Six-year-old Connie broke her nose. Pa couldn’t afford a doctor, so it was left alone. From that day, nobody saw anything but her bent and flattened nose.

Other girls were bought flowers and ribbons. But not Connie, who smiled her lopsided smile and got on with life.

The day a tongue-tied sheepherder arrived at the back door with a bunch of cornflowers and put them in her hands she blushed rosily.

“Why me?” she asked.

“Your eyes,” he whispered, “are as blue and kind as a summer sky.”

Their daughter had blue eyes – and a tiny nose.

©jj 2019

The start of the story Tongueless Caverns by E.M. Swift-Hook, a Fortune’s Fools story from the Inklings Press anthology Tales From The Underground. You can listen to this on YouTube.

Sanity slept in one of the wells below the deepest workings of the abandoned mine.
Yris knew because he dreamed of her often, dressed in pink froth and smiling with glass eyes at the abyssal dark. She had left him so many years ago and she had left the child with him. Perhaps she thought it a fair exchange, but she was wrong. Without her, he found being had long since become more than a burden. But he had continued to be, even so.
One hundred years to the day.
Nothing reached out from the past to offer solace. Only the weary shades of loss and bitter disappointment – of hopes raised only to plummet, like burnt out comets no longer trailing their glory and fire. The uncertain light flickered on the marl-plastered wall which held the record of those years. A private diary of his humiliation. Half his life lived out in these caverns.
Yris ran a hand over the protruding notches of stone he had set in the wall at the end of each year, the last still warm to the touch from the rock-melting heat of the energy weapon he had used to fix it in place. He thought about the final vial of life, cradled in its hiding place and wondered if he was right to wait longer.
“Will you at least eat?”
The voice made him turn, startled, but slower than he should. His ears, even with the deft enhancements he had created, no longer warned him of quiet footsteps on the cavern floor. He felt himself a fool for his moment of panic. The child was now a woman, this woman, who held out a bowl of something edible. He had long since stopped asking what. Her expression held pity. It perturbed him.
He should pity her, one who had lived out her whole life in the dark here with him,one who had no haunting memories of sunlight and open skies. No haunting, taunting, memories, echoing with the long silent voices of a lost time. And the laughter. He did remember the laughter – the taunting laughter – and sanity crying.
“You should eat, Gran’pa.” She put the bowl on his table, the one not covered with broken and disembowelled technology others had scavenged so he might build yet another wingless hope. Now she came over. Close to, he remembered this was not the child grown to a woman, this was the child of that woman’s child, also now grown. He could see nothing of sanity in her. His legs weakened as that realization grew stronger.
One hundred years.

E.M. Swift-Hook

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.

©jj 2019

From The Michigan Dogman Files by Derek Borne & Rowena Rede a YA superhero science fiction short which is available to preorder on Kindle.

Once they were outside, Thatcher directed them out back between the restaurant and a gas station.
A kitchen staffer taking a quick break ignored them. Smartphones were a spy’s best friend and he was deep into his social media, completely oblivious to the smart-dressed blond guy and the two costumed dudes he was talking to.
“Apparently the Ultimate Agency doesn’t believe in keeping a low profile,” Thatcher remarked, pointing to their supersuits.
“You like?” Devon stretched his arms back and forth. “I even sleep in this thing sometimes, it’s really quite comfy.”
Brett finished a morsel of chicken wing. “It’s a fibre of my design. If you ever need one for a mission, or—”
“Thanks, I’ll pass.” By now, Thatcher wished he had a drink—and not the kind you’d get in a pizza place.
Devon tore another bite off his slice. “It’s soft and stretchy, though. Plus, it doesn’t chafe against your you-know-what area—”
“Thaaaat’s enough.” A vein in Thatcher’s forehead began throbbing. Shadow Net training had literally beat stealth into him and he couldn’t fathom an agency that showed up in costume and acted so casual with civilians. He wondered if they would have told the hostess what they were really doing there if he hadn’t intervened.
“Heck no, we wouldn’t needlessly involve civilians.” Devon locked his serious brown eyes with Thatcher as he waved his slice for emphasis. “This pizza…is excellent by the way. Next time, we’re getting the Hawaiian. Bet it’s equally good.” After wiping his hands quickly on his supersuit and extended one to Thatcher. “I’m Devon, by the way, also known as the Ultimate Agent.”
Wary, Thatcher extended his hand.  Did that guy just…read my mind? “Park Thatcher.”
Brett chimed in, “How about we don’t use our psychic powers on new acquaintances, Dev. This guy looks jumpy.” Then he extended his hand to Thatcher. “Brett, codename’s the Specialist. Nice to meet you, Park.”
“Call me Thatcher. Park is what my mother calls me. So listen, did you get briefed on the mission before you got here?”
Brett narrowed his gaze and cleared his throat as he worked a bit of wing meat out of his bottom molars.
Meanwhile, Devon finished his food and managed to toss its crumpled remnants into the recycling bin behind him.
Thatcher wasn’t going to admit it, but Devon had made a pretty impressive shot. He’d managed to sink it without even turning his head.
Arms folded, the Ultimate Agent gave Thatcher a determined stare, ready for business.
Brett spoke first. “Our director wasn’t privy to much intel. We’re acting on good faith that Shadow Net is an ally and that you’ll tell us what’s going on.”
Thatcher stood tall and squared his shoulders. “How much do you know about the Michigan Dogman legend?”

