Beauty Has Her Way

Edited by

Jennifer Brozek

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Dark Quest Books

Howell, NJ

This collection is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in these stories are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

Beauty Has Her Way

Cover Art Beauty‘s Way © 2010 by Alina Pete

Sacrifices to the Moon © 2010 by Paul D. Batteiger, Dunkle Froline © 2010 by Ramsey Lundock, Tears of Blood © 2010 by Joshua Palmatier, I, Theodora © 2010 by Maurice Broaddus, Vengeance is Mine © 2010 by Kenneth Mark Hoover, The Moko-Jumbie Girl © 2010 by Chuck Wendig, Someone Else to Play With © 2010 by Pete Kempshall, Daggers in Her Garters © 2010 by Ed Greenwood, Men Do Nothing © 2010 by Filamena Hill, Witch Fire © 2010 by Erik Scott de Bie, Becoming © 2010 by David A. Hill Jr., Ride the Rebel Wind © 2010 by Amanda Gannon, A Well-Embroidered Heart © 2010 by Keffy R. M. Kehrli, The Runner © 2010 by KV Taylor, Trapped Star © 2010 by Ann Wilkes, Her Eyes On © 2010 by Kay T. Holt and Bart R. Leib

ALSO EDITED BY JENNIFER BROZEK

Grants Pass (with Amanda Pillar)

Close Encounters of the Urban Kind

Human Tales*

Beast Within 2*

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OTHER BOOKS BY JENNIFER BROZEK

In a Gilded Light: 105 Tales of the Macabre

The Little Finance Book That Could

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All rights reserved

PUBLISHED BY

Dark Quest, LLC

Neal Levin, Publisher

23 Alec Drive,

Howell, New Jersey 07731

www.darkquestbooks.com

ISBN: 978-0-9830993-1-4

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*Forthcoming in 2011

Hand Mirror icon ©2011 by Mike McPhail.

Interior Design: Danielle McPhail

Sidhe na Daire Multimedia

www.sidhenadaire.com

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank my editorial intern, Gabrielle Harbowy, for her hard work, dedication, willingness to learn and for asking all of the questions she did. Good job. I would also like to thank my proofreaders—EriKa Holt, Spencer Ellsworth and Joy Ralph—for all of their time and effort. Let‘s hope those typos didn‘t breed like gremlins.

This book is dedicated to all of the butt kicking, pragmatic, awesome women out there who know what they want and how to get it.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction by Jennifer Brozek

YESTERDAY

Sacrifices to the Moon

Paul D. Batteiger

Dunkle Froline

Ramsey Lundock

Tears of Blood

Joshua Palmatier

I, Theodora

Maurice Broaddus

Vengeance Is Mine

Kenneth Mark Hoover

TODAY

The Moko-Jumbie Girl

Chuck Wendig

Someone Else to Play With

Pete Kempshall

Daggers in Her Garters

Ed Greenwood

Men Do Nothing

Filamena Hill

Becoming

David A. Hill Jr

Witch Fire

Erik Scott de Bie

TOMORROW

Ride the Rebel Wind

Amanda Gannon

A Well-Embroidered Heart

Keffy R. M. Kehrli

The Runner

K.V. Taylor

Trapped Star

Ann Wilkes

Her Eyes On

Kay T. Holt and Bart R. Leib

Biographies

INTRODUCTION

Jennifer Brozek

Sometimes she shines, and I know

Beauty has her way

With her hooks and her grace

Beauty has her way

Lights down, we drown, and I know

Beauty has her way

This plain day

Beauty has her way

—Mummy Calls, Beauty Has Her Way

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In 1987, a movie called The Lost Boys was released and became one of the most popular iconic teen vampire movies of my generation. It had all of the right moves—handsome villains, beautiful damsel in distress, brooding hero, plucky sidekick brother and comic relief vampire experts—to establish it as a cult classic for decades to come. It also had one of the best movie soundtracks I’ve ever heard.

