Nicholas Taylor's Blog

Layer upon layer of rough woolen blankets pressed down on Timmy as he squirmed under them. He couldn't fall asleep. He was too excited. But still, he closed his eyes, trying to will sleep to come because everyone knew that Santa only came once you were asleep. If you were awake, he wouldn't come since there was too high a chance that he would be seen. Everyone knew this.

So, Timmy closed his eyes tight and tried to will sleep to come. It felt like an eternity had passed. He opened his eyes, expectantly hoping to see the dazzling sun coming through the window, but it was still dark outside. He huffed. It had only been a few minutes. Now boredom was taking hold, and he rolled onto his back. The blankets that had been cozy when he had first gone to bed were now feeling hot and stifling.

He pushed them off, feeling the cool air in the house against his skin, causing goosebumps to pop up all over him. Then he got cold, so he pulled the blankets back on. Now he was hot again. So he tried taking off a few of the blankets, seeing if it would be just right. It was. Now he was comfortable again, and he could finally go to sleep.

He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, again willing sleep to come. He was just beginning to drift, his body starting to relax, and his mind starting to wander when he heard it—a creak.

His eyes flung open.

What was that? He wondered.

There was another creak. It was from above him, near the roof of the house. He heard what he thought was the sound of muffled footsteps. Santa, Timmy thought. It was real. He was here. Santa was here!

All desire for sleep left him, and he felt himself buzzing with excitement. Santa was at his house. Should he go try to see him? No. Timmy decided that was a bad idea. Everyone knew you couldn't see Santa, and if you did see Santa, then that would put you on the naughty list, and you didn't want to be on the naughty list because naughty kids got coal, and Timmy didn't really want coal. He wanted a lot of things, but he didn't want coal.

Still, how could he resist the urge to see Santa? He should stay in bed, and that's what he was going to do. He was going to stay in bed and ignore the sound of creaking and footsteps on the roof where there had to be a sleigh.

He realized—a sleigh pulled by reindeer.

He started to get out of bed and then lay back down. No. He was a good boy. He was not going to try to see Santa's sleigh. So he rolled over, but his eyes wouldn't close. How could they? There was a sleigh with magic reindeer on his roof right now, while Santa was probably in the den putting out toys and filling stockings.

He couldn’t wait to tell his sister. She wouldn't believe him, of course, but that didn't matter because he knew he’d be telling the truth. But what if he could get proof, or what if he could just see it?

Would seeing Santa's sleigh put him on the naughty list? Maybe, but probably not. After all, it wasn't exactly naughty to see if there was something on your roof, was it? No, it wasn't naughty to see if there was something on your roof, Timmy decided.

Though it might have been naughty to get out of bed after he was supposed to be asleep, he thought. But he wasn't entirely sure that that would be a problem. Timmy always got out of bed, and he still got presents in his stocking every year, so maybe that didn't put you on the naughty list. Either way, he wasn't going back to sleep now, and he suspected he’d be awake for the rest of the week. After a moment of thought, he decided he was going to see what he could find.

After all, even if it put him on the naughty list for this year, Santa already had come with his toys, right? And Timmy could spend the rest of the year being a good boy and getting back on the nice list. So Timmy slinked out of bed, but he didn't go downstairs because he didn't want to see Santa, because that would definitely put him on the naughty list for a long time, and everyone knew that Santa had ways of hiding. Which was odd, because he was supposed to be fat and wore a big red suit. How was he so good at hiding, and how did he go down the chimneys? Timmy had always wondered that. His parents had said that it was magic, and he supposed that made sense. But still, why the chimney? You would think it would get the clothes all dirty.

Timmy shook his head. He needed to get his mind back in the game. He had a mission. He opened his door and crept down the hall to a window that looked out on the lower part of their house.

He softly opened the window, making sure that it didn't make any sound. As it opened, he felt a blast of cold air wash across him from outside. The air bit at him as he looked out on the roof, seeing that it was covered in snow. Dang it, he thought. The snow looked kind of thick. He heard some more movement above him. He dashed back down the hall and grabbed some slippers, pulling them on his feet. The slippers would have to do.

He came back to the window and slowly swung his leg out the window. His foot came down, crunching softly on fresh, powdery snow. As his foot came down, a little bit of the snow got in the top of his slipper, sending icy shots up his leg. He tried to ignore them as he pulled the other foot out.

He stepped down on the snow, hoping he wouldn’t slide. His heart was beating fast now, not just to see Santa's sleigh, but because he was on a snowy roof. He moved along the roof until he found an area where he could climb up to the upper level of the house's roof. He started climbing up the bricks, feeling his fingers go numb with the cold. As his head peeked above the roof, he saw it!

There on the upper roof of their house was a large red sleigh. Bags were in the back, piled high, and Timmy could make out the form of presents. The sleigh was the deepest of reds, with iron rails along the bottom carving channels into the snow. At the front of it, he saw the forms of the reindeer. His heart picked up. It was really Santa's sleigh! He couldn’t believe it. He pinched himself just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. The pinch hurt but not too much. His sister pinched much harder, but that was because she was mean.

He should go back in, but how could he, being this close to the sleigh? He crept up the roof, moving closer and closer to the sleigh. It was so much bigger than he had imagined it to be, but at the same time, it seemed small. After all, it had to carry all the toys for all the good boys and girls who were getting presents from Santa. But then he suspected that magic again might have played a role, because while the reindeer were big and shaggy and neat-looking, he didn't really think that they could fly without magic. After all, he'd never heard of a regular reindeer flying about; otherwise, he suspected there would be people who had flying sleighs all over the place, and he had never seen one. And that was probably a good thing because he suspected reindeer were like horses and probably pooed everywhere like the ones that pulled carts and carriages around town. It was bad enough when a bird pooed on you, even though his mother said it was good luck. He didn’t believe her and thought she was just trying to make him feel better whenever it happened. But he definitely didn’t think people would say it would be good luck if reindeer flew and they pooed on you. One of the reindeer snorted, and his attention was brought back to the sleigh.

As he crept closer, he wondered if there were elves in the sleigh, and if there were, would he get in trouble? He wasn't sure. He also wasn't entirely sure what an elf looked like; he knew they were small, but that was about it. No one had ever seen an elf, so he wasn't too sure. And everyone knew that Santa was nice, but were the elves? 

Slowly, he poked his head over the edge of the sleigh, hoping not to be spotted by an elf, but there didn't seem to be any. There were several rows inside the sleigh with bags in them; the bags were of crushed red velvet with white fur around the rims, just like the drawings he had seen in the books at the library. There was an empty space where maybe a sack had been.

Timmy looked down at the reindeer, which didn't seem to be paying him any attention whatsoever, and he scuttled over the side of the sleigh. As he landed, it felt warm inside the sleigh, and he crept up to one of the sacks. The velvet was soft and warm under his fingers, and as he looked up at the top, he could see lots of presents sticking out. He was tempted to pull one out and look at it but thought better of it. After all, he didn't want to take another kid's present.

He was about to leave the sleigh when he heard a crunch of snow on the roof. He stopped, holding his breath. He heard the sound of walking, and then a deep voice said, "Ho, ho, ho, on to the next stop." 

Santa! Santa was on the roof. He couldn't decide if he was more excited or terrified. Not only was Timmy not supposed to be out of bed, but he was definitely not supposed to be on the roof, nor was he meant to be looking for Santa, and most certainly was not supposed to be peeping inside Santa's sleigh. All of these things made Timmy realize that he was going to have to be exceptionally good this year if he didn't want to end up on the naughty list.

The sound of walking came closer to the sleigh, and Timmy froze. He heard something at the front of the sleigh that sounded heavy, like the scraping sound of someone climbing over the edge of the sleigh. He would sneak out the back. That's what he would do. He could crawl over a few of the bags while Santa was getting situated. He'd get on the roof, scramble over the edge, and make it in through the window before anyone was the wiser. And that's exactly what he would have done, but as soon as he started to move, something heavy landed on him. He felt a jolt of fear as he was pressed down onto the floor of the sleigh, and looking back, panicked, he saw that it was a sack.

It was lumpy, as if filled with presents, but not as stuffed as the other sacks. Darn, it was the sack that he had brought into Timmy’s house. Timmy slowly moved, trying to get out from under the sack, and he heard Santa say something to the reindeer. There was a snap of a whip, and then the sack, along with Timmy and everything else, shifted as the sleigh began to move.

He felt sheer panic and a bit of joy at the realization that the sleigh was starting to move across the roof. He heard it grind along the roof in the snow until, finally, he felt it tip up, and he experienced a weird sensation in his gut, almost like falling, but he wasn't falling; he was rising.

He poked his head out around some of the sacks, seeing that they were airborne. Cold air washed across his face, burning his skin, but he had to look around. Below him, his town became smaller and smaller. He could see a few windows lit up, but for the most part, the town was in darkness. He was in Santa's sleigh, and it was flying! No one at school was going to believe him.

He didn't know if he should be scared or excited, so he settled on both. The sleigh turned in the sky, and Timmy kept quiet, not wanting to attract attention. Perhaps the sleigh was going to another house in his town. He could get off there and walk home. It would be cold, but he could manage. Yes, this was what he would do.

The sleigh turned and wound in the sky, and he felt it start to descend. Timmy hid again behind some sacks, not wanting to be discovered. He heard the sound of clomping hooves on snow, and then he felt a slight bounce as the sleigh landed somewhere. It skidded along for a moment and then stopped abruptly with a great lurch. He heard more movement out front as Santa got out of the sleigh.

The sound of crunching snow continued. "Ho, ho, ho, what do we have here?" Santa said. 

Timmy was petrified. Had he been found? He heard clicking and a sound almost like a goat's bleat, but it wasn't. It was almost like a voice.

Timmy moved and peered up, trying to stay as low as possible, wondering what roof they were on. But as his eyes cleared the edge of the sleigh, he realized they weren't on a roof at all. They were in a field, it seemed. 

No, not a field. There were little stones everywhere. With a shock, he realized where they were. They were in the graveyard. 

Why would Santa be in the graveyard? he thought. He heard Santa speaking again and a raspy voice answering. Maybe Santa needed a place to land to store more toys, Timmy thought. Yes, that made sense; he couldn't keep all the toys for all the boys and girls in one sleigh. Of course, he'd need a place to land, and what better than a graveyard? No one would be there at night, especially not on Christmas Eve. The graveyard wasn't far from Timmy's house, so he decided this was the best time to make his exit, even though he thought the graveyard was really scary. But it couldn't be too scary if Santa was there. After all, Santa would never go anywhere bad or frightening. Everyone knew that.

He crawled over the edge of the sleigh and landed with a plop in the snow. He slipped and fell, trying to stay quiet, but his breath whooshed out.

Some of the reindeer seemed agitated, and Timmy stayed still for a moment, feeling the cold snow seep into his pajamas. Then he tiptoed to the back of the sleigh and peeked around to make sure he didn't cross Santa's path. Shivering with the cold, his breath formed little clouds as he moved around the sleigh. He saw a headstone and paused. He recognized the name on that stone. 

It was the name of a man who had died that year. The fever had taken his entire family. Timmy had known their son, Max. Max had been a horrible bully all of Timmy's life. He knew he was supposed to feel sad about the boy's passing, but it was hard. He did feel sad for Max's parents, though, who had always seemed like kind people.

Timmy heard more talking and that weird goat sound. Curiosity got the better of him, and he moved around the sleigh. As he moved, he saw the headstone of Max's mother, and then he saw Max's grave. The earth around it was dug up, and a hole was in the ground. Next to the grave was an open casket. Timmy's heart came to a stop. This time there was no chance of excitement or elation, just fear.

Standing next to the grave were three forms. Two of them wore red velvet vests. Their arms and legs were covered in thick black fur. Their heads looked like a goat's but like a man's at the same time. They had red beady eyes and sharp teeth that looked mean. Their horns wrapped around and above their heads, looking evil. Their hands were free of fur, but their fingers were long and clawed.

Timmy felt very afraid.

Standing before the two goat-men was a tall, fat man in a red suit. He had white hair and a long, white beard, and a cap on his head. It was Santa.

He was talking to the goat-men. Santa shuffled around and looked down into the open casket.

What was going on, Timmy wondered.

He saw Santa hold out his gloved hands, and red and green tendrils of light came out from his hands like smoke, moving down into the casket. The inside of the casket glowed, and he heard a cough and then a murmur.

Timmy wanted to leave, but he couldn't move. His muscles were frozen solid.

There was movement inside the casket, and Timmy wanted to scream, but no sound could come out of his throat as he saw Max sit up. His skin was mottled and gray and green with rot, and parts of his hair had fallen off his head. His eyes glowed blue, and he looked up. They were confused for a moment, and then a rasping voice said, "Santa?"

It sounded like Max's voice, but somehow not.

"Santa Claus, is that you?" Max said, his voice sounding more like his own.

"Ho, ho, ho, yes, it is, Max. I am Santa Claus," Santa said.

Max looked around the graveyard and then over at the goat-men; he flinched away.

"Am I dead, Santa?" Max asked, confused.

Santa chuckled, but it didn't sound merry. "Why else would you be in a grave, my boy, if you weren't dead?" Santa said.

Max looked confused, and Timmy had to agree; he was very confused. What was going on?

"Santa, I don't understand," Max said. He sounded afraid.

Santa chuckled. This time his voice had some merriment. "Max, you were a naughty boy. You have been on the naughty list for years," he said. Max looked confused, and Santa went on. "Get out of that casket, my boy. Come to me," he said.

