Being a true shifter isn’t the blessing it may seem. But through pain and darkness Perdita seeks to find her own life despite the ambition of others…

I fed the warrants page by page onto what soon became a nice little bonfire. Being nosy by nature, I read each document before consigning it to the flames. I had all but reached the bottom of the pile when my eye fell on a very different seal. This was a properly official document, which bade the Queen send her representative to The Legislature where a very important vote was to take place. Then I read what the vote was.
“Mandrake,” I said sharply. “I think we know what this is all about now.”
“We do?”
“Oh yes. Somebody is trying to have lycanthropes declared animals, thereby stripping them of all their rights and privileges and putting them at the mercy of humans.”
The Queen stared at me. “They can’t do that.”
“Why not? We allowed them seats in the Legislature. Now they want to legislate.”
“But how would it benefit them?”
“Many ways. Firstly those who are awaiting trial for kidnap and murder would be off the hook. Animal rustling carries barely more than a slap on the wrist. Plus. We gave humans a fair share of the land and if they worked hard they could have good lives. But many of them don’t see why they should work when it would be much easier to just take what we have.”
Mandrake chimed in. “Let is not forget the environmental issues. Currently we don’t allow them to destroy nature for gain.”
“No indeed and we are not about to move aside completely. So they propose to push us.”
The Queen’s eyes whirled green with anger. “We would not allow this. Surely all lycanthropes banded together could defeat a few mere humans.”
Mandrake shook his head. “Think again, my lady. All lycanthropes banding together? Without killing each other?”
“And there are more than a few humans,” I said. “They breed like rats. While our fertility keeps populations at a sustainable rate, humans know no such kerbs. In the valley below our cabin there is a dirt farm. The farmer and his mate have seventeen children.”
“What can we do, then?”
“We have to be at the Legislature and somehow scupper this vote.”
“When?”
I dropped my final bombshell. “Tomorrow afternoon.”
Mandrake swore and the Queen set fire to the drapes. I waited. To be fair to them, it wasn’t long before they composed themselves, but the way they cursed each other led me to suspect that there was some sort of a relationship there. In another place, on another day, I might have chosen to explore the idea – but right then I decided I didn’t have time. Which turned out not to be the best decision I have ever made.
“What must we do, shifter?” The Queen was almost polite.
“Can you appoint Mandrake as your token bearer? And loan us his old fighting wing as security?”
“It shall be done.”
Mandrake bulked his shoulders. “Also send messages to all the lycanthrope clans you have contact with letting them know what is planned. Some may even be able to send their representatives to the Legislature for tomorrow’s session.”
The Queen nodded and clambered back onto her throne. She seemed awkward in her movements and it came to me that she was heavy with eggs.
“Congratulations,” I said formally.
Her eyes softened briefly. “It is a pity that I should finally be in egg when the world is on a knife edge.”
“It is my thought that you would not have been taken in by these folks were it not for the hormones of egg-bearing.” I spoke without thinking, but she nodded.
“There is a certain milky calmness, I have found, and a disinclination for business. I still need help.” She looked at Mandrake who refused to understand the question in her eyes.
“I will find you reliable assistance,” he said, and went to the great brassy doors.
I felt impelled to apologise. “I’m sorry…”
She swept my apology aside with an impatient claw. “It was ever thus with him.” Then she smiled at me in the way of dragons. “It really isn’t your fault. He is such a stubborn male.”
She sighed and I became aware that her back hurt and that being gravid and unable to make the change was wearing on her mind and body. I felt sudden pity and laid a tentative hand on her shining scales.
“Would a back rub be pleasant?”
“It would indeed.”
So it was that when Mandrake returned he found me rhythmically rubbing my oiled hands over the muscles of the Queen’s back. He seemed more surprised than a simple act of sisterhood warranted, but males are odd even the best of them.
He brought with him six grizzled dragons, three male and three female, who bore signs of battle, and a motherly-seeming female with a crumpled and kindly face.
The Queen sighed. “My faithful advisers, pushed aside by those who sought our downfall. Will you forgive your Queen?”
They all bowed low and the oldest spoke. “Will you trust us once more, my beloved Queen?”
“I will, with gratitude.”
The motherly female came over to me and bowed her head briefly. “Does this ease the Queen’s Majesty?”
The Queen answered. “It does.”
“Then will you show this dragon what it is you do?”
While the dragons settled their plans for the security of Dragonheart and its mistress, I was fully occupied teaching a willing female dragon the basics of massage.
Once all was in place, the Queen hung a golden token around Mandrake’s neck and he bent his head in a half bow.
She laughed, but it was a sound that said more of sadness than humour. “There is never any need for you to bend your neck to me. Not you of all dragons.”
I felt the instant when something went click in his head and he withdrew his essence from me, hiding behind a wall of pride and fear. When he answered the Queen, his voice was even deeper than usual. “Especially me of all dragons. Be well.”