Years later I still listen to The Lost Boys soundtrack. There isn’t a bad song on the album and each song has its own story. Beauty Has Her Way by Mummy Calls has always struck me as a song about the destructive power of beauty—on the woman herself and the people around her. There is a saying that pretty people get their way or that pretty people win. In many respects, this is true.

Somewhere along the line, I associated the song, Beauty Has Her Way, with a strong-willed, beautiful woman getting away with whatever she wanted because so many people could not look past her beauty. This led me to the idea of an anthology about strong women who will use all of their assets—beauty, guile, reputation or sex—to get what they want. I was tired of reading about heroes and heroines doing the right thing because it was the right thing to do.

So, when I pitched this anthology idea to Neal Levin of Dark Quest Books, it started out as a conversation that became an interview—me to him and him to me—about what sort of anthology I could put together around the idea of a brutally pragmatic female protagonist who would do whatever she needed to do to get what she wanted.

Unlike my other anthologies, it would not be a shared world book (Grants Pass, Morrigan Books) or an anthology with a very narrow focus (Close Encounters of the Urban Kind, Apex Publications). It would be a completely open anthology about women getting their way because they worked for it. No genre would be off limits. As such, I had to think of how I would put it together.

In the end, breaking it up into Yesterday—fantasy or historical fantasy stories, Today—modern day urban fantasy and Tomorrow—science fiction and apocalyptic fantasy, was the best bet. It brought a cohesive storyline to the overall arc of the anthology. This is not a heroine’s book unless the heroine knows how to do bad in the name of good. It is about women across the ages overcoming all obstacles to win their prize. Beauty will have her way...even if she has to get down and dirty to do it.

YESTERDAY

SACRIFICES TO THE MOON

Paul D. Batteiger

Sheol left the northlands in the season of fire, riding south to where the grasslands faded into stone and dust and ancient cities slumbered through the ages. She crossed the wastes under the red star, until she found a road through the desolation and followed it. The lands were without water or leaf, and she lived on the milk and blood of her horse until she left it behind, dead in the cold of night. On foot she continued, around sand-robed ruins and wind-bitten pillars, over dusty beds where water once flowed, and past the black-shaded chasms where no sun shone.

After many days, the dead road led her through a low, blasted valley and into rocky hills. By night, she came to a wide, still lake, too vast to see across. The moon shone down upon the leaden water, and mist covered the surface like the breath of ghosts.

Sheol lay down her saddlebags, drank deep of the cold water, and filled her waterskin until it burgeoned. She washed the dust of long travel from her face, rose and then followed the shore star-ward, seeking a sign of man in this desolate place.

The moon was high, and the mist shrouded the lake and the land all around her, when she came upon a row of ancient pillars, broken with age. They marched across her path and into the water, where their stone grew mired and slick with water plants and the slime of gray mud. She passed the pillars and soon saw other marks of faded and broken civilization. At midnight, when the moon was bright and small above, she found the stair.

It was ancient, of the same white stone, cracked with ages and smooth with wear. It rose from the gray water and ascended into the mist to her right, and to where it led she could not see. It bemused her, this old broad stair leading down and under the water; yet it was disquieting. The lower steps, lapped by the waters, were covered with slime and festooned with foul growths. She thought she could see the marks of passage, as though some water monster had indeed climbed up from cold deeps into the world of men. Sheol looked up, and saw lights at what must have been the top. Most likely the flickering of torchlight.

Now the stillness of the night was menacing, and the low mist a threat. Sheol gripped her spear more tightly and set her feet upon the smooth stone. Every sense keen, she climbed through layers of mist up into the dark, and the moon glimmered bright upon the stone. Sound came to her from far off—a deep, low drumming, like the pounding of a heart. The mist parted before her in tatters and whirls as she came to the top. Here was a terrace so old that its palace had long since collapsed into ruin. An iron brazier stood to either side, and the fire glowed gold upon the fog and chased it back. Broken pillars set in rows held up a roof no longer there, and between two of them a man was chained, his arms bound to the pillars so that he hung between them, head down. The drums sounded again, a long, distant note.

