WOTD: Variorum (short fic)

Word of the Day Prompt

Date: March 11, 2015

Universe: Haskell Investigations

Word of the Day: variorum (adj;1.  Containing different versions of the text by various editors; 2. Containing many notes and commentaries by a number of scholars or critics)

Timeline: post-book one, no major spoilers

A small bubble of panic welled in Rick’s throat.  He’d let go of Az’s hand for one second – just long enough to shield his eyes from the fireball – and lost her.  He stood still in a swarm of firemen, police officers, paramedics, and screaming witches.  Sharp eyes scanned the crowd for a bobbing blonde ponytail.  With the smoke from the fire and the acrid odor of burning herbs, he couldn’t use his enhanced senses to locate her magnolia scent.

Had she gone into the burning building?  Had she been knocked down by the explosion and trampled?  Had one of the witches attacked her?  Az got along with the Sisters of Munificence, but it had been five weeks since their last witch fight.  They were due.

There was no sign of Az in the crowd.  He should have carried her away from the house when the first spark lit up the night.  He should have handcuffed her to his wrist.   He should have locked her in the truck.  He should have left her at home with the rest of the pack.

Rick retrieved a roll of antacids from his pocket and popped two cherry-flavored tablets in his mouth.  The grit stuck to his molars as he chomped on the pills.  The mild cooling sensation did little for his churning gut.  Doc Taylor was on his ass about his blood pressure.  Rick was going to send Az to Doc Taylor for a week to prove that medication was unnecessary.  His blood pressure would return to normal just as soon as he had a void who didn’t run off whenever a thought popped into her pretty, reckless head.

He dug into his other pocket for his phone.  After dialing Az’s number, he jammed one finger into his ear and held the phone up to the other.  One ring.  Two.

His ass vibrated.

Twice.

Anger swiftly replaced the panic. He reached into his back pocket.  The neon pink smartphone was still vibrating.  His face, slack with sleep, filled the screen.  When had she taken the picture?  Why was he listed under “Growly”?  Did she really enjoy running with Greta and him in the mornings?  He’d practically tattooed the rule about phones on her forehead.  Why had she slipped her phone into his pocket?  Why hadn’t he noticed?

Rick popped another antacid before pocketing both phones.  He grabbed the shoulder of a passing uniformed police officer.  “Have you seen Az Stanton?”

The cop’s forehead scrunched up.  After a moment, it smoothed out and a grin slowly spread across his face.  “Cute little blonde thing, right?  Great smile, decent rack, downright sweet ass?  Consults with the supe squad?”

Rick ground the antacid into fine powder.  He balled his fists to keep from wrapping his hands around the cop’s scrawny neck.  The cop didn’t know it yet, but his career was over.  Rick was going to use every iota of influence he held to ensure the cop never guarded anything more than a crosswalk.

A crosswalk in front of a retirement home.

Oblivious to how close he was to certain death, the cop chuckled.  “I haven’t seen her tonight.  Wish I had.  I hear she’s close with witches.  Big explosion like this is bound to be upsetting.  I wouldn’t mind offering up my shoulder for her to cry on.  I could take her mind off this tragedy, if you know what I mean.”

Rick bared sharp, gleaming fangs.  Fur sprouted along the back of his hands.

The cop went ashen.  He finally focused on Rick’s face.  Went even whiter.  He tugged at the collar of his shirt.  “You’re the Alpha of the Pack.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Ms. Stanton is a member of your pack.”

“Yeah, she is.”

“Oh, Jesus.”  Sweat dotted the cop’s forehead.  “Oh, sweet Jesus.”

“Play nice, Ricky!”

At the laughingly-issued command, both men turned away from the house.  A slender, pale figure emerged from the shadow of an ambulance.  Az, hem of her prissy skirt coated with ashes, waggled her finger as she approached.

Rick quickly scanned her for injuries.  There was a small scrape along her left cheek and red handprints on each of her forearms.  He checked her eyes for signs of a magical overload.  The blue gaze locked on to his was sad but clear.

