Characters on the Couch: Viola Carr's Lizzie and Eliza

It's often said that we authors have voices in our heads. Viola Carr has voices with their own voices. She's currently in the midst of the very clever Electric Empire steampunk series. The second, The Devious Dr. Jekyll, came out Tuesday.

THE DIABOLICAL MISS HYDE

Magic, mystery, and romance mix in this edgy steampunk fantasy retelling of the horror classic—in which Dr. Eliza Jekyll is the daughter of the infamous Dr. Henry Jekyll.

In an electric-powered Victorian London, Dr. Eliza Jekyll is a crime scene investigator, hunting killers with inventive new technological gadgets. Now, a new killer is splattering London in blood, drugging beautiful women and slicing off their limbs. Catching the Chopper will make Eliza’s career - or get her burned. Because Eliza has a dark secret. A seductive second self, set free by her father’s forbidden magical elixir: wild, impulsive Lizzie Hyde. 

When the Royal Society sends their Enforcer, the mercurial Captain Lafayette, to prove she’s a sorcerer, Eliza must resist the elixir with all her power. But as the Chopper case draws her into London’s luminous magical underworld, Eliza will need all the help she can get. Even if it means getting close to Lafayette, who harbors an evil curse of his own. 

Even if it means risking everything and setting vengeful Lizzie free …

Before I give you the cover and blurb for the second book, which I cannot wait to read, here's an interview with Viola, Eliza, and Lizzie. It made me laugh, which gives you an idea of the tone of the books. Yes, there's some dark stuff, but a lot of humor. Oh, and as you can see, she comes from a place where they add an extra vowel to "behaviour."

1. If your character were to go to a psychologist – willingly or unwillingly – what would bring them in? Yes, a court order is a valid answer.

Oh, dear. Where does one begin? {evil laugh}

My heroine – crime scene physician Dr. Eliza Jekyll – is witty, clever, polite and cautious. But she has a secret dual identity. Drink the magic potion, and she becomes Lizzie Hyde, her flamboyant, rude second self.

Lizzie is reckless, angry and unafraid. She carouses in seedy pubs, drinks too much gin and flirts with dangerous men. She couldn't care less what other people think of her.

Which would be all very well, if Eliza wasn't trying to carry on a respectable career in a strait-laced Victorian London obsessed with keeping up appearances. If Eliza wasn't addicted to the magic potion, over-using to the extent that Lizzie sometimes pops out of her own accord. And if magic of any kind wasn't forbidden on pain of execution.

Most inconvenient!

Understandably, Eliza doesn’t like talking about her 'problem'. Getting her into therapy won't be easy without a pretext. She's worked as a mad-doctor in lunatic asylums. So you might get her in your office with the promise of showing her some cool new treatment for mental illness. As for treating her own issues… well, she'd decline with a sharp smile and a witticism, and walk away.

Lizzie thinks it's Eliza who's the problem. Offer her a way to get rid of Eliza, and she'd at least listen. If you suggest to her she's a sickness who needs to be cured? She'll likely punch you in the face.

2. Is the presenting problem one of the main internal or external conflicts in your book? If so, how does it present itself?

Yes to both! External, because changing shape at whim is very inconvenient when magic is a capital offense. Spies are everywhere. She's sure to get caught.

And internal, because despite the trouble Lizzie causes, deep in her heart Eliza secretly wants to be Lizzie. To say and do exactly what she thinks, to take what she wants with no regard for the consequences.

Lizzie, too, wants her own life. She's sick of being stuck inside Eliza all the time. She wants out.

Not to mention the romantic conflict. What if they're interested in different men? Worse: what if it's the same man?

Most of the time, they'd each happily strangle the other… but they love each other, too. The way we all secretly love the darkest, strangest part of our own heart. Because, well, it's our heart.

3. It's always interesting to see how people act when they first enter my office. Do they immediately go for my chair, hesitate before sitting anywhere, flop on the couch, etc.? What would your character do?

Eliza sits quietly, smooths her inoffensive gray skirts, folds her hands in her lap. She listens to what you've got to say before she opens her mouth to demolish you with her cutting wit, so she won't have to face the problem.

Lizzie – assuming you got her in there at all – slouches about, grumbling and poking at your stuff and wondering where the gin is.

4. Does your character talk to the therapist? How open/revealing will your character be? What will he or she say first?

Lizzie: {flops on couch in a flounce of scarlet skirts} Well? Don't just sit there gaping like a stunned sardine. Get on with it. All this head-shrinking malarkey is cutting into my drinking time.

Therapist: I'd like you to talk to me about the effect your behaviour is having on your host.
CD note: Viola made it easy on me and filled in the therapist questions.
Lizzie: {snorts} My behaviour? All my fault, is it? What about her? She never wants to have any fun! Always yammering in my ear with 'do this', 'don't do that', 'keep your voice down', 'ooh, Lizzie, don't flirt, whatever are you up to with that sly-fingered gent?'

Therapist: So you’re hearing her voice?  She gives you instructions?

Lizzie: Invading my privacy, that's what it is. Right distracting it is, too, having prim and prissy Dr. Eliza chirping in my ear when I'm getting down to most private business. Never a moment's peace!

Therapist: And how does that make you feel?
CD: Hahahahaha!

Lizzie: Like I want to punch her in the nose? I'm only doing what she'd do if she had the guts. At least Miss Lizzie knows how to have a good time. I'm a prisoner, that's what I am. I'm the victim here. She's the one with a stick shoved up her snooty behind.

Therapist: I'm sensing some hostility…

Lizzie: Right. She's the one what hates me. I'm just trying to get along. Are we done here?

5. Your character walks into the bar down the street after his/her first therapy session. What does he/she order? What happens next?

Lizzie orders gin. Flirts with the bartender. More gin. Flirts with the bloke next to her until he pays for more gin. Has deep conversation about how she, Lizzie, is just fine the way she is, thanks very much, and Eliza is the one who ought to get some frickin' therapy. More gin, laced with laudanum. Everything goes black. Eliza wakes up next morning sprawled on the pub floor, wondering what the hell happened, where her stockings are and why her skirt has blood on it.

6. When you're building characters, do you have any tricks you use to really get into their psyches, like a character interview or personality system (e.g., Myers-Briggs types)?

I definitely do a lot of work on backstory. What are the pivotal events that made this character the way she is? What are the core beliefs that guide her decisions? And what are her limits – what would those core beliefs never allow her to say or do?

Often the characters don't consciously know what these things are. One of Eliza's core values is justice – she's driven to solve crimes and get justice for murder victims, particularly murdered women. But at the start of the series, she doesn't really know why - not until she uncovers some mysteries from her childhood does she come to understand.

Thanks for hosting me on your blog today – it was lots of fun!

And thank you for coming by! You gave great answers. I mean, Lizzie did. 

My review of The Diabolical Miss Hyde:

I picked up a copy of The Diabolical Miss Hyde at the Avon Party at the Romantic Times Convention because it was the only obvious steampunk there. I started reading it that night and got sucked in, but then life got in the way. I picked it back up last night, and can we say book hangover? I was up way too late finishing it.

Eliza Jekyll is the daughter of that Doctor Jekyll, and she's a forensic medical specialist, although that's not what she's called. She also has a secret. Like her father, she has a literal dark side who comes out, Lizzie Hyde, and does all sorts of naughty things.

One of the things that really worked about this book that I never would have expected was that Eliza's parts are in third person while Lizzie's are in first. It gives the reader a good sense of Lizzie's frenetic immediateness, especially since she only gets to come out every so often. It also works for the transitions later in the book so you know exactly whose POV we're getting.