Sheol put down her saddle and at the sound the man looked up, startled, a look of terrible fear etched on his face. At the sight of her he seemed confused, and he stood straight against his bonds.

Who are you? You do not dare come into the cursed place, he said. He was young, with a young man’s voice.

Sheol tossed her head; her golden hair in its snake-locks tapped her shoulders. I am Sheol Mari Kesht-In-Anu. Who are you that waits here alone?

He stood straighter with pride that seemed ill-placed. I am Ashir, Prince of the city of Iblis.

Sheol looked around her. This is a poor city, and your subjects do not treat you well.

Prince Ashir looked offended. Iblis is a great city, and I am here by my own will.

She touched his chains with her spear-tip. Your will needs chains to keep you? She spat to one side. Your will is poor, too.

His stare became angry then, and his eyes very pretty. He would have spoken, but in the silence they both heard the waters lap more loudly at the base of the stair. The Prince’s eyes widened with fear once again, he seemed barely able to keep his feet for trembling. They are coming! he said in a hiss. If you would live, then flee this place and hide until the moon is gone. Leave this land as quickly as you can.

Sheol watched the stair, trying to see through the mist. Who is coming?

The Ku! They come from the lake, the Children of the Ku to devour me. He shut his eyes. I will not look upon them. Again the waters splashed and slapped unseen, and then there was a louder sound, as though something heaved itself up to the surface from the depths below.

Sheol took the armored vambrace from her saddlebag and strapped it onto her left arm. She donned her bronze helm and tied it tight under her jaw, and then she set both hands to her spear and waited, listening. The Prince opened his eyes and saw her still there. He would have spoken but she dug the spear-haft into his belly and made him silent. More splashing came from below, and he shut his eyes, turning away. The drums sounded again, and Sheol heard footfalls on the white stone stair.

She crouched, ready, as the sounds ascended. A foul odor of black water and decay crept through the air, and the mist seemed to gather in front of her until it was almost a wall. A light glowed through the fog, and then another; blue lights like witchfire an arm’s reach over her head. She knew them for eyes glowing in the mist. She heard a hiss as a great breath was drawn, and then it came for her out of the moon-cursed fog.

Sheol had but a moment to see the shape, half again as tall as she and hulking, all over glistening with wet and slime. The form was frilled and spined, a crest upon the hunched shoulders. On the massive jagged skull, a slash of mouth gaped deep with teeth clear as glass. It came for her, eyes glowing blue, hooked claws on webbed and malformed hands reaching. But Sheol was a daughter of a fierce people, with the marks of lion claws on her skin, and she was not afraid.

With her battle-scream she drove her spear between the reaching arms and felt it bite. She jerked it back and stabbed again. A taloned hand slashed for her and she scored it with her spear tip, darted forward when it recoiled and thrust in. The acid stink of its blood was like poison that stung her eyes. It gaped its endless mouth and wailed like a mare, slashed at her and sent her sprawling, cutting her flesh with the sharp scales of its skin. She was up again as it came, her spear flicking out and sinking deep into its foul body. It rushed upon her and the spear haft caught against a pillar. The weapon bent double and snapped, flinging Sheol aside with splinters in her hands.

The beast wailed again, clawing at the broken spear embedded in its body. Black blood poured onto the stones. Sheol got to her feet and ripped out her sword, the iron blade like stone in the moonlight. She gripped the bronze hilt in both hands and watched her foe, waiting. It turned on her and she darted left behind the man-tall brazier, and when the creature lunged, she kicked the worked iron tripod over into it. Burning oil splashed and it shrieked, flailing against the blue flames. It would have fled back to the waters, but Sheol was ready.

As it turned she lunged, hacked down and cut into the back of its leg. Black blood sprayed and it fell to one knee. It turned to strike at her, smashed her with a burning arm. She fetched against a pillar and grunted, then came back. The monster was crawling for the edge of the stair, trailing burning oil and ichor. Sheol leaped onto the thing and chopped down with both hands on her sword. The scaled skin was tough, and it took three powerful blows to hack through its neck. The body convulsed and the misshapen head rolled down the steps all the way to the water, where she heard it splash. Reeking blood followed it down in a river.

