Rogue Horizon: The Record, #6

By Winnie Winkle

If I could catch a break, that'd be sweet. It's also highly unlikely.

 

I'm Cleopatra O'Keefe, and after my last world-bending Keeper shenanigan, I thought humanity and the magicals finally settled into a peaceful coexistence. Zeus in a thong, was I ever wrong. Now I've got the four sides–earth, water, fire, and air–squaring off, zero idea what might pull them together, and a ticking time bomb, all courtesy of Uranus. He's the weirdness variable in our planetary meltdown. 

 

All I know is that I get a single shot. Time to figure out how the pieces fit together and get them in the correct order so the planet doesn't go POOF.  To keep it interesting, an unknown malady sidelined my hard won allies and alliances–now each leader lays comatose, zonked with the swirling stars of Uranus lodged in their eyes. Not helpful.

 

Did I mention the monsters? What would a world's end scenario be without enormous, slobbering, chompy beasts who are practically immortal? Sticking a pin in them? Oh, yeah. Easy peasy. No problem whatsoever. 

 

Crud. This is a job for bourbon; might as well pour a double.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. S. Netwal
• Release date: Jun 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798985961089

Winnie Winkle

Winnie Winkle is a fabulous Central Florida broad who swills bourbon, likes dogs and cats, and practices yoga, but not with any degree of grace. Supporting live local music is a pretty big deal to Winnie, so if you pass a gravestone that admonishes, 'Go see the band and hit the tip jar', it's probably hers. But, since she's not dead yet, she'll keep penning fun stuff to rock your reading chair. Winnie has lived in Florida for 30 years and splits her time between South Daytona Shores and the Mount Dora area. She prefers writing beach-side as much as she can because, if we’re baring our souls here, the ocean is a mighty muse and there’s only so much that coffee can do. Winnie writes humorous fiction with a new series, "The Record" releasing three titles in 2021 )Boogie Beach, Slat Shaken, Speedo Down). She also released a literary fiction, "To Walk in the World: Twin Tales of Inception in 2021. Winnie also writes (6 books so far)  paranormal and sci-fi romances for the series "The Worlds or Magic, New Mexico".

Book preview

Chapter One

For the third day, the horizon churned, oozing sketchy. Qiton, the mer’s leader, perched on a bar stool with his back to me and watched the line where sea met sky, currently populated with ominous clouds in every shade of purplish blue, grey, and green. On his head, a crown of seaweed dripped, the lifesaving flow of seawater allowing him to be here beyond the full moon.

Water spouts? I slid him a Whinge, an obscure cocktail. Mer men and maids showed up in far greater numbers to drink at The Boogey two new moons ago; while well behaved, having them around daily was disconcerting. Poseidon’s seaweed-cap caper opened doors to a nation, and to a fin, the mer were down for visits.

To welcome them, I dug into the book and, based on a few scrawny entries in the record’s history, mastered their favorite cocktails. Most stuck with fish ales, but several gave my drinks a tumble and liked them, which earned me a few points for thoughtfulness; I’ll take ‘em.

Today, Qiton sought an audience with the Vapors, one I’d record, even though it’s their book. Unless asked, I wasn’t doing anything except providing a faithful translation of the conversation. We’d see.

Mist rose through cracks in The Boogey’s floor and drifted in through the open windows. Protected by spell work, the fiercest storms remained outside their frames. The mist coalesced into a semi-human shape, selected a seat at the negotiation table, and inclined its wispy noggin. Qiton shrugged at my question, picked up his Whinge, and joined the Vapor, holding his right hand parallel to his massive chest, palm outward. The Vapor mimicked the greeting, tapping Qiton’s. I’m positive his tap was loaded to the, er, gills, with peace.

The mer’s petition shocked me. It’s possible it surprised the Vapors, but they don’t have distinct features, so who in Hades knew? Not me.

We wish to come ashore at will, no longer bound by the moon’s cycles.

This involved, if you’ll pardon the crappy pun, a sea change of sorts. Wired for water, mer bodies tolerated leaving the oceans only during the magical shift within the full and new moons, and then only for the arc of its passing. Despite being a race with a complete social and governing structure, for the most part, nobody consulted them about a damn thing going on above the ocean’s surface. For a long time, that suited everyone. The mer were, well, kinda rogue.

Not anymore. Taking advantage whenever the Triune caused upheavals, the mer opened dialogues with the fae and, I suspected, with the dragons. Humans scrambled to build a knowledge base on their oceanic ecosystems, of which they knew a fraction of its depths and requirements. Now navies, oceanographers, and marine biologists at premier universities sought the mer’s time and valued their information. Despite their progress, both witches and forest shifters showed zero interest in opening any meaningful dialogue. This loosening of boundaries, while informative, promised rocky shores.