Max struggled for a moment, but he managed to get out of the casket. He was wearing a pair of trousers and a tattered shirt. Timmy hadn't remembered the funeral, but he knew that they hadn't done a viewing. Because his family had been taken by the fever, it wouldn't have been safe.

Max got out and tripped. One of the goat-men bleated at him, and Max flinched away.

"Santa, I'm scared," Max said.

Santa moved around the side of the casket, and Timmy could now see his face. He had rosy cheeks, just like the stories said, and his eyes were so blue they almost seemed to glow. He smiled down at Max.

"You should be afraid," he said, and he pulled out a cap just like his own from his jacket and placed it on Max's head. He patted Max's shoulder. "You were on the naughty list, and you died while on the naughty list," Santa said. "And now it looks like the workshop has a new helper," he said.

Max looked confused, as did Timmy, and then it hit him. The workshop had a new helper, and Max was now wearing a hat just like the ones he had seen in the drawings of Santa's workshop. The same hats all the little elves wore that were making the toys for all the good boys and girls.

The shop wasn't being worked by elves at all.

"Take him back to the shop," Santa said, his voice harsh. Max began to cry and held out his hands toward Santa. He yelped and screamed as one of the goat-men hit him with a long stick. It bleated at him, and Max slunk away. "Better do as they say, Max," Santa said as he started walking back toward the sleigh. "Trust me, you don't want to find out what happens when elves are on the naughty list," he said, his voice holding no merriment.

"Please, Santa, no, please, I'm sorry," Max said, his voice terrified, and then he screamed as he was hit with another one of the sticks. The goat-men grabbed him and began pulling him away from the grave.

Timmy looked in the distance, seeing the form of another sleigh just out of view, but instead of having sacks, it had cages. Timmy backed away, seeing what was in the cages. It was the form of other children, all appeared to have died before, just like Max, their eyes glowing a soft blue, all of them wearing hats. The kids looked forlorn and sad, and Timmy was backing away further and further. He turned to run and ran into something solid but soft. He gave a whoosh, and he fell back on the ground. He looked up, seeing a towering form before him.

"Ho, ho, ho, what have we here?" Santa asked, smiling down at him.

Timmy felt pure terror running through him, and he began to move away. His hands stung and burned in the freezing snow. He mumbled. Santa smiled broadly. His face was kind and warm and loving.

"What are you doing out here on such a cold night, Timmy?" Santa asked.

Timmy babbled, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said.

"Ho, ho, ho," Santa said. "There's nothing to be sorry about, my boy," he said. Santa looked up to where Max was being pulled away, then he looked back down at Timmy. "You're worried that you're going to be like Max over there, aren't you?" he said.

Timmy backed up against the sleigh, and his head bobbed. Santa smiled and came down close to him.

"You're such a good boy, Timmy. Why would you be worried about that?" he asked.

"Because I snuck out of bed, and I got into your sleigh. I didn't mean to come here with you," Timmy said, looking down. "I'm sorry."

He felt a large hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Santa smiling.

"There's nothing naughty about being curious," Santa said. His voice warmed. "But your parents will get a fright if you don't get home, and it's so cold out."

Santa stood and walked over to his sleigh and came back with a heavy coat. He tossed it to Timmy. 

"Have a Merry Christmas, Timmy, and remember what happens to good boys and girls—and also what happens to the naughty ones as well." 

Timmy's head bobbed. "I understand, Santa. I'll be good," he said. Santa grinned. 

"I know you will. Timmy, here's something special for you." 

Santa pulled a chocolate bar out of his jacket and handed it to Timmy. He put on the coat, feeling it warm him instantly. 

"Now get back home and be a good boy," Santa said. 

"I will, Santa," Timmy said. "I will. I promise. I'll always be good." 

Timmy scrambled to his feet and began to run through the graveyard. He looked behind himself a few times, seeing the goat-men pushing a sobbing Max into the cage. One locked eyes with Timmy and bleated. Timmy felt panic and then tripped, falling over a headstone. He looked at the stone. It was trying to warn me, he thought. He got up again and started to move; this time he was more careful. The jacket was warm, and he was getting the feeling back in his fingers and toes. 

As he made it back to his house, he felt a sense of relief wash over him, and he was determined never to make it on the naughty list. He climbed up the side of the house and slipped back inside. He walked into his room and looked out the window. He saw a sleigh in the sky being pulled by reindeer; he could see the silhouettes of sacks filled with presents against the moon. He also thought he made out the shape of another sleigh being pulled by reindeer, this one with the silhouette of a large cage. He felt himself shiver, and he crawled under the layers of rough, woolen blankets, never wanting to leave.

I recently found out an interesting part of St. Nicholas's lore which was that he resurrected three children. So, as someone had kindly pointed out on Threads, that means that Santa's a necromancer. Hence the story. I thought it'd be a fun twist on Santa's workshop if the elves were dead people. But in the spirit of giving credit where it's due, my daughter is the one who came up with the idea of the resurrected people being children on the naughty list. So, kudos to her for this nice twist of the plot. I hope you enjoyed the story and that you have a wonderful holiday season.

I'm happy to announce my next novel is City of Gears. Below is the prologue for the book, along with the blurb.

Enjoy.

City of Gears is available on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited.

Where winged sentinels patrol the sky, one woman’s resolve is put to the test. Soar into the heart of intrigue with Lucinda as she grapples with deadly adversaries, complex conspiracies, and her own mechanical might. In a world where the skies are just another battlefield, can Lucinda's Techfly abilities help her navigate through the labyrinth of lies, scandal, and sabotage? Join her on an epic quest where every decision counts in the fight for survival and truth.

There are different parts of town. The differences make themselves known based on who you are, where you are, and sometimes the time of day or night. Some parts of town are lovely, with bright colors during the day and the smell of flowers. At night, they are serene and silent, broken only by the occasional sound of horses' hooves clomping on the ground or by the laughter from warm, brightly lit homes. Of course, in that same part of town, other homes change at night. Not all are as bright as they appear on the outside. 

Still, other parts of town are bustling during the day and night. They are packed with people, carts, and animals. There, you might encounter pickpockets or risk being trampled if you are not careful. But you also might find a new dress or suit, fruits, and meats. You might find friends at the pub. At night, you might think twice about a late-night stroll if it is too dark.

Then there are the other parts of town. The ones that during the day are teeming and busy but at night are silent save for the coughs of the sick lying in alleys and the moans of the occasional drunk. But eventually, at some point in the night, even those sounds stop. They stop because sound is a liability. It is enticing for those who might be cruel by nature or drink or some other discontentment in life. They hunt, and sound draws them like a candle.

It was one of these parts of town that Lucinda found herself in. It was late, and the air had a chill to it. The air brushed across her face and chest, pulling heat from her body. With the air came the smell of the street. It bit at Lucinda's nose, clawing its way into her head where she knew it would linger for some time. It was the perfume of garbage piled in front of doors for days or weeks on end, of excrement and urine tossed out of the windows along with anything else that came out of the inhabitants' bodies. There was dirt and horse manure, along with the smell of death. On the latter, she didn't know if it was from an animal whose body someone had discarded in one of the alleys or that of a human. Both were possible. 

She glanced up, looking for the sky, but only found a sliver of it. The windows above her were dark. The buildings grew from the ground like boxes haphazardly stacked on top of one another. As the floors were built, they each protruded over the street further than the one below it. After ten or twelve stories, the length of a person only separated the gap between buildings on each side of the street. 

In this, the slum looked like a twisted version of the inside of a cathedral, but one whose purpose was not to impart a sense of wonder of whatever god the cathedral was built to honor. This cathedral was the spiritual embodiment of filth and poverty. Lines connected the windows from one side of the street to the other so that the people could hang out their laundry to dry. The clean cloth could absorb the scent of the area and allow it to infest the homes of those who lived there.

Lucinda brought her gaze back to the street. In the shade of the buildings, it would be almost dark in the day and with little to no rain making it between the buildings, there was nothing to wash the filth away. She walked slowly, her footsteps making no sound as she trod. The street was cobbled but covered in waste that had been crushed to the point of becoming dirt. 

Her eyes swept around the darkness, looking at the places between buildings where the shadows were as thick as ink. No light escaped from them. In this part of town, mothers told their children to fear the dark or the shadows because that is exactly what you needed to fear. Well, not so much the shadows themselves but what was in them. And what if you spent too much time in them? Could the shadows twist your soul like they had so many, and if so, what might you become?

The breeze brushed against her again, stealing away the heat. She'd trade the scent for the cool air. Her dress was warm and the fabric, while silky, felt as though it didn't want to move. It seemed afraid of the dark street. It was right to be afraid. This was not the part of town, nor the time of night, where a pretty young woman should be walking alone. Especially not if that pretty young woman was dressed a little too elegantly for this area. The cream-colored dress stood out like a beacon amidst the deep blues and blacks of the street. The dress was long, falling just above her feet so it wouldn't brush against the ground. The sleeves were long too, reaching almost to her elbows. Slender hands were covered in lightly padded gloves that extended up her arms and under the sleeves of the dress. Sable hair that fell just past her jaw framed a delicate face with red lips and a petite nose. Her eyes were bright despite the darkness, one gray and the other lavender. Those eyes were looking around, aware that they did not belong there.

Lucinda knew she was attractive. She was lean but not hard, her posture was good, and her face and body were perfectly symmetrical. Her skin was free of blemishes and glowed with health. She didn’t look like an upper-class woman but perhaps middle or upper-middle class. A novelty in this area, to say the least, and a tempting target for those who called the shadows home. Her eyes glanced at the shadows, trying to see into them, but she couldn’t. If something were in them, they could see her but not the other way around. She didn’t care for that. But perhaps it was good. It made her uneasy, and that unease would show on her face. The hunters would be out tonight.

They’d started hunting a few weeks after the local brothels closed due to a venereal disease ripping its way through staff and customers. The island had shut it down before it overwhelmed the hospitals and hurt local industry. These streets were rough in the day with theft and assault, but at night turned to rape and murder. It wasn’t new. If the problem got out of hand, the constables would make a few examples, and the area would calm down for a bit. But that took a while, and it had to bother the right people. When the brothel closed, it wasn’t a surprise when crime went up. Apparently, there had been rumors of a group of men who preyed on young women. They’d have their way with them and leave them lying in the filth of the tight alleys between the buildings. The constables did nothing.

Why would they? The women in this area were poor and disposable.

“Teach them right for being out,” they’d say or, “She was asking for it.”

Lucinda found it unlikely that the women were asking for anything, nor did she find it likely that it served them right, but the people of the slum were not her problem. Of course, that had changed. The men had lost the taste for catch and release. They’d moved to murdering their victims when they were done with their fun. People would find strangled or stabbed girls in the alleys. This was still not new. Murder in the slums happened. The constables said that they’d look into it but didn’t. So long as it kept to the slums, the group would go unchecked.

They targeted poor and unconnected victims who did not live long enough to ID their assailants. One night the previous week, some body snatchers in the area found a woman left for dead as they made their way to the cemetery that night. She was covered in the filth of the alley when they found her. They found themselves with an opportunity for an easy night’s work. After all, who was going to miss another street rat?

They’d taken the body to the Anatomy Academy as they would have done with the corpses they dug up that night. They’d sold it to the academy for them to allow their students to dissect. The academy paid for the girl, not asking any questions. The problem arose when two of the students moved her to the dissection room for the next day. For the girl, it turned out, was not so dead, and when she woke it also turned out that she was not so poor and unconnected. She’d passed after a few days from an infection, but not before she’d given her account of what had happened. That led to some people talking to other people, which led to someone cashing in a favor which led to Lucinda in her fine dress this evening.

The best hunters appeared as prey. This allowed the real prey to do the work. Thus, Lucinda walked, appearing unsure and frightened. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of silver. A knife. She continued walking past the man with the knife, hidden in the shadows. She slowed to a stop and looked around. To his credit, she didn't hear him approach. She felt the cold of a blade against her throat, and her nostrils filled with the man’s hot, rank breath. She stiffened. Hunter or prey, it wasn't comfortable having a knife held to your neck. She lifted her hands in the air.

"Take what you want," she said in a shaky voice.

An arm came around her waist, and she heard him take in a deep breath through his nose.

"I will. No screams, ok?" he said softly.

She didn't respond, and he began to move, guiding her with pressure on the knife and pulling her waist. He led her off the street and down a narrow one that connected to the main street. Here she could see the sky, the floors of the buildings didn't expand so much in the small space. They came to a rough wooden door. He took his hand from her waist but left the knife. He slid the door open and led her inside, closing it behind them. His arm was around her waist again. He dragged the knife lightly up her neck to her chin, lifting it up and to the side. He leaned down, smelling her hair again. It gave her the creeps, and she felt her skin crawl.

He whispered into her ear, "I think my friends and I are going to enjoy getting acquainted with you," he kissed her neck down to where her dress started. She thought he was going to pull off the dress and expose her shoulders. As his lips touched her, she wanted to fight back and get him off her, but not yet. She shifted and whimpered.

"Please don't hurt me," she said, her voice thick.

He chuckled softly, "Oh, we're gonna hurt you."

