Tag: fantasy

Swamped

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excerpt

Today Eteo was walking alone because Ariana had spent a little
more time than usual with her mother. This gave him a chance to be
alone with his thoughts after the eventful afternoon with Rebecca the
day before. As always, his attention was attracted by the movements
of the sea swells as they broke against the rocks and turned them into
shining marbles. A faint smile appeared on his face, but his thoughts
soon ran in other directions. He thought about Richard’s problematic
drilling project, Mario’s new company, Nostra Ventures, Rebecca’s
beautiful body, and far on the other side of the globe his parents in
his beloved Crete. They had finally moved back there soon after Eteo
emigrated to Canada, selling their house in Athens where Eteo had
lived for more than ten years and building a new house in the village,
a small, functional house where the two of them could live the relaxed
life of retirees. His father had also bought a small boat, which
he used for fishing and to ferry tourists from place to place along the
Spatha Peninsula to earn extra money. They also took part in the
gathering of the olives and in that way earned all the oil they needed.
Eteo’s mother kept herself busy with traditional embroidery on a
loom, making beautiful articles for her grandchildren. And when
busy with her embroidery, Eteo imagined, she often thought about
the foreign land where her son lived and her eyes would fill with tears
and her heart with a tightness that could only be relieved by gazing
at the dark blue sea opposite her balcony and anticipating the day
when her son would come back home from that sea.
Imagining this, Eteo’s eyes got teary as he walked with the serene
waters of English Bay on his left, passing gently across the sand where
a few fishers worked their nets. He could see that they were probably
Vietnamese, new immigrants enjoying the warmth of the afternoon
and the smell of the sea while fishing for smelts, which were coming
near the shore to spawn. Eteo remembered how he used to do the
same back in his early days in Canada with his friend Zachary. Where
was Zachary now, he wondered.
On impulse he sat on a log and watched the fishers and their nets.
Suddenly he noticed that one net was shaking violently from one side
to the other as if a larger fish was caught in it.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562976

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WP3LMPX

Small Change

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excerpt

As he comes up off the beach road and turns into Andrews
Street,
he is surprised by voices. To his right, the spacious
yard of the Simone
place is crowded with people. Strings of lights from the trees to the
outdoor kitchen swing in the light breeze. He feels a twinge of discomfort.
If they should see him they will insist that he come in, and the moment
he has timed his return for will be lost… But no, they are surrounded by
lights, food, music; they are having a good time; they will not notice his
brief shape in the night.
As soon as he enters the house he knows it is empty.
There is a note on the kitchen table.
Dearest Rico,
We are all at the Simone’s across the street. Please come.
Your loving mother,
Andrea
He returns to the darkened living room and sits in the big, soft
chair. Should he go over and ask Marianna to come back with him? They
will want to know why. They will smile and wonder and tease and he will
have to admit… he will have to say… and they will make fun of him, they
will think he is a crazy kid.
He remembers that his aunt always practises
her piano just after
dark and as he consoles himself
with that thought he hears footsteps on
the gravel walk outside.
The door opens and Marianna stands for a moment looking
puzzled. “Rico!” she says, “What are you doing sitting here in the dark.
Didn’t you see the note? Oh, I’m so sorry. You must have thought we all
abandoned you.”
He gets down out of the chair. She comes to where he is standing
and gives him a hug. Without meaning to, he stiffens.
She backs away and
looks down at him, her head tilted to one side.
“What’s wrong, caro? Are you all right?”
He doesn’t know what to say at first, then he goes to the piano
bench and opens it. He takes out the papers he has worked on and holds
them up to her. Suddenly he feels very small, and scared and shy.
She reaches down and smoothes his hair.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763157

In the Quiet After Slaughter

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excerpt

She was waiting for a table in a Nassau restaurant, a frumpy, frazzled
woman with a peeling snout, saying to him, Haven’t I seen you
on the Sunrise?
They’d returned from the shore excursion together, he lugging
her shopping bags while she propelled her wheel-chaired mother
along the island’s potted beach road. Later that night she turned
up at the piano bar, drained a Mint Julep, then exited. Buddy
sought her out the following day. She invited him along to a lecture
on seabirds.
– Remember what the boss say, Sam cautioned.
The cruise line had always been ambiguous about the help fraternizing
with guests. Inappropriate friendships, as such romances were
called, could be cause for dismissal. But if shipboard dalliances
resulted in the booking of additional holidays— if a passenger went
home with a smile on her face—who’d complain?
This woman wore unfashionable clothes, sensible shoes and little
makeup. While others took elaborate measures to conceal
their weight, she flaunted hers. Had he passed her on the street
Buddy wouldn’t have afforded her a second look. Yet in her presence,
that sunburned nose, the nectar breath, she wielded the
power of a sorceress. For the first time in his life the piano player
was beguiled.
– This one, he confided in Sam, is different.
One morning over coffee he was doodling on a coaster. As though
in a trance, he wrote, Her eyes look inside my head and see everything.
He underlined the last word.
At the card table behind the engine room they had a diagnosis for
Buddy’s affliction: Man Overboard. It’s what they called it when a
player fell for a passenger. So named since a despondent Filipino
waiter, having been rebuked by a flirtatious diner, jumped from …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562874

