Update on short story collection!

So I promised you more on the short story collection, and here it is. It's called "Once Upon A Tale," will only be available in e-book format, and will ALSO only be available on the Tapas app. For those of you who don't know it, the app is available for both iPhones/iPads/etc and Android devices and lets you read ebooks and comics an "episode" (aka a smaller chunk of the overall book/story) at a time. You can either pay by episode, or earn points to get the next episodes completely free. More info about the app is available online here.

Now, about the collection. As I said before, there are four stories, two of which are connected to "Fairy Godmothers, Inc." and two of which are connected to "Beast Charming." Though some of my early, faithful readers may have seen early versions of one story and the beginning of the second, everything has been considerably expanded/rewritten and the experience is entirely new.

A breakdown:

"Uninvited Guests" (Beast Charming)
Beauty wakes up in a bed meant for another sleeping beauty. Now she has to find the poor enchanted girl her father hid somewhere and figure out how to save the day.

"Some Assembly Required" (Fairy Godmothers, Inc.)
On her current assignment, Kate tries to help a zombie girl find her happily-ever-after. Things get complicated when someone far more monstrous shows up.

"Belief" (Beast Charming)
Take a peek into Waverly and Manny's pasts, where the duo runs afoul of an enchanted ring and a ghost who really doesn't understand the whole business of being a conman.

"Happily Ever After" (Fairy Godmothers, Inc.)
Set after the novel. Rellie takes on her very first Fairy Godmother assignment when a toad shows up at the castle to insist on his very own dose of romantic magic.

A sneak peek is going up on Tapas TODAY, and the entire thing will be available next Tuesday. If you have any questions, let me know.

Local Authors and You event

I'll be signing books at this, as well as teaching a workshop on how to get started on all those fantastic novel ideas many of you have burning inside your heads. If you're in town, I'd love to see you there!

Jolly Fish may be dead, but I'm not

So, as you guys may have heard, there’s no more Jolly Fish Press. Which means that, as of Oct. 31, there will be no more copies of the Jolly Fish Press version of any of my three novels.

The good thing about this is that, when that happens, the rights to everything revert back to me. The bad thing is that it’ll take a little scrambling to get the books available again once Jolly Fish finishes imploding, since I’ll have to find new covers for everything. E-books will come up fastest, but physical copies are going to take a little more time.

If there are any graphic artists out there who want to talk to me about new covers, I’d LOVE to hear from you. Otherwise, feel free to e-mail me at jennifferwardell@gmail.com with any questions you might have. 

"Two Left Feet" available July 29!

My new e-book, "Two Left Feet," is finally up in various formats and available for pre-order. It's my take on "The Twelve Dancing Princesses," which has always left me so full of questions. Was it really so bad the girls wanted to go dancing every night? Was murder really the best option for all those poor random guys? Who got all 12 sisters to agree on all doing the same thing at the same time, even if it was just dancing? Why do most variations of the story make the hero the random soldier guy instead of, oh, I don't know, the actual princesses who the story is named after?

So, as is my usual habit when I'm left unsatisfied by a fairy tale, I wrote my own.

Synopsis:

What do you do when you're one of the 12 Dancing Princesses but are really, really bad at dancing? For Thea, it was a choice between boredom and accidentally maiming her dance partners, and she wasn't terribly fond of either option. But just as the nightly dances start to get interesting, their father hires someone to discover his daughters' secrets and stop their nightly adventures. Can Thea and her sisters figure out how to keep the party going?

Read or download an excerpt here

Pre-order now:

Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Smashwords

Teaser: "Two Left Feet."

Because you guys should get something new even though my publisher and IPG can't figure out how to get a freaking book out on time, here's a teaser for the new short-story e-book I'll be releasing this summer, "Two Left Feet."

000

Everyone wants their life to be a fairy tale, right?

"So sorry, Princess Thea. I would love to dance with you, but I'm afraid I've developed a terrible cramp in my foot."

"My apologies as well, Princess Thea. Touch of food poisoning. I'd hate to vomit all over that lovely gown you're wearing."

"I'll be honest, Princess Thea. My doctor has forbidden me from dancing with you until my feet heal."

Well, make sure you're the one who gets to decide what fairy tale it is.

Thea waved away the noblemen who'd made their apologies – she hadn't even asked to dance with them, which meant that the mere sight of her now panicked them into immediate denials – and immediately took off her heels. Then, with a wave to let her oldest sister know where she was going, Thea headed to one of the benches positioned around the edge of the dance floor.

 Dropping down onto it, she sighed as she took a look at the party that was happening all around her. The ballroom seemed to be immense, ringed with white pillars that offered glimpses of a gleaming metallic forest that was either just an illusion or housed enough magical creatures to potentially kill anyone who wandered inside. Floating chandeliers illuminated the room, a trick that had awed her the first few times she'd seen it but now just seemed to blend into the scenery. They hadn't changed the decorations at all in the three weeks she and her sisters had been coming to these things, and once she'd looked up the spell that kept them aloft she'd lost all interest in them.

Not that anyone else here seemed to care. All 11 of her sisters were out there somewhere, lost in a crowd of other hopeful princes, princesses and other random nobles who'd all received the same magical invitations to this nightly party. Thea had put in an official protest when the glittering card had first been delivered – it seemed like a ready-made kidnapping plan, and even though their kingdom was small they did have some value has hostages. But she'd been outvoted, and her requests that she be allowed to stay behind were similarly ignored.

Which left her here, either injuring random nobility with her terrible dancing skills or sitting on a bench doing her best impression of a wallflower.

"Your highness." The server appeared out of nowhere, his pointed ears standing out sharply against the waterfall of inky black hair. Balanced on one hand were a tray of glasses, all full of a silvery liquid that sparkled like diamonds. "Would you care for a drink?"

Thea gave him a polite smile, pulling out her pocket magic mirror and opening it to a novel she'd been reading. "Thank you, but no." She'd read enough stories about eating and drinking in the fairy realm not to want to risk it. Her sisters were all present and accounted for every time they went home in the morning, and Thea assumed that meant they hadn't tried it, either. "I won't need anything the rest of the evening."

The elf stayed hovering nearby, the fixed politeness of his expression taking on a pained edge. "You appear as if you're settling in for the night." His eyes flicked back to the crowd. "Does the dancing not please you?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. Thea understood needing to be solicitous of the clientele, but she was a 23-year-old wearing a gown that was at least two years out of fashion because it was infinitely more comfortable than what everyone else was wearing. Her frizz-prone, mud-brown hair should have been styled or at least put in a bun, but she hadn't wanted to deal with it tonight. "Actually, I'm just trying not to injure any more of the men here." This time, her smile wasn't quite so polite. "Next time you send out magical invitations, make sure that everyone who receives one knows how to dance."