He pushed her forward, deeper into the room. It was a large room, with the floor covered in straw and wood benches scattered here and there. At the far end of the room, there was light. As they stepped into the light, she noticed three other men. She couldn't make out the appearance of the man holding her, but she could clearly see the others. Two of them were tall and skinny, with hair so dark blue that it almost appeared black under the light. As they turned to face her, she noticed their stubble-covered faces and hardened brown eyes. Their noses looked identical, suggesting they were brothers only a few years apart in age.

Your mothers would be so proud that her babies are rapist murderers, she thought to herself.

The last man was of average height, with green hair and eyes. He was a little pudgy-looking, and his nose looked to have been broken multiple times before. All of the men looked at her and smiled.

"Lookie what we have here," Pudgy said. "I didn't think we'd get two tonight. Max is with the other, but I like this one better.”

Pudgy's grin revealed yellowing, crooked teeth. So there was another girl here, she realized. Her eyes scanned the room, as if searching for a means of escape, but deep down, she wasn't seeking an escape. She had identified four of the individuals the woman had described, but who was the fifth? It had to be whoever Max was, but she needed confirmation.

When she had first heard about what was happening in this place, she had wondered if the constables were involved. Perhaps they were being bribed to turn a blind eye. It wouldn't be unheard of. Those with a taste for darker deeds with enough money could get away with anything in the slums. However, considering what she was witnessing now, that seemed less likely. It appeared that the local law enforcement simply didn't care.

"Go get Max, he'll want this one instead. We can save the other girl for later or tomorrow," Green hair instructed one of the brothers.

One of the brothers went to a door at the back of the room and banged on it, shouting for Max to come out.

"Best part about this place," the man behind her said, “no one can hear anything that happens here. You can moan as loud as you like, isn't that great?"

The man with green hair approached her and ran his hands up her hips and waist, gazing at her chest. She wasn't prudish and had no issues showing plenty of skin, but she had to admit that the corset of the dress was a little much. It exposed much more of her chest than she would usually prefer, but that was by design, wasn’t it?

The man with green hair looked down at her and grinned. "These look nice, don't they? Mind if I take a peek?" He reached towards the front of her dress. This was unfortunate. She had three things she wanted right now. The first was for the man behind her to move the knife. Fast and strong, she was, but bleed out she could. Next, she really needed to confirm the identity of the fifth man before the man with green hair went any further. Lastly, she hoped the dress would hold up. She didn't plan on wearing it again, but if these jackasses ripped it apart, she would have to either return home covered in whatever filthy cloth she could find or risk being seen in some state of undress. She noticed a tarp on the ground and thought she could use it as a makeshift cover, but then reconsidered, realizing it was late and chances were that no one would see her if she walked home as she was. No, that's a terrible idea, I’m not walking home half-naked, she thought.

Luckily, the dress was sewn with reinforced stitching. She shifted and struggled against the man with the knife.

"Hold her!" Green growled.

The man behind her had been holding the knife with his left hand. He raised his right hand, took the blade, and placed it against her neck once again. With his left arm, he looped her left arm and pulled it behind her back. Then, he tucked the knife into his belt and used his right hand to pull her right arm behind her. He held both her arms with his left. This was good and bad. Good, because the knife was no longer against her neck, but bad because the gloves had minimal padding. He extended his right hand, grabbed her hair, and yanked her head back. She gasped at the sudden movement.

"That's better," Green said, satisfied.

The man behind her was looking down her neck and body. She felt his beard brush against her ear and neck. Green's hands were at the front of her dress, pulling, trying to rip the fabric. She heard a pop telling her that he was accomplishing his goal. She struggled a bit and begged.

"Please! No, no, please don't, please stop!" she said.

The man behind her spoke into her ear, "I've never had one like you before, I don't think I'll be able to stop by morning."

One of the brothers was coming back from the door he'd been pounding on, calling for Max. He watched Green with greedy eyes. Apparently, they weren't waiting for Max. The door opened, and a thick muscular man walked out. He was tall, with brown hair and a mustache, his arms were bare, showing muscle. He didn't have pants on.

"What is it?" he barked, "She's finally waking up, and I was just about to start in."

He looked at Lucinda, and his expression changed from irritation to understanding. He smiled.

"Never mind," he said, taking her in. He paused. "I feel like I've seen this one."

So the constables were involved.

At last, her three requirements were met. She stopped trembling and sobbing, her body became rather still, and she looked at Max calmly, "Good evening, Inspector," she said conversationally.

Green looked confused, and emotions began to play on the inspector's face. The man holding her hair let go as confusion set in. That was nice of him. She looked at Green, who was so close to her. She snapped her head forward, tilting her whole body. Her forehead slammed into Green's nose, breaking it. He started to drop. The man behind her had been pulled forward with her, and she snapped her head again, but this time back, hitting the man behind her hard in the mouth. She felt pain as a tooth or something bit into her. His arms went slack, and time slowed.

She brought her arms from behind her, twisted slightly, and brought the palm of her right hand to one of the brothers' noses, hitting him hard. His head wrenched back, the bones in the front of his face cracking. She grabbed the middle finger of the glove on her right hand with her left and swung her right arm towards the other brother. As she moved her arm, the glove came free, revealing not the pristine unblemished flesh of her face and body, but metal. The glove wasn't for the cold but rather to hide her mechanical arms. She backhanded the other brother hard. The eye socket broke and crunched.

Green was back up and had a club. He brought it high in the air to hit her. Her left hand grabbed his wrist. He screamed as the wrist was crushed in her iron grip. Max was much brighter than the others. He hadn't gone for weapons but was moving to leave, trying to run away and hide. She smiled and pivoted, holding Green. He came forward, and she grabbed the back of his vest and swung. As he flew, he closed the space between her and Max. Green hit one of Max's legs, the one that had Max's weight at the moment. The knee buckled, and he fell.

She saw a belt on the floor. Probably Max's. She picked it up and walked to the two living men. Both were groaning. Green was lying face down, holding his arm. She came up behind him and quickly broke his neck. Max was trying to back away from her. She walked a couple of steps toward him, holding the belt.

"Don't be dumb, girl, you know what I am," he panted.

"I do," she said, "a rapist and murderer. Do you think they'll hang you?"

"I'm an Inspector, you bitch!" He said, his teeth gritted.

She laughed, "And I'm a Techfly. Tell me, who is higher up the food chain?"

He stammered, "If you kill me, there will be hell to pay, even for you," he threatened, "and I know people. People who owe me favors and people who I know things about."

She smiled. He wasn't lying. He had gotten this job not by being good at what he did for the public, but by being good at what he did for individuals. She had no doubt that he knew things about people.

"So tell me, those people, do you think they are going to let you spill the beans on them?" she asked, "and the constables, do you think they want a scandal? You're right, killing you would raise hell for me. But we both know you aren't living through the night."

He changed tack, "But if you take me in, think of what and who I will give you. You have no idea what goes on, on this island, out of the reach of the law."

She shook her head, "I have no doubt. I bet you could give me some really juicy stuff. But alas," she sighed, "not my thing. I'm not into law enforcement."

He looked confused, “Bu-but you’re here tonight..."

She nodded again, "Yup, I'm here tonight."

She didn't explain why she was there; she knocked him out and bound his arms behind him. There was a sound from the room that Max had been in, and Lucinda remembered that he said something about starting on someone. She went to the room and found a young woman lying in a bed, her hands and feet tied to the corners. She looked woozy. From what Lucinda could see, none of the men had "started in" on her yet, past knocking her out. In a way, that was good for this woman.

Lucinda untied her. She looked at Lucinda, confused, holding her head. Lucinda sat next to her on the bed and waited.

"You're safe now," she said, and the woman looked at her.

All at once, she seemed to remember where she was. Fear crossed her face, but before she could speak, Lucinda said, "They are not going to hurt you."

She placed her hand on the woman's shoulder. Reflexively, the woman jerked away from the cold touch and looked at Lucinda's metal hand and then back at her face, "You're a Techfly?"

Lucinda smiled, "Yes, I am. My name is Lucinda. Come and find me tomorrow, and we can talk. Right now, I need to get the constables over here, and I don't want you here."

"Why?" she asked, confused.

Should Lucinda explain that this woman would be viewed as disposable, just like the others? But a disposable person that could lead to the constables having a scandal on their hands? No. This woman had seen enough danger for the night. The law would know nothing of her and could not silence her. Lucinda told her that she’d explain later and made sure she was out of sight before calling up to a part between the buildings. A head poked out.

"Is it done?" a voice said.

"Yeah. Get the authorities," Lucinda said.

"Right."

There was a flap of wings, and Lucinda walked back into the room that opened to the little dirty street, which connected to the large dirty street that reeked of slum, to wait for the constables to arrive. Her debt was paid, and in its place, the constables would owe her for her discretion. And the world was a bit less evil. Not a bad night.

I'm happy to announce my next novel is City of Gears. Below is the prologue for the book, along with the blurb.

Enjoy.

Where winged sentinels patrol the sky, one woman’s resolve is put to the test. Soar into the heart of intrigue with Lucinda as she grapples with deadly adversaries, complex conspiracies, and her own mechanical might. In a world where the skies are just another battlefield, can Lucinda's Techfly abilities help her navigate through the labyrinth of lies, scandal, and sabotage? Join her on an epic quest where every decision counts in the fight for survival and truth.

There are different parts of town. The differences make themselves known based on who you are, where you are, and sometimes the time of day or night. Some parts of town are lovely, with bright colors during the day and the smell of flowers. At night, they are serene and silent, broken only by the occasional sound of horses' hooves clomping on the ground or by the laughter from warm, brightly lit homes. Of course, in that same part of town, other homes change at night. Not all are as bright as they appear on the outside. 

Still, other parts of town are bustling during the day and night. They are packed with people, carts, and animals. There, you might encounter pickpockets or risk being trampled if you are not careful. But you also might find a new dress or suit, fruits, and meats. You might find friends at the pub. At night, you might think twice about a late-night stroll if it is too dark.

Then there are the other parts of town. The ones that during the day are teeming and busy but at night are silent save for the coughs of the sick lying in alleys and the moans of the occasional drunk. But eventually, at some point in the night, even those sounds stop. They stop because sound is a liability. It is enticing for those who might be cruel by nature or drink or some other discontentment in life. They hunt, and sound draws them like a candle.

It was one of these parts of town that Lucinda found herself in. It was late, and the air had a chill to it. The air brushed across her face and chest, pulling heat from her body. With the air came the smell of the street. It bit at Lucinda's nose, clawing its way into her head where she knew it would linger for some time. It was the perfume of garbage piled in front of doors for days or weeks on end, of excrement and urine tossed out of the windows along with anything else that came out of the inhabitants' bodies. There was dirt and horse manure, along with the smell of death. On the latter, she didn't know if it was from an animal whose body someone had discarded in one of the alleys or that of a human. Both were possible. 

She glanced up, looking for the sky, but only found a sliver of it. The windows above her were dark. The buildings grew from the ground like boxes haphazardly stacked on top of one another. As the floors were built, they each protruded over the street further than the one below it. After ten or twelve stories, the length of a person only separated the gap between buildings on each side of the street. 

In this, the slum looked like a twisted version of the inside of a cathedral, but one whose purpose was not to impart a sense of wonder of whatever god the cathedral was built to honor. This cathedral was the spiritual embodiment of filth and poverty. Lines connected the windows from one side of the street to the other so that the people could hang out their laundry to dry. The clean cloth could absorb the scent of the area and allow it to infest the homes of those who lived there.

Lucinda brought her gaze back to the street. In the shade of the buildings, it would be almost dark in the day and with little to no rain making it between the buildings, there was nothing to wash the filth away. She walked slowly, her footsteps making no sound as she trod. The street was cobbled but covered in waste that had been crushed to the point of becoming dirt. 

Her eyes swept around the darkness, looking at the places between buildings where the shadows were as thick as ink. No light escaped from them. In this part of town, mothers told their children to fear the dark or the shadows because that is exactly what you needed to fear. Well, not so much the shadows themselves but what was in them. And what if you spent too much time in them? Could the shadows twist your soul like they had so many, and if so, what might you become?

The breeze brushed against her again, stealing away the heat. She'd trade the scent for the cool air. Her dress was warm and the fabric, while silky, felt as though it didn't want to move. It seemed afraid of the dark street. It was right to be afraid. This was not the part of town, nor the time of night, where a pretty young woman should be walking alone. Especially not if that pretty young woman was dressed a little too elegantly for this area. The cream-colored dress stood out like a beacon amidst the deep blues and blacks of the street. The dress was long, falling just above her feet so it wouldn't brush against the ground. The sleeves were long too, reaching almost to her elbows. Slender hands were covered in lightly padded gloves that extended up her arms and under the sleeves of the dress. Sable hair that fell just past her jaw framed a delicate face with red lips and a petite nose. Her eyes were bright despite the darkness, one gray and the other lavender. Those eyes were looking around, aware that they did not belong there.

Lucinda knew she was attractive. She was lean but not hard, her posture was good, and her face and body were perfectly symmetrical. Her skin was free of blemishes and glowed with health. She didn’t look like an upper-class woman but perhaps middle or upper-middle class. A novelty in this area, to say the least, and a tempting target for those who called the shadows home. Her eyes glanced at the shadows, trying to see into them, but she couldn’t. If something were in them, they could see her but not the other way around. She didn’t care for that. But perhaps it was good. It made her uneasy, and that unease would show on her face. The hunters would be out tonight.

