They rested in the shade while the goat herd foraged for tasty titbits.

Suddenly the goats scattered.

Eamonn swore, and Eula-Mae reached into the pocket of her pinafore.

Two men came out of a stand of stunted trees. One held a rifle at waist height, the other stared at them through little red eyes.

“Oho,” he chortled, “if it ain’t a girlie.”

He grabbed his crotch suggestively.

Eula-Mae tossed up a handful of powder, which the breeze carried into the faces of the oncoming marauders.

Honestly, the change wasn’t dramatic, but pig stew fed the family for weeks…

©️jj 2018  

The sun that shines upon you warms your heart,
The icy blast of cold tears you apart.
The ups are always followed by the downs
The smiles always falter into frowns.
But yet the opposite is also true
And holds out hope when all is looking blue.
You know that feeling, sure as you know pain,
What goes around just comes around again.
You take each day with all you’ve got to give
Push past the grind and find a way to live.
For everything that happens has its end
And time may often seem a fickle friend.
When things go well you’d stop the hourglass
But nothing breaks the law: ‘This too shall pass.’

E.M. Swift-Hook.

'Dying to be Welcome' is one of the exclusive bonus short stories The Second Dai and Julia Omnibus which is now out!

Pridie Idus Apriles MDCCLXXVIII Anno Diocletiani

It was much too beautiful a day for saying farewell.
The sun was shining in a mild, blue sky, where the clouds that drifted were picture-book white and fluffy. Spring had sprung with enthusiastic abandon and the fruit trees in the orchards around the Villa Papaverus were smothered with blossoms. It had been a long, cold winter and now new life was bursting out everywhere as warmth returned.
The small squad of Praetorians stood on the apron of gravel in front of the house, standing as if on parade before the Emperor. But the formal leave taking had already been done, yesterday, in Viriconium, when they had marched through the streets having performed an open-air concert in the Forum before the Magistratus and other local officials and dignitaries.
This was different. This was just a rag-tag group of Romans and Britons, citizens and servants. Dai had deliberately avoided wearing a toga. For this event, he wanted to be simply Dai Llewellyn the man, not Submagistratus Llewellyn of Demetae and Cornovii. Beside him, Julia his very pregnant wife, had also avoided anything dressy. She was clad in a simple maternity tunic and long skirt. For this was not the formal dismissal of the vexillation of Praetorians that had been billetted in his villa for the last seven months, this was the parting of friends. This departure had already been delayed past the original time, but the day had finally come.
Dai himself had come to know almost all of these men to some greater or lesser extent, but everyone in the household had befriended one or more. Some had gone beyond friendship and two of the Praetorians had requested – and been granted – early release and the necessary documentation to remain and marry local women. And, with room for tragedy as much as happy-ever-after, three of the younger women who had been working in the villa were now waiting by the gate, packed up, happy glowing faces, to travel with their lovers to Londinium. Dai hoped Julia had spoken to them and told them they would always be welcome back, even if they came with an unacknowledged infant or two in tow. Relationships between Citizens and those who were not, were seldom formalised as the legal barriers to doing so were very high and the pressure these young men would be under from family and friends to marry a Citizen would be immense.
There had been hugs and tears all around, but now, formed up smartly, the Praetorians looked every inch the disciplined elite fighting force they were trained to be. At the front of the squad, facing them, stood Brutus Gaius Gallus. He had been Praetorian Decanus Gaius until the previous day and although he was standing with his spine rigid and his jaw chiseled from granite, Dai was fairly sure he could see a slight overbrightness in the older man’s eyes. It was he who snapped out a final salute and then the troop was marching through the gate to where two army trucks were waiting to take them back to Londinium. Dai wondered why Gallus had chosen to take early retirement and had an odd suspicion that it might have been on orders from the Tribune in charge of the Praetorians in Britannia – Decimus Lucius Didero.
“I’m going to miss them,” Julia said softly. Dai put an arm around her.
“Me too,” he admitted, thinking of the number of times he had needed to call on the Praetorians to provide military back-up since he had started working here the previous September. It was going to be tough without them.
“They were actually rather good musicians,” Julia was saying. “We had some lovely concerts. Now we’ll need to hire in when we hold a party.” She gave a sigh of regret. Dai looked at her sharply and she turned her face up so he could see the sparkle of mischief in her eyes.
