by Lucian Bane
“What sort of dangers are we talking about?” she whispered.
“Halflings are my biggest concern as well as first and second class Miskriats.”
“Aren’t you a Miskriat?”
“I am technically a First Class Miskriat.”
“Is that… what does that mean again?”
“It means my Scribbler wrote me but didn’t publish me. Second class are stories that remain in the minds of Scribblers. Stories they are planning to write but haven’t yet.”
“So is this a good thing? For us?”
Poe seemed to consider that with their current circumstances. “It’s good that I am not entered into Octava’s systems, it makes keeping track of me a manual duty. It’s also good that I have an indefinite extension on life until I am published. But it also means there is a rogue element to these types of characters. Most aren’t intelligent enough to know their potential or lack. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t some like myself who don’t learn. And being a Horror Miskriat sort of defines the flavor of person they might be, if you understand me.”
“I do indeed.” Charlotte thought about the indefinite life-span and gave a silent breath of relief. She was sure he’d told her that before but it hadn’t really registered how very important that was now. “I shall keep you a First Class Miskriat for as long as I can.”
“I may have once argued that point, but now…”
Charlotte sensed the sudden romantic notion and waited patiently for him to work through it and voice it.
He finally said, “Now, other things are more important.”
She felt a tinge of disappointment at his evasion. “Yes. Other things. Octava is in peril.”
“Yes, and that.”
And that. “That is certainly most important.”
“It should be, yes.”
She eyed his broad back, smiling. “Just say it for God’s sake.”
He stopped and turned. “Say what?”
She stared at the dense wonder in his face. “I should be offended that you have a hard time confessing the truth, but I’m not. I’m too happy for the truth of it.”
“What truth?” A curios smile tugged at his handsome mouth.
“That you wish to live indefinitely because of me! Me, me, me.”
He let out a laugh and resumed walking, lacing his fingers tighter in hers. “That too.”
“That too! There is nothing else! Unless you mean Rukie.”
He turned abruptly, making her nearly run into him. “Rukie!”
She glared up at his tall frame. “I am not impressed with your perplexed brows,” she zig-zagged her finger at them. “And yes, she is madly in love with you.”
“Divinities!” he muttered with a toss of his head, “Not you, too.”
“Me too? So there are others who are gifted with seeing what is plain in sight?”
“She is not madly in love with me. She is…” He seemed to be rethinking that now. “Confused.”
“You’re the confused one. And stupid.”
He grinned full out at her, making her angry. “Stupid?”
“For her being in love with you.”
“How does this make me stupid?”
“It’s your fault!”
“For being like you made me?”
“Don’t’ pin this on me, Mr. Irresistible.”
“You are making things very hard Mrs. Poe.”
She froze and he turned to her. “Now what did I say?”
“You called me Mrs. Poe!” A sudden surge of giddy joy shot through her and she leapt onto his back with a happy squeal. “You married me!”
“You didn’t know this?” He peered at her over his shoulder, smiling broadly now.
“I didn’t! When did we have a wedding?”
“In the hotel room!” he said incredulous. “How could you forget?!”
“Ohhhhh,” she laughed, “I certainly did not forget that. Never could I ever forget that.”
“Nor I, Mrs. Poe,” he said, seeming content to carry her and not let her down. “Nor I.”
Charlotte was happy—no thrilled—to be carried. She was ecstatic to be so close to him. Her fingers remained in constant exploration of his neck and texture of his hair. “I can walk, I don’t want you to get too tired,” she finally said after a bit.
“I don’t think I can tire of holding you. You’re quite light. And the hypnotic dancing of your fingers give an energy I would walk forever to suffer.”
She laughed. “Suffer? Is it hurting?”
“It is, in a most delectably odd way.” He slowed his steps and stopped. “The city is there.” He nodded ahead. “I should remind you that the Independent Provinces are a… mess.”
“A mess?”
“As in it’s filled with many half-baked, half-solicited, half-written ideas.”
“Unfinished stories?”
“And characters.”
“Oh dear,” Charlotte whispered, wondering over that.
“It’s an oddity I have never been able to digest.”
She traced his perfectly formed ears, glad she’d taken such care on his person. “How so?”
“You shall see soon enough.”
Poe stopped at the edge of the tree line. “I’m sorry that I can’t continue carrying you.”
The regret in his tone made her happy as she slid down his body and came to stand next to him. “Should we hold hands?”
He seemed to consider that. “Perhaps not. Let’s… observe for a bit before we decide in what manner we should proceed.”
“Agreed.”
Chapter Seven
It didn’t take long for them to find themselves in a throng of people. Charlotte grabbed Poe’s hand and he laced his fingers tightly as though glad she had.
“Try not to stare,” he said.
Well that was a very tall order! He wasn’t exaggerating when he’d said half made characters. Dear God, they were literally half made! Many were without various body parts, most without clothes! A lot had no hair and white eyes. She was horrified to see the very things she loathed writing about characters—hair color, type, eye color, body build, and last but not least, the dreaded clothing—all missing! She despised all the details and usually left them off until absolutely necessary.
“We’re being followed,” Charlotte whispered.
