A Lifetime of Adventure

When I opened my eyes, the cow looked nearly as surprised as I was. She stared down at me with a look of bovine puzzlement before leaning down to lick my frazzled hair. I escaped the slimy tongue and climbed shakily to my feet, inspecting the red mark on my elbow. The last thing I remembered was climbing up the cabinets and hot water heaters to the cubby I had found, where chickens and cats liked to hide their young. A live wire came out of the wall near where I climbed, feeding power to the electric fence. I had touched it with my arm and the jolt knocked me off my perch and across the aisle.

I sighed in disappointment. I didn’t even get a cool new scar.

Now, almost twenty years after that adventure, my younger sister said something that I would like to repeat here.

“In the last twenty odd years, we’ve had more adventures than most people have in a lifetime. Sometimes I look back and wonder how we got out alive.”

I sometimes wonder that too. Growing up on a farm was an endless series of adventures and we all left more than our fair share of blood and hide behind. With all the hours we spent romping through the woods and fields and playing with animals and machinery, it’s a wonder we didn’t make it out with more scars than we did.

One of my most memorable adventures actually never happened, though if it did, history would be quite a bit different for all of us. I have no idea how the battles of World War Two spilled onto my farm in rural Pennsylvania, but one night it did. I had defended my barn against all comers, from barbarians to aliens, and the German invaders were no different. Bullets snapped and pinged off of the concrete walls as I ducked into a machine gun nest and returned fire. The battle lasted for hours, until charred husks of tanks and planes littered the ground beyond the walls of my farmyard fortress. I was winning too, until the Germans unleashed their secret weapons

The sight sent me bolt upright in my bed, with cold sweat pouring down my face as I grabbed for my non existent weapons. Let me tell you, a mechanized T-Rex with rockets and cannons snaps you out of a dream quicker than just about anything.

Expecting Murphy

Two things happen every time someone tells me to expect the unexpected. First, I have an overwhelming urge to get a gorilla costume and hide in said person’s closet. Second, I spend the entire day looking over my shoulder with a nervous look on my face. One time I was taking a walk and someone thought I was being chased by a bear. I expected a bear, but I was worried about Sasquatches, because no one expects to be chased by a hungry Bigfoot. Later, because I was expecting a Sasquatch, an angry stump nearly killed me. By the time I realized it was a tree and not a bear, it had already gnawed five years off my life and sent my heart on a tap-dancing tour across my lungs. Apparently this happens to outdoorsmen a lot and is probably why people decided it’s safer to stay on the couch. It’s hard to stumps to sneak up on you in your living room. They can’t open doors.

Expect the unexpected. Most of the time I think this is a variant of Murphy’s Law: Everything that can go wrong will go wrong. My wife counters this with another phrase. Prepare for the worst but hope for the best, which is a pretty stark contrast to my preferred method of giving Murphy a four-leaf clover as a peace offering. I like the hope for the best part, but when you have an imagination like me, you will usually be prepared for the wrong worst.

Situation # 1: I plan a trip to my grandparent’s cottage in Maine. Since alien invasions and sea monsters can’t really be prepared for, I decide to take it simple and pack for thunderstorms and power outages. Candles, flashlights, batteries, bottled water, non perishable foods, everything I would need to enjoy a vacation without access to electricity. By the time everything is packed and I’m on the road, I’ve forgotten my wallet and my cats have bought 2,000 toy mice with my credit card.

Situation # 2: I have always wanted to go bear hunting. I already own all the big game hunting equipment I need, so I go out to the store to purchase a license. As I drive, I remember that bears have teeth and claws. Big ones. I can’t outrun a bear, I have a bad knee. Deciding that the best way to avoid a bad hunt is to not hunt, I use the money to buy a pizza and head back to my couch and notebook. When I get home, a bear scares me back into my car and eats my bird feeder. Murphy is mean.

Aliens, Imagination, and Never-Never Land

A dear friend of mine was recently told to grow up, to leave Never-never Land and to come into the real world. I was instantly indignant. If they were in Never-never land, why didn’t they visit me? I’ve been living in Never-never Land for years!

