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Lost in the Transfer
now available in Factor Four Magazine!!
Offerings
My grandmother was a witch. We did not see eye to eye. While my peers were raking leaves and scrubbing stoves for their pocket money, I was picking gypsy-flower, collecting slow worms, and chasing crows from rafters.
“Offerings for the Faerie folk,” she called it.
“How you get ants,” I would mutter.
Old Poisons
A 500-word noir tale about spilling more than just a martini. Longlisted for the January 2024 NQR Prize for flash fiction.
“I want you to kill my husband.”
Most clients beat around the bush for a good half-hour before getting to the point. Alec appreciated the bluntness.
For the Queen
Before she was the Queen, before any of us were the people we are now, I saved her from a sharp blade in the back and a gutter rat’s death.
She never thanked me, but that’s hardly unusual.
I know she remembers. I sometimes wonder if she cares.
Other People
The kid coughed. In that way people only ever do to get your attention. Such a British idea. That interrupting someone is somehow less intrusive if you pretend you’re not doing it.
“Your car. It’s waiting, Sir.”
Nobody called me Sir, back then. I was starting to like the sound of it.
In Conversation With Machines
“Careful, K-i. Call yourself human again, and the Fleet Guard will have you reprogrammed.
“I apologize, Tal. I use the term ‘us’ to establish a sense of shared identity. You know I cannot truly align myself with humans.”
“I know, Kai. I’m only messing with you.”
The Journey of a Lifetime
The Flyarin have one rule. No one leaves the clearing. Fly too far, and you’ll never return. Loose sight of home, and you’ll die frightened and alone.
Home is safe. Home is strength. Home is where we belong.
But that is not my story.