The Job Part 2

Part 1

“How much longer?” you asked, sweat covering your shirt from climbing up so many sets of stones.

“Another mile,” I said, hoping it was true.

“You know, I can tell when people are lying.”

“Yeah?” I said, reaching up to grip another stone in the wall. 

“You're doing it right now. You don't know how to get me out of here. You don't know how long this wall is, just that this is somehow the way out when you're not using that magical teleporting dust.” You were right next to me, your eyes staring into mine, both pairs knowing you were right.

I looked up at the unclimbed wall ahead of us and forced my muscles to keep moving. 

“How did you get yourself into this anyway?” you asked, deciding that talking to a liar is better than talking to yourself.

“I was marked, just like you,” I said, not looking back down at you.

“Marked, with what?”

“Stars–everyone's marked with stars. You can't see them unless you've also been marked. . . and had to guard the gates.”

“The gates to what?” you asked as you stopped, resting your feet on a few nice rocks pushed outward.

“Hell.”

“Really? I've been marked to guard the gates of hell?”

“No, I don't know what gates you were marked to guard--I don't know which ones I guarded either.” I snuck a look at you, hoping you wouldn't ask me why there were more than one set of gates or any other questions I didn't know the answers too.

“So why guard them?” you asked instead

“I didn't have anything better to do,” I said, reaching up and finding my hand touch dirt. I let out a sigh of relief and reached up with my other hand to pull myself up. Your hands reached the ground a minute after my feet did and I helped pull you up before both of us looked across at the forest of trees surrounding us.

“Trees, huh?” You sucked in a breath and looked around, taking in the sounds of tree frogs and whatever else it was living in the sea of plants.

“And mushrooms,” I added, the tip of my feet nudging the top of one growing in front of me.

 ”What are those?” You pointed at the sky and the black feathers housing the cries of killer birds that flew in circles above us.

“Birds,” I said, taking a closer look at them as they spiraled down. “Birds we should run from. You still have my bracelet charm?”

Drink My Liver

My claws tore into the demon boy’s flesh, making him scream out as a sharp edge poked through to his liver. A liver was all I wanted; just a small, simple, young liver for Saturday’s ceremony. I could sell it on the black market afterward if it wasn't used; after all, everyone is in need of a liver.

The boy screamed again, this time in horror, as he felt his liver grow back and his skin close up. Of course, it wouldn't really be his, this new liver; it was just there to pretend to be a liver until his demon gene was activated. It wasn't like the boy would actually miss his liver; no, the loss of a liver is not something that makes you lie awake and cry at night. At least not this one––not when something new and far more beautiful is growing inside, taking its place.

Saturday came soon––the sun rising up over the hilltops, bleeding red light into the valley. The liver sat in a glass jar on the ground, ready to be drunk at any second. The first drop of the liver was always the best—it tasted sweet, like toenails and human brains with a sprinkle of cinnamon. Crushed pineapple was added to the last bite, giving it a precious taste of death.

The celebration was nice––the smell of fresh blood and the screams from sacrifices mixing together in a wonderful harmony. After the end of the day, when all the guests had gone and all the livers had been drunk, there was one liver left. I picked it up, watching the starlight dance around it inside the glass jar, and headed to the black market.

It was crowded, slimy, and smelled of intestines and dog food. The floor stuck to your feet, and the sounds of prices being set and objects being bought hung in the air. I stood where I’d set up my spot a long time ago. A motley crowd surrounded me, offering to trade with teeth, eyes, and a goat. I held the liver out to a blonde lady I’d seen at the market a time or two before, and asked her why she wanted it.

“I want something to decorate the house with. It’s looking a bit . . . plain, trust me, this would be perfect” she said, giving me the leash to the goat and proudly disappearing with the liver. Soon after, I led the goat into my backyard, and into its very own house. I fell asleep on the bed, hugging the goat because I knew, the second I had set eyes on the goat, that I loved it more than drinking liver.

The counter in the kitchen of Paris Hilton's house held a liver. A pretty, young liver from a small demon boy. Paris smiled at it and placed it on the mantle over the fireplace, next to the monkey skull and the zebra fish. Her decorating for the day was done.

The Start of a Dinosaur Story

I looked up, watching the moon. Tiger poked my side and chewed noisily on a long, twisting and familiar dinosaur tail. I glared at him, wondering whose that was. Tiger was such a dick. “What? Do you want some?” Tiger flashed his sharp teeth at me.

“No, I don’t enjoy eating . . . whoever that is.” I looked down at it, getting hungry. Goddammit.

“You know Miz Mudsplatter?” Tiger took another bite. “She’s tail-less now.”

“Tiger, what the fuck?” I rolled my eyes, mimicking our older sister whenever she came back to see us. That wasn't too often, not with her living with some non-rejected clan in what she called “society”.

“What?” Tiger chewed on the tail in his mouth, opening wide so you could see inside of it.

