Short Fiction Young Adult Science Fiction Fantasy Series

A goddess visted me. And told me to get to work. Writers were supposed to be writing, not just complaining about their writer's block. She told me that what you don't use, you lose. So my imagination was something to exercise.  Of course, the way she was dressed left little to the imagination. And as she got closer, it was more evident... Excerpt: A goddess came to me last night. She said there was a gold mine between my ears, but I'd have to start using it. Until I did, I could spend none of it. And would be working hand-to-mouth for the rest of my life. She wore a gossamer-thread shift over her, which was a bit distracting. Golden hair, clear blue eyes. None of this covered her feminine features very well. Have you ever seen gossamer? It's extremely thin, and rare. It's the stuff young spiders put out in order to catch the wind and fly to their new homes. Of course, it's the same stuff web silk is made from, so is extremely tough. When you walk through the woods, you'll find that across trails and catching in your face. So tough that you can almost hear it "pling" as it breaks. So thin that you barely see it except when you catch the sun glinting off it. So making an entire garment out of this would be expensive, and humans wouldn't find it possible. "Fairies." She said. "Huh?" I asked. "Fairies collected and wove these strands into cloth." She said. "Well, that would make sense. Providing you believe in fairies." I replied. "They don't need you to believe in them. That rumor got started by a writer and his stage play." A slight frown crossed her face. "Fairies only appear in your universe if you believe in them. That's the trick. They still exist regardless of whether you believe in them or not. But they only show up if you ask them, or expect them, even as a stray thought." "Like the odd times that you see a single small branch waving in the wind, but you feel no wind, and nothing else is moving." I said. "Exactly. But that might not be a fairy. Might be a goblin. Might be a poltergeist." she said. "Could be helpful. Could be dangerous. How would I tell?" I asked. "Only by accepting it as it is and figuring out how to talk with it. If you can't see it, you haven't accepted it enough, yet." she answered. "So I see only what I want to see." I said. "Sure, like it's always been. Like you don't hear the teacher sometimes in class. Like when you 'tune out' to some recording and find it 'rewritten' when you listen to it again - new sections you'd 'never heard' before. This is old stuff. You've been through this. Selective perception." She idly played with a loose thread on the bed's quilt... Bonus Short Stories Included:  Max Says "No." - When the pet dog starts talking by refusing to get into the pickup truck cab, it was time to have a conversation with him... A Nervous Butt - Not the only talking animal on this farm, an expectant momma cow tells her worries to the farmer who is caring for her. Starting out by knocking him down... Get Your Copy Now.

Some vacation. Not like I'd planned - or the brochures. Now I'm in a space suit after some sort of freak accident. Lucky I knew how to get in one, and one was nearby. First time for everything. But now, I had just so much air, and a huge gap to jump. Because the explosion left a big hole behind. Guess there's a first time for more than one thing... Excerpt: No power. Little air. Deep space, off the trade routes. Helluva way to start a vacation. The explosion had happened in hyperspace. It threw us out of "warp" and we appeared in normal space several parsecs from where we could be found. My problem was more immediate though. Power and Air existed on the other half of the ship. Separated from me by a big hole that explosion had left. And, no, I wasn't trained at this spaceship survival stuff. I worked in a research group, back of a library, in a college town. My training wasn't in surviving space-liner wrecks. We all had to take the required emergency drills before we could board for the vacation. Not that it gave us much experience with these things. Like those boring lectures flight attendants give on airlines about what to do when the plane gets in trouble. (Yawn.) But now we were in real trouble. Deep in it. At least the suit I found mostly fit. Too big is better than too small. And why I was able to find one near that bathroom I was using at the time - that wasn't my main question right now. There were few air minutes left and a big gap to travel. Then somehow getting in on the other side without tearing my suit open. Let's see, give a straight push, not too hard. Because I'd have to cushion my "fall" on the other side. Looked easy in the movies. Here goes... Well, here I am, floating. Getting there. Closer. Oh, come on. Here we go. A little more... Watch that rotation. (Like I could do much other than move my arms, but then everything else moved in turn.) Hope my gloves hold. "Be still, poor heart." Breathe. Breathe regular. Here we go. And... Bonus Stories:  The Emperor's Scribe -  How a young scribe taught new truths to an old Emperor through his calligraphy, and disappeared one day... The Snow Cave ( Part 1) - When a sudden winter storm blew in, a rescuer has to find shelter. Luckily, she remembered an old cave on the maps. The partially-open door to it is large enough to fit a semi-truck. If she's lucky, she'll be able to squeeze in behind it. If not, they'd find her here, frozen... Long Overdue Santa - An older pet misses the children and Santa as much as her Masters. It's another Christmas, and this family dog finds a red hat on the driveway that shouldn't be there... Get Your Copy Now!

A farmer out checking his cattle finds a newborn calf of many colors.Deep in fresh snow with no momma cow in sight. It is supposed to get well below freezing tonight and the sun is going down quickly.  What choice does he have but to pick the newborn up and get her to where it's warm and dry for the night? ...And then come back in the dark to find its mother. 40 pounds of calf a quarter of a mile from anywhere. So he wraps her up in his coat, picks her up, and starts trudging through the snow back to his farmhouse. But a couple of spirits were waiting for him to arrive... Excerpt: It was supposed to be a time of peace. No conflicts beyond fighting with the weather for crops and rebuilding our society. Better than that, there were outside forces adding to that mix. Spirits and demons and stuff. I didn't know all that when I was checking the cows that winter day. Just my dogs and me. Seeing how the fences were, making sure the calves were on the right side of them. Not that there was much conflict or worry from those cattle. Even coyotes left them alone. Nothing like a mean momma cow. They were never far from their young calves. And wolves were only up north. Hunters made them scarce in this state. So when I saw the calico calf in the snow, it was surprising. The cows were black and white, no red or brown in them. Not in several generations, anyway. Not with this bull. And the neighbor's haven't been out of their fences into ours. Now I'd heard of striped cows, and spotted cows, but those were in two colors. This was three. Like a cat. Or more like a kitten. There was this calf. New born. Shivering. No cow tracks anywhere. Just fresh snow on top of old snow. Still below freezing. Means I had to get this calf somewhere warm. Closest place was a quarter-mile away. Carrying a forty-pound calf. So I took off my outer coat to wrap up that calf. (Layers helped in more ways than one - besides, I'd be sweating shortly hefting this weight up and down hills.) And I'd still have to warm up some colostrum and milk-replacer. And come back to find that mother cow and bring her up to wherever I got the calf safely. I had some hundreds of other thoughts going through about what I now had to do. Like the many fences I'd have to cross with this calf, where to keep it warm that I could clean up. How much it was going to take to get another cow to take it in. My day had just been changed. One bright spot was that it was still morning. That bright spot was dimming though. The sky was becoming dark, but without any clouds. I could hardly see my own tracks to make my way back. I didn't want to stumble with this precious bundle in my arms. And that slowed me down as I had to be more careful. There wasn't even a moon to light my way. This was becoming quite a chore. And I thought I was used to farm chores. "Are you sure this is the one?" "You've read the same signs. The stars, the loneliness, the remoteness. He's the future." "The future that is yet to be, hundreds of years in the future." "But only if we act now." "Right. Let's do this." Bonus Story: "Mr. Ben's Rail Road" where an entrepreneur is working to re-establish a working railroad between the farmers and the city just miles away. A young girl, along with her father and cousins, are allowed to ride along for the adventure. She's recording everything for history, just in case...  Get Your Copy Now!

