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Author’s Note: I’ve been meaning to include the first meeting between Violet and her “husband” for a while now. It didn’t end up fitting in before, but I’m going to get it in now.

First Meeting in the Garden

“You are quite the… nymph, aren’t you?”

Violet looked up at the man who had spoken, shielding her eyes from the sun. She could not make out much more than a silhouette, but she did not need more than that to know that he did not belong here, not for any sort of delivery, nor were they expecting guests. She frowned, not certain how he had managed to get in here in the first place. She could have sworn that she had shut the gate earlier. She was tired of Beatrice lecturing her about it. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry. Seeing you here, surrounded by flowers, a few of them caught in your hair, I could not help thinking of a myth. You are rather like a painting. I should give you the name of a famous one, if only I could think of it. I have seen one before, but I think you surpass its beauty.”

She shook her head. He could attempt to flatter her if he liked, but she was not comfortable with his presence, unexpected as it was, and she would not allow him to stay no matter how fine his apology. “You are trespassing. This is a private garden. Leave, or I will call for assistance.”

He took a step back. She did not think he was anyone local—she did not recognize his voice, nor did she think that someone who knew them would be scared off by such a threat. Almost everyone in their household was a woman, and the whole town knew that. “Again, I am sorry. I got lost. I just got to town, started wandering and enjoying the weather and the scenery—leading me to you, but I assure you—I mean you no harm. My comment was meant as a compliment, nothing more. I hope I have not offended you too much.”

She nodded. “I… No, I am… I forgive you, but I still must insist that you go.”

He gave her a smile, bowing before he took his leave. Violet picked up her flowers and bit her lip. She had to stop leaving that back gate open, especially since the vines had grown over it and the fence. He must have walked through without even seeing it.

“Was that the milkman?”

She looked back at her mother, dusting off her hands. “No, he said that he was lost.”

“Blast. I told him I’d leave the gate open for him and asked for him to come back with extra today. We have that bake sale, and I have so much to do—”

“Oh. I thought I’d left it unlatched.” Violet sighed. She wanted to yell at her mother for not telling her—she was not so overconfident as to spend a lot of time in the garden without keeping the gate shut and locked, not after that scare with the Harrison’s dog, not when she was always getting lost in her work.

Her mother came over to study her. “Did he hurt you or scare you? That dog didn’t get in again, did it?”

“No, it was just him, and he didn’t do anything terrible. I think… I think he was trying to be charming.”

“It’s about time.”

Violet groaned. Ever since she turned seventeen, that subject seemed all anyone could talk about with her, and as the years passed, the obsession with it grew worse. She did not like to hear any of it. She was not that old, and she did not know why she should have to change her life just because they expected her to? Not every woman married—look at her aunt.

Well, perhaps that was a bad example.

“Not again. I don’t need or want to marry. Why does everyone think that is so necessary? I have my inheritance, we can live comfortably, and the war—”

“The war has killed far too many of our young men all across the globe. You have a duty—”
Violet stared at her mother. “A duty? Are you saying that I should throw myself at the first man I see and start making babies?”

“Violet—”

“Um, excuse me, I could not help but ask if you could tell me how to get back to Plum street?”

Mortified, Violet dropped her flowers and rushed into the house, shutting the door behind her as she struggled to compose herself. She didn’t know which was worse—that he might have heard what she’d said or that she’d run away from him. She closed her eyes and waited for the humiliation to fade.

Author’s Note: Still having fun with the costumes. 🙂

More Fun in Costume

“Carrie, get a picture of this. Or a dozen. Look at our baby brother, Nick. He seems rather… dapper, don’t you think?”

“Shut up, Larry. I swear I will smack you,” Carson said, not feeling up to dealing with his brothers at the moment. He’d known that it would be bad when they saw him, but he’d thought that he could hold out for a while and not lose his temper, but that didn’t work. He felt self-conscious enough with this outfit on—he knew it wasn’t that different from his normal clothes, but he didn’t feel right in them, not that he thought he’d be comfortable until he could get away from Mackenna for a while. True, she was in with the drivers at the brunch and he was with his family, but when she’d been around, all he could think about was her, and that wasn’t right. He wanted things back the way they were. They were good friends. That was all they needed to be.

“You clean up very nice,” Carrie told him, adjusting the little tie that went with the shirt and fixing the band on his sleeve. She was so a mom, wasn’t she? Not that she and Nick had kids, but she was more than ready for them. “Try not to fidget so much.”

He snorted. “Around Larry and Nick? All they’ve done my entire life is torment me, and I’m just feeding the fire right now.”

She smiled at him. “You know that’s not true. At least not about tormenting you. In their way, they both love you very much.”

“It does not feel like it right now.”

“It never does.” Carrie stepped back to survey her work and nodded. “Better. Where is Mackenna?”

