Flights of Fantasy

By Stacey Jaine McIntosh

Dive into a realm where magic knows no bounds, and legends come to life.
From the mystical depths of ancient forests to the soaring heights of dragon filled skies, these tales will transport you to worlds where heroes rise, kingdoms clash, and the extraordinary becomes ordinary.
Whether you seek epic adventures, tales of mystical creatures, or stories of unlikely heroes, this anthology has it all!
Prepare to be spellbound and experience the magic of an entire universe in a single book.
The authors within this book are:
A J Wilson
Alexandra Haverská
A.M. Cummins
Andra Dill
Andrea Barton
Andrew Kurtz
Angela Zimmerman
Anna-Maria Aschmann
Ariel Finkle
Ashleigh Cattermole-Crump
Austin Worley
Barend Nieuwstraten III
Beth W. Patterson
Blake Jessop
Brandon Hingley-Lovett
Brenda Anderson
Bruce Rowe
Cara Twomey
Cassia Hall
Catherine Berry
Charles Reis
Charlotte Langtree
Chris Hewitt
Chrissie Rohrman
Claire Davon
Connor Sassmannshausen
Dale Parnell
Danielle Mikals
David Bowmore
David Green
Dawn DeBraal
Declan Liam McKendrick
Diane Arrelle
DJ Elton
D'mitri Blackwood
D.M. Slate
Dorian J. Sinnott
Edward Ahern
Elizabeth Nettleton
Ella Everly
Ellie A Goss
Emma Kathryn
Erica Damon
Fiona Honor Hurley
Gabriella Balcom
Gabby Gilliam
Gemma Paul
Georgina Stancer
Ian T. Wilson
Isa Ottoni
James Carraghan
Jasiah Witkofsky
J.A. Skelton
Jessica Labbe
Jessica Turnbull
Jodie Francis
Jon Chan
Jordan Eagles
Joshua D Taylor
Joshua Williams
Juliana Amir
Kailey Alessi
Kaitlyn Arnett
Karen Bayly
Kate Campbell
Katie Jordan
Keith Burdon
Kevin Hopson
Kim Plasket
Lauraine S. Blake
Lisa H. Owens
LJ McLeod
L.J. Wynn
L. T. Emery
Luis Manuel Torres
Lynne Phillips
Lynette S. Hoag
Maggie D Brace
Marianne Reese
Marie Sinadjan
Mckenzie Richardson
Meera Dandekar
Melody E. McIntyre
Michelle Ann King
Michelle Brett
Miriam H. Harrison
M. M. Montelione
MM Reynolds
Monica Schultz
M.W. Irving
Naito Diamond
Natasha Sinclair
Nathan A. Jacobs
NC Smith
Nerisha Kemraj
Nicole Walsh
Olivia Arieti
Pat Woods
Patrick Winters
P.L. Glaser
Rachel L. Tilley
R.A. Clarke
R.A. Goli
R. C. Capasso
Renata Pavrey
Rich Feitelberg
S.A. McKenzie
Sammi Cox
SL Kretschmer
Sophie Wagner
Stacey Jaine McIntosh
Stefan Grieve
Stephen Arndt
Stephen E Sorensen
Stephen Johnson
Stephanie Parent
Susan Cornford
Tabitha Baumander
Taya Rune
Terry Hooker
Terry Keelan
Tim Blaine
Toko Hata
Tony Steven Williams
Toshiya Kamei
Troy Deacon
V.H. Stone
Victor Nandi
Vinny Cucuzza
Vonnie Winslow Crist
Ximena Escobar

• Language: English
• Publisher: Iron Faerie Publishing
• Release date: Oct 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223814528

Stacey Jaine McIntosh

Stacey Jaine McIntosh is the author of ten short stories. "Freya" and "Blood Sacrifice" were published late 2011 and "Fallen Angel" published in 2012. "Life or Death", "Exiles of Eden" and "Morrighan" published in 2013. "Red" and "The Summer Girl" were published in June 2015 and "The Hunter Million" and "Shadows of Annwn" are due to be published later in 2015. She lives in Perth, Western Australia with her husband and four young children.

Book preview

Escape

CONNOR SASSMANNSHAUSEN

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Iris leaned over the map, running her fingers over the terrain it portrayed, finding her way out. She only had a short time to get away, because there was no way she was going to be getting married to that... that thing.

His cold, slimy personality made her cringe just being in his presence. She felt the need to bathe just standing in the same room as him. No matter his title or how much he bought her for, she would never marry him.

She didn’t have much time before the guards changed in her family estate, guards he brought with him. She sat down on the edge of her bed, pulling on scratched and worn leather boots from her days of being allowed to roam the forests around her home before he came.

She threw her pack, bow, and quiver over her shoulder and blew out the candle on her bedside. It didn’t take long to reach the door to the estate grounds.

A guard that shouldn’t be there saw her. Shouldn’t you be in bed?

She drew her knife and slit his throat. She caught him before he could clatter to the cobblestone and alert someone. She leaned him against the wall, like he’d fallen asleep. No one would notice the blood in the light of the waning moon, not unless they carried a lantern or torch.

Next stop, the stables. To get there, she needed to get past the guardhouse. She’d left her horse tacked with saddle and bridle in one of the darkest stalls and a blanket around him.

She crept through the shadows, meeting no one. Then a piercing scream tore through the night. Her victim must have been found. Shouts erupted along with dozens of fires to light the estate grounds. So much for a quiet escape.