Somewhere in those strange teenage years between twelve and twenty three, people lose interest in games, stories, and imaginary adventures. Instead, they start doing sports, going on dates, working jobs, and going to college, all the while leaving their imaginations behind. They leave Never-never Land, usually for good. I say, booorriiiinnng! I think aliens must sneak into their bedrooms at night to catch stray imaginations, kind of like a fisherman tossing a bait and line into a pond.

Maybe it happens a little like this.

One summer night, two aliens, Glorp and his son Ned, park their spaceship outside the window of my thirteen year old self. The night is perfect for fishing, with a sky full of stars and the air warm enough for my window to be standing open. The frogs and toads singing in the nearby pond cover the sound as Glorp opens the screen. It’s Ned’s first fishing trip and he’s so excited that he almost knocks his father off the window sill as they climb inside.

“Ugh,” says Ned. “It’s so hair and weird looking!”

“That’s a dog,” Glorp says with a yawn, still tired from being woken up for such an early trip. “The human is the pink one.”

“Ugh, he’s even weirder looking!”

“Shh!” Glorp warns as he takes out his tackle box and pole. He pulls out a hook and stares at the line, trying to remember how to tie a fisherman’s knot. “Your mother wants me to mow the asteroid today, so if you want to learn how to catch imaginations, this is your only chance. If you spook him, you’ll have to wait until next weekend.”

“Can I hold the line dad?” Ned asks as Glorp baits the hook and drops it into a likely part of my head. Glorp relents and the little alien rubs his green fingered hands together in glee. His enormous eyes grow even bigger as he takes the pole and feels a sharp tug on the fishing wire. “I’ve got a bite! I’ve got a bite! What do I do?”

“Reel it in gently N – “ Glorp is cut off as the overexcited Ned gives a mighty tug, whipping the piece of grey matter through the air, where it lands with a splat on his father’s head.

“I caught it, I caught it!” cries Ned as Glorp unhooks their prize and stuffs it in a cooler.

“Good job son,” he says, putting an arm around Ned’s shoulders as they return to their spaceship. “Now, how would you like to learn to drive an asteroid mower?”

I don’t know what kind of bait they used, but my imagination didn’t bite. I think they took the part of my brain that understood algebra instead. Thankfully, the little shreds that the aliens leave behind can be regrown, though I’ve never quite figured out how to regrow what I need to understand algebra.

Imaginations on the other hand, are relatively easy to regrow. My favorite method is to sneak up behind the subject and shout “Boo!” thus restarting the imagination through sheer shock. You do however run the risk of stopping and restarting several of the subject’s other organs at the same time. Depending  on their temperament, you may put a few of your own organs at risk too.

Now, since my imagination is fully intact, no scares needed thank you, so I’ll be in my office (blanket fort) with a good cup of coffee (hot cocoa), working on a very important essay (ridiculous story about a dream I had once).

Inspiration

If you are looking for Inspiration, I think he’s at the blog next door. I spent long hours chasing him the other day, and I almost caught him, but Writer’s Block jumped out from behind a dumpster and stole my wallet. He also hit me over the head with a lethal cocktail of distraction and Youtube.

Even without help, Inspiration is a tricky little monster. Almost as tricky as his cousin Ridiculousness. One of Ridiculousness’s favorite games is to dress up as Inspiration and lead me on a wild goose chase, gobbling up my paper and drinking all my ink. He’s everywhere too, and shows up in lots of places at the same time, which is one heck of a superpower if you ask me. Everyone is a little ridiculous sometimes, some people more than others as my wife is so fond of reminding me any time I try to sing along with Arch Enemy.

I think Ridiculousness might have an evil twin too. Sometimes he’s just funny, spreading mirth and laughter wherever he goes. A few minutes later I see him leading an outraged mob waving phones and social media posts. The twin thing would certainly explain why he can be in two places at once. I think I’ll call them Funny Ridiculousness and Scary Ridiculousness. If they invite Inspiration along and I can keep them away from other people, they are actually pretty helpful. When they are alone and running rampant it’s another story. If you get lucky though, you can sometimes nab Inspiration as he sneaks back in to watch the chaos. Then you can turn Ridiculousness on his head and turn his trouble into something good, at least until Inspiration pulls the fire alarm and jumps out the window.