“Oh, she’ll be along in a minute. The driver’s meeting and brunch goes over the route for tomorrow, so it’s important, and she’s got to be there for it. She said we’d have to work out schedules for who wanted to ride when, though. We can look at the route if you’re coming tomorrow and pick times, but we’re also going to need to decide about today—”

“Well, one thing’s for sure,” Nick said, shaking his head. “You have to be in the car the entire time. You can’t not go, not when you’re all dressed up like that.”

Carson groaned. He never should have done this, but he hadn’t been able to come up with any other reason to prod Mackenna out of his room this morning, and if he didn’t get her out of there when he did, something would have happened that would have ruined everything. He couldn’t do that. He had to stop himself.

“I don’t see her anywhere, and everyone’s been huddled around the cars for a while now.”

“Not all of those people are drivers or owners. Lots of people like to look at the cars while they’re in town. There were even people looking at the one I have, some who wanted to buy it,” Carson said, and now that he did, he swore he felt those eyes on him again. Damn it, he was way too paranoid. He couldn’t keep doing this.

“Hey, look, Carson, that woman’s dressed up, too. Why don’t you go introduce yourself? Oh, wait, you’re not dating Mackenna.”

Carson rolled his eyes. “Not funny. Well, no, wait, it is a bit funny.”

“It is?”

Carrie snorted, the first to realize what Carson was getting at, and she shook her head. “Honestly, boys. You’re almost pathetic. That is Mackenna.”

“No way. She’s not—Damn. She is. She looks hot, too.”

“Yes, the heat is rather annoying, isn’t it?” Carrie muttered, and Carson almost laughed after his brothers seemed to take her words at face value. He couldn’t believe them sometimes. Of course, if Nick stared at Mackenna any more than he already was, he was going to get a smack from Carrie.

“There you are. I was hoping you’d meet us up here,” Mackenna said when she jointed them. “Have you decided how you want to rotate who’s riding when?”

“I think Carson should be in the car the entire time. You know, since he went to all the trouble of dressing up for you.”

“I didn’t do it for her,” Carson protested, and then he winced when he realized that he had done it for her, one way or another. “Um, never mind.”

Mackenna laughed. “It’s okay. I think it was sweet of you to cave in to my whims, and I would like it if you rode with us all day, but especially for the parade since you did dress up.”

“If I were to dress up, would there be some kind of bonus points like… a kiss?” Larry asked, moving close to her. “I should mention how nice you look today. Not that your normal look is bad or anything like that, but you do more than clean up good, you know.”

She flushed as red as her hair, and Carson swore he might just hit his brother. Not that he had any right to claim her, not that they hadn’t been denying that they were dating or anything like it since they met, but Mackenna was his. He didn’t like hearing his brother flirt with her, and he really hated seeing her respond to it.

Great, now he was jealous, too. He’d almost wish for a flashback at this rate. He was going to do something really stupid if he didn’t get himself under control fast.

Running Isn’t Easy

Poor timing.

That’s one thing.

Poor choices—that’s another. I made my share. I didn’t fool myself about that. Not telling Clayton before all this happened, that was a poor choice. He should have known, and I never should have let Kilbourne take that moment from us. Not like he had.

That was a poor choice on my part. I never meant for it to get this out of hand. Overly optimistic, maybe, or maybe I was just hoping that this new side of Clayton, his new determination and new ability would mean that this new plan wouldn’t end like the last one.

He would have said I knew better, and I suppose I did.

I have, you’ll remember, made my fair share of bad decisions.

Probably the hardest one to live with, though, was having to run and leave Clayton in the hands of that twisted bastard.

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April leaned against the wall, her heart pounding, tears trying to escape from her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to run. She hated herself for it, even if she didn’t know what else she could have done. Clay was right—this wasn’t just about her. If she got out, she’d come back for him. She’d make sure he was okay. Still—she had something else to think about, and she knew that no matter how bad things were for Clay in Kilbourne’s hands, he would rather have suffered far worse as long as it made sure that their child was safe from that monster.

She put a hand over her stomach. How was she supposed to do this? She didn’t know. She couldn’t help thinking this was wrong. She needed to go back to Clayton, needed to get him out of here, but if she got caught, what good was it? And what kind of a mother was she, anyway? She’d already put her child at risk.

She heard someone coming and started moving again. She never should have agreed to this. Maybe if she turned back, if she managed to get to Kilbourne… No, it was far more likely that all she’d end up doing was getting herself caught and making their child a part of Kilbourne’s twisted experiments. She did not know would happen to her in that equation, but she doubted she’d be allowed to live for long.

She ducked into a room, hoping she’d done so in time to avoid the man coming toward her. She looked around her. An office. Okay. She could work with this. She crawled over to the coat on the back of the chair and smiled with satisfaction as she took a cell phone out of the pocket. She turned it on and quickly pressed the buttons for Larabee’s number. Someone had some explaining to do.