“Have you seen Mom?” I tore my gaze away from the tail, looking at our deserted dump of a dwelling. It wasn't much, it really wasn't even enough to call home–– it was just a shithole next to a lava pit. Sometimes, I wonder if our family was outcasted to the slums in hopes that we would disintegrate forever in the lava pit. I wouldn't blame the others; sometimes I wanted Dad in the pit. I don’t think it would matter much if Mom was in it too because sometimes, it felt like she already was.

“What do you think?” Tiger said, having swallowed. “If you haven’t seen her and I haven’t seen her––”

“Then no one’s seen her,” I finished with him. It was true, no one who mattered had seen her if we hadn't.  No one who didn't matter was looking for her anyway. I sighed and sat back down in the nest; it was falling apart. Tiger was next to me, still chewing on a tail and now staring at the moon. I looked over at the tail again, my stomach growling. Tiger ripped off a piece for me and shoved it in my mouth. I started chewing, swallowing down any feelings with it.

“You’re welcome,” he said between chews. “You haven’t eaten anything all day, just because we don’t have anyone to get us food, doesn't mean we can’t get it ourselves.” Tiger meant that we could still steal food no matter what, even if we had to chop off someone’s tail for it. “Have you seen Dad?”

“If I haven’t––”I began when angry growls erupted around us. The sound of a coconut that stunk of foul liquid smashing to the ground interrupted us. Tiger and I crouched to the ground and our chewing stopped. I abruptly swallowed and smacked Tiger when he didn't.  Hadn't we been through this enough? He gave me a pleading look while showing me that he had too much to swallow and he wasn't about to spit it out. I shook my head and gave him a demanding look. He scowled and abruptly shut his jaw, beginning to chew again when he was lifted out of the nest before I could do anything to help him.

“Who are you?” I heard Dad sneer at him and watched Tigers terrified look reflected in Dad’s eyes, twice the size of Tigers head. The tail dangled in his hand, swinging. “What do you think you're doing here? You little shit!” He threw Tiger down beside me in the nest and turned away, drinking from another coconut.  We both turned and stared, hoping he would leave for the night. “What are you looking at?” he sneered and threw the coconut at us. “Get out of here!” he yelled.

Tiger and I looked at each other and scampered out of the nest toward the jungle as the next coconut was thrown at us.

“Skittle? You know that lava pit?” Tiger said to me after vomiting and finding a leaf big enough to wear as a blanket around his shoulders. “Sometimes I wish that dad would burn in it.”

“You don’t wish that,” I said, even though I knew he did.

He just nodded. “I do.” He lay down on the ground next to me, looking up at the unfamiliar jungle around us. “Do you think Mom will ever come back?”

“She’s only been gone . . .” I had to think about it. How long had she been gone?

“Do you think we’ll ever go back?” Tiger turned over on his side so that I couldn't see his face.

“No, I don’t think we want to.” I stared at the back of his head until he rolled over again, nodding in agreement. A flutter went through the tree tops. We sat up, looking around for danger. A second later, a small light shot out through the leaves and down onto Tigers nose. “What is it?” he asked, in awe.

“A firefly. Mom said they bring good luck.”

Confessions of an Incubus Hunter

I hate killing. I know that might sound obvious and over said, but it’s really true for someone who spends a good 8 hours a day killing, learning how to kill, and tracking kills. Most kids would say they hate school. Most kids would say that hating school might sound over said and obvious because they go there eight hours a day; don’t get me wrong, I hate school too, but I hate killing more.

It’s not like I've been killing humans, I mean, I've thought about it (not that I would ever really, in even the most aggravating circumstance, actually move a muscle to do it), but I kill Incubi and Succubi. I hate killing Incubi and Succubi  it’s not like they don’t have feelings too. I mean, usually they’re pretty evil, but they still have feelings. For those of you who don’t know, an incubus or a succubus is a male or female demon who “lies upon people to have sexual relations with them while they sleep”. There’s some freaky, terrifying, demonic fun.

While I do happen to go around killing Incubi, I kind of don’t know anything about them. Except that a certain one who I didn't kill, is really good in bed.

They say if you sleep with an Incubus repeatedly, it will lead to your death. Sometimes I think I wouldn't mind that because I kind of doubt I was still be dealing with all this killing if I was dead. But I’m not dead. No, I am currently under the sheets in my bed with a sleeping Incubus named Dante, whose head is in my lap.

A couple nights ago we were sitting, just like this, except we were both awake. He looked up at me and played with my fingers. “So.  . . can you tell me again, um, do you, like, kill Succubi too? Or is just dudes?” he asked.

“Both.” I hoped we could get off this subject soon and he would decide that running out to get five bags of Doritos again at 1:57 AM to see who could eat more, was a good idea. Even that, which did not end too well, would be better than talking about how I kill his species.

“Oh, okay, so like, if you wanted to you could track a Succubus and kill her for me?” he looked up at me with his beautiful, sexy, Incubus eyes. “Please?” He tried to pull puppy dog eyes.

I laughed. He scowled and I suppose I should’ve felt bad, it’s just that feeling bad doesn't come naturally. I ran my hand through his hair and kissed him.