An open letter (kind of)

It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything that wasn’t fiction, and almost as long since I’ve posted anything on this blog. I would have put this into a story I think, but I don’t have the time or the spark to write what would amount to a broken dialogue.

For the first time in my life, I’ve found a church that believes that God still moves as he did in the early church. Or, I’ve found a church that acts upon this belief, welcoming the broken with open arms and fully offering the love of God and the renewal of the Holy Spirit, believing that God can and will heal both body and spirit, making his children anew. Less than ten hours before this writing, God used a Pastor I had never met, never spoken to, as a mouthpiece, laying bare my fears, doubts and pain and binding them with prayer as a physician binds a wound. His hands on my shoulders, this man of God’s prayers touched scars that I’ve never told anyone about… and what’s more, told me for the first time that God truly loves me and that his love holds no requirements. He told me that, in spite of the flawed followers of Christ that so bitterly wounded me in the past, the church would be a part of the restoration of my soul. Not the same people in the sames buildings, but this little piece of the Body here in New England. The wounds are still here, the pain and the loss of trust. Yet for the first time, the guilt is gone, replaced by the realization that a thousand small scars can be just as damaging as one great one. Where the wounds come from doesn’t matter, the God of healing love wants to restore each and every one of his children.

Such a different face than the God I had always seen in the eyes and actions of the people around me before. So much like the God of the pharisees, the God of Law and Wrath. I’m sure this wasn’t the intention, at least not always, but love and acceptance became something to be earned. They became something that I could never quite seem to attain.

Maybe to understand this, you should know a little bit more about me. First off, I’m a writer, and writers are notoriously odd creatures, often seeing the world in a different light than those around them. Pain is remarkably easy for me to see and the moment I see it, it becomes a part of me as well. This powerful sense of empathy is hard to describe and harder to understand if you’ve never felt it. I’m sure there’s a great many that would scoff at this notion, but I assure you that it’s real. This empathy alone can be isolating, for no matter how easy it is for me to relate to others, those that can relate to me just as well are few and far between. I don’t mean a casual rapport, but a true friend that understands the depths and breadth of my dreams and passions.

Add a voracious thirst for stories, books and, gasp, video games, as well as a love for, double gasp, heavy metal music and magic tricks, to my innate empathy and you’ve got quite a character. According to several churches, employers, coworkers, classmates and professors, quite a dubious character. In the rare times I’ve opened up fully in the past few years, I can’t help but remember the lyrics to one of my favorite songs, a sonic masterpiece filled with sorrow and fury. I’ll only subject you to two lines:

Every time I try to open up my heart, I’m ridiculed and torn apart

And

There’s something inside me that I know is good, I’m not evil, just misunderstood

There’s at least one church that would have kicked me out, irony and all, if I dared to play that song openly. Oddly enough the singer professes her own faith, though the band itself may not.

On a similar but different note, I was once handed a test designed to, ahem, gauge the quality of your faith. I only remember one question, the question that failed me. Do you hear God in a thunderstorm or in a gentle drizzle. Both wasn’t a choice, I asked.

None of the attitudes I saw seemed to match the Christ I read about in my Bible. From the young woman excommunicated for a pregnancy, to the girl ridiculed and shamed for depression and doubt, to the young man ostracized for having tattoos, two different congregations, I began to lose my faith in the love and goodness of the God we claimed to serve. College and work were little better and I quickly fell into a depression that still hides in the darkest corners of my mind today. I came within one argument of leaving my faith behind. If this was the church and the face of God, I wanted no part of either.

My faith shaken and my trust and self esteem shattered, I found myself in New England. There’s a joke, it’s not funny, that New England is cold and dark and it’s not because of the weather. I guess God likes irony as much as I do, because it took moving to New England for this particular writer to find a warm, safe, caring home. It’s taken nearly three years, but it seems my scars are finally beginning to close.

This has been rambling and disjointed I’m sure, but it may well be the closest thing to a testimony that I’ll ever write. That hasn’t been hidden in a fictional character at least.

Meet Melody: Part 10

Alright, this short introduction to Melody and her world of magic and monsters has finally drawn to a close. I’m not sure what I’ll be posting next, at least as far as stories go. I’m still having a hard time working through the creative block, but it never lasts too long. It just feels like it to me sometimes.

