Several Deadly Sins: WCPNW Anthologies, #2

By Writers Cooperative of the Pacific Northwest

There's something here for everyone...

Some sins are dark, some are humorous, some live between the grey lines of morality.

The stories unfold page after delicious page.

Dive in and enjoy this sinful collection today!

 

 

Reviews for other WCPNW Anthologies:

★★★★★ "What I really enjoyed about this book is how all the stories felt as if they were another continuation of the previous story. Part of but separate. Truly enjoyable. Looking forward to ready the next book."

★★★★★ "Old fashioned spooky fun! Recommend especially for young adults."

★★★★★ "I enjoyed the variety of stories, and that none were hideously gory. Don't let the "about the town" intro dissuade you! I hadn't expected humor or a sexy edge, which some of them had, so that was fun, too."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Writers Cooperative of the Pacific North
• Release date: Mar 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224168132

Book preview

Several Deadly Sins

Edited by

Joel Swetin

Writers Coop of the Pacific Northwest

Contents

Foreword

About Susan Brown

Withered Lips

by Susan Brown

About Toni Kief

A Dangerous Love

by Toni Kief

About Rachel Barnard

The Champion

by Rachel Barnard

About Bobbie Kaald

Jack

by Bobbie Kaald

Wrath Has No Words

by Toni Kief

About Celena Davis Dunivent

Is There Going to Be Eight?

by Celena Davis Dunivent

About Hugh Mannfield

Car Wash

by Hugh Mannfield

About Susan Old

The Village of Vice

by Susan Old

About Matthew Buza

A Tug at the Belly

by Matthew Buza

About Linda Jordan

Cleaning up

by Linda Jordan

About H.D. Vesser

Clarice

by H.D. Vesser

About Laurie G. Ward

Shedding

by Laurie G. Ward

About Nanea Knott

The Matchmaker’s Minions

by Nanea Knott

About E. G. Sergoyan

The Dreamweaver

by E. G. Sergoyan

About Sylvia Irvine

Super Lady with Unique Talents

by Sylvia Irvine

About Andy Loch

Candy Corn Thief

by Andy Loch

About Christine Gustavson-Udd

Love You to Death

by Christine Gustavson-Udd

About Roland Trenary

Lefty

Roland Trenary

The DeFaplicus Principle

by Hugh Mannfield

Last Rights

by Susan Brown

About the Writers Cooperative of the Pacific Northwest

Foreword

At the end of 2019 the Writers Cooperative of the PNW began work on the Seven Deadly Sins anthology. By March 2020 most of the stories had been submitted and we began working on the arduous process of editing the stories. By that time Covid had begun to rear its ugly head and in Washington State lockdown orders were issued. We decided that the theme for the new anthology might be a bit too dark for the times and thought most people would appreciate reading something in a lighter vein. We moved work on Seven Deadly Sins to the back burner and came up with a new theme for a different anthology, Best Laid Plans. The stories in the new anthology would reflect the life changes everyone was dealing with and would have a lighter tone.

In August 2021 we published both print and eBook versions of Best Laid Plans (available on Amazon) and got back to work on Seven Deadly Sins. All the stories center around one or more of the seven deadly sins, pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, and sloth. Some have a bit of humor, and some are a little darker. There is something here for everyone. We have twenty stories by seventeen different authors. We hope you will find at least one new favorite author.

When you have finished reading our collection, we would love it if you would leave a review on Amazon. Reviews are enormously helpful to independent authors, not only to find out what readers think but also for other readers to find the book. It is the best way for independent authors to get the word out.

Enjoy the read!

Joel Swetin

About Susan Brown

Adventure, mystery, and magic fuel award-winning author, Susan Brown’s books.

Every book ripples with strong characters and fast action – whether urban fantasy, YA adventure, or romance (written with Anne Stephenson as Stephanie Browning). Witches, dragons, unicorns, and falling in love, plus all the complications of contemporary life can be found in Susan Brown’s novels. Dive in for an extraordinary reading adventure!