“What’s so funny? Is it too much to ask you to kill my ex? Am I not allowed to do that?” he lifted his head. “Are you not allowed to kill someone another Incubus told you to kill? ‘Cause if you aren't  then I take it back.”

“Dante, we've been dating for seven, six, no seven, months. I think we've already broken enough rules that we can find ways around breaking more,” I said as he sat up and rested his head on my shoulder.

I know what you’re thinking, and I would like to tell you to please shut up. You would fall for an Incubus too if he was crying when you met him and was wearing a shirt to save the whales. Even if you were totally sure he didn't actually care about whales (he does, by the way) and you felt your heart tug at the thought of having to kill him. And, let’s face, if the night you met him all of that happened and you had finally just gotten so sick of killing, I promise you would've fallen for him too.

“Right, but can you? I mean, if you want.” Dante looked to me, making sure I wasn't going to suddenly decide our relationship and his life was over for bringing up killing. He knew I hated it and he wasn't such a big fan either.

“You’re saying that if I want to, I can kill your ex-girlfriend because–”

A crash through my window and glass breaking to the floor interrupted me. We leaped out of bed, pulled on some clothes (I was pretty sure I grabbed his pants instead of mine) and rushed to my weapons chest.

“Is that your ex?” I asked Dante, handing him a bow and a pack of arrows.

“Maybe it is.” He sounded pretty guilty.

“Is that why you want me to kill her?” I surveyed the window, stepping back as something was thrown inside and watched as Dante shot an arrow out. He was just in his sexy black underwear.

“Yes, most definitely.” Dante nodded, looking over the damage. He was still tense, even though we both could sense she was gone.

I sighed and looked at the object thrown in, letting out my breath in relief that it wasn't a bomb of any sort. Instead it was nipple clamp holding a note. What an upgrade; it was definitely from a Succubus by the looks of it. And not of the high class variety, judging from the stench of her perfume and her window breakage. I opened the clamp and released the paper, looking at the note:

Dearest Hunter:

Prepare to die, bitch.

xxxx

I held up the note for Dante to read. He let out a sigh and looked down at the ground, probably wishing for a vortex to swallow him whole. He looked back at me, cracking a smile.

“You’re wearing my pants.”

Waterfalls Are Pretty

Waterfalls are pretty.

 If that’s the last sight you see before you die, at least it’s pretty.

 Pretty like a grenade as it explodes and ruins the night sky–splaying loose limbs and veins over the city. Pretty like an overfilled tomb, stuffed of disintegrating corpses and rotting flesh– the kind that drips off the bodies due to a leak in the pipes above creating water damage. Pretty like road kill: the sweet, sweet sight of a mangled Pegasus. I mean, yeah, maybe it was the last one in the world and it was “beautiful” but it’s pretty with the tire tracks and dirt over its crippled wings. Waterfalls are pretty; a pretty deep blue with stands of moss in it that may or may not look like fish heads, like an air bag suffocating you, forcing your eyes to go wide your lungs to lay empty. Waterfalls are pretty.

            But you want to know what’s beautiful? Listening to the sound of some poor, innocent, nonchalant, 3 year-old scream at the top of their lungs just because they can. The way the shriek runs through you, up your spine, and makes you shiver while wanting a knife to stab through your cranium and suddenly become possessed. Beautiful is nails on a chalkboard; squeaking, scraping, slowly . . . slowly sliding down, like metal scraping metal as sparks fly, so that the sound makes your mind, your fingernails, and your stomach, hurt. Beautiful is the sound of that crying Pegasus as it slowly dies from the collision with your car; lying on the ground and coughing up undead, baby Tasmanian devils which are screaming that they will kill you between vomiting up human blood. Beautiful is that uprooting, murder sound of the sonar piercing through your brain; turning it into a sweet, sweet pile of mashed potato mush in a matter of seconds while having heard, minutes before that, your ex fucking your now ex-best friend while your ex enjoys it more than they ever did with you. That, is beautiful.

            And this beauty of the beautiful is what has driven you to this waterfall.

            And waterfalls are pretty.

I Think I Fell In Love With Her The Minute She Called Me "Peasant"

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

Snowflakes fell on Fauve’s face. She pulled me along, her freezing hand stealing any trace of heat from mine. I didn’t mind and followed her through the snow, which was coming down harder each second. Our walk ended with a hard cave floor underneath my feet and stone over my head. Fauve turned back to me and laughed, pulling me farther inside.

Both of us crept forward and stopped when we saw the fire in the middle of the cave. Dragon backs were arched around it, their voices whispering, careful not to let them echo outside if Fauve and I should hear. We weren’t supposed to be here, in the sacred cave, even if one of us could speak dragon. Fauve cocked her head to the side, trying to lean in and listen . I jerked my head up, pretending to have heard something she didn’t. Fauve looked at me, suddenly nervous. I pulled her around the cave wall and back to the entrance silently, still pretending that the dragon we had rescued had sensed us. I knew I couldn’t keep pretending, though, ; Fauve knew things like that.

