The girl was lying on the floor, cowering against the wall, blood pouring from her nose and mouth. Chips Roman stood in his boxer shorts, pale and unimpressive, fists balled around one end of his belt, tiny buckle scraping the floor.
“I fucking told you not to do that. Stupid whore!” he shouted, “I am not some L.A. queer!”
Kierkedoek saw the belt moving before he heard it whistle through the air. He jumped between Roman and the girl before the thought was clear in his head. The buckle landed behind his ear, removing a small chunk of inked flesh and leaving his collar wet with blood.
“What the fuck are you doing in here? Get the fuck out!” Roman hollered. “I paid for this stupid bitch!”
The next swing was caught and Kierkedoek pulled hard enough that the Senator flew forward, crashing to the floor on his face - teeth, lips and tongue all mashing into one red blur as he landed. The man was up and swinging at Kierkedoek in a split-second, as the crowd pushed in at the door. Thomas was in the corner of the room, helping the girl to her feet and guiding her out of the maelstrom.
“Hey! Getchoor handth off of her Thhomaatthh, you liddell fagggot!” Roman spat through his broken mouth.
Kierkedoek landed a glancing right that knocked him back against a wall, but he was up again fast and running for his clothes on the opposite side of the room. Kierkedoek managed to catch a leg as the old man dove for his pants and came up with a pocket knife, a three-inch blade that he swiped across the back of the giant’s hand, opening another creek of red that dripped steadily onto the parquet floor.
“Fuck!”
“I gothchoo now muthhherrffucker” Roman laughed as he charged Kierkedoek’s mid-section like he was running a fourth-down play. He dove in, knife-first, and while Kierkedoek dodged far enough to keep his internal organs intact, the blade sunk all the way into his shoulder, pulling loose of Romans grip as he roared to his feet, a now fully-enraged bear, climbing to his full height before crushing his attacker.
Kierkedoek planted a fist in Romans gut, burying it to his elbow and lifting the man an easy two feet off of the ground before he flew across the room and crashed through the four-poster bed. Roman lay groaning in the pile of tinder and mattress, as Kierkedoek stalked in to heave him to his feet. Kierkedoek lifted the man by his throat and cocked his arm back ready to strike. That was when he felt Menlowe’s fingers wrap around his bicep, easing him back into reality.
“Shhhh. Yergie, he’s done. He’s just a tired old hateful bastard. Enough. Come on, baby.”
Menlowe steered the still fuming giant away from the bed and towards the door, where Eva Priest took him by the arm.
“Thank you so much, young man,” she said, as she led Kierkedoek out towards the stairs. She stopped at the door. “Would you mind, helping Mister Roman out of the house, mister...?”
“Menlowe. It would be my pleasure.”
“Thank you, dear. There will be some... gentlemen waiting for him outside in a few minutes”
Menlowe paused. “What about Thomas?”
Eva looked back over her shoulder and smiled.
“Why whatever do you mean? Mister Roman arrived here alone, did he not? I’m sure his son is safe and secure back home.”
“Asshole!” Menlowe shouted as he slammed the door. He’d been slapping the hell out of the man, all the way down the stairs and out onto the steps, but he made sure to plant one solid kick in the balls before he threw Chips Roman, master of the universe, naked into the frosted bushes in the middle of the drive. A black sedan was rolling up with its lights off as he retrieved the bundle of clothes from the steps. The wallet just might have been a little lighter than when they had arrived, but otherwise, all of the Senators belongings, minus his son, had been carefully gathered and accounted for. Menlowe made the handoff to two serious-looking black-suited men, pointed out Chips bare ass in the middle of the bushes, then retreated inside. Curious, as he tended to be, Menlowe watched through the peephole in the door with barely-veiled glee as they retrieved the Senator and stuffed him into the trunk for the long ride to the airport. Eva had explained that Chips Roman would be assured that his presence would no longer be tolerated in her neck of the woods, and that he would be strongly advised to reconsider his ideas about women and those of alternative lifestyles.