As soon as she was within reach, he looped an arm around her waist and dragged her to his side.  Aware that the frightened cop was watching, Rick let his lips linger on the warm curve of her cheek before resting his chin on top of her head.

“Oh, Jesus,” the cop muttered, backpedaling.  He stumbled over his own feet.  “I’m sorry.”

He melted into the crowd.  Rick let him go.  He’d memorized the cop’s badge number.  Retribution could wait.  His attention turned to the woman snuggled up against him.  He dragged her away from the swarm of first responders.  The heat from the fire was only fueling his simmering rage.

“There are no words for how much trouble you’re in, Astraea.”

Az sighed.  Her fingers dipped into his back pocket, but she didn’t immediately grab her phone.  “Somehow, I doubt that.  You always find the words.”

His growl made the ground beneath their feet rumble.  “There isn’t enough cute in the world to get you out of this one, either.”

“I’d be willing to test that theory.”  She flashed a small, seductive smile.  “I’ve been reading this book on -.”

“You disappeared.  Before we got out of the damn truck, I told you to stay with me.  It was an order.  Not a suggestion.  But what did you do as soon as I let go?  You disappeared.  Not a word.  Not a warning.  Nothing.  Just poof.”

“Rick, I -.”

“And then,” he snarled, “you left your phone with me!  What have I told you a thousand times about that damn phone?”

“Rick’s electronic leash law,” she said, smile slipping away.  “I don’t have pockets and you made me leave my purse in the car.”

“Then maybe you should think of that before you pull another ridiculously impractical outfit from your closet.”  Rick’s angry glare pinned her in place.  “If you’re serious about this shit, Az, then you have to start obeying me.  All the time.  Not just when it’s convenient for you.  Probation period is over, sweetheart.  Time to prove you’re ready to be pack.”

“I am ready!”

“Prove it.”  Rick shook his head disgustedly.  “Sometimes I swear you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

Az stiffened against him.  Stilled.  Her chin dropped to her chest.  Rick felt the tremble of her shoulders.  His anger cooled instantly.  Ah, hell.  He’d let his fear-driven fury get the better of him. At times his tongue could be sharper than his claws, and Az pushed his buttons like no one else.

“You don’t mean that,” Az said softly, hesitantly.  It was more question than statement.

“No, I don’t.”  Rick wrapped both arms around her to cradle her against his chest.  He buried his face in her soft hair.  “Of course I don’t mean it, sweetheart.  You know how I feel.  But you have to stop doing this to me.  You make me crazy.”

“I’m sorry.  I needed to get away from the house.  I was trying to avoid the Sisters of Munificence.  I warned them that this would happen.  I warned them every chance I got.  I had to get away, clear my head.  I thought I was good, but then I ran into Matron Laurie.”  She sighed again, melted against him.  “It was ugly.”

Rick remembered the marks on her arms.  Marks he was more than willing to repay on Matron Laurie.  “She hurt you.  She’s an empath, and she felt your guilt.  Two of her girls died; she took it out on you.”

Az swallowed.  Her hands settled on the small of Rick’s back.  Her nose pressed against his sternum.  Rick gently stroked his hands up and down her spine.  There were no tears soaking into his shirt, yet.  His poor, compassionate void took her responsibilities far too seriously.  She considered every misstep by a witch as a personal failure on her part.  The deaths of two witches would haunt her for weeks.  He’d have to watch her closely – make sure she didn’t fall into a funk.  He was going to be on nightmare duty, too.

“It’s not your fault, Princess.  The Sisters of Munificence are notorious for resisting change. You could have talked until you were blue in the face and it wouldn’t have done a lick of good.  Laurie’s a third-gen Matron.  She should have known better.  It’s not your fault.”

“Damn straight it’s not.”  Az pushed back just far enough to scowl up at Rick.   “I told that obstinate hag that she was playing with fire.  Literal fire.  She didn’t listen.  This is on her.”

Rick floundered for a moment.  She didn’t feel guilty?  She was angry?  At the witches?  “Huh?”

