6 More Fantasy Stories Page 13

  She heard Queenie calling for her downstairs, and she smiled. She remembered the words of Young Alice, back in the Wonderland courtroom:

  "It can never be like it was before..."

  Alice turned and smashed the mirror with her fist. Tiny shards of glass flew everywhere, sparkling like raindrops in the dim light.

  Some were bloody.

  *****

  Vincent's Secret Students

  The secret of the painting is this: it is what I saw.

  This wasn't some exaggeration of a starry night sky born of madness or imagination or overpowering emotion...though I cannot claim to have been a stranger to any of these. It was not an attempt to portray an underlying truth or essential beauty invisible to the naked eye. It was neither an hallucination nor a dreamscape nor a symbolic distortion.

  It is what I saw the night the Notfolk left me.

  They of the gentle, gliding grace and piping voices. Heads like top hats, bulging eyes rolling around the brims. Great walrus mustaches draping over the lower half of their faces. Bodies long and dark and slender as topcoats touching the floor, showing no trace of shoetips.

  They had been coming to me for years, appearing in the night in my room, glowing in a pale blue light like the soft beams of a summer moon. They asked me one question after another, talking to me for hours on end—slithering through my mind—then folding in upon themselves like envelopes and disappearing before my eyes. Leaving me shivering.

  Always the questions about my life's work, my art. They did not understand, did not have such a thing where they came from, wherever that was. Questions about beauty. About dreams. Many questions I did not understand, questions like nonsense, repeated again and again.

  And no one else, to my knowledge, ever heard them. Ever saw these people who were not people, not folk, not real by light of day but real enough in shadows.

  So this, you see, was what drove me half-mad. Pushed me further from the steady pulse of reason. Year after year.

  My work changed as I changed, which intrigued these Notfolk more. What had they done, they wondered? How could they do it to themselves?

  One night, finally, they figured it out, and that was the last time I saw them.

  They called to me in my room at Saint-Rémy, called for me to come outside and climb the hill.

  And oh.

  Orbs of light danced in a sky that flowed and eddied like the sea. Colors within colors within colors. Clouds curled like foaming waves, sweeping forward and swirling into whirlpools. Plumes of silver splashed across the horizon, catching sparks from the shimmering orbs and showering them down to Earth in a rainbow cascade. Even the trees were remade, stretched high in supplication and undulating in the stillness like fronds of seaweed in a tide.

  The moon itself became a ball of rippling, golden light.

  Everything transformed for a moment, the world a shining vision, a painting on a canvas of night sky. My heart raced.

  Then, in a flash, it was gone. The orbs of light rushed down to encircle me, then swam off into the firmament above. Into the starry night.

  And that is what I saw. And what I painted.

  Their first exhibition.

  *****

  Special Preview: Earthshaker

  Gaia Charmer, World Warrior Book 1

  By Robert T. Jeschonek

  Now Available

  Chapter 1

  How did I stop Ray Long the killer from getting away that night? I threw gravel at him, lots and lots of gravel. And not with my hands, either.

  I'm special like that. And Ray was stupid. Unlucky's a better word. How was he to know he was dealing with someone like me? Maybe I should've worn a sign for him: "Gaia Charmer. In touch with the Earth."

  Make that "Really in touch with the Earth."

  Maybe Ray would've rethought his plan to kill his last victim at the quarry if he'd known what I can do. And if he'd known I was hot on his trail that night.

  He should've known, though. I warned him when he got away the first time. I told him I was going to stop him from killing anyone else. But hey, he underestimated me, which is easy to do. I'm five foot two, in my early twenties, blonde, and petite--not exactly a powerhouse to look at. Works in my favor again and again, which is awesome. Ray wasn't the first, and he won't be the last to experience my hardcore ways.

  Sooner or later, they all find out what it's like when the Charmernator rolls over 'em.

  That night, it was the middle of summer in west-central Pennsylvania, mid-July and counting. The moon was full and yellow over the Allegheny Mountains, bobbing like a dumpling in the hot broth of thick humidity.

