Steampunk Sunday: Flash of Copper

My latest collection of short stories came out just in time for a Steampunk Sunday post! Awesome!

This collection has 4 stories that have previously appeared on my blog and 4 more that have never been seen before.

The stories are:

God of the Waves
Copper Explorations 
Adam the Automaton
The Luckiest Man in the Jungle
Harnessing Lightning
The Mad Professor 
Children of Obsession
Before the End

Of course, all of these are part of the Copper Visions universe, which will be continued in 2014.

Flash of Copper is available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble right now and I’m working on making a print version available in 2014, as well.

New Books

I've updated the books page.

Flash of Fire

A collection of super short stories (1000 words or less) on the subject of fire. Ranging from the love of a volcano goddess to natural phenomena encountered as humans explore a distant planet, these stories evoke a sense of wonder and awe at the nature and power of fire. Some titles have been previously published as part of a weekly flash fiction project but others are brand new and exclusive to this volume. 
Titles include:
Molten Love
Spark
The Silver Fire
The Weeping Flame
Husband in the Flame
Troublemaker

Available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Kobo.

The Out of Order Detective

Spying on cheating monsters, being kidnapped to the past and chasing after a husband she didn't want who's been abducted by aliens is all part of the job for Eliza Carlisle, PI. This collection of super short stories (under 1500 words each) gives a glimpse into her life and her clients. 
Some of the stories have been published before as part of a weekly flash fiction feature but others are unique to this volume. 
Stories included are: 
Little Green Clients 
The Detective and the Archeologist 
Spying on Bigfoot's Wife 
The Case of the Missing Sparks 
Searching for Nessie 
To Whom It May Concern 
A Wife in Time 

Currently available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Kobo.

Friday Flash Fiction: Ashes in the Sword

Clang clang, clang clang.

The rhythmic beat of the hammer echoed through the smithy, the apprentice moving the sword slightly in anticipation of his masters next stroke. The orange glow of the fire illuminated the work space as the twilight fell outside. There was little of the town left outside the smith's walls and few people to appreciate the sunset.

Clang clang, clang clang.

The raiders had come through and burned most of the village. They'd taken nothing, leaving what few treasure the town had to burn with its buildings and it's people. Anybody who had tried to flee had been run down, shot with an arrow or run through with a sword. This, then, was to be the bloody vengeance the injured lord has sworn.

Clang clang, clang clang.

The people had known what was coming. They knew it the minute somebody had decided to throw a rock to emphasize the villagers refusal to comply with the lords latest demands. They were not his property, this land was not his, and they refused every demand he made for the first fruits of all their labor. Somebody had thrown a rock when he was red with rage at their refusal. Somebody else had seen who it was. All refused to give up the perpetrator.

Clang clang, clang clang.

They did not bury their dead and the funeral pyre's would be burning long into the night. The first heating of the metal to make the sword had been in the heat of the pyre of the smith's wife. The ashes from the wood had been mixed in with the sword in an ancient ritual forgotten by many outside the village. The survivors of the attack had all been there to witness it, pouring their hatred, their pain, into the glowing metal that would be destined to see vengeance done.

Clang clang, clang clang.

The sword was taking shape, the metal more pliable than it normally would have been, being drawn into shape by the smith's anger and rage and grief. His daughter had been one of the ones who ran. His son had tried to protect her. She had died. He stood next to the forge, one arm bandaged to his side, intent on his mission, his goal. There would be little time after this night for his apprenticeship.

Clang clang, clang clang.

They forged on into the night, the metal being worked and molded, glowing with magic as well as heat every time it met the fire. The songs of lament lifted outside in the village, the people sending their loved ones up to the gods, with promises of peace and love and vengeance. As midnight neared, the apprentice began to instruct his son on what was to be done. He would have to gain more skill at sword-fighting, learn subterfuge and the ways of the people of the world.

Clang clang, clang clang.

Things would be hard, his father told him. But he would be there for him, always there for him, throughout the whole ordeal. He instructed him to build a pyre after the  whole thing was done and burn the sword. It would survive anything but being placed on a funeral pyre for all the souls it would release would render it down into the ash from the first pyre it was heated in.

Clang clang, clang clang.

The boy nodded, his tears running down his face and splashing on the anvil as he moved the sword slightly, anticipating his father's blow. The sword glowed as midnight approached, becoming brighter than the fire. You know how to finish it, his father said. How to put on the handle, give it an edge. Make it a good one, serviceable, don't let it call attention to itself.

Clang clang, clang clang.

"Bear witness, my boy," the smith said as midnight struck. "Avenge your mother and sister."

Hissssssssss.

The boy watched as the sword they had forged in hate and anger and grief was cooled in his father's heart's blood. A great explosion rent the air and, when he could see again, his father's body had turned to a pile of ash. He took up the sword and finished his fathers work.

Then, he began his own.