Susan lives with her border collies amid wild woods and overgrown gardens in Snohomish, Washington. From there she supervises her three daughters, assorted sons-in-law and two grandsons.

Find free stories, contact information, and news about upcoming books at:

http://www.susanbrownwrites.com

Withered Lips

by Susan Brown

Charles gazed at his great-grandmother’s lined face and bent form, and schooled his face into one of affectionate concern. One of the great tricks he’d learned from the movers, shakers, and beauties in his family was that wide eyes coupled with up-curved lips (while avoiding any actual skin wrinkling) intensely enhanced attractiveness.

How are you, Grandma Vannie? he asked, voice pitched to emulate the right touch of fond interest.

His great-grandmother slowly raised her eyes from the twisted claws of her old hands and smiled. Not an affectionate smile.

Charles tried to control the shiver that sluiced over his skin. The old woman, dressed as always in the most expensive couture, with diamonds flashing around her skinny neck, and a blood-red ruby broach pinned to the fabric over her thin chest, somehow both attracted and repelled him. Vanessa had never shown him extraordinary attention beyond what she offered all of her family. But he reminded himself, she had always been financially generous. His personal talent and predilection were for the music, excitement, and glittering lights of high style. The huge mansion, the artwork, the jewels were worth a fortune…but so old school. He prided himself on his ephemeral reputation of being in.

You haven’t stopped by in nearly two years, Vanessa observed. Your concern is touching. What do you want?

Everything I deserve, Charles thought. But his facial control remained perfect. Without wrinkling his brow, he managed to look contrite (hours of practice in front of his mirror always paid off). Leaning forward, he said gently, I’m getting older and I guess I’m beginning to understand what really matters. He dropped his head to look humbly down at the rich carpet. I’ve always been a bit intimidated by you, Grandma Vannie, but although I’m choosing my own road, I don’t want to leave the past or the people I care about, behind.

The heavily-lidded eyes, darkened with mascara, enhanced by expert makeup, gazed at him in contemptuous speculation. What do you want? she repeated.

Despite his careful preparation, Charles felt rattled. With a flash of annoyance he wondered why the old woman hadn’t died ages ago. She had descendants, like himself, who desperately needed the family fortune. Great looks and breath-taking style were not cheap, especially when the magic threshold of thirty had been crossed and boyish charm had worn thin. To buy time, Charles moved across the room to finger some of the treasures arranged on the mantle. He picked up some kind of ancient fertility statue, new since he’d been here before.

Exquisite, he said, keeping that light admiring tone in the forefront. As he replaced it, he noted that the reds now decorating the room were the exact palette to enhance his progenitor’s faded complexion. Personally, he would have selected blues slashed with white and black. More chic. More now. Less six centuries ago.

I believe I asked you what you want? His great grandmother swiveled to look at him. Money, I suppose.

Desperate, Charles forgot his careful plan and blurted, More than money. I need to be named your heir. I need your patronage to move up the social ladder. He laughed bitterly. "I need to be more…more you! It’s not just the money; it’s the sophistication, the beauty, the trick of convincing the world of just how superior I am."

Are you superior? Vanessa’s withered lips quirked into a mocking smile.

Charles flushed. Yes, I am. I have perfected myself – I’m educated, sophisticated, attractive. I am, in fact, as perfect a specimen as it is possible for a human being to attain. When his great-grandmother raised her eyebrows, he hurried on. I’ve been featured in magazines as the world’s sexiest man, I was invited to star in ‘The Bachelor,’ and the tabloids all drool over me.

He flashed his boyish grin knowing she wouldn’t guess that his leaked appearances drew fewer and fewer photographers every week.

Then what could you possibly need from me?