Jane Jago

Her errant husband moved out and cat moved in. Sarah was lonely, and its arrogance amused her.

The months passed, and it was noticeable that any man who came offering ‘consolation’ seemed to fall foul of the cat.

One tripped over him and broke an ankle, another developed a serious allergy, a third got his face badly scratched.

Sarah rubbed the broad ginger head.

“I could almost think you wanted me to stay single.”

The cat purred loudly.

The day Adam walked back through the door, cat disappeared. Sarah looked into her husband’s green eyes and understood.

“Bastard,” she said.

Jane Jago

Some whimsical words on whimsical themes…

Give up the booze, they said
Look what it’s done to your life
Seventeen children, they said
And not even once a wife
Give up the fags, they said
And you shouldn’t be dressing like that
Give up the choccies and cheese
Or you will wind up friendless and fat
I have no regrets, she said
My children are straight and strong
I conceived them all sober, she said
And that’s where you’re getting it wrong
Life’s not the place, she said
For your poor-mouthed censorious ways
I’m living the way I think best
And I’ll dance to the end of my days

Jane Jago

An everyday tale of village life and vampires…

After everyone had gone, Em picked up the phone and called the young man who had so enjoyed the batshit madness of the vicar. The phone was picked up at once, but she found herself speaking to a young woman with an attitude problem.
“I don’t know where you got this number, madam, but Tristram is far too busy to be bothered with random callers.”
“I got the number because he gave me his card. Now just be a good girl and put him on the line.”
“I can’t do that. Tristram only takes calls between eleven and midday.”
Em sighed. “He told me to call at any time. I do a rather nice line in batshit crazy vicars.”
“Oh are you Mrs Van der Velt?”
“No. I’m Emmeline Vanderbilt.”
This took a bit of processing but eventually got Em passed to the man himself.
“Sorry for the delay.” He apologised perfunctorily. “What can I do for you?”
“You can answer a question to start with.”
“Fire away.”
“Is Ronald Dump newsworthy?”
“Depends what he is doing. Opening another of his dreadful leisure facilities is nasty but not news.”
“I’m rather hoping for not opening and consequently losing his shit in public.”
“For even a chance of that happening I’ll have a camera crew wherever whenever.”
“Right. So can you have the dim bird, who I assume must be pulchritudinous in the extreme to keep her job, put me straight through when I call because there may not be too much notice.”
His laughter sounded genuinely amused. “Pulchritudinous isn’t a word one normally hears used in conversation around here. Although it perfectly describes Amanda.”
He stopped speaking and Em could hear scrabbling in the background.
“Sorry,” this time he even sounded it. “There’s no good trying to get anything as revolutionary as putting someone straight through into Amanda’s head. You can text this number and I’ll get right back to you.” He reeled off a string of figures and Em wrote them down.
“Okay. I’ll call you if I can make this happen.”
“I look forward to that call. And. Mrs Vanderbilt. Good hunting.”
Em put the phone down, thinking how the idea of discomfiting Dump seemed to be able to bring together the most diverse of people – the unprincipled and deeply selfish Tristram, and Ginny, the newest and most PC of vampires, being a case in point. Whatever. There was no time for wool gathering – she had a tenants association to sort and an unprincipled lawyer to contact.
By the time she was done, Agnes’ army of granddaughters and great-nieces had mined the seam of council paperwork to some effect. The email was long, rambling and informative. There was indeed a planning application on the books. It postulated an eighteen-hole golf course, a boutique hotel, a restaurant, a range of holiday homes, and a range of shops. Access was, of course, to involve the demolition of the housing association properties.
None of that surprised Em. What was surprising, though, was that the applicant (and the owner of the land) was quoted as being DumpCorp.
“Got you you bastard.”
Em’s smile, could she but have seen it, was a feral thing. She called Agnes.
“You still got a girl in the Land Registry?”
“My great-great niece, Morwenna.”
“Right. I need to know two things. Has Harmful Gums actually sold his land to DumpCorp? Also has the housing association done, or tried to do, anything with the land the estate sits on?”
Em could almost hear Agnes thinking. “Okay. Can do. But I may not be able to get hold of her until tomorrow. What has just come in. From Jamelia. Is a full copy of the agreement the tenants have with the housing association.”
“Good. That was what Ishmael wanted.”
“Em! You have never called in Ishmael.”
“Why not? He’s a very good lawyer and just as slippery as anybody they might have.”
“But Ishmael is a demon.”
“So are most of the legal profession.”
Agnes sighed and Em could picture her throwing up her hands in despair. “Okay. Have it your own way. But who is paying him? As if I didn’t already know.”
Em put the phone down and made herself a cup of blood tea. When she got back, Agnes was still talking. Erasmus stood beside the phone with his face arranged as close to a smile as a bat can get.
He spoke in Em’s head. “Nothing new. Except that she wonders how DumpCorp expected to get away with downright illegality.”
“Me too.”
“In a moment I will tell you. For now, finish your conversation with Agnes.”
Placating Agnes took a good ten minutes and left Em feeling worn and scratchy. She had also committed to an emergency Nest meet the following day to discuss the problem and to introduce their new sister.
“Why do I listen to her, Erasmus? I mean she wears plastic clogs and loud floral printed smocks. Her idea of tasteful is chintz and shag pile. And she eats takeaway burgers…”
Erasmus actually chuckled. “You listen to her, Emmeline, because she is your oldest friend and she has always had your back no matter what. But now. Do you want to hear what the vespertilian community knows about DumpCorp?”
“I’m all ears.”
He sighed. “That is a singularly inept piece of human phraseology. But I digress. DumpCorp expects to get away with overt law breaking for a number of reasons. One. It always has. Two. It effectively owns two High Court judges and a Law Lord. Three. It will have its fall guys lined up. Probably Harmsley-Gunn, the chair of the county council, and your local MP.”
Em sat down with a bump. “That’s masterly Erasmus. Do they have us beat then?”
“No. Not with the supernatural community against them. This time I reckon the corporation has bitten off more than it can chew.”