Their nation adapted with ridiculous quickness, accepting this new power as their birthright. Implacable, they turned into tough negotiators. An unexpected turn, because they used to respond to interactions with bloodletting. Your basic one trick seahorse. My money was on Keto, because I’d set her up to negotiate a truce between Poseidon and the mer. She wouldn’t confirm it, but this wasn’t growing adaptive—to my thinking. It resembled a full bore education on steroids. Ratcheting up equality? Meddling? Color me uncertain.

While it’s an ideal change up for the mer, for Keepers, not so much. The record held a decent bit of information, gleaned with copious blood loss, over centuries of time. Now they were an unknown entity, behaving in uncharted and unusual ways, with unpredictable reactions that left me scratching my head.

Dammit Parks, I need your no bullshit composure more than ever.

Another thing that wasn’t happening. Fuck.

The diaphanous man lounged in misty elegance with legs crossed, listening as Qiton expounded. I sat along the table’s side, writing into the record using an ink pot and plume. Super duper old school, but the ‘Keepers and Vapors Variety Hour’ was a vintage show.

If truth telling, I missed the journal, too. A portable version of the book, it allowed me to leave the line. Toast in the literal and figurative senses, it was as dead as Parker. Now, every meeting between races was held at The Boogey. Which, if humans were involved, grew problematic. The magical underpinnings of the line could kill them, and the protective spells surrounding the pier, centuries old, were cast to keep them from stepping a single toe inside the bar. The added wrinkle, of juggling how to pull this Triune forward while tied to one spot, just showed up on my job description. Well, on The Boogey’s side, at least. Not optimal. For now, transcribing happened after hours, cutting into my sleep even further.

Something needed to give. So far, the only volunteer was my vitality.

Qiton’s seaweed crown dripped onto the table, and I dropped cocktail napkins between his rivulets and the record. Not that a sea and age reeking tome couldn’t take a few drops, but old habits of fierce protection die hard. The misty figure grinned as I blotted, which looked every bit as odd as it sounds.

We seek, Qiton continued, greater inclusion and interaction with the worlds. The work with humans, so they learn to protect the oceans, occupies much of our time. The two days we have on the land are given over to them. We’re forced to forgo our brief windows of open communication with the magical world. We no longer have time for fun, unlike other races. It’s an important task, but so is a regular reset. Our world grows, both in scope and imbalance.

The quill scritched, and they waited for me to finish. Meetings like these require verbatim recording; I was in for a cramped hand. Keto was pretty fucking smart. Forget focusing on any other issue, the mer hit the negotiation with a request for personal work-life balance. Gods knew that’s peace filled. And to get it, they need–freedom? Freaking brilliant.

My misty buddy leaned forward and tapped the book. Symbols rose, and I translated for Qiton.

Time

Free

Accountability

Acceptance

Vapors communicate through emotions. What do you feel this means?

Feel? Unlike your witches, the mer remain creatures of logic.

The Vapor eased back and gestured to me. Hoo boy. Hope Big Q left his shell knife at home, as asked. Honor system, though, no pat downs. Mer are slimy, so a tiny perk of sorts.

I straightened and held Qiton’s gaze. Yet the mer’s history is a litany of angry interactions. Rage is a powerful emotion. Love, more so. Logic acts as a control mechanism for emotional energy. Your race is capable of greater growth. To get there requires a choice to unleash what you’ve spent thousands of years suppressing. If the mer are evolving, embrace understanding your emotions.

Another beaming misty grin; for the curious, they’re toothless. Qiton sat expressionless, and the silence stretched. I held his gaze and laid the quill beside the book.

I can do this all day, Q-tie pie. You have no idea the shit I’ve handled.

Beyond the windows, lighting cracked across the horizon as green, white, and blue bolts quivered and raged. Torrents of rain pounded The Boogey, the third day of heavy, drowning rainfall. The storm’s energy, though, stayed offshore. Small favors, but I worried about the ships at sea. Poop your pants level scary. Qiton’s eyes moved to the record, eyeing the symbols.

You read this language?

Yes. I can teach you.

You’d do that?

I’ll instruct whoever is curious. These symbols appear throughout the creation. Once you master their language, you intersect with the world with greater understanding. The Vapor’s speak to every race; it’s the language of peace.

He pointed to the book. Tell me again.

Please and thank you were apparently a road too far for Qiton. Not that mer had roads. Or boundaries. Other than ones they wanted to subvert. Oh, shit. Fucking Keto. The plan landed in my brain with a thud.

