A new installment of inFINite... Fin was introduced in The Accidental Immortal...

One of the most annoying questions that Fin got asked as an immortal was "How old are you?" The moment that someone found out what he was, that was the question they asked. Putting aside for the moment that planets measured time differently (making the conversion a huge headache), Fin started to lose count during the fifth or sixth century. Sometimes he made up an exact year. Sometimes he gave the best estimation that he could. Mostly he just said, with a tired face and exhausted voice "Too old..." 

Even if they were trying to guess at what historical events he might have seen, chances were he was on a different planet when they occured, so it didn't matter how old he was. There was no purpose to the question. He wished they would stop asking him. But he knew that they never would. They would always ask him. They always wanted to know, even though he himself didn't remember. Fin couldn't answer them. The question only served to remind him that there was no end in sight. 

And now, his secret was out once more. It didn't matter how they found out, it had also happened more times than the immortal could count in his endless life. He sighed, and closed his eyes, waiting for them to ask. The youngest man opened his mouth and Fin tried not to feel his age. But before he could say the words, the old woman, Miria, cut him off. 

"Ha! I knew it!" She declared with an air of vindication. "You talk about 'the good old days' more often than I do!" Miria laughed. Fin smiled at her weakly, still waiting for the question. The middle aged woman, Leta, tried to speak, but Miria spoke over her again. She was intent on engaging the (much) older man in conversation about 'young hooligans' who need to 'respect their elders'. Miria was so vigorous, so intense, that no one got a chance to ask him. When Fin excused himself (it had been a long day and he was exhausted), he heard one of them try to ask, only to yelp. Fin glanced down to see Miria's cane planted firmly on the offender's foot. He distinctly heard her mutter "Disrespectful young hooligans..." before she informed them that the elders needed their sleep, and asked Fin to help her to her room. Fin hid a small smile as he escorted the old woman. 

"Thank you." He said quietly. 

​"What for?" Miria snorted, but there was a twinkle in her eye. Even though Fin was eons older he felt that Miria was just as wise as him. Moments like these were humbling. He treasured them. Fin smiled at her. Moments like these made the endless years seem worth living after all. 

Author's Notes: Yes... I know I've been very inactive of late... But in my defense this is only my third day off in four and a half weeks between work and volunteering. I'm very tired... I hope this is decent!

See you again soon!

You see the date? It's leap year! I knew I'd have to do something special for it! But in all honesty, it kind of snuck up on me and So I just read you all Danger of Drowning! It's pretty good, and the start of me reading many more of my stories for listening in the car! Look forward to those!

I've really got to get to work on the podcast element of LynZine. A friend of mine told me that he'd love to hear a podcast where I just critique Greek tragedies (you should hear me go off on Electra! If my dad killed my sister I'd have helped my mom kill him!) but I prefer a more story oriented approach, like the ever fabulous Decoder Ring Theatre (If you haven't heard of it, stop reading and start listening to their podcast!). Still, I might do a few entries on Greek Tragedies and where Clytemnestra and Medea got it wrong. Maybe rant about Jason and Agamemnon a little bit.



In other news, I am trying to read through the legal jargon surrounding the copyright of Raffles the Gentleman thief, because I have an updated audio show version of them I would love to do. Alas, copyright and public domain is confusing to say the least.

I got the music for the intro of this reading from MusOpen.

It's not a bad resource, and makes it pretty clear what it wants from it's users.


Alright everyone! Enjoy your leap year!

There was once an old man who was born with a serious deformity, it made him look like he was always twisted ‘round. The man was viewed as a bad omen by the town and lived just outside of it; far enough for privacy, and too close for the townspeople’s comfort. Fortunately, he had three strong daughters who thought the world of him. These sisters each ad something the village needed. The eldest knew more medicines and poultices than anyone in the known land. With the right ingredients, she could cure practically any malady. The middle sister could find anything she set her mind to, whether it was water during the driest drought or the rarest herbs that grew in the forest. The youngest sister could make anything grow, even in the worst soil. The town knew that if they ever mistreated the twisted man, they would lose favor with the sisters.

