The Patreon Collection, Volume 6

By Stefon Mears

A dozen rollicking tales, full of thrills and adventure…

 

Every month Stefon Mears' Patreon supporters enjoy two new short stories. Stories never published anywhere before, but collected here for the first time. In this collection you'll find tales like these…

 

"Solstice, Shotguns, and a Kiss" -- Armed men descend on a solstice bonfire in this tale of romantic suspense.

 

"Undead Next Window" -- A lighthearted contemporary fantasy tale in which the only human in the Monster Unemployment Office copes with a wererat with a silver allergy

 

"Worst Way to Break a Mirror" -- This Spells for Hire tale pits conjure man Heath Cyr against the truth behind the superstition

 

"Two Kinds of Players" -- An aging minor leaguer and his last chance to make the Big Leagues.

 

All these and eight more, and all from the wild imagination of Stefon Mears, author of the popular Cavan Oltblood, Rise of Magic and Spells for Hire series.

 

The Patreon Collection presents those page-turners, whole and unabridged, along with introductions to each story written just for this collection. Volume 6 includes the stories from July-December 2019.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thousand Faces Publishing
• Release date: Feb 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393572107

Book preview

The Patreon Collection

The Patreon Collection

Volume 6

Stefon Mears

Thousand Faces Publishing

The Patreon Collection

Contents

Foreword

Only One Red Rock

Solstice, Shotguns and a Kiss

Pushing His Luck

The Way of Magic

No Shortcuts to Fame

Two Kinds of Players

The Power of Snark

Trapped in Sepia

Undead Next Window

Worst Way to Break a Mirror

Small But Mighty

Before I Go A-Wassailing

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About the Author

Also by Stefon Mears

Foreword

When people ask writers about our influences, we often answer in terms of novels, series, or simply the names of authors.

And yet, recently, I find I’ve been thinking a lot about short stories that have had a lasting influence on me. From some of the short stories I remember reading in high school English classes – such as a boxing story called A Piece of Steak – to the stories in the many, many collections and anthologies I’ve read over the years. And I can see some of those influences, in the stories in this collection.

The Way of Magic might not have been written, if I hadn’t devoured anthologies like Isaac Asimov’s Wizards, especially the Jack Vance short story that leads it off.

Before I Go A-Wassailing owes a lot to my love of the Lord Darcy short stories of Randall Garrett.

I could go on, but you get the idea.

The stories in this collection aren’t anything like the works of Garrett, Vance, and others. But that’s as it should be. Influence isn’t about imitation, after all. It’s about inspiration. And that inspiration has taken me many different directions.

As always, these stories were first published to my Patreon readers. In this case, between July and December of 2019.

Happy reading,

Stefon

Only One Red Rock

A couple of years ago, I went down to Mexico with my oldest friend in the world, to spend a few days enjoying the area around Baja and the Sea of Cortes.

On the trip I was struck by what I thought of as the ghost houses scattered across the chapparal. They had brick walls and floors and foundations, but empty holes where windows and doors should be, and no roofs at all.

Something about those empty shells struck me. I’ve written two stories about them so far. One will be published shortly in an anthology titled Fiction River: Chances.

This is the other. I hope you enjoy it.

As far as Hannah was concerned, this just looked like one more burned out hovel. Three walls still standing above a concrete foundation. Speckled exterior might have been pistachio once. Might even have been a cute little place. Cozy in the way realtors meant it, as in the whole building would have passed for a studio apartment, back in Portland.

Fifth husk Lawton had made them check out today, and this one wasn’t even a full structure. Nothing more interesting inside than rubble and the remains of a refrigerator Hannah wouldn’t have wasted a moment on if it had been new and working. Even new that thing would have been bottom of the line.

But then, to be fair, it was probably the best the one-time owners could have afforded. This wasn’t exactly an affluent part of Mexico, even before the earthquake leveled everything for more than a mile around.

Saying the day was hot and dry would have been like saying a fast food burger was greasy – true, but it didn’t even begin to bring across the scope of the situation. Any clouds in the pale blue sky had either burned off two hours ago, or fled east, praying for relief among the trade winds over the Sea of Cortes.

Now it was noon. Now the sun was high, and she half-expected to see a scorpion par-boiling on a rock. Portlanders didn’t carry umbrellas to protect themselves from the rain, but here and now Hannah wished she owned one to protect her from the sun.

Her sunscreen might have been saving her from skin cancer, but at the moment she just felt like one-hundred-ten pounds of coconut-scented sweaty flesh. And while her floppy beach hat was cute – and shaded her face and neck – it wasn’t wide enough or sheltering enough for this heat.

Hannah could feel the sun beating down on the top of her head, right through the hat.

All the wonderful, romantic things Lawton and she could be doing right now. Sailing on the Sea of Cortes. Playing on the beach, where breezes would mitigate the hot Mexican sun. Shopping in the silly little tourista places down in San Felipe. Maybe even ones with air conditioning.

But no. Lawton dragged her here, into the heart of the Mexico desert. Cracked, dry dirt, cacti, and bushes that just looked like angry, thorny bundles of sticks. All so he could pick through the remains of very specific hovel after very specific hovel. He always stopped for the ones with the little piles of rocks out front. Wouldn’t even tell her what it was he hoped to find, though. Just smiled and said, you’ll see.

