Tales from the Kurtherian Universe: Fans Write For The Fans: Book 3

by Michael Anderle

  “Trust me,” Jen answered, “I want him dead, and I plan on making that happen. But he mentioned the bomb, and I didn't know how long I had. I honestly think he would have blown it with him in the building if he killed us along with him. I wanted you…us…safe. I can always track him down and kill him later. Which I will.

  “Let's go see Sammy. She'll want to know you are OK. She was terrified for you.” Jen opened her door and headed for the porch.

  Dan, Jenny, and Sammy were in Dan’s kitchen relaxing. Jenny was catching Dan up on the events of the evening. Sammy was having a late-night snack of chocolate chip cookies and milk before they sent her to bed. Dan was famished. He hadn't eaten for almost a full day. He made a couple of burgers and a bunch of fries for himself, and a burger and a salad for Jen.

  Since Sammy felt comfortable and safe in the house once again, they put her to bed. With Jen on one side and Dan on the other, they carefully tucked her into her unicorn and rainbow comforter. Sammy wanted to tell them that they’d tucked her in so tightly that she couldn't move, but after giving it more thought, she did feel more secure. Both Jen and Dan kissed her on her forehead and wished her a good night.

  In his office, Dan went to the bookcase and pulled out a book, and a section of the wall opened to reveal a closet.

  Jen leaned against his desk with her arms crossed on her chest. “That's kind of cliché, don't you think?”

  Dan grinned and gave her a wink. “It worked, didn't it?”

  Jen just smiled at him, and he walked into the closet.

  “I want to be certain that they didn't find the case with the bottles. After Barry dropped it off, I locked it in here.” He took a gray equipment case off a chest-high shelf, walked back to his desk, and placed it on the top. Once he put his thumbprint into a biometric reader, two latches on the case clicked.

  Dan opened it and looked inside. “Well, fuck,” he exclaimed.

  Jen looked into the case. The hard foam material inside had custom indents for bottles, and several held dark brown bottles that appeared to be filled with a powdery substance. One indent was empty.

  Jen looked from the case to Dan. “Let me guess…one's missing?”

  Dan's dark brown eyes locked on hers. “We're screwed.”

  Jen smiled at him. “Well, that’s rather defeatist of you.”

  Dan looked at her thoughtfully. “You want to go hunting, don’t you?”

  “You so get me,” she said. “When’s the last time you got to hunt? I mean, really hunt? Do you think Woddin has it?”

  Dan did love it when they hunted together. Jen was hot when she got her mad on, and when she got all vampy, well… “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!” he replied enthusiastically. “I can smell Woddin’s wolf scent in the house. I thought it might have been from when he captured me earlier, but the Were you taped into the chair downstairs got free. It looks like he had help, so I’d bet that Woddin came back.”

  It took just a minute for Dan to change into his wolf. Dan was a big wolf. His fur was dark gray with black tips, shading to brown toward his stomach and around his ears. He had brilliant gray eyes. Dan’s wolf took Jen’s breath away, he was so beautiful. At least, she thought so.

  While Dan was changing, Jen called Rogan to see if he could stay with Sammy while they were out. As always, Rogan was more than happy to help. They waited for him to arrive, then Jen and Dan went outside and picked up the werewolves’ scents.

  “It smells like they both left in wolf form,” Jen said as she sniffed the air. She smiled. “It’s a good night for a run.” Dan howled.

  The scent took them to one of the numerous rundown abandoned barns that dotted the nearby countryside. Jen heard sounds coming from inside. Woddin, back in human form, stepped out of the front door.

  Smiling, he said, “You found me. Good. This will end quickly, then.”

  Dan growled, and Jen said, “You have our bottle. We want it back.”

  Woddin looked at her and laughed. “Just like that, huh? I don’t think so.”

  In true Jen fashion, she drew her weapon and shot Woddin in the gut. “That was a silver bullet, in case you’re wondering.”