“I told them to stop being so damn tight-fisted and buy unadulterated copies of their spellbooks.  Variorums are cheaper, but something gets lost with all those commentaries and unnecessary edits.  This was a disaster waiting to happen.”

Rick shook his head and tried not to laugh.  Az took her books seriously.  She couldn’t understand that not everyone shared her passion.  Especially not cost-cutting witches.

“So what happened to your arms?”

“Matron Laurie started screaming about sabotage or an attack.  It pissed me off.  We just got tensions down to a reasonable level.  The last thing we need is someone from another coven to hear her running her mouth and firing things up again.”

“A fair point.  That doesn’t explain what happened to your arms.”

Az lifted her chin.  “Matron Laurie wouldn’t shut up.  I asked politely.”

Rick reached for another antacid.  Evasiveness meant that he wasn’t going to like what she had to say.  “What.  Did. You.  Do?”

“Punched that old biddy in the collagen-enhanced mouth.  It took three of her witches to keep me from breaking her hook of a nose.”

Rick knew he should discourage her occasional bursts of violence.  She was usually the even-tempered, diplomatic half of their team, but every now and then she gave into the anger.  He needed to teach her his breathing and meditation techniques.  The witches she had to deal with on a weekly basis were enough to try the patience of a saint.

He should discourage violence, but he was a Shifter.  Violence was as much as part of him as breathing or eating.  Az wasn’t a Shifter, but she was pack.  And her violence made him proud.

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head.  “That’s my girl.”

One-Shot - "Sucker Punch"

A/N: This was an experiment and, hopefully, the start of another story. It takes place in the same “universe” as the Family Lies series, but in a different region of the Network. Sadly, Duke and Viola won’t be making an appearance. Thanks for giving it a shot



Sucker Punch

Before I even knew her name, I fell impossibly and irrevocably in love with a grinning, golden-haired angel.

It started the way most of my evenings usually ended: in an alley or secluded area with a dead demon at my feet and some of the bitter anger that eats at me every damned minute of every damned day temporarily appeased. Except this time, the demon wasn’t dead. I’d feigned right when I should have ducked left, and I’d misjudged how little traction I had. I lashed out with my foot, hoping to catch the demon in its fleshy stomach, but it anticipated my move and countered with a punch that left me seeing stars.

Pinned to the wall by a Fwar claw crushing my windpipe, my life did not flash before my eyes. As fifteen out of my twenty-eight years had been downright hellish, I was grateful. There was no white light beckoning me into the great beyond, either. As I made peace with the end, a harsh, shrill scream and something heavy slamming into the Fwar caused the demon to drop me to the ground. My head cracked the edge of a protruding brick on the way down. The world spun and went gray.

“Well, this blows,” was my last thought as I sucked dirty rainwater into my nose and lungs. It was an undignified, but oddly fitting, way to die.

Rather than fluffy clouds and harps or burning flames and brimstone, the toes of scuffed running shoes were the first thing I saw when I reluctantly opened my eyes. I followed the curve of the shoes to the daintiest pair of ankles I’d ever seen. The shadows over my head shifted and the ankles were replaced by a pair of denim-covered knees.

As my skull throbbed in pain, I rolled over onto my back and spat when more filthy water tried to trickle down my throat. The knees dropped and splashed into the puddle near my head. Small, pink-polished fingers fluttered at my temples. As even the dim light in the alley hurt my concussion-sensitive eyes, I kept them half-lidded and could not see my angel’s face.

“Oh,” she muttered. Even with my senses dulled, I picked up on the self-recrimination oozing out of her. “Oops.”

Oops? What kind of angel says oops? Soft fingers brushed wet hair off my forehead before lightly pressing against the pulse throbbing in my throat. Seemingly satisfied with my heart rate, the angel breathed out a relieved sigh.

“Who’re you?” I managed through swollen lips and a tongue that felt like a stone.

“I am so, so sorry,” my angel apologized, sincerity and guilt flooding my senses. I watched as she tugged off a short denim jacket, balled it up, and gently placed it under my head. “I swear I didn’t see you with the Fwar. I mean, from his position I knew he had a victim, but I didn’t know he’d drop you!”

