Demon's Gun: Collections, #23

By Meyari McFarland

Dark places and twisted hearts rule this collection by Meyari McFarland. From clinging to live with a prayer to seeking the truth no matter the cost, these stories delve deep into the night for the truths hidden there.

The Thief's Prayer

Dark Butterfly

Schrodinger's Choice

Wings of the Dreaming Abyss

A Lady of Wisdom

Out of the Tower

The Sharp Secret

The Snows of Obsession

The Slithering Spark

A Rainbow for Menally

Also includes an excerpt of Blood Worms!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meyari McFarland
• Release date: Nov 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393662297

Meyari McFarland

Meyari McFarland has been telling stories since she was a small child. Her stories range from SF and Fantasy adventures to Romances but they always feature strong characters who do what they think is right no matter what gets in their way. Her series range from Space Opera Romance in the Drath series to Epic Fantasy in the Mages of Tindiere world. Other series include Matriarchies of Muirin, the Clockwork Rift Steampunk mysteries, and the Tales of Unification urban fantasy stories, plus many more. You can find all of her work on MDR Publishing's website at www.MDR-Publishing.com.

Book preview

Demon’s Gun

Demon’s Gun

Collection #23

Meyari McFarland

MDR Publishing

Special Offer

The rainbow has infinite shades, just as this collection covers the spectrum of fictional possibilities.

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From contemporary romances like The Shores of Twilight Bay to dark fantasy like A Lone Red Tree and out to SF futures in Child of Spring, Iridescent covers the gamut of time, space and genre.

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Meyari McFarland shows her mastery in this first omnibus collection of her short fiction. Twenty-five amazing stories, all with queer characters going on adventures, solving mysteries, and falling in love are here in the first Rainbow Collection.

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And now you can get this massive collection of short queer fiction, all of it with the happy endings you love, for free!

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Contents

Author's Note: The Thief's Prayer

The Thief's Prayer

Author's Note: Dark Butterfly

Dark Butterfly

Author's Note: Schrodinger's Choice

Schrodinger's Choice

Author's Note: Wings of the Dreaming Abyss

Wings of the Dreaming Abyss

Author's Note: A Lady of Wisdom

A Lady of Wisdom

Author's Note: Out of the Tower

1. Spider

2. Mansion

3. Heir

Author's Note: The Sharp Secret

The Sharp Secret

Author's Note: The Snows of Obsession

The Snows of Obsession

Author's Note: The Slithering Spark

The Slithering Spark

Author's Note: A Rainbow for Menally

A Rainbow for Menally

Author's Note: Blood Worms

1. Kill Room

2. Skywinder

Other Books by Meyari McFarland:

Afterword

Author Bio

Other Books by Meyari McFarland:

Day Hunt on the Final Oblivion

Day of Joy

Immortal Sky

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A New Path

Following the Trail

Crafting Home

Finding a Way

Go Between

Like Arrows of Fate

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Out of Disaster

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The Shores of Twilight Bay

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Coming Together

Following the Beacon

The Solace of Her Clan

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You can find these and many other books at www.MDR-Publishing.com. We are a small independent publisher focusing on LGBT content. Please sign up for our mailing list to get regular updates on the latest preorders and new releases and a free ebook!

Copyright ©2019 by Mary Raichle

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Print ISBN: 978-1-64309-078-8

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Cover image

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ID 92855152 © Grandfailure | Dreamstime.com

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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be emailed to [e-mail].

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This book is also available in TPB format from all major retailers.

Created with Vellum Created with Vellum

This collection is dedicated to my husband.

Author's Note: The Thief's Prayer

It's often said that even athiests pray when they're dying. I don't know how true that is, but fear of death certainly drives you to take risks you normally wouldn't. In a world where gods are real, that last, desperate prayer might just be the biggest risk you could take, especially when you're staring down death.

The Thief's Prayer

Aaren's fingers slid over the tile, scrabbling against the wet, the slick, Fu's weight pulling him down, down, down. He held his breath. Prayed as hard as he could to gods that he knew weren't there, weren't real, didn't care. Save them. Save them both and he would give everything he was, without question!

Their slide towards the paving stones five stories below stopped. Fu breathed a tiny whimper while Aaren did his best just to breath.

Nothing. His fingers still had no purchase. There was nothing stopping their slide.

But they'd stopped.

He pulled hard against Fu's grip, hauling Fu upwards until Fu could grab at the edge of the roof and swing himself up. Then Aaren did the same, heart pounding in his ears fit to drown out any sound of Guards, assassins, other thieves out on a too-rainy night.

