Forgotten Lore

By Blanket Fort Writers, Krista D. Ball, Katelyn Brehm and 5 more

Forbidden magic, half-remembered Gods, the secrets to immortality, final outposts, bloody vengeance and fantastical creatures all abound in these stories by Krista D. Ball, Katelyn Brehm, M.L.D. Curelas, Rhonda Parrish, Katie Rodante, BD Wilson and Tristan Wolfe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Poise and Pen Publishing
• Release date: Nov 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9781988233970

Book preview

Introduction

The Blanket Fort (and writing) Discord server is a virtual water cooler and a safe place where we share Wordle scores, track writing goals, celebrate daily exercise and basically hang out together. Over the past several years it has been host to loads of Dungeons and Dragons games, Secret Santa gift exchanges, ‘just because’ video hang-outs, snowball fights and bot conversations.

When one of our members (who may have an addiction to premade book covers) suggested we use one of their premade covers as inspiration to make a book together, several of us rose to the challenge. This anthology is the result.

We are all at different stages of our careers–for some of us this is our first ever published story, for others it is one of many–but we’re all excited to share our range and individual interpretations of the theme ‘Forgotten Lore’ with you.

Not all our stories are upbeat or have happy endings, but, should you need it, we happen to know the location of a really good blanket fort…

–Blanket Fort (and writing) Writers

M.L. D. CURELAS

Nickel-plated Demon

The Mayor’s Gala is the pre-eminent event of the year in Fairhaven City. The city’s best and brightest love to gather, all sharp and sparkly and deadly. Even when I was the coroner for the Fairhaven police department, a respectable job for a human, I was never invited to the Gala.

Now? Now I run a pawn shop frequented mostly by other humans. A nobody. And occasionally I help people with difficulties that the police can’t or won’t help with. Which makes me a nobody in constant danger of being a snack for some supernatural being of one kind or another. Yet here I was, in an ill-fitting penguin suit, cradling a glass of bubbly, trying to find Detective Dolores Talon, the werewolf responsible for my attendance. We’re not exactly friends, Talon and me, but we had a solid working relationship while I was part of the Force. The part after I was fired has been more difficult—it’s harder to admit to a civilian, meaning me, that you, meaning Talon, need help with a case.

Of course, asking for help sometimes sounds like: get your ass to the Gala, Branson, or I’ll have to check your business license.

The mayor’s assistant grabbed the microphone, cutting off the band, and announced that the meal would be served shortly and we should be seated. I hadn’t strayed too far from my assigned table, so I was easing into my chair within minutes, tipping my champagne glass just enough so a trickle of liquid poured onto the floor. Hey, I wasn’t chancing alcohol while in a room full of beings that’d eat me as soon as look at me, but I also didn’t want to insult the mayor by not enjoying his hospitality.

Others joined the table. Two vampires. I’d guess that the male was a banker or a lawyer, going by his very stiff posture. The female, I wasn’t sure about. A Fae, absolutely strung out on pix dust, judging by their swirling eyes. One werewolf. I didn’t recognize him, but I’d guess a lower-status member of his pack. And finally, another human. A woman dressed in a brilliant white sequined gown with a mermaid hem. Her eyes drooped, but I couldn’t tell if she was drunk, drugged, or bored.

The seventh chair remained empty.

Introductions were made. The male vampire was Mitch Lewis—he was a banker, so score one for me—and his companion was introduced as Paige, no last name. Probably his nestmate. Both vampires were pale, sat ramrod straight in their chairs, and were drinking something red. I didn’t examine it too closely to see if it was a Bloody Mary… or just Mary.

Baxter Greenhill, breath reeking of raw meat, the werewolf, shook hands politely and offered us all business cards with coupons for his newly opened archery range. I pocketed the card, saying as little as possible. Some werewolves can quite literally smell a lie, and it seemed imprudent to say aloud that I had no intention of shooting arrows with a bunch of werewolves.

When I gave my name, Mitch murmured, Corvid Branson? Ah, and his eyes narrowed. Paige lifted her glass of red whatever and gulped. Loudly. Twice.

Vampires aren’t fond of me. My testimony once sentenced a golden boy of theirs to a true death. It’s hard to get one of those when your kind dominate the political offices, so that particular trial and outcome were memorable.

The Fae, as high as I thought, gave the name of Casey, slumped back in their chair, and stared at the ceiling. Occasionally, their fingers twitched and swayed, like they were conducting an orchestra.

I’m in distinguished company, the human woman said. She took a lazy sip from her champagne flute, set it down, and drawled, I’m Jessica Chandler.