Part Twenty-Five of Much Dithering in Little Botheringham by Jane Jago and Eleanor Swift-Hook, will be here next week.

Because life happens…

Exploring the mysteries of life through the versatile medium of limerick poetry.

Kind

The secret of life you will find
Is simply to try to be kind
If you’ve got to be vile
Then go venting some bile
In private and no one will mind

Eleanor Swift-Hook

In a modern-day Britain where the Roman Empire never left, Dai and Julia solve murder mysteries, whilst still having to manage family, friendship and domestic crises…

Kalendis Mart. MDCCLXXVIII Anno Diocletiani

Turning out for a dawn raid was one of the aspects of his old job as a vigiles investigator in Londinium that Dai Llewellyn had imagined would not be featuring in the elevated role he now held as Submagistratus for Demetae and Cornovii based in Viriconium. He would have been quite happy to leave it in the capable hands of his Senior Investigator, Bryn Cartivel and the small group of grim faced Praetorians on temporary secondment, under their decanus, Brutus Gaius Gallus. But orders were orders and these came from Rome.
The Magistratus had been regretful about it.
“I know you don’t want to go careering over the countryside at the moment, but this is something a bit more important than just a theft. It’s part of an Empire wide operation against a major criminal organisation and I need you there as my eyes and ears.”
It didn’t help that the Magistratus, Lucius Ambrosius Caudinus, was also Dai’s brother-in-law, thus making any excuses to get out of the duty pretty much impossible. Normally he would not have minded, but then normally he was not distracted by worry about his wife.
Notwithstanding his reluctance, after a few days of preparation he was sitting in an all-wheel somewhere along a dirt track that led to an isolated villa halfway up a mountain, sipping thermos-tea from a paper cup, whilst out in the dark and the cold his vigiles and the praetorians surrounded the building. Dai knew he was going to miss the extra security that Gallus and his men provided on operations like this. They were well armed, elite troops. His vigiles were non-citizens to a woman and man which meant they were forbidden by law to bear arms and when the praetorian detachment returned to Londinium after its six-month secondment at the end of the month, Dai would be faced with having to request armed support of a much less reliable nature.
The door opened, letting in an icy blast and Bryn stood by the vehicle, greying hair tied back and half-hidden under a knitted hat, breath condensing in the dim light. He held a satphone in one hand.
“Everyone’s in place. Just need your word to go in, Bard.”
Dai reached over and tipped the remains of his tea out of the door, onto the frozen gravel.
“Then let’s go wake Vibius up.”
Bryn nodded, closed the door and a moment later the all-wheel was bouncing forward at speed to block the main gate. The night sky was lit by flares and lights came on in the house, followed by the sound of shooting.
Dai followed the progress of the raid on the all-wheel’s comms. Ready to intervene if anything went wrong. He had two praetorians and four vigiles with him in the back of the all-wheel, both as an escort and as reserves if needed. But for once things went smoothly. The reports of rooms cleared and people achieving their designated tasks came through like clockwork.
Before dawn was more than a slice of light on the horizon, Dai was striding into the villa with Bryn at his side and two praetorians as an escort. He ignored the sounds of protest from where the live-in staff were being herded firmly into one of the main rooms by a mixed group of vigiles and praetorians. Heading instead to the small office where Gallus had isolated the master of the house.
The man was in early middle age, but still holding onto the fitness of youth. He was clearly not quite Patrician class, but from the looks of his villa, he had more than a few aspirations in that direction. The walls of the room were lined with ancient Roman artefacts and there was even a legionary eagle on one wall.
Dai took it all in but kept his focus on the man, who was sitting in front of his own desk, under the watchful eye of Gallus himself.
“What is the meaning of this?” Vibius blustered, clearly recognising from the response of the men around him that Dai held authority here. “Who the hell are you and what are these people doing breaking into my house and terrifying my household?” He tried to stand but a firm hand on his shoulder from Gallus pushed him back.
“Josephus Vibius Anser, I am here to arrest you for crimes against the senate and people of Rome. In particular involvement in a conspiracy to steal various sacred artefacts from the Basilica Julia.” Dai let his gaze move obviously around the room.
“Those are all reproduction,” Vibius snapped. “Well, almost all and anything original I have full documentation for.”
“I am sure you do,” Dai said. “And you will have every opportunity to present your case in Rome. Now you can open your safe for us, please dominus.”
This time Gallus let the man rise, he was as tall as Dai and took a step towards him, then stopped as his expression changed from fury to something much more unpleasant.
“I know you. You’re that Briton who married the little futatrix of an Inquisitor, aren’t you? Well, Submagistratus Llewellyn, you’d better make sure you keep her close because you have just put your foot into a hornet’s nest of trouble. If I go down for this, I’ll have someone break her pretty little neck and then they’ll come for you.”