While Marj is helping urban archeologists, she discovers a secret map that she hides from the authorities. It tells of an underground system of tunnels that cross through mazes of paths under North America, using old limestone caves and aquifers, even connecting to the old ICBM missle bases.  It had been a long and brutal war. At the end, one side was banished underground, long decades ago. If this was true, the war may not be as over as they thought. She enlisted Rob to help her decipher this map and explore this underground world. They have to work in secret as many of their "finds" have been known to disappear, along with the discoverers.  These two lone researchers find in each other more than they expected. And that just adds to the problems of decyphering and accessing the underground secrets of the Tunnel People... Excerpt:  We only had a half-hour or so before it would be too dark to make our way down the trails without stumbling. And from these heights you used the existing light, or you set yourself up to be spotted with your flashlight beams. So maybe 15 minutes to talk was all the chance I was going to get. And he knew it. "So? You are up here to either seduce me or hire me or blackmail me - or some combination of the above," Rob said. I just smiled, "Or some combination of the above." The clouds were slowly turning from red through violet into black as we sat there. Patient watching would almost let you see the changes. "OK, five minutes. Make your pitch, 'Marj', and then I leave," Rob said. "Well, that leaves out seduction." I smiled. "Here's the job offer: I've got some maps says I can get from one coast to the other all underground, using high-speed government and Geek-Corp transport." "But...?" Rob asked. "Need one of your hacks," I repied. "Not just any hack, you want top-level transport ID clearance," he answered. "Pay is no problem - whatever you want," I said. "Sorry, I don't do government stings. Find another lackey." Rob pushed the the four remaining cans back at me, and becan to rise. I put my hand on his arm to stop him, and the feeling was electric. It's a hard thing to describe, and I'd only read other's attempts at making sense of this in some old paperback romances my mom used to read. But it's real. Very real. Just proved it to myself. And I could tell in his eyes that he had felt it, too. He also stopped moving completely. He stared at my hand on his arm and back to my eyes again. "I though you said seduction wasn't possible in 5 minutes." I moved my hand away and looked back at the sky. "That wasn't intentional, I'm sorry. Go ahead and walk away. This won't work out." But he didn't move. That meant either bad or good. But I wasn't looking for either outcome. I crossed my arms in front of me. "This wasn't a good idea. Sorry." "So am I," he said.  Rob pulled another can out of the plastic holder, popped it and drank a swig while I was getting my thoughts together. "Look, neither of us seem ready for some relationship out of this. You got a card with contact data on it?" Rob said. I pulled out a laminated card from my top and checked it. "Yup, still sweat free. Go ahead and scan it, though. No chip in it."  Rob held up the card and peered at it before stuffing it into the right chest pocket of his faded jeans jacket. "OK, I'll be in touch." With that, he rose, turned, and left. I looked out at the sunset while I chewed my lower lip in some sort of weird reflex...

Light, Seasonal Reading by New Author C. C. Brower Contains three short stories to fill your holidays with cheer: Long Overdue Santa -  The house seemed so empty now with the children all grown up and on their own. Just [ ] and his masters. A view of the holidays through the eyes of the family dog. But this holiday has surprises for all, and a heartwarming surprise ending. A light read to cheer your heart. The Emperor's Scribe -  A young apprentice teaches the Emperor truths found in recording the day-to-day events of the Royal Court. What he found changed an empire... When Vacation Plans Revise -  He was in the bathroom when the explosion left him alone in his emergency spacesuit. Ahead is the greatest challenge of his life - survive with the little training he'd gotten before setting out on this vacation in the stars... About the author: C. C. Brower is a new author and rapidly gaining an audience for her fresh approach to storytelling. These short stories give you a taste of her style and approach. Perfect for filling in the idle moments.

Caught by a fast-moving storm, the young woman was on her own against the elements. No search party would find her in time to save her life if she stayed out in this weather. She needed shelter. Now. Trusting her photographic memory, she recalled the symbol for a mine nearby on an old map. Her feet found the trail to it in the fierce, rising wind that turned the snow into sleet, the sleet into razors against any exposed skin. At last she found a huge metal door. Slightly open. Not quite enough to get in, but drifted high with snow outside and rusted from years of disuse. Her only hope, in these last few minutes she had left before exposure took her, was to somehow squeeze in... Excerpt: Once I got inside, that was it. No second guesses. The one time dark felt better than light. The storm came in faster than expected. Being up on the side of that mountain left me exposed to the fickleness Mother Nature shows at times. While I was prepared for a lot, being buried under two feet of suffocating snow wasn't something to live through and tell your children. Even if you wanted the morbid experience of it. Trudging on through the thick powder felt little better than mud. And bitter cold instead of soggy wet. No marsh would have a wind that sucked your life out as it screamed by. But at least it didn't stink of rot. You only smelled and tasted sour wool across your face, covered outside in ice by moist breath from within. Some people like to say snow was a blanket. But nothing you'd ever wrap yourself in. Unless you wanted to die. The only other option was to keep moving. Moving. My feet and my staff as an extra leg. One step, then next. Move staff. Next. My memory said there was an old mine just ahead somewhere on this overgrown and slide-filled trail. All that studying of maps while they laughed at me during their endless poker games, playing through long winter waits under weather like this. But memory wasn't something the weather could suck out of you. Its wind screamed the snow, dirt, and leaves past and dropped visibility to if's, not when's. At last a darker shadow and unnatural, straight crack told me I'd found it. When I pushed up against that old mine entrance, I realized my bad luck just got even worse. The heavy, red-rusted door had been propped open with a 6-inch wood log, someone's leftover firewood. No telling how long ago it had been like that. Those hinges weathered and corroded. Moving a three-inch thick door made of heavy dark oak and ruddish-black cast iron worried me. The actual opening was big enough to drive a semi into. That made the job even harder as there wasn't some sort of little jack-door for maintenance access. It was opening the entire huge span, or nothing. This little girl had her work cut out for her. It was either get inside or literally die trying. The wind hadn't helped as it was pushing like some defensive lineman against everything I was trying. Squeezing through that thin 6 inch opening would have been possible in a t-shirt and jeans. I wasn't built like some lumberjack. And the guys always commented how I was so thin I could get blown away life a leaf in the wind. But they had to close their dropped jaws when they saw this "leaf" scamper up a spotting tower faster than any of those over-built muscle-bounds could. But right now, I was also swaddled with all this insulated parka, sweaters thick and thin, insulated bib overalls, thermal long-john's, plus my canvas rucksack with vital necessities. Nothing was coming off just to get me inside. Too damned cold for that. So it was push, squeeze, gasp, push...   Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.