She pulled several cloth poultices from her pockets. These she’d made special and were not some form of remedy. She launched them into the fires as she passed, pulling her scarf over her face. The acrid smoke that erupted from the fires would begin to knock out the guards that stayed too long in the billowing clouds filling the grounds.

She raced into the stables, throwing open the door to the stall where her horse stood. He was alert and waiting for her. She tore off the blanket and swung into the saddle. With a click of her tongue, he galloped toward the gate.

She drew her bow, as guards raised spears to stop her. Each one was met with an arrow to the throat. She didn’t know them; and didn’t care about their fate. The quick death she gave them was likely more merciful than what her suitor would do to them.

They thundered through the gate, leaving her home behind.

Once in the cover of trees, Iris relaxed. She knew these woods better than anyone back at the estate. She knew how to get to the border. Once she crossed it, she’d be free.

Ms. Keep’s Brews and Amusements

McKenzie Richardson

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Thalia watched the girls giggling at a table across the room. One sipped a purple concoction that caused her hair to burst to the color of poppies. Another rubbed her hand over the film of glitter materializing over her body. They shrieked with laughter.

Temporary appearance alteration potions, the woman behind the bar said, eyes locked on the cackling customers. Always our best sellers.

I don’t need anything like that, Thalia replied. She was perfectly happy with her appearance. She was quite attractive in ogre standards.

But you need something, the bartender pressed, eyeing her for the first time.

Thalia looked down at her hands, picking at a gray nail.

I don’t want to be alone anymore.

The bartender nodded in understanding.

It took a full year for Thalia to work off the debt for the potion she desired. The magic was more complex than any appearance alteration, highly sought after and difficult to master.

After closing time, she waited for Ms. Keep to brew the mixture, hoping every hour scrapping congealed potion residue from tabletops and tolerating rude customers would be worth it.

Ms. Keep appeared from the backroom in a billow of emerald smoke. There was a crinkle of a smile at the corner of her eye, but her mouth remained fixed in stern concentration, focusing on not spilling the contents of the glass she carried.

Inside the container, the liquid was a mushy green like peas porridge. The skin that formed on top was still bubbling when Ms. Keep set it down in front of Thalia.

Not the prettiest of mixtures, but it’ll do the trick.

As Thalia raised it to her lips, Ms. Keep held up a finger to stop her. I’d hold your breath, she advised.

Using her other hand to pinch her nose against the scent of the mixture, Thalia gulped down the gooey contents. It slid down her throat in a clump, and Thalia did her best to banish thoughts of mucus.

Now, came Ms. Keep’s soothing words, think of what you want most. Picture it in your mind. Visualize it clearly.

The young ogress had no problem with that. It had been what she’d focused on through every riotous customer, every gross task, every never-ending shift. The image popped into her mind instantly.

When she opened her eyes, she nearly wept as a black ball of fur bounced into her arms.

Jelly! she shrieked, sweeping the cat up and nuzzling her face in its ruff.

Ms. Keep eyed her, the smile now showing plainly on her face.

I’m happy you’ve reunited with your friend. Resurrection magic can be tricky. I think you’ve got a knack for it.

Thalia scrunched her brow at the older woman, unsure of the meaning of her words.

I think you’d make an excellent potion-brewer, Thalia. I’d love the chance to train you. You’ve a job here if you want it.

Thalia stroked Jelly’s fur, his purring vibrating beneath her fingers. Then she met Ms. Keep’s gaze, beaming.

Freya

STACEY JAINE MCINTOSH

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Freya, she heard a voice whisper. Freya!

She bolted awake; surprised that it was still dark outside her bedroom window. She hadn’t been dreaming that much she knew, because the fey didn’t possess the ability with which to dream. That was the stuff of human conscience and beings with souls; Freya had neither.

Who’s there? she asked into the darkness, afraid that if she turned on the lamp, she might scare off whoever was around.

I am, the figure said. She squinted her eyes against the darkness, but to no avail. She still couldn’t see anyone.

What do you want? she asked.

I am not scared. I’m not...

Her thoughts cut off and gave way to a high-pitched scream, only in that moment did she realize that there was nobody around to save her. She was completely and utterly alone and at his mercy.

You already know what I want, Freya, he said.

The... necklace, she whispered.

Yes, he said. Give it to me, quickly now, before it’s too late.

Before it’s too late for what? she asked.

The longer you stand around talking, the longer it takes for you to give me the necklace, he said.

I don’t have it, she said.

What do you mean you don’t have it? You have to have it, he said.

The necklace was stolen. Somebody took it. I... don’t know who, her words rushed.

Well then, my pet, it would seem that you and I are going to be in each other’s company a while longer yet.

She swallowed thickly.

Who are you?

Yes, you would demand that of me, wouldn’t you? he asked. But I’ll grant you this one request, if it means I get the necklace in the end.

His hand brushed up against her cheek and she shivered under his touch.

Well, what do we have here? Nobody told me that the keeper of Brisingamen was a virgin. That is rather interesting.

Please... don’t hurt me, she said.

Oh, Freya. I don’t plan on hurting you, he whispered, his fingers trailing down the side of her cheek to her collarbone.

With a motion too fast for her to catch, he drew her shirt over her head and then pressed the palm of his hand against her chest. Pushing her back, her head fell back against the pillows, and she felt him shift to kneel at her feet as he drew her pants from her legs.