“I’ve noticed.”
“Who is it?” She wanted to look and see. Her biggest dread was it being a character from one of her nasty stories! “There’s quite a few, I think.”
“I’ve counted twenty,” Poe muttered, his tone an ominous threat.
“What are we going to do?”
Poe suddenly picked up his pace until they were practically running in a zig zag through the crowd. They went from being followed to being chased, and Poe suddenly yanked her into a door on the right. He walked briskly through a dark corridor that Charlotte quickly realized was a kind of night-club. As they passed various doors, the sounds coming from them made her panic. Please say they hadn’t entered some kind of kink club! In the Horror province!
They soon entered a large room where bodies were tightly pressed together and dancing. In the middle of the day? Is that all there was to do?
She gawked at the close up crowd who all seemed oblivious to anything but the trance they were locked in. Charlotte would never neglect her character development again after seeing all of this.
Pain bit the back of Charlotte’s head as somebody or something grabbed a handful of hair and yanked her! Losing her balance, she fell back and screamed as she was dragged through the crowd.
“Contessant!”
Charlotte clawed at the meaty fist that held her tight, kicking her legs and trying to turn and get her footing while Poe raced to catch up.
Whoever dragged her knew where he was going and was quick about getting there. She was suddenly thrown into a wall and her breath exploded out of her while inky spots swam in her vision. She struggled to regain focus even as Poe entered the s
mall room like a human torpedo, plowing into the hulking man standing before her.
****
Poe dug with fury into the giant’s energy, quickly discovering his strengths and weaknesses. All brute. And mute? He ran into a wall of code that startled him. “He’s your creation, Scribbler!”
The man slammed Poe into the wall, blasting the air from him before promptly attempting to strangle the life out of him.
“Oh God,” she gasped. “Uh, uh, yes. Oh, my God, Who?”
Poe lined his own neck with dense power cords, calculating three minutes of air to disable the brute. He needed to distract him and did the first thing that came to his mind. He raced through the codes in the man’s tongue and chased down the coordinating attachments in his brain then did a quick rewire.
“Dylan Jones!” Scribbler stuttered out. “Stop at once!”
The man dropped Poe and spun to her, trading his neck for hers. “You killed my wife!” he yelled at her in a rage. “Had her brutally murdered!”
She clawed at his arm, eyes wide. Her fear and panic shot power into Poe. He grabbed the man and threw him into the wall behind him, holding him to the floor by his neck, iron fingers closing in for the kill.
“Do it!” the man grit up at him.
“Don’t kill him!” Contessant cried. “Don’t kill him!”
Tell that to the hungry power raging through him. Poe stood the beast, now weightless under this strange super-strength, onto his feet. His breaths came in feral growls and his muscles screamed kill, all while his mind raced to understand how or why he would have this power. Was it her fear? And that he was her creation as was he? Did the trio form something unique?
Contessant coughed, and held a shaking hand toward the man. “I can….fix it.” She nodded at him, cautious eyes on the heaving monster. “I can rewrite it,” she whispered. “I can bring her back.” She shook her head at the man who still heaved, silently staring at her. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. Poe, let him go.”
He released him with a shove and the man stumbled back, eyeing Poe then Contessant. “How did you do that?” He looked at Poe now. “How did you do that with my tongue?”
“It’s a trick.” The previous fury still echoed in Poe’s tone and he was still wanting to rip said tongue out. He didn’t understand the power or the anger infused with it. He didn’t recognize it.
“What do you mean?” The man looked at Contessant now. “What do you mean you didn’t know?”
Contessant eyed Poe and he shook his head barely.
“I-I meant. I meant I didn’t….”
“She made a mistake,” Poe seethed. “She is a human, after all. Remember?”
He eyed Poe for several seconds and then Contessant. “You said….”
“I can bring her back.” Contessant nodded, wiping tears from her face. “I’m very sorry, I…” She looked at Poe and he glared at her, silently conveying she tell him zero. “I’m very sorry,” she finished nodding.
“She’ll fix it under one condition,” Poe said.
He looked at Poe, his breaths labored. “Name it. Anything.”
The sincerity and ferocity of those words said the man loved this woman much like Poe loved Contessant. But that didn’t seem to lessen this power’s fury toward him. “You will not breathe a word about the Scribbler. And you will find Mr. Mingles and get him to put a temporary block on the minds of all Independent inhabitants for exactly one day.”
Poe thought about what he’d just said, startled over who on Octava was Mr. Mingles and what the divinities, or how the divinities could they block all the minds of the independent inhabitants for a whole day?
The man stared for a few moments then looked at Contessant. He leveled his gaze at Poe finally. “Consider it done. When will I see Jessica?”
“I will rewrite it this day.” She looked at Poe, uncertain.
“She will write it after we see the Queen about important business. Two days from now at the latest.”
The man looked between the both of them as though not trusting, but yet having no leverage to challenge it.
“You have my word Miskriat,” Poe said, or seethed.
Said Miskriat regarded him for a few more seconds then nodded. A good thing for him.
“I’ll have it done within the hour. Lay low until then.”