She shuddered as she heard the maniacal laughter that started Larabee’s voice mail message and sighed. Clearly that wasn’t going to work. Who else did she call, then? One of her friends from work? Oh, yeah, hi, it’s April Moore. Yeah, my husband—who happens to have a very unique genetic ability—got kidnapped by a sadist who calls himself a scientist. I was with him, but I sort of escaped, only we’re stuck here and need someone to help us get out. Oh, and did I mention I’m pregnant and this bastard wants to experiment on my baby?

She didn’t think anyone was going to believe her, and who were they going to get? The police? What if Kilbourne had contacts there? And even if they did believe her and could call and the authorities weren’t in Kilbourne’s pockets, she had no idea where she was.

She called Larabee again. “Larabee, it’s April. I have no idea what is keeping you from getting here, but I swear, if you don’t find us soon, when I get out of here—Never mind. I’m just… We need to get out of here, and you have to find a way to find us because I don’t know where I am or how to get out of here, and Kilbourne has Clayton. Please, Larabee. We need your help. Now.”

She ended the call and shook her head. What was she going to do now? Hide here in the office until she heard back? No, that was not going to work. She looked at the desk. No computer. What was the point of this? She checked the phone again. It didn’t have any internet access that she could see. Great. She supposed she was lucky that she’d gotten the call out, but still, there had to be something else she could do.

She nearly jumped when the phone went off in her hands. She looked at the number. It wasn’t one she knew—and apparently not one the owner of the phone knew, either. Oh, what the hell. She answered it. “Hello?”

“April?”

“Larabee. Where the hell are you? What happened?”

“The van got trashed. They must have known what we had planned. They bombed us after they took you.”

“How bad?”

“Lost a couple people. What about you?”

“Clayton got noble and told Kilbourne to take him so I could escape, but I keep getting lost in this building, and they’re going to find me eventually. I don’t know—well, I assume he’s in the lab, but I don’t know anymore than that. Can you trace this phone, maybe? Is—is it going to be possible to get anyone here to help, or are we on our own? If we are, then… see if you can find anything on this building—a blue print, maybe, and send it to me as a picture? I can find Clay and get him out, possibly, but I need to know where the hell to go.”

“I don’t know. We’re regrouping, so I can’t promise anything. And my equipment got wrecked, too, so I’m behind and—”

“Larabee! I cannot afford to be patient here! I need you to give me what you can as soon as you can. Kilbourne has Clayton. He was talking about changing the twenty minute rule, and you know what that does to Clay when he doesn’t follow it! And then he says Clay’s just going to help him fix the flaws and he’ll make the next one better.”

“Well, I doubt he’s got the right materials for that considering that everything was confiscated from him and having to be on the run and everything, so we don’t have to worry about that right now—”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Oh. Crap.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m on it. I just need a few minutes, and I’ll get something going, I promise. Just one thing…”

“What?”

“I get to make the baby a little superhero outfit, right?”

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Author’s Note: So I didn’t have this ready before I had to leave today. Now that I’m finally able to sit down with my computer with internet again, I can post this.

Searching for Leftovers

“Are there any more of those little sandwiches?”

Robert frowned. She had not been lying when she said that she could eat when she was craving things. He swore she’d been through enough food to feed three people already, and she did not seem close to stopping. He had never seen any woman eat so much, and he should, he thought, be repulsed by it, but instead he found it rather fascinating. His mother had never had any other children, never tried, at least not that he could tell from his parents’ cold and indifferent manners toward each other when they were not hosting some sort of social function. When they were alone, they were worse than strangers—they were the sort of people that he did not want to become, the reason he would not rush to give Violet and the child his name and the “protection” of marriage. He had seen what such arrangements led to, and he did not want to be a part of one. Still, since he lacked any sort of experience with pregnant women—no sister or aunts to educate him in those matters—he found himself paying more attention to everything that Violet did. He could not help the curiosity.

“You ate them all,” her mother said, though she sounded rather pleased. “I will see about getting more, though. Do you need anything, Mr. Winston?”

Robert shook his head. “Oh, no, I ate plenty, and if I forgot to thank the cook, do send her my compliments, but I think it best that I see these letters to the post office now that they are complete.”

“Do you think anything will come of your inquiries?”

“I do not know, Mrs. Carpenter, but I do hope so, since I would like to find the man who stole my name and see to it that there is some sort of repercussion for his actions. I keep thinking that I should know him, and yet he is still a stranger to me. I can think of no one who would extend this kind of malice toward me. I am not perfect, and yet he chose me to malign, and I do not know why. I should, but I do not.”

“Were it not for the way his stories coincide with yours, there would be no reason to think that he knew you at all,” Violet said, turning her hand in circles on her stomach. “He could have picked you at random. Indeed, all he would need is some kind of social register, and he could have your name and those of your family. He would not need to know much more than that since no one here knew you or anyone connected to you. The distance between your home and my was no doubt a reason for his successful deceit. Without it, it might never have worked.”

“Yes, but why pick me? Why go so far as to marry you? Unless…”

Violet sat up, frowning at him. “Unless what, Robbie? What is it that put that look upon your face and made you stop speaking?”