Then a terrible series of years struck. First, there was an early frost that killed most of the crops before they could grow. The youngest sister kindly divided her own crops among the townspeople, though no one was full, no one went hungry either. It wasn’t long after that when the town well water was tainted. The middle sister found a new well, it was far from town and hard to reach, but the water was clean and the town could survive. Then the weakened town was struck with plague. The eldest sister worked tirelessly, but because of the sheer number of the stricken she had to dilute the cure. There were very few deaths, but most of the town was left weak as they did not receive enough of the cure.

The town survived because of the sisters, but there were those who believed that the hardships were because of the father in the first place. Three of these men decided that it was best to do away with him before he brought something to the town his daughters could not combat.

The men were making their was to the tree that the twisted man tended to sit beside. On the road they met the eldest daughter. She called out to them. “Gentlemen, I’m on my way to the well to get water for some of my patients. It would be a great help if you could come and carry some.” The men agreed because she’d tended to them while they were ill during the recent plague. Along the way the asked her where she had learned about medicines. “My father.” The woman answered. “He taught me.” The men finished helping her deliver the water and she sent them on their way with a handful of tealeaves that eased pain as thanks. They continued their trek to the tree but the youngest man was having second thoughts. His daughter had very nearly died in the plague. The eldest sister’s medical knowledge was what saved his daughter in the end.

As they walked down the road they saw the second sister stumble out of the brush. She looked up. “Hello there! Do you tree have a moment to help me with something?” They agreed to help because she found the herbs that her sister used to make medicines. She led them to a grove and set them to work harvesting on of the trees, explaining that her sisters needed the components. While they worked she left and returned with an assortment of wild roots and rare herbs that could be used as seasonings for each of them.

“How did you learn how to find these?” They asked her.

“My father showed me.” She answered. “He has sharp eyes, he taught me what to look for.” When they reached the road and parted ways the bundles of food felt heavy in their arms. The man in the middle actually began to lag behind. His daughter had become sick from the town well water and he could not help thinking of what might have happened if the new well had not been found.

As they passed the home that belonged to the twisted man and his daughters they saw the youngest working in the field. They stopped and offered to help. She happily accepted. “Did you learn this from your father?” the oldest man asked.

“I did!” She cheerfully answered. “He could only keep a small garden, but he taught me everything about growing plants.” She sent them away sometime later, each with a small basket of vegetables. Now the oldest was having doubts also. His family had lost their entire stock of food to the frost. Without the youngest sister’s skill with farming his children would have starved.

Finally the men reached the tree. The twisted man was sitting on a stone in the fading twilight while the branches swayed above him. He watched them approach. The three men looked at each other.

“You raised your daughters well.” The oldest man said.

“You taught your daughters everything.” The middle said.

“I taught them what they needed to know.” The twisted man answered softly. “They continued learning from there.”

“Thank you.” The youngest said.

“You’re welcome.” The twisted man replied.

The men took their baskets and went back the way the came. Leaving the twisted man to watch as the first stars appeared and wait for his daughters to come and walk him home.

Seventh installment of Out of the Shadows...

John Howle read the update on the case that had consumed most of his career. He wasn’t supposed to have it. Not since he’d been forced off the taskforce dedicated to dismantling the Pantheon. It wasn’t going to stop him from keeping tabs on their struggle against the powerful organization.

Howle’s intense reading was interrupted by an unpleasant buzz on his office phone. Right, the job he’d been given by people trying to pressure him to retire. He hit the speaker button while stowing the file in the safe on the bottom of his drawer. “Go for Howle.”

“Sir, we have a situation.” McDaniels tensely informed him.

“I’ll be right there.” Howle was out of the room in an instant, ignoring the twinge in his side as he moved. McDaniels was a capable young man, the worry in his voice was concerning.

