Silver And Cold: A Glass Fate Christmas Tale

(CW: Abusive Language, Cursing, Violence)

Chapter 1. Chilled

Athena hit the stop button on her alarm, leaned over the trashcan and emptied her stomach of last night’s gin.

Cold air teased her bare back, she shivered and looked to the broken window. “How…”

“Sorry,” Ares muttered from the floor. “I tried to stop you, but you said ‘fuck this window’ and hit it with a bolt.”

“Ares? Did we…”

The god shook his head and picked some pale fluff from his trimmed dark beard. “No, but you were topless when Safkhet dropped you off.”

“What…” Athena shook her head as memories tickled like dreams. The bar. The crying…


Ares opened one of her dresser drawers and pulled out a shirt. “Cover up… are you okay?”

“Good. I’m fine.” Athena stared into the corner of her mirror, at the reflection of her little toe. “I’ll be fine.”

“Aphrodite offered you a new crush. On the house, just so you know. If you want something to get the mortal off your mind.”

“How’d she hear?” Athena snatched the shirt out of Ares’ hand and slipped it on.

“LifeTree. You Seeded about it a few dozen times. There were pictures.”

“Oh fuck.”

“I know, it was bad.” He nodded sagely. “Even Reynardine was trying to be nice.” Ares picked up the blankets and pillows from the floor. “I was worried, a bit, so I slept over. I’ll have Phaestus send some automatons around to repair the window.”
Athena looked up at the ex-war god, but couldn’t muster a smile. “Thanks, Ares.”

“I thought you’d do something stupid. I’m a cop.” He smiled. “We should hang out more, A. I mean, when we’re not saving the world or on godly business.”

She muttered a response, but didn’t really have time for a renewed friendship this week. There was a few hundred year old bottle of scotch in her cellar she wanted to drown in for a bit, today at least.

Her stomach gurgled. Later today…

Ares cleared his throat. “Want to brave Hestia’s Christmas party together? We can talk trash on all the happy couples.”

“I never go to that. You know how I feel about Christmas.” She stood up and looked around at the bare walls. “Thanks, but I’m not going to start in now.”

“Offers open.” Ares looked her room over. “And you’re welcome, A. Have a good one and go easy on the bottle today.”

With the taste of bile and gin so fresh, even the word ‘bottle’ churned her stomach.

Ares exited through the gaping hole in her window and Athena made her way to the bathroom. She stripped off the shirt and the stained, holey sweatpants.

“I went out drinking in sweatpants…” Safkhet really left a lot to be desired for a best friend. Not that she was bad, most the time, but enforcing fashion choices on the drunk and heartbroken was a pretty important task.

Athena started up the shower and took a few aspirin before climbing in. The hot water didn’t cure her cotton mouth, but she gulped some down anyway and stood under the spray until the pounding in her skull faded.

And the shout took over. ‘Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid, you slut.’

Emmaline. She’d always been so nice, the venom hurt even worse. Burned.

‘I’m leaving. Call that guy you’ve been fucking to drive me home.’

Ares and her were always just friends.

What led to that insult?

‘Do us both a last favor and lose my number, Attie.’

Athena remembered that one, hurled at her as Emmaline climbed into Ares car for a ride home, back to the mortal world. Athena had just called her stupid.

For the first and last time.

Athena slammed a fist into the wall and through to the other side.

“Screw it,” she muttered. “I’ll expand the bathroom into the garage. Never drive anyway.”

The phone’s ringing didn’t help her headache, probably Fate’s office wondering why she’d skipped work. Well, technically, Athena was just late at this point, but the office could survive a day without her. Maybe a few.

“Maybe, it’s time to quit.” Athena spun the shower handle and slipped her mostly fresh shirt back on. She skipped combing her hair, tangles be damned for a few days, but brushed her teeth until they hurt a bit.

By the end of that, she conceded to the hairbrush and ran it through her blonde locks.
I should dye it. Get some darker makeup too, I’m tired of this pastel life.

She pulled on some underthings and blue jeans. The hole in the shower, and missing window, would have to wait. Maybe Phaestus would help.

Athena headed to the kitchen and popped a little single-serve cup in her coffee machine.

The coffee sludge began rehydrating and Athena turned to grab her bottle of flavored creamer from the fridge. She flipped open the door, slammed it shut, spun across the room, and grabbed a chef’s knife in about a second total.

The door swung open again and Reynardine the Fox peered out in a red stocking cap with a white ball on the end. In human form, handsome face, missing right eye, and smile meant to drop panties or start wars. Probably both, when the bastard was on a roll.

He took a sip from a carton of milk and looked around. “Morning, Honeyweaver.”

“Don’t call me that,” Athena said. “What the fuck are you doing in my fridge?”

“Drinking your milk,” Reynardine told her. “What’s up with the knife? I thought we were close.”

“We’re not you sleeping in my fridge close.” She sat the blade on her counter. “Sorry, just alarmed is all. You surprised me.”

Reynardine finished the milk and climbed out. “That’s probably good. Trust nothing and no one. Least of all strange foxes claiming to be from Santa.”

Athena snorted. “Oh no, we’re not doing this today.”

“I’m sure the day will be full of surprises,” Reynardine said. “Brr, you always keep it so cold in here?” He wore slacks and a bright green sweater with a topless, muscled Santa riding a candy cane themed unicorn. “Caldyr got it for me,” he said. “Nice, huh? You like sexy Santa?”

“I don’t think anyone likes it, Reynardine. She must either hate you or know you really well.”

“Aw, we know it’s both. You want to hit the road, or what?”

“Road?” Athena shook her head. “No, I’m drinking a cup of coffee and eating something terrible for me instead of a healthy breakfast and then crying while I watch sad movies until it’s drinking time. I’ve written out a schedule, somewhere.”

“Nope.” Reynardine tapped his cap. “We’ve gotta discover the true meaning of Christmas or love… or something, I only read part of the script for this shindig.”

“It’s the day before Christmas eve—”

“I’ve got plans this year, Athena. We gotta rock this boat now, let’s boogie.”

“I’m not boogeying anywhere, Reynardine!”

“But Santa sent me.”

“Bullshit,” Athena said. “Why would Santa use you—”

Reynardine pulled out a golden candy cane with a key for the straight end. “I told you, me and old Kringle are tight.”

Athena stared at the Christmas key. “I thought you were just trying to get me to do something naughty.”

“That too.” Reynardine looked around. “So, we got a little over twenty-four hours for this party. You want a little hair of the dog?”

“I don’t know…”

Reynardine snapped and they were inside a busy grocery store.

“I don’t have shoes!” Athena’s toes curled against the cold cement floor.

Reynardine looked around. “You’re a god, Athena.”

“Oh, right.” She magicked a pair of socks and canvas sneakers on. Humans didn’t notice the magic, her godly abilities were beyond mortal sight by Fate’s Decree. Pretty spiffy, really, in the old days she had to be careful about being seen all the time.

Athena added a night-blue blazer, but left the rest of the outfit. She wasn’t in the mood for much magic right now. The jacket was darker than her normal soft blue, but she liked the look.

Reynardine picked up a large, expensive bottle of eggnog. He spotted her jacket and raised an eyebrow, but just asked, “You hungry?” And took off for the front before she had a chance to answer.

Athena hurried to keep up. “Yes and tired. Slow down, please.”

Reynardine disappeared down an aisle, and when Athena reached the end, he was lifting up a bottle of nice brandy.

“What are you doing?” Athena asked.

“Donuts? They have them here, and that’s the best endorsement I can offer. Ain’t no Crunchy Cremes, that for sure, but let’s go.”


He was already half-way to the case, and suspicions were building in Athena’s tired mind. She followed and watched him pick out a dozen donuts. “Need anything else, Fox?”

“Nope,” Reynardine said. “Hold this real quick?” He forced the box of donuts into her arms before snapping.

And they were in a park.

“Did you just steal all that?”

Reynardine nodded. “Well, actually we did. Go team owlfox, right?”

Athena dropped the donuts on the table and covered her mouth. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“That’s a whole ‘nother story, Honeyweaver. Want some eggnog?” Reynardine dumped out half the bottle, “For the lost foxes and dead gods,” and then added the stolen brandy.

“First swig?”

Athena grabbed it and washed down her doubts with the milky cocktail. He poured in either too much or too little brandy, she couldn’t decide. And didn’t really want to think about it—or anything—the burn of the booze was enough for now.

She sat the bottle on the stone table and Reynardine pushed over the box of donuts.

Athena traded him the spiked nog and grabbed a cherry crunch. “So, what’s the epiphany?” she asked around a mouthful of donut. “I’m not sure I have the stomach for a full journey today.”

“Nope, doesn’t work that way. It’s the rules.”


“Hey, who’s an official deputy of Santa Claus himself?”

Athena pulled the eggnog to her and took another sip. “I’m still not entirely sure I believe all that. Why would Santa send you?”

“Like I said, we’re close.”

Athena rolled her eyes. “How? What, you banged his wife—”

“Hey! I’d never hit on Ms Claus. That woman is a saint.” Reynardine took a sip of their shared drink and pushed it back. “I did have an interesting weekend with Rudolph once, but who hasn’t?”

“Me,” Athena said. The bottle’s tiny opening didn’t hold as much appeal, quite suddenly, but she steeled herself and took a hearty swig. To wash the bitter taste, she ate a sprinkled cake donut and considered her options.

If Santa really sent Reynardine, and his possession of a North Pole key spoke volumes, chances were Athena couldn’t just skip out—Santa didn’t fuck around with naughty listers.

Besides Reynardine. If there was one being more persistent than Santa himself…

Even he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, actually steal a key from Santa, though. Reynardine might be a clever trickster, but the Claus’ were another level of magic entirely. More on par with gods, or perhaps even Fate herself.

Ignoring this little trip down memory lane would land her on the naughty list for a few decades, at least.

Athena didn’t really need the gifts, but people would find out.

And talk. They always talked, nothing more boring than small town life—especially for big city gods like them.

She washed her donut down with brandy straight from the bottle. “All right. And what’s the plan then?”

Reynardine looked up. “Plan? Honeyweaver, where we’re going, we don’t need plans.”

“What? Reynardine, it’s not the time for lame quot—”

He snapped and they were off again.


Chapter 2. Shiny

Athena landed butt first on cold ground. “Oh, fuck. Reynardine, what the hell was that?”

She sat in the middle of a small camp, old style green army tents and…


Camp of the New Pantheon. Judging by the lack of recruits, it must’ve still been early days for their little revolution. Not even a sign of artillery, maybe Christmas 1915.
More than a hundred years ago now. Time really does fly.

“And so does Reynardine, apparently.” Bastard Fox was nowhere to be found; tents, trenches, and little else stood out.

Athena snuck among them, listening carefully for a hint of Reynardine—or even whatever she was here to see. Athena was a big goddess, no one needed to hold her hand, she could epiphany herself just fine.

The sunlight had peaked already, but daytime didn’t mean much at the camp back then. They’d all been on different schedules, all 8… no 11 of them in ‘15.

If you didn’t count Reynardine,which no one really did. He’d been a spy, working both sides and not too shy about telling Artemis—the leader of the New Pantheon in those days.

Athena looked around sadly. Last thing she needed today was another reminder of bad times and lost friends.

Reynardine walked out of the showers tent, fixing his fashionable slacks and coat. Musta changed clothes.

Athena started over, but he looked right through her and walked off.

Both of his eyes. “Oops, wrong fox.”

A second later, another Reynardine—one missing eye and horrific sweater and all—walked out of the same tent.

Fixing his pants.

Athena blushed and stared. “General? Did you just—”

“Oh, don’t act like you haven’t thought of it.”

“With a past version of myself? I really can’t say I—”

“It was a rare opportunity,” Reynardine explained. “Forget it, we have stuff to take care of.”

“Forget it? Reynardine that’s a… a hard thing to forget.”

“Bit part of another tale, my Honeyweaver.” He nodded at the food tent. “Real tale is in there.”

“Hestia making pancakes?”

“No, but—”

Reynardine paused.

The past him was crawling out Hestia’s window, box of sausage in one hand and bottle of wine in the other.

“Hn.” Athena looked over to the current him. “What did you do with a crate of sausage?”

“Lunch for a friend. I do look rather dashing though, right?”

Athena nodded ruefully—no denying he offered a certain roguish charm. Handsome too, clever as well. Plus a complete asshole and cocky to boot, but Reynardine was always a… a something all right.

“So, drag me here just to play around with your past sausage or what?”

Reynardine gave a long barking laugh. “Clever, Ath. C’mon, the real party’s inside. It’s Christmas eve’s eve, and you just cheated death.”

He held the tent flap with a flourish and a low bow.

Athena ducked slightly and walked into the smoky little mess tent.

Hestia held court at the front, doling out pancakes and fat little homemade sausages with sage from Demeter’s garden and lamb straight from Pan’s flock.

“Can we steal food from the past?” Athena wondered.

Reynardine shrugged. “She’ll probably blame it on me anyway.”

“Well, to be fair, you did steal a whole crate a moment ago.”

“A hundred years and a moment ago,” Reynardine corrected officiously.