He grimaced. He did not much like the thought, but he supposed he owed her the honesty of voicing it. Concealing it would only lead to trouble and hurt feelings. “I could not help wondering if perhaps the reason for taking my name had to do with… with his social position. If he were from a lower class, if he had no money or connections of his own, he would want to use the name of someone who had both—or so they would assume, since few people realize how little I have of my own or my dependence on my father.”

“And you think that without such a pretense he could not have married me?” Violet shifted in her seat, shaking her head. “I know that it would gall most people, but I had no interest in making any sort of… advantageous marriage. I have only a modest inheritance from my father, and it is nothing to boast over, not the sort that someone should hope to steal. Yet… your idea suggests the possibility that he left before his ruse was uncovered.”

“By whom? I was still across the country, and you said no one here knew him—or me—or anyone by my name, I suppose is the best way to say it.” Robert shook his head. “If that was all he wanted, I do not think he would have left. He stood a greater chance of the deception never being known had he stayed. The only reason that you and are in contact now is because he left you. Otherwise I might never have known that he took my name.”

Violet sighed. “It is a bit foolish to hope that he left for that reason, isn’t it?”

Robert looked at her. He had a suspicion that she still retained some affection for the man despite her words and all her bravery. Perhaps she needed to believe that she had not been completely betrayed. “I would not call it foolish.”

She let out a breath. “I do not know what else you can call it. Oh, Mother, do not bother with the sandwiches. I have lost my appetite again.”

Robert cleared his throat. “I… Would it be better if we adjourned to the garden for a while? Perhaps the fresh air would help.”

“Yes, I think I would like that, actually.”

Author’s Note: Anokii needed to see a bit more of the potential that Agache does when it comes to their new ally the queen.

In Preparation

“I do not know why I agreed to this,” the queen said, and Anokii almost smiled as she helped her into her dress, smoothing down the skirt before tightening the laces in the back. The woman’s finery was unequaled in the land, as it should be, since that befitted a queen, but it was still a nuisance to get her into and out of, more trouble that neither of them needed.

Still, she could not blame the queen for questioning this choice and what she was supposed to do. Anokii would not want to be in her place. No one would. Agache’s request would make her situation that much more dangerous. Many in the queen’s position would have refused his request, and they would be right to do so.

Anokii did not know what to think of the fact that the queen had agreed. She did admire it, to a point, but on the other hand, she didn’t. Agache trusted the queen, or at least he wanted to use her, but Anokii continued to struggle with her understanding of the other woman.

She studied the dress, reminded of the one that had been soaked in Omamhi’s blood—a fight the queen should not have won. Agache was right—the queen was more than she seemed. “You agreed because you would do it anyway. This is your role, it is what you need to do, and you are a woman who fulfills her duty.”

The queen grimaced. “I should rather not be. Are you certain that these bruises do not show? If anyone asks me about them, I do not know what I can say. I have not managed to create a story where I explain them to any sort of satisfaction. I have not heard that Omamhi’s body has been found, but if it is and they see me…”

“They will not be noticed,” Anokii told her, coming back around to face her. “You will be in the suns, and this jewel of yours should catch the light and reflect everything away from your neck. Keeping these curls here will create shadows that they will not be able to distinguish from the bruises, even if they were looking for them, and no one should be.”

The queen nodded, closing her eyes. “I wish that made it so that I felt confident in what I was about to do. Malzhi has had me at a disadvantage too many times.”

“He has, but Agache believes you are capable of this.”

“I do not know why.”

“You were able to kill Omamhi. That should not have been possible.”

The queen’s eyes opened, and the look in them rather worried Anookii again, especially when combined with that strange smile she had. “Oh? Am I so frail and helpless in your opinion? Or was Omamhi truly so fearsome?”

“Omamhi was not much of a threat. Malzhi is and always has been the greater one.” Anokii stepped back. “You… I do not know what you are.”

“I do not know what I am, either.” The queen turned to adjust her skirt. “Would you check to see if Malzhi is here? I believe he would want to escort me, as much as I don’t want to be in his company any longer than I must.”

“I will see. Is there anything else you want or need before you meet him?”

“A set of wings,” the queen said, laughing. She shook her head, her hand on her forehead. Anokii almost offered her something for the ache, but she was not certain that it was necessary. “I would rather not go anywhere with Malzhi again, and were it possible, I think I should like to see my homeland again. I despise the lack of night, the heat, and the infernal suns.”

“As do we.”

“Perhaps if our peoples had been allies before yours were conquered…

Anokii nodded. “Yes, I do think that would have been better for us all.”

Meanwhile, on the Other Side of Somewhere…

Before you say it—technical difficulties.

And yeah, I know you think that I’m just saying that—I’m sure that Clayton would tell you that it’s what I always say. That’s not true. It’s not what you think. You think me and everyone else abandoned Clayton and April and left them in the hands of a mad man.