Naked, she lay shivering as his fingers, light at feathers trailed across her skin.

Who are you, she asked again.

"I am Odin, at your service lady," he replied.

She flinched as his mouth came down and sucked on one nipple and then the other.

This is not how it’s supposed to be. She squeezed her eyes shut; she felt herself sinking.

Her stomach clenched in knots. He was hard, she could feel the tip of him pushing into her until she consumed him and she was his – forever.

Blood Ruby

J. A. Skelton

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She was born on the night of a blood moon, and you could see it in her eyes.

With skin like the sky at dusk, and hair like the richest ink, the Princess was beautiful. Except for her eyes. Her eyes were blood rubies, the most powerful of all jewels. And the most dangerous. Eyes like that shouldn’t belong to a Princess, people said. Eyes like that were not meant for a mortal being.

The Seers of the Moon had prophesied great things for her, but they had not foreseen the darkness steadily growing within; the clever, slippery darkness that stayed out of sight until it was too late. Until it could not be stopped.

The kingdom fell to its knees beneath her bloodthirsty gaze. The streets were washed with blood and ash as the Princess built her throne upon the bodies of the dead. She brought thunder and ruin upon the land, turning the skies black and the waters red, her magic draining the world of its life force.

Nothing could reach her through her veil of madness, for the rubies in her eyes saw only blood and fire. She heard only the devil’s whispers.

The King perished from heartbreak and the Queen could do nothing but stand by and watch as her daughter tore apart all they had built. Until one day, the last of the Seers who had not been corrupted by the Princess’s power visited the Queen, and told her of a Witch who lived deep in the woods; the only other mortal to be born with a ruby eye.

Under the guise of a beggar, the Queen fled the palace in search of the Ruby Witch. She found her in the darkest part of the woods, where the trees grew with human faces and the birds carried the voices of the dead in their lungs.

The Witch at first refused to help, for her magic demanded a great blood sacrifice, until the Queen offered up her own daughter.

Take her blood, and cleanse the land of her darkness, the Queen said, holding out her palm for the Witch to read the truth of her words. She was born with a devil’s heart, and I will do all that I can to stop her slaughter.

The deal was struck; for the price of the Princess’s blood, the Witch would draw a blade through her heart and quench the power from her soul.

The Witch accompanied the Queen back to the palace, where the Princess with the ruby eyes was waiting.

In a veil of magic and lies, the Witch grew close to the Princess, and sealed her fate with a poison kiss. The betrayal brought the Princess to her knees, and beneath the light of the divine Moon, the Witch drove a blade straight through her heart, turning her to ash and stone.

The Witch disappeared from the kingdom, and all that was left of the Princess’s dark reign were two blood rubies.

The Queen’s Tapestry

Jessica Labbe

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The Queen’s unfinished tapestry adorned a large wall in her study. Mysterious blank sections interspersed with the various lively scenes embroidered upon the cloth. The scenes included many people, flora, fauna, and colors. The needlework made the images come to life on the linen; deaths, horses and dogs, men and women, healthy babies, trees bursting with fruit, and fields heavy with grain rose from the tapestry as if coming to life before the viewer’s eyes.

When the Princess asked the Queen why the tapestry was still unfinished, the Queen would only reply that it would be finished when their work was finished. And so, the daughter grew up watching the tapestry slowly unfold. As the daughter studied the lifelike tapestry, she would try to make sense of the images on it. Usually, tapestries told a story, from left to right. But this one had no such order: it represented many stories and she could not divine the narrative thread connecting them all.

The daughter learned her family's trade. She learned the skill of embroidery: the mapping of a design, selecting the proper woolen thread and the best needles, the different stitches that made the images rise from the tapestry, and how to neatly finish a section.

But there was one skill she had not yet learned.

One day, the Queen brought her daughter over to the tapestry and indicated an empty area on the linen. E’laine, it is time for you to expand our great family tapestry. It is time to learn about your gift, she said and looked out the window. She continued, The king of a faraway land wishes to overtake our kingdom and to replace our peaceful reign with one of violence and poverty, as it is in his kingdom. To prevent this, we must use our gift.

The Queen produced a crewel needle and a series of colorful wool threads enclosed in an inlaid wooden box.

It is your job, daughter, to embroider an image of his downfall so that he will be prevented from coming here and destroying our peace.

The Princess knit her brow and peered up at her mother. I don’t understand—how will my needlework prevent an invasion?

That was when the electric thread that connected the tapestry images revealed itself to her. Suddenly, she recognized the context of the images: the healthy births, the happy marriages, the violent deaths, the fecund crops, and the beloved pets—once sick and now healed, seeming to live forever. These were all events in their history, both of the land and of their family. The tapestry was a record of her mother’s magic.

I think you understand now, the Queen said as she ran her hand over E’laine’s raven hair. It is time for you to carry on the legacy of the women that have ruled this land without unnecessary bloodshed or strife.

Looking into her mother’s eyes, the Princess inhaled and nodded. She lifted the needle from her mother’s palm and depicted the demise of the opposing king.

Pendragon Keep

Gemma Paul

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War rages under a stormy night sky. Lightning cracks and thunder roars drowning out the sounds of the battle below. Pendragon Keep sits alone on the edge of a dense foreboding forest, tall and proud. Signs of the grandeur it once held were still as clear as day.