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897971


Jazz with Ella

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excerpt

While the unlikely duo of Hank and Lona had been parting company, Jennifer and Volodya had also stood in the shadow of the exit sign once again making their goodbyes.
“Lona offered to take me to New York with her,” Volodya told her, “but I refused…”
“Of course,” Jennifer replied stiffly. “It would mean yet another border crossing and you don’t want that, now do you?”
Volodya’s face creased in a huge grin. “That’s not the reason I refused, my amazing woman,” he said.
He was teasing her, she realized. He doesn’t know what thin ice he’s skating on.
“She said she will contact me when my painting is sold. Ech, but I don’t think she will—if the painting sells for more than she paid me, then why would she let me know? She’s a business woman, right?”
He took Jennifer’s hands in his, kissed them, hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders and walked backwards through the automatic doors still holding her gaze. Then he vanished into the humid Montreal evening.
In Vancouver, it was obvious that some of the baggage had been inspected yet again. Jennifer saw almost a full roll of sticky tape covering the top of Chopyk’s suitcase as if the bag had not closed properly after the Customs had poked through it. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. One student missing and three artworks smuggled. Whatever happened, it had been the trip of a lifetime—though just not a lifetime she would care to repeat.
“Whoever goes through first should look for our bus,” called Chopyk. “Probably the driver will hold up a sign.” It seemed like yesterday when she had been the first one through the gate at Sheremetev and the adventure had begun. This time, she lagged behind, reluctant to face the world. Carefully, she propped her things up on a baggage cart. When she finally passed through the sliding doors right behind Linda, she noticed someone waving, someone with black bristly eyebrows and an armful of flowers. The man was not waving at Linda. It had been so long since they had been together, and so much had happened to her in the last three weeks, that she almost did not recognize her estranged husband.
“Michael, what are you doing here?” Despite herself, a full, warm feeling dispelled the black cloud, if only for a moment.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562892

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246

The Qliphoth

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excerpt

“Habeas corpus . . .” The bulk of Buttivant is behind him somewhere, praying
in Latin. Which becomes other tongues, thick and throaty. The sonorities
go droning on and on, right through his heart, his thorax.
The chair starts sliding into a horizontal position and at the edge of his
vision he can glimpse Mister K. wearing a microphone headset. His voice is
oddly flat, his fists are clenched.
Lucas can only look up, into the black hole overhead. His inner ear is roaring
with an echoplex of distant detuned voices, drowning in mutual overlap—
Westway music room / dub reverb / his father roaring at the nurses /
mother bawling out dumb classrooms in her sleep / dry voicings in damp cottage
kitchen / the swirl of tidal chatter / digit digit / the quibbly nowhere men /
let us pray /nuke the luke, boys… Images flicker through the air, but he can’t
quite shoot them down with his eyes, they’re too fast. The black aperture overhead
is trembling, enlarging slowly.
His skull has become a flickering moviedrome.
The room was a cardboard theatre of stiff crude figures, those people were
all fat puppets, several worlds are on collision course. His yellowing voice
makes an annunciation for the benefaction of hot virgins: “I’m a projectile
vomited at random stars.”
Foggy light fills that dark aperture. Is that a pair of human heads silhouetted
against the rim of the circle? Luminous mist swirls into the chamber, he
glimpses Pauline and Nick, siamese twins chained into their cannibal kissing
act . . . Why won’t they wave, wave him up on beams of approval, but there
they go gorging each other, he’s trembling, bumping around down here, trying
to rise above himself, he can’t help it.
But another face is up there on the rim, beckoning through snowflakes,
ashflakes, extending a slender arm, loosening her veils, releasing her golden
torrents of hair for him to ascend. He’s tied to this launch pad, which is burning
him with its icy latticework, to watch Katie’s eyes glowing as her hand lingers
around her breasts, between her thighs . . .
The essential Lucas, released from the drab fluff of his clothes, will become
an illumined being, a flood of liquid light, fluxing to the nearest transfiguration
of the flesh, to that female object, but the smoke, the smog thickens, fattens
its odour as he begins to rise into it on this massive unsteady jet of power.
The smoke clears . . . A nazi valkyrie has overcome his girl, has become his
mutant wolf-girl, half-hiding her fat cock with a dented helmet, he’ll have to
levitate right through herm, through sweetish larvae and the swollen muddy
polymorphs and their flicker of limbs . . .