They’d started hunting a few weeks after the local brothels closed due to a venereal disease ripping its way through staff and customers. The island had shut it down before it overwhelmed the hospitals and hurt local industry. These streets were rough in the day with theft and assault, but at night turned to rape and murder. It wasn’t new. If the problem got out of hand, the constables would make a few examples, and the area would calm down for a bit. But that took a while, and it had to bother the right people. When the brothel closed, it wasn’t a surprise when crime went up. Apparently, there had been rumors of a group of men who preyed on young women. They’d have their way with them and leave them lying in the filth of the tight alleys between the buildings. The constables did nothing.

Why would they? The women in this area were poor and disposable.

“Teach them right for being out,” they’d say or, “She was asking for it.”

Lucinda found it unlikely that the women were asking for anything, nor did she find it likely that it served them right, but the people of the slum were not her problem. Of course, that had changed. The men had lost the taste for catch and release. They’d moved to murdering their victims when they were done with their fun. People would find strangled or stabbed girls in the alleys. This was still not new. Murder in the slums happened. The constables said that they’d look into it but didn’t. So long as it kept to the slums, the group would go unchecked.

They targeted poor and unconnected victims who did not live long enough to ID their assailants. One night the previous week, some body snatchers in the area found a woman left for dead as they made their way to the cemetery that night. She was covered in the filth of the alley when they found her. They found themselves with an opportunity for an easy night’s work. After all, who was going to miss another street rat?

They’d taken the body to the Anatomy Academy as they would have done with the corpses they dug up that night. They’d sold it to the academy for them to allow their students to dissect. The academy paid for the girl, not asking any questions. The problem arose when two of the students moved her to the dissection room for the next day. For the girl, it turned out, was not so dead, and when she woke it also turned out that she was not so poor and unconnected. She’d passed after a few days from an infection, but not before she’d given her account of what had happened. That led to some people talking to other people, which led to someone cashing in a favor which led to Lucinda in her fine dress this evening.

The best hunters appeared as prey. This allowed the real prey to do the work. Thus, Lucinda walked, appearing unsure and frightened. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of silver. A knife. She continued walking past the man with the knife, hidden in the shadows. She slowed to a stop and looked around. To his credit, she didn't hear him approach. She felt the cold of a blade against her throat, and her nostrils filled with the man’s hot, rank breath. She stiffened. Hunter or prey, it wasn't comfortable having a knife held to your neck. She lifted her hands in the air.

"Take what you want," she said in a shaky voice.

An arm came around her waist, and she heard him take in a deep breath through his nose.

"I will. No screams, ok?" he said softly.

She didn't respond, and he began to move, guiding her with pressure on the knife and pulling her waist. He led her off the street and down a narrow one that connected to the main street. Here she could see the sky, the floors of the buildings didn't expand so much in the small space. They came to a rough wooden door. He took his hand from her waist but left the knife. He slid the door open and led her inside, closing it behind them. His arm was around her waist again. He dragged the knife lightly up her neck to her chin, lifting it up and to the side. He leaned down, smelling her hair again. It gave her the creeps, and she felt her skin crawl.

He whispered into her ear, "I think my friends and I are going to enjoy getting acquainted with you," he kissed her neck down to where her dress started. She thought he was going to pull off the dress and expose her shoulders. As his lips touched her, she wanted to fight back and get him off her, but not yet. She shifted and whimpered.

"Please don't hurt me," she said, her voice thick.

He chuckled softly, "Oh, we're gonna hurt you."

He pushed her forward, deeper into the room. It was a large room, with the floor covered in straw and wood benches scattered here and there. At the far end of the room, there was light. As they stepped into the light, she noticed three other men. She couldn't make out the appearance of the man holding her, but she could clearly see the others. Two of them were tall and skinny, with hair so dark blue that it almost appeared black under the light. As they turned to face her, she noticed their stubble-covered faces and hardened brown eyes. Their noses looked identical, suggesting they were brothers only a few years apart in age.

Your mothers would be so proud that her babies are rapist murderers, she thought to herself.

The last man was of average height, with green hair and eyes. He was a little pudgy-looking, and his nose looked to have been broken multiple times before. All of the men looked at her and smiled.

"Lookie what we have here," Pudgy said. "I didn't think we'd get two tonight. Max is with the other, but I like this one better.”

Pudgy's grin revealed yellowing, crooked teeth. So there was another girl here, she realized. Her eyes scanned the room, as if searching for a means of escape, but deep down, she wasn't seeking an escape. She had identified four of the individuals the woman had described, but who was the fifth? It had to be whoever Max was, but she needed confirmation.

When she had first heard about what was happening in this place, she had wondered if the constables were involved. Perhaps they were being bribed to turn a blind eye. It wouldn't be unheard of. Those with a taste for darker deeds with enough money could get away with anything in the slums. However, considering what she was witnessing now, that seemed less likely. It appeared that the local law enforcement simply didn't care.

"Go get Max, he'll want this one instead. We can save the other girl for later or tomorrow," Green hair instructed one of the brothers.

One of the brothers went to a door at the back of the room and banged on it, shouting for Max to come out.

"Best part about this place," the man behind her said, “no one can hear anything that happens here. You can moan as loud as you like, isn't that great?"

The man with green hair approached her and ran his hands up her hips and waist, gazing at her chest. She wasn't prudish and had no issues showing plenty of skin, but she had to admit that the corset of the dress was a little much. It exposed much more of her chest than she would usually prefer, but that was by design, wasn’t it?

The man with green hair looked down at her and grinned. "These look nice, don't they? Mind if I take a peek?" He reached towards the front of her dress. This was unfortunate. She had three things she wanted right now. The first was for the man behind her to move the knife. Fast and strong, she was, but bleed out she could. Next, she really needed to confirm the identity of the fifth man before the man with green hair went any further. Lastly, she hoped the dress would hold up. She didn't plan on wearing it again, but if these jackasses ripped it apart, she would have to either return home covered in whatever filthy cloth she could find or risk being seen in some state of undress. She noticed a tarp on the ground and thought she could use it as a makeshift cover, but then reconsidered, realizing it was late and chances were that no one would see her if she walked home as she was. No, that's a terrible idea, I’m not walking home half-naked, she thought.

Luckily, the dress was sewn with reinforced stitching. She shifted and struggled against the man with the knife.

"Hold her!" Green growled.

The man behind her had been holding the knife with his left hand. He raised his right hand, took the blade, and placed it against her neck once again. With his left arm, he looped her left arm and pulled it behind her back. Then, he tucked the knife into his belt and used his right hand to pull her right arm behind her. He held both her arms with his left. This was good and bad. Good, because the knife was no longer against her neck, but bad because the gloves had minimal padding. He extended his right hand, grabbed her hair, and yanked her head back. She gasped at the sudden movement.

"That's better," Green said, satisfied.

The man behind her was looking down her neck and body. She felt his beard brush against her ear and neck. Green's hands were at the front of her dress, pulling, trying to rip the fabric. She heard a pop telling her that he was accomplishing his goal. She struggled a bit and begged.

"Please! No, no, please don't, please stop!" she said.

The man behind her spoke into her ear, "I've never had one like you before, I don't think I'll be able to stop by morning."

One of the brothers was coming back from the door he'd been pounding on, calling for Max. He watched Green with greedy eyes. Apparently, they weren't waiting for Max. The door opened, and a thick muscular man walked out. He was tall, with brown hair and a mustache, his arms were bare, showing muscle. He didn't have pants on.

"What is it?" he barked, "She's finally waking up, and I was just about to start in."

He looked at Lucinda, and his expression changed from irritation to understanding. He smiled.

"Never mind," he said, taking her in. He paused. "I feel like I've seen this one."

So the constables were involved.

At last, her three requirements were met. She stopped trembling and sobbing, her body became rather still, and she looked at Max calmly, "Good evening, Inspector," she said conversationally.

Green looked confused, and emotions began to play on the inspector's face. The man holding her hair let go as confusion set in. That was nice of him. She looked at Green, who was so close to her. She snapped her head forward, tilting her whole body. Her forehead slammed into Green's nose, breaking it. He started to drop. The man behind her had been pulled forward with her, and she snapped her head again, but this time back, hitting the man behind her hard in the mouth. She felt pain as a tooth or something bit into her. His arms went slack, and time slowed.

She brought her arms from behind her, twisted slightly, and brought the palm of her right hand to one of the brothers' noses, hitting him hard. His head wrenched back, the bones in the front of his face cracking. She grabbed the middle finger of the glove on her right hand with her left and swung her right arm towards the other brother. As she moved her arm, the glove came free, revealing not the pristine unblemished flesh of her face and body, but metal. The glove wasn't for the cold but rather to hide her mechanical arms. She backhanded the other brother hard. The eye socket broke and crunched.

Green was back up and had a club. He brought it high in the air to hit her. Her left hand grabbed his wrist. He screamed as the wrist was crushed in her iron grip. Max was much brighter than the others. He hadn't gone for weapons but was moving to leave, trying to run away and hide. She smiled and pivoted, holding Green. He came forward, and she grabbed the back of his vest and swung. As he flew, he closed the space between her and Max. Green hit one of Max's legs, the one that had Max's weight at the moment. The knee buckled, and he fell.

She saw a belt on the floor. Probably Max's. She picked it up and walked to the two living men. Both were groaning. Green was lying face down, holding his arm. She came up behind him and quickly broke his neck. Max was trying to back away from her. She walked a couple of steps toward him, holding the belt.

"Don't be dumb, girl, you know what I am," he panted.

"I do," she said, "a rapist and murderer. Do you think they'll hang you?"

"I'm an Inspector, you bitch!" He said, his teeth gritted.

She laughed, "And I'm a Techfly. Tell me, who is higher up the food chain?"

He stammered, "If you kill me, there will be hell to pay, even for you," he threatened, "and I know people. People who owe me favors and people who I know things about."

She smiled. He wasn't lying. He had gotten this job not by being good at what he did for the public, but by being good at what he did for individuals. She had no doubt that he knew things about people.

"So tell me, those people, do you think they are going to let you spill the beans on them?" she asked, "and the constables, do you think they want a scandal? You're right, killing you would raise hell for me. But we both know you aren't living through the night."

He changed tack, "But if you take me in, think of what and who I will give you. You have no idea what goes on, on this island, out of the reach of the law."

She shook her head, "I have no doubt. I bet you could give me some really juicy stuff. But alas," she sighed, "not my thing. I'm not into law enforcement."

He looked confused, “Bu-but you’re here tonight..."

She nodded again, "Yup, I'm here tonight."

She didn't explain why she was there; she knocked him out and bound his arms behind him. There was a sound from the room that Max had been in, and Lucinda remembered that he said something about starting on someone. She went to the room and found a young woman lying in a bed, her hands and feet tied to the corners. She looked woozy. From what Lucinda could see, none of the men had "started in" on her yet, past knocking her out. In a way, that was good for this woman.

Lucinda untied her. She looked at Lucinda, confused, holding her head. Lucinda sat next to her on the bed and waited.

"You're safe now," she said, and the woman looked at her.

All at once, she seemed to remember where she was. Fear crossed her face, but before she could speak, Lucinda said, "They are not going to hurt you."

She placed her hand on the woman's shoulder. Reflexively, the woman jerked away from the cold touch and looked at Lucinda's metal hand and then back at her face, "You're a Techfly?"

Lucinda smiled, "Yes, I am. My name is Lucinda. Come and find me tomorrow, and we can talk. Right now, I need to get the constables over here, and I don't want you here."

"Why?" she asked, confused.

Should Lucinda explain that this woman would be viewed as disposable, just like the others? But a disposable person that could lead to the constables having a scandal on their hands? No. This woman had seen enough danger for the night. The law would know nothing of her and could not silence her. Lucinda told her that she’d explain later and made sure she was out of sight before calling up to a part between the buildings. A head poked out.

"Is it done?" a voice said.

"Yeah. Get the authorities," Lucinda said.

"Right."

There was a flap of wings, and Lucinda walked back into the room that opened to the little dirty street, which connected to the large dirty street that reeked of slum, to wait for the constables to arrive. Her debt was paid, and in its place, the constables would owe her for her discretion. And the world was a bit less evil. Not a bad night.

If you don't want to wait for next week's episode or you just want to show me some support, you can subscribe to my Patreon. All episodes of this book will be available three weeks before they are here for free on my blog.

Last Time on When Night Feasts: Thomas Dover and Cameron Frost investigated a gruesome murder at the hospital. They determined it was the work of a demon. Thomas gathered information at the police station while Cameron offered to help.

Chapter Three

Tom was roused by the blare of a car horn, or was it a truck? Through the haze of sleep, the only thing he could truly be sure of was that he didn't appreciate it in the least. He felt Jess stir in his arms. Reflexively, he pulled her a little closer. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on his eyelids. A gentle breeze wafted in from the window by his head, and he could almost feel himself start to drift off to sleep again. 

The horn blasted again, this time the driver held the note for what seemed like a small eternity. Tom's eyes snapped open. Truck. It was definitely a truck's horn. Jessica tensed in his arms. He glanced down to see her crack open an eye. 

"Why do they hate us?" She murmured. 

"Who hates us?" he replied, a smile in his voice. 

She gave a sleepy shrug, "God, the universe, whoever 'they' are that people believe watches over them. They hate us and won't let us sleep." 

The horn sounded again, followed by the thud of a door and loud voices. Tom couldn't make out what they were saying, but he doubted it was a friendly exchange. His hand absently stroked Jess' back, her skin soft and warm beneath his touch. 

"I'm not sure we're the ones they hate. Or if they hate us at all, but I'm pretty sure they hate that truck driver more. He sounds… upset," Tom said. 

