” Brian’s voice got quieter. “I’m not sure the kid’s going to be able to hold the circle long. He’s already starting to feel a little woozy.”

“That’s not unexpected,” I assured him. “Just switch him out before he faints. It’ll be fine. Just hang in there a little bit longer.”

I took the path up to the observation tower as fast as I dared. Branches scraped the side of my car, but that didn’t bother me. It was already pretty scraped up, and hitting the fence had probably added a new dent. When I saw the sign saying the path was washed out, I didn’t pay it any mind. I had four wheel drive. It would be fine. 

Not a hundred yards up the road, I stopped. I’d known there was a small slough with a bridge across it. It was on the website. What wasn’t on the website was the fact that the bridge was out. It looked fine, but there were loops upon loops of yellow caution tape and a sign warning that the bridge was out. I was hesitant to risk the bridge, but even with four wheel drive, I wasn’t stupid enough to try the slough.

 This wasn’t a few feet of mud, this was a gulf of sludge and stagnant water. Who knew how deep it was. A twenty yard river of muck stood between me and the other side. The stomach churning oder of swamp was almost mocking. I pulled up the park map on my phone. This was the only path. It was the bridge or nothing. I bit my lip and took a deep breath to stave off panic. It would be fine. Someone was just being careful.

“Hey, Joy, are you there?” Brian asked. 

“Yeah. I’m just doing a little figuring. It’s going to be . . . no problem.” I backed the car up as far as I could and still get a straight shot and gunned it again.

Hard Hunting
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Witcher Man and the Case of the Guillotine Society, pt. 21


James’s Note: So, White Holocaust Bees. They actually came to me in a dream. The only part I still remember is some one saying, “Most animals don’t want to harm you any more than you want to harm them. Well, except for White Holocaust Bees.” That’s where the name came from. The idea for the creatures themselves came from a video of Japanese honey bees killing an Asian Hornet by vibrating until they cooked it to death. I love nature.


I didn’t have any time to gloat over my victory. I grabbed my messenger bag, and after a bit of fumbling, came out with a large syringe and a small vial that contained what looked like blood. In fact, with the addition of a few herbs and magical charms, it was blood. I chugged it down quickly, and rushed to Israel’s side. His body was cold, still and dead. Luckily, he was a vampire and that didn’t mean a damn thing. I quickly found a vein and rammed home the needle in my own arm. 

Damn it, that needle felt like it was the same gauge as a drinking straw. I filled the syringe, unscrewed the needle and opened Israel’s already slack jaw. I stuck the now needleless syringe in his mouth and sprayed my blood down his throat. Thankfully, the potion I had just drank would replace the blood I was giving him. That was a good thing, as I replaced the needle and repeated the process. Around the third time, just as his eyes were starting to flutter open, he jerked on the ground as his spine snapped back into shape. It’s truly ridiculous how much damage a vampire can heal given enough blood. After he drank what felt like enough of my blood to fill a small swimming pool, he managed to sit up weakly.

“How do you feel?”

“I feel like the assembled hordes of Genghis Khan just ran my ass over. So, you know, I’ve been worse.” He looked over at the pile of dust that had once been an unstoppable master of this city. “What happened to her?”

I motioned to the big white bees now returning lazily to their hive, some of them dawdling around to sample the flowers. “They did. Those are White Holocaust bees. Nature’s little Kamikaze bombers. Instead of a sting they self-immolate with a fire hot enough to melt steel. It’s a defense mechanism they evolved to combat Iron Hornets.”

Israel let his head flop back to the ground. “I really don’t want to know what those are.”

The rest of the night was a fun-filled ordeal to sift through the carnage and try to put my life back together. My first priority was to get the Willow man back in his enclosure before he decided to go Godzilla on the surrounding countryside. While “The Willow Tree That Ate Houston” might make a great B Movie, I really didn’t need that in my life. Luckily, after having decimated a vampiric hit squad, it was understandably tired. It had planted Itself by the stream, and was letting the cool waters wash over its roots and trailing branches. From my house I retrieved a wooden flute heavy enough to be used as a billy club. With a rousing rendition of Jethro Tull’s The Whistler, I was able to coax the old Willow Tree back into its proper place and rebind it with the proper spell. 

