Contents
Title Page
Copyright
More by Virginia McClain
Dedication
Victoria Marmot and the Meddling Goddess
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Victoria Marmot and the Inconvenient Prophecy
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Victoria Marmot and the Shadow of Death
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Epilogue
Victoria Marmot and the Dragon's Rage
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Victoria Marmot and the Road to Hell
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Epilogue
More by Virginia McClain
Acknowledgements
About the Author
VICTORIA MARMOT
THE COMPLETE COLLECTION
Virginia McClain
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Natasha Snow
Copyright © 2020 Virginia McClain
All rights reserved.
Works by Virginia McClain
The Victoria Marmot series:
Victoria Marmot and the Meddling Goddess
Victoria Marmot and the Inconvenient Prophecy
Victoria Marmot and the Shadow of Death
Victoria Marmot and the Dragon’s Rage
Victoria Marmot and the Road to Hell
The Chronicles of Gensokai series:
Blade’s Edge
Traitor’s Hope
Short Stories
Rain on a Summer’s Afternoon
To Tom, for being a best friend and brother.
To Aurora, for being a best friend and a superhero disguised as an editor.
VICTORIA MARMOT
and the
MEDDLING GODDESS
Virginia McClain
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, governments, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Natasha Snow
Copyright © 2018 Virginia McClain
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1-9994612-0-1
> To Lee, for all the hours spent with the sapling.
VICTORIA MARMOT WAS unrolling her sleeping bag in a quiet mountain glade, the clearing surrounded by tall pines and a single oak with branches that gave it a shape rather like a hooded person carrying a scythe.
“Hello?”
She paused, as though unsure of where to find the best view of the star-filled night sky.
“Who is saying that?”
Her chestnut hair barely reflected the starlight, her mint-green eyes flashing with confusion as her caramel skin darkened to the color of milk chocolate with increasing ire.
“Who the fuck is hiding in the woods describing me like a damned dessert?”
She stared furiously into the woods, unable to ascertain the origin of the mysterious voice even as she reached for the knife on her belt.
“I will put a damned blade through the origin of the voice if it doesn’t show itself RIGHT. FUCKING. NOW.”
“Well, that seems uncalled for.”
“Who said that?”
“I did,” and, with a dramatic flourish few possess, a beautiful, milk-skinned redhead appeared in the forest before the young adventurer.
“Okay, crazy, naked nut job. Please stop narrating every damn thing that happens and go away.”
“I can’t. That’s my job. I’m your narrator.” With another flourish the graceful redhead produced a fabulous set of deerskin leathers and a flowing blouse to highlight her gorgeous figure.
“I don’t need a narrator. Thank you for putting clothes on. And what the actual fuck is going on right now? Are you a hologram or something?”
“So tetchy! You do need a narrator. You’re on an adventure.”
“I’m on my weekly backpacking trip. I do this specifically to avoid people, especially people who refer to themselves in the third person, so please go back to whatever asylum you escaped from and leave me alone. I was about to enjoy some star gazing before falling into a blissfully exhausted sleep.”
“You come out here every week to find a sense of normalcy after losing your parents in a freak boating accident six months ago, and don’t pretend that you’re ever exhausted enough to sleep properly since you lost your family.”
Victoria’s jaw hung open as she stared at the glorious redhead who seemed poised to turn all her carefully constructed escapism on its head.
“I know what my jaw is doing, you don’t have to say it out loud! There’s no one else to hear you. And how in seven hells do you know anything about me or my parents?”
“I told you, I’m your narrator. I’m supposed to be omniscient. I know everything about you, even things that you don’t know about yourself.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would I have a narrator? I’m not a character in a book. I’m a teenager trying to enjoy a nice little solo backpacking trip for the weekend. I do not need a psychotic hologram following me through the woods and analyzing me. I need to go to sleep. Preferably after catching the start of the meteor shower tonight.”
“You do need a narrator because you are embarking on a great adventure.”
“I’m backpacking on the side of freaking Mt. Humphreys. That is not a great adventure. It’s a day hike that I’m drawing out as long as possible because I didn’t have enough time to drive very far this weekend. Why on earth would this trip warrant a narrator, and seriously, even if you can answer that question, why the fuck would I believe that you are my narrator and not just some crazy woman who likes to wander the woods and freak out nature enthusiasts by popping up naked in front of them?”
Gwen carefully shaped her mouth into an attractive pout.
“I can see you doing it, I do NOT need you to tell me about it.”
“I’m not saying it for you! I’m saying it for them.”
“Who is THEM? There is no one else here, and if anyone were here, they would be able to see you too, so you don’t need to narrate it. Unless you’ve brought a bunch of blind people here? Are there blind people hiding in this forest now too?”
Victoria threw a concerned glance at the woods that surrounded the small clearing where she’d unrolled her Therm-a-Rest and sleeping bag.
“Dude, seriously. Are you going to keep doing that? It is creeping me the fuck out!”
“Someone has to narrate this story. I can’t just leave it unsaid, or they’ll have no idea what’s happening.”
“They who— no, wait, you know what? Never mind. Fuck it. We’re not getting anywhere that way. You said someone has to narrate this story. Does that someone have to be you?”
“I suppose not.”
“Could that someone be me?”
“I suppose…. I hate first person narration. It seems like something only an angsty teen would do.”
