James’s Note:Home is where the heart is. When you’re a Witcher Man, it’s also where the magical weapons are. I thought a lot in the early days of this story about how Daniel would defend his home. Pursued by vampiric killers, we’ll have to see if his defenses are enough.
I glanced at Israel, not taking my eyes off the road. “Alright, shit’s about to get real, and we don’t have a lot of time.”
I slammed my foot down on the accelerator and the Mini lept to answer the challenge.
Israel looked out the back window, watching us pull suddenly ahead of the following van. “It looks like we’ve got one van on our tail, and probably another back there somewhere. I can tell it’s a hit squad, and considering they know who you are, I’m betting it’s a mix of vampires and humans. There’s just one thing I can’t tell that will determine how screwed we are.”
I nodded. I was thinking the same thing. “Whether or not Anna’s with them.”
Normally a master vampire like her wouldn’t be caught undead on a simple assasination mission, but there was nothing normal about this situation.
I tore down the tree-lined highway, past houses and fields. We were going so fast when I crossed the bridge over a seasonal creek that my Mini got a respectable amount of air. Israel was hanging on for dear life, but to his credit, made no comment.
I knew the hit squad in hot pursuit would not be something easy to deal with. I’m even man enough to admit to a certain looseness in the bowels at the thought of having to fight a van full of vampires, the least of which would be about as powerful as Israel. If Anna herself was with them, however, then we were screwed at a level worthy of epic greek poetry.
“I hope you’ve got a plan, Daniel.” I noticed he was using my first name now. Most of the people I encounter in my work just call me Witcher Man. Seeing as it currently looked like we stood an excellent chance of dying together, I figured us being on a first-name basis was entirely appropriate.
“As a matter of fact I do. We’re almost to my place. When I stop the car, I’m going to take off running. Stay close to me. As long as Anna’s not with them, they probably won’t get through the defenses on my property.”
“And if she is with them?”
“Then prayer would absolutely be in order.”
The mini hit my driveway at a truly epic speed, gravel flying in a giant rooster tail. The wrought iron gate swung open just in time to admit us. I was so glad I had added that little enchantment. It worked better than an electric gate opener. The gate slammed shut behind us.
At the gate, you could see the Hedge that ringed my property heading off in either direction. That was my first line of defense.
I thought briefly about heading for the house. My house has its own defenses, and If this were anything less than a high priority vampiric hit squad, I would just hunker down and fend them off with a combination of magical warding and firepower. Unfortunately, even my house’s warding wouldn’t stand up to the kind of vampiric might they were going to bring to bear. I needed something stronger, something deadlier.
Instead of making for the house, we sped around the side and headed to the back. I slid the car to a stop in front of the berm that marked the outside of my food forest.
Sharon’s note: So, yeah, even though I have like a dozen other series going on here I’m going to start another one. Because, ya know, inspiration. So continues the story of Molly and Ki . . . er, Panther. His name is Panther now, because Kitty is undignified. Warning: All bad grammar in this story is totally the author trying to sound like a little kid. No, really. 🙂
“I have decided that your name is Panther,” I informed the kitty. “Daddy says you might be a special cat from the Woods, so calling you Kitty is too silly. Panther fits better.”
Panther didn’t lift his head, or even open his eyes. Instead he lay in the sunbeam on my bed, ignoring me. In the bright morning light, you could actually see the little bit of brown in his mostly black coat, and could even make out the darker black spots. He’d slept a lot for the last six weeks. Daddy said he had to so he could heal, but the cuts on Panther’s belly had been reduced to fine white scars that were mostly covered by his recently regrown hair. He didn’t need to sleep any more. He was just being a cat.
I poked him in the side, and he finally opened one golden eye to glare at me.
“Well, what do you think of your new name?” I put my hands on my hips.
Panther’s eyelid lowered a little, then opened wide before closing completely. This was close enough to a yes for me. I scratched behind his ears and he purred.
“Do you want a ham sandwich?”
Panther’s eyes snapped open and his ears pricked up. He hopped to his feet and shook himself. In happy little pounces he followed me down the hall and rubbed against my calves while I pulled the sandwich stuff out of the fridge.
“You want to make your own lunch, Baby? I was going to order pizza.” Daddy came in through the back door wiping the dirt off his hands with a rag. Him and Mommy were gardening, I think planting peppers.
I tapped my lips and looked at the ceiling like Mommy did sometimes. “Well, I want pizza, but you said that Panther really shouldn’t have pizza, so I’m going to make him a sandwich.”