Fu's bag still had their haul. Nothing had dropped out of it.

Somehow.

You saved us, Fu whispered. The rain drummed on Aaren's hood, on the tile, on Fu's shaved-bald head with its scant stubble starting to grow back out to cover the key tattoo still fresh above his left ear.

Shh, Aaren replied.

He pressed a finger over Fu's lips and smiled, quick and shaky, as Fun nodded that he understood. They moved onwards, creeping more slowly over the wet, black tiles. Roofs in the temple district were steeper than elsewhere. More dangerous. Aaren usually didn't come to this side of town. It was always a bigger haul but so much more risk.

Too much risk.

The pads of his fingers still remembered the feeling of the tiles as they'd stopped sliding. So wet and slippery, a faint hint of moss starting to grow in the crevices between the slates. Nothing to grab onto, nothing to grip.

Nothing to stop their slide to inevitable death so far below.

They climbed down from the roof to a window, then onto a lower roof across an alley. Four stories high. Three blocks of twisting alleys between rich, powerful houses, all capped with expensive, slippery, wet slate and then arrived at a good solid roof of terracotta tile. Red, porous, nicely ridged with lovely texture that kept you from sliding no matter how wet or icy it was out.

Practically like running on the ground. Aaren led Fu onwards, keeping his run slow enough that Fu's shorter legs could keep up. He let Fu carry the bag until Fu's panting got too loud and then took it from him just before they reached the poor part of town where the roofs went to thatch that was no good at all for running on. Hiding, sometimes, if you were truly desperate, but not now.

Aaren wanted solid ground under his feet.

Fu sighed once they leaped the last few feet to the ground in a nasty alley full of rotted garbage, wet sad dogs and one drunk potentially drowning in his own vomit. The drunk didn't move as they passed. The dogs snapped at Fu when he moved to pet them.

Not them, Aaren whispered. They're not pets, Fu.

Poor babies, Fu whispered back. His sad eyes were a match for the sad yearning in the dogs eyes but no, Manu would skin them both for daring to bring dogs home. Skinny, flea infested ones. Fat ones would net them praise and a portion of the meat the next day.

Fu refused to eat dog meat.

The ground didn't feel solid under Aaren's feet. Cobblestones and mud felt like slate sheeting off rainwater. He went slowly, hands clenched around the strap of the bag so that he wouldn't show how frightened he still was. Fu looked to Aaren for confidence, instruction. Not fear. Aaren couldn't show him the fear. Yet. He was too new. Too young. Still too tender.

Dry off, Manu Ansaldi, master of thieves, ordered as soon as they slipped into his back room and kicked their shoes onto the rack waiting with at least twenty other pairs of shoes. He pointed towards the small stones sitting in a basket by the door. We have guests. I expect you both to be silent unless spoken to. And Fu.

Yes, sir? Fu said. He picked up one of the rocks. Its magic swept over him, sending every bit of the water soaking him up in steam.

They have a dog with them, Manu said. His expression tried for a scowl but there was too much amusement in the way his lips twisted. No playing with the dog. Not even if it begs.

Sir! Fu whined.

Aaren didn't expect that Manu would miss the way his fingers shook as he picked up a stone for himself. Manu saw everything. It was his gift. But Fu was so dismayed that at least Fu didn't notice it. That was good. Aaren said nothing as he passed the bag over to Manu.

Get in here, Manu ordered. And remember, no playing with the dog, Fu.

Yes, sir, Fu said. His pout made him look the twelve he was instead of the fourteen he tried to claim when people questioned him.

Manu did something with his hands, something that Aaren had yet to learn, and the bag disappeared into one of his pockets as though the pocket was as big as a storeroom instead of too small for Manu's fat fist. Aaren let them go ahead of him, breathing slowly and easily, placing his feet with care. The wood floors of Manu's storeroom felt like slippery slate even though Aaren could feel the scarred, scratched wood, blackened by time, under his toes.

The people in the other room were important.

Where Aaren and Fu wore cheap indigo-dyed cotton, worn and patched by dozens of hands before coming to them, the men wore leather and silk. Leather for the guard standing by the door. Silk for the noble lounging on cushions next to Manu's account table. The guard had a scar down one cheek, cutting through his right eye down to the corner of his mouth. The noble had bright black eyes, like onyx, that took in both Aaren and Fu.

The dog, of course, was a little lap dog that wiggled its whole body when it saw Fu and Aaren.

