Love was stored inside an egg. Charlie remembered his father saying that. Not once or twice, but many times in multiple ways, and always with a bright smile. Charlie liked remembering his father smiling. If someone cooks you an egg, they love you. Simple as that. That was the core of his father’s argument. That eggs could embody all love the way Paul described it to the Corinthians – patient and kind, giving away all it had without arrogance or resentment. Eggs were resourceful, unobtrusive, a tiny mass of potential. If there were eggs, there was something to eat. No matter how bare the cabinets or how many times a store trip had been forgotten, eggs could be breakfast, lunch, dinner. If you love someone, Lee, make them eggs. It’s impossible for someone to make eggs for you and not know they love you with their whole heart. They’ll fall in love right then. His father would say things like that and Charlie, ever attentive, would listen. In his softest pajamas on weekend mornings, he would sit cross-legged in a kitchen chair to watch him make breakfast for the family, nodding along with whatever he said. Charlie had thought they were silly and strange, but decided to store the missives away anyway. They weren’t cryptic or unknowable, but he knew even then he was missing something. Something his mother, his father, and soon enough his sister understood; some small detail, a scant speck of knowledge that would crack open the meaning for him. You can’t know an egg until it’s broken, lad. Don’t look at me like that. Yes, I know, your dad’s going on and on again, but you’ll thank me someday. When you’re older and you’ve tried it, you’ll know I’m right and you’ll thank me. And I’ll be happy for you. The meaning behind Patrick Noether's words cracked open on a February morning, cold and miserable. Charlie had all but sleep-walked through the weeks prior, aimless in his days and fidgety at night. He didn’t know what to do with himself without the daily cycle of lunch and dinner service, to the point where begging his way back into Maison Sabourin's kitchen started to sound like a good idea. He knew it wasn’t, the same way applying to another restaurant or working at Casa Inés under Ezra was a bad idea. He knew he had time, that he didn’t need to rush to the next thing, but he could feel himself sliding into complacency. Every option felt at once too much and like ten steps backwards. Simon dragged him out for drinks or dinner, easing up when Charlie asked for space. He didn’t need to be babysat anymore. He and Linnea had a standing lunch date on Wednesdays where she asked his opinion on her articles and he gave her book recommendations for her weekly library trips. In return, she sent him embarrassing childhood photos of Ezra. He saved every single one. Holly would text him on the nights she was at Casa Inés overseeing service, occasionally talking him into coming out for a drink at happy hour, claiming her own desperate boredom. Ezra, for his part, had all but officially moved into Charlie's apartment. He held him until they fell asleep, after Inés' closed for the night and Ezra had showered dinner service sweat off of himself. He roused him most mornings with hot coffee, breakfast, and Lily canine needs all taken care of. Charlie repaid him with kisses and moaned praise; with tongue and teeth and soft fingers in tangled red hair. Ezra's cooking stocked his fridge so long as Charlie had ingredients in the house – when he had time to turn out full meals on top of everything else he did in the day, Charlie didn’t know but he couldn’t convince Ezra to stop. More books inexplicably showed up on Charlie's shelves, his coffee table, the dresser in his bedroom. Ezra kissed him in his worst moods, pulled him higher when he was at his best. He bothered Charlie about eating and drinking, about taking his pills and remembering his therapy appointments. All with love. So much love. It was a rare morning where Charlie woke before Ezra. He couldn’t remember sleeping so well in his life, and attributed it to Ezra. As if the weight of Ezra's arm slung over his midsection was the cure to insomnia he’d been looking for. But, that morning, he rose first to Ezra's mussed up hair and long lashes spread over his cheeks, face slack and open in sleep. Grey morning light sifted through the windows, the radiators leaving a warm-toaster smell in the air. Charlie was over-warm, laying there under Ezra's warmth, two blankets, and the heating heavy in the air, but he soaked it all in. He’d have to get up soon enough and wanted to take it with him. He stared at the ceiling for long minutes, watching the slight shift with drowsy eyes. He felt content. If not outright happy, then something very close to it. He inhaled slowly, exhaled slower, pretending he could feel it in his lungs, filling him up with every breath. Ezra was asleep and his mind was clear. Charlie basked in the sensation, deciding it was worth savoring as long as he could. Lily’s collar jingling and paws treading the floorboards in front of his bedroom door ended the moment's peace. Charlie pressed a kiss to Ezra's forehead, sliding out from under the covers before the chill could reach Ezra's bare back. He tugged a sweater over his head, snagged a pair of socks Holly had gifted him after her most recent trip to Norway. He shushed Lily’s happy whines as he stepped into the hallway, reaching down to scratch her ears before sending the dog running to the door. He tugged on a coat, hat, and boots. Lily sat politely as her lead was clipped onto her collar, tail wagging eagerly. It wasn’t until they were outside that Charlie realized it was snowing. A good snow too. Thick fluffy flakes drifting merrily in the air like the opening of a cheesy holiday movie. As Lily sniffed each tree, Charlie took it all in. He let his eyes wander over the fresh white laying on the sidewalks, the street, and trees. It was yet untouched by tires or plows or the churn of humanity that turned it into slush. He tilted his head back, watching the flames high up in the air float, imagining he was in the bubble of a snow globe. It drifted and swung, caught on the cuffs of his coat, the top of his hat and Lily's golden tail. It was beautiful, that blanket of white, the hush it brought down, the icy openness it brought to Charlie's lungs. Charlie lingered in it, walking his and Lily's usual route slower. For the first time in weeks, Charlie felt himself. Nothing dragged. Nothing ached. Whatever had been so hard at work inside him, knitting himself back together, had come to rest. It was finally at rest. Charlie sat on the floor as he dried Lily off. Despite being damp, he let the dog curl up in his lap, put wet front paws up his chest. Cold nose pressed to his cheek and wet tongue caught his ear before Lily found Charlie's thumb, holding it in her mouth like a baby. Charlie scooped her up like that, wrapped in a towel and sucking his thumb in imitation of the day he brought her home. He buried his face in Lily's fur as he started the water boiling for the French press. Once Lily was fed, Charlie stretched and watched the snow out the window. Collecting on the sill, turning the fire escape white and bright. Without thinking, he pulled down plates and found a pan. He pulled sausage out of the fridge and beat eggs while it browned. He filled the French press and made toast. He cooked the eggs in the sausage bits until they were pillowy and soft, sipped black coffee as he found butter for the toast and finished Ezra's coffee with milk and sugar. “Morning, gorgeous,” Ezra yawned, appearing in the kitchen behind him. He ran fingers through his curls. His glasses slipped down his nose and he all but melted as he embraced Charlie from behind. “Morning, Ez,” Charlie replied. He made up plates and dug for forks, dropping a bit of sausage in Lily’s bowl. “How’d you sleep?” “Really well. Missed waking up to you.” “And I you. But Lily has needs too.” Charlie turned in Ezra's arms to kiss him. “I made coffee.” Ezra hummed quietly, picking up the mug and inhaling deeply. “Fuck, I love you. I was going to try and go over to Greenhouse, grab our favorites. But you beat me to it.” “I might have saved you some disappointment, love,” Charlie said, heart swelling. They’d made a point to say it, reminder and affection both. Charlie thought the flushed feeling would wear off, but it hadn’t. Hearing Ezra say it, saying it himself as much as he liked, still left him flustered and doe-eyed. “Look outside.” But Ezra didn’t look outside. Alertness engulfed him and his eyes hit Charlie full force, taking him in. “You made breakfast.” Charlie blinked. “I did. Yes.” “You…” Ezra stared, awe dawning on his features. “You cooked.” “Well, I, erm…” Charlie took a sip of his coffee. “I suppose I wanted to. It was snowing and I–.” “You wanted to.” “I-. Yes.” Ezra grinned sleepily and pulled him back into a sturdy hug. “I’m really glad, Lee. That makes me happy.” Charlie flushed to his ears, returning the embrace just as fiercely. “Hush. You’re just glad I saved you a trip out into the snow.” “You got me, baby. Just want to avoid winter. Definitely not proud of my boyfriend cooking again.” “I’ll never be able to shake the Carolinas out of you,” Charlie snickered. He tucked his head to Ezra’s head, pressing cheek to soft and warm as he watched the snow out the window again. The countertop bit into the small of his back, but Ezra’s bedsheet smell soothed over it. He exhaled slowly, a question nagging at him. “Are you really?” “Really what?” “P-proud of me?” Ezra’s hand circled gently over his back, scratching lightly along his spine. “Yeah, Lee. I really am.” Charlie swallowed. “And… if I told you I-. I think I know what I want to do?” “Do you?” Ezra pulled away, studying Charlie's face like a cookbook. He was trying to keep his face calm, but all Charlie could see was the thin veil of neutrality keeping Ezra's enthusiasm in check. When he nodded, Ezra's expression split open, gorgeous and furiously happy. “Then I’d be over the goddamned moon and would badger you with questions until I got every fucking detail out of you. I’d be so, so fucking happy for you, Lee.” “Oh.” Charlie exhaled. The relief was nearly palpable – smooth to the touch and smelling like toast and sausage. Charlie leaned into it. He leaned into Ezra. “Then I suppose I should get my notebooks.” “Notebooks?” “For the details you apparently require. If you’re going to give me the third degree, darling, I want to come prepared.” “Notebooks. Okay. Notebooks .” Charlie could hear the proverbial gears in Ezra's brain whirring about as he processed his excitement, his curiosity. If it were possible, he came back up grinning brighter. “Alright. Get the notebooks, sweetheart. We’re going to eat breakfast and you’re going to tell me everything.” Charlie grinned back. The whole room seemed lighter, and Charlie was sure it wasn’t just the snow’s doing. “Couch or table?” “Couch. Duh. It is a snow day.” “So it is.”


Violet had been staring at her dressing room wall for a little over an hour contemplating her uncertain future. All of the theatrics had become so ordinary to her to now. She finally became numb to all of the excitement. Her heart had grown cold, the light within her had gone out. Everything seemed just a little darker now... "Are you almost ready Violet?" Violet's mother asked "I'm coming... I just needed a minute" said Violet.