Dragons circle the Keep. Fireballs blazing through the sky like angry shooting stars. A large emerald blue dragon screeches loudly in pain before falling from the sky. Another swoops down to blast a fierce hot blaze at those that brought his friend down. One by one they fall against the armies that converge on their home. Seven armies against a handful of dragons and the small number of men still loyal to Pendragon Keep and their Empress who resides within.

Rain lashes down, soaking everything beneath its canopy. A natural enemy. An eighth army, you could say. A river begins to cascade on through the stone floor of the Keep, turning red as the guards succumb to the overwhelming force against them. A hundred human guards and a few dragons are no match against the hundreds of thousands of elves, dwarves, and other races that have marched towards them this night.

Pull back to the keep! Shouts one guard from the top as he stands in the war-torn battlement, fellow soldiers bloodied bodies lining the stonework beneath his feet. As another of the guards’ retreats past him heading towards the safety of the Keep, he grabs him, pulling his drenched face towards his. Get to the Empress. Protect her at all costs. The other guard nods before pulling himself away and fleeing into the relative safety of the Keeps stone walls. The heat of dragon fire burns against the guard left standing as a large violet dragon swoops past.

Stone crumbles down from the walls as they begin to give way against the onslaught. Stone cascading down to meet stone, crunched underfoot as the remaining guards move through the maze-like corridors of the Keep. They move deeper and deeper into the heart of the Keep, the signs of the massacre befalling them lessening the deeper they go. The guard in front stops in the middle of one corridor, stomping his foot down heavily on a small tile on the floor. A loud CLUNK is drowned out by a deafening BOOM. The left side of the Keep collapses as it's struck by a force beyond comprehension as a small passageway opens up in the stone wall. The guards flee into the passageway, which takes them down and inwards, towards the core of the Keep where the Empress resides. Deeper and deeper, they go, the signs of the battle outside becoming less. A scream echoes along the corridor, agonizing and pain ridden. The guards run full pelt through the passage towards the scream as another reaches their ears. Turning the corner into a large room, they halt in their wake as the scream of pain turns into the scream of a newborn child.

Locus Pocus

beth w. patterson

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If he were a real magician, he’d make this malaise disappear. With a sigh, Diego returned to the circus tent. His only way of life had taken a beating since the Second Apocalypse, but people still craved magic.

He was the sole illusionist, and there were only a few surviving performers remaining from the original lineup. Strangest of all was La Fantasma, a young singer stricken into catatonic shock and hair turned icy white overnight due to some mysterious trauma. She never said a word or made eye contact with anyone. But onstage in her spangled gowns, her throat unlocked and her voice transported the audience to a time before the firestorm.

With a flourish of his cape, Diego made his entrance. His normal routine consisted of interlocking rings and levitating them, or making wine bottles multiply at the tap of his wand. But something strange was happening.

Backstage, La Fantasma was watching him, blinking as if seeing the world for the first time.

He took a bow to the crowd, ran behind the curtain, and found himself face to face with the white-haired siren.

You...wake me. Her voice, kept supple by mindless performances, was now clumsy with her newfound cognition. I saw two of you. One was in the middle of the stage, and the second was off to the side, framed by a giant snake that had rolled itself into a hoop...it had feathers...

You saw Kukulkan, the Plumed Serpent, breathed Diego. Did he wake you?

She shook her head. No, it was your magic that did that.

But I only perform illusions. It takes skill to convince people that these props are real, but still...

The magic is in your heart. The Serpent saw that, and it’s why the second version of you stood in the middle of the portal he created.

Like some sort of parallel universe? What else did you see?

Green grass, as if there had never been bombs, nor rumors to whip the masses into a frenzy. In an alternate dimension, I saw myself able to speak again, and so I could in this one. Maybe Kukulkan opened the doorway to healing, she whispered.

***

The clowns were on next, but the grand finale was La Fantasma.

She chanted in a low warble at first, but as she raised her volume, the circle of turquoise and jade scales became visible. The gasp from the audience alerted him to the fact that they too could see Kukulkan.

Diego swept back onto the stage and took her hand. Together they stepped over his coils and scarlet feathers, and into the picture.

The audience was left with nothing left to watch and filed out of the dilapidated tent in disbelief. Someone them were afraid, but the murmurings were torn by shouts and gasps.

Green grass had begun to sprout in the cracks of the charred concrete. The people halted their harsh words and only stared.

Illusion becomes real magic when enough people believe in it.

Rivers Above

Joshua D Taylor

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Cella flicked her iridescent tail with a rush of excitement as she passed through the pair of ancient Thulian pillars that guarded the entrance to the sky river. She felt the current increase as her body was pulled up and out of the ocean and over the land. It was not her first time using the sky river, but it still made her heart race.

Other merfolk swam past. A pair of masked monks of the Arctic Leviathan rushed by in a hurry to get to the Sea of Ullum on the other side, while families took their time and enjoyed the novelty. Dolphins raced by, pulling teardrop shaped cargo containers.

Cella had always loved to descend all the way to the bottom till there were only a few inches of water between her and open air below. It was one of the few times a sea person got to see the humans’ lands. Maybe someday she would visit them in person, not just look down at them as she passed overhead.

Cella was on her way to the Sea of Ullum to finish her apprenticeship in herbal medicine. She carried an old woven knapsack over her shoulder and a bird-shaped emergency charm tied around her waist. Her long sapphire hair was held in place with an ornate carved shell combs that her brother had made for her as a present.

