Jane Jago’s strange story of a supernatural library is being presented by Tall Tale TV

It was very quiet in this area of the stacks, so quiet that if you listened carefully enough you could hear the books breathing. This portentous silence was broken by a rhythmic squeak as a trolley loaded with grimoires and  magical texts was pushed firmly towards the dark corner wherein such resided.

“It’s no good you being like that,” a determined voice said. “It doesn’t hurt being shelved. It’s not as if any of you are chained. Although if some of you keep misbehaving…” 

The rhythmic squeal stopped and the trolley rounded a corner, being pushed by a dumpy girl with a determined looking chin. As it neared the  shelves where arcane and magical volumes were shelved the squeal started up again. 

“Does somebody want to be shelved on 99b?”

Silence.

The dumpy girl began shelving volumes with practiced efficiency. She handled the books with care and respect, but would brook no resistance nor any other tricks. One of the grimoires snapped its covers at her and she slapped it firmly.

“Start that with me and I’ll chain you.”

If it was possible for a book to look abashed it did so, coming quietly to hand to be slipped into its accustomed place.

Find out what happens next at www.talltaletv.com

They will tell you Fae can’t cry….

In a way that’s true, but we can be hurt, although we are forever denied the healing benison of tears.

I knelt on the forest floor, and I replayed the moment the orcs sawed down my tree over and over in my head.

My tree was dead. I did not understand why I was not dead too. They meant me to die. They mean all the forest spirits to die…

But I am still alive and in a moment I must stand and fight them.

For now I just wish I could cry

©️jj 2018

With humble thanks to my great friend Ian Bristow for the inspiration of his artwork

They leaned companionably on the worktop and Anna grinned.
“Soup and sandwiches for supper do you think?”
“Yeah. Toasties?”
“Why not. Shall we get prepared? There’s chicken soup in the fridge. You wanna cut some bread? Thick I think. I’ll get some ham and cheese ready.”
They worked together companionably and we’re just about ready when Paul’s voice called from the hallway.
“Okay. Come and look.”

Anna and Colin went into the hallway, where a big screen stood to the side of the stairs. On it was a single picture. Bonnie in her bridesmaid’s wreath.
“How’d you do that?” Anna asked. Then she moved closer and saw the picture was a collage of A4 sheets.
“Clever. And it’s a lovely shot.’
“Now come in here,” Sam said.
Anna followed him into the huge dining room where the small tables were ready and waiting for lunch the next day. Here there were two more screens, one was a montage of different shots of the wedding, while the other was another collage, even bigger than the one of Bonnie. It was a simple shot of Sam and Anna, he was smiling down into her eyes and they looked happy and beautiful. Anna wiped a fugitive tear from her cheek.
“Oh. I love that. I want a copy to frame and keep forever.”
“You shall.” Paul promised. “There’s another screen in the lounge with a montage on. What do you think?”
Anna kissed his cheek, then did the same for Ben, Colin and Danny. Sam got a full-on smacker.
“I guess that means she likes it,” he grinned.
“I do. I more than like it. Now. Who’s hungry? Colin and I have soup and toasties planned.”
There was a generalised stampede towards the kitchen.

In bed that night, Anna turned a serious face to Sam.
“What’s up love? You’re not having regrets are you?”
“No. I’m happier than I thought it was possible to be. This is something else. I have to tell you a thing and it’s one of the difficult ones.”
“Will it help if I hold you while you tell it?”
“Please.”
Sam pulled her close and looked down into her face.
“It’s about Patsy. I’m a bit worried that people won’t be nice to her, and I don’t want that. She’s okay under the Lycra. And she saved my life.”
Anna buried her face in Sam’s chest and he stroked her hair.
“What happened love?”
“It was the knife throwing incident. I was alone in the house with Mum, and she seemed fine. Then I went into the garden to get a lettuce and she came after me with the knife. Pats was next door sunbathing. Naked. She heard me scream. Came over the hedge like an avenging goddess. Mum had the garden fork and was ready to finish me off. Pats knocked her out with a left hook and screamed for her own mother. They stopped the bleeding, carried me inside and called nine-nine-nine. The rest is history. I tried to thank them and they wouldn’t have it. I remember Pats saying that it was no more than anybody would have done and I should think no more about it. But. I do think about it and deep inside I know that I would have been dead if it wasn’t for her.”
Sam cradled his beloved wife tenderly in his arms.
“Then I owe her too. But I’m having a hard time with the naked jumping bit.”
Anna laughed a little.
“Me too, and I saw it. She was a big girl even in them days. But you can see why I don’t want her to feel hurt or excluded.”
“She won’t. I’ll see to that. Will she know anyone but you and her own family?”
“Yeah. Danny and Paul, who she loves. Ted knows her and they get on quite well. And the Patels know her. She and Anjali are actually quite friendly. Share a filthy sense of humour.”
“See. You were working unnecessarily.”
“I guess I was. I think part of it was that I needed to tell you.”
“Yes. Well. I know now.”
She lifted her face and kissed him rather seriously, and then there was nothing more to say,

