Another wedding. Another spectacularly unbecoming dress. Another day of pitying looks for the spinster cousin. Another waste of precious days off work. Jennifer sighed and stared unseeing at her reflection. The hairdresser finished twisting a garland of artificial poppies in her hair and she smiled her thanks. He smiled back and leaned down to whisper in her ear.
“At least you have the colouring to take poppies. Makes the other two look like anaemic chickens.”
She rewarded him with a glimpse of her dimples and he sashayed off grinning.
Then it was time to don the dreadful dress. It hung on her slim body with all the pizzazz of a dishrag, and neither of the other unfortunates looked any better. The younger one managed a conspiratorial grimace before the bride’s mother lined them up and looked them over with a gimlet eye. She nodded, albeit somewhat grimly, and stumped off.

The bridesmaids followed the tiny, exquisitely clad, bride up the aisle to where a stolid looking young man (with prospects – and the beginnings of a paunch) awaited her.

Jennifer’s age conferred on her the dubious status of ‘chief bridesmaid’ and would also normally have meant she was expected to schmooze the best man. However, on this occasion it was made very clear to her that the elder, and sourer, of her two peers had first dibs there. Which was one small bonus in a day chock-full of horrors.

The reception. A marquee on the lawn of the bride’s mother’s house, catered by a company Jennifer privately dubbed Bodgitt and Screwham caterers.

She elected not to eat the prawn cocktail.

Fifteen minutes later she had reason to bless her own cynicism. That was when the first person started to vomit. Although that scarcely describes what happened. The bride’s father stood up, turned to face the wall and pebbledashed the tent.

After that it felt as if all hell had been let loose. Jennifer found herself working alongside a tall man with a neatly trimmed auburn beard and exquisite hands.

Three hours later and the last of the really ill people was hospitalised, while the rest were being given rehydration fluid and made comfortable in the house. Jenny sighed and sat down plump on the floor. Her co-worker sat at her side.
“I don’t know about you,” he said carefully, “but I’m bloody starved”.
Which is how the two of them sneaked off to a local steakhouse and shared an enormous steak and a mountain of chips.

Six months later.

Another wedding. No dresses though, and no bridesmaids. Nurse practitioner Jennifer Wells and her tall, auburn haired husband were in the Bahamas on their honeymoon before any of the female cousins even knew there was a wedding on the horizon.

Very late that night she raised a glass of champagne. “Here’s to Bodgitt and Screwham,” she said before her husband’s beautiful and clever hands robbed her of the power of thought.

©️ jane jago 2018

Oh can you tell me mother dear what is that in the sky
‘Tis nothing but the soldiers blue no need for you to cry
But mother dear the noise is harsh the clanging and the guns
It is, but when you are a man you’ll love that noise, my son
May I sleep then mother dear as they overfly
Oh yes, I’ll sing a lullaby as the tanks fly by
The rusted hulks that filled the sky held no more power of dread
He nestled on his mother’s breast and a sky tank shot them dead

©️Jane Jago 2018

People seem to like the idea of having free reads every day so much that the Working Title Blog is moving onto Facebook as well!

Working Title on Facebook is a place to share and find out about free reads – poetry, short fiction, essays, blog posts, free books, whatever.

We also welcome discussion topics, both serious and silly. Chat about what you are reading. Seek opinions and advice.

Be intellectual, be silly, but above all be kind.

We only ask that you steer clear of politics and religion and that you are considerate of the feelings of others.

Pull up a chair, pour yourself a cup of your favourite poison and enjoy.

See you there soon!

 

 

The city lights, alluring stars that cast a glamour
Drawing in, like moths to flame, to city clamour
The restless young, in search of something so bright and grand
Romantic dreams of sweet success and a life unplanned.
Like froth on waves of rising hope and cappuccinos
The bright light sears their souls and draws them into shadows.

And here the old do stalk, eyes dulled, charred by shining lies
Their lost humanity sunk too deep to hear the cries
As all about the city predators swoop and dart
Whilst coiled serpent-like in the belly of each heart
The fervour of one passion still feeds them and burns bright:
Lust for power and money matter more than human rights.

E.M. Swift-Hook

“Louwina, I – I can’t live without you,” Woul stuttered, his eyes holding an acre of desolation and his sharp fangs glinting in the moonlight as his six-pack flexed in his distress.