“Why did you–”

I just smiled down at her and leaned in closer, about to kiss her, when a shadow crossed before us. It was a human shadow. I looked up, pulling Fauve into me, and waited as the shadow took a step inside the cave. I froze, feeling as cold as Fauve’s hands had been. My brother stood in front of us, a half smile on his face and a chained dragon behind him. I could feel Fauve’s heartbeat speed up and heard her scream, summoning a flap of wings from behind us, when the dragon behind my brother reached out a claw and slashed through me.

“Peasant?” Fauve’s voice found my consciousness and ripped me out of the nightmare. “Skander?” I sighed with relief and opened my eyes to find her leaning over me, staring at my face. “Skander, what happened?” She looked into my eyes, concerned. “You were crying in your sleep again, and I hate it when you cry in your sleep. I also hate it when you steal the blanket.” That made two of us. She was wrapped up in the blanket I had been sharing with her; I was freezing.

“Can I have the blanket back?” I reached towards it, and she gently swatted my hand away.

“What happened?” She looked at me inquiringly. I sat up and told her, hearing an unusual silence from her compared to the last few times I had told her my dreams.

“Fauve?” I watched her carefully. I wasn’t sure she had ever been this quiet. She even talked in her sleep. It had been two weeks since I met her, and saved a dragon with her. A dragon that we were now camped out with in the woods. We were on a mission to find the Circle of Four—the four most powerful dragons in Everest. They had been searching for a Dragon Speaker for years, and I happened to be one.

“Fauve?” I asked again. She looked up from the snow and scooted next to me, sharing the blanket.

“Your brother knows you can speak,” she said. “When I was in the castle, Larissa would sometimes ask him if he had found anyone to talk to the dragon yet; he always said no. But you can, and you’re his brother.” Fauve looked down at the snow again. “Skander, Larissa’s going to send him after you. She wants a Dragon Speaker, and now that we’ve set the dragon free, she knows one of us can do it. And it’s certainly not me.” She was staring at me with her barely blue eyes.

“What?” I stared right back at her.

“Peasant, you know you can kiss me if you want to, right?” She smiled, and I opened my mouth when someone else spoke.

“I told you two to be up by sunrise. The sun comes in four hours.” The dragon’s voice circled around us, and I looked to his spot a few feet from us, by a circle of trees.

“What do you care? You’re nocturnal,” Fauve retorted, looking at the dragon. He had spoken slowly and carefully, so his was one of the few times she had understood what he said. It didn’t change the fact that she was scared to speak to him; I could tell by the way she was now gripping my hand with her nails.

“Yes, and you two are not. But since you’re up anyway, I suppose we should move on. The Circle is waiting.”

“How much farther is it?” I asked, standing up with Fauve and walking to his back.

“We should get there by nightfall.” The dragon eyed us as we climbed on his back. I felt Fauve’s arms around me as the dragon started flying. The air was bitterly cold, and her hands weren’t doing much to help. Neither was the fact that she once again had the blanket tightly wrapped around herself.

“Have you told her you love her yet?” the dragon asked me, speaking faster now.

“What do you think?” I told him, glad that the dragon was the one animal Fauve couldn’t speak fluently with.

“What are you waiting for?” The dragon had a trace of laughter in his voice.

“Time. I can’t just tell her I love her now.” And she might think I was just trying to get the blanket. Why were her hands so cold? I shivered and felt Fauve lean against me, resting her head on my shoulder.

“Your ever-so-painful love story is killing me to watch, Dragon Speaker.” The dragon flew higher and then slowly dipped low. Fauve made a small sound in protest and hugged me tighter. “Aren’t you going to say something about my flying for her?”

“Yes, you are an awful flier who shouldn’t get into other people’s love lives.” I looked back at Fauve, who wasn’t paying any attention to our conversation. She reached up and moved my hair from where it was falling into my eye. I shook my hair back into place and shivered when she purposely rested her frozen hand on my neck. She smiled and leaned back on my shoulder.

“And you,” the dragon responded, “are a Dragon Speaker who might not have all the time in the world to actually get a love life.” 

I Think I Fell In Love With Her The Moment She Called Me "Peasant"

PART 2

Fauve stopped singing and let go of my hand. We stood in front of the castle gate. “So how do we get in?” I asked. She tilted her head and whistled. I looked around in the air, waiting for another bird to come down and land on her finger. She whistled again, kneeling down and sticking her hand through the gate's bars.

A moment later, a white husky appeared and quietly waited as Fauve spoke. The husky lifted his head and stared at me before nodding and digging in the snow under the wall. Fauve stayed as she was, while her other hand found mine again.

            The jingle of keys came with the dog’s footsteps as he reappeared and dropped the keys in Fauve’s outstretched hand. She nodded in thanks and stood up, unlocking the gate and pulling both of us through. Surprisingly the gate made no sound and we locked it back up again then reburied the keys. Wordlessly, we followed the husky across the courtyard of the castle to another gate on the side. He stopped and bowed to Fauve before retreating. “What do we do now?” I said. As far as I could tell, this was the exact same as the first gate.

