The Jade Princess lifted an exquisite porcelain cup in one slender hand. She inhaled the aroma of green tea overlain with a bitter foreign smell that would have had a less controlled woman wrinkling her nose. She sipped the brew before signalling her women to leave her.

Replacing the cup on its stand she composed herself to wait.

Outside her pavilion, the sound of trampling boots grew louder as did the screams of frightened women.

The warlord was in the palace. 

When he kicked his way through the rice paper walls he found the princess perfectly poised. And completely dead.

©jj 2019

I can’t hear you any more. You are too far away now. For a long time I could hear you singing as you walked away from me. Now all there is is the wind soughing in the trees and that’s such a sad sound that I go inside and shut the door. I run my fingers over the smooth planed wood of the table and imagine it’s your skin under my hand. The dog lifts her silky head and catches my tears in her fur, standing patiently as I cry out the hurt of you leaving.

I mustn’t do this. I must not. I scrub my hands over my hot cheeks feeling the wetness with my fingertips.

What a mess. What a lonely mess. All I can hear now is my own breathing. All I can feel now is the cold lump in my chest where I used to have a heart. All I can do is bury my face in your pillow and inhale the smell of your frost crisped hair.

It has been the most part of a day now and the sky is tinted as red as my blood. I am so frozen that I do not even hear the opening of the door, I do not feel the cold breath of wind against my hot cheeks, I do not sense another person coming to stand behind me. It isn’t until a pair of arms comes around me from behind that I think I start to breathe again.

I turn and hide my face in the prickly wool of your jumper.
“You came back.” The creaky scratchy little voice barely sounds like me.
Your calloused palms cup my face, and I see the tears on your cheeks as I feel them on my own.
“I belong here,” you say, and the sky no longer smells of blood, and the dog goes back to her basket.

I feel in my soul that you will manage to leave me one day. But not today. And that’s enough.

©️ Jane Jago 2017

He cut an awkward figure on the stage, hunched over a guitar he seemed almost to frail to play, with his skinny legs hooked at odd angles around the bars of a tall stool.

His mastery of the guitar would have been enough, but then the voice that came from behind the curtain of overlong hair that hid his face was of a purity that broke hearts.

He sang of pain, and passion, and unrequited love, dragging each drop of sorrow from every line.

Afterwards he went home to his his fat laughing wife and their tribe of happy babies.

©jj 2019

.... or 'How To Speak Typo' by Jane Jago

arror (noun) – inaccurate missile fired from a baw 

baw (noun) – piece of bent wood with string, specifically designed for firing missiles at one’s own foot

cehck (verb) – the action of exploring the nasal cavity with an extra long fingernail

doog (noun) – a modern dance involving the raising of one’s right leg and symbolic sniffing of one’s partner’s posterior

ewach (noun) – small marsupial usually found under the bosom of spectacularly fat women

frabkly (adverb) – to complete an action in a sideways and scuttling manner reminiscent of a crustacean

gentrifly (verb) – to render an area yummy mummy free

gragoyle (noun) – stone carving heavily besmirched with pigeon shit

maffin (noun) – fat-free, sugar-free, gluten-free flavour-free muffin

mohtre (verb) – the act of reluctant parenting characterised by the ritual clip round the ear and excessive use of the naughty step

ognon (adjective) – of breath, being offensively scented with allium 

poek (verb) – the act of eating stringy meat

quuck (noun) – very bright yellow ‘cheese’ with absolutely no flavour and the texture of a rubber ball

sking (noun) – the scummy bit on the top of elderly custard

tooe (noun) – small digging rodent renowned for its crusty nails and unpleasant odour

understanking (verb) – crawling through a tunnel under a tank full of piranha fish

Disclaimer: all these words are genuine typos defined by Jane Jago. The source of each is withheld to protect the guilty.

It should have been their honeymoon. Chris should have been by her side as she stood in the valley of the rainbows, but he turned out to be a double-dealing bigamistic ratfink so she stood alone listening to the water and feeling the rainbows enter her body.