Sheol stepped back from the twitching body, snorting the burning stench out of her nostrils. She turned to the Prince, still chained in place, and his eyes were wide in shock and amazement. She jerked loose the thongs that held her helmet in place, pulled it free, and stood gasping for breath in the sallow moonlight.

Prince Ashir lowered his head, dark hair hanging almost to the ground. You fool, he said. What have you done?

The city of Iblis stood beside the gray lake of Kurion, her stones raised one upon the other over the ages until the city was like a mountain built by human hands; each new tower and palace built on top of the one before. Sheol walked through the wide streets beside the dark beauty of Prince Ashir, and the morning crowds parted and stared as they passed. The streets girdled round and then climbed wide, polished stairs to the higher streets. By the time they reached the highest places where the palace of the King towered over all, there was a great crowd following them. They seemed much amazed to see their Prince alive, and more amazed at Sheol herself. These people were smaller and darker than she; they marveled at her golden hair and her long limbs. Among them she saw no women bearing arms, and so knew this was another amazement to them.

They entered the pillared and polished halls, and Sheol was pleased to see how rich and beautiful it was within. Everywhere carved statues and idols loomed, and every wall was marked with relief or painted with scenes of splendor from an ancient past. Guards in purple cloaks and gold-gilt armor led them into the high hall, where Sarjan, the King of Iblis, waited to meet his son.

The King was not an old man, but there was gray in his beard and his belly was fat. There seemed little hair under his crown, and his gaze was watery, tired. He did not stand to embrace his son, but seemed moved nonetheless. Sheol he regarded with unease, which grew as Ashir related the story of the battle. The crowd in the throne room stirred more and more fearfully as Ashir told how the water monster died, and how its severed head now lay deep under the waters of the lake.

King Sarjan gestured her to come closer. You are of the Jann, my child?

I am, she said. There was more stirring, as among these people the name of the Jann was a fearful legend.

I thank you for returning my son to me, the King said. Though I fear you have but prolonged our despair.

A thin man with dark designs painted upon his shaved skull darted from the crowd. You have brought ruin upon us! he shouted, stabbing his finger at her. You have defiled a holy sacrifice and shed the blood of the Ku. You have assured that doom will come upon us!

Sheol set her hand on her sword. I have slain a monster. If there are more, I will slay them as well.

Blasphemy, the man said, eyes wide and staring. More? You cannot imagine! The Ku are alive and their vengeance will be terrible! The priest turned to the King. We must be swift. We must atone for this outrage. Did I not ordain a sacrifice to the children of the moon? This one has undone all. He pointed again at Sheol in a way she did not like. She must be taken to the stair. Bound and chained to the stone. A sacrifice fit for—

His voice was cut off in a shriek. Sheol’s sword hissed out and cut half through his neck so quick that few in that hall even saw the blade until the priest’s body sprawled on the polished floor. Courtiers screamed as the limbs twitched and blood gushed out.

The King sat frozen, eyes wide in shock, and the Prince cursed under his breath. Sheol held her sword ready at her side, and blood ran from the tip to puddle on the floor. I’ll be taken nowhere, and bound to nothing. She looked at the assembled, her golden eyes flashing challenge to them all. But fear no doom. And fear no soft-bellied priests. Tell me of what you fear. Tell me of this thing you call the Ku.

Sheol was shown to rooms, given food and drink by wary-eyed slaves. She bathed herself for the first time in weeks. There were scented oils for her skin and an ivory comb for her hair. Serving girls young as new leaves bound her scant wounds, plucked the locks from her hair, combed it and bound it up again with gold rings. They rubbed her scarred and tattooed skin until it shone and brought her soft new linens and clean silks. She would not wear the garments they left for her and dressed in her leggings and sword-belt, took a bolt of white silk and made a loincloth of it. She made them bring her oil and sat in a beam of sun beside the wide window, cleaning her iron sword. The edge was notched from the lake-monster’s neck bones. Sheol took the whetstone from her saddlebags and ground at the blade in the quiet.

