Austin After Dark

Tuesday Tales: Life’s Little Surprises, Part 2

Posted on December 1, 2009 by Debora

What Is This?

Part 1

CAST OF PART 2:
Casey Gavin: Me
Story, Setting and All Characters Who Are Not Casey: Aron Head.

**********

Casey’s “night” wrapped up just a bit before three a.m.  She had the bar cleaned up and her drawer cashed out.  She and the wait staff all exited together, everyone heading their own ways. Casey stepped around to the back lot, walking through the darkened alleyway and into the lamp light. As she approached her aged truck, she thought about how nice it would be to sleep when she got back to her place. She slipped her key into the lock and was suddenly aware of a presence beside her.

“Hi.” A skinny young man wearing khakis and a purple sweater stood beside her.  She recognized him from earlier in the bar. His burly friend in the jeans and UT sweatshirt stood off to the side. She’d never heard them come up. The skinny one asked, “Suppose you could give us a lift?”

She unlocked the door quickly, but kept her face friendly and her body language casual. “Sorry, guys,” she said lightly as she hopped up into the drafty cab and pulled the door shut…

The skinny guy’s hand darted out seizing the door, preventing her from closing it. “Hey…” he said in a soothing voice, “Don’t get your skirts in a ruffle. Just be neighborly.” His eyes blazed…hungrily at her. She felt… almost… like she wanted to give him and his friend a ride.

Almost.

She wasn’t sure why the idea of giving in to his request was so strangely compelling, but she really did know better than to offer rides to strangers at 3am. She looked back and met his eyes, still not really afraid. She knew how to handle difficult types. “Let go, friend,” she said in the same casual tone, but this time she put a light *push* behind the words.

…And she felt resistance.  Like pushing a brick wall.

A slow smile creased the skinny guy’s face. “What’cha doing there, girl? In my head and all?” His mouth hung open in a fierce grin.  She barely heard him say, “Bet you taste goooood.”

She only barely heard him because she was focused on his vicious fangs.

The burly fellow was baring his canines as well…

Now she was afraid. A cold knot tightened in her stomach as she stared wide-eyed at the two men. She didn’t believe in vampires or supernatural beings in general, but she did tend to believe the evidence of her own eyes…and right now that was telling her she was in a great deal of trouble. She could–maybe–handle the skinny guy, but there was no way she could take on both of them.

With all her might, she tried to pull the truck door out of the grasp of the skinny one, tried to slam it shut.

It didn’t move.  His arm must have been made of steel!

“What do you want?” She tried to keep her voice steady, keep things reasonable, but the question came out in a shaky whisper.

“Trouble.”

Skinny Guy’s head turned to view the speaker, as did Burly Guy.

Brandon Falco stood in the lamplit parking lot, his trenchcoat blowing about him like a cloak, giving him the look of some kind of heroic avenger.

The sense of relief that washed through Casey was almost overwhelming. She slumped back against the truck seat, let out a long, trembling breath.

“Isn’t that what you’re after, boys?  A little trouble?  Because that’s what you’ve found.”

Burly Guy took an aggressive step towards Falco.

Falco shook his head, “Burn.”

Casey sensed tremendous power…

And the Burly Guy screamed, his voice reaching the wailing pitch of a little girl.  He danced as if covered in stinging, biting insects…or… no… as if he was on fire.

Casey stared in fresh disbelief, not quite sure what she was looking at.

Burly Guy dropped to the asphalt, rolling left and right, patting at himself frantically…He sobbed, a tearful, wrenching cry…

Casey’s wide-eyed stare turned from the writhing man on the ground to Mr. Falco, trying to understand what she was seeing.

Falco locked eyes with Skinny Guy, “Leave the girl and you walk out of here undamaged.”

“Oh I’ll leave the girl,” Skinny Guy said, walking towards Falco, “I’ll leave her long enough to deal with you!”

“Mistake.”

Skinny Guy was lifted off his feet and spun about in the air.

Casey was having trouble drawing a breath. She felt like she had stepped into a nightmare, without the benefit of falling asleep first.

Skinny Guy flailed about, unable to prevent himself from being suspended upside down some five feet off the ground.

“Casey?” Falco asked, “You alright?”

