Tuesday Tidbit: Preparing for Trouble

In which our protagonists contemplate the mayhem waiting in St. Margaret of Scotland. . . .

Monday evening, André returned Deborah’s phone. “The next time, it will be permanent.”

She gulped. “Yes, sir.”

“However, you are not getting the minivan keys back. Because it is going to be replaced.” He wrinkled his nose. “I can’t find parts for the engine that don’t cost more than the thing’s worth, and that’s wholesale. And I’m not dropping the engine and replacing it with a racing engine.”

Confusion surrounded Deborah like a cloud. “Who—? Wait, Hi wanted to do that?” Her voice went up at least an octave. “Race the minivan?”

Lelia flapped the dishtowel at her husband’s Familiar, who briefly sported a faint halo illusion. “Yes. Egged on by a certain Familiar who is not a lemur.”

“Yeah. I wanted him to cut the top off and turn it into a Vannagan or a camper van so I could go to that safari park in Ohio,” Tay grumped.

Confusion flipped to a horror. Deborah made warding-off gestures from at least two different cultures. Lelia felt inclined to agree. The prospect of Tay and Rodney on a road trip . . .

“Ahem,” André gave all of them a sour look. He began counting on his fingers. “Deborah, do not abuse the phone. I will take you to school, or your mother will. As soon as your mother knows her schedule, she will see about picking you up, or you will need to carpool. We’ll cover gas for carpool.” After four he stopped, looked up through his forelock at the ceiling, then remembered. “Oh, yes. The minivan will be replaced with something used, safe, and dull.” He pushed the forelock back out of the way.

Deborah and both Familiars drooped. “Hey, I bet we can find a sports car in primer. That’s a dull finish!” Rodney exclaimed. He and Tay raced from the kitchen, no doubt intent on mayhem. Deborah followed. Her parents sighed.

Lelia gave her husband a sympathetic look. “I’d suggest swapping them for Rosie, plus their food to make up the weight difference, but the Jones know them already.”

“Dark my lady, I fear every magic worker on the planet knows of them, and gives thanks to whichever deity they do or don’t follow that they are not us.” André held up one finger. “Except Mike. He’d offer to trade.”

It was her turn to make warding-off gestures. He gave her an evil smile, then followed the others into the living room. As she started heating water for tea and getting popcorn-making things assembled, she heard his voice. “I have no problem with that sports car. No, the second one, with the custom flame paintjob.”

“But boss, it doesn’t have an engine, and it’s not for sale!” Rodney’s protest echoed down the hallway.

“Which is why I have no problem with it.”

And the rental agreement doesn’t allow lawn ornaments in public view. Why someone would want lawn ornaments not in public view had always puzzled Lelia, but she shrugged and measured oil into the popcorn pan. There was always “that one guy” or gal.

André took Deborah to school the next morning. “You are going to sleep in,” he’d told Lelia the night before. “I’m serious. Because I’m not going in to Fernandez Auto-Mods until after ten on Wednesday, so you will have to take Deborah to school that morning.”

Love, you are working too hard. After so long, she’d stopped trying to persuade him to slow down. “Yes, dear.”

“You agreed without protest. I should be worried.” She’d kissed him, ending the discussion.

Now Lelia hunted through the big freezer in the garage, looking for aging meat and anything with freezer burn. “What? Mystery meat soup it is.” She straightened up, a package of meatus unknownius in one hand and a large freezer bag of veggie blend in the other. The mixed chopped vegetables dated to fall, three years before. “You thought you’d hidden yourself, but I win,” she informed the package as she bore it in triumph into the kitchen.

“Normal people don’t talk to frozen food,” Tay observed from the hall doorway. She gave him a firm look. “As I said.” She shook the paper-wrapped chub at him.

The mystery meat proved to be sausage. She added a hand-full of rice to the soup, stirred it, then retreated to the living room to look for a book. “Tay, do you remember if André’s book about finding spell elements is in the locked case or in with the others?”

“No, yes.” She glared over her shoulder at his nest, and the lemur tail dangling over the edge of his nest. “Meaning no, it is in the general case now. He moved it once both Mrs. Schmidt and Mistress Cimbrissa said Deborah needed to know how to identify and locate spell-associated injuries.” He moved, or at least the silvery-white tail moved. “Not my fault if my mage is imprecise.”

“Thanks, Delphic oracle,” she muttered as she hunted through the titles, tomes, and pamphlets until she found the correct book. The black spine stood out from among the green and light-brown herbals and plant books. Lelia pulled it off the shelf and set it on the couch. She went back to the kitchen to get some water before she settled in to read.

She skimmed the introduction and the usual warnings and cautions. “Right, as if we ever have time for that.” Setting up a full circle, shielded, and wards, and a pattern to warn off Elementals if needed? Maybe Kit had the resources and time, since he tended to work after the excitement was over. Mages in general, shadow mages in particular, did everything on the fly, or so it felt. “Probably just as well.”

Tay climbed down the carpeted lemur tree and sashayed over to the couch. She felt orange eyes staring up at her. “What’s just as well?” he asked before jumping onto the couch to flop against her.

“Not getting the time to think and prepare before we tackle trouble, most of the time.” She turned a few pages, then drank a third of her water. “This bit is about how to shield so that it won’t interfere with looking for evidence of spells.”

Her Familiar wiggled a little, then sighed. “You do think and prepare, just not the way she’s writing about. You and Shadow are always thinking about ‘what if someone attacks now? What if she is a shoplifter? What if Pisicagheara needs back-up?’ It’s just not surface-level anymore. Do you consciously find all the doors in a club or store?”

“No, I just do. You never know.” They’d had to use the last-ditch exit at Two Bats once, and she’d fled the grocery store out the back once, when that gal pepper-sprayed, then attacked the checker she thought had stolen her husband. “But point acknowledged.”

Two chapters later, just before she threw the book down on the cushion on frustration, Lelia found what she needed. “OK, here we go.” She read under her breath, then stopped. “So, in Lelia-English, since I know what Beaker and Spots, Shadow, and I already did, and since we were the only ones casting spells that had effects inside St. Margaret’s, Shadow and I should be able to sift out things that taste like shadow-magic. Anything else is what we’re looking for, since Beaker will be with us, and he can identify his own work.”

Tay nodded. “Right. You know Spots’ magic as well. Pisicagheara will probably be more help than Beaker. Beaker, well,” the silver-bleached round ears twitched, and Tay sniffed. “Yeah. He’s not used to excluding spells. He can tune them out once he identifies things, but if things are as messy magically as Shadow is thinking, Beaker will miss subtle, even blood-path subtle.”

