Selected Short Stories

By A. Lee Pendragon

A woman finds an odd rock and gains a lifelong companion. A Mermaid befriends a Werewolf and together they fight crime. A Djinn finds love and freedom in his rescuer. Eight short stories explore love in all its forms from unlikely friendships to partnerships which span centuries as the author answers questions such as- "What if two Witches have a magickal claim on the same firstborn baby?" and, "What happens when the Damsel decides to become the Hero?" Curious what those answers might be? Read and enjoy exploring these stories one after another, or as a light bedtime or lunch break reading session as each story makes a lovely escape to another world- for just a little while.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. Lee Pendragon
• Release date: Oct 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370943272

A. Lee Pendragon

A. Lee Pendragon started writing as a child, though it did take a few decades to gain any real traction. Now, the ideas won't stop, and that is just how Lee likes it.

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Selected Short Stories

A. Lee Pendragon

Published by A. Lee Pendragon at Smashwords

Copyright 2016 - A. Lee Pendragon

Cover Design and Interior Art Copyright 2016 - L. Hubbard

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For all those who encouraged me, but most especially my husband. He was the first person in my life to say 'Cool, do it!' to me when I said I wanted to be a writer. Thank you, babe!

Special thank you to L. Hubbard as well for her beautiful art! This book would be lesser without it.

Contents

Little Sister

No More Cinders

Damsel

Two Witches and a Baby

Treasure

The Dragon

The Selkie and The Djinn

The Werewolf and The Mermaid

About the Author

All she had wanted was to sail. All she had loved was the sea.

~ Little Sister ~

She stood shaking at the end of the plank, the ropes biting into her naked flesh. Behind her the men howled and cursed her. Men with whom she had loyally served beneath the mast. Men whom she had foolishly believed were her friends.

The wild wind tugged at her hair, grown long again since that day nearly a year ago when she’d cut it off to play the part of a cabin boy. It flew loose now, torn from the confining braid and tossed about and tangled, just like the waves of the angry sea below. It was all she could do to keep her balance. Not that it would matter soon. She was only delaying the inevitable, for there would be no begging her place back among them. No mercy. No compassion.

Idiot, superstitious men. She had not caused the storms, and until recently the ship had sailed with fair winds and rolling seas. This was not her doing. She was no curse.

She inhaled the salt air, trying to calm herself and ignoring as the captain read her list of ‘crimes’. She thought, no. No, if this was to be her fate, she would not let them throw her away. They would not rule her last moments. She would not weep or cringe or beg.

Eyes turned up to the pewter clouds, she breathed deeply, then with deliberate -if restricted and tiny- steps, she cast herself into the sea she so loved. Warm, Caribbean waters closed over her, and at first she held her breath, sinking into the gloom of the depths, but soon she burned with the need for air. She twisted, fought, felt the rope scrape and cling even tighter.

It wasn’t fair. All she had wanted was to sail. All she had loved was the sea, the salty air in her face, the bright sun kissing her skin a rich gold-bronze. She’d always done her job well, learned quickly, never complained of the hard work. It was worth it. It had been worth it, but she hated to leave it so soon, and for such a foolish reason as the silly fears of men.

Colored bursts of light danced behind her eyelids, and still she struggled to hold onto her life just a little longer. Her ears ached from the pressure, her chest on fire. Everything hurt, and she could no longer stop herself. With a great gasp water filled her mouth, her nose, her lungs. It hurt. The salt seared her throat, and she coughed, bubbles tickling up her face. She convulsed, writhed, reached for her face in some last, desperate bid to cover her mouth and nose, and-

Her hands. They were free.

She was free!

She wasn’t drowning either. She could swim.

It was… different, but effective, and before she knew it, there was the surface, the roiling dark sky over the roiling black sea. She rode the waves easily, and laid back to see her legs, but they were no longer legs. A great fanned tail splashed, her scales glittering even in the dim light, and then between her fingers too, the webs were more pronounced.

Curious, she dove beneath the surface. It took effort, and she had to convince herself to try, but then she inhaled and it was water that entered her lungs, flowed through her, and gave her life. Back above, and she could breathe the air again.

Greetings, little sister, a husky voice said.

She turned, surprised to see a woman. No. A mermaid!

Just like her.

Speaking did not work the first try, nor the second or third, but the mermaid waited patiently.

Hello. Her voice was roughened, lower, and she touched her aching throat.

It will heal soon enough, but your voice is forever changed.

She nodded her understanding. How did this happen to me? Why?

The mermaid smiled. Because you love the sea, and the sea loves you. She dove and resurfaced a little farther away, beckoning. Come. We have many sisters, and on stormy nights like this, we sing.

Will the sailors not hear us? She knew her own ship was not so far away. Looking, she could even see the sails.

The mermaid smiled, showing pointed eyeteeth that looked more like fangs. Why yes, they will.