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562839

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186508

Fury of the Wind

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excerpt

He stopped abruptly as a male voice from amongst a group of
men near the door hailed him. Looking decidedly relieved, he excused
himself to Sarah and hurried away.
She stood in the middle of the room, unaware of the people moving
around her. The day was not going at all as she expected. She
wished she hadn’t come. Perhaps Ben had been smart, after all, to
stay at home. Whatever he had done to alienate the people of Nimkus
had obviously cut deeply. But she could not understand why
they should take it out on her.
She became aware of people staring at her so she walked away,
and eventually made her way outside to the fair grounds. No one,
except a little oriental-looking man, spoke to her. Struggling to
manoeuvre a table through the door into the agricultural hall, he
flashed Sarah a huge smile. “How do, missy.”
Sarah vaguely remembered the sign on a shack at the end of the
main street, declaring the presence of Pong’s Laundry. She felt the
urge to run after the man whom she knew must be Pong, and offer
to help him with the table. After all, apart from Will, no one else
had shown any friendliness towards her this morning.
With nothing better to do she decided to go back to the livestock
area and watch Dave show his animals. Picking her way through
the people gathered on the fairgrounds, she noticed a group at the
grandstand near the ball diamond. She walked over to have a look.
Young men, some in their late teens and others a little older, had
already begun a game of baseball. They wore no uniforms, and the
few baseball caps amongst them did not display any team logo so
Sarah could not tell which districts they represented.
A man leaning on the end of a bleacher seat smiled and moved
aside to let her get a better look. Sarah, interpreting his move as
a friendly gesture, dared to speak to him. “Can you tell me what
teams are playing?”
“Colson and Ryerson districts,” he said, turning to look at her.
“You not from round here then?”
“Yes, I live in the Colson district, but I haven’t been there long.
I doubt if I’d know anyone on the team. Are they the ones at bat
now?”
“No, the ones in the field. They have a pretty fair team…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073530

Small Change

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excerpt

THIS IS DEEP MEMORY. Childhood. The South Beach summer house on Staten Island. Late light fades from the sky, the window, the upstairs bedroom where Rick lies under a cool sheet, watching the stars come out, listening to silence.
Slowly, as his mind opens, the heavy stillness after rain dissolves into small sounds. A breeze sweeps through the willow and sighs off over the glassy skritch of crickets, tree frogs like a troop of wet grace notes, the faint hiss of traffic on wet pavement from Hyland Boulevard, and beyond that, far away, but close, too, like the pulse of a double bass, the sea builds to a rush and subsides, again, and again, with a soft crash that makes him think of God and time without end.
Then, below the open window, it begins. Tentative chords from his father’s guitar. Three clear notes. A fourth. A fifth. A melody takes shape, picked up by his uncle Vincenzo’s mandolin. It’s lazy at first, until his mother’s clear soprano joins the strings. A male voice comes under it, then another, and a song rises to full strength, steered off and back by the wind. He smiles to himself. It’s what he was waiting for. He rides that comfort into dreams.
Rick sits at the oval table in the kitchen with his colouring book. He is trying to keep the slippery crayon tips inside the lines. At the other end, his father and his uncle Vincenzo are playing a game called briscola. They study their cards then slap them down hard enough to make them bounce off the coarse grain of the wood. Sometimes they shout at each other, but he knows it’s for fun and their raised voices pass over him without breaking his concentration.
As he works, he can hear his grandfather, Arsenio, talking back to the radio in the front room where his wife, Theresa, argues good-naturedly

