You sure you’re ready for this, Gwen?”
“When it comes to fairy tales, go Grimm or go home.” I stood up and withdrew my arm from Vivian’s restraint.
“You want to see a bad bitch? Mess with me.” I pulled Guin Drake’s red fingernail polish out of my pocket.
“War paint.” I slammed it down on the table. “Now let’s go to war.”Read More
"You are in mortal danger."
"Look, mister- Doyle," I retorted. "You can't scare me. My dad's in politics and he adopted an Arab. My parents have tried to protect me from the rape and death threats since I started getting them at age twelve. But it turns out there's this thing called the internet, and kids these days.”
I shifted my hips to better wag my finger at him. Some point up mom-frustration vented. “And I get that you've got this whole 'Sherlock Holmes' thing going for you. Tall, dark, mysterious, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle… I get it. But do you really talk like that? 'Mortal danger'?"
He blinked, twice. Even his reflexive motions were languid. "My, my," he said, after a deep inhale through his nose. "You sound just like her."
It was my turn to blink. "Like who?"
"Guinevere," he murmured, and began walking once more.Read More
"Rache", shone the word on the screen. The message hadn't been sent... at least not over cellular networks. It was there on the phone: that word, and my phone number, a number that I hadn't given out.
It was a message… a message for me.
Well then, Holmes. The game is afoot.Read More
I had so much going for me. But I sat there in the coffee shop, week after week, fighting bourgeois ennui.
That was when a young woman with dark hair and mocha-colored skin slid unprompted into the chair opposite my keyboard.Read More
I felt a hard ball in my stomach. “You killed for me. To protect me.”
Her shrug was bone-chillingly casual. “What’s a mother to do? You are my child. Always. Everything I’ve done has been for you."
She took my other rook. “I love you, my dear. Please believe that.”Read More
A hand clad in black mail clawed its way up from the ground. Its armored fingers sank into the earth at Arthur's feet, and he hopped quickly back, eyes flickering to Vivian.
Another hand surged forth, and a black helm followed it. Out of the soil rose a knight whose face was fully covered by a giant, ebony helmet. He was huge, strangely-proportioned, terrifying. His armor was covered in spikes and skulls. As he stood fully erect, he drew forth a black sword easily six inches wide, inlaid with the insignia of death. He pushed its tip into the earth and rested his hands on its pommel. When he spoke, his voice boomed out as if from the grave.
"None shall pass." The knight stood between Arthur and the stone.Read More
A police cruiser had caromed onto the highway from a ramp just ahead of us, and was now alongside. “Pull over!” the loudspeaker barked. “Pull over now!”
“Is this thing insured?” I asked with a grin. Before Doyle could respond, I eased onto the brake as fast as I dared, while steering into the car alongside. He didn’t have time to react: my front passenger side clipped his rear. His back end fished out to the right, and then to the left as he lost control. He spun away from us and was gone.
My tires chirped. I corrected. We drove.
Possible? Probably not. Don’t try this at home, kids.Read More