If you want to know how the investigation continues, you can keep reading Dying for a Vacation by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago.

If I look through my window
I can see the world outside
Where children play and workers work
And lovers love and chide.
A world where trees have leaves of green
And sky has clouds of white,
A world whose day is lit by sun
And then by moon at night.
A world I see behind the glass
A world that seems so true
A world that once belonged to me
But now belongs to you.

And if you hear me speaking
Of the times that were before
Of ‘yesteryear’, the ‘good old days’
And even ‘days of yore’,
Then please don’t you remind me
That those times have long since fled.
To me, they are as much today
As in that history book you read.
The sands of time have drifted by
And drifted right past me,
So much has changed, but I’m the same
Beneath the skin you see.

So when I get to sit outside,
My moment in the sun,
You’ll understand if I don’t stand
That I can’t walk or run.
I used to storm the barricades
Then dance until the dawn,
I let my lips be kissed so much
But left them all lovelorn.
I love the world with all my heart
My world, when it was new,
A world that once belonged to me
But now belongs to you.

Eleanor Swift-Hook

Being a true shifter isn’t the blessing it may seem. But through pain and darkness Perdita seeks to find her own life despite the ambition of others…

We walked side by side through the eerily quiet corridors of the Dragon Queen’s castle. I felt as uneasy as I always had in this place, but Mandrake was completely unconcerned. He fed reassurance through our joined hands and I became stronger.
“Dragonheart’s primary function is intimidation,” he said quietly. “Pay no attention to it. Lift your chin my lady and look down your nose at the foolish dragons who seek your fear.”
He was so right and I grinned up at him as the eyes in the painted dragons on the walls followed our every move.
“Can the paintings really see us?”
“Nobody knows. Except the paintings and the stones. And they aren’t telling.”
Outside the beaten bronze doors of the throne room, a guard dragon dozed gently in a patch of wintry sun. Mandrake grinned.
“Shall we?”
He opened a small personnel door that was all but hidden in the intricate scrollwork that decorated the door. As we stepped in I spoke urgently in his head.
‘Why was the guard dragon asleep?’
‘That’s just one of the many things we need to find out.’
The throne room was as noisy and chaotic as I remembered, at least until the assembled councillors and hangers-on saw who had come into the Queen’s presence. It was as if a giant hand had turned off the normal hullabaloo, leaving quiet that could have been cut with a knife. All that could be heard was the rustle and susurration of scaly skin and the sound of water dripping somewhere quite far away.
I had a bad feeling about this but Mandrake showed no sign of distress.
He bent his head in a quick gesture of obeisance to the Queen, who reclined on her massive basalt throne. As was customary, she was the only creature in the room in dragon form and her golden scales shone like new-minted coins. Her multi-faceted eyes whirled and she lifted a foreclaw.
“Mandrake. How good to see you,” she purred, before turning a much less friendly eye on me.
Before either of us had chance to respond, a thin male in a dark, hooded robe spoke.
“Well,” he sneered, “if it isn’t a renegade dragon. Have you come to beg Her Majesty for your life?”
“Renegade dragon?” There were all sorts of nuances and sharp edges to the Queen’s contralto tones, but the robed one seemed impervious to his own peril.
“Renegade indeed, Your Majesty. He stands convicted of the murder of a creature of the Bear Lord’s fiefdom.”
“He does? I had not heard of this.” The silky smoothness of the Queen’s voice spoke of trouble for someone, although Mandrake seemed unconcerned.
The robed one spread his hands. “Such a small matter is scarcely worthy of the attention of a queen. I have here the document that declares Milo/Mandrake wolfshead. It requires only your signature.”
