Her unknown admirer sent her flowers every day. Simple garden flowers simply arranged, but as freshly lovely as the dawn.

On Valentines Day she searched through the extravagant bouquets until she found her admirer’s card on a hand tied bunch of anemones. 

They made her smile and she chose them over orchids and forced roses. She carried them to the ball that night, selecting a dress that echoed their subtle colours.

Perhaps he watched as she held his flowers to her peachy cheek. Perhaps she danced with him that night. Perhaps he even stole a kiss.

She would never know.

©️jj 2019

The whole thing rolled on for another cycle, with its own momentum, setting their agenda, pushing them further into places they didn’t want to be and forcing them to fight to hold ground they had never wanted to conquer. But whilst Jaz was aware that he and Blondie could see some purpose in it all, knowing why they were gridlocked into the ‘City, Avilon was just getting restless.
“We got that stake yet?” he asked, as they walked to the doors of one of the upmarket casinos now under the dominion of Durban Chola. “The one we were going to earn so we could leave? Or are we staying here — doing this — until, whenever?”
Jaz mustered a grin of sorts. He could wish Avilon would choose his moments better. This visit to Tolly Hagen was long overdue and they had a few important matters to discuss regarding some missing back payments from his upmarket nightclub. They needed to be focused on that.
“We’re getting there, but right now I need —”
The mini-drone shot burned into Avilon’s shoulder. Even as he went down, Jaz had the thing sited and fired to clip it out of the air.  A classic Special’s technique, the kind where you either learned to do things the low-tech way or you died trying. Then he was moving for the cover Avilon had already rolled into, a small alcove in the decorative collonaded facade around the main doors into the building.
“If they have more of them —” Avilon started.
“Then we’ll have a busy time, brother,” Jaz told him. “How’s the shoulder?”
“Not good.”
Jaz made his decision.
“Let’s get out of here. We’ll sort this bastard another time.”
No one tried to stop them leaving and Jaz linked to the man they had been going to talk to as soon as they were heading back to the mansion and it’s small clinic.
“Jaz, my friend, You were supposed to be here by now. Where are you?”
“Your drone missed, Tolly. But I won’t.”
“Drone? That wasn’t me, Jaz.” The other man was suddenly sounding frightened. “Why would I set you up for something?”
“It was on your doorstep Tolly, don’t pretend you knew nothing about it ’til I just told you. Your security would have seen it and should have shot it out the air long before it got near me.”
“Jaz — you have got to believe me. I didn’t know. Give me a couple of days I’ll find out what happened — please, Jaz. This is not my doing.” He was close to tears from terror.
Jaz thought a moment.
“This time tomorrow Tolly. And that’s the biggest favour anyone ever loaned you.”
“I know. Thank you, my friend, you will not regr —”
Jaz cut the link.
“What is that about?” Avilon asked.
“I don’t know. But I’m not going to play games around it. I’m getting us in some military quality hardware. Armament belts. Weapons. If people want to get in my sandbox they can start paying the price on the door to do so.”

From Haruspex: Edge of Doom by E.M. Swift-Hook a Fortune’s Fool book. 

“We’re in space. There cannot be water dripping.”

“No. What’s that smegging noise then?”

“There is no noise.”

But Zammo knew there was noise. He also knew nobody was gonna do smeg. So he suited up. Getting one of the more reliable drones to man the airlock he went out. He turned his face to the direction from which the noise had come, and his jaw dropped so fast it cracked against the plexiglass of his helmet. His feet were on solid ground, and there was vegetation around him. He took off his helmet and walked away from the ship.