What if Cinderella’s Faery Godmother didn’t wait until the ball rolled around to help her?

~ No More Cinders ~

Anne muffled bitter tears, heart in her throat as she worked the scrub brush over the muddy tiles of the floor. Her father’s death had been a shock, but not nearly so large a one as her stepmother’s behavior afterward. Anne wasn’t even certain the woman had the right to strip away her station as a lady of the house, but here she was, back stinging still from the switch her dead father’s wife had taken to her when she refused to kneel and clean up the mess her stepsisters had made of the tiles.

Anne had been taught to be strong. Her mother, God rest her soul these many years, had been a strong and gentle woman. Poised and beautiful, she ran her household with a firm but fair hand. Anne had only been eight when her mother passed of a winter illness she could not shake, and for seven and a half years, it had been she and her father. The man was kind and loving, even in his grief in those early days. He doted on Anne, but never spoiled her, often reminding her how her mother would have chosen to do something, and that she would have been proud indeed of the young lady her daughter was becoming.

When her father found love in a widow, Anne had been happy for him. Happier still to learn that she would be a sister to two girls- one just a bit older, the other a year younger. Her stepmother was a beauty, sure enough, but it was a cold beauty. At first, Anne had tried to convince herself that she was merely jealous of her stepmother. When she spoke to her father about it, he had cradled her close in one of those warm, all-engulfing hugs of his and said that sometime the mind and heart just didn’t align. He would always love her, and the little jealous voice in her heart would soon learn what her mind knew.

But it wasn’t jealousy. Anne still had a wealth of attention from her father, and after their talk, he even seemed to make a point of including her when he could. Still, however, she felt nothing but chilly tolerance from her stepmother. The sisters were little better. The elder fussed and primped, and the younger strove to be like her mother and sister too much. They didn’t want to join Anne in lovely strolls outside, or picnic, just the three of them, in the meadow so their parents could spend time alone as a couple. In fact, looking back, Anne could see that she never had been the jealous one at all. Her stepmother and stepsisters had been.

Any time Anne spent with her father was coveted by her stepmother. Any dainty gift her father brought back from his trips to other villages and towns were envied by her stepsisters. Never mind that her father was a kind and generous man who brought equally lovely gifts for his stepdaughters. Anne often found her gifts had gone missing, or -more blatantly of late- that her elder stepsister had stolen it. If it wasn’t to the older girl’s taste, it would be broken. Complaining seemed petty in light of her discovery. They were jealous, and jealousy sprung from insecurity. Rather than argue or rise to the baiting, Anne was diligently kind and ruthlessly patient. This was their home now as much as hers.

Only, before her dear father’s body even cooled, it wasn’t her home anymore. She was reduced to servant in a household she had been born to lead. At least until her own marriage, assuming she, a merchantman’s daughter, married well enough to have her own household instead of them just living here in her father’s home until he retired and handed over the reins to her husband. But no. And God save the servants of the house who tried to aid Anne. She’d had to order them herself to leave her to it. She couldn’t bear the lashings rained upon those that dared defy her stepmother.

With a deep breath that spread fire over her back, Anne finished the floor, and hefted the bucket of boiled water to take outside. Once it was cool, she could water the garden with it.

Hello, Anne, a woman’s sad voice called from the back gate.

Anne set the bucket down and straightened, head tilting at the sight of the visitor. She was of middle age, kindly brown eyes were framed by lines etched in by decades of smiles. Anne found herself drawn forward to the stranger and offering a smile despite the heat of shame over her appearance. Her dress was stained and her hands cracked and rough from use they were unaccustomed to. She likely had tear tracks on her face, and knew very well how her nose reddened when she cried. Hello. You know my name, but I am afraid to say, I do not recall us meeting before.

The woman smiled, the laugh lines deepening. I’ve known you since you were but a babe. I’ve watched you find strength and peace after the tragedy of your mother’s passing, and grow all the kinder with each passing year. Your father’s accident is yet another tragedy, and yet here you are, smiling at a stranger and speaking gentle words despite the week you’ve survived.

Anne blinked, face scorching to realize the servants must have been out and gossiping about her situation. She bowed her head and wished her hair wasn’t pulled back so she could hide behind its fall. It is their grief. I am sure they will-

Well, I am not, the woman said firmly. This woman and her brats are atrocious, and while you are indeed of strong will, you haven’t the sharpened steel to fight them within you. Anne gaped at the woman. No, no, my dear, I promise you that is no insult. The world needs gentle souls as much as it needs the harder ones, and if you’re willing, I think I know a place where you will be happier than you would be here.

Anne blinked, feeling more like a landed fish than was proper to show, but truly, the past week had been trying. Where is this place? she finally managed to ask.

With me, the woman smiled. "But I must warn you, this is a one-way road I invite you along. As my apprentice, you will learn many and wondrous things, but the life you’ve planned for yourself