It rare to find a naked woman in your cabin when you come in from outside chores. But it was only a visitor who had come to see me before.  She was a goddess, and dressed in gossamer. Not that I minded how she was dressed, much. But the last time she had brought a serious message for me.  One that had changed my life. So what did she want this time? Excerpt: At first, I thought there was a naked woman in my cabin, reading my books. And then I realized, it was just my goddess. Come to visit again, to remind me again of what I should be doing. It was that gossamer outfit she wore. You know, the stuff made out of spider webbing. Thinner than silk and almost see-through, but tough enough to be tear-proof. "Well, hello there, big boy. About time you showed up." She unwound herself from the desk chair she was reading in, set the book down on the desktop and slunk toward me. "You've been busy since we last had a conversation." I looked her up and down with a glance and then focused on her eyes. She pouted. "You know I dress just the way you want me to, the way you expect. So if you don't like this (but I can tell you do) I'll just change into something more comfortable - for you." At that she had on one of my flannel shirts, buttoned only half-way up, and some soft shorts I wore in hot weather to be able to write comfortably when I knew I wasn't going outside. She continued moving toward me and I could tell that these two items were all she wore. At last she was close enough to put her arms around my neck, but only touching there. "Because I need to have your attention, but not distract you so much. This way you can look into my eyes without strain," she said. Of course I could feel her heat between us, and smell the cedar and violet scent of her. "Well, of course. You think better when you're stimulated - subtle does it, doesn't it?" The goddess purred. "And what is it that you need to tell me?" I asked. "You've been doubting yourself. That's not good." She replied. "Oh, those thoughts about not having the sales I should, not having the audience or network to bring in real income from my writing?" "Yes those self-limiting thoughts of yours that only hold you back. You can hear me reminding you that the world - your world - is what you think it is. That you have to give before you can get. That faith is internally created, and you need to practice it. That belief creates fact. All these things." The goddess took one hand to stroke the edge of my right ear. "That's all true, but…" I started to explain. Now she put that finger on my lips. "Hush. I already know what you are going to say. And it's just not true." .... Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.

I often come out to the end of the dock on nights like tonight.  Where the sky and the water seemed to meet at the edge of nothing. Both reflected each other so well that it never seemed like one ended or the other began. This was when sky and water formed a perfect union, a marriage of two souls so deep that they didn't exist without the other. All I felt was the passion of the last time we were together. And the aches of those times we had since spent apart. But the wild thing was that we had never met. Excerpt: I wrote to him and of him as I crafted my stories. And often could simply just look out into space as my fingers typed away. We would be of one mind. A proofreading soul looking over my shoulder or through my eyes at the scenes as they shone through the page. I was his female voice, he was my masculine influence. Together, as yin and yang, we wrote perfect stories in any genre - in every genre. Any action had a romantic interest, had a mystery, had thrills and horrors and pure distraction from the world and all its difficulties.  A woman knows when a woman is writing, as a guy knows that somebody out there is probably sitting in a corner of a bar with a laptop - or a coffee shop - and is cranking out another adventure he would always like to take.  When it's time to hear from the guy, it's all brusque and cheeky and direct. While when the girl is talking, there is care and support and softness, the subtle hints of things unsaid. Of course, it's also true when they are together. He writes the descriptions of the guy and then I'll come into write all about the gal.  He drags his fingers through his thick mane to force it rudely out of his eyes. Should have gotten that hair cut a month ago when I first thought of it. But it was one story after another and then four weeks were suddently gone. How was a guy supposed to keep track of such things. While when I read through these words, I could almost see the plaid flannel he wore in winter as he typed away, knowing that he didn't want to bother with getting his hair cut or running trimmers over his chin for more than once a week - because he was supposed to be writing, dammit. And when I wrote the descriptions of the girl, she was always tenderly brushing an errant lock off her forehead and behind an ear. When lost for inspiration, she would twist the end of a strand around her finger and look off into the sky beyond the walls of her own room to a mystical place of lavender clouds and light brown tree trunks just starting to turn gold for the fall yet to come.  There was a difference about actions, descriptions, conclusions.  Male and female, yin and yang on the same page.  Both of us typing away from the same two pair of hands.  He was writing in his on remote cabin, I was in a high room on a small and sturdy table set into a corner and by a window. Yet we were as close together as if born twins... Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.

A minimalist tale of an Emperor who sought Truth that one of his student-scribes found - but then disappeared... Excerpt: One day, as court was held, the teacher was in a particularly foul mood. The weather was humid, hot, and everyone's robes stuck to their skin from sweat. The teacher strode up and down the ranks dispensing his cane strokes with rapidity. The one student was receiving more than his share, and the teacher found himself gravitating to the end of the line more frequently, delivering a cane strike, or several to that student before moving on. That constant slight rap in that location caught the Emperor's attention. He looked up toward that location with a stern look. The teacher was embarrassed, as his job was dependent on accurately recording the events of the royal chamber, not becoming part of them. Swiftly moving to remove the offending student and expel him forever, he glided over to the students location in his silk slippers, taking care to not make any more noise to distract the emperor. When he got there, the student sat still, waiting the cane again. But a shadow crossed the student's back. By the time the teacher reached the student, the emperor had already crossed behind that student and stopped the teacher in his tracks with a raised hand. The emperor was reading the student's characters over his shoulder. For a long time, the chamber was still. The emperor read. The teacher, that student, and the rest of the courtiers and scribes and guards looked on in absolute quiet. Only the birds could be heard in the courtyard outside, with the distant rustle of the trees. A cow lowed in the far distant fields. Then the student drew a final character on his sheet. The teacher blanched, reddened, and prepared to wield his cane, gripping it with white knuckles. But the emperor waved him off. The student had become the master. - - - - It became the master's spot from then on. And this master would clean up his own ink and brushes and leftover parchment when he was done writing for the day. His ink and clean parchment would go back into the stores. His brushes he would clean himself. And his writings he would take to the emperor's private chamber and leave in a basket outside the door. As the master left to travel back down the long hallway, the door to that chamber would slowly open, just enough for a hand to reach the scrolls in the basket and pull them inside, as the door then closed again. Not all days were punctual. Sometimes the scrolls only found the basket in the early morning as the light was coming in from the east down the long hallway to the emperor's chamber. One day, the scroll didn't come at all... Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.

