Sandra

  The FBI, SBI (State Bureau of Investigation), FeBMA (Federal Bureau of Magical Affairs) and various local fire and law enforcement agencies made nuisances of themselves all day. They blocked traffic, had to get into every room and start the identification process of every patient, carted away dozens of computers, confiscated dozens and dozens of cell phones, questioned every employee in what they called a prelim Q and A, held multiple press conferences, and tried to blame Tridevi for the situation.

  When one intrepid cop tried to bully and arrest Sandra, she stared him down and said, “Those evil men attacked me. Being attacked makes me lose control of my magic. I suggest that, unless you deliberately want to cause me to lose control, you treat me with respect, young man. Or wear feathers. Your choice.”

  He could have arrested her for communicating a threat to a law enforcement officer, but instead he found someone else to intimidate.

  In the quiet after his departure, Sandra found a moment to approach an emu and study him carefully. Then she stretched out her hand and touched the bird, releasing her power in a slow coil. Her magic wrapped around him, soothing him. Several minutes later, a naked human plopped to his backside on the floor, and instantly covered his genitals.

  She had done it. She had reversed her emu curse.

  Tears gathered and fell from her eyes. Harold… I can save Harold.

  She patted the confused and embarrassed man on the head and wandered into an empty patient room. There was a blanket on the bed. She gathered it in her arms and walked slowly between the law enforcement types and down the stairs. Across the walkway to the school. And around back to the petting zoo. No one stopped her.

  Harold flapped his wings and raced to her in excitement. At the fence he stopped and pecked at her pocket, his beak stabbing her. “Ouch, stop that,” she said laughing. “I don’t have anything for you, sweetheart. Except this.” She gathered her power and let it swirl around her. Delicate and rich, the color blue and the scent of basil and allspice. She hadn’t known that her power was beautiful. She sent it curling to Harold.

  Her magic twisted around his head, down his long neck, and began to twine into the feathers and around his body. Somewhere around his hips it broke into two strands and dropped around his legs, coiling to the ground.

  A dozen heartbeats later, Harold coalesced out of the magic and the emu feathers, and sat hard, on the ground. Stunned. Confused.

  Sandra wrapped a blanket around him and sat on the dusty zoo ground, wrapping her arms around him. Tears were streaming down her face.

  Oddly, there was a naked human woman a few feet away. Sandra was pretty sure there had been a boa constrictor laying there a moment ago.

  It took a moment for the fact to seep in. Her magic had freed another person from a third person’s curse.

  That wasn’t possible.

  It was completely impossible for one magic practitioner to reverse another’s magic.

  But she just had.

  Oh. Oh my.

  “Sandra?” Harold asked. “Why am I naked? In a barnyard?”

  “Sweetheart, I have a long story to share.”

  “You!” a voice shouted. “Stop! Stop. Freeze! Police!” He had a gun out. Pointing it at two naked people and a petting zoo full of animals.

  With a flick of her magic—not her curse—Sandra turned the terrified young cop into an emu.

  Dani

  Judge Marcus Mattinger showed up shortly after the cop was transformed. Mable’s old flame helped sort things out, explaining to law enforcement that Tridevi had led the investigation and brought down The Sevens’ entire operation. Once Marcus was on the scene, Tridevi’s lawyer got the charges against Sandra dropped. It hadn’t been difficult. The cop’s service weapon had not been holstered. He had drawn his gun for no reason at all except panic. Marcus had even demanded an apology from the local sheriff for the incident as part of Sandra agreeing to turn the cop, along with rest of the emus, back to human.

  The apology had been politely—if coldly—delivered.

  After that, things with the law went much more smoothly, and Mable had introduced her old flame to Dani. It turned out that Marcus was a lonely widower. Over coffee in the employee dining room of Building J, the judge asked Dani out to dinner. She stopped with her cup halfway to her mouth. “What did you say?”

  “I said, ‘Let’s get out of here and find a nice steak place.’ Unless you’re a vegetarian? Or a vegan?”

  Dani blinked. She didn’t date. Especially not Mable’s sloppy seconds. But … Marcus was kinda cute. He was a little shorter than she was, had dark eyes and very dark skin. He was bald and his head had a perfect shape. “I’ll—” She stopped. “Tridevi has a press conference. In an hour.”

  “Steak tomorrow then. Coffee after you’re done here tonight?”

  Dani asked, “Tomorrow? Tomorrow …” She met his eyes. His looked kind. “I eat steak,” she said, slowly. “Rare,” she warned.

  “I like mine a little more cooked, but bloody beef doesn’t scare me. Nor do strong women who blow up cars.” He gave her a smile and Dani found herself staring at his mouth.

  She blinked and looked past him, not sure what to say to that.

  “Tomorrow it is,” he said, his smile widening. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  She nodded, not at all happy with the way she was feeling just now. Like a hormonal teenager with a new boyfriend.

  “And that coffee as soon as the press conference is over. I’ll wait.” Marcus wandered off.

  Dani

  Once Tridevi was released from official custody, they gave a press conference and she, Mable, and Marvin, answered a lengthy Q and A by avid reporters and media people. Sandra had begged off, though the agency gave her the credit for all the lifesaving magic of returning emus and all the other animals back into people.