            “We walk in.” She pushed the gate open effortlessly and led the way to the castle's crawl space, which we found our way into. It was dark and damp, but not entirely cold. We slithered in on our stomachs, reaching a point to stand up in. Slimy square stones made up the walls to the dungeon, and cages and bars lined the aisle on either side. We came to a cell near the end with the bars ripped out and bent inward. A pair of shoes lay inside. I stopped and stared at it, thinking of Fauve’s bare feet, while she let go of me and ran ahead.

            “Why are you back?” A hissing voice came from further on. I looked up from the shoes and slowly made my way after Fauve. “I set you free.” The voice hissed some more and I heard the scrape of claws on the stone.

            “I came to return the favor.” Fauve’s voice sounded almost unfamiliar. I crept my way up to them and hid behind the wall. Fauve stood in front of a dragon, trying not to shake. The dragon was sitting down in a big stone room that was the size of the rest of the dungeon.

            He was big and had scales that were a dark purplish color. His wings were folded on his back and looked to be black. The green in his eyes circled his pupils; they were the size of my whole head.

            “How?” The dragon tilted his head, baring the amount of teeth in his mouth. “You can barely speak to me.” More hissing followed, and Fauve’s breath was the only sound she made. “Why would you, chambermaid? There’s no good for rescuing a dragon you can’t even talk to.” The dragon waited for Fauve to respond. “Speak, chamber maid. Speak!” the dragon roared, and blew out fire towards the ceiling, adding to the charred black spots on the net-like cover.

            “Why do you want to know so badly why it is she wants to free you? Why haven’t you freed yourself? A net is what’s stopping you?” I spoke up, the dragon’s eyes locking in on me.

            “Ah, a Dragon Speaker. What a gift it is that the chambermaid has brought me.” The dragon smiled and crawled forward until his foot was right in front of Fauve. “I haven’t spoken to a Dragon Speaker since…ever. What a special occasion this is.” The dragon smiled again. “What is your name, Dragon Speaker?”

            “Skander,” I said, stepping out from behind the wall and walking up to Fauve. Her gaze jumped from the dragon to me, no longer any trace of fear in her.

            “And the chambermaid?” The dragon tilted his head toward her.

            “Fauve,” she answered, looking back up at him.

            “Fauve and Skander have come to rescue me.” The dragon widened his eyes before stepping backwards into his room, pacing back and forth. “It’s a plan, set in motion by the one by the name of Fauve, to free me in hopes of another plan; for the one by the name of Skander.”

            The dragon stopped in front of us. “Dragon Speaker, do you know who you are? Do you know why you’re one blessed to speak to us? Have you come to save me, or is there a patron in the castle above that spins a tangled web inside your thoughts?” His voice became lower, and the next words were barely comprehensible. “Or is it simply because of fair Fauve, who has crawled inside your heart?”

            The dragon stared at me, the reflection of the two of us in his eyes. He blinked and spun around in a circle, stopping to breathe fire on the net ceiling above him and to claw at it, tearing a hole just big enough to get someone my size through. He stopped once again and spread his wings out, reaching from wall to wall in the room. He looked back at us.

            Fauve took my hand again and began to screech. In a minute, the flaps of wings and the mirrored screech of dozens of birds was in the air. They circled in groups according to species and began to tear at the net. “It won’t be enough.” The dragon looked up and swung his tail at me, picking me up and throwing me through the hole.

            I looked down, seeing Fauve narrow her eyes at the dragon and him shrug, looking back at me. I stood up, walking across the net and coming to a tree growing on the side of the walls. Presumably, it was where the chambermaids would feed the dragon from when there weren't any prisoners. The branches were strong and close enough for me to grab. I clung onto one and looked back at the dragon; he stuck his hand through, holding onto me as he pulled.

            The tree came in through the ceiling, and I hung from the dragon’s claw with a hole in my shirt. Fauve’s birds flew off, some cawing at her as she cawed back. “They would've heard that in the castle. The queen probably saw us sneak inside. We have to go,” she said from the ground.

            “Who said anything about bringing you?” The dragon looked down at her; Fauve and I froze. “I’m kidding.” The dragon rolled his eyes and placed both of us on his back. We clung onto his scales as he flew out of the dungeon and above the castle grounds, where they were waiting for us.

            Arrows and spears were thrown into the sky; the dragon sneered and breathed fire out at them, laughing as he flew higher in a circle. The circle spiraled down, making me dizzy, and the dragon breathed down on the queen's people, terrifying them.

            “What happens now?” I asked, feeling Fauve wrap her arms around me.

            “Well, peasant, I suppose we follow the dragon.”

I Think I Fell In Love With Her The Moment She Called Me "Peasant"

PART 1

I walked the forest as the wind picked up, curling its icy fingers around me. My footsteps left imprints in the near frozen mud. The coo of an owl sent chills down my spine as I hurried to make it back to the cave before the snowfall. The sky held the promise of snow in the heavy white clouds. Late December used to be enjoyable, and I used to feel alive in it.