A Bite of… Derek Borne & Rowena Rede

Q1: What do you  like best about collaborating in writing a book?

Rowena – I enjoyed working with an established author. DB has been very helpful in regards to teaching me the ropes, plus it was just fun working with someone who likes the same things you do.

Derek – I like the fact that you get to take two writing styles and mesh them together. In this case, it’s a lot of fun to take characters from each of the author’s universes and do a crossover. Who doesn’t love crossovers?

Q2: What was the hardest aspect of the collaboration?

Rowena – For me, I think it was hard to get inside the minds of Derek’s characters. They’re already established and so different from Thatcher (my character) that I would often pause in writing scenes and think, “How would DB handle this scene?” Or, “Would Devon really say that?” Ultimately though I enjoyed the whole process and I hope Derek did too. 

Derek – I have to agree with Rowena. Getting into the head of her character Thatcher took a bit of imagination, even after given some direction from her of how he carries himself, how he would react. But that’s also the fun of co-writing. You get to share ideas and figure out how you can develop a character in ways neither of us would’ve thought before, even when it comes to my own guys. 

Q3: What is your favourite fast food and why?

Rowena – Chinese take out. I’m a sucker for shrimp and vegetable lo-mein and dumplings. We have one Chinese cuisine restaurant in our area and I have them on speed dial. It’s good comfort food and it tastes even better after it’s been in the refrigerator overnight.

Derek – When I’m in a pinch, there’s a place 5 minutes from my house that makes smoothies, buddha bowls, and everything is sugar-free, dairy-free and gluten-free. Now everyone’s gonna think I’m some kind of hippy… Ooooooh, he’s one of thoooooose people. 😛

Rowena Rede

Rowena Rede lives on a small farm in rural West Virginia. She’s an avid pop culture and book enthusiast. She misses the good old days when she had her own pull list at the local comic book shop in the next county. A self-professed curmudgeon who loves reading and writing Historical, Science Fiction, Paranormal, Horror, and Urban Fantasy books when time allows. She is quite proud of her humongous TBR Pile which will never be finished much like her Netflix queue. She always has time for a good meme and has never turned down a carbohydrate. If you also enjoy these things, feel free to follow her on social media.

📌 Facebook: www.facebook.com/rowenaredauthor
📌 Instagram: www.instagram.com/rowenarede2019
📌 Amazon: www.amazon.com/author/rowenarede
📌 Twitter: www.twitter.com/rederowena
📌 Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/rowenarede2019
📌 Facebook Fan Group: https://tinyurl.com/y3exjkwy 

Derek Borne

Derek Borne lives in Paris, Canada (thought it was going to say France, right?) with his wife and moody bearded dragon Ziggy. When he isn’t writing superhero spy novels, he’s belting out Phantom of the Opera, playing his guitar, and watching Marvel superhero movies and TV shows, playing hockey, and making movie references daily.