Daddy looked at Panther with eyes narrowed. He said he didn’t hate my kitty, but I got the feeling he really didn’t like him, or maybe was scared of him. I didn’t understand. Panther didn’t even scratch when he was annoyed with you.
“Baby, I’m not sure sandwiches are good for him either. This is why we got the special cat food.”
“Oh, Daddy, come on! He loves ham.” Panther purred loudly in agreement and I pointed at him. “See?”
He wiped a hand across his face. “Alright, he can have one piece of ham. Then go ahead and change your clothes. You can help Mommy and me outside until it’s time for lunch.”
“Okay, Daddy.” I tossed Panther a piece of lunch meat, which he caught neatly, then went to my room.
I started pawing through my draweres for my grubbies. Daddy called them work clothes, but Mommy called them grubbies. I liked the way that sounded better. Panther was back to laying on my bed in the sun beam.
“Uh! Where are my grubby jeans?” I’d emptied the entire contents of my pants drawer onto my floor.
“They’re in the closet, on the floor.”
“Why would they . . .” I froze, then slowly start to turn around. On my bed was a boy. He was about my age, with shaggy black hair and pale brown skin with darker patches. His eyes were the same gold as Panther’s. Oh, and he was naked.
Sharon’s Note: So, this year’s Halloween throw down is alien themed. Not something I’ve done before, but challenge accepted. Now this is an idea I’ve seen done before, but I’ve always wanted to play around with it. I will totally win this year. Warning: Creative plagiarism. It’s what authors do.
“It’s freezing out here, Jenna. Can we go home? Please?” Robbie stomped his feet and breathed out a long plume of steam then pointed at it. My brother was a freaking Drama Queen.
“You can leave anytime you want to. Just leave the car.” I repositioned the game camera, still not happy with it’s view of the clearing. Dropping my hands to my sides, I sighed deeply. “We’re going to need more cameras.”
“Yeah, well there’s two more in the mail. It’s not my fault the package got held up.” He rubbed at his arms like that was going to help him warm up. “If you aren’t going to get a good recording, what’s the point of even being up here? Let’s home back in a couple of days. We’ll have the cameras, and it’s supposed to be warmer.”
“Jesus, Robbie, have you heard a word I’ve said? It has to be tonight.” I ran a hand through my hair and resisted the urge to rip it out. “This is the only place we know that they’ll be and the only time we know that they’ll be here. Do you want to clear Dad’s name or what?”
“Dad is crazy! He killed Mom and buried her somewhere out in these woods. You need to let this go, Jenna. Greave. See a shrink if you need to . . .”
“Mom isn’t dead!” I punched the tree and screamed at the pain in my hand. Tears started to trickle down my cheek as I shook out my hand. That made it worse. “She was taken. Dad saw it, and if we can get proof there’s no way they can convict him.”
“There are no little green men.” Robbie shook his head while he bit his lip. “Come on, Bubbles, this is crazy.”
“Don’t call me that, I’m not a little kid anymore.” I turned and fidgeted with the camera. My hand cracked while I flexed it. Damn that hurt.
“Maybe you should stop acting like a kid then. You’re chasing after fairy tales and conspiracy theories to try and clear the name of a man who has been an absolute asshole our entire lives. Why?”
I closed my eyes and counted to five before I turned back to my brother. “Yeah, Dad’s an asshole, but he doesn’t deserve to go to jail for something he didn’t do. Besides, do you really think that our father could have killed Mom? He almost faints every time he gets a papercut.”
Robbie chuckled dryly. “No. Dad was always more passive aggressive than aggressive, but what am I supposed to think? Dad was never a romantic either, but he comes up with this whole thing of taking Mom on an anniversary camping trip . . . Mom hates camping even more than he does. You gotta admit, Bubbles, it sounds suspicious.”
“Don’t call me that,” I said, taking a glove off to let the night air chill my aching hand. “And Dad arranged to do something they’d never done before because their therapist suggested it.”
“That therapist is a quack, and I’m going to be honest with you, Jenna, I find the idea of Dad actually trying to fix his marriage about as believable as UFOs appearing in the same spot every year in the middle of nowhere.”
“Well, the latter is well documented.”
Robbie snorted. “A few blurry photographs of some lights and the word of an old man you met at a gas station do not constitute documentation. And why would the aliens care when the winter solstice is? It’s bullshit and a waste of time. So, can we please go home?”
“It . . . Maybe it is bullshit but . . . please, Robbie, can we just try? It’s just one night.”
“One freezing cold night,” Robbie muttered.
“Yeah, Robbie, it will be a long, cold, miserable night and I am asking you to sit through it with me because I need it. Please.” I put my palms over my eyes and my injured hand was still throbbing even though the skin was icy.