That’s what it looks like. That’s not the way it happened.

Yes, there were technical difficulties for part of it, but the rest… Now that was completely out of my hands. I dare someone to explain how we were supposed to come to the rescue at this point.

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“Larabee?”

He looked up at the suit. Whatever this was, there was no way it was good. He didn’t need to be a genius—though, generally speaking, he was—to know it was very bad. It was that look on the suit’s face. Clayton’s boss never looked like that when things were going well, and this was clearly a case of things going very badly. For everyone. “Uh, sir, I did try and design the comm units to be impervious to simple shock, and so while we have, in fact, lost communications with April and Clayton, that’s very temporary, I promise. Any minute now, it’ll cycle back on and we’ll be able to talk to them again. Trust me, we’re good.”

“That’s not it, Larabee.”

“You mean the tracking devices? Again, they are also resistant to electro shock. I made sure that they’d think that they were shut off for a little while, but they should start working soon. Admittedly, it’s taking just a bit longer than I hoped, but it should be up and running any second now.”

The suit sighed. “Larabee, we have to wait.”

“Wait? With Clayton and April in the hands of madmen? What could possibly be more important than this? We’re in the middle of something here.”

“There also happens to be a terrorist threat.”

“Um… Should I point out that it’s technically the other agency’s jurisdiction? Either of them? I mean, this is kind of theirs, too, so should I just call them instead? You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You deliberately tricked Clayton into letting himself be found because you want that bastard to experiment on him. You want Kilbourne to finish whatever it is he started, don’t you? You set this all up so that you could pull out at the last minute and strand them there. What about April? She’s just a civilian. Who knows what Kilbourne might do to her? Clayton might survive it because of what he is, but he’s not alone. And April is not like him. She’s smart and tough and even amazing, but she’s not genetically modified. She could end up really hurt.”

“No. It was never our intention to leave Moore in Kilbourne’s hands or to let his wife get involved in any of this—”

The suit’s words were drowned out in the explosion, and Larabee was knocked back as the ground shook. Something hit him, and then he felt water splattering his face. He forced himself up before it could start drowning him, looking at the now demolished surveillance van. “Guys? Anyone… in there? I kind of hope you’re not because that thing looks like a pretzel and not in a good way. Wait, there is no good way to look like a pretzel. I’ve been spending too much time with Clayton. Guys?”

Larabee heard a moan, but it wasn’t from anyone in the tangled wreckage that had once been a van. He moved over to the other side, finding the suit on the ground, bleeding and pinned down by a large chunk of concrete that used to be part of the road. Larabee winced. “Uh, sir…”

“Must have… must have set it up to make sure we couldn’t follow this time.”

“Yeah,” Larabee whispered, knowing he should have been in that van—and therefore dead—right now. The other agents were. He was pretty sure of that. “I don’t understand… Clayton’s power doesn’t even work right. How is it worth all this?”

The suit coughed. “Kilbourne’s insane, remember?”

“Sure, but… Look at you. You’re a mess. And them. They’re… Well…”

The suit shoved the block of concrete, yanking his leg out and tearing his suit more in the process. He coughed again and looked at Larabee with a frown. “How come none of your clothes tore?”

“They’re okay. They’re mostly spandex.”

The suit groaned and closed his eyes.

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Author’s Note: Unfortunately, it’s not quite as striking a difference when Carson is in costume as it is for Mackenna.

Carson in Costume

“Okay, do me a favor and get all the laughing out of the way now so that I don’t have to deal with it later. Oh, and maybe it’ll shore me up for when my brothers start in on me. No, nothing will help with that, but you could maybe try.”

“I could offer to beat them up for you,” Mackenna told him, setting down her spoon and taking a sip from the coffee mug. Mac would give her a look—he was all for Grandma’s rule about no drinks in the Maxwell, but she was still fighting a hangover and wanted the coffee for her own peace of mind if nothing else. “Would you want that?”

“I have a feeling someone will be fighting today,” Carson said, and she nodded, putting the cap on the cup and turning to him. “Well? Do I look stupid and ridiculous?”

She looked him over, shaking her head. No, it wasn’t as much of a transformation as hers was, what with the dress thing, but the vest worked for him. Put on the suit coat, and anyone would hire him for his next job—or for a few other things that she had no business thinking about. He looked sharp, clean, good. He didn’t seem much like the man she’d seen in hideous sweatpants or even that business suit of his, at least in appearance. No, this was a definite improvement. She liked it.

“You’re sure?”

“Come on, Carson. How is this that different from what you wear to work every day?”

“Well, there’s the band on the arm, and the collar is different, and it’s got a fob watch, too, and what am I doing? I must look like an idiot.”

“You look fine. I’m the one that looks ridiculous.”

“Uh huh. Not for a second.”

She smiled, about to wrap her arm around his when she saw his cuff. She tried to lift his hand to get a better look at the shirt, but he pulled away. “I was hoping you’d tell me to forget it. This isn’t going to work. I mean, the shirt doesn’t even button properly.”