Sunday morning, and Sam awoke to an empty bed. He was just sitting up when Ben’s face appeared in the doorway.
“You’re awake. Good. I’ve been sent to tell you half an hour to breakfast.”
He stepped a bit further into the room.
“Anna and Colin are working side-by-side like they’ve been doing it forever. It’s weird. Most women irritate him in the kitchen, but she’s just as efficient and economical of effort as him. They’re even talking spooky culinary shorthand. Me and the others, and Bonnie, took our coffee out into the garden. Felt superfluous. Now get up and get your shower or I reckon we’ll both be in trouble.”

Sam laughed and did as he was told, making it down to the kitchen with ten minutes to spare. Anna came over and kissed him good morning. Her cheeks were rosy, and a wisp of hair had escaped from her braid. Otherwise she was as serene and unhurried as ever. Colin dropped him a cheeky wink.
“I’ve told Anna that if she ever gets tired of you she can come work with me. I reckon we could get us a Michelin star in six months.”
Sam glowered at him, then grinned.
“Mine. Hands off!”
Anna handed him a mug of coffee.
“Out on the patio please. We’ll call you when breakfast is.”
He went, to find Ben, Danny, Paul and Bonnie drinking coffee and playing a desultory game of ball.
“I think,” he grinned, “that we are surplus to requirements. What say we take Bonnie for a walk after breakfast and leave the kitchen twins to it?”
“That,” Danny said in heartfelt tones, “is a plan”.

Jane Jago

Keening and wailing from the castle courtyard told of a battle lost. Mary straightened her spine, and prepared to die with at least the appearance of bravery. 

There was a sudden whiff of sulphur, and the dragon came from nowhere, crouching at her side to look at her through shifting multicoloured eyes.

“Why are you here?” she breathed.

The creature cocked its head at the unseemly cacophony from outside and bent to offer access to its broad back.

Certain death, or uncertainty? Mary made her choice.

The conqueror’s broadsword dripped blood as he stood in the empty garden bawling curses….

©️jj 2018

When I was young I’d touch my toes
To prove my elasticity
Now I can barely find my nose
With any authenticity
I was so proud of my blonde locks
All smooth and shiny bright
Now I’m more about the socks
I wear in bed at  night
Back in the day I wanted more
Excitement no safe bets
But that was in the days before
Arthritis and night sweats

©️jj 2018

Defeat was always a bitter cup from which to have to swallow, but Kahina Sarava determined from the first that it should not define her... Read the opening chapter of Mistrust and Treason the first book in Iconoclast a brand new Fortune's Fools trilogy by E.M. Swift-Hook