“You know,” My brother put his hands on his hips and bit his lip. “You are a spoiled brat. You’ve always been a spoiled brat, who always got everything she ever wanted. Even when we were little kids, you would tell me to jump and if I didn’t way how high you would run to tell Mom and Dad.”
“Robbie . . .”I dropped my head to my chest. He wasn’t wrong.
“Just let me finish, for once, okay, Bubbles?” He smirked at me as he used my old nickname and this time I didn’t protest. “I never, okay, I rarely did what you asked me to do because our parents made me. You’re my little sister. If you really need my help, I will always help you. Just remember that . . .”
“I owe you.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Could you go get the tent out of the car? The camera is about as good as it’s going to get, so I might as well get started on making us a fire. I can make hot chocolate.”
“You know how to make hot chocolate over a fire?”
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t have to sound so sceptical about it. I used to go camping with a friend in elementary school. I learned a few tricks from her dad.”
We settled down to wait for the night. It turned out that starting a campfire wasn’t one of those skills that could just sit unused for years. After a very embarrassing hour of trying to spark a pile of tinder while my brother laughed at me, I finally let him pull out the camp stove.
Robbie insisted on coffee instead of chocolate since we were going to be up all night, so we sat next to each other, drinking coffee and watching the cool light of our electric lanterns glint off the ice covered trees. There was something magical about sitting out there on a winter’s night. There was no noise except for my brother breathing next to me. All the creatures of the wood were dead or sleeping under the snow. I could see more stars than I ever had before and both earth and sky looked like they were covered in diamonds.
“Even if we don’t find Mom, this was worth it,” I whispered, and my breath streamed out like dragon’s smoke.
“Even as cold as it is, I have to admit that it’s pretty.” Robbie pretended to be a grouch, so I bumped him with my shoulder to make him laugh. “And, I guess it’s good to spend some time . . . what was that?”
“What was what?” I snapped to attention, looking around for what he’d seen.
Lights flashed deep in the woods, pumpkin sized nimbuses of green and white and blue and they were headed our way.
Robbie’s mug fell to the ground as he stood up, pulling me with him. “Holy shit, they’re real! Come on, Jenna, we gotta get out of here.”
“No! This is our chance to find out what happened to Mom.” With a jerk, I pulled my arm away from him and stumbled out into the clearing. My original plans if we’d seen the lights was to hide and observe, but there was no way they didn’t hear my brother yelling, whatever they were. Robbie hesitated for a moment, then ran back towards the car. Freaking coward. I stood out in the tree line’s circle and faced down the orbs of light as they approached.
The orbs entered the clearing and started to circle me. I couldn’t tell much about them other than color because they were too bright to look at directly. I tried twice to clear my throat to speak past my tremors.
“My . . . my name is Jenna. You have my mother. I need . . . Please, give her back to me. I need her.”
The lights stopped circling, then two of them shot off, leaving only the blue light. It began to pulse, then in a bright flash that made me close my eyes for a moment, it resolved itself into a humanoid figure.
It stood before me, body still glowing slightly. It was gangally, and it’s oblong head was too big from its frail body. It had sharply pointed ears and giant dragonfly wings pulsed at its back.
“Our guest said she had a daughter. You are very bold to come seek us out.” Its voice was hard to listen to, like the harsh ring of a knife running over a sharpening stone.
“P . . . please. Bring her back.” Even though it was below freezing I was sweating.
It inclined its head. “I offered to take her home tonight while the gates were open. She did not want to come.”
“But why wouldn’t she want to come back? She has to come back. Dad will go to jail if she doesn’t.” I winced in pain as I started to wring my fingers without thought.
“You’re hurt.” It walked towards me, leaving no footprints in the snow, and extended a finger to touch my injured hand. With a faint pop, all the pain vanished.
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome.” It tilted its head to the side. “I will not return your mother. What will you do now?”
“I don’t know.” I looked off towards the direction my brother had run. Bastard had probably taken the car. Would he be willing to testify to what he’d seen? Did the camera catch anything?
“I could take you to see her.” The creature’s words broke through my thoughts. I swallowed hard.
“Like, leave with you? Would . . . would I disappear like my mom?”
“You would be able to come back in a year, if you wanted to.” It reached out a hand.
I was . . . tempted. I could go to my mother and convince her to come back from . . . wherever she was from. If I disappeared they’d have to let my dad go because someone else disappeared while he had an alibi. That’s how it worked, right? I had a life, but nothing so pressing going on that couldn’t go on hold. I didn’t have a boyfriend and I didn’t really care about my job, and . . . I could be honest about the real reason.