Israel was tucked away safely in my sun proof guest room to ride out the coming day. He was one of the few vampires I had actually liked well enough to let stay in my house, but he wasn’t the first, and I was prepared to offer him a sun free place to sleep.

Then I had the unhappy task of surveying the damage to my property. My forest looked like it had been subjected to carpet bombing. I sighed, knowing the amount of work it would take to restore it to its former beauty. A lot of new plantings would be required, along with a lot of love.

The hedge, ornery bastard that it was, was already fixing itself. Several of the large orange trees that had been uprooted had been rammed back down into the soil by their neighbors. The bramble roses had enveloped all the wounded trees, holding them in place while they healed. Aside from the missing gate, you would never know the hedge have been breached. I love that cantankerous wall of hate.

I made a call to Anton’s human secretary, who takes all his calls during the day, and set up a meeting as soon as the sun went down. Having my ducks now firmly in a row, I was able to return to my house for a much-needed shower, and some much-needed first aid.

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Witcher Man and the Case of the Guillotine Society, pt. 20


James’s Note: I don’t want to spoil this scene, so all I’m going to say here is this is one of my favorite scenes of the book. It also contains one my favorite creations of mine, which you’ll have to read to see. Suffice it to say, we see what happens when a Witcher Man goes toe to toe with a Master vampire.



Rather than exchange banter with Anna, I choose the more expedient route of opening fire. I made sure I had a good sight picture, and squeezed the trigger as fast as I could, the gun cycling at quite a decent rate of fire. 

It wasn’t even almost fast enough. 

She practically danced through the cloud of buckshot I unleashed. Just as she was about to crash into me, Israel hit her like an intercepting bullet. The ensuing fight was vicious. It happened too fast for the human eye to follow. All I got were impressions. 

Israel slashed and stabbed with his knife; I’m pretty sure even managing to tag her a few times. She threw punches that landed like cannon fire. I tried another shot, hoping I wouldn’t hit Israel, but that shot was just as effective as the first ones have been. Which means it did a grand total of dick. 

I was fast enough to see Israel launch for a decapitation strike, but he was just too slow. She seized his arm and spun around him like a ballerina. His arm twisted behind his back, she grabbed him by the hair and hammered him into the ground like he had fallen from an airplane. She lept gracefully to her feet and brought the heel of her bare foot down on his back in an ax kick that shook the ground like one of the Willow’s blows. I heard the sickening crack and crunch as she obliterated his spine, almost breaking him in half. 

Israel lay on the ground, blood pouring from his mouth and nose, unmoving. I tried vainly to empty the rest of my magazine at her, but before I could even get another shot off, she had me by the throat and was lifting me higher into the air.

“Any last words, Witcher man?” she asked, obviously thinking this was over.

“You know,” I choked out, “that’s always a stupid question.” 

With all my might, I kicked the steel box behind me.

The sudden thrumming buzz that filled the air was something you could feel in your chest. Out of the hive, huge white bees began to pour in a thick and visible cloud. Each one was the size of a hummingbird and shown with a faint white glow. The bees boiled out of all of the hives, quickly swarming Anna and I. She seemed more confused than concerned, and tried to strike them with her free hand. 

This was not a good idea. 

She struck one that had landed on her face, and it exploded in white hot fire, burning a hole in her cheek. That made her scream. Soon the bees were slamming into her and erupting like the white hot slag from a smelting furnace. A few of them landed on me, tasted the concoction I had spread all over myself, and decided that I was a bee too. Anna, however, was not covered in a delicious nectar concoction spiked with bee pheromones.

Several more of the bees that landed on her erupted in fire, causing her to hurl me away in pain. I landed on the path, digging a crater in the gravel. Let me tell you, that is not a fun experience. Luckily, my leather jacket kept me from having to pick too many of the rocks out of my skin.

Anna was screaming and flailing when the guard bees arrived. Worker bees try not to fight, since they have long productive lives gathering honey left ahead of them. But as they get older, they start to stay around the hive more. They also get a lot more grumpy. They graduate into being guard bees, who are too old for this shit and don’t have a lot left to live for. These are the ones that encompassed Anna’s writhing form.