When Menlowe returned to the parlor, to his chagrin, he found several of the girls (and Thomas Roman) administering to Kierkedoek’s wounds. Jurgen seemed to be enjoying the attention, despite the bloody bandages he sported in several places. He was having a conversation with Madame Priest, and the girl that he had saved was sitting beside him, one hand on his knee, one hand holding a bag of peas to her face.
“We need to get you to a hospital, you big idiot.” Menlowe said as he stomped into the room and sat next to his lover, brushing the girls hand away from Kierkedoek’s knee.
“No fucking way man!” Kierkedoek laughed. “I been stabbed plenty of times before. ‘Sides. Look who’s here!” He grinned from ear to ear and pointed towards the piano, where a scrawny, pasty dude in a red silk kimono and a Santa hat sat tinkling on the keys. He was singing. Kind of.
“Chaystnuts roasting on an open fiyurrrrrrr. Jack Frost nipping at your balllllzzzz...”
“Jesus.” Menlowe moaned.
“Nope, just little old Santa me, Manloove! How the fook have you cocksuckers been?” Foxy Thunders hollered. “Though it’s been said, many times, many waaaayyyzzz. Merry Christmas. Happy Hannukah. Merry Christmas. Ahtooooahyoooooo!”
Soon the room was full of music, laughter and terrific spiced eggnog that Foxy Thunders had brought by the case from the Old Country. Kierkedoek was in Christmas heaven, what with fresh cookies and his favorite punk-rock legend tinkling the keys. Menlowe left off his jealousy long enough to enjoy his first real Christmas Eve. Friends and loved ones, singing ‘round the fire, cookies and booze and well-lit trees, girls in bustiers kissing under the mistletoe, and even a drunken filthy-mouthed Santa, who actually did have a bag full of goodies, but that’s a story for another time.
“Yergie?”
“Yeah, babe.”
“Don’t you want to go home and open your presents?”
“Yeah! Shit, let’s go!”
Menlowe smiled at the childish twinkle in Kierkedoek’s eyes.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“What about Tommy?” Kierkedoek jerked the thumb of his bandaged hand towards the boy. “Can’t leave him here, can we?”
“Yergie...”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Please, babe?”
“No!”
“Pleeeeeease?”
“Fine, we can keep him. For now. But he sleeps on the couch.”
Kierkedoek & Menlowe are two characters from the forthcoming novel HOT SINATRA. For more on Howerton's works, see https://AxelHowerton.com
The Snow Wolf's Gift
Fit for a dragon, a mage, or a king?
by Tim Tash
Sayenne stepped out of the blue glow, taking a deep breath as the portal closed behind her. Her blonde hair was pulled tightly into a long braid, exposing her slightly pointed ears. She giggled softly as she wiggled her toes in the snow.
Sayenne looked around the forest trying to get her bearings. Crossing realms like she did was risky at the best of times and this was definitely not the best of times.
"Oh, so you're the one causing all the chatter."
"I beg your pardon?" Sayenne turned to see a small tree fairy brushing the wrinkles out of its dress of pink and white spider-silk. Her wings fluttered nervously as she hovered above a tree branch.
"The trees--they are very excited about seeing you," the fairy continued. "Is it true that you are a shape-shifter?" she whispered. "That's what the trees are calling you."
Sayenne laughed.
"What?!" the fey asked.
"What is your name, my inquisitive little fairy?"
"Amaryllis."
"Well, Amaryllis
, I'm pleased to meet you." Sayenne started walking through the forest. "I'm called Sayenne. And yes, I'm one of those shape-shifters." Sayenne smiled.
"I knew it! The trees are arguing about how long it has been since your kind walked in the snow."
"I had no idea that my arrival would be the topic of such heated debate."
"You know trees--all they do is talk, talk, talk." The tiny fairy smirked.
"You wouldn't happen to know the date now, would you dear?" Sayenne asked.
"Yes!" Amaryllis shimmered with excitement. "It's All Winter Solstice Eve. I can't wait for the feast tomorrow." The young fairy licked her lips.
"I hope I'm not too late," Sayenne mused as the fairy continued to talk.
"So?"Amaryllis flew closer.
"I'm sorry, dear. What was that?" Sayenne stopped.
"How long has it been?" Amaryllis whispered, raising a tiny eyebrow for emphasis.
