by Heather Wood
A Pook is Born
The Pook Chronicles: Book One
by
VK Lynne
&
Heather Wood
Copyright © 2019 VK Lynne and Heather Wood. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S> Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the authors, or in the case of brief quotations embed in critical articles or reviews.
Cover art copyright © 2019 VK Lynne and Heather Wood
A Pook is Born is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The authors acknowledge the trademarked status and the trademark owners of various products and places referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission.The publication and use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
ISBN:
Cover art by: Gogo Melone
Acknowledgements:
To our therapists. They’ll never know crazy we really are <3
1.
“Sorry.”
The word broke Rae's concentration. The tremor moved from the front of her brain and down her arms, twisting her full mouth into a frown. However, her hands remained steady.
Rae eyed the grimacing customer in the chair. She could see the baby fat that still clung to his cheeks and chin. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel compassion for his pain- but pain was part of the deal.
“The more you move, the less precise my lines will be, and you’re the one who will have to carry the results around on your skin.”
She hunched over the smooth bicep once more.
Her customer tried to study her without moving his eyes. Her movement was fluid, graceful, and somehow 'off ' from the rhythm of mere Los Angeles mortals. Electric blue hair slid over her shoulder; shocking, gunmetal grey, luminous eyes narrowed as she assessed her work. He held his breath for the rest of the session.
With a terminal flourish, Rae closed the outline. She'd created a masterpiece.
The beast that her earnest client had requested was detailed and terrifying, and she'd managed to work her 'signature'- a tiny blue crescent moon- into the scaling on its tail. The dragon was falling; he had been stabbed in the heart, and lines of purple blood ran up his body as he plummeted. He grasped a glowing blue gem in his right claw, held out as if in worship, as if it would save him from the fall. The effect created a feeling of victory, rather than defeat. It was beautiful.
Rae wasn’t the best damn tattoo artist in town for nothing.
It was a heavy tattoo for such a young soul. She darted her eyes to her customer. He had closed his. He had long ago stopped trying to be cool about the pain. Maybe he was about to throw in the towel, or maybe he had more to him than she originally had thought.
Rising briskly, she announced, “Done for today. More color next session.” Rae was very tall, over six feet. She had to tilt her eyes down to see her customer. She had to tilt her eyes down to see most people.
Relief flooded her canvas’ face; he quickly counted out twenties into her hand, set a time for the next month, and tapped his foot against the tile floor as she bandaged the fresh tattoo. When the last piece of tape was in place, he scurried out the door.
Rae contemplated his retreat.
It was ten o’clock.
She set to work cleaning up her station. What others perceived as deliberate grace felt like simple heaviness to Rae.
She was never a skipper or a jumper.
She felt drawn to the earth, pulled down to her belly like a serpent. Her muscles were long and lean, used to pulling against gravity. As a result, her disposition took on the same aspect. Calm, solid, deliberate. Rae's hand was steady, because she lacked the lightness to be frenetic.
Her place was tiny, clean, and organized. This was her realm. Actors, daredevils, and rock stars flew in from all over the world to get inked at her unassuming little shop, The Astral Onyx. Maybe it was her designs, inscrutable and beautiful, that drew the masses. Perhaps it was Rae herself, as enigmatic as her art. But whatever the reason, she had managed to earn a reputation as one of the best in the world at tattoo art, while maintaining personally a mysterious, and almost complete, anonymity. Rae didn’t want fame. But truth be told...she wasn’t really sure what she DID want.
She eyed the neon “OPEN” sign and knew she needed to shut the thing off before anyone else came in. It was a Wednesday, so luckily only a few drunken 20-somethings were wandering the side street upon which her shop sat.
Her phone vibrated in her back pocket, and she jolted. The ringtone, 'Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters', filled her ears.
The picture of a gorgeous, yet improbable blonde, with deep coffee-colored skin appeared on her caller ID. The blonde had her leg in the air. Her foot was ensconced in a size 11 wedge, all sparkles and jazz hands.
“Crap, I forgot,” Rae mumbled before picking up the call. “Comet. What’s up?” she drawled.
“Seriously?” The exasperated voice on the other end of the line made her sink low in her seat.
“Girl, we planned on drinks at 9:00. I have been here juggling these two fools without my wingwoman for an hour, and frankly, I am dropping balls here, baby. If you want a piece of anything other than my mind tonight, you need to haul your ass to this bar ASAFP.”
It looked like Rae would have to motivate herself to shut off the sign sooner rather than later.
“Mea culpa; mea culpa. My last sesh ran long; I had a wiggler. Order me a Long Island?”
Comet’s tone softened. “Of course, lovey. See you soon, kiss kiss.”
In spite of her heaviness, Rae smiled to herself, even whistled as she tossed the last of the paper towels into the trash bin.
With a victorious feeling, she flicked off the sign.
And met the eye of a tiny woman standing in her doorway.
