Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

  “No worries. So…” She narrowed her eyes. “Which dog were you thinking would be my protector?”

  “Well…” he shuffled side to side. “I could use a room now and then. I’m getting a little tired of bedding down wherever I find myself. It might be nice to have my own dog house.” He grinned at her, making her laugh.

  “I don’t know, Cecil.” She opened the entrance to her small office, gesturing for him to enter. She left the door ajar, wanting privacy but not wanting Cecil to think this an intimate moment.

  The TV monitor affixed to the wall, next to photos of her shaking various politician’s hands in acceptance of this ordinance or that rule, showed Lemming News and another report about her, apparently. “Jesus, I can’t escape myself. I feel like someone produced a play with an actress who looks like me.” She turned up the sound.

  Tensions flare in Charming, the headline read. A coat and fury hat clad reporter appeared, standing in a snowbank, saying, “Tragedy has happened in Charming. This picturesque little seaside town is experiencing unexplained deaths by animal traps. We thought traps were outlawed but apparently, anything goes in the wilds of Charming, Alaska.”

  “Dag nab it,” Chia sputtered.

  “We’ve asked Red Mountainbear of Fairbanks, Alaska, to give his thoughts. Red?” The reporter listened as a picture in picture display of Red appeared onscreen. The bald man had a ruddy, pockmarked face and thinning hair. “It’s a tragedy, to be sure. Innocent lives are being lost. It seems the manager of Charming, Chia Petit, has done her best to restore Charming to its Wild West days. I’ve offered my assistance but so far, she’s refused. She’s determined to do things her way, not taking the needs of the people into account.”

  “What the? That’s all I do is take other people’s needs into account. The man hasn’t said a word to me. I only learned of his schemes yesterday.” She ran her hand through her hair, switching the channel. A scene from the old movie, The Matrix, flashed on the screen. Neo’s love interest, Trinity, ran along a wall, sideways, her gun locked and loaded. Neo cartwheeled past flying bullets. “Love that movie,” she said. “What if the world really operated under those principles? Wouldn’t that be something?”

  Neo’s face filled the screen. Sunglasses covered his eyes but Chia had the creepy sensation of being studied by him. Ridiculous. It’s a movie from 1999. She flipped off the TV. “But let’s get back to reality…mine, not Red’s asshat version.”

  After seating herself at her desk, she said, “I told you, you’re a great guy but I keep wondering if you want more from me than merely a room to rent.”

  The ghosts gathered in her lap like silvery lap cats, all piled on top of one another. Their shimmery forms produced a cacophony of sensations, from extremely pleasurable to incredibly annoying, bothering her concentration. She waved her hands vigorously through them, like creating suds in the sink, and they all dispersed. As she did this, she noticed a mass of papers she’d been mulling over for a stupid, secret project. She picked up the stack, studied the top sheet, thinking the same thoughts she’d had since she concocted the scheme—this will never work—opened a drawer and shoved them inside. She slammed the drawer with resignation.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know.” Her face reddened. She glanced at the black and white spotted plovers skittering along the distant shore, glad her office had the soothing view. They’re back from their southern vacation kind of early, she mused. Maybe the temperature will start to climb into the forties, instead of the usual tens and twenties this season is known for. Late February in Alaska was no picnic weather.

  “I’d have to pay for it?” he spluttered, ignoring her discomfort. Or maybe he thought she’d offered him a room with paid for “benefits” on his dime. “I’m offering you protection. Loyal friendship. My services as a guard dog.”

  Chia laughed. “You’re kidding, right? Graham told me his huskies are the least likely dogs to take out a bad guy. They’re known for their sociable likeability.”

  Cecil looked like a paddled dog. Chia expected him to slink into the corner, curl up into a ball and sulk.

  “But when it comes to loyalty, companionship, and athleticism, there’s no finer breed.”

  He seemed to puff up a bit. “Right! And, let’s not kid ourselves. I’m a wanderer…a nomad. I really don’t mind not knowing where bed is at night. It might end up being next to a willing female.”

  “Just not me,” she blurted, wanting to set the record straight.