Time. Free. Accountability. Acceptance. To understand their message, combine the feelings rising from these words, then pool each emotion. It takes practice, but as you release your reluctance to emote, the language is easier to master.

Hmm. He looked interested, for a stodgy faced mer, and I let him parse unmolested. Instead, I shifted my gaze to the Vapor dude.

If they gain total access to everywhere on Earth, that might be a problem. Especially if they’re the only ones.

Misty tapped his forehead. Way ahead of me, as usual.

Qiton slapped the table. Time frustrates me, since mer wasted centuries below the waves, forgotten. Free is power, being untouchable. Accountability means pressure and conformation. Acceptance is weakness; to choose life under the will of another.

Holy shit. So much anger.

A decent attempt. A little negative, but we bring our personal emotional filters into reading this language. What is the message? I leaned back and watched.

Mer were huge, larger than dolphins, with sleek bluish skin and flowing, dark hair. Once submerged, their hair floated, an aquatic crown. Beautiful, provided they weren’t motivated to slice the living crap out of you. Blood floats in salt water, too. Qiton’s face was square, with a hooked nose and slits for nostrils. Gills ran the length of both sides of his thick neck. On land, mer breathed through their noses, but under the sea, they used gills like sharks. They remained submerged for as long as they wanted. I did not want to play poker with Qiton, whose expression registered nothing. He eyed the symbols again.

It means we have to wait and earn the rights others enjoy. Rage flickered, gone as fast as it emerged. Points for trying, I guess.

I appreciate you giving this a shot. The message reveals a trial period while the Vapors watch you develop and learn to work with land beings before receiving permanent change. I pointed at the first symbol. Time. This raises a sense of gentle development. Free. Well being, and joy. Both are worthy of expansion within your race. Accountability. This embodies fairness and respect for every participant. Acceptance. This is the peacefulness of balance, that the new arrangement grows naturally.

Massive, webbed hands landed on either side of the now empty Whinge. We accept this arrangement and intend to master this language. In all ways, mer will equal races above the surface.

I slid a glance at the Vapor, who nodded. I wished I felt as comforted. To this puny Keeper, a big can of whoop-ass just blew open.

Chapter Two

Nuts and bolts regarding the hows and whens got knocked out with little argument, and Qiton rose, touched palms with the Vapor, and marched out the wooden ship’s door, wafting a stream of fishy smells, while I rubbed my aching hand. They’d return in numbers in two and a half months, on the new moon. Once ashore, a contingent of two hundred planned to stay full time. I’d teach a class of six; in turn, they became teachers. No idea what the mer world’s population was, but Earth holds a blue jillion gallons of water, so a fuck ton might be the answer.

How much of the language’s nuance shifted in translation? My money was on a bunch, since they’re starting from a place of pissy righteousness. The gods knew how garbled their translations ended up being. Half the time I wasn’t sure I got the entire message, and I practiced more than anyone alive.

The Vapor remained at the table, so I sat, happiness perking through my veins. After Parker’s murder, loneliness rode shotgun. Even if they’re noncorporeal and vague as hell, at least they understood my job. More than me, I suppose, since they orchestrated every part. I just sang my lines.

I dipped, blotted, and wrote into the book, ignoring the cramp.

In the forest, the mer and dragons met. Did they forge an alliance?

Words rose under the question.

Not yet, but one is expected.

Wanted? Important?

The page remained blank. Normal, and my reward for a blatant broadside query. I tried again.

How could an alliance between wronged races bring greater peace?

An entry, from the handwriting’s appearance I’d guess late 1700s, lifted to the surface.

The trials continue, and my heart breaks for the innocents. This intention, to murder witches wholesale, has created unlikely alliances, as covens attempt, under the cover of unseeable spells, to save their human sisters. I’m touched. While they do not share my tears of gratitude, we bind as a force against injustice. For now, until we turn this tide of hatred, we stand as one.

Injustice? I dipped, hoping to parse the right question.

When two races interact, what happens if the adverse one intends harm? Is love part of their new alignment?

I cocked my head as my misty friend rose. Crud, another fail. He leaned over and kissed me on my hairline, then held his face in front of mine and nodded.

Could, I cleared my throat with an awkward rattle, er, may I ask a favor?

A nod.

The journal was a portal, but having a way to move through the world while remaining connected with the record helped me keep my nose above water. Any chance you’ll replace it with a similar tool?

Misty arms wrapped me, and a symbol rose as the Vapor disassembled back to its natural state.

Patience

No need for translation.