Further Intel Pick-Up Locations:
📌 Official Website: www.derekborne.weebly.com
📌 Amazon Page: http://amzn.to/2uz6cHl
📌 GoodReads Page: http://bit.ly/2xsozxt
📌 FB Page: http://bit.ly/2xzAmL6
📌 FB Fan Club – The Ultimate Agency: http://bit.ly/2xjfgkp
📌 Twitter: https://twitter.com/dbultimagent
📌 IG: https://www.instagram.com/the.ultimate.agent.novel
📌 YouTube: http://bit.ly/2hEvZsf

The red-faced man had a bullwhip in his hand.

“She tied good and tight?”

“Sure is Pa, wouldn’t want her gettin’ away.”

The terrified girl heard coarse laughter, then the whistle and crack of the whiplash. The pain as it cut her skin was excruciating. 

She heard the whip crack again and again. And she heard screaming. But she felt no more pain. Who screamed? She knew not, feeling  gratitude that it was someone else under the lash, and shame for that feeling.

Gentle hands cut her down.

“We are Nemesis,” a voice whispered, “and you are safe now.”

©jj 2019

Dying to be Roman by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook is a whodunit set in a modern day Britain where the Roman Empire still rules. If you missed previous episodes you can start reading from the beginning. You can listen to this on YouTube.

The Tribune breezed into the room like a beak-nosed hurricane. She rather wished that she could see her new partner’s face when the formidable Decimus Lucius Didero lifted her in his brawny arms and kissed her on both cheeks. She wriggled and kicked and he put her down.
“Llewelyn,” he grunted, “you take care of my little foster sister.”
Dai looked as if he couldn’t think what to say. Julia was very sure this was not the way he usually saw Romans interacting. The Tribune grinned.
“She will grow on you, and she can’t help being Roman any more than you can help coming from a place where they make up songs about everything and shag sheep. Now. I’ll assign you a contubernium of praetorians.”

Julia winced inwardly knowing how that would sound to the Briton and was not surprised that Dai’s looked furious although he said nothing. Decimus smiled a wolf’s smile.
“Calm down, you and Julia will still be in command and you can keep your own posse too, if you can trust them all. It’s just that my lads can get away with doing things you and yours never could. And they don’t have to wait for anybody’s permission. I’m thinking that by the time your boss has consulted all the people who are paying her, our bird could easily have flown the coop,”
Once again, Dai kept his mouth shut and Julia could see the knowledge that Decimus was right, openly warring with his loyalty to the force to which he belonged. She gave him a sympathetic look and he actually smiled back at her, a thin smile to be sure, but definitely an upward tilt of the lips. The Tribune, who she knew would have missed nothing, grunted at them, but it wasn’t an unfriendly sound.

“Right. Listen carefully. There are some things you need to know but I’m not supposed to tell you. Privileged information, praetorian confidentiality and that kind of merda. Well I’m not having it. My little sister doesn’t go to war unprepared.” He pointed a thick finger at the pair of them. “You need to know about your corpses. Bellicus and Docca were in big trouble. They were being targeted by a betting syndicate who try to get players taking money to fix Games. And I don’t mean any of your little Londinium locals, I mean the big boys from Rome. Those people do not play nice when someone says ‘no’. They also don’t take kindly to anyone poking a nose in their affairs, no matter who it might be.

“More of a worry, though, is this Luca. He left Rome under a cloud. It was either exile or death. He chose exile. You don’t need to know precisely what he did but you do need to know that at least six very powerful families had reason to want him punished. Whether or not they succeeded at arm’s length, I don’t care to speculate. Just be aware that he was very good at making enemies. The interesting thing is he was supposed to stay in Gallia Lugdunensis where Daddy has extensive estates around the town of Lutetia, under a form of house arrest. But clearly he didn’t and I heard today his wife didn’t either. We have no idea where she is right now.”
Julia looked at her old friend.
“That explains a lot. That old cunnus Marius looked as if he was eating merda when he had me in his office and sent me on this mission. He about halfway forbade me to bring Edbert and the dogs.”
“I hope you ignored him.”
“I did.”
“Good. You’ll need them. But you will also have an apartment here. Inns are insecure at the best of times. This is starting to smell bad.”
Julia opened her mouth to object, then thought better of it. Things were indeed smelling bad. She began to formulate a thought, but before she had time to work it through, Didero turned his attention to Dai.
“You’ll move your men in here for the duration of this case.”
Again, Julia could see the flare of pride in the Briton’s blue eyes being quickly damped by rational thought. She realised, at that moment, that she was dealing with a man who lived in a steady state of war with his own passions, a very Celtic trait. Somehow that thought just made him more intriguing.
“As you will, dominus,” Dai said. “And I see that would be safer. We’ll be in the barracks?”
“They will be, yes. They can share with the men assigned to you and Julia. I’ll arrange your accommodation too.”
Dai bowed his head.
“Dominus.”