She was quickly invisible under the furious mass of little soldiers. When they began to vibrate, the heat roiled off them in waves. She fell to the ground, kicking and rolling. The bees became the white-hot glow of a supernova and the flash of their immolation blinded me.

I lay on the ground in darkness, nursing my injured ribs and thinking how nice it would be to stay here always and have no more of life’s troubles or tribulations. Unfortunately, my vision quickly returned and I had shit to deal with. 

Where Anna had lain, there was now nothing but a blackened skeleton. When I prodded it with the toe of my boot, it collapsed into a fine gray ash. 

Well, I thought to myself, that’s one way to deal with a master vampire.

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Hard Hunting: Pt 17


Sharon’s note: You know it’s okay to let people deal with thing in their own way, right? If someone needs longer to deal with something than you do, it’s okay. Also, if something would be hard for you, but someone else can deal with it, don’t hate on them either. Their journey isn’t about you any more than yours is about them. Let people deal with things their own way. Warning: Author thinks that people need a reminder that not everything is about them, and they need to give people a break.


“I didn’t mean to sound like I was judging.” Brian was quiet enough that I could hear the boys talking in the background.

“Are they playing ‘Go Fish’?” I laughed.

“Yeah, apparently one of them had cards and I figured it would keep them distracted. I don’t know how they aren’t freaked out about this.”

“Meh.” I shrugged, forgetting he couldn’t see it. “I’m sure they’ll need extensive therapy in the future. How’s Barbara?”

“She’s refereeing the card game. Apparently they both cheat if they can get away with it.”

“I do not!” The indignant cry of a pre-teen boy came distantly over the com. I chuckled. 

Brian continued so quietly that I almost couldn’t hear him. “Honestly, I’m not sure how much longer she’s going to last. She seems really tired.”

“Just keep an eye on her. If she starts nodding, pass the circle to the younger boy.” I tried to keep my tone light, like it was no big deal, but I was worried. The kids wouldn’t last long. Just magically, they didn’t have the same energy as an adult. My knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. I was going to be in time and I was going to be enough when I did. I had to be.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Just from the tone I could tell this wouldn’t be a fun question.

“Shoot.” I took my hands off the wheel one at a time to shake them loose.

“You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

“Just ask, Brian.” I rolled my eyes.

“How do you deal with all of this? I mean, I’m not sure how I’m going to get on with my normal life after all this.”

Oh, was that all? “Do you mean the existence of the supernatural or all the blood and death?”

“Both.”

“The supernatural part is easy.” I reconsidered that. “Or rather, it’s simple, not necessarily easy. You just have to make yourself realize that nothing’s changed. The world was always like this, you just didn’t know about it. Your next door neighbor might be a werewolf or a vampire. So what? They’ve always been one. It’s never been a problem before, so why should it be one now?”

“You can just do that? Pretend everything’s normal?” The frustration in his voice made me laugh. 

“Second generation hunter, remember? I’ve known this my entire life, but I work with a lot of people who came into this later. You are always part who you were raised to be. It’s your baseline, but you can acclimatise to any situation, if you really want to and are willing to put in the effort.”

“I . . . I’m not sure I could do that.” His voice was quiet.

“Or you could pretend you didn’t learn a life-altering fact and hope burying something like that doesn’t cause a psychotic break.” I started to laugh, but made myself stop. It wasn’t kind. “Don’t worry about it right now. When this is over I’ll get you an appointment with one of our shrinks. They have a lot of experience with this sort of thing, and can help you work through it. If things are too much, well, I wouldn’t recommend it, but they can make you forget.”

“Why wouldn’t you recommend it?”

“There’s evidence that having your memory removed can cause problems. Paranoia, hallucinations, all sorts of things as your brain tries to either fill in the blank spot or refute the fake memory. It’s a hotly debated topic in the supernatural world.

“So, lets leave that for the doctors to discuss. Tell me about yourself. I’ve done enough taking. You said you were in retail. What do you do in retail. What about someone special? Are you dating anyone?”

“Ah.” I could hear the depression in his voice. “That is a really long story.”

I laughed. “Well, it’s a long drive, so you have a captive audience.”

Hard Hunting
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