            Stone that made a cave met my sight and I ran towards the soft glow that emitted from it, hoping to find something or someone. Before I could stop myself, I rushed inside, only to find it empty. As empty as September and as lonely as the rest of the caves in my life had been. The light was my lantern left behind from the morning.

            I sat on the floor, emptying the sack I had carried on my shoulder. Inside was enough dried meat to last the winter. Maybe more since the more life seemed to sink in, the less I had any interest in eating.

            Fifteen wasn't meant to be that sad. Well maybe it was in some other world, but not here. Not in Everest where fifteen was the prime age for everything. I guess for some of us that included losing everyone and everything that you ever loved. Just because I was always alone, it didn't make it okay to weep over missing someone so bad it physically hurts; but I did it anyway. And it didn't make it okay to feel sorry for yourself and silently scream the question “Why?” while your tears watered the ground like a heavy rain. But I did that too.

            I woke up cold. Cold and outside of the cave: where it was snowing. I sighed and picked myself up along with anything I had brought with me into the cave, and set out again. It wasn't long before I came across aset of bare-footprints in the snow and a curled-up figure underneath a silver cloak.It was the kind of cloak too expensive to belong to me or anyone I had known. I walked over to it anyway and gently rested my hand on the shoulder of the body inside.

            It wasn't dead. I let out a sigh of relief, wanting to know how someone with a cloak like that would end up frozen and outside on the outskirts of the castle grounds. Maybe they were a fugitive, which would make them the closest thing I had to a friend.

            Light brown hair and the palest blue eyes moved out from under the cloak. She hurriedly sat up, and I stared at what I thought was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. She pulled the cloak around her and tucked a jeweled necklace inside her shirt. “Are you a fugitive?” I asked.

            “No, do I look like one?” She had snow stuck to her hair.

            “Yeah.” I shrugged, not knowing what else to think orsay.

            “Well, for your information, peasant, I’m not one. I am the princess of Everest and I have been very rudely thrown out of my palace by a peasant who looked like one such as yourself.” She brushed some snow off her arm and stood up straight.

            “Yeah, and I’m a prince from some far-off kingdom who’s come to save you.” I smirked as I looked down at her.

            “Well, you’re a little bit late. And no prince would ever be carrying around a sack of dried meat on his shoulder or wearing clothes such as those.”

            “Unless I happen to be a pretentious prince disguised as a humble, common peasant,” I said.

            “You’re not either one of those things though; you’re a pretentious peasant disguised as a humble prince.” She had a glint in her eye that made her look a little scarier than a princess about fifteen years old should look. From the sound of her voice I could tell she knew what was going on just as well as I did and that she wasn't the stereotypical kind of stupid damsel in distress that I could just manipulate into believing I really was a prince.

That’s the difference between my fairy tale and theirs; I wouldn't waste even two seconds on a damsel in distress, even if she happened to look like this girl. But there was something different about this girl, like the fact that she had probably sworn to kill herself before she would ever become a damsel in distress.

            “And you aren't a princess.” I looked into her eyes; they were so pale they were almost white with just a tint of blue.

            “How would you know?” She pulled the cloak around her tighter, losing a little of the elitist in her voice.

            “Because my brother left to go marry the princess last September. Also, last I checked the princess of Everest is about a foot taller than you and . . . a bitch.”

            “Oh, really? If you think Larissa is a bitch, you've yet to meet her chambermaid. Or ex-chambermaid who is now considered a prisoner in the castle dungeon.” She flashed a smile and raised her hands with metal cuffs attached to each wrist. One end still held the broken chain.

“How did you–”

“What’s your name?”

“Skander. How did–”

“I’m Fauve. Your brother was the one who got me in the dungeon and the dragon was the one who got me out. It took me three days of begging and using what knowledge I have of Dragon Language. But if you wanted to get your brother out, I’m almost certain it’d only take you an hour.”

“What?”Before my brother had left, he had always said that the beautiful girls were the craziest. I was beginning to think that might be true. 

“You’re a Dragon Speaker, Skander. It’s in your name and it’s on your skin–I see it in your eyes too.” She looked up at me like I was meant to have an epiphany and suddenly realize what it was that she was talking about. “You’re meant to defend the people, and for you, that means join with the dragons because for a Dragon Speaker, the dragons are your people.”

“What about you? You’re the one who got a dragon to free you instead of eat you.”

“That’s because I could figure out how to talk to them. It’s hard to talk to dragons though, harder than it is to talk to anything else.”

“Anything else?”

She nodded and looked up to the sky, making a clicking noise with her tongue. A minute later a small bird flew down and perched on her finger. It looked up at her and I’m sure it was talking about me. She laughed and shook her head; but it was the kind of head shake you give someone when you both know it’s a little white lie that you’re telling. What kind of chambermaid told white lies to birds?

In another minute the bird was gone and Fauve was looking at me again.

“What did you–”

“It’s not important, peasant,” she said, smiling. She made a swift motion with her left foot, crossing her legs.

“ Aren't you cold, since your feet are–”

“I haven’t gotten cold in a long time,” she said. It must go along with her animal communication powers, I decided. She eyed me and looked me over, then turned her head in the direction of the castle.