“I had you with that one, admit it.”
Dai smiled a little wryly. “I’m probably an easy target.”
Julia reached up and drew his head down to hers for a kiss.
“Not often,” she said as she stepped out of his embrace. “But talking of parties, I have one to finish organising for tonight.”
Dai had almost forgotten that.
Almost.
For today was not only a day of farewells it was also a day of celebration. They were having a family party to welcome home his sister, Cariad. She had been away for the last three months, relaxing on a small secluded island in the Mare Nostrum in the care of an asclepieion, recuperating from nearly falling victim to a murderer.
But Dai struggled to find in the return of Cariad any cause for celebration. His sister was a serial adulterer who cared nothing for anyone or anything except herself, her own desires and her own social ambitions – not her husband nor even her two children. That she was married to Dai’s immediate superior, the local Magistratus, who adored her beyond reason and forgave her every failing, made the situation even more embarrassing to handle.
But he refrained from saying anything as Julia chivvied the household back to work and was about to return to his own administrative labour, when Gallus intercepted him.
“Submagistratus, I have a favour to ask of you.”
Gallus was a man typical of his class and status. You could slice and dice through him at any point and the solid soldier would be left in every piece. He had the typical legionary contempt for civilians – a contempt that extended to the Vigiles which Dai had served for many years. If the last few months had led Gallus to give Dai some grudging respect for his abilities, it had manifested in a patronising attitude, which was unspoken but omnipresent. And that grated.
Dai squeezed out a polite smile. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s the matter of my application to join the Vigiles. The Magistratus informed me that whilst he had approved it, since I would be working in your district I  would need your formal approval as well.”
It took a moment for Dai to recover. He suspected that his jaw must have dropped slightly open, but was struggling so much for words that he could not be sure.
“You? You are applying to join the Vigiles?” Not, Dai realised, his finest moment of tactful diplomacy.
Gallus’ expression became even more severe than usual and his eyebrows lowered into a frown.
“I’ve already been approved for it.” He sounded defensive. “This is just a matter of courtesy as you are -”
Dai lifted a hand, feeling acutely awkward. “No. I mean – I know. You just said.” He took a steadying breath, “I am simply very surprised. The last time I heard you say the word ‘vigiles’ it was with the words ‘namby-pamby’, ‘play-soldiers’ and ‘glorified lost and found service’ attached, as I recall.”
At least Gallus had the decency to look a little uncomfortable at the memory.
“Yes. Well – uh – that – that was different. And it was a while ago.”
“About two weeks.”
Gallus cleared his throat and came to attention.
“Submagistratus Llewellyn, I apologise for any prior comments I may have made that in anyway disparaged or demeaned the Vigiles. They were inappropriate.”
“I agree.”
Gallus expression shifted slightly.
“You agree to approve my appointment as an Investigator to the local vigiles?”
“I agree your comments were inappropriate.” As a form of revenge it was petty, Dai knew, but then the digs from Gallus had been too. Dai saw something harden in the other man’s face and realised that his own behaviour was rapidly becoming equally ‘inappropriate’.
“Look,” he said, his tone conciliatory, “before we make anything formal, why don’t you go and spend a few days working with SI Cartivel and his team? See if you fit in. See if you suit the work and if it suits you. I don’t see any point you signing up if not. You can go down to the Vigiles House this afternoon and I’ll let them know to expect you.”
For a moment the grey eyes of the older man held his gaze with the familiar, appraising look that Dai found so profoundly irritating. Then Gallus saluted smartly.
“As you instruct, Submagistratus.”
Dai watched him walk smartly towards the gates and then made his own way into the house. His Senior Investigator and friend of many years standing, Bryn Cartivel, was going to love this. Not.

You can pick up your copy of The Second Dai and Julia Omnibus right now!

It was a breathlessly hot day, and the feral dogs were mostly gathered in the shade of an olive grove. Big Denzil watched his mate pick her way between the sleeping forms. He greeted her.

“Do you walk well, mother of my pups?”

“I do,” then she flattened her ears to indicate amusement. “One’s eldest male pup is feeling less well though.”

“Tell on, my beloved.”

“He and Three-Toes found a dead fish down by the cistern. A long dead fish. Three-Toes’ dam warned them.”

“But they knew better?”

“They did. And they were as sick as humans…”

©️jj 2018

Tall Tale TV presents Ricochet, a story of misunderstanding, by Jane Jago.

