Once Upon A Broken Dream: A Creativia Anthology

by Richard M. Ankers

  “It was his wife.”

  “Deceased wife,” Headlock corrected.

  “There are varying degrees of death, Mortimer. For two lovers who refused to part even when the afterlife strove to tear them asunder, there would be no fairytale, no happily ever after, but, perhaps, something else. I think that's all one could ever ask for.”

  “And I presume that train will take him to her, wherever she's gone, and away from Her Majesty.”

  “A woman scorned, Mortimer. Robert Swift through clockwork gears and the unknown has given his once dead wife what Her Majesty desires above all else, immortality. We could never have allowed her to acquire it.”

  “We will never see him again, then?”

  “I doubt it. He only needed the push. Correction, they only needed the push.”

  “So tell me, my dear, what did you say to him out there in the rain?”

  “I asked if he still loved her.”

  “His reply?”

  “Almost as much as she loved him. She could not stay away, my friend, although I suspect you already knew this.”

  Headlock smiled.

  “As I have said, dearest Grace, there are things only a woman can make right.”

  It was Grace's turn to smile. “Are you going to tell Her Majesty?” she asked.

  “I doubt there'll be any need.”

  Mortimer Headlock cast his eyes to the lightening sky, a new dawn just beginning, and the Pegasus Carriages, their spotlights streaming, already illuminating London's streets and rooftops.”

  Headlock sniffed.

  “Is she so mad?” said Grace.

  “More so?” replied Headlock offering her his arm.

  The End.

  About the Author: Richard M Ankers

  Richard M. Ankers is the author of The Eternals Series published by Creativia. A former Authonomy gold medalist, Richard has appeared in such notable publications as DailyScienceFiction, Devolution Z, Phantaxis and counts himself privileged to have appeared in many others. Richard writes daily for his own self-titled website and loves nothing more than running with a view, whilst dreaming up new storylines for his readers.

  Books by Richard Ankers:

  The Eternals (Book One in The Eternals Series)

  Hunter Hunted (Book Two in The Eternals Series)

  Into Eternity (Book Three in The Eternals Series)

  Links:

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/richardmankers/

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/Richard_Ankers

  Website: https://richardankers.com/

  Suzanne Goes to Market

  By Susan-Alia Terry

  Suzanne stepped out of the portal, wobbled to a nearby bench and sat down. A brightly colored, child's beach bucket was shoved into her lap.

  “You gonna hurl, you hurl into that.” Bobby Sunshine said before crossing his arms and staring at her as if daring her to follow-through. Suzanne's impulse was to roll her eyes and flip him the bird, but she was still too queasy, all she could do was close her eyes, grab the bucket and breathe.

  “I'm fine, I'm not gonna hurl.” She told him. Teleporting was totally cool, but it made her want to puke. The key, she learned, was to pretend like it didn't, but until she could pull that off, she'd have to put up with the teasing — and the bucket.

  “Yeah, well you don't look it. My shift's almost over, and I swear to god if I have to stay late to clean up your puke… You may be our Lord's consort, but your puke is as nasty as everyone else's.”

  One opened eye showed him grinning at her. She closed that eye and flipped him the bird. His cackling laugh made her smile. Suzanne liked Bobby, he reminded her of Big Tom from her neighborhood. Like Big Tom, Bobby was a tall, lanky, aging rocker type that treated her like a princess, (although now she pretty much was one). Every time she saw him, she wanted to ask about his name, but that really wouldn't fly. Clan names were personal, they had meaning, and like being in a gang, if you weren't down, you didn't get to know. She might have been a member of the Clan, but she certainly wasn't down. If she was, she might have gotten a new name of her own.

  Suzanne opened her eyes and shoved the bucket back at him. “I said I was fine.”

  “Uh huh, whatever,” Bobby said, taking the bucket and still looking unconvinced. His bearded face scrunched in a frown. “What're you doing here alone? Does he know you're here?”