The woman had almond-shaped eyes and was as pretty as a doll. Hair as black as a starless night was pulled from her face in an intricate ponytail. She carried a large purse in which a homeless chihuahua family could fit comfortably.
The only thing that belied the woman’s doll-like appearance was the heat of her eyes: She was like a tiny, ornate, very sharp knife.
And she looked pissed.
A disquieting purr-growl came from inside the purse.
Was the chihuahua family angry, too?
“I’m sorry, we’re closed for the night.” Rae stated smoothly, not moving from the door. Rae looked even more tall and flowing than usual, standing next to 'Tiny'.
The woman changed her expression like she would a mask.
“Hello, I am Ember. Is your business establishment open at this time?” She asked. Rae couldn’t place the woman’s accent. She sounded like she was reciting a sentence from a language phrasebook. However, her speech pattern was fast and harsh, as if she were trying to get through the pleasantries so she could launch into whatever had really brought her there,
Rae shook her head. “Tomorrow.”
“May I please enter and examine your wares...?” The dark fairy called Ember twisted her face to think, “…for one moment, please?”
Rae shook her head. “Sorry, come back tomorrow. I’ll be happy to help you out.” Rae used the same tone that bartenders and bouncers use when managing a potential problem: Calm, neutral.
In response, Manic-Pixie-Wednesday-Adams darted under Rae's arm and entered the shop, pickin
g up the tattoo machine and studying the thing closely.
“Hey,” Rae protested, hating her own heaviness. It was getting worse; she was tired. She felt like she was moving under water. “Who are you?’
“As I stated earlier: Ember,” the woman threw over her shoulder.
The woman was pulling pictures off of the wall. Old-fashioned Polaroids graced the shop…so many celebrities and happy customers.
Rae lumbered over to stop her.
There was a squeak from Ember's elephantine purse.
“Is there a dog in there, or-”
Ember gasped.
“What is this?!”
The woman ripped a photo off of Rae's wall and spun like dervish (actually around three times) and shoved the photo one inch from Rae's eyeball.
Instead of flinching, Rae narrowed her eyes.
It was a photo of Comet’s substantial bicep. Comet wore a long, pearl-white glove and an abstract loop with starry points graced her arm. Rae knew it was a path of a comet…Comet’s comet, as it were. It came near Earth’s orbit once every 1044 years. In fact, it was going to be close by in a month or two. Rae had plans to take Comet camping to watch for it. However, she suspected Comet would prefer to camp in a place with a spa and an excellent wine list.
Rae wasn’t going to explain any of this to Ember.
So, the artist shrugged.
“Just stars and stuff.”
Ember marched in a full circle and then back to Rae. She raised the photo in the air, like a villager with a pitchfork.
“This is the Dark Comet!”
“Uh, I guess you could technically call her that,” said Rae.
Ember threw the photo aside with such force that the paper corner knifed itself back into Rae's photo cork board.
Rae was momentarily impressed.
But…
“I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. Come back another day when we are open.”
“How do you have knowledge about the Dark Comet?!”
“She’s my friend?” Rae's head was starting to hurt.
“I do not understand. I’m speaking of the markings on that Earther’s arm.”
Then, even relatively speaking, things got weird.
Ember grew taller.
That is, she levitated a foot off of the ground.
Then two feet.
Then three.
A rush of hurricane-speed air swirled around the woman in a pink cloud. Ember's eyes looked wild; she was a possessed doll.
The wind knocked over every item in the place that wasn’t nailed down.
Rae covered her head with her arms.
There was a clatter as Rae's tools flew off of their trays.
Bottles of color smashed against the walls.
Photos fluttered off the cork board like caffeinated butterflies and smashed into the ceiling.
Then, Rae's signed copy of Whiskey or Water shot off the wall and cracked the window.
“Hey!” shouted Rae, “STOP!”
Ember was at the center of a tornado.
Then, the tiny woman opened her hand, “Die, Earther!”
The tiny storm flew at Rae.
One second the ground was properly beneath Rae's feet, pulling her to it as it always did, but the next, Rae was in midair.
She didn’t remember noticing a transition between the two positions.
She heard the sound of her own body crash against the wall behind her. Pain followed as she landed directly on her face.
“Tell me about the dark comet!” Ember screamed.
To her surprise, Rae giggled to herself. “She’s the best drag queen in town.”
Ember looked like she might chew the door frame next to her.
“Communicate with me regarding the comet!” she repeated.
Rae pushed her hands against the floor in an attempt to regain her feet.
She found herself floating again, now enveloped in the same controlled storm that Ember had occupied a moment before.
Although Rae's heart pounded and her face hurt, a small part of her wondered at the lightness she felt.
The Earth didn’t pull her so much anymore.
Then Ember swept both arms to the side and threw Rae against another wall. A shelf of t-shirts and patches fell down, Rae tumbling with the merchandise.
Breathless, Rae rolled over.
“Hmmmm, you’re a rather tough one for an Earther…” said Ember.