Listen here

An extract from Hunting Darkness, a supernatural thriller by Ian Bristow

“I always came here with Williams,” Davis said, holding the pub door open for Sergeant Maddix. “It’s where we talked about our cases and—”
“—Drank?” Maddix suggested.
“Well—yeah, that as well,” Davis said, motioning to a nearby table that was uninhabited. “Nothing wrong with the odd pint or two to get the old grey cells squirming.”
“No, I reckon there isn’t,” Maddix said as she took the seat opposite Davis. “As long as it’s actually ‘a pint or two’ and not enough to get pissed.”
“Of course.”
“And allow me to reiterate my earlier statement—because men seem to have this way of not hearing when women set ground rules—this is not a date. It is merely the location we have chosen to conduct some of the conversational aspects of our work.”
Davis chuckled and said, “Look, Maddix, just because you’re an attractive woman doesn’t mean I am inevitably going to hit on you. You’re my sergeant—not a potential lover. Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t know what kind of men you’ve worked with in the past, but I’m not them, alright. I’m a professional, and I’m dedicated to my work. You’re here to learn from me and help me. Our job is among the most important there are, so don’t patronize me, as if I would see you as an opportunity to get laid, rather than as an understudy and part of the future of police work in this country.”
“Did you write that, or are you just that good at bullshitting your way through tough situations?”
Davis gaped at her for a moment until the amusement in her expression became clear. “Well played,” he said with a small grin. “No, I didn’t write that, but I reckon I am about as well-versed in bullshitting my way through tough situations as the best of them.”
“I thought you looked like a bullshitter.” She said, turning to a passing waitress. “Two pints of Broadside”
“Ah, you’ve got good taste. But how did you know to order one for me? What if I fancied the mild ales?”
“I might only just be promoted to sergeant, but I’m still a good detective. I read people. And you are quite obviously not a drinker of mild ales. You’ve got bitter drinker stamped right across your forehead.”
“Oh yeah?” Davis laughed. “How do you figure? Illuminate me.”
Maddix leaned forward on her chair, her eyes flickering over all aspects of Davis’ appearance. “Well, for starters—you’ve got short, easily manageable hair. That tells me you don’t like to fuss with things that aren’t necessary because it’s a waste of time—”
“And?”
“And people who drink mild ales tend to enjoy every sip because the beer is savory and sweet. Whereas bitters are punchy and to the point; perfect for a man who just wants to get on with it.”
By the time she was through, his dress sense, posture, inflection of words and mannerisms had all been attributed to his obvious preference towards bitter. He waited until it was clear she had finished, then chimed in.
“Okay, that was quite impressive. But there is a fundamental flaw in all of it.”
“Oh?” Maddix queried, her eyebrows raising. “And what is that, Inspector?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“Yes you. Everything about you. You are very well put together. Your clothes are professional, yet just provocative enough to send an ideal message to those you feel might have relationship potential, which tells me you’re extremely thoughtful. You take your time with things. You want to savor moments. So by your earlier explanation, you should fancy mild ales. Because, like you so effectively stated, ‘people who drink mild ales tend to savor every sip.’ And that, Sergeant Maddix, is the flaw. If we are so different in exterior traits, why do we both drink bitter?”

A Bite of... Ian Bristow

Question One: As an American author, what made you decide to write a police procedural novel with a twist that is set in the United Kingdom? 

Well, my dad moved to the states from England in his twenties after meeting my mom on holiday. And his dad came to live with us when I was six, so basically all my life I’ve been exposed to a lot more English culture than an average American. However, that wasn’t the only reason I chose to write a novel set in the UK. I also love the English use of the language versus American use and think it opens the door for richly developed characters (not that the American use doesn’t, I’m just not as drawn to it). And lastly, I wanted an urban fantasy element in my story, one that hasn’t been used to death, such as vampires, werewolves, witches, etc. So I needed a location that could house an authentic fantasy element with real world ties (or potential ties). Druids were rumored to have shape-shifting capabilities, and there have been numerous big cat sightings in the UK over the years. To me, it was too good to miss.

Question Two: Although this feature is about Hunting Darkness, it doesn’t seem right not to ask a true Renaissance Man in which area of artistic endeavour he feels most challenged. So what is the hardest work for you? Music? Art? Literature? 

I would have to say that on the day, none of them feel like work at all. But more often I struggle to find the creative juices to write than paint or play music. I think that is largely because writing is the newest of the three art forms to be explored, so I have less experience with it. I’ve been making art since I was very young and started playing music seriously when I was thirteen. Didn’t write my first novel until I was twenty-eight.

Question Three: What is your weakness? Doughnuts? Cheese? Alcohol? Fast cars? Or something completely different?

 Am I only allowed one? I mean, you actually named two of them here; cheese and alcohol. I love both far more than they love me. Another weakness that is not named here is doubt. I think all who create doubt themselves to some capacity, and while a little doubt is just what’s needed to get one to understand the very real need to have their work critiqued, it can also be debilitating to the point of not allowing one to accomplish what one is capable of. So I say to any who read this; yes, doubt your work, but don’t doubt yourself.