Servants scattered, guards entered the room, and the King and his son followed behind them. Sheol nodded, and the guards stiffened, for she did not bow. Her kind did not bow to any other blood, and she would not. The Prince seemed angry, his eyes darting side to side. Sheol drew her stone down the edge of the sword and the guards flinched from the sound. They were afraid of her, and that pleased her.

King Sarjan seemed to notice none of this; he seemed only weary. Servants brought a gilded chair and he sat, arranging his silk robes around him with his old hands. His eyes were heavy-lidded and dim. He gestured and a goblet was pressed into his hand, filled with wine. He drank, mopped red from the corners of his mouth, and sighed a long breath.

The Ku were an ancient people, he said without ceremony. They lived upon the site of this very city in their own city, built of white stone. They hid from the sun and worshipped the moon, lighting blue were-fires and raising their voices in praise of their White Goddess by night. He paused for more wine. His hand shook, and Sheol saw that he was already very drunk. He stared at the floor for a long time before he spoke again.

Our ancestors came to this land and conquered the Ku. We tore down their temples and broke their idols. We slew the warriors and threw their bodies into the waters, and the women and children we took for slaves. This was a thousand years ago, in the earliest times. Our King took a Princess of the Ku for his wife, and she bore him a son and a daughter. He had another wife, one of our people, from before the time of conquest. She was jealous of the children, for she herself was barren, and had no children to give the King. She poisoned the children, and cast the blame upon their mother for the deed. The King sighed again, and rubbed at his red nose with one hand.

The Ku Princess was tortured so horribly that even her accuser could not bear to see what had been done to her. But still she would not confess. She was taken to the old stair at the edge of the water, and before they cast her in to drown she pronounced a curse upon all our people. She said she would return, and would become the monster they had made her. She would dwell in darkness for a thousand years and mother a race of monsters. In the thousandth year she would return, and the line of our kings would be broken.

Sheol thought on this. And you believe this tale?

The King nodded sleepily. How can I not? Every night for twenty days, the moon arises and horror stalks my city. Children snatched from their nurseries, their mothers ripped to pieces, men’s heads torn off and left at the top of the stair like an offering. It is plain. He looked up at her then, and his fear was terrible to see. The Ku are alive! The Princess did as she foretold. All these long ages she has hidden below, spawning her brood of monsters. She is become Ninhursag, mother of blood, and now they are returned. My son, he gestured at Ashir. My son gave himself as a sacrifice. With his death, the line is broken. With his death, the curse is fulfilled, and no others need die. Ashir put his hand on his father’s shoulder, and the King placed his own hand over it. But you...you have defied the curse, and slain one of her children. His eyes widened, shot with red. Her wrath will be terrible.

Sheol stood, sword in her hand, and the guards tensed. She laughed. Not so terrible as mine. She shook her head. Old man, you are a fool. You would give the monster your own son rather than fight, and all you will have bought is a slow death.

But the curse, the King’s voice was thin and weak. The curse. Nothing can save us from it.

Sheol spat on the floor. Iron seems to do well enough, if you are not too feeble to use it.

Curse you! the King said, shaking, weeping. You have doomed us all.

Sheol waited for the moon. The palace steps were smooth and wide, straight from the broad avenue to where she stood between the pillars. Her bow was in her hands, arrows in the quiver at her back. A new spear lay at her feet, and her helm was strapped tight. The city was quiet as death, every soul hidden behind barred doors and darkened windows. The sky was a tapestry of stars, and the soft shimmer of the moon just edged over the towers and domes of the ancient city of Iblis.

Prince Ashir came out of the archway into the moonlight. He wore armor worked with gold and carried a straight spear. Sheol looked at him, snorted. Why are you here?

He unslung his round shield and set its edge on the ground. I came to wait with you, for what may come.

You? Last night you waited for the monster to come and devour you and tonight you are a warrior? Now you will fight what you could not even look on? Sheol plucked her bowstring.

"All my life Father spoke of the return of the Ku. He knew the