A story was trying to kill me. Because I wasn't writing her into existence. Over and over and over. Dying a thousand times. Because I was living thatstory. Not my story, not a "figment of my imagination." She was very real, and really deadly. She was like one of those ear-wigs you couldn't get out of your head. But this was no stupid song, or a TV jingle.  This story was out to get me.  It's attitude was: either bring me into your world, or die - failing. "Surely, you're not that serious," I asked. "What would you know about living in purgatory?" She replied. "Life as undead, unliving, another story that never saw your 'light of day' - what would you know about what happens to a story that was never told.?" She had a good point there. I knew only of my earliest memories in childhood, of growing up in a family, of growing old, of knowing that my life would be over at some point. Of the uncertainty of what happened after that... For a story that was never told, who never had its own life, what was their existence? The beginning was probably when I decided to listen to Stephen King, who said that stories wrote themselves. And another author who said that not only did stories become alive in your gut, making all of your glands become alive through interaction, no - he went on to say that stories were actually alive. Then you find out that Vonnegut and Bradbury and other authors actually 'interviewed' their characters to find what the story needed to be. It wasn't what the author intended it to be, it wasn't their intricate plotting that created the story. It wasn't due to their control, their finesse of words and text craftings, of endless dissection of other's works to find out their secrets.  Stories were alive, their characters were alive. They wanted desperately to live. And this one wanted to kill me to make her point. Get Your Copy Now.

Can the future be saved by returning a woman to affect the present? Peter was a perfect gentleman. When he showed up at an all-woman's club unannounced, the defences came up. Mari met him, surrounded by women like herself who battled criminal men daily. There was no longer any need for physical sex, the war between sexes had already been won. Yet here was a white male in a three-piece suit asking for her help to save humankind. This one man, who says he is from an alternate universe, wants to recruit a specific martial arts expert with the idea of saving our future by altering the present. Two people taking the balance of future lives into their own hands. Surprisingly, this is a romance in the making. And a story about enabling religion to save humankind from itself. "Dark humor. Non-politically correct ideas. Another wild satire from R. L. Saunders - that keeps you wondering..." "One more C. C. Brower paranormal future history to savor..." Excerpt:  No, I had no physical fear of any man who showed up in front of me. But his attitude, like the quaint bowler he passed off to our bouncer, was precise and a statement of its own. Old-fashioned. Of a time before the sexes were at war. Before women had won. "...and civilization became just that, ma'am, an unending civil war." the stranger finished my thought. "Intriguing, sir. I don't know your name and already you are inside my head, the ultimate hack to privacy," I replied, showing a hint of outrage. "And you have every reason to be upset, Marigold. My name is Peter. And I am at your service." At that he extended a well-manicured hand, in the quaint, nearly extinct custom of hand-shaking. I rose and took his hand more out of curiosity, knowing that my thin layer of dermal plasticine protected me from any direct poison, nano-biotic, or bacterial infection. Beside pheronomic door sensors had already passed him while x-ray scanning him against any weapons. "Welcome, Peter. Call me Mari. You are just the mystery I've been seeking to relieve the tedium around here." I replied. He had a firm grip, one calculated to show respect, as that of an equal, not dominant or afraid. "Thank you for seeing me without notice." Peter said. I indicated the other matching overstuffed chair, the two separated by an ornate marble-topped side table between us. And we each sat, crossed our legs and studied the other for a few moments. "How you understood my thoughts is some parlor trick?" I asked. "More like being able to recall conversations in retrospect. But you'll realize that soon enough. We've met before," Peter replied. "Not like Merlin, you are living your life backwards?" I asked. "More like the vast majority of us are. Like the old phrase, 'those who refuse to study their own history..." "...are condemned to repeat it.'" I finished. Shocked to my core, this was the very challenge I was looking for. "The next question you would then ask yourself is whether you are up to that challenge," Peter said. "And again, that nasty habit of mind-reading you've been displaying," I replied. "I'll give you a few seconds to study what you just said." Peter now spoke in terse terms. "Your reply will determine if I leave or stay. I have other appointments with several similarly-qualified women of power and station," Peter said...

I'd heard a scream in the storm-filled, rainy night, but thought at first it was just the peacocks roosting in the shed on my farm. When it didn't repeat, I thought no more of it. Until I opened the door to my tiny home and found a naked woman laying on my couch, face down. She seemed to be sleeping. I could see her back rise and fall, so I knew she was breathing. There was no car out front, no tracks to the door or inside. She seemed dry, but I hadn't touched her. Her tearful eyes then flashed open and focused on me, pure terror in her look. "Please help me - " And then she fainted dead away... Excerpt: It only took a few steps to reach and kneel beside her. She did have a pulse, but no fever. Breathing evenly. And when I saw the rain drops coming off my chore coat onto her bare skin, I reached up to pull the coverlet off the back of that couch to cover and protect her. Then I rose back up to shrug out of that sopping coat and hang it up with my soaked wide-brimmed hat to drip over the black, hard plastic boot tray below it. My soaked brown leather chore boots were next. Toeing these off and setting them such that the coat drippings weren't going to keep them wet. Turning back to my guest, I saw she was still resting OK, so I reached up to the long shelf across the end of that cabin, above the door, and pulled down several winter comforters. One went across her on top of the fall-patterned hand-knit coverlet she had already. The other comforter I laid across the back of the couch for ready access if she later turned feverish. Kneeling again, I gently elevated her head to put a pillow under it, then brushed her dark russet hair off her face and back from her neck. Almost an angel now, as she rested. Then I recognized her - it was Joyce. The story who had haunted me to write her into existence. But here she was in human form, not just pictured in my own mind's eye. Sure, I talk about writing books into life, but had never actually witnessed one taking full human shape. Yet, here she was. In my tiny cabin, on my single couch that took up the biggest part of the floor space, even without expanding that futon into a full-size bed. That sleeping form was a mystery in her own right. Yet I wasn't going to get any answers until she'd rested enough to wake on her own. Joyce had almost seemed an endless story-fountain of inspiration for my own queue. Her stories had many of the same characters, but different episodes and involvements that were always interesting and entertaining. So she had earned her own series of stories, all popular in their own right. None of this prepared me for a very real story-turned-human in my tiny home cabin. Or gave me any clue to why she had just appeared here. The warm honeyed coffee, as well as relaxing after the slogging, wet field work started to make my eye lids heavy. Finishing off the last of my brew, I set it on the desk top away from the edge where it wouldn't fall or get knocked over by accident. Rolling my chair back to the wall and stretching out my legs, I folded my arms and rested my head against the wall as I looked at my guest again. She was still resting, quiet against the matching quiet of that cabin as the rain pattered on the insulated metal roof. The patter became a rhythm that soon helped me drop into my own deep sleep. Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.