He walked out and Contessant sagged against the wall. They were in one of the little rooms in the place the scary establishment. And judging by the equipment, it wasn’t a place you’d want to find yourself on the wrong side of fiction.
Poe felt it then. The presence of another approaching the door. It opened and he braced, yet didn’t feel a single threat.
A man walked in, nearly the exact height and build of Poe. But aside from that, they were opposites. Light blonde hair to his shoulders, near perfect skin, and sky blue eyes. Eyes that glittered with mischief as he clapped slowly before patting Poe on the shoulder. Immediately the power inside Poe left in a rush. “Well played, Rider. Well played.”
“Oh my God,” Contessant whispered. “Is… Are you… Oh my God, Sabre?”
“Pleasure to meet you, Scribbler.” Poe regarded his white attire. The long white fitted coat reached the floor and Poe spied matching soft riding boots. He took Contessant’s hand and lifted it.
Poe realized three infuriating things all at once. The man had loaned him his power, or borrowed his body, and now, was about to put his mouth on Contessant. In a flash, Poe snatched his wrist. “Do not,” he warned, lightly, ready to teach him a few manners about personal space and rights. And boundaries with his wife.
His head still in the process of lowering, the man paused. He slowly angled his face to Poe, aiming a sharp blue gaze and snide grin at him. He finally straightened and lowered her hand. “This is the thanks I get for helping you? I see he’s not grown a whole lot,” he said, looking at Contessant now.
Just who was this character?
“Sabre,” he said, looking at Poe with that stupid grin, showing off his rude mind reading talents.
He recalled the near awe in Contessant’s tone when she’d whispered his name. This made the power inside Poe spike and churn with an odd, new temperament, one he didn’t like. But didn’t altogether hate, either.
“He’s… he’s the hero from the very first story I wrote!” she said with breathless joy.
“And never published, thankfully,” Sabre said, winking at her.
She gasped some more and the smile on her face didn’t make Poe very happy. “What story?” Poe couldn’t stop from asking.
Sabre answered with that same irksome grin. “Blade Of Destiny. I’m the hero,” he reiterated.
“Is this story finished?” Poe looked at Contessant.
“I… very close.”
“Very close,” Sabre echoed sincerely, holding two fingers apart for measure.
“Wow,” Contessant finally managed. One more gasp and Poe was sure she’d pass out. “I just can’t believe I’m… I’m seeing you. Sorry I didn’t finish the story. I have many unfinished ones I’m afraid.”
“I wouldn’t call them unfinished,” Sabre said. “More like… brilliance on hold.”
Poe couldn’t keep the distaste from his expression at the broad and open emotional stroking he was slathering on. And God, if Contessant’s smile got any brighter, Poe would go blind.
“What is he?” he asked Contessant, unable to soften the words. “I should like to know so that I can write a code especially to keep him from ever rudely doing what he did.”
“What did he do?”
“I loaned him my power,” Sabre said, or mumbled.
“I can answer, thank you.” Poe looked at Contessant. “He barged into my body without permission.”
“And loaned him my power.”
“I didn’t ask, nor did I need, your power,” Poe said.
“Well you were taking a little long rewiring the beast, and I didn’t like the way he hurt Sarah.”
“Who?”
&
nbsp; “Sarah,” he repeated, gesturing to Contessant’s now lowered head.
“Sarah Marks,” she said quietly. “My very first pen name.”
Poe fought so many things at once, all of them bad. For one, that this idiot was her first anything was beyond… something, and two, yet another pen name he did not know? And this lout did? “I see,” he said when realizing it was time to say something. “A woman’s name. I take it his story is not a horror?”
She shook her head. “A fantasy…”
“Fantasy Romance,” Sabre added, winking at Poe.
Chapter Eight
Poe regarded Contessant sharply, unable to hide his shock.
“I was only fourteen when I wrote it,” she cried in weak defense.
Poe nodded, crossing his arms over his chest while eyeing Sabre. “Completely understandable why you might forget.”
“The dark time took a great deal from her,” Sabre said. At Poe and Contessant’s shock, he held up both hands in defense, his eyes closed. “She gave me gifts. Much like yours, only… I could communicate with her. Like you communicate with other scribblers.
Poe regarded Contessant who of course gasped yet again. He flopped his hands, disgusted.
“I kept in touch with her, only she didn’t realize this.” He winced a little with one eye squinted. “I may even be part of the reason she didn’t finish my story. Aaaaand the reason why she may have written yours.” He said the words lightly while studying his nails with raised brows.
Gloating sack of fictional cellular miss-firings.
“Wow,” Contessant whispered. “I made you that powerful?”
“You did.”
“And clearly good,” she added, so very elated about that.
“Well, I do have a bit of a temper, but for the most part, I’m branded hard and fast with the hero strain, my lady.” He bowed before her.
“I gave you super-strength with your anger,” she said, sounding overjoyed before explaining to Poe. “I was very religious at this time. All my characters had angelic qualities.”
“Anger and strength,” Poe mused, failing to connect the angelic dots with that.
“Righteous anger!” she corrected with a loud laugh. And gasps.
