Sir Giles stared at the Elf.
Ella waited an expectant second, then shrugged. “Oh, well. Couldn’t hurt.” She followed Lilly out of the room.
“That is so hot,” said Dirk under his breath.
“That’s quite enough,” said Sir Giles. “Now put that tiara back.”
“What?” Dirk pointed towards the stairs. “Ella got to keep the bracelet!”
“She has been corrupted by your malign influence, no doubt,” said Sir Giles. He hefted his sword. “I mean it, Dirk.”
“This is so unfair,” Dirk grumbled. He pulled out the glittering tiara and set it on the side of the raised dais. “There? Happy?”
A roar sounded from down below, followed by a hideous screeching noise.
“By the Seven Lords,” Sir Giles breathed. He dropped the torch, then reached for the kite shield on his back as he raced out of the room. “I’m coming!”
“So am I!” called out Dirk. He craned his neck to look down the stairs, then snatched the tiara again. “Sorry, babe. Easy come, easy go.” He started forward, then paused. He turned back towards the girl and gave her another kiss. “One for the road,” he said with a smile.
Dirk raced out of the room.
The sounds of shouts, an explosion, and the clanging of metal came from below, echoing up the stairwell. There was another scream, a roar, and someone begging for mercy. Finally there was a thud, and the sound of ragged cheering.
Then there was silence that dragged into several long minutes. The torch sputtered out, leaving the tower room in darkness once again.
The girl on the bed suddenly blinked her eyes. She sat up. The silken sheets spilled down onto the floor. She raised a hand to the place where the tiara had been on her head, gazing around the room as she did so.
“Hello?” she said.
Her voice echoed in the empty room.
She stared at her wrist for a moment, then put two fingers to her lips. She frowned and gave a deep sigh.
“Oh, Pixie Flickers,” she said.
*
Ben Cassidy is the author of the fantasy action-adventure novels in The Chronicles of Zanthora, as well as the “sword and planet” Tales of the Two Rings. He lives in Vancouver, Washington, with his wife and three children, all of whom are deeply concerned about him. He is desperately attempting to make something significant of his life, to drown the bitter regrets of paths not taken, and to get his downstairs toilet to flush properly. He can be found lurking in dark alleyways on moonlit nights between the hours of 2 am and 4 am, as well as online at his facebook page, which you should not visit under any circumstances whatsoever.
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Ben-Cassidy/393172364133550?ref=hl
*
This Moment
J.L. Jarvis
“You're not trying hard enough,” Cam hissed.
“I shouldn't have to try hard,” answered Mac.
“Barton Hillman is perfectly suitable,” Cam said.
“For someone.”
Cam narrowed her eyes.
“Look, either it’s there or it isn’t.” Mac shrugged. “Tonight it wasn’t.”
“Or the time before this, or the time before that. Do you realize how many times I’ve tried to find someone for you?”
“Do you realize how many times I’ve told you to stop?”
Frustration lined Cam’s forehead. “I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I’m not. Every day I’m surrounded by people who love me.”
“You’re a kindergarten teacher.” Cam rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“But do you know what I mean?” Mac glared at her sister. “If I’m meant to be with someone, it will happen. If not, I’ll be fine. Thank you. I love you. Now leave me alone.” She grinned until Cam smiled back, and they hugged.
Hearing footsteps approach, Cam pulled the guests’ coats from the closet. Her husband, in a well-rehearsed dance, helped Mac shrug into her coat. He leaned back just in time to avoid her sable tresses as she whipped them from inside the collar. Cam handed a coat to their other guest.
While she slipped on her gloves, Mac watched the affable man layer one side of his cashmere scarf neatly over the other, fringed ends matching precisely. As he buttoned his coat, Mac was tempted to give the scarf a tug just to make it askew. Resisting, she offered her hand and her most charming smile. “It was so nice to meet you, Martin.”
“Barton.” The corner of his mouth curved, but he gave her gloved hand a cordial shake.
“Barton. I’m so sorry.” She winced as she felt a flush creep into her cheeks.
Their hands slipped apart awkwardly. He offered a patient smile and turned his attention to donning his gloves. Barton Hillman was an executive at the same corporation where her brother-in-law worked. He seemed smart enough. He was friendly, well bred, and impeccably groomed, as her sister had promised. Cam could have been describing a canine.
After a kiss on her brother-in-law’s cheek, Mac said, “See you at Christmas.”
“It’s so early,” Cam said. “Are you sure that you want to go now?”
Nodding, Mac said, “Yes, I want to beat the weather.” She peered at the sky, where the lightest flurry seemed to mock her. She fought back a frown as she willed the weather to support her excuse. The weatherman had predicted a wintery mix, turning to four to six inches of snow. Cam tossed her a wry look, but Mac looked right back. Lame as it was, she would own her excuse.
After being escorted to her car by the perfectly suitable Barton Hillman, Mac drove down the long, private road that led from the affluent Westchester County home.