 

“Enough!” said a soft voice, the gentle tone holding a power that stopped her cold.

 

Melody dropped the man in shock and turned around to see a woman standing beside the docks. She was tall, and dressed in a beautiful gown that looked jarringly out of place in the rustic colony town. Her stunning appearance and shining violet eyes were so distracting that Melody nearly missed the men standing by her side.

 

“Enough!” she repeated, her violet eyes flashing. “Lord Ethan!”

 

Ethan tottered to his feet and backed away, clutching a hand to his torn neck. “Lady Victoria,” he spat. “This matter is the Court of Magi’s to resolve, not the Blood Court’s. The hatchling and her maker are mine!”

 

“This hatchling is not responsible for her maker’s crimes,” Victoria rumbled. “Do what you will with the maker if you can catch her, but you will not touch this hatchling. By right of her rebirth, she is a member of the Blood Court and under our protection!” Fangs glittered in her mouth as she looked at his bleeding throat. “Though by the looks of things, she may not need us much.”

 

Ethan’s face became ugly with rage and he grabbed Melody by the hair and reached out with his free hand. The dragonbone sword, lost during the struggle, came to his hand with a loud smack and he touched the deadly edge to her neck.

 

“I was only getting started!” growled the mage dragon as Victoria’s eyes widened. “The girl is mine! Let me leave peacefully or I will kill her here and now!”

 

“If she dies you will die as well,” she warned as Melody gasped for breath, struggling to force Ethan’s wrist and blade away. “Take care friend, this is an act of war.”

 

“I’m no friend of yours,” Ethan snapped. “And peace died with the aspects! They were the only ones keeping you in check!”

 

Victoria’s face tightened and she took a half step closer. “Look around you! While you fought a harmless hatchling, you put this city in danger and exposed all of us!” Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you think they haven’t attacked you in terror?”

 

Ethan backed away, pulling Melody with him. He swallowed anxiously and she could feel his breathing quicken.

 

“My men have seized control of the city,” Victoria said firmly. “The townsfolk have already been evacuated from the area and their memories altered. You cannot face the might of the Blood Court alone Ethan.” Her voice became like granite. “If you had attacked the hatchling while she was still in the tavern you would have been dead already!”

 

“The Court of Magi gave me my orders Victoria,” Ethan insisted stubbornly. “The hatchling comes with me… she may well lead me to her maker!”

 

His grip loosened and Melody took her chance, yanking her head to the side and clamping her fangs down on his exposed wrist. There was a crunching noise as his bones broke, shattering under the force of her bite. He howled in agony and the sword fell as he tore himself free. Melody reached for the blade but Victoria moved before her fingers even touched the hilt, bounding past to drive her fist into Ethan’s gut. The man doubled over and she raised her knee, smashing his jaw. She threw him into the snow, her lip curling in disgust.

 

“The hatchling is under my protection!” she hissed, her eyes blazing. “As is this town! Leave now or I’ll arrest you for exposing us to the humans!”

 

“Escort him out of the colony,” she ordered, turning to her guards. She sighed and shook her head as the beaten man snarled and shook away their hands.

 

“Stubborn fool,” she muttered, turning back to Melody. “Are you alright young one?”

 

Melody nodded nervously, suddenly noticing that the voice seemed to have vanished. “Y… yes my lady.”

 

“You don’t have to be afraid of me hatchling,” Victoria said with a gentle smile. “You’re with family now. What’s your name?”

 

“Melody,” she replied, overawed by Victoria’s strength and beauty. “My… my name is Melody.” She hesitated and looked back at the inn and Mary’s ruined house. “Wh… what happened to my friends?”

 

Victoria’s face fell. “Your friends? My men will have altered their memories by now. If they remember you at all they will think you died in the fires.”

 

Melody’s heart fell and Victoria caught her arms as her knees buckled. “They think that I’m dead…” she mumbled, forcing the words past a lump in her throat. “I won’t be able to see them again will I? I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

 

“I’m sorry Melody, but it’s better this way,” she replied. “Humans don’t do very well in our world.” She squeezed her shoulder. “Come. Let me introduce you to your new family.” Her eyes twinkled and she winked. “Better than a voice in your head I’ll wager.”