“I have a proposal to make to you, and no, it’s not marriage. Will you, Skander the Dragon Speaker, go with me to the castle of Everest to free the dragon which the bitch of a princess, Larissa keeps in her disgusting old dungeon?” She waited for an answer, and I could tell she was scared of my answer.

“I’ll go with you,” I said. “If you swear not to leave me at any point during this trip.”

Slowly she nodded. “Of course.” was all that she said before she took my hand and placed her first bare foot in front of the other.

Here Is the Tale of a Hollow Mermaid's Sorrow (Which She Put In a Bottle for Her Dead Lover to Read)

Broken glass is sharp. The worst is when it comes off in shards from the newest sunken ship. It breaks away and slowly sinks to the bottom of the ocean to become sea glass that might wash up on shore one day. And on that one day, the person who picks it up will never know that it was once stuck in my tail and led to the death of an already dying, love-struck man.

            The kelp forest was mine. At any point you swam into it, you’d find it empty with the exception of me and on one day, a ship.

            I heard the breaking of wood and the scream of men underneath the roar of Filius before the ship went down. The dark shadow blocking out the sun between the leaves was the start. Next came the breaking of the stems and the already ruined ship that crashed through half of my forest, the other half breaking off on the edge of the large rock marking the start of the open ocean. I floated at first, slowly moving into what used to be the middle of my forest. Now it appeared to be the end.

            Filius landed on the top of the ship, a sailor in his mouth. He stopped when he saw me. The half-eaten body fell onto the deck, beginning to float up to the surface.

            I hissed at him, baring all 200 teeth and extending my claws. Filius just stared. I hissed at him again, wishing for the scream of a siren. If I had had it, there wouldn’t have been any use for the tears in my eyes.

            Filius left without another attack on the dead ship. This had never been his forest; it had never been anything but where he was hatched. But was always mine and I was always there. How empty the world has to be to let me be the closest thing of a mother to a Kraken. How much crueler it has to be to tear you away, the love I raised him with.

            I swam up to where Filius had been, taking in the ruin of my forest. The ruin was all that I had left. A swirl of blue blood in the water passed in front of me. Slowly I looked down to find glass in my tail without a trace of pain. The blood was dripping in a steady stream, out into the water and forming a path. A strangled cry of distress escaped my mouth and I followed my blood, swimming down to the lowest part of the ship. I found a man.

            This man was living and from the blue patterns on his face, I knew it was only my blood keeping him alive. In seconds I was leaning over him. “What did you do to summon him?” I hissed.

            “What? I–I–I just want to go ashore.” He was frightened and the blue was ever so slowly fading from him. “Please,” he begged. “Please take me ashore to see her.” The look in his eyes was so intoxicated with love that the tears repressed.

            He was dying, but if I bled enough, he could stay alive. Yes, I could carry him up to get air and leave him to owe me a favor. But what good could a dead man who ruined my forest do?

            “Who?” My teeth were bared and ready to bite.

            “Elizabeth. Please.” My nails dug into his neck and that precious look of terror in his eyes seemed to freeze on his face.

            “Why did you summon him?”

            “I–I didn’t summon him. I was just singing, a love song to her.”

I let go of his neck, dragging my nails through the skin.

            The very beginning of my forest stared at me, reminding me of you. Reminding me of you and the dead man whom you helped, knowing that he would owe you. Reminding me that he knew you wouldn’t live to have him owe you. I looked down, ripping the shard of glass from my tail and stabbing it into his heart.

            My blood circled around us.

The kelp forest was mine. Before that, it was ours. Now my blood has settled a curse on the dead, love-struck man who reminded me too much of what we were and who has stolen what I had left.

            I stay trapped at the end of the forest to watch the kelp grow up over the ship and become all it was. But my forest is haunted and the only remnant to give what is mine back to me, is a feeling that can’t be found. I like to think that the forest isn’t lonely like it was for so many years and that love has sprung inside, keeping me out. I like to think that Elizabeth collected sea glass and one day found it, bringing herself back to the dying man on the ship. Yet, I know it’s my bitterness and my blood, leaving me harsh and alone and locked out of the only trace of life I have left.

IT

“He’s the reason behind this.” My dad’s voice sounded again. I wondered if somehow he knew I’d be in this much trouble someday and that the only way he’d be allowed to do something would be to be a cop. Because the police are supposed to help people, and that’s all he wants to do. Which is funny, because I wouldn't even need his help if it hadn't been for him being a cop in the first place. “I know what he did, and he knows where my daughter is,” my dad continued. “He’s here, somewhere. He didn't even try to cover his tracks.” He muttered the last part, his indignation rising. But he was mad at the wrong person. Steven wasn't the one who hurt me; he was the one trying to save me, and now he was unconscious beside me, inside a crawl space  in an abandoned building reachable only through the vent.