She shrank away from him, her relief forgotten. She wanted to slam the truck door, fire up the engine, lay rubber on the Longhorn parking lot and get the hell out of whatever this was. But she couldn’t seem to move at all. She huddled against the truck seat, paralyzed by fear and confusion.

“Casey,” His voice was reassuring as he dug in his trenchcoat, “Though you might not want to watch this.” He drew a short, broad-bladed sword, which glinted in the lamplight. With a single fluid motion, he swung the blade… relieving the upside down vampire of his head.  Both head and body crumpled to the ground.

Tonight’s experience was taking on the surreal tones of hallucination. Casey wondered if someone slipped something into her soda at some point tonight. That might explain it….

Falco turned, performing the same action on the Burly Guy. Once both vampires were sans heads, he returned the sword to its hiding place within his coat. He walked to her…

She flinched, trying to gather her wits enough to get herself out of this.

“It’ll be okay…” He stopped, eyes flashing to the rooftops and the alleys. “…But I need to get you out of here.  Can you drive?  Or shall I?”

**********

Part 3

Categories: Austin After Dark, Fiction, vampires | Leave a comment

Tuesday Tales: Life’s Little Surprises, Part 1

Posted on November 24, 2009 by Debora

This is the first installment in a weekly fiction series edited together from my vicarious adventures in play-by-email role-playing games. These stories are NOT CHILD-FRIENDLY. There is violence and adult subject matter and bad language. They’re not for the faint of heart or the easily offended or people who faint at the sight of literary bloodshed. Consider yourself warned.

I think the most challenging part for me will be to break the stories up into bite-size chunks and still make sure something relatively interesting happens in each week’s installment. We’ll see how that works out; some creative editing might be necessary.

This first segment is just introductory stuff. The setting and all the characters except for Casey were written by the GM, Aron. Casey’s dialogue and actions were written by me. Future chapters will include other players’ characters, and I’ll list writing credits as needed. Here’s a picture of Casey:

So without further ado, I give you the Perils of Casey Gavin. Enjoy!

** ** ** ** ** ** **

[Austin, Texas, 1995]

“You’re so hot, you’d make the devil sweat!”

One of the downsides of being a lady bartender Casey Gavin had found is that you became a target for every horny bastard in the place.  At first it’s flattering and an ego boost.  But after awhile you realized that it had a lot more to do with the booze than it did with your charm and personality.

Particularly if you could read minds. Randy men broadcast their intent…she’d often wondered how people failed to hear what she could discern so plainly. There’s nothing flattering or beautiful about being the object of their lust.

The frat guy flashed a lascivious smile as he accepted his beer from her, returning to his friends. She turned to mix martinis for the two women sitting across from her, both well-dressed urban professionals.

Casey liked The Longhorn.  It was a nice neighborhood bar.  She could probably have made better tips at the Nite’s Edge or one of the other cool, Sixth Street bars, but The Longhorn had a nice, friendly feel to it. Nite’s Edge and those other places were cold and loud. Lots of the folks here were like family.

“Good evening, Casey.” Mr. Falco sidled up to his usual place at the bar. He was a fine looking man.  He had to be in his late thirties or so.  He had the look of a fellow who spent a lot of time in the gym.  He was well-groomed, too.  He peeled off his overcoat, laying it on the barstool beside him.  He wore a dark grey business suit with a snazzy red silk tie, made all the more dramatic by his stark white shirt.  His brown hair was worn stylish and short.  “My usual, please.”

“Hi, Mr. Falco,” she said cheerfully in her rural Texas drawl. “Coming right up.” She set a thin cardboard coaster on the bar and a whiskey glass atop that, and pours out a generous amount of Chivas Regal, his preferred brand of scotch.

He kicked back half the glass, and then smiled.  “Makes a body good.” He looked up at the TV, his eyes following the news text crawling beneath video of some golfer.

One of the things that she found so fascinating about Mr. Falco is that she could not read him.  He didn’t broadcast at all.  This was not at all beyond her experience. Some people were naturally closed-off, but they were rare. These were the people that intrigued a telepath…

He smiled her direction, “How’s your day?”

She gave him a sunny smile in return, hoping to draw him into conversation. “Oh, you know…the pageant of humanity in all its colorful glory. How about yours?”