“And blood-path can be subtle. It’s usually not, but it can be.” I don’t want to have to track down a subtle blood-path worker. I’m not that patient. She leaned forward and tapped the wood of the coffee table, just in case. Then she turned back a few pages. “This spell,” she tapped it, then turned the book so Tay could read. “Can Pisicagheara use the touchstone even if Shadow or I’m working this one?”

Tay nodded vigorously. “Oh yeah. That’s usually how it’s done, with the Hunters. Raabe and Imperotessa are working magic through either Pisicagheara or the Senior Hunter, or another clan magic worker is doing her thing, while the Hunters use a touchstone to confirm what needs to be dealt with. Outside spells don’t effect the touchstone unless they are being used against the stone’s owner. Owners in this case.”

“That makes sense. The stone can’t hold magic, because Labradorite leaks too badly, and the mount is silver shielded with silk, and kept in silk.” She’d never seen the Senior Hunter use the touchstone, but she’d never Hunted with him alone, only with Arthur as well as Arthur’s brother. She nodded, then went back to her earlier place, and finished the chapter, and the next. “OK, I think I know what to do, besides supporting Shadow and Pisicagheara, and trying to keep Rodney from tracking ash all over the pickup, if there’s still ash in the church.”

Tay leaned away from her, orange eyes wide, and pointed at his chest with one paw. “Are you insinuating that my associate would deliberately track something onto a black fabric interior?”

“Insinuate? No.” She stood and set the book on the coffee table. “Observe, remember, and anticipate? Oh heck yes.”

“Um, yeah. And this is Rodney, so he’ll probably get his brush full of ashes, too.” Tay sounded resigned. “Rich would just roll in everything and leave paw prints on the ceiling beams.”

Do I hear envy? La, la, la don’t even think about it! Too late—she had a momentary vision of Tay cavorting in the Gothic arches and beams of the ceiling. She took her glass to the kitchen for a refill, and so she could stir the soup. She added a small dollop of minced garlic, then girded her loins and armed herself to scrub bathrooms.

That night, André helped her into the pickup. “I told Deborah that if we’re not back by ten, she’d better be in bed when we do get home.” He made certain that they had both recharge bags, plus the truck bag, then closed the door. “She was working on geometry proofs.”

Lelia made a face, tongue stuck out, nose squnched up. “Ick. That’s when I bailed out on school.” Granted, the cultural flip from Catholic to hard-core Protestant hadn’t helped matters. She’d gotten her GED later, as part of her probation terms.

Her husband gave her a patient look, then turned his attention to driving. Their Familiars stayed quiet. Riverton had suffered a wave of stupid-driver syndrome, setting André on edge. Was it something in the air, or the surge in road construction causing people to stress out and act like idiots behind the wheel? Yes? Well, parking had never been something Riverton possessed in surplus, so that didn’t count.

They circled St. Margaret of Scotland twice before Kit Wilmington moved a barricade for them. They parked next to his official vehicle. A large pickup festooned with scratches, at least four custom tool-boxes, and a paint job that screamed “I’m a work truck!” lurked off to the side. André parked, then peered left and right. “I wonder where your boss—” 

“Ahem.” Lelia tipped her head to the side. Arthur materialized from a patch of shadow. He was dressed for a Hunt, as were she and André. Arthur moved without making a sound, flowing from shadow to darkness to concealment. Some day he’s going to do that, and I’ll have a heart attack. Then he’ll be sorry. Or be furious if she keeled over between October fifteenth and Christmas and left him to deal with the holiday rush. She got out of the truck, collected Tay and the two main recharge bags, and followed the men to where Kit stood. André rechecked Rodney’s protective paw covers, then straightened up.

“This way,” Kit said. He led them around the corner.

Merddyn and Rosie waited by the north door. She wore paw covers like Rodney’s. “I have a key,” Merddyn told them. “The support cribbing is up already. That’s all that’s been done, other than removing the largest and most dangerous of the debris once the Fire Marshal and Beaker said it was safe. We,” he petted Rosie’s head, “didn’t sense anything obvious, but we didn’t look, either.”

“That’s not my strength,” Rosie murmured, downcast. “I’m sorry.”

Beaker rubbed his chin. “That you didn’t notice anything is helpful. I’d rather know that we didn’t miss anything and that there wasn’t obvious residue going in.”

Rosie perked up. “Um, it’s been empty, sir.”

Merddyn tipped his ball cap back, then folded his arms. “No Elementals at all. Not even the usual air Elementals that wander in through open doors, or the like. Nothing.”

Lelia glanced to André, then to her boss. Pisicagheara frowned the slightest bit, the only sign of grave concern. Beaker made an interested sound, then nodded and pulled the door open. “If you don’t mind,” he told Wizard and Stripes, “we’d like to look around on our own for a few minutes.”

Wizard shrugged. “We’ll wait for you  to open the door again. It will give us a chance to check some things without overly-curious onlookers.” He sounded patient.

(C) 2022 Alma T. C. Boykin All Rights Reserved

A European Sort of Morning

A summer morning dawned with the usual slanted light as the sun moved north. Crisp, chilly air with a hint of flowers/urban scent/hardness eased in through the part-open window. The hour was early. At least two hours would pass, perhaps more, before it was time for breakfast. For a moment I thought I was in Central Europe.

Nope, still in the High Plains. It was a strong reminder of just how much the little details set the scene, in this case the light and the “feel” of the morning air.

I’ve spent so many Junes on the road to various places that I’ve become attuned to the differences in light. Out in the desert southwest, sunrise is at least an hour earlier than back home, wherever home happened to be at the time. So I’m up and about well before the Hour of Food, trying to sneak around so I don’t wake up those who are sleeping the sleep of the just. It’s a good time to go stretch one’s legs, take photos before the light gets too direct and harsh, and have a moment of quiet time with the birds. The wildlife, however, does require due care and consideration. The light is clear, with edges, often chilly and always dry.

Central Europe . . . In the cities, the hint of diesel exhaust is one of my markers, because trucks are only allowed to do deliveries early in the mornings. Cool soft air, full of moisture unless a cold front has passed, covers everything. The light is soft, filtered by clouds or humidity, and begins very early. By 0500 I can read without turning on the lights in the room (most of the time. Not always.) By 0530 I need a hat and long-sleeves when I venture out. Often the place is still and calm, with birds and perhaps the distant rumble of early traffic the only sounds. No, I take that back. A soft, steady Shhhh, shhhh, shhhh of a broom on cement and stone reaches my ears as an older woman in the faded floral-print uniform of matrons all over that part of Europe sweeps in front of her house or family business. We ignore each other as I pass, as one does. If she acknowledges me, I smile back. The city or town or hotel grounds are mind to meander as I please. No babble of voices comes from the market square, save on market days. The river or town stream murmurs in liquid tones as it dances through the little channels in the streets, or along its bed where the wall once stood.