Cover reveal: "Dreamless"

So, apparently luck doesn't hold forever when it comes to covers.

This is the cover of my new book, "Dreamless," which is set in the same universe as "Fairy Godmothers, Inc." and "Beast Charming." As you might guess from the unconscious woman, this time I'm playing with "Sleeping Beauty."

This is definitely my least favorite cover, not because it's not cute but because it looks like it's advertising the kind of romantic comedy that would have starred Meg Ryan had it been released in the mid-90s. As those who have read my previous books, know, my romantic comedies are both darker and distinctly quirkier than that, so I'd like to apologize in advance for anyone who considers this false advertising.

What do you folks think?

(I'm still looking for original art I can use for advertising, by the way. Anything you'd be interested in sending would be incredibly welcome and fully credited to you.)

More about the book:

Sleeping Beauty never had troubles like this

For most princesses, a sleeping curse means a few inconvenient weeks unconscious followed by a happily-ever-after with their true love. Seventeen-year-old Elena's curse, however, was designed without a cure, which means that she's getting a century-long nap for her 18th birthday whether she wants it or not. After years of study she's still no closer to finding a cure, even with the help of an undead godfather and an enchanted mirror-turned-therapist. With only a year until the deadline she's learned to accept her fate. 

Sadly, there's one prince who doesn't seem to have gotten the memo and who’s continually trying to activate the curse so he can be the one to wake her up again. Only slightly less annoying is Cam, her new bodyguard and former childhood acquaintance who disagrees with Elena at pretty much every turn. When the curse threatens to come early, however, they both realize that fate is a lot more complicated than they'd ever imagined. 

"Dreamless" is set to be released March 15. Find it on Amazon.com.

Excerpt: Piper's Song

Here's a little something from the most recent chapter of what I'm working on right now. I should maybe apologize....

000

Jess hadn't quite been lying when she said Crispin wasn't going to kill her. 

It was more like an exaggeration, really. It made sense that he wouldn't kill her – he couldn't get a power boost off her death, and if he put any thought into it Crispin would realize she was no use to him dead. He needed a captive audience too badly, and the fact that she habitually insulted him would only make her subjugation that much sweeter. Killing her would stop all his fun way too quickly.

Of course, the fact that Crispin had turned out to be an insane killer pretty much threw her entire ability to read people into question. And even if she was right, there were any number of incredibly painful things Crispin could try that wouldn't technically kill her. 

But as long as Thomas stayed in the shadows, as long as he was as safe as she could possibly make him, she'd accept "technically."  

Keeping her eyes fixed on Crispin, she took a few more casual-looking steps forward. She couldn't let herself even glance over at Thomas's hiding place, and the further she was out of range the easier that would be. "So, I'm still a little fuzzy on the details," she said, seemingly ignoring the threat he'd just delivered. "Clearly you're a sorcerer now, which I'm sure is very exciting for you, but it seems like a relatively new development. Did you discover your parents were secretly evil sorcerers? Pick up a new skill while taking night classes?"

Crispin narrowed his eyes at her, clearly annoyed that she wasn't more impressed. He didn’t look like he had either the cloak or scythe activated, but if Thomas was right he wouldn’t need either to cause her damage. "I could kill you at any moment, you know.” He tightened his hand around the ID, making it even more impossible to read any information off of it, then muttered something as light started glowing around his fingers. There was an instant for Jess to wonder whether dodging would do any good, then he flicked his fingers at her. “I have more than enough power left in me for one little waste of space.”  

Searing pain suddenly shot across her upper arm, and she wasn’t quite able to swallow the pained sound completely. She doubled over, gritting her teeth as she slapped a hand over the now-burned skin. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see movement in Thomas’s alleyway, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a second and silently begged him to stay where he was. 

Disney, "Man from U.N.C.L.E." and adding your own twist to the story

Photo courtesy of Disney

“That’s not how I would do it.”

How many times has that thought crossed your mind? Whether it’s a movie you watched, a meal you ate, or a work project you’re involved in, we’ve all come across things we would have done differently if we were the ones in charge. No one’s tastes are the same, and it’s part of human nature to want things to match our own tastes instead of someone else’s.

But what if you actually got the chance to redo whatever it was? It’s rare that we get the opportunity to remake something according to our exact specifications, and even if we did we’d risk the same scrutiny we gave the original whatever it was. There’s also all the work it would take to create a new version of something that’s already been made. Would it be worth it, just to be able to experience a version that’s absolutely perfect for you?

Answering that question has made me take remakes a lot more seriously.

Because yes, there’s a certain element of marketing and cash grab when it comes to latching a movie to an already established property, but money is the ultimate goal of everything Hollywood does. There are also remakes that are flat-out terrible – the shot-for-shot remake of “Psycho” is one of the better-known examples – and ones that have hit their remake limit. (Please, Hollywood, give us like 15 years before the next “Spider-Man.” We need a break.)

But you know who else does a lot of remakes? Disney. The majority of their best-known movies, from “101 Dalmatians” to “The Little Mermaid” are simply their versions of stories someone else has already done. They just made their own tweaks – changing a depressing ending here, enriching an emotional relationship there – until they had a version of the story they liked. Even “The Lion King,” one of the most successful Disney movies ever, is just “Hamlet” re-told with talking lions instead of people. Speaking of “Hamlet,” even Shakespeare’s stories were mostly just revisions of stories that had already been written.

I’m not saying that the remakes Hollywood has given us in the last 10 years are anywhere near the level of Shakespeare or even classic Disney. But that doesn’t mean that the creators didn’t have a legitimate vision of their own for the material. When Guy Ritchie brought “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.” to the screen, he shifted the focus from the spy hijinks to the banter and growing bond between the main characters. That was the part he was interested in, and didn’t feel the original had enough.

“The Transporter: Refueled” seems at first like a knockoff of every European action movie ever made, but the fact that the hero is trying to save his father is actually quite a twist for the genre. Historically, it’s the token female who gets to have a father involved in the movie, usually as a powerful figure that the daughter is being used as a pawn against.  The hero is usually involved to protect the helpless female, and if there’s no sex scene there will be at least one heated look.

But getting the hero involved because of his own family? Someone who isn’t female, or in a traditionally “protected” category such as a younger sibling, romantic partner or child? Having the emotional motivation not be romantic or sexual in the slightest? I don’t know if the movie will be any good – it’s not being screened for critics – but that’s still the kind of remake I can respect. 

New short story: Fine Print

The sorcerer held the pendant in his outstretched hand, the red stone giving an eldritch gleam in the dim light. "This was forged in the fires of Hades by the artisans of the damned. Wear this, and you will be unstoppable."

The richly dressed man on the other side of the table reached for it eagerly, but stopped when the small woman next to him cleared her throat. She was wearing a suit and a politely disinterested expression, and the sorcerer hated her instantly. "Not yet, your lordship. There are a few points of the contract I need to go over with Mr..." She flipped through a few of the pages in her hands. "Dread Dank Darin."