“If it’s under the vest, no one would know. I can’t tell,” she told him, setting down her mug and catching his hand. “That’s a creative way of dealing with the fact that I forgot the cufflinks.”

“Oh. Cufflinks. Right. That explains why they didn’t have any buttons.”

She nodded. “Yeah. They’re probably in the Woodsman or maybe in Shadow. Mac has a few sets, and they get around places. Not that he’s worn that suit there in years. I’m not sure he was ever as trim as you. Look at you. All nice and crisp.”

“I feel stupid. I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He lowered his head, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how I’m going to face my brothers. They’re going to make fun of me all day.”

“I told you—I’ll beat them up for you.”

“Yeah?”

She grinned, almost looking forward to it, but then a camera flash startled them both, and they jerked, looking back at Natalie. She snapped another, a smile on her face. “You two make a nice matched set there. Here, stand closer together and give me a real smile. I swear I just need one. Well, maybe two. It’s not every day that we get someone dressed up as nice as the two of you.”

“Oh, this isn’t even the full look, Natalie,” Mackenna said, knowing that there was no point in trying to avoid the picture. She wrapped her arm around Carson’s and smiled even as he stiffened. “The hats are in the truck.”

“I get a hat? Will it cover my head so no one will recognize me or will I be more humiliated?”

“Well, you can take your pick. There’s a couple bowlers and driving caps, and it’s up to you which you feel is better. We’ll make sure you get one or the other before you start out. That reminds me—we keep forgetting the sunscreen, and someone’s going to end up burned at this rate.”

“Should be you with all that red hair.”

She rolled her eyes. “Who says it’s not dyed?”

“Too natural for that, and your last name is Gilreath.”

“Not every Scot it is a redhead.”

He nodded. “I suppose they’re not. Well, that’s disappointing. I rather liked the idea of your hair being real. The curls and all. It was a look that suited you, but if it’s all a lie…”

For some reason, it bothered her to have him thinking that it wasn’t natural. She didn’t know why. She’d joked about her hair and everything for years. Part of that was a defense mechanism—all those wonderful kids who wanted to mock the carrot top or compare her to famous redheads like Pippi or Wendy or Anne of Green Gables—but she’d never been bothered by people assuming it was fake, not before him. “It’s real.”

“Good.”

Mackenna frowned a little, not sure what was in the look he was giving her just then, but the camera went off again, and she couldn’t think about that now. “Come on. We’d better get into town before we’re really late.”

Author’s Note: So, after taking an impromptu break from writing and posting, I didn’t manage to make the stand-in cover art and categories for the newer serials yet. It was not the weekend I had planned, that was for sure. At least now I am writing again.

I had thought there wouldn’t be any way I could use the words from Three Word Wednesday in this story, not when I saw the words, but then my brain started working again, and I found a way, a pretty decent one, I think. At least… it’s kind of cute and possibly funny?

The words this week: crave, putrid, and shudder.

Getting Along

“Oh, take that putrid thing away from me,” Violet said, wishing she could back away from the food that her aunt had tried to feed her. She shuddered, feeling like she might vomit, and an unkind part of her cursed her condition. She knew that she should not do that, but she was so tired of being pregnant and being sick because she was pregnant. She hated this. She was not sure that she would have agreed to marry Winston if she’d known more about what pregnancy would be like.

Sometimes she thought that if more women had more knowledge, they would not agree to any of their expected roles. No one would want to be a mother or a wife. Some things simply did not seem worth it.

“You need to eat.”

“Not now that I’ve smelled that. Can’t you just leave me be until I’m craving something? I can’t stop eating then, but you forcing food on me is not working. What is that that smells so vile anyway? No, no, do not tell me. I do not want to know. I will be ill all over again.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

She had almost forgotten that Robbie was still present. Beatrice’s insistence on interrupting them had distracted her, knowing as she did the reasons for her aunt’s interference. Their refusal to agree to her—well, the only way that Violet could see it was as a demand—that they marry had made her cross with both of them, and if she felt that they were talking with too much intimacy, regardless of the subject they might be discussing or if they happened to touch, she was there to scowl with all the disapproval of a strict chaperone. Violet felt as though they had lost all hope of further progress on locating Winston due to her aunt’s interference, and while she did not want to fight the woman, she did not think that it was worth acting as a chaperone for them. She was already pregnant, and she rather thought she would never allow herself to be in this condition ever again.

“It does, actually,” Violet said, grimacing. He looked at her with something close to pity, and she lowered her head, not wanting to be pitied. She was aware that people reacted one of two ways to her—with pity or with scorn. They either thought her a victim or a fool, perhaps both. She felt herself a fool as well.

“I’m sorry. I know it can be difficult to keep eating when everything makes you feel as though you shouldn’t.”

Beatrice frowned, but Violet nodded, leaning back against the chair. “I suppose the things you saw in the war would take away any kind of appetite you might have had for most of the time you were fighting—and even after as well.”