Even I’d heard of her, and most humans in Fairhaven aren’t worth knowing.

Paige leaned forward. I’ve read all your books!

Jessica smiled. Thank you, that’s so sweet.

Paige took another gulp of her drink. Her cheeks flushed with the artificial inducement, and she smiled. If I’d known you’d be here, I would have brought a book for you to sign. I have some of them signed, but not all. We’ve met a few times, but you probably don’t remember.

That’s sweet, Jessica repeated, and I shot her a glance. I was leaning towards sloshed. She could be shy, but for a professional wordsmith, her words were lacklustre.

When’s your next book coming out? What’s it about? Are you writing one now? The words gushed out of Paige, her eyes sparkling madly and her smile growing into a fearsome shark grin.

Well, now I knew she’d just been drinking alcohol. A vampire drinking blood products wouldn’t be so turned on otherwise. I slipped a hand into my jacket and clutched the hilt of my sliver-bladed pocketknife. It was the only weapon I had tried to smuggle into the Gala, and it wouldn’t do much against a vampire. It might slow her down enough until someone bigger than me could step in.

Mitch leaned into Paige and murmured something. I couldn’t catch it with my normal hearing, but Baxter snorted and then hastily coughed the fakest cough I’ve ever heard into his sleeve. But it mollified the vampires.

Jessica hadn’t noticed. At the barrage of questions, her smile froze in place and her knuckles turned white. I was concerned the stem of her glass would crack under her tight grip.

I am working on a book, yes, but I can’t discuss details about it yet. My publisher would kill me for spoiling secrets.

She laughed, an airy tinkling chime, but I believed her. Her publisher was a vampire.

Paige nodded and smiled in acknowledgement, but her smile was tight and close-lipped. I’d lay odds that she wouldn’t open her mouth again until she ingested something more substantial than a Bloody Mary.

Well, enough about me, Jessica said, and my boring books. However did you decide to open an archery range, Mr. Greenhill?

As the werewolf droned on about Robin Hood and safe competitive activities for werewolves and other citizens of Fairhaven, I stole another glance at Jessica Chandler. Her smile was less stiff, but her grip on her champagne flute was still white-knuckled. Her gaze was fixed on the werewolf. Her makeup was expertly applied, but I could discern the purple crescents cradling her eyes, which were bloodshot. The fingers not strangling the glass had a faint tremor. Jessica Chandler was exhausted.

I thought back to her reaction to Paige’s barrage of questions and Jessica’s immediate deflection and change of subject. Not just exhausted, I realized. She was afraid, too.

A sensible feeling, when in a room overflowing with predators, but Paige had been friendly, not threatening.

I raised my glass and moistened my lips.

Did the frightened author have anything to do with why Talon got me here?

Sliding my gaze back to Jessica, I flinched when my eyes met the whirling irises of Casey, the Fae. They languidly raised a hand and waggled their fingers at me.

I saluted them with my glass and then returned my attention to the werewolf. He didn’t seem to be slowing down, but thankfully a few servers appeared with baskets of bread and bowls of soup. The vampires received special opaque glasses. Paige grabbed hers right out of the server’s hand and drank deeply from the glass.

Mitch picked up his soup spoon.

The rest of the table followed his example, and under the cover of the rustling movements, I murmured to Jessica, I don’t suppose you happen to know Dolores Talon?

Her spoon clinked against the rim of her bowl and then splashed into her soup. Oh, I’ve met a lot of people, Mr. … Branson, isn’t it? I can’t remember everyone. Her eyes met mine boldly, and then she pointedly looked down. I followed her gaze, to her hand resting lightly on her thigh. Her fingers tapped nervously and then traced shapes on her leg. No—not shapes: letters.

Y-E-S

I quickly averted my gaze and had a spoonful of soup. It was a clear beef consommé, and Baxter Greenhill was enjoying his with noisy slurps, drawing annoyed glances from neighbouring tables.

My mistake, I said to Jessica. She said you signed her book.

Jessica set her spoon down and chuckled. I’ve signed a lot of books.

A quick check confirmed that her free hand continued to spell out Y-E-S. So, Jessica Chandler did know Talon. I had to assume that this was why I was here. But to do what?

Paige started chatting again, her glass of calories having done the trick, and I gratefully let the conversation flow around me. They were talking books again; techniques, workshops, deadlines—Paige knew a lot and dominated the conversation. When she was gauche enough to mention advances and contracts, I stared straight down at my soup to hide my face.

Talon should have told