  “Who do you think sent me?” She regretted the bite in her voice the minute the words were out of her mouth. It wasn't Bobby's fault. “I'm sorry, I just hate this fucking place.”

  Bobby folded his long body onto the bench beside her and stared out of the small alcove into Clan Air's section of The City. When he spoke, he pitched his voice low to minimize the echo. “Listen, the transition is hard, I know. But it'll get easier.”

  She scoffed, couldn't help herself. When was it supposed to get easy? She'd already been a vampire for about as long as she'd been human — sixteen, going on seventeen years — and nothing was easy! When exactly was she supposed to start to feel like she belonged?

  “You're thinking like a human, it's still your instinct, but it's just the remnants of your humanity getting in the way — as my Master liked to say. It'll go away. I can't tell you when because it's different for all of us, but I just know that it will. Hang in there, it'll all start to make sense.”

  Suzanne was afraid to look him in the eye. If she did, the “remnants of her humanity” would take over and she'd pour out all the fear and uncertainty she carried around without an outlet. “Why do you care?” She asked instead.

  Bobby shrugged. “I like you. You got me all protective.”

  She sighed but said nothing. He sat with her until hurling was completely off the table, and then she got up and walked though the alcove and into The City.

  * * *

  Suzanne hated being in The City, and would happily never set foot in it ever again for the rest of her life. Waking up and finding out vampires were real because she'd become one, was freaky enough. But then finding out that there were walking, talking creatures she'd never heard of living in a hot, filthy, underground cavern — that was a whole other world of Fuck, No. But Lord Lugan, her Master and husband — husband was the same as consort, right? — had sent her down here to buy a slave. Of course, he could send literally anyone but he chose her. What did she know about buying slaves? Not a damn thing. It would serve him right if she brought back a bad one, but Suzanne couldn't do that. She would try to make a good choice because she needed to make him happy, even though her very existence made him want to pick on her — or worse.

  The slave market was in the middle of The City — this wasn't going to be a quick in-and-out, like a stop at the corner store. Suzanne bit the inside of her cheek and inched forward, joining the crowd, and trying not to let any of these things accidentally touch her. The place was a damn horror show. Fucking man-sized insects, and fuzzy things with oh fuck that's a tentacle — she ducked down an alley with a repressed scream. Walking the streets of New York she felt like such a bad ass, but down here she was just a punk wishing for a bucket of bleach and a can of Raid.

  A loud cheer came from somewhere nearby. Curiosity about whatever could be that exciting overruled her disgust and she set out again. Scooting through the crowd, when she got close enough to the source of the commotion she managed to duck through an opening to find herself near the front of a large circled off area.

  “Place yer bets! Place yer bets! Big Poppa is back! You thought he was down, but he's not out! He's two and two! Can he make that three? Place yer bets!” A half-man half-animal wearing a skirt was shouting and indicating something that could be human, except that it was a dark red color, extremely muscular and at least eight or nine feet tall. It walked around in circles, posing while the crowd cheered. “Or will this challenging MoFo rip Big Poppa a new one? Can you dig it? Place yer bets!” The challenger was a little shorter and not as muscular, with a huge pointed head and a mouth full of jagged teeth. When the
crowd booed, it opened its mouth wider and let out a growl.

  “Place yer bets!” The animal-man continued to shout, walking around the crowd and shaking a large pouch. He was pretty damn hot from the waist up — ripped, with a perfect six-pack. Suzanne both wanted and didn't want to know what he looked like under that skirt, but those furry legs and hoofed feet probably meant that it wasn't pretty. Her pocket buzzed and she started and yelped in surprise. A group of feathered somethings stared at her with beady black eyes as she fumbled in her pocket, embarrassed. Once her fingers closed around the disk she remembered that there was no switch on the thing, and chuckled, trying to play it off. Other-kin (which now included her), liked to use magic for all sorts of things. The smooth stone disk, about the size of a quarter and maybe twice as thick, was a magical watch — it vibrated every 30 minutes. It wasn't like watches didn't work in The City; Lugan was just being a dick when he gave it to her. He'd given her two hours to get to The City, buy the slave, and get back. A half-hour just passed. She didn't have time to watch some weird wrestling match — or whatever the fuck this was — which was disappointing because she had no idea that shit like this went on down here, and now really wanted to stay and watch. But she had to get moving.