One second he was standing before the Queen with a parchment clasped in his hands, the next he was face-down on the stone floor with a heavy foreclaw on the back of his neck. The Queen hissed.
“And when were you going to slip that among the piles of paper you and yours generate daily?”
When there was no answer she lifted the unfortunate up by his neck.
“Goodness me. He appears to have fainted.” She lifted her voice. “Guards. To me.”
Nobody came but I felt a whisper of magic which I could trace to an enormously fat old male who was ostensibly asleep in the far corner of the room. I pointed him out to Mandrake who flamed briefly. The old one screamed and a dozen armed guards boiled through the doors.
Mandrake had flamed only to warn the magic weaver of his peril, but the Queen was less circumspect. She turned her snout to where the fat one cowered and within seconds he was no more than a pile of smouldering ash.
“Now,” she said bleakly, “let us see.”
Anyone who underestimates the savagery of a Queen Dragon who finds out she has been manipulated needs to have stood where I did and watched one such clean house. It was a demonstration of brutal and bloody vengeance, carried out with dispatch and with little or no possibility of reprieve.
I don’t know how long we stood there, but in the end Her Majesty turned a wary eye on us.
“So Mandrake. What is toward?”
He stepped forward and she laid a claw on his head. Although he no longer held my hand, I felt the rather over-enthusiastic rummaging through his brain, and a headache like a buzzsaw drew hard bands around my forehead, stomach and chest. By the time Her Majesty was finished I could barely keep my feet. Mandrake saw my trouble and drew me forward to his side. The Queen laid her claw on my head for the briefest of moments.
My headache subsided as did the nausea and sense of pressure on my chest.
‘My apologies, shifter. I had not thought you two truly Mated.’
I met her jewel-bright eyes and grinned.
“It has been rather sudden.”
She smiled. “It is ever the way. And you have my blessing for all it is worth.” Then I was forgotten as she communed with Mandrake, who I didn’t feel was in the mood to cut her any slack.
Finding myself supernumerary I looked about for something to do, and my eye settled on a pile of official looking papers on the desk at which Mandrake’s accuser had been seated. Most of them seemed to be arrest warrants. For the dragons of the fighting wing that had been Mandrake’s and sundry others I didn’t know but was pretty darned sure didn’t need arresting. I didn’t fancy leaving any of those documents laying about, fortunately the remedy to that was close at hand. Magic wielders always burn for a long time, and the fat one Her Majesty had incinerated was still smouldering nicely.

Jane Jago

The tiny house Emma called home was full – her mother, gran and three brothers. So she knew it was impossible. But walking to school, she’d pretend a dog walked beside her or, curled up in bed, she would make believe he was too. She never said a word. The last thing she wanted was to put another shadow of regret in her mother’s eyes. 

On her birthday she woke to something small and warm curled on her bed. Sitting up she saw a purring kitten face with blue eyes. Which was when Emma knew she had always wanted a cat.

Eleanor Swift-Hook

Some whimsical words on whimsical themes…

Mother looked at her figure in some dismay. She wasn’t getting any younger and she certainly wasn’t any thinner. The living things that crawled on her skin had busied themselves to such an extent that their creations now outweighed them. It was puzzling and it also made Mother lopsided and graceless.

She sighed and considered her few options.

Looking around at her brothers and sisters she now understood why they had done what they had.

Sighing she shook like a great dog shedding the living into the void and reassembling the rest. 

Unencumbered now, she carried on her endless journey.

Jane Jago