“Course,” Athena muttered. She snatched a warm sausage from the tray. Greasy, spiced, and better than she remembered. Been a long time since Hestia made sausage, decades at least. “So, how did I cheat death here again? The times kinda blur.”

“I know that feel.” Reynardine nodded across the tent.

Athena stared at the blonde laughing at the table for a long minute before it clicked.
Burnt hair, singed skin, two black eyes, and dried blood trailing from most of the holes on her face. “Wow, I was thumped on.”

“Blown up,” Reynardine said. “Technically. By a god’s bolt too, so—”

“Fucking Jupiter, huh? Roman bastard, I remember this.”

Athena sat next to Safkhet, across from Artemis and Hel. She talked loudly, her hearing wasn’t so good right then, although the words were a little off track with their current state of existence. Athena leaned closer and listened until they cleared.

Safkhet poked at the past Athena’s blackened armor and burnt combat fatigues. “You said you dodged the blast?”

“I said I dodged death.” She turned to the other table. “Thanks by the way, Pluto. I saw you look the other way.”

Pluto blushed down at his eggs. “Accidental. I’d never allow just any soul to abscond, of course.” The god looked up and gave her a timid smile. “But you know how much I like shiny things.”

The past Athena smiled back, and tried to pat down her hair, but that side had been burnt off entirely.

Current Athena gave a tired smile, she remembered what came next; six or seven months of mediocre romance with some good bits, before a weird, hard split.

“Right, Christmas past. Check.” Athena looked over at Reynardine as the voices faded.

“So, we gonna watch me get seduced all the way?”

Reynardine looked up from his phone. “I’m game if you are, it’s your memory. But we can abscond once you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Which is?”

He waved a hand dramatically and dropped onto an empty seat. “I don’t know, it’s your lesson.”

Athena knew that was bullshit, but she’d probably have better luck arguing with the wall. Easier to win, at least.

Instead, she focused on the moment.

What did I learn, or could I learn from this?

“Do you have some paper?” she asked.

“Phone dead?”

“Oh, right.” Athena unlocked hers and took a quick selfie with the past her in the background. No signal now, but she’d post it to LifeTree soon as they were done in the past.

She opened a note file and started organizing feelings and memories into something she could correlate with the current memory. Formulas would have to be from memory, but Einstein worked out some pretty good ones before he switched from magic to physics.
Athena focused on the numbers, barely watching as Safkhet and the others skipped out and Pluto sidled up to her.

“Damn, he works fast,” Reynardine said. “For a geeky type.”

“He’s not a geek.” Athena looked Pluto over. “Maybe a bit, but I like them a little geeky.”

She shrugged. “I’m a wisdom and politics goddess, they like me a lot of the time.”

Reynardine nodded. “Why’d you break it off with him?”

Athena rolled her eyes. “Nothing to do with him really. We had fun, he just wanted something I couldn’t give.”

“Settle down?”

She nodded.

“We’ve all been there. Us unmarried gods… well, I’m a myth, but you know what I mean. You love ‘em.” Reynardine popped open his eggnog bottle again. “But love isn’t what it’s all about. They want steady. And just you.”

“He probably wouldn’t have minded the odd lady or two,” Athena added. “Pretty much though. Offered me a ring, the fucker.”

“Broke it off the next day?”

“I didn’t want to,” Athena said. “Pluto…” She sighed. “He was a good guy, I liked him a lot, but we were in a war. If he couldn’t deal with what I had to offer, then it was just time.”


Athena looked into Pluto’s coal night eyes. “Damn, that hurt though.”
“You took R&R for the first time ever.”

She forced a grimace. “That was in Paris, huh?”

“Good time?”

“I cried and ate some chocolate. Drank a lot of wine too.”

“But you survived.”

“Sure, not like a broken heart ever killed a god.”

“You’d be surprised at the damage a wounded heart can do.” Reynardine gave her a tired half-smile and snapped.


Chapter 3. Cracked Pillar

Reynardine landed on top of her on a bed.

Athena looked up into his amber eye. “A bed. Hn. Coincidence, right?”

“Ha. I’m not low enough to prey on a heartbroken friend.”

Athena huffed. “Probably a bad idea, anyway. Get off, you know I like being on top.”

“Right.” Reynardine rolled to the side and off the bed. He pushed himself up fast and started for the door.

Athena followed, eyes searching the small hall. “So, we anyplace special?”

“Obviously. We’re not time hopping at random. Probably.”


“I’m just the conductor,” Reynardine said. He stuck out his tongue and tasted the air.

“Olympus, 1954.”

The place did feel a little familiar, but they’d redone the floors and walls in her forty year absence. “You can tell that from the air?”

“Sure, why not?”

Athena shook her head. “Right. So just before we won?”

“A few weeks,” Reynardine told her. “We’re here to see Hera.”

“Hera?” Athena shook her head. “I don’t want to see my evil stepmother, Reynardine. Thought I’d never have to again.”

“That’s a pretty common feeling, on this cold Christmas eve’s eve.” Reynardine pointed.

Hera stood in front of a blue, watery pillar with Uncle Poseidon emblazoned on the front in all his dickheaded glory. More than 50 years since Athena saw the brunette goddess. Half that since Athena even thought of her, they’d never cared much for each other.
Hera wore nothing but a few bits of gold, not unusual for her. The elder gods never cared much for modern style and Olympus was awful warm this evening.

Air was hot, actually. Always got that way when Father was on a rager.

Athena’s hand found Reynardine’s without a thought and he gave a soft, kind squeeze.

“Honeyweaver, I wouldn’t put you through that. We’re just here for Hera.”

Athena nodded, and knew better, but the stress still boiled.
So she focused on Hera.

“…just think we’re going too far.” She leaned her head against the pillar. “Please, Poseidon, answer. I need a friend.”

Mercifully, Poseidon kept his silence. Athena doubted she could handle seeing him at the moment, anyway.

Hera flinched and sulked her way to the next pillar.


“Son? Oh, my shining sun of a child.”

Hera laid the butter on thick and even offered some candy—an old lyre she knew of resting in some mountains— nothing but silence.

“Apollo must be ticked too.”

“They were losing,” Reynardine said with more than a hint of pride. “Suddenly. Oops.”

Athena didn’t smile. She watched her stepmom move onto the next pillar, Hades, and past.

Hera walked toward some lone pillars, all the ‘traitors’ on the revolution’s side.

Finally, she paused and sat down.

In front of Athena’s silvery stack of books. “Hello, Honeyhair.”

“For fuck’s sake, it’s just blonde,” Athena muttered.

“Close to honey, though,” Reynardine said.

“She hated it anyway.” Athena looked at her stepmom. “Always telling me to wash it.” Athena put on Hera’s sulky, low voice. “Looks dirty. Thought I was stupid, too. I could see when she was thinking it, she’d look right at me and—”

Reynardine shushed her. “Listen, I don’t like rewinding bits.”

The head goddess twiddled her thumbs. “I know you can’t hear me. I’d be risking a lot to contact any of you right now. Still… damned tempting.” Hera picked at her teeth with a fingernail. “Been a long year, I guess. Quite a few of them, I think. When is it? The 40’s again, right? Twentieth century? Or 21st, I mix those up, you know. Oh, I don’t care.

“Your Father is on a bad one tonight. Same always, these days. I really didn’t think this spat would last the year, you know? Been a lot of them now and you kids…” Hera wiped an eye. “You know, we swore we’d let it go? When I first had Apollo, and that hellion sister of his, we knew one day, it’d be your turn. To rule and everything. It’s the way it works. Hestia and Aphrodite made us promise. Zeus swore to. We’d have a couple of millennia as the leaders and then when it was your turn, we’d pass along the scepters.”
Athena heard rumors, but straight from Hera’s mouth was closest to the truth as possible—the only one she hurt with the confession was Zeus.

If anyone heard.

Hera sobbed softly on the floor and didn’t speak for a long time. “I loved you, kid. I mean, I loved all of you kids, even the bastards. Sorry, you hate when I say that.” Hera looked into the distance to her, but right through Athena. “Even the ones I didn’t have the honor of birthing. That’s more fitting a royal. I know you hate me.” A tiny laugh. “I don’t love me either all the time.”

“I don’t really…” Athena stopped and every drop of ichor in her went cold. “I didn’t.”

“She knows and knew,” Reynardine whispered. “Let her finish.”

“We’re two grapes sharing a stem,” Hera said. “Two close to the base to ever fit right. Dionysus would like that. He’d be good right now. If he was here. He’d calm Zeus, and soothe Artemis, whoever else in this crazy thing. And we’d have dinner on his birthday, like we will soon. Dry turkey you hate, I know you all talk about my food when I’m cooking.” Hera hung her head. “I don’t care what you little ingrates think… but I’ll have Hestia help so no one leaves early this year. It’ll be good for us, being a family again. I’ll say it in person this time, too. Like I always meant to. But… I love you, little honey bug. I’m very proud of you.”

Hera looked at her hands and shivered. “I need to speak with the rest of my wayward kids too. Don’t know why I wanted to talk to you first. I know you’d never listen anyway. I wouldn’t.”



Chapter 4. A Fairy Short Interlude

Athena sobbed for a long time in a little park, on a bad street that ran dead center through Stockton, California.

People in modern clothes wandered by, some stared, but most ignored the shittily dressed crazy woman crying for ghosts and missed chances against a stone bench.

She didn’t think, just let the emotions and memories dictate what she cried for at any given second.

Later on, when she’d run dry of tears, a soft purple cup appeared in her vision.

“It’s happy hour and I got you a slushie for half-price,” Reynardine said. “No booze, but we can pick up some at the next stop.”

“Oh thank the lord yes please.”

“You’re welcome.” Reynardine waggled his brows. He held a brown paper bag filled with foil packages.

Athena nodded at them. “What is this?”

“It’s a chicken wrappuritaco blast. I got a bag for Caldyr, gotta drop ‘em at home.”

Athena picked a foil package up and sniffed. She’d eaten fast food, even enjoyed some, but dollar menu burritos seemed a little… scary, even for a non-human. “She eats these?”

“‘Eats’ is a generous term. She inhales them, fast. Not sure what else happens.” Reynardine hitched a thumb and they started walking down the cracked sidewalk.

She rolled her eyes. “Really, why not stop off at someplace decent, I’ll spring for it.”

“I would,” Reynardine said. “But Caldyr’s broke and she won’t let me pay for every meal.”

“That’s dumb, she should fleece you for whatever she can get.”

“Caldyr’s not dumb, Athena. She’s a shining star of intelligence.”

Athena raised a brow.

“What, she’s a good detective.”

“Yeah, she’s alright,” Athena said, even though she’d more raised a brow at him. He sounded like… like Zeus used to sound about her—on the good days, at least.

“Anyway, she doesn’t want me to pay all the time. Asked me to get lunch and bring it home.” Reynardine tugged at the ugly sweater. “I know she’s a little extra broke too. This wasn’t even Christmas, we just hit each other early with surprise gifts.”

“So we hopped through time to deliver food to a lazy fairy?”

“If you have to wrap down your wings and get all glamoured up to leave the house, you’d want to chill on a day off too.”

“Right, good point,” Athena said. “Caldyr lives here?” She looked around at the run down buildings and occupied stoops. Teens and young adults, sharing an afternoon and a bad view. Some adults too, and even some families on half-dead lawns.

Not the world’s worst neighborhood, but Athena wouldn’t want to be a girl living alone. Even a blue one with hydromantic powers.

Reynardine led her into a tiny brown apartment complex and up a set of chipped cement steps. Apartment 14, all the way at the end. He pushed open the door without knocking and rustling followed from the couch.

Caldyr bounded over, bright blue, and wearing a red Christmas sweater with a knitted orange kitten tangled in lights. She was a little under five-feet and her gorgeous leathery wings flapped, as she spun in the air. The fairy laughed and danced right up to them before she paused and blinked at Athena. Both hands were above her head, but Caldyr slowly lowered them.

“Hey, Athena. Sup?”

“Caldyr.” Athena forced down a smile at the purple blush creeping up the fairy’s cheeks.

“Nice sweater.”

She nodded. “It’s epically soft. Foxbutt got it for me. I got him that one. Just a weird coincidence.”

“Looks cute. Love the kitty.”

“Aw thanks! Reynardine even had wing holes sewed in.” The fairy spun a little off center and laughed, quite drunkenly Athena realized.

“And I brought lunch, Super Sleuth,” Reynardine said, not even hiding the pride on his face. “You watching TV?”

“Who Killed Santa is on again, but I think it’s the alternate ending version this time. With the zombies.”

“You know, Santa hates that movie,” Reynardine said.

Caldyr rolled her eyes. “This dick, keeps on talking like Santa’s real. I’m not a kid. Jerk.”

Athena nodded and gave a few quick glances around. Cheap apartment, old and held together by more duct tape and plaster than love… not that different from the one she found Em in a few years ago. The goddess shook her head. “I can’t even believe him most days,” she told Caldyr. “Always a surprise.”

“It’s the actor that plays him,” Reynardine continued. “Although, I thought Miranda was magic.”