  “Whatever.” He waved his hand breezily. “I was only offering my services. I don’t lack for female companionship. But…” He strode to her desk, placed his palms flat on the beat up wood, and leaned down to look her in the eyes.

  She leaned back slightly.

  “I do have friends who are fiercer than me…real dogs…you know Shep?”

  “The German Shepherd? Sure I do.”

  “He’s vicious. I’m glad we’re in the same pack or I’d be looking over my shoulder.” He stood, putting his hands on his hips.

  Chia leaned forward, staring up at him. Tall, lean and sexy if you like them scruffy.

  His lips curved in a slight smile, as if sensing her thoughts. “Ms. Manager. Are you sure you don’t--”

  “What were you saying?” she said, quickly cutting him off.

  He tsked. “My point is, where I am, the pack usually finds me. Or we arrive and leave together. This could be a win for all.”

  “I don’t have to feed the lot of you, do I? I’d go broke from dog food.”

  “Nah. Rat snacks now and then like you offered today. A bone or two. Dog treats. That’s all they require. I’ll get them to accept you into the pack. You won’t be sorry. A fiercer, more loyal bunch, there’s never been.”

  “What about all the…you know…dog excrement? I don’t want to have to watch where I step.”

  “We’ll have to mark the yard with piss but I’ll tell them to do their other business elsewhere. They like me. They listen.”

  “Are you the alpha?”

  “What, me?” He smiled congenially, shook his head, and then chuckled. “You said it yourself, I’m not the go-to guy in a fight. I like to have fun, is all. No, Shep has that role cinched tight.” He folded his arms over his chest.

  “Where were you thinking to sleep?”

  A mischievous glint sparkled in his eye.

  “Outside. Where were you thinking to sleep outside?” Her cheeks blazed with heat.

  “I don’t really care. Spread some hay in your barn. I come in at all hours and wouldn’t want to wake you.”

  “No girls.”

  “No girl whats?”

  “No bringing home women to bed.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  “Seriously. I like my privacy and if someone like Debbie saunters into the kitchen in the morning to get coffee, I think I’ll throw up.”

  Cecil’s face darkened. “All right, all right, all right. You and your rules. So what do you say?”

  “Why not? We try it on a trial basis. It either works, or it doesn’t.”

  His face brightened. Again, Chia thought his tail would be twirling if he shifted into husky.

  “Okay, and no face licking or leg humping.”

  He tsked. “I told you when I’m in dog mode, instinct takes over.”

  “And I’m telling you if you hump my leg or lick my face I’ll plant a boot to your backside.”

  “Sheesh. You’ve got to loosen up more, Ms. Manager.”

  “One more thing.”

  “Now what?” He looked as if he might be reconsidering the offer.

  “You don’t have to call me Ms. Manager. Chia’s fine.”

  “Okay, um, Chia.” He shook his head. “Sounds strange to me. Do I have to?”

  She frowned. “No, of course you don’t have to, but why wouldn’t you want to call me by my first name? Ms. Manager sounds so formal.”

  “I don’t know. Can’t put my finger on it. How about I call you Pe
tit? Your last name?” He pronounced with a French accent, emphasizing the first part of the word.

  “How about you get used to calling me by my name—Chia? Sheesh, Cecil, what’s the big deal?”

  His face grew red and he turned away from her.

  “Cecil…”

  “It’s nothing. Only I got sick eating chia seeds out of the garbage when I was in husky form. Threw up all over the place. Disgusting.”

  Chia blinked at him. “I’m sorry to hear that. I think ‘garbage’ is the operative word though, dawg-man. You ate the seeds out of the trash. There could have been all sorts of bacteria in there.”

  “Yeah,” he conceded. “And I quickly changed back to human when a pretty girl appeared.”

  “And what,” Chia said, laughing. “She saw you rooting around in the garbage and wanted to bed you? Cecil, you’re a hoot.”

  “No, she didn’t see me rooting around in the trash.” Cecil scowled. “I’m not that stupid. I’d had my eye on her around town for quite a while. She doesn’t know I shift. Anyway, that’s why the name bothers me.”