He swirled the scotch in his glass, “Just your average day… Little of this, little of that.” He drained the remainder of his glass, setting it down before Casey. “Been a busy day,” he said.  “Getting busier all the time, you know the drill, right?  I can’t remember the last time I got more than four hours of sleep at any one time.  Just like a monkey, y’know?  Too much crap, not enough time?”

“I know just what you mean, Mr. Falco.” She replaced his glass with a clean one, and filled it again with scotch. “Some days it feels like someone left the universe stuck on ‘fast forward.'”

“You’re too young to feel that way, Casey.”

She grinned. “Just too far from home. Things moved along a lot slower back there; I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the big hurry this city’s always in.”

He chuckled, “When I was your age… I felt like I had all the time in the world. Of course…” He winked, “I still do.”

“You’re one of the lucky few, then,” she said cheerfully, wiping down a section of bar with a damp cloth.

“Where are you from?” Then he held his hand up, stopping her.  “Wait.  Let me guess… I’m good at this kind of thing… from your accent…” He tilted his head, “…I would say you grew up amidst the post oak savannas, the broad valleys, and the high rolling prairies of Montague County.  Right?”

Her astonishment was plain on her face. “You ARE good! My family has a ranch outside of Niblock, that’s where I grew up. Quarter Horses and Red Angus cattle. Not much resemblance to Austin, I can tell you.”

He nodded.  “Pretty country.  I particularly enjoy driving through there in the spring.  Wildflowers as far as you can see.  Reminiscent of the Elysian Fields…” He winked, tapping his empty glass.

She served him a fresh scotch. “Where’s that?”

“Faaar away from here,” He quirked a smile, laughing at a joke that only he got.

“I know what you mean,” she laughed. “Sometimes home seems like a million miles away, doesn’t it?”

“Pfah!” He said, dismissing her comment.  “Home is a fluid concept.  It is where you want it to be.” He raised his glass to her, “Life’s too short to be homesick.” He knocked back the remainder of his scotch, then slides the glass back to her.

Another clean glass, another refill of Chivas Regal. “I suppose that’s true,” she smiled.

He sipped at his drink, eyes flicking up to the TV screen. He glanced at his watch, then turned, checking the door as a two men enter. Casey had never seen them before. One was clad in jeans and a UT sweatshirt. He was a big, brawny fellow. The other was smaller, skinny. This one wore khakis and a pullover purple sweater.

Falco’s eyes flicked to Casey and then to his now-empty glass.

This time she hesitated. He didn’t seem to be feeling the effects of all that alcohol, but it had to be adding up by now. “Are you driving tonight, Mr. Falco?” she asked in a friendly tone.

He provided a crooked smile, “Nope.  Why ride when you can walk?” He tapped the glass, “Don’t be stingy now.”

She looked him over carefully. After that much alcohol his mind should have been an open–if somewhat soggy–book, but he was as closed off as ever, and to all appearances still cold sober. She poured him another drink.

“Thank you, Casey.” He smiled, sipping at the scotch.

The newcomers took a seat at one of the tables, and Julie, one of the waitresses came up to take their order. Casey could see them laughing and joking with her.

She noted a frown on Falco’s face as he watched the TV behind the bar. She followed his gaze, but the golf game and stock headlines crawling underneath offered few clues to the frown. Damn inconvenient, not being able to read this fellow. “Who’s winning?”

“Hmmn?” He looked back at her.  “Oh.  The IRS, I suspect.”

The stock report, then. She knew better than to ask him about his finances, so she just nodded sympathetically. “Isn’t that the truth!”

He only nodded, eyes focused on the television.

“Casey!” A balding fellow in his fifties greeted her as he sidled up to the bar.  He thumped the counter-top, “Fat Tire right here and keep ’em coming!”

Randy was another of her regulars.  He was a good guy.  A self-employed electrician, he worked long days and hit the bar with a powerful thirst. He had a good sense of humor and a kind heart. He was easy to read, an open book really.  Randy’d been unlucky in love his whole life.  He married his high school sweetheart who left him after being married for twelve years.  She wanted excitement, not the “mind numbing regularity” of married life.

“You’re boring!” Randy’s wife screamed at him, her words still echoing sharply through his memories. He’d had difficulty connecting with women since then.  He had a lousy sense of self-esteem. Randy was at ease around Casey, she had that effect on people.