“Of course he is,” Athena said. No Christmas tree she could see, but a cactus had some tinsel hanging off the needles.

“Want to watch?” Caldyr asked. “We got burritos, now, and I got some good scotch… well a bit, been a long day. We can split the lees at least and there’s some beer too.”

Athena spotted the green bottle on the table. Not her normal brand, but nice enough maker.

“Sure,” she said. “But I’ll just take the beer, scotch puts me in hitting mood.”

Caldyr gestured to Reynardine. “He’s soft and takes a fall real nice.”

Athena chuckled. “Noted, kiddo. Let’s get to the movie, I want to hear the Christmas Train rap.”

Reynardine grabbed them a beer and they did split the last of the scotch. Athena worked up a nice buzz, and the Meltichangaritto things weren’t half-bad after that.

When Athena first saw Caldyr with Reynardine, a few weeks back, she assumed that the General was simply looking to get a little extra wet. Caldyr being a fairy and he was always pretty well-known for his exploits.

Now, Athena didn’t know exactly what to think. His smile wasn’t wheedling, or ironic, but plastered and prideful.

She lit him up and Athena recognized that light. The pride of creation, she exalted herself in the glow often enough to spot it anywhere.

After eating most the burritos, and downing another beer, Caldyr passed out before the big sleigh chase medley ending.

Reynardine wrote her a note while the credits rolled and they slipped out the front. He checked his watch. “Sorry, I didn’t plan on that being a whole movie detour.”

Athena shook her head. “Nah. She wanted to hang out. It’s fine.”

“Doesn’t get out much, or have anyone too close here.”

“I’ve been there. She’s fun, it was a good time. Thanks, Reynardine. You’re a good dad.”

“She’s not really my daughter,” he said.

Athena laughed. “By blood? No. But that’s not so important this time of year, or any, really.”

Reynardine hugged her. Sudden and so fast, it might not have happened if she couldn’t still feel the warm shadow of his arms. “Thanks, Athena. Here I thought I was the one delivering advice.”

“You knew that already, you’ve got more ‘family’ hanging around than a royal wedding.”

“Course. But, it’s always nice to hear it aloud.” Reynardine snapped.


Chapter 5. White Christmas

Snow danced somberly around them.

“Where are we?”

Reynardine chuckled. “Check your phone.”

The device had 2,463 updates waiting. “A week in the future?”

“Few years, actually.” Reynardine nodded. “There she is.”

Athena squinted through a broken, glass door, and realized they stood on top of a outer balcony of a massive building. Fate’s building, the one skyscraper in Lumin. The tiny town of the gods lay below, quiet and covered in snow. “Wow. It never snows in Lumin.”

“Athena, we don’t have time for sightseeing, okay? Look through the door.”

“At what?”

“Your cold, bitter heart,” Reynardine announced with more grim air than she’d expect him capable of.

Just a glance was plenty enough to see why.

Athena herself sat in Fate’s chair. “Woo. Upgrade.”

“Yeah, but look at you.”

She walked closer, and leaned into the giant room, but the cold and the darkness of the office told its own tale.

Ares chained and broken body above her empty fireplace added another layer to the story.


Bellona’s spear stuck from the fire-poker stand. Just half, blackened and rusted.

Nothing else to signal the end of any other friends, but the air itself sang of death. Gods died and haunted here.

“Yeah,” Reynardine whispered. “This isn’t the world that will be, for sure, but it’s an ever-growing possibility.”

“But… why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know all the details. It’s a big deal, clearly. Something to do with old enemies. You go a little crazy on us. End them, and then… well, Hestia is first. After you absorb her fire, you work your way through the Pantheon. Outsmart us all.”

“I love Hes! Me? I’m not…” Athena watched as blood dripped from Ares’ broken flesh to the cold stone mantle.

She looked to herself. Colder white blonde hair and deep sparkling eyes. Ice seeped from her pores, as she scribbled on scrap of paper. “What am I writing?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Long as it’s not emo poetry.” Athena laughed a little.

Reynardine gave a long, solemn nod.

“Wowzer. I am pure dumpster fire in this future.”

And she looked up. The other icy Athena.

“Can she… I hear me?”

“Why do you think I wanted to hurry?” Reynardine asked, tugging on Athena’s sleeve.

“Come on. We’re just shades to her, but she is the God of All Things now. Who knows what she can do.”

They edged back across the terrace as the Icy Athena crawled onto the desk and crouched like a B-movie vampire. She took great whiffs of the air and looked toward them. The ripped, white cocktail dress really drove the point home. “Remind me never to go evil.”

“That’s kinda what I’ve been getting at,” Reynardine said.

And the icy goddess leapt.

Shadows and sparks of thunder filled the air behind her. Zeus’ thunder, just like when she was a kid.

Athena screamed, but the sound became a tight squeak.

Icy Athena had caught her by the throat. She squeezed and the world blurred. Pain filled her body as air stuck in her lungs. Athena felt her power draining into the evil twin just above.

And then pure, frozen light.




Em stood at the edge of the doorway, anger already marring her pretty face. “Where have you been?”

“Out with Ares and Safkhet,” Athena muttered. “Did you need something?”

Rage flashed and she shook her head. “No.”

“Good then. I’m tired, we stopped some human magicians from summoning a demon and ending all life in Quebec.”

“Wow. Sounds fun.”

Athena shook her head. “Not the word, I’d use. But Canada is quite exhilarating, I think.”

“I’ve never been.”

Athena nodded absently. “You should sometime. It’s cold, take a coat.”

“I hardly ever leave here, anymore,” Em said, with a trace of irony in her voice that just didn’t fit. “I’m a real homebody, I guess.”

“You should work on that.” Athena looked around the dirty house and wondered how she stayed home all the time, but never managed to get anything clean. With a wave, Athena set the living room in order. “I was reading a study the other day, about correlations between low-light living situations and depression. Maybe that’s why you’re so moody lately?”

Em walked off, stomped really, to the bedroom.

“I’ll text you a link.” Athena didn’t have time for a mortal’s pissy little mood swings, even one normally as splendid as Em.

She poured herself a drink and wondered where Safkhet was. Maybe she should go out instead. Athena always found some time alone helped her relax, surely Em could use another few days.

“Em? I’m going out, again. Did you need me to leave some money for food, or maybe a little toy? Something from those superhero things?”

Silence from the bedroom. Athena searched with her extra senses and found Em drinking. Straight booze and a lot.

“Good, she might loosen up again.”



Cold. Endless. Wet. Icy air all around.

Burning in her working lungs.

Athena gasped and rolled over.

Reynardine held a snowball to one eye. “Morning.”

“We still in the dystopian future?”

“Oregon, actually.”

Athena thumped back into the snow. “Just send me back to whenever that was then.”

“Sure, soon as my eye heals. You pack a helluva punch, Honeyweaver.”

“Damn right. Wait me, or early-2000s-screamo-band me?”

“You. I snapped, but the magic took a second, and by the time we ported you were pretty out of it. Turned on me before you passed out.”

“Good. Drag me all through history just to let me almost kill me. Jerk.”

“Right. Anyway, we’re almost done here and I’m ready for a nap.” Reynardine tapped her knee. “Come on, one more stop.”

“No,” Athena said. “I’ve learned. Don’t go evil. Got it.”

“And how do you know which way not to go? How do any of us know where our coldest hearts lie?” Reynardine asked.

Wind howled and in the distance a car backfired.

“Right. What I thought, come on.” He strutted off through the snow.

Athena trudged just behind him through the powdery streets. She’d never been to the area, looked like just a tiny mountain hamlet somewhere. Nice enough, but Athena hardly knew anyone this far North in America.

“What town is this?”

“Bend,” Reynardine said. “Kim and Erik live here.”


“Kim’s a baker and Erik is a part-time security guard and full-time teacher.”

“Sounds like a busy life.”

Reynardine nodded. “But, rather fortunately, they took Christmas off.”

“Why is that fortunate? And not normal?”

“Bad economy. Expensive to live these days. Not the time for politics.”

“Things are getting worse, huh?” Athena asked, but she already felt the answer in the hallow air of the town itself. “But there’s always time for politics, Reynardine! What’s going on in America is—”

“No!” Reynardine barked. “Sorry, but I’ve got plans tonight and some more gifts to pick up for a certain blue friend… and some others, maybe. But right now, we’re talking about what’s their names. The broke ones, comforting their friend.”

“Kim and Erik.” Athena paused. “That’s a little familiar.”

“It should be.”

“I know, you just told me, but something else.”

“I know.” Reynardine smiled and nodded at a pink SUV parked at a curb.

“Oh.” Emmaline. She talked about them a few times. Always texted Kim when things were rough. The goddess paused and took in the town with new eyes. “Em grew up here.”

“Come on, Athena. One last stop.”

“No,” she nearly shouted. “We broke up. She broke up with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh right, like I’m some idiot crying all drunk and alone when all I had to do was reach out.”

Reynardine raised the brow above his blind eye.


“Prove me wrong.”

Athena followed him to a frosted, four-pane window with a tiny crack through the bottom corner.

Emmaline sat on the couch with a baby on her knee. A ragged little tree sat opposite of her. No, not quite ragged, Athena realized, just every branch of the tiny thing was weighed down with an ornament and a candy cane.

The look on Em’s face—the light in her eyes from that lit pine—made Athena regret every drab Christmas they’d shared.

Never even occurred to her that Em might enjoy the holiday.

“I’m a fool,” Athena muttered.

“Yes,” Reynardine said. “But you’re good at learning, right?”

“Can you learn to be a good person?”

“I hope so.” Reynardine smirked. “I know so. Now pay attention, our show’s starting.”

Two hipsters curled up on a smaller loveseat and listened.

“We might still make up,” Em said in her adorable, squeaky voice. She leaned forward and shook her head. “She was drunk. I was drunk, it was sudden.”

“Oh, don’t start again, babe,” Kim said. She pushed herself off the couch and straightened her pajama pants. “Erik, get Matchbox some dinner?”

“Yeah,” he muttered with a grateful smile. “I’ll just be in there, the kitchen. Doins’ dinner things.”

“Thanks,” Kim whispered and planted a kiss on his bearded cheek while he retrieved the kid from Em.

“Aw,” Reynardine said. “The hipster couple is kinda cute.”

“She’s beautiful,” Em said, holding up her phone. “I know the pictures with her are all a little fuzzy.”

“That happens,” Kim lied kindly. “She sounds nice too.”

Em shrugged. “Not always. She was good in bed though, really good. Sweet sometimes too. Funny at times.”

Athena preened a little.

“But cold.”

And that hurts.

“And she thought I was stupid,” Em said. “Like I am—”

Athena didn’t realize her jaw dropped until freezing air hit the back of her throat.

“No,” Kim said in a loud quit-being-silly tone.

Reynardine repeated it, but more serious and added. “She might not be a rocket scientist, but she saw past your faults, and found you to start.” He smiled. “Takes a bit of smarts to find anything warm enough to hold in all that ice.”

Em laughed. “I’m not all that bright, but she’s a god of knowledge. Or like Einstein or something.” She gave a nervous laugh. “Reads a lot.”

“That was a little clever,” Reynardine said.

Kim sighed. “If you really want to call…”

“I don’t. I’m always the one apologizing, or just not saying anything. If she can’t be bothered to pick up the phone…” Em dropped her own to the couch. “I’m not stupid. Not really. She can call me.”

“I don’t think she’s stupid,” Athena said. “I never said that she was stupid, when I… I mean, I’d never. I didn’t mean for her to think…”

“But you are cold, Athena. And inside your head a lot.” Reynardine grabbed Athena’s hand and gave a squeeze. “People don’t read minds, Honeyweaver. Most don’t even read people. You can think the world of person, but unless you let them know… who knows what they’ll think of you.”

“Shit,” Athena said as tears welled up. “Thought I was done with the crying.”

Reynardine tugged her off the little porch. “Wanna go get cleaned up? Maybe text her and see if she’d mind a visit?”

“Where’s the nearest coffee shop?”


Reynardine watched from across the cafe as Emmaline buzzed in. She moved like a hummingbird; energetic, happy, in love with life.

Probably what Athena saw in her.

No mystery what Emmaline saw in Athena either. Well, maybe a bit, but the joy shining in her eyes as she walked to the small table was pretty clear.

Athena stood up.

Words passed. A moment. Sighs.

They hugged.

Reynardine winked at Athena and pointed to the door.

He was in the parking lot, obtaining a ride home, when she texted. <Thanks, General. I’ll stop by on Christmas, me and Em, if it’s cool. I owe C and you some scotch.>

Reynardine already figured, and planned ahead, but he texted an affirmative.

He was going about eighty on a dark freeway when Ms Claus appeared in his passenger seat.

“Hello, Reynardine.”

The Fox smiled. “Ellen. How’s Kris?”

“Busy.” She pulled a cigarette case from her velvet dress pocket. She lit one and the scent of cloves overtook the car. “And missing a key, I believe. You wouldn’t have seen it?”

Reynardine laughed and passed over the golden cane. “Sorry, El. Tell Big Red I owe him one, okay?”

Ms Claus stuck the cane in her bra. “Just one? Reynardine, you’re not so good at math.”