How Can You Save Your Own World When You're Stuck In Someone Else's Dream? The sentient wolf-pack that had saved her when she crash-landed back on Earth was being torn apart by internal power-struggle, and a motley feral wolf pack invading its secret valley - to kill everyone in it as revenge. She was the only one powerful enough to save them, but she was stuck in a dreamworld of someone else... The final chapter in Book Two, Part One of The Hooman Saga picks up with the hero trapped, enemies attacking, and the heroine stuck in a dream keeping the Teacher alilve - the single person who knows how to get her out. To do that, she has to meet the Teacher in her own mind's nightmares and solve them. Can she do that and save her wolf pack in time? If she doesn't, she will proably die a gruesome death. Excerpt:  I saw Teacher laid out on her side, panting heavy and rapid. As if asleep, but it was the Probe effects. The Female hunters and cubs were wary of stepping into the circle. But I knew something needed to be done. So I rose and went to Teacher, kneeling by her side. I put one hand on Teacher's chest and found her heart was racing. The other hand I pushed into the thick fur around the neck, until I felt the back of her head where the neck joined it. I closed my eyes and bowed my own head. Teacher's dreams became mine. - - - - It was a swirling mixture of dreams. All nightmares I had seen while Teacher slept before. But now, they were just the fast clips of being caught or captured or shot. And each time there was a hooman ending that life. One after another, over and over. Teacher was dying again and again at some hooman's hands. I listened to Teacher's heart beat and made my own match it. Then I calmed my own breathing and so slowed my own heart, and Teacher's heart matched it. The clips started to run in stop-motion. One clip cut to the length of a heart beat. And then only a single image for each clip. Finally, I saw Teacher in the white space, sitting again in front of me, eyes closed and the images flashing between us. I remembered my Grandmother's mental tricks she had taught me on the Moon colony. Of creating an imaginary umbrella to ward off bad thoughts. Waving my hands in front of me, I play-acted as if I had an invisible umbrella in my hand. And slid one hand up the shaft to find the sliding connection while the other held the handle. Making the fabric white and the details visible, the umbrella became as real as the pictures. I inserted the white dome to my left between us, so that I interrupted the pictures from flowing by. I then moved forward on my knees so that the umbrella was protecting both me and Teacher. The pictures turned to rain. Teacher opened her eyes and looked over at me. "Nice weather we're having, isn't it?" she sent with her mind. I smiled at this. "How can I help you today? You've helped me so much, but I don't want to leave you here in the Probe again," I sent in reply. "Ah, the Probe. Yes, I'd become lost in my thoughts," Teacher returned. "Did I give you helpful memories?" I asked. "Maybe a bit too much. Or it reminded me of too many experiences with hoomans that did not go well," sent Teacher. Those became my nightmares. I sent to her, "I will go with you through these dreams. And I can speak for you or help you with the hooman talking you want to have." Teacher smiled again, and our beating hearts slowed to a pace of deep sleep...

This man had ruined his life. So he wanted payback. Found him in a chain restaurant. Back booth. Playing solitaire. "Maestro the Magnificent." Humbug. The guy that had launched a self-help cult based on Get Rich Quick advice was now a disheveled mess. After faking his death and disappearing, it didn't help him.  Something about being cursed with eternal life. And having to "sleep in the bed he'd made" - forever. He was nearly begging to get his life ended - if anyone could. But would that actually get anyone payback? Excerpt: I couldn't believe my luck. I had found the one man who had ruined my life. Now I was prepared to end his. Or so I thought. He was in the back of of a well-lit Denny's practicing his card tricks while he nursed one of their bottomless cups of coffee. Probably over a dispute with his bladder. I came up to his table and asked, "Maestro the Magnificent?" He looked up and put on a practiced Snake Oil smile while he looked me over. "By the judge of your frown, I should say, 'Who's asking?'" "I'm one of your audience who bought one too many tricks of yours. Tried to use your book to follow your footsteps to fame and fortune. But it only brought me grief and a hardscrabble life. And it brought me here, at last." "So you figure to take out your pound of flesh on my hide? Stand in line." That took me back. The honest, bitter sarcasm. "But do sit down." The Maestro continued, "I haven't had my dose of bitters recently, even though as you can see I'm far from the flaming success you thought I would be. The 'Special' meal I bought will have to last me a while as it is." I lowered myself onto the orange plastic padded bench. Wary of being conned once again. "You see," he went on without pause, "my life hasn't been what you think it was. You probably read the accounts of my ignominious death, being cremated mysteriously and buried at sea. That was all just to throw the legal hounds off my trail." Taking another sip of coffee, he shuffled his deck once again. "I was tired of it all. The ranch, the dedicated assistants, bodyguards, being The Founder of that movement and all that. I'd been moving funds around for years, setting up accounts I could live on that weren't traced to all I'd been. It wasn't too difficult to fake my death once I'd made friends with a local coroner. Everybody likes money, particularly in cash." He dealt himself a small solitaire row, one which was difficult to win in most cases. Then started solving it while he talked. "You were just one of millions. And I could say I'm sorry. But you wouldn't believe it and I wouldn't mean it. People are patsies. You and I both know that. Pushovers. Chumps. Dupes. I've read the books you wrote. Like you've read mine. You called mine fantasy. And you were right about that. "The point you missed is that people want to be lead down a rosy path. Their lives are miserable, and by their own choice. That was in your book. Their choice. Always. "You were trying to inspire them to improve their existence. And so was I. My reason was said to be make myself rich. And I succeeded in that. For what it was worth." An ace turned up in the deal and he built on it with the 2 and 3 out of the visible cards. The next few rounds showed little improvement to build from... Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.

Gerald was walking through the pasture, checking cows and in the next moment was on the ground, face down. Landing as if he'd been caught by a land mine and thrown there. Except there had been no explosion, no fire or gaping hole at the spot he had been standing moments before - in a quiet, green, tall-grass field. The wind was only blowing pollen and last fall's leaves around. No smoke or dirt or falling shrapnel. There was nothing that could have forced him to the ground like that. He turned his head and saw the cause at last. An expectant momma cow, staring at him when he looked up - worried about something. He didn't know what that could be. Until she started talking in his mind... Excerpt:  It's just too easy, this stuff called living. Except when you get knocked down on the ground like an explosion just hit you. Gerald started picking himself off the ground, sitting up at first to get his bearings. Like having been blown off his feet in some sort of war. But it was just the butting of an expectant cow who was feeling nervous that day. Couldn't blame her, the day was fresh, you could smell Spring in the air. Grass was greening up and lots of protein and carbs in it. Clover was peaking up over the fescue and other grasses. The yearlings were running around lower down the hill pasture, enjoying the nice weather. Literally kicking up their heels. And it was warm enough to wear only a slightly insulated duck jacket, some yellow split cowhide gloves (unlined), and an old ball cap with some seed company's logo Gerald had picked up for cheap at a bulk sales outlet. Of course, there were the leather boots with a waffle sole for the moist ground he was now sitting on instead of walking. And that thought made him get up. Because the moisture was slowly seeping through the seat of his blue denim dungarees. Felt like a pinch as it was so cold. Winter doesn't leave overnight, he thought. A quick glance around showed him where that momma cow was. And not far off, facing him, as if to wonder what he was going to do in response. His cedar walking staff was over to his right within reach, so he picked that up. For a few reasons. Any possible defense against that cow was one, walking steady was another. So Gerald put his left arm down on a gloved knuckle, got a knee up under him, and then scrambled the rest of the way up. The staff helped. Then he faced that cow and wondered what he'd done to spook it. Most of his cows were calm, and the high-strung ones went to auction. "You surprised me with that flapping scarf you are wearing." A voice came to him in his head. "And it still scares me." Gerald looked into the cow's eyes, which were wide and showed her whites. A quick glance showed no other humans were around. And no other cattle or dogs were near. It must be her. A black-whiteface they called Old White Face. "Sorry." Gerald told her out loud. He backed away to give her some space, so she wouldn't feel threatened enough to charge him. Then he settled the staff against a shoulder, took off his gloves, stuffed them in a front pocket of his dark jacket, and un-knotted the scarf. Then folded the bright yellow cloth up and stuffed it in the other jacket pocket. "Is that better?" Gerald asked. "A bit." She was moving her head from side to side to get his distance from her, and to see if anything else was going to scare her... Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now