She gave him the beer, and a friendly grin. “How are things in the exciting world of electricity, Randy?”

“Shocking,” He answered with a laugh.  “Shocking!”

She laughed as well. “Always good to get a charge out of your work.”

He chuckled, sipping at his beer.

A few moments later, she turned to see that Mr. Falco had left.  An empty glass atop the edge of several neatly folded bills held the space where had been sitting. She paid his tab, pocketing the generous 30% tip, and wiped the bar clean.

Part 2

Categories: Austin After Dark, Fiction, Role-Playing Games, Tuesday Tales, vampires | Leave a comment

A World Of Darkness

Posted on November 20, 2009 by Debora

There’s a BUNCH of stuff going on around here, none of which I can write about in my public journal. C’est la vie, apparently.

I hate to see this blog just sit here all neglected, though, so I’ve been thinking I might add a weekly “chapter serial” fiction story feature. I used to be quite the gaming addict back in the day, and play-by-email role-playing games were my drug of choice. My fellow gamers and I wove many a dark and colorful tapestry of mystery, intrigue and adventure, matching our resourcefulness and creative writing skills against the all diabolical challenges the GM sent our way.

Yes, I am an irredeemable geek. That’s beside the point.

I was thinking of taking some of those game stories and posting them here, a little at a time, one day a week. I would begin with “Austin After Dark,” my personal favorite, a chilling tale of vampires and werewolves and Fae and betrayal and murder. Lots and lots of murder. And goblins.

I’ve received permission from Aron Head, the evil genius who ran that game, to publish excerpts here on my blog. I’m thinking “Tuesday Tales” has a nice ring to it.

So…some background. If you’re not familiar with the concept of play-by email role-playing games, it’s fairly simple. Each player creates a character, and then that character goes forth and interacts via group emails in a story setting with the other players’ characters. The Game Master provides the setting and peripheral characters, and supplies a story plot containing challenges for the characters to try to overcome. It’s like Disneyland for creative-writing geeks like me.

“Austin After Dark” is a World Of Darkness rpg. There are stacks and stacks of WoD resource books available to the serious gamer who needs to know his way around this incredibly elaborate fictional universe.

I’ve never read any of them. I knew absolutely nothing about the setting or the rules when I first joined the game. “Tabula rasa” pretty much sums it up. I’d been playing in one of Aron’s other pbem’s at the time, a Star Trek game. Star Trek I know. Every detail of that universe is as comfortable and familiar to me as a well-worn pair of sheepskin slippers. My problem was, the Trek game had gone dormant while Aron focused on another of his pbems which was rocking along like a runaway train just then. I was suffering some serious game withdrawal.

So I figured, maybe I should join this other pbem, this “Austin After Dark” thing, just to pass the time until the Trek game got moving again. Aron and I exchanged a few emails, trying to come up with a game character for me who could fit into the ongoing story even without knowing any more than I did about the hidden underworld of Austin. We came up with Casey Gavin, a rural ranch girl who had developed telepathic and telekinetic powers and had moved to the big city to access a broader range of minds so she could develop her skills. She took a job bartending, the perfect activity for someone who wants to meet a lot of people without having to form any close personal ties.

Most of the stories I post here will be edited to keep the story moving along. Role-playing games sometimes get bogged down in conversations that lead nowhere, character (player) bickering, uninteresting tangents and other nonblogworthy narrative that I’ll be editing out of my weekly series. Also, I will be posting ONLY the events that Casey was directly involved in. If you want to read everyone else’s adventures, go here.

Okay then! Chapter One will hit the blog on Tuesday, and I hope you’ll enjoy reading these stories as much as we enjoyed writing them.

**********

Part 1

Categories: Austin After Dark, Fiction, Friends, Gaming, Life, Role-Playing Games, Tuesday Tales | Tags: , | 1 Comment

Stranger Than Truth, Part Last (Content Warning For Mildly Disturbing Imagery)

Posted on November 30, 2008 by Debora

It’s the last day of NaBloPoMo, and this is the final bit of my tangent into rpg fiction.

Following that…at some point…will be a return to our irregular and unscheduled reality.

*******************

This is a continuing (and concluding) excerpt from the play-by-email game Austin After Dark.