Sometimes, that same light, the same cold late-spring air washes over the Texas panhandle, and for a moment I’m in a different place.

The Hunters and the Romani

For a while, Lelia wondered if her boss was Roma. She knew the Romani/Gypsies from her street days, and learned to be careful around them. He knew about magic, but did not use it himself. He spoke in tongues arcane and strange, moved in an oddly graceful way, and had that little accent. Plus he looked sort of like some Roma. When she finally asked, sideways, with delicacy, he caught her meaning and said no. The Hunters and Romani acknowledge each other, and have mutual enemies, but they are not related, points of cultural overlap aside.

Both groups regard outsiders with distrust. In both cultures, the women are the obvious magic users, if there are magic users in the group. Both groups practice variations on Catholicism, although the Roma are much, much farther from traditional Christianity than are the Hunters, and some Romani have shifted all the way into paganism. The Roma and Hunter clans have at different points in time been persecuted. They can work together, if the need is sufficiently great. And they will trade information. But . . .

The Roma see the Hunters as another group of gadjo, to be treated with perhaps more caution. No Roma will try to steal from Belle, Book, and Blacklight. The first group was the last, and word spread. Nor will they harass other Hunter-owned and run businesses. In turn the Hunter clans don’t go out of their way to warn others about the Romani if a theft ring or carnival is at work. The Hunters feel that if no laws are broken, it’s not their business. If people get their pockets picked or lose money to a slick con, well, perhaps that individual will heed the lesson while it is relatively painless.

Back in the Old Land, the Romani and Hunter clans have worked together when needed. See the “common enemies” part above, especially the Ottomans and a few others. However, the Romani are not welcome on the Hunters’ territory past a certain point, and a wise group of caravans will depart as soon as is practical. Likewise a Hunter might find temporary shelter from the Romani if the need is urgent, but he will leave as soon as he can. Their magic is not entirely compatible. The Romani invoke far more spirits, good and ill, and use Elementals in ways that the Hunters do not. The Romani will find an item with an abyssal taint and happily tap that for their own purposes if they feel that they need to. The Hunters would destroy the thing the moment they found it. The Romani inhabit a far “greyer” world than do the Hunter clans, because of their wandering tradition. The only fortune telling the Hunters do is for fun, with Mistress Cimbrissa’s “knack” for reading threads as a great exception. Even she does not go seeking information from the threads, and she certainly does not try to prognosticate. If it comes, it comes, as the Great God and Lady will. The Hunter clans will not do tarot, rune-casting, or other types of serious divination of the future. Why goes back a very long way, and even Meister Gruenewald* abides by that taboo.

The Hunters have been in Transylvania for tens of thousands of years. They were in Europe for at least three thousand years before the Romani migrated (or fled) that far west. When the first Romani encountered the Hunters, they discovered a group of gadjo who they could not take advantage of, but who would not actively chase the Romani away (provided the rules of hospitality were strictly followed). Once the Ottomans began moving up from the south, the Romani and Hunters formed an intermittent alliance. Some Romani claim that the Ottomans (and Seljuks) drove their ancestors out of the homeland of what is now Turkey. Since everyone chased the Romani away, well, there is a grain of truth in the claim. However, Anatolia is not the Romani homeland unless they then moved far to the east, changed languages, and meandered back to the west.

Lelia and André avoid the Romani. Lelia dealt with them when she was on the Street, and while she respects them as survivors, she has no patience for their ways of petty theft and their cons. But she’ll ignore them if she can. Live and let live, you pass through but keep going and I won’t bother you . . .

*After all, as long as he’s been around, he can tell what will probably develop if someone (or a bureaucracy) does X thing. Especially if the fateful words, “It’ll work this time!” are uttered. He’s seen a lot of it already. Although the assassination of Franz Ferdinand turning into a global war did strike him as being a bit excessive. That was, when he wasn’t dodging battles and armies.

Tuesday Tidbit: Warding the Shop

Arthur wants some arcane security upgrades before closing for almost a week . . .

“I miss getting up at noon.” Lelia yawned the next morning at a quarter till ten. “And clubbing all night, and having lots of energy, and my knee and hands not aching.” She finished brushing out her hair and frowned at the strands of grey in the brush. “I am too young to have grey hairs.” The silver-white signature of backlash bleaching that ran from eyebrow to split ends did not count, of course. She didn’t like the little wrinkles at the corners of her almond-shaped eyes, either, but she wasn’t as old-looking as some of her former classmates. She emerged from the bathroom, finished her first layer of clothes, and pulled on a “only around the house” dress.

André and Deborah were making an egg dish with lots of herbs, mostly-ripe tomatoes, and cheese. “Really? That’s sooooo dumb,” Deborah sighed and rolled her eyes. “As much garlic as the Hunters eat, there’s no way they can be vampires.”

Lelia coughed to hide a bit of laughter. “No. I’ve seen what we’d call vampires, and neither one bore any resemblance to the hero of that new movie, if that’s what you are discussing.”

“Hi, Mom. Master Tay already ate and I made sure he took his pill. Uncle Rodney ate, too.”

André turned from the stove and sighed as well. “It was a rabbit. A bunny rabbit. Not, however, a domestic one. He was very enthusiastic about dining.”

Oh dear. “Not in the house, I trust.”

“Worse. In the front yard.” He drooped as Deborah made a face. “Just as Mrs. Malone was taking her kids to the park. She does not react well to carnivores when they engage in carnivorey.”

“That would, indeed, be an awkward start to the morning, dear.”

Deborah made another face, then brushed the last bits of grated cheese off her fingers. “As soon as the eggs are done, breakfast will be ready, Mom.”

That night, André arrived early and disappeared into Arthur’s office. Lelia shrugged and resumed entering everything into the ledger. They’d not had a single customer since eight-thirty, and she’d cleaned everything, then moved the most valuable items out of the show windows. She finished adding the last books to the big record, then paged backwards over the past three weeks or so. Yes, steampunk sales really had increased. It wasn’t just her imagination. And more spooky prints as well, which fit the season.

Tay jumped from the floor up onto the counter, mostly. She slid one hand under his rump and heaved his back third onto the surface. “Raj makes it look easy,” he grumbled.

“Raj is built to go from ground to tree-limb without any stops in between. You are built for a more arboreal existence. You can swing. She thuds.”

His round ears twitched and he seemed to be contemplating mischief. Or wondering what the DJ was thinking to play “Pavane for a Dead Princess.” It was dark, just not modern dark, so it totally counted. Tay said, “Beaker called Shadow.”