  Honestly, I was almost too late. I'd just discovered (via other special skills of mine) that Ray was killing and dumping the missing kids at the Buckhorn Quarry. I'd gotten there as fast as I could, but I was still cutting it close. Ray had the kid staked out in the dirt and was sharpening his machete by the time I showed up.

  Which was all the more reason for me not to waste a second. I didn't pussyfoot around talking things over with Ray or trying to be tricky. I just pulled out all the stops and went at him as hard as I could.

  Which, believe me, is pretty damn hard.

  As soon as Ray heard me coming, crunching gravel underfoot, he swung his flashlight around and caught me in the beam of it. Shielding my eyes from the glare, I saw his other arm reach around behind him for what had to be a gun. So I jumped into action.

  The thing about the quarry was, it was full of all kinds of rock and dirt...and that, my friend, is something I can work with. I'm the original rock star, you might say.

  Sweeping my hands around, I aimed at a pile of gravel midway between us, and I focused. Extended my will through my fingertips, if you know what I mean...reached out and touched the gravel with my mind. Felt the size and shape and texture of the pieces. Felt the multitude of forces acting upon them, the halos of gravity and electromagnetism and cosmic radiation. The forces pulsating within them, too--the jostling of molecules and atoms, the spinning of electrons and quarks, the whisper of quantum foam, the humming of superstrings. All the qualities adding up to a marvelous portrait of a pile of objects, a true work of art that I'm privileged to see because of my talents.

  Feeling and seeing and sensing all that, I knew how to mold those forces, how to make them do what I wanted. And then I gave them a push.

  Keep in mind, this all happened in a fraction of a second. Ray was still in the process of drawing his gun when the first bits of gravel hopped off the pile and shot toward him.

  I flicked my fingers back and forth from the pile to Ray. Each time, more gravel jumped the gap and clocked him, dinging off his head and arms and chest. Instead of bringing around his gun, Ray swatted at the flying pebbles, batting them away from his face and body.

  But he couldn't stop them all. He grunted as the ones that got through pelted his cheeks and throat, popped against his belly and crotch.

  Then, it was time to close the deal. I balled my hands up into fists and pointed them at the pile, letting my power and awareness gather and grow. Picking up as much rock as I could, cupping it in my hands--I mean my mind but it felt like my hands, like I was holding it and getting ready to let it go.

  And then I swooped my fists toward Ray and threw what I held. Half the pile of gravel leaped at him, crashing in a wave he couldn't hope to swat away. He screamed as it hit him, all nine thousand five hundred and twenty-one pieces of rock (exactly that many, I felt them) coming down on all quadrants of his body, bruising and breaking and smashing in much the same way he'd wrecked those six kids. A few pieces at a time might have been no worse than bugs, but that wave of almost ten thousand little rocks acting together must have felt like a wall hitting him.

  None of it touched the kid staked to the ground, though. Guided by my mind, it all stayed focused on killer Ray, dancing over the little girl as if he had an invisible bubble parked around her. Every last piece of gravel had a single purpose only--to batter Ray Long till he
gave up and fell down.

  Unfortunately, that didn't happen as fast as I thought it would. Somehow, Ray got his piece out and threw shots into the shower of stone, as if that was going to help. Then, fighting the tide, he managed to crank his arm in my direction and got lucky. Pumped out a bullet that grazed my shoulder, the son of a bitch.

  It was enough to break my concentration and my hold on the gravel, which stopped in mid-flight and dumped to the ground. As I cried out and grabbed at my stinging shoulder, Ray scrambled out of the mess of rock and ran off.

  Ran off into the quarry, the dumbass. My own personal playground, you might say.

  I followed him into the maze of rock and dirt piles, running full tilt in the moonlight. Reaching out with my mind and power, I tugged at a dirt mound ahead of him, bringing it down in a landslide to block his path. When he darted in another direction, I knocked rocks off a heap, sending them bouncing straight for him. One caught him in the hip, another bashed his ankle, but he staggered for only a moment and kept going.

