Paper Faces: A Firebird Story

By Jennifer Loring

Set in the world of the first book in The Firebird Trilogy, a masquerade ball brims with tension between Stephanie and Alex as she pursues her interview--and maybe more--with him.

"Paper Faces" is a 7500-word novelette.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Loring
• Release date: Mar 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393796503

Jennifer Loring

Jennifer Loring’s short fiction has been published widely, appearing in anthologies such as Nightscript IV, Not All Monsters, and Arterial Bloom as well as online in The Literary Hatchet among many others. She holds an MFA in Writing Popular Fiction with a concentration in horror fiction. Jenn lives in Philadelphia, PA, where she and her husband are owned by a turtle and two basset hounds.  

Book preview

Paper Faces

A Firebird Story

Jennifer Loring

WHO ARE YOU TAKING to the ball? Tyler asked as his future conquest fawned all over him. The life of a pro athlete. Their number-one defenseman and representative in the Players’ Association had joked that they should add a new clause to their next collective bargaining agreement: The player agrees to fuck any and all groupies in the best interest of his Club and his continuing development on and off the ice.

"What the fuck is this, Cinderella?" And why do I hang out with this zhopa?

The answer to that was easy enough. Tyler liked to party, and few others could hold their own with Sasha.

Sasha waved off the whole thing dramatically. Another goddamned charity event, and an adult costume party at that. And he’d have the media, waiting for him to get drunk and mouth off, to contend with. He’d rather eat the glass from which he drained his Sazerac.

They were in a hotel bar somewhere in downtown Vancouver, every TV predictably tuned to their opponents’ current game. A back-to-back for them should have—in theory—given the Earthquakes an advantage tomorrow night, but the hockey gods were capricious bitches.

And the Earthquakes sucked.

The puck bunnies had gathered earlier in anticipation of the team’s arrival and attached themselves to whatever players offered them a modicum of attention. No depth was too low to sink in pursuit of becoming a trophy wife. Apparently, as soon as one of the city’s resident bunnies discovered which hotel was putting up the visiting team, she sent out the signal and the whole warren showed up. Vancouver’s shitty October weather—rain followed by more rain—would not keep them from their appointed rounds.

Sasha perused the shelves of liquor, the bottles lit from beneath by a shifting rainbow of light, and motioned for another drink. He didn’t care what at this point. The name of the woman beside him had already slipped his mind. He’d picked her up for the drugs she claimed to have as much as for sex; he’d have a contact the next time he was in town. Her name was something to do with glass, he thought.

Cristal. Not my real name.

That was it.