Dare I ask what he called him? Oh, stop that. She’d been around Familiars too long. “Not Monday night, I trust.”

Tay shook his head, then started studying the underside of his right front paw. “Tuesday, seven thirty PM. Shadow asked if we could bring a friend, one who is used to looking for traces of magical activity and really knows blood-path stuff.” He turned his head almost inverted and locked eyes with her.

“Was that Shadow asking about blood-path, or Beaker?”

“Beaker. He can’t pinpoint blood-path as easily as you and Shadow, or even Defender can.” Tay’s ears resumed their usual topmost position. “He has to draw a lot more out of reserves to sift blood-path from other things, if he’s not working a very fresh scene.”

Lelia hugged herself, rubbing heat back into her arms. “Very fresh. Don’t tell me just how fresh, please. I’m already queasy.”

The alarm on her phone pinged. Ten PM. She turned off the front two rows of lights, then locked the front door and flipped the sign. It now read, “Closed. Come Back Next Thursday. Or Else.” A suspiciously gleeful skeleton in a top hat lounged under the text.

Lelia closed everything down as Tay observed in solitary splendor on the top of the counter. Once she covered the locked, free-standing case with the fine jewelry in it, André appeared in the doorway. “Dark sir?”

“Double shield, keyed to us, and to Pisicagheara. With a temporary tertiary keyed to Pisicagheara alone that lasts only until he reopens the shop.” Shadow frowned. “We’ll need to key them to something we three share.”

Lelia stared at him, then at Rings. Rings tipped his head off kilter again, as puzzled as she was. What did the three of them share? Not keys to the shop, because Shadow didn’t have one. As she mulled, Pisicagheara appeared behind Shadow. Shadow moved out of the Hunter’s path, stepping sideways without thought. Pisicagheara and Ears moved into the shop from the work room.

The Familiars? She and Shadow could draw from each other’s Familiars, and cross-linked to Pisicagheara as well, allowing them to support him if they had to. No, because he can’t draw from the Familiars without us. Can he? She went to stand beside the counter, and Rings. “Rings, can you or Ears support a Hunter without?” She gestured toward Shadow.

His ears returned to the top. His fur fluffed a tiny bit. “I cannot answer that question.”

As in he didn’t know, or as in wasn’t allowed to answer?

Clink, clink, clink.  André had his string of black and gold glass worry beads in his left hand as he leaned on his cane, thinking and puzzling.


The others stared at her. Lelia pulled her chaplet’s pouch out of her skirt pocket, then removed the blue stone and silver beads from the soft leather bag. “We all carry something from a mentor or—” she nodded to Pisicagheara. Saying “father” felt odd. “That we share in common, besides being goths. Or the belt buckle, and I don’t have that with me.”

Shadow opened his mouth, then closed it. Arthur’s eyebrows drew in with puzzlement, his eyes narrowed, and he frowned, looking off to the side. “Would this change the beads, add or remove anything?” He spoke with no accent at all.

“Ah—” Shadow studied the glass beads in his hand, then turned to face Pisicagheara. “No, sir, it should not. These have no power in them, aside from Draku’s good wishes and a teacher’s blessing. It is the fact that we all carry these, rather than the kind of beads that is important to the spell keys. If I carried a Hunting blade, the way you and Silver do, then we could use that. Or signet rings, which again,” he lifted his left hand. No ring.

“And I don’t wear a waistcoat as often as you do,” Lelia observed. “Shadow needs to take the lead, I think, and we can do a layered double that looks weak from outside. I’ll do the inner layer, and include a drain, to pull even more magic away from any attacker who gets through Shadow’s barrier.”

“Can do, since we’ve got something like that at Brush’s place. And I’ll do the locked layer, with you supporting me, since I’m still closer to sorcery than you are, and it won’t trip alarms with the Clan’s magic users.”

Pisicagheara glowered at Shadow. “I would prefer that it did not.” He folded his arms, studied the floor tiles, then looked up again. “Do this. I do not care for what yet moves in the air when the wind comes from the church.”

If Rings and Ears had possessed eyebrows, they would have risen along with their mages’. Shadow bowed. “Very good, sir. If  you would take, ah, no. Silver, infinity pattern. I am better acquainted with the shop than the workroom. You take the workroom, I stay here. Pisicagheara, please remain in the doorway with Rings and Ears. And hold the beads, please.”

“That I can do. Aught else?” His accent blurred his words.

“No, sir. Be yourself, please.”

Lelia helped Rings down from the counter and started toward the workroom. Pisicagheara flowed out of her path. She handed him her chaplet and inclined her head to him, then continued through the bead curtain and into the workroom. Once there she turned and faced the doorway. Shadow moved as well, and she shifted to sensing magic. She adjusted her position until she and Shadow stood equal distance from Pisicagheara and the Familiars.

“Ready when you are,” Shadow called.

She didn’t answer. Instead she bowed her head. Please, Sir, may I not screw anything up too bad, please? Please help us if You don’t mind. Thanks. Then she drew power from Rings and Ears and the night together, spinning it out and up, making a shell around the shop, lacing it through the ceiling. As she worked she felt Shadow doing the same thing, with a different flavor. His shield “looked” softer and thinner, something a relatively weak sorcerer would make. She tied her spell to the three sets of beads, then added the hidden sting, a tail that led to a “sticky” spot. The sticky spot grounded magic out, into the earth beneath the shop, then out. Someone could shield against it, but they’d have to be looking to see the tail.

She tied the spell to the beads again. If someone got trapped, any of the trio would know it, and Pisicagheara could call for an assist. Or he’ll vent his frustration with the city on the person behind the magic, and ask one of us to wash down the alley to dispose of any remains. If he waited that long. He and Shadow had both disposed of problem individuals more than once, thus far without any questions, fuss, or awkward discoveries by the general public. She pulled a little bag of trail mix out of her belt pouch and devoured it.

As soon as Shadow finished the third spell, she grinned. He’d keyed it to the open sign on the front door, so when Arthur flipped it around, the innermost hard shield would go away. I will need to open, so I can grab the power. She could come into the shop once Arthur unlocked the door, but not until then. That would work.

“Yes, sir,” she heard André saying as she got the recharge bags. “Should a fire or other emergency arise, Lelia or I will know, and we can drop the shields from outside without being present.” Which would be a lot of work, and risk bad backlash, as usual. They lived life on the expert setting.

The men came into the workroom, Familiars dragging along behind. “I have the bag,” Arthur stated, holding the cash bag in one hand. He set it on the closest box, then returned André’s beads. Arthur approached her. He stopped and cupped both sets of blue and silver beads in his hands, head bowed, lips moving. She bent the knee, head down as he prayed. She stayed there until he began to move. “Child,” he murmured, holding out one of two sets of identical beads. She took the chaplet in both hands, bowed a little, and returned them to her pocket. He’d given her back her beads—she knew by touch.