"It has been some 500 years since the Elders last walked the human world."
"Really? Well, that hasn't been that long." The trees rustled in agreement.
"Long enough, I suppose." Sayenne smiled.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going this way. Why?"
"You don't want to go that way." Amaryllis shook her head and crossed her tiny arms.
"Is that so? Any particular reason?"
"It's not safe," Amaryllis said, matter-of-factly.
"I see." Sayenne stopped and looked at the young fey. "Do you know why it isn't safe?"
"The mountain roared and the ground shook very hard yesterday."
"Curse it all to hell." Sayenne took off running shimmering a yellow glow as she transformed into a large white wolf.
"Well, she could have said good-bye." Amaryllis frowned as she watched the white wolf disappear in the distance.
Sayenne yelped in frustration as she bounded up the mountain slope in her wolf form, the sound of crunching snow echoing softly in her ears as her paws tore through it. Her heart raced with fear.
Sayenne stopped at the edge of an overhang, panting heavily as she lifted her head sniffed at the air.
There he is. The scent of the mage lingered in the air. He is close. She tasted the air as her wolf instincts twitched in the back of her mind.
Blood! Her tail twitched nervously. What is it with this family and having mountains dropped on them? She growled as she took off.
The mage sat propped against a rock, his leg clearly broken. Sayenne watched him from behind the tree line. His brown hair was matted with blood, his eyes dilated and he appeared to be in shock, struggling to stay conscious.
Sayenne slowly shifted into her human form as she approached him.
"Gandira, I presume," Sayenne said as she knelt before the mage.
"What?! Where did you come from?" Gandira choked, blinking rapidly.
"Rest, mage." Sayenne lay her hand gently on his chest. "Let me see what damage has been done."
Gandira chuckled. "My beautiful mirage, don't take this the wrong way, but I was hoping to have visions of my wife and son."
"I assure you, Gandira, I'm no mirage."
"Have you seen my son, Alturis?" Gandira said, his eyes wide.
"He is safe at home in front of the hearth," Sayenne said warmly.
"He was just here--he is always getting into things the moment you take your eyes off him." Gandira looked around wildly.
"Easy, mage, let me heal you--then I'll help you look for him."
Gandira slumped, mumbling his sons name as he fainted.
Sayenne moved confidently and efficiently as she wove a healing spell over him. "Two fractured ribs, a broken leg, one skull fracture, hypothermia...basically on death's door." She shook her head.
"Don't worry though, Gandira, you'll be home soon, your son sitting on your lap and your wife by your side. This much I promise you."
"Tell my wife that I love her," he whispered.
She scooped him into her arms. "You will have the chance soon enough. The world can't afford to have you die this close to home." She whispered to herself as she closed her eyes to concentrate.
Sayenne's eyes fluttered open, her shoulders slumping forward as weariness washed over her. She glanced down and was relieved that the color had returned to Gandira's face.
Placing her hand on his forehead she nodded in satisfaction. His fever had broken, as well.
She stretched, arching her lovely back to get her blood flowing again. The healing had taken much out of her.
Sayenne rummaged through her small pack and produced a tin cup. She quickly filled it with the snow, then blew into it until it began to steam. She leaned against a tree--even this trivial use of magic had left her light-headed.
She removed a small pouch from the folds of her clothes and dumped it in, stirring it quickly with her index finger and took a long drink. Sayenne closed her eyes and let the warm tea rejuvenate her.
"I should be dead," Gandira mumbled groggily.
"The worst of it is over. The internal bleeding and the head wound are healed, and as soon as I catch my breath I'll fix that leg of yours." Sayenne yawned as she knelt beside him, offering him the cup.
"'Thank you' seems so inadequate." Gandira propped himself up on his elbows and carefully sipped the hot tea. "Yet that is all I seem to have offer you at the moment. Traveler, I am Magus Gandira, and you are...?"
"My name is Sayenne, and you are welcome Magus Gandira." Sayenne bowed her head slightly. "I am curious what were you doing out here."
"In hindsight I suppose it was foolish, but I wanted to be home on the Solstice." Gandira looked sheepishly into the horizon. "I have a son."
"Yes, Alturis." Sayenne smiled. "You have mentioned him once or twice."