“Ok. Ms. Literati. Sorry to burst your critical bubble, but first person point of view is a perfectly valid form of narrative style, so you and your angsty teen comments can suck it.”
“I’m only saying—”
“What were you going to do for the parts in my head?”
“What?”
“When it got to the parts where I think something important to the story, how were you going to narrate that?”
“Italics, I suppose. Why?”
“Just wondering if I could do the narration job with just my thoughts. You know, without saying everything I’m doing aloud, to avoid acting like an insane person.”
“You keep throwing around those insane accusations. I’ll have you know that’s very offensive to sufferers of mental illness, who are often very productive members of society.”
“Fine. You’re right. I’m sorry. I know lots of people with mental health issues who are great, and decidedly not insane, but I don’t know how else to describe someone who can’t let go of an alternate reality that differs substantially from observable fact.”
“I would call that a person stuck in a dimensional pocket, but that’s neither here nor there.”
“What? That’s—never mind. Look, can I narrate in my head, or not?”
“Yes. I suppose that would work just fine.”
“Fine. Then make me the narrator.”
Gwen looked uncomfortable for a moment, as though that were a decision she didn’t wish to make—
“Would you PLEASE stop—”
And then she did. Thank fuck. I no longer had to hear the delusional woman in front of me describe each of her own actions in detail.
“Thank you,” I said. I wasn't sure if I was the one "narrating" now, but I didn't really care. I had just wanted her to cut that the fuck out. It was incredibly eerie to have someone describe your every move aloud, and it had been making it difficult to think.
“Ok…. So, can you go away now?” I asked, still unsure of whether or not I would even stay behind once this character left. I didn’t know what a person with delusions like this was likely to do, and I didn’t really feel like getting stabbed to death in my sleep. Despite what I’d acknowledged about lovely people with serious mental health problems—all true—I didn’t know this woman at all, and a tiny percentage of people with mental health issues were truly unhinged and dangerous. The unhinged and dangerous ones likely just needed a better therapist and the right meds, but that wasn’t going to make me any less dead if Gwen were one of them and found herself unable to resist the voices telling her to take my head as a trophy.
“Well, I’m afraid I haven’t quite taken care of my role this evening,” Gwen said, startling me out of my dark imaginings of her waving my bloody severed head in the wind. “I was your narrator, but I er… have another purpose too. Tonight, mainly, it’s to get you started on your quest.”
“My quest?”
“Yes, your quest.” And with that statement, the leathers she was wearing somehow became a flowing gown that definitely brought forth Lady of the Lake style imagery, all flowing blue silks and shit. “The DM was supposed to show up for this, but he ran into a scheduling conflict, and since I was going to be here anyway, I offered to h
elp out.”
“The DM? Are you kidding me? Is this whole thing just an elaborate role playing game? I mean, honestly, that explains just about everything, including the sudden costume changes, but seriously, you need to let people know when they’re going to be part of a LARPing event. Just showing up naked and calling yourself a narra—”
“No, no, The DM is just the name he goes by now, he’s one of the original Fates, actually. Just likes to keep up with the times. Anyway, he can’t make it tonight, so I suppose it doesn’t really matter.”
“The Fates? Seriously? You expect me to believe—” Gwen raised her voice and kept on going, as though I’d never interjected.
“And I’m SUPPOSED to tell you....”
She cleared her throat.
“Yes?”
“Are you finally listening?”
“Will it make you go away?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m listening.”
“Your quest, Victoria Adelaide Marmot, is to find out what really happened to your parents.”
And then, I shit you not, she literally disappeared. Yes. Literally. Not figuratively, and not as some asshats misuse literally to mean “very.” She straight up evaporated into nothing. Where once she had stood was now empty space, and there was no trace of her in any direction. She hadn’t even snapped her fingers.
So, thoroughly shitting my pants (figuratively of course), I packed up my overnight pack and booked it the hell back to my car. I was freaked out enough by her disappearing act to run away, but the thing that spooked me most was how much she had known about my weekend adventures and the real reason behind them.
She had been right on the money. I ran into the wilderness every weekend because it was the only place I could find a semblance of peace in a world that had snatched my parents away from me, over a year before I would graduate high school. And now, some lady who liked to stalk people in the woods and describe them like tasty snacks had shown up, known about my parents’ deaths, and implied that they hadn't died the way I thought they did.
And that was more than I could fucking take, tonight.
CRAWLING INTO MY own bed, in the large, empty house my parents had willed to me, didn't made me feel any better. Part of me wished I hadn’t allowed Gwen to scare me away from my campsite. Watching the meteor shower from the side of the mountain would have been spectacular, and probably worth the risk of getting stabbed to death by a delusional woman delivering quests, but I had been too agitated to think it through at the time. Returning to my newly acquired home had seemed the more reasonable option, even if it was depressingly devoid of other people. Pulling up to the darkened doorstep of my blue clapboard-covered home, in its quaint, gently-wooded Flagstaff neighborhood, hadn’t made me feel any more secure than I had felt alone in the woods, and walking into the house was just one more reminder that I was alone in the world. Well, I suppose I had my great-uncle Algernon, but… that wasn’t much comfort when he wasn’t actually in town.
Victoria Marmot- The Complete Series Page 1