While she and André took care of their Familiars, Arthur opened the cabinets holding more valuable inventory. He removed a bakery-style white box. “Break bread with me?”

“It is our honor as well as our pleasure,” André replied, very formal.

Lelia got water for all three of them, checked the Familiars, and waited as Arthur and André helped themselves. If whatever it is gets cold because they spent too long being all patriarch, I will have uncharitable thoughts at both of th— Oohh! Home-made treats and meat-pies met her gaze, enough to feed a football team, or three magic-using Hunters. She hesitated, then took a meat pie first. Flaky pastry, heavy meat with a tart sauce to counterbalance the meat, and some root vegetable bloomed in her mouth. She ate slowly, letting the guys get ahead of her. Well, slowly for her. They ate two for her one. Arthur frowned, one eyebrow rising, and pointed to a second meat hand pie. His frown remained fixed in place until she had eaten half the wonderful, garlic-rich pie.

When they finally headed for home, she grumbled to André, “He’s never going to stop being a patriarch, is he?”

“Nope. Like me trying to get Mr. Garbage Disposal back there to stop eating everything that moves and some things that never did.” André shrugged. “And he’s right. You have to stop working yourself into collapse.”

Too tired to protest, she yawned and closed her eyes. “I’m glad I’m not working tomorrow or Monday.”


(C) 2022 Alma T. C. Boykin All Rights Reserved

May ’22 State of the Author update

Short version – busy. This is crunch week 2.0 at Day Job, with the year wrapping up.

I’m at 50K words on Overly Familiar. I’ve also sketched out the next main-series Familiars novel, and am starting to work through some ideas for Familiar Generations. I hope for an August release for this one, and perhaps a September or early October release for the next Familiars after that.

Noble, Priest, and Empire is with the editor. I don’t expect to hear back until late June, for a mid-July release. I have the cover art already.

Blogging will slow down in June. If things go as they appear to be going, I will be without internet for several weeks. I hope to have three or four posts per week, and I might turn off comments, just so people don’t get trapped for three weeks or so in Moderation Limbo. We’ll see.

Tuesday Tidbit: The Day After

Another day in the not-so-glamorous life of a mage. The city is closing 24th and turning off water for at least three days. Arthur is Not Amused.

“Well, small favors,” Lelia reminded herself as she walked quickly up the sidewalk along 24th Avenue. The temporary bus diversion wasn’t all that bad, and didn’t require going through the transfer station, for which she gave thanks. She was already tired from helping André after an especially bad nightmare, the worst in a year.

“No one will run you over if you fail to look six ways,” Tay observed. A large flatbed truck with an equally large backhoe on the bed roared past in solitary splendor, exceeding the speed limit as it went. “I retract that statement.”

Several businesses already had “Will be Closed” signs in their windows. Jeremy, the nephew of Louis of All Things Reptile, worked outside the pet store, washing the windows. “Hi Mrs. Lestrang.”

“Good morning. Are you going to have to close next week?”

Jeremy looked left and right, and leaned closer. “Yes. Uncle Louis is really mad, because we have to move all the animals out. We’d scheduled an open house on Saturday, in conjunction with the opening of the new reptile house at the zoo, with guest herpetologists and everything. I thought he was going to collapse, he turned sort of grey when he read the message from the city.”

Oh shit. That really is bad. “That’s terrible! Is there anything Mr. Saldovado and I can do to help you?”

Jeremy went back to washing the glass. “No, thank you though. We found an alternative venue, and were able to rent a space in that space that’s about to be renovated over on 18th. We’re going to start moving terrarria and everything else this afternoon, once the recycling truck finishes its round.”

“I’ll let Mr. Saldovado know. I don’t think we’re expecting an alley delivery. If we can lend a hand, you know where to find us.”

“I’ll let Uncle Louis know.”

Lelia unlocked the front door and sprinted to the workroom to turn off the alarm. She set Tay’s carrier down, then trotted to the front door once again and locked it. “There has to be a better way,” she grumbled for the hundredth time at least. With the lights off, the clothing racks and shelves of books, prints, and other things seemed a little spooky. What might be hiding among the XL shirts? “Oh, stop that,” she growled at herself. “Stop eating cold pizza after midnight.” Which she hadn’t done for decades, but it was the thought that counted.

She turned on the computer, then ducked into the workroom once more. As she’d feared, a very long list of pull orders awaited her. She helped Tay out of his carrier and stowed it, then unlocked Arthur’s office to turn on his computer and the internet radio. As she logged in, the pending playlist appeared on the monitor. “Someone has to be psychic, or they are having road work outside their studio.” The next song plus one was “Curse the Skies” by Darker than Midnight.

She heard the back door chime at ten till ten. Arthur wasn’t due in until noon. Lelia poked her head through the bead curtain. “Good,” he said. “Hold the door open.” She did as commanded. He and Rendor carried five large cartons of books into the work room, followed by two bulging cloth sacks. “Take the counter,” Arthur ordered. “Rendor and I will prepare the book orders. Many came in this morning.”

Many ordered books arrived, or many orders for books? Lelia nodded and said, “Yes, sir.” She nodded to Rendor as well before returning to the front. Tay followed her. “Too busy in the back?”

“I don’t want to get added to a parcel. Your boss is a bit distracted.”

Lelia closed her eyes for a moment. “Should we tell him about the reptile movers coming?” She opened her eyes and unlocked the door, then turned on all the lights.

The lemur tilted his head ninety degrees from upright. “You can. I’ll watch from low Earth orbit.”

The door chime sounded its low, mournful bong and Lelia turned to greet the customer. Mr. Maxwell waved to her. “I want to look at the Black Rose jewelry, and to get my order.”

“Yes, sir.” She found it on the small mountain of bags and parcels looming behind the counter and pulled it for him. Three books, a shirt, and a gears and skull tie-tack, as he had requested. She started to ring up the order.  

The industrial goth found wheat he wanted on the jewelry wall and wended his way to the counter. “Are you going to be closed too, next week?”

“Yes, sir.” She checked the price on the brooch and added it to his order. “At least through Wednesday. Mr. Saldovado thinks perhaps longer. He’s not as optimistic as the street department is.”

Mr. Maxwell made a rude sound as he pulled out his debit card. Lelia turned the card machine toward him, and he slid the card in. As he leaned over to enter his PIN number, his silver Thor’s hammer on a black silk cord swung out, catching her eye. The first time Tay had seen the pendant, he’d almost shed all his fur, he’d laughed so hard. After Mr. Maxwell left, that was. Once again, Lelia wondered if Mr. Maxwell was a Beatles fan, or a neoPagan, or both.