Bonus Flash Fiction: The Detective and the Archaeologist

Eliza Carlisle had never given much thought to the ancient Babylonians. So, it’s no surprise that when she first appeared in the middle of a crowded marketplace, she was confused and more than a little pissed off about being there.

A strange man, not wearing near enough clothes, had grabbed her and started babbling at her on the street. Assuming the man was one of the crazy homeless who occasionally inhabit every large city, she did her best to extricate herself from his grasp without setting him off further. The man was strong and began shoving something into her hand that she later recognized as a pocket watch and mumbled “Baker, Baker, help.” When she closed her hand around the object, the man let go of her and stumbled off through the crowd.

It took her a moment to realize she was the one who was wearing the wrong clothes.

“Oy! Come back here!” She called after the man then started shoving her way through the crowd after him. He ducked into an alleyway and she followed quickly after him. She followed him through the maze of the unfamiliar city, rudely shoving people so she could keep following the bouncing head that she couldn’t quite catch up with. When he ducked into a fabric covered doorway, she saw her chance and ducked in behind him.

Going from the hot desert sun into the dark house blinded her long enough for the man to get away from her. By the time her eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting, the only person she could see was a man who looked as out of place as she did.

“Oh good, he found you,” the man said, standing up and handing her a cup.

“Who are you?” Eliza said, taking the cup from him.

“I do realize I’m dressed a bit differently from the last time I saw you, but I should think you’d recognize the person you punched in the middle of a busy London street.”

Her mind raced but, try as she might, she couldn’t recall punching anybody the last time she was in London. “I never punched anybody in London,” she told him. “I haven’t been there since I was 7, anyway, so I’m certain you have the wrong person.”

“Oh,” the man looked at her, his face guilt stricken. “Oh dear. I deserved it then.”

“I’m sure you did, if a strange woman just walked up to you and punched you in the middle of the street.”

“It was you, my dear, just not yet. I know, because you told me to not bother asking for your help when I found the pocket watch.”

“This pocket watch?” She opened her hand to show him the pocket watch the Babylonian had given her.

“That’s the one,” he said, sitting back down on a cushion and taking a sip from his drink. “Please, sit, have some tea. It’s actually quite good.”

Something had been nagging her about him and it suddenly clicked. “You’re British.”

“And you’re American, as evidenced by your appalling manners. Do sit down, time, while fluid, is currently not on our side.”

“Well, excuse me for asking,” she snapped and sat on the cushion opposite him. “You’re not modern British, are you?”

“Strictly speaking, there is no ‘modern British’ right now.” He smiled at her. “But I understand your question and the answer is no, my understanding is that I am from approximately 100 years earlier than you.”

Questions dragged through her head, each not wanting to be asked. “How…” she started than trailed off. He smirked at her and she shook her head. “That’s not important. No, it is important but not particularly relevant to this discussion right now. Why am I here, why are you here and how do we get out of here?”

“You are here because you punched me in the face and mentioned a pocket watch I hadn’t found yet. I’m here because I was shocked to find a working pocket watch when I was on an expedition to find the ancient city of Babylon. As you can see, I found it.” He gestured to the city around him.

“Yes, very good, well done. Now, how do we get out of here?”

“I wonder if you think I brought you here for revenge. If I knew how to get out of here, I would not be here. You seemed to know how to work the watch when last we met.”

“We haven’t met yet.” Eliza sniffed at the tea in her hand.

“And I accused you of bad manners. My name is Sir Richard Baker, archeologist. And you are?”

“You’re a sir?” She laughed. “I am Ms. Eliza Carlisle, private investigator.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Carlisle. Now, if you could, I’d like to go home.”

“Sucks to be you because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

They look at each other in expectation. “Damn,” he says. “I was hoping to not have to live through an ancient battle. There’s an army on the way and the walls aren’t finished. Won’t be for quite some time, I’m afraid.”

Eliza suddenly figured out why she had punched him in the middle of a street in London. She was hard pressed not to punch him right there. “How did you send the guy to me to bring me here?”

“I could tell you a very long, convoluted story but it comes down to, I don’t know. The man who came from you was one of the few people I know here. I mentioned I was lonely, that if I was going to be stuck here, I’d prefer to be stuck here with somebody I had more in common with. He had the watch in his hand and said he would bring me a companion if he could. Then, he disappeared.”

“What were you talking about the first time you held the watch?”

“My desire to see Babylon as it was being built.”

“Did you think to ask it to take you home?”

He opened his mouth and she could see the sharp retort forming on his face then his expression changed to one of chagrin.  

“Didn’t think of that, did you?” She laughed at him.

“Well, now that you have, I’ll have the watch back, thank you.” He put his hand out expectantly.

Eliza smiled and looked down at the watch in her hand. “Maybe I’ll make a wish, then. Since my life was so rudely interrupted because you were an idiot.”

“I do apologize for the inconvenience. Now, if I could just have the watch back, I’ll see to it we get where we need to be.”

“I’ll wish for us to get where we need to be, thank you very much.” The world around her changed abruptly and Eliza Carlisle found herself in the middle of a street in Victorian London. She scrambled out of the road as quickly as she could and very nearly ran into a man who looked very familiar.