On a hot and sweaty farm day I didn't expect my best friend in the world to desert me.  But my dog Max had other ideas about what he wanted to do that day.  So he said, clearly, "No." Then walked away, tail high. Calling after him, I finished loading the truck with the tools and supplies we needed.  I found Max was waiting for me, on the porch steps in the shade. He was grinning as he panted. Looking as if he had more to say to explain himself. I sure hoped so. Desertion was one thing. Talking out loud to me was something else... Excerpt: It was a typical hot, sultry day. I was going about getting ready to do something I didn't want to do, but "had" to be done. I turned around to tell Max, my black and white, crossed-mix mutt, to get in our old scratched, dented, and faded red pickup truck. We had a job to do, and he liked to come with. I did the work, he supervised. That was the deal. Before I could get the words out, Max stood on his hind legs and clearly said, "No." Then trotted off on all four. Three black, one white paw.  I didn't have time to chase after him, as the truck was out in the gravel drive, just in front of the old faded-red wood dairy barn. It had to be loaded. The job had to get done. And nothing was going to get done if it never got started. Of course I called after him a time or two, but he kept walking away around the back of the wood barn, turning a corner where an elm sprout had started a couple of years back. Out of sight, out of reach. So I turned back to my job of loading the rolls of barbed wire we'd gotten used from an auction, along with a rusted paint can filled with black nails as well as gray galvanized fencing twist clips, both aged in their storage. Some fencing pliers now also red-black from real use, having lost their shine and padded handles years back. Another red plastic coffee container with a black plastic snap lid and molded-in hand grip to supply the staples we might need. That should do it, I thought. And waited, looking over my set to see if I'd forgotten anything. Oh, yeah. I went inside and grabbed a roll of salvaged wire off an old tensile electric fence. It, too, used to be silver, but the weather had taken that away. A lot of stuff on this farm had been changed from the weather. Seldom for the better. After I was done, I paused to look it all over and see if I could think of anything else I'd need. Then remembered the steel post driver. It was new last year, and the shine hadn't come off its gray paint yet. I also put a few 6-foot green t-bar steel posts in there, also with their rust spots and not perfectly straight anymore. That would keep me the afternoon. Then I had time to go find Max. He was sitting outside the faded gray porch, outside the faded aluminum screen door, on the faded gray wood steps, on his haunches, waiting. When I got close, he cocked his head and lifted one speckled ear, as if to say "Well?" But not with any words I could hear. I responded by first sitting next to him and scratching behind that ear. "Since when did you learn to talk?" I asked him. Max just sat there in the quasi-shade with me and kept looking out. "I heard you distinctly say 'No.'" "That I did." said Max. "You don't want to go out and keep me company fixing fence?" "Not one of the things I was looking forward to, today." "But you know it's gotta be done." "Yup." With that, Max started panting, a sort of wry smile his. Teasing me, I guessed... Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now

Of course it was a normal day. SNAFU - as usual. But no one noticed. Because it was so normal. So SNAFU. The world felt more and more programmed. Or pre-programmed. Life had become a video game, a matrix-spawn. All around me thought this was normal But no one considered that I would simply revolt. Because I found out a secret. By visiting an old used book store. One where they somehow made a living selling used books over and over. There were no monitors there, no TV. Smartphones stayed in pockets, preferably off. This store even had a local jammer installed just to make sure people didn't interrupt other people. There, that day, I found a secret. Written in print on an actual piece of paper. It started a revolution. It pulled me out of "sync" - and so I was hunted... Excerpt: I remember that used book store where I figured out how to kill the social networks. And almost died from their revenge. One day, a nice spring day in L. A., I took some time off to visit this hole-in-the-wall bookstore. One of those that put their National Geographics and Harlequin Romances out front, so people would come in all titillated and buy the more serious stuff. (Like Lawrence's "Women in Love", and Cleland's "Fanny Hill", or Nabokov's "Lolita." All because of some native women who didn't even know what a shirt or a bra was, let alone a sarong. Captured in beautiful Kodachrome. Other people would ignore those worn racks of books and dive right in to find some other classics that had been printed probably before they were born. Something they had been forbidden to read as children, books banned by all-knowing "powers-that-be" to keep them safe and off the road to sin. For me, it was metaphysics. The very things that couldn't be proved or disproved. And you couldn't make a living at doing. My job was working at a corporate office and keeping their in-house courseroom all worked up with the proper books and paperwork to make it all efficient. Kept things available on schedule for the classes to come in and everything filed every day. Cleaned up stuff, too. Neat, tidy, perfect in every way. ..... The great part about having an insignificant part to play is that you were often un-noticed. So spending time repairing your reference books or course books with tape when the bindings had split - those would keep your hands busy, but your mind would roll around and crash and collide until you probably think that you died a thousand times in an afternoon. But one idea would make a dozen out of those collisions. Which is why you had a list of things to do - a To Do list. And these were designed to get your checklist done, and designed to keep your nose clean, and everyone happy with you. But you knew your own secret. Like Thoreau, they could trap your body wherever and however they wanted. Your mind is always free to travel as it wants. The only people who go insane have somehow mistakenly tied their body to their mind. When the body is limited, the mind is limited. That's not how the game actually works. Not really. Your mind is always free. Discovering that secret fact was the beginning of the end. Even though I didn't know it at the time. Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.