“Unfortunate. But we both know I got other talents.” He clicked his tongue and winked.

“What’d you need this one for anyway?”

“Hmm?” Reynardine winked again, this time with the dead eye. “Helping put a friend on the right path. I might not be a god of love, anymore, but even I could see a chance to help out a bit.”

El smiled. “Always something for a friend, huh?”

“Tis the season, right?”


Epilogue: Blue Christmas

Caldyr picked at her teeth and watched Reynardine closely.

The scent of roasting turkey fogged her mind, for all she knew dinner was never coming, and she’d run out of little cheese filled sausages hours ago.

Maybe days. “Reynardine! I’m dying.”

“Did you even touch the crackers?”

“Not when I could help it,” Caldyr snapped. “We’re out of real food.”

“I’ve got another snack platter,” he said. “But give the guests a few minutes, they’re barely even late yet.”

Caldyr muttered some blasphemy, but that didn’t make the gods hurry.

About ten minutes later someone knocked on the door. Reynardine hurried in to answer and Caldyr stood up.

Bellona, War god, and Reynardine’s friend walked in with a man that reminded Caldyr of warm, home baked apple pie.

Tyr, obviously. She knew Bellona and he were a thing. He was a Norse god of justice and honor in the far back past. Also played a big part in the Great War, but Caldyr wasn’t too sure what he did these days.

From his looks, probably modeled for superhero posters and saved kittens from trees.

Even the beard didn’t dissuade from the wholesome image, just added some grit to help strike a match.

Bellona caught Caldyr’s eyes and mouthed, I know right?

Caldyr gave a small nod and stopped ogling her friend’s boyfriend.

“Hey, C.” Bellona waved. She wore slightly ragged clothes, but still nice. A normal sweater and blue jeans.

Tyr wore flannel—what else—and an easy smile. Bellona was quite a few inches taller, but they were both somewhere over 6 feet. He extended his only hand, the left. His right had been lost a millennia ago to Fenrir the wolf.

“Tyr,” he said in a voice like melted butter.

Something melted, certainly. Caldyr gave his rough hand a hearty shake. “Caldyr Prayers. I’m Reynardine’s… roommate, I guess.”

Tyr nodded. “I’m Bellona’s boyfriend.”

“I prefer protege,” Reynardine said. “For Caldyr. It makes us sound closer.”

“It makes me sound like a crook,” Caldyr snapped. “We’re friends. Barely.”

Tyr nodded. “Yeah. It’s hard with him. Trust can take a lot of time to build and Reynardine’s constant insistence on testing the limits of—”

“Hey!” Reynardine walked in with a platter of cheese and meat. “We don’t need any of that today, Doctor.”

Tyr nodded, resignedly, and took a seat on the couch. “I have a PhD in psychotherapy,” he told Caldyr. “I’m not really licensed, but I run a service for gods,” he paused and looked into the kitchen, “myths, or others of our type.”

“That’s… very interesting.” Caldyr took a mental note—never know when a good shrink might come in handy, especially one in the know.

He shrugged. “Pocket money, if the client can afford to pay, and it’s a hobby I’m passionate about.”

Bellona smiled. “And good at.”

Tyr tapped her knee.

Another knock at the door. Reynardine led Athena, and a younger blonde human Caldyr didn’t know, into the living room.

“Hey all. Caldyr, thanks for hosting,” Athena said, offering her a bottle wrapped in blue and silver tissue paper. “And hosting the other day too.”

Caldyr blushed a bit and took the large, odd shaped bottle. “Ah. Yeah. sorry, I was smashed.”

Athena smiled, a warmer glimmer than her usual cold humor. “Been there a few times. This is Emmaline, by the way.”

“Em,” the blonde said. “Hi… you’re blue.”

Caldyr looked at her arms, covered all the way to the wrist in Christmas sweater. “Weird, wonder how that happened.”

Athena laughed, but muttered. “Sorry, babe, forgot to mention it, but our host this stop is a fairy.”

Em lit up. “Oh, that’s so cool. You’ve got wings too! What?”

Caldyr fought back a smile and gave a little flap. “Well it is kinda. You two want a beer, or something?”

“Actually,” Athena said, loudly and toward the couch. “Can we borrow your boyfriend, Bellona? Me and Em need to set up some…” she sighed and then smiled at the blonde on her arm. “We need to set up some counseling, Tyr, if you’ve got the time.”

Tyr’s jaw dropped. “For you? I mean, both of you?”

Athena gave a small, tight nod. “I’ve got some stuff to work through.”

“Let’s talk a walk,” he said. “We’ll set up a time that’s good for all of us and get some preliminary talking out of the way. This is a good, big step Athena.”

“Been a good week for that sort of thing,” Athena said. “Always time to change, but now’s best.”

Em grabbed her hand a gave a squeeze. “Thank you.”

Reynardine assured them dinner needed a bit still, and they could use a spare 12-pack from the corner store anyway.

“We’ll hurry,” Athena said. “We’ve got a few other places to be before this Christmas is over.”

Reynardine’s face lit up. “Glad to hear it. Sounds like a busy holiday.”

“A blessedly warm one,” Athena told him, and followed the others out.

Caldyr couldn’t shake the feeling she’d missed something, but the bottle drew her attention. An unlabeled vintage, dark as night.

“Nice gift.” Bellona tapped her empty glass. “Just, I mean if you’re going to open it.”

“Right, we really should,” Caldyr said. “I’m not sure what it is, and I’d better know. To thank Athena properly and all.” She gave the wax cap a slow, hard twist. The seal broke to reveal an old cork marked with a gold coat of arms.

Reynardine brought in some clean glasses and a corkscrew.

“This looks like a nice vintage,” Caldyr said. “I assume. I’ve never had anything better than the green and yellow one.”

Reynardine nodded. “A few hundred years old. Scotch, I bet.”

“Generous gift.”

“She was grateful for the company, the other day. And, I imagine, she went all out this year,” Reynardine said with a sly smile. “Guess she caught the Christmas spirit, somewhere.”


End Tale


Merry Christmas, happy holidays, or just hope it’s goin’ alright, dear readers! I hope you’ve enjoyed this little Christmas tale! Thank so much for reading!


Can’t get enough Reynardine? Wondering how he and Caldyr became friends? Pick up Tybalt Perdition on Amazon now! Makes a helluva Christmas gift too!

And watch for more adventures in the Glass Fate series!

© 2017 John Cordial.

Tybalt Perdition out Thursday!

So after more than a year of edits and revisions, Tybalt Perdition arrives this Thursday!

It’s the first tale of Caldyr’s adventures as a fairy detective and it tells of her meeting Reynardine, the dread fox and trickster. (Also it’s book #0 of the Glass Fate series and an introduction to the world in general.)

In another world, a ship sinks above an ancient reef. In the icy waters, among scores of drowning sailors, she was born.

Caldyr Prayers is a mostly normal fairy, but a not-so-normal detective, especially for Stockton, California. She’s looking to make a name for herself and build a real life; a proper legacy as the World’s foremost fairy private eye. She’s just gotta get off the ground with her wings tied behind her back (to keep her fairyhood secret from the humans.) All she needs is a chance…

And in walks Reynardine Slybold—the Dread Fox. God, trickster, seducer, petty thief, and chaos in a lurid suit. But he just might have a legitimate case for Caldyr. He’s giving up his divinity and needs her to find a solution to his oldest feud. If she can solve the Fox’s problems, and keep them alive, the fairy could make a few much needed bucks… maybe even a name for herself.

You can pre-order the ebook on Amazon right now for a dollar.

And’s here’s the promised bit from the prologue. Enjoy!


Fryhel, Elledgya

Fairies aren’t created in a normal way. A surge of emotions infuses a spark into the nearest element and life itself springs from nothing save the barest flicker of consciousness. Some are born of fire, some plants, some air, and of course, some are born from water.
Near Uyntolt, in the arctic waters above the Cinder Reefs, three hundred and eighty-one souls were lost to the starving tides. In the depths among the dying sailors of the Grimalkin Prayers, she thought and she was.
The ocean shifted hard against itself, drawing into a bright orb; the luminous heart of a water fairy. All on its own, the glowing sphere began to spin.
Flesh curled from the center, stretching and twisting to form the fairy’s body. A neck wound into shape, expanding into a round head. Silver eyes, hard and cold as the ocean, formed above a short nose. From the core stretched two arms, followed close by two legs. Wings shot from her back, hardening into dark leather. Long feathery tendrils twisted around her ear holes, drawing air into the fairy’s single lung. Her white tongue ran over two rows of razor teeth. Black hair, short and choppy, floated and mixed with her long gills. Flexing her fingers, she drew them closed, her new eyes taking in the blue digits.
A giant hand broke water next to the fairy. Too close. She lunged, grabbed the fingers and dug her teeth into the palm’s soft meat.
Coppery warmth filled her mouth. The hand shook and she clung tight, drinking in the sweet fluid. Tingles shook one newly formed wing, but the food kick-started her head even further—thoughts and ideas, power and knowledge, all sparked with the nourishing blood.
After an extra hard shake, she lost her grip and tumbled backward through the inky waters. The fairy turned to look at what she fed upon. A human, bubbles escaping his open mouth, drifted into the cold blue. The air pockets covered his face, but she could imagine terror. Silver eyes wide, the fairy watched the body fall to the Deep.
All around her more of the giants sunk. Ocean life floated from below, dark shadows preying on the humans.
Young cetus, short-snouted crocodilians with pale skin, darted in and out of view. The monsters snatched prey, drug them into the dark and leaving trails of blood to mark their path.
Pink skin caught the fairy’s eyes, a mermaid feasting on a corpse in the safety of the reef. Crouched between two limbs of black coral, the mermaid ate fast, until enough blood filled the water to shield her from sight.
Other merpeople joined, rising from the dark to feed and fight over pieces of the dead and drowning. They celebrated the feast with haunting song, dark magic choruses swearing peace could be found in their arms. The spellsong passed through the fairy, but the humans floated easily into the deadly embraces.
Deep below, in the glowing depths that gave the Cinder Reefs their name, a shadow passed. Larger enough to be a kraken or sea dragon, the phantom blocked all light.
The fairy had seen more than enough.
Hard wings beats propelled her upward, she rose fast, aiming for the surface. Breaking through with a splash, she flew higher into the air and surveyed the carnage.
Broken wood, cloth, barrels, and bodies dotted the ocean. A few people clung to the debris, but they didn’t have a chance this close to the reef. The twin suns rose in the distance, blue and red gifted a soft purple morning sky.
The shipwreck was prime feeding grounds above the waves, too, birds and tiny saurians flitted through the air. One swooped low and snapped at the fairy. With a gesture, she pulled water upward and knocked the nasty creature into an early grave.
The fairy searched for land; the frenzy grew beneath her and she didn’t want to risk more time in the open. A green blur of trees and grass caught her eye, not far off from where she flapped. She pushed her new wings hard. Air whistled around her ear holes and drowned out the clamor.
A figure stood on the shore, white-blond hair and a blue dress. The fairy angled her flight toward the human. A lifeboat waited on the beach next to the woman.
Closer up the fairy could tell she was a woman, the other variety of giant. A man looked like the one she bit in the water.
The fairy knew the difference like she knew how to fly, or how to move water. There was nothing solid in her head, yet facts stood out. Ideas, names, senses, strange concepts she had no context for poured through her.
The world should feel new, but already time’s rusty hooks latched onto her soul.
As she approached, the old instincts kicked hard. A deep tingle in her left wing carried a buzz of alarm, although no name attached to the feeling. The fairy landed on the bow of the lifeboat, crouched to cover her naked body, and prepared to spring.
Humans could easily crush her at this size. Caution would keep her alive, until she learned enough to survive.
She looked back over the destruction and with a small cough, the tiny blue fairy spoke her first word, “Fuck.”
“Hello, little fairy. I’m Lucretia Caldyr.” The old woman’s soft voice carried an odd tinge. Hectic, but barely controlled. The fairy could feel it meant—nothing. A blank. But she knew something was off.

Crane.Wife: A Cyberpunk Tale is out now!

So, I wrote a novella a while back. I edited, and worked, and its time.

It’s only 21k words and it’s about people chasing dreams, tragedy, and cybernetic parts.

The title’s Crane.Wife: A Cyberpunk Tale, and it’s my first work of fiction available for sale!

I did it, guys! Not the whole thing, still working on the world famous bit and all that jazz. But people have paid to read my work. I’m an author now.

Thanks, everyone! For every kind word, like, rewteet, and just all of it. I’m doing this thing, and I’d have never come this far without all of your support.

You can read a sample of the first chapter at the bottom of this page!

And here’s where you can pay 99 cents for my glorious work:


Kadence shuddered as he woke, late and in pain.

Business as usual.

The hole in his torso caused the initial suffering; the other pains stepped in and out of the dance as waking stumbled over Kadence.

Soldier’s reward.

At least he had a few years off to reflect on mistakes and heal. “Next time, you’ll stay down when the strider’s are fighting,” he muttered to the empty apartment. “If there is a next time.” The war could be over by the time Kadence healed.