  “I see. Would it help knowing it’s a Spanish name and it means summer? My last name is French and it means little. Hence, I’m Little Summer.”

  He snapped his fingers. “That’s your name then. Little Summer, it is. Wait – lil’ Summer. We’ll make it like a rapper name.”

  Chia opened her mouth to speak but Cecil cut her off with his cheery rant.

  “Well, this dog has things to do. I’d best be on my way. Leave a rag or a piece of clothing or something on the place you want me to use for a bed. I’ll find it. Super sniffer, right?” He tapped the side of his nose. “This has been fun. Although for a sad reason.” His mouth quirked to the side, as if he were thoughtful. “I want you to know something, lil’ Summer.” He pointed a finger at her. “I believe in you. This dog is a believer.” With a sudden blur of light he shifted into canine form, rising up on his hind legs at the windowsill to be let out. She lifted the sash and he leapt outside, turning to give her a friendly bark, a generous howl and a tail wag.

  “Hey. You looked great today in those clothes.” She glanced at the pile on the floor. “Where do you want them?”

  He scratched the snow and dirt with his front paw, and pushed leaves and snow into the hole he’d made.

  “Hide them somewhere?”

  He barked.

  “Okay, I’ll leave them out next to the trash cans in a plastic bag. But no dumpster diving, got it?”

  Giving her a dog grin, he turned and trotted away in the snow, leaving her blinking with only her six ghosts as witnesses—like they’d ever say anything.

  11

  Chia left her office right before dusk, intending to scoot home, grab some food and maybe a nap, and make a bona fide plan before heading out for the night to pursue said plan. Whoever declared her one day statement of intention a tall order had been right. What the hell do I think I can accomplish in twenty-four hours?

  Thirty minutes later, barely a flicker of light shone on the horizon. Her ghosts draped themselves across the seats, apparently snoozing or stoned with some vibrational narcotic. She puzzled at them for a second—useless wisps of energy—then quickly looked up as an elk slowly stepped across the road, illuminated by her headlights, his head down. She braked, quickly, spilling the ghosts onto the floor.

  One of his fine antlers had been broken, and the poor thing limped as if severely injured. A flap of his skin hung from his side, revealing bloody muscle and fascia. It almost looked like he glowed with a sickly yellow light. She blinked to clear her vision, thinking it a trick of the night sky or maybe her headlights.

  Since the rut happened in the autumn, she wondered what had befallen this magnificent creature. She thought about getting her gun out and finishing him off, but figured whoever had done the damage was no doubt in the vicinity, waiting for her to leave so he could eat in peace. Life and death—we’re never more than a whisper away from the end, you know? Ask Michael or Thomas.

  Once the elk had disappeared into the blackness, she stepped on the gas and eased the truck forward. Night had fallen in earnest, completing the job the cloud cover started during the late afternoon. She hoped D’Raynged would accept her peace offering. He’d be up soon, if he wasn’t already, and she’d find out.

  Even though the air temps were in the teens, she cranked up the heater and rolled down the window. She loved to hear the sounds of night…the gurgling creek…the small, tumbling waterfall up ahead…the sound of owls and wolves and other night stalkers. She stopped the Jeep to listen, leaning her head out the window into the crisp air. A weird warbling sounded from the small stand of trees. “What the hell is that?” She cocked her head but didn’t hear it again. “To heck with it. Let’s get out,” she said to the ghosts. “Maybe an idea will form.”

  The crunchy tromp, tromp, tromp of her footsteps seemed to echo in her ears in an unnerving manner, like each step set off an explosion. Smells swirled around her nose, both animal and vegetable, some pleasant, some not so pleasant as if she lumbered through a zoo, piled high with animal dung.

  She crouched in front of the babbling brook and stared into the black waters, jerking when she saw small glowing fish make their way up the stream. “Crap,” she said. “What the hell is going on? It’s like the time I ate shrooms with some shifters.” She stared at the glowing fish, perplexed. A light flash caught her eye and she lifted her head to see a large, strange shimmering creature staring back at her. “Holy heck!” she said, falling back on her palms.