  Woddin held his stomach as if in pain, then he pulled his hand away and smiled. They could see his wound already healing. The silver didn’t appear to have any effect.

  He looked at her. “Well, the stuff worked.” He looked at Dan “Nice. Thanks for that.”

  Still looking at Dan, he said, “It looks like we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

  Soon there was a light gray, almost white wolf with dark, brooding eyes standing before them. Woddin’s wolf was taller, but Dan’s wolf was sturdier.

  Jen thought it would be a good fight, but unfortunately, she wasn’t going to get to watch. Behind her was the same female who had been with Woddin earlier that evening, and she was holding the missing jar. Jen’s eyes glowed red as she turned and looked at the girl. She gave her a big fangy grin, and said, “Boo!”

  The girl’s eyes turned to saucers, and she dropped the jar and ran as fast as she could. Since she was still wearing the pumps, she fell a lot. Jen just shook her head. Thankfully the jar hadn’t broken when it fell. She turned back to the dogfight.

  Both wolves’ hackles were raised. Woddin charged, but Dan jumped into the air and came down on top of him. Dan tried to bite Woddin’s flank, but Woddin dodged to the side, avoiding major injury.

  Teeth bared, they attacked each other. The sight was mesmerizing, yet horrific. Teeth and claws were everywhere. One moment Dan was on top with Woddin at the bottom, and the next it was the other way around. Both wolves had injuries.

  Jen really wanted to step in to help Dan, and she would have if she’d thought that Dan would lose. But this was a dominance thing. She just needed to let Dan do this. Damn, she really wanted to kick Woddin in the face. She'd feel much better for it.

  Watching the wolves fight was like watching an old cartoon where the fighters were engulfed in a dust ball with the occasional arm or leg sticking out. If it hadn’t been Dan in there, she'd have thought it was pretty comical.

  For a while there it looked like Woddin was going to come out on top. She was sort of cheering for that because then she'd get to kick his head in. A moment later Dan rammed his shoulder into Woddin’s midsection. It was such a hard hit that Woddin ended up against a sturdy maple tree.

  Dan stood over Woddin’s prone body. He didn't want to give him any more chances. With one bite, he ripped out Woddin’s throat.

  Blood and gore were everywhere, but it was over. They had the bottle with the corrosive powder, and Woddin was no more.

  Jen feared what the jar’s contents could be used for. Woddin’d had an unknown benefactor, but the powder was safe for now. Personally, Jen liked her bladed weapons. She would be really upset if they were rendered useless, but for now, it was all good.

  She looked at Woddin’s lifeless body, then she looked at her wolf. Scratching Dan behind the ears, she said to him, “Let's go home, hon. I think we've earned our peace for one night.”

  FINIS

  Author Notes Lisa Frett

  If you're reading this, then I hope that means you read through the story and hopefully enjoyed it.

  As a professional geek (System Administrator by day), I do write a lot. But usually, it's tech manuals and how-to manuals for end users. So, when Michael Anderle opened his universe for his fans to write fan-fic in, I thought it might be fun. I'm a big fan of the universe and had a lot of fun dreaming up Jen and Dan. I also think that Sammy can be fun to look into as well. But I have to let her grow up a bit.

  Anyway. Thank you.

  Haiku From The Kurtherian Universe

  Wrinkle-assed ball-sack,

  Llama-sniffing fudge packer.

  Who thought of those, Mike?

  Spirit Whisperer

  By S.E. Weir

  Claire has known all her life that magic had no place in New Scots, but though she tried to deny it, magi
c is in her blood and bone. Orphaned and alone, she uses her forbidden magic to summon the spirit of her father. He sends her to find a friend from his past and a new place in the world, but to complete the journey, she will need help that comes in the form of a surly and mysterious stranger.

  To Erika and Nat, my friends and sisters.