Defeat was always a bitter cup from which to have to swallow, but Kahina Sarava determined from the first that it should not define her.
True, she now had to endure exile in the grand house she liked the least of all she owned. It was a sprawling, over-ornate residence built in the heart of great natural beauty and originally intended as a place where she could entertain and impress the powers of Central. It suited her political enemies to have her there, isolated and cut off from any place of influence. But, it was not entirely without benefit. Freed from the endless need to joust for political advantage, she had considerably more time for some of the other things that mattered. Such as pursuing her lifetime’s work: Future Data.
So she stood, back straight, defying her age as the fussily dressed man climbed from his vehicle and walked the short distance to where she waited in front of the main door to her house. The security people who flanked her on either side, guards set to both protect and contain her, stiffened visibly as her visitor approached.
“Garn, what a delight to see you.” She had been expecting him. Though when the brief message informing her of a visitor had come through earlier that day, his name had not been mentioned. “I think this must be the first time we’ve had a get together since you arrested me. What would bring you all the way from Central to visit me in person? I am sure you could gloat quite adequately over link.”
He was a big man in many uses of the word, and it amused her to make him feel uncomfortable. There was little enough by way of human entertainment for her here and no small responsibility for her incarceration rested on his shoulders.
“Right,” he said, and she could see he was sweating despite the temperature being pleasantly cool. “Maybe we could go in and talk somewhere a little more private.”
“I can offer you anything here, except privacy.” She made an elegant gesture with her hands, unfolding them to indicate the attentive security detail. “I am not permitted that even when I sleep. My link connections are watched and my conversations monitored.”
Garn Jecks seemed unperturbed, but then his mind was not very flexible. If he had arrived with a fixed idea of some objective he wished to achieve, that would be both the full extent and narrow focus of his thinking. Laser like — if a laser were some solid substance and not fluid photons. Such inability to embrace the broadest view whilst still keeping the details in sight irritated Kahina. Her own mind suffered no such limitations, and she tolerated it poorly in others.
“I will make the necessary arrangements,” he told her. Matching actions to words, he turned to issue brief orders to the security detail, then added more by link to the invisible watchers who controlled the remote monitoring of her residence. They all moved quickly to obey, but then he was their supreme commander, the man in charge of the Coalition Security Force.
A short time later, Kahina found herself sitting in her favourite room, ambianced to remind her of her mother’s study with shelves of books and curios, heavy looping curtains at the windows and the antique wooden desk. She had chosen not to occupy the desk, Jecks wasn’t someone who would be in the slightest bit intimidated by her doing so. Instead, she sat in one of the comfortable, deep-cushioned chairs set either side of a beautifully carved and inlaid table. Jecks sat opposite her having just dismissed the last of his entourage. He was visibly discomfited. Kahina played the perfect hostess.
“Can I offer you any refreshments? It’s not the shortest of hops here from Central.”
“Right. It’s not. But thank you, no. I’m a bit pressed for time.”
She couldn’t resist another dig.
“I am fully accessible by link, you know.”
Jecks didn’t trouble to answer that. His preoccupation was blinding him and Kahina wondered if the poor man was even aware how much that showed.
“There has been a — a development.”
“A development?”
He almost squirmed.
“I have just received some information which has brought into question our previous conclusions regarding the Future Data project.”
Kahina considered feigning surprise.
“Oh?”
Jecks looked as if he had swallowed something that settled ill in his stomach. For a moment, he glared at her.
“So you already knew.”
She didn’t trouble to reply, instead allowing her expression to reflect the untroubled confidence she was feeling. Jecks muttered something under his breath then started pulling up a remote screen of what appeared to be some security surveillance. Not the best quality and from a static camera, but when he zoomed the image and froze it, the result was perfectly clear.
“Oh dear,” Kahina said gently. “How very embarrassing for you. I wonder what you plan to do about that?”
Jecks pulled at his neckline as if it were too close about his throat.
“It’s not what you…”
“Oh, but I rather think it is.” The first taste of victory after such a bitter defeat and three years of exile was so sweet. She leaned forward, unable to suppress her delight and not caring that it showed. “I rather think you need me again.”
Jecks physically recoiled from her.
“Kahina, I — “
“Var Sarava,” she corrected him. He looked as though she had slapped him hard across the face and Kahina smiled. “You are of course quite right. I knew already. Or should I be more accurate and say that Future Data informed me of there being a high probability that those two would resurface in this timeframe.”
“Then you know why I came.” Jecks sounded defeated now, resigned to some inevitable and inescapable fate. Which, Kahina supposed, was not too far from the truth of things.
“Of course I don’t know,” she snapped. “I’m not a mind reader. Future Data may inform me what is likely to occur, but it’s not yet capable of attributing motive to the behaviours it predicts. Why did you come?”
“It wasn’t my first choice, but Ilke Dray suggested…” Jecks stopped himself and took a breath instead. Wise man. Kahina could feel the pressure of her fingers closing into tight claws.
“How is dear Ilke these days?” Then she lifted a forbidding hand, forcing the fingers to uncurl, as Jecks opened his mouth to tell her. “No. I really don’t want to know. I’m sure she will be going about her busy little life in her busy little way. And of course you don’t need to tell me why you are here, that much is obvious. What I want to know is what do you have to offer me in exchange for my assistance at this time?”
Jecks wore the look of a man being asked to sell his mother.
“Var Sarava, you can’t seriously intend to turn the security of the Coalition into an auction?”
“Why not? I have what you need, and you can procure it nowhere else. That would seem to me the basis of a price negotiation. I am sure you have authorisation to offer me something or you wouldn’t have come.”
“I can’t reverse the decision of the courts. I can’t turn back the clock and restore your good name. I can’t undo what has happened.” He sounded quite upset about it too.
Kahina got to her feet as gracefully as her age allowed and crossed the room to the antique desk. She loved the smooth feel of the polished wood as she slid her hand beneath it to release a secret catch. It was a wonderfully archaic hiding place. She slipped the data stick into her hand and turned back to Jecks, holding it up for him to see.
“This is everything you need to know to deal with them — if you are willing to pay the price I ask.”
“I’m not authorised to offer you anything.” He sounded in pain.
“Then it’s good that I’m not asking you for any ‘thing’. I have only one demand to make.”
“The head of Ilke Dray?” Jecks suggested, his voice slightly strangled. And, for a moment, Kahina had to wonder if he was being serious. Perhaps he was.
“I have no idea what I might do with such a completely vacuous item,” she told him. “No. I couldn’t care less about Ilke. And the price I’m going to ask isn’t unduly expensive. I merely need to know you will pay it when the time comes.”
“What is it?”
“I want Durban Chola.”
She wasn’t sure if it was relief or appalled amusement that motivated his response. “Chola? What the…? I mean, why?”
“I really rather think that’s my business, don’t you?”
Jecks looked as though he was being forced to swallow a large, irregularly shaped solid object.
“Right. Yes. Of course. I think we can do that.”
It was that easy.
Crossing back to the chairs, she settled herself comfortably again before holding out the data stick to Jecks. He took it as if it were a sacred relic, then busied himself with his links for a few moments as he prepared it to read. She could tell when he had done so. His expression shifted. Hardened.
“This contains nothing. Just two names.”
“That is more than enough for now, I assure you. If you were intelligent enough it would be all you needed, but I am quite aware you will be returning to ask me for further guidance.” It was why she felt so confident that he would pay her price in the end.
Jecks was frowning as if trying to read some deeper meaning into what he had been given.
“One is someone I know quite well and I can see the sense in it, they’ve worked on this before — but who in the name of all sanity is Halkom Dugsdall?”
Kahina, her objective achieved, sat back serenely and smiled.