  Sandra was a media hero. Sandra would be rich, if she decided to capitalize on her gift. But for now, Sandra and Harold were having a second honeymoon in a local five-star hotel, on a company credit card, with room service as a bonus. She deserved it. Without her brave use of her power, they would likely all be dead. And Sandra was getting a raise, fueled by the numbers of consultation appointments the agency clerks were taking in their absence.

  Once night fell, and the excitement finally died down, Mable and Marvin took off to have wild sex somewhere, and Dani watched as the inmates at The Sevens were greeting families and headed home. In another parking lot, the patients in Building Z were being carted off by ambulance to real hospitals for real treatment under the care of doctors and nurses certified by FeBMA.

  Tridevi had broken a major case.

  The Sevens’ warden had been fingered by the anesthesiologist as the person running the harvesting operation, and Margorie Devoe had been placed under arrest, along with two neurosurgeons, four nurses, the anesthesiologist, and the entire magic-wielding security crew, especially the ones who had spent time as flightless birds.

  Life was good.

  Marcus wandered up, his hands in his pockets. He had nice eyes. Kind eyes. And they were on her.

  “My husband was a lawyer,” she said when he got close. “And not the good kind.”

  “You don’t like lawyers?”

  “Not usually. And it’s too late for coffee.”

  He nodded as if she had said something weighty and significant. “I don’t practice these days. I mostly wrangle lawyers and parse legalese.”

  “And?”

  “And there’s a little bistro, about twenty miles from The Sevens. I know for a fact that they have on hand a lovely bottle of Stag's Leap Cask 23, the 2017 vintage. Their cheese is handmade from milk produced by a local goat farm, and their bread is homemade at a local bakery to cleanse our palettes.”

  The way he said Stag’s Leap sounded like a wine lover’s caress. A bottle usually went for $600.00 on a dinner menu. “You like wine?” Dani asked.

  “I do, my lady. I do indeed. Are you interested in the Stag? Or perhaps I could lure you to my place and introduce you to my wine cellar.”

  And that line had just enough heat to it to convince her he was interested in her.

  Clearly, since he wandered off earlier, Marcus had researched her, probably talking to Mable. Now he was trying to impress her. It was working. And since she had talked to Mable about the judge, she couldn’t fault his tactics.

  “Let’s take in the bistro tonight and see what happens about that wine cellar after dinner tomorrow night.”

  The judge removed a hand from his pocket and used a small key fob to unlock a tiny red sports car in the parking lot. “Try not to explode my new toy.”

  Dani laughed. “I’ll try, Marcus. But I’m not promising anything.”

  * * *

  The End

  About Faith Hunter

  Faith Hunter, urban fantasy writer, was born in Louisiana and raised all over the south. Hunter fell in love with reading in fifth grade, and best loved SciFi, fantasy, and gothic mystery. She decided to become a writer in high school, when a teacher told her she had talent. Now, she writes full-time, tries to keep house, and is a workaholic with a passion for travel, jewelry making, white-water kayaking, and writing. She and her husband love to RV, traveling to whitewater rivers all over the Southeast.

  * * *

  Join the fans at the official Faith Hunter Facebook fan page now located at https://www.facebook.com/official.faith.hunter or follow her on Twitter @HunterFaith

  * * *

  For more, including a list of her books, freebies, & upcoming events see www.FaithHunter.net and www.GwenHunter.com.

  Oak and Ink

  A SOULS OF THE ROAD NOVELLA

  Devon Monk

  To my family, the Travelin' Rats and assorted Rodents, and my wonderful readers who have wandered with me down these old dreaming roads...

  Copyright © 2022 by Devon Monk

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual or fictional characters or actual or fictional events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The fictional characters, events, locales, business establishments, or persons in this story have no relation to any other fictional characters, events, locales, business establishments, or persons, except those in works by this author.

  No part or portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without prior permission from the author.

  All rights reserved by the author.

  Chapter One

  Fate was coming. The roar of her motorcycle rumbled at the edge of my hearing and rattled through the magic in the ground beneath me, shaking that damn pecan tree I was scowling at.

  I set my hammer and bucket of nails on the sawhorse and wiped my arm over my forehead, mopping sweat even though it was barely dawn.

  “You hear that?” I asked the ghost. Valentine was lounging on the pile of wood I wanted to turn into a shop, even though the damn tree was in the way of the roofline.

  “Did I hear some woman cussing about not having any help, and for reasons unknown to me, angry at a pecan tree? No, Ricky. I haven’t heard a thing you’ve said.”

  Val had been a werewolf in life and was a smart-ass in death.

  Built lean and rangy with a bit of hungry-wolf to him, he was too skinny to be my type. But with his scruff and wicked dark eyes, he pulled off the good-looking bad-boy vibe.

  Me? I was a mountain. Over six-feet tall, with broad shoulders, wide hips, and thick everywhere else, I knew my size could intimidate. Counted on it, really.

  Val claimed he had a tattoo on his body somewhere, which I wasn’t about to ask him to show me. I, however, couldn’t hide my ink and was absolutely painted from collarbone to fingertips, back, butt, legs and feet.