  Ray disappeared around a hill of limestone chunks, and it took me a few steps to catch sight of him again. That was when I realized he might get away. The S.O.B. had a motorcycle stowed behind the limestone, about thirty yards back. He leaped onto the seat and started the engine; the front wheel was pointing right at me.

  As the bike's headlight flared on, I stopped in my tracks and quickly assessed the options. Lots of rock and dirt around, but I could only move so much of it at a time. Dipshit Ray might just power through any shower of rubble I could whip up.

  Time for another tack, I thought. Reach into my bag of tricks for something different. Something guaranteed to lay him out fast.

  Dropping to a squat, I planted the palm of my left hand on the ground. Reached out through my fingertips into the layer of earth between me and Ray.

  As Ray revved the bike and threw it into gear, I felt the intricate web of tiny fissures and fractures lacing the surface. Sensed the vibrations flowing through them from the bike, rumbling and crackling and splintering, spreading the web further in all directions.

  The bike leaped toward me, but I stayed cool. Closing my eyes, I picked out the soft spots between us, the points where the underlying rock had been weakened...each a glowing red pocket of stress in my mind. A button to be pushed.

  And then I pushed one. As the roar of the motorcycle approached me, I lifted my hand, made a fist, and brought it down hard on a precise point on a fracture line. Poured my inner force into the blow, giving it more impact than the punch of a single fist.

  I felt the power surge out of me like fire, saw it in my mind's eye like silver lightning flickering through the web. The bolt slashed along a jagged path of fractures and fissures, charging like an errant spark through the cracks in a shattered mirror.

  And then it hit the stress pocket, and I felt it implode. The soft spot suddenly gave way, and the ground sank.

  Right in the path of the motorcycle.

  A hole opened up in front of Ray, the ground dropping too fast for him to swerve. The bike's front tire lurched down into the pit and caught there, spinning the rest of the bike over it. Ray, too. He hurtled from his seat and flew through the air, sailing over my head. He came down ten yards behind me on the pile of limestone, cracking his head and bones on sharp corners of solid rock.

  Slowly, I opened my eyes and got to my feet. Turned and looked at him. Shook my head.

  There he was, unconscious, ready for delivery to the authorities. The monster who'd killed six kids and who'd been about to kill a seventh was out of the game. People could breathe a little easier. And it was all thanks to me.

  This was what I call "smooth sailing"...the kind of moment when I am absolutely high on life. When I'm feeling so good about who I am and what I do that I could just dance like a fool. I saved a life, beat the bad guy, made a difference. Hallelujah!

  I made a point to drink it in while it lasted, because I knew it wouldn't. I smiled and raised my bright blue eyes to the full moon, because I knew myself too well, and I knew "smooth sailing" would become the opposite extreme far too soon. It would quickly turn into "sinking fast," no matter what I did, because that's just how I am.

  But for that moment, I took a deep breath of the humid, dusty air, and I let myself grin. Time to untie and console the victim. Time to hand over Ray Long to the cops. Plenty of good stuff still to come.

  Closing my eyes, I danced a little. I swayed from side to side in the moonlight, happy to be alive. Happy to be in the world, to be special, to be me.

  And I spun around once, feet turning in the dirt, hands clasped to my chest as if cradling my beating heart.

  *****

  Chapter 2

  One great night's sleep later, and sure enough, the thrill was gone. Just like I'd expected, but not because I wanted it that way. Believe me, I'd rather have smooth sailing all the time, swear to God...but I don't have the choice. It's just how I am.

  "Bipolar," they call it. To me, it's just business as usual.

  By the time I walked in the front door of the agency, I felt like I wanted to kill myself. Put myself in a coma, at least.

  I slammed the door behind me and knocked over the umbrella stand with my shin--and for what? For absolutely no good reason.