I wanted to know. And maybe to stick it to my brother a little bit for abandoning me.
With my newly healed hand, I reached out to take its.
James’s Note: Last year’s Halloween competition was clown themed. This year we’re doing aliens. You could probably do a Stephen King IT thing and do both, but I’m just not that in love with clowns. As always, you should totally vote for me.
It had been six days since I lost my job at the research lab, and my skin was starting to move on its own.
That probably wasn’t good.
I mean, getting fired was kind of bullshit, because that accident totally wasn’t my fault. If flipping that one switch would cause a containment breach, then they really should have labeled it. I mean, who hooks half the power grid up to one switch anyway?
Okay, after the explosion, I may have failed to mention the black goo I was covered in and how it seeped into my skin. But really, at that point, I was probably already fired.
I would have gotten fired eventually anyway. My ADHD made all my tasks take twice as long, my social awkwardness meant none of my co-workers liked me, and my crippling anxiety made me panic anytime one of my bosses spoke to me.
And yes, I was a ton of fun at parties.
Standing in front of my bathroom mirror, watching what looked like tendrils undulating under my skin, my previous problems didn’t really seem all that bad.
I started running the tap and ducked my head, getting ready for my impending panic attack. Sometimes splashing water on my face helped.
But it never came. I looked up into my reflection quizzically, wondering why I wasn’t hyperventilating yet.
“Because I fixed it.”
I jerked backwards violently, banged my head on the bathroom wall, and almost fell into the bathtub.
“Who was that?” I shouted, looking around for, I don’t know, someone standing behind the shower curtain or something. In my defence, I was really confused.
“Just me. Don’t worry. I’m your friend.”
Several things occurred to me at once.
Thing one, this was not a normal voice I was hearing. This was a voice in my head.
Thing two, what it was saying sounded vaguely ominous in a way that was hard for me to put my finger on.
Thing three, if I had to add schizophrenic hallucinations to my long list of mental symptoms, that just might be one more thing than I could bear.
“You’re not hallucinating. If you were, I could tell.”
Great, either I was having a complicated conversation with my auditory hallucination, or whatever this was could read my mind.
“Of course I can read your mind. I’m in your mind, well, your brain. And all your other major organs.”
At this point, I was almost trying to have that panic attack.
“You won’t have those anymore. As I said, I fixed it. Your brain was a bit of a mess, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“What do you mean you fixed it? What the hell does that even mean? You can’t just fix a person like a toaster!”
“Of course you can. The toaster’s not even a bad example. It’s usually a problem with the wiring.
“Many of your problems came from inhibited serotonin receptors. Drawing from your knowledge pool, I believe the medical term is undiagnosed bipolar disorder.
“You also had a few issues that human science doesn’t have names for yet. They mostly related to the brain chemicals that promote calm and happiness not being produced or received correctly.
“Much of your anxiety and antisocial personality was a little trickier. Most of that stemmed from early childhood trauma and over judgmental interactions with your mother.
“Luckily, it was simple enough to isolate those memories, and neutralize them.”
My eyes narrowed. “Wait, you took away my memories?”
In panic, I desperately tried to remember my mother. No, it didn’t take those memories away. I could still remember her perfectly, which was a mixed blessing at best.
“Of course not. I just removed the emotional entanglements from them. Gave you some distance. You now remember the traumatic events as though you heard about them happening to someone else.”
Whatever this thing was, it was right. The memory of my mother slapping me because I dropped the milk jug usually made me fight back tears. Now, I could see that it was just a manifestation of her own fear and anxiety, although it was still a really shity thing to do.
I shook my head, trying to get a grip on a situation that didn’t seem to have any handles. “Even though you’re in my brain, I’m still me right?”
“Me being in your brain doesn’t change who you are. The alterations I made are a slightly different matter. You’re still you, or someone like you.”
“So you just waltz into my brain and start fixing things? What are you even?”
“I believe from your perspective I would be an alien life form. We are naturally symbiotic in nature.”
“Okay, I guess you were in the black goo at the research lab, but how did you end up on Earth?”
“I’m having trouble finding the right words in your mind. Out driven, Outcast, Exile. I was sealed in a dense carbon prison and flung through space towards an uncivilized world.”
“You know, I want to be offended by that, but that’s a pretty fair description of Earth.”
“So now, on a planet without our natural host species, I have to do the best I can. I think you and I will be able to help each other.”
Taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I had to admit, I did feel better. My head felt clear and calmer than I could ever remember it.
“So, in exchange for you fixing my brain, I have to ride around with you in my head for the rest of my life?”