  Every one of my tattoos carried magic that allowed me to access and look after the magic in the Crossroads.

  “The engines,” I said. “Can you hear them?”

  He tipped his head. The ghost wolf, who was always with him, lifted its head, too, ears pricked up.

  “No?” he said.

  “Well, I can. It’s Fate.”

  “The god? How concerned should I be?”

  “Depends. Did you do something to piss off the gods?”

  “Not lately.” He grinned. “Have you, Ricky?”

  “Probably. Seems like everyone has something to complain about.” The engine was a little louder but still a long ways out.

  I tugged my gloves off and stared at the space beneath the tree where I’d been trying to build a shop for weeks.

  “You know what I want, Val?” I asked, without looking at the ghost. “I want a shop. I want it to somehow fit under this pecan tree without me having to saw off half the branches. And I want whatever god-awful mess is about to show up on my doorstep to be something I can ignore.”

  “Didn’t know a Crossroads could ignore god-awful messes.”

  “We are exceptional at ignoring and saying no to chaos.” I turned and started toward the big house. It began life as a warehouse, but was now a gathering place for all manner of magical odds and ends that washed up the drive.

  Magical people, magical things, magical troubles all ended up here some way or another looking for help, guidance, sanctuary.

  “Sure,” Val said. “I’ve seen you totally ignore chaos. Like when you helped Lula and Brogan find the rabbit-that-was-not-a-rabbit by battling an ancient evil a couple weeks ago.” He floated along next to me, his wolf keeping pace. “All that ‘no’ you said to all that god-awful mess really worked out for you.”

  “We won, didn’t we?”

  “The Hush almost killed us.”

  “Yeah, well,” I said, giving him a look, “some of us were already dead.”

  “You could have said no to the whole thing.”

  “I don’t leave my friends to fight monsters on their own.”

  “You could have.”

  “I’m not made that way. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to welcome every troublemaker who shows up on my doorstep.”

  “What about gods?” he asked. “You’d turn gods away, because you don’t want to deal with whatever trouble they’re bringing with them?”

  “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” I crossed the grass, wishing I was barefoot, so I could better tap into the magic of the place.

  The Crossroads wasn’t exactly a sentient building, but all the magic stored in it had somehow merged together to create a joined spirit.

  The old house was my friend, and I was its guardian and the keeper of its magic.

  Even if that magic was dangerous.

  Especially when it was dangerous.

  In return, the Crossroads did its best to help me. Lately, I’d been having the same dream on repeat, which I knew the Crossroads had something to do with.

  I was floating in tropical water, the taste of sugar on my lips. A handsome man, a familiar man, with green, green eyes placed a flower in my hair, his fingers drawing down the curve of my cheek. “I’ve missed you, Ricks.”

  That’s where the dream always ended, because that’s always when I’d recognized the man.

  Cardamom Oak. That dryad-wizard fink.

  I’d dismissed the dream every day for a week, but the Crossroads just kept putting it in my brain.

  I knew it was an omen.

  Trouble was coming.

  And that trouble was somehow connected to my jerk ex-lover.

  “Like you’d ever have the guts to show your face here,” I grumbled as I stomped up the stairs, then paused to take off my boots and socks.

  As soon as my bare feet touched the old wood of the porch, warmth and ease flowed through me, settling me like nothing else could.

  The ground was a neutral zone where supernaturals could claim sanctuary. That’s what the Crossroads had been built for back in the ancient days. That’s what they still stood for today.

  “This is good,” I said, rolling my shoulders. “I got this.” I stretched to get the kinks out of my back, then pushed through the door and stepped inside.

  The narrow halls were covered in faded flowered wallpaper, and the clutter of furniture and magical things made the big house feel cozy. A few of the rooms were getting a little too full of magical items. The Crossroads usually shuffled and sorted through everything that showed up here, and moved stuff from one room to another as it pleased.

  The ever-shifting piles of books, scrolls, crystals, clockwork, lamps, caldrons, paintings, stuffed beasts, and a million other little things didn’t bother me. I’d grown up here, and I liked being in a place where lots of oddness somehow fit together.

  Plus, my bedroom was tidy, as was the big living room, bigger kitchen, and of course the bathrooms. Other than those main rooms, I indulged the house’s need to decorate as it chose.

  “It’s fine how it is. No need to change,” I said.

  “You talk to yourself a lot, did you know that?” Val said. “I keep thinking you’re starting a conversation, but you’re just in a bad mood.”

  “Who said I’m in a bad mood? Everything’s great. Can’t you see all this great?” I waved my hands above my head.

  “You’re doing an awful lot of scowling for the happy words coming out of your mouth.”

  “Really didn’t ask for feedback,” I said. “Go do something useful.”

  “Like what? Put out the good china? Brew tea for the god?”

  “How about go see Danube? Try to patch it up with your werewolf pack?”

  I stepped into my bedroom and pulled off my sweaty work shirt, tossing it into the hamper.

  Val stayed on the other side of the closed door. “No, not today,” he said. “I want to see how this approaching god thing works out. You do know there’s someone hanging out at the edge of the property too, right?”