With only a few minutes left till the show started, Violet rushed through the empty halls and down the winding stairs. After she grabbed her whip she ran to find her place on the crowded stage. Violet felt a small sense of relief when she was once again next to her closest friend Misha (who just happens to be a lion). Although Misha couldn't speak, he always knew just what to say to Violet.

The time had come for the show to start. Just like clockwork Violet's father snapped his fingers to start the show. Within just a few moments the strings of lights were lit, The clowns began to laugh, the band began to play, the monkeys clapped their hands, the elephants took their stance, the lions began to roar and the curtains were parted to reveal this grand façade  … After hours of entertaining, the show had come to it's end. When the crowd finally left, the real work began. The Arden's went through their same routine. The same one they had followed day after day and year after year ever since Violet was born 18 years ago.

The Arden's were an unusual family. There was Violet's father Jenson, her mother Rose, her older brother Silas, her younger sister Sawyer and then of course Violet who was the middle child. Each and every one of the Arden's had a gift!  Jenson is a natural leader and thrives under pressure. He was in the military before starting the circus. So it doesn't come as a surprise that he is the ringleader. Rose is full of beauty and grace. She went to school for ballet but became an aerialist when she was expelled for day dreaming during rehearsal. Silas loves to make people laugh and is practically a comedian. He is the leading clown. Sawyer has a love for flying and has been training to be a trapeze artist since she was 3. She is now 8 and has almost mastered the art. Violet is fearless and tends to prefer animals over humans. She is the lion tamer and cares for the other animals as well.

Everyone had their place. Or at least it seemed that way... "Bye handsome. I'll see you in the morning Misha!" Violet whispered to Misha as he drifted to sleep. Violet made her way back inside the stadium. She knew she had to tell them tonight. She had been holding this secret in for too long. After wandering around the stadium for a few minutes she finally found the rest of her family doing what they always do after a show. They were gathered around a fire while their father played the violin and their mother told them stories from when she was younger. It was a picture perfect moment. What a shame it had to end. "Mom, Dad. Can I speak to you alone?" Violet asked in an awfully serious voice. "Sure honey! Silas, Sawyer will you give us a moment?" her mother answered. "What's on your mind?" her father asked. " I don't really even know how to say this... I, I just don't think I want this life any more. I don't think it's right for me." Violet said. "Oh honey, is this about last weeks show? You didn't make that big of a mistake. No one even saw you fall!" her mother said in an effort to comfort Violet. "No. No. This isn't about that... I just want to explore other options outside of the circus. I know it's the family business but I am just not as into it as Silas or Sawyer." Violet said.  "My dear. If you want to take a break because you're tired just tell us. How about we go on a family vacation next week? We don't have any more shows until next month. That will get you out of this funk that you're in." her father said. " I am not tired and I am not in a funk. I just don't want to do this anymore." Violet said with tears in her eyes. " We don't understand what you're saying Violet. Can you be a little clearer?" her mother asked.

" I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE! I DON'T WANT TO BE IN THE CIRCUS MY WHOLE LIFE! I HAVE DREAMS AND AMBITIONS. I KNOW THE CIRCUS IS YOUR DREAM BUT IT ISN'T MINE AND I CAN'T KEEP PUTTING MY LIFE ON HOLD FOR YOU. IS THAT CLEAR ENOUGH?" Violet yelled.

In shock of their daughter's outrage Violet's parents fell silent. Not another word was spoken the entire night. The Arden's just watched the fire as the flames grew dimmer and dimmer till the coals were all that was left.

Violet woke up early the next morning to find all of her belongings packed in suitcases and next to them was 2 envelopes. The first envelope contained a letter that read " Dear Violet,

We couldn't have asked for a better daughter. You have filled our lives with joy from the moment we laid eyes on you. To us you will always be our little girl. But we see now that you have grown into a very beautiful and strong woman. We're sorry. We should have noticed sooner. We should have listened to you.

While we would love for you to stay with us forever , we know it wouldn't be fair to you. Your father and I have talked things over and have come to a decision.

We want you to have as full a life as possible. Even if that means letting you go. You will find all of your belongings packed and ready for your next adventure. There is also a 2nd envelope which contains enough money for you to travel to whatever corner of the earth you wish to and you'll still have enough to buy a ticket home if that is what you wish.

We have taken your sister and brother out for the day. We figured it would be easier this way. We know you tend to be very selfless, so we didn't want your decision to be altered by one of Silas' jokes or Sawyer's puppy eyes.

We wish you the best my dear. We will always be here for you whenever you wish to return. Now go ahead. Chase after your dream. And when you finally catch it, don't ever let it go. Love, Mom & Dad"

With tears rolling down her cheeks, she picked up her things and headed down to the train station. Turning her back on the only life she had ever known.