She backed away from the head of the shifter clan, eyes wide in disbelief. Why was he being so mean to her? She knew at sixteen she was nothing special with her stick like body and bulgy breasts. Her hair was never exactly fashionable as it set her distressingly even featured face in a halo of golden curls.

She backed into the tall, muscular figure of Girald, the new boy in town who all the popular girls yearned to date.

“No, Louwina, your secret heritage calls to me. We are meant for each other,” he said, looking down lovingly into her eyes, sprinkles of fairydust falling like dandruff from his hair.

“My – what?”

“Well, you know how your parents both vanished mysteriously on the day of the eclipse and how your granny has that weird book engraved with the words ‘My Family’s Book of Ultra-Secret Witchcraft’?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean anything, she never lets me read it.”

The gorgeous hunks looked at her with longing and desire, adoration clear on both faces.

“You are the Chosen One and my chosen one,” Woul murmured, smirking.

“You are my chosen one too,” Girald echoed, his eyes sparkling in the starlight.

Louwina stood stunned by the revelation. She was the Chosen One? So that explained why everyone at school hated her and why her life had been so miserable so far. And now she had to choose between these two, equally gorgeous, half-naked eighteen year olds, who made her feel all warm and tingly in places she had never thought much about before.

But which one?

Louwina rolled her eyes.

How was she meant to choose between a Vampire Weresheep and a Fae Weregiraffe?

E.M. Swift-Hook

There is a god in the machine
I have no doubt at all
But is that god benign or mean
Does it catch, or make us fall
Is that god benevolent
Or does it juggle fate
Without a care if we’re content
Or railing at our state
There is a god in the machine
That is the thing I feel
A god whose hands are white and clean
As we suffer on life’s wheel
There is no kindly sprit who
Loves each heart and soul
What you call god is only true
To those it can eat whole

©️jane jago 2018

Turning Pages  is the first book in Brhi Stokes new series The Arbiter.

We leapt and bounded across roofs that shed tiles and dirt like rain as we jumped to taller and taller decaying shells. Her leaps were impressive in spite of her injuries, and I could only watch as she launched herself swiftly to the right and entirely off the edge of the roof. Her leap carried her up and towards the thick rails of elevated train track.

There was no way I could make a jump like that.

Instead, I followed her along the rooftops below, keeping an eye on the tracks as they angled closer to the taller buildings. Finally, I spotted a jump I could make. Ignoring the strange sensation in my left arm, I waited for a place where metal pillars connected the tracks to the ground and, securing the gun between my teeth, I threw myself towards them.

I missed the tracks completely, my numb left arm apparently useless. Thankfully, my right hand snagged at the maintenance rungs towards the top of the pillar and, with some scrabbling of my feet, I pulled myself onto the tracks. Up close, I could see that they consisted of two huge metal rails, connected crossways by smaller bars of steel. It had not quite occurred to me how big the train might be, but even the single rail on which I stood completely dwarfed me. The train that traversed it must have been simply enormous.

My balance accounted for and the gun back in my hand, I looked towards the woman. She had stopped momentarily and was panting for breath as blood trickled down her back. At the sight of my weary form climbing up onto the tracks, however, she bounded away. Breathing heavily, I took aim again, the whir of the gun filling me with a strange dread. I fired.

Another cry went up as the woman stumbled and fell, her strangely shaped legs twisting and catching beneath her as the bullet buried itself in her thigh. With no real joy, I began to make my way across the tracks towards her. She was close enough for me to make out her expression and, although I found it hard to decipher the emotion in her faceted eyes, I could sense the malice which dripped from her as steadily as her blue blood. With a final growl of defiance, she wrenched herself sideways and off of the tracks.

Her body fell. It slammed into the thick gutter of the nearest building before toppling from it and tumbling all the way down to the streets below. Even from my height on the tracks, I could see that part of her skull had caved. A mix of grey, red and blue seeped onto the cobblestones around the body, visible under the light of a nearby oil lamp.

For a moment, I watched the body as its fluids seeped out, wondering if her last act of defiance had been for herself, or simply to spite me.

It mattered not. A thunderous growl from the castle’s direction told me what was coming. I knew there was no point in looking. Instead, I fished around in my pocket for a small roll of silver tape and wound it gently around my weapon. The rails shook as a deep rumbling shuddered through my bones, the roaring growing so loud that it felt as though my ears would burst.

I was ashamed to admit that in the final moments as I turned towards the enormous coal train, I gasped in fright.