The beginning can be found here:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

*******************

She would have liked to snoop through his brain a little before she put him out, but Mardmor might return at any moment; she couldn’t take time for intelligence-gathering now.  With an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu, she frowned at the silver band in the Sidhe’s slack fingers.  Crushed it into an unusable shape — it crumpled with little effort on her part — then returned her attention to the metal restraints. Her bindings flew away from her.

Casey rose, glancing down at Burton with a twinge of regret.  She had nothing personal against the unfortunate Fae; he seemed like a nice enough fellow, just misled by the Goblin King as so many others had been.  Mardmor would probably kill him in some horrific manner when he returned to find Casey gone.

The kindest thing might be to give him a quick death right now, while he lay blissfully unaware of his fate.

It would be the *smartest* thing, for sure.  If she and Mardmor both allowed Burton to live, the Sidhe would be a bitter enemy of hers from the moment he awakened.  She really didn’t need more enemies hunting her down.

Sighing, she stepped over Burton and moved to the selection of surgical equipment, unable to seriously entertain the idea of slaying a man in his sleep.  Finding the heavy surgical blade again, she slid it carefully between her belt and pants: a much simpler task now that she had fingers to work with.  

Still trying to shake the ominous sense of déjà vu, and half-expecting history to repeat itself, she walked over to Houseman’s head.  “Thanks for the help.  So, unless this is another of Mardmor’s tricks I’ll be going now.  Anything I can do for you first?”

“Take me with you,” he answered softly. “I may yet be of help.”

“I’m sorry, but no,” she replied without hesitation.  “When Mardmor finds out I’m not here he’s going to send stuff after me, and I won’t be able to fight and run and carry you at the same time.  Besides, for all I know he can track me through that piece of magic you’re impaled on.”  She shifted impatiently, glancing toward the door.  “Pick something else.”

He appeared stunned by this. “Then end me.”

“Fair enough.”  In his place that would have been her first request.  Still, the brusque note in her own voice struck her as a bit harsh, even under the circumstances.  Making an effort to soften her tone she added, “I really am sorry that all of this happened to you.  I’ll do everything in my power to see that Mardmor pays for everything he’s done.”

“And Bronwen. Kill him slow.”

“Kill Bronwen slow,” she nodded.  “Will do.” Lifting the head gently off of the spike, she set it on the tabletop. 
 
The head came off the spike with a wet SCHLURP. No longer did it show any sign of life. It was just a dead thing.

She incinerated the lifeless remains down to ash. Inky black tendrils of smoke rose from the consumed head.

Then she headed for the exit.

Paused, hand on the door, attempting to read through to see who may be standing guard beyond.

She sensed no thoughts on the other side of the door. She could feel her mind move through the door and into the corridor beyond. She felt none of the sensory limitations she felt earlier in Sanctuary or beneath it.

That was unexpected….

She hesitated a moment longer, suddenly apprehensive now that the time had come to venture out alone.  

For whatever good it might do, she utilized the gift of “invisibility” that Falco had given her.  It wouldn’t work on the black phantoms, probably wouldn’t work on the green sconces — heck, it probably wouldn’t even work on Mardmor.  But the regular rank and file like poor Burton…she should be able to pass unseen amongst them now.

She drew the heavy blade from her belt, gripped it tightly at her side.

Then, taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped cautiously through.

Categories: Austin After Dark, Fiction, Gaming, NaBloPoMo | Leave a comment

Stranger Than Truth, Part 6

Posted on November 28, 2008 by Debora

I’d planned to write a catchup post today, about my week and my Thanksgiving. But this morning my wireless connection is down, and uploading images on the excruciatingly slow backup dialup connection is an ordeal that doesn’t bear thinking about.

So instead, here’s another bit from AAD, and I’ll do the other thing tomorrow or whenever my high-ish-speed is back up.

*******************

This is a continuing excerpt from the play-by-email game Austin After Dark.

The beginning can be found here:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

*******************

“Sire?” The wiry sidhe in the gray business suit that Casey had seen earlier poked his head into the room.

“What?!” Mardmor snapped in irritation.

“There’s been a development, my king. I thought you’d want to be made aware of it soonest.”

“Speak.”

“Sir Norfolk is dead, sir.”