The House was bigger than my own, by far. I knew at once I didn’t like it, even from the back seat of my dad’s tiny car. I grimaced at its high chimneys and wild garden. There was something deeply foreboding about it, something that my father was either refusing to see or hadn’t noticed. At this moment he was fiddling around with something in the glove compartment. After a moment of silence, he turned in his seat to face me. “Well? What do you think?” I turned back to The House, noticing that the large, front door had a brass knocker in the shape of a dragons head. “I don’t like it,” I replied, simply. “I knew you would say that, but you’ll learn to love it.” He couldn’t keep the hope out of his voice. “It’ll be…easier. There’ll be lots of other kids, just like you.” *Just like me? Hardly.* I twisted a strand of my curly, brown hair around my fingers. “It’s too big,” was all I could think of. My father laughed softly. “Yes, your mother thought so too. But you’ll get used to it, she knows that deep down.” We fell into an awkward silence. I knew he, like me, was thinking of the horrible incident this morning, when my mother had grabbed me just as I was heading out the door, and screamed that she didn’t want me to go anymore, she didn’t want the family to split up at a time like this. I gazed back out of the window, watching two younger girls come skipping round the corner. When they got closer to The House they sped up considerably, breaking into a run and only stopping when they reached the opposite corner. “This place is too conspicuous,” I complained. “It stands out a mile.” “Mm-hm?” He’d gone back to fiddling in the glove compartment. I tutted loudly and he looked up again. “Here. From your mother.” He passed me a small package, containing several sheets of fancy writing paper and three different coloured pens. “I think she wants you to write to her,” he said with a smile. “She obviously doesn’t trust the phone lines.” I smiled lightly, trying to look grateful but not really feeling it. “Well come on,” he opened his car door and prepared to exit. “Let’s get it over with.” *Easy for you to say*. I reluctantly followed lead, making as much a fuss as I could. My father got my cases from the boot, promising to bring the rest of my stuff over the next few days. “We don’t want to make it too obvious you’re going away for long,” he’d explained. The tall, iron gates that locked out trespassers from the grounds were ajar. A bronze plaque on the gate read: **The House.** **Miss Goldie.** I rolled my eyes. *The House? Such an original name.* “Do you want me to come in with you? Or…” he had paused in the middle of the path. “I think I’d rather go in myself, then I won’t feel worse about leaving,” I decided. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings but couldn’t think of any other way to put it. He seemed to understand though. He passed me my cases and gave me an awkward hug, negotiating around the cases in my hands. “Good luck,” he said, “and…and I’ll see you soon. Ok?” I nodded, not really believing in what he was saying. He stood for one more moment then gave me one last hug and left. I waited until the drone of the car engine faded before I turned to the door. I had to put down my cases, to reach up and use the dragons head. I waited a couple of minutes before someone came to the door. It opened a millimetre wide and a suspicious eye peered out from inside. “Who’s that?” said the person belonging to the eye. “It’s Caree. Caree Simmis.” The door slammed shut then was opened wide again by a large, smiling woman. She had wild, red hair and a friendly, ’mother-goose’ kind of face. She pulled me, swiftly, inside, closing the door carefully behind her. “Welcome, welcome,” she muttered, leading me to a large sitting room. It’s decor was the exact opposite of the outside appearance. It reminded me of a grandmothers house, not my own grandmothers but someone’s. She sat me down on a comfy, chintz armchair. “Tea, water, juice? I’m afraid I don’t have any coffee, no one likes it here.” “I’m ok thanks.” “Was your journey alright? You found the place ok?” “Yeah it was fine.” “I was so worried that you where turning up during the day, usually they come at night. It’s more discreet.” I felt foolish at that. It hadn’t occurred to me that turning up at night was an option. I tugged at my suitcase to distract me from my embarrassment. “Oh, your cases,” said the woman, noticing the fidgeting. “I’ll get Michelle to take them up to your room. We’ve had to put you on the top floor I’m afraid. The bottom’s full, due to popular demand, you see.” She stood and called upstairs. A moment later, a tall, gangly teenager appeared at the door. She too had red hair, that was obviously untamed. Unlike the woman though, she had hers lay loose around her shoulders. She was really quite pretty. “Could you take Caree’s cases up to her room please? And warn the rabble that dinner will be on the table in a wee while. Oh,” she turned back to me, “I’m Miss Goldie, but some of the kids like to call me Auntie Goldie. I don’t mind it if you do.” I nodded, adamant that I would avoid calling this woman ’auntie’ at all costs. The tall girl had lifted my cases and had now turned to Miss Goldie. “Shall I take her up with me?” “Why not? It would certainly save me from climbing all those stairs,” she stood and beckoned that I follow. “You can go up to your room and get settled just now. I’ll introduce you properly at dinner.” I forced a smile and followed the tall girl out of the room and up the tall flight of stairs. “I’m Michelle by the way,” she said. “Caree,” I replied, hating my name. “Yeah, I know. You wouldn’t believe the fuss Miss Goldie’s been making over you. I’ve heard nothing but your name for two weeks.” I blushed. “Don’t think you’re anything special, though,” she laughed. “She makes that much fuss over all the new kids. Saying that, you’re not really a kid are you? You must be, what? Fourteen? Fifteen?” “I’m sixteen, seventeen in January.” “I’m eighteen. Just turned it last month.” “Right.” We continued to climb the stairs. On the third floor, we passed a green door that was slightly ajar. A small face was peering through the crack, watching us pass with very little discretion. On noticing this too, Michelle kicked the door closed with her foot causing the person on the other side to cry out in outrage. “Oh shurrup!” Michelle snapped, continuing on the ascent. “Shouldn’t be spying any way!” “Wasn’t spying!” came the angry voice of a small, freckled, slightly tanned boy, with very short, blonde hair and a strong glare; he had stepped outside of his room by this point. “You were too! Now go do something useful! Go help Auntie Goldie with the dinner, will you!” The small boy glowered at her then glanced at me. His eyes grew wider. “Who’s that?” he asked, openly pointing at myself. “New girl,” Michelle called from the landing, “And it’s rude to point!” I forced a smile at the boy, who continued to stare, then hurried after Michelle. She had already reached the top floor, and was waiting at the brown door on the right hand side. There were only two rooms on this floor, mine and whoever occupied the second on the left hand side. That door was painted pitch black. “That’s Colin’s room,” Michelle said, watching me. “But you can meet him later, come on!” She pushed open my door and I entered my new bedroom. It was very small, much smaller than my old room. There was a dingy bed, pushed up against the wall under the window. A small wardrobe stood against the right wall and there was a writing desk against the left. A bare light bulb hung from the ceiling and Michelle flipped the switch, casting a dull, orangey light into the dusty room. The floorboards lay bare and the old wallpaper was peeling at places. There were no curtains on the window. Michelle dumped my suitcases on the dusty floor and strode to the bed, flinging herself onto the creaky mattress and surveying the room for herself. “So? What do you think?” I let my eyes sweep over the dull features of my tiny room. I shrugged. “It’s ok.” “Ok?” “Well yeah…I mean, it’s great.” Michelle eyed me suspiciously before exhaling. “Look, I know this place isn’t exactly luxury living, but Miss Goldie tries her best, you know? You can do up the room how you like it. Most of the rest of them already have. And you can bring in furniture from home and stuff. You’ll be fine. They all are, when they get settled.” She gave me a reassuring smile which I did not return. I was feeling lousy at her mention of ’stuff from home’. I may have lived in quite a small house, but my room was much more welcoming than this. However, I knew better than to begrudge Miss Goldie’s help so I ran a hand across the desk and nodded. “This is pretty cool. I’ve always wanted someplace I can write.” “Great.” Michelle rose form the bed and crossed back to the doorway. She stood just inside it, leaning against the frame, her arms crossed. And there she stood, watching my every move as I unpacked all my meagre belongings. Because of the spontaneous decision to move to The House, I had only been able to pack essentials, with the promise that my parents would bring more later in the week. I hung my clothes in the wardrobe, which still looked pathetically bare. I then placed my photo’s and writing presents from my mother on the writing desk. Then, I moved onto my books and hygienic products ect. Michelle then found it apt to quiz me on all my possessions. “Where did you get this?” she asked, holding up a seashell alarm clock that I had just placed on the writing desk. “It was my grandmothers. I took it from her house when she died.” “Why?” I frowned, feeling annoyed. “Because I wanted it. Something to remember her by, I guess.” Michelle replaced the item without further comment. “And what about this?” She examined the front cover of one of the first books I had unpacked and thrown, unceremoniously, into a drawer of the desk. “It’s a book,” I replied. “I can see that! But why Narnia? Isn’t that, like, a little kiddie book?” “I don’t know. I like it anyway.” Michelle raised her eyebrows then threw the book back into the drawer. I finished unpacking the last suitcase and stowed it, on top of the others, at the bottom of the wardrobe. Michelle had moved away from the door frame and was gazing at each of my photos. “Is this you?” she asked with a smile, bending to look at a particularly embarrassing photo of myself with my grandparents. “Yep, that’s me. Stupid picture, I know but…” I let my voice trail away. I had always hated that my mother framed the photo of naked, baby me with my grandparents all laughing in the background as I pulled my nappy onto my head and grinned into the camera. But when I was packing to leave it felt strange to leave it behind. “Why do you have this picture if you find it stupid?” Michelle asked, picking up a different one. “It’s the only photo I have of my grandparents.” “Are they all dead?” I nodded, realising that Michelle’s sharpness and no-nonsense tones were going to really irritate me during my stay. I yawned, pointedly, hoping it would be enough to get her to leave. “Can I ask,” she began moving towards the door again, “what do you have?” I opened my mouth to reply but couldn’t form the words. I knew exactly what she was referring to, but still found it an awkward subject all the same. “Gene Z3,” I joked, wondering if it would be enough. Not so. Michelle rolled her eyes and glared at me. “Yeah but…what’s wrong with you?” I glared back at her. I was definitely not becoming friends with this girl. I had half a mind to ask her to leave, but just answering would be as equally affective. “Sight,” I replied. “I’m a Seer…or at least in that category.” “So…you can see the future and…” “Not…really. I can see the present…things that are happening just now. And I can’t really turn it on and off. It comes randomly, you know? Like a sneeze or-” I stopped talking abruptly, sensing that she had already lost interest. Her eyebrows had gotten narrower and narrower as I had spoke. “So, what’s your…thing?” I asked, hoping to make her feel as uncomfortable as I was. As it was, she just shrugged and examined the thumbnail on her right hand. “I don’t have one. No one in my family does.” “Oh…” I tried to refrain from further questioning but doubted she would have done the same. “No one does? Then how come you-” “Miss Goldie’s my aunt. I came to help her at The House cause I thought it’s be easier than a summer job. I dropped out of school last year and became a full time worker. Guess I’ve gotten attached to this place.” I nodded, then feeling that I may as well keep going, “And Miss Goldie…she isn’t…?” “I just said no one in my family has the Gene, didn’t I?” I nodded again and a tense silence unfolded. I was glad that Michelle broke it. “Well, I’d better get going. Miss Goldie’ll need help with the dinner. It should be ready pretty soon so I’ll let you know. You share a bathroom with the third floor gang…located on the third floor. It’s the bright blue door.” and with that she was gone, slamming the door behind her. She didn’t seem too angry but I could tell I’d touched a nerve. Well so what? I thought. Serves her right for snooping in my business. As I turned back to the room I felt an overwhelming surge of loneliness sweep over me. My eyes began to water and an all too familiar lump rose in my throat. Before I could stop it, tears were streaming from my eyes blurring my vision and blocking my nose. I simply stood there, ashamed of this sudden well of emotion and not sure that I should stop it. Taking deep breaths, I furiously wiped the tears from my eyes, strode to my new writing desk and flung myself into the chair. It was only when I sat down that I noticed the tiny, square mirror, propped up against the wall behind the desk. I pulled the mirror towards me, wiped off the dust using my sleeve and examined my reflection. The skin around my brown eyes had gone red with the tears, even more visible on my pale skin. I sighed, heavily, and tried to relax myself. I didn’t want to have to meet the rest of the house looking like this. I turned my attention to my hair, which I had left loose and sighed again. It had been straight this morning but my aggravation seemed to have made it frizz slightly. It was also tangled now, as easily as it happened and curly at the sides. There was no point trying to fix it. I pulled it up into a loose ponytail, with a bauble from around my wrist and prepared to check it in the mirror. I didn’t have time to even move my hand though, when a scream from downstairs made me almost fall out of my chair. “DINNER YOU LOT! HURRY IT UP!” I recognised Michelle’s voice and felt my stomach congeal with nerves. I waited until the clatter of footsteps on the stairs below me faded away, then I rose from the chair and prepared myself to meet the rest of the freaks.