She shifted, propping herself up on her elbows. She peered out the window, her chestnut hair catching in the light. Her head gently bobbed, "You're right," she said, matter-of-factly. She flopped back down on the bed, "They hate the truck driver way more." She sighed and stretched her arms above her head, "We're just collateral damage," she yawned. She rolled onto her side and draped an arm over him, "How are you this morning?" she asked, holding his gaze. 

He knew what she was really asking. Not how did you sleep, not how do you feel? How were his urges? "I'm good. You?" 

She paused for a moment, "I'm fine." 

There might have been a world where Tom would be in love with Jessica Dixon. Where he'd cherish her soft body in his arms. Where the scent of her hair would be a reminder of tranquility. And there was a world where she loved him too. Where sharing a bed with him was not a necessity but a desire. In that world, perhaps they'd have a family. 

As it was, Tom didn't love Jessica, nor did she love him. At least not like lovers do. As friends? Yes, they loved each other deeply. But there would never be more, there couldn't be. His hand moved up and down her arm gently and reassuringly, not because he wanted to feel her silky skin, but because that's what a good lover would do. And she allowed it, not because part of her wanted his gentle touch, but because she understood the compulsion. 

Compulsion was the cornerstone of their lives, or more accurately, the struggle and balance of compulsion. Tom knew that his relationship with Jess was the epitome of codependency. It was a precarious balance between healthy and toxic that was held in a state of perpetual balance. A balance that if broken, would end what they had. 

"Breakfast?" Tom asked her. 

"Sure," she replied.

They got out of bed and Tom walked into the bathroom. He flicked on the light and twisted the shower knob to hot. As he waited for the water to warm, he brushed his teeth. The bathroom gradually filled with steam, prompting him to dial down the heat before stepping into the shower. He inhaled deeply, the steam filling his lungs and mind. As he washed, he thought about the day ahead and all the tasks it held. Outside, he heard Jessica getting ready. She'd left a few items at his place for her overnight stays. It didn't bother Tom, and it gave Jessica something to hold against her nature.

Tom thought of the balance as he washed. His compulsions urged him to deepen his relationship with Jessica, to make her an honest woman and himself a dutiful man. Maintaining their relationship the way it was fought against that urge. For Jessica, being with one man railed against her nature, which was precisely why she did it. This was one side of the tightrope they walked. The mutual struggle against their natures. But one couldn't simply resist their nature indefinitely, lest it eventually overpower and take control. This is where dependency came into play. Being there for Jessica and helping her manage her urges satisfied some of Tom's innate needs. Similarly, their encounters fulfilled some of Jessica's. The act of indulging wants and needs while simultaneously denying those same needs was what held them in balance. It's what kept them in control of their lives, not their natures. Codependent and unhealthy all around, but necessary.

Tom dried off and shaved. He saw Jessica applying makeup and felt a wave of relief. Over the years, he had learned to read her appearance. Today she'd look the beautiful woman, she was. Men would undoubtedly notice her, and some might even hit on her, but she would resist. Or at least, she was confident that she would. On days when she appeared plain or frumpy, Tom knew her confidence in her own resolve was weak. It meant they'd gone too long since seeing each other. Those days, he would initiate an encounter.

He'd hate himself just a bit afterward. After all, when he did that he was in essence taking advantage of her. Using her urges and nature against her, in those encounters, it truly wasn't Jessica consenting, but her parentage forcing her. But as soon as they were finished, her nature's grip on her would loosen, and she would regain her freedom. Tom knew she was grateful for it. It was their arrangement. It was far better for him to recognize her need and take advantage of it than to let it consume her and make her vulnerable to others. But it didn't feel good.

She did the same for him, of course. Neither enjoyed manipulating the other's nature, even if it was for the other's benefit. So instead, they strived to maintain the balance. They had each other's backs in a way that Tom didn't share with anyone else. Jessica Dixon would never be his wife or his lover, but she was his partner in life, of that there was no doubt.

They would likely maintain this charade as long as they could, growing old and grey together, yet never truly being together. In a way, it was comforting, but in another, it was profoundly sad. Something that gnawed at both of them deep inside. Playing the part of almost being in love. Playing the part of almost being a couple. Pretending to be almost normal. But they weren't normal and never would be. Pretending was the best they could hope for and was better than what many of their kind had.

Newland was in full swing as they exited his building. The truck from earlier had moved on. In its place, cars were parked bumper to bumper, stretching in an endless line. He looked up, noting the gray sky filled with clouds that held the threat of rain. Jessica walked close to him as they navigated through men and women heading to work. Occasionally, he would spot a flash of color zipping in the sky as a demon would pass overhead. Around them, none of the people could see the little bastards. This was probably for the best, as not only would people panic, but the little shits could be incredibly distracting. Learning to ignore them while driving was a skill that proved surprisingly challenging to master.

Generally, Tom didn't pay much attention to the demons. Small and harmless, they were hardly worth a second thought. Most would be starved and gone by the end of the day, if they even lasted that long. Most vanished almost as soon as they came into existence. The more dangerous ones were rarer and tended to stay hidden. They entered a diner, the bell above the door chiming as they strode in. Patrons sat in booths or at a counter that overlooked the kitchen. A waitress waved at them, and Jessica and Tom slid into a booth.

The waitress returned with two cups, which she filled with steaming coffee. Tom took a sip of the bitter brew. The day hadn't truly begun until he'd finished at least one cup. 

"What are you up to today?" he asked Jessica.

The waitress returned to take their orders. As she left, Jessica replied, "Just wrapping up some research. How about you?"

He took another sip. "Trying to make sense of my current project," he said vaguely.

Normal people didn't know about demons. Sure, some believed in them, but those beliefs were more along the lines of horned red men with pitchforks, not the remnants of powerful thoughts, sensations, and emotions. Jessica and Tom could talk openly about work without raising alarm. That is, if they wanted to seem like nuts to the people around them. So they kept the shop talk vague or discussed more mundane topics.

Their food arrived after a few minutes, filling their immediate vicinity with the rich aroma that only a diner's breakfast could produce. Tom's plate was laden with eggs, bacon, and hash browns. He dug into his breakfast while Jessica picked at a muffin on her plate. 

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know," Tom said.

She smirked. "So they say." She nibbled at the muffin. "Never been my thing. If I eat a lot in the morning, I won't get anything done." She smiled at him. 

Her gaze shifted to the window and Tom turned to see what she was looking at. Above the cars, he saw a small blue wisp of smoke bobbing and weaving. Tom focused on the demon and felt a wave of annoyance. As he looked back at Jessica, the annoyance dissipated.

"They shouldn't be so calming to watch," Jessica said.

Tom drained his cup and smiled. "It's just a little one. And there is something soothing about watching them. Though I doubt the annoyed people in those cars would agree with our assessment."

The small demon flitted along the row of cars. Tom left some money on the table and stood up. Jessica did the same. They left the diner and walked to a nearby church. Around back, they opened a door that led to an office area. Churches had proven to be a convenient front for the Sect, Tom had to admit. They helped them track all manner of demons. They ascended a set of stairs to the main office. 

The main office was modest, filled with rows of desks occupied by people. Smoke from cigarettes and pipes hung in the air, mingling with the smell of stale coffee. The sound of clacking typewriters and light conversations filled the room as people worked and chatted. 

Jessica bid Tom goodbye and headed for the filing room. Tom removed his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. A man with dark skin and a short, stubbly beard greeted him.

“Mornin, Tom," George Firth said warmly.

George was a child of patience and Cam's partner.

“Morin,” Tom replied, "how's the wife and kid?"

George smiled, "They're both well."

George was probably the most normal Cardinal Child that Tom knew. It was comforting to see one of them leading a normal life, even if the rest of them would never share that fate.

"Have you and Cam found anything?" Tom asked.

George shook his head, "Not yet. Something will turn up."

Tom felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, "I'm sure Cam shares your optimism."

"Fuck off," Cam said cheerfully as he approached Tom and George. He pointed to an office, "Boss wants to see you."

Tom thanked him and walked over to the office of Alexander Garrard, the head of the Sect for Newland. Tom knocked on the door frame.

"Come in," Alex called.

Alex was of average height, his dark brown hair complementing his athletic build. He was a stern boss, but that never really bothered Tom. His diligent nature made him an exceptional employee, and the most grief Tom had ever received from Alex was about needing to take time off.

Seated in a chair in front of Alex's desk was a blonde woman. She turned in her chair and Tom's eyes lit with recognition.

"This is Ruby Simons," Alex introduced, "you've met before."

"I remember," Tom replied. Ruby, however, looked puzzled. "I was the man from the other night," he clarified.

"Oh..." she murmured, shaking her head slightly as if trying to rid herself of a memory. She stood and extended her hand, "Forgive me. It's a pleasure to meet you." She bit her lip, "And thank you for the other night. I'm sorry I didn't remember you."

Tom shook her hand, "Don't worry about it. It's understandable."

Alex cleared his throat, "Ruby worked at the city and county building. Now that she's started seeing demons, her boss had her sent to us." Ruby looked uncomfortable, but Alex continued, "She's your new partner."

Tom nodded, resigned to the task of training a new person. It wasn't a surprise. This was a role Tom often found himself in. After all, who better than a child of diligence to ensure that new staff members are properly trained? Tom nodded at Ruby, "Sounds good." He turned to Alex, "Anything else?"

Alex shook his head, his gaze returning to his desk. Tom noticed a flicker of uncertainty in Ruby's blue eyes.

"Trust me, working here will help you cope with what you experienced the other night," Tom reassured her, "Let's get you introduced to the team."

If you don't want to wait for next week's episode or you just want to show me some support, you can subscribe to my Patreon. All episodes of this book will be available three weeks before they are here for free on my blog.

Some of the themes and content of this series may not be suitable for younger readers. When sections that are not suitable for younger readers are in an episode, those sections will be missing (but noted in the post) but will be available for Patreon subscribers.

Last time on Titian: Synth and Reed found a new client named Kasey Jones, also known as the Harlot. Kasey's brother has gone missing, and she's hired Synth and Reed to find him. 

Reed stepped out of the Crimson Cask onto the busy streets of Titan. As was typical, crowds of people thronged the sidewalks, engaging with street vendors or navigating their way through the masses. The hum of vehicles filled the air as he looked up, taking in the towering buildings above him, most of them adorned with garish neon signs or displaying videos. Synth walked beside him, her hair currently a vibrant cherry red that matched her lips and eyes. Her skin was an almost silvery porcelain white that loudly proclaimed, 'I'm an android,' to anyone who glanced her way.

Reed had never encountered an android quite like Synth, and he knew he wasn't alone in that. His partner had been manufactured in an underground facility. She wasn't illegal, per se, but the people who built her and the design they used had been. Reed knew some details about her past, but he wasn't certain about all of it. For that matter, he wasn't even sure how old she was.

Androids didn't age, obviously, so for all he knew, Synth could be 10 or 15 years old, or she could be 40. Synth was slightly shorter than average for a woman, with the body of a dancer. Reed knew she could make minor alterations to her appearance, such as her hair color, skin color, and eye color, as well as other minor aspects of her body. But he was never sure how extensive those changes could be. Synth wasn't as physically strong as most androids, as her design prioritized fine motor function, mobility, and the ability to move gracefully over raw strength. That's not to say she was weak. Pound for pound, she was stronger than a human woman of her size, but not by a significant margin. When she wanted to, Synth could pass completely as human and blend in seamlessly. She was perfect for infiltration.

Reed knew what he was. He was a blunt instrument. He was strong and powerful, with extensive tactical and combat experience. If you needed someone intimidating, that was Reed. Synth could never overpower him, and in a boxing match, she'd be finished almost as soon as it started. But Reed knew she was lethal if she chose to be. Although, in his experience, Synth rarely opted to kill.

That wasn't a problem he had. He had killed plenty in his life, and he suspected he would do it again. He didn't relish it or seek it out, but sometimes things happened.

The Red Room was located downtown. As they made their way there, the buildings and the people became slightly more upscale and sophisticated. They arrived at a large building and entered, taking the elevator up. Reed glanced at Synth.

"You good with this?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah, it should be fine."

The Albrights owned the Red Room. The head of the family, Harlan, was known for having a bit of a chip on his shoulder against androids. Reed wasn't sure of its origin, but it was widely known. That said, he didn't think they would kick an android out. He just suspected they would be cautious of Synth.

"I can never understand people like that," Reed said.

Synth shrugged, understanding what he meant. "Yeah, I don't either, but there are plenty of my kind that don't like humans. Think about how many people don't like vatters or cyborgs, for that matter," she said.

Reed nodded. That was fair. They reached the right floor and entered the club. The Red Room was expansive, not just a room, but several stories tall with multiple rooms. The walls were red, as were many of the lights. There was a bar near windows that overlooked Titan below. In the corners, Reed noticed several small stages where go-go dancers swayed languidly to the music playing. The music was just loud enough to prevent conversations from carrying, but not so loud that people thought it was a party.

Yes, there were dance floors where people were dancing, but for the most part, the Red Room wasn't a place to let loose and have fun. The Red Room was a meeting place. Around him, there were all types of people, from businessmen to politicians to individuals involved in the city's more clandestine industries.

If the Crimson Cask was where individuals seeking assistance or smaller crime groups gathered, the Red Room was the hub of serious business. Synth left Reed's side to scout the room, while he made a beeline for the bar. Ordering a drink, he noticed a woman from the corner of his eye. She had striking blue eyes and long blonde hair that framed a flawless face and full lips.