His laser wound barely oozed these days, but the replaced spine and ribs sure hurt like hell most the time. He reached for the bottle of pills on the nightstand, shook one into his hand, and tossed the oblong red pill back before the ache got worse.

A muscle in Kadence’s back spasmed. Three long twitches before a short set of dancing taps.

Hunger hurt too. The pills ravaged his stomach, but getting food without them might not even work. Retching with a chest wound could go bad fast. Waking up on the kitchen floor in a puddle of your own bile once, lasted a lifetime.

Time passed in counts of agony and when they reached the lowest number Kadence pushed himself out of bed with his cane to stumble for the bathroom. He dropped to the icy steel toilet seat without locking the shared door to the next apartment, and hoped their neighbor knocked first. Pissing standing up added too much risk; the odd twinge, a jerk of hands, and there’s a mess you can’t reach. Amias didn’t need to deal with that after work.

Pulling himself off the toilet with the towel rack, Kadence limped to the sink for cleanup and to choke down the other eleven pills making his life easier. At least half needed food, so he finally worked his way to the kitchen. A bag of tomato soup with crackers sated him. The pills worked their magic, and Kadence did his own dishes for the first time this week.

Cleaning everything he could reach in the one-room apartment only took a few minutes. Bending down caused torment the pills couldn’t mask. Nothing saved Kadence from that abyss. The nightmares got worse with the pain, haunting sleep and bringing the battle back in dire relief. Even on the brightest of days, the memories eclipsed his dreams.

Kadence collapsed on the bed after wiping the last counter. The game console shined, but the allure of shooting games bled out in a muddy trench in Louisiana. Other games existed, he was sure, but Kadence didn’t bother. He put on the forest sounds video and tried not to think. Not too hard a task under the medication’s molasses trance.

The pills made time strange often, and he couldn’t be sure how long had passed when a text lit his Compani. The coin-sized device lacked a wristband since Amias’ broke last week. Kadence rarely left the house anyway, and she needed one for work, so he went without until payday. His band was too big for her small arm, but better than nothing.

Standing again, Kadence headed to the kitchen counter next to their tiny fridge and pulled the Compani from the charging station. Flicking past the media notices and newswire hits, he opened the text app.

Dek wanting narbens. Ten pills. About a hundred and fifty bucks in the red painkillers. The addict must be grick desperate, he left three messages before Kadence woke this morning.

Kadence waited about an hour. Dek liked to haggle and Kadence liked fifteen a pill without hassle.

<You need them now?> Kadence texted back.

<Yes,> Dek replied almost instantly.

<Hundred and seventy total. I’m getting asked to piss in cups and prove how many of these I’m taking. Doctor said he might nanotrack them soon.>


<I’ve got papers.>

<Damn, that’s harsh.>

In reality, Kadence barely even had appointments anymore. The Federation didn’t care how hooked he was and they made the pills. Cheaper and easier if he OD’d on them.

Easier on a lot of people.

“Oh stop,” he said to himself, and flipped to Amias’ picture in his phone. His wife’s smiling blue eyes and gap-toothed smile shined up at him.

Always helped.

The grick Dek messaged again, <Dude, plz.>

<Meet me when I text.>


<Calla Laundry. Yosemite and Jack Tone.>

Their apartment backed up to a convenience stone on the Jack Tone side. Kadence could watch Dek arrive from the Slush machine and saunter over when everything looked clear.

Standard precaution. Dek sold himself, when he could, and wasn’t the most trustworthy sort. Come down to the wires, he’d probably sell out his mom for a dusty baggy. Kadence knew a few other contacts, but none with an appetite like Dek.

Kadence measured out the red pills first, and then pulled fresh clothes on. Amias bought him little dealing supplies so he dug the box out. Smiling cartoon ducks dotted the front of the bags. Kadence packed with a similarly goofy smile on his face. “Dork.” He tapped out a quick love text to his little weirdo and headed out the door.



At first, the nights were solid things, heavy and encompassing.  In time they wore away like the lining of a cheap pan. Flakes of black caught in my meals but fewer each time, until they revealed a tarnished undercoat.

Since then, I lie awake less each night.  The moments still pass, they must, but there’s a little more bitter shine to them.  Guess I’m healing, or at least forgetting but that’s not a proper choice, not really.  Either one or the other and I’m the path is too close to see.

But I’ve always been a leaf in the breeze, until you.  Now, I’m just a few embers, dancing madness on the wind.

Dawn comes slow today, like normal in winter.  Maybe I just sleep worse in the rain.  I wake for breakfast without much thought, beyond the need for coffee and toast.

Broke a fried egg, but I mix in some pico de gallo and call it good.  Tastes fine and I’m not as picky as I used to be.  Guess embers make no nevermind.  Few shells, still, but that’s rarer too.  Toast is fine and the butter’s always real, now.

Shower and out the door, still sipping coffee.  It’s raining—and my drink won’t survive the walk—so the cup stays by the ashtray.  Seven little paper filters, still.  Told you I was done emptying it last September.  No use in compromise now.

A year past and smoke still clings.  The others see, but it’s bare wisps to my eyes; ghosts I’d rather glimpse than forget.  So, I float amongst my spirits for the day.

Time was, I could pass through the day without a proper sense of the ground.  But ember’s gotta stay up, touching down can be the end.

Or, stick to kindling; the remains of one fire can start another.  But a quick blaze, the roar and rage, hold little warmth.

In the spark and fire, the dreams alight, embers can get lost in too much fire.  I char carefully, a quick singe, an unbidden scorch; unsure but aloft.

#TalesNoir (I Started a Writing Prompt Game)

Anyone who follows me on twitter may have just possibly happened to notice that I perhaps enjoy the odd writing prompt game, now and then.  Just a smidgen.

So I started my own (I wasn’t drinking, and it wasn’t one am. So a mature decision, see I am a grown up. I’m going to have a few gram-grams and some chocolate milk to reward myself).

  I called it #TalesNoir and the first day is Wednesday 12/28!



It’s for horror, dark, gothic, and noir fiction.  All writers are welcome.  The usual rules about courtesy and civility apply.  Also twitters posting rules, of course.

The optional theme is a looser one, since we’re such a specific game.  For example the first is starts or beginnings so any lines that pertain to the first of something, or new meetings, settings, anything.  Also the theme is optional.  Long as it’s got that touch of night, then it’s welcome and thanks for sharing.

So that’s about it. I hope to see you there, I’d love to hear a few darker voices among the writer community.

And while I’ve got you here:  Thanks to all my readers in 2016 and in the many, many years that will follow.  Long way yet, but I’m feeling like we’re coming up on phase two.

Merry Christmas, Feliz Navidad, Happy Whatever Holidays You Do Celebrate (Or If None Then Just Have A Nice Day), And A Bright Shining New Year. 


Part One: Strawberry Rain


The rain tasted strange that day.

Vanth woke late, to the sound of heavy drops on her van’s roof.  She’d driven North this month, during winter the nights were cold but something about the rain reminded her of Home.  Maybe it was the way they danced in the heavy showers that weekend in Scotland.  Vanth couldn’t say but the goddess often longed to feel the rain’s kiss.

Maybe she just missed her own Hell, the one she used to rule.  Rained all the time there.  Vanth’s primary focus as a goddess was death, truly she was a psychopomp but her parents were gods so she counted.  Back then, she counted.  Exile didn’t change a being but what is a god without worship?

“An ever aging fool,” she said to the empty vehicle.  “Never gonna grow up, at least. Still feel like the bottom of the jar this morning.”  She flipped the blanket off, fixing the snap on her jeans, and ignoring the rattle of empty beer bottles.  The cold made her shiver, but she could warm up the VW after she peed.

Pulling the door back, she stepped barefoot in the rain and hobbled the icy ten steps to the nearest tree.  She noticed the taste then, and sticking out her tongue confirmed her first impression.  The heavy drops tasted like cold strawberry wine.

Just like that first night with Home.

Vanth rushed her business, sanitizing her hands with the bottle of rubbing alcohol she kept under the seat.

Leaning back, she let the rain collect on her tongue.

Strawberry wine fell like demented tears from a drunken god.

She slammed the van door, walking around to the drivers side.  Dawn seemed liked a good time as any to start her day.  And today would be a strange one.  Vanth could already tell, booze didn’t fall from the sky on normal days. She climbed into the van, pulling a handful of cheez-its from the box safety belted into the passenger seat.  “We’ve got a mystery,” she said to the air.  “Or at least something to do today.”

The van turned over easy, she’d just had it looked over on her way up here.  Good thing, as she didn’t have anything resembling insurance on the vehicle.  She didn’t have the money, or even an address, for that sort of luxury.

Vanth needed to get in touch with someone.  Reynardine might be a god, and a friend of Fate’s but he still took Vanth’s calls.  Even sent her something at Christmas.  More than she expected from the General and much more than she got from anyone else from the old days.

Her phone needed juice, she cruised through the wet streets looking for lights.  A fast food joint shined bright, the goddess could already smell sausage and eggs.

Parking in the empty lot, Vanth slipped flip-flops on before heading out the door.  She had to turn back to grab the cord from her glovebox.  The rain had picked up on the short drive from her sleeping spot, her long brown hair hung in messy curls by the time she made it to the restaurant.  Standing under the overhang, she tasted the rain again.

Normal water.  Good but confusing.  At least the area’s wild animals wouldn’t be drunk all day.

A blonde with nice eyes manned the counter, wiping down trays and yawning sleepily in dawn’s light.  Vanth approached the registers, eyeing the menu.  “Hola, can I get a muffin special, extra sauce and a large breakfast tot? And a milkshake.”

“We can’t serve shakes before ten-thirty. We do have a new cafe line of drinks, the blended latte is a coffee based milkshake.”

Vanth smiled at the girl, taking a deep contented breath.  “Oh, what a marvelous time to be alive. I’ll take one of those.”

“Sure.”  The woman tapped her order in.

“You got a place to charge this?”  Vanth pulled the phone and cord from her pocket.

The woman pointed to the small hall that led to the bathrooms.  “Last booth down.”

“Thanks, honey.”

“Sure, thing.”

Vanth waited for her food at the counter, starting up her phone and texting the General to see if he could talk.  <Hey, are you okay to chat? It’s was raining booze over my van this morning. Weirded out.>

Her food arrived, Vanth got a few mustard packets to go on the sandwich and with the potatoes.  Breakfast burger unwrapped, Vanth just bit down when her phone rang.

“‘Lo,” she said around her food, chewing the hot sandwich fast.

“Was it beer or wine? Or the hard stuff?”

“Wine, why?”

“No clue, just curious. Even I’ve never heard of random rains of booze. Interesting.”

Vanth chugged some of her coffee shake to cool her burned tongue and seized under a sharp headache.

“You okay?”


“Good to know you’ve got one right?”

Vanth rubbed her offended forehead, wondering if a bite of her steaming sandwich would help. “Know anyone that might be able to offer some advice?”

“Ask around town maybe?”

A dark truck pulled into the lot, a new trailer bumping over the cement behind the vehicle. The front door popped open, and a tubby man in dark coveralls dropped from the seat. He stared aoround the lot, stopping on Vanth. Drawing a cell phone from his pocket, the man turned and jogged toward the back of the trailer.

Reynardine cleared his throat. “Vanth?”

The driver opened the trailer, running for the front of his truck.

“I’ve got to go,” Vanth said, taking a fast bite of her burger and chewing.

“What? Is everything okay, V?”

A withered dark harpy climbed to the top of the van, eight feet tall and covered in sparse black feathers. The lean bird creature walked on thin wings and taloned legs. She sniffed the air, sticking out a scarred tongue for a taste of the wind.

The driver climbed into his truck, leaning back out to slam the door. With a cry, the harpy dropped to the ground. One long arm caught the man’s, he slammed the door on the limb. Her shrieks filled the air, the restaurant work started screaming in time with the horrible creature. The harpy pushed back, a metallic groan filled the air and the door reversed. She grabbed the man, slamming him to the ground. Eight inch talons went straight through his shoulder, pinning him to the cement.  The harpy shifted it’s heavy body, leaning the human face down to the screaming man’s back.

Vanth stood, shaking her head. “No, Reynardine. Things are not okay.” She ended the call, setting her phone on the table. Things were about to get messy, and she couldn’t afford a new one.

The bird woman fed, tearing at his spasming meaty shoulders.

Pulling magic from the air, Vanth drew the her sword from the small plane of existence she used for a sheath. The black blade came from her scythe, the goddesses symbol of power since her first, a torch, went out in the fourteen hundreds.

The harpy’s victim stopped screaming, ending the creatures interest in the meal.  She used her long wing-arms to shove the corpse away, retching some of the flesh onto the pavement.

Whimpering caught Vanth’s ears, she turned to stare at the blonde.  “Go into the back, wait for me to give the all clear, okay?”

She didn’t move, her eyes locked onto the giant creature.


Two thumps, and the restaurant’s double doors crashed open.  Vanth turned to the harpy, holding her sword high to block.  Claws caught on the magic steel, the goddess pushed back against the harpy.  The creature relented, rearing back with a hellish screech.