 

Melody’s eyes widened. “What? How…”

 

“You aren’t the only one who was left alone when she was turned,” Victoria said gently. “But it gets better. I’ll show you everything you need to know.”

 

End

Meet Melody: Part 9

The man, Ethan, Melody guessed, was lounging on a chair in the corner, blowing smoke rings. He was weaponless and dressed in elegant, if somewhat weatherbeaten, coat and leggings. There was a tricorn hat hanging from a peg by his shoulder. Ethan smoothed his leggings and stood up.

 

“I should have known that Trent would underestimate you,” He said, looking from the sword in her hand to the blood on her side. “He’s strong enough but he’s reckless.”

 

Melody backed away, carefully putting herself between Ethan and her friends. Her eyes flashed and her voice became a rumbling snarl. “What did you do to my friends?”

 

“Nothing,” he said as Mary stirred, mumbling fitfully in her sleep. “Certainly nothing as bad as you would do.”

 

“I won’t hurt my friends,” Melody snapped, louder than she wanted. Mary groaned and she softened her voice. “And I won’t let you hurt them either!”

 

Ethan sighed and took off his coat, folding it carefully and draping it over the back of the chair. “You don’t belong in their world anymore young one. If you stay, they will get hurt… eventually will lose control and kill them.”

 

“Then let me go,” Melody said, the tip of her blade starting to waver. “Let me find my own court.”

 

“No,” Ethan replied, the sudden cold in his voice belying his pleasant smile. “The Court of Blood hardly needs another vampire within its walls… they have more than enough monsters as it is. Besides, your maker was a renegade… Courtless.” His smile turned wicked. “For all I know you would turn out the same.”

 

He paused and his face changed, lengthening as his eyes turned to cat-like slits. “You were born of dragonfire and now you will die by dragonfire!”

 

Melody’s eyes widened as the man’s mouth gaped open. She cried out, diving forward and throwing her arms around his waist as a river of flame roared out of his open jaws. The man howled as her hand closed on his jaw, forcing his fire-breath up and away from her friends. The terrible heat ignited her sleeve and blackened the beams supporting the ceiling, filling the room with thick, acrid smoke. Mary and her husband awoke in fright as Melody roared and drove he knee into Ethan’s groin. The man’s eyes crossed and the fire stopped as she lifted him into the air and threw him through the door.

 

“Run!” she cried, pulling Mary upright. “Go! Out the window!”

 

There was a flash of light and something hot hit her between the shoulderblades, the strange energy causing her muscles to spasm and her teeth to click painfully together. She cried out in pain, shielding her friends with her body as a second bolt thundered in. The dragon bellowed inside her as Mary and her husband scrambled to safely and she turned in a fury to catch a third blast in the palm of her hand. The pain put her on her knees and suddenly Ethan was towering over her.

 

“You’re no vampire,” he rumbled, grabbing her by the hair and slamming her to the floor. “The courtless made a dragon!”

 

The floor splintered and cracked as Melody tried to resist his strength. His foot caught her where her neck met her shoulder and suddenly she was in the air, turning a wall into rubble. She was on her feet an instant before Ethan reached her. Her hand closed on a fallen beam as she rose and she used it like a club, her dragon’s strength sending Ethan reeling. She followed, dropping the ruined beam as she closed in, her torn dress flapping in the wind.

 

Ethan gave ground, rocked back on his heels by the power of her blows. He howled in pain as her fangs closed on his neck, her arms closing around him in a backbreaking hug. He grabbed at her head, his fingers lengthening and twisting into talons as she ripped free, the wound on his neck oozing black blood.

 

Lightning lanced from his mouth, nearly bowling Melody over as it struck her in the face. This bolt hurt more than the rest and she stumbled away, tears streaming from her eyes. The dragon’s roar became thunder in Melody’s ears and the heat in her throat changed, dropping into her chest. Her mouth opened and she turned blindly, spitting fire the color of blood.

 

“Dragon’s don’t fear the flames!” thundered Ethan as his clothes began to smoulder and steam. He reached out and caught Melody by the throat, stopping her burning breath.

 

“Then fear my thirst!” Melody gasped, her anger lending her strength as she bent Ethan’s hand back on itself. The mage dragon’s eyes widened as her furious power forced him to his knees. Her fangs glittered in the dark and she leaned closer, eager to taste his blood again.