The nobleman sat back in his chair, disappointed. The sorcerer – Darin to his friends – narrowed his eyes at the woman. He definitely did not approve of the way she said his name without a shred of awe. "Contract? There is no contract. I have to summon a demon if you want one of those, and I'll need a case of alcohol and 48 hours advance notice."

The woman gave him a long-suffering look. "No, I meant the implied contract that comes with ownership of the pendant you are trying to sell my client. For example – you promise him that he will be 'unstoppable' if he purchases this, but what precisely do you mean by that?"

The sorcerer's brow furrowed, not sure what she was getting at but definitely not willing to admit his confusion. “Exactly what it says on the tin. Unstoppable. Cannot be stopped.”

“By whom, exactly?” The woman’s voice was just polite enough to be infuriating. “Individual opponents? Entire armies? Gods? If he takes possession of the pendant, will he be capable of stopping himself should he choose to? Or could he, for example, eat himself to death without intending to? And what definition are you using for ‘stop’? Defeat in battle? A halt in his rise to power? Death? And if it is death, does it mean he can’t be killed or that he can’t die?”

“I knew an immortal once,” the nobleman said suddenly. “He mostly gardened. Said he was bored of everything else.” He shuddered. “I can’t even imagine.”

The sorcerer gaped at them both for a moment, caught without an answer to even a single one of the woman’s questions. Then he shook his head and focused his attention on the nobleman.  “Unlimited power is almost in your hands, your lordship! All you have to do is pay me!”

The nobleman hesitated for a moment, giving the pendant one last hungry look, then shook his head. “No, sorry. Can’t do it. My grandfather got himself killed in one of those ‘no man can defeat me’ loopholes, and that was before there were so many lady knights about.” He pushed himself away from the table, standing. “No good rising to power if you make it that easy on people to stop you.”

“But… but….”

The woman tucked her papers into a briefcase, then stood as well. “I would advise you to look into researching your products more thoroughly, Mr. Dank.”

By the time he had recovered enough to correct her, they were gone.  

New short story: Vampire Ball

Annabelle covertly adjusted her corset, wondering how it could still be so infuriating even though she technically no longer needed to breathe. She had been promised that, as a vampire, she would be a goddess among mortals, but she was quite certain that no goddess had ever stuffed herself into one of these ridiculous tubes and paraded herself around for strangers.

"I should have let Lionel bite me instead of you," she sniped, sweeping a glare over the dancing crowd before turning it to the tall, elegantly dressed gentleman standing beside her. "I could be out running under the moonlight at this very moment, free and gloriously naked."

Reginald, the gentleman in question, pursed his lips briefly in distaste. "With blood and entrails matting your fur, no doubt."

"I would not care, and the forest is blessedly free of pinch-faced busybodies who would insist on caring in my stead." She yanked the comb out of her hair, letting it spill down around her shoulders as she tossed the offending piece of jewelry into a darkened corner.  "We are creatures of the night, Reggie. I let you turn me to get away from ridiculous games like this. Forgive me if I'm horrified by the thought of being trapped in them for the next 500 years."

He gave a patient sigh at the acid in her tone, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "Lionel and his kin spend their time in the forests because biology demands it of them. They hunger for the dumb woodland creatures, the violence of the chase." He sniffed. "Savages."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "And which of you has the higher body count?"

"Irrelevant. When we vampires eat, we eat with dignity." He swept a hand out to take in the swirling dancers before them, lips quirking upward. "An entire buffet spread out before us."

Annabelle followed Reginald's gaze, the light slowly dawning. "Ah," she said after a moment, her own lips curving. "I take back everything I said."

He looked amused. "I thought you might."

Short story: De-stoning

https://www.etsy.com/shop/godo

For gorgons, getting someone to de-stone whatever poor buggers tripped across them at home was somewhere between spring cleaning and a community service. Medusa had them come by once a week, rather than once a month or even once a year, which told you all you needed to know about the kind of person she was.

"Looks like you're having a pretty good week this week," Beauty said conversationally, carefully gluing the tip of a bird's wing back in place. If you did the repair work while they were stone they always seemed perfectly whole after the potion had taken effect, and she'd decided a long time ago not to think about the details too much. "I've been coming here for months, and I don't think I've ever seen the numbers this low."

It took Medusa  a little too long to respond.  "Yeah." Another pause. "It's been good."

Beauty looked up at the gorgon, the sunglasses they both wore making it harder to see the expression on her face. But she could tell that her shoulders were hunched, and the snakes were hissing quietly as they brushed back and forth against her cheeks. "What's wrong?"

Medusa hesitated. "Nothing," she said finally, trying to brush the snakes away from her face. "I'm fine. Just tired."

The snakes weren't having it any more than Beauty was. "Nope, sorry, still don't believe you." She used the eyedropper to apply the de-stoning potion to the top of the bird's head, waiting until it had transformed and flown away before straightening. "Do it for your snakes, if nothing else. They're clearly worried about you."

Medusa sighed. "They can tell how stressed I am." She curled in on herself even more tightly. "Please don't tell your boss about what I'm about to show you."

Beauty tensed. "Is this the kind of thing that could theoretically get us arrested?"

There was far, far too long a pause. "Maybe not if we found a nice judge?"

Now she had to look, if only because it was rude to leave nice people alone in the middle of a disaster. Beauty followed Medusa back into the house, her brain cycling through all the possibilities of exactly what she might be about to see. "You know the constables won't care if you turned a burglar, right? They consider it self defense, and include the de-stoning cost as part of the bail."

The utter silence from Medusa quickly dashed her hope that the problem was that simple, and she braced herself when the gorgon finally stopped at a particular closet and opened it. Inside stood the stone figure of a man with longish hair and a shocked expression she could see even through her darkened lenses.

 Beauty didn't recognize him, but it wasn't as much of a comfort as it might have been. "Who is he?" she asked, lowering her sunglasses. "An ex-boyfriend?"

"Sort of." Medusa thunked her head against the side of the door, sounding miserable. "Remember when I told you about Perseus?"

Ah. He and Medusa had dated briefly, at least until he'd tried to chop off a handful of her snakes for a quest his prospective father-in-law had sent him on and she'd found out it was all an act. If he'd tried to chop off her head, she could have had him arrested, but it turned out the law was fuzzier on the question of living hair.

"Well, that explains a lot." Beauty turned to Medusa. "How long has he been like this?"

"Three days," Medusa said, voice slowly growing more indignant. "I know I shouldn't have, but he actually offered to pay me to kill some of my snakes. Of all the--"

Beauty held up a hand to stop her. "Sorry, but I'll be able to lie better if I don't know too many details." Then she moved forward. "How far away from your house do you think we'll be able to carry him?"