“It won’t be so bad. After all, there are certain advantages to being a symbiote.”
The water bottle sitting on my bathroom counter floated gently into the air and did a flip before settling back down.
My eyes narrowed as I thought about the implications of that.
Sharon’s note: Most people are supportive and kind when they know you have a problem. Some people . . . well some people see a weakness and feel they need to exploit and attack it. Those same people will get angry if they see you trying to thrive and will try to cut you down. These are miserable people who need you to suffer so that they feel better. You know what? Unless they switch to physical assault, all they have is words. Words can hurt, but remember something: Words only matter if they come from someone who’s opinion matters. People who try to put you down are just sullen children. Their opinion is beneath your notice. If they try to physically stop you . . . well, that’s a whole other game that needs its own article. Warning: Author had to take her own advice recently. Really, if people suck, just ignore them.
“You idiot!” He roared over the car speakers. I winced at the volume. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”
“I’m really going to try not to, Will, but yeah, there’s a chance. There’s always a chance. It’s part of the job.”
“You’re going after a lunatic werewolf in the woods, on a full moon, alone. Of course you’re going to die.” I head something crash on the other end of the line. Will had a tendency to throw things when he got angry.
“Who’s fault is that, Will?” I said without heat.
“Yours! It’s your fault. Even when you were abled bodied you couldn’t have pulled this off.”
“Wow. It didn’t take long for you play the cripple card, did it? You don’t know what ‘this’ even is to know if it will work or not, William. I have a plan.” I mostly had a plan. If the GPS info didn’t fail me. If all the park maps were up to date. If Brian could hold out till I got there. It was a lot of ifs, but no plan was without fault.
“I’m not . . . it’s not because . . . I’d say this to anyone going out there alone. Get your ass back to Hearth.” It was petty to enjoy hearing him stumble over his words after he insulted me but I did it anyway. What got me was that he didn’t even think he was being insulting. They never did.
“Yeah, Will, I’m totally going to run home just because you yelled at me. Goodbye.” I reached up to tap the button to drop the call.
“Wait! Wait.” I could almost hear Will running his hand through his hair in frustration. It was a nervous gesture he’d had as long as I’d known him. My hand hovered near the button.
“Whayever you’re going to say, say it quick. I have to get back on the coms.”
“When you get to the park, wait in the parkinglot. I’m pulling a couple of my guys off this hunt and sending them to you.” As pained as he sounded at the idea I almost wanted to believe him.
“What about ‘the numbers’? Can you afford to take two guys off a mission?”
“With all the teams here it’s almost crowded. My guys aren’t even fighting. The wolf is contained in that abandoned shopping mall. We’re letting him run around in there so we can scoop him once the sun comes up. We have to keep a guard around the place but there are like three teams here besides mine. We aren’t going to miss two guys.”
I closed me eyes for just a second against the hope that welled in my chest. Then my eyes snapped open as I remembered I was on the road. Will could be such a bastard. “Who are you sending?”
“Oh, um, Hoffman and Cruz. Look, it may take them a few minutes to get their stuff together and get out there so if you get out there, wait.”
“You always were a terrible liar.” I chuckled but there was no humor in it. My hands started to shake as they tightened on the wheel. “What was the plan, Will? Keep me waiting in the parking lot all night while you keep promising me that help is on the way? You son of a bitch, people are dying!”
“I would never . . .”
“I know Hoffman is on medical leave, you moron!” I slammed one hand against the wheel. “I saw the papers for his transfer to Hearth in a couple of days when he gets out of the hospital. Do you think I’m stupid? You know what? I take back what I said, you don’t owe me, I owe you, because leaving me was the biggest favor you ever did me.”
I hit the button harder than necessary, and put the headset back on. I ignored the notice that Will was trying to call me again. “Hey, Brian, sorry about that. Had to deal with an ex, you know how it is. So, how is everything going? Any updates?”
James’s Note:I love detective stories. My favorite part is always when the plot gets messy. Right now, Daniel is about to find out what happens when you get too close to the truth. We are also coming up fast on one of my favorite action scenes I’ve ever written. I can’t wait to show you that part.
As we rode, I could tell Israel was still running through the argument with Caesar in his mind.
“You know, Daniel? I wish I could get everyone to see that there’s actually a system where everyone gets what they want. We can have laws that protect the humans from us, and us from each other, without death squads and vampiric executioners. We can have accountability without oppression and bloody revolution isn’t the only way to get it. Believe me, I know all about bloody revolution. They think this is going to look like the revolution I was part of here in America, but they’re wrong. If they do what they want to do, it’s going to look more like the French Revolution. Blood in the streets by the bucketful, and after that, mountains of skulls as the guillotine handles the infighting.”