She was dressed in a black dress with a plunging neckline that accentuated her curves. A voice in his head noted appreciatively that those curves were in all the right places. A younger version of Reed would have felt his heart stop, his mind go blank, and he would have stumbled and muttered over his words. But he wasn't so young, and he wasn't so stupid. But his mind still faltered momentarily. The woman smiled.

"Good evening, how are you doing?" she asked.

Reed took a sip of his drink, trying to gather himself. "I'm doing well, Miss. Albright. How are you?" Reed said to Ashley Albright. 

Her eyes tightened briefly, but not in irritation. 

“You know who I am?" she asked.

Reed nodded. "Yes, ma'am, I do."

Ashley smiled. He did know who she was. Ashley Albright was Harlan Albright's only child. Rumor had it that she was next in line to take over the family business, just as Harlan had done when his father retired. It was a tradition in their family, one generation succeeding the other. Not in a violent, medieval way, or in a chaotic power struggle that was common in other organizations, but in a deliberate, well-planned manner. It was just how business was done. Reed also knew that Ashley was well-connected and deeply entrenched in the business.

"So, what brings you to the Red Room tonight?" Ashley asked, her eyes tracing his mechanical arms.

Some cyborgs tried to hide their enhancements. Reed didn't. He didn't see a point in it. He wasn't ashamed of his cyborg enhancements, and he'd found that, more often than not, they deterred trouble and secured him jobs. He wasn't sure how it would play out with an Albright, though.

"I'm here on a job," he said honestly.

The Albrights were known for their neutrality. They were facilitators. Yes, they had a lot of resources at their disposal, and they weren't afraid to use them, but they weren't aligned with any particular group in the city.

She nodded. "And the job?" she inquired.

She signaled the bartender, ordering a drink.

"I'm looking for someone. Well, I've been paid to look for someone," he said.

She nodded. "Is this going to be a problem for us this evening?"

Reed shook his head. "No, ma'am. I wouldn't cause any problems here. Just chasing down a potential lead right now," he said.

The bartender handed Ashley a cocktail that was a deep red. She took a sip. "May I ask who you're looking for?"

Reed thought for a moment, part of him wanting to say no, but another part of him realizing that the Albrights could potentially be a resource and he'd never worked with them before. He didn't want to get on their bad side. 

"Yeah, the name's Nathan Jones," he said. "Ever heard of him?" he asked.

Ashley looked thoughtful for a moment and shook her head. "No. Why do you think that you're going to be able to find him here?" she asked.

Reed shook his head. "I don't. He was coming here to meet with somebody. Just trying to see who that person was. I'm not sure if he ever made it to the meeting, and if he did, he didn't make it back home to his sister," Reed said.

Ashley looked thoughtful. "Ah, I see. And should I know the sister?"

"Probably. Her name is Kasey, but you probably know her as The Harlot," Reed said.

Ashley nodded in understanding. "I see. Well, I could see where she might not want to talk to the Dragons about finding somebody," she commented. Ashley took another sip and looked around the room. "I see your friend over there is making friends," she said.

Reed looked over, seeing Synth sitting with a group of people, chatting with them. He felt a twinge of unease. "Yeah, that's Synth. She's my partner," he said.

"Very nice," she said, and then, reading his expression, her expression softened. "I don't share my father's distaste for androids, or vatters for that matter," she explained.

"So, do you think you could maybe help me out with who Nathan might have been meeting with here?" Reed asked.

Ashley smiled softly and shook her head, "Maybe, but probably not."

She looked at the bar as she set down her drink, and as she did, Reed couldn't help but have his eyes sweep over her body. Ashley was something amazing to look at. From everything he'd heard, she was known to be incredibly seductive and persuasive. Seeing her in person, it was easy to see where those rumors had come from. When she looked back at him, her expression was warm and almost flirtatious. She leaned against the bar, positioning her body towards him in just the right way that he felt his heart thump.

"So, tell me about yourself," Ashley asked.

"What do you want to know?" Reed asked. In his mind, he was chiding himself. What are you doing? Don't be stupid with this woman.

She reached out and caressed his metallic arms, tracing her fingers all the way down to his hand where his drink rested. Reed could feel it. Not the way he'd been able to feel when he had flesh arms, but he could sense the pressure. And it was just right. Just enough that if he'd had human arms, her touch would have seemed a tad too firm. But with his mechanical limbs, it almost felt pleasant, yet non-threatening. The gesture told Reed something. Ashley had enough understanding of cyborgs to know just how to touch and make it seem as natural as possible. This woman could get inside someone's head in no time, he thought.

"How'd you get these?" she asked.

He smirked and took a sip of his drink. "That's a long story, but I was a Marine," he confessed.

She nodded. "Oh, one of those. I'm sorry to hear that. I hope it was something that you chose," she said.

He shook his head. "It was, but the circumstances weren't. How about you? What's it like working in the Red Room?" he asked, glancing around.

She smiled and cast her gaze over the room. "It has its ups and downs," she said. "So, you're here looking for someone, as is your partner. You've got big, strong mechanical arms, and my guess is a few other cybernetic enhancements. And she looks like, well," Ashley pursed her lips. "She's clearly an android and wants people to know it, but I can't quite figure her out. So tell me, are you just private investigators, or do you offer other services?" she asked with a warm smile that made his heart thump again.

Reed smiled tightly. "Is this a job interview?" he asked her.

She chuckled. "Maybe, maybe not. We're always on the lookout for people."

He was impressed by how open she was about that. He nodded. "We do a bit of everything. Find people, provide some protection. Kind of the basics," he said.

Ashley looked thoughtful, and Reed wondered what was going through the woman's mind. She didn't feel like a threat to him, and most people did, but she didn't feel like a friend either. She looked contemplative for a moment as she watched Synth.

"Sorry, I can't help you with what you're currently working on. I can keep an ear out, though, and let you know if I hear anything," she said.

Reed finished his drink. "I appreciate that, but just so you know, I'm not in the habit of owing people favors. If I can help it," he said.

This seemed to amuse her. "And all my business is, is favors," she said. Then she chuckled and said, "But I can understand that."

He smiled. "Is it? Is your business really all about favors?" he asked.

She smiled back. "I suppose not. It's not a favor if you get paid for it, is it?" she commented. "Well, at any rate, I'll listen, and if I hear anything, I'll let you know.”

"And what would I owe you for that?" he asked.

"Maybe a favor, but you'd know the price before I gave you any information. You may not make a habit of owing people favors. I don't make a habit of trying to put people in situations they resent or regret," she said. "It's bad for business."

He could appreciate that. He chuckled.

"What?" she asked, her face showing genuine curiosity.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"Please tell me," she said. Her voice was confident and had an edge to it that made him want to tell her whatever she wanted to know.

He shook his head. "You're just not what I was expecting," he admitted.

Her lips curled into a smile. "And what were you expecting?"

"Well, from what I've heard about you, either you're a seductress, or maybe it's an act, and you're just like your father, who has a reputation for being a cold businessman. But mostly, I expected that you'd be a seductress," he confessed.

This seemed to satisfy her. "Yes, the vapid slut, or the viper," she said.

"I'm sorry," Reed said, meaning it, not wanting to offend her.

She placed her hand on his. His hands had more sensors in them than the rest of his arm, and it felt nice. Her skin was soft and warm. The touch wasn't flirtatious or threatening.

"You have nothing to apologize for," she said earnestly. She glanced over at Synth. "Well, I hope to talk to you again sometime. And if I find anything, I'll let you know."

Reed exchanged contact information with her, and she walked off. As she sauntered away, he tried not to stare at her ass. He turned back to the bar. The bartender looked at him.

"Would you like another drink, or are your eyes the only thing drinking right now?" he asked and smirked.

Reed chuckled. "I think I'm good on both."

The bartender nodded and laughed, walking away. Reed exhaled. "That could have gone a whole lot worse," he muttered to himself. He turned from the bar and signaled to Synth. She walked over to him.

"Find anything?" he asked.

"Not shit," she said. "You? Saw you were having a nice conversation."

"I was, with Ashley Albright," he said, seeing Synth's eyes widen.

"Is that who it was? I couldn't quite make her out from where I was sitting."

"It was," he confirmed. "This place is a dead end."

Synth sighed. "Yeah, let's head out. We can chat about it tomorrow and see what we can figure out."

He nodded in agreement, and they walked out of the Red Room.

If you don't want to wait for next week's episode or you just want to show me some support, you can subscribe to my Patreon. All episodes of this book will be available three weeks before they are here for free on my blog.

Last Time on When Night Feasts: Ruby Simons navigated the bustling streets of Newland on her way home. She entered her apartment to find it strangely quiet and dark. Upon entering her roommate Alicia's room, Ruby discovered a terrifying creature on top of Alicia, causing her to gasp and drop her glass. The creature noticed Ruby, attacked her, and she managed to fend it off with a knife. As she tried to escape, a mysterious man stepped into her apartment, and Ruby fainted in terror.

Thomas Dover, child of Diligence, gazed up at the grey, drizzly sky. It had been raining steadily for several hours, and he was grateful that it had ebbed down to a light sprinkle. He leaned against the wall, taking a drag from his cigarette, feeling the smoke fill his lungs and the nicotine subtly erode his frustrations. 

He was in a narrow alley that dead-ended at the back of one of the city’s hospitals. On either side of the alley, the hospital towered over him. The area was largely deserted, except for an ambulance parked by metal double doors. Its engine sputtered out smoke as it idled. 

Tom took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled, resisting the temptation to glance at his watch. He was on time, and that was all that mattered. At least, it was all that truly mattered to him. The doors swung open, and two men wheeled out an empty gurney, stowing it in the back of the ambulance. 

“Sorry, slick,” Tom said under his breath, referring to whomever the men had recently transported to the morgue. 

The sound of shoes on the pavement caught his attention, and Tom turned his head to see a man in a heavy black coat walk quickly around the corner. The man was in his late twenties, with chin-length black hair framing a sharp jawline and angry brown eyes. Cameron Frost, child of Wrath, seemed to be doing his parentage proud this morning.

Cam strode quickly up to Tom. He spoke before Tom so much as opened his mouth. “Yeah, yeah, I know, save it, I’m late,” Cam said, anger etched into his tone, “fucking trains are running late this morning.” He offered by way of explanation. “Some fuckin bumpkin backed a flatbed onto the tracks this morning. I bet the dumb fuck was watching some skirt instead of paying attention to his job, or noticing the bloody train bearing down on him.”

“Is the guy alright?” Tom asked.

Cam shrugged, “The fuck should I know? Do I look like I have a crystal ball in my jacket or something?”

Tom raised his hands. He wasn’t angry. Instead, he stayed quiet and let Cam get it out of his system. That was all there was to it. It wasn’t personal, it was just Cam's nature. Tom waited until Cam huffed, his anger subsiding.

“Thanks, Tom.” 

Tom nodded, “Anytime.” He took one last drag on his smoke and flicked it into a puddle, “Shall we?”

Cam led the way to the double doors. He pushed them open, and the men walked into the scent that could only belong to a morgue. The sharp tang of death mingled with the acrid smell of chemicals. Contrary to Tom’s childhood beliefs, the morgue was well-lit. Men in lab coats and women in nurses’ uniforms went about their tasks, only a few of them noticing Cam and Tom.

Stainless steel doors were embedded in the walls, and Tom noticed a few bodies covered in cloth. His and Cam’s shoes squeaked and clicked on the linoleum floor as they sought their quarry. 

They found Doctor Ronald Harvey in a small room. He was standing at a table with a cloth-covered body. Tom noticed patches of blood seeping through the cloth. Dr. Harvey looked up at them. He was short and pudgy with thinning blonde hair and watery blue eyes. He smiled grimly at Tom and Cam.

"Morning, Doc," Cam greeted as they entered the room, "Have a cold one for us?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Harvey replied, "Came in last night. The third one in the last month and a half." He pulled back the cloth, causing Tom to instinctively flinch.

“Fuck me,” Cam swore.

"Sorry, Cameron, you're not my type," the M.E. retorted without missing a beat.

On the table lay the remains of what Tom was fairly certain had once been a man. His head was missing, and his limbs were torn apart. Jagged cuts crisscrossed his chest, and his abdomen was split open, whether from the attack or an autopsy, Tom couldn't tell. He peered at the body, suppressing his sense of gore. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he felt uneasy.

"Do you think a demon did this?" Tom asked.

Harvey nodded.

"Could've been one of those mob hits," Cam suggested, sounding uncertain. "I've heard they've done some pretty messed up stuff."

The M.E. shrugged. "Doubtful, but we can always hope."

Cam looked closely at the body and shook his head. "Yeah... but I think you're right. What do you think, Tom?"

Tom kept his gaze fixed on the deceased man. "It was a demon. No doubt."

"Cardinal?" the M.E. inquired.

"Or possession," Cam said.

"Could it have been a dream?" Harvey asked.

Tom shook his head. "Not even a powerful one could do this. Sure, their claws and teeth burn, but they only leave welts."

Cam looked up. "Did you get that one you were tracking?"

Tom nodded his head and looked up from the body with a sigh. "Yeah, I did. It was a shame demon. Some gal walked in on it feeding on her roommate. It attacked her. When I got there, she was in the hallway with it on top of her."

"Shit, that's bad luck," Cam said. "And the roommate?"