“I beg your pardon, miss,” the man said. “Are you all right?”

Eliza cocked her arm back and punched him across the jaw, knocking him to the ground. “You jackass! Leave me alone! And don’t you even think about coming to me for help with that damned pocket watch! I want to go home!”

She found herself back in her apartment, the pocket watch making itself felt in her hand. The urge to check what time it was, what day it was, was overwhelming. It was only the man coming out of her kitchen, dressed in modern clothes and bearing two cups of tea that stopped her.

“It’s about time you got home,” he said, handing her a cup. “We need to start planning the wedding.”

Flash Fiction Friday: At Ease

Author's Note: This is a work of fiction, inspired by some of the stories I heard from friends and on the news about happenings during and after the Waldo Canyon Wildfire. Thank you to all the firefighters and support who saved so many homes and lives. I apologize for any inaccuracies in the few details I used for my characters.


Captain Lacey Sterling, MD, walked into the mattress store that was blocks from her home, looking for the man she'd been assured would be there. Her sister and brother-in-law had just picked her up from the airport, she'd been awake for 22 hours, arriving home 2 weeks before most of her unit. There had been several other soldiers on the plane home with her, most of them looking at pictures of the damage from the wildfire that had swept through weeks earlier. Though many of the people in her unit were aware of what had happened, the people on that plane had been directly effected by the fire. Some of them were returning to see what could be salvaged from the smoke and water, others had nothing left to return to.

Veterinarian Tanner Sterling stood in the middle of the mattress store and stared at the bed in front of him. It looked good but he wasn't sure it was the right one. He remembered his wife had liked the mattresses that were firm but had a fluffy top. He should have taken a picture of the last bed but he couldn't bear to go near it. The whole thing smelled like smoke and mold and reminded him of the fire. He'd spent the last few weeks cleaning and painting like a mad man whenever he wasn't checking up on his patients who had been affected by the fire. So many ranches and farms had been burned, most of the livestock had managed to get away from the flames but not all of them. No, not all of them.

When Lacey appeared at his side, Tanner wasn't surprised. He hadn't been sleeping very well lately and he kept seeing her everywhere. When she held him and he realized it wasn't a dream, tears welled in his eyes, and panic set his heart racing. The house wasn't done yet. He'd worked so hard to make sure she would have a home to return to, one that would show no trace of the smoke that had billowed through their front windows and out the back, that he almost wanted to put her back on the plane until he could finish making it perfect. The only thing missing was the bed.

"They told us what happened," she said, not reading his mind but knowing him well enough to know where his thoughts were going. "There were videos about where the fire was going, what was going on. I saw the horses on the ridge."

He could still hear the horses screaming as the fire raced over the mountain.

"You were in a lot of the videos, baby. Helping the fire fighters, working with the animals."

"The house isn't ready, yet," he told her, still staring at the bed in front of him.

"I'm amazed it's still standing," she told him, wrapping her arm around his waist and cuddling into his chest. "You did the best anybody could have asked, and so much more. I'm so very proud of you."

He took a deep breath and turned his head to look at the top of hers. This tiny woman who was cuddling up to him was a doctor in the army, a tough cookie by anybody's definition, and it still amazed him that she had chosen him because he made her feel safe. She worked with some of the toughest men in the world but she cuddled with him.

"Barb told me you weren't sleeping well," Lacey said, stroking his arm.

"There isn't a bed, yet," he said.

"I'm sure they can send one up soon, we just have to tell the nice man behind the counter which one we want."

"I couldn't remember which one you liked last time. I thought it was this one but every time I tried to sit on it, it didn't feel quite right."

"There was something missing, I bet, because you were right, this is the one I prefer."

"You were missing. Nothing's quite right without you here."

"Well, I'm here now, so let me help you finish making the house back into a home." She turned and looked at the salesman who had been dancing around nervously, trying to find a way to help her husband. "I'm sure they can get the bed delivered today."

"I'll call and see if we can get it there within the hour, ma'am," the salesman said.

Still not certain that he wasn't just having a very vivid dream, Tanner paid for the bed and started to walk out toward his car. Lacey took his arm and steered him toward her sisters car. "Neither of us is really in a condition to drive, babe. Enjoy the driver and we'll come down and get the car later."

The drove to the house and the mattress truck pulled in behind them. The salesman had made good on his promise and the delivery drivers had put them to the front of the line.

Barb directed the delivery guys where to put the bed and went upstairs with them to make sure everything was where it was supposed to go. Tanner walked his wife through everything that had happened to the house and everything he had done to set it back to rights after the evacuation orders had been lifted.

Lacey waved to her sister as she left and gently led her husband upstairs to see the bed. She helped him undress and tucked him into the bed.

"Come to bed," he told her, as she went towards the door.

"I'm still wearing Afghanistan," she told him. "I was going to take a shower."

"Take off the uniform and come be my wife," he demanded, half-asleep.