“We can do this peacefully. We can create a strong enough community that the elders will fear our power. The Guillotine Society wants to fight them with a few motivated vampires, but if all the vampires were banded together, even the elders would hesitate to oppose us. The master vampires are stronger than any of us, but they’re not stronger than all of us.”
I didn’t know if Israel was right. I hoped he was. I was also afraid that wiser and cooler heads like his were usually the first ones to end up on the chopping block.
“How many Masters are there in the city?” I asked.
“If you don’t count the borderline types like me? Only three, and one of them got nailed to a wall. There’s Cuthbar, Conchobar’s brother who hired you. There’s also Anna Pavlovich. She was Conchobar’s lover a long time ago, and from what I understand they have an extremely complicated relationship. She’s been his biggest rival for decades. I think they alternate between trying to utterly destroy each other and meeting up for bouts of angry vampire sex.”
I nodded, my brain whirling like a dervish in a hurricane as I tried to put together this puzzle, who’s pieces were either missing or being hidden under the coffee table.
We were well out of Houston when I realized someone was following us. I kept driving calmly and chatting with Israel, but I started taking a few wrong turns. There’s a simple method to tell if you’re being followed. Start making right turns until you’ve made a block. If the car is still behind you, then it’s definitely following you. I continued on my way, now aware that the nondescript gray van was definitely following me. The problem is, if the person following you is clever, they’ll know you’re aware of them. That must have been the case, because my phone rang.
I answered my phone without altering course as I drove. I know, not very driver safety lecture of me, but if that van was full of what I thought it was full of, then I had bigger problems than distracted driving.
The voice on the phone was cultured and feminine without a trace of an accent. It was also familiar. I had spoken to Anna on multiple occasions. Most recently, during the whole ordeal with the loup-garou. “Listen to me, Witcher man. This doesn’t have to get ugly. There’s more going on here than you understand. If you will agree to drop this entire sordid business, I’ll take you at your word.”
I mouthed Anna’s name to Israel. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for the vampire to get any whiter, but if any more blood drained from his face, he was going to have to feed.
My voice was practically chipper as I said, “Anna! I’m so proud of you for figuring out modern technology. I thought you’d still be sending your death threats via a note tied to an arrow.”
“This is not the time for your wit, Witcher man. I can’t allow your interference in these matters. You’re meddling in the affairs of your betters. I knew your past experiences have led you to overestimate yourself, but I think you will find my displeasure rather harder to deal with than a raging werewolf.”
I sighed. I seemed to do that a lot when dealing with vampires. “Actually, Anna, I think you’ll find that threatening a Witcher man is bad for your long-term survival goals. I’m going to make you a deal. I’m going home, and I suggest you do the same. We’ll just pretend this little exchange never happened. All I’m interested in is the truth.”
Anna sounded incredulous. “You know I can’t do that.”
Sharon’s Note: One of the hardest things about an injury or disability is to talk about it. It’s something you absolutely should do, but it may require practice. Warning: Author cloaking issues in fiction. That’s what fiction is for, after all.
“The short version? Zombies. I got bit.” My hand drifted several inches towards the spot on my left shoulder before I noticed the motion and moved it back to the wheel.
“So that turns you into a zombie? Like the movies?”
“There are over a dozen types of zombies. Some of them don’t change you when they bite you. Most either kill you outright or are likely to kill you just from infection. I mean like bacteria and that kind of thing. Zombies are filthy.” I gave up and let myself rub the scar. “I got lucky, or unlucky, depending on how you look at it. One of the contageous ones bit me.”
“So, they got the cure to you on time or something?”
“Yeah, but still, I was lucky. Even it you get it to someone on time, the cure only works on maybe five percent of people. I only had a few . . . side effects.”
“You don’t have to eat brains or something do you?” Poor Brian sounded nauseous.
“No.” I wrinkled my nose in distaste. “The whole brains thing is a movie construct. And no, I don’t have any zombie flesh cravings or anything. I have some nerve damage and a funky colored eye. It makes walking hard and I get tiered easily.”
“So you get no benifits? That sucks.”
I glanced at my left eye in the rear-view. I normally tried not to look at it, but I had to admit that it was a kind of pretty shade of buttercup yellow. “I think my left eye is a little better at tracking motion. I mean, the doctors can’t prove anything, but I think I can tell the difference.”
Brian snorted. “That’s cool, I guess. I don’t suppose there’s a cure for werewolfism.”