000

Perseus blinked, staring blearily up at the trees and Beauty's smiling face. "Where am I?"

"In the middle of the woods, and you're lucky I found you." She put on her best "innocent citizen" expression, which had been judged moderately successful by those who didn't know her that well. "A basilisk has been seen in the area, and you must have ticked the poor thing off."

He slowly sat up, still blinking in confusion. "I don't remember a basilisk. I was... I was going to meet someone...."

So she might have dropped statue him with excessive force. The chunk from the side of his head had been surprisingly easy to glue back on. "I don't think anyone lives around here." She held out a hand. "That'll be 50 credit slips for the de-stoning."

His brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

She shrugged. "This stuff is expensive, and the boss is going to make me account for every drop. The Enchanted Forest Service sent me out here for animals, not you."

Still in a daze, he gave her the money. The following week, she gave half of it to Medusa.

000

Note: Beauty later appears in "Beast Charming"

New Short Story: Sleeping Potion

www.carnivalheaven.com

Rita didn’t understand why anyone bothered to wear hooded cloaks to hide their appearance. In the middle of a perfectly nice day like this, having your hood up pretty much shouted “I am up to something nefarious!”

She refrained from actually saying any of this, however, as the customer slipped into the shop and threw back the hood of her cloak. Once the young woman made eye contact, she practically raced to the counter. “I need a sleeping potion. I’ll pay anything!”

Rita gave the woman an evaluating look. “I take it you’re not talking about an insomnia cure.”

“That’s not enough.” The young woman laid her hands flat on the counter as she leaned forward, desperation in her eyes. “Anything less than six months won’t be enough. I’ll take a year if you have it.”

“I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place.” Rita kept her voice even as she reached under the counter, wrapping her hand around the wand she kept on hand for emergencies. The young woman looked harmless, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. “I sell healing potions, stuff to help you around the house. You’ll want to go to a licensed Evil Witch for the potion you’re looking for.”

The customer’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t trust them! And if I go home….” She pressed a hand against her mouth, fighting back tears. “I won’t survive.”

Rita hesitated. She wasn’t interested in breaking the law, but if the girl was using it in self-defense…. “Your father? Or your husband?”

She waved a hand. “Oh, he’ll be fine. He just loves her, and thinks it’s all a big misunderstanding.” She wiped her eyes. “Of course, he’ll be horrified that I was arrested for homicide, but I’m sure she’ll keep him busy telling him how right she’s been this whole time….”

Now Rita was lost. “Wait.” She held up her other hand to stop the ramble. “Who are you talking about?”

The young woman clunked her forehead on the counter. “My mother-in-law. Her house got destroyed in an ogre attack and she’s moving in with us.”

Rita turned the startled chuckle into a cough. “And you think dosing her will keep her out of your hair for awhile?”

The young woman’s head shot up. “No!” she said, horrified. “That would be rude.”

Rita let go of her wand. “Then who were you planning on using it on?”

The young woman’s shoulders sagged, and she dropped her head into her hands. “Me.”

This time, Rita couldn’t stop the chuckle. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Representation, or finding our place in the story

We all deserve our own stories.

For a long time, I didn't realize that so few of them were made for me. I was never really the princess type, too stubborn and loud and average-looking for the lost princesses who filled the stories of my childhood. There were only a few warrior women and lady knights, but they didn't really work either – I wasn't strong, I wasn't noble, and I always thought there was a smarter way to fight than charging ahead with a battle cry. They were all good characters, but there was no place in their lives for someone like me.

But oh, I loved the thieves, the pirates, the charming rogues with a secret heart of gold. They didn't necessarily have to be attractive – a way with words was so much more important than how they looked. They didn't have to have powerful muscles – their brains did most of the work, and sometimes they could even best big, scary swords people without blinking. They didn't have to be even particularly good – they thought rules were bendy, twisty things, but they were usually at least helpful to the hero and sometimes even stood on the sides of angels.

When you feel like you're different from everyone else, it's too easy to also feel like there's something wrong with you. Like you're broken, or even just meant to fade into the background while the "hero" goes off and lives an exciting life. For a little girl with a plain face, a facile tongue and a squirrely mind, these characters felt like I had a place among all the pretty people. There wasn't anything wrong with me – I was just meant to be a charming rogue.

But ... all the charming rogues I had ever read about were boys. I wasn't a boy – I didn't even want to be one – and so for a long time I was just a lost girl in the corner with dreams she could never quite figure out how to reach. It took me years to steal the role, to cut it up and piece it back together into a shape fit an angry little girl. It took me even longer than that to find the self-confidence I'd lost so many years before, letting the rogue's boldness sink into my skin and teach me everything I'd always been meant to know.

And I was lucky. There are so few white girl characters when compared to boy characters, but there's even fewer for people of color or those who aren't heterosexual. They don't have the luxury to care about personality – they're grateful for the few they can find, and cling to them because they don't have anything else. And inside, they end up feeling that there's no place for them in the great story of life.

Feeling like there's someplace you're meant to be can change your whole life. No one deserves to only see their own faces, their own hearts, as background characters or villains. Or worse, to not see them at all.

So please, write more stories. Give your heroes and heroines your skin, your history, your fears. Give them your dreams, and in turn you pass those dreams onto all those little boys and girls who want a story to live up to.

No shame in loving "dumb" movies

© 2015 CTMG, Inc.

I have to be very careful sometimes when I talk about movies I like.

When you’re in any group of “serious” movie fans, those of us who talk about awards season like people in movies talk about horse races, there are certain standards you’re expected to uphold. Anything that won a major award is usually acceptable – the Academy Awards or the Golden Globes are always safe, though you get extra points if you can get something slightly more obscure.

Even better is if the movie was nominated, but lost to something that wasn’t quite as “good” but came from a bigger studio. In general, your favorite films should be mostly dramas, though Wes Anderson’s movies (“The Grand Budapest Hotel,” “Moonrise Kingdom”) get a special exemption.
Major blockbusters may be liked under certain circumstances, but only if they’re well made. It helps if you can spin some explanation of how, for example, all the explosions are really symbolic of the destruction of modern society. (It goes without saying that you have to say all of this with a straight face).

I’ve seen many of these movies, and there were some of them I actually liked. As a former English Literature major, I can talk about the thematic significance of nearly anything, which meant that even if I didn’t like a movie I can talk about it in appropriately serious tones.

But I’m tired of hiding the fact that there’s a part of me that absolutely adores dumb movies. Though I haven’t seen the sequel, I actually liked “Paul Blart: Mall Cop.” (I actually had to physically fight the urge to go back and delete that sentence out of embarrassment, or qualify it with something like “even though I know how stupid it is.” Truthfully, I’m still fighting it, and it’s hard enough that I’ll be amazed if this entire paragraph makes it online).