  * * *

  As she approached a nearby doorway, the scent of cooking meat hung heavily in the air and made her mouth water. After she was made, Suzanne had found out that real vampires weren't undead but were mortal just like everything else. They could eat human food — in fact, it helped them to blend in and appear human — but they couldn't live off of it. She knew her body was reacting because she was hungry, not because she wanted to eat the meat. She was just always hungry, and it didn't matter how many times she told Lugan, he refused to listen. He was over seven hundred years old, and could go weeks without feeding. To him, she was just being greedy: “You are young, and the blood intoxicates. It is not nourishment you crave, but the power of the blood.” Which sounded like so much bullshit to her. Vampire or human, hungry was hungry — it meant she needed to eat.

  The restaurant was just a hole in the wall — literally. Creeping closer, she peeked in. All these places served blood — on tap, no less. Suzanne could feed until she was finally full, and Lugan would never know. She pulled the pouch of “money” he had given her out of her purse and rifled through it. How much would it cost? How much would a slave cost? She had no idea on both counts. There could be enough here for one or both with possibly some left over. The smell, combined with her hunger and potential disobedience, made her antsy — could she take the chance? Her feet decided she would.

  Her defiance had wilted by the time she sat down at the rough table.

  A grey, stumpy, elephant-looking thing shuffled over and sniffed at her. “Blood.” It grunted. The sores on its face, made Suzanne gag, and almost change her mind. Almost.

  She nodded her head and tried to be nonchalant. It's gonna ask for money. It's gonna ask for money. Please let me have enough. The waiter sniffed at her again before walking away and disappearing into a back room she hadn't noticed before. It returned a short time later carrying a large metal goblet. “Two.” It grunted again after placing the goblet on the table. She had to gulp to keep from drooling.

  Two what? Suzanne opened her pouch and dumped some of the contents on the counter. Fuck it.

  The elephant-thing looked at her and then picked out two small crystals — diamonds? — and sniffed at her again before walking away. Funny thing, back in Brooklyn she would never let anyone know how much money she had on her. But this wasn't Brooklyn and her money pouch was filled with glass, clay, and metal beads, pins (both safety and decorative), gem stones (cut and uncut), pebbles, and polished coins from the surface. How the hell was she supposed to know what it wanted?

  Once the pouch was secured back in her purse, Suzanne picked up the goblet. It was warm. The blood was fresh, and she barely tasted it before it was all gone. She had to force herself to stop licking the inside and straining her tongue to reach the remains at the bottom. Having another was an easy decision — one more and then she'd be on her way.

  She had three more. Suzanne was full by the third, but she had a fourth for insurance. The “price” had varied wildly each time: For the second glass, it wanted five coins and a safety pin. The third cost a larger crystal and a pebble. For the fourth it took two clay beads and four metal ones. It was hunger, but mostly uncertainty, that kept her mouth shut throughout. What was done was done; she just hoped she still had enough for the slave.

  Suzanne was just leaving the restaurant when the disk in her pocket buzzed again. Shit! She only had an hour left. But the good thing was that the blood had calmed her nerves. Her surroundings were a little less disgusting, and she felt more at home in her skin. Feeling better, she picked up the pace — wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.

  * * *

  The slave market offered more variety than she bargained for; naked and dirty humans of every race and age were stuffed in cages, waiting to be sold. Suzanne wandered around for what felt like an eternity, unable to choose and not knowing what she wanted. Lugan had given her absolutely no clues — “I don't care what you get,” he had said as he placed the money pouch and disk in her hands. “Just get one. Be back in two hours.” Then he'd walked away. He was like that whenever he talked to her, if he bothered to talk to her that is.