But damn if he didn’t have a good smile. One of his saving graces, actually. He had a good, strong chin accented by his Van Dyke, and sandy blonde hair that was softer than it had any right to be, given that he used the cheapest shampoo on the market and never touched conditioner.

What Hannah wouldn’t have given to get her own long, black hair that soft with so little effort.

He had that ridiculous porn ‘stache, but on him it was charming. Disarming. And when he gave her the smile that hid under that ‘stache, Hannah found herself agreeing to almost anything. Even coming out into the middle of the desert while he picked through rubble.

Helped that the man moved well. Even digging through – whatever was buried under that chunk of drywall – became almost a kind of dance. He played around with parkour to keep in shape, and it kept him the kind of fit that meant he could actually keep up with her on the dance floor.

Good thing, too.

Right now Hannah had to keep reminding herself of the reasons she loved him. Just like she did whenever he took her someplace like this. Someplace miserable, where his little surprises had maybe a fifty-fifty chance of coming through.

And she’d known what kind of day she was in for when she saw how he dressed that morning. Short sleeved khaki shirt and shorts, with combat boots and that stupid explorer’s hat. Anytime he put on that hat, she knew what she was in for. A day her finding little ways to entertain herself while he played Indiana Jones, without the whip. Or the stylish hat, for that matter.

So she’d dressed appropriately. Lightweight white blouse and white linen slacks tucked into hiking boots. And her floppy rose-pink hat.

She couldn’t watch him burrow through any more rubble though.

How much longer, babe? she said. I was hoping to break in my new bikini today.

Actually, she’d been saving it for the last day of the trip. A little something to drop his jaw and make sure their vacation ended on a high note. But worth tipping early, if it got them out of this thrice-damned desert.

Five minutes, he said, looking back at her with that smile. I promise. Then fish tacos for lunch.

Fine. She held up one hand, fingers splayed. "Five minutes. Any longer than that and the bikini waits for some other trip. One involving a beach."

She pointedly set her phone alarm, and Lawton started digging faster.

Satisfied, she turned and started hunting for any hints of shade the husk of a hovel might afford. Maybe around the back…

Nothing. Broken wooden lawn furniture on a small, cracked cement patio.

Sighing, she kicked the dirt on her way back around to the front, where she could at least look at the pile of rocks again. Stood about two feet high. Wide, flat rocks mostly, but a couple of roundish ones in the middle, and a small oval of rock on top…

The kind that might make a good paperweight back home. Reddish stone, like some of the pebble-strewn hills around here.

Hannah crouched for a closer look. Was this some local kid’s version of building blocks? Given the refrigerator and square-footage of the one-time-house behind her, she’d believe the kid’s parents couldn’t have afforded Legos or Lincoln Logs. The rocks looked pretty big for a kid to move around, but she guessed the kid might not have to lift them. Just roll them close and lever each stone onto the others.

Well, however it happened, the kid was long gone, and that oval rock would look great on her oak nightstand. A reminder of what she intended to turn into a wonderful trip over the next three days.

Hannah’s phone alarm beeped. She turned it off. Grabbed the rock from the top of the pile and slipped it into the pocket of her shorts.

She started to turn. Drew breath to say, Time’s up! But before she could, Lawton whooped like he’d just turned a twenty-foot drop into a roll across a ramp and come up running.

Found it!

Curiosity overcame Hannah’s heat-shortened temper. She hustled back to the ruined house to see what Lawton had found.

Don’t know how I overlooked it, he said. It was right behind me on the floor.

It was a small statue. No bigger than the rock in her pocket. But it gleamed like solid gold, and was shaped like a six-legged lizard.

That’s beautiful, she said, thinking he’d just found a better souvenir than the one in her pocket, though her nightstand wouldn’t have been the right place for this one. This one was a showpiece.

Aztec, Lawton said, smiling wider than ever. Not associated with one of their gods, but you can tell by the striations used here to convey scales. And feathers too, I think.

Hannah got a sinking feeling in her gut, but she didn’t quite know why yet. So instead she asked a question.

I thought we were closer to Mayan territory.

Wouldn’t matter if we were. This isn’t exactly a dig site. He took her in his arms and swung her around before he kissed her.

His kisses were another reason she loved him. Strong, yet soft, and he always knew right when to stop. But in this case the kiss gave her clarity about that sinking feeling.

"Babe, if that’s really Aztec, well, you know what your hero would say."

Her words didn’t diminish his enthusiasm in the least.

A museum. I know. He pulled her in tight with one arm and lifted his prize in his other hand. But like I said, this isn’t exactly a dig site. If it ended up in a private home, then the Mexican government already cataloged it and released it for private sale.

Hannah took a step back and crossed her arms.

"Are you telling me that whoever lived here – she pointed at the burned-out-husk – couldn’t afford a decent refrigerator or toys for their kids, but they could afford Aztec knickknacks?"