“We’re working late today, then closing starting tomorrow. The owner is not happy, but she’s glad it’s now and not during our rush season. Receipt in the bag. Thanks.” He took his order and hurried out, holding the door for a cluster of inbound customers.

By a quarter to three that afternoon, Lelia’s low back ached, her eyes wanted to cross, and her stomach growled more loudly than did the lion in the Riverton zoo. Customers came in waves, with only the briefest lull between gusts. It seemed as if everyone wanted to know if she’d heard anything about what happened at the church, and if it was a bomb. She’d managed to get almost half the receipts entered into the sales ledger, and kept the orders straight, but that was it. I need to straighten the men’s shirts, and tidy up the prints, and deal with those fingerprints on the fine jewelry case. And eat, and drink some water. All at the same time. Tay had made himself scarce, somewhere. I’d ask where could he hide, but he’d probably drop out of the ceiling tiles yelling “Banzai” or something. Especially the “or something.”

She rang up one more sale. The young lady left, and a moment of quiet filled the shop. Lelia hurriedly straightened shirt collars and sleeves, moving a small back into the proper section. Then she darted to the prints and replaced three sweet prints that had wandered into the spooky section, and put two steampunk images into the proper file.

“Cousin Katoka?” She turned to find Rendor standing beside the counter.

“Yes, sir?”

Dumitra’s husband seemed to study her. He wasn’t as tall as Arthur, and had broader shoulders, but sported the same very dark brown hair and tan complexion. Like the other inactive Hunters, he wore dark colors but not black. “Master Saldovado says that you need to come eat.”

Dumitra appeared behind her husband and waved. “I can work the computer, Katoka. Have done it before.”

Huh? Don’t ask. Arthur had never, ever to her knowledge called in his niece and her husband before. “The orders are by last name, written on the receipt in the bag,” Lelia said. She slid one last print back into its proper home before starting toward the workroom door. “Oh, nuts.” Some of the books were out of order. She stopped and began re-shelving them properly.

“Mistress Lestrang,” a low tenor voice growled. She gulped and beheld Arthur glowering at her. “Come eat. Now.”

“Yes, sir,” she squeaked, slinking past him and into the workroom. She heard a quick, low male conversation in the Clan’s speech before she washed her hands in the tiny restroom. Now that she smelled food, her stomach changed from growling to howling. Arthur returned to the workroom and watched her devour a large bowl of hot pasta-and-sausage salad. Tay had climbed onto the storage shelves and stared from an empty space, almost as intent as her boss. Only after she scraped the last little bit of sauce out of the bowl did the two males relax.

“Tomorrow. Come in after noon, no earlier,” Arthur began. He folded his arms. “You will close. Shadow will come at closing, and you will re-work the shields on both shop and workroom. I do not care for the taste lingering in the air.”

Why not Corava? She didn’t ask. “After noon, and rework the shields later, yes, sir.”

He started to add more. Thump! Thump thump thumpity thump! pounded on the back door. He strode over and opened it as she drew power for shields.  “Help, please,” Jeremy begged. “Uncle Louis looks sick and I can’t get him to stop working and rest.”

“Go with him,” Arthur ordered. “Rendor and I follow. Now.”

Lelia didn’t bother answering, or washing her hands. She grabbed Tay and hurried after Jeremy, ducking into the back of All Things Reptile. “Uncle Louis, Mrs. Lestrang can help hold things for you.”

She blinked and caught herself before she tripped over a terrarium and it’s tightly-coiled contents. “Thank you,” Louis wheezed from an office chair in the corner. “I want to stage things so we can move them quickly from the shop to the trucks. I’m fine,  just need to catch my breath for second.”

“Don’t let him do anything,” Tay whispered into her ear.

“No kidding.” Louis really did look grey, and not just from the odd purple lights. More loudly she said, “Sure, sir. How about I work on the small terrarria, put them in a row over here to make room while Jeremy starts with the larger ones?”

“That works. Don’t over do it, please, Lelia. The glass is heavier than it looks. None of the venomous reptiles are back here yet. Those go in a separate truck, last load.”

“Yes, sir.” Ugh. She helped Tay down and he would his way over to where Louis sat. Tay plunked himself beside the older stop owner, his tail draped over the man’s shoe. Lelia shrugged, then set to work.

Arthur and Rendor appeared not long after. Rendor blanched, gulped, and gave his uncle-by-marriage a nervous glance. Arthur made the hand gesture for “get moving” and went to assist Jeremy. A truck grumbled and beeped as it backed up to the door not five minutes later. Jeremy and the Hunters loaded the truck as Lelia toted sacks of pet food and other harmless things out of the shop and out to where the men could grab them easily.

Louis got up and started trying to help. He wheezed more loudly. He sat hard on the concrete floor, pulling open his collar. Tay fluffed and his tail started thrashing. Lelia called 9-1-1.

“Mom, where are you?” Deborah demanded at six-thirty that evening. The phone showed Krimhilde’s business number.

“On the bus, half-way home. Why?”

“Dad’s working late and Mrs. Schmidt has a late client, a kinda-emergency. Can you come get me, please?”

Lelia started to tip her head back against the grab-bar, then remembered that this bus didn’t have grab-bars behind the seat. “Yes, if the minivan will start.” It had been acting up again. She sympathized with it. “I’ll call this number when I leave the house.”

“Thanks Mom. Love you.” Silence.

(C) 2022 Alma T. C. Boykin All Rights Reserved

To Be a Guardian

Familiar Tales readers know that there is a role among the Hunter clans that, at least in River County, has gone unfilled for many years: that of the guardian. The last man to fill that role has been dead almost a century, and the other Hunters know that something’s missing. The Hunters hearth remains cold, never lit. So long as the main hearth burns, it’s not a major concern, but it is a concern. None of the inactive Hunters has felt the call to fill that role, and the priestess has not indicated that a Hunter has an unfilled vocation.

Arthur and the others knew of the role, but he had forgotten about it. He’d never had much to do with the guardian in the southern branch of the Clan, and he’s deliberately forgotten a great deal about that time. It is past and gone. He is Boianti, “born to be a Hunter,” and that is his duty until death. He strives to be nothing more or less. Until . . .