  — Sarah

  Chapter One

  Claire stopped her long walk and sank to her knees in the snow. The wet coldness seeped into her stockings, but she was so distracted she hardly noticed. She had to be far enough away now.

  She dug her trembling fingers into her pocket and pulled out some matches and a candle. The candle. Claire took a deep breath and held it as she lit a match and moved it to the wick.

  She had heard about this ritual, and desperately wanted it to work. The man she had secretly bought the candle from assured her it would—if she had magic inside her.

  The magic was the big unknown. She had never tried to use it or access it at all since she had sworn off it long ago. Everyone knew magic users met terrible ends. Claire knew that from personal experience, both old and new. She had always believed there was nothing worth that risk. Until now.

  The candle caught, the slightly acrid scent of smoke drifting toward her. She closed her eyes and spoke the words. With a last desperate hope, she opened her eyes and looked up, heart tugging between pain and relief. His spirit was in front of her, smile just as she remembered. She whispered softly as her eyes began to blur, "Hello, Father."

  “Claire Bear.”

  Her breath hitched. Instead of the deep soothing timbre she had always heard from him in life, his voice was now whisper-thin. But the tone and words were the same, and it began to crack open the rift grief had caused inside her.

  She took a deep breath and forced the tears back, then tried to speak normally. Her candle would only last so long, and she had so much she needed to say and hear in return.

  “Father, do you know about Mother and…” She closed her eyes and swallowed before whispering, “and James?”

  “Yes.”

  Claire shook herself as she opened her eyes. Time, she told herself firmly, was not on her side. Not today.

  “You know what happened?”

  The translucent form shifted closer to her. Dare she hope it was to comfort her? She really didn’t know much about how this ritual worked.

  “Yes.”

  “All Mother told me before she died was that I needed to talk to you—that there was something important I needed to do, and only you could tell me. She made me swear to do this ritual so I could ask.”

  She heaved a breath before standing up, wincing now at the cold encompassing her body. Her clothing wasn’t nearly warm enough to be rolling in the snow, but she hadn’t been thinking clearly earlier.

  Claire looked at the spirit of her father, all that remained of him, and fiercely wished that life was just and fair so that her family could still be with her. But while on occasion life was just, fairness rarely existed, and definitely not in New Scots.

  “So, Father, what am I to do?”

  He looked at her, and she could have sworn his ghostly eyes were full of pride and pain. The pain she could understand, and she hoped the pride might be for her. It had been several long months since her father had died, and every day she longed for him to come back. There was no bringing back the dead, though. Even a spirit was on borrowed time.

  “There was so much I should have told you. So much you needed to learn.” His fingers touched her cheek, and she felt a gentle whisper of movement and a coolness that numbed her already cold face before he lowered his hand.

  She swallowed, but stayed silent. Regrets were an indulgence at the moment. She glanced down at the candle and saw it was already two-thirds gone. Too little time left. She looked back and saw that her father had noticed the candle as well when he nodded.

  “I had an old…friend you need to find, who can tell you more of what you need to know. He gave her directions to reach “John the Saint.”

  Claire squinted in confusion. “Your friend is a priest named John?”

  He tilted his head the way he used to when she said something silly, but it looked very odd on a spirit. “No, his name is Andrew.”

  She shook her head, reminding herself she couldn’t waste time. “I don’t know if I can get there by myself. I’ve never left New Scots, and have barely been out of Hafox. This trip will take days. Are you sure I need to go see this guy?”

  If a spirit could look alarmed, her father did now. “You must, Claire. It’s the most important thing you will ever do. I already made arrangements for you in case something happened to me.”

  “All right, what arrangements?”

  He seemed relieved that she had agreed so quickly, but didn’t heave a breath as others would in their relief. It gave Claire an odd feeling and reminded her again that her father wasn’t really here, only his spirit.

  “You will find your guide in town. His name is Logan Markham.”

  Claire groaned. “Daaad!” she whined. “Why did you choose him? He’s so creepy! He just wanders around town and watches people.”