"Powers of the light, Guardians of the Earth, I call to thee to give me, Your strength, open all doors, Watch over me, I trust in your hand, to help me through this, Difficult time, so let it be," Bang the attic begins to rumble, then it's over. What did I just witness? My mother and grandmother doing magic. How? "What is mother?" I listen intently at my mother and grandmother, clearly something is bothering my grandmother. "Iris, we need to tell Star the truth, She deserves to know about our family, the family she was born into." "I will tell her when the time is right." Shoot! They are coming. I run as quickly as possible down the stairs and hide in the bathroom. I open the door a bit and see my mother and grandmother arguing. Secrets, what are they hiding from me? I'm old enough to know the truth but like always my mother treats me like a child. I wait a few more minutes and head back to the attic. I enter the attic, look around for anything that will tell me their secrets. The attic is dusty and old filled with cobwebs and spiders. Damn it! I can't find anything. I decide to go back to my hiding place where I saw my mother and grandmother. Right over there in front of the window is where I saw them. I walk there and look around. Under a stack of blankets, I find a chest. I pull the chest out and open it. Inside the chest I find candles, different color candles, little bottles and under all that I find a book. I take the book out. On the outside of the book is a symbol that looks like a moon and below that it reads Eldridge. I open the book. Oh My God! I never believed this was real. My mother always told me magic is not real. She lied to me. This book proves magic is real. But the question is, why hide it from me? Eldridge, that name sounds familiar. Where have I heard that name? "My dear Star, the truth shall be upon you soon." I better leave before I get caught. I head to my room and look up the name Eldridge. Wow, I didn't realize there would be so many results but one caught my eye. I click on that one. The Eldridge family flees Covington Falls in the middle of the night. Covington Manor has been destroyed. Where did the Eldridge family flee too? For 300 years the mystery of the Eldridge family has been told over and over and over again in the hopes someone will tell the truth. I close my eyes and begin to think about everything that has happened tonight. My mother and grandmother doing magic. My mother not wanting tell me the truth about whatever they are hiding but my grandmother wants to tell me the truth. Then there is the book of magic and the name Eldridge. I wonder if I should confront my mother. I begin to pace my room when I notice a piece of paper on the floor. I pick up the paper. It reads "The truth is here. Come to the library and all will be revealed." Yes, my home does have a library. I guess someone knows I know the truth and it's not my mother so it must be my grandmother. I walk to the library, open the door and enter. "Hello." No answer. I keep walking. "Come to the back my dear." I walk to the back and see my grandmother. "Grandma, what are you doing here?" I run and hug my grandmother. Wow this library is amazing. I only been in the library twice, this is my third time here and it's so beautiful. "I know you want answers. I'm here to give you those answers you are seeking." I nod and listen to my grandmother. "Many years ago in Covington falls, the Eldridge and Covington families lived in perfect harmony until one disastrous night. On that night the two eldest Eldridge children decided to play with magic. They didn't know anything about magic or how it works but they didn't care. What happen next tore these two families apart and a fierce rivalry grew all in the name of vengeance. The two eldest Eldridge children used magic the wrong way and a beloved member of both families was killed. This story doesn't end there. The Eldridge children blamed one of the Covington daughters. Both of them said she tricked them into doing magic. The Covington daughter said the Eldridge sons who tricked her, took her prisoner and was forced to watch them do magic. They both denied it. Because the name of the town was Covington Falls, the Eldridge family became enemy No.1. The Covington's were out for blood. The Eldridge family had no choice but to leave and in doing so they destroyed the Covington Manor. This book will give you more answers to your questions." My grandmother hands me the book then leaves. This is a lot to take in. I sit down and begin to think about everything I was told. But the one thing she didn't tell was if we belonged to the Eldridge family. The book is interesting, had a lot of history on the Covington family, none on the Eldridge family. Why is that? I keep reading. Some interesting facts keep popping up like witches and great power. "I can't believe you did this mother." "She must know who she is Iris. Star needs to learn how to protect herself. Her training must begin now." No way this cannot possibly be true. The Covington and Eldridge families are related. Oh My God! where does my family fall in all this? I keep reading and I finally have my answer. Rosemary Covington married Henry Eldridge. Since that union the family has become two. In the back of the book, I find the Eldridge family tree. I look at it from top to bottom, all the way down I spot my grandmother's name and my mother's name and under my mother's name I find my name. It is true we are part of the Eldridge family. There is more to the story I just know it. "Your right baby girl, there is more to the story." I see my mother standing in front of me. I'm sorry mother." "No star, it is me who is sorry. I was trying to protect you. Your grandmother is right. You need to know the truth and how to protect yourself." What is my mother talking about? Protect me from what? "I don't understand what's going on mother." "I will finish grandma's story then we can begin training." I nod. I listen intently as my mother begins. "Your grandmother left off when the Covington Manor was destroyed. The manor was destroyed by the Eldridge family. They wanted nothing to remain of their time at the manor. The Eldridge family took all of their precious belongs and disappeared. No one in Covington falls knew where they went. The Covington family tried and tried to find any signs of the Eldridge family but they couldn't. Years went by, generations of new Covington's were born, still the stigma of the Eldridge family remained. Where is the Eldridge family? The million dollar question no can answer. I'm going to give you the answers. It's going to change your life forever. The Eldridge family settled in the town of Canyon Hills and changed their to St. James. That wasn't the only thing that changed. The appearance of the family also changed." St. James, that's our name. Oh My God! we are the Eldridge family. "How is this possible?" My mother stands up and with a snap of her finger changes into a different person. Wow this is all surreal. I'm speechless. "We belong to the Eldridge family. Rosemary Eldridge your many times over great grandmother was the most powerful witch of all time. Her magic, the magic me and your grandmother practice is past down from mother to daughter. The Eldridge sons that the Covington's blamed for the death of the beloved family member didn't do what everyone said they did. They never in their lifetime ever used magic. Those two boys were Rosemary's sons. Rosemary had a sister who was jealous of her. Her name was Roxanne. She was the one who blamed the Eldridge sons. The truth is Roxanne was the one who misused magic and caused the death. Roxanne told many lies that the Covington family believed. Rosemary, she said was the one to blame for not hiding magic from her family. So, Rosemary her husband and the rest of the Eldridge family had no choice. They fled to survive. Rosemary and her family came here to Canyon Hills, changed their name and appearance to survive. The Covington's are still searching to this day for any signs of us. Each generation of Eldridge/St. James child has their appearance changed. Star, your appearance was changed for your protection. The Covington's are also witches but not nearly as powerful as Rosemary, this is the reason we went undetected and the reason why we never told you. Right now, things have changed, a new threat is coming. Your grandmother is right you need to know the truth and begin your training." I was born into a family of witches. This is life changing. I don't know how to process all this. "Tell me what you are think." "This is a lot to take in. Can you change yourself back into the woman who raised me." my mother changes back. "Who was the person that was killed?" I ask my mother. "His name is Arthur, patriarch of both families." "And the two brothers?" "Theo and Sebastian." Okay, I know their names and the truth about my family, now I can begin my training to become the next Eldridge/St. James witch. I'm looking at myself in the mirror and I say to myself you can do it Star. "Do you want to see how you look now?" I shake my head. I'm perfectly fine the way I am. "Ready to begin." "I am."


I’m walking all the way to Florida. I started in the depths of the night. 3a.m in Kankakee, Illinois and just kept walking. I didn’t use a map. I didn’t have money, a phone, or a change of clothes. I had a knapsack with a few secrets in it. It used to be a backpack, when I used it for school, but since I was going off on an adventure, it became a knapsack. I think I was somewhere in Kentucky when I stopped for food at a gas station. I flirted with the guy behind the counter at the gas station subway until he gave me a sandwich, for free. It was a meatball sub, and it was cold outside so it tasted good. I fell asleep on the bench until another employee woke me up and told me I had to buy something or leave. I asked her for money. She said no. So I got up and left. I hitched a ride. It was 2019, but I hitched a ride. A very large and smelly red headed woman stopped in a sedan, and let me get in. The car smelled rancid, like there was something besides body odor going on. I sat in the back seat because she had a bird cage in the front seat (It was empty). She asked me where I was headed and I told her Disney World. She asked why, and I told her I had family there, in the Epcot Ball. Little did she know, that was a lie. We drove for five hours and she didn’t stop to let me pee when I asked her. I thought about just peeing in the seat because the car smelled bad anyway, but I chickened out. She turned off the highway and drove through a town with a gas station and a motel and a Dairy Queen, and I thought that maybe we were going to Dairy Queen, but she kept on driving. She turned onto a dirt road, and we must have driven for twenty minutes. I didn’t see a car or house the whole time, just lots of fields. She pulled into a driveway, and there I saw it, a decrepit, tiny house that looked like it was actually collapsing. She turned back back to me, gave me a wide smile, and said “Thought I’d fix you a meal!” The orange soda was very refreshing, but the meatloaf didn’t taste right. Still, I scarfed it down. She watched me anxiously and talked about gardening. How to grow tulips. It was really boring, but she seemed into it. I remember wandering what her plans were with that bird cage. She had left it in the car. That was my last thought before I passed out. I woke up in a tiny little wood paneled room with no windows. I assumed it was in the house. There was a blow-up mattress but nothing else. It was extremely hot. I tried to walk out but the door was locked from the outside. She brought me two meals a day, and sat on the floor with her massive legs crossed, and talked about her life. She told me very intricate little stories about going to church, and the flowers she was growing in the backyard, and the day her bird Lenny had died. I begged her to let me go, that I needed to go to Disney World, and my parents and sister were waiting for me there. When I brought up Disney World, she got real quiet, and walked out of the room. It was a sad time for me. She didn’t seem to want to talk about ME, or MY life. She only cared about herself. I counted the days. It was on day fifty-four that I exploded at her. Not physically, just verbally. She was in the middle of talking about a handsome man she had met at church (who WASN’T interested in her at ALL ; I could tell.) when I started screaming, “WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME ALL THESE THINGS?! I DON’T CARE, AND I’M TIRED OF PRETENDING TO CARE!! YOU WON’T EVEN GIVE ME ANY BOOKS OR MAGAZINES, AND YOU NEVER GIVE ME ENOUGH SODA!! I’M ALWAYS THIRSTY! YOU’RE SUCH A BITCH!! I HATE BEING KIDNAPPED BY YOU!!” She got up, moved her big hefty body over to me and held her face an inch away from mine. “Listen, you little”, she began. She never finished. I bit her face so hard that I tore her nose off. I know I did because I could feel the whole damn thing in my mouth. I’ll never forget that feeling. Some of her cheek came off as well. Blood spurted out of her face like six squirt guns at once. Where I summoned this force, I still to this day don’t know. She fell to the floor in shock, and I grabbed the key from her dress pocket, made a rush for the door, and locked her inside. I felt bad about taking her car, and plus I didn’t want to smell it again. So I walked to town. When I got to Dairy Queen the next morning , I tried flirting with the guy at the counter, but it didn’t work because I had blood spatter all over my face and I hadn’t showered in fifty-five days. So I drank water from the bathroom faucet and left. I am still making my way to Disney world. I’m walking on the highway and keeping to myself. I’m paying attention to road signs and such so I don’t get lost. I'm really hungry. My thirty-second birthday is in three weeks. Hopefully I’ll make it there before then. I don’t even have my knapsack full of secrets anymore. That dumb lady took it.