When she was finally a journeyman, she would take the trip along the sky river one last time to return home. As her thoughts drifted to what her future might hold, she let the tips of finger skim along the inside of the water’s surface. A confused gull darted below.

A strange dark sheen rippled across the water’s surface. A jolt shot up her arm, causing her to pull away. She rubbed her hand for a moment, confused. Then the current stopped. Momentum carried Cella forward a short distance before she glided to a halt. Her bare chest grew tight as she clutched her knapsack.

The continuity of the river’s underside broke as air bubbles burst through and floated upward. Likewise, streams of water began to spill from the river into the sky below. Cella’s eyes went wide as kicked her tail and struggled to swim upward, away from the collapsing river bottom.

It was no use. The ancient magics that had suspended the river for a millennia had broken and the great body of water fell under gravity’s domain and was pulled from the sky. Cella felt herself begin to drop. Beating her tail was useless, she was as much in the air as the water. As she found herself in freefall, with icy winds of the atmosphere tearing at her as she plummeted toward the ground, she crushed the emergency charm. Her body was racked with sudden pain as a pair of sapphire wings burst from her back. They flapped, holding her safely aloft as she watched the column of water collide with the humans' lands below.

Auroras

Kaitlyn Arnett

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Seren has always known that Aelia is beautiful.

She may be the mother of stars, but Aelia is the sun, and it’s not without reason that people follow her. There’s always a smile on her dark face, no matter where she is or what’s happening around her, and the look in her eyes, golden and warm, is always soft.

There’s a reason people turn their heads to the sun, despite knowing how bright it will be, and Aelia is no different. The sun holds its planets together, and Aelia keeps celestials from splitting apart.

Still, Seren will never get used to that blinding smile being directed at her.

It’s a pleasure seeing you here, my dear, Aelia says, her voice as smooth as silk. I wasn’t expecting you until the solstice.

That makes sense, after all, there is a reason for the celestials to be meeting, and Seren rarely has the time to arrive early. Her role takes time, of course, and every star that Seren makes has her full attention. It’s her purpose, to create and nurse star celestials for their first millennium or so, and truly, she loves it.

It’s a beautiful process, piecing together a star. The star itself will grow on its own, they always do, but the celestial? Well, every being must come from something, and they don’t call Seren the mother of stars without reason.

So, she smiles at her son, at Aelia. The stars can survive without me for a month, she says, and it’s true. Her starlings aren’t meant to be alone, but that’s why constellations are formed. They’ll drift, and once she’s returned, her starlings will have found something for it.

Besides, Seren continues, my partner is no less than my responsibilities, so who am I to leave her alone?

Aelia hums. I suppose that’s true. And she holds out a hand, smiling that bright smile Seren can never say no to. Care for a dance?

It’s a bit early, is it not?

Her sun shakes her head. Traditionally, yes, Aelia says. But what harm has a little color ever done anyone?

And well, it’s not like Seren can say no to that.

She takes Aelia’s hand, and they fall into a familiar step, because it could be decades before they see each other again, but time means nothing to people like them. Eternity dances in Aelia’s timeless gaze, and whispers in each one of Seren’s words.

Seren spins her partner, and below them, the aurora dances across the horizon, mirroring their every step as she pulls Aelia close. I’ve missed you, my sunshine, Seren tells her, the words a gentle declaration.

And I you, Aelia says, her smile never fading. The sun is shining in her eyes, in her words, in every move she makes, and Seren knows she isn’t imagining the soft glow surrounding her. Because Aelia has never looked more ethereal than this, when she’s smiling at the stars.

And below them, the aurora lights up the sky.

Lysea’s Cage

Charlotte Langtree

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Lysea darted around the corner, praying he wasn’t watching. He had eyes everywhere, but she had to take the risk.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she made it to the library unseen. It was the one silver lining of her awful situation, but Lord Ithan had forbidden her from visiting it.

That monstrous man held her prisoner; why should she obey him?

The loneliness was torture to her. For the past month she’d wandered empty rooms and corridors, deafened by the echoing silence. Despite the torches along the walls, there was an oppressive weight to the stones encasing her. And it was a cage, albeit a gilded one; there was no escape. All doors and windows were bound with an ancient magic she could not counter.

She wasn’t the first. Her village had struck a bargain with the beast who owned the land, and its young women had paid the price ever since. Rumour suggested that Lord Ithan had once been a respected leader, but Lysea had seen no evidence of that. She accepted that he kept her village safe from the encroaching Dark, but she would not praise a man who imprisoned women against their will.

So far, at least, he had shown no interest in her beyond the evening meal he insisted she attend. She had come to believe that all he wanted was company.

Still, Lysea was under no illusion. She was his prisoner, and he would do whatever he wished with her.

It was strange. The things she missed were things she’d always taken for granted. Her family, of course, but also the warmth of the sun, and the delicious softness of grass and soil beneath her bare feet. The contract between Lord Ithan and her village dictated that she stay his prisoner for a year; to Lysea, that felt like a lifetime.

Pushing her gloomy thoughts aside, she hoisted the full skirt of her dress over one arm so she could access the higher shelves. Her heart raced as she grabbed the book she’d been looking for: The Nature of the Darkness, and How to Combat its Power. The author was a powerful mage in the King’s court. Lysea was certain he’d have an answer for the trouble that plagued her village. If she could figure it out, then Lord Ithan would no longer be needed, and she would be free.