Vanth closed the gap, slashing at the spindly arms with everything she had.

Something heavy collided with the goddess’s head sending pain rampant through her.  A frying pan rattled on the floor.  She dropped to one knee, staring back at the wincing counter girl.

Another screech and the creature stabbed downward, all three claws tearing into Vanth’s chest.  Lifting her high, the harpy slammed the goddess into the ground.  Her sword bounced away, the harpy threw her in the other direction.

The world went fuzzy, Vanth couldn’t hear anything but hollow buzzing.  Her ears began to clear, screams cutting like acid into the static.

Pushing herself up, the goddess rushed forward on weak legs.  She stumbled, grabbing the frying pan’s handle before vaulting the counter.  Gold and red god’s blood leaking behind her, she sailed through the air onto the harpy’s back.

Her feet slipped on the loose feather, the creature turned.  Vanth swung the pan, all of her divine strength behind the attack.  A sickening crunch, and the neck turned all the way around.

Gasping for breath, Vanth stumbled toward the head of the creature.  One hard whack from the pan and the harpy breathed no more.

Vanth collapsed herself, watching the blonde scream into her hands as darkness crushed her world.


Vanth could tell the Washer was in this dream, goddesses got perks like that.  She started looking for a river, and the oft sage advice of the Screaming Oracle.  Water trickled in the darkness of her dream’s pure night.  A wide field of tall grass stood between her and the gentle rushing sound.

A dangerous field, the grass could hide a lot of things.  Vanth checked for her sword, dismayed to find the pocket empty.  No waiting now though, she’d have to face her dreams unarmed.  She started across the heavy green field, her violet eyes sharp for any sign of life.

The river glittered under the moonlight, not reflection but a flow of souls looking for their current.  She stumbled onto the small trail.  The Washer did her duty a little ways down, washing the uniform of the truck driver.

Vanth skipped a little on the way, enjoying the soft dust of the bank under her bare feet.

“Hello, Madame Banshee.”

“Aw, Mrs Vanth. I didn’t expect to see you here.”  The Washer’s voice sounded like rocks in a blender, too rough to be human.  Too smooth to be a banshee, truth be told, but she didn’t count as much else.

“That’s a bit hard to believe, considering you’re in my dream.”

“Am I?” the old woman asked, searching around with wide eyes.  “I supposed I must be, I’m sure you couldn’t be anywhere else.”

“That I cannot, I doubt very sincerely that I’m outside California’s borders.”

“Sad state of affairs, fine wings like yours and you keep them up all the time.”

“So, you here to taunt me about my exile, or are you here to help with the booze-slash-harpy incident?”

“Drunken harpies? Sounds like my book club. No, I’m just here to see Mr…”  The washer squinted at the stitched pocket of the shirt.  “Mr Stanywickz? Stanwycks? Something, he’s being helped home. I’m here to offer him guidance.”

“And me?”

“I guess, you’re here to listen.”

Vanth sat on the bank, watching the water ripple with the approach.  Slowly a corpse broke through from beneath, the truck driver stumbling out of deaths endless stream.  Naked and bleeding, his flabby body turning a bluish shade.

“Shit, it got you too?” the man asked, spotting Vanth.

“Yes,” the Washer said.  “Yes, you’re both dead.”

“Sorry, I thought it might hurt other people, but they said they had someone on hand to ensure that didn’t happen. To me, I mean. I guess they wanted you dead.”

“Who?” Vanth asked.

“The guy who hired us, a tall dude with dark hair. My boss hunts the things, she sells the spares to the highest bidder.”

“What was the harpy supposed to be doing there?”

“Just killing the brunette, I don’t know all the details. Sorry you died, I didn’t know it was a girl he was after.”

The Washer handed him his clothes, nodding to the man.  “These things happen.”

“Yeah,” Vanth added.  “It’s feeling better already.”  She turned to the Washer.  “Can I go?”

“Sure, let me know how things turn out, okay?”

“No problem. ‘Night.”

“Day, where you’ll wake up.”


Vanth sat up in a real bed, surprised as hell she wasn’t in a hospital.  Or a freaky Government lab.

And naked.  Always fun to wake up naked in a strange bed.

The goddess pulled the blanket off with her, standing and wrapping the cover tight.  The dark almost hid the door, she stumbled closer yanking on the handle.

Voices reached her from a lit room down the small hall.  She walked forward, listening to the soft conversation.

“…The wound is so dark though, like a deep black color. I wish it was me instead of her, she’d know what to do.”

Wound?  Vanth looked at her chest, pulling the blanket down.  She’d healed fine, takes more than an angry harpy to down a goddess.  Even a leftover like her could heal a lot of damage.

“She’s got maybe a day or two.”  Vanth recognized that voice, the soft lilting accent and deep rumble.  Even her legs twitched at it, and the General really wasn’t her type.

Comforted by his presence, she strode into the room.

Reynardine leaned back in his chair, bright teal suit offset by shining red hair.  One eye sparkled amber, the other had been lost.  No one knew where but him.

A different blonde from the restaurant sat opposite the General.  Hands clasped in front of her, she looked lost in her own worry.  Fresh and drying tears marked her sun kissed face. Red cracks spidered through her pretty cornflower eyes.

“Hello?” Vanth asked.

“Oh hey, V,” Reynardine said, head bobbing an inch.  “Glad you’re feeling better.”

“Yeah, it’s all gravy on my end. Naked though, that sucks.”

The blonde looked up, shaking her head.  “I put clothes on the chair. Yours are covered in blood, I did my best but the shirt is ratfucked. The jeans are drying.”

Vanth nodded, adding a sorry smile. “I’ll just go put that on then.”

“Please don’t drag the comforter all over the house.”

“Yeah, yeah, no problem.”  Vanth walked backward lifting the hem of the comforter, toward the room.  Flicking on the light, she found a pair of blue sweats and a loose green t-shirt with just a small hole in one arm.  She threw the clothes on, stopping off in the restroom before rejoining the other two.

Her hair needed a good wash, she tousled some of the dried blood out but the flakes stuck to the scalp. She looked half-bled, the icthorian blood in her veins still working on the damage. A prayer would speed things up. She expected the woman gave all she had to something else, and the General would get exiled himself just for consorting with her. Which never stopped him in the past, but she couldn’t directly plead for help like that. Another few hours and she’d be normal as ever these days.

When the goddess returned to the living room, the woman cried on the couch. Vanth edged around to the free chair.  She gave the sobbing blonde a sad look, mouthing ‘what?’ at the General.

He shook his head, pushing a steaming mug of coffee in her direction.

Sipping the coffee, Vanth pieced together what she knew.  Someone else is probably hurt. Bad.

But the person still lived, the woman said as much. So why the General just sat there Vanth had no clue.  Gods couldn’t intervene directly, but rules and Reynardine often parted ways.

Finally the blonde spoke again.  “I guess I should be with her.”

“Sorry,” Vanth said.  “But what’s happening?”

“My wife is dying,” the woman said.

“She’s Kate Frew, her wife is Drystellia—”

Vanth certainly remembered that name, what’s a divine war without a chosen one?  He’d passed away many years ago, so this must be— “Frew’s grandkid? What are we waiting for then, what’s wrong with  her?”

“Vanth, we really can’t help. Anapa would never help a Frew, and she’s been bitten by a Stygian serpent. I don’t know any other free roaming psychopomps.”

And that’s his game.  The General was a miracle man, or fox technically, but even he didn’t have a permanent pass in and out of Hades.

Vanth did though.  Assuming she didn’t mind risking death to save a stranger.

Calling scraps of loose power, the goddess looked at Kate, reading the mortal’s whole life through the cornflower irises.  She saw every heartbreak, every love, and moments no one, even her wife, had ever seen. Vanth’s true nature shined, she judged Kate like a newly harvested soul.  Staring deep into the women, the goddess found enough love, more than enough, to make the risk worth the endeavor.

Smiling at the nicer moments, Vanth asked, “Just need a few Kore’s bells, right? Easy peasy iced squeezy.”

“What?”  Kate looked at the General for answers.

“Stygian serpent venom is counteracted with Kore’s bells, the blue ones and the green work best,” Vanth explained.  “The General brought me here because I’m a psychopomp, I can go to hell with relative ease.”

“Actually, Drys is a doctor,” Reynardine interjected.  “I brought you here for healing, if you needed it. I traced the call to find you. Good job, by the way. Nice work with the harpy. Yeah, the doctors dying though, didn’t see that coming. At all. Just another coincidence, but a fortunate one.”

“Sure,” Vanth said, remembering the amount of heavy coincidences he never saw coming in the past.

Kate cleared her throat.  “Can you really help?”

“Yeah,” Vanth said, she didn’t want to lay the heavier part of the venture on the crying woman.  “I just need some food, and a nice place to die I guess.”

Kate shook her head, glancing at Reynardine. “What?”


Kate fed Vanth two turkey sandwiches, Reynardine went on a quick trip and returned with her sword.  He told her he’d make the journey if he could.  She had no doubt, the General would do most anything for a friend.  She didn’t mind either, nothing wrong with helping people.  Made the world go round, in the end.

Vanth didn’t truly die when she ventured to nether realms.  Her body went stiff and vacant, she left the mortal shell behind.  If she chose to, she could even view her body from outside.  Interesting, but not very useful these days.  Smartphones made checking out your own ass much easier.

Of course, she didn’t visit anywhere else these days.  It’s been sixty years since Vanth last ditched her meat shell.  Odd feeling, to be part of something else for that long.

Might all be over now, if Fate caught her out of bounds shit would really hit the divine fan.

“Be careful,” Reynardine said.  “And quick as you can.”

“I land where I land, no helping that. I’ll be back soon.”

“Need anything else?” Kate asked.

“No, I’m sound as a pound,” Vanth said, dropping onto the bed.  “Cover me up if it gets cold. I hate coming back to a cold body.”

“Got it.”

“See you guys in the next life.”

She pushed her soul out on an exhale, there were worse ways to leave a body.  Reynardine could still see her, she could tell from the way his eyes caught on her ass.  Kate couldn’t, she didn’t notice the goddess’s pirouette as she headed for the door.

Vanth should hurry, and she did, but down the hall first. Only door she hadn’t been through.

Drystellia Frew lay dying on a pink bedspread, ashen and sweating in the dark room.  Her breath came in short gasps, Vanth raised an eyebrow at the woman’s midsection.  Two weeks pregnant, odd for a woman in a relationship with a woman but science worked miracles.  Also the old fashioned way, Vanth knew what wanting a child could drive someone to.

For quite a while in her younger years, Vanth wanted one.  Motherhood didn’t agree with her, but she knew from the rapport of love that things would be different for the Frew’s.

“Hanging out?” Reynardine asked, slipping into the room.

“Just wanted to meet the woman I’m risking my life for. She’s pregnant you know.”

“Really? Bet Kate’ll be thrilled. She’s incapable, but she wants one bad. After this, I bet they name it ‘Vanth’ or ‘Van’. One of those cool hero names.”

She flicked stray hair from her eyes. “I’m not any kind of hero.”

“Sure, V. And I’m just a dull and witless fox.”

“Pshh, lame too. Your music taste is horrific.”

“Ah, but you got the reference. Luck, soldier. See you soon.”

“Aye, aye, General.”

Vanth took another deep breath, leaned back and fell clear to Hades.


Part Two: Everything Goes To Hell

The trip wasn’t all that far, the distance varied of course.  Some traveled an unending road, and other’s lived a hop away from hell.  Vanth wondered what the brevity of her trip said about her.

Probably nothing good.

The goddess landed on her back, softly in a serene field of tangy scented white roses.  Thorns and all.

“Fucking, fuckity, fuck flowers fuckery.”  She pulled herself up gently as possible, losing a lot of skin and remembering her shoes, the ones she politely slipped off as she laid down in Kate’s nice clean bed.  Looking over the fifty feet of thorny path to the beach, Vanth decided that shoes would be very nice indeed.  “Fuck.”

“Wow, you are very unladylike.”

“Oh, fuckoff.”  Vanth turned around wincing at the needles in her feet.

A tall demon in heavy leather armor stood on a patch of road.  His orange skin glowed in the dim light.  Both pitch colored eyes trapped on a phone of some type.  “Hey, watch your mouth,” he said, not looking at her.

“Seriously? Okay, where the hell am I?”

“Hades.”  His eyes raised from the phone, focusing on her with a flash of surprise.

“And you are?”

“Voiastra. From the demonic exchange commission.”

“Of course. So Voiceassa, how do I find the Styx?”  Kore’s bells grew around the larger river, some said only near where Charon held court.  The goddess hoped she didn’t have to go that far.

“Who are you?”

Vanth cocked an eyebrow, taking the well worn hard route.  “A divine being asking a damned question, who the fuck are you?”

“Voiastra. From the demonic exchange commission.”

Clenching the bridge of her nose, Vanth reminded herself he was just a demon.  All they knew could be summed up in their name and job training.  They voted republican and had opinions on torture and little else.  “Okay, and I just need some flowers and to get out of here.”

The demon cleared his throat, covering his mouth politely with one hand.  “I don’t think so. You’re not supposed to be here, I think I should call—”

“What size boots are those?” Vanth asked, nodding at his feet.