I…I need more to back me up, Charles said urgently. You’ve stayed in the forefront of society for nearly seventy years. If I was a beautiful woman…or had your unlimited wealth…or could use your connections…then I could be you! I could be the heir you deserve!

Vanessa leaned back in her chair, her shoulders shaking as bubbling laughs escaped her withered mouth. Resentfully, Charles saw that even as an old wreck, her laugh seemed to grab him by the throat and drag him into the rarified air of her existence.

It isn’t funny, he muttered. I should have that charisma.

Oh, it is, she retorted. Her mouth worked as though she was trying to hold back words, but not succeeding. Pitiful, mewling you, wants to take on the family curse.

She’s senile, Charles thought. He smiled his best understandingly eager smile. He had to get her endorsement before she lost it completely.

Listen to me, she commanded. I will tell you the truth. You think you are the best humanity has to offer, the woman said. You aren’t. But I am, and I can give it all to you if you are fool enough to want it.

I’ll take anything, Charles pleaded. I want your every secret.

She pulled herself out of her chair, and walking with only a slight limp, moved toward a dark wooden door in a corner of the vast room. This way. She pulled a clumsy iron key from a pocket in her dress, unlocked the door, and gestured him in.

Heart suddenly hammering, Charles followed her in. Skin-crinkling dryness assaulted his nostrils; the air was chill, and until his great grandmother had groped for and switched on a light, the windowless room was a slate of shadows.

When the lights flicked on, the sight took his breath away.

Not a single stick of furniture stood in the long, narrow chamber. Every inch of wall space had been lined with portraits, ancient, modern, medieval, Victorian. He turned around and around like a child in a dark playground. The eyes in the portraits seemed to follow him no matter which way he faced.

His great-grandmother’s smile as she watched him was mocking and cold.

Who are these people? His voice echoed eerily in the long room.

Your ancestors, she said. The generations who built our fortune, built our knowledge, added crumb after crumb of awareness on how to surmount the masses, and rule without the burden of crown or responsibility. Our family never forgets.

Charles was dazzled, thrilled. His heart beat a staccato rhythm as if every heartbeat of his ancestors was added to his own, making him stronger, greater. His eyes shone as he turned to his great-grandmother.

This is who I am meant to be! he announced. This is the inheritance I demand!

Her eyes narrowed. Now the cliché – there is always a price, she warned.

Charles was drunk with possibility. I don’t care! he crowed. Give it all to me! For a moment he held up his hands, beseeching his ancestors to pour their very beings into him – he knew that in him, they had found a worthy vessel. A laugh, not unlike his grandmother’s, began to bubble in his throat.

As you wish. Vanessa unfastened the broach on her dress. With a sudden movement, she jabbed it into Charles’ hand.

What are you doing? he yelled.

Sharing the blood of your ancestors, she told him with only a touch of malice in her voice. The blood of every one of those people has been on this pin. Now it is mingled with yours.

Charles stared down at the drop of blood swelling on his hand. Warmth spread up his arm. With it came memories, talents, skills, knowledge, experiences, loves… Slowly he became aware that the heat was chased by colder realities – hatreds, agonies, ignorance, despair, loneliness, fear….

He stared at his great-grandmother. She sighed deeply, peacefully. I have been waiting for one of my descendants to demand this curse, she muttered. Thank God you finally showed up.

I…I don’t understand, Charles stuttered.

You will be what you desired, she said, turning toward the door. These are yours now. She handed him the ruby broach and the iron key. Every one of their pasts are now yours. As well as their triumphs and knowledge, Charles, you will suffer every dreary and miniscule experience in your ancestor’s lives. You cannot escape even one of their stupid trivialities as you wait out the long years.

Wait for what? Charles asked. Dimly, along with the baying memories of exultation at riches and honors, he waded through the gasping wrenches of loss, humiliations, dirt, and the decay of disease. He shook his head to try and clear the clamor of inchoate detail. Wait for what? he repeated.