“S’okay,” I responded partially to reassure her and mostly to stop her from rambling at a thousand miles an hour. My aching brain couldn’t keep up with the stream of hastily uttered words.

She moved, bent so that I could see her face. A riot of unruly blonde curls and sorrow-rimmed green eyes filled my vision. The tip of a pink tongue poked out from between a pair of perfect lips. “Are you all right?”

I lifted a leaden arm and massaged my right temple. A bump had already formed. Fortunately, there was no blood trail so I hadn’t broken the skin. “I’ve had worse.”

Those perfect lips thinned. A crease formed between her fair eyebrows, and her left eye twitched. After a long moment, she cocked her head to the side and frowned. “You have, haven’t you?”

An unfamiliar, but enticing, scent wafted across me. Beneath the musk of jasmine and bitterness of dust, I caught the sharp tang of magic. Had she peeked into my mind and seen one of my memories? I growled at the thought of the intrusion. I hated telepaths who had no sense of personal boundaries.

“I’m no telepath,” she held her hands up and leaned backwards. “I see things.”

“Seer.”

“Chronos cursed,” she corrected with an apologetic smile.

I was familiar with the term. My angel did not see flashes of future or past events, she saw all future possibilities. Timelines, split off at key decisions, appeared to her. Skilled possibility-viewers, the Network-approved term for people like my angel, could see the past as well as the future.

I was not aware that there was a viewer in the region. Was she not associated with the Network? Before I could ask her if she was in the Network and which region she was with, she ran those smooth, cool fingertips along my jaw. I winced at the certainty that the coarse stubble I’d neglected to shave that morning had abraded her soft skin.

“I am so, so sorry,” she repeated, misreading my wince. Her compassion was a soothing balm to the anger that constantly burned in my chest. I wanted to bottle her emotions, so clear, cool, and honest, and carry them with me. When tears sparkled in her eyes, I gathered my wits and sent a warm wave of reassurance crashing over her.

She rocked back, eyes wide. One of her hands went to her throat. Her mouth gaped open. “Oh! Oh! You’re a projector! Well,” she gasped, “that’s so not fair.”

“You peeked at my timeline,” I reminded her, not the least bit apologetic for having used my gift on her. I had a feeling that if I allowed it, she would keep on apologizing until the sun came up. As an empathic-telepathic projector, I could not only sense others’ emotions but could project them so strong that it could actually make a person cry from sorrow or faint from fear. Unlike regular empaths, I could narrow my focus to a single person or cover a crowd of twenty people and I did not need to be feeling the emotion myself in order to project it. It was an ability that had served me well.

“True,” she conceded with a nod of her head. Seemingly not minding her wet capris, she rose to a crouch and linked her fingers with mine. “Ready to sit up?”

I wasn’t, but I wasn’t going to tell my angel that, either. With surprising strength, she helped me sit upright. I swallowed down a swell of bile. I’d be damned before I threw up in front of her. Craning my neck, I glanced down at her jacket. It was utterly ruined.

“Don’t worry about it.” She lightly hopped over my outstretched legs and gracefully dropped to the ground beside me. Though we were hip-to-hip, the tips of her toes didn’t even reach my ankles. “I was looking for an excuse to buy a new jacket.”

Beneath the lingering guilt, it was obvious that cheerfulness was her natural state of mind. Glancing at her with all my shields down, the brightness of her aura nearly blinded me. Rarely did I see anyone over the age of ten with such light. How had she managed to maintain such a positive disposition, especially if she was at least peripherally involved in the Network?

“I should call you a cab or an ambulance.”

“My car’s around the corner.” At least I thought it was. Chasing down the Fwar, I’d lost track of what street we were on. For all I knew, my SUV was four blocks back.

“You’ve got a head wound. I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to drive.”

She did, unfortunately, have a point. My head was killing me and spots danced before my eyes. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I harmed anyone in a car accident. “You’ve seen one of my memories. Knowing my address at this point is nothing compared to that.”