The goddess let her power go, surging forward to sock the demon with everything she had.  He flew backward, face twisting in pain.  Like lightning, she followed through the air.  Vanth landed on top, punching again to leave him unconscious in the hellish soil.

“Should have just given me directions, Foccacia.”

She stole his shoes, they were actually pretty clean.  Uggs, but beggars can’t be choosers.  The rest the armor wouldn’t fit, the boots were a few sizes too large but better than miles of rocky shoreline.  This river must connect somewhere, Hades five rivers formed a perimeter around the underground world.

Looking around, she decided left seemed good path as any.  Never done right all that well to begin with.

The red sand of the beach shined in Hades sunless light.  She’d never liked this underworld, too much flora and fauna for her tastes.  Way too many snakes, of course.  Every version of hell had a lot of snakes, whether metaphorical or just scary ass reptiles.

Usually the latter, to be honest.  Hells weren’t really meant to be nice places.

Vanth rushed, moving  at a decent jog for her loose boots.  The miles passed but her steps didn’t slow.  She could move for days at this pace, living off just the spare energy in the environment.  If she had some prayers, she could move much faster or even teleport.  No such luck today, but other bits of fortune had the goddess’s back.

Along the opposite bank the horizon glowed.  Streetlamps of some type, Vanth guessed.  “Towns in Hades, things have changed.”

Gaslamps, as it turned out.  And a brass drawbridge, with a rather imposing patchwork tower above.  The rivets were a darker metal, some type of iron she guessed.  Nice looking place, very imposing.  She’d have to apologize to the builders, if she burned it down or something.

Not that she planned to burn any cities down, just events often got out of hand on adventures.  The natures of such quests, Vanth reckoned.

She considered going around the town, but a sign on this side of the river advertised rooms, foods, and apothecaries.  Be easier to find the right plant, and she wouldn’t have to traipse over half of Hades.

“Sounds about right,” she muttered, staring at the tall tower.  A guard stared back, a proper soul in heavy steel armor.  “Oi, can I get into town?”

“Got a passport?”

Vanth wondered if her sword counted.  Fighting a whole town face on wouldn’t work anyway. She’d be better off not attracting such robust attention.


“A’ight then. Move along, you’re scaring the ugly off the walls.”

“Whoa, say that to my face!”

“Got a passport?”

Vanth hitched him a fig, turning away from the mouthy spirit.  She walked along the river, crossing over soon as the last guard tower faded from sight and heading back.  The water stung with icy cold that pulled at her spirit.  The goddess bitched her way through the waist deep water.

To be counted as a proper town they needed a criminal element, and that would include smuggling.  She’d find a way in, even if she had to beat a few smugglers into showing her the path.

As Vanth approached from this side, she could see a slant to the walls to the outer walls.  A bright yellow tent caught her eye, most likely a small market.  Surely, with a passage into the city.

She hurried along the bank, spotting a cobble road snaking in from the other direction.  A dirt highway.

The market covered about five-hundred square feet, a motley of tents and stands.  Gorgeous colors, especially with the dusky blue backdrop of dead sands.

Vanth slipped in among the tents, keen eye for anyone dressed shady.  Unfortunately, everyone in Hades looked criminal.  A guard with a little more innocent face than most passed by, wearing boots that were much closer to her size.  Maybe shady is overrated.

The goddess tailed him to the outskirts, watching the guard walk a wide circle.  He passed by a large stable and she hurried to catch up to him.

She tried to sound flirtatious, but her coquette days were buried longer than her temples.  “Hey, Mr handsome guard gentlemen. Can I borrow you for a moment?”

He raised one long arching brow.  “Is there a problem?”

“That would depend on your definition of ‘problem’, I guess.”  Vanth shimmied closer, trying to look non-threatening as possible.

He looked down at her face, raising one lip slightly and sniffing.  “Your teeth are stained and crooked. You smell like the river, honestly.”

The goddess punched him in the jaw.  He dropped into the sand. “Thanks, douche. I almost felt bad about that.” Glancing around, Vanth grabbed his ankles and dragged him to the stable.  She stripped him, leaving the underwear and socks.

A horse whinnied, adding, “I’m telling.”

“Not if you want to keep the ability to stud, Mr Ed.”  Vanth ditched her borrowed shirt, slipping on the guards dark red tunic. If she wore his clothes, and snuck with a group. Maybe a distraction, I might have to burn this…

“Damn, calm down. It’s fine.”  The horse looked her over.  “You trying to sneak into town?”

“No, I’m just in the habit of clubbing guards and knicking their pants. It’s like yoga, but for the less spiritually inclined.”

“Wow, sarcasm your first language?”

“Just been a long day.”

He whinnied sympathetically.  “Are you wanted or something?”

“Sort of. And I don’t have a passport to get into town.”

The horse nickered, shaking it’s head.  “You’re in Hades, we don’t have passports.”


“This is Faren’s Folly, sassybritches. We don’t have any sort of paperwork. The last town council went insane ten years ago, since then we’ve been ruled by a coalition of corruption and darkness.”

Cold anger iced the goddess’s heart.  “But the guard, by the drawbridge…”

“Probably just didn’t want to lower it. Or he was fucking with you.”

“Dammit. Fuck.”  She kicked a hay bale, scattering golden flecks into the air.

“Although, I should think clubbing a guard and stealing his kit would get you into trouble.”

“Shut up, I don’t need more shit to worry about.”  Vanth ditched the guard’s clothes, slipping her own on but keeping the comfy leather boots.  She took the leather purse as well. Apothecaries must charge something.  “Can I leave him here?”

“With me? No! I’m not getting hanged for this.”

“They’d hang a horse?”

“I… I don’t really know. Maybe, best not to risk it.”

“What should I do with him?”

“Take him with you?”

Vanth crossed her arms.  “No, that’s horrible. I’d need to steal you to carry him.”

The guard groaned, shifting over on his side.  The horse kicked him in the head, leaving the man snoring in the dirt.

“Tie him to a rock and dump him in the river,” he ordered, murder hot in his braying tone.

Vanth stared slack-jawed at the insane creature.  Grabbing the guard by one arm, she dragged him away from the horse’s pen.

“Maybe they should hang horses.”

“Maybe they should hang mouthy little girls too. You think of that?”

She left, ignoring the whinnies chasing her through the small market.

They didn’t even stop her at the gate, the guards might not have cared her if she was carrying the unconscious one.  A bribe would have fixed any issue of that nature.  The town looked corrupt, from it’s dirty cobbles to the dingy gaslamps adorning the wrought iron crosses on every corner.  Vanth almost expected a bribery menu for the various corruptions above the guards stand.

Instead they had a crude map.  The apothecary was marked in the corner opposite her, a green leaf over a caduceus symbolized them on most any plane.

She slipped through the crowded streets, eying a few of the nicer clockworks.  A brass lion with a bright red mane caught her eye, being led along by a sullen faced boy.  His dark red eyes were matched by a leather bandolier holding a violin.  Vanth watched him pass, wondering how a kid made a life in Hades.  The giant clockwork lion probably helped.

A side street was packed with stands selling food.  She looked at the various delicacies and decided to wait until after the apothecary.  No telling if she even had enough in the small leather bag.

The palace, or mayor’s house, or whatever stood out.  A blood stone fortress, almost clear except for the thickness of the macabre gem.  Gorgeous, but she hated to think how many died to make the building.

Two apothecaries sat across from each other on the quiet streets.  Vanth stared between them, deciding on the older looking one.

Pushing open the door, a cacophony of scents assailed her.  Fresh grasses, herbs, potions, and heavy magics; mingling with camphor and heavy alcohol.

“Welcome to Erringdor Apothecary and Psychiatry. How can I help you?” a spirit asked from behind the counter, turning his translucent head around at a horrific angle.

“Umm, just some Kore’s Bells?”

“Kore’s Bells? Hmm, we’ve got capsules and teas.”

Vanth shook her head.  “It’s for an unconscious person, she’s been bit by a stygian serpent.”

“Oh, my. Well, we’ve got locust seeds, you can apply a layer of them to draw the poison out and then crush up the pills and apply them directly.”

“You’re sure?”

The face split into a viciously happy grin.  “I’ve been remade by dark gods to be the perfect apothecary assistant.”

“Oh, nice then. Can I pay with coins?”

“Absolutely,” he said, grabbing two small jars from containers behind him, and dropping them on the counter.  He started to fill smaller glass bottles.

Vanth looked around the small shop, eyes catching on a rack of pills.  “What are these?”

“Emotions in pill form. The red are anger, blue sadness.”

“What’s in the yellow pills?”

“Pure terror, drawn from spirits that died screaming. The color is just candy coating. Banana flavor.”

“Ah, sounds useful.”

“Good for the heart. Be seven silver, three bronze.”

Vanth tugged the purse string, dropping the bag as it began to scream.

The spirit in front of her turned dark.  “Oh, stolen purse. Very bad things, very bad indeed, coming for the thief!”

Vanth grabbed the containers, bolting for the door.  The spirit flew toward her, reaching out a long arm.

She spun, grabbing the wrist and snapping the hand off with a sharp pull.  “Stay down, ghost!”

Confusion crossed the spirit’s face, probably didn’t figure her for a psychopomp.  He didn’t have to follow her order, but she spoke with enough force to slow him down.  Vanth ripped the door open, checking both ways on the busy streets.  Nothing but people, mostly normal spirits and a few regular humans.

Hoping for a quick escape, she left the wounded spirit to stitch himself together and raced into the brass town.


Part Three: Hard Run

Vanth looked back down the alley, hearing the braying of hellhounds in the distance.  Hades must have a surprisingly strict policy on thievery.  She drew her sword, doubting something loud as hellhounds would be the dark gods only defense.

Creeping along the alley, she made for the guard tower overlooking the river.  The two story fall would mean nothing to her, and she could swim toward the south.  She just had to find a gate now, tons of the structures littered hell.

A little bit of luck and she’d be safe in California by morning.

The wall behind her exploded, throwing masonry and metal into the alley.  Vanth ran, putting distance between herself and the attacker.  Clicking chased her down the alley, legs creaking just behind her.  The opening loomed feet in front of her, Vanth spun to the left swinging her sword behind her.

She connected, the force nearly ripping the blade from her hand.

A clockwork scorpion burst from the alley, eight foot tail slightly longer than the whole body.  Her first attack had removed one hubcap sized claw.  The other looked fine, gleaming steel in the sunless daylight. It struck, tail flashing forward.  Vanth blocked, letting the tail push her back and saving balance.  The scorpion reared back, she aimed for the face.  One fast stab before she spun low and away from another jab.  Slamming her blade onto the tail, she damaged the appendage enough to disable the gears.

Dancing away from the grasping claw, she took off a leg.  Stepping away from another feeble grab, Vanth jumped onto the back and stabbed downward.  The blade sunk clear to dirt, the hole hissed steam and oil into Vanth’s face.

Wiping her eyes, she started running blind.  The hounds were closer.  Voices called too, not far off in the grim city.

Vanth ran from them, correcting her course the best she could.  Eyes finally clear of the sticky fluid, she aimed for the tower.  Three rusty steel blocks, and darted through a clearing.

A small entryway yawned at the base, she dived inside.  An arrow struck her shadow, a long dark shaft with blood stained fletching.  Six more followed, Vanth dodged up the stairs, turning at the corner.  A red armored guard ran up behind her, blade high.

Grabbing his wrist before he attack, Vanth ran the man through, kicking him down the stairs but holding his sword.  Both blades at the ready, she met the next foe.  He tread with more care than his dead friend, but not enough, catching her blade in the throat in mere seconds.

A third stepped over the choking man, Vanth roared slamming her left blade forward.  He parried fast, stepping sideways.

Clanks caught Vanth’s ears, someone approaching from the top of the tower.  She turned fast, trying to put distance between herself and the lower attackers and catch the other by surprise.

The blade pierced her shoulder, the guard from above moved faster than she expected.  Staring down with a smile he twisted the blade, driving filthy steel deeper.

Vanth dropped her sword, swinging the other across the guard’s face. Red flowed over the man’s eyes.  He recoiled and she smashed her forehead into the wound.  Blood splashed hot over her skin, she dived forward slashing the man’s legs from under him.

Her scythe clattered down the stairs, she couldn’t leave the old sword.  Diving toward the first guard, she rammed the blade into his chest.  Leaving the steel sheathed in the dying man, she stepped farther using her good fist to backhand another. The man collapsed, rolling down the stairs. Dazed and with blood pouring from his nose, he pushed him to stand.

Vanth gave him a moment to take in the carnage. Wisely, in her opinion, the guard ran. She didn’t give chase. Picking up her dropped blade, the goddess started the long climb to the top.

The guard who lied about the passport stood on the flat roof, bow at the ready.  He fired, Vanth sliced the arrow in half before it reached her.


“I don’t know, can I see a passport?”  Vanth smacked him in the head with the flat of her blade.  She gave him a good kick, and sliced his bowstring more out of annoyance. He’d be sleeping off the love tap for a while.  “Dick.”