“Sophia, there’s a monster under my bed!” the little girl cried. Sophia looked up from her Instagram profile on her phone and rolled her eyes. She said, “Charlotte, you’re eight years old now. That means you’re a big girl, and big girls don’t believe in monsters.” “Please, Sophia. Come look under my bed,” came the girl’s reply. Sophia scoffed and said, “All right, but we both know there’s nothing there.” She put her phone into her purse on the coffee table, then got up off the couch in the living room and walked down the hallway to the girl’s bedroom. She pushed open the door which had been left slightly ajar, and a ray of light from the hall spilled into the room. There, she saw the girl sitting up against the headboard in her pink pajamas. She had a look of fright on her tiny face. Sophia glanced around the room and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Dolls, coloring books, and other toys were strewn everywhere. “Why don’t your parents ever ask you to clean up after yourself?” she said as she approached the bed. Ignoring the question, the girl said, “There’s a monster under my bed, I swear. Please just look under there and make him go away.” The insistence in her little voice made Sophia’s heart melt, and she said in a soothing tone, “Alright, sweetie. I believe you. I’ll make the monster go away.” The girl smiled as she laid her head down on her pillow and said in a sing-song voice, “Thank you.” Sophia crouched down next to the bed and lifted up the sheet to reveal the space underneath. There was nothing there besides the carpeted floor and some crayons. She rose up on her knees and said, “What did I tell you, silly? There isn’t anything there at all.” The girl sat up and opened her eyes as if she’d been asleep, then looked at Sophia with an expression of terror and screamed. Her high-pitched wail punctured Sophia’s eardrums like a needle, and Sophia covered her ears and said, “Charlotte, what is it? What’s wrong?” However, the girl continued to scream. Sophia heard footsteps thunder down the hall and then the door burst open. A man in boxers and a t-shirt stood in the doorway holding a metal baseball bat. Behind him, Sophia could see a woman in a nightgown look over the man’s shoulder with concern. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” he demanded in an outraged voice. “Tom, Mary, it’s me, Sophia, the babysitter, remember? You hired me to watch Charlotte tonight while you were out to dinner. I didn’t realize you’d come home already. I thought you’d be gone until later.” The man and woman looked at each other with confused expressions, then the man said angrily, “You thought we were gone? Are you trying to kidnap our daughter?” “What? I… I…” Sophia stammered. The girl began to cry and said, “Mommy, daddy, help me!” The woman rushed over to the girl and said, “Shhh, sweetie. Mommy’s here. It’s ok.” She looked at Sophia, then at the man and said, “She’s bleeding.” “What?” the man said. He then took a threatening step towards Sophia as he gripped the baseball bat tight with both hands and said menacingly, “What did you do to my little girl?” “Not our daughter. Her…” the woman nodded to indicate Sophia. Sophia looked down at her left hand and saw that a deep cut ran down the side of it. Before she had time to think about how it got there, the man took another step toward her with his arm outstretched. She wriggled away, then ran out of the room and down the hall. “Come back here!” he shouted. With tears streaming down her cheeks, Sophia ran into the living room. She went to grab her phone and purse off the coffee table, but when she looked, she saw that they were gone. Sophia heard the man’s footsteps as they pounded down the hallway, and she turned and went for the front door. Broken glass crunched under her shoes on the tile entryway as she flung the door open, and she saw that there was a torrential downpour outside. She looked for her car where she parked it at the end of the driveway but saw that it too was gone. In a panic, she decided to run through the rain to her parents’ house, which she knew was only a few blocks away. Rain pelted her and soaked through her clothes as she ran, and the man shouted after her from his doorstep, “I’m calling the cops!” Once she arrived at her parents’ house, she was perplexed to see that all the lights were off. She thought, “They’re always at home and awake at this time of night.” She reached into her pocket for her keys but remembered they were in her purse. In desperation, she pounded against the door and called out, “Mom! Dad! Let me in! Please!” She beat on the door for several minutes until finally the porch light came on. A woman opened the door slightly and Sophia pushed it all the way open as she bolted inside. She threw her arms around the woman and sobbed into her shoulder as she said, “Oh, mom, it was horrible. My babysitting clients went crazy. They treated me like a stranger who was intruding in their home. I think they might have stolen my purse and my car.” The woman, instead of hugging her back, went completely stiff. After an awkward moment, she put her hands up to Sophia’s chest and shoved her hard through the open doorway. Sophia sprawled out into the rain and landed painfully on the house’s front porch. She looked up with an expression of heartbreak as the woman slammed and locked the door. Three police cars and an ambulance pulled up, their red and blue lights flashing off the houses and trees in the neighborhood. An officer got out of his car, pointed his gun at Sophia and shouted, “Keep your hands where I can see them!” “Please, I don’t know what’s happening.” Sophia said as she sat behind an old wooden desk in the police station’s interrogation room. “Why won’t anybody listen to me?” “What’s your name?” asked the detective who sat across from her. “Sophia Larson.” “Sophia, I’m Detective Anita Benson. I need to ask you a few questions. First, how old are you?” “I just turned 16 last May.” Detective Benson stared at her expressionless for several moments, then asked another question, “Whose house were you at earlier this evening?” “Tom and Mary Smith’s house. I’m their babysitter for their daughter, Charlotte. I’ve been their babysitter for two years, ever since Charlotte turned six years old.” “How did you get into their home?” Sophia made a confused expression and said, “They let me in. I was there to watch Charlotte while they went out to eat. I have no idea what’s going on or why they reacted to me like they did. They treated me like they thought I was trying to kidnap their daughter. I also think they stole my purse and my car, but I don’t know why.” “How did you cut your hand?” Sophia looked at where the paramedics had bandaged her left hand before they brought her to the police station. She said, “I don’t know.” Detective Benson asked, “Whose house were you at when the police arrived?” “My parents’ house. My mom opened the door, but when I hugged her she didn’t say anything, she just shoved me back out into the rain. I’m so confused.” “Sophia, would it surprise you to know that the people at the first house said they don’t know who you are, and that you broke into their home?” “Yes, of course it would. Like I said, I’m their babysitter. They’ve known me for years. Why would they say that?” “When we arrived, we found that a small window next to the front door had been smashed. Someone apparently broke the window, then reached through it to unlock the door and let themselves in. We also found a trail of blood drops and muddy footprints that led from the front door to the little girl’s room where her parents saw you.” Detective Benson continued, “The names of the people who live there are not Tom, Mary, or Charlotte. I can’t tell you what their names are for their safety. Furthermore, the woman at the house you say belongs to your parents and whom you say is your mother doesn’t have any children, and she’s not married. We checked.” Sophia looked at her dumbfounded. “This… can’t be true.” “I’ll ask you again,” said Detective Benson. “How old are you?” As Sophia stared at her in confused silence, Detective Benson reached into her jacket pocket and took out a small mirror. She held it up, and Sophia gasped. Instead of her young face that she’d seen that morning and every morning before, Sophia saw the unfamiliar face of a haggard old woman. Her white, stringy hair was disheveled and matted against her forehead. Her wrinkled face was drawn in an expression of shock. She screamed.