E.M. Swift-Hook

If you would like to keep reading, Mistrust and Treason is out now.

There were upwards of twenty women awaiting their fate. Men came through the doors and made their choices. The one who stopped in front of Nora was as big and hairy as a grizzly bear. 

“Needs discipline,” stepmother gloated. “Take your belt to her now and again…”

“She’ll do.”

Twenty minutes later Nora was a married woman, following her husband out of the church.

“Keep up,” he growled.

Nora hurried to his side, allowing herself to look into his face for the first time. What she could see through the hair looked to be smiling.

“I don’t wear a belt…”

©️jj 2018

When I was young there was no ‘net
And measures were imperial
To read a book you’d have to get
Some papery material
To phone your home you needed change
And then a public box
Where all was touched by fingers strange
And always smelt of socks
There were three feet then in a yard
A foot had twelve small inches
And pounds and shillings were quite hard
My poor old brain still flinches
When I was young there was no way
To write without a pen
There were no video games to play
But I guess that was then

©️jj 2018

In the criminal jungle that is his turf, Grim is the apex predator. Now the Coalition Security Force is assigning him to the most lethal hunt he has yet faced. 
Meet Halkom 'Grim' Dugsdall in Mistrust and Treason the first book in a new Fortune's Fools trilogy, Iconoclast, by E.M. Swift-Hook. 