Tom shook his head. "It tore through her mind. She's at a hospital outside of town, babbling incoherently."

"Will she be okay?" Harvey asked.

Tom had to remind himself that while Harvey was well-versed in medicine, he was new to the world of demons. Tom pulled out a notepad to jot down some notes. "She will be. Give her a few weeks of rest and she'll be alright... Probably."

He began scribbling notes about the body before him. "When did he die?"

"Late," Harvey replied. "But I don't know much more."

"What are you going to list as the cause of death?" Cam asked.

"I think decapitation should cover it," Harvey said.

Cam gave him a look. "Yeah, funny," he huffed. "Are the cops looking into it?"

"Yes, but I don't think you have anything to worry about. They suspect it's the mob."

"Good," Tom said. "We don't need them getting in harm's way." He jotted down some more notes. "Whatever did this is a nasty one. Thanks, doc."

They exited the morgue. Tom pulled out a cigarette as they made it to clear air. Cam lit up beside him. "Do you want George and I to take this?" Cam asked. "I know you’re sans partner."

"I think we'll all need to work on this one," Tom said, taking a drag. "That said, I shouldn't be in the field much until I get a new partner."

Cam smirked. "Feeling a bit of a tug to work but also to play it smart?"

Tom chuckled. "Diligence is a bitch." He took a puff, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Alright, I'll see what I can find on the other two deaths and where the cops are at."

Cam nodded.

They split up and Tom took a cab to one of the city's police stations. As a member of the Sect, he wasn't a cop, but he enjoyed the same unrestricted access that law enforcement did. It didn't take him long to locate the files for the other two deaths, accompanied by a few pictures that were truly horrifying.

Tom pulled out his notepad and began his work, noting every relevant detail. The advantage was that what the actual cops deemed relevant and what Tom considered relevant were often two different things. He wasn't concerned about motive or means; demons didn't require those. However, they did need opportunity.

Tom noted everything he could about the deaths, including where the victims worked and spent their time. It was a tedious and time-consuming task. Tom felt compelled to check and recheck his work until the sun had set outside. He forced himself to stop and left the station, resisting the urge to visit the areas where the bodies had been discovered.

He stopped at a liquor store on his way home, grabbing a bottle of whiskey. The streets of Newland were bustling with end-of-day traffic and people heading out for the night as he trudged along. He entered his building and rode up to his floor. His front door closed with a solid thud as he walked in.

Tom's apartment was small but nice. Everything was well-maintained and clean. It was the epitome of organization. He switched on the radio and took down a glass from the cupboard. He poured the whiskey and knocked back the glass, feeling the heat spread down his throat and stomach. He poured another glass of the amber liquid.

He didn't gulp this one down but instead took a slow sip. He settled into a large, comfortable chair and closed his eyes, waiting for the buzz of the booze to hit him. As it did, he felt a wave of calm wash over him, and with the calm, the incessant buzzing in his mind subsided. He was able to ignore the urge to work, clean, or do anything responsible. Such was the life of a child of diligence.

He took another sip, savoring the whiskey on his tongue. As he swallowed, he heard a soft knock at the door. He rose and walked to the door, opening it. He was greeted by light brown eyes and chestnut hair. Full, lush lips turned up at the corners. Jessica Dixon looked like everything a daughter of lust should be.

He stepped back from the door, letting her in. With her came the soft scent of perfume, and Tom felt his urge to be a diligent worker fade away, replaced by the desire to be a good friend and companion.

"Good evening," Jessica said, her voice smooth but with a slight edge.

She turned to him, and Tom could see the tension in her eyes. She held a bag that smelled delightful.

"You look tense," she observed.

He sighed, "Likewise." 

She bit her lip. "Dinner then dessert?"

His gaze traced the perfect curve of her body, and he noticed that she had left a few of the top buttons on her blouse undone, revealing a generous amount of cleavage. No, Jessica was just as on edge as he was. It was best to curb the urges before they took control.

He smiled at her, letting that compulsion to be a good companion take over, "I think I'll have my dessert first, thank you."

Relief and desire washed over her face. Tom took the bag from her, placing it on the counter. Then his arms encircled her waist, and he leaned in to kiss her.

Welcome to Titan. In this web series, join characters as they navigate through unexpected twists and turns in their lives and they find ways around them or perish trying. This is an ongoing series with no end in sight. Episodes will be published here as well as on Patreon. 

If you don't want to wait for next week's episode or you just want to show me some support, you can subscribe to my Patreon. All episodes of this book will be available three weeks before they are here for free on my blog.

Some of the themes and content of this series may not be suitable for younger readers. When sections that are not suitable for younger readers are in an episode, those sections will be missing (but noted in the post) but will be available for Patreon subscribers.

In this episode join Synth and Reed as they look for a new client. 

Synth was seated with Reed in a secluded corner booth at the back of The Crimson Cask. She took a sip from her drink and placed it back on the table, watching the liquid ripple in rhythm with the pulsating music that reverberated throughout the club. Her gaze swept across the room, taking in the throngs of people gyrating and swaying on the dance floor, while others huddled around the bar placing drink orders.

She stretched out her arms, surveying the room. God, I hate having to do this, she thought to herself. Money. It truly was the root of the world's problems, wasn't it? Beside her, Reed swirled his drink.

"We need to find a client," he sighed.

Reed was in his late twenties, but with the life he'd led, he looked more like a man in his forties. He had short, cropped hair, a muscular build, and mechanical arms. Reed was a cyborg. She had met him shortly after his departure from the Marines, and they had formed an effective team. She considered him one of the few individuals she actually trusted.

"Yeah, I know," she responded.

They did need to find a job. Their situation was becoming increasingly strained.

She glared at her drink, cursing it under her breath. "Fucking hate this," she muttered.

"What, the drink?" Reed asked.

She glanced at him. "That and so many other things," she replied.

Reed shrugged. "Then don't drink it. I don't even know why you buy it. You don't need them.” 

He was correct. She didn't. As an android, she didn't require food or drink. Her systems could metabolize it into energy, but it was far less efficient than simply recharging. She sighed. "Gotta be a paying customer," she explained. As she swirled the drink around, she took another sip. "Besides, it unnerves people when you don't have a drink," she added.

Reed shrugged. "I guess that's fair enough," he conceded.

Synth returned her attention to the club. The Crimson Cask wasn't exactly a nice place. It wasn't terrible per se, but it certainly wasn't impressive. It was slightly grimy, somewhat seedy, and there was a lot of under-the-table action going on. That's why they were there. It served as an unofficial hub for finding and hiring help. That's what Synth and Reed were. Help. If you needed help with something, they were who you came to. If you needed help finding someone, that was them. If you needed help getting something back, that was them too. You needed security? Yeah, they could help with that. There was a lot that they had helped people with over the years.

She finished her drink. "Alright, I'm going to go up to the bar and see if Roy has any leads for us," she said.

Reed nodded in acknowledgment. Synth rose and navigated her way through the crowd to the bar, where she found Roy in his usual spot, engaging in conversation, tidying up, and serving drinks. She took a seat. He glanced at her and nodded. Roy was older, tall and lean, with graying hair. He was also privy to every bit of information about everyone in the city and beyond.

He approached her, pouring a drink. "What can I do for you?" he inquired.

"Looking for work," Synth replied.

Roy chuckled. "I had a hunch."

She smirked. "Got anything for me?"

He grinned. "I could use a new bar back," he suggested, making her snort.

"I'll get right on that," she retorted.

He laughed. "Actually, I might have something for you. It's not guaranteed, but it's worth a try," he said.

Synth raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

He gestured down the bar to a woman with flowing black hair. She was strikingly beautiful and seemed out of place. Not because she was wearing too nice of clothes out of place, but because the Crimson Cask didn't usually attract women that looked like her. At least not ones that were alone. Synth glanced back at him.

"Okay, I'm curious," she admitted.

Her mind was spinning. She thought she knew the woman from somewhere.

"Do I know her?" she questioned him.

He smirked. "Possibly. Ever heard of the harlot?" he asked.

Synth rolled her eyes and groaned. "What does she want?" 

She didn't personally know the harlot, but she had heard of her. It wasn't that the woman had a notorious reputation, it's just that when you date enforcers from certain crime syndicates, you become well-known.

"Says she's looking for someone," he said.

"Aren't we all," Synth sighed, "alright, I guess I can talk to her.”

Roy winked at her. "If it works out, I'll take my usual fee," he stated.

"Deal," Synth agreed.

She rose and strolled down the bar to the woman. Green eyes looked up at her with a tentative smile.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked.

"I'm Synth. Roy mentioned you might need help locating someone," she explained.

The Harlot nodded. "Yes, that would be great. Is there someplace we can talk?" she asked, then quickly added, "Oh, by the way, my name is Kasey, Kasey Jones." She extended her hand.

Synth didn't take it. She gestured towards the corner booth. "Sure, join me and my associate," she invited, and began walking back to her booth. So the harlot has a name, Synth mused.

She noticed Reed glance up as she neared the table. Use the right head, she thought. Reed was one of the least trusting people Synth knew. That's why they made such a good team. But Reed also had a cock which, in Synth's experience, meant that the brain in his head was only responsible for about sixty percent of his thoughts. She could see the hints of stupid in Reed's expression, so she mouthed, "She's The Harlot." His expression hardened.

"Reed, meet Kasey Jones. Kasey, this is Reed," Synth introduced.

She gestured for Kasey to take a seat.

"So, Roy tells me you're trying to find somebody," Synth probed.

Kasey's head bobbed, "my brother," she said, "his name is Nathan."

Synth studied Kasey, trying to gauge her.

"Why aren't you asking your friends in the Onyx Dragons for help?" Reed questioned.

Kasey's expression soured slightly, "I'm kind of on the outs with the Dragons at the moment."

Great, Synth thought, "Why?" she asked.

Kasey looked down, "Blake and I split up. Let's just say it wasn't a clean break." She confessed.

Synth scrutinized her, taking in every detail. Synth had been designed for companionship, which required a keen ability to read people. Her eyes analyzed everything from Kasey's pupil dilation to her breathing and perspiration. She's not happy about it, she thought, but she's not lying.

Reed shifted in his seat. "Alright, so tell us about your brother," he said.

Kasey seemed to relax slightly. "What do you want to know?"

Reed shrugged. "Is he older than you? Do you have any idea why he's gone missing? Stuff like that," he said.

Kasey held out a picture. Synth took it, and Reed leaned over to look at it. It was a man who appeared to be slightly older than Kasey with the same black hair, except the sides of his head were shaved, and the top was shaggy. He was thin, and Synth decided that he looked like a moron. 

Kasey began to speak. "He's two years older than me. He's only been in town for a couple of months," she explained.

"And he just up and vanished one day?" Synth asked.

Kasey shrugged. "Yes. I came home, and he wasn't there."

"And he couldn't have just moved back home or be staying at a friend's house?" Reed asked.

"No," she said, "He hasn't made many friends here. I know he was going to the Red Room that day, but I don't know if he made it there or not."

Reed eyed Synth. 

"What was he doing at the Red Room?" Synth asked.

Kasey sighed. "I don't know."

Synth felt Reed shift next to her. "We aren't interested," he said flatly.

"What, why?" Kasey asked, her eyes wide.

"If you want us to find your brother, you're gonna have to be a bit more open. You don't go to the Red Room to get a drink," Reed said. "Go on, get out of here."

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry," Kasey said. Synth noted a look of desperation in her eyes. "He was going there to try and set up some sort of deal. I don't know what it was." She said, "And I can pay." She pulled out two earrings and set them on the table. They looked like gold and diamonds. "There's a necklace too, but I have to find it."

Synth snatched them from the table and looked around the room. "What are you doing flashing something like that here?" She hissed. 

"I…" Kasey started.

"You don't have the Dragons to protect you anymore," Reed said earnestly, "there are just as many crooks in here as people like Synth and I," he said and then chuckled, "fuck, what am I saying? We're crooks too. We just aren't the type to snatch jewelry from a girl or leave her dead in the alley. Understand?" He sat back in his chair and gave Synth a look.

Kasey looked terrified at Reed's words.  

Synth huffed. "Fine," she said, "We'll take a look, but no promises." 

Kasey looked relieved. "Thank you," she said.

They went over some basic communication protocols and sent her on her way. Synth watched Kasey walking out of the bar. She noticed Reed doing the same.

"Why are we taking this again?" Synth asked, "And it better not be because she's attractive."

Reed downed the rest of his drink. "You saw her. She's worried about her brother. And with how she tossed those earrings out, she's not street smart. She's lucky she found us and not someone else. And I don't know about you, but I have bills that need paying." 

"That crossed my mind. I suppose you don't have to have the mind of an enforcer to date one." Synth smirked, "And the last part?"

Reed chuckled. "That doesn't hurt things. But you could have fought me on it."

Synth sat back in her seat. She looked at what was left of her drink. "Yeah, I know, but like you said. Bills." She downed her drink, "Red Room."

Reed nodded. "Yeah, Red Room."

Welcome to Wind Night Feasts, the first book in the Invisible Defenders series. I'm going to be posting chapters from this book on my blog and on Patreon. If you would like to read the rest of the book, it's available on Amazon or wherever ebooks are sold. 

If you don't want to wait for next week's episode or you just want to show me some support, you can subscribe to my Patreon. All episodes of this book will be available three weeks before they are here for free on my blog.

In the first episode of When Night Feast, a normal night for Ruby Simmons turns into a hellish nightmare as she discovers what lurks just out of sight.