I love the most ridiculous action movies, the kind that defy both common sense and the laws of physics, and want to be able to gush about my love of “Furious 7” without apologizing for how wonderfully absurdist it is. I want to be able to watch Reese Witherspoon use a terrible Texas accent (at least, I think it was a Texas accent) and fall over stuff in “Hot Pursuit” without having to pretend I wished it were something like “Wild.”

I will admit that Witherspoon was really good in “Wild,” a tough, searching movie about grief and self-identity. But do you know one thing it wasn’t? Fun. And sometimes, all I want to do when I go to a movie is switch my brain off and watch idiots crash into each other onscreen.

So if you honestly want to see a movie, go no matter how many insults movie critics or your “serious” movie friends pile on its head. Even if I’m the one lambasting the movie, feel free to ignore me if that’s what you want. If you end up deciding I was right, e-mail me and we can trash the movie together.

But if it turns out that you love it – or even like it just fine – there’s nothing wrong with that. Shout your love from the rooftops.  No matter how “dumb” the movie is, there’s absolutely no reason to be ashamed.

Yes, even if it’s “Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2.”

My superhero (for a few minutes, at least)

Sometimes, the smallest things can have the biggest impact on people. You may never even realize that you've done anything at all.

I was at my second signing of the day for "Beast Charming," an independent bookstore that had barely anyone in it. The few people who were there couldn't have cared less about the book, a fact that become even more ludicrous when they insisted I still do a reading. The seats were absolutely empty, except for my best friend in the front and the one dude who'd taken over planning the event (which was no help. It was literally his job to be there.)

So I started the reading, feeling profoundly stupid and just trying to power through it. Occasionally someone would wander through the back, not even slowing down slightly on their way to wherever they were going. I kept going – the people who'd asked me here still clearly wanted me to do it, no matter how ridiculous it was – but I told myself I could stop whenever I just couldn't take it anymore. Every paragraph, I was sure I would give up at the next one.  

Then I saw a guy in the back – clearly following his girlfriend around – who actually sort of looked like he was listening. His girlfriend couldn't have cared less about the reading, her focus clearly on whatever book she was looking for, but the guy's head was cocked in a certain way that happens when you've got an ear on something that's not in front of you. And when she left, wandering on to another section of shelving, he actually stayed and listened. Not even halfway this time – body turned completely to me, focus on me, leaning a little against the edge of a bookcase like he'd settled in for the duration. 

I have no idea why – he was actually on the complete opposite end of the spectrum of the book's potential target audience, so I can't imagine he was actually interested. But the fact that he was there, honestly listening without being obligated to (another employee wandered over after he did), was such an immense shot of comfort and courage. I went all the way through the reading I'd planned, and it was all because of him.

If it hadn't been so wildly inappropriate – like I said, girlfriend – I would have hugged him. As it was, I hope he had an amazing rest of the day. He deserved it.

“Ghostbusters,” “Cinderella” and “Maleficent:” Remade vs. reborn stories

Photo courtesy of Disney

There are only so many times you can tell the same old story.

Hollywood, unfortunately, can never decide whether it believes this is true or not. They announce an all-female “Ghostbusters,” bringing a fresh idea to a beloved franchise that would actually justify resurrecting it, then turn around and approve an all-male reboot that will just bring more of the same. Disney makes “Maleficent,” which transforms a classic one-note villainess into a powerful heroine, then re-makes “Cinderella” solely to give the titular character an even prettier dress
.
But if we’re going to claim a story for our own, we can’t just slap a fresh coat of paint on it and tell people that we’ve created something. There’s already a perfect all-male “Ghostbusters” that exists in the world, and if someone is craving that all they have to do is pop in the DVD and listen to Bill Murray at his finest. Listening to Channing Tatum say the lines won’t make them funnier.

True, Tatum was hilarious in “21 Jump Street,” but that’s because the movie is nothing whatsoever like the original TV series.   An all-female “Ghostbusters” should exist because the change in gender automatically alters the entire dynamic of the movie. It gives audiences the opportunity to have a brand-new perspective with a story they thought they new well, giving them a fresh experience rather than trying to duplicate the old one.

The same is true for fairy tales. They’ve been retold so many times we’ve all memorized the traditional versions of the stories, whispered in our ears from the time we were little kids.  We all watched the original animated “Cinderella,” cheering on the ridiculously intelligent mice and enjoying how well the Fairy Godmother could rock a guest spot, and seeing it again in the live-action version was pleasant but dull. We already knew how that particular story went.

“Maleficent,” on the other hand, is nothing like “Sleeping Beauty.” It re-imagined the story, even more so than an all-female “Ghostbusters” would, and completely transformed a character who had been nothing more that a static (but incredibly cool) villain. Reversing her polarity like that made the story entirely different, and allowed it to go in directions that the original “Sleeping Beauty” could never touch. It’s not necessarily better or worse than the original – as with everything, your mileage may vary – but it’s worthy of standing on its own. The world is a better place because both stories exist.

That kind of new perspective was my goal with both “Beast Charming” and my previous book, “Fairy Godmothers, Inc.” Both books are set in a world where fairy tales aren’t special or exciting – they’re every day, practical occurrences, and the world responds to them accordingly. You can go to graduate school to become an evil sorceress, and you can make pretty good money selling anti-curse insurance.

In a world like that, there’s no guarantee that the story will work out the way it’s “supposed” to.  And happily ever after … well, that can mean just about anything.

Deleted Scenes: Beast Charming, part 2

These are two excerpts from a scene that would have served as an opening for the final version of "Beast Charming." The whole thing got cut before it got very far, but it's 100 percent canon compliant with the novel.

000

Excerpt 1:

As secret ballrooms went, it wasn’t very impressive. This one had clearly been built decades ago, the excessive use of candlelight making up for the fact that the paint was peeling and some of the decorative moldings were chipped. Her father had sworn that elves had used the ballroom at one point, but right now it was being split between two noble families with too many children and lives so boring that dancing seemed like a night of ultimate rebellion.

Beauty sneezed at the cloud of dust haunting one corner, wondering at how pathetic her life had become that she could actually compare the amenities in different secret ballrooms. Maybe she should write a travel guide.

The lordling she was dancing with, a square-jawed, deathly boring young man who waltzed like someone was holding a saber to his head, furrowed his brow slightly. “I didn’t want to say anything,” he said hesitantly, as if the thought had taken the last several hours to make it to the front of his brain. “But you don’t really look like any of the other princesses here.” He paused again. “Are you cousins?”

 “Of course,” she agreed automatically, the experience of crashing too many dances just like this one having made lying seem almost second nature by this point. She swallowed a spurt of annoyance that it had taken him this long to notice – her third night – or the fact that he apparently hadn’t picked up on the fact that there were two women here who looked nothing like the blond, blue-eyed daughters of the Baron of Whatever It Was. Given the fact that two of those daughters were currently stretched out in one of the coat rooms, unconscious due to the sleeping potion her father bought in bulk, left her far enough away from the moral high ground here that annoyance was probably not an option. “My sister and I are related on our mother’s side.”

