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About Literature / Hobbyist Member Bonnie Quinn (which is totally a penname)Female/United States Recent Activity
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I'm okay.  I was just rear ended on the highway today.  It was scary, don't know if there's damage to my car as I don't see any, but it was a pretty hard hit, so I'm getting it checked out.  I'm not at fault.  I did get pretty bad whiplash so the urgent care doctor put me on some painkillers and muscle relaxants, but otherwise I'm okay.

But you can read all about it on my tumblr, if you like.

If you're wondering what I'm up to right now, I'm working on revising Summoner.  I'm also doing some work on expressiveness in my drawings, if that's what you call it.  I dunno.  I guess you can tell me when I finally finish up the series and post it.
The police were in agreement with my suggestion.  They were also, in light of the circumstances, not willing to take any chances.  The entire neighborhood was evacuated, despite Renfield's insistence that this was utterly unnecessary.  Whatever happened wouldn't leave the property.  He promised this, while I sat at the conference table at the police station with the captain, Peter, the FBI agents which were still here to tie up loose ends, and a handful others I still didn't know.  I supposed I should fix that someday.

“You already burned down one house,” the police captain replied dryly.  “We're doing this my way, with the neighborhood empty, and the fire department standing close at hand.”

He sounded skeptical.  I couldn't blame him, as it'd already been asserted during the meeting that a demon killing another of their kind at the bequest of a human was unheard of.  This was different, I explained.  In their home world, Renfield would kill Veremail if given the opportunity.  The circumstances surrounding how Veremail died were irrelevant, so long as the result was the same.  Given how many people Veremail had killed in his short time here, it was a more apt punishment than simple banishment.

I did not tell them that Renfield had no desire to send Veremail back to his own world, where he could inform others as to the demon's whereabouts.  I didn't want to give anyone ideas, although I wasn't certain exactly who I was protecting in doing so.  It was likely both of us.

They cleared the surrounding houses of people and blocked off the street.  The media was out in force, as expected, but I'd already crossed the police line by that point and was waiting near the fire truck.  Peter was not yet back on active duty and so I had no one to talk to, which was fine with me.  The mage didn't seem to mind the reprieve, either, as he had a lot of desk work to catch up on anyway.  I'd been watching the news during the few days I was home, recovering my strength and waiting for the furor to die down before making my pitch to the police.  As predicted, there was an outcry for better regulation of spellbooks – as if that would stop the black market ones – and the politicians were getting involved.  Too many people dead.  Too many people afraid and angry.  Something had to be done to reassure people that this wouldn’t happen again.

Renfield had been darkly amused.  It would happen again, he'd said.  Not in this manner, of course.  Circumstances were unique here.  But something similar, so long as there were humans and demons.

I'd asked him why that was.  Why the demons felt such a need to hunt and kill my kind.  There was even a treaty, I said.  We kept out of their world and they kept out of ours.

“I don't know,” he'd answered.  “Why did Eve eat the fruit of the tree?”

“Renfield,” I ventured after a moment.  “Do you – does your kind believe in God?”

It seemed like such a strange metaphor to choose, given humanity's history with demonkind.  Renfield only laughed dryly.

“I've been asked that before,” he said wryly.  “I wish I knew the truth of it.”

He'd walked away and I'd turned off the TV shortly after.

Now, here we were, standing outside the house I'd almost died in.  Absently, I reached up to finger my ear.  It was healed by now, but still somewhat tender.  Veremail had taken a slit out of the cartilage, about a half-centimeter deep, and I shivered inside each time my thumb ran across the gap.  It wasn't that visible, not with my long hair to hide it, but I saw it each time I looked in the mirror.  I'd taken to not tucking my hair back so I could pretend it wasn't there.

“Renfield,” I said quietly, watching as the police continued to argue with a lady some houses down that clearly didn't want to be disturbed.  “When I cast that banishment ritual, the rune lit up with gold fire.”

'I think you already know what that means,' he replied.

“Humor me.”

'You're a mage,' he sighed and I stiffened at the confirmation.  'You have a lot of power inside you and you channeled all of it into that spell.  You could have sent Veremail back to my world, easily, had there not been another spell to conflict with.'

“How long have you known?”

'Since you first picked up my clock.'

“I dreamed about being a mage when I was a little girl,” I whispered.  “When I'd play make-believe with my friends, I'd always pretend I'd grown up and become the world's most powerful mage.  I had a bag of spells – scraps of shiny cloth I'd wadded up into balls – and I'd throw these and pretend they were magic.”

Renfield didn't reply to that.  Of course not.  He wasn't one for human sentiment.

“What did you dream of being, when you were young?”

He laughed.

'Demons wake fully formed,' he said.  'I was never a child.'