As the spray coated her eyelashes and the noise drove all thought from her brain she began to heal.

For the first time since one man’s lies tore her life apart, she smiled naturally.

The one who had waited in patient silence came to stand beside her and she clasped his hand. 

©jj 2019

Pure exhilaration.

His hair blown back in the wind, the thunder of hooves on the broad open tundra, racing flat-out to where the sky kissed the ground in the dizzying distance. To someone born and raised in the mountains, the featureless plain was disorienting and despite having lived here now for half a year, Durban still struggled with the odd mix of wonder and uneasiness it provoked. He let out a whoop as his pony reached the lonely, stunted tree that marked the turning point of the race.  Well ahead of his rival, he pulled his mount around almost on the spot, forcing it back on its haunches briefly, before releasing it to spring forward, back the way they had just come.

Now the horizon before him was not empty because the skyline was broken by the city of Keran. Standing proud, in bold-cut silhouette, buildings in all shades of brown and yellow mud-brick against a sky turning from grey to pink as the red sun slid down. The low-rise two or three storey houses were dominated to one side by the proud stone towers of the fortress citadel and to the other by the dual-domed spaceport which crouched like an alien on its edge of the city.

The other rider in this race, shouted a curse as Durban galloped past, flattened along the neck of his mount. Durban raised one hand in an insulting gesture and laughed as his fleet-footed pony galloped back to the start line.

He was standing beside the pony, loosening its girth when the other rider arrived, mount blown. That one was the better of the two beasts and in an even race would have won, but the bearded man who rode it was twice the bulk of Durban. He dismounted shaking his head and uncinched the saddle before leaving the pony to pull at the terse grass.

“Aye, well you won fair and square and I’m a man of my word. But don’t think I like it.”

Durban felt a glow of delight and could not keep the smile from spreading over his face.

“You’ll take me then?”

The other man wiped the back of his hand over his forehead, letting his breath out in a sigh. Then he closed the space between them and put his arms around Durban, holding him close for a moment, his cheek turned to rest on Durban’s hair.

“I’d not take anyone I cared for to the ‘City and I’d for certain and more not take you. I should never have agreed to your wager. I would never have if I’d not been so bloody drunk — ” he broke off and Durban looked up to see the bearded face set in a grim expression. His own smile faded a little and he reached out a hand to caress the back of the older man’s neck, running fingers through the shoulder length hair that was flecked here and there with grey.

“I’d say I’m sorry,” Durban told him, “but I’m not. I really want this — need this. I have to get away from here.”

“But why the bloody ‘City? They’ll eat someone like you alive and spit out the pips. Have you looked in the mirror recently? You — you look like a little girl, you are just too bloody young and innocent, you…”

Durban silenced the words by pulling the other man’s face gently down to meet his own for a kiss.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Willow’s human had lost a trial of physical strength, and now he was committed to an action of stupendous boneheadedness. He had given his word that he would marry the very next single woman he spoke to.

Willow had ensured he missed two calls from unsuitable candidates. But now he needed to put down his tools and pay attention.

She waited until the optimum moment before leaping on his broad back and sinking her claws in.

This broke his concentration just in time to take the call from a cat-loving librarian.

“Hey there Sukie. You fancy getting married Saturday?”

©jj 2019

Twice the Man completes the Bete Trilogy by Stephanie Barr.

Six months ago, a cargo ship loaded with teens and kids fleeing a war on their homeworld accidentally get tossed across the universe via wormhole and crash-land on a beautiful, life-filled planet. But all is not paradise. Shapeshifters among these castaways must use their powers to fight not only the planet’s dangers but also those among the humans who equate the shapeshifters (Bete) with demons. In books one and two (Beast Within and Nine Lives), these threats are addressed.