"Yes, sir," she smiled at him. She undressed quickly and got under the covers with him.

"At ease, soldier," Tanner Sterling said, and drifted off to sleep, his wife following him quickly into slumber.

Flash Fiction Friday: The Mad Professor

Professor Alexander watched as the entrance to the tomb was opened to the chanting of the villagers behind him. The wisewoman stood before the entrance, clutching a wooden box, and muttered the incantation to keep the souls inside at rest. Once the stone was finished being moved, everybody became silent. He had been told the chanting and rock moving would coincide but he didn't expect the chanting to stop the moment the rock stopped moving. He would have to make a note of this part of the ritual.

The wisewoman moved forward with her precious cargo and the people behind her began the low chants to keep her safe from the spirits within the cave. The professor followed her as closely as he dared, making sure to keep well outside of the ritual area. He could see a ledge inside the cave and he knew there would be more near the back. The people of this village had been using this tomb for centuries and the objects on the ledge proved it.


Professor Alexander had been observing the Inda for years. They considered him harmless  if a little mad, and very curious about everyday things. He examined everything, even going so far as to weigh the spirit dolls before and after somebody died. He was very excited to find a difference and the elders looked on his excitement with indulgence. Any child could have told him the dolls would change weigh once the spirit of the dead man entered it.

Several years into his study of the tribe, Professor Alexander returned to his home and came back to the jungle with a wife. She was pretty and young and wholly unsuited to the heat and damp of the jungle. Her children, though, seemed to thrive in the jungle.

She was pregnant with their third child, a much hoped for girl, when the river flooded higher than usual. Fever and death followed, devastating all the tribes in the valley. There were trips to the spirit cave every week, bringing the souls of the dead to start their journey. When the professor's wife was taken by fever, he spent long hours looking for a way to save her and their unborn child. She went into labor but died of the fever before the baby had uttered its first cry.

Professor Alexander pleaded with the wisewoman to make his wife a spirit doll, so he knew her soul was at rest. Saddened by his grief, the wisewoman explained that the dolls had to be made when they were children so the spirits would know where to go when the bodies had died. They had to have time to learn about two bodies. As an adult, they had become too entrenched in their own bodies to learn how to transition to the spirit dolls.

The professor was distraught, frantic to save his wife. The wisewoman agreed to perform rituals to guide her soul to the spirit cave that was the portal to the after life. Without being trapped in the dolls, the best the rituals could do is give the soul a path to the after life. Only the gods could take a lost or confused soul to the afterworld. His children, however, could be given spirit dolls.

The fever passed through the valley. Professor Alexander decided to seek out the gods the wisewoman had told him about. They were supposed to be deeper into the jungle and he was determined to seek them out. There were many people in the tribe who would watch his children while he went out to ensure the peace of his wife's soul. Most of the men in the tribe were sure he would not return.

The professor did return and he brought with him a creature nobody had seen in person for centuries. The art on the abandoned temples that had been retaken by the jungle portrayed the creature that was in chains as a servant of one of the gods. It was often considered one of the lesser gods.

The tribe didn't know what to do with the captured god. Frightened and cowed, the creature cringed when the people came to look at him. Professor Alexander had gone even more mad in the jungle looking for the gods and kept the one he had captured in chains near him. Construction began on the professors laboratory, the tribes people following his orders with awe. Wars were fought throughout the valley for supplies and laborers, the Inda attacking with their peaceful neighbors with a fanaticism that had not been seen for centuries.

Professor Alexander moved into his laboratory and took the god with him. His children were given spirit dolls by the wisewoman while he was in the jungle. When he remembered to be, or could be reminded about his duties, the professor was a doting father. When he was working on his experiments, the professors wild eyes would sometimes be drawn to the spirit dolls his sons carried.

Flash Fiction Friday: Molten Love

The best soil was on the side of the volcano and the man who decided to build his house there knew the dangers. Living in the shadow of the thing that gave the island life and death was a risk, but the soil was the best, the view of the ocean unparalleled and the view of the volcano as it lit the night was one of the few things in his life that set his heart racing.

The mountain has been rumbling for days and the smoke was growing heavier around the top. This close, the night was almost as bright as the day. The man would sit outside his house and whittle to the glow of the volcano. His neighbors came to tell him they were going, to beg him to leave with them and their families. There was always a chance to rebuild, they would tell him. He did not have to die with his farm.

While the man knew the volcano was dangerous, he loved it too much to leave it. He watched as the canoes holding his neighbors, their families and all their possessions set out into the ocean, heading to one of the other islands. He stayed and watered his yams until the ground was too hot and the yams were cooking in the ground.

When the lava started to flow, the man was not surprised. The sky glowed and the molten rock moved sluggishly down the side of the mountain. It would be a while before the lava made it to his house so he went inside to eat one of his cooked yams and wait.

He had just sat down when there was a knock at the door.