  “Claire Drucilla Montgomery! What did your mother and I teach you about being judgmental?” His form looked stronger, his expression making it alarmingly clear that he was angry.

  She blew out a breath and mumbled, just as she had when he’d scolded her in life. “That it’s an exercise of small-mindedness and lacks compassion.”

  He nodded. “Just meet with him and suspend judgment until you’ve reached Andrew. Then if you still think he’s creepy, it will be based on fact, not prejudice, gossip, or conjecture.”

  She gave him a small smile. “Fair enough, Father.”

  He moved forward until she felt his ghostly energy around her, apparently trying to hug her. Rather than chilling her, she received a surprising boost of warmth. She put the arm that didn’t hold the candle where she thought he might be to hug him back. It wasn’t the same, but it was something.

  When he pulled back, his form was as faint as it had been when he’d first appeared. “Father, Dad, Papa. Call me whatever you like, but know I love you forever, Claire Be—.”

  He disappeared just after the candle went out, leaving her staring into the dark, empty forest in front of her and holding a useless nub of wax.

  “I love you too, Papa.”

  Chapter Two

  After a quick stop at home to pack, Claire went to meet her guide. Halfway to her destination, Claire paused and wondered what she was doing. She had lost her family and likely lost her home. She had performed a ritual that confirmed she had magic—magic that she had long hated and now apparently needed to come to terms with. She’d been told she needed to travel to some stranger who would tell her about this mysterious task she needed to do, guided by another stranger she had always heard odd tales of.

  If anyone had told her this months ago, she would have called them crazy and tried to forget it. No one would want such a life, or at least no one in New Scots. Everyone here tried to be as normal as possible, so there was no disruption.

  The truth was, they all lived in fear that they might be accused of having magic. Once suggested, the suspicion was inflamed, fueled by gossip till it could no longer be ignored. In that case, the subject was usually brutally killed by vigilantes in the community.

  She hated it.

  Claire stopped walking when she realized her tears had blurred her vision. Her mother had always been wise and kind, even to those who didn’t seem to deserve it. She didn’t understand how anyone could—

  She pushed those memories away again and struggled to get herself back under control. She needed to leave, and this wasn’t helping. Still. Her mother had been right about how to respond to others’ fear. Hate wouldn’t do anything except make her bitter.

  She meandered purposefully through the streets, hoping to keep from attracting attention, as well as to lose anyone if they happened to follow her. Finally, she r
eached her intended destination— the house of Logan Markham, the man her father had told her could guide her on this journey.

  Avoiding the front of the house since it was in plain view, she went to the rear and finally came to the back door, which was shaded by a large tree. The sky was in the final stages of sunrise before turning all to blue. The gorgeous colors distracted her from knocking.

  Finally, she shook herself and lifted her hand—just as the door opened to a shadowed figure framed in the doorway.

  “You’re late. I expected you hours ago.”

  Chapter Three

  “Excuse me?” Claire gasped. “How did you even know to expect me?”

  The man who had to be Logan Markham withdrew into the house. “Come on in, sweetheart. We have things to do and places to be.”

  She stepped into the room, able to see the man a little better now that there was more light from the windows across the room as well as from the door behind her. She stopped next to him and looked up six inches to glare into his face.

  “How did you know I was coming?” She narrowed her eyes. “And don’t call me sweetheart.”

  The man grinned, looking younger than she had expected. The times she had seen him in the past he had a full beard, but now he was clean shaven, which took ten years off his apparent age. His blue eyes glinted in the morning sun, and his brown hair was a bit disorderly. He likely cut it himself. On any other morning, she would have been amused. As it was, she merely raised her eyebrows as she waited.

  “Your father gave me instructions, of course.”

  “Then you are Logan Markham.”

  He raised an eyebrow of his own as he shut the door and crossed his arms. “Don’t be stupid.”