Luscious Melchus 2: Fancy Anansi?: Luscious Melchus, #2

By Alexei Auld

WARNING: Before you go any further, please finish the first LUSCIOUS MELCHUS book before you proceed with this one. There are spoilers and I don't want to ruin the exciting conclusion of the first book for you. 

Melchus barely survived his last date with a mythic she-beast. Now he must woo a trickster with no shame in their game and a secret literally kept under wraps. 

Have at thee, mortals. The adventures of LUSCIOUS MELCHUS continue!

• Language: English
• Publisher: TemRose Publishing
• Release date: Apr 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507024515

Alexei Auld

Alexei Auld is an Off-Rez alum of Columbia Law School and Sundance's Native Writing Workshop. His writing has been featured in E! True Hollywood Story, Fondo Del Sol, and numerous curated festivals and publications.

Book preview

LUSCIOUS MELCHUS 2: FANCY ANANSI?

Alexei Auld

Luscious Melchus: Book Two

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Copyright © 2015 by Alexei Auld

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

1

SHE WRAPPED THE BANDAGES really loose at first.

Kinda felt snug. Nice. Comforting.

Until she tightened them.

I yelped.

Before having a chance to say anything, she put a gimp ball in my mouth.

Gross.

Hope it was clean. Last thing I needed was some ancient Egyptian hoodoo curse turning me into a mummy.

As for my tormentor? She was having the time of her life.

And it was my fault.

Yes, my big mouth. My power. Out of control again.

Dame Rong told me my next date would be with a living mummy. And I wanted to do my research.

I hear you. Should’ve just used your powers, Luscious.

And you’re probably right. Things would’ve been easier than being a modern-day Idaho Jones, or whatever his name was, and doing things the old-fashioned way.

But if I’m supposed to romance these so-called monsters, I’d do it with dignity, you know? None of this wham, bam, alakazam stuff. These were women who needed to be treated the way no man had ever treated them.

Still, I didn’t know what the anthropologist planned to do to me. She wrapped my legs together, so I felt like she was prepping me for a sack race from hell. Speaking of sacks, I didn’t know how she’d treat mine. It was times like these when I wished my power didn’t require my voice.

My voice. I couldn’t talk fully formed sentences or commands, but I could still grunt. I wasn’t sure what effect it would have, if any. Would it turn her into a zombie? Maybe leave my command up to interpretation? It was a true battle of unknowns. What I did know? She kept on wrapping.

So I focused my inner core. I thought about the word I wanted to say, which was stop, which would be pretty damn near unintelligible with the ball in my mouth, and tried to give voice to my command.

I unearthed a guttural variation of stop.

And she started to hop.

I grunted what I hoped would come out as no, and she said, Oh, while continuing to hop. It was silly and not what I meant, but it gave me time. Time to think about what kind of command I could give without articulation. My hands were still bound, and gestures never did the trick. I needed voice commands that were noises rather than fully formed words. Inspiration was badly needed. Who was the least articulate, most unintelligible person or character I had ever seen who was still able to convey their desires?

Beaker from The Muppet Show?

The Frankenstein Monster?

Mushmouth from Fat Albert?

Then it hit me.

James Brown. Through grunts, squeaks, and shrieks, he commanded and conducted his band, the J.B.’s, live on stage. I grunted uh and hey and she started dancing like James Brown. Getting on her good foot. I needed a laugh and got one. Albeit unintentionally, which was better than being wrapped and suffocated. Still, I needed something else to free me. If grunts worked, why not singing? Bad singing?

The worst singer that came to mind was Bob Dylan. He was totally not in my generation, but granny played We Are the World a few times and I barely understood a word he said. Wasn’t sure if he said anything remotely close to free me or untie me. Didn’t want to risk it. Maybe my captor didn’t either. And if I had to warble unintelligibly,