About Ian Bristow:

Ian C. Bristow is the author of Hunting Darkness and the Conner’s Odyssey trilogy. He is currently working on another title and plans to release that in 2019. When he isn’t writing, he works as a freelance artist and enjoys composing and playing music. (Good food and a few beers with friends are always welcome as well).
As well as writing Ian runs a cover designing service, Bristow Design . You can find him on his Website, check out his awesome timelapse art videos with his own original music on YouTube or follow him on Twitter.

Revenge porn. Amal had heard the term, but it never had much relevance. Until…

Her sister was just of age when she went to a nightclub and met two guys who came close to  ruining her life, and gleefully posted a video of them doing it.

That wasn’t to be tolerated. Amal soon identified the ringleader’s habits. 

Then she dressed in her slinkiest and prowled the night. He beckoned her to his table. He didn’t see her slip the powder in his drink.  

However.

The pictures of him naked, bound and enjoying the attentions of two brawny stevedores went viral.

©️jj 2018

It isn’t given to everybody to be able to identify the precise moment when they fall for the love of their life…

It was Saturday night and the drifter drove his beat-up truck into just one more trail-end town. Truth to tell he would have preferred somewhere livelier as he had money in his pocket, but he was tired and hungry. He parked the Dodge outside a tiny diner only to see the closed sign go up on the door as he swung to the ground. An old timer and his equally ancient dog stopped and looked at him.
“Food at Belle’s Bar over the street’s better than the slop they serve here. Can even get decent coffee if’n you don’t want beer with your meal.”
The drifter tipped his hat in a grateful salute and made his way to Belle’s.

The old timer hadn’t lied about the food or the coffee. By the time the stranger had got outside of a huge plate of savoury stew, a generous helping of peach pie, and three large mugs of steaming hot coffee he was feeling almost human. He decided he might as well stay for a beer while he chewed over his options.

His usual Saturday night agenda involved picking up some lonely woman in a bar and getting invited back to her place for the night. He got bed and breakfast and his lady hostess got what he reckoned to be some pretty hot sex. Something for everybody, and no offence taken if his advances were spurned. However, he had worked for the better part of two months helping a group of dirt farmers plough and weed and build fences, so he was bone weary and he had money enough to get his own room. He’d have that beer and think. He bellied up to the bar and the woman tender stopped polishing glasses.
“I get you, bro?”
“Bro?” the drifter was amused and that made him look closer at the woman. She was maybe thirty years old, and plain of face, but with an infectious grin and the light of intelligence in a pair of strange bi-coloured eyes. She chuckled.
“Yup. Bro. Saves me trying to learn the names of all the damned fools that come in here looking for beer and sympathy.”
He found himself laughing too, and for some reason that felt good.
“I’ll take a beer please, and one for yourself.”

Somehow or other, he was still by the bar when it was closing time. He watched the bartender take off her apron and hang it on the beer pumps before he spoke.
“Anywhere I can get a room in these parts?”
She looked at him for a long moment then seemed to come to a decision.
“I got a bed too big for one woman.”
The drifter felt his smile flow across his cheeks. This one, he thought, would be a real pleasure. He held out a hand and the woman came around the bar and put her own hand in his.
“Hi, pretty lady,” he said, “my name’s…”
She put the fingers of her free hand across his mouth.
“Let’s just keep it to bro, shall we? This time tomorrow you’ll be gone and your name’ll be no manner of good to me.”
He nodded his understanding and they walked out of the bar shoulder to shoulder.

It wasn’t early when she slid from his embrace and padded out to the kitchen. He watched her go, marvelling at how comfortable she was in her own nakedness and how much he had enjoyed that nakedness. He put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He was still deep in thought when a voice floated in from the next room.
“I’m sorta making breakfast. What do you want on your toast?”
“A couple eggs would be good,” he responded without thinking.
Almost instantaneously a laughing face appeared in the doorway.
“Eggs bro? Sheesh. The sex wasn’t that good.”

And he knew at that moment that his fate lay in a one-horse trail-end town with this woman by his side.

©️ Jane Jago 2018

It was his last day driving the school bus, and he had it all worked out. He usually liked them younger, but… 

The logging track came up almost before he was ready but he pulled  the bus onto it. He grasped the straps and ropes and walked towards her.

She surprised him by opening the emergency door, but he was sure it was too high for her to jump out. However, it wasn’t too high for the wolves to jump in…

The searchers found him the next day. The expression of horror on his dead face told its own tale.

 ©️jj 2018

You can check it out here!