Oh, ye of little faith, Lawton said, smile still plastered on his face and almost – almost – enough to make her quit her questioning and accept. He pointed to the little pile of rocks. The stacked rocks are a petition to the land spirits…

Lawton frowned. Where’s the top one? The reddish one?

In my pocket, Hannah said, fluttering her eyelashes. It’ll look perfect on my nightstand. Why?

Nothing, he said, but not like he believed it. He still had that crease between his eyebrows. He worried at his bottom lip for a moment.

Nothing, he said again, more certainly. C’mon, my Hannah Belle. Let’s go get fish tacos and you can show me that new bikini.

If this little six-legged lizard statue was enough to get her out of this desert heat, Hannah would hide it from the customs agents herself.

The rest of the day went more like the vacation Hannah had been expecting. Fresh, handmade fish tacos and lots of playing on the beach and in the waves. And Lawton had shown her new bikini proper appreciation.

In fact, that evening he showed it enough appreciation that Hannah was tempted to just wear it for the rest of the trip. Helped that the bungalow they rented sat apart from the main area of the resort. Yes, it was surrounded by the desert scrub, but it was cleaner desert scrub up here, and they didn’t have to worry about giving anyone a show or – worse – lodging a noise complaint. Certainly the local coyotes weren’t going to raise an issue.

Hannah and Lawton had a whole one-bedroom place, easily three times the space of the shells of houses they’d seen that day, plus a private rooftop patio. Built of thick adobe and furnished southwestern style. All to themselves.

They went to sleep that night entwined together in the mess they’d made of the king-size bed.

It was around two in the morning when Hannah realized she was awake. Bleary eyed with sleep, but awake and blinking in the dim, cool bedroom. The ceiling fan ticking gently overhead. Under her cheek, Lawton’s smooth chest rose and fell in a steady, deep rhythm.

Still sleeping. So he hadn’t woken her.

Hannah let her eyes drift closed again, reveling in Lawton’s sleep-warmth and the soporific rhythm of his breathing.

Awake again. A glance at the glowing red number on the nightstand said it wasn’t more than five minutes later. What was waking her up? Did she have to go to the bathroom?

Hannah slowly slipped free of Lawton although, deep as he slept, she could have shoved his legs off of her without waking him. Still, she couldn’t help moving lightly. Just in case this proved to be the one time in a thousand he might stir.

Naked she padded across the cool tile floor to the rest room and emptied her bladder, in case that was the problem. It wasn’t until after she’d washed her hands and was about to climb back into bed when she paused.

What was that scratching sound?

There weren’t any trees or bushes beside the doors or windows, and the adobe was thick enough that a car might not be able to crash through the walls of the place. For that matter, there hadn’t been a lot of wind, either.

Hannah decided it was nothing and slipped back into the sheets, snuggling up behind Lawton as though she were a human backpack.

But she heard the sound again. Something scratching at a door or window.

Paranoia – and perhaps too many horror movies – made Hannah check on the little golden lizard and her red rock. They were sitting together on Lawton’s nightstand, right where they’d been left before … the evening’s festivities started. In the late night gloom, they looked just as innocent as they ever did.

Hannah listened closely, but couldn’t hear any muttering or chanting in ancient languages she didn’t speak. Nothing but the soft whir of the overhead fan, and the faint whining hum of charging electronic devices.

She felt downright silly as she curled up behind Lawton again.

But the sound came once more. A scratching sound. And was it her imagination, or was it louder this time?

Some local stray cat, maybe? Scratching at the kitchen door, because some previous irresponsible vacationer had treated the poor thing like a pet for a few days and abandoned it? Or maybe some raccoon hoping for an easy meal?

Hannah lay there and tried to ignore it, but after the scratching came twice more – louder each time, she was sure – she got up and grabbed her lightweight beach robe from the bathroom hook. She slipped into it, tied it closed, then went over to the kitchen door. It was the kind that had a window panel for the top half, and a blind pulled down for privacy. She peeked past the blind.

There was a shrub on the doorstep. One of those things that looked like a thorny, angry bundle of sticks.

And while she was watching, it reached out and scratched on the door. A slow, deliberate movement.

Lawton awoke when he heard Hannah scream. He was on his feet and moving before he realized he was out of bed, and he reached Hannah before he realized he was still naked.

But Hannah was bundled in his arms and shaking worse than Lawton had ever seen before. Worse than the time the highway patrolman had threatened her with felony speeding before finally just giving her a moving violation. He stifled a yawn, his body’s natural objection to being awake for anything other than urgent biological need.

Shh, Lawton must have said two or three times, before he finally asked, What’s wrong?

By this time, Lawton was awake enough to realize she wasn’t naked, and that they were standing at the kitchen door, where something was scratching like it expected to be invited in.

Hannah only pointed a shaky finger at the door.

Lawton reached for the knob, but Hannah gripped his shoulder tight enough he felt her nails. He looked back and she only shook her head frantically, her sleep-mussed long black hair whipping around.

Lawton blinked, still half-asleep, but awake enough to realize she didn’t want him to open the door.

He pulled back the blind and blinked at the weird shrub on the doorstep. Had that been there earlier? He couldn’t remember it, but he couldn’t remember really looking either. Hannah had been the one more interested in checking