©️jj 2019

“Captain’s Log update. Further to the recent encounter with the last human colony in the Calamarti Sector, The Golden Strand is currently moving into uncharted space. We are following up on reports of the existence of a mythical and demonic alien race. The Kyruku.”
Captain Gervain’s elegant and poised outline could be seen silhouetted in profile against the receding planet as she finished recording her log.
“Do you believe the colonists, Captain?”
The youthful-looking science officer lacked expression in both her voice and her face. Despite the question, she displayed zero curiosity. It was as if the captain’s response, whatever it might be, was of no more than academic interest to her.
“I don’t know,” Gervain admitted after a moment of reflection. “Sub-Commander Stude seems to think the colonists have some genuine grounds to believe they do exist. He says the landing team he led met too many who had stories to tell about them for it to be a complete myth. But all I really heard from him was wild stories of the curse they are supposed to carry.”
“It is completely irrational to believe such accounts,” Science Officer Chay agreed, her tone clipped. “To accord any credence to the entire concept of a curse requires an irrational and superstitious mindset.”
The captain lifted one eyebrow and leaned closer to her colleague, lowering her voice so the rest of the crew wouldn’t hear. “Between you and me, I think you have Arlan Stude pinned, Xexe. You don’t get much more irrational and superstitious than he is.” She smiled knowingly at her science officer, who blinked and tilted her head.
“I am not sure I can agree with you, Captain. In my experience, Sub-Commander Stude makes highly rational decisions.”
The captain drew a sharp breath, but whatever she had been going to say next was silenced on her tongue. The lights on the flight deck suddenly flickered and a siren began blaring the “High Alert” warning. Both women turned and looked towards the huge viewing screen, just as a brick-shaped vessel shimmered into view against the backdrop of stars. It looked ugly, with the rusted colour of its hull and the alien technology appearing to human eyes like protruding pincers, needles and claw shapes.
“Will you look at that?” The expression on Captain Gervain’s face was a well-crafted blend of wonder and horror. Beside her, the deadpan of the science officer was a brilliant counterpoint. High emotion set against pure mentation.
“I see it, Captain. It is there. The Kyruku. Do. Exist.”
Two such different female faces, one shot. Perfect.

Joah Meer glanced from the monitor view back to the studio where the two women stood in an empty room staring, rapt, at a blank wall. They really were very good. She had them hold their pose for a few seconds longer than was strictly needed, stopped the recording and smiled.
“Nice work. Take five and then we’ll be setting up to get the fight scene recorded.”
Heila, whose role as captain of The Golden Strand had lasted three seasons so far, stretched slowly as if she had been cramped, and glared at Joah.
“I’m not doing that hurling myself around on the floor thing again, so don’t ask.”
“Never, darling,” Joah said, soothingly. “You might get another bruise, and you have a full-exposure publicity shoot tomorrow.”
Beside her, no longer stone-faced, Zarshay snorted and broke into a grin. Heila scowled at her.
“So funny?”
“Full exposure? Oh my, the life of a leading lady.”
Which was enough to send Heila stalking out in high dudgeon. Zarshay was still grinning as she navigated through the two tech-droids and their human keeper, Wilf, to reach Joah’s console. Joah opened her arms and hugged her tight, lifting her off her feet as they kissed.
“Seriously? You have booked Heila for a skin shoot?”
Joah shook her head.
“Of course not, it’s just a usual media thing, but she has been getting so precious recently, I’ve been tempted. It’s like she thinks we should change Starways Pathfinders to The Heila Camarthy Show.”
Zarshay made a rude noise and laughed.
But something of the tension was still there when they were adding the space-battle scenes.

From ‘Star Dust’ by E.M.Swift-Hook one of the stories set in The Last City a shared-world science fiction anthology from Dust Publishing

Before the world drove them apart he helped her to plant daffodils on her parents’ grave. 

When the green shoots poked their noses through the grass, the sight of them hurt so much she could barely draw breath. 

But today was Mum’s birthday, so she dragged herself to the cemetery moving like an automaton. The grave was covered with yellow, nodding daffodils and that was beyond bearing. She knelt on the cold ground weeping silently, when a voice she never thought to hear again spoke from behind her.

“I’m home. If you will have me…”

She turned into his embrace.

©️jj 2019

Into the Madness is out tomorrow and is the final instalment of the epic fantasy series, Soul Forge trilogy by Richard H Stephens.