“Then what did you dream of, before you were forced to flee your world?”

I didn't think he was going to answer.  We remained there in silence, until one of the police officers coordinating came over and informed us that the area was clear and we were fine to go in the house and murder the demon trapped inside.  He sounded pleased when he said this.  One less demon and they weren't the ones risking their lives in doing so.  What wasn't there to be happy about?

'We dream of power,' Renfield said as I walked up to the sidewalk.  'We dream of conquest.  There is no other dream for demons.'

I stepped onto the property line and released control of the body to Renfield.  He stood there a moment, as if testing the air around us, then moved up to the threshold of the house.  The door was unlocked.  The police had fled the premises rather hastily after realizing that Veremail was still in residence after the spell was so violently expended.  No one was injured, as the demon hadn't established himself well enough to be effective with his telekinesis.  It was sloppy, Renfield had commented.  If Veremail had bothered to think things through, he would have waited until he'd recovered his strength, and then killed someone to establish that his artifact was nothing to be trifled with.  

Now, mere days later, Renfield felt there was little to be concerned about.  I still didn't want to be in charge when we stepped inside the house, however.  I recalled all too clearly what it had been like, standing on the landing with Renfield's clock in my hands, coming to a slow – far too slow – realization of what exactly I held.  Realizing that my house had turned against me and it was a weapon in the demon's hands.

The longer the demon was imprisoned, the faster they could take control of a property.  Renfield had been imprisoned for a very long time.

We investigated the living room first and I shuddered inside at the sight of the table.  The ropes that had been used to hold me down were still there, laying in pieces on the floor, and I thought I saw dried blood from where Veremail had cut my ear.  Renfield made a cursory glance at this before heading upstairs.  We rifled through the bedroom and my stomach twisted at the sight of the contents.  These were a young man's belongings.  He lived alone.  Veremail had killed him.  I hadn't inquired about the state of the body the police had retrieved from the garage.  I didn't want to know.

“Nothing,” Renfield muttered irritably after we finished sweeping the upstairs.

He was out of breath by the time we descended the stairwell.  My body was still recovering from its ordeal, which only seemed to put the demon even more out of sorts.  We checked the kitchen next and this was where Renfield froze.  He turned, his eyes fixing on a clock that hung on the wall over the small kitchen table.  It was cheap with a white plastic frame, hanging crooked on its nail.  The hands were frozen in place at 5:55.

“Well,” Renfield breathed.  “Isn't that appropriate.”

The clock.  Veremail had been trapped in the clock.  The demon reached up and took it down off the wall.  Somewhere, upstairs, a door slammed shut and I jumped at the noise, but Renfield was unperturbed, his gaze fixed on the object.  He carried it back into the living room, not taking his eyes off the scratched plastic face, and set it down on the table.  Then he said something, speaking in his own language, and the house seemed to groan under the weight of Veremail's mounting terror and rage.  I could feel it on my skin.  I'd felt it before, when Renfield pinned me to the wall and told me I was going to die.  This time, it was an impotent rage, frustrated by Veremail's inability to manifest his power in any meaningful way.  I didn't need a translation to understand the gist of what Renfield was telling the other demon.

He was going to die.  Renfield was going to kill him for things that happened a very long time ago and that both of them carried like I carried the scar on my left hand.

The demon leaned over the clock, tracing one finger on the surface of the table.  He burned the circle into the surface with demon fire, leaving behind a smoking furrow in the wood.  He wrote runes, spilling out to cover the table's surface, each one spinning into the other like vines, an obscene sort of beauty.  When he was done, he stepped back, and held up one hand, wrist loose, fingers splayed.  He chanted in his own language, invoked power, invoked magic, and I felt like the mounting terror from the demon bound to the house would crush us.

The surface of the clock cracked.  Splintered, the plastic snapping like ice in the winter, and black smoke escaped from inside.  It swirled and took on form, coalescing into semi-solid form, an image painted out of gauze, hovering there over the table.  I saw Veremail.  He was lean, smaller than Renfield in build, with horns barely a hand long and shaped like those of a goat, his tail tucked closet to his folded legs.  His eyes were wide and frightened beneath the bangs of his pale hair and his wings were wrapped about his shoulders and arms, devoid of feathers.

Renfield stood there, legs braced, hand poised as if holding the demon in his palm.  The two regarded each other and Veremail seemed to be trying to say something but the words escaped him.  He reached out for Renfield, imploringly.  It was far too late for any of that, I supposed.  The treachery had been done long ago and now, at last, Renfield was going to have his vengeance.

The demon said only a few words.  They were not magic, but one last message directed to Veremail.  I wanted to believe they were an apology.