Also intriguing is Captain Remy LaFayette, who is part of the Royal Service whose mission is to squash the practice of magic, but who is dealing with his own curse. I won't spoil what it is, but I found it all intriguing. Lizzie is attracted to this captain with a dark side, but he's got the hots for Eliza, and wow, that's going to be a complicated love triangle, especially since Eliza is attracted to a bad boy of her own.

I really really hope this is the first in a series because I can't wait to get back to this complex world and these fascinating characters. (And I'm so glad it is!)

THE DEVIOUS DR. JEKYLL

A perilous case. A worthy foe. This could make her career ... or ruin it forever.

Solving the notorious Chopper case was supposed to help crime scene physician Dr. Eliza Jekyll—daughter of the infamous Henry—establish her fledgling career in the chauvinistic world of Victorian law enforcement. But the scrutiny that comes with her newfound fame is unwelcome for a woman with a diabolical secret: her dark and jealous shadow self, Lizzie Hyde. And there is the mercurial Royal Society agent with his own secret to hide, Captain Remy Lafayette. Does he want to marry Eliza or burn her at the stake? It’s impossible, however, for Eliza to push Remy away when he tempts her with the one thing she can’t resist: a bizarre crime to investigate. And although Eliza is uncertain about Remy, Lizzie isn’t. Lizzie wants to steal the magnetic and persistent agent and usurp Eliza’s life. 

As the search for a bloodthirsty ritual torturer dubbed the Pentacle Killer draws Eliza and Remy into a terrifying world of spies, art thieves, and evil alchemy—where the price of immortality is madness or damnation—only Lizzie’s dark ingenuity can help Eliza survive. Eliza and Remy must race to thwart a foul conspiracy involving the sorcerous French, but they must also overcome a sinister enemy who is all too close to home: the vengeful Lizzie, who is determined to dispose of Eliza for good.

AUTHOR BIO

Viola Carr was born in a strange and distant land, but wandered into darkest London one foggy October evening and never found her way out. She now devours countless history books and dictates fantastical novels by gaslight, accompanied by classical music and the snoring of her slumbering cat. You can find her on Facebook and Twitter.

If you could be your evil twin for one night, what would you do? Comment for a chance to win a paperback copy of The Diabolical Miss Hyde.

Eros Element, Aether Psychics Book One

I first found out about steampunk when my friend and fellow author James Bassett suggested I submit a story to his and Stephen Antczak's steampunk fairytale retelling anthology Clockwork Fairy Tales. I did, and they rejected it, which goes to show that having friends in the industry doesn't necessarily get you anywhere, but I was hooked. I started reading more of the genre, got a little horrified at the number of head injuries the heroes of early works like Infernal Devices sustain, and stumbled into Gail Carriger's Parasol Protectorate series. I went from hooked to in love.

So of course, being a writer, if there's a genre I love, I'm going to give it a shot. I penned a short story The Clockwork Boy to submit to Buddhapuss Ink's 2012 Mystery Times Ten contest, which I'd won the previous year, and didn't even final. That goes to show that being a contest winner doesn't necessarily get you anywhere in future years, either. Can you see the theme? But this one did get accepted to ezine Abyss and Apex and came out this spring. You can read it here.

After that acceptance, I was ready to write a novel. I love archaeology and independent women, so heroine Iris McTavish was born. I also get annoyed by overly perfect heroes, so I decided to give Professor Edward Bailey some Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder aspects, which he developed as a defense after his heart was broken. I also named him after my beloved cat Bailey, who died last year. As for the title, it's the thing they're after, the Eros Element, which they think will help harness the power of aether. Of course there are problems, as you can see through the blurb:

If love is the ivy, secrets are the poison.

After enduring heartbreak at the hands of a dishonest woman, Edward Bailey lives according to scientific principles of structure and predictability. Just the thought of stepping outside his strict routine raises his anxiety.

Adding to his discomfort is Iris McTavish, who appears at his school’s faculty meeting in place of her world-famous archeologist father. Worse, the two of them are to pose as Grand Tourists while they search for an element that will help harness the power of aether.

Iris jumps at the opportunity to prove her worth as a scholar—and avoid an unwanted marriage proposal—while hiding the truth of her father’s whereabouts. If her secret gets out, the house of McTavish will fall into ruin.

Quite unexpectedly, Edward and Iris discover a growing attraction as their journey takes them to Paris and Rome, where betrayal, blackmail and outright theft threaten to destroy what could be a revolutionary discovery—and break their hearts.

Warning: Allergen alert! This book was produced in a facility that handles copious amounts of wine, tea and baked goods. May contain one or more of the following: a spirited heroine, a quirky hero, clever banter, interesting facts both made-up and historical, and lots of secrets. It is, however, gluten free.

And here is the gorgeous cover, again courtesy of cover artist Kanaxa:

It was released on August 25, 2015 and is now available from all retailers including the following:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Google Books

Kobo

Samhain Publishing

If you're local, you can find it at Eagle Eye Books.

And here's a brief excerpt:

South of Huntington Station, 10 June 1870

Edward looked up when the compartment door opened and saw a white-blond fairy with a reticule and valise followed by Johann carrying a trunk. No, it’s not a fairy, it’s Miss McTavish with her hair down. Why are her eyes so bright and her cheeks flushed? He looked down when an answering blush bloomed hot in his own cheeks. It’s not proper to see her so disheveled.

“Look what I found,” Johann said. “This young lady arrived in Parnaby Cobb’s personal racing steamcart.”

“That’s remarkable,” Edward said. “How did he bring a racing steamcart into town without my knowing? What model is it?” He twisted around, but the station and the vehicle had long disappeared from view, and now they rolled through the south part of town.

“Didn’t get a chance to check the number. But even stranger—Miss McTavish was being chased by a handsome coach and four perfectly matched chestnuts. Do you have any idea who that might be?”

“I don’t pay attention to horses,” Edward said. “I imagine it was one of the gentry. You almost missed the train,” he told her. “We wouldn’t have waited for you. But how did you enjoy the racer? My brother only has a standard steamcart.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t have much time to take notes on the experience,” she told him, and he wondered if she would have taken notes if given the opportunity. Perhaps he had underestimated her. “But I believe it was the Prancer 457. That’s the only explanation for how fast it went. I didn’t know they had them outside the States.” She twisted her hair in her fingers, and a few metal objects fell out with pings. The hairpins seemed to disappear into the variegated surface of the coach floor. “Oh, no, now I’ll never find them.”

Edward couldn’t stop looking at her. Was this the same prim and proper miss he’d met a few days ago, the one who hadn’t been cowed by the dean or that strange American? And a Prancer. He’d often dreamed of seeing one in person and wanted to examine its engine to see if he could adapt it to run on aether someday, once they’d discovered the crucial steps to stabilize and harness the energy of the substance. He twisted around again like he could wish the rumbling miles between him and the steam-engine driven coach away.

“Don’t you have something in your bag that could help the young lady find her hairpins?” Johann asked, bringing Edward back to the disappointing present.

“I might,” he said. He rooted around in his valise, pulled out a cloth, set the cloth on his lap and the valise on top of it, and with the case now stable, felt around in the reinforced pockets along the side. His fingers closed around a hard rectangular object, which he handed to Johann.

“What is it?” Johann asked.

“Surely you musicians aren’t that dense. Don’t you recognize a magnet?” Edward asked. “If the hairpins are metal, this should attract them. Just be sure you clean it off after. No telling what’s on this floor. And you’re not going to put those dirty pins in your hair, are you?”