If any of you are writers or artists, then you know that sometimes the creative process just seems to stop. Usually there isn’t even any particular reason. It’s actually pretty traumatizing. For me, my imaginary friends that live in my stories are some of the most important things in my life and when I suddenly can’t seem to find them, it sometimes seems like they’ve died. It’s silly to say, but while they’re gone it feels like they might never come back.

Meet Melody: Part 8

This one is a bit longer. I haven’t really had much that I’ve felt like saying in the last few days but hopefully I’ll have a couple of blogs to post next week. Enjoy the next piece of Melody’s origin story while you wait. Let me know what you think.

“Our powers are growing,” said the voice as Melody slipped away. “Soon you won’t need me anymore.”

She grunted, wishing suddenly that her maker was with her. At least then, if the voice did stop, she wouldn’t be quite so alone.

The sight of the stables distracted her and she jumped easily to the rooftops, her feet crunching softly in the snow as she circled, leaping from one building to the next. She found her prey sitting by a roaring fire, looking even bigger and more beastly than she remembered.

Gavin looked up as she dropped to the ground and stepped into the firelight.

“Who’re you?” he asked suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a little lost,” she replied. “I arrived on the last ship and don’t know the town very well yet.” She gave a sheepish laugh. “I must have taken a wrong turning.”

The man’s piggish eyes glittered with barely concealed lust as he rose ponderously to his feet. “Well we wouldn’t want you to be late now would we? Got a husband at home waiting for you?”

Melody smiled sweetly and shook her head. “No. I don’t have anyone really.”

Gavin’s face twisted in what was meant to be a friendly smile. “You look cold dearie. Come into the tack room. I’ll get you a blanket and then I’ll help you find your way home.”

“You’re too kind,” Melody said, resisting the urge to tear out his throat right then and there. She followed him into the dark stable. “You seem like a good man.”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Gavis spun around, his meaty hands reaching for her arms. She curled her lip in anger and disgust, planting her palm in his thick chest. The blow knocked the big man to the ground and she knelt beside him, watching him gasp for breath. His face paled as Melody bared her sharp teeth. He tried to scream but the noise was cut short as her fangs sank into the soft flesh below his ear. Melody growled in annoyance as he thrashed, batting at her with his thick arms and heavy fists. After several long moments his movements slowed and she released him, tearing away part of his shirt to wipe her bloodied mouth.

“Either drain him or heal him,” said the voice. “If you leave him as he is, he will turn.”

“A dragon?” asked Melody, staring down at the gasping man.

“No,” growled the voice. “A vampire. We were… different.”

Gavin’s eyes fluttered open and he moaned miserably as Melody leaned closer, tempted by the blood seeping from his mangled neck. She growled and bit her wrist, pressing it to the man’s mouth. He gagged and writhed but she tightened her grip, watching in fascination as the bite on his neck closed and blood returned to his face.

“You will leave on the next ship,” Melody said, transfixing Gavin with her eyes. “And you will never harm another human being for as long as you live!” Her eyes narrowed. “You will not remember me.”

The man nodded stupidly and got up, tottering away past the fire and into the sleeping city.

“You should have killed him,” said a voice from the far side of the stable. “ ‘Twould make me feel better about killing you.”

Melody tensed and turned around to see a man dressed in buckskin and furs, leaning lazily on the door. He adjusted his cap, puffing contentedly on an ornate pipe, watching her with bright, blue eyes.

“I thought that this job would be fun,” He said with a sigh. “I was hoping to finally test my strength against a dragon… but I guess a vampire will have to do.”

“Vampire?” Melody asked warily, backing away.

The stranger shrugged off his coat and drew a slender sword from its scabbard. “Your maker didn’t even tell you what you are? Maybe your death will be a mercy after all.”

He bolted down the aisle, the point of his blade narrowly missing Melody’s shoulder as she ducked away. She vaulted into the nearest stall, slipping past a frantic horse to break through the wall with her shoulder. Snow sprayed from under her feet as she skidded around a corner with the stranger hot on her heels.

“Bloods and Beasts. Think they’re the strongest,” he taunted as he followed Melody to the rooftops. “The fastest. They’ve  never fought a battle master….”