“You are my generation, Dugsdall, well not far off it — and you are spattered with commendations, way more than I ever managed. But you still spend your time shifting around in dive bars digging up the lowlife in person, whilst I get to head up things like this.”
He met her enquiring gaze with his expression carefully blanked.
“I like the work I do.”
That sounded defensive, but then it always did. He had never yet found a way to explain that his present role was the one he felt good doing. Nothing would ever beat the satisfaction he felt when he brought down one of the truly dangerous individuals who threatened the peace and security of people in the Coalition. Whenever opportunities had been opened for him to take advancement, he had never accepted anything that would move him away from where he wanted to be. It meant turning down promotions and all that went with them. He knew most people couldn’t grasp his view and he had given up trying to explain it long since.
“You are very good at it too,” Ty said. “I have to admit I was impressed by what I saw.”
Then her face changed just so slightly and he knew she was about to mention his family. Every time — his family. He tensed inside as if preparing to receive a physical blow.
“Your family — ”
“My parents were both members of the terrorist organisation called The Legacy.” He found it helped if he got in first, made it clear he had nothing to hide and wasn’t worried about it. “My sisters and I were raised by my mother’s step-sister. Her parents became my grandparents and so forth. We didn’t get too much of The Legacy narrative — or at least I didn’t — I was the youngest.”
Ty nodded, she seemed more curious than judgmental. It was hard for him to be certain though.
“Your sisters did?”
That was a delicate way of asking about them — well one of them.
“Not really. Although it’s a family joke that I’m the only really honest one of us sibs. My middle sister works in PR for some politico very like that Var Dray, I flat share with my twin who is in advertising and image consultancy — and my eldest sister became a pirate.”
There was never any point hiding it in this kind of situation.
“So I saw. An uncaught and unconvicted pirate.”
Was there a small edge of accusation there? Or was it simple curiosity?
“She’s a good ten years older than the rest of us. She grew up more with our parents.” That didn’t explain it, but it made it sound as if it did. “She seemed to be doing just fine in life. Got herself good qualifications and started work as a ground technician doing ship maintenance, then she fell for the wrong man.”
“Haven’t we all,” Ty said quietly, her expression hard to read.
“She got out of it, though. But not before having enough on her file to see her facing arrest on a charge with a capital sentence anywhere in Coalition space.”
“A reformed pirate?” Ty suggested.
“Near enough,” Grim agreed. “Near enough that she’s left alone where she is now.”
Ty nodded as if she understood. Which was unlikely as in Central most people he’d met seldom had any siblings, let alone any siblings with interesting histories.
“So how long do you need to be able to put your life fully on hold, Dugsdall? I’m going to need a few days myself.”
That had been unexpected.
He had been expecting to start right away. He doubted his reaction showed but Ty had probably realised this wasn’t the sort of way he was used to working because she went on:
“This is for the long-haul, Dugsdall, we are not going to get any kind of quick result on this and we’re not being asked for one. This could even take years. I really hope not, but it could. You have to realise that once we start there will be no vacations and no time off for family weddings. If you ever need to go sick, it’s me you’ll have to convince not your medic. We will get the best the service has to offer to support us, but in return, we have to give our best. So if you need half a cycle to get your affairs in order, take it now.”
He was very tempted to say he needed no time, he had very little life outside of work to put on hold, after all. But there was something he wanted to do. Something he wouldn’t be happy to share with this woman right now, but which would give him some information he could get nowhere else: he badly wanted to visit his sister. His eldest sister. The pirate — the ex-pirate.
“Half a cycle sounds good to me.”
Ty gave him a thin smile. Maybe it wasn’t what she had really wanted or expected to hear. After all, from his record, he would come over as work-hungry as herself. She was probably regretting the amount of time she had put on the table, but it was too late for her to back away from it now.
“Alright. Fifteen days. But after that, Dugsdall, you belong to the service until this is done.”
“Of course. And it’s Grim.”
Ty looked a little confused.
“It’s certainly pretty serious — but  — “
“My name. My friends call me Grim.”
And Ty had smiled a genuine smile, brief and true. Then she had laughed.

Mistrust and Treason is out today with a superb cover by Bristow Designs so be sure to snag your copy!

“Your husband won’t pay…”

He glared at his bound and gagged captive before removing the ball gag. 

The woman‘s voice was thin and rusty. 

“I could have told you that. You just handed him a way to freedom without the expense of a divorce.”

“What do we do now?”

“Kill me?” the woman asked dully.

He studied his fingernails.

“If the price is right, we can do better than that.”

Less than a week later, Senator John Bloomington was gunned down in the street.

At his magnificent funeral a single veiled woman followed the coffin. She was smiling. Inside.

©️jj 2018