 

As the sole transdimensional fixer – a killer and thief for hire who can traverse worlds – Page just wants to get the job done for the shadowy Masters who pass down the orders.

In this profession, however, things are never quite so simple.

When a job goes awry and other fixers start showing up – fixers who aren’t even supposed to exist – Page has to wonder what else might be untrue, just how much trouble helping these newcomers might be and if one bottle of whiskey will be enough.

Brhi Stokes writes dark urban fantasy and you can follow her on Twitter or seek her out on her website.

 

 

Brhi Stokes is the author of Caligation and the newly released Turning Pages, which is the first book in her new series The Arbiter.

Question 1: You’ve just released the first book in The Arbiter series. What inspired you to start a new series, instead of writing a sequel to Caligation?

Caligation was always intended to be standalone. However, for those that have read Caligation, this new series continues on with some of the concepts covered in the end of the book. After I finished writing Caligation, I ran with a few of these loose concepts and eventually ended up with the weird transdimensional romp that is The Arbiter. While Caligation is very much fantasy, I wanted to work on something new that had an urban fantasy base but a science fantasy feel. In The Arbiter series, Page travels across dimensions to do odd jobs. Some of these dimensions are heavily rooted in science fiction, while others are strictly fantasy. Others still are a combination of both.

There is so much to play with in this series, and I’m already having fun designing new covers and pondering what other strange places Page will end up in.

Question 2: From where do you draw inspiration for the different planes Page travels to?

In the first book, Page travels to two very different worlds. One is a sprawling medieval city inhabited by people with a variety of buglike features. The centre of the city is walled off, and anything outside the wall appears to be the slums. The technology there is medieval, except for the huge coal train that runs along a raised platform high above the city. I have a very clear image in mind for this, and I would have to say that the aesthetic of videogames like Bloodborne and Dishonored spring to mind when picturing this particular world.

The other world is an idyllic fantasy setting that I won’t tell you too much about. If I drew on any specific references for inspiration, it was definitely subconscious as I can’t think of anything specific.

Question 3: So what’s next?

I am going to try desperately to find the free time to work on book two. I have the plot down, it just needs to be written. I’m hoping to have books two and three out this year. Once book three is out, I’m going to be working on a prequel novella for the series, which I will be offering for free on a few different platforms.

Brhi has been writing ever since she could put pen to paper and daydreaming in every spare second. She adores fantasy of all kinds but has a special love for urban fantasy with a dark edge. Her fascination with different places and cultures has seen her living overseas for several years, though she currently resides in Australia. This time abroad has strongly influenced her writing, much of which focuses on strange new places. In her spare time, Brhi enjoys reading, video games, tabletop RPGs, going for long, solitary jogs and music.

Find out more about Brhi and her ongoing writing projects on her website.

 

 

 

They returned an hour later, laden with food and drink, to find Bonnie asleep on her bed.

“See?” said Anna.

Sam, having been considerably mellowed by Anna’s approach to shopping, grinned and shrugged.

“I’ll get the rest.”

He fetched and Anna unpacked. By the time he had everything in, the coffee machine was ready, so he poured himself a cup, and one for Anna. Bonnie suddenly sat bolt upright and shot out into the garden.

“There goes your cat,” Anna grinned.

Sam strolled to the door, and was in time to see a ginger cat streaking across the grass and up one of the apple trees. Anna whistled and Bonnie trotted back into the kitchen swishing her tail. ‘Job done’ her face seemed to say. Sam sat at the table, as Anna stashed the last few things in the fridge.

“I have never,” he said ruminatively “shopped so quickly, or so efficiently. My unlamented ex could spend twenty minutes deciding between two identical packs of tomatoes, and the amount of time she spent reading the ingredients of a frozen lasagne…”

“Why would anybody buy frozen lasagne?”

“Because they can’t cook the real thing.”

“Ah well. Sad. But I don’t buy ready meals. Mostly they taste like shit.”

“Truly. But herself even used them when she insisted on having dinner parties. Which I loathed.”

“Oh good. I hate dinner parties. Kitchen suppers, yes. Big Sunday lunches for friends, yes. Brunch in the garden, yes. Dinner parties, no! Not this side of hell freezing over.”

Sam laughed until he nearly cried.

“Anna on a soapbox. I love it.”

She boxed his ears lightly.

“Watch yourself cheeky!”

Bonnie flew outside again.

“I’m betting the cat came down from the tree,” Sam said.