When Howle arrived less than ten seconds later the large base of security was buzzing with controlled chaos. Hands flew over keyboard, choices spoke in hushed but urgent tones into phones, and the cause of it all was framed on the large screen mounted on the other side of the room. It displayed a large black car and the mug shot of an unpleasant looking white man.

“The car was red flagged. It’s been idling there for ten minutes.” McDaniels began to brief his boss without prompting. He fell into step with Howle who was looking at the screen. “Stolen plates, and facial recognition ID-ed the driver as Erik Koenig, former drag racer, current gun for hire. We’ve notified the police, and-”

“Have them fall back.” Howle ordered. The man on the phone with the police instantly relayed his message. Howle set his jaw. Koenig was the wheelman, not the gunman. The gunman must be behind the tinted windows of the backseat. This was sloppy and Koenig was a local hire. That suggested either limited resources or a local matter. “Inform our men that there is likely an armed gunman, probably more skilled than Koenig.” Howle said, causing someone to begin speaking into a radio. “Is there anyone local who might be considered a target arriving today? Politicians, judges, hell even pastors, is there anyone who stands out?”

“The DA is supposed to be giving an introduction for a visiting dignitary.” Jessica Jane reported, her hands moving across the keyboard faster than Howle could unlock his phone.

“Check to see if the DA has any open cases against Koenig’s previous employers.” McDaniels ordered. Howle frowned. He recognized the street this was on. They were directly across the street from Joan’s Joe, which was frankly the best coffee shop in town.

“This might be a long shot, but someone get on the phone to Joan’s.” Howle commanded. “If the DA is like every other layer I’ve met he’ll like his coffee as black as his soul.” Howle got a few strained laughs out of that. One of the newer members called the coffee shop.

“Sir, the DA is starting proceedings against some drug runners that Koenig has had previous dealings with.” Jessica Jane reported. “And his twitter is following Joan’s Joe.”

“Sir, Joan’s isn’t answering.” The man on the phone reported.

“Not surprising, it’s the morning rush.” Howle muttered, then nodded at McDaniels. “Put our people on standby, they need to be ready to move fast.” His order caused a new flurry of activity. They would stop and listen to him if he gave another order, but for now Howle was able to contemplate his next move. He narrowed his eyes at the screen. There didn’t seem to be a way to end this without shots fired. Not unless they could prevent the target from walking down the street. Howle hesitated, then he took out his cell phone. He had one wildcard in his hand.

“How did you get this number?” The voice on the other end could have been joking, but there was an edge of steel underneath it that Howle felt sure that only he and others like him could hear.

“Sally gave it to me. She’s under the impression we are friends.” Howle stated. “There’s a black car across the street from Joan’s. It’s been idling for a while. There is reason to believe that it is individuals who are targeting the DA.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Felicity, someone who Howle was certain was more than a barista, asked.
“I need you to keep him from leaving.” Howle said, half answering her question and half ignoring it. In all honesty, Howle didn’t know how much he could trust her. She wasn’t looking for information, but she was without a doubt tainted with the shadows that he had spent so much of his life weaving in and out of. Felicity was an enigma, but he thought that if she could help him, she would... or she’d at least consider it.

“I’m not at work yet.” Felicity said. “I’m driving. I shouldn’t even be on the phone right no-” There were various cries of shock around the room as a dilapidated green car sped around the corner and swerved right into the waiting hitmen’s vehicle.  “Oh, you are kidding me!” Felicity snapped through the phone. “Howle, I’ve got to go, I just got in an accident.” Howle could almost hear her tear her seatbelt off. “You are so paying for the repairs.” Felicity hung up on him before he could say another word.

On the screen, the woman stumbled out of the car, all apologies and concern. Koenig tried to brush her off, but Felicity was most insistent. She went back into the car to get her insurance information, motioning for them to wait. The black car drove off. No doubt waiting another day to make their attempt on the DA. Laughter and clapping began to spread through out the room.