He thought she was a simple country girl, but Lysea had a secret that only her mother knew; she had a power, a gift, which would allow her to escape her cage, if only for a short while. She ran a finger over the spine of the book, thrilling in the tingling rush that sang through her blood. Closing her eyes, she pushed her awareness into its pages.

Within seconds she was inside, studying the Darkness and conversing with the written form of the mage. Soon, she would have the answer she sought.

Lysea needed no Lord to fight her battles.

The Bite of Doom

Olivia Arieti

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The countryside looked gloomier than ever in the twilight shadows and feelings of uneasiness pervaded Phil as he headed towards the address. Sinister clouds anticipated an imminent storm just as the gusts that hit his face. He began regretting the acceptance of Kristal’s invitation.

Finally, he reached the house, a ghastly structure surrounded by a barrier of conifers. The satanic faced knocker made him step back. Before even touching it, the door opened.

The place was grim, and no more than a dim light filtered through the heavy curtains.

When Kristal appeared, he wondered if she was the same girl he had met at his sister’s party. The face was cadaverous while the eyes betrayed a rapacious light.

As his hostess moved closer, he noticed blood stains on her dress.

Did you hurt yourself?

No, I’ve just had supper, the girl replied and invited him to sit on the sofa.

Her eyes were fixed in his and their legs touched. He was dying to hold her tight and kiss her. She wanted it too; her lustful glance couldn’t be more inviting.

Not yet, sugar! screamed a girl older than Kristal that had just entered the room.

I haven’t touched him yet, Lavinia, her sister replied, vexed.

The young man started feeling trapped.

We’re sorry, love, Lavinia said with a certain sadism, but since Baron Holtzen, one of our father’s most trusted friends, drained our innocence and blood centuries ago, we have to assure our daily drinks.

After inviting us to his castle, continued Kristal, the old nobleman crept into our rooms and the following morning Lavinia and I belonged to another world. Light had abandoned our eyes forever.

Phil couldn’t help sensing an impending doom on him as well.

Each girl took one of his hands; the touch was disgusting.

Now let us do our job, man, said Lavinia, and both vampires stuck their fangs into his neck. Then they wiped their mouths, tossed back their hair and with eyes swollen with lust gazed at their victim.

For the first time, he glimpsed the coffins by the wall. Had they always been there?

Suddenly, the whole room turned upside down and his senses abandoned him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t die any more.

When he woke up, Phil realized that fangs had replaced his teeth and an unquenchable thirst seized his throat. A morbid blend of evil and perversion animated him. A black cloak was on the rack. He tried it on. On fastening it, he stepped before the mirror, but no image was reflected.

We keep it for our victims only, said Lavinia, to let them believe they are in a real mortal’s house.

The scent of the blood already shed made him desperately crave for some more, fresh, and juicy.

By now, night had fallen once again. The bloodsucker decided to go home.

He missed his sister too much, a good reason to make her part of his demoniac doom or of such an uncanny dream.

Scarlet Woman

Fiona Honor Hurley

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The sulphurous fog grew thicker, and the women took their night-time positions under the gas lamps of Whitechapel. Molly’s shoes clicked against the cobblestones as she tried to catch the eye of any passing male. She unbuttoned her bodice to display an expanse of bosom and lifted her hem to display a shapely leg.

Any man walking the streets at this hour was treated to the usual hollers for attention. But anxiety radiated from the women as they thrust out their chests and pouted their lips. Fear wound around corners and choked the East End as tightly as the fog.

Oi, Molly! one woman called. Haven’t seen you in an age. Picked a bad time to start working again.

Better than going hungry, innit? said Molly.

Her belly growled. She cursed the desperation that brought her onto the streets again.

The other woman grimaced, patting her bleached hair. Ain’t that the truth?

A gentleman drifted through the pea-soup air; his top hat and an Ulster coat had likely been brushed by a servant. Plenty of his type found their way to Whitechapel every night. Some men wore rough wool, and some wore silk, but all were all the same beneath. He cast a proprietary eye on Molly, from her dishevelled hair to the skirt she twitched above her knee with the promise of more. His moustached lip curled with revulsion, but his eyes burned with lust — a combination she’d seen too many times before.

You’ll do, he said.

He put one hand on her spine and led her into a narrow alley, away from the other women. A single lamp pierced the dark as he pressed her against the grimy wall. She inhaled so deeply that her corset squeezed her ribs. She tried not to think about the man or what she had to do. She knew what hunger was — how it clawed at you and weakened you — and she would commit any sin to keep it from devouring her.

What’s your pleasure, sir? She played a finger over her cleavage, trying her best to look beguiling.

She jolted as one hand tightened on her neck and the sharp point of a knife came within an inch of her collarbone.

My pleasure, sweetheart, will be to rip you throat to womb and send you straight to hell.

The fear that choked London had materialized before her. He was such an ordinary man, with a finely-combed moustache and a thick black coat for the night-time cold. His ice-blue eyes held a cold fire that burned into her skull.

But Molly laughed and pushed away his hand.

The pleasure will be mine.

No whip-master could have knocked the knife away faster. As it clattered to the cobblestones, the man’s smirk turned to horror. Molly’s eyes blazed feral brightly, and her sharp teeth gleamed yellow in the gaslight. Sometimes she pitied her victims, but now she took only joy in sinking into his jugular and quelling her hunger on his warm red blood.