"I have?" Gandira looked mildly surprised. "I was rushing home and I almost made it with time to spare, but then the snow pack gave way and...well the rest is evident." Gandira swallowed hard and brushed away a tear. "If it hadn't been for you, I hate to think what would have happened."
"Try not to dwell on it, dear. I happened along and we will get you safely home."
"By the way, he said, “what was in that tea?"
"Just a pinch of Belarest root. It should have soothed some of the pain."
"Ah, I'm familiar with it. Well, then I wonder what is causing this hallucination." Gandira pointed to the sky.
Sayenne turned and looked. Her heart dropped. "I'm afraid that dragon is no hallucination.” She paused for a moment, watching the creature circling above. "A dragon, yes. Interesting fact - did you know that dragons can manipulate their size? They can range from as large as three barns side-by-side, and the smallest recorded size was roughly the size of a large dog. Fascinating really." She paused, but Gandira said nothing. "Too bad the same can not be said for their egos."
The dragon circled overhead, his giant bat-like wings fluffing the snow into large drifts. As he settled into a spot on the ground, his red scales shifted together, producing a sound not unlike wind chimes.
"I wonder what he is doing here," whispered Gandira.
"Traitor, I know you are nearby. I can smell you," the dragon said. Although the words were fierce, his tone remained conversational.
"What language is he speaking?" Gandira said.
"It is the Old Tongue--the first language." Sayenne answered.
"You understand it?"
"Yes." Sayenne watched the dragon. "Gandira, I'm afraid it might be a bit before I get to that leg."
"I see." Gandira replied grimly, as he struggled to rise. "No sense in both of us dying here."
"Stop it," she snapped."I don't have time for heroism."
"By decree of the Council of Eternal Light, you are hereby commanded to surrender to Terrocio, Captain of the Guard, and your appointed escort.”
Sayenne raised an eyebrow and clenched her teeth.
"I gather the message is...bad?" Gandira whispered.
"You gather well."
&
nbsp; "You have two minutes to decide your fate: surrender or death." Terrocio said. "I hope you choose the latter."
Sayenne sighed. She looked at Gandira and his splinted leg.
"Shall I speak to him on your behalf?" Gandira offered.
"I don't think that would be a good idea." Sayenne smiled. "Dragons don't like humans."
"And why is that?"
"They used to eat humans, naturally. They're no longer allowed, so they make due with stomping on you lot. "
"I'm so glad to know that.” Gandira went pale. “Thank you for sharing."
"We need a distraction," Sayenne pointed to the trees behind the dragon.
Gandira smiled, catching her meaning immediately. "I don't see how that will help."
"I have an idea but I'll have to time it perfectly."
"Then let's give it a try. I would rather not end up as a snack for this beast." Gandira cracked his knuckles and shook his hands to get the circulation flowing.
"This might hurt a bit, and for that I'm truly sorry." Sayenne whispered in Gandira's ear as her hand brushed the locket around her neck.
"Just be quick about it." Gandira gritted his teeth.
"On three then."
"On three."
Sayenne placed a hand on his shoulder.
"One" Sayenne whispered squeezing his shoulder gently as they each began the spell. “Two. Thr--”
"I have you!" Terrocio roared. The magic gathered around them a split second before the trees behind him cracked apart with a deafening explosion, sending flaming shards of wood flying through the air.
Sayenne staggered to her feet clutching the locket as she transformed into her wolf form. With a shake of her head she was off.
"Fire!" Terrocio roared. "You dare to attack me with fire!" He leaped into the air, his massive wings pushing him above the treetops in two powerful motions.
Sayenne bounded down the mountain as fast as her four legs would carry her. She could smell the dragon behind her, the mixture of brimstone and burnt wood.
"You can't run from me, mouse."
Sayenne jumped over a boulder as Terrocio's fireball exploded behind her, yelping as the concussion knocked her through the air. Her landing cushioned by the powdery snow bank, still she rolled uncontrollably down the slope tail-over-snout before coming to rest in a clearing.
She felt herself slip out of wolf form. Stay awake. This is no time for a nap. Sayenne pushed up with her arms feeling as useful as wet noodles.