“Probably. Is there anything you want to do today?”

“Just be here with you. That’ll be enough to set me up for work on Monday morning.” Then he tapped his forehead. “I just thought, Monday is one of Carrie’s days. I should be here to introduce you when she tips up though.”

“Carrie?”

“Cleaner cum gardener. Comes three days a week. The place would be a pigsty without her.”

“I did wonder. What’s she like about dogs?”

“Fine. She brings her own dog with her. Will Bonnie be OK with that?”

“Absolutely. It’s only cats she sees off. Speaking of which.”

Anna got up and went to the door.

“Come and look at this, Sam.”

He went and looked, to see Bonnie sitting bolt upright staring at the wild-eyed ginger cat, which crouched on the roof of the garden shed with its ears flattened. Sam laughed out loud.

“Come in Bonnie” he said “then the cat can run away.”

To his intense surprise, Bonnie obeyed. He bent to scratch her ears.

“Who’s a clever girl, then.”

Bonnie walked into the kitchen and pointedly looked at the tin of dog treats standing on the worktop. Sam obliged.

“She’s got your number, hasn’t she?” Anna remarked.

They spent the rest of the day happily, pottering, chatting, and walking Bonnie.

 

The next morning, Sam was getting outside a large breakfast omelette when there was the sound of feet on the patio and a brown dog of indeterminate parentage barrelled in followed by a big girl in jeans and a check shirt.

“Carrie. Oscar. Anna. Bonnie.”

Anna stood up and extended a hand. Carrie looked a bit surprised then shook hands.

“Pleased to meet you, Anna.”

She looked Anna straight between the eyes before grinning. “Makes a change for somebody of the female persuasion to be civil to the domestic staff. Most of them like to pretend I don’t exist.”

Anna grimaced sympathetically.

“Yeah, we used to get a lot like that in work. Always going on about how they couldn’t get decent staff, and then treating anyone who worked for them like they were sub-human.”

Carrie laughed out loud.

“You’ve got it. Exactly. But I have my revenge. I charge them double.”

Anna walked over to the dresser and collected a mug.

“Tea or coffee?”

“You sure?”

Anna nodded briskly.

“Coffee then. Thanks.’

Anna brought the mug over before putting four slices of brown bread in the toaster.

“Sit. We may as well be comfortable while we have a chat.”

Deciding he was probably superfluous to requirements, Sam finished his breakfast and pushed back his chair.

“I should be home between six and seven, depending on how busy my afternoon list is.”

He kissed Anna, patted Bonnie, and left.

 

By this time, Bonnie and Oscar had reached the bottom sniffing stage and Anna laughed.

“Go out in the garden if you want to sniff bums, you two.”

The dogs skipped out.

“It’s a pity,” Carrie remarked “that humans can’t find out about each other by bum sniffing. Maybe I wouldn’t keep choosing the wrong men. Maybe Sam wouldn’t have married that spoilt little madam…”

“You know her?”

“To my cost. She’s stupid, and she isn’t nice. I’ll tell you one thing for free, once she finds out Sam has a woman she’ll be after trouble. She won’t be able to stomach the idea he’s making a life for himself without her. You be on your guard.”

“Thanks. But haven’t you made a snap decision about me without sniffing my bottom?’

“Maybe. Though I’m crap at picking men, my antenna for my own sex is remarkably accurate. And I like the look of your dog.”

“She’ll be delighted to hear that.’

“She? Oh shit. Oscar hasn’t been done and he’s a randy little sod.”

“It’s OK. Bonnie has been done. And if he tries any of that stuff with her she’s liable to beat him up.”

“That’s all right then. Is it OK to leave them playing in the garden?”

“Yes. If the side gate is shut.”

“It is. I always shut it, because Oscar is a wanderer.”

“Bonnie’s not. But this is still a strange place to her.”

“I get that. Now, what do you want doing today?”

Jane Jago

 

An extract from Dying for a Vacation, the next instalment in the Dai and Julia Mysteries alternative history series about a couple who are detectives in the fight against crime in a modern-day Britain still ruled by the Roman Empire.