“We aren’t done yet.” Howle barked. “Someone tell the police what just happened. See if they can pick them up for fleeing the scene of an accident. Gives them probable cause to search the car.” A now grinning agent began to speak into the phone. “McDaniels, send a team over to Joan’s to escort the DA safely into the building. I’m sure he can make his own security arrangements from here.” McDaniels nodded, stepped away to use his radio. “Jess,” Jessica Jane looked up. “Whatever you hacked to get information on the DA, make sure there’s no trace.” Jessica Jane reddened slightly.

“You say that like I’m not careful.” She muttered. She didn’t like how he called attention to how she got information. Though she had to admit that it was nice that he made it clear just how much she contributed. At least the other agents stopped trying to send her on the coffee run.

Howle glanced up at the screen. Felicity had pulled her car to the side of the road and was inspecting the damage with an air of resignation. He might not know what Felicity had been or what she  was doing now, but he was glad to have the wildcard in his hand. It could be explained away, but it more or less confirm his suspicions about her. She knew that it would and she’d done it anyway. As reluctant as he was to admit it. Sally might be right. He and Felicity were probably friends after all.

He had no idea that she was in a semi-retirement of her own.

The woman who was not Edith Chesterfield sat numbly in the drawing room. She shouldn't be feeling this way. She shouldn’t have cried anything but crocodile tears when they put the old woman in the ground. Muriel Chesterfield should not have meant anything to her. Her death, after the second change of the will, should have made the imposter feel victorious, not made her eyes painfully red and raw from tears of grief.

“Well, well, well, the prodigal niece.” A sneering voice spoke. ‘Edith’ slowly opened still watery eyes to her ‘cousin’ Julia. Julia was older, and only spoke to their great-aunt Muriel when she needed something, usually money. The imposter felt her eyes prickle again. Not in front of Julia! She chided herself, attempting to school her features.

“Julia,” The imposter was ashamed to hear her voice crack. “Here for one last handout?” Julia’s face twisted, then it reset itself in a nasty grin.

“No, I’m here for a bit of a show.” She inclined her head. “The handsome gentlemen will be dragging you away.” The woman looked across the room of relatives in far less mourning than she was to see two police officers step into the room. She suppressed her gasp, returning her gaze to Julia, who was grinning triumphantly. “Did you think I couldn’t tell that you weren’t Edith? I haven’t seen her since we were children but I know that brat wouldn’t have moved in with Muriel because she was ‘lonely’.” The false Edith felt a surge of anger as Julia’s voice went up in a mocking falsetto, an inaccurate mimic of the kind Muriel. She glared at the smug woman.

“It would have been harder for me to get in her good graces if you- people would have just spent some time with her.” She spat, turning her gaze at the photo of the sweet old woman. “She deserved better.”

Julia scoffed. “Says the con artist.” They had drawn the attention of the other relatives who had taken a keen interest in the fact that the favored niece wasn’t a niece at all. They could see their portions of the Chesterfield inheritance growing before their eyes. It made the imposter sick. “It just about broke her heart when she found out that Edith died on some silly excursion on Everest and the girl she’s been living with for the past two years was only after her money.” The false niece tore her swollen eyes from the photograph.

“You told her?” She gaped in horror. Her stomach twisted painfully.

Julia laughed. “Why do you think she changed her will again?” The smirk was firm on Julia’s face. Not-Edith had thought it was to decrease Julia’s portion. She looked back at the photograph. If only she’d had a chance to explain.

“If the police would mind waiting,” The lawyer’s voice cut sharply through the tension. “The will does stipulate that the individual known as ‘Edith Chesterfield’ be present during the reading.”

Julia stepped back, her still triumphant grin stretched from ear to ear. “Alright with me, it will be amusing to see her face.”

So this was it. Police officers waiting to cart her away, while grubby relatives waited to tear apart a sweet old woman’s fortune. The imposter’s lips tightened. She didn’t want to cry. She just wanted Muriel alive.