“Not for the type of werewolf you’re dealing with. There are about as many time of werewolves as there are zombies. Most of them aren’t even contagious.”
“What about this one?” Brian dropped to a whisper, “You know your guy was bitten, right? Is he going to . . .”
“We’ll get him tested as soon as the medical team gets out there.” I really hoped he didn’t ask me when that was going to happen. “What you’ve got there is a lunatic werewolf. They’re one of the few ones actually tied to the moon. The infection rate on them is only like thirty percent, but either way, no one else will change tonight. It takes a full cycle for the curse to spread. Even then, it’s not the end of his career. If he’s infected, he’ll have to spend full moons in lock up, but nothing else will really change.”
“Lock up sounds bad.” There was a nervous edge to hisvoice that I didn’t like.
“Brian, were you bitten?”
“No, but . . .” He took a deep breath that shuttered a little. “I got stabbed on a branch. It’s not really bleeding anymore, but when you’re guys opened fire on the thing I got splattered with its blood and . . . and . . .”
“It’s highly unlikely it’s infected,” I assured him. “You were bleeding at the time, and that helps clean wounds. And remember infection rate is only thirty percent at the best of times. Really, though, even if the worst happens, you spend one night a month in lock up. It’s not even as bad as it sounds. Yeah, it’s a little like a jail cell, but I’ve spent nights in lock up when I was to tiered to drive home. The beds are surprisingly comfy.”
My dashboard flashed that I had a call. From Will. Hope surged. Maybe the city wolf had been contained.
“Hey, Brian? Will you be okay for a second? I’ve got a call from another team. They might be coming to help.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ve got to see if I can help Barbara move so she’s a little more comfortable anyway.”
“Cool.” I switched off my microphone and hit the talk button on the dash touchscreen. “Will, tell me you didn’t let me down after all?”
James’s Note: This article is all about making old story tropes fresh and interesting. Old stories told in a new way are some of my favorites. We also talk about my favorite trope twist, the Magic Pixie Dream Girl.
TLDR: There are no new ideas, so feel free to use the old ones, just do them well, or in a new or thoughtful way.
A lot of new writers jealously guard their story ideas, convinced that they have some revolutionary new concept no one has ever heard of before. This makes them paranoid of people stealing their story ideas.
I hate to break it to them, but their ideas aren’t new. It’s all been done before. There is nothing new under the sun.
If it’s been done a lot, we call it a trope. If it’s been done to death, we call it a cliche.
And for the most part, people are tired of them. People are tired of the same stories. Some of the worst offenders are The Chosen One, Evil Overlord, and the Manic Pixie Dream Girl. I could go on, but you get the idea.
Does that mean you can’t use these tropes?
Absolutely not.
It does mean if you are going to retread old territory, do it in a new, or at least fun, way.
So let’s look at these tropes.
Chosen One:
This is maybe the most done to death trope in fantasy.
Take an uninteresting main character with no skills who gets to be the hero just because he is chosen by Fate.
So how do you fix this one?
For this one, we can look to Harry Potter.
Yes, there is a prophecy and Harry was chosen, but JK Rowling really plays up the self-fulfilling prophecy element.
All the things that make Harry special are specifically given to him by Voldemort because he was trying to stop the prophesy.
Harry doesn’t have to face him just because he was chosen by Fate, he chooses to face him because of Voldemort’s actions.
As a result of tipping the trope on its side, we have a much more interesting Chosen One.
Evil Overlord:
This is maybe the oldest cliche and the easiest to fix.
Sauron from Lord of the Rings is a great example of the evil Overlord cliche, because he is an ominous evil presence with literally zero personality.
You fix this, amazingly, by simply giving your villain, oh, you know, a personality.
Make sure your antagonist has motivations, backstory, an inner life, and maybe even some feelings.
For good examples of this, I’m going to say like 90% of animes.
Most of them have some pretty compelling villains.
If you’re looking for something more mainstream, look at Loki from the Thor movies and Killmonger from Black Panther.
Both villains were so well fleshed out that they kind of outshone their respective Heroes.
Which brings us to maybe my favorite here.
The Manic Pixie Dream Girl:
This cliche is based on the idea that you have an angsty male protagonist two meets a whimsical girl who teaches him the meaning of life and how to have fun.
It’s usually considered trite because the girl has little to no personality or purpose outside of helping the main character grow.
You see it a lot in relationship dramas. You can also argue that Jack from Titanic is a boy version of the trope.
And I’ll totally agree, when done this way, it sucks.
However, I’ll argue that there is a related but different trope that I call the Magic Pixie Dream Girl.
What’s the difference?
The magic pixie dream girl does not necessarily exist just to be a love interest.