Then, with my left hand, Renfield gestured.  The image of the demon convulsed, threw his head back, and I heard him scream.  High and thin, shrill, and his body shuddered and shook and then – doubled over, and the mist slammed downward, turning into black smoke, and the crack of shattering wood resounded through the room.  I staggered, finding myself in control of my body once more.

“Renfield?” I whispered.

There was no reply.  I felt him there, inside my heart, but he did not speak.  Trembling, I stepped forwards into the ruins of the shattered table and stared down at the floor.  The carpet had been blasted away, leaving a scorched mark on the floorboards, and the surface was coated with something black and liquid.  Blood.  It reminded me of blood.  Shivering, I stepped back, averting my gaze.

“What now?” I whispered.

'I killed one of my own kin,' Renfield answered, reluctant to speak.  'I don't want to leave this here.  The FBI will look it over and I've no desire for them to even get a scrap of information about the magic I just used.”

“There is a fire truck waiting just outside to protect the nearby houses.”

A pause.

'Yes,' he said.  'There is.'

Renfield didn't seem to want to take the body, but I couldn’t do this on my own and reluctantly, the demon assumed possession of my mind.  His motions were gentle as he traced out a ring of demon fire, the flames tunneling inwards and eating away what little was left of Veremail.  Renfield paused at the stairway leading to the basement and narrowed his eyes, then gestured and demon fire bloomed there as well, just at the base of the stairs.  He wanted to make sure the house collapsed and burned before the firefighters had a chance to get it under control.  Then we left, out into the yard, and into the street where people were hurrying to respond to the smoke that was already pouring through the seams of the house.  I was seized by one of the police officers and Renfield slowed to stare at him.

“You weren't supposed to burn the fucking house down!” the man snapped.

“I killed the demon for you,” Renfield snarled in response.  “Now let me at least bury my own.”

And he snatched our arm out of the man's grip and stalked away.  No one tried to stop us from leaving after that.



Two weeks later and with considerable pestering, I finally received payment for the 'consulting' work I'd done.  I had to remind them how much worse it could have been if Renfield hadn't been involved.  For one thing, they'd at least still have a cursed artifact to contend with.  If nothing else, we'd at least gotten rid of that problem for them.  Eventually they'd capitulated and deposited the fee in my bank account.  It was considerably more than I'd expected, but I had been keeping my expectations low.  Renfield was pleased by the amount, as it meant we had more than enough to hire the electrician.  He started talking about removing the tree in the front yard again, even hinting that if I didn't call someone, he'd set it on fire so we could plant a new one in the ashes.

I, however, was beginning to doubt that we'd ever find someone to fix the lights.  Or the windows.  Or the lock on the front door, which had also been shattered because apparently Veremail felt like being an utter dick when he broke in.  The situation was becoming dire, as while we had electricity to the appliances, I had to survive by candlelight after the sun went down.  It wasn't a problem for Renfield, as the demon could see in the dark, but I was quickly growing tired of it.  Unfortunately, living in a cursed house meant that no one wanted to set foot in it, especially with the recent events.  There was a registry for these sorts of things and contractors made it a habit to consult it before taking a job.  Usually it was just a formality, but in this case, each electrician I called checked the registry, found my house listed, and either refused the job or simply didn't call me back.  I disliked having this as somewhat public information, but it was the law.  There'd been incidents of owners of a cursed object feeding people to the soul contained within to save their own life.

Finally, in desperation, I called Peter.  He was a police officer, after all.  Surely he'd be able to do something.

“I have a brother that's pretty handy,” he mused over the phone.  “Between the two of us, we should be able to do something.”

They came over on a Sunday, around midday.  The brother brought a ladder and a toolkit.  I kept out of their way as they removed fixtures and inspected the wiring, the brother telling Peter what he needed to know and Peter tracing the flow – or lack thereof – of electricity with his magic.  I watched from the hallway.  Renfield kept out of the house entirely, busying himself with the back garden.  The lights came back on around four in the afternoon.  A faulty light in the bedroom, the brother explained, and the breakers had all gone bad.  Something had blown then out.  I refrained from saying what it could be, as so far the brother hadn't made any mention of the demon.

“We can't fix the windows today,” the brother said, his eyes on the plywood, “and honestly, you should probably have professionals do that.  I can do basic wiring and the likes, but I've not yet had to replace windows.”

“I'm having trouble getting people to come out,” I implored.

Peter's brother looked a lot like him, I realized.  A bit shorter and his stockiness was less pronounced, but the relationship was certainly evident.

“Because of the demon?” he asked.  I nodded.  “Yeah, Peter told me all about that.  I'll see if I can't put in some words with people and have them give you a call.  I'm sure I know someone that would be willing to take the job.  It just might cost you more is all.”

I thanked Peter on the front porch.  This was more than I expected from him, I said.  He just shrugged it off.