  Whenever Suzanne thought of him, and what they had, she couldn't help but feel cheated. Being a vampire was totally cool and she wouldn't go back to being human, but she'd never asked for this life. One minute she'd snuck out of her parent's house to get a smoke, and the next she was waking up a vampire. Not just any vampire either, but the bride of a king! She had seen all the movies: He had walked the earth for centuries until he found his perfect companion for eternity. What could possibly be more romantic than that?

  Except that it was a lie.

  When she woke up, the first thing he did after explaining things, and giving her a bit of blood, was smack her across the room. Turns out that her new husband was a mean, nasty, son of a bitch.

  But why? Seriously, how do you pick someone to spend eternity by your side and then treat them like shit?

  The answer finally came in the form of an old and faded photograph she'd found one day when she was avoiding Lugan and exploring a different section of their compound. If there was one thing that Suzanne had a lot of, it was free time, and the best way she could spend it, was away from him. It was an out-of-sight, out-of-mind thing. If he didn't see her, or ask to see her, he didn't beat on her. Simple.

  The picture was of Lugan and a woman wearing old-fashioned clothes. He was in a suit, and she was in a high-collared white blouse with poufy sleeves and a dark skirt. She stood next to him with her hand on his left shoulder. Lugan was sitting on his throne staring at the camera — he looked so suave and handsome. Although Suzanne had never gone for black guys when she was human, even back then she would have agreed that he was good looking. But it was the woman that fascinated her — she was petite, with long dark hair, pale skin, and eyes almost too close together, which gave her an exotic look. It was uncanny how much she and the woman looked alike — they could be twins. Handwritten in fading ink on the back was: Lugan + Cassandra 1893. Asking Lugan about it earned her five broken fingers — he wasn't talking.

  Cassandra. Who was she?

  Her Clan mates were happy to fill her in, especially since they knew why Lugan chose her. The ones eager to talk seemed amused that she would now be in on the joke. Cassandra was Lugan's ex-consort who'd been exiled for misconduct with a slave. (They said misconduct like she'd know what the hell they were talking about, and Suzanne had been too afraid to say otherwise. So much of her current life was spent pretending she knew something when she didn't.) The juicy, and scandalous part though, was that Lugan exiled her instead of killing her outright. It was hard for anyone who knew him to believe that he was capable of mercy, but it only went to prove how deeply and passiona
tely in love he actually was. On anyone else in his position, that show of mercy would have been considered a weakness, but they allowed him that one flaw because he was not known to be sentimental. He had never taken a consort before he met Cassandra and he even went so far as to dismiss the idea of love and to make fun of anyone who believed in it. Cassandra had changed that, had changed him. They'd been together for over two hundred years and so her disloyalty hit him hard. He was bitter and hated her for betraying him, and that, Suzanne found out, was where she came in. Her resemblance to Cassandra wasn't a coincidence. She had been chosen all right, but her happily ever after had a catch. She was a stand-in. Every time Lugan looked at her, he saw Cassandra. Every punch, every cruel word, every broken bone, was payback. Suzanne knew that he didn't actually hate her, because he didn't know who she was. But that was little comfort. Lugan liked to say that they were together until 'death do them part'. Suzanne was very clear on whose death that would be.

  * * *

  After circling the market a few times, Suzanne found herself lingering in front of a pen of kids. If she got a young one, they could grow into the job, and Lugan would get his money's worth, right? Plus, the whole “slave” thing was easier to think about with kids. The adults gave her the heebees. She could order a kid around, no problem.

  “Young ones can be very useful. Heh heh heh.” The yellow-eyed, snaggletoothed, and pointy-eared monster said as it came to stand next to her. “Give you many years of service. Heh heh heh.”

  “How much for the boy?” She asked, pointing at a skinny blonde boy of about nine or ten. The now smiling monster stepped into her personal space, causing her to step back.

  “Good choice! Heh heh heh. He will be very strong. Heh heh heh.” It said, its moist, nasty breath forcing her to take another step back. “The price, a pittance really, is inconsequential for one such as yourself. Heh. Heh. Heh.” It said, closing the gap between them again.