In Twice the Man, Rem, who shifts into a primitive man, and Cil, the Jade Cobra take center stage and must face the worst threat yet, the natives of this planet who have the power to take their powers away. The Bete will have to face who they are outside their talents, forge new alliances, and find a way to survive this most deadly challenge yet. And all before nightfall

“Rem,” Sinda said, lowering her voice to an intent whisper. “Try to teleport out of here. Now while no one’s watching.”
Rem, who had still not opened his eyes, used all of his consciousness to visualize Cil and will himself there. The pain neither abated nor increased. But he went nowhere. He willed himself to grow, to become his other form, but, if there was even the slightest change, he could not detect it. 
“No joy, eh?”
“None at all,” he whispered. “What now? I’d ask my talent, but I don’t have one anymore.”
He felt a slap on his arm, hard enough he opened his eyes without thinking, then reeled a couple of moments.
“Don’t you ever,” she hissed, “talk like that again. If you start moaning that you’re worthless, I will totally lose my temper. I can’t shift into anything and I haven’t exhibited even one tiny talent, but you think I’m worthwhile. And you’re right! Because I’m smart and capable and don’t just curl up and die when challenged. And neither do you. Last time you had an impossible problem, you developed a new talent instantly. Not that I’d turn it away today but say that doesn’t happen.”
“You don’t understand,” he said. 
“Yeah, boo-hoo. Grieve later, we got stuff to do. Gonna give up, let the bad guys win, fall all to pieces just because you’re down to the same set of tools the rest of us humans have? If you do, I’ll know your tolerance of humans was a lie from the beginning as well as every word of admiration you’ve ever given me.”
“That’s not fair!”
“I’ve heard you and Xander say that no one is superior to anyone else, that there isn’t Prime and sub-Prime and, I presume, humans a step below that. If you truly believe that, you need to snap out of it. I get that losing a super-cool set of tools to play with is a bummer, but we don’t have time for that. You have all the gifts of the smartest humans I know. Use ’em and let’s figure out a way out of this mess, and, yes that may mean never getting your powers back. I promise, if you help find a way free, I’ll let you wallow in your disappointment for two whole weeks, but only when we have the time to spare.”
Rem had put his hand over his abused eyes, but he lifted it to regard Sinda through one eye. She really was wrong. She was still beautiful. “If I come up with a way out of this and it works, will you take my interest in you seriously? Treat me enough like a grownup that I have a chance to woo you?”
“Woo?” she went into a peal of laughter. “We’re surrounded by hostiles who have purged the magic out of everyone, we are facing death, torment, or enslavement, and you want to woo me?”
“What better time will I ever have?”

A bite of... Stephanie Barr

Q1: Would you rather be a hero or a villain?

I’d have to be the hero. To me, evil is illogical. Power and wealth for its own sake is meaningless and I don’t understand (even today after tons of study) why it has driven so much pain and destruction, why people have accepted it as natural for it to be a driver. Power and money buy you what? I don’t get it. And the people most driven to obtain it do so much damage and the after effects are almost always the opposite of what they intended (ignominy and self-destruction) because history is clear that pure drive for these things end in failure in the long run (always). Other drivers less universal but still common for villains: revenge, one-up-manship for the glory of one-up-manship, and lust strike me as equally stupid. Justice is fine but not revenge, else you become no better than the monster you’re fighting. And I think we need to walk away from the notion that people can’t control lust as plausible. Check yourself into a mental hospital. Kindness, empathy, tolerance understanding cooperation: everything good we have today came from these things. If I’m not supporting them, I’m way too short-sighted to be intelligent.

So, the problem with me being the villain is I’d have to be stupid. And I don’t like playing stupid characters.  

Q2: What is worse, ignorance or stupidity?

Stupidity. Ignorance can be cured with will, education, and experience. Stupidity tends to willfully reject anything that challenges its supremacy. 

Q3: Chocolate cake or coffee cake?

Coffee cake. I like chocolate all right, but it tends to be too sweet (I prefer dark chocolate) whereas I love cinnamon, butter and, on a really good day, cream cheese. Always.