“It's fine,” he said awkwardly.  “I get that it's rough, trying to make some sort of a life for yourself.”

“Do you think I'll still be able to work with the station?” I asked quietly.  He looked at me a moment.

“Do you want to?” he asked quietly.  His brother was loading the ladder up in the car.

I'd seen a lot of things I wished I hadn't.  I saw them still, sometimes, when I closed my eyes.  Yet, how long would this have gone on, without my help?  And if they had forced a confrontation with the demon, how many people would have died as a result?

“I suppose so,” I replied.  “It gets easier, doesn't it?”

“I don't think it does.  You just... get used to it, but that doesn't necessarily make it easier.”

It was all the comfort he could give me.  I watched as he got in the car with his brother and the two drove off.  Inside the house, I could hear Renfield going from room to room, turning the lights on and off to make sure they were truly fixed.  He'd been fussing with the furniture, incessantly, since Veremail's break-in.  He was also talking about finding a better location to store the clock than right out in the open.  A safe, maybe.  I hadn't the heart to break it to him how much those cost.  Reluctantly, I stepped back inside my house, and closed the door behind me.

This was my life now.  Demons and magic and the horrors they brought with them and the only comfort I had was that one of them, at least, was on my side.
Renfield's Clock - Chapter 14
AND 50K  WORDS YAAAY NANOWRIMO IS DONE.  Early, even.  Go me.

Yes, this is the last chapter.
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The demon cut my wrists free with his knife.  He pulled me off the table and onto my knees by one arm, then grabbed me from behind and jerked me to my feet.  I inhaled and held my breath against the pain as my arms were released from being held in the same position for so long and pins and needles erupted in my fingers.  I was shoved along in his grip, towards the hallway and the narrow stairs leading to the basement.  The lighting was dim, a handful of overhead bulbs and I stumbled on the last few steps to land on cement floor, Veremails' fingers tight on my arms to keep me from falling.

The basement was small with a low ceiling, the walls whitewashed cinder block and the floor unevenly poured.  In between two support columns of steel pipe was a circle, draw in chalk, and at the fore of it lay Peter.  The officer had been stripped of his gear and shirt was gone, exposing his torso and the pale skin.  He'd been handcuffed, likely with his own pair, his hands behind his back and he was laying on his back, his head lolling to the side, seemingly unconscious.  Veremail had cut runes into his chest, red with still-wet blood.

“No,” I whispered, balking.

“You want to get rid of Renfield?” Veremail whispered in my ear, his face uncomfortably close to mine and I shifted away from him.  “This is how.  Just close your eyes and wait it out.  No one will blame you.”

The demon shoved me forwards.  His three other bodies were there ringing the circle.  The lone female held Renfield's clock in her hands.

“It's not like you have a choice,” Veremail continued.  “You never did, not in any of this.  I know how Renfield works.  Makes everything sound so reasonable and convincing and you don't realize what he's gotten you to do until it's too late.”

Veremail's voice turned bitter.  And inside of me, I felt Renfield stir with an emotion I'd never felt from him before.

Guilt.

'It wasn't like that,” the demon whispered and I was the only one that heard him.

I was shoved to my knees opposite Peter at the circle.  The woman set the clock down in front of me and I felt another of Veremail's bodies kneel behind me, his knees against my ankles on either side.  He gripped my hair at the roots, holding my head back.  

“What-”I tried to say, my throat tight with fear.  I didn't think I could let Renfield take possession even if I wanted to at this point.  Emotions were difficult to control, the demon had always said.  It was like trying to tread water in the midst of a hurricane.

“This next bit hurts,” Veremail replied coolly.  “But, we have to get Renfield's soul out of you somehow and the easiest way to do that is to invoke the blood link.  And oh look – you already have it marked out for us.”

The woman grabbed my wrist – my left hand – and forced it onto the top of the clock, palm down.  I knew what was coming, even before she took out the knife, and I struggled in the grip of the two demon's, futile, twisting like a fish in the heron's beak.  I was crying out, weakly, whimpering sounds in the back of my throat and then I convulsed – my spine arching back – and I screamed as the woman drove the knife down through my hand and into the clock itself.

Through the scar that Renfield had left.

And like that, the demon was gone.  I felt only the weight of my own soul and the woman wrenched the knife free and I collapsed to my side, curling around my maimed hand, panting and sobbing, twisting my feet together in pain.  There was a ringing in my ears and I realized I'd cried out for Renfield, no longer even certain why I would.  He couldn't save me.  He never had.

“That will hold for some time,” Veremail commented to me.  “The blood link is still there, but forcing him out like that will leave him weakened.  By the time he's able to resume possession of your body, you'll be in the hands of our rulers and they'll be ready for him.  After all, what you feel-”

He stooped and traced a finger down the side of my face.