Miss McTavish looked at him with a similar expression the duchess used when he said something that demonstrated how little of children he knew. “I have to put my hair up, and I don’t have any other options.”

“Oh, wait a minute,” Johann said and reached into his trousers pocket. He drew out a handful of women’s hairpins. “Will these work?”

Now Miss McTavish looked wide-eyed at the musician. “Dare I ask why you’re carrying those?”
“I spent yesterday evening with an actress of my acquaintance. She prefers her hairpins to not end up in the bed—they prick you at the most inopportune times—and she was, well, she forgot to ask for them back this morning.”

Now Edward felt his face flush, but he wasn’t sure if it was darker or lighter than Miss McTavish’s blush. “Really, Johann, there’s no need to be crude. And how clean could those hairpins be?”

“They’re fine, I’m sure,” Miss McTavish said and held out her hand.

“Allow me,” Johann told her. “I’ve done this for my friends. It’s part of a musician’s life, having to step in at performances when a singer’s coif goes askew.”

The thought of his friend’s fingers tangling in Miss McTavish’s hair made Edward’s cheeks heat again and an uncomfortable tension come to his chest. His mind wanted to interpret the sensations and attach a label to them, but he stopped it. He’d long ago given up that part of him, the piece in the middle that wanted to connect with the piece in the middle of someone else like two complementary elements that combined to form something new and exciting. No, his was an existence best left to himself. Relationship-driven change hurt, particularly if the other person wasn’t interested in the results.

If you liked the excerpt and are interested in the book, here are the links again:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Google Books

Kobo

Samhain Publishing

For Atlanta residents who want signed paperback copies: Eagle Eye Books

For more excerpts, cover reveals, and info about sales, wine, and sleep, please consider signing up for my newsletter. I send them out one to two times per month.

In Progress: 12 Days to Perfect Blog Hop

So here we are about a week before A Perfect Man comes out, and I'm so excited! I'm currently doing a 12 Days to Perfect Blog Hop, and here's where I've been so far:

5/1/15 Magic City Writing blog:  Meet the adorable kitten Timothy Mouse (aka the intern, see photo to the right) as he spills about his mom's writing process and how he takes revenge on his humans for putting him in time out.

5/2/15: Paperbacks & Papercuts blog: M.V. Freeman dug around in my writerly brain with a fun author interview.

5/3/15: Linda Joyce's blog: Meet Karen, the heroine of A Perfect Man, as she comes in for an initial therapy session.

5/4/15: Debbie Herbert's blog. Debbie posted my first Goodreads review and also has the blurb and first couple of scenes up on her blog.

5/5/15: Suzanne Johnson's blog: another fun author interview including what I'm currently reading and some of my favorite books.

5/6/15: Tricia Drameh's Authors to Watch blog: come meet hero Seth and comment on your perfect dessert

5/7/15:  Sally Kilpatrick's Super Writer Mom blog: a guest post on why we love beta heroes (like Seth!), comment on your favorite album for a chance to win a $10 iTunes gift card. Yes, $10!

5/8/15: Samantha March's Chick Lit Plus blog: a review! Come comment on your perfect season.

5/9/15: Suzy Turner's Fiction Dreams blog: a guest post on how writing A Perfect Man was my way of sneaking back into graduate school

5/10/15: Ms. Nose in a Book blog:  a review and discussion of perfect pets. Giveaway extended through 5/11.

5/11/15: Jencey Gortney's Writer's Corner: why I love writing in the South.

Each day's post has a giveaway, so be sure to check out and comment on today's!

I got exciting news this weekend via Google - A Perfect Man has been deemed one of 10 Must-Read Romance Novels for May 2015 by about.com. Woo hoo!

There's also a  Rafflecopter giveaway for some nifty grand prizes. If you'd like to know what they are, click here.
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Stay tuned to learn more about my characters, the book, and me as well as see reviews. Thanks for joining in!

Tony Noland on Superheros and Booze: A Guest Post from a Fellow Author

I know Tony through Twitter, where he keeps me laughing with his wry wit, blatant geekiness, and clever observations about the writing and publishing life. He's also one of the few Twitter writing friends I've met in person. My husband and I were visiting my sister in Philadelphia, and Tony agreed to meet up with us in a small Chinese restaurant. After we figured out we must be the right people, having never even seen pictures of each other before, we settled in for a night of foodie adventurousness. Now I have an inside joke about crunchy frog (congee -- don't ask) and an online/IRL friendship I really value. We've beta read for each other, and I was honored he asked me to do so for his novel, which came out on Monday. It's a very clever book with sympathetic, real characters, fun humor, and a sweet spot where Humanities and Science majors can meet and mingle successfully or at least find common ground over a nice beverage. The love story is well done, too.

So, without further ado, I give you Tony's guest post on superheroes and alcohol:

My new book comes out this week: "Verbosity's Vengeance". It's a science fiction superhero novel starring the Grammarian, a hero who uses grammar- and punctuation-based superpowers to fight Professor Verbosity on the mean streets of Lexicon City. With my book launch this week, you can easily imagine that the question foremost in my mind is: why don't more superheros drink?

Batman is a fitness junkie who treats his body like a temple, Professor X is an abstemious aesthete. Superman is a workaholic and Captain America is a boy scout, but alcohol doesn't have any effect on either of them, anyway. Of heroes who DO drink, Thor's banquet hall mead quaffing is like a frat house joke, Wolverine's Molson-and-Canadian-Club boilermaker habit is just part of his tough guy rep he works to maintain, and Tony Stark's alcoholic boozing is a standard pillar of playboy excess. Each of them is a literary archetypes of different kinds of moral repugnance ascribed to drinking and virtue ascribed to not-a-drop abstention. Where is the moderate, social drinking of the kind enjoyed by billions of people around the world every day?

 You'd think that after a hard day (or night) of superheroics, more superheroes would want to kick back with a drink to unwind, either in the quiet of their own home/cave/fortress or in the company of friends. In my book, Alex Graham doesn't drink while he's on duty as the Grammarian, but in his civilian life, he does enjoy a glass or two of whisky with his old pal and mentor, the Silver Cipher. Alex doesn't abstain completely, nor does he drink to excess. He enjoys his libations in moderation, which I think makes him more relatable and true to life.

"Verbosity's Vengeance" has a lot of wit and wordplay based on language and grammar usage. For that reason, I often get asked if I wrote the book for a younger audience, either as pure adventure or as a teaching tool. It could be used that way, but I wrote it to tell a good story. The word nerd humor is interwoven among the superhero action and tension, with plenty of science fiction technobabble to move things along. Is a young adult audience going to be put off by the occasional quiet martini or flute of champagne at a reception? I wouldn't think so, since they must sure see such behavior in the real world. However, I'm often surprised at what people find objectionable when deciding which book a young adult might pick up.

Drugs, of course, are right out. Any kind of social indulgence in mood-altering substances gets a Just Say No. Sex and swearing are almost as bad as alcohol, since the assumption is that none of them can be done in moderation. Either nobody swears or everybody swears all the time. Either nobody has sex or everybody is in a shifting round robin with everybody else (except for the virtuous heroine and/or hero). Violence seems to be no problem. Katniss Everdeen runs over and around the corpses of teenagers stabbed, burned, and bludgeoned to death. Harry Potter is surrounded by torture, murder and mayhem, but we all pretended butterbeer was magically alcohol-free.