At his door was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Her hair was long and dark, with hints of red and it covered most of her body. He wasn't sure if she wore clothes or not but her breasts were large and her hips were wide and it was no hardship to invite her in to share his dinner.

"Why are you still here?" she asked him. "Don't you know the volcano is dangerous?"

"Dangerous?" he asked her in return. "How can it be dangerous? It gives this island life and makes the crops grow. It may destroy the things men make on it's surface but they are only man things, as temporary as the people who made them."

"Do you really think that? Wouldn't it make you sad if the volcano ended your life now, in your temporary little shelter?"

"I would regret the loss of my life, yes, but I would join the ancestors and my body would fertilize the next batch of yams the next farmer planted here. There is little truly lost and much beauty to be had."

"You find the volcano beautiful, then?" The woman blushed and looked down at her hands.

"Intoxicatingly so," he said. "I would wish for nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with the lovely volcano."

"You speak so well, for a man," she said to him. "I will lie with you and be with you until the lava takes you."

When the man's neighbors returned, they found him watering the ground around his home, touching gently the waves the lava had formed over his home. It had come right up to his door then turned away, as though it couldn't bare to touch it.

"What happened?" they asked him. "Did you turn the lava back on your own?"

"I turned nothing away," the man told them. "The volcano decided it loved me as much as I loved it and it would see me continue my mortal life."

The people understood and the man was left alone unless he sought out company. Though believed to be incredibly lucky, none of the mothers in the village tried to get him to take their daughters as his wife because he already had one. His children were said to walk the island when the other inhabitants left.

One day, when the man was very old, the volcano erupted again. None of the people came to ask him to go with them though they could see him watching them as they rowed away to safety. There were some, on the last boat and with sharper eyes than most, who say he was joined by a beautiful woman as the lava poured down the mountain.

His home was not there when they returned.

Flash Fiction Friday: LIttle Green Clients

I was closing up early to mark a special anniversary for me when the little green men walked into my office.

I knew who and what they were and it pissed me off because I'd spent the last five years convincing myself they weren't real and my husband had merely run off with his secretary. Though, his secretary was a big, burly chap and I still ran into him around town occasionally.

There were three little green men and they came to my desk and sat down, looking at me expectantly while I was deciding if I should kick them out of the office or grab one of them and demand my husband back. I'd finally come to the conclusion that these weren't likely to be the specific aliens responsible for my husbands abduction when the one in the middle decided to break the silence.

"Ms. Carlisle," the first said, his voice strangely staticy and his lips didn't move right with the sound. "We would like to hire you for a case."


"Who says I'm for hire?" I asked.

"The girl in the other room said you hadn't had a case in months. We will pay in cash appropriate for this world."

Great, I thought. Brenda's been talking to people again. I really only hired her to keep people out of here and answer the phone. So what if I hadn't had a case in months, I was busy enough, and proof that I wasn't crazy had just walked into my office. Hmm, maybe I should buy her a new bottle of nail polish for that.

"She talks too much," I said. "What do you want?"

They looked at each other and started talking rapidly in their own language to each other.

"We wish to hire you to solve a case for us," the one in the middle said and the other two nodded.

"That would be the normal reason a human would come to a detective," I said. "Why do you want me to work for you?"

"Ms. Carlisle, we are aware of at least some of your situation and that has led us to believe that you would not be opposed to investigating some of our people. There has been a rash of incidents that we believe point to some criminal activities among our people but which are a bit too sensitive to bring to the authorities on our world."

Right, that was working my last nerve. "Get out," I said, pointing towards the door.

"Please, Ms. Carlisle. We had nothing to do with what happened with your husband. In fact, we're part of a group that is opposed to the capture and use of humans."

"You're a political group?" My eyebrow raised and I looked across the desk at them, amusement warring with irritation.

"Indeed, ma'am, much like some of your animal rights groups on this planet, we protest the capture and use of humans by those people who seek to profit from them."

"What, exactly, do your people do with humans? Some of the ones who claim to have been abducted swear they were experimented on."

"Oh, there have been laws against human experimentation on our planet for a very long time, though some of our people are not above breaking that law. We protest those who do, certainly, but the ones we object to the most fiercely are those who capture humans to sell them as exotic pets. They are very amusing, certainly, but they are at least minimally sentient and, thus, should be given the choice rather than be abducted."

Irritation won. "Get the hell out," I told them.

"Please, Ms. Carlisle, we mean no disrespect. Many people who buy humans hold them in very high regard," the alien almost looked panicked.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. This was a lead, a clue to my own personal mystery and I should definitely look into it. "What, exactly, is going on?"

"Many of our people are being taken ill but there's no known cause. In many cases, the illness comes on quickly but there's no environmental cause for the illness and no known disease that effects our people the way this does. We suspect that people are being poisoned."

"If you're so much more advanced than we are that you use us as pets, surely your scientists have the capability of detecting a poison?"

"Poison has not been used on our planet for quite some time and there are very few of us who would recognize it from our work. And it's the scientists who would, most of whom have made a transition into working with the humans, who were hit first."