She laughed. You’ll wait and pray for one of your descendants to embrace the vanity entombed in this room. You will never know the release of death until you can release the curse. She paused and looked back with her fascinating smile hovering on her withered lips. And Charles, I recommend you start procreating as soon as possible. You’ll be surprised at how slim the genetic pickings will be.

For long moments, Charles stood in the room of his ancestors, engulfed by the detritus of all those lives.

He could hear his great grandmother buzzing her butler for afternoon tea. Slowly, feeling as though every ghost gnawed at the edges of own soul, he walked back to the living room. He took care to lock the door behind him.

When he stared at his Grandma Vannie sitting regally in her chair, he saw the hundreds of faces standing behind her. Apparently, she had learned to hold them all in her evocative smiles and endless worldly knowledge. Charles crossed the room and sat down before her. With huge effort, he straightened his spine.

Has it been worth it? he asked.

She shrugged. Her irresistible smile flashed across her lined face. The cost is rather high, she admitted. But I did enjoy being the most sought-after woman of my generation. Everyone, you know, has dark secrets and vices.

Charles laughed softly, his stretching awareness somehow helping him dodge the long deaths and pitiful agonies that churned in his endless memory.

She watched him and her laugh echoed his. But yes, Charles, I’ve always thought vanity had some perks worth enjoying.

The butler silently brought in the tea tray, arranged it to his mistress’ hand, and withdrew.

Now, dear boy, she said. Before we begin, how would you like your tea?

About Toni Kief

A child of the 60s, Midwestern by birth, Northwestern by choice, Toni challenges the boundaries for women, of every age, and presently searching for lost histories.  After a long career as an insurance investigator, she fell into writing through a challenge from a friend.  She has finally ordered the author business cards and works with the Writers Cooperative of the Pacific Northwest. She believes firmly that anything life hands you is worth it if you get a good story.

A Dangerous Love

by Toni Kief

Shocked at the time, I jerk to attention and turn off Facebook. I should have left a half-hour ago. I slam on my oldest shoes, saving less than a minute because I don’t have to tie them. With black socks, the hole in the toe isn’t visible. I pack my laptop, grab my bag, and I’m out of the door. The meeting starts in a half-hour. It takes 23 minutes to get there, and I’m never late. No time for preparation, but everyone expects me to bring something to share, mostly because that is what I do. I dash into the grocery store and scurry through the aisles; the vegetable tray should be perfect.

Then there you were. Just the sight of you brings me to a halt as my gaze crosses the shelves and customers. All responsibilities and promises slip away, and my eyes embrace you. Immediately, my senses remember the last night we met. Your aroma caressed my face, the light fluttery kiss to my lips, and the perfect satisfaction of our coupling. Others are wonderful in their own right, but in my heart, nothing compares to you. Our passion is a profound connection; it is frenzy, obsession, an unnatural drive.

Suddenly, I remember the ticking of the clock, and my responsibilities, I tear myself away. I turn toward the produce department, maybe some sandwiches, or a tray with cheese and crackers. But I can still hear your whisper. I tell myself a vegetable tray is easy to share and healthy for every diet. The other five members of the team will appreciate the offering. But my emotions and reason are stolen by your silent song. Damn health, damn the ticking clock -- I rush to your side. You are sitting all alone as another woman is looking at you. I only see indifference. There is no love in her eyes. I wish it was, but the passion is too much to ignore. I reach for you, nudging her aside. We both hear her huff, and I turn to utter an empty apology. At this moment I don’t care about her opinion, and we rush to my car. Together again, but for how long?

I start the car, and even though the clock nags I have nineteen minutes to drive the measured twenty-three, it takes. I turn up the music on the radio and swear at the giant pickup truck blocking my access to the street. He has no turn signal, just sitting at the exit. My ire builds, and I swear some unheeded driving instructions, the driver ignores. I’m running late, but with you at my side, I know all will be forgiven. I glance at the passenger seat