The third book digs deeper into the lives and emotions of the main characters as they struggle to find a way to defeat a seemingly unconquerable foe. Just when they are about to make a difference, they suffer a crippling tragedy. Making matters worse, they discover the evil sorcerer has found the key to unlocking an ancient spell, that once enacted, will summon forth an obsidian nightmare and pitch the realm into the madness.

At fourteen, Melody had fled into the heights of Mount Cinder with Silurian to escape the fate of their parents. Her memory of her childhood before that day was of a simple, happy life. Her parents had kept to themselves, living off the land—growing enough to support their family with little else to spare.
Their only excitement used to come on the odd occasion a weary traveller found themselves in need of a place to stay for the night. Altirius Mountain trolls were not the type of creatures one dared leave themselves vulnerable to.
The sight of her brother’s reaction broke her heart as tears rolled down his cheeks.
She put a comforting hand on his thigh. “A sad homecoming, indeed.”
She spotted the charred remains of the big oak tree they climbed as children, their parents buried beneath its charred boughs. She said past the lump in her throat, “Come on. Let’s say hi.”
She dismounted and threw the reins around a shrivelled bush poking through the snow. Unlashing her staff, she spoke a few words, encouraging the hidden runes along the dark length of wood to life. “Get down here and I’ll warm us up.”
Silurian followed her lead. Arm in arm, with Melody’s staff glowing between them, they walked by the mound that had been their home.
They passed the ruined barn and stopped beneath the eerie remains of the oak tree.
Silurian knelt on one knee, brushing at the snow around its base. 
Melody helped him clear away fallen pieces of the burnt tree to uncover the slight irregularity in the ground marking the graves. Of the two wooden crosses Silurian had fashioned from branches all those years a go, there was no sign.
Knowing what she did of their heritage, Melody found herself full of unanswered questions about her mother. Why hadn’t she told them of their lineage? If the Grimward could be trusted, and she saw no reason why the old spirit would lie, Mase Storms End had descended from a long line of magic users. Sure, her mother had good reason to be discreet with that knowledge. Had she been found out, the family would have faced persecution from the ignorant, idol worshipping, peasantry.
Melody sniffled, wiping wet cheeks on her robe. In the end, what difference did it make? Death at the hands of the people, or being murdered by Helleden’s minions? Either way, her parents were dead. They had lived in exile from their own people.
“It’s not fair.”
Silurian stopped clearing the unmarked graves and looked her in the eyes. “No, it’s not, but I’m damn well going to make someone answer for their deaths. They never did anybody wrong. Mother’s only crime was being born a Storms End. Father’s only fault was loving her.” 
Melody put her arm around his shoulders and pulled him in close. His words sparked a feeling deep inside her she hadn’t known herself capable of.
Revenge.

A Bite of... Richard H Stephens

Q1: Why do you write? 

I started writing when I was 9. At the time, neither publication nor the promise of money was in my mind. Around 18 or 19, I began dreaming of publication, but back in the 1980’s, you either landed a publisher or you didn’t get published. That process was so daunting to me that I never pursued it.
A few years ago, I came to realization that the extreme stresses I faced daily during my job was going to put me in an early grave so, with the loving support of my wife, I resigned and set my mind to both publication and earning a living. 
I am about to publish my 5^th title so I have achieved my goal of turning my fantasy into a reality. With regard to my passion bearing fruit, let’s just say, I have a few things to learn about marketing and promotion, but it’s coming. 

Q2: What time of day do you write best?

I used to write my best in the evening and late into the night but as I have grown older, and especially since I now write fulltime, I’m usually most productive between lunchtime and supper.

Q3: Have you ever written somebody you love into a book?

All the time. My loved ones sneak their way into my writing without my knowledge. The story of Silurian and Melody share many inferences of two of my children. I hadn’t really thought about it until someone pointed it out.
I named the main character in my next series by combining my daughter’s name with my wife’s. Rebecca and Caroline became Reecah.
I’ve already picked out other name combinations of family members but those might prove to be spoilers, so I’ll stop right here.