“-he feels.  It's no good to deliver Renfield without also offering at least some small way to take vengeance.”

Dazed, I tried to lever myself up and made it as far as one elbow, my wounded hand cradled close to my stomach.  I stared up at the demon, thin-lipped and silent.

“What, you expected me to keep my word?”  Veremail laughed.  “That sort of sentiment is something Renfield was fond of, but not me.”

He left me laying there, turning his attention instead to Peter.  The three bodies of the demon spread out, well outside the circle of the ritual, and the fourth knelt at the mage's side.  The man was breathing shallowly and there was dried blood along one side of his chin.  I saw Veremail set a knife down, close at hand, and the demon spread both palms flat to the ground and began to chant in a soft voice.  I did not recognize the words but I recognized the language by now.  Demonic.  The circle began to glow faintly, a scarlet wound against the dusty concrete.  I knew how this would go.  I could already feel the magic building in the air and I felt like if I moved at all, it'd shatter and break like the front of a storm.  At the climax, Veremail would take the dagger and slit Peter's throat and the dying mage would fuel the rest of it, tearing open the world and opening the way home for Veremail.

And he'd take me with him, so that Renfield could suffer, even if just for a little while.

It was hard to move.  I wanted to lay there and hope that something would save me.  I didn't want to admit that I wasn't getting out of this alive.  It was so randomly unfair, that of all the people in the city I would be the one someone left a cursed clock with, and that because of that I would have to give up my soul for my life and then that would bring me here – it wasn't fair for anyone that Veremail had murdered.  They'd died without reason, targeted only because Veremail knew it'd be easy to get them to let him inside.  None of us had done anything wrong.  We'd locked our doors and set our wards and I'd spent my whole life avoiding magic and yet here I was about to die anyway.

Trembling, I traced a circle of my own on the cement.  Small and discrete, but Renfield had repeated it to me over and over.  I could still see the black lines on my palm, smeared with my own blood.  It was agony, moving my hand with the thin line cut through the palm and back, letting the blood seep its way free and down my index finger.  I felt myself growing faint and I didn't dare look about, I didn't dare glance up to see if Veremail had picked up the knife yet or not.

I wasn't certain what a banishment ritual would do at this point.  All I really understood was that it would likely fuck things up bad, and that was exactly what I needed at this moment.

I couldn't possibly make my peace with what I was about to do.  No one, I thought, really wanted to die when it came to it.  We just pretended we did, if only for the few seconds it took, and that is exactly what I did.  I stopped thinking, let my mind go blank and closed my eyes, and whispered the spell.  Inside of me, I felt the magic respond, sluggish from all these years of disuse.  It boiled inside me for a moment, working itself into an acidic froth, and then it poured forth through my blood, filling my heart and my lungs and my mind and I felt it spill out into the circle I'd traced and it glowed hot – gold fire – searing into my eyes until I was forced to look away and even then the afterimage remained burned in my mind – and I heard someone, somewhere, scream with terror and rage.

Then the world went white, there was a roar like a waterfall cascading through the room, and my ears popped and there was only silence.  I saw, as through a film, like watching a movie play out in slow motion, Veremail's bodies lunging inwards, towards the circle, fingers outstretched like statues, and then they dissolved into sand and mist and sprayed outward as so much paint, covering the whitewash with a lurid red.  I began to laugh, blinking back tears, and I rolled onto my back as liquid filled my lungs.  It hurt to breath.  I struggled for air, my body shaking with my silent laughter even as blood bubbled up in my mouth and filled my throat and nose.

Gold fire.  I hadn't seen that happen before when casting a spell.

I would have made a hell of a mage.

Then I closed my eyes and let my failing body take me away.



I woke to light, painful and insistent, and to a body still stricken with the dull pain of healing wounds.  My limbs felt unresponsive, limp at my side, and I was aware of my cracked lips held open, of plastic in my mouth and throat.  My eyes drifted over the bland walls, the monitors stationed near my bed, and the bag hanging on a stand near my right arm.  I averted my gaze.  I'd seen enough blood lately.

There was a table positioned close by.  On it sat a clock and beside that, a vase of flowers.

'The flowers are from the police station,' Renfield said dryly in my head.  'Yes, I'm back in your head.  My eviction was... temporary.'

He sounded irritated at being thrown out so easily.  I doubted he wanted me to know that such a thing was possible, but given how it had been accomplished, I didn't think I'd be repeating that trick ever again.  I managed to lift my hand and found it swaddled in bandages, hiding away whatever lay beneath.  Stitches, most likely.  I wondered how much mobility I'd lose now that the palm had been stabbed through a second time.