Melody snarled and spun on her heel, driving her fist into the man’s gut as his sword cut a deep gash above her hip. She roared in pain and caught the man by the wrist and throat, levering the blade away from her body.

“You’re stronger than I thought leech,” he panted, planting his feet on the slippery roof. “It won’t help… steel might not hurt you, but dragonbone blades will….”

His eyes widened as Melody’s eyes began to blaze and she forced his arms apart.

“I’m not a leech!” she roared, her fangs shining in the darkness. “I’m a dragon!”

The mage gasped, dropping his sword as Melody wrenched him in and closed her jaws on his neck. Her mouth still dripping, she dropped the man to the snow, kicking his blade away.

“Leave me alone!” she growled as he gasped for breath, clutching his neck. “If you’re a mage, then my bite won’t turn you, but if you come after me again it doesn’t mean I won’t try!”

“You won’t make it out of the city,” the mage rasped as she turned to leave. “Even if you are a dragon…. Better check on your friends, Ethan isn’t as merciful as I am.”

There was a loud crack as Melody punched him in the jaw, loosening his teeth and laying him out cold. She snatched up the mage’s blade and dropped to the ground, sprinting madly through the streets to the tavern. The door shattered under her hand as she opened it. Before the broken wood even touched the floor she was through the second door and inside Mary’s bedroom.

“Shh…” said a voice. “They’re still sleeping.”

Meet Melody: Part 7

Melody followed her back outside and down the street to Mary’s home, a small, isolated building at the edge of the harbor.

“You don’t need to do this,” she said. “I can just stay in the kitchen for the night.”

Mary shook her head. “We have more than enough room for you here.” Her face hardened. “We’ve had one of the girls staying here with us for the last few days.”

“What happened?” asked Melody, narrowing her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

The woman sighed and went around the room, lighting candles. “One of the night watchmen tried to attack her last week. She got away, but he’s been bothering her ever since. Mark took her home this afternoon so her bed’s empty tonight.”

“She was attacked by a watchman?” Melody asked, feeling the dragon stir with sudden anger. “Hasn’t anyone done anything?”

“No one else believes the girl,” was the reply. “It’s her word against Gavin’s. But I’ve seen the bruises Melody… I’m afraid of what could happen if he gets her alone again.”

“Gavin?” Melody growled. Her fangs began to lengthen. “The blacksmith’s son? How’d an animal like him ever make the watch?”

“His father’s well respected,” Mary answered. “And Gavin’s the one of the most skilled fighters in town. When he’s around the sailors don’t cause as much trouble.” Her jaw tightened. “As long as his aid outweighs his sins, the officials look the other way.”

She stopped by the door, taking a deep breath. “But don’t listen to me. I have to go check on my husband. Why don’t you make yourself at home? Get some rest.”

Melody nodded and she left, closing the door gently behind her as she went. The vampire dropped to extra cot, not bothering to crawl under the covers. She remembered Gavin well, a brutish, leering boy whose bullying had terrified many of the other children in the colony town. His reputation for cruelty had been well known and she had always taken great pains to avoid him. The thirst prickled in her throat and she suddenly found herself wondering what it would feel like to sink her teeth into his neck.

“We’re still a newborn,” said the voice. “The wolves were not enough, we will need more. He would do well as a meal.”

Melody’s insides churned and she closed her eyes. The hunters were waiting beyond the town limits and she instinctively knew that she would have no choice but to feed. She heard Mary returning with her husband and stilled, feigning sleep. the door opened and their voices softened. She listened halfheartedly, too distracted by the thirst to pay much attention. After what felt to her like hours, the couple went to bed. When they were finally asleep, Melody got up, leaving as quietly as a ghost.

She caught the first watchman she found by surprise, dragging him backwards into the darkness. He cried out in shock as she slammed him into a wall.

“Where is Gavin?” she asked, her violet eyes shining as they bored into the helpless man.

“By the stables,” the man mumbled, his eyes going blank and his jaw slack. “His watch ends in an hour.”

“The eyes are the doorway to the human’s soul,” hissed the voice. “His mind is ours… erase yourself and leave him to his work.”

“Forget me,” she growled, dropping the man to the ground. “Go back to your post.”