My mind began to turn and I'm sure the smile that crossed my face did not do anything to reassure the aliens sitting across from me.

"Hmm, that does sound perplexing," I said, trying to keep the manic laughter away from my voice. "And you say you can't go to your authorities?"

"No, Ms. Carlisle, we can't."

"Well, then, I suppose the only thing I can do is take the case. Cash up front, of course, and money for expenses. You can work the details out with Brenda out front. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Oh, thank you, Ms. Carlisle," they said and stood. "We will come for you tomorrow."

"Yes, tomorrow," I stood and walked them out of my office. I listened to them talk to Brenda and began chuckling.

He was alive. The magnificent bastard was alive and he'd found a way to get out. Now, all I had to do was find him. I went to my desk to begin the list of things I was going to need to bring with me.

Flash Fiction Friday: The Weeping Fire

Once upon a time, there was a fire sprite who fell in love with a human. She came to life in the sparks of a fire he'd built, nurtured, and breathed to life with his own breath. Everything about him was wonderful to her, the way he moved, the things he did in her light. She stayed for him, hidden in the ashes when he ran out of wood, keeping him warm until he could find more things to feed her and she leapt to life once more to dance and amuse him in the darkness.

Then, one day, something had angered her human and stood before her fire, pacing and muttering to himself and she grew angry for him and burned hotter than she'd ever burned. The man sat in front of her glow and meditated on his hurts and water fell from his face until she could no longer stand it. She glowed so hot, she made the water evaporate as soon as it sprang forth from his eyes and she could see that he was comforted.

Soon, he decided to go out and he took her with him in a glass case to keep her from being put out by the wind. He stopped and stood in front of a house and they stood there for a very long time until he decided to let her out. He opened the case next to the roof of the house and urged her to go and catch the wood there on fire. The roof was wet and not easily burned but she tried her hardest and soon the whole house was on fire.

She looked for him, to see on his face that she'd done a good job but he had left her on the rooftop and run away. Something swelled inside her and the anger and betrayal she felt was seen in the way her fire leapt and roared over the roof of the house. When people ran screaming into the street, she laughed and decided to try to get to the next house. If she was to be abandoned, she would take the world with her.

The people below began to pour water on her but she was too quick and too strong for them to catch and she burned everything she could touch. Eventually, they were forced to destroy their own homes to keep her from reaching them and she laughed at the destruction. She stopped laughing when she started running out of things to burn. She raced to the bottom of the home and leapt onto everything she could reach but it wasn't enough. The weight of the damage she had wrought was slowly smothering her until she was huddle beneath the ash, against the earth and she shivered, waiting to go out.

The earth below the home spoke to her as she shivered; it told her of the humans, of the good they'd done and the bad, and how what her human had done was going to hurt many of the people who had tried to put her out. It wasn't her they objected to, it was the damage she wrought at the behest of a man who had abandoned her.

Her heart broke and she asked the earth to swallow her up so that she might never have to see the humans again. The earth did swallow her up and it took her down, down into the hot depths that swirl below it's depths where she could be with her own kind. Every now and then, she would burst forth from the earth and be overcome with grief at her lost love and she would run down the earth, covering it and laying it waste but also leaving the possibility of life behind her.

Flash Fiction Friday: Black Vengeance

Black Vengeance

          

  Adalind had been waiting for this moment for years. It had taken that long to perfect the ritual and she knew she wouldn’t have a second chance at it. Part of her mourned what she’d given up to come to this pass. It would take all the power she had to complete the spell and it would sever the connection she had with her goddess. What she was about to do was against everything her goddess stood for, a perversion of the power she’d been granted with her vows on the day she’d become a woman.

            She considered the last five years of her life a perversion of creation. The inevitable conclusion of the abuse and shame was resting in her belly and it would fuel the ritual she was preparing. Generations would pay for what had been done to her.

            Slowly and with exquisite care, she started drawing the symbols on the floor of the room she’d been locked in since her condition had become known. All the hate and pain she’d experienced in this room coalesced and poured into each line drawn in blood and called to all the powers she’d possessed.

            The spell was time perfectly to end exactly at midnight. As the sun went down, Adalind spared a passing thought for her ability to complete the ritual. It had required fasting for the last week, meditating on everything that had happened and focusing her mind on exactly she wanted to happen.

            At full dark, the door to her tower opened and a cloaked figure entered. Adalind’s hand shook as she continued pouring her power into the symbols she was drawing on the floor. The cloaked figure sat across from her and started drawing her own symbols. The circles joined and the power from the new comer joined Adalind’s. Her hand stopped shaking and she finished her ritual strong, at exactly midnight.

            She could feel every person in the castle who shared blood with the creature in her belly. Her first target was its father. He woke in his bed, gasping for air and clutching at his heart as he felt it stop. His skin shriveled as all of his bodily fluids evaporated. The same thing happened to every male of his line in the castle, with one exception. The life forces coalesced around her, almost solid. There had been a lot more men of this line in the castle than she had suspected; more than a few bastards had been hidden among the servants and guardsmen.