So, sure, you could you give my book to a young adult. They'd love it. You'll love it too if you like action, adventure and wordplay, and if you don't mind seeing responsible adults acting like responsible adults. You can buy a copy for them or for yourself right here. As it happens, there's very little swearing and no sex, although there's G-rated romance between Alex Graham and the intelligent and talented Dr. Kate Hunter. They enjoy a couple of drinks together, too.

Is the Grammarian alone in his appreciation of a good libation? Did I forget someone? Can you think of a superhero who engages in moderate social drinking without some kind of moralistic overlay ascribed to that character?

You can find out more info about Tony and his fiction on his website Landless.

Serial Fiction: Monument Minders, Chapter Six

Chapter Six
Potato Pancake Universe

Thom brought them to the Fried Green Tomato, a Southern food café.

"Nice place," said Thurston. "Do they have potato pancakes?"

Thom waved to the heavyset guy behind the counter, who held up his fingers in a double "Peace" sign. "I don't know, but I can ask."

Instead of turning right into the main dining room, Thom took them through a door at the back of the cafeteria-style service and ordering room and into a small conference-style room. Pictures of celebrities who had eaten at the restaurant lined the walls. Thurston nodded to Debtra, who took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She spread her arms, palms facing outward, and turned in a slow circle.

"No energy signatures consistent with listening devices, aether or otherwise."

"Good." Thurston sat with a thud in one of the metal chairs. "Although I don't think you need to worry about the aether ones. They wouldn't work so well in the quantum stream. I think it's time to feed our Manifestations again." He raised his eyebrows at Thom. "About those potato pancakes?"

Before Thom could reply, a knock came at the door, and he opened it to see the guy from the front room.

"Heya, Hank, come on in."

Hank nodded to the three of them. "What can I get y'all?"

They gave their orders, and Thom was relieved when Hank didn't blink at Thurston's potato pancake request. He'd escorted specialists, whom he figured worked for the C.I.A., before, but there was something strange about these two. They made chit-chat until Hank returned with the food. Then the professor hit Thom with a very strange question.

"Tell me, young man, what kind of conceptualization do you have of the universe?"

Thom blinked, and he remembered the dreams that had come back to him when looking into Debtra's eyes. He shrugged.

"It's big?" he asked.

Debtra coughed, but Thom thought she may have laughed at him.

"Look, I got the same classes everyone else did. I painted balls and strung them up in a mock solar system in fourth grade. I know that it's bigger than any human mind can imagine."

"Even more so." Thurston grabbed a napkin and took a pen from his pocket. "Have you heard of the theory of hidden dimensions?"

Thom raised his eyebrows. That sounded a little like his dreams.

"You live, and we're visiting here in the Third, which has two main time-streams that reflect each other." Homily drew a curve with three stick figures standing on it. "Then there's the Fourth, which is beyond it, and where my University resides. Earthly theory holds that the Fourth is time, but really it is beyond time, but we can hold it and make it flow forwards at certain points." He drew a line above the curve. "That way my students can't manipulate it and make it go backwards at final exam time. But we also have a perspective over the linear flow of time in the Third, like looking down at a circular river. From the Fourth, we can plunge in at any point."

Thom felt like his head was going to start pounding with a migraine at any second. "Where are you from?" he whispered.

"We're from the Fourth," Debtra said. She laid a hand on his, and the tension in his neck subsided. "Professor Homily and I are old souls, meaning we've been here several times."

He looked at her smooth skin and noted that the skin around her eyes only had a few slight wrinkles. "But you look so young!"

"That's because we came here with our Manifestations from the Fourth," said Thurston. "They take energy to maintain, otherwise we'd blur and fade, so we have to feed them on a normal human eating schedule plus one midnight meal."

"Oh, I thought you just had a strange way of saying you're hungry." Thom looked at the diagram. "What's beyond the Fourth?"

Thurston smiled. "Infinitely more layers and dimensions. The Fifth is where the Minders live."

"You'd talked about them."

"They observe the course of time and development, not just here, but in every dimension." Thurston tapped the end of his pen on the table. "They're very hard to explain. Humans would think of them as angels, and your Bible speaks of their guidance – some would say interference –at key points in history."

"And you survived a confrontation with one!" Debtra looked at Thurston with wide-eyed admiration, and Thom felt an unfamiliar sensation in his stomach – the uncoiling of biting jealousy?

"Barely, my dear. I've not been the same man since, and I have no recollection of about fifty years after that time."

"So what is monumenting?" Thom asked.

"A cruel, cruel thing," Debtra murmured.

Thurston nodded. "I'll assume you've had basic physics and know that, even in the most dense substances, there are spaces between atoms and molecules. As beings are essentially pure energy, monumenting takes the spirit, stretches it until there are holes between that energy, and fits it into a metallic substance that then is made into a monument."

"That sounds painful."

"The worst part is that monuments take millennia to decompose, and the spirit decomposes with it," Debtra said.

"Right." Thurston looked at his student. "There's something about the process that joins spirit to substance so thoroughly that they become the same. And it's impossible to escape, so the criminal sits there in the inclement weather with birds pooping on him or her for literal ages."

"Until this morning," said Thom.
"
Right, until this morning." Thurston looked at him. "That's why they called us in. I was there for the talks that developed the practice, and I opposed it, but I also understood it better than all save one."

"Sorvan," said Debtra.

Thurston nodded. "And I suspect that his infernal device, the Splitter, has been turned to undoing its work."

"But that's good, right?"

"Not precisely," Thurston said. "Because whatever was released this morning is no longer what he or she was. It will be an entirely new creature, and utterly unpredictable." Thurston looked at his watch. "Do you think those autopsy results are ready yet?"

Author's Note: I promise that I haven't run out of chocolate pictures, but I couldn't resist this lovely picture of a breakfast for dinner course from a beer dinner since our heroes are in a diner setting, and Thurston is about to indulge -- again -- his love for pancakes.

Friday Flash Fiction: The Agency -- A Wish and a Dragon

I'm lucky to live in a place where new restaurants open frequently, and many of them last. Since you first met Thomas Forrest and Raven, Thomas has been emancipated (click here for that story), and they're about to open a pub at the edge of the River Styx. For more Friday Flash Fiction, search the #fridayflash hashtag on Twitter.

"All set for the soft opening!" Thomas Forrest gave the Russian Blue granite bar a final swipe with the damp but soft cloth. The bar rumbled under his hand – purring? He shook his head; he'd never get used to Magic Stone™. Although its slogan "Find out just how magical it is!" had intrigued him at first, it usually meant there was some sort of nasty surprise waiting. He only hoped it wouldn't hack up a stoneball on opening night.

"Good, good." Mr. Raven smiled and emerged from the office. He still wore his long, feathered cloak and black nail polish, but Thomas understood that his new boss' attire was more parody of supervillain than fashion sense. "A good night will ensure we have enough to cover the first mortgage payment on this place, although I still cannot believe we acquired it at such a reasonable price. Any responses to the bartender ad yet?"

"No, although I can't imagine why."

"Nor can I. You really outdid yourself with the decorating."

"Thank you, sir." Thomas looked around. The dark blue-gray granite bar top seemed to grow out of the hammered metal base. Purple- and red-cushioned booths lined the walls under diamond-paned windows open to the wooded parking lot and broom stand. At once modern and magical, it was the place he'd always dreamed of managing.

Something appeared at the end of the bar with a Pop! Thomas and Raven approached it carefully, a plastic bowl-shaped container filled with murky water. A dark gray face with whiskers peered over the edge.

"I got your bartender right here!"

"Bert!" Mr. Raven held out his hands like he was going to embrace the – catfish? "How was your assignment on the Other Side?"

"Eh, the usual. Saved the girl, got the demon, got fried in the end."