The lordling’s brow stayed furrowed a minute longer, then eased into mildly troubled acceptance. “Ah,” he said finally, sending them both around into yet another turn of yet another waltz.

Beauty kept her eyes just over the man’s shoulder, hoping to catch sight of her sister and whatever idiot she’d been shackled to for the evening. There were only twelve couples, more than enough to keep within sight, but there was so much space and so few candles that it was hard to keep sight of everyone. It was a distinct step down from the handful of royal secret ballrooms she’d been into, which were normally kept better lit so that the princes and princesses could show off just how gorgeous and beautifully dressed they were.

Which, in the end, was probably why their father had stopped trying to crash the royal fairytales. He felt he’d have better luck with his daughters if they had a little less competition.

000

Excerpt 2:

She immediately let go of the prince’s hand and stepped back, though it took him a few more steps to realize that there had apparently been a new development in the nightly routine. Without waiting to see what his reaction would be, she turned around and headed for the exit.

Unfortunately, it was located on the other side of the ballroom. The other couples slowed to a stop as she strode past, staring at her as if she’d suddenly grown a unicorn horn, while the background sound of running feet suggested that Grace had just noticed what had happened. She had no idea where Patience had disappeared to, though if they found her dance partner unconscious and stuffed under a crystal hedge somewhere she wouldn’t be at all surprised.

When Beauty passed by the eldest princess, she poked her in the shoulder and waited until the other woman had turned around. She was being bitter, she knew, but there was something so wonderfully freeing about it that she wasn’t about to stop now. “You know that soldier your father hired to figure out where you and your sisters are sneaking off to at night?”

The princess stared at her for a minute. “Do I know you?” she asked cautiously, just now processing that there was a complete stranger in the magical ballroom that was supposedly known only to her, her sisters, and a whole bunch of elves who apparently had nothing better to do with their time.

Beauty’s eyes narrowed, suddenly exasperated by the fact that they’d been here a week and the woman had just now noticed. “Of course. I’m the sister the rest of the family doesn’t like to talk about.” When the princess’s expression only got more confused, Beauty sighed. “Who I am doesn’t matter, but I feel it’s my obligation as a woman to inform you that the guy has turned into a pest problem.”

The princess’s brow furrowed. “What in the world are you talking about? We left him sleeping unconscious back in our rooms.”

 “He’s over there,” Beauty snapped, pointing to a marble column where the rainbow shifting flowers without the aid of any wind. She normally was more than happy to cheer for a non-royal in situations like this, but this guy wasn’t even trying. The fact that he wasn’t quite as stupid as the woman he was trying to get paired off with didn’t mean he should be allowed to get away with it. “He got a hold of an invisible cloak somewhere and has been following us down here. Every. Single. Night.” As the princess made an affronted noise and stalked off in the direction of the column, Beauty turned and addressed the rest of the crowd. “And seriously, people, none of you people think that this is at least a little creepy?”

Grace had caught up to her by the time she got to the main doors, and after Beauty shoved the left one open her older sister was the one to gently shut it behind them both. “Not that I’m pressuring you or anything,” she asked with deliberate lightness, hurrying to catch up to Beauty. “But where exactly are we going?”

 “Away from here.” Beauty stopped, wishing for a moment that she could strip out of this enormous pillow of a dress and walk back home in her slip. Instead, she consoled herself with dropping to the ground and yanking off her shoes and stockings. After this, she would make a vow to only wear comfortable shoes, and if they were wildly unattractive than so much the better. “And seriously, you don’t have to follow me. I know how much you hate shouting, and I can’t see any other way this is going to end.” A thought hit her suddenly, and she looked up. “Unless you know another way out of here.”

 “You mean one that Father’s not waiting in front of?” The faint sarcasm in her sister’s voice marked them as related far more clearly than any physical resemblance. “Sadly, no – I left the blueprints for the building in my other pocket.” A moment later, though, she sighed. “And you know I’m not going to leave you. If nothing else, I’m sick of mashing a complete stranger’s toes with every other step I take.”

Sneak Peek at new novel

This is the first chapter of a potential new novel I've gotten a bit stalled on. What do you guys think - is it worth continuing? 

000

Chapter 1: Inauspicious Stars

            The one problem with being the mysterious answer to everyone’s prayers is that you had to dress the part.

            Jess nodded at the assembled townspeople, annoyed at every chilled breeze that snuck in and around the weak protection of her cloak. A coat would have been far more effective, but those were much harder to sweep aside dramatically at key moments.

            Like right now.

            Flinging the fabric back in a bold, theatrical gesture she’d spent a week practicing, she opened the instrument case strapped to her chest and pulled out a slender, wooden pipe polished to a high, attention-grabbing sheen. Then she straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and swept her gaze over the small group of civic leaders who had been kept from their beds to make sure she did the job properly. “Ready?”

            Her audience sized her up, much as they had done in the council meeting earlier where she'd made her initial offer. She was undoubtedly younger than they'd like – though she was certain they were estimating at least a few years older than her real age of 17 – but her cap of dark hair was well-ordered and her features just exotic enough to give her an air of mystery.

            To top it off, she was wearing a purple velvet top and leggings edged in silver piping. It was a ridiculous outfit – she kept it solely for jobs like this – but it looked far more expensive than anything they were wearing.

            People paid far more attention to that than they did her face. 
            One of the council members, a portly woman with her collar buttoned all the way to her chin, raised a hand. “We’ll be able to see if this is actually working, right?”

            Jess resisted the urge to sigh. This was why she did it this way in the first place, rather than the much more sensible route of simply standing on the opposite side of the trench currently waiting on the other end of town. The people needed the show. “Oh, you’ll definitely be able to see it.” She began walking, hoping to forestall any more stupid questions. “Follow me, ladies and gentlemen. Remember, I will not be able to stop or speak until all the rats are dead.”

            Then she put the pipe to her lips and blew the first clean, clear note.

            Despite the impression she liked to give people, this wasn’t the moment when the magic started to happen. She still played pubs and street corners during the lean months and calling rats in the middle of every song would put a damper on tips.

            Jess transitioned the note into a simple pub tune that she could play in her sleep by this point, then let her gaze go glassy as she shifted her focus to deep inside herself. She’d gotten good at pretending this was easy, but it took far more concentration than even the most complicated, demanding song she’d ever played.

            Almost … almost….

            There.

            She could practically feel the click as her power kicked in, felt the notes spilling out of her little pipe vibrate with a frequency that refused to sit still so it could be properly heard. As far as she could tell, no one without this particular talent could tell there’d been any change at all, though she’d had a musician or two give her narrow-eyed looks as if they knew something was escaping them.