            Adalind added a blood condition for the exception she had left. He would have to feed the men of his line from his own body. She worked the blood into the conditions for breaking the curse, too. Every curse had to have a way to break it to truly take hold. This curse was meant to last for generations.

            As she released the power into the castle, Adalind waited for the change to come over her. 

Flash Fiction Friday: Bumming a Cigarette

She sat at the bar drinking faster than she wanted to and cursing the busybodies who had banned smoking in bars and restaurants. She could feel herself getting drunker and she was almost ready to step out into the cold for the nicotine fix she craved.

            Finishing her drink, she turned to find the pack of cigarettes and lighter in her purse. As she turned, a steely hand gripped her face and a strong set of lips set about plundering hers. His skill and her inebriation convinced her to return the increasingly heated kiss.

            When the kiss ended and the hand left her face, she opened her eyes to see the man on the barstool next to her; though not unattractive he wasn’t her usual type. That kiss, though, had taken the edge off her cigarette craving.

            “You looked like you needed something on your lips,” he said and touched them gently. “Wanna go outside and get a smoke?”

            “Yeah,” she grinned. “I was just thinking that.”

            He held the door for her as they stepped outside and cupped the end of the cigarette to keep the flame from going out.

            Inhaling a large drag, she turned to look up at the stars. The sky was clear, the air was cold and her senses were clouded with too much alcohol. When he first bit her, she thought somebody had punched her in the neck. By the time it occurred to her to struggle, darkness was crawling across her vision.

            As her bloodless body fell to the sidewalk, he took a drag from the cigarette he’d rescued from her nerveless fingers and contemplated the night sky through a pleasant buzz.

Flash Fiction Friday: Adam the Automaton

The door to the dressing room opened slowly. The woman standing in the doorway was reflected perfectly by the mirror over the dressing table.

            “Hello, Adam,” she said quietly to the robot packing up the detritus on the dressing table.

            “Hello, Evie,” he replied, not turning around. “I see you got the tickets. Did you enjoy the show?”

            “I did, thank you,” she shifted her folded parasol to her other hand and shifted nervously on her feet. “I recognized some of the songs we used to sing together.”

“And your fiancé? What did he think?”

“He’s fascinated by you.” She didn’t smile when she said this. “He’s always been interested in my father’s work but didn’t realize you were so well developed. I think he wants to learn more about you.”

“I’m publishing an autobiography this summer,” Adam snapped one of the many small cases closed and began packing the next one. “I’ll even sign it for him if he wants.”

“I’m not certain that will satisfy him.”

“He’ll have to get in line with the rest of the scientists who want to take me apart and see how I work. Even your father didn’t really understand, in the end. No matter how many times he tried to duplicate what happened with me.”

“He got the animals working, at least.”

Adam turned to her, the last jar of paint in his hand. “The animals were lovely to behold, all copper, brass and steel, but there was something that wasn’t quite right and he knew it. They moved and roared but they didn’t act like animals,” he turned back to his work. “Or maybe they did. Elephants are known to go on rampages when they’re separated from other elephants, maybe he finally got it right with the brass elephant but it was lonely.”

“You think my father’s creations felt something?” Evie shook her head. “They were just robots, Adam, nothing more. My father died in a lab accident, he was not killed by a marauding elephant, brass or otherwise.”

“He loved that elephant, your father did,” Adam told her. “He had a theory about why nothing worked as well as I did. When you left, he became obsessed by it.”

“Yes, he wrote me about his theory. I forgave him long ago for pouring all of his love into his automatons but don’t drag me into his delusions. You are a well-made machine, Adam, made by a brilliant man but you did not work because I loved you. You were a favorite toy for me, nothing more.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed the show, Evie.” Adam turned to her and his mobile metal lips turned up into a smile. “I imagine your fiancé is looking for you. You may tell him I’ll be happy to send him a copy of the autobiography when it’s printed.”

She took the dismissal for what it was and left. The yellow and brown stripes of her dress reminded him of a honeybee in flight, the parasol swinging behind her acting as a stinger. He wondered why he regretted watching her go, wondering again if the professor had programmed him with emotions or just a set of standard responses to stimuli.

Friday Flash Fiction - Captain's Captive

The prisoners were laid out in rows in the hold of the ship, a layer of gas floated inches above their faces. A single figure moved among them, clad in heavy leathers and wearing a gas mask, looking more like a monster than a person.

As the figure stooped over each prisoner, it slipped a copper collar around each neck, holding the ends together until a puff of smoke indicated that the metal had fused together. Aside from the mark indicating who had captured them, the collars were blank, waiting to be inscribed with the name of the family or company who purchased them and their assigned duties. Most of the men here were destined for the mines, salt, coal or copper.

It hesitated as it stooped over the last body. It belonged to a woman, beautiful in the right circumstances, who had disguised herself as a man. It recognized her face and felt its heart speed up as it decided what to do. It could hear the hum of the engines and the fwap fwap fwap of the propellers as it reached slowly into its pocket and pulled out a different collar.