Raven winced. "Again? I hope the pay was at least decent."

"Lousy. Four chicken biscuits and a wish." The fish splashed some water from its container, and Thomas had to wipe the bar again. It hissed.

"There, there," Thomas wondered if it would eat fish.

Raven raised his eyebrows. "A wish? That's different."

"New HR policy. Budget's tight, so they've gotten cheap. You should see the fine print on it."

"A-hem!" Thomas cleared his throat. "I don't believe we've met." He held out his hand and remembered the fish probably couldn't shake it.

"Yeah, I'm Bert, sometimes minion to Archangel Raphael."

Thomas arched an eyebrow. "How were you a minion? You can't even give foot massages!"

Bert looked at Raven. "Who's this punk?"

"He is the manager of this public house, recently minion to the Witch Jeanette."

"Oh, you got a used minion, huh?"

"I prefer the term pre-owned, I mean, emancipated!" Thomas took a deep breath. "And how could you be a bartender? You can't even mix drinks!"

"Telekinesis, buddy."

Raven arched an eyebrow. "As much as I admire your abilities, Bert, I don't know that this would work. You still need to be able to move around behind the bar to take orders."

Bert opened his mouth to respond, or maybe to take a breath, but a flash of lightning and sulfur smell made them all gag. A dark figure slithered through the door. The emergency candles flared to life, and all six eyes turned to the five-foot-tall lizard in the middle of the room.

"Evening, gents!" It said in a sibilant voice. "Nice place you have here." Nictitating membranes slid horizontally across its black eyes when it blinked. The hair at the back of Thomas' neck stood – this strange green creature had some strong magic behind it.

"We're not open yet," said Raven.

"I'm aware of that. Who's in charge here?"

Thomas pointed a finger and Bert a fin at Raven.

"This here public house is in the territory of the dragons. That means we need certain, shall we say, assurances to protect you from our hungry brethren and associates."

"You mean extortion fees." Raven's voice was flat.

"However you want to call it." The lizard handed Raven an envelope. The human opened it, and both his eyebrows lifted.

"This is impossible!"

"Ah, but that's the deal with the land, guv'nor. The spell says: 'When patrons are served by human hands, a dragon's fees protect the land.'"

"Wait a second…" Thomas stepped forward and steeled himself against the small dragon's gaze. "Your spell says human hands. What about a fish's?"

"Fish don't have hands."

"But Bert has a wish." Thomas looked at the catfish. "Would H.R. be amenable to it?"

"Helluva way to waste a wish," Bert grumbled, but he subsided when he saw the look of despair on Raven's face.

"Then do it."

Bert closed his eyes and whispered the spell: "Payment be due for helping the divine, magical forces grant this wish of mine."

Thomas felt the power gather in the room. The dragon watched without expression.

"I wish to be able to take the form of a human at will without losing my magical creature identity."

The fish seemed to inflate from the inside and burst his container. He grew and unfolded into a short, stocky man with thick beard that disappeared into his chest hair. His bulky forearms were also covered in thick, wiry black hair, but Thomas could see anchor tattoos on them. Bert the bartender wore black pants and a white shirt with sleeves rolled above the elbow.

"Your loophole is noted, but be sure that the Master Dragons will not be satisfied for long." The large lizard disappeared, and the lights flickered on.

"Great thinking, Thomas!" Raven clapped him on the shoulder. "And thank you, Bert! I cannot tell you how much it means to me that you used your wish to help me out."

"Is it too soon to ask for a raise?"

Thomas sighed and wiped the spilled water off the bar, which stayed strangely quiet.

"Hey, newbie!" The new bartender called to him. "Why don't you get in the kitchen and make us some chicken biscuits?"

Random Fiction: The Emancipation of Thomas Forrest

My mind works in random ways. I didn't mean for The Agency to kick off a mini-serial, but it appears to have. Since others requested more about Thomas/Forrest and Raven, and it's fascinating to have a character with enough independence to try and change his own name, I felt they deserved a little more air time. I'm posting it on Tuesday since it's a little long for a Friday Flash. You can find other serials by searching the #TuesdaySerial hashtag on Twitter.

The Emancipation of Thomas Forrest

Forrest hated the smell of stale coffee. No matter how many times he made a fresh pot for the waiting room during the day, the smell still lingered, and he could almost see the brown fog gathered in the corner. If he had even just a little bit of magic, he could dissipate it or change it – maybe to the smell of pancakes, which he loved – but as it was, he just had to live with the odor and the fact that he'd never rise above his status of clerical minion. He held his breath, extracted the pot and basket, and took them to the break room to be washed.

"Forrest!" Jeanine's voice was like… He paused to come up with the right analogy. It changed daily. Today, her screeching reminded him of tires on pavement in the Concrete Realm, the sound of desperate braking just before the crunch of collision.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Where are you?"

"Break room."

The break room of the Minion Placement Agency had a dimensional fault in the center. He could walk through it with no difficulty except his hair literally stood on end from the energy for a few minutes. It zapped people and creatures with magical abilities to random places, so Jeanine made him cross it to get to the sink. Several times a day. Sometimes he thought he would be able to zap her, but the energy never stuck around long. It made the rent on the place cheap, but damned inconvenient for him. As a minion himself, though, he couldn't complain.

She smiled when she saw his hair on end.

"Time to trim your eyebrows. You look like a Marx Brother."

"Yes, Mistress."

"I'm going back to the castle. Lock up here after you clean up. Pick up a pizza from Gargoyli's on the way home, pepperoni and pineapple with extra cheese."

He bowed, and she disappeared. He made sure the waiting room was neat and completed the janitorial tasks for the evening. The doorknob shocked him when he went to lock the door to the back alley, and he sighed. He bet she left that little present for him.

"Mr. Forrest?"

He jumped and whirled around, the key held out like a wand. Not like he had any magic to defend himself, but he'd bluff for as long as he could. Then he recognized the black feather cloak, somber face, and black hair and lipstick of one of the day's earlier clients.

"Mr. Raven, you startled me."

"I apologize." The tall man fell into step with Forrest. "I have a proposition for you."

"Thanks, but I'm not that kind of minion. I can direct you to Elvira's Pet Store if you're looking for—"

Mr. Raven shook his head. "Not that type of proposition. I sense in you a great talent, and I would like to take you on as my minion."

Forrest studied the man more closely. That black lipstick and nail polish really needed to go, but otherwise, he could pass for a villain that others would take seriously.

"I don't have any talent worth mentioning other than super-organization," Forrest said. "And Jeanine got me cheap and doesn't let her bargains go easily. You should've seen the ratty recliner she kept for decades in the waiting room!"

Before he could give any other examples, his skin tingled, and his lower abdomen spasmed. He doubled over, and Raven bent to help him. A lightning bolt flashed over their heads.

"There you are, Raven!"

Forrest couldn't see much from his kneeling position, but he saw glittery boots approach from the end of the alley.

"Sinestra!" Raven stood and held his hands out in front of him. "What are you doing here?"

"Coming after you, my love! I knew I smelled your magic when I stopped by this pathetic little agency this afternoon."

Forrest raised his head to see the 3:00 client he'd placed a nice little pixie with earlier that day. Scratch the pixie, he thought. This lady needed something with more oomph!

"I got a restraining order against you," Raven said. "By order of, ah…"

"Magic Judiciary five-oh-one-three," Forrest gasped, remembering the clerical reference number of the magical restraining orders from his minion continuing education course the previous spring. He could feel the energy gathering around them.