The Storm

LJ McLeod

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The woman has to go.

A chill wind blew through the rigging and lightning danced on the horizon.

You know it’s bad luck to have a woman on-board. I tried to tell you at port. Look at her up there, muttering to herself. Who knows what she’s doing?

The woman stood at the bow, lips moving silently as she gazed towards the coming storm.

She has to go now, or we’re doomed, the First Mate pressed. Looking around at the worried faces of his crew, the captain made his decision.

Fine. The woman goes. God forgive us. The captain moved towards the bow, his First Mate and half the crew joining him. She turned, seeming to sense their presence.

Are you sure you want to do this? she asked. Her voice was calm; no concern showed on her face.

I am sorry, the captain replied. He didn’t actually believe that a female on-board was bad luck, but this storm was going to be bad. He needed his men focused and free of distractions if they were to survive it.

So be it. You may regret this, before the end. The woman’s words sent a chill down the captain’s spine. In the last few moments, the wind had picked up; it tugged at the woman’s clothes and blew her hair into long dark streamers.

Get off now! the First Mate roared. Fear twisted his face into something ugly. A small smile played on her lips, then she was gone, clearing the railing, and disappearing beneath the waves. A wall of wind hit the ship, knocking several of the crew off their feet and the woman was forgotten. Thunder boomed, close enough to rattle the decking. Waves grew into mountains, then grew bigger again, tossing the ship around like a child’s toy.

Hold on! the captain yelled. The ship plunged down the face of a wave, freezing water swamping the ship as it crashed prow-first into the ocean. One sailor was swept overboard, his screams drowned out by the thunder. Rain began to fall in torrents, making the already treacherous footing even more dangerous. A rope snapped, and the boom swung free. Two men ran to secure it when the wind changed direction, throwing the boom back towards them and knocking them both into the sea. A bolt of lightning hit the mast. There was a loud crack, followed by yards of sail tumbling onto the deck, trapping several of the crew beneath it. The captain clung tight to the helm, helpless to do anything to save his men. Through the rain and the sea spray, he caught sight of a figure amidst the waves. Long, dark hair fluttered in the wind and lightning flashed in her eyes. It was the woman. She stood on the water’s surface, unharmed by the chaos around her. He understood now. She had been trying to protect them. As the next wave hit, breaking the ship in two, the captain found one final moment for regret.

Playing with Fire

Kate Campbell

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Kiren and Ailsa crouched low to the ground, their backs pressed against the trunk of the large tree. Ailsa tried to steady her breathing, but their escape had really taken it out of her. She looked at Kiren, his face white and eyes filled with fear.

That was close! Kiren whispered. Do you think it’s following us?

I don’t know, last time I looked it was just behind us, Ailsa replied between desperate gasps.

Kiren opened his mouth to reply, but in that moment a terrifying roar pierced the relative silence. The two crouched lower, desperately searching the skies above them. Ailsa held a large leather bag tightly against her chest. In response to the roar, she felt the bag suddenly move and Ailsa hit it hard with her free hand and it became still.

Can’t we just kill it? Kiren asked, giving the bag a frustrated glance.

It’s worth far more alive. Ailsa replied, a small grin spreading across her face.

He nodded in reply, now looking down at the bag with obvious excitement. Ailsa looked up at the sky, squinting; she could just make out a dark shape flying between the cloud, moving away from their hiding spot.

Come on, this is our chance. Ailsa grabbed Kiren’s arm and pulled him to his feet. The two of them ran, constantly checking the sky.

Suddenly, Ailsa’s foot hit the ground at an awkward angle and it twisted. She felt as if she were moving in slow motion as she crashed to the earth. Instinctively, she raised her arms to soften her fall and, as she did, the bag fell to the ground just ahead of her.

Ailsa felt Kiren by her side, Get up! he said harshly.

Before either of them could do anything a small, juvenile red dragon crawled out of the bag. It stretched out its wings and flapped them as it tried to fly; it was still obviously just a little too young and despite its best efforts it remained on the ground. Instead, it raised its long neck and let out a loud, ear-piercing cry.

Kill it, kill it now! Kiren cried, looking up at the sky nervously.

Ailsa drew her dagger and stumbled towards the baby dragon. She stopped in her tracks however, as its cries were drowned out by the sound of giant, beating wings getting ever closer.

We need to get out of here! Kiren cried, backing away from the screaming baby dragon.

It was too late. The large dragon landed between them and its young. It checked on the baby dragon and with alarming speed turned to Kiren and Ailsa. Its tremendous body was covered in purple and black scales, immense black wings folded neatly above its back. Its eyes were an endless deep red that watched them closely. It stretched open its jaws, lined with razor sharp teeth, a faint fiery red glow began to form at the back of its mouth.

Oh, damn, Ailsa hissed.

Sisters of the Ocean

Ashleigh Cattermole-Crump

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The battering of water on rocks roused me, confusion setting in immediately. Underwater, the sound of waterfalls is muddled, bubbling, and fizzing like a spa. Here, everything ached. My scales felt burnt, and I was alone in a dark cavern, thundering water cascading across the entrance. Since I still had my tail, I could do nothing except drag my body across the sandy, cracked ground toward the water, my stomach bubbling with uncertainty. How long had I been here? If I spent too long out of the water, my body would dehydrate. Usually stepping onto land smoothed a mermaid’s scales into skin, giving us the ability to walk, if only for a few minutes. A strange spark struck me as I touched the rushing sea spray. My hand was thrown back, and a laugh rang out behind me.

