Welcome to the Hotseat of Truth, a device in which your protagonist is trapped. The only way to escape is to answer five searching questions completely honestly or the Hotseat will consume them to ashes! Today’s victim is Jenni the sprite – created by Claire Buss in The Rose Thief and The Interspecies Poker Tournament. Jenny is a thief-catcher, second-in-command to the Chief, Ned Spinks and the most powerful magical creature around. She wears a filthy red coat, has pointy ears and straw-coloured hair. Her mum is Momma K, Queen of the Fae but Jenni prefers to live and work in the real world, in Roshaven.

Question 1. When did you first meet Ned?

It were a few years ago and we was down in fing. Wot you ‘ave to understand, right, is there wos a lot of stuffs going down and it weren’t like everyfing wos straight forward or nuffink. But it were good times. I’d tell youse all about it but me aufor won’t let me, she says I gotta wait a bit while she writes it all down and sorts it all out.  I ain’t ‘zactly good at story writing.

 Question 2. How does a sprite wind up in law enforcement?

It were a close fing, could’a gone eiver way if I’m ‘onest. We just didn’t know for sure if ‘e were gonna go for it or not. An’ then o’corse that ‘appened an’ it were a case of now or never sorta fing. You know, like that ‘ole rock and anovver rock? It were like that. Ana ‘o corse that ovver bloke weren’t gonna do anyfing so it were all down to ‘im and to be fair ‘e didn’t ‘ave a scooby so I ‘ung around for a bit. Then a bit more. Plus you know, it ain’t ‘ome. 

Question 3. Who are you most loyal to. Your people or your partner?

It ain’t that simple. 

Question 4. What is your favourite food?

I likes sugared ants an’ grass’opper brittle, slug jam an’ wasp ‘oney. Worm sausages an’ snail burgers but the bestest one of all is Momma K’s beetle cheesecake.

Question 5. When did you last take a bath?

Wot’s a baff?

Mo Ryan whacked the ball back over the net and then raised his arms high in victory as his opponent failed to return it. On the next court in the women’s championship finals, Emily Payne made an identical gesture as she won her match point.

The pictures went viral, but the comments were very different.

‘Tennis hunk Ryan celebrates victory’

‘Disgusting Payne shows up unshaved.’

Later, in their hotel bedroom, Mo shook his head in disbelief.

“So why is my pit hair sexy and yours disgusting?”

Emily shrugged.

“Dual standards.”

“We’ll see.”

In his next match, Mo wore a skirt.

E.M. Swift-Hook

The next morning, Julia set herself two tasks. The first involved waiting for Hywel to come up with the list of those whose insurance wasn’t going to pay out, but the second could only be accomplished under her own steam. After she fed Aelwen and they had some small conversation, she took herself to her office and firmly shut the door.
“I’m not to be disturbed,” she said, so fiercely that even the most forward notarus or adparitor would not dare to tap on the panels. “Take anything that matters that much to Manius.” She knew she could rely on the primus secretarius to handle whatever might need attention for one morning.
Using the full authority of her position as Magistratus she called up details of the life and times of Bevan Falx. It didn’t make pretty reading. He was a career thief, who capped a life of youthful follies by beating his mother so badly she was hospitalised for a month. And yet that mother still loved him. Julia bit her thumb while she thought through what she must do, before putting in a call to Gallus to ask him to come to her office. While she waited she printed off a picture of Bevan and stared unseeingly at the ugly, vicious expression that could so easily have been so different. How was it that people who clearly loved their children and tried to raise them well, still wound up with monsters sometimes?
Gallus arrived promptly.
“Shut the door.”
He obliged and Julia gestured him to a seat.
“I have a problem, the solution to which rests on a certain young man not surviving the raid planned on the factory ship. Thing is, I can’t tell you why, and I need you not to discuss this with Dai or Bryn. Or, basically, anybody. Ever.”
There was no discernible hesitation before he replied. “You don’t have to explain, domina. Just tell me who needs killing.”
Julia had the sudden knowledge that this was a man used to receiving unpleasant orders and never questioning their necessity. She showed him the photograph.
“Alright. He’s dead.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
Gallus maybe sensed how hard she was finding this because, in a gesture utterly unlike his usual gruff manner, he reached over the desk and briefly gripped her hand. Then he got up and turned away. Julia looked at the strong lines of his back and realised she owed him better.
“Gallus. Wait.”
He turned back.
“There’s a mother who loves that young man, though he doesn’t deserve it. Whose life is being poisoned by him, and to whom we probably owe Caudinus’ life. This is the only way I can think of to protect her from the very worst.”
Gallus smiled gently. “Sometimes,” he said, “compassion wears a sharp dagger. Leave it in my hands, cara.”
He was gone before Julia had chance to register the endearment. While she was still trying to get her head around it and whether it was patronising or supportive, her printer started to chatter. Hywel had come through.

From The Second Dai and Julia Omnibus  by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook

The life of an elderly delinquent in limericks – with free optional snark…

Being old, with no patience to waste
I regard certain trends with distaste
Like the grammarless ‘for free’
And reality TV
And rubbing placenta on your face 

© jane jago

When people started seeing ghosts, everyone of a rational mind imagined it to be some sign of a new form of mass hysteria. Especially as there was no way to record the sightings. They seemed immune to any electronic method of photography. My social media feed was full of images of empty spaces and video clips of people running screaming from empty air. 