"Right, that." Raven crossed his arms. "I hereby banish you by order of the Magic Judiciary 5013 to the Far Reaches of Beyond!"

Forrest raised his eyebrows when she actually disappeared. His stomach stopped dancing, and he staggered to his feet.

"Sorry about that," he said.

"Nonsense!" Raven gave his shoulder a hearty squeeze. "If you hadn't sensed her magic before she appeared, she would have knocked my head off with that lightning bolt! See? I knew you had talent! Not everyone can sense power like the gathering clouds of a storm."

"Is that what those stomach cramps and skin tingles were?"

"Exactly! Come, now. Let's get some dinner and figure out how to emancipate you."

They picked up the pizza and took the Express Path to Jeanine's castle.

She frowned when they walked into the Great Room. She sat in her favorite red velvet chair by the fire, her feet up on a matching ottoman, and a glass of wine in her hand. "Forrest! How many times have I told you not to bring work back with you?"

"I'm here for a different purpose, Madam." Mr. Raven bowed. "I would like to take your minion."

Jeanine looked more surprised than angry. Her red lips formed a perfect oval for a moment, and then she said, "Whatever for? He has no magical talent, and he's useless in a laboratory."

"I am opening a restaurant and need a general manager."

Forrest noticed that he didn't say anything about that other talent.

"No dice." She waved him away. "I need him for the business."

"What if I were to make you a generous offer for him, say, five bars of gold?"

Her lip circle returned and stretched into an oval. "Five bars?"

Raven nodded. Forrest noted the man was full of surprises.

"Fine." Jeanine jumped to her feet and shook Raven's hand. Before Forrest could register what had happened, he and Raven stood outside. He felt like he had just been released from a tight vest and could breathe fully.

"What just happened?"

"I emancipated you."

Forrest went to bow to Raven, but the other man stopped him.

"I work from loyalty, not fear. This is not a Concrete Realm corporation, so you're an employee, not a minion."

"Thank you."

"What do you choose for your name?"

"I've always liked Thomas." Forrest grinned. "It's what I call myself in my head. Seems more normal."

"Then let us be on our way, Thomas Forrest. We have work to do, and you will find I have many enemies. I need a talent such as yours to know when a threat is real."

"What kind of restaurant are we opening?"

"A public house, also known as a pub. I was going to open a coffee shop, but for one small detail: I cannot stand the smell."

Friday Flash Fiction: The Agency

The idea for this one came out of a conversation I had last weekend with a friend who asked what I wanted in a minion. Yes, I love my friends. If you know of any minions looking for work, please direct them my way. I promise I'll be nice to them as long as they behave.

This week has been insane with regard to work and getting ready for vacation, so I apologize to those whose #FridayFlash stories I didn't get to read and comment on yet from last week. I'm going to try to catch up soon.

The Agency

"What are you looking for in a minion?" Forrest raised his eyebrows and invited the individual across from him to impress him with something witty, clever, and original.

Instead, the dour man with the black lipstick and fingernails and raven feathers woven in his long, stringy hair said, "Unquestioning obedience."

"I've heard that before." Forrest added a cheerful upswing to "that" in his tone to make it sound less flippant. "Let me see what I can do to find you the perfect one. Will this assistant need to have any special skills?"

"Some rudimentary chemistry knowledge and a love of Edgar Allen Poe, Mary Shelley, and Bram Stoker." He shifted in his seat, and his long, charcoal-colored robe rustled.

"Ah, the classics!" Forrest tapped on his black (of course) keyboard and picked at a piece of feather that had drifted to land on his grey sweater vest while the profiles loaded. The Minion Placement Agency had a policy that their employees were never to look more threatening than the clients.

This particular client raised his eyebrows and inclined his head. Forrest surmised that he lacked a sense of humor, so that was noted in his profile. That would greatly reduce the intelligence quotient of whoever was placed with him. Smart minions needed someone who could joke with them.

"This will just take a few moments, Mr. Raven," Forrest said. "Could I have someone fetch you some coffee?"

"Yes. Black. Decaf."

Forrest nodded to Jeanine, the secretary who hovered nearby. Really, she was his boss, but they had to put on appearances. For female clients, they'd trade places, and Jeanine would even whip him a little.

"One coffee!" She smiled and handed the cobalt mug to Mr. Raven.

"It's decaf, right?"

"Oh, I forgot. It will take me a moment to brew a fresh pot. Is that okay?"

"No, Jeanine, it is NOT okay." Forrest rose to his feet and held his breath so that his face would turn red faster. "What kind of impression are you giving this gentleman of our organization? You can't even fetch coffee!"

"Really, it's okay, I can wait," Mr. Raven said.

"No, it is unacceptable! You're fired, young lady! I cannot deal with this gross incompetence."

"No, don't do that!' Mr. Raven stood to block Jeanine, who cowered away from Forrest's purported rage. "It's not her fault. You're being too hard on her!"

"Well, if it's okay with you, Mr. Raven," Forrest said and took a deep breath. The computer crowed to let him know it was done searching. "Ah, here we go. I'm sorry, we don't have anyone with the skills you're looking for right now." He smiled and mopped his brow with a white handkerchief. "Please forgive my outburst. We'll keep your requirements on file and let you know if we have someone come in who'd be a good fit for you."

After Mr. Raven left, Jeanine looked at Forrest and said, "Unquestioning obedience, my ass."

Forrest nodded. He noted Mr. Raven's reaction in the profile. "He was just a big old softy at heart. It's nice to know that whoever he gets will be going to a good home."

"Stop being so sentimental, Forrest. Run the search for real, and then fetch me a bagel."

"Yes, ma'am." Once again, Forrest hoped his profile would pop up as a match, but he knew he was too smart to be happy with Mr. Raven, who still lacked a sense of humor no matter how kind he would be. Forrest wouldn't be able to switch minionhood that easily, at least not this minute, but there was a Lady Sinestra coming in later...

Friday Flash Fiction: A Balance of Souls

Vampires are interesting because they're conflicted, and I've gotten tired of the whiny ones. They're not my usual thing, but I guess every spec fic writer has to do a vampire story at one point, so I consider this to be my "getting them out of my system" tale. Comments welcome, as always! For more flash fiction, search the #fridayflash hashtag on Twitter

A Balance of Souls

Elizabeth fled to the orchard. She ignored the cries of her nurse behind her, "Lady, stop! Please, Lady, listen to your mother!" At sixteen, Elizabeth was too old to listen to her mother, especially when she had such horrible things to say.

Once sure she had outrun the elderly nursemaid, Elizabeth slumped against a gnarled trunk. Nurse never came into the orchard after dusk, and the sun would set any minute. The dying light of the day gilded the west side of the trees and cast dark shadows to the east.

Once she caught her breath, she yawned. Every night for the past month, she'd woken to see a figure standing at the foot of her bed. The apparition itself wouldn't have bothered her so much – perhaps it was her guardian angel, or the day's patron saint – but for the smells of blood and gunpowder. It reminded her of when her father and brothers would go hunting and come back bloody and reeking of death. Sleep had become hard to find.

What would be worse, she wondered, to be lost to the dark creatures that hunted in the orchard at night, or to be sent to the Convent of Perpetual Sorrow? Wasn't there a third choice?

"Your father lost everything when his cargo ship sank last month," her mother had told her that afternoon. "We have nothing for a dowry or education. Mother Margaret will accept you into the convent with this." She held out a gold Rosary with pearl Hail Mary beads and diamond and ruby decade beads.

If only they had sold the Rosary, they would have had enough, but it had been her great-grandmother's.

"But Eric's parents have plenty of money! They won't care if I don't have a dowry."