She could almost smell the Earl Grey tea the old woman drank. No, she could smell it. She became aware of something at her elbow. She looked to her right to find the butler extending a cup towards her. Earl Grey… Why was he giving her that? Surely he had heard Julia’s declaration. She took the teacup and he gave her a comforting smile; reminding her why Muriel was so fond of the man.

The lawyer cleared his throat. The room fell silent. He took a sip from his teacup (he was the only other person in the room to receive tea) and began to read. “I, Muriel Chesterfield, being of sound mind and body, do hereby leave the bulk of my estate, with the exception of the sums and items set aside for the staff… and family, to,” He paused for affect. “Nora Miles.” The imposter, Nora, dropped her teacup. Julia froze and confusion broke out around the room. “As I clearly know who she is,” The lawyer continued reading. “She is not guilty of fraud.” Nora’s trembling hands lifted to her mouth. “Nora, dear,” The lawyer swallowed. “I love you.” Nora began to cry again.

I loved you too…

I just couldn't get the idea of a wealthy spinster leaving all her money to a con artist masquerading as family out of my head. And I had to wonder, how would she have ensured that the will wasn't thrown out or keep the con artist from being arrested? By leaving it to her true identity.

If you're interested, while Nora was crying the butler was holding Julia back and calling the police officers over to help him keep her away from Nora. Then Nora ordered all of the family members out of her house, unless they were specifically mentioned in the will, and they were left some things, but Muriel's staff was left significantly more.

Both the butler and the lawyer really cared about Muriel and were aware that Edith was a fake. They also knew that Muriel was leaving everything to Nora (Muriel only found out Nora's name because of Julia, ironically enough).

16 years ago…
 
The Femme Fatale considered her student. The girl was 10 or 11 years old. Her dark hair and eyes could let her pass for three different ethnicities easily and many more with a little make up. It was something the Femme Fatale envied, as she herself was very clearly of Asian descent. (Not that that had hindered her career too much. It just meant she had to work a little harder in certain situations.) The girl was petite but strong. She had been working for the Femme Fatale for the past 8 months. Together they planted bombs, rescued hostages, and carried out assassinations. Yet, the student had never killed someone in front of her. Yes, she poisoned and bombed, but those deaths happened after the girl had left. The Femme Fatale was slightly concerned. Was this girl even capable of true murder? The Femme Fatale frowned. She wasn’t sure. Given who her student’s mother was and how the girl had been raised, she would think so. But she had yet to see the girl kill, and it was worrying.

“Fille,” The Femme Fatale said, her French clipped and professional. It didn’t matter that they were far from France; the Femme Fatale always spoke in French when she was alone with her student. It was a matter of tradition. “Êtes-vous prêt?” Are you ready?

“Oui, ma’am.” Yes, ma’am. The student answered faithfully. Her French wasn’t as good, but she was improving rapidly under the Femme Fatale’s tutelage. She removed the fancy clip from her hair while her teacher discarded the canvas tube she’d been carrying as a blind. People still thought of blueprints as bulky pages rather than a microchip that could easily be hidden in a girl’s barrette.

They had already scouted out the abandoned apartment building and knew their buyer, but it was better safe than sorry. The Femme Fatale taped a gun under the table. She noticed her student sticking a knife to the wall behind the closet door and wanted to smile. The girl was already picking up on the Femme Fatale’s habits: habits that would keep her alive.

The Femme Fatale glanced around the sparse room. The table was the only piece of furniture, it was heavy wood and as dilapidated as the rest of the apartment building. They both wore heavy gloves in case they needed to use the gutter outside to make a fast exit through the window. “Il est ici.” He’s here. The girl said. She had sharp ears. The Femme Fatale stood at the table facing the door, both of her hands resting on the table’s surface. The second the buyer walked in she went for the gun in her holster. She wasn’t fast enough. A shot rang out. The Femme Fatale hissed as the bullet grazed her shoulder.

“Don’t.” The buyer commanded. The Femme Fatale gave him an unamused look. “Raise your ands, Fatale. You’ve always been an excellent acquisitions specialist and I hope that we can continue to do business after this, but I will shoot you if I have to.”