Casey’s head came up sharply as her heart plummeted into her stomach.  “No…” she whispered, shocked.

Mardmor turned, facing his servant for the first time. A long, chilly silence fell across the room and the sidhe gentleman shrank a bit under the Goblin King’s scrutiny.

“That is unfortunate,” he said at last. “How did it occur?”

“The Lady Jasmine attempted escape. The satyr threw himself into the fight and was struck down.”

Mardmor nodded, “That will leave us one short. Who struck the fatal blow?”

“Xorm, sir.”

“Then he will take Norfolk’s place.” Mardmor considered, “Still, accommodations must be made. I must see to them.”

Setting the skull-screwing device down on the cart, Mardmor said to Casey: “Do not worry, dear. I will return soonest.”

She barely heard him.  

Pip…!

Mardmor turned to the sidhe as he exited, “Stay and watch the girl. But do not touch. Do what you want to the head.”

And the Goblin King was gone.

Casey sat in stunned silence, deeply shaken.  Tears burned behind her eyes, threatening to flow.   She’d known the satyr so briefly, but after everything they’d been through tonight she’d begun to think of him as a friend.  He was so full of life and courage and cleverness and humor….

Alseyne would be devastated.

Pip.

The slow burn of anger rekindled hotly in her.  Pip could not have given his life for a failed cause.  It was up to the rest of them now to make sure his death had meaning: that he had played his own vital part in a successful mission.

It eventually sank in that Mardmor had left her more-or-less alone with some henchman.  Casey looked over at the Fae, covertly sizing him up.  This could well be the best chance she’d ever get at escaping this room.  She sifted quickly through ideas, weighing risks against desired outcomes.  The most promising tactic she could think of was also the riskiest, but now didn’t seem like the time for playing it safe.  

None of this showed in her face.  As soon as she had settled on a plan, she made a conscious effort to appear as small and helpless and vulnerable as possible.  Giving the Sidhe the full benefit of her wide-eyed blue gaze as a single tear trickled down one cheek, she asked, “Were you there when it happened?”  She deliberately played up the raw huskiness in her throat, keeping her voice low and soft.  “Did Pip…did Sir Norfolk…die bravely?”

The sidhe looked over to Casey, “No, I was not there. But I understand that he died defending Aulaudin. It was stupid. Really, a waste. No reason for it.”

Her eyes dropped, wet with unfeigned grief.  “A waste….”  There was a long, brooding pause, then she frowned faintly.  “But I heard…I thought…that he was going to be killed anyway?”

“There is a significant difference between a meaningless death,” he answered, “And a meaningful sacrifice.”

Casey looked back up at the Sidhe, swiftly revising her plan in mid-stride.  Plainly this was no slow-witted toady; the ‘fragile waif’ act was probably going to be wasted on him. 
 
Fair enough.  She straightened in her chair, pushed her emotions aside for now.  She could mourn the dead later, after they’d been well-avenged.  “What would have made his sacrifice so meaningful?”  Pause.  “I’m Casey, by the way.”

“Burton,” He nodded, by way of introduction.

“I’d like to say it’s nice to meet you, but to be honest I’ve had nicer nights.”  She indicated the metal restraints with a wry shrug.

“I can see that.” He looked to her, “Without going into too much detail, his sacrifice would have laid the way for the opening of the gates.”

Casey absorbed that, connecting the dots.  This ‘Machine’ Pip and Alseyne were to be fed to was somehow crucial to Mardmor’s scheme — stopping the whole thing might be as simple as finding and destroying it.  “I see.”

His tone was earnest, “I know you don’t understand… but Arcadia! Our time is nigh. This time tomorrow? We will be reunited with cousins long forgotten. Once again, we will be whole. No longer forced to wear two faces.” A smile of eager anticipation, “It will be so grand!”

It was hard not to smile at his enthusiasm, even if he was talking about the end of the world as Casey knew it.  “I really don’t,” she commented in a bemused tone.  “Understand, I mean.  I’m not all that knowledgeable about the Fae, I’m sorry to say.  I get the ‘two faces’ thing, but the rest of it’s mostly over my head.  Could you tell me about Arcadia?”