Until he went unwillingly to the Old Land. First, he was permitted to see the Lady’s chapel in the mountain, a place he had never, ever imagined he could behold with his own eyes. Then he learned of the connection between his favored blade and a legendary Hunter of the past. Were that not enough of a boon, the tie between Arthur and his soul’s daughter was recognized and affirmed by the priestess of the oldest line of the Clan, her and the guardian with her. He’d heard of beads blessed by the Lady and Defender both, but to be given a set! Arthur was about to faint in awe by that moment. Then came the Defender’s blessing, and the realization of a new vocation, should he be allowed to take it. He was called to be a guardian. Tay witnessed and confirmed the calling.

The guardian must be an experienced Hunter, one respected by the other Hunters, and one who is an elder. He must have proven that he can provide good counsel as well as being a warrior. He must be devout, and must be a father of two generations. He is generally a sensitive, but not necessarily a magic worker himself. Thus Meister Gruenewald could never be a guardian, because he has no grandchildren, and because he’s not especially devout. (He believes, but his religiosity is his business and none other’s.) Arthur now fits all the requirements. His words have also provided soul’s comfort to two Hunters at least. That’s the seal on his being a potential guardian.

The guardian supports the priestess, and Hunts spiritual as well as other prey. When he is called to a mundane Hunt, it means something very, very serious is in the offing. As in the Terrible Hunt, where Arthur acted as Hunter and as priest. He was Defender to the Lady. Lelia supported him with magic, he took that and with, let us say Special Assistance, Arthur closed the gate and sealed that infernal plane away from ours for the foreseeable future. And then collapsed, because he’s not built to handle that kind of power. Lelia may have kept him alive until other help came when she protected him from hypothermia. He thought so, later, when everyone put the pieces together. Most of the Clan assumed that he’d gotten hit by some of the backlash when the mages did whatever it was they did and everything went rodeo. Arthur, the priestess, and his older sister knew better. His sister could see the change, the new connection between her brother and the mages. And between Arthur and something else.

The elders in the clan want Boianti to stop leading the Hunters. They will never tell him that, or try to order him, because that’s not how it is done. He has not failed in his duties. They worry. He’s the oldest active Hunter, and they can see signs of wear and tear—everyone can. The other elders also worry about his mental state. Boianti will never marry, so he lacks that support and comfort. He has a family, yet he continues to Hunt, while working more than full time. A few of the elders have spoken to the priestess about this. She has watched Boianti, and thus far sees none of the warning signs. Yet.

She also sees the change in his heart, and the possibility set before him. She wants him to take up that call. The priestess knows that the clan is unbalanced. It’s not supposed to be a matriarchy, and the Hunters need a reminder of this, as do the others. The Lady is the handmaid of the Lord, not the primary deity. The priestess also knows that some of the younger Hunters need wise counsel from someone they trust. She can’t do all of her tasks without the guardian being present. He is the balance, the physical side of the Lord’s work. She represents the spiritual side, or so the clans believe.

Until a guardian comes forward, the fire in the Hunters hearth remains cold, and the Hunters are without a spiritual guide who truly understands what they are going through. The clan needs a guardian, be it Arthur or another older Hunter.

Tuesday Tidbit: The Evening After

After-action discussion, with teenager.

“But Moooooom—” Deborah began late that afternoon.

“No. Your father said we are ordering supper in. Pick something and I will call. Order a fancy salad it that’s what your heart’s set on, but no, I am not making a giant salad here tonight.” Lelia glared at her daughter. “We had to deal with bael-fire, regular flames, half a dozen nasty charms, and other things. Pick what you want and change out of your uniform, please.”

“Fine. I want the super chicken salad, with raspberry dressing.” She stomped down the hall as loudly as possible in sock-feet, and slammed her bedroom door.

Lelia considered scolding her daughter. “I’m too tired.” Instead she ordered the salad, plus two extra large meat-n-three plates from Czech Market, along with rolls and desserts. It put a dent in her grocery budget, but she’d make it up the rest of the week. They needed to work through the canned food and what they had on hand anyway.

André picked up the food on his and Rodney’s way home. Lelia met the pickup in the garage, before he closed the door. “In the passenger foot well,” André said. She got the bags, and a drink carrier, and brought them into the kitchen. Deborah sulked as she set the table. She wore mismatched purples and yellow. Lelia shrugged and returned to the pickup. She relieved her husband of the recharge bags and truck supply bag. “Stash them in the utility room,” he ordered. “We’ll reload after supper. Ears and I need food. Now.”

“Yes, sir.” Please may Deborah not push things until he’s eaten. She got plates and sorted out the two big meals from the fancy chicken salad, sliced the bread, and tucked the desserts and milkshakes into the fridge and freezer respectively. André didn’t bother changing out of his work clothes. He and Rodney dragged into the kitchen. Deborah pulled Rodney’s food out of the ‘fridge and set the laden plate of meat chunks behind the kit fox’s dining screen. Tay had been grazing since he got home, so he sat in his high chair and worked on water.

André said grace, and all four diners tore into their food. The hearty sausage with sides helped improve the world, especially after Lelia used the sour black bread to mop up any drops of sauces. Deborah gloomed and munched through more lettuce than would feed a rabbit for a year. Only after André finished cleaning his plate did he look up at anything else. “So. The word is that if the roof doesn’t collapse by tomorrow, it’s probably not going to collapse. The fire marshal hopes. They’ve closed the entire area around St. Margaret’s. St. Andrew’s on Broad Street has agreed to let the congregation use their facilities until things get fixed up enough to at least have mass at St. Margaret’s.” He ran a hand through his sweat-spiked hair. “Beaker’s probably going to contact us. He’s getting statements from all the magic workers. Rumor has it that the sheriff sent him home early, in someone else’s car so he didn’t fall asleep behind the wheel. His wife was working and couldn’t pick him up. Uncle Leopard didn’t need to be driving, either.”

Deborah’s dark, almond-shaped eyes opened wider and wider. She finished her mouthful of salad and wiped dressing off the corner of her mouth. “Crap. Is that what Danny was babbling about, a bomb in some downtown church?”

Lelia shook her head as Tay face-pawed. She said, “Not an explosive bomb like the one they found in the warehouse in Pittsburgh, no, but something caught things in the church on fire, and released bael-fire as well to keep the firemen out until a lot of damage had been done. It took your Dad and I, Uncle Leopard and Kit, Delores Lee, Merddyn Jones and Rosie, one of the covens, and a few others to deal with everything.” She felt tears threatening and swallowed hard. “The organ fell in and burned, so did part of the big rose window. I don’t know what else was lost.”

Her daughter made a silent “O.” Then she gulped and glanced at her dad, then back at her mom. “Um, that’s worse than what Sister Bernadette said. Lots worse.”

“It was bad,” Tay stated. “Very bad. Sensitives felt it several miles away.”