“You’re trying to rip me off.” The Femme Fatale asked flatly. “You?”

“Step away from the table and raise your hands.” The buyer insisted. The Femme Fatale rolled her eyes, but complied with the request. “You, girl.” The buyer looked at her student. The Femme Fatale felt her hackles rise slightly as he addressed the girl. “Slide me the hairpiece.” The buyer ordered. The girl hesitated, then walked to the table. She reached for the hairclip. The crack that broke the tension of the room nearly made the Femme Fatale duck for cover. Instead, it was the buyer who fell to the ground. His face hadn’t changed except for the red circle above his left eye. The Femme Fatale looked at her student. The gun she had hidden beneath the table was raised at her waist. The Femme Fatale watched as the girl walked around the table and looked down at the man she had just killed. The girl seemed perplexed, if anything. Then she looked up at her mentor. She smiled. The Femme Fatale smiled back.

It seemed her student could handle it after all.

 Sorry about the unintentional hiatus. I had an unusually busy few months. But it's a new year, and with it come new stories! I plan on doing another "Story a Day" challenge, and with any luck I'll be getting you something you've all been waiting for far too long! An update for the Princess' Path!

In addition, I am currently working on "Family Values" a continuation of the story of Mina and Kami that started in the Star Trek: Excelsior episode "A Day at the Park". If you haven't heard it, I recommend it, it is really really good, and can be viewed as a stand alone story.

Lastly, I have finished two more stories for Out of the Shadows but I lost one of them! I can't find it, but I know it's around hear somewhere, so that will be posted as soon as possible.

The other thing I am working on is Hel on Earth. But that is a longer term project so updates will be very slow.


A very happy new year to you all!

Star Trek: Excelsior has just released the episode I wrote called "A Day at the Park"! There is also a rather big announcement at the beginning! You can download the episode from the site or on iTunes (the Star Trek: Excelsior podcast). I hope that you all enjoy it! It is a big honor that it was produced!

And if you are new to the site, there are several short stories that range between one and two pages called blog stories that range from Fantasy (like the Princess' Path) to Spy Fiction (including Out of the Shadows) as well as many others. I hope you enjoy them!

The sixth installment of Out of the Shadows...

Felicity wasn’t sure how she ended up with friends. She knew that even in this fluffy world of rainbows and butterflies there were loners. If asked before her new life, Felicity would have definitely assumed she would be one of them. Yet here she was, frozen in the doorway of the café, relieved that she hadn’t actually shot anyone with the two guns in her reach when they jumped out and shouted “Surprise!” Sally walked up to her and fixed a cardboard cone with crowns printed on it on Felicity’s head.

“Happy Birthday, Felicity!” Sally beamed at her, blushing slightly. Right, it was her false identity’s birthday. She’d noticed it earlier in the week, but it slipped her mind this morning. Felicity took in the entire scene. The Cinema Critics were there. Teddy, of course, and a variety of people she knew in a variety of ways. General Morris was missing, he was attending a summit of some kind, but the largest present on the table was from him. Felicity’s eyes landed on John Howle who looked like he was recovering from a heart attack. He was probably the only one who realized how dangerous startling Felicity might be. That set her in motion.

“Guys…” She said in a sappy touched voice with a smile. “You didn’t have to do all this.” Felicity waved her hand at the room.

“But it’s your birthday!” Sally looked aghast at the idea of not doing something.

“Yeah.” Teddy agreed, looking absurd in a goofy hat. “Now come in here and say hello to everyone.” Felicity allowed herself to be led around the room. Joining in conversations and marveling at who was there. How had they known to invite Old Joe from the junk thrift shop a few blocks away. Joe told her an animated story about his best friend’s birthday some sixty years ago, while Felicity listened fondly and Teddy laughed at all of the right times. She got in a heated debate with Marlene, of the Cinema Critics, about how realistic some things were in spy movies. (Felicity lost the debate because she couldn’t exactly announce to the room that it was possibly to shoot a man and defuse a bomb in thirty seconds because Felicity had once done it in half that time.)