“Yes.” He smiled at her, though the smile was more sad than anything else. “You have such comprehension of… I know that I never could talk to my father or my mother in the past. My friends… None of them were drafted—or if they were, their families bought them out of it so quietly that I didn’t even know that it had happened—so they have no way to understand what it was like. I still don’t… I am not sure why you are able to see what they do not, but I appreciate it more and more as we talk.”

“Well, now, you might just have a use for your ability to daydream,” Beatrice said, and Violet sighed. She had not been accused of that for a while, but that was what they’d blamed for her decision to marry Winston so quickly—her constant daydreams making her think that she was in love when she wasn’t, her time wasted dreaming away in the garden keeping her from understanding what life was like, but she had always felt that Beatrice made that accusation when she was jealous. She was not as much of a reader, and she could not make anything grow, nor did she seem to do well when faced with quiet contemplation or many of the domestic arts expected of a woman—she could not sew well or play any sort of instrument, had no talent for drawing or painting. Violet could do all those things, though with her name she was most known for her skills in the garden.

She was not a daydreamer, though. Not in her opinion.

“I doubt you could call such a thing a daydream, not when you understand the war. That could only be a nightmare.”

Violet shook her head. “I think I have found myself to be at war within my own mind and body, that’s all. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“It is a fine way to describe it. A perfect one, truth be told.”

She smiled at him, and her aunt snorted. He cast a dark look in the older woman’s direction, and Violet was tempted to laugh. For all that the woman claimed to want them to marry, she certainly did not like to see them getting along.

Her mother, on the other hand, she would be gloating right now if she had heard Robbie speak. She’d take his words as a sign that he was starting to feel something for Violet. She did not think that anyone should make such assumptions. They had an unpleasant circumstance at best, and they did try to make the best of it, but that did not mean that they would be anything more than they now were—awkward acquaintances.

She did not mind that, since she was not desperate enough to think she had to marry him. She did not want to, as nice as he’d been thus far. She would like to find Winston to have answers, to get some sort of explanation for what he’d done and why, but other than that, she did not know that she cared anymore. She would raise her child regardless of whether or not he was found, and that part of her life would not be changing unless something went very wrong in her pregnancy.

She grimaced, knowing the child would react to that thought. The way that happened, though, managed to surprise her. “I don’t believe this.”

Robbie frowned. “What?”

Violet put a hand over her stomach. “I’m hungry.”

He laughed.

Author’s Note: I ended up taking an impromptu break from writing and posting, so… I didn’t make the stand-in cover art and categories for the newer serials yet. It was not the weekend I had planned, that was for sure. At any rate, I’m trying to move forward again.

I had thought that I wouldn’t be doing Three Word Wednesday for this story since I’d already drafted this scene, but I found a way to work in the words (surprising, I thought, given what they were) in to what I’d already done. It worked rather well, I thought.

The words this week: crave, putrid, and shudder.

A Moment Between Cousins

“The king is back.”

Anokii stilled, looking behind her and wanting that to be some kind of a joke. Since it was Agache who’d said it, it should not be possible, since he was supposed to be dead, but he was not a man who spoke with a great deal of humor, not before his “death,” and even less so after. Ever since he’d revealed himself to the queen, their interactions had shown him to be lacking in the spirit and humor that had sustained him before the king turned on him.

His voice was recognizable, impossible to deny, but at the same time, she did not think he was recognizable. Whatever the king had done to him before he escaped had changed him.

“This… Malzhi has not returned, and the queen is not healed—”

“The queen will be fine.”

Anokii frowned. “Why do you trust her so much? She is a stranger, and she killed Omamhi. She is not someone we know anything about, and yet you… You have been watching her?”

“As I recovered, there was little to do but watch. I have seen enough of the queen’s behavior to judge as I might. I think that she can and will be useful. I have suspected as much since the days when I escorted her to the castle. She is not what anyone thinks.”

Anokii sighed. “I do not care for your tone. There is something in it and your words that alarms me, cousin, and I fear for you.”

“You have since I was a child. As, I must admit, have I. He had all my siblings murdered, after all. I do not know why he allowed me to live. Perhaps he feared me less than my sisters and the offspring they might create—no, that cannot be it. I do not know. It troubles me. He has always been… elusive, for all his cruelty, and the difficulty of predicting when he would turn on me and when he would not was a constant burden. In many ways, it is a relief to be dead.”

“You are not dead.”

“In body, perhaps. The rest of me has not seemed to be present since they dragged me away.”

“Do I dare ask what he did?”

“No.”

Anokii stepped forward to touch his arm. He flinched, shuddering as he withdrew from her, and she cursed as she realized he was still hurting. “Why have you not let any healers look at you? Did he leave you so scarred that you are ashamed to let us see it? Why did you take Omamhi’s body if you are in this state?”