The man smiles and shoves the burner cell back into the pocket of a smart rented suit. He does a double step, a little dance, then high fives a passing stranger. Carries on, a spring in his step, down the busy main road. Knavish city is a great place, a great place to get away with murder. Two bribes, and a small handling fee to a cleaner, and he was a free man. Priceless. Now time to get that other body out. It will be stinking by now. Nevermind the cats and rats. A cat, chasing a rat, holding a gnawed ear, in-between tiny teeth, had led to him renting this smart suit. Both a curse and a gift. He looked good. Mother would be proud of how he looked. Not what he did. Does Pant leg vibrates. The burner. "Good day you have gotten through to John, Peter, Charles or James. How can we assist?" "Timothy gave me this number," stutters a soft female voice. "And?" "Yes- sorry, 58008" "Hold please" the man looks at his text messages. A message from Tim: *code 58008, widowed mother, request assistance with father in law, payment R10000x2* The man turns the burner around, smiles, then holds the phone to his ear and speaks. "Any particular request for your inlaws passing?" "No... Just I need money. And him gone... He’s not bad... Just. I can't anymore." a stuttering voice explains. "Quick and painless, got it" The man sighs. He loves his job, it is his passion, but even a passion can be mundane at times. "I'll text you a location and time, leave photos, address, his basic daily schedule and first payment in cash, in a purple A5 envelope. Got it? "Yes, how do.." The man hangs up. He has no idea how she was going to fit in photos and 10k cash in an A5 envelope, but that was her problem. He smiles, high fives a stranger and continues his freedom strut down Knavish's main road. *** For Paul, the regret and shame went away after the first whiskey. Last night's hangover would need at least two. So he ordered another from the barman. The Rusty Tap was one of Knavish City's dingiest dive bars. No small feat in a city where such a commodity was in ample supply. The whiskey arrived and Paul immediately raised it to his lips for a sip, the strong odor giving a welcome reprieve from the stink of damp and sour beer. Smells that seem out of place at 10am on a Tuesday morning. "Bad day with the Pops today Paulie?" The barman asked over his shoulder as he rummaged through the fridge. "Same old Merv... Same old" Paul raised his glass and took another deep sip. It was the same old. Beginning the 21st week of deep cover in Knavish. He hated this city, but felt that he somehow belonged here. His cover seemed so thin that it was closer to him than his own skin. Besides, a washed up alcoholic banker was better than a washed up alcoholic cop. Cops had to drink at home in the mornings, bankers could do it in red neon lit dive bars. He got to frequent the "Rusty", and that was where he was going to get a lead on the Tinker. Paul was close. He could feel it in the remaining shred of humanity he had left. Every other part of him could deteriorate into futility but this singular goal kept him relevant. He would catch this piece of shit. One more hour and 3 more drinks and hopefully he would get his lead. The time was ready to make a move. The pieces had been put into motion and by God, he was going to make it work. *** A man stands with the crowd of onlookers. Blue lights reflect off sunglasses. "Fuck!" the man whispers under his breath. Big innocent eyes look up. "Bad word," say the big eyes. "Bad man." Replies the man, while pulling down glasses and giving a wink. He turns and walks away from the crowd, wondering if it was the smell or another hungry rat. Either way it should be alright. The dead don't say much anyway. An hour later a boy on a bike rides up to a man standing by a tree, wearing sunglasses. The boy pulls up his shirt, puts his hands down his pants and pulls out a small fat purple envelope. Looking around before he hands it to the man. "Good, exactly the same." Said the man, smelling the envelope. The man smiles.."You made it stinky, Did anyone see you make the swap?" "No sir," said the boy, rubbing is head, with a guilty look on his face "Jimmy helped me, Jimmy pretended to crash into the bench I ran to help him, then-" "I don't care." The man interrupts. He waves a crisp note in front of him. The boy snatches the note and rides off. The man makes his way out of the park, then takes a seat at a bus station bench. Opens the envelope again and takes out the four photos. Shifting through them, he looks for the small details. Lazy right eye, green eyes, short brown hair, balding, mid forties and a bent nose. Must have played sports in high school. Theory supported by the muscular shoulders. Rugby. Likely tight five. Height suggests prop or hooker. Death would need to be non-direct. A Planned accident maybe? He places photos back in the envelope and pulls out a handwritten note. The man scans down through the neatly written woman's writing. "KCB - Assistant Manager", no, "8 palm Ridge", no, "brother Carl", no, "regular day drinker at the rusty tap" yes. He places the letter back in the envelope and the envelope in his jacket pocket. He stands up and starts walking down town, wondering to himself if Mervin was working tonight. *** "Another one Paulie? " Merv stood with both hands on the bar facing Paul, cloth hung over his shoulder. Paul twisted the empty whiskey glass in his hands then looked up. "Maybe just a pale ale Merv" The barman gave him a knowing smile then went off to get his ale. Paul resisted the urge to look at his phone. That wasn't his routine. He sat here for 3 hours every day and concentrated on drinking. Consistency was key. He was sure he hadn't felt any vibration. He would have gotten a message if someone took the drop. The curiosity was killing him inside but he maintained his outer deflated mask. He would just have to check his phone in the toilets after this next drink. Four stools down to his left, Hepp was starting to doze off. Hepp was a sort of friend that Paul never spoke to but spent hours every day with. "Hepp, get your bill and go get some sleep!" Merv slammed the slip on the counter then walked over and handed Paul his pint. Hepp dropped a few notes on the counter, cursed something under his breath then stumbled out toward the door. Paul took a deep sip from his glass. It was probably time to pack it in soon. He could check up on that envelope tonight. Who wants a fucking purple envelope? "Watch where you're fucking going you fucking snowflake!" Hepp shouted as he pushed past someone entering the door. Paul didn't look up. Alcoholic bankers come to drink alone and prefer to concentrate on their solitude. He watched the scene unfold in distorted reflections on the draft tap in front of him. A young man in a smart suit jumped back, raising his hands in apology. "I'm sorry sir. A momentary lapse of judgment." the man said, with a small bow and an exaggerated waving of his hands. Hepp grunted as he disappeared out into the light. The newcomer perked up then seemed to skip over to the bar. "Mervin you old scallywag! It's been too long" he dumped himself down and swung on the stool to face the barman. "Fluffy…" Merv paused for a long moment and Paul couldn't decide what the bar man's absent expression meant about this new guy. "Has been a while. How are things?" "You know. Work hard, play hard, hope the world gives you a break. That sort of thing. Your finest cocktail good sir! Something with an umbrella if possible. I'm celebrating a new deal!" Paul already didn't like this guy. Too over the top. Too happy. People like that were always hiding something. Or maybe he just didn't know what normal happy people looked like anymore. "And another drink for my big friend over there! I'm celebrating" he gestured over to Paul who took the opportunity to look up from his drink. The newcomer, "Fluffy" was youngish looking. Maybe early 30s. A face slightly pocked but otherwise rather handsome. He wore a genuine looking smile and sported a scruffy blonde mop for hair. His dark brown eyes seemed to twinkle under the deep red bar lights. "Paulie likes to drink alone, Fluff. Leave him be" "Oh. I'm sorry big guy. I won't bother you anymore but please Merv, let me pick up his next one. When does this place start getting fun?" Merv laughed, "6 hours maybe?" *** No wonder that woman wants him dead. The man shifts on his bar stool. Mervin places a drink in front of him, wide eyes with raised eyebrows. Mervin wants something. What he wants is a mystery. Like the woman's G spot, it was there, but honestly no man really cared. This man didn't care. This man has a job to do. He needs to talk to the big man. Find out more. "Thanks" says Paul, lifting the free beer to his lips. "It's a pleasure buddy, do you-". "-Better on toast" interrupts Paul, beer still raised. "What? Better?" the young man stumbles out a reply. Paul shifts on his stool and turns to face the man, "You see Fluffy, certain things are just better on toast, like marmite or jam. You may say jam is better on bread. You would be wrong. What you are really craving is a jam donut. Jam bread is a weak substitute. I'm right on this, don't press it, and besides donuts are toasted." "I enjoy donuts, have not had one in-" "don't interrupt me-” As he was cut off again, he felt anger slap the pit of his stomach and boil towards clenched fists. But Paul continued. “-I have a point, certain things go better with certain situations. People are like this, some people are better at a party, a party being their toast. My toast would be by myself, I'm awesome alone, greatest ever, take my word for it. Now please piss off" Paul turns again in the seat and slumps over the bar. A fight at this point would ruin a good pay day, he needs to hold it together. The man needs to take a different approach. Music. The man stands up and looks across at Paul. Downs the last of his beer, slams the empty bottle down. Ignored. He walks across the bar towards the exit. Ignored. Stops by the entrance, turns and approaches the 60s style jukebox. Digs in his pocket. Pulls out three coins and feeds the machine, selects the song. The young man holding the jukebox on either side, puts his head down, bopping slowly to the rhythmic harmony of an acoustic guitar and the slow beat of Human touch, by Bruce Springsteen. The song achieves its intention, he is relaxed. The big guy still slumps over in his drink. But something has changed. He has ordered a drink for this unlikely companion. "Thank you" says the young man, sitting down, accepting his drink. "You're a bit young to be a fan of the boss, Fluffy," says Paul, turning a little, almost making eye contact. "Please call me Bruce. You have one bad fashion choice in this place and you will never live it down" says Bruce. He sips a drink to erase the memory. "My pops was a fan, rocked me to sleep singing ‘secret garden’ when i was a baby. Heck I was raised on ‘born in the USA’ blasting on Saturday nights, ‘leap of faith’ softly playing on Sunday mornings" "Your father sounds like my kinda man," says Paul, fully turned, making eye contact. "He died when I was twelve" says Bruce, with another memory erasing sip. "I'm sorry." "Don't be, he is ‘down by the river’, ‘reliving his glory days’" "Never heard death put better" "He told me that, before he went. Cancer." Bruce goes silent, then shakes his head "In fact, he told me anything in life could be expressed through a Springsteen song. Try me, I'm here all night.” "How's one for ungrateful patrons" interrupts Mervin as he places two fresh drinks. "Pay me my money down" Paul and Bruce say in unison. They burst into laughter. "what about a washed up old man tired of life," says Paul, finishing off the old beer "i am sorry, I did warn you I was better off alone" Bruce gives Paul a strong look, a little smile appears. Bruce gets up, walks over to the jukebox again, puts in three coins, selects a song. The up beat music of dancing in the dark starts playing. Bruce turns and starts to dance. *** This Bruce kid wasn't so bad. A bit eccentric, but he made Paul laugh. Maybe it was the booze. It definitely was the booze. Bruce bobbed, swayed and twisted across the room. Paul took another sip and decided to give into the booze a bit. “Get this kid another gay drink Merv. On me” Merve smiled and shook his head. Moments later, another pink drink was waiting on the bar counter. The kid was really letting loose now. Unsurprisingly, he was a great dancer. Bruce waltzed over to the bar and picked up the cocktail, gulping down half in one swig. There was still a beer bottle in his other hand. “Thanks, Big Uncle Paulie '' he shouted over the music while unbuttoning his suit jacket. He blew a kiss to Merv who winced. Then he turned away with his jacket flaring out. The movement made Paul a little dizzy. The black of the jacket, then the white of the shirt. Black, white, black, white to the step of the beat. Black, white, black, white, black, purple white- Paul's smile immediately flatlined. His eyes narrowed and his heart rate spiked. That flash of purple bulging from the inner jacket pocket was the single most sobering site Paul had ever seen. And the kid noticed. He stopped dancing and looked dead on at Paul, starting to say something. In a split second Paul decided. He stood and reached into his jacket for his glock-17. He saw the kids arm blur in a throwing motion just before a beer bottle slammed into his face making everything go black. Purple. There he was on his back with the kid on top hitting him. “Fuck him” Paul said to himself. He could take his punches. Paul ignored the hits and finished pulling out the gun, pointed it into the kid’s chest and fired. Paul locked eyes with Bruce and saw the kid’s gaze go from a look of determined rage to a glazed confusion. Then his attacker slumped over to the side making a faint whining noise. Paul stood, dizzy and nauseous. The vision in his left eye was gone and his right was seeing double. But he had got him. He slowly felt peace and happiness flow over him like a hot shower. Then Paul turned to see Merv pointing a Remmington 870 shotgun at him. He felt the impact just before he heard the thunder of the shot. Again he was on his back, the world slowly fading to blackness. *** Merv stepped over to the carnage. Fluffy was bleeding out in the fetal position against the counter. Paul was on his back. His breathing was slowing with each intake, but he still seemed to have a silly smile on his face. “You got close. I'll give you that. Closer than anyone else, Paul” They made eye contact. “Thanks for getting rid of Fluff. He was too reckless. I guess if you want a contract done right you do it yourself. I'm sure you feel the same… But fuck you Paul. Now I have to move to a new shop. I've been here 20 years” Merv shrugged and lowered the shotgun. “I just want you to know that you didn't get the guy. You failed” The subsequent look on Paul's face made it all worth it. “And that's why i do this” *** A dying man was crying. His life slipping away, like shit in a flushed toilet. Fuck Merv. Fuck him. Fuck. The man sees a pistol on the ground. Near. Fuck Merv. Fuck him.


