Ke answered both vocally and mentally. “No, that’s not. That is why I summoned you. He has requested your presence here. Get your footing, Weaver. You have a call to answer.” Ke kept kir solid grip on my arm while I forced myself to acclimate to the presence in the pillar. I swallowed my fear many times, and dealt with doubts I thought long settled. I confronted what wouldn’t settle my usual way. I asked questions.

“Angel or sylph?” “Yes.” Fuck.

4,255 words.

As his hands began to rove over my hips, I decided to be frank about what was being requested of me. “Are we talking about tea, or sex?”

2,323 words.

What are “Tumbled Dreams”? These are the posts I made to my tumblr during the week because I felt they did not warrant a separate post on this blog. However, these “interstitials” often explain some of the backstory to the larger dream posts. For those readers that only read Three Different Ways, they may help explain some of the characters and sudden changes in plot and direction.

6,237 words.

So in the eyes of the wife of the Elder, I was a good witch. In the eyes of the women that had their impromptu vacation cut short, I was the worst kind of bitch. I was one that made them look bad.

4,606 words.

I looked for the reason I came, but I didn’t see the woman I’m supposed to rescue. Dammit. I have to get inside the compound then. I have to attract the attention of the woman’s helpers, but without attracting the attention from the Madame herself.

Let’s see, what could a woman do in the deep South that wouldn’t be out of place at a Vodun style of ceremony?

Fall the fuck out, that’s what.

4,025 words

“Madam Ravenfeather, two guests wish an audience with you, should you be so inclined.” Jill’s voice was completely emotionless, nearly devoid of inflection. I had to hold a sip of coffee in my mouth to keep my own tongue.

When she did not turn to gesture towards the guests I scanned the floor. Near the front, two tables away from the door, were a pair of women watching me with the same intensity as Jill’s formality. The café is in a more tolerant portion of the City, to see a mix of ethnicities and religious displays in public was the norm. (As long as you were human.) So to see the women in head to toe covering was not unusual. I glanced at them coming in, noted the jeweled head scarf and jeweled veil, and thought nothing of it. But now they were looking straight at me.

3,012 words

They aren’t demons, they’re djinn. The corrected story can be found at “A Djinn Or Two“.

“Guys, I’m not up for any trouble today.” I shake my head and start to walk away.

“Trouble for what?” Shit. I turn to find a squat little man, in squat little robes, with a squat pointy hat, and a long grey beard in the process of being brushed and groomed. If a dwarf wanted to cosplay as Gandalf, here was the prize winner.

3,876 words.

“The authorities were looking for anything that could hang you, actually. Which reminds me…” An unusually serious look crossed her face. “There have been… rumors… my friend. Rumors about you that concern me.”

“Information for information. You tell me the rumor, I’ll tell you the truth.”

She asked of several things, most of which were simply the rumor mill working in overtime. Until…

2,069 words.

I entered the village as a troll. A mask of flesh and bone covered my face which I knew was painted a certain way. Pelts and hides of questionable origin draped over me the way Spanish moss drapes over branches. I looked like death and smelled twice as bad. Towering over men and horses, everyone fled from me. Which was okay with me. I wasn’t feeling sociable at the time anyway. A little kid ran towards me while everyone else was running away. He stopped in front of me. I stopped facing him.

“Hi.” ~grunt~

“My mommy said you’re going to eat me because she says I’m a bad boy and trolls eat bad kids. I really don’t taste good. I’m dirty and dirty food makes you sick.” I nodded while trying not to burst into laughter.

5,333 words