I saw my first ghost when I was eating my lunch sitting on a bench in the park outside my shop. It took me a few moments to realise it was a ghost. The outline looked like a normal person, but when you actually looked at it, the whole seemed translucent – as if there was some kind of projection. Apart from the eyes. They glowed with an eldritch red that made me almost choke on my avocado and three-bean sandwich.

I got back to my shop shaking, physically.

Now I understood why people were so afraid of these ghosts.

But how to prove they existed?

My shop sold old things. Things that were not really old enough to be antiques and were not really rare enough to be collectable. I called it the retro-shop. One thing I had a number of was old-style photographic cameras – including a couple of working polaroid’s that took instant pictures.

For the next week I went to lunch with one in my bag. But there was no ghost. I can’t say I’m sorry as it was not good for the digestion.

It was on the Friday when I was walking to the station having locked up the shop, that I heard a scream. Running I saw a teenager clutching a knife and stabbing at the ghost. The blade passing through. The lad dropped the knife and ran. 

My polaroid captured the moment – and the ghost. 

It went viral.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Maisie panicked when Sheena collapsed.

For a moment she’d no idea how to get out to get help. Then Maisie remembered the dog door and pushed herself through it, her skin scraping painfully as she did so.

Then what?

The main road ran past the drive and she ran up it as fast as she could. But how to stop a car?

Only one way.

The man who got out sounded disbelieving. “There’s a pig in the road. Just lying there.”

But he followed her and called an ambulance in time to save her owner Sheena from a heart attack.

E.M. Swift-Hook

The life of an elderly delinquent in limericks – with free optional snark…

When you’re old and quite near to life’s crust
There is only one thing that’s a must
To stand straight and tall
Grab each day by the balls
We should die of exhaustion. Not rust

© jane jago

From Evalycer’s War by Margena Holmes. As Evalycer Nicholls gets more involved with a group trying to revolt against a corrupt government on the planet Startia, she struggles between wanting change and doing the right thing. 

“Who is this?” Ian asked.
“This is my trainee, Evalycer Nicholls,” Jax explained. “It’s her first day out in the field.”
“Well, Evalycer,” Ian said, facing the man again. “What do you think we should do with him?”
Evalycer didn’t want to get the man in trouble for thinking about committing a crime, but she needed to be trusted by the government. They were going to jail him no matter what she said, which only slightly abated her misgivings. She stated the facts.
“He was about to commit a crime,” she said, her voice steady. “I read his mind and he was going to give it to his wife without her knowledge. That is illegal.”
Ian smiled and turned to Jax.
“I like her!” Ian enthused, slapping the table. “Make sure she does more field work with you to get trained up. The last trainee we had was too wishy-washy.”
Ian turned back to the man.
“We’re going to have to hold you overnight for this.”
The man lowered his head and swore. Evalycer felt bad for the man, and this made her resolve to make the changes needed to get Atouu out of office. Thinking about committing a crime wasn’t the same as going through with it, but for now, she had to play by the rules.
“Jax, take him down to the holding area and process him. Take Evalycer with you. It’ll be a good learning experience for her.”
Ian stood up, shook Jax’s hand, and turned to Evalycer.
“Keep up the good work,” he said as he shook her hand.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
Ian left the room with the evidence as Jax put the binders back on the man and he and Evalycer took him down two floors in the elevator to the holding area. She watched as Jax filled out the forms on his tablet. It took about fifteen minutes to get everything taken care of, then she followed Jax as he took the man to his holding cell.
“We’ll let you contact your wife in about an hour,” Jax told him as he hit the button to shut the cell door. The man sat down on the cot in the cell. Head in his hands, he looked defeated and scared.
Evalycer took a long look at the man before following Jax back upstairs to the offices. This was Atouu’s government—arresting people before they committed a crime, or for even thinking about committing a crime. It made Evalycer nauseous.
“Good work, by the way,” Jax said, turning toward her as they ascended the stairs. “Ian hardly likes anyone. He hates when people don’t know their own mind. You answered him confidently and truthfully. You may have a new friend here.”
Wonderful, she thought sarcastically.
Evalycer wasn’t sure how she felt about the praise. She wanted to do well and be trusted, but she hated, absolutely hated what she had to do to get it. She was going to have to stop caring about her feelings and anyone else’s to get this job done.

A Bite Of… Margena Holmes

Would you rather be a hero or a villain? 

I think somewhere in between, like a gray/dark Jedi. Sometimes being good is overrated, but you don’t want to be totally bad, either. Just hints of darkness, which I think we all have in us.

What time of day do you write best?

I write best in the mornings and early afternoons. By about 3 or 4PM I’m done for the day unless I’ve gotten into the zone and the scenes are just flowing out. Then I’ll only stop once it’s time to make dinner for the family. I can’t write in the evenings anymore (I used to be able to stay up until 1 AM writing, but I’m old now. Ha ha!), I just get too fidgety. 