The door opened with such force that it bounced back off the wall, and Hywel stomped in. His face was puce and he was waving a sheet of paper. Seemingly unable to speak he threw the paper on the table in front of Julia.
She read it and could feel the blood draining from her own face. It was an official complaint that the family of one Hywel Llewellyn, non-citizen, had been observed to be visiting a sub aquila residence without due authorisation.
The Villa Papaverus was not their own house, it was the residence that went with Dai’s job as Submagistratus and was owned by Rome. As such it was designated sub aquila which meant only Roman citizens and those non-citizens employed to work there were legally permitted inside.
“Oh merda,” she said softly. “I never even thought of that. Dai hates having that wretched eagle above our door.”
She passed the paper to Caudinus who read it swiftly then sighed.
“I am so sorry, I should have seen that coming. As I didn’t, I shall have to investigate.”
Hywel made a noise like a cat that has just had its fur stroked backwards,
“Sorry? Sorry that me and my entire family are being criminalised by your filthy Roman rules?”
Caudinus looked at him severely. “Hush man. Be glad I didn’t officially hear you say that. As I said, I do have to investigate. So will you just be quiet and let me think. Or is shouting and blustering at a pregnant woman something you think a good idea?”
Hywel subsided slightly.
“If this goes through the fine will take most of my livelihood for the last quarter.”
“Oh it’s worse than that,” Caudinus said his expression grim. “The fine would be the lightest of penalties. If it were deemed to have been done in deliberate defiance of Roman authority it could be counted as treason. And this complaint names you, your wife Enya and your step-mother, Olwen.”
Julia felt sick. Dai’s mother, sister-in-law and brother were being placed in real peril through someone’s spite.
“Treason?” Hywel echoed, his tone hollow and slumped into a chair, the fire and fury suddenly deserting him. Treason always carried the death sentence –  a humiliating and agonising death in the arena.
Caudinus swept the printed emails into a pile and got to his feet.
“Yes, treason. But if I have anything to do with it, it won’t come to that and I will make sure you are issued with passes under my authority so there is not a problem ongoing.”
“Isn’t there something you can do to dismiss this?” Julia asked, “It is your legal jurisdiction after all.”
Caudinus pulled a face. “It will depend on the nature of the complaint and who the complainant is. It could go over my head to provincial level and those damnable bureaucrats in Augusta Treverorum.”  He touched Julia lightly on the shoulder. “You mustn’t worry about this, you hear me?” His tone was stern. She mustered a smile more for his benefit than because she felt reassured. “And you come with me Llewellyn, I need to get some details from you, if you can guard your tongue enough to manage a trip to Viriconium with me?”
Hywel struggled to his feet looking shamefaced and anxious.
“Uh – yes. I’m sorry, dominus. I know it’s not your fault.  I’m sorry, Julia too – it’s just that…”
Julia held out her arms and Hywel walked into them to receive a quick hug.
“It’s alright,” she said, letting him go, “but for Enya and Olwen’s sake and the children, you have to keep a lid on your anger over this.”
Hywel nodded and Julia felt a little more hopeful when Caudinus dropped her a wink over his head. A short time later she saw Caudinus’ hovercar gliding along the driveway.

Pushing her own fears to one side, Julia took the time to walk her two wolfhounds, Canis and Lupo, in the orchard, finding their cheerful company helped lift her mood. Then she returned to the house and with the two dogs sleeping by hearth, she opened her laptop and started composing an email to Hook-Beak explaining why she couldn’t leave Britannia at this time and probing for more information about his new married status. She was just thinking about how she could best raise the issue of Hywel’s case to see if, as Praetor, Hook-Beak could short-circuit the legal process in someway, when the sound of heavy footsteps made her look up in time to see the door burst open for the second time that morning.
Dai stood filling the doorway, his expression like a thundercloud fronting a storm. A cold and feral fire burned in his blue eyes that made Julia shiver despite herself.
“You are leaving. Today. Now.” His voice was almost a snarl. “I’ve sent for Elfrida to pack for you. Two of Gallus’ men and Edbert will be your escort. I have made arrangements. You can stay with Didero in Londinium, he has an entire legion of praetorians there to keep you safe.”
Julia opened her mouth and then closed it sharply to prevent the unforgivable, vile, words she so wanted to say from escaping. Instead she got demurely to her feet and walked over to her husband, drawing herself up to her full height of almost five feet.
“Oh you are so right, husband, I am leaving,” she said, keeping her tone sweet. “But not for Londinium. I am going where I choose to go not where you think to send me. And right now I am not at all sure that I will be coming back.”

The Dai and Julia Mysteries are written by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago. Dying for a Vacation, the fifth novella in the series,  is out today.