Part V will be here next Sunday. If you can’t wait to find what happens next you can snag the full novella here.

Watching is a lonely job even if what you are bound to observe is your own creation. The One sighed, gustily enough to shake mountains and topple tall trees. A solitary tear splashed continents and drowned islands, but somehow the Creator could not bring Themself to care.

The hands that once built mountains toyed idly with a length of hempen string, knitting something nameless and small.

But when They saw what Their fingers had wrought They plucked a single feather from Their wings and wove it into the waiting string.

A bright bird flew to Their shoulder.

“Pitāḥ,” it said.

©jj 2019

It’s not only when you travel in your dreams
Borne up aloft on strange, fantastic, streams
Where nothing ever is exactly as it seems
And all is gold that ever brightly gleams.

Reach for the stars and you’ll have them in your grasp
But you can not know what you seek to clasp
For each twinkled point will burn and cut and rasp
And learning that cold truth can impact so you gasp.

‘Cos oft what we need is not what we desire
Hearts are seldom ruled by dreams which inspire
Instead, tainted by greed, of what we can acquire
Not by the high ideals to which we should aspire.

So cast out your net as you glide through the stars
But keep your eyes peeled for what those really are
And know what seems beautiful and lovely from afar
Might be a nightmare that forever your life mars…

E.M. Swift-Hook

From Haruspex Trilogy Edge of Doom a Fortune’s Fools book by E.M. Swift-Hook. You can listen to this on YouTube.