She does tend to be an over idealized girl.
She’s fun and whimsical and competent.
She usually has interesting life experiences, and will pop up with the weirdest skills just when they’re most needed.
She’s also wise-beyond-her-years, quirky, and adorable.
Is she realistic? Maybe not.
Do I freaking love this trope?
Absolutely.
There are some great examples.
Leslie Burke from Bridge to Terabithia Is maybe the most classic example.
She is everything a magic pixie dream girl should be, but is saved from manic territory by actually being more fleshed-out than her male counterpart.
We learn more about her family and past than we do his.
Death from Neil gaiman’s Sandman series is another.
She’s funny and cute and loves everyone she takes to the sunless lands.
There’s something oddly comforting about the personification of death being depicted as adorable.
Without risk of spoilers, I can say there will be a magic pixie dream girl in the Witcher Man’s future.
Now, I might be a little biased, because my wife absolutely fits this trope as well.
So, at the end of the day, never be afraid to retell a story.
The Wheel of Time rips off Lord of the Rings.
The graveyard book by Neil Gaiman is just the Jungle Book retold with dead people.
Make it fun, make it interesting, and put a new spin on it.
Okay, last year we had a little competition where James and Sharon faced off on who could write the best Halloween story. It’s round two, but we need a new subject. Last year it was clowns, so what do you want to see this year. Vote for your choice below or comment if there’s something you really want to see!
James’s Note:In this episode, we get a look into the dystopia that is vampire societyin most urban fantasies. Any resemblance to real life governments is entirely up for interpretation.
Caesar turned his icy gaze on me. He definitely had the personal magnetism to be a vampiric leader. “You know why I joined the Guillotine Society, Witcher man? The vampire who made me was a mid-level type, about a hundred years old. Kind of a twisted old bastard, but he was always kind to me. He wanted a son, and he found me bleeding to death in an alleyway. I was 19, stupid, and had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He saved my life, and gave me a new one.”
I could see the emotion brimming behind Caesar’s hard eyes. If vampires cried, he would have been fighting back tears. “About the time I had gotten used to my new life, he decided he wanted a daughter too. I didn’t see a problem with this. We found a nice girl who was down on her luck. She was more than happy to be given a new lease on life. Good old pops kind of lost interest in us, after a while, but we had each other. She was like the little sister I never had.”
“Problem is, our sire apparently went through the proper channels and got permission to create me. I guess he was all out of political favors when it came to making my little sister. So he just went ahead and made her anyway.”
I had a bad feeling I knew where this was going. Cesar pressed on. “Eventually he got found out, because of course he did. And what did our benevolent master vampire think was a reasonable solution to this breach of etiquette? He sent a hit squad in the middle of the day. They murdered my sire and little sister, but they left me alive, because technically I hadn’t done anything wrong. Wasn’t that fucking magnanimous of them?”
I felt Caesar’s pain deep in my heart. I could see it etched into him as I stared into his eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” I said with deep sincerity.
“Yeah, well that’s the world we live in. All vampires live at the sufferance of the masters. We pay our blood tithes, we serve as their soldiers whenever they want us, and we pray we don’t do anything to offend them.”
Caesar pounded his fist into the crate with a crack. “Well I’m done. Everyone here is done with that shit.”
I could tell Israel had heard the story before, but it didn’t seem to make it any easier to hear.
“Caesar, I know the kind of atrocities the elders commit on a nightly basis. We both agree things have to change, but there’s a better way. We can actually have a government, one that represents us. We can have leaders that are answerable to their people, that don’t have the power to kill at will.”
Caesar’s lip curled as he all but spat, “I’m done with that minarchist bullshit. If you leave even a scrap of the cancer behind, it’ll come back. How long before these reasonable leaders decide they want to be kings, then gods? No, this system is going to end forever. No More Kings!”
I saw Israel wanted to argue some more. Deep down, he really cared about these people and wanted them to see reason. I could tell this was an argument they had before, and it wasn’t going anywhere. I had seen all I needed to. I told Israel as much, and that it was time we left. He agreed reluctantly, and we left the club, walking through the thrumming mass that was the dance floor.
When we were both piled into my mini, I turned Israel. “ I can drop you off back at your office, or you can tag along if you want. It doesn’t matter to me, but I’ve got to swing back by my house before I head on to my next lead.”
Israel looked even more exhausted than before. He looked like it had been a long century. “I might as well tag along. At this point I’m vested and want to see this through to the end. Besides, I’m almost starting to like you and it’d be a shame if you got yourself eaten.”
Gray Matters: The Works of Sharon and James Gray 