That's when her mother had taken Elizabeth's face in her cold, dry hands. "Eric was killed in the war, Elizabeth. A month ago. They just found out."

Tears slipped down Elizabeth's cheeks, and she slid to the ground. She didn't remember the rest of the conversation or running out of the house, only when her feet had met the dirt path to the orchard where she and Eric had courted under Nurse's watchful eye.

She raised her hand to wipe her eyes. She heard clinking and saw that she held great-grandmother's Rosary. Her mother must have handed it to her before she told her about Eric.

The pearl beads slipped through Elizabeth's fingers. "I'm lost. Hail Mary, the Lord is with you, help me find my way…"

A tall figure stepped out of the shadows between two large trees, and Elizabeth shrieked, then looked closer. She rolled to her knees, breathless at the sight of the face she thought she'd never see again. "Eric? You were killed in battle."

"So they say." He lifted her chin with cold fingers. She could barely make out his face in the waning light. Yes, it was him, but there was something strange...

"They said you were dead. They gave your sword and gun to your father." She rose to her feet and stumbled before she regained them. The Rosary clinked and swung with her drunken motions. "I… I can't marry you. There's no money for a dowry."

"Even if there was, it's too late for that," he said. "Things have changed. I've changed."

She felt her mouth press into the thin line that was her mother's disapproving expression. "What do you mean, you've changed? Your parents have plenty of money! And they'll be happy to see you."

He shook his head. "Not like this. I came to say goodbye, Elizabeth."

She touched his cheek. It was so cold! He lit a match, and she saw in the seconds between when the flame flared and faded that he had changed. His skin, always pale, now was white, and his sad smile showed her…fangs. Nurse had been right! Vampires did hunt in the orchard after dark.

She gasped and stepped back, crossing herself with the Rosary. "Who did this to you?"

"It was a creature, a man dressed like a looter, who crossed the lines after the battle. He found me. He asked if I wanted to die. I said no, and that's when he did it. If I had known…"

"Have you killed anyone?" she asked. "Oh, Eric, your soul! You'll go to Hell!"

"No, only animals." He looked away. "But time grows short. I feel the thirst."

"Stay with me tonight," she said, remembering Nurse's stories. She came up with a plan to save him. "You can be gone in the morning. And I shall go into the convent and pray for your soul."

He nodded. They talked all night of their childhoods, and the plans that they had made for when he got back from the war. Elizabeth saw the sky lightening to the East.

"I want to come with you," she said.

"What?" He looked at her with narrowed eyes.

"Let me join you. There's no life for me here, and I'll die in the convent!"

"Are you sure?"

She nodded and offered her neck, the spot where he had often stolen kisses. She gasped when she felt his fangs slide through her skin, and she let him drain her as she kept one eye on the sky.

"Now you," he said. He bit a pair of holes in his wrist and held it to her mouth. She turned her head away.

"Elizabeth, drink!"

Her vision swam, each breath an effort. "No."

"But you said…"

"I'm saving your soul, Eric," she said. "Wait for me, my love." The rim of the sun peeked over the horizon and shone through the spaces between the leaves. She closed her eyes so as not to see him burn, but she heard and smelled it, the popping and sizzling, blood and gunpowder. She curled her fingers around the Rosary and prayed, "Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now at the hour of our death…"

Always a Bridesmaid: Finale

Yes, it's the final part! It's a bit too long for a #fridayflash, so I decided to release it with my author chat with The Penny Dreadful. Your comments, as always, are welcome. Look for a surprise after the story. To read the first parts, go to the More Fiction page on my website.

XII. Collision

For a moment, Toby and Tiffany looked at each other like they had the day before. Thunder roared across the sky, and Tiffany shook herself out of the thrall.

"Where's Bert?"

"He's under the table in his container in a paper bag. There are holes in it so he can see out. I still can't believe I'm toting around a talking fish, by the way."

Tiffany smothered a laugh, and the hair stood up on the back of her neck. A chilly breeze ruffled her dress, and she remembered ghost-Danny's warning, "He's going to take as many souls as he can with him!"

"What is it?" asked Toby.

"I think they're coming!" Tiffany told him. She could see shadows moving through the crowd, and she smelled the sulphur-dirty feet aroma of Lydia's first husband's spirit. The woman in front of her turned around, and Tiffany saw it was Amber, in jeans and a shirt with "Bridesmaid" stenciled on it.

"Is he here?" Amber whispered.

"Why should I tell you?" Tiffany couldn't help it – she was mad at the girl for holding back on her.

"I'm sorry!" The breeze ruffled Amber's hair, and she brushed it out of her mouth. "Yes, I want peace for Danny. As for Lydia…" She shook her head. "I still can't forgive her. She knew about the curse! She'd had a dream, but she wouldn't believe it or get help. I would have bailed on this one if she hadn't talked to you."

A huge gust of wind knocked the tables with the gifts and goodies legs-over-top, and the guests scrambled to pick up scattered presents. Tiffany dove for her cupcakes and brownies, but Toby grabbed her arm.

"Bert!" He cried. They found the fish in a wet paper bag with only a half-inch of water in his bowl.

"Help!' The fish's mouth moved. "I can't breathe air!"

"Some guardian spirit you are," Toby said, but Tiffany could see his concern when his eyes met hers. "Can I go to your place and get some water?"

She nodded and gave him the key, and then realized what a stupid thing she had done. Danny's ghost had warned, "Only one can stop him, and time grows short." What if that one was Toby? And she had just sent him away! Gigantic raindrops splotched her hot pink dress, and she lost sight of Toby in the downpour.

"What is it?" Amber asked. "You look panicked."

"Remember Danny's warning?"

Amber's eyes grew wide. "Where's Toby?"

"Getting more water for Bert." Tiffany gripped Amber's forearm. She'd spotted him, the man in the tuxedo from her dream. He stood a few feet away and seemed to be looking for something. Or someone. "And the demon is here!"

"Where?" Amber looked around, her wet, stringy hair clinging to her face. "I don't see one."

"The guy in the tuxedo."

"But he doesn't have horns!"

"Un-freaking-believable." Tiffany dragged Amber behind a nearby tree so the demon wouldn't spot them. "They don't look like the ones in the movies. Demons gain nothing by being obvious, even if they're the best-dressed guys in the park."

"What are you going to do?"

"My guess is that he's after Lydia, so I'm going to follow him."

"Uh, Tiffany?'

"What?"

"He's right behind you."

Tiffany felt the demon's hands sear the flesh of both her upper arms when he grabbed her, turned her around, and grabbed her again and held her at arms' length. She saw Lydia behind him.

"What do you want from me?"

His black eyes glittered in the watery daylight, and he drew his lips back in a feral grin. "I'm here for my wedding, little dancer."

Tiffany's heart beat in her stomach. Or maybe her stomach climbed up to her throat. Either way, in his grip, she felt like she would simultaneously choke, faint, vomit, and scream. And maybe die.

She did manage to choke out, "I'm not available. Always a bridesmaid, you know."

"I can feel the energy around you, ma petite. All the wet dreams you engendered in your previous life, and the hopes you give girls now. I want to consume all of it."

Tiffany remembered that Azmodeous was the demon of lust, and it all clicked into place: why Lydia had consented to let Amber tell her secret and her later visit with Trent. It was all to draw Tiffany in as the new object of the demon's attentions. There had been a bargain for Lydia's freedom, and the price was Tiffany.