I wouldn’t bother, you’re stuck here I’m afraid. 

A figure emerged from the darkness, tall and cloaked. The hood was thrown back, revealing a familiar face framed with black curls.

Angeline!

My sister had always loved land, but after an argument about wanting to visit a boy on land, she had angrily flashed her fins and had never returned. 

So, this is where you’ve been? I gasped, feeling the sticky air clogging my lungs. I needed to get to the water. She sauntered over, her thick, burnished leg slipping through a slit in her dress. 

It wasn’t difficult, by the way. Getting these, I mean, she said, sliding a hand up and down her thigh. All it took was a few herbs and a spell or two.

I felt like the air was being squeezed out of me. Was she still holding a grudge? She flipped her hair back as I propped myself up on a rock.

Don’t worry, I’ll leave you to die now. I’ve bewitched the water; you cannot get through it. Goodbye.

Angeline ran a hand across my cheek as she passed, I swiped it away with a splutter. She didn’t look back as her figure slipped away.

I could feel the thickness in my chest, my head was starting to spin. I opened my hand to reveal a necklace I had ripped away from Angeline. It was glinting with turquoise and gold, one of her enchantments, maybe? Movement was becoming increasingly difficult, there was nothing for it. I took all my energy and slammed it into the rock beside me. The glass shattered across the sandy ground, and I heard Angeline scream in terror from somewhere outside. Before she had the chance to return, I hurled myself at the wall of water. This time, instead of finding resistance, my body crashed through the waterfall, carrying me to the sprawling sea below. I sucked in mouthfuls of water, feeling my strength return slowly. My head emerged from the water, and I could see Angeline on a rocky shelf above. Her legs crumbled beneath her, her body turning into sand, the wind returning her to the water from which she was born.

Fae Bound

jordan eagles

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Escape. I would, except, chains kept me in place. Hunters found me, too easily it seemed. I hadn’t cleaned my tracks, not stealthy enough. The toxic iron bit into my skin. I hissed as abrasions formed on my wrists and smoke wafted toward the ceiling of the basement.

The only way to breakout was if I transformed into my true self.

A fairy.

Gritting my teeth, my wings trembled, struggling to unfold from inside my back, but the pain kept them at bay. The hunters would return soon, and if I wasn’t gone by then, they would kill me. It was my fault. If I hadn’t gone after them, if I hadn’t tried to hunt them, if I hadn’t wanted to avenge my mate... But they had killed her. Now, they’re going to kill me.

I hissed once more—a slow, hollow sound—but not from physical agony. Every part of my body missed her, yearned for her touch. Did I even want to escape? If I died, wouldn’t I see her again?

A door creaked and then slammed shut, signaling the hunters’ return. Their muffled voices trailed down the stairs. They hesitated when they saw me awake. Even in shackles, they feared me. They should.

My ears morphed from their human look to a more angular structure. The fairy inside me fought to be free. Just as quickly as they had materialized, my pointed ears disappeared. The hunters laughed. One brave soul moved closer. My wings itched to beat strong enough gusts of wind to force him to the ground.

The hunter wore iron, chain mail armor. Each step he took cause more of my body to feel like it was being boiled. I couldn’t move, couldn’t look at him, and stared at the bloody floor between us. Only it wasn’t red—human. It was silver and glimmered—fairy blood.

The man grinned. Weak, he snarled. "Like your fairy wife." He spoke as if it was poison in his mouth, he spat the word out.

Attempting to punch him, the cuffs seared even more of my arm. The raw skin swelled. If I ever escaped, that hand would have to be amputated. I sneered, Release me, and I will show you who is weak.

His fellow hunters crossed their arms, shaking their heads. Don’t do it, one warned, while another said, We have him right where we want him.

Should we kill him like we killed his whore? the hunter inquired.

Murderer! I cried.

Finally, my fae form emerged. Re-energized, I strained against the chains. With my wings beating furiously, I broke free. The men in the back cowered, tripping over each other and trying to flee. The hunter before me stood his ground. My wings towered over us; I wanted him to fear me, but he didn’t.

"Go ahead. Kill me. There are hundreds of hunters. One of us will find you—finish you."

Time to find out if I could end him quicker than his armor could immolate me.

Grace

Rachel L. Tilley

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Grace’s view of the world was enviable. Unparalleled. Majestic.

From an elevated position atop the small mountain, the glass walls granted her an unobstructed 360-degree view of Central Pannos.

She had counted three reasonably sized towns within her view, and many small hamlets. One of those towns was where she had been born, but there were no fond memories to be called to her mind. She paced to the other side, intentionally putting her home out of sight.

The western vista showed her uninhabited woodlands, peppered with foliated trees and shrubbery for as far as she could see. The scene’s calming nature soothed her heightening animosity.

Irrationally, despite the tranquillity of the forest, she kept finding herself drawn back to the opposing chaos of life. Her imagination kept conjuring images of ordinary people, partaking in their evening meals with their families. Perhaps they would read a book together before retiring for the night.

As the light faded, her overhead oil lantern remained lit. Moths heading for the beacon splattered against the glass, not realising it was in their flight path. Her room