Richard H Stephens in his own words

I began writing circa 1974, a bored child looking for something to do. ​As my reading horizons broadened, so did my writing.
A trip to a local bookstore saw the proprietor introduce me to Stephen R. Donaldson and Terry Brooks. My writing life was forever changed.
I worked in a warehouse for 22 years, supporting my family, before I reattended school to complete my education. Graduating with honours, I joined our local Police Service.
In 2017, I resigned from the Police Service to pursue writing full-time. With the support of my family, I have finally realized my boyhood dream.

You can find Richard H Stephens on Facebook, YouTube, Twitter and his website.

I can’t stand bloody freesias. Had them in my wedding bouquet. They were white and pink and smelled like summer and happy ever after.

Only I ain’t gonna get neither by the looks.

I’m stuck here in perpetual winter, and the asshole I was stupid enough to marry has sashayed off back to his momma in sunny Florida.

Last week he sent me the divorce papers I been kind of expecting. I signed them and found myself smiling for the first time in months.

This morning my big bear of a neighbour brought me freesias. These ones smelled like hope.

©️jj 2019

“When we were making our way down from Scotland, Rod got Bill talking about his family, and the things people call the twins came into the conversation.”
Sam laughed.
“Right then. Shitface and Dickhead it is. Do we know which is which?”
“Yes. Matt is Shitface and Cy is Dickhead.”
Patsy patted Anna’s hand.
“I dunno what’s to be ashamed of.  Tuesday afternoon when they were really getting on my tits I called them a pair of ugly-minded little bastards. They didn’t like that, and came to heel quite quickly. So… Names do have power. Even over those two hellions. Love them though I do there are some days when I’d despair if it wasn’t for Jim’s Mam. She swears that Jim and Rod were worse, and that they had beaten up just about every kid in a ten-mile radius by the time they hit secondary school.”
“Now there’s a surprise,” Sam said mildly.
“And that’s not all,” Patsy carried on although Jim was trying to put his hand over her mouth. “Jim is one of six. All males. Two sets of twins. It took me a while, but I now understand why Ma Cracksman looks like she was carved out of granite. It’s the strain of motherhood – principally the strain of not laughing when the little shits do something as hilarious as it is forbidden. Which only happens about ten times a day.”
Jim looked at Sam for a long moment.
“It don’t bother you at all, does it? The prospect of filling your home with our offspring, who strike fear into the hearts of almost every middle-class person who sees them, holds no fear for you at all.”
He grinned, obviously much impressed.
“You wanna tell me why?”
Sam grinned.
“One: I don’t see you and Pats letting them actually burn the place down. Two: If you two are their parents they must have some redeeming features. Three: I might not be as big as you, Jim, but I ain’t exactly a seven-stone weakling, and I’m perfectly capable of handing down any justice I see fit. Also from what I have seen of your kids I like them quite a lot. I find myself deeply bored by well-behaved middle-class children, but your boys are fun.”
Anna nodded emphatically.
“They are fun. And if you treat them like people, not little kids, they tend to respond well. Though I do expect you will have to belt the twins.”
“If he do, he do,” Jim said philosophically. “He knows enough not to really hurt them, and it would do them no harm at all to meet someone who isn’t called Cracksman who won’t tolerate their idea of clever. Now. Pizza. It’s much too good to let it go cold.”