It all started when politicians and out-spoken celebrities and sports figures started being exposed for the stinkers they are. It all started with a science grant that created a hypcrisy scanner. Tested on terrorists, it made them disappear. Tested on only the "sometimes" hypocritical, it made them evacuate their bowels. (To say it nicely.) As the effect on military higher-ups was also disastrous, certain conctractors got their research finances cancelled - so they took the circuit and made it a free download as a "gag" gift. Small enough to put in pens and give it away - or send to someone as a "gift." The results changed Washington and sports teams. But only those who were hypocritical. Integrity got new respect. See how it happened.... Excerpt: ...The funny thing was that there wasn't any noise, really. Just a sort of soft pop as the hypocrite disappeared. And it didn't get them all, just the worst two-faced and resolute propagandists out there. The people who were mostly, but not always, hypocritical just got very ill and tended to both throw up and empty their bowels at the same time. Very smelly scene. Once some of these got delivered to a government building for inspection. The results were quite interesting. Because they were in an always-on state. The battery just held the charge that the circuitry was always generating. With a fully charged unit, the chronic hypocrite would disappear. With no battery, handling the device would make them immediately foul themselves. Needless to say, there were quite a few soiled officials before they found out what was causing the disruption. Of course, they were soon labeled dangerous ordinances, and had to be packed in enormous boxes to keep people (meaning: long-time and high-ranking officials) from getting close enough to be affected. Unfortunately for them, we now get to the part of the viral effect. When some contractors found out what was happening to their higher-ups, particularly those who had disapproved their financing, the circuitry found its way into various gifts, such as flashlights, electronic picture frames, and even electric staplers. Once these were turned on, they could make fatal disappearances, but just delivered in an unplugged state to offices would make several people nauseous as they handled them. It wasn't long before the circuit was out on the Internet as a gag toy. Integrated circuits were printed about the size of a tiny battery, with self-adhesive. It didn't have to be hard-wired into the machine, but could be simply pasted inside the battery cover or any inconspicuous spot on or in it. Toy bears with electronic pull-string circuits became poo-poo gifts. Several versions of "honesty" testers were developed, all powered by the people themselves and "no batteries required." Someone funded a program to get wooden pens gifted to every member of Congress and all their staffs. A month's supply of toilet paper ran out in a week.  .... And a religious TV interviewer found out that his button would affect his guests in different ways. He found that asking the person if they had ever taken money to throw a game, there wasn't any reaction. The circuitry wouldn't work on a bald-faced lie. But by asking pointed questions, such as "What they felt about people taking money to throw games?" That would get them leaving the interview quickly, and for obvious reasons. He later found out that he could root out sexual predators by asking how they thought people who sexually harassed others should be treated... Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.

Tragedy struck. And I never had a reason to smile after that funeral. Or talk to anyone other than I had to. I'd rather sit in my room and re-read my Nancy Drew and Box Car Children books. Until my Dad brought home a puppy from a farmer down the road - last of the litter. Dad got this dog to cheer me up, and give me someone to be with me while he was at work. Because I hadn't smiled or hardly talked since the funeral Me and my pup were a lot alike. All alone. Blond hair. So I named her Kat. Dad thought it was my odd sense of humor. You see, my name is Kathleen, they cally me Cathy. And I always wanted a sister. Adults explain it as an "alter-ego". What do they know - really? When Kat started talking to me inside my mind, we got to know each other best. And soon I smiled - but just to her. There was still some things unexplained about of how my mother died. And those still made me sad. Until Kat told me she'd help me solve that mystery... Excerpt: Dad brought a puppy home today. Of course I fell in love with it right off. Who couldn't when it just wants to climb right up and slobber wet kisses all over my face and hands. But I didn't smile. I felt better, but not that much. I just sat on the floor with her and watched her figure-out the house. Dad had brought the leftover playthings from her former home. She was the last of the litter, and her own mom had died soon after giving birth. The rest of that litter were black labs, like their mom. She was golden. The color of my own strawberry blond hair. When I told my Dad I was going to name her Kat, I said it in my usual flat voice. The one I'd had since the funeral. The one that went along without smiling. It made sense to me. We were both blond. We'd both lost our mom's. My whole name was Kathleen. And maybe this cute little dog could keep me company. "Are you serious?" Dad was smiling at me, but when my reaction didn't change, he nodded. "OK, 'Kat' it is." He pulled out a bag with water- and food-dishes for her and put them by me. And a bag of puppy food to go along. Then patted my head. "You can put these wherever you think is best. But I'd suggest the kitchen where we can clean up after her more easily." Another big bag had a brand new dog bed. Just her size, plus some she could grow into. When Dad put this on the living room floor, Kat walked right over to it, walked around inside it and sniffed, then laid down. Her head went on her paws. I just watched her from where I was kneeling on the carpet. "Well, I hope this is temporary." I raised my eyebrow at this voice in my head. It was coming from Kat. "What do you think? I'd prefer to be in your room. Don't worry, I know enough to do my business outside." I just nodded at Kat. My Dad was still looking at me, curious about my reaction. So he hadn't heard Kat at all. "Of course not. Adults lose their ability to talk with their minds when they get too old. Unless they practice all the time. But that's OK." Kat sat up and looked directly at me. "Well?" I thought back, "Well, what?" "Aren't you going to show me your room?" Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.

The last, final Middle East war was over. Fast. Brutal. Final. Jerusalem experienced the final solution as all their combined defenses couldn't save it from sinking beneath a new sea of irradiated water. General Marshall persuaded the President and he cajoled Congress into preserving the site as an International Memorial. But the secret plans were to test a new energy dome over the site to defend it against any future attacks - fueled by the very radiation that was now in that water it covered.  The war had only just begun, in fact... Excerpt: It had been a very fast, very brutal war. Jerusalem now lay buried beneath waters. All sides had agreed to a permanent truce. And the United States had agreed to be the caretaker of religious freedom over the grave of the oldest and most contested worshiping area on this planet. Japan was the final say in the peace accords. For now, we had time to bind our wounds, to care for our widows and orphans. To settle refugees in their new homes. Out of the new budget that the United States committed, a dome was to be raised over the city to protect the religious artifacts, with the idea of creating a new open worship area for all faiths. It was astonishing to find such an agreement once the entire area had sank and become useless to everyone. And no one believed that for a second. That's why General Marshall broached the idea to the president of creating an international religious freedom zone. But without any United Nations interference. It would strictly be the United States' responsibility to maintain it. Of course, the detractors and their lackey press told of "Marshall's Folly." And the billions it would take to fund archaeological work for centuries. In the military, we saw a different scene. The dome we would raise would not only preserve this area from the elements, but would also allow us to build and test defensive fields while preserving the peace. Because that water, as filthy and irradiated as it was, was fresh, not saline. It meant that the desert could be made to bloom if its source were protected. The far-thinking strategists of Israel also saw this. They could not, on their own, defend that city and also rebuild it. For all the neighboring countries, it was just as well to have that area sunk such that no one could use it. And the United States was a perfect patsy to pour their money into their ideals of religious and intellectual freedom as they wished. At least no one else could have that mess, either. They all, then agreed that the United States could do what they wanted, as long as it would not become a part of any nation, but a protectorate. And unlike Puerto Rico and Guam, it had no remaining citizens. Voting and citizenship was no issue. As far as the world was concerned, they would never be. Like Atlantis... Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.