'I suppose we should talk about what transpired,' Renfield continued, 'but seeing as they still have you on ventilation, I get to do all the talking and you can only listen.  I don't blame you for panicking and wrenching back control while I was trying to kill Veremail.  I don't blame you for wanting to be rid of me.  But honestly – taking a demon at our word?  Naive.  You've read enough on our kind to know better just because I try otherwise does not mean any others of my kind will do the same.  I am the exception.  Contrary to what you seem to think, I really do have your best interest at mind.  You are, after all, what little freedom I have left.  So next time we're in a bad spot, have a little bit of trust and let me handle it.'

Carefully, I raised my right hand, trying not to disturb the IV as I did so, and I positioned it to where my fingers were in clear sight, and I extended my middle finger.  Renfield didn't have anything to say after that.

It was Peter that filled me in on what had transpired.  The mage visited some hours after the nurse finally came by and noticed that I was awake.  The mage was walking slowly, clearly recovering from injuries of his own, but he seemed in good humor as he pulled up a chair beside my bed.  He eyed the flowers a moment, then the clock for a longer moment, then myself.

“The doctor said they'll take you off ventilation in a day or so,” he finally said.  “One of your lungs collapsed and the other had a lot of blood in it.  I think you won't need any further transfusions though.  Other than your hand, you'll be okay.”

The police hadn't been idle after both of us went missing.  They'd killed the version of Veremail that had held them up, with the help of the two FBI agents, and then set themselves to the task of hunting us down.  It'd been simpler than expected.  It seemed that Veremail had severely underestimated the competence of the local police, at which I felt a sense of smugness from Renfield.  The police had just set a watch on my house and when Veremail came to collect the clock, they'd tailed him back to the house I'd been held in.  They were still trying to figure out an approach, as they were aware there were hostages by that point, when the spell had backfired.  That, everyone felt, and they'd stormed the house shortly after.

I was unconscious by that point, but alive.  The basement was covered in blood, Veremail was gone, and the clock was sitting there between myself and Peter.  We were both rushed to the hospital.  Peter's injuries were mostly burns from the demon fire.  He would be off for a while to recover, which he was severely displeased by.  There was the aftermath of this to contend with and, of course, the death of Jacobs to look into.  The case had been put on hold while we dealt with demons and from the way Peter shifted as he evaded talking about it, I could tell it bothered him.  Still, it couldn’t be helped.  People had been dying.  The police would still have to give an accounting to the public for what had happened.  Eight young people dead in a stupid, tragic ploy and their families had paid the price alongside them.

“The media is already working up a hysteria over how those kids got the book and the artifact,” Peter sighed.  “You'll want to stay out of sight for a while.”

Because I had a demon.  Because I would be viewed as another murderer waiting to happen, that it would be only a matter of time before Renfield killed someone else.  I wasn't certain I could blame them.  He was a demon, after all, and had already demonstrated that he'd let others die without a thought.  And I'd let him.  Peter continued to talk, but I wasn't really listening anymore.  All it would take was one person willing to talk, one officer within the police department or one nurse from the hospital or even one of my former coworkers or friends.  Then everyone would know that I had a demon in my house and in my head and the media frenzy would turn on me.  I closed my eyes and Peter trailed off, realizing that I was no longer paying attention.

“I'll let you sleep,” he said, awkwardly levering himself out of the chair.  

There was a clatter as he picked up the clock to take it with him.  I didn't care what he did with it.  Likely he was returning it to my house, but part of me hoped he'd just drop the damn thing off a bridge instead.  I listened as he walked away, his footsteps dwindling into nothingness down the hallway.

'It's okay,' Renfield said.  'I'll protect you.'

That was precisely what I was afraid of.



A few days later the hospital took me off oxygen and a few days after that I was released.  The doctor was cordial as he discussed my outtake and what I could and could not do for how long after.  He warned me, to some length, to not use magic again.  My body would not tolerate it, he said.  I could have killed myself.

“It was better than the alternative,” I replied quietly.  

He looked skeptical but did not press.  Then, armed with prescriptions for pain and antibiotics, I was sent home.  I had to call a cab.  I knew that I could just call Peter and if he couldn't take me home, then he'd find someone else to, but I had no desire to talk to him for some reason.  I wanted to be left alone.  I wanted my anonymity, if only for a little while.

Renfield met me at the door.  I brushed past him, instead greeting my dog, who was trying to climb in my lap before I even knelt to be on her level, whining frantically.  It seemed someone had taken care of her while I was gone and I wasn't certain who would have done that.  No one had my key, however, as I stared up the stairway I realized that didn't really matter.  The windows had all been shattered and were currently covered with plywood.  The floor was clear of glass, surprisingly, and while some of the furniture had been overturned, my belongings were at least picked up off the floor and stacked on the kitchen table.  Someone had made an attempt to clean up while I was in the hospital.  I glanced back at Renfield and the demon merely paced past me, inspecting the living room and kitchen, his eyes wide and he stared at the walls and floor, his gaze roaming across the table.  There was a note there.