  One of her ghosts, the ghost of sexual transgressions, swirled toward the creature and wrapped itself around the energy blob, freakishly coiled, the same way she’d seen slugs mating on a nature show. They pulsated with light as if she were witnessing the aurora borealis copulating with itself.

  “Ew. Get a room, you two.” Her own body throbbed with desire as if plugged into the pair’s electrical circuit. “Sweet baby Jesus, what the holy hell is happening to me?”

  The creature threw back its head—if that’s what you called it— and laughed—or that’s how it seemed. A pleasant trilling filled her ears.

  Chia wiped off her hands and got to her feet, dusting her rump off in the process. Her wrist, the one she’d badly bruised freeing herself from duct tape, glowed in a similar sickly yellow as the elk, while the rest of her shimmered in vibrant shades of violet, gold and blue. Her brow knit together in confusion. She placed her hands on her hips, standing akimbo.

  The world around her seemed alive, way more alive than usual. The piercing sound of howls came from the distance, stabbing her eardrums. Coyote yips sounded in the other direction, like high-pitched gun fire. Eyes glowed in the brush. She swore she heard mice breathing, bears hibernating. Forms shimmered, incandescent.

  Something that looked like what her grandma used to call shades—the actual spirits of dead people—fluttered by. Even her ghosts took on a more luminous appearance. An anguished bellow came from far away and she instinctively knew the elk had left his body. She heard the footfalls of something or somethings racing along the distant tundra, hot in pursuit of something else, followed by growls, a whimper, then nothing but the crunching of bones and the ripping of flesh. Freaked, wondering who slipped what to her when, she stumbled toward her vehicle.

  The creatures twirling in the sky seemed to grow more aroused, as if nearing climax. Her own arousal grew maddening, like off the charts. Sweet baby Jesus, I feel as if I could orgasm right here and now. I’m so turned on. She briefly thought about making haste to the truck and taking care of her needs, but her pre-occupation with her state of mind took precedence.

  In the darkness, she made out the appearance of a spectral white form, making absolutely no noise whatsoever, propelled by downy soft, ghost-like feathers. It flew overhead, toward her, as if summoned by her arousal. As it got closer, she stared at the graceful winged creature, recognizing it as a snowy owl, one of her favorites. She teetered backward as the bi
rd dove straight toward her, head first, colliding with her face, hard. Shit.

  A strange, fractured explosion shattered her mind, scrambling her brain cells. She expected the bird to drop to the ground in a dead faint but it whooshed right through her skull, snagging her mind in the process. “What the…?” As the bird exited, she experienced the most unbelievably pleasurable sensation she’d ever experienced.

  Enraptured, she fell onto the arctic road, yet her consciousness seemed attached to the flight of the owl. For a few moments, she sensed the spirit of the bird, hunting for prey. She seemed to see through the owl’s eyes, heard sounds like an amazing high-tech speaker system was wired to her brain. Soaring silently, caught by a strange communion with the bird, her whole body thrummed with pleasure, like she’d drunk iron fillings and her body, surrounded by a magnetic current, grew taut with sensation. Sweet God in Heaven, she thought. This is incredible.

  Then, as if she’d reached the end of a tether, her mind boomeranged back into her body with another whoosh, making her flesh and bones jerk in response. “Holy cannoli,” she exclaimed. “What the hell is happening to me? I’ve gotta go lay down and wait this out.”

  She stormed back to her Jeep, threw open the door and leapt inside. Powering it up, she sped along the frozen-over road, toward her home, always glad for snow tires, trying desperately to ignore the myriad of lights around her. Small tiny sprite looking things flew in front of the window, some forming luminescent splatters on the windshield.

  Larger looming lights floated by her side, whirling into dust devils as the vehicle sailed by, then re-forming into the “whatever the heck they were.” Once in her driveway, she made the same crazy maneuver from yesterday, barely missing the barn as she one-eightied to a stop. This time her ghosts simply flew overhead, having learned their lesson. She grabbed her purse, burst from the cab, sped for the house, threw open the door and came face to face with D’Raynged.

  He gave her a wide, toothy grin, as if eager to see her. “You’re home!”