Later that afternoon a certain shiny red truck was progressing majestically along the M4.
“Why we going so slow uncle Rod?” It was William who plucked up the courage to ask.
“Many reasons. First because I don’t want a speeding ticket. Second because I’m teaching you lot patience. Mainly, however, because I want to talk to you.”
“About?” the twins spoke as one.
“As if you didn’t know. What did Gran say to you when she took you aside just before we left home?”
“Told us to bloody behave.”
“You taking any notice?”
Jamie spoke up.
“I am. I like Sam and so do the little men. But what the gruesome twosome here will chose to do…”
“That’s what I thought. Right you pair. Talk.”
For a moment the silence was all but deafening, then Matt spoke.
“We know the family owes him, and as far as we know he’s OK. But we don’t like the thought of his hands on Anna. And he’s middle class and seems a bit soft. So we reckon he needs winding up, and we’re gonna give it a go. It’s no good telling us not to.”
“Wasn’t going to, but I will pick the holes in your reasoning. Jamie, would you care to enlighten your brothers?”
“I doubt they will listen.”
“They will. There’s going to be a quiz afterwards,” Rod said flatly.
“Right. The basics. Samuel Henderson, orthopaedic surgeon. Bone doctor to you two ignorant eejits. Mends broken people. He’s also not so middle class as you might think. Plus. I did hear he kickboxes.”
Cy spoke.
“You sure bro?”
“Yup.”
“That puts a bit of a different complexion on it,” his twin mused. “Wonder if he’s any good?”
He looked questioningly at his uncle.
“I’m not telling,” Rod rumbled. “But it’s a factor you two should keep in mind. If he belts you its liable to hurt. And there’s something else you all need to consider. You will remember last year when little Pete’s boy got knocked over by that hit and run driver. What you may not know is they thought the kid would lose a leg. But there was this surgeon – worked for five solid hours to piece him back together. He succeeded beyond little Pete’s wildest dreams, so much so that the kid is back playing football. I did hear that the surgeon is a genius, and a bloke what goes the extra mile to help his patients get well. And that surgeon is Sam.”
“Shit,” Matt said feelingly. “That means the family owes him again don’t it?”
“It does,” Jamie agreed feelingly, “I remember how mum and dad thought the kid would never walk again, and how surprised and thrilled they were when he got mended. I wonder if they know it was Sam.”
“Doubt it. I only know because I been seeing a nurse from where he works and he come up in the conversation. She said he’s the best there is, and mentioned little Pete’s kid as an example of how hard he works for his patients. I will tell your mum and dad as soon as I get a private opportunity. What you lot have to decide is how much the family honour means to you.”
Jamie spoke slowly.
“Means they got to behave don’t it?’
Rod nodded.
“As long as he is treating Anna right. Yes. Twins?”
“Can we swear?”
“Just this once if Charlie puts his fingers in his ears.”
Charlie obliged.
“Okay. Fuck it. In fact. Double fuck it. We’ll behave. Mostly.”
Charlie took his fingers out of his ears.
“You never know, you might even get to like him.”
“Why’d we do that Chas?”
“Because me and Bill like him and we know him better than you.”
The twins snorted until Rod put out a huge hand to cuff their heads.
“Listen to your brother you pair of fecking eejits. He has a point.”
“He does,” Bill agreed. “Like usual.”
Cy frowned, then grinned.
“Wouldn’t that just be the way. Everybody worried about how we will behave towards Anna’s man, and we go and decide to like him.”
Matt sniggered.
“Could even happen. Dad seems to like him. And he don’t like many people. What say we keep an open mind? And behave reasonable while we decide?”
“You do that,” Rod rumbled.

Jane Jago

Sandro Dubarry wrote stories. Of beautifully submissive females and darkly dominant males. He was suave and elegant, and his wife, Sybella, was a delicate patrician beauty. They were famously in a monogamous dom/sub relationship.

He finished writing for the day and saved the document. As he was about to close down, he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders. He sat quietly as his wife read the day’s writing.

She leaned over and breathed in his ear.

“You have been a bad dog haven’t you?”

He shivered in anticipation as she buckled the leather collar about his throat.

©️jj 2019

Memory is treacherous,
Catches you unawares.
Stops you when you’re ironing
Trips you on the stairs.
You wonder why it comes to you
That image from the past
The one you can’t keep hold of
Though in your heart it lasts
A smell, a sound, a whisper
A woolly jumper’s feel
Memory takes a photograph
And adds it to life’s reel
Then one day it slips a frame
Bright before your eyes
Sometimes memory makes you laugh
Sometimes it makes you cry

© Jane Jago 2019