            Behind her, a few of the less patient souls were getting restless. “What if this is all just a trick?” one man muttered, apparently assuming that she’d gone deaf the moment she’d put the pipe to her lips. "She told us we could see it work, but so far the only thing that's happened...."

            The man's voice trailed off as he finally noticed the faint scrabbling sound behind them.

            Then came the gasps, the sound blending in with the notes she was playing. She'd segued into a more complicated song by this point, the grand entrance music used by a theater troupe she'd worked with as a child, and she turned around and risked walking backwards for a few steps so she could properly appreciate the effect.

            Rats. Only 20 or so at this point – the night was young – with more hurrying to join the parade with every step they took. They'd climbed out of kitchens and larders and holes in the wall, lips silent and eyes glassy with the need to follow Jess wherever she went. By the time they'd made it through the city, there might be a hundred or more.

            "Magic," the mayor breathed, awe and just a little bit of fear in his voice. For the rest of the walk, there wasn't another peep from the town leaders.

            It didn't feel like a very long walk before they'd made it to the other end of town, an empty field with a trench on the other side. As soon as they got into view, a farmer ignited the trench and set the dry brush inside it ablaze.

            Here, the mayor and his council were no longer so interested in following her, hanging back while she and her rats headed for the trench. There was a thin bridge across it, always made of something suitably non-flammable, and after she crossed it she'd kick it into the trench and keep playing. The rats always followed.

            Jess was halfway across when she heard the crack, somehow a thousand times louder than the notes she was playing. Her stomach dropped as she felt the bridge give way, the fire blazing under her feet, but all she had to do was take a few more steps and she'd be—

            A huge, shadowy figure loomed in front of her, cutting off her exit. The music faltered for the first time as she stared at it, a patch of darkness with a few faint hints that might have been a bony face. She took a step away from it without realizing she'd done it, back toward the fire and the crumbling bridge some idiot had made out of wood, she hadn't checked because she'd just assumed no one was that stupid, and her last thought was horror that her subconscious had picked such a clichéd image to come to terms with the fact that she was about to d—

            Someone grabbed her, and she fell forward onto the dirt on the opposite side of the trench.

            But no, it wasn't dirt, because as they hit the empty space she'd been about to land on transformed into a teenage boy, the thick glasses he was wearing making his eyes look huge. They stared at each other for a few breathless seconds, both of them clearly clueless about what to do next, then there was the sound of running feet in the distance and what definitely sounded like a curse word coming from the empty space above her head.

            There was a swishing sound, then they were gone.

000

            They reappeared in a grove of trees, and Jess and the boy immediately scrambled away from each other. A third person appeared a moment later, a middle-aged man with a nametag pinned to his shirt and the pained expression of someone who can’t understand the incompetence going on around him. He turned a fierce glare on the teenager. “What did you think you were doing?”

            The boy hurriedly got to his feet, pushing his sandy-colored hair out of his eyes as he shoved his glasses back up his nose. Jess noticed that he, too, was wearing a nametag, though she couldn't quite make out the words on it from here. “She was right there." Frustration flashed in his eyes. “She probably would have just walked off the bridge if you hadn’t been standing where you were.”

Jess winced internally as she saw the older man’s face go red. Even though the kid had been absolutely right, no one in charge liked to be told something was their fault. Unless you were offering a way to make the problem go away, it was always best to lay the blame on a third party somewhere conveniently far away.          "If she hadn't been about to die, she wouldn't have shown up on my monitor!" the older man snapped. "Your only duty, Mr.—" a quick glance at the younger man's nametag "—Abernathy, is to focus on your job. You are there for one reason and one reason only, to reap the souls of the dead so they can properly move onto the afterlife."

            Jess listened, hand still tight on her pipe as she filed the information away for future reference. Apparently, her foster mother had been right – there really were employment opportunities everywhere you looked. Though she wasn't really thrilled with the fact that these guys were apparently sneaking around invisible unless you were about to die....

            "But she didn't have to—"

            "That doesn't matter. Besides, I'm quite certain you weren't there for the girl at all. There is no way the main office would authorize someone as young as you to be a human reaper."

            For the first time, something that might have been guilt flashed across young Mr. Abernathy's face. "The rats."

            "The rats! Who, as you well know, are now scuttling around that field as tiny, confused rodent ghosts because someone didn't...."

            The man kept talking, but Jess was no longer paying attention. She had disappeared in the middle of a job – one she was definitely going to make sure she got paid extra for, given the bit where they'd nearly killed her – and she needed to get back there before they decided she was pulling a con. She'd already have to sweet-talk them into not caring that she'd have to go through a second round to re-gather the rest of the rats, and the longer she took to come back the more work it was going to be. People panicked more easily than the rats did, sometimes.

            Jess hurriedly scrambled to her own feet, breathing a sigh of relief when she caught sight of flames through the trees. That was probably the trench, which meant the older man had simply transported them to the patch of forest near the field so he could have privacy to chew out his subordinate. It would be easy to slip away before the other two even noticed....

            She'd slipped into the nearest patch of shadow when her traitorous ears chose to tune back into the older man's litany of complaints. "...rest assured, Mr. Abernathy, I'll have to file a report with your supervisor. It won't be pretty..."

            Jess stopped moving. He saved your life, you know, her mind whispered.

            She tried to force her feet to move forward, cursing the strange tugging sensation inside her chest that kept trying to make her turn around. I seriously don't have time for this.

            You'd have even less time for it if you were dead. Which you're not, thanks to the poor kid who's about to get in trouble for making sure you're still breathing.

            "...I know you think you were a hero, but behavior like that undermines the sacred responsibility of every reaper..."

            Reluctantly, Jess turned around. The teen's shoulders were still square, clearly not caved by anything the older man said, but there was a resigned look in his eyes that meant he'd given up fighting. Like he wasn't surprised that this was his only reward for being a hero.

            If you were over there, you could sweet talk his way out of this in five minutes or less. You wouldn't even break a sweat.

            He might not even want me to. Before she'd even finished the thought, Jess knew it wasn't true. Jess knew the look of someone who was completely alone in the world all too well.

            "...You'll be lucky if you keep your job, which you won’t if I have any say in the matter...."

            "Wait!"

            Both the older man and the young Mr. Abernathy whipped around at the sudden sound of Jess's voice. Before either of them had the chance to speak, she strode back into the clearing as if given a mission vital to the security of a kingdom. "This young man is being a gentleman, but I'm afraid I can't let this misunderstanding continue on any longer." She used the same tone she did for her sales pitches, the one that rang with certainty no matter what nonsense was coming out of her mouth. "He's not the one at fault here."