---

Toby ran across the square and toward Tiffany's street. He held Bert's container in front of him and rolled his feet so the fish wouldn't lose any more of his precious water. Large drops splashed into the bowl, and Toby slowed. The water that hit his exposed skin felt like tablespoon-sized liquid projectiles, but they seemed to have a good effect on the fish.

A black Camaro rolled to a halt in front of him, and a slender man with black goatee got out.

"Raphe?" Toby asked.

"Did you find her?" Again, Raphe's leather jacket and hair seemed untouched by the deluge.

"Who?"

"The girl. The bait for the demon! I had to leave you to make preparations for his binding, but I figured you'd watch out for her like you did in the dream."

"Tiffany!"

"Yeesh, man," Bert said, his bowl now almost full. "I'm flattered ya left the hot blonde to help me out – you're a real bro – but that was a dumb move."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why don't you try to think straight while you're suffocating?"

Toby shook his head, and he, Raphe, and the fish headed back across the square at a jog. The rain came down so thickly that he couldn't see but ten feet in front of him. A monster jumped out of the mist at them, and Toby dodged to the side. Raphe stopped and held a hand in front of him.

"Out of my way, bug-boy!"

Trent, dressed in flame-proof armor and wielding a huge sword, paused. "You're not a demon. You're –" His jaw dropped.

"You're in the way," Raphe said and waved him aside. "You can follow us if you want, but just watch."

"Where'd he get the armor and sword?" asked Toby.

"Southern boys keep all kinds of crap in their cars."

---

"Is Lydia finally free now?" Tiffany asked. Maybe if she could keep him talking, she could figure out an escape route. Not that his grip was lessening.

"To be with a man she doesn't love?" The demon laughed. "Who says I'm not without my sense of irony? There will be no love or lust in that marriage. She wanted to play it safe, so I let her." He would have continued, but a stream of cold water interrupted him, and he staggered backwards, spluttering. Tiffany took advantage of the distraction to knee him in the nuts.

"Geronimo!" Bert yelled as he tumbled out of the plastic to-go bowl that Toby held over the demon's head. Trent charged through the rain, his sword pointed at the demon, who handily tripped him, grabbed the sword, and leapt back, still bent in pain.

"I'm not going back to Egypt, Raphael," he snarled at the slender man with dark hair and goatee who had followed Toby.

"Idiot!" Bert gasped from the ground. Tiffany wanted to go to him, but Toby held her back. He still held Bert's bowl, turned up again to catch the rain.

"Did you prepare for something like this?" he asked.

Tiffany pulled the two halves of the rose quartz heart that Amber had broken from her purse. She watched the demon and the unarmed archangel circle each other. She could feel the power pulsing off of Raphael, but Azmodeous had absorbed some energy from her, and she could see the sword glowing red. Whoever lost that battle would have to retreat and regroup, and if that was Raphael, they were in trouble.

"I did some reading, but of course it's not relevant now." She dropped the two halves of the heart into the bowl and whispered, "Virgin water, gift of the Goddess, absorb the chaste love between brother and sister and the energy of years of mourning." She grabbed the bowl and crept behind the demon, who focused his attention on Raphael. She poured the water over him, and he howled, especially when the heart, now whole, touched his shoulder. A cloud of steam rose up around him, and Raphael pushed her out of the way. She landed on the ground beside a forlorn object on the ground: a smoked bearded catfish.

"Oh, Bert!" she said and knelt beside him. She picked up the body of the fish, which still steamed.

"Heya, doll, what can I say?" The catfish gasped. "It's the handsome ones who die young in these tales."

"But you weren't … You didn't…"

"I told Toby to catch the rainwater and dump it on Azzie. Trust me, me and Raphe, we've done this before. Nice work with your knee, by the way. Demons have 'em, too. And that move with the crystal – brilliant!"

"Thanks."

"Now you just gotta let things take their course."

She placed him back on the ground, and he disappeared in a sizzle of smoke that smelled like fried catfish.

"See ya in another life, doll!"

"Is he gone?" asked Toby. He knelt beside her.

Tiffany nodded. It felt like she had the heart lodged in her throat and knew that all the water on her cheeks wasn't the rain. "But he left this." She picked up the dried bleached white skeleton and handed it to Toby.

"What's that?"

Raphe emerged from the cloud of steam. "Bound him again! Nice spell, witch."

Tiffany blushed. "Thank you, Archangel."

Raphe nodded at the catfish skeleton, which Toby held with his thumb and forefinger. "That will cure your father. Just grind it up, mix it into a paste, and put it over his eyes, and he'll be good as new. No more brain tumor or blindness."

"What about Lydia?" asked Amber.

"Oh, I'll take care of her." Tiffany turned toward the middle of the square, where the couples gathered again. She saw Lydia support a limping Trent.

"Tiffany, wait," said Toby.

She turned. "What?"

"Whatever she did to you, this isn't going to be over until she's happily married." He gestured toward the couples. "And this isn't going to cut it."

"Then go stop her." Tiffany watched Toby walk away and sighed. He'd talk some sense into his cousin, especially now that the demon had been bound. Again, apparently.

"It's been going on since Biblical times," Raphe told her and came to stand beside her. "Some stories get told again and again even if the Protestants kicked them out of their Bible."

Toby approached her, Lydia and Trent behind him. "Yes," he told them, "the demon is gone. Tiffany and Raphe vanquished him!"

Lydia looked incredulous. Trent, pissed off. Raphe winked at Tiffany.

"You mean I'm free?" Lydia asked. "Oh, thank you!" She came toward Tiffany, arms outstretched in preparation for a hug.

Tiffany stepped aside, and Lydia ended up face-first in the mud.

"Now if you'll excuse me," Tiffany said. "I have charms to work for deserving brides. Toby, I believe we have some things to discuss, like the proper way to prepare an ichthys powder for healing."

"I'll catch you later, Lydia," Toby said. He followed Tiffany, Raphe a step behind. "What was that about?"

She started to tell him, "Well, your cousin almost trapped me into an eternity of hell married to a demon," but stopped. Their family relationship was more important, and he really needed to keep Lydia from marrying Trent.

"Go keep her from making this huge mistake, and then we'll talk."

Before he could say anything else, Amber ran up to them. "I saw Danny!" she said. "And he was whole and smiling and not stinky!" She threw her arms around Tiffany. "Thank you, thank you!"

"You're welcome. Just… Don't tell anyone about my past, okay?"

"Done."

"Your secret is safe with me, too," Toby told her. "Hey, after the non-wedding, how about I come by your place? We'll talk about the ichthys spell, and maybe you can help me with some of my other problems back home. You see, there's this chick who's blackmailing me to marry her…"

Tiffany held up her hand. "You can tell me later." She watched Toby and Amber walk away together and noted the couple potential there. Maybe she shouldn't have let Amber polish all that charmed rose quartz – she'd be a guy magnet for a few days.

"And what for you now, witch?"

She'd forgotten about Raphe, who stood a few feet away.. "I've realized that I'm missing a lot more of my past than I thought. I need to find it back."

He nodded. "It's time. Azmodeous was only the first of your battles. The others won't be won so easily, and you will need access to all your skills and memories."

Tiffany saw him as the splendorous archangel Raphael for a moment before he disappeared. It didn't comfort her.

"All right, Tiffany Chiffon, or whoever you are," she told herself. "It's time to stop playing around and get serious." She looked back at Toby, who held an animated conversation with Lydia, and smiled. "And maybe you won't always be a bridesmaid, after all."

End

Oh, no, I've killed Bert! Don't worry, he has decided to emerge from the Great Beyond and join us on Twitter. Follow him at BertTheCatfish. You can't keep a fish with a big mouth quiet!