Theana came through with a place to stay — Rota property, kept for use when visitors or stop-over staff needed — a lovely little apartment in an upmarket complex called Riverside. The apartment was designed for a single person with a busy life and the whole complex included its own retail and entertainment zone. Everything you might want or need was provided on the doorstep with some style and elegance. It might not be full on luxury living but it was aspirational and very comfortable. As a quiet and low-profile holiday home in the ‘City, it was pretty perfect.
Charis could stay in and enjoy the views over the river from her window, or wander out to sit on the banks in the local bar or take in a live show from the best local talent in the open-air venue in the heart of the complex. Within a couple of days, she had begun to feel relaxed. Theana was in touch every day and updating her, even if only to say there was no news. If anything bad happened to Foss, Charis was pretty sure Theana would hear about it too and let her know.
A few more days went by and she got to know a couple of the locals, who she used her ‘Charlie Sweet’ ID with and told she was on a rest break from a heavy schedule with Rota. They were good companions for her evenings and the days she spent linked out or with screens, catching up on current affairs, the latest releases and celebrity gossip. Sometimes sitting by the river or on her private balcony or, on dark days, staying in.
One evening — on a light day — she had been out to see a talented dance group with her new friends and went back with one of them for a drink and a chat. When she left to go back to her own apartment, the sun was warm and bright and she took the more scenic route along one of the higher walkways, looking down over the plaza by the river.
The ‘City had its own beauty spots and this view was one of them. The river was wide at this point and had a small chain of islets where some of the graceful bridges that linked the two halves of the metropolis, alighted briefly before taking off in curving parabolas to the other bank. Even when the walkway moved into the residential area, the river view was still there, although at times it vanished from sight behind the elegant blocks of housing.
It was because she was looking ahead to where the next view of the river would appear that she saw him — walking quite quickly and with purpose, and her heart moved from her chest into her throat. Jazatar Baldrik. She had just turned a corner, so unless he looked up and to the side he wouldn’t see her. Instinct made her keep still to avoid triggering his peripheral vision, but she comforted herself that even if he did look up he might well not know it was her. She was in shadow, so not recognisable from that distance. Her first thought was that he must be there looking for her — but that made no sense as her apartment was not even in this section of the complex — she still had a good walk to get back to it.
It was then she saw the other man. He was below her and half concealed by the walkway she was on. What made her notice him was he had just produced an energy snub. His gaze was fixed in the direction hers was, but from where he stood, lower than her, Jaz was no longer in his field of vision and the route the dark haired man was taking wouldn’t bring him back far enough out to be in this man’s range. Without even thinking about it Charis found she had her own energy snub in one hand as she watched the two men below her.
Then the situation suddenly changed. Instead of keeping along his previous route, Jaz crossed the roadway towards the service entrance of one of the residential blocks. He was still invisible to the man with the gun, but would be a perfect target once he reached the service door.
Charis felt her lungs adhere to her ribs.
This was a setup. An ambush. Or in ‘City speak  — a street drop.
There were only a couple of moments to think. She could do nothing and let whatever was going to happen go ahead. That would be the safest path. If she tried to intervene she would draw attention to herself from people she would much rather didn’t notice her. There was also the slight issue of whatever security surveillance the complex had — which was extensive. But not to act would mean letting the man Vitos held to be his closest friend most likely die.
The thought of Vitos conjured him into existence. There he was, moving along a parallel walkway where it looped ahead of her, checking the ground, covering for Jaz. But the angle of the walkway made both Vitos and the man with the gun invisible to each other for a few more vital moments.
She could do nothing, stay safe and Vitos might still see the man and act in time. Or she could place herself at risk and be sure Jaz lived.
She had her own weapon trained on the man below her. She saw him move to adjust his aim as Jaz entered his field of vision and in the same instant, she fired. The man gave a loud gasp and Charis heard the clatter as his weapon fell from his fingers. She had no idea if she had killed him or if he still lived and she had no intention of staying to find out. As soon as she had fired she had stepped back behind the corner. Vitos might have seen her, but with the concealing shadow, should not recognise her. The last thing she wanted right now was to have to explain herself to Jaz Baldrik.
Even as she was thinking through that possibility, she was walking quickly back along the walkway, acutely aware of where the security monitors might observe her. She tried to choose a path that would disguise where she had come from and then changed course a few times after that until she was as sure as she could be that no one was physically following her. Then she called up one of the mini-taxis to run her back to her own apartment block.
Her heart was still hammering when she got through the door and locked it. That was an illusion of sanctuary, of course. If she had been recognised by Vitos or if any interested parties checked the available security surveillance — well, there were too many ‘ifs’ which went against her. There was nothing she could do about any of them so she made herself a mild sedative drink and did her best to get to sleep.
She woke early and over breakfast, a local newslink arrived from the management of the complex. They wished to apologise to anyone affected by the disturbance the previous night outside the Riverwatch Heights apartments. They were still investigating what had happened but, unfortunately, the security surveillance drones and monitors for that sector of the complex had been temporarily offline due to circumstances beyond their control. Any witnesses or those who had relevant information were asked to come forward.
The impact of that was just sinking in when Theana linked her.
“Charity? Sorry to wake you so early but I just got told we are in the clear. Your friend and mine Halkom Dugsdall even came by to apologise in person, but I told him there was no need and I would pass it on to you.”
Charis felt as if she had just broken the surface having been underwater too long.

E.M. Swift-Hook.

They told him he would be a beautiful butterfly one day, but, to be brutally honest, Cedric wasn’t impressed.

“Why’d I wanna be one of them wingy things?” he mumbled. “When I got a good life here. It’s warm and bright and there is much to eat.”

A cock sparrow looked at him in some disgust.

“Don’t you want to fly?”

“Nope. Looks far too energetic.”

Cedric took another bite of deliciously green leafiness and ignored the bird’s aggravating twittering.

“Butterfly. Humph.”

Cedric never spun himself a cocoon, and never metamorphosed, living out his small life happy, fat and stripey.

©️jj 2019