Enjoy…

Ruby Simons stepped out of the club and was engulfed in the sights, sounds, and smells of Newland. She merged with the throngs of people walking down the wide sidewalks. She smiled, enjoying the buzz of the city. Buildings loomed overhead, their silhouettes punctuated by the occasional airship. Many were adorned with neon signs, promoting various restaurants or shows in the city. 

 Next to her, the growl of car engines echoed as they moved down the street. The smell of exhaust, the street, restaurants, and the people mixed together, giving the area a distinctive odor. She moved with the crowd, allowing it to dictate her pace as she made her way towards her apartment. In a city that never slept, there were rhythms to the days and nights, and there was no use fighting them. She passed several shadowy alleyways where dark figures huddled, looking out at those on the street. Others congregated around small fires flickering in trash barrels.

A gust of wind whipped through the buildings and she buttoned up her jacket. She turned down another street, this one had far fewer people on it. Her pace slowed to a more leisurely stride as she passed various buildings until she reached her own. She opened a heavy metal door, stepping into the welcoming warmth of the entryway. The elevator door creaked and clanged as she stepped in and shut it. The elevator was small and bucked and bounced a bit as it started its reluctant ascent to her floor.

Ruby glanced at her watch. It wasn't late, but she had work in the morning, so she planned for an early night. She sucked her lip waiting for the elevator. It came to an ungraceful stop, bouncing slightly. She opened the door, stepping into her hall. The hall was narrow and lined with doors, each marked with brass numbers. Ruby walked down the hallway, rummaging in her handbag for her keys.

She inserted her key into the lock and turned it, careful not to make a sound. Her roommate should be getting up soon, but Ruby didn't want to wake her. The apartment was dark and she gently closed the door, clicking the lock.

She took off her jacket, immediately noticing an unusual chill. 

"Hello?" She whispered into the shadowy apartment.

The faint city light filtering through the window provided just enough light to confirm the room was empty. Strange, she thought, and hung up her bag. As she was getting a glass of water, it hit her that she hadn’t called her parents in a while. They were probably worried. They hadn't been thrilled about their daughter moving to the big city. She felt a twinge of shame about disappointing them. They’d wanted her to settle down and start a family, not go get a job in the city. She thought it hadn’t been much for them to expect of her.

Her good mood left her as she thought about her parents. She took a sip of water and tried to suppress her guilt. She quietly opened the door to the bedroom in an attempt not to wake up her roommate, Alicia. 

She froze.

Alicia lay on her back, her eyes shut tight as tears streamed down her face. Ruby heard her roommate's whimpers as dread gripped her. Atop the bed, she saw what looked like some kind of creature. At first, it resembled a cloud of smoke with tendrils of darkness coiling around Alicia's head. But after a moment, the creature took shape. With a snap, Ruby could make out its form.

A small creature, black with a body like smoke, perched on Alicia's chest. Its long-fingered hands clung to her temples, pulsating with a dim red light. A jolt of shame coursed through Ruby, causing her to gasp and drop her glass. 

The glass shattered on the floor, and the creature's head snapped towards her. Glowing red eyes locked onto her, and a mouth filled with rows of teeth opened as it let out a shrieking roar. Its hands jerked away from Alicia. Her eyes flew open, and she let out a blood-curdling scream. Ruby echoed her scream and backed out of the room. 

The creature growled, lunging towards Ruby. She sidestepped its attack. As it flew past her, one of its clawed hands reached out. Ruby felt lines of burning pain in her side where the claws grazed her. She tumbled onto the floor, rolling onto her back, scrambling to get to her feet. Terror ripped through her as the creature leaped on her chest, swiping at her face. She felt its claws burn as they made contact with her skin. 

She shoved it off and rolled, getting to her feet. She crashed into the kitchen, her fingers wrapping around a knife. She spun around, searching for the creature. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her heart hammered in her chest. She felt like she was going to throw up and the edges of her vision blurred. 

Her eyes darted around, hunting for the monster. She slowly moved towards the front door, desperate to find help. As she neared it, the thing jumped from a shadow. Ruby lashed out with the knife. She felt a slight resistance as it passed through the creature. It tumbled to the ground, missing an arm. 

It looked up at her, its red eyes almost seeming annoyed. She watched as the severed arm on the floor turned to smoke and slithered over to the creature, where it reformed. 

"Oh god, it can't die!" she yelled, panicked. 

She fumbled with the lock. The creature slammed into her back as she got the front door open. She fell hard in the hallway, feeling claws rake down her back. She rolled, kicking the thing off her. She backed down the hall on her back. There was a shadow behind her, and she covered her face. 

The creature hissed, and she heard the gruff voice of a man. She moved her hands away from her face, catching a flash of metal. A knife, perhaps? A man in a heavy coat stepped into her apartment. There was another hiss from the creature. Ruby rolled over, her stomach clenching, and she vomited on the floor. She collapsed on her back, her mind spinning with terror. Her breathing was labored, and her vision blurred as the man came out of her apartment. She looked up at him, trying to make out his features, but her vision faded to black and her head lolled back as she fainted. 

I wanted to announce two new projects that I have that are coming up and that I've started a Patreon. I'll start by telling you about the new projects.

Both of these are going to be serialized stories. The first one is part of a series called The Invisible Defenders. The first book in this series is called When Night Feasts. It's a light novel, it will be available for sale, but also I'll be releasing a new chapter regularly on my website as a blog post for free. You will also be able to get it on my Patreon if you'd like to get chapters a couple of weeks before they appear on my blog.

The next story is called Titan. This is going to be a pure web series. This means that it will never have a standard novel release for it and the story will continue going on and on and on until I decide to stop it. This series will be coming out regularly in the form of blog posts and also on Patreon. For this series, if you want to get chapters a couple weeks ahead of when they will show up on my blog, you can go ahead and subscribe to my Patreon. Also, on the Patreon feed is going to be where all the uncensored content for Titan will be.

On that note, I wanted to take a moment and talk about the Patreon that I have started. I have been thinking about creating a Patreon for some time, but didn't want to do it until I would have regular consistent content to publish for folks. The gist of the Patreon is that you can receive chapters a couple weeks ahead of when they will show up on my blog if it is for any of the serials that I'm working on, for example, When Night Feasts or Titan. 

Patreon is also useful for a project like Titan that does have some adult themes in it. While I don't mind posting any content that has foul language or swearing on my website, I am hesitant to do so with anything that is graphically violent or has any sort of explicit content in it. For that reason, I chose Patreon because it allows me to verify that I'm not having a minor read something that they probably shouldn't be reading.

What that means for the episodes of Titan that will be coming out on this blog is that if it reaches a section that has any sort of graphic content or explicit content that I don't think is appropriate for younger audiences there will be a chunk of text that links out to the Patreon feed. I'm going to do my best to make sure that none of these sections are critical for the story so you can still read all of Titan and not have to worry about missing anything major as far as plot points go.

As more content and serialized stories come out, and more books come out, I will look at creating different tiers on my Patreon feed, and also as I receive interaction from readers and things of that nature. 

As always, thank you all for coming by, and I hope you enjoy Night Feasts and Titan when they come out.

Donat's lungs filled with moist, earthy air. The mist soaked through his coat and hat, chilling him just enough to start to numb him, but not enough to numb him completely. The fog blanketed the wasteland they were in. He couldn't see more than thirty feet away. The fog was so dense, it felt as though he was breathing water. Amidst the moisture, there was the scent of mud and diesel exhaust. It made his nose tighten with each breath. This was accompanied by the sour smell of decay as he drew closer to the truck.

They were on what was once a well-traveled black road, laid when there was a need for it. When something other than the truck's enormous wheels rolled along it. The road was broken, the cracks almost taking up as much space as the black asphalt itself. These cracks were filled with mud and sprouting plants.

Despite the broken road, Donat's day was filled with the sound of large tires crunching on gravel and the deep thrum of the truck's engine as it slowly trundled along the otherwise silent road. Clunk clunk clunk clunk clunk was the rhythmic song the truck sang. The truck was long, with more rust than metal. What metal could be seen was yellow, the rust breaking up what were once letters. Donat had no use for letters.

At some point, the compound had removed the top of the truck, save for the front. Where seats had once been, there were now mostly cages. They were less rusty. Some of the cages were empty, but a decent number had occupants, some of whom were still alive. You wanted at least two living unless you wanted to unload dead heretics yourself.

The cages were for the heretics they hunted. One held a man covered in blood, some of it his own. He stared out of his cage, motionless. In one of the other cages, a woman sobbed, muttering under her breath. Occasionally, she'd nudge a body in the cage with her. She was covered in the other heretic's blood. She'd sob and touch the tattered body. If it could talk, it would still be talking to Donat and his companions. Alive, the man had talked, though it had taken them some effort. Still, he'd talked. Three of this particular party of heretics were captured. Just one left to find if the man's statement could be trusted.

Clunk clunk clunk clunk clunk the truck sang.

Donat's gaze swept the field beside the road. The turf was broken with only the occasional bush or tree. They passed a sign as they entered the skeletal remains of what was once a town. A house to his left was mostly burnt out, the plants in the area having taken over the building. Rain and mist were rotting what wood was left. They passed others like it, some were burned, some were not, all were dilapidated and broken with age. They hailed from a time when people still populated the area, it had been a long time ago. Back in the time when the truck's letters meant something.

The town's center wasn't much better. Yes, many of these buildings had been constructed out of brick and concrete, but they still fell to time. Everything fell to time. Donat would fall to time someday.

Clunk clunk clunk clunk clunk the truck sang.

The mist was just wet enough to make him cold. He couldn't feel his toes, but he could still feel his feet scream with abuse. A blister popped on one of them. The first one of the day. That was good, normally by this time there'd been more.

His harpoon gun was likewise cold in his hands, its stock slick with the mist. He checked it, making sure that the weapon appeared to be in working order. It would be a shame to find a heretic and have it jam up on him.

The truck's engine echoed off the buildings, and Donat was glad when they passed them. Damnation, that thing could make hunting hard. The sound of it echoing off the walls warned the heretics of its approach.

A shadow moved out of the corner of his eye. Donat shouldered his gun and aimed where he'd seen the shadow. The men behind him did likewise, taking his cue. A mangy dog came sauntering out of the mist. Donat lowered his gun.

The dog approached Donat, its coat covered in something that smelled like the cages on the truck. Donat assumed it had rolled in something it had found. The dog came up to him, and he resisted petting it. The smell was awful. The dog made its way around the men, one of them giving it something to eat.

It retreated back into the mist after a time. Hopefully, it would find something soon. His group was running out of food, which meant they’d soon need to return to the compound. There, they would find warmth and hot food, yes, but what about the heretics? They couldn’t return with one known running about. 

Clunk clunk clunk clunk clunk, the truck sang.

They were passing another field when the dog began to bark. Donat recognized that bark. He jogged into the field, following the sound. He gripped his gun tightly, his head swiveling back and forth. As he neared the dog, he let out a soft whistle. The dog ceased barking, trotting over to him. 

Donat knelt by a tree, its leaves showering him with droplets that seeped under his coat. The cold water mingled with the lukewarm moisture he was already drenched in. His skin prickled with goosebumps. His heart rate quickened. 

He moved slowly now, keeping the dog close. If the heretic was armed, he could harm the dog. That would be bad, you needed dogs for heretic hunting, everyone knew that. 

He moved low to the ground, searching for the heretic. It had to be out here! He found a ditch with shallow water gently flowing in it. He tried not to splash the water as he hunched down under the lip of the ditch. The water numbed his feet the rest of the way. He couldn’t even feel the blisters now. In the distance, there was the sound of grass rustling. He held the gun up, peering into the mist. There was a shadow moving away. 

Donat crawled out of the ditch, following the shadow, still keeping low, his legs going numb with the cold dew on the grass. His heart picked up. The shadow stopped, and Donat did too. He could see the shape of a head looking around. The shadow was hunched over, trying to stay low. It wasn’t doing a good job. Donat raised his gun, waiting. 

The heretic didn’t know where he was. The mist was hindering it too. Donat moved with soft steps, closing the gap. As the shadow resolved into a man, Donat took aim, placing his knee on the ground. He lifted the gun, taking his time to get the perfect aim on the heretic. He pulled the trigger. Nothing. He hadn’t cocked the gun!

He cocked it, the sound making the heretic's head spin. The heretic yelled and began to run. The dog barked again, and Donat swore, standing and giving chase. The man was heading for a grove of trees. Donat couldn’t let him get there. He raised his harpoon gun while running and shot. The bolt launched from the front of the weapon, hitting the heretic in the upper leg. 

The heretic screamed, and the sound of it rang sweetly in Donat’s ears. He and the dog ran to the man who was now crawling away. Donat stood over the man. Blood was seeping out around the bolt. Donat could see that the heretic didn’t have a weapon. It begged, acting surprised and confused. Donat urged the dog forward, giving it its reward. The heretic screamed more. 

Donat stood by his quarry until another man brought the other heretics to move the body. They’d burn it at the compound with the others. The two heretics approached the man. The woman sobbed more and moaned over the dead heretic, the male they’d brought didn’t say anything. She should be thankful for the mercy he’d shown her companion, he wouldn’t feel the flames the way she would. 

They loaded the body in the truck and put the two living heretics back in their cages. The truck shuddered to life, its tires starting to roll down the street.

Clunk clunk clunk clunk clunk, it sang.