Mason Longpore was the sheriff of a small town in Arizona. This town, Ashburn, had only two things to be proud of. First, it had crawled its way up from being a small outposting in Arizona of the same name, and second, it had thus far managed to avoid falling back into its original status, or being absorbed into the much larger city of Emeree where taxes were much higher and morale was consequently much lower. Ashburn held its status, however precariously, with the profits of the local gas station, which happens to reside roughly one tank of gas length from the nearest city. The taxes from the fuel and cigarettes, as well as the fines from heavy footed drivers who are emboldened by a full tank of gas, fresh, hardly stale tobacco, and a long straight road ahead of them, brings in just enough money to pay the necessary fees that come with township, including paying the sheriff. Mason was bored one July morning. Mason was often bored because this July morning was hardly different than the last July morning, or any morning of any month as far as that goes. Mason walked into his office, the strong yellow light from the sun being reflected by the many particles of dust in air. Mason grabbed his mug off his desk and proceeded to fill with hot coffee that was freshly brewed sometime this week. Masons mug was a dull off white ceramic when he bought it years ago as gift to himself for getting the Sheriffs job. It was still dull and off white outside with the exception of the sheriff badge painted on the side, but the inside was now a dark shade of grime. Mason said he like the flavor of this, “seasoned like a cast iron skillet” he’d say, but in reality he simply refused to clean it because he did not like his deputy constantly pointing out to him how dirty it was. Masons deputy, was a tall slender man. He had been an academic in a previous life, studied psychology and pre-historical sociology, but then he moved to Ashburn for a girl, promptly lost the girl, and, after deciding he did not want a job at the gas station, applied to be a sheriffs deputy. Devoid of competition, he got the job. His God given name was Richard Maple but Mason always called him “Sticky Dick! Good morning to you!” exclaimed Mason as he settled into his desk chair. Maple walked in and made a B-line for the coffee, haphazardly tossing his bag to his desk, situated catty-corner to Masons desk. “How many times are you going to call me that before it gets old?” pleaded Maple, full attention still on his first cup of blessed caffeine. “When you’re sheriff and I’m retired, dead, or your deputy” retorted Mason, now looking over the days paper. “Did you see the piece about the carnival coming through town?” asked Maple. “Lots of stuff comes through this town, the trick is getting them to stay longer than the length of your average shit” “They’re supposed to be here a week. It’ll be great to get some culture around here” “Yea, the mayor already talked to me, wanted to make sure we could handle the extra people in this one horse town.” Mason said dryly “When did we get a horse?” Maple quipped Mason continued as if he didn’t hear him “A fair that size will basically double our population, and after the fair closes down each night Susies will be the only place to go. We’ll need to make sure the public urination is left to the animals, and make sure none of the animals are released into the public by somebody with too much liquid courage and a key to the tiger cage.” “My Gosh, it’ll be a crime wave” mocked Maple “Been a while since we had one of those” “What was the last one?” “Mrs Henderson’s lawn mower went missing, turned out Mr Henderson just didn’t put it back in the right spot. It was headline news that Sunday” Mason returned to the stacks of paper on his desk. The usual clutter of speeding tickets, shoplifting, and drunken shenanigans. Looking around Mason sighed. Not that long ago he’d been happy with these sorts of cases day in and day out. Keeping the peace in a peaceful little town. Last year Mason had faced a case, the likes of which neither mason nor the town of Ashburn had seen before. A run of the mill knock and talk turned into the worst month of Longpores life. Since then, this, all of this, all these petty crimes just didn’t seem to matter anymore. There was real evil out there and Mason missed chasing it. Frustrated, mason stood up, downed the rest of his coffee and announced “I’m going for a patrol” Walking out the door past a sleepy eyed Richard, pausing only to grab his hat.


“Never judge a book by its cover.” It’s a common saying, one I’m sure we’ve all heard. I suppose it’s common for a reason, people are more than just their appearance. Every one of us are complicated in unique ways, shaped by all the experiences we’ve all had to go through. However, what if I told you that this isn’t necessarily true, well not for me anyhow. My name’s Mark, and I’ve been able to see Aura’s ever since I can remember. I’m getting ahead of myself, let me tell you what an “Aura” is. Imagine it as a gaseous cloud around a person. A hazy mist of different consistencies and colours, unique to each and every individual. As a child, I remember being captivated by all the colours, which can be as simple as a light blue around my mother, or a bright and diverse palette of colours when with many people. As you’ve probably guessed, I did not have a great childhood. I learned early on that no one else could see these wonderful sights, and eventually ended up going to therapy for my “issues”. I quickly learnt to keep my gift to myself, and try to be as normal as possible. Unfortunately, that’s quite easier said than done. Having this constant vibrance around me was distracting to say the least, especially in class when surrounded by so many peers. No matter how hard I tried, I’d often slip into a world of unknown, gazing at the combination of Auras. As such, my grades suffered and I’d often be labelled as a miscreant. Combine that with constant remarks from fellow classmates for being “out of it” and “high as fuck”, its safe to say I didn’t have a positive school experience. I didn’t mind though, I was perfectly content being surrounded by Auras, gazing at them longingly. It wasn’t until I met Mr.Rodgers though, that I discovered the true meaning of the Auras, and why they were unique for each person. Mr.Rodgers moved in next door, right after the day I turned seventeen. I remember the first time I saw him as clear as the night sky, for good reason. It was one of the few times of day I wasn’t admiring the different Auras of people around me, mostly since my mother had told me to take out the thrash. I’d unwillingly dragged myself out and dropped the bag in the dumpster, when I first spotted Mr.Rodgers. He was quite a large man, easily 6 foot and extremely daunting in appearance. With a patchy beard and a menacing scowl on his face, he looked like he was having hell mowing his lawn. But it wasn’t any of those attributes that got him my attention. Surrounding him was easily the largest Aura I had ever seen all my life. Dense and thick, it coiled and extended at least 10 ft in diameter around him. More shocking, was the colour. It was the deepest shade of red, which occasional streaks of black etched onto it, as if a brush had stroked it there. The colour pulsed in place, going from a bright red to a dark crimson as the Aura swirled menacingly around him. Needless to say, I was extremely terrified. The moment I regained my senses I dashed inside my house and slammed the door shut. My heart hammering at a thousand times a second, I was left to wonder why his Aura was so, to put it bluntly, horrifying. Over the coming months, I used every excuse to avoid meeting Mr.Rodgers. The dread I felt whenever I saw him and his Aura never faded, and I often felt trapped inside my own home, unable to leave in fear of meeting the man, and being within, what I assume would be, a very suffocating cloud of Aura. It was then tragedy struck my city. Jasper, one of the many children attending West High School, my high school, went missing. It was all over the news for weeks, and posters were hung up on every corner of the city. It wasn’t unusual to see police making their routes along the city, searching for the missing child. I was personally saddened by his disappearance, Id met Jasper only a handful of times, but he was the happiest, most cheerful person I knew. Moreover, his aura was a nice teal and extremely vibrant, and I’d feel at ease whenever I was around him. Coincidentally, it was his unique Aura that lead to me discovering something bizarre. The morning before I knew about Jaspers disappearance, Id spotted that shade of teal at, you guessed it, Mr.Rodgers house. I wrote it off as morning sleepiness at first, but the fact that the colour seemed to persist for days afterward bugged me to an extreme. Something just didn’t feel right, and with that teal slowly diminishing over time I swallowed my fear and went outside for a better look at Mr.Rodgers house. From a safe distance of course. By which I mean hiding in the bushes at the edge of the neighbourhood and spying on him using a pair of binoculars I’d bought with my allowance. It was a cowardly and crude plan, but I was seventeen and didn’t have too many options. It was stunningly uneventful, to say the least. Days went by without even a hiccup. Mr.Rodgers routines were like clockwork, only leaving his house to go to the local bar at 6, and coming back around 10, drunk out of his mind. By the end of the week I was ready to give up on solving this mystery, when fate decided to intervene. It was a Saturday morning, and Mr.Rodgers was out pruning his bushes. I was snacking on some gummies and keeping an eye on him, when I noticed a glare coming from the other end of the house. I redirected my binoculars at the glare, and nearly jumped out of my skin. The origin of the glare was a shard of broken glass, held up by a human hand, right behind Mr.Rodgers basement window. Once I got over my initial shock, I looked at the scene once again to confirm what I saw was real or just a hallucination produced by all the sugar from the gummies I’d been stuffing my face with. It wasn’t, and I slowly sunk into the bushes, perplexed by what I just saw. It wasn’t until a few minutes of deep thinking later, that all the puzzle pieces fit in my head. It was no wonder I was seeing Jaspers unique Aura there, if Jasper himself was stuck there too. Mr.Rodgers must’ve kidnapped him for some sick reason, and what I had just witnessed must’ve been his desperate attempt at being rescued. Not knowing what to do, I eventually settled on writing “Jasper at Mr.Rodgers” on a piece of paper before conveniently dropping it right infront of the local police station, and quickly running back home. Id hoped it’d be enough for the cops to consider as a lead and save him. The cops did not disappoint, the very night I woke up to a frenzy of noises disturbing the stillness of the night. My mother and I got to watch from our doorsteps as the police dragged away a struggling Mr.Rodgers, and lead a boy draped in a blanket into the back of a cruiser. It was all over the news the next morning. The police had done a raid on Mr.Rodgers following an “anonymous tip” and wound up rescuing Jasper and putting Mr.Rodgers, who was found guilty of multiple charges across many states, behind bars. It was never revealed the reasoning behind the kidnapping however, but I quickly figured it out for myself. The next time I saw Jasper, he had changed. His cheerful exterior was replaced with a sullen look, and more importantly, that vibrant teal Aura of his had dimmed and darkened, losing that warmth it once had. I didn’t need to ask him what horrific acts he had to go through, his Aura spoke for himself. I put two and two together and came to realise that Auras were much like a fingerprint, unique to each individual as it represented each individuals personality. The Auras were a reflection of their true selves, and a change in a persons overall demeanour was expressed by the Aura itself. If a persons appearance were their cover, the Aura was their inner pages. You can see why I meant I no longer had to follow the phrase, never judge a book by it’s cover. This uncanny ability of mine helped me pick and choose different aspects of my life, who to be friends with, which endeavour I wanted to undertake, and most importantly, what was the easiest route to getting the next biggest scoop. My little adventure in rescuing Jasper had sparked a flame inside me for snooping and detective work. Combined with my love for writing and literature, journalism seemed like a perfect fit as a career choice. I worked my ass off at Grad School and ended up graduating from the prestigious Yale University with a degree in Journalism and Literature. One fruitful job search later, with a recommendation from my professor at Yale University, I had secured myself a job at the Daily Globe. The no.1 biggest newspaper and media company in America, and I got the luxury of being a reporter and journalist there. It did not take long for me to develop a reputation there. Within the first month itself, I managed to uncover a huge drug market happening deep in the heart of the city itself. My reports earned me several glowing remarks from critics and the general public alike, and I was even nominated for the Journalism Awards. People often remarked that I had a nose for the next scoop, but it had nothing to do with my nose. My eyes on the other hand, were a huge help. Being able to see Auras meant that all I had to do to get a good story was simply follow whoever had an intriguing Aura. In the case of the drug market, it all began when I met the local butcher and meat supplier for the Daily Globe. Despite his polite behaviour and charming smile, he had an Aura that was nearly as menacing as Mr.Rodgers himself. I knew I had my first lead. A thorough snoop and a somewhat dangerous car chase later, I had pictures of him stuffing drugs in the meat before selling to his “daily customers”. After unearthing some more information about him and his clients, I had my final report ready for the public. Im not going to lie, it felt nice to be able to service the city while developing my career at the same time. At that point, life was going great. I had an unshakeable reputation as the best journalist at the Daily Globe, I had met the love of my life, Sarah, and moved in with her, and had recently had a talk with some of the heads about a promotion. If only things had persisted like that. The Auras, they were my gift. No one else could see them, feel them. I was determined to carry this secret, this gift with me to the grave, and had it not been for him this might’ve been the case. It was a dull Monday morning. I was sitting at my desk, typing away my daily quota for the newspaper when I first felt it. A chill that ran down my spine, sending goosebumps all over my body. I blamed It on the air conditioning and tried my best to resume working, but as time passed the feeling got worse and worse, eventually exerting such a pressure that I found it difficult to breathe. As I tried to revert my breathing back to normal and calm down, a faint white glow began emanating from behind me, growing stronger and stronger by the second. It eventually enveloped the whole floor, and to my shock and relief, felt comforting. I was taken back to all the nights my mother would hold me as she read all those nursery books. The first time I had met Sarah and my heart skipped a beat. The day I’d asked her to move in with me and she’d happily said yes. All those wonderful memories, the white glow seemed to possess as it wrapped around me like a warm blanket. The glow simultaneously emanated a sense of pressure and strength, but possessed a calm that made me relax and put me at ease. I was so distracted by all these emotions that it took me a good while to realise that this was in fact someone’s Aura. Once I realised this fact, I quickly scanned the floor to see the source of this enormous, powerful sensation. The owner of the Aura which dominated every other Aura I had ever seen. My eyes landed on a man, dressed in a trench coat at least two sizes big for him. He wore a fedora on top his neatly combed hair, horn rimmed glasses that made him appear to be twice his age, and was holding a stack of folders while talking to some of the other reporters. Eventually, he spotted my gaze, and began walking towards me. I noticed he had a limp as he walked, and generally seemed to be quite awkward as he slowly made his way towards me. It was hard to believe that he possessed such a brilliant Aura, when he seemed beyond normal. Upon catching upto me, he flashed me a dazzling smile as he uttered the words that I would never forget for the rest of my life, the very words that would end up changing my life. “Hey, I’m Clark Kent, the new guy. It’s a pleasure being able to work with you.