Silence sounds loud when you’re alone. I gazed around my empty condo. Poseidon and Aegeus were at the underwater home for ten days. She was studying the mer culture with Keto and considering what just transpired that might prove super helpful. Her next stop was a week with Hecate to bolster her knowledge of magic’s history and intersections. My daughter was turning into my sidekick, smarter than me and only growing more adept with every lesson. For ten, not too shabby.

Which was cool. The ‘mothers of game changers club’ has a new member. Me.

I stepped into the bathroom and grimaced. Spiky blond hair stuck out around a sea foam tinted face, holding two disgusted and weird sparkling blue eyes—a souvenir from meeting Uranus.

Ugh, I’m the hook up child of Pink and Kermit the Frog.

While my damage from Dracena was fading, I was still fucking green, and I hated it. Ever seen a green clitoris? Not bucket list material. Even your basic ordinary is a pain. Try shopping at Publix while matching their logo. Suck Fest 9000.

Might be why Poseidon is taking such a far-flung interest in Aegeus’ education, hmm?

Dammit, Patra, stop it. Red does his thing, same as me. Roles to play, pursuits to finish. Besides, free time is nil, remember? If he heard a petition, I’m sure he’d show.

With care, I cleaned tender skin, rinsed, and stepped out, applying the lotion Glenna concocted to help the damage. Not the color, but the sensitivity. Touch hurt, another reason Poseidon wasn’t frying bacon and winging booty slaps all over the condo. His mojo, even a light tap, left me sobbing in pain.

After the last episode, he knelt, helpless. I can’t fix this, Cleopatra, and it’s rending me. Clep is working on it. Time should help.

Patience.

At least my hair was growing back. And I still saw weird strengths from the recent showdown during the witch war. Plus changes from the turn. Who knew? Maybe I’ll learn to fly or breathe underwater. Watch out dragons and mer, Super Keeper is on the job. Bust out a sparkly cape and sequined booty shorts, Patra, you’re an early June pea shit storm of justice.

Blerg.

Verdant and ready, I palmed the hidden drawer on autopilot, then slammed it with unnecessary force. No journal, ergo, no need to open that hiding space, remember?

Fuck it, just go to work. There’s nothing for you here.

The elevator descended, each floor blinking, and I contemplated my attitude. No argument, it sucked. I needed more light and less grief, frustration, and pain. Daily, I created less of the former while hitting the jackpot with the others. Clep’s words wormed into my mind.

I can help your body, but fixing your head, that’s on you. You’d hardly be the first Keeper to slip into a flirtation with crap messaging. Tell the Creation what you want, and kick your negativity to the curb. Once you tip, you fall.

When Asclepius shared that kernel of wisdom, I was slammed, saving the world from a passel of cranky pixies. I thought I had problems then? Ah, youth.

Six months ago, tops.

Shit.

I marched into The Boogie, steeled for the stares. Running a bar dependent on tourists meant I was unusual every.fucking.minute. New day, fresh curiosity. Folks arrived while others departed and the newcomers popped off witty comments–some I heard twenty times a day.

Why yes, I AM aware it’s not easy being green.

I slid into the kitchen, leaving the murmurs behind me.

I have got to reframe my attitude. Conscious, ongoing, relentlessly upbeat. Ted Lasso to the tenth. Heal yourself, Keeper. You’re the last one standing.

---

Hey Ralph, thanks for staying late. I didn’t know that meeting gelled until the last minute. I appreciate you.

No problem, Patra. Overtime spends just as good. Better, these days,

How’s your wife? Kids?

My oldest got accepted to UCF! First kid in my family to get into college.

Holy shit, Ralph! That’s fantastic. You must be stoked. It’s Nathan, right?

Yep. He’s getting money from a partial swim team scholarship, and we’re covering his first year so he can focus.

College is expensive, Ralph.

Times three, but hell, if they want it, I’ll keep working forever. I’m so damn proud of my kids, Patra.

Yeah, being a mom is my greatest achievement. Changed me in good ways.

You’ve got a stack of wins, boss. But your little girl is special.

I grinned and patted his forearm, then slipped across to check on Charlie, buried in a chipper crowd of happy hour buzzes.

You’re green!

That I am.

A buttoned down cowboy type leered at me. Three more drinks and he’d be dancing around Charlie’s bar. Why they couldn’t figure out how to cut loose in Oklahoma was beyond me, but we saw it all the damn time. Religious utopia my sweet green ass. Poseidon shimmered into view next to me, his big face full of grin. I’d bet a gob I was the only one who could see him, but call me happy.

Know why the drinking age in Oklahoma is twenty-five, Cleopatra?

To keep it out of the high schools?

He chuckled as he faded and I perked up, eyeing Charlie.

Hey Charlie, need your till swapped?

His frank, brown-eyed gaze met mine. "I