“It is our home,” He said simply. “The mother land. It is a place of surpassing beauty. The air is sweet, the waters cool. Or so I have heard. I’ve not ever been there. But I yearn for it… as all my folk do.”

“And once these gates are opened you’ll able to pass freely between this world and that one?”

“Yes,” his head bobbed, “As easily as you go to the grocery store.”

She was quiet for a moment, deep in thought.  Then she said wistfully, “It does sound wonderful.  Makes me wish I were going to be around to see it.”

“Why do you say that? There’s no reason to suspect you won’t witness the return.”

She shook her head.  “I know Mardmor’s going to kill me as soon as I tell him what he wants to know — that’s why I haven’t talked.  I’ve got nothing against Fae going home, but as soon as I give up my information I’ll be of no further use to him.”

“You misunderstand the King,” He shook his head. “Truly, he has no desire to harm you, though make no mistake. He will if such is required. No, he’d much rather you surrender your secrets and join him. But even if you fail to join him, you will be released after the gates are opened. Once they are open, you and your friends will pose no threat to his plans.”

Casey quirked a crooked smile at the Sidhe.  “Yeah…that’s what he keeps saying.  I wish I could believe it were true.”  She shrugged skeptically, but then gives Burton a long, searching look.  “You really think I can trust him?”

“I do. I have never known him to lie. Ever.”

Casey sharply stifled a snort at that, thinking of the lies Mardmor had told her just in their very brief acquaintance.  She was careful not to let the thought show though; she seemed to be giving Burton’s statement earnest consideration. “He’s so…scary.”

“Power is often frightening.”

Hope and doubt warred transparently on Casey’s face.  “You don’t know how much I want to believe you.  But…well, let’s be honest, you’ve got a pretty strong motivation to say anything that might convince me.  You want the gates opened as much as Mardmor does, and I can only imagine how well he’d likely reward you if you persuaded me to talk.”

“True enough,” he nodded.

She paused for a moment to let the image of the King’s appreciation sink in, then looked up swiftly as if an idea had just occurred to her.  It seemed to hover on the tip of her tongue for a long minute before she ventured slowly, “You know…there might be a way for all of us to get what we want.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t….”  She stopped, biting her lip indecisively, then plunged ahead.  “Did you know I can read minds?  I’m not very good at it yet, but I can pick up surface thoughts and stuff.  Mardmor put this silver thing on my head to block me, so I wouldn’t be able to read him during the interrogation.”  She studied the Sidhe intently.

He was listening with intense attention.

  “If I could be sure–truly sure–that you’re not trying to trick me, I would tell you everything I know right now.  We’d all win: Mardmor would get his information, you’d get tons of brownie points for being the one who convinced me to talk, and I’d finally get out of this cursed chair and maybe be given some useful task to do.  Just take this thing off my head so I can ‘hear’ whether or not this is some kind of ploy.  If you’re telling the truth it’s a win/win/win solution.  If I can see that you’re lying….”  She shrugged philosophically.  “Well, then I won’t talk, and you’re no better or worse off than you were before.”

Burton scrutinized her, ruminating over what she had said. Clearly, he was on the fence. “The King said ‘do not touch…'” he muttered.

“He meant not to hurt her,” Houseman clarified. “Besides, if you lift real careful, you won’t actually have to touch her.”

Casey felt a rush of gratitude for the help, but she only commented, “That’s true, you wouldn’t have to touch me at all.”

The Sidhe looked hard at the talking vampire head.

Brow furrowing, he looked back to Casey.

She tried to appear suitably hopeful, without actually looking as desperate as she felt.

He looked back to the door.

“You could put it back on me before he gets back,” she pointed out helpfully.  “I don’t need to tell him how you convinced me.”

Sighed, “I suppose you have a point.” He crossed to Casey and placing his hands carefully on either side of her head, he gently lifted the band off.

She sat motionless for the removal, careful not to make any worrisome movements.

It was like someone just flipped a switch. The light went on within her dark mind… Her powers returned…

Keeping her hands and body reassuringly still, she lifted her gaze to meet Burton’s. “Go to sleep.”

She put a fairly hefty push behind the words.

“Wha…?” And didn’t finish the word before he crumpled to the floor.

***********************

Part 7

Categories: Austin After Dark, Fiction, Gaming, NaBloPoMo | Leave a comment

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