Sue returned to earth in what looked like a meteor to those watching.  But it was an escape pod from the Moon colony. Where the cities had gone to escape Earth and its governments' leaving the rest of the planet to its new dark age. She had fallen unconscious when she popped the pod's hatch to get fresh air. And had been saved from the surrounding fire by the one witness who saw her land. A sentient, telepathic wolf.  Now the dominant sentient species on Earth... Excerpt:  When Sue opened her eyes she saw a wolf looking back at her. Propping herself up on her elbows, she looked it over. She'd never seen a wolf before, especially not close up. She recalled pictures in her schoolbooks of all the life forms they were going to introduce into the new worlds. They were all sorts of canine breed of dogs. She almost wish she had studied more, as she never thought she'd have to use it. As the books would always be there. This wolf was here, though. Looking at her with piercing eyes. And the books were not. Then she remembered: Wild. Carnivore. She pushed herself back with her elbows and tried to get her feet under her without looking away. She needed to know if it was going to attack her. Then its voice spoke up in her mind. "I'm not going to eat you. Besides I've heard hoomans don't taste good, anyway." Sue was curious about this and wondered how she could hear his thoughts. So Tig answered the question. "Well, why wouldn't you? Or are you feral or something? She said out loud, "Feral?" Tig chuckled and sent, "Yeah." His response didn't startle the hooman this time. When she saw him smile she smiled back, as a feeling of security washed over her. "Can you travel?" came the thought. "I dunno." Sue said, "We can try." "We must. The fire is still too close." And he loped off. She struggled to her feet started walking after him. He stopped 50 yards away and frowned. "Is that all the faster you hoomans travel? No wonder you're almost extinct." She called back, "No, I can run." And started as fast as she could even though she was stiff and sore from the landing. As she got closer to Tig, he took off again. He started running, but not as fast this time, so she was able to keep up and they headed up into the mountains. After a piece of steep climbing, Tig stopped for a moment. He waited for her at the top of a cliff. She was soon close by. She saw him as a tawny creature with browns and silvers and reds in his fur, admired him for his strength and beauty. At the same time he only saw she was dressed in some sort of one-piece covering, dully reflective where it wasn't covered with soot. Golden hair fell over her shoulders and soot smudged her light, hairless face. He wondered if she was fur or bare underneath that silvery cover. At that she blushed. "Oh that's right. You don't wear clothes," She thought back at him...  Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now

Hunted by evil, her only escape was to find the light, but her broken wings couldn't carry her to safety. Why this tiny, suffering pixie was hunted by a monster troll seemed to be a simple urge - he needed to feed off her energy to keep living. Only a few hours to daylight, when the troll had to sleep to avoid the burning rays of sunlight, or being found by Truth-Seekers and forever imprisoned in stone. After the sun rose, she could heal herself by bathing in sunlight and escape forever. But why was this troll out of his territory and why was he hunting her? Not just his hunger, that much was certain. The hungry troll could smell her, was close. And both were frantic to survive.The troll needed food, but she had a secret message to deliver. And that one message could prevent humans as well as fairies from being enslaved to troll masters after losing the coming war... Excerpt: Lori the pixie ran through the forest, because her wings wouldn't carry her anymore. They were broken, useless until they healed. Broken by Glum-Dun the troll, who continued to hunt her trail. It wasn't her size that mattered, it was how good she tasted, the power within her. That's what he fed on. Sheer power. Trolls wanted power, control. And they were bullies in their own world. If he could make a fast snack of her, he'd get her power in one gulp. Here, away from other High forces, the fairy was in his element. He knew these dark forests and woods. All her folk were in the glades, the clearings, what humans called pastures. Where the sun shone through. Eventually, without sunlight, pixies simply fade away to nothing. Forever. Already she was starting to fade. Too long away from her kind. Too long running and hiding. At least now it was becoming light. Trolls hated light and would themselves hide as tree trunks or dead trees, fallen to the ground or maybe still standing. Light burned their skin and blinded them. Lori could travel during the night, but she was tired. So very tired. All last night's running had taken its toll on her. She could hardly keep her eyes open. Even with this coming daylight. For the moment, she had found a hollow tree that was still very alive on the outside. Within it, she climbed up to where a hollow limb had fallen away. There, she could see out and secret her self away from the world of trolls and dangers. If she made no sound, gave no sign, the troll could not smell her as well. Especially in this walnut tree. The reek of walnut made a troll's nose sneeze. Allergies. And so this tree covered her smell that way. Sure, one sweep of his blade could bring this hollow tree down, shattering worse than a high wind. And often these storms were only cover for trolls and their destruction. But all that energy trolls used to dance and smash through the trees during the storm took its own toll. They would be tired, need to eat. Trolls ate spirits. That's why trolls wanted pixies. Lori knew the stories of old. How Darkness was separated from Light. How they shared the worlds of humans and animals, living plants and sleeping rock. Lori felt faint, so faint. And the thumping whumps of Glum-Dun's massive feet and his dull ax striking trees to scare her, all just kept her awake, kept her hidden away from him. But it also meant she was deep in this hollow tree, out of the light, out of the one source of healing power she needed. Just a little while until daybreak. If she still had enough energy to move by then, she might survive.

I was sent here to keep me safe. From horrors I wasn't supposed to know about.  But they didn't understand the first thing about arriving in a female body with raging hormones and a genius beyond understanding of myself and anyone around us. Of course, they wiped my memory. That didn't mean I couldn't figure out that I didn't belong.  Then I met someone that I could almost trust. Not to give me away.  Because if anyone really found out who I was - including me - then the universe would literally collapse on itself.  Seriously. Not just another teen-angst romance. This was deadly serious. Deadly for everyone, including me. And somehow, he eeemed to actually care... Excerpt: First day of school for that second year of torture.  And since we had roughly the same last name, we were assigned seats in order and wound up in the back of the room by each other.  And that meant we had to collaborate on class projects. Chemistry. Another yawning class to endure. Until what? Until the day was over. Then we had homework and then we went to sleep and then woke up and started over.  A gigantic baby-sitting service to raise their kids to get jobs like they did. And have kids. And let them get raised like us, like our parents were.  "Some gigantic conspiracy." That guy sitting in the next row over mumbled. "What?" I asked. "Just a way to keep us all amused until we get our scrap of paper saying we did wrote our dots and dashes just so and can go out and now be carbon copies of what they want us to be, good little boys and girls." Clearer this time. A full run-on sentence. "Kinda grumpy today?" I said. "Maybe. But thanks for noticing." He replied. "I'm Harriet - but please call me Hari." Introductions were best cut short. "Sal - short for Salamon." To the point, but with a smile. "Nice to meet someone else who was saddled strangely right out of the gate." I had to smile at this. The guy was colorful. I tended to be reticent, quiet. "So what do you think of this lab work we're assigned?" Maybe curious, maybe polite small talk. "Sucks. As usual. Teacher does the lecture, makes us do something so we can parrot the answer back. It's called 'learning.' Could be worse, I imagine." Now I started to warm to the subject. "Yea, well. You're probably right, could be worse." He slid down into his seat so his shoulders were on the backrest and elbows on the laminated top. "Stuff gives me nightmares as it is." "Nightmares?" I turned to him. This struck a chord. "Sure - am I in the right class, do I have the right books, am I dressed like I'm supposed to. What about that cutie in the front row - is she going to ask my something and I won't know what to say? And then I wake up and see that I still have hours to go before I'm supposed to get up and show up at the circus again." He frowned at remembering. "Yeah, I know about that. Except the cutie in the front row. She's an air head. Don't worry about her asking you anything. She's into getting top grades." I frowned on my own. "Just another trap to catch you." He gave a wry grin out of the corner of his mouth, half turned toward me. "Lots of traps here. But I'm beginning to figure them all out. They might have a pattern." I turned more toward him to see his response... Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.