#

“I told you there’s nothing in there,” I said, closing the door behind me and balancing a partially eaten cupcake in my hand. Steven had left the file cabinet open, getting bored with the data from solved cases. This wasn't even my dad’s office; it was just where stacks and stacks of cases and important files were stored and where my dad usually was. That was the only reason I was now looking through the files on the desk, which happened to be open, meaning someone had obviously been looking at them. “What are you doing?” I moved behind him, he didn't stop.

“Looking at this case. Three unsolved murders; they all died the same day of the month, the same way.”

“Uh, yeah. Listen, you—”

“We should go after it,” he interrupted me.

“Hmm?” I said, my mouth full of frosting. I looked closer at the files, they were detailed and . . . strange, not a case my dad would typically be on.

“Whatever it is that did this—we should go after it.” He flipped a page, revealing photos of the deaths. I cringed and looked away; I never had been too good with gore.

“It?” I looked at the door, hoping no one would walk in.

“Yeah, It. Humans don’t do stuff like this.” He held up a picture, and I blocked it with my hand.

“Yes, yes, actually they do. They’re called murderers and collectively they commit tons of crimes that end up in police stations like this one. And listen, we’re not really supposed to be in here or looking at this, so, um, we have to leave.” I opened the door, hoping he would leave if I did. He got up and shrugged, walking out. I sighed with relief and shut the door.

I never should’ve gone looking for It with him.

I contemplated waking Steven up, then decided against it. He’d just freak and ask if we had found It. It wouldn't matter what the answer was, he’s still squawk over it like a 13-year-old fangirl. My dad gave out more orders about where to search. I didn't know he was able to do that. It was getting cold and it didn't matter what was going to happen next, because either way, I needed to move. I sucked in a breath and covered Steven’s mouth before waking him up.

 “We should run. We should run and turn back—this is the worst thing I have ever done,” I’d said just an hour or two before, the afternoon sun in my face. We were supposed to be at school, like normal people.

“This is the worst you've done.” Steven turned to me. “Loser,” he jeered, leading the way through the door into the abandoned building. According to his favorite book, this is where It would be.

“I’m not a baby,” I protested, moving ahead of him to prove my point. The building was empty; it was full of dust and smelled of mothballs. The smell didn't go with its appearance. I walked into a room; it was like the hall we had come from and just as empty. The smell was strongest right in the center of the room. I stopped, crinkling my nose, with Steven right behind me. This was the first time he had been silent the whole trip.

“What’s that stuff?” Steven was looking up at the ceiling, at the sticky goo dripping down from it. A glob landed on my feet. I screamed.

“Get it off! Help me, just get it—” I stopped as the goo fell to the ground. I looked at my shoes, finding no trace it had been on them at all.

“We should get out of here,” I said, running for the exit as soon as I saw Steven nod. His eyes were big, and even though he wasn't going to admit it, he was scared. “What are you doing? Open it!” I said, watching him trying to open the door.

“I’m working on that.” Steven pulled again, but the door was sticking closed. “This isn't good. Whenever a door doesn't work, something bad happens.” He scanned the empty building. “We’re going to get eaten, or die, or become its slaves, and then—”

“Shut up! We’ll be fine. There’s another exit somewhere, and nothing is going to eat us—we’re just paranoid because tree sap fell on my shoes and this door is locked.” I exhaled; almost convincing myself it was true. He nodded and walked with me to the next door we saw. I felt myself calming down as we approached it. “See, there’s a door, and now we can—”

A belligerent banging on the wall made me scream. Adrenaline pumped into my system. It pumped into Steven’s too as he ran for the door.

I only saw its eyes and hands after it picked me up.

My eyes shut out the world, and my screams made up for the lack of a picture. A sharp prick stabbed my arm. I didn't stop screaming until I was back on the ground. That’s when the panic rose, when I saw Steven wrapped around its other hand and then, seconds later, thrown out the now open door only to hit his head on the pavement.

“In here,” Steven said, running ahead of me to the door of the building. It looked like an abandoned factory or something. I followed him and waited, nervously, before climbing into the vent after him. I don’t know how long we traveled before we came to a stop and Steven slipped out of the vent below us. His head collided with the brick wall before landing. When I jumped down after him, he was unconscious.

#

When he woke up he was still scared. And he was shaking, like I was. “Where did It go?” he said, after I was sure he wouldn't let us be heard. I shrugged, not wanting to speak. “But I mean, we found it.” He sat up. “We found It!” He looked around at the wall. “Where are we? What–what happened?” The excitement in his eyes faded.

“We have to leave. The police and my dad are out there . . . It took some of my blood. They found traces of my blood back there, and your DNA. They think you’re It,” I whispered out everything I had heard them say.

 “Why? Why did it take your blood and why am I ...?” His question hung in the air. “Should we tell your dad? I mean we’re both here—he’ll believe you, right? Or we could run, in the movies they always run and—” He was cut off by a sound from outside. We heard screams and the sound of running.

When we crawled outside, everyone was gone. Their cars and whatever else they had had with them remained “I found his keys,” I said, holding them up and starting toward the car.

“I think I know where it went.” Steven stared at a trail of goo on the road.

To be continued . . .

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