Ah, these must be your boys, then, the noble said. His voice was high and sharp, like hearing a knife sing or a hawk speak. It hurt Aaren's ears. His heart thumped because he could feel the fall again.

Yes, indeed, Lord Messerli, Manu said with his bright, ingratiating clients in the house smile. Little Fu is my newest son. Aaren here has taken him on as an apprentice and is teaching him the trade. Bit of a challenge. Little Fu has a hard time sitting still for accounting.

Quite true if not at all of what Aaren was teaching Fu.

Lord Messerli laughed. What delights! Fu, you're twelve, yes?

Um, fourteen, my Lord, Fu said only to wilt dramatically when Lord Messerli started laughing. No one ever believes me.

He patted his cheeks, still full and round even though he was in a growth spurt that had thinned his body, arms and legs. Aaren patted Fu's shoulder, amused despite the rising feeling of hanging in space, one hand scrabbling against the tiles.

Little one, no one will believe that of you, Lord Messerli said, still chortling. You've too innocent a face. Enjoy it. It can be quite a tool for you. And this? This is your Aaren. Nineteen. Very tall and strong, this one. He could do very well in the job I need. I'd hate to take him from you, Manu, knowing that you see him as a son but he's perfect. It would be quite a step up for your Aaren, too.

Lord Messerli's eyes glowed.

Manu's smile slowed as he shifted on the cushions opposite Lord Messerli, going from amused to mock-proud. There was a hint of true pride there. Aaren hadn't expected that. Manu never gave praise. He rarely gave smiles. That hint of pride as the world slowed around Aaren lifted his heart.

You're not a lord, Aaren whispered as the glow in Lord Messerli's eyes expanded to encompass his whole body. I'm still there.

In a way, yes, Lord Messerli said. He wasn't frozen in time. In a way, no. You offered all that you are to save yourself and little Fu. Did you expect no one to listen?

No, Aaren said. He licked his lips, stared at his hands which were calloused and still wet from the rain pounding down outside. Both Manu's sitting room and the slate rooftop were real at the same time. I didn't. No one ever has before.

Lord Messerli stilled, his glowing eyes going wide. Oh, child. You've been hard-used by Fate. My bitch-sister never cares what it costs the people she uses. Would you not rather have a master who cared for you?

A god? Aaren asked.

Lord Messerli bowed his head, his smile soft and gentle. Just so. Only His hand upon the world at the moment but He does care for those who serve him. He protects us. Shelters us. Gives us that which we need to survive and succeed.

Rather like Manu, then. Perhaps a bit more. Aaren had been in Manu's service as long as he could remember. Manu always made sure that the tasks that he set for Aaren were within his capability. Sometimes barely but that was what growing up meant, pushing and struggling and eventually succeeding.

Child, Lord Messerli breathed, his voice deeper still. That is not care. That is slavery. Manu is… not a good man. Not a bad man, not evil, but he uses you, all of you, with little regard for you.

I know. Aaren studied Lord Messerli. Your God would be different?

Warmth enveloped Aaren. The warmth had a glow that held itself just off his skin, a bare fingers-width away from touching. He started as the warmth resolved into something shaped, sort of, like a man. Lord Messerli was still sitting opposite Manu, now frozen like Fu, the guard, the puppy and Manu.

My Sister chose to kill you tonight, the God whispered as He not-quite caressed Aaren's wrist. Fu would have lived.

I would have pulled him up, taken the impact, Aaren agreed. He bit his lip. Why me? Why now? What… am I worthy?

The God smiled so sadly. You are. But you must choose, Aaren. I do not take. You offered. I accept your offer. But you must choose to take that final step. Away from the death my Sister planned for you. Into this life that I will give you.

He was still there, still sliding down the slate tiles, still scrambling for purchase on a roof that had none. Aaren shuddered as the warmth of Manu's sitting room faded compared to the cold, wet terror of that rooftop.

Aaren's fingers slid over the tile, scrabbling against the wet, the slick, Fu's weight pulling him down, down, down. He held his breath.

I'm here, the God whispered.

His finger touched the back of Aaren's wrist, stopping their descent towards the ground so far below. Aaren shuddered and stared up at Him. Rain fell straight through Him. He was a shade of moonlight and candles, barely visible but so real.

Will you accept? the God asked.

Aaren looked down at Fu's terrified face, the bag of stolen jewelry and copied papers that had tripped him and sent him sliding off the roof. Fu would live, one way or the other. But he would be a very different child if Aaren died