  I owned the agency, for crying out loud. Cruel World Travel was all mine, free and clear; I was working for no one but myself. Business was good; it was nine in the morning, and there were already customers in the place. Plus which, my partner, Duke, was doing all the work. Truth was, he almost always did all the work, and he did it without complaining.

  So what was my damn excuse? Why couldn't I just be happy and satisfied for more than a few hours at a time?

  Of course, thinking these thoughts only brought me down more. Which was why I hung up the ringing phone on my desk instead of answering it. Correction, I picked up the receiver and slammed it down like a blacksmith's hammer on a horseshoe.

  And that, my friends, is what finally got Duke's attention.

  Turning his chair around from the computer screen where he was huddled with two young female customers, Duke chuckled. "Looks like somebody needs her coffee."

  "Mind your own business." I dropped down hard into the chair behind my desk, folded my arms on the blotter, and laid my head on them. Shut my eyes like a schoolkid taking heat in the classroom. I just wanted to tune everything out.

  Not that Duke would let that stop him. "You, Earth Angel, are the only business I have." I heard him get up from his chair and stroll across the office. He poured coffee in a mug and headed my way. "Now tell me why you woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

  "I just wanna be left alone," I told him.

  "If so, then why'd you come in here today?" Duke chuckled and put the mug down on the desk in front of me. "Now tell me, satin doll. What happened last night?"

  A sniff or two of that steaming coffee was enough to convince me I should give it a try. Lifting my head, I reached for the mug. "Caught a serial killer."

  "Well, congratulations!" Duke sat on the edge of the desk and slapped his knee. "That's fantastic! How could you possibly be in a bad mood after that?"

  Duke knew damn well I didn't need a reason for a mood; he knew me better than anyone, even my best friend, Aggie Regal. This was his way of drawing me out, which of course annoyed the hell out of me...but also actually made me feel a tiny bit better. Duke had a way of doing that, with me and everyone else. His beautiful soul shone through; even its strange container couldn't obscure it. Even his body that looked human but wasn't.

  "Okay, listen." Duke leaned down and smiled, dark eyes twinkling. His light brown skin crinkled at the corners of his eyes and mouth, and his long oval face glowed with affection. "How about if you drink that coffee and take a little time to work out the kinks? Then you can help me put the finishing touches on Minthe and Nephelae's itinerary."

  Suddenly, I sat straighter in my chair. Damned if he didn't know exactly how to get my a
ttention. "Minthe and Nephelae?" My eyes shot to the two young ladies at the computer where Duke had been working. They both smiled and waved...one platinum blonde with light blue highlights, one brunette with deep green highlights, both strikingly beautiful. They looked as if they weren't a day over twenty-one.

  Which was all the more amazing if you knew neither one of them was a day under three thousand years old.

  "Good morning." I nodded to them both and managed a faint smile. I've always done my best to show respect to their kind; after all, they and others like them make up over half of my annual sales at Cruel World. They're a specialty of mine, you might say.

  Creatures connected to the Earth in extraordinary ways. Nymphs and gnomes and all the host of not-so-mythic life-forms with special abilities. I cater to them, because they're some of my best customers.

  Also because I'm one of them myself.

  "So what do you say?" Duke raised his eyebrows, and the smooth skin of his high forehead rippled like a sweet roll. "Does that sound like a plan you can live with?"

  His soothing voice and good humor got to me like always. I was still in "sinking fast" mode, but my rate of descent leveled off. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?" I said it, but I didn't mean it. "You're fired."

  "You fire me twice a day," said Duke. "At least."

  "Maybe we need to have a talk about the meaning of the word 'fired.'" I picked up the mug and sipped some coffee. "It doesn't mean 'keep coming to work and bothering me."

  "I'm sorry." Duke batted his eyes innocently. "Did you just say something?"

  I sighed disgustedly and looked past him to Minthe and Nephelae, who were still sitting around the computer. "So where are you headed, ladies?"