“Master Saldovado was still jumpy when I left this evening. He felt it through the shields on the shop.” Which probably means that Corava and I need to get together, take them down, and rebuild them from scratch. Not tomorrow.  

Deborah gulped. “That—, um, can I text Mrs. Schmidt and ask if she needs help tomorrow? I’ll get my work and stuff done tonight.”

Lelia considered. André caught her eye and nodded. “Yes, you may,” Lelia said, as André pulled his phone out of its holster and entered his access code, then passed it to Deborah. Her thumbs flew and the outgoing message whooshed. She returned the phone to her dad as Lelia stood, took the empty plates, and replaced them with dessert.

Later that evening, André emerged from the shower. Lelia heard kitchen sounds. Just as she finished valiant battle with three buttons on one of her jackets, he appeared. He handed her a milkshake, then sat in his chair. “Mrs. Schmidt will pick Deborah up from school at three. Deborah will miss is part of her second study-hall, but she has all her work done already, and is reading ahead tonight. She being Deborah. I thanked her for offering to help, and I’ll call the early departure in to the school office tomorrow.” He had some of his own milkshake, then leaned his head back against the chair, eyes closed. “I want a piece of the bastard who did that.”

Rodney waited until André set his shake down on the little table beside the chair, then jumped up into his mage’s lap. “You’ll have to get in line, Boss. I’d say at least a third of the magic workers and sensitives want a share, along with the fire department and St. Margaret’s parishioners.” The silvery white kit fox settled. André stroked the Familiar’s short fur, eyes still closed. Tay clambered down from his nest on the lemur-tree in the front window and climbed onto the couch. Lelia relished the thick chocolate shake and waited. At least Rodney murmured, “Talk to me, boss.”

“The bael fire. How did it bring down the organ loft so fast? And why all those charms?”

Lelia shivered. No emotion colored her husband’s voice. He’s going cold, please Lord, keep him from losing it before Deborah goes to bed, please. I don’t want her to see what comes next if he loses it with her around.

Her phone pinged, then pinged twice more in quick succession. “Well, we know it’s not Patrick Lee,” she sighed as she pulled it out from under the folds of mended jacket and checked the screen. “Just as bad.”

“Kit?” Tay asked.

“Arthur. Um,” she peered at the screen, then sounded out the word. “What on— Oh!” She felt her face turning warm. “Ahem. He is a bit out of sorts with the city, or so I would guess.”

Tay bounced on the sofa. “Oh, oh, can I see, pretty please? I like new words.”

“No. You do not need to soil your innocent eyes with this sort of language.” Although he’d probably said worse himself that morning. “And Arthur’s too young to know that sort of term. M. G. needs to have a word with him.” She stood and showed André the screen.

Silver-white eyebrows rose so fast they darn near went into orbit and bright blue eyes flashed wide open. “I don’t think even M.G.’s old enough to say that word, assuming it isn’t autocomplete’s fault.” Both mages looked at each other, then to their Familiars. “Naah,” all four declared. “Jinx,” André continued. “I suspect your surmise is correct, and that your esteemed employer is, indeed, suffering discontent with management of this municipality, given his opinion of the ancestry of the head of the traffic department.” André had some more milkshake, then stiffened. “That may affect the print shop, too. Oh—” he caught himself. “Gnardbites. I’d better warn Collin. Down, Rodney.”

Rodney jumped down, leaving a kit-fox sized blotch of pure white on his mage’s trouser leg. André mouthed an uncharitable thought, set his half-empty milkshake cup on the little side table, and hurried to where he’d plugged his phone in to charge.

Her phone pinged twice more. She took her shake with her into the kitchen before looking. Yes, Belle, Book, and Blacklight would open on Friday and Saturday. No, they would not open the next week, and a message would be added to the shop’s digital storefront. And the parents of the street department’s manager betrayed their people to the Turks, Mongols, and Russians, not necessarily in that order. At least, that’s what she guessed Arthur’s invective meant. “That’s an insult that really doesn’t translate well,” she muttered before adding water to Rodney’s fountain.

“Is it one of Mrs. Lee’s Russian things?” Deborah asked from the doorway. “Some of those don’t make any sense, even after Art translated them.”

Lelia shook her head. “No. Master Saldovado says that the acting Street Department supervisor is descended from people who helped the Turks and Mongols.”

“Wow!” Deborah breathed. Awe filled her voice. “That’s really choice. Like ‘things you  only about your worst enemy ever’ choice. Mistress Cimbrissa filled me in one day, after one of the younger Hunters cut loose while we patched him. What made Master Saldovado so mad?”

Good to know. I won’t borrow that one.. “The city is going to cut off water as well as close 24th Avenue, starting on Sunday and going at least until Wednesday. And close the alleys, so we can’t even get inventory delivered. He’s a bit irritated.”

“No sheep, mom. I hope they get everything done before October.”

So do I, otherwise the city might suddenly be missing a few management-level employees. “They’re supposed to. I think repairing a sanitary sewer is higher priority than the pothole on Riverside Drive.”

Her daughter giggled. “The one that someone sent a Sweet Sixteen card to? One of the guys at school says it’s actually old enough to vote, if not old enough to buy beer yet.”

Lelia nodded and got out of Deborah’s way. “Yes, that one.” The birthday card—and a cake with candles tucked into the pothole—had made the internet news.

“I’ve gotten my work done, and I’m ahead on the English book, so I’m going to read more in Mistress Cimbrissa’s herbal before bed.”

“Good. Thank you for helping Mrs. Schmidt.” I like this Deborah. I want to keep this Deborah. Please?

(C) 2022 Alma T. C. Boykin All Rights Reserved

Monday Miscellany

Well, Noble, Priest, and Empire is off to the editor. I hope to have it back in late June, for a July release. I may price it a little higher than the others, $5.95 US, because of the length. Or I might keep it at $4.95.

I am 30K words into Overly Familiar, and have a bit of P-Familiar done. That will be the end of the main Familiar Tales series. Things will shift over to the Familiar Generations as the “youngsters” move into the limelight.

If all goes well, two more Familiars sets will go into print format by the end of summer.

I’m currently reading part of C. V. Walters, Alien Brides romance series. The stories are steamier than I usually prefer, but I really like how she takes some of the least-positive paranormal romance (PNR) tropes, flips them so that there’s a reason for the characters to do things other than “holding the idiot ball”, and makes fun stories out of it.

On a completely different note, I’m also working my way through Poland: The First Thousand Years. It is a political and intellectual history of Poland. It is very well written. I”m also nibbling on a history of the Butte mine disaster of the 1910s. Nibbling because reading about mine fires and the aftermath is not pleasant. It’s a very good book, just on a hard topic. There are a few other histories I’m gnawing away at as well.