“I can’t drive.” At my confused stare, her cheeks flushed and small, white teeth bit down on her lower lip. I’d never been so jealous of a pair of incisors before. “I mean, I can. I passed my test ages ago, but I don’t have my license. Not anymore. It’s dangerous.” She tapped the side of her head for emphasis.

It made sense. I knew many Seers who refused to drive. As I tried to remember where my car was and if I still had my keys, I felt the warmth I’d been sending her double back and hit me. The gentleness of it eased the ache in my head. “Are you doing that?”

My angel shrugged a slim shoulder, her cheeks still pink. “I figured you needed it more than I did.”

She smiled at me, her hand slipped under mine, and a few of the ice bricks I’d used to wall up my heart melted. She wrinkled her nose cutely as the scent of garbage and dead Fwar was picked up by a cold northern wind. “What do you say we get out of this alley?”

To my dismay, I had to rely on my angel to both stand and stagger out of the alley. My car, thankfully, was at the end of the block. Small hand darting into the pocket of my jeans, she retrieved my keys, helped me into the backseat, and slid behind the wheel. She smiled at me in the rear view mirror. “One more quick peek and then I should be good for a while.”

Before I could ask for clarification, her lips thinned and her eye twitched. Was that what happened every time she got a vision? With a shake of the head, she turned the key in the ignition. “Fourth Street, right? Big green house third from the left?”

“Yes.”

“Only a few blocks from where I live. I can jog to the bus stop at the corner after dropping you off. Perfect.”

While she carefully navigated the rain-slick Baltimore streets, I used my cell phone to have two of the Trackers on rotation take care of the Fwar corpse. I also informed my second-in-command that I was done for the night. A bit of reassurance sent through the line kept him from worrying too much. I’d only been head of the region for six months and he feared I was only one bad night from cracking under the pressure. I hadn’t had the heart to tell him that I’d broken long before my return.

“You live here?” I asked when she pulled into my driveway.

SUV parked, she whipped off her seatbelt and spun in the seat. Her eyes were dark with concern. “No,” she stretched the word into three syllables, “you live here.”

“I meant in the city.”

“Oh,” she giggled, rolling her eyes at herself, “yes, I do.”

“I don’t have any viewers on the roster.”

Her eyes dropped to the leather headrest. Her fingers plucked at a loose threat in the stitching. “No, I’m not part of the Network. Not anymore.”

The regret, anxiety, and guilt that poured off of her hit me like a sledgehammer. She obviously wanted to be part of the Network. People who turned in their membership cards yet tracked down Fwars were not people who had left voluntarily. Had something happened in her old region? Focusing my energy on her, I caught a flash of annoyance, familial annoyance. Had someone forced her to quit?

I fished a wrinkled, damp business card out of my wallet. All of my contact information, along with my title, was printed on the plain white card. With the way things were, I could use a viewer’s help. “You can call me anytime.”

The smile and bubbling affection she sent me were blisteringly warm. I wanted to bask in her warmth until the long-neglected corners of my soul were as clean as her spirit. Did she have a century or two to spare? She practically slithered out of the car and skipped around to open my door. Her fingers automatically wrapped around mine as she helped me out of the car. Like an old-fashioned gentleman escorting his date home, we walked arm-in-arm up the short walkway.

“See you again, Mr. ‘J. Whittier?’”

“You’re the one with the pipeline into the future,” I teased, pleased when a fresh flush darkened her cheeks. I regretted the decision to put only my first initial on the cards. I wanted to hear her say my name.

Her eyes glazed over for a second and she swayed against me. The previous times she’d had a vision, I hadn’t realized just how vulnerable she appeared when she zoned out. All my protective instincts rose to the forefront in response. After a second, she grinned beautifully. “We will. Under better, nicer, circumstances, too.”

She pressed my keys into my hand and popped up on the toes of her sneakers. Warm lips brushed across my cheek. “Bye for now.”

I reached out to stop her, but she was already out of reach. Her curls bounced and shimmered in the light as she jogged down the street. I hadn’t gotten her name. I’d given my card, and quite possibly my heart, to a complete stranger.

I hadn’t felt happier in years.