“Whose idea was this?” Felicity asked between conversations, eyeing Teddy suspiciously.

“Well, I noticed the date.” Teddy answered, completely unashamed. “But Sally put together the party.” Sally ducked her head in embarrassment. A small grin touched the corner of Felicity’s mouth. “Joan,” The owner of the café where they worked, “Couldn’t make it, some family thing, but she paid for all of the food.” He waved his hand at the buffet.

“Well, thank you.” Felicity said. No one had ever thrown her a party before. She couldn’t even recall ever receiving a present. Even if it was the wrong day, it was probably the best birthday she’d ever had. Sally beamed and dragged her off to talk to another group of acquaintances, followed by a bemused Teddy.

After a while, Felicity managed to sidle up beside the always suspicious John Howle. “I’m surprised to see you here, Mr. Howle.” She murmured. Howle eyed her. He hadn’t been startled by her approach. She respected that.

“I’m surprised to be here.” He admitted. “It seems that Sally is under the impression that we are close.” Howle watched Felicity. “She’s hard to say no to.”

“Very,” Felicity agreed. “Though you looked positively terrified when I walked in.” She smiled innocently at him. “Why might that be?”

Howle considered his next words carefully. “I didn’t realize that it was a surprise party.” He answered. “I was unsure how you would… react.” Howle’s words were thinly veiled truth, and Felicity appreciated the dual meaning.

“You think I don’t like birthdays?” Felicity’s smile widened. The corners of Howle’s mouth twitched.

“I think you don’t like surprises.” He raised an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?” Felicity shrugged.

“Yes and no.” She replied, enigmatically. “I’m surprised you’re here.” That could mean anything from the party to Howle’s job as chief of security to him actually standing there talking to her. “But,” Felicity paused, considering her own words and decided the truth would confound him more than anything else. “It’s a pleasant surprise.” For just a moment, Felicity looked at him and offered a rare, genuine smile. It was far less comforting than the one she had adopted since settling into her new life. That killer’s smile certainly would have disturbed anyone else in the room, but Felicity knew that John Howle could handle it. “I’m glad there’s someone who understands me.” John Howle’s expression was so utterly perplexed Felicity had to laugh. “Enjoy the party, Howle.” She moved away from him. A self satisfied glow settled itself around her. She had been right. Her smile hadn’t perturbed him in the slightest.

Felicity tensed as the lights went out, but she didn’t pull a weapon or duck for cover. Sally and Teddy walked out of the kitchen singing (badly in Teddy’s case) carrying a cake bordered by candles. The candles created a warm glow in the dark room. If Felicity were poetic she’d find a metaphor for the light that her friends were throwing into her life of shadows. But Felicity wasn’t romantic enough for that… Not yet. Everyone around the room began to join in. Sally slid the cake on the table, presenting it to Felicity.

“Make a wish.” Sally smiled, her face shadowed in the dim light. Felicity looked around the room. Her friends were cloaked in the darkness of the candles. Howle stood farther back and almost unseen, while Sally hovering over the candles was the brightest. Felicity leaned over and blew out the candles.

For the first time, since she’d started her new life, Felicity didn’t make a wish. She didn’t have to return to the shadows. At that moment… She didn’t want to.

…And that surprised her.

Also known as the National Novel Writing Month, most commonly known as November.

Writing a novel in a month is tough, but far from impossible. If you want to know what the month feels like? Just check out the video below.

Now, I'm going to participate in my own way. But instead of focusing on a novel I will do my very best to post four of my longer stories in addition to my blog stories. I was going to aim for seven but I think things are about to get pretty crazy and four is still ambitious.

Plus there is a short story contest I would like to prepare for that is the 16th, and I'd rather not have my focus divided. Wish me luck!

And a very Happy (if belated) Halloween!