“Ah,” he said, catching it up.  “Officer Grant was here, it says.  Do you know him?”

“I've seen him a few times.”

“He says he took the dog back home with him while you were in the hospital.”

“Does it say where he got a key?”

Renfield flipped the note over.

“No.”  He discarded it with a shrug.  “Likely they have a copy of the key somewhere.  The house technically belongs to the government, if you recall.  I'll have to redo the wards on the doors.  Something a bit more lethal this time.”

“No,” I snapped, sharp enough that the demon turned, his gaze narrowing at me.  I kept my attention focused on the dog.  “I've seen you get enough people killed.  I've had enough of demon magic.”

“I see,” he said after a moment, his tone flat.  “Then, had Veremail not broken his word, you would have let him have me.”

My hands tightened on my dog's coat.

“What do you think?” I asked bitterly.

“I think I would very much like to go home,” he whispered.  “It seems I don't have one to return to, though.”

He walked to stand by the window, staring out into the backyard with his arms crossed, his wings folded close to his back and his tail drooping so the tip touched the floor.  I watched him, studied the sharp lines of his face and the stark longing I saw etched there around his eyes.  

“I would leave if I could,” he said.  “It was not by choice that I was bound inside that clock.  I am not the one that wrapped the spell so tight that no human mage can undo it.”

“You let two people die during all of this,” I hissed.

“They were a lost cause-”

“You could have tried!”

My cry echoed in the vaulted ceiling and the dog scurried away, claw sliding on the hardwood, running to hide yet again in the shower.  Renfield remained silent and the only sound was that of the rustling of the shower curtain and then claws on the plastic surface and then silence throughout the house.

“You lost the war, didn't you?” I asked, realizing that he wasn't going to answer.  “You didn't leave your world by choice.  You fled.  This isn't just imprisonment – this is exile.”

“You understand, then, my anger.”  

The demon did not move.  I stood.

“No,” I replied.  “I don't.  It just sounds like an excuse to me.  Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to go wash the hospital out of my hair.”

I paused at the entry to the hallway.  The demon was still staring out the window, the ridges in his horns illuminated by the sunlight.

“What happened to Veremail?” I asked.

“The spell destroyed his bodies, but not his soul.  He's somewhere in that house, trapped to yet another object.”

He sounded darkly amused.

“Can we kill him?”  My tone was even and I felt nothing at the question.  Renfield's reply was slow in coming.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Good.”

Then I walked away, chased the dog out of the shower and, I stayed in there a long time, breathing steam, and staring at my hands.  The lines of the stitches was like a black caterpillar, burrowing into my flesh.  For a moment, one brief moment, I'd held golden fire in my fingers.  The world had bent to my will and I'd felt – for a few seconds – like I would live forever.  I dropped my hands, hunched my shoulders, and sobbed.
Renfield's Clock - Chapter 13
I don't really know much about medicine, I just was like eh oxygen whatevs.
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The wording had been deliberate.  I froze at the threat and in that instant, the demon inside me swept my mind up and pushed me aside, tumbling me into the dark.  Veremail was conjuring demon fire, spinning it out of thin air into a whirlwind around us, and Renfield met fire with fire.  He drew it about us like a cape and the black flame combined and then surged outward, racing across the ground until it expired yards away, leaving tendrils of steam in its wake.  The demons were already finding their next spell and Renfield's magic wound through my blood, like the flush of fever, and he gestured with two fingers and this time, Veremail was knocked back a few steps and he doubled over, coughing black bile onto the street.  Renfield stepped in, grabbed him by the hair, and threw him forwards.  A tremor of fear passed through me, remembering last time, and it seemed Renfield had learned from his mistakes, for our body grew hot again as he dredged up more power and spun it into a singular purpose.

Something hit us from behind.  Like a pencil jabbed into the spine, only it kept going, burrowing inside and Renfield grunted and clutched one hand against our sternum, twisting words together under his breath, and he reached in – I felt his fingers pass through my bone even as I knew this wasn't possible – and pulled something out.  I saw a web, like tangled branches, black and viscous, and then he spun about and threw it in the direction it'd come.  The web elongated and grew, and Veremail's second body threw up both arms to shield herself and the net erupted into demon fire before it hit.

The male body was on his feet again.  The two began to circle, Renfield in between them, hands ready, a spell poised to counted whatever they threw at him.  Renfield didn't feel concerned, not yet.  Two demons was not enough to bring him down.  The police hadn't arrived – in fact – their sirens had stopped at a specific distance away and I heard a gunshot in the distance.  Veremail had prepared an ambush and he was not going to allow reinforcements to arrive.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” the female asked.