Although Stephanie Barr is a slave to three children and a slew of cats, she actually leads a double life as a part time novelist and full-time rocket scientist. People everywhere have learned to watch out for fear of becoming part of her stories. Beware! You might be next! You can find her on Facebook, Twitter, her blog, her webpage or sign up for her newsletter to keep in touch.

Anemones reminded Agnes of the rustling scarlet taffeta gown Lady Maude Cliffe had worn on a stiflingly hot night in Monte Carlo. 

Her ladyship set out for the casino in tearing spirits. In the morning they found her taffeta clad body floating in the harbour.

Society turned accusing eyes on her cuckolded husband, but the coroner disagreed. He ruled that Maude had got even drunker than usual and decided on a midnight dip. She kept her dress on – with fatal consequences.

Rodney Cliffe turned his back on London society, moving to an obscure village where his second wife grew anemones.

©jj 2019

A young nun shepherded Valentina away and Patsy dropped her head on Anna’s shoulder.
“She’s dying, you know.”
“I didn’t, though it explains what was puzzling me. By my calculations she is only about sixty. But looking at her.”
Patsy swiped a tired hand over her eyes to the great detriment of her make-up and sniffed inelegantly.
“Bone cancer. In its final stages. She’s quite prepared to die. It’s just leaving her son. Shit Anna, it breaks your heart.”
Anna opened her arms and hugged her friend, before dredging up a handkerchief and doing her best with the ruin of Patsy’s carefully applied make-up.
“C’mon Pats. Let’s go bookend Rod. He’s kind of comforting when you are blue.”
“True. He is.”
The two women held hands like children as they crossed to where Rod sat on a huge sofa. He looked up from his phone and smiled.
“Good news girls. There’s a chopper on its way. Even if I have to stay here and sort the bomb fallout, I reckon you two need to go home. Come and sit down now.”
They sat either side of him and he draped an arm around each of them. Patsy sighed.
“It’s been a bit of a day…”
Rod dropped a affectionate kiss on the top of her blonde head.
“I reckon it has.”
After that there seemed to be very little to say so they sat quietly. Anna thought Patsy might be dozing until her friend spoke in a little thread of a voice.
“Rod. Why am I feeling so guilty about shooting that man? I mean, if I hadn’t got good and angry he was prepared to kill Valentina, and us, and then blame us for her death. So why am I halfway to being sick about it?”
When Rod answered, his voice seemed even deeper than ever, and he spoke without any of his usual humour.
“You are experiencing what all decent human beings feel the first time they encounter extreme violence. It’s reaction. Anna will be feeling much the same even though it was you pulled the trigger. My advice is just sit quiet and try if you can doze a bit.”
Anna thought he was talking rubbish, but found herself suddenly unaccountably tired so she rested her head on his obliging chest and just let herself drift.
The next thing she was aware of was the sound of a familiar voice.
“Wake up love, it’s time to go home.”
She opened her eyes to see Sam smiling down at her.
“Sam. How did you…”
“Came on a helicopter. Me and Jim thought you two might be pleased to see us.”
Anna hurled herself into his arms. He received her with evident pleasure and buried his face in her hair.
“Don’t frighten me like that again. Please. When they said the Range Rover had been car bombed I thought my heart would stop.”
“We were in here when the car went up.”
“I know love. But it made me realise that you were dealing with people who didn’t care who they killed.”
“I guess that is true. But Pats had it worse.”
“Yeah. Rod called and said she needed Jim.”
Anna turned her head to see Patsy all but extinguished by Jim’s huge embrace.
“Yeah. She did. And I got you as a bonus.”
Rod stretched until his joints cracked.
“It’s a good job you men turned up. I was getting serious backache acting as a double pillow.”
Patsy snaked out a hand and boxed his ears, at which he grinned delightedly.
Jim lifted his head and grinned at his brother.
“Shall we go home, bro?”

THE END

Jane Jago

‘The Cracksman Code’ will be available as a complete book later this year. Keep an eye out for a new Sunday Serial coming next week!