            Their brows furrowed at the same moment, the usual first reaction of the average mind when told something that so obviously contradicted established reality. The key was to keep talking.

            Jess put on her best "I'm so sorry for the trouble, officer" expression. "A person's instinct for self-preservation is remarkable when they're near death, as I'm sure you both know better than anyone." She nodded as she spoke, a gesture the older man couldn't help but echo. An agreement, even if he didn't consciously realize it. "I don't know where I found the energy, but in that desperate moment as the bridge was collapsing under me I found myself leaping towards the sure safety of the other side. This young man here just happened to be in the way of that leap, which is why I fell on him. I saved my own life, using him as an accidental assistant. He certainly didn't intend to betray the sacred duty of the reapers, sir."

            There was a moment of perfect silence as she let that particular string of nonsense sink in for a few seconds. The teen looked stunned, staring at Jess as if he couldn't quite believe what she was doing. Either he was appalled at the ridiculousness of the lie, or he was completely unprepared to have someone step in and help him for once.

            Either way, she knew exactly how he felt.

            The older man was having more trouble processing. "But I saw—"

            Interrupting him was a calculated risk. "It was a confusing moment, sir. Everything was a blur, fire and limbs everywhere.” She slid into the calm, sure tone of a teacher explaining something to a student who didn’t yet understand. “But when you're the one near death, your mind is clear as a bell."

            He narrowed his eyes at her, a hint of doubt flickering in his eyes. "Do you know Mr. Abernathy, by any chance?"

            "No, sir," she said immediately, completely honest for the first time since she'd opened her mouth. "I've never seen him before in my life."

            The older man swung his gaze to the teenager, wearing the furrowed brow of a man whose certainties were slipping away from him. "If that's what really happened, why didn't you say something?"

            The teen blinked, clearly not having expected to be included in the conversation, but rallied better than Jess expected. "I was confused," he said quickly. "Like she said, everything was a blur."

            The older man sighed, then scrubbed a hand across his face. "Fine. But I'd better never hear your name connected to anything like this again, you understand me?"

            The teen nodded. "Understood."

            The older man gestured back toward the trench. "And I'd better see every single one of those rats properly reaped, you understand me?"

            Telling herself that he could take it from here, Jess hurried through the trees toward the trench and the waiting civic leaders. "I'm back!" she called out as soon as she cleared the tree line, not waiting until they could see her before grabbing their attention. "I've re-channeled my energies after that unfortunate little brush with death, and I'm ready to wrap things up for a very reasonable additional fee of thirty credit slips to compensate me for the fact that you accidentally tried to kill me."

            The assembled group, who had been busy whispering loudly at one another, immediately snapped to attention at the sound of her voice. “We didn’t try to kill you!” one of them called out, sounding genuinely offended by the thought.

            “You put a wood bridge up over a trench full of fire, when I specifically said something non-flammable.” She flashed a bright, humorless smile when she got close enough that they could see her expression. Every one of them winced or looked away. “Though remember, I did say accident. Mistakes happen to the best of us.”

            The buttoned-up woman took a step forward. “How did you survive it?” she asked, notes of something that might have been fear dancing under the surface of her voice.

            Now, this was the tricky bit. The mostly independent villages and towns that were a piper’s bread and butter tended to spook easily. When they were truly afraid of you, being run out of town with pitchforks and torches was the best-case scenario. At the same time, it didn’t do to let the serious, responsible citizenry think they could push you around or deny you your hard-earned payment for services rendered. 

            Jess waved a hand, as if discussing something of no consequence. “Magic.”

            They all stared at her for a few beats of silence as both the word and the gesture soaked in, their minds undoubtedly already spinning details to fill in the gaps. Rumors were wonderfully useful in her line of work.

            Finally, the mayor sighed. “Fine. I’ll pay your ‘accident’ fee out of pocket as soon as you finish dealing with the rest of the rats.”

            Jess relaxed the small muscles in her face that let the smile seem much more warm and natural. “Excellent. Let’s get started.”

000

            She stayed on the other side of the trench this time, pouring a little more effort into the playing and letting the rats come to her. When no more appeared Jess played a few more minutes, just to be sure, then followed the mayor to his house and collected her additional fee. When he grumbled, she smiled at him again.

            Once that was done, the next step was to find a stable to bunk down in for the rest of the night. She’d already picked one out on her way into town, small but clean and occupied by a couple of older horses that looked too tired to get uppity about a human sharing their space. She should be there right now, in fact.

            Instead, she was back in the empty field, standing close to the still-smoldering trench and looking for a shadowy figure she already knew she wouldn’t see. She'd already guessed that she'd only seen the teenage boy and his supervisor like that at first because she'd been about to die, exactly the kind of neat little trick that would keep the majority of people from figuring out that the Grim Reaper was probably a guy just trying to make his child support payments.

            For that matter, the younger reaper might not even be here. Jess had no idea how long reaping took, which meant he could have very well finished the job before she'd even left the mayor's house. He was probably home in bed right now, hoping that his next assignment kept him far away from troublemaking pipers.

            I don't have time for this, either, she told herself. He's not even here.

            Hey, I'm not the one who dragged you back out into this field. This was all your idea.

            Jess sighed, remembering the surprise on the teen's face when she'd stepped in to help him. "Thank you for saving my life," she called out to what was undoubtedly empty air. "I'm not used to having someone looking out for me like that."

            The only response was silence. Embarrassed, Jess shrugged her pack higher onto her shoulder and began walking back to the stable. She had to have burned through her allotment of guilt for the year, and if she didn't sleep like a baby she was going to have stern words with—

            "Me, either."

            Jess whirled around at the sound of the younger reaper's voice. He was standing only a few feet away from where she'd been, caution in his eyes and hands half lifted as if he didn't know what to do with them.

            When she didn't say anything, he cleared his throat and clarified. "I mean the way you talked Mr. Garrett around. I'm not that good at lying – there's no way I could have sold a story like that."

            For a second, all she could do was stare at him, caught off guard nearly as badly as she'd been with the bridge.

             Seeing her expression, he looked embarrassed. "Listen, I didn't mean ... It was a good lie, really."

            That surprised a laugh out of Jess. "It was a ludicrous lie. The only reason it worked at all is because I'm an excellent liar."

            His expression relaxed, a smile slowly easing its way into existence. "I noticed."

            Shaking herself back into her usual composure, she held out a hand. "I'm Jess. Please tell me there's something I can call you other than Mr. Abernathy."

            His smile widened. "Thomas." He shook her hand. "Thank you for saving my job."

            "Least I could do." She shifted, not sure what was going to happen next. It was an unusual feeling for her. "I'm glad you were still here. Most people would be home in bed by now."

            "I don't really have a bed." He shrugged. "I usually just find a stable somewhere when I'm on shift."

            Jess smiled back at him without even entirely realizing she was doing it. "I know the perfect place."