Finally, she jumped off the tower.  The freezing water helped with the blood and pain.  She’d need soap and hot water for the oil.  And a week in bed, after this day.

The goddess floated on her back, letting the river have its way.  Coming to rest on a sandy shore, she climbed out of the icy river.

“Vanth. How strange seeing you here.”  The voice sounded as if chipped from cold stone, and blended with cries from the dead.

“Oh, cousin Hades.”  Vanth laughed.  “What are you doing in California?”

Hades looked around his regal eyes genuinely confused.  “We don’t even have a sun, or grass, this wouldn’t even pass for Salton Sea.”

“Oh, no. How did I get here? Fugue state, or… or something?”

Hades sighed, shaking his head.  “No, Vanth. What the hell are you doing in Hades? And truth, cousin. I don’t have time to screw around here, and I should be chopping you to bits right now. Or calling the F-bomb down on you.”

“Screw Fate. A friend’s dying.”


“Well not a direct friend, per se. But the granddaughter of a friend.”

The god of shadows conjured a seat, a large skeletal throne with an iced drink in a hallowed skull on the extended side table.  Giving a tired snap, he created a folding cheer and a bottled water next to Vanth.  “Who, exactly.”

She stalled with a long chug of the water.  “Drystellia Frew.”

Hades shook margarita over his hand.  “Frew?! You’ve got to be… Vanth, you fucking… Every time I see you, it’s worse and fucking worse. I offered you a good job here.”

“As a fucking lackey, that’s not me Hades. I’m my own goddess, not a foot soldier.”

“Whatever, I’m not even debating this with you tonight. Or ever, cause we’re not seeing each other long as you’re banished. And don’t come here fucking up my toys.”

She’d avoid a fight with Hades tonight, that was a minor relief.  “On a steampunk kick?”

“Well, Kore is pretty into it. I don’t mind really, it’s her Hades too.”

Vanth smiled.  “You guys are cute.”

“Thanks.”  He sighed, setting the drink on the table.  “I’m serious, I debated turning your ass in this whole night. Don’t think you can fuck around in my world without me noticing, little cousin. And don’t think my affection for you will allow you an easy run.”  A creeping sensation rattled Vanth’s spine.

The hounds brayed in the distance.

“Nearest portal to Earth is about a mile that way. The dogs are fast, but you’re wearing comfy shoes right?”  He looked at her stolen boots.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Sure. Luck, cousin,” he called after her, sipping his iced drink on the dark beach.

“You too, cousin!”

The dogs appeared, at first shadows in the distance.

Vanth ran all out, tearing dust behind her in a stream.  Hellhounds could move in shadows, blurring between spirit and physical.  They’d catch up, of that she had little doubt. Three of them gained already, rangy greyhound like wraiths.

Vanth drew her blade again.  The magic calling the sword from her pocket flowed weaker, all the running and healing wearing her down.

The first dog caught up, lunging from the shadow of a rock to snap ghostly jaws at her.

She rolled, slashing at the hellhound.  Cold ectoplasm splashed from canine’s side, he yipped falling to the ground.  Vanth leapt at the next closest, not waiting for the wolflike shades to draw into striking range.  She nearly cleaved it in half with a lunging slash.

The third jumped at her, Vanth jumped backwards and away from the snarling wraith.  It tried again, she stabbed the blade into the leaping spirits face, slicing into the jaws and catching ghostly teeth on one wrist.  The creature shuddered, falling to die in the sand.

Blood pouring from the latest wound, she limped to the exit.  A large outcropping of stone with a single dark shadow for a doorway.

A hard step through the warm veil, and she faded once more.


Back to the Washer’s river.


“Find what you were looking for?”  The Washer tilted a bottle of dark liquor back, coughing on the drink.

“I wasn’t really looking for an ass-kicking,” Vanth admitted.

“Looked to me like you did your fair share. Give and ye shall receive.”

“Amen. You need something?”

“Nah, just returning a favor to an old, old lover.”  The banshee revealed another bottle from the folds of her tattered dress.

Sweet pink wine.  Strawberries and memories flooded the goddess once more.  “You and Frew were a thing?”

“For a tumble or two. I know, I slummed it around in my youth. Well his youth, I was two hundred and nineteen. He did alright, for the record.”

“Ugh.”  Vanth tried to shake her brain free of the image.  “What about the harpy?”

“Oh, someone was really trying to kill you. No idea who, might want to look into that. I just made sure you’d call the Fox. So he’d find you, the bimbo at the restaurant would’ve called an ambulance. Whole other story, not near as fun.”

“For who?”

“Well, me. You’d have gotten laid. But like I said I enjoyed this version.”

“Great. You’re welcome, we’ll be here all week.”

The banshee laughed again.  “Oh, no. You’ll be saving my friend’s granddaughter from a very undeserved death.”

“How’d she get bitten by the Stygian?”

“Must of just been a loose one.”

‘Cause hell snakes are all about the wandering. They can’t even teleport.  “Huh. Should have asked Hades.”

“Oh, the one’s who know all never tell, Vanth. Luck, by the way.”

“You know Drystellia Frew is preggers?”

Mock surprise was quickly replaced by a wicked grin, enough mischief in her eyes to make even the General doubt himself.   “Oh, my. Kate will be pleased, she’s been undergoing treatments for a year now.”

“Drys is pregnant, though.”

“Odd, of course. She’s never been with a man, or received a treatment.”

Buzzing filled Vanth’s ears.  “Very odd. Almost immaculately so, one would say?”

“Thanks, Vanth. One day, the world might owe you a favor for something like this. And as you can see, I repay favors well.”


Vanth woke in the bed again, sweating from a heated blanket.  She kicked the covers off, sure Kate would be pissed about the ruined clothes and muddy boots all over her nice bedsheets.

Slipping the boots off, Vanth pulled the medicine from her pocket.  No lights shined in the small house, she crept into the kitchen.  Reynardine waited at the table, cup of coffee in front of him and smile cutting his five o’ clock shadow.

“Good trip?”

Vanth held the bottles up, waving them victoriously.  “I’ve had better. Saw Hades, low chance he’ll rat on me.”

“Oh, lovely.”

“And I saw the Washer. She said someone’s trying to kill me.”

Reynardine gave a little sigh and a toothy smile.  “Bad news, but something we can handle. You’re hard to kill.”

“A bit, but I’m not the goddess I used to be.”  She gave the bottles a little shake.  “Want to pass these on to Kate?”

The General checked his watch.  Vanth eyed the timepiece, noting Ares and the god’s personal symbol etched into the mithril band.  “Nope, I’ve got people to do. Umm, why don’t you wake her up? She’ll probably be pretty happy to see you. Might even let you use the shower, if everyone within nose range is very lucky.”

Vanth looked down at her filthy torn clothes and stolen boots.  Even she could smell the sweat and blood, never a good sign.  Hellhound drool crystallized on one arm, her legs ached… Everything ached.  Yes, a shower sounded nice right now.  “Okay. Uhh, one more thing. Did you know Drys is… Clean? I guess? She didn’t get treatments, Washer said.”

A serious look crossed Reynardine’s face, never a good sign. “No, I’m just a dumb fox. And virgin births, especially in such an esteemed line, are big and rather secretive business for anyone. Especially two nobodies like us. Thanks, Vanth. Have a good weekend.”  The Fox-god faded from sight, single eye winking last.

Vanth went to the main bedroom, flicking on the light and wincing at the yellowish flood of brightness.

Kate lay next to Drys, clinging to her like the fading woman kept her afloat on deadly seas.  I know the feeling.

Vanth went around to her side of the bed, giving Kate a light shake.

Redlined eyes snapped open.  The goddess held the two small bottles in front of them.  “Special delivery, Mrs. Frew.”

End Tale


Bladed Words (Writing about Fighting)

I’m just going to come out swinging here and talk right about the act of writing a fight scene.  I’ve got some later in depth posts planned about specific aspects of combat, but I just wanted to get this out of the way.


“Have at thee, Rapscallion and other stereotypical olden insults.”

So two characters, or more, need to settle some things.  For whatever reason character A is about to go ninja all over characters C-F (B is just a bystander).  And you want to wow your reader with a shocking fight scene that’ll leave them racked with excitement, cheering loud and gasping in the all right places?

Start off boring and simple.


Unlike this picture. On a serious note, if anyone knows what the %*#& is happening here the comment section is down there.  I’ll take any guesses.

Just lay it out there, in a clear manner. In this scene Annabelle, a fire fairy, is facing off against a group of zombies for no particular reason.  Or illustrative purposes, I guess that sounds better.

Annabelle faced off against a semi-circle of animated corpses.  Calling her nature, she flashed fire at the group.  The corpses stumbled backward, she moved in slamming her fist into one.

The zombie crumpled, jaw mangled.  Calling a wall of flame between her and the corpses, she took them on one at a time.  Lighting one with her magic, she ducked another grasp.  Grabbing the withered arm, she slammed her foot down into the weak ankle and tossed the creature at his burning kin.

Pulling the wall of flame down, she burned the legs from another and then finished it with a kick to the head.  For the last two, she used pure fire.  The dead burned to ash in moments.

First off, not everything needs to be prettied up in a fight scene.  Clarity over charm here, writers.  Probably not so much with the wordiness either, you started simple so stick to simple.

That being said:

Clarivoyance not needed – “Calling a wall of flame between her and the corpses, she took them on one at a time.”

This is a habit I still struggle with, remember to stay in the moment when writing fight scenes.  If a character is fighting, don’t predict the end or the order of events.  If they shoot a bullet and the guy is hit, don’t say he’ll bleed out in moments or that he will die.  Especially if your character can’t possibly know that it was a kill.

Clarify and Label – “The corpses stumbled backward, she the fairy moved in slamming her fist into one a red shirted zombie.

The zombie crumpled, jaw mangled The undead man crumbled to the ground, his jaw crushed and leaking dark blood.”


“Why all the zombie hate, brah?”

One, giving your character an extra label can help avoid repetition.  Clear labeling of characters is essential though, you don’t want readers have go back and figure out who is who during critical moments.  On a side note, now is probably a good time to start filling in a few more details.  Clarify who is what, and remember cause and effect.  Fighting should be kinetic, A did this and this happened is a core tenet of all fight scenes (remember what I said earlier about clairvoyance though).


Mr Fuzzybritches struck, Captain Cutiepaws was floored by the sudden betrayal.


And on detailing itself, don’t go too far.  Use your best judgement but too much detail will distract the reader.  Too little and you’re just stating bare facts.  I wish I could offer some magical formula here–and if you can the comments are below, I’ll love you forever–so just keep writing fight scenes.  Find a critique partner and focus on them for a bit.  Put the work in and you’ll have readers on the edge of their seats in no time.

Crushing Repetition – I say pulled three or four times in that.  I won’t label all the repetitive words but just go through and cut them.  Also if your writing a piece with multiple fight scene, creating a second document and reading them one after the other will help identify repetition in the whole work.  You want every fight to stand out so read them back to back to ensure that nothing sounds the same.  Gun battles in particular fall to this foil, but really just a bit of effort and you’ll smooth it out.


Raccoon basketball games are pretty repetitive too, all they do is steal.

Okay, now I’m going to apply my advice and see if we can’t get a thrill out of this scene yet.


Annabelle turned the corner, orb of fire hanging overhead.  The light caught the edges of the group, five more of the tattered corpses.  Downtown really was dangerous at night.

The fairy wasted no time, whistling loud to draw their attention.  The ghouls stumbled forward, arms outstretched.  Calling her nature, she flashed splitting the group.  She moved fast, slamming her fist into the nearest zombie, a male with a red shirt.  The undead man crumpled to the ground, jaw smashed and skull pouring dark blood.

Snapping her fingers Annabelle lit one ablaze, ducking another’s blind lunge.  Grabbing a withered arm for leverage, the fairy broke the zombies ankle with a hard stomp.  Annabelle swung the hobbled creature into her burning kin, ignoring the screech from the tangled corpses.

Dancing backward, the fairy burned the legs from another.  He fell to smoking knees, she kicking him to the ground and crushed the head with her boot.

Tiring of her workout, she called heavy fire for the last two.  A pure bright end for the dark corpses.

Okay I added a bit of humor at the beginning, the bit about downtown being dangerous.  Don’t try to be funny during a fight, time and place guys, remember that.  Beside the obvious, I also tried to end on a high note.  Summing up the scene and finalizing it with something powerful.  Also I elevated the violence throughout the fight, another good tip to remember.  Start off with a tap, end with a haymaker.


I was searching fight pictures on Pixabay and this one’s pretty awesome so I wanted to use it.

That’s all I have for the basics of writing a fight scene.  Like I mentioned earlier, I’ve certainly got a bit more to say on the subject.  Just wanted to keep it simple for the first one.  If you’ve got requests or questions, I’d love to help out.

Oh and thanks for reading.

One more thing…


My writer buddy and ardent source of inspiration Faith Rivens released a novella.  She’s a great writer so if you’re in the mood for some urban fantasy action purchase her novella here and for more information follow her blog here or on twitter here.  Remember a little support for an indie author goes a long way.  Thanks again and have a great day.