FANTASY #7: Lockdown Fantasy: Lockdown, #27

By Black Hare Press

Fantasy adventure stories

 

In The Attic by Amber M. Simpson

Le Coeur du Leopard by Beth W. Patterson

Khael Transgressor by Christopher T. Dabrowski

Don't You Love the Faeries by D.J. Elton

Music by D.M. Burdett

It's What I'm Supposed to Do by James Rumpel

The Old Ways by Kimberly Rei

The Phoenix by L.T. Emery

A Tale of Dragons by McKenzie Richardson

Colours of Autumn by McKenzie Richardson

The Cold by Patrick Winters

Shattered by Rhiannon Bird

Dragon Slaves by Rhiannon Bird

Fae and Soul by Sabetha Danes

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Hare Press
• Release date: May 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224645695

Book preview

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Le Cœur du Léopard by Beth W. Patterson

Music by D.M. Burdett

Fae and Soul by Sabetha Danes

A Tale of Dragons by McKenzie Richardson

It’s What I’m Supposed to Do by James Rumpel

Don’t You Love the Fairies? by D.J. Elton

The Phoenix by L.T. Emery

Shattered by Rhiannon Bird

The Attic by Amber M. Simpson

The Cold by Patrick Winters

Colours of Autumn by McKenzie Richardson

Khael Transgressor by Christopher T. Dabrowski

The Old Ways by Kimberly Rei

Dragon Slaves by Rhiannon Bird

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

Le Cœur du Léopard

by Beth W. Patterson

Aedyt Skillicorn stepped out onto the pavement as if she had commissioned it. Her heart was light, her mind was sharp, and she was utterly fearless. She wouldn’t have lived to be ninety-seven years old if she hadn’t diligently cultivated this frame of mind her entire life.

There was no time for vanity, but she still refused to set foot out into the world without wearing a good quality lipstick. Her keen eyes were a startling green, and they missed nothing. Her pewter-coloured hair was cut in a sensible bob; easily smoothed, but hard for a villain to grab. She may not have moved as quickly as she once did, and had lost nearly five inches of height since her life’s work had begun. But Ms Skillicorn still maintained her dignity and had taken good care of her body. She was a polished denizen of the world, but never forgot her roots as a restless orphan on the Isle of Man.

Old age, feared by this youth-worshipping society, was actually the ultimate power. In the winter of her life, she stared death in the eye every day and had absolutely nothing to lose. She was childless and had outlived all of her contemporaries. When the bloom of the rose withers away and the stem becomes dry and brittle, it is then that the thorn becomes impossibly sharp.

A movement caught her eye. Aedyt had seen this scenario play out too many times not to recognise it. One roustabout was aggressively distracting a couple of tourists. His partner was approaching from behind, reaching for the man’s wallet in his back pocket so subtly that she doubted she would have seen it without her hunch.

Pretending to lose her balance, she lurched into the way of the convergence, then swung her cane—which was strictly a prop—hard across the pickpocket’s forearm, striking the radial nerve that would send shooting pains all the way up his arm. He yelped in surprise and both men beat a hasty retreat. The young lovers resumed their stroll while Aedyt melted back into the crowd. She was relieved to see him transfer his wallet to his jacket pocket.

She had played many roles and lived many lives. She had first been a runway model, and then later taught modelling—and women's self-defence at the end of each course. She had begun to realise the dangers that came with the territory of young women becoming empowered, and that the flip side of self-esteem was objectification by others. Now she wandered until she found anyone scared, lost, or hungry in need of a champion. The one advantage that she had to being so old was that no one questioned her motives. Even if she was deemed as crazy, she still succeeded in planting that seed of caution into the minds of the right people.

And you will instinctively know the right people, he had told her. He had held her in his arms so many decades ago, nuzzling her cheek, reassuring her that while she couldn’t help everyone, just doing her part to help maintain the balance was always enough. And he knew so much: the sacrament of the hunt, the mystery of predator and prey, and sensual pleasure.

She once had questioned her thoughts, wondering if these were false memories, brought on by old age or longing. After a time, she decided that it didn’t matter.

***

Her grandparents had had no idea what to do with their unruly descendant and eventually found a boarding school for her in Canada: École St-Arthelais, located somewhere off any map. She had wanted to go to New York, but her guardians had promised her that she would like it.

She had not adjusted well at first.

She did not speak the same language as her teachers and classmates. They would not address her by her given Manx name, Aedyt, but instead tried to adapt it: Éditha. That was not her name, and if she were expected to learn their language while they refused to learn hers, she would have nothing to do with them. And so she spent most of her spare time alone in the nearby woods.

She had detested her lessons, but loved the terrain. The promise of untold wonders in the dense new forest beckoned to her one day. The leaves at that time of year were the most riotous colours she had ever seen, hues of reds and golds that almost seemed impossible for the human eye to interpret. Humming to herself a Manx song, one of the few tunes she had learned in her childhood, Arrane Ny Sheeaghyn Troiltagh:the song of the travelling fairies.

A nearby noise made her freeze. Something close enough to grab her moved in the trees. Her mouth went dry, and her heartbeat roared