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763157

Wellspring of Love

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excerpt

…moment to gaze at the peaceful faces. Susie’s light brown hair lay
entangled, partly over the pillow and partly over her freckled nose.
Just like when she’s awake, a little wild even in sleep.
Katie lay face up, her lips parted slightly as though a pleasant
dream had made her smile. Darker hair than her sister’s framed the
doll-like features in smooth waves that would probably be just as
unruffled when she awakened in the morning. Tyne shook her head
in wonder at this serene child of hers and, as she turned to leave, marvelled
anew at the difference in these children who had been formed
together in her body.
At Bobby’s door she hesitated a moment, not wanting to intrude
without knocking in case he was still awake. But when she heard his
gentle snore, she looked in. He lay, as he always did, with arms over
his head. From the light coming in from the hallway, she satisfied
herself that he was covered and sound asleep, no doubt to remain that
way until his alarm clock told him another school day had arrived.
Down the hall, Tyne heard a radio playing softly – if the songs
the Beatles belted out could be described that way. Now, now, Tyne,
don’t be old fashioned. Old fashioned or not, she thought, as she quietly
pushed open the door to Rachael’s room, I still prefer Sinatra and
Como and Pat Boone, and oh yes, Elvis is pretty good, too.
Tyne quietly crossed to the bed and looked down on her sleeping
daughter. Rachael lay face up, her arms akimbo, her smooth cheeks
smeared with traces of tears. Tyne sighed, her throat filling as she
recalled another night almost ten years ago when Rachael lay just like
this with tears drying on her face. The day that she and Morley had
to tell Rachael and Bobby their mother would not be coming home
from hospital had seared itself into Tyne’s memory forever.
But what could be distressing the girl so much at this time in
her life that she had cried herself to sleep? What had happened on
Saturday night that had made Rachael so troubled and morose as she
had been since then?

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562917

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763327

Poodie James

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excerpt

“From the standpoint of the police department,” Mr. Stout,
“things are well in hand.”
Spear waited for the crowd to settle down. “Now we come to the
matter of the train derailment and fire a while back.” For the first
time, Engine Fred thought, Spear seemed unsure of himself. “It
has been suggested that hobos from the jungle interfered with the
train and had help from someone in the neighborhood.”
Whispers coursed through the room. Albert Swan cleared his
throat. Clever of Torgerson, Spanger thought, to plant that notion
with Spear and let his political enemy make it public. “I’ve heard
the theory,” he said.
“I know you investigated personally, Chief. What did you find
out?”
“The railroad’s investigator told me the accident was the fault of
poor track maintenance. He said there was no evidence of sabotage.
We’re waiting for his formal report, but that was his finding.”
“And what do you think, Chief Spanger?” The question came
from Stout.
“I think that the head accident investigator for the Great Northern
knows his job. There is no reason to doubt him. Besides, why
would a hobo who depends on trains for his transportation want to
wreck one? Doesn’t make sense.”
“It might,” Stout said, leaning forward, “if the hobo and his
accomplice wrecked the train so they could come to the rescue and
be heroes.” He shifted his heft to the back of the chair. A buzz ran
through the audience.
So that was it, Sam Winter thought, the crackpot scheme to
draw Poodie James into the mayor’s campaign against hobos was in
the open without Torgerson’s having to spring it himself. He
looked over at Clarkson. Engine Fred sat staring at the front of the
room.
Spanger’s voice took on an edge. “That is a serious charge of
criminal activity, Mr. Stout. There is no evidence to support it,
none whatever.” Stout shrugged and gave Spanger a faint smile.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562868

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV

Jazz with Ella

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excerpt

Volodya hung back to the end of the line. Jennifer knew now that he would not flee; he would brazen it out. Besides, he had the passport. Soon David was there beside her, as always, to support her.
“Pull yourself together,” he urged her, glancing at her worried frown. “You haven’t been implicated in anything.”
“They’ll ship him back to the Soviet Union.”
“No, I think it’s Lona that’s going down today.”
She was just beginning to calm down when one of the Americans approached her with a shout. “Hey, Jen. Why are they beating up on your guy?”
She could feel the blood rush away dizzyingly. “What do you mean?” Her voice had faded to a whisper.
“They’ve got him by that desk as if he’s gonna be there for life.” The man laughed crudely. “He doesn’t look like a terrorist with that little pointy beard.” With a huge sense of relief, Jennifer realized he was talking about Chopyk as “her guy.” Not Volodya. David let out a long breath. He was thinking the same thing.
The time crawled by. The line snaked through the shabby building with most of the passengers being released to mill about on the apron in front of Jennifer.
As Jennifer remained at her post, Volodya finally appeared from the building walking carefully, nervously, but his eyes held that same light of triumph as they had just a few brief hours ago. He joined her, wordless. David shook his hand.
The very last people to exit the building were Chopyk and Lona who had linked arms. Her face was crumpled like that of a pouty child. Chopyk stared straight ahead and explained nothing as he passed the group. They were ushered to their plane. Volodya resumed his seat beside Jennifer. The plane took off.
Once again, someone had spoiled the party and the tension filled the stuffy cabin. A swarthy young man—Kazak or Uzbek, maybe—walked down the aisle, stared at Lona with interest and finally addressed her in thickly accented English. Jennifer could not hear the exact words but soon the man had insinuated himself into the vacant seat beside the blonde who still looked dazed. He’s either security keeping an eye on her, or she’s found yet another admirer. At least, this time, the trouble was not about her, Jennifer thought with relief.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562892

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246