“I refuse to be useless. We have little time, and I am not one to be idle. I am not in so terrible a condition, not as I was when I first escaped. Some of the wounds are still a bit raw, but I can move and as long as I can move, that is enough for me.”

She shook her head. “I think you must somehow crave death. Why else would you take these risks to return to the castle? If you speak, your voice will let everyone know that you did not die as we were told. Does the king know that you survived?”

“He may suspect it. I do not know how much he believes that we can burn so much in the dual suns as to leave no trace behind, no corpse to turn putrid as theirs do, but he has let everyone think that I was dead. I do not know that it matters. He is back—or he will be quite soon. I can feel it. Malzhi should be forced to overstep his bounds. Tell the queen to bait him. He wants her, and she can use that.”

“Are you planning on having her killed?”

“No, but I will use what I have.”

Anokii closed her eyes. She did not like when he spoke this way. Sometimes there was too much darkness in him, and that had followed since he was a child, the last surviving heir of the betrayed princess. She pushed back his hood and placed her hands on his bare skin. “I know that you have always felt it your responsibility to act in our people’s interests regardless of what it might mean for you, but even you must realize that you need more. You need something that makes you feel alive—a reason to keep yourself alive.”

“Gekin is your reason.”

“Yes.”

“You are his.”

“That, too.”

Agache covered her hands with his. “You are fortunate that you have him, but that option has never been possible for me. Even if I were not dead, my position never allowed for… attachment.”

“Your reason does not have to be a person.”

He nodded, lowering her hands. “I will give it consideration. I am tired, and I have other things I must see to. Gekin will know what to do if you tell him of the king’s return, but you must relay the message to the queen, and give her instructions for when Malzhi returns.”

“Of course.”

Brief Lucidity

I have to admit, I don’t do so well with drugs. Pretty much of any kind, honestly. I seem to have adverse reactions no matter what it’s for. It doesn’t matter if it’s calamine not working on chicken pox or Larabee’s pill giving me a tentacle. My genetics are messed up to where you can’t predict the effect any given injection will have on me.

Not that I really told Kilbourne this.

He wouldn’t have listened.

And it almost worked to my advantage.

Almost.

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Clayton was floating. He remembered feeling kind of like this before, and he didn’t really think he wanted to wake up this time because the last time this happened, he woke up to find a tentacle. He shuddered. He didn’t want that. Not again. He wouldn’t be surprised if he did, though. Kilbourne was messing around with the stabilizer, after all, and that was what got the tentacle in the first place.

Clay tried to open his eyes, but they weren’t cooperating. Nothing was. He couldn’t feel anything but floating. Like a little boat.

Great.

He needed to get up and save himself here. This was not working.

He sighed, trying to get feeling in his fingers. This was so trippy. He hated it. Hated being like this. He was not good on drugs. Not good in general, but far worse on drugs.

He rolled over and fell off the bed.

Wait. Was he dreaming this bit? He was just hallucinating because he was high. He’d been restrained before. He remembered that clearly. He knew it had happened. What was going on? He didn’t feel right. It was all wrong.

He looked around. Yeah, this was, near as he could tell, the floor. Okay, so he wasn’t really sure how he’d managed to get free, but then he didn’t really care that much. He was free. He had to focus on that. He grabbed hold of the edge of the bed and dragged himself up it, trying to keep from falling down or puking, either of which was a good possibility at this point. He was not in good shape. Had Kilbourne done it, then? Had he managed to get Clay to shift without a full day of passing out afterward? Or was this the eight hours or whatever time belonged to how long it had been when Kilbourne injected him? Clay had no idea. There was no convenient clock, and even if there had been, he hadn’t looked at it before the injection.

He saw the computer in the corner and decided that even if he didn’t make it out of here, he could at least get the information on all of Kilbourne’s experiments. That would be something. Clay dragged himself over to the desk, sitting down. He turned the computer on and tried to figure out where what he needed would be. It should be simple enough to find. Yes. He didn’t know how much he’d actually get because it wasn’t like he had a flash drive or anything to copy it to, but he did have an online digital storage account—he’d started using it after his laptop broke and it had been useful when it got stolen. True, that could have been a partial information leak, but right now, he didn’t really care to think about it. He started the simplest thing—the automatic back up—and looked back at the door.

Okay, time to escape. He had to get out of here, plain and simple.

He stopped. Maybe the computer had information he needed besides the experiments. He pulled up Kilbourne’s most recent notes first. Hmm. Kilbourne had actually thought Clay would choke himself in the restraints, so he’d had them removed. That was one question answered. Now for how to escape.

He heard someone at the outer door and shut off the monitor. Yeah, it probably wouldn’t really work, but he had to try something. The more that copied from Kilbourne’s computer, the better.

Clay knew he needed to make the other man think he’d never been near it. He moved away from the desk, to the middle of the floor.

Oh, this was going to suck.

He took a deep breath and prepared himself for another shift. It hurt, and it did pretty much what he expected it to—he passed out again.

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