The tiny woman planted her sharp heels and threw her hands straight up in the air, causing her spiked bracelets to jangle. “But you still must DIE!”
The swirling storm howled as it raced to Rae.
Rae, dizzy, stumbled to throw herself out of the way, crashing into her tattooing chair.
As her cell phone rang.
It was Comet.
She knew this, because her ringtone burst forth: “While Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters, sons of bankers, sons of lawyers…..”
The storm slowed.
Ember raised her arms again.
The uncanny wind gentled to a breeze.
The room was silent except for Sir Elton’s voice. Ember stood dumbly with her hands outstretched, like an aerobics teacher whose class had suddenly been raptured.
“..turn around and say good morning to the night…”
“Embar lothara tida noda Pookka na…” Words spilt out of Ember’s mouth: smooth, musical, and unlike anything Rae had ever heard before.
Then there was silence.
‘Pookk NA!” Ember shouted.
Rae's phone stopped ringing.
“Na!” shouted Ember.
There was a puff of air that could only be described as reluctant.
Ember recovered fast. She leapt at Rae like an attack cat on cocaine.
Rae raised up her arm to fight back, but Ember was deflected by a gust of air. The woman gasped as she fell backwards. Her ponytail was bent to the wrong side.
“Pooka?” The woman asked.
Rae picked up her now-broken tattoo machine and hurled it at the woman, landing it square in Ember’s shoulder, needle first.
“Holy shit,” breathed Rae, amazed at her own accuracy.
Ember gasped.
Rae had hit a pretty good artery.
Ember shook, pulling out the tattoo machine. Blood sprang from the wound, soaking Ember’s embroidered sleeve, on which Rae saw a familiar tiny symbol of the moon printed in a an intricate pattern.
And did Ember’s blood look dark purple?
Rae watched the blood run down Ember’s arm as the tiny woman breathed slowly. She seemed more like she was trying to control her temper, rather than reaction to the gallons of blood she was losing. Slowly, Ember stood and walked once, twice, three times in a circle. Rae squinted at her in confusion. “Is she calming herself or getting ready to go to sleep on the doormat?”
That’s when Rae's phone jangled again.
Comet must be pissed. Rae was unforgivably late.
Rae imagined her excuse.
“A psycho fairy attacked me,” she would say.
The strains of Elton John filled the air once again.
“Pooka!” Ember screamed.
Another gust of air slammed Ember back.
In frustration, Ember threw the broken tattoo machine at the wall, where it lodged itself next to the photo she had thrown earlier…the high winds had not been enough to move the picture from its new home.
In a rage, Ember screamed out the door.
The instant silence and unbelievable mess left Rae in a state of shock.
The purse that Ember had entered with lay on its side next to the door. Blankly, she picked it
up and, standing in the doorway, surveyed the destruction.
How would she explain this?
More importantly, what am I gonna tell the insurance company?
“Hey, you open?”
One of the drunk 20-somethings wavered in the doorway.
Rae closed her eyes.
◆◆◆
&
nbsp; “Ok, now, Imma ask you one more time: Did you take drugs today?”
Comet pointed a manicured nail at Rae, rhinestoned eyelashes fluttering angrily.
The two gentlemen Comet had snared earlier still sat in the booth. Well-coiffed, but sloppy drunk by this point, they had taken more of an interest in each other. Rae ignored them.
“For reals. Did you take drugs? And I mean any drugs, don’t give me this ‘one bite of brownie’ shit. Because if you think that I’m buying that you were mugged by some kind of Wednesday Addams/Tyrion Lannister hybrid, you are seriously taking drugs.”
“I love Tyrion! That thing about the goat!” One of the hipsters hiccuped. He sobered when he saw her face.
The Duchess was pissed.
Rae had once asked Comet why she wouldn’t want to be referred to as “The Queen,” to which Comet replied, “Oh honey, there is only one Queen, God rest his soul, and I would never take Freddie’s crown. The world already deprived him of too much.”
Rae sighed. She knew that Comet would have her sequined boyshorts in a knot, but after the physical strain Ember had subjected her to? She was in no mood for drama.
“I have explained. I have apologized. I have bought drinks. What more do you want from me?”
Her Highness stiffened. Standing to her full height and regally tossing her blue feather boa over her shoulder, she huffed out of the bar.
“Comet….Come on.”
“Hey,” slurred the other hipster.
“Don’t worry, I got the check already. You have a lovely night,” Rae waved her hand at them like she was a Jedi. They shrugged.
Rae followed Comet as quickly as she could, which meant that Duchess had to walk very slowly to ensure proper dramatic effect. She reached Rae's Vega and spun around.
“You promise that you are not telling me some tale to cover up that you didn’t want to hang out with me?”
Comet’s lower lip quivered. Rae put her arms around her best friend and squeezed.
“Of course not. How can you even think that? I’ll show you the damage in the shop in the morning if you want. Shit, we can go there now, if that’s what it’s gonna take.”