The collar was a white-gold etched with a delicate filigree. Where the copper collars could be taken off, this one never could.

Its hands shook slightly as it put the delicate collar around her neck. The owners name was already inscribed and the puff of smoke indicated the deed was done. Doubtless, she'd be a screaming fury when she woke up, but it didn't matter. She belonged to the captain now and, if he got his way, she'd never step foot off the airship.

Flash Fiction Friday - Introducing Lady Lark

Introducing Lady Lark

The door to the tavern opened and a woman walked through the door. She was not the kind of woman the regular patrons of the bar were used to seeing. Tall for a woman, her waist length hair was almost a blinding white, her green dress embroidered with realistic looking flames and creatures of flames, the string of the bow she carried was made of flame. All this was but a detail to the people looking at her. Instead, they saw her sweet, heart-shaped face and a figure that could make strong men weep.

When she spoke, it was in a throaty voice that made those hearing it think of candle-light caught in a drop of sweat on a lover's shoulder. “I'm looking for a couple elves that came through here a few weeks ago; they were brothers, one was a magic user and the other was a fighter.”

The bartender shifted uncomfortably. “They were here, my lady, but they left the same day they came.”

“Did they indeed?” She smiled at him. “Does anybody know what happened to them?”

The tavern erupted in men clamoring for her attention, telling her their parts in the altercation they all assumed had killed the elves. Their bodies had been thrown out into the streets and one of the temples had come to collect them; they weren't sure which one.

She raised a hand to silence the noise of the tavern. “So, you killed the children and threw their bodies into the street. Thank you, gentlemen, you've told me everything I needed to know.”

“Children?” The bartender asked.

“Adolescents, really, running away from home,” she brought up her bow, an arrow knocked. “You might want to duck but it won't help.”

She let the arrow fly into the wall of spirits behind the bar. The resulting explosion followed her out the door but was stopped by a rainbow colored wall that sprang up behind her. The two men waiting for her outside caught her as she started to sob. “All that alcohol!”

Friday Flash Fiction - The Dark Lady

The Dark Lady

The ship sighed as she rocked gently, back and forth, in the ocean. Blood soaked into her decks and bodies splashed over the sides. Her captain strode over her decks, shouting orders and seeing to his crew. Wood from the other ship floated in the water around her as the largest chunk left burned in the twilight.

It had been a good fight. The swiftest ship in the ocean, she had come upon the freighter like a shark, hitting hard and fast with her cannons. Her crew was brave and strong and won the fight quickly. She had only taken a few scratches, injuries her captain would soon see put right when they put into port. The prisoners from the other ship were crying out below decks, men and women scared of their fates, begging her to be merciful.

Her captain celebrated his victory, pulling several of the prisoners to the deck to entertain his crew. They opened casks seized from the other ship, spilling some of the wine to give her a share. One of the captives served the captain exclusively and The Dark Lady could feel him enjoying her. He was a good captain; he deserved to enjoy his victory.

As the dawn approached, they were nearing the port and the ship sighed with relief to pull into the docks. The chains clanked as the prisoners were taken off to be ransomed or sold and the crew set about making her the strong, beautiful ship they loved. The repairs were done quickly and they were ready to set out once more.

There was someone on deck who didn’t belong there as they pulled out of the port. One of the prisoners had stayed. Her captain announced he was to be wed that evening, as the sun set. The Dark Lady wept as she felt her captain’s heart given to the interloper. She was supposed to be his first and only love, carrying him across the turbulent ocean.

As the sun set, she could feel a storm brewing. The crew was celebrating her captain’s betrayal and didn’t notice as she set a course directly for the heart of the storm. The rain beat down on her crew, her captain, as she sailed further into a storm than she’d ever gotten before. She could feel parts of her breaking and she held onto as much of her crew as she could. Some of their bodies were lost but she kept the parts she had pledged to her, their hearts and their souls. The interloper fell over the side and her captain cried out but The Dark Lady held him as she struggled out of the storm.

The storm transformed her. She became a part of the ocean, of it and above it, with her crew and her captain. No more did she need to set into port, though she did it anyway when the moon was dark, no more did she need repairs. Her captain strode her decks, shouting orders to a crew that never tired, and bathed her with more blood than he ever had before. There were no more prisoners, no more interlopers, to disturb her.

Flash Fiction Friday: The Tower

The challenge was to use only 100 words to tell a story. 

The Tower

Flora flew out of the tower, satisfied with a job well done. The princess was arranged very prettily in her bed, perfectly displayed for that handsome prince.

Time to go tell the King and Queen the good news; the princess was asleep. The silly thing would be woken by the prince, think she was in love, and the alliance would be solidified.

She didn't notice anything amiss until she got to the King and Queen in the throne room.

“Uh oh,” she breathed. Something had gone very wrong with her spell. She was going to need a different prince.