As I sat there looking at the display I was nervous. It had been far to easy to get away; sensors and video could be fooled. “Cass”, I called. “Get to the aft porthole and see whats behind us.” As she came through the door from her lab she looked at me quizzically. “I thought we lost em’”, She said. But she continued walking aft towards the small porthole window next to the airlock. After a couple minutes I heard her voice over my cochlear. “*I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, just space rocks from this death trap you pulled us into.*” I reply back with my inter-phase “*It’s a planetary ring debris field not a death trap. Keep an eye out there for a bit. Look for straight lines. The universe doesn’t work in straight lines.”* “*Whatever you wanna call it.”* was the response I got as I flipped a switch and the metal plates that covered the forward facing portholes slid back. In doing so the revealed the beautiful “death trap” as Cass so eloquently put it. We had the ship in a slow orbit around the planet a midst its gorgeous rings. The debris were all colors but mostly blue for some reason. With my inter-phase I got a hold of the pilot. “*Hey Derek can you nab a small sample of one of those blue rocks?”* “*Sure thing boss. Are we hidden well enough?”* He asked. “*I don’t know.”* I sent back over my inter-phase. “*I have Cass looking out the aft porthole. But it felt to easy to me. Kill the main power we can drift around with the maneuvering thrusters for a bit. I want as small of a power output as possible.”* “*Done and done.”,* Derek said. As I settled back into my seat I peered into the scopes on my instruments; looking for a blip, listening for some static, trying to see what I sensed; that we were being hunted. While I was scanning the radio frequencies looking for any anomalies I felt the familiar pressure in my head and Cass got back in contact over the inter-phase. “*Hey Captain, I just saw stars wink out and reappear in a line. It looks like it is moving towards us. I saw it aft about 270 degrees and up from our plane about 65 degrees.”* “*Thanks. I’ll dial that in on my scopes.”* I replied. As I dialed the scopes and instruments in I got a hold of our gunner on my inter-phase. “*Taylor load up. We have incoming. We didn’t shake em all the way. What do we have left for ammo?”* Her frazzled reply came over the inter-phase. “*We don’t have much left. One nuke, four conventional warhead missiles, two counter missiles, and about enough plasma for one laser burst of 15 seconds or less. We burnt through most of it blasting our way out of that mess we stumbled into.”* “*Okay,”* I reply. “*Is the defense shield back online at least? If not this is gonna be a short fight.”* “*Yes,”* she thought back at me. “*I just finished getting it set up. It’s priming the charge now. We need 45 more seconds till we can deploy it.”* Just as she finished speaking the radio scopes locked on to the ship following us. From the outline we may be fortunate. It looked like a scout/research vessel. It didn't seem to have spotted us yet, or at least they were not letting on that they had. I looked at our power readouts wincing and not for the first time wishing we had better stealth capabilities. Knowing roughly the capabilities of their ship, their location, and now being able to now track them on scopes I started to come up with a plan. I opened up my inter-phase to the other three and started to explain, “*Okay everyone here is my plan. First Derek get us out of line of sight with that ship. Bring us around that larger asteroid. Taylor I want you to take one of our conventional missiles and eject it out of the ship but leave it inert. Let it drift away from us. When I give the signal remotely activate it and sent it toward that ship. That should draw their attention away from us at the same time bringing them closer. As soon as they drop their shields to launch their counter missiles fire the last three conventional missiles at them and then fire the nuke. Then bring up our shields and Derek, get us out of here as fast as you can. We can use the laser to knock any of their missiles down that happen to get through the nuke and the debris field behind us. Cass you are going to be charting a course so we can slip away from here and back to friendly space. Any questions?”* They all agreed to the plan and started preparing to implement the operation. While the crew were all working on their tasks I was keeping an eye on the enemy ship. They had begun a grid pattern search and seemed to be focusing in on the most blue of the asteroids. This peaked my interest, anything that the enemy was interested in we should be as well. So I entered a command for the computer to do a spectral analysis of the sample that Derek had gotten earlier. Mostly magnesium with some unknown chemical compounds. I tucked that knowledge away in the back of my mind for later. Returning my attention to the enemy ship I noticed that the grid pattern had reset and it was moving closer. I opened up the channel on my inter-phase again and asked, “*Hey everyone how are we doing? Their ship is getting a little to close for comfort.”* Derek was the first to respond,” *I am ready to fly as soon as the fireworks start going off. Been keeping us out of sight behind the astroids. One button, five seconds, and we are out of here at speed.”* Taylor came in next, “*I have sent the missile out of the ship and it is a good distance away from us now. It will be a good distracion. Shields are primed and ready to activate. All the other missiles are primed and in their tubes set to launch in the sequence you wanted.”* Cass came in last and said “*We have a course plotted. I sent the slip point to Derek already. It is three miles out of the debris field we are in. So almost five miles in total. We will need to make two slips though. Our slip field generator cant handle a sustained slip that whole way. We are much farther out into the unexplored regions that we have been before.”* “*Excellent work everyone.”* I said. “*Lets wait for them to get a little bit closer.”* So we all sat there. Waiting. Watching. Hoping that they didn't detect us before we could start the plan. When I felt that the time was right I opened the team channel with my inter-phase and said, “ *It is almost time. Get strapped in if you are not already, we don't need a mess on the bulkheads. On my mark. Five, four, thee, two, one... MARK!”* With that word, mark; it all started. The missile floating in space reoriented itself and shot off toward the enemy ship. I was slightly surprised at how far it had drifted away. Immediately the enemy ship turned and lowered its shields to send out a counter missile. By the time its shields had lowered all our other missiles were in space and rocketing toward them from a different angle. As we were flying away with our shields up nearly bouncing off asteroids at points I saw the flash of a nuclear explosion in space, the porthole automatically dimming to save my eyes. I turned to my scopes and didn't see anything following us at first. Then with dread my mouth went dry as I saw two blips on my scope start to move towards us at a terrifying speed. Over my inter-phase I said urgently, “*Taylor we have incoming! Get the laser ready! Cass divert power from forward shields to rear and mid sections! Derek don't hit anything and how far are we from the slip point?!* Derek replied, “*We are nearly there one point seven five miles to go! Slip jump generator is primed and ready. What is chasing us? How did they survive a nuke?!* Then Taylor came through, “*They are fighters, they must have been powered down and didn't power up till the fighting started. That ship had an escort. Now just get us out of here and let me shoot!”* As she finished speaking the rear laser array came online and crackled to life. I knew with the shields those fighters had there was no way a 45 second laser burst would destroy one but it might hold them off long enough. As I had that thought the super-heated plasma laser spouted out of the array and hit the shield of one of the ships and it peeled off to let its shield recharge. The other kept on us and let two missiles fly. Taylor made short work of those with the laser but we were getting perilously low on ammo. As the slip field began to glow around us both of the fighters came in for one last pass. Both let go two missiles each and began firing their kinetic weapons as well. Taylor took out the last four missiles and as our shields began to dip dangerously low everything went white. I leaned back into my chair and sighed with relief. We were in slip space; safe from weapons and enemies. I unbuckled from the command chair and began to walk to the bridge. I walked up to Derek and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Nice flying.” I said as I reached around him under the console. His eyes went wide as I pulled a brand new bottle of whiskey from his hiding place under the control panel. “Uhhhh I don't know how that got there.” Was his statement as I looked at him with a grin. “You sure?” I asked. As I pulled the cork out with a satisfying POP. “You know that its against regulations to have alcohol on a ship during a mission like this.” “Yes sir.” He said. Suddenly sounding a lot more formal. “That's why I am just as surprised as you to see it there.” I just chuckled to myself and asked him. “How long until our next slip jump?” He looked at his instruments and replied, “We have twelve hours of this slip jump, then we have to let the generator cool down for at least two hours. Then its another ten hours of slipping till we get to the closest outpost.” “Okay,” I say. Then take a pull off the bottle. I put the cork back in and turn around. I open up a channel to the crew with my inter-phase. “*Everyone get your things in order and meet me in the mess hall. We have a twelve hour slip to kill and Derek brought something special to share with the crew. I figured that surviving a fight like that; we earned a reward.”* At that the ship adrift between realities, floating in literally nothing, resounded with cheers and the sounds of footsteps on floor panels. I took another pull from the bottle. When every mission can be your last; you have to enjoy the little things when you can.