Have you ever written somebody you dislike into a book, just so you could make them suffer? 

I haven’t yet, but I have plans to write in the crazy Korean lady who owns the liquor store I used to work at.  Her catch-phrase (since women couldn’t bring their purses into the store because of theft) was “One bad person makes everybody suffer.” Well, she will suffer in the story, for sure. *wink*

Margena Adams Holmes has been writing ever since she can remember, writing her first poem in 1st grade. At her day job, when she’s not kicking young kids out of R-rated movies, she’s sweeping up spilled popcorn from the hallways and aisles (she’s not your mother, though, so please take your trash out). Her days off consist of writing science fiction, space opera, and more movie theater shenanigans. Reading is a close second to writing, and she normally has her nose buried in a book.

She has written for Examiner.com and Yahoo Contributor Network, where she earned a Top 500 award for her story on the Black Forest fires in Colorado. Margena loves all the Harry Potter books and movies, Star Wars, Star Trek, The Orville, The Crown, and the Los Angeles Kings. You can find her on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and her own Website.

It was the divorce of the decade. Two A-listers, whose marriage had been ecstatically happy, were on the rocks. Mainstream and social media were in feeding frenzy. Fans scanned the words in his books and her songs, finding subtle knives aimed at each other.

They met for the last time before the divorce became final on a publicised mediation weekend in a secret location.

“I’m going to miss you,” she said, as she lay in his arms.

“Me too. Just think of the sales so far and how much free advertising we’ll have when we get back together next year.”

E.M. Swift-Hook

Maybe by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook . Sometimes we walk the edges of realty…

CHAPTER TWO: ANNIS

Annis looked narrowly at the guest who stood in her home, obviously ill at ease, and equally obviously totally bemused by finding herself an oasis of calm and cleanliness in the middle of a desert of dirt and destruction. This reaction to home would have been funny if it wasn’t sort of insulting. Why wouldn’t her place be clean and tidy? If you live with cats for company you tend not to like mess, she thought irritably. Then she laughed at herself. Why should she care what some human female thought of her. 
The woman opened her mouth to say who knew what, but Annis silenced her with a fierce look. She idly wondered how this Jessica came to be here, and why she had lied with the first words she spoke. The female knew precisely what would have happened to her at the hands of the drunken louts by the gate. She knew, and the waves of fear that rolled off her at that knowledge were what had prompted Annis to come to her aid. 
So. She’s here and you brought her here, Annis thought. Now you better talk to her.
Before she had chance to grope for the words to interact with her human visitor, two heavy thumps announced the arrival of a visitation of a feline nature. Unthinking, Annis opened the door and a matched pair of black panthers slid in.
Jessica gave a half scream.
“Not fear,” Annis managed before the cats bowled her over and started licking her with their rough, red tongues. How long that would have gone on for is open to conjecture, but the happy time was interrupted by more arrivals. Two more big cats, this pair of indeterminate breed, oozed into the room. One sat on its haunches, while the other stared inimically at Jessica. Annis wasn’t prepared to tolerate that. She growled a warning and the cat flattened its ears. 
“Cats not hurt.”
She thought perhaps she should say more, but her ears caught a faint sound at the same time as her nose was assailed by the smell of rotting flesh.
“It hunts…”
“What hunts?” Jessica’s whisper sounded only just on the right side of panic.
“Blood eater.”
Jessica opened her mouth to speak or scream, but Annis knew she could not be allowed to draw attention to herself.
“Silent.”
Greatly daring, and ignoring feline etiquette altogether, Annis leant forwards and put two fingers across the other female’s mouth.
“Must silent.”
She saw the panic being battled by something deep within the woman. Jessica’s eyes shadowed momentarily, then cleared as she found the strength needed to control her fear and swallow the questions that must be crowding her throat.
“Cats hide you,” Annis said, pushing the older woman onto the sleeping platform and arranging a black cat either side of her. Jessica looked at her in confusion, the fear was still in her eyes still and Annis smiled reassuringly.  Being unable to summon sufficient human words to explain her actions, she pinched her own nose with a finger and thumb.
“No smell. Old One comes. Blood Eater. Must not smell.”
Jessica’s face cleared and she managed a nod. Annis found herself feeling the beginnings of respect for the courage being shown by somebody who obviously knew nothing of the kind of life forms that inhabit the places humanity has abandoned. The silence came then, a cold silence, like the chilling silence that came after snow had fallen deeply. As if the world held its breath, not daring to breathe.
Then into the silence came the small sounds creeping, and slithering as every small creature fled out of the path of the Old One. Then it came. Something with multi-clawed feet and the heavy, scraping, scaly belly of the Blood Eater. Then it stopped. Silence. Cold and claustrophobic. In her mind Annis pictured the huge, ugly head she had senen before, lifting, nostrils opening and tongue sliding out to taste the air for blood.
She glanced at the bed, where the two big cats had pressed in against Jessica, their eyes, jewel bright. Jessica’s were closed and her face was white. Annis wondered if it was enough or if the living flesh of the human woman would call to the Blood Drinker despite the felines absorbing the perfume of her blood.

Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook

Part 6 of Maybe will be here next week…