“Like, your friend you left in the car?” the male added.

“He's not my friend,” Renfield growled, but he turned so that he could see out of the corner of his vision.

A third body, male, young and broad-shouldered, had Peter.  The demon had an arm around his neck and was holding one arm twisted behind the officer's back.  I could see a gash on his brow, leaking blood down one side of his face.  The mage looked grim but hid his fear well.

“I'll set demon fire in his lungs,” Veremail hissed, pleased at the prospect.  “How about you stand down?”

Renfield just let out a curt laugh.

“I wasn't talking to you,” the demon said wryly.

Me.  He was talking to me.  Renfield deliberately turned his back so that I couldn't see the police officer.

'Renfield – I -,' I began.

“You cannot, Erin,” the demon whispered.  

He stepped forwards, towards the woman, twisting his wrist and something like a black coil of thread snapped outwards.  She darted back, ducking out of its reach, but the tip snapped out and into her shoulder.  She screamed and her arm went limp, a red stain blossoming on her blouse.  Renfield pivoted on his heel and caught the other Veremail, physically attacking this time, and we were almost forced off-balance as he swung at us and Renfield caught the blow against our forearm.  Then he ducked, jabbed an elbow in the man's gut.  The woman was staggering to her feet again.

Demons were notoriously difficult to kill.

Renfield snarled and jabbed a finger and thumb into Veremail's ribs.  The man was thrown backwards and his shirt was scorched, melted to the skin and I saw the slick red of charred muscle as he straightened, watching Renfield warily.  I felt Renfield's satisfaction and he turned away, deliberately, and ran for the woman.  He hit her with our body at the waist, bearing us both to the ground, and then he rolled and came up on top, straddling her and he hit her on the chin, the knuckles cracking against bone, and he dug the fingers of our left hand into her chest.  I felt the flesh underneath go soft, like clay, and then it turned into hot liquid and soaked into her shirt, her blouse collapsing into her puddling chest.  She tried to scream and Renfield jerked to his feet, spinning and coming up to face the other man, laughing as he did so.  At our feet, the woman's legs jerked as the decay spread, devouring her torso and turning the whole of her body into a gelatinous mass of blood and bone.  I knew what was coming next.  She'd die and the sky would rain blood.  Renfield seemed to be anticipating this as well, for he continued to sidestep, keeping his eyes on the remaining demon.

I heard a scream.  Instinctively, Renfield jerked his head to look.  I saw Peter on the ground, on his hands and knees, coughing up blood.  Then the demon standing over him reached down, touched the back of his head, and the police officer convulsed with another shrill scream of agony.

“He's going to die,” Veremail purred, staying where he was and no longer advancing  Behind him, the woman had gone still.  “Let's be reasonable here – at this point, Renfield is all we're interested in.  Give us him and then we'll release these bodies and be on our way home.”

“No – Erin!” Renfield cried in a desperate undertone.

Full possession was difficult because the mind rebelled on some instinctual level.  I'd already watched two people die because I let Renfield convince me it was a hopeless cause.  The demon cried out as he was wrenched back into the dark, scrabbling for control and finding no purchase in the slick surface of my terror, and I staggered as I found my body once again in my possession.  Pain hit me, like I was surfacing from the water and into fire, where Veremail had hit Renfield in the shoulder.  Like hot coals buried there in the muscle.  I staggered but did not have time to process anything more before I was struck, a sharp blow just below my ribs.  I doubled over, my chest tightening into one giant knot, and then another blow hit me on the back of my head and I collapsed, the world dissolving around me.

Dimly, I was aware of being pulled to my feet.  I was dizzy and I could only sag uselessly against the person that had me by the arm, staying on my feet only by their guidance.  I raised my head and my vision reluctantly resolved itself – there was a car waiting, the back door open.  I was shoved inside and my ankles caught on each other and I fell onto the seat and the movement was enough to send the nausea crashing through my head and it pulled me under once more and I lay there with eyes closed, breathing slowly, as the car began to move.

My head cleared at some point and I raised my eyes to stare out the window.  We'd left the brewery district as the houses were no longer brick.  I saw two men in the front seats.  Veremail, both of them.  I struggled to sit up and once glanced back as I stirred.

“What do you want with Renfield?” I asked, my voice shaking.

I drew my legs up against my body, curled up in the backseat, shaking violently.

“Just keep him quiet and docile,” Veremail replied.  I recognized the flat, cold tone of voice.  Renfield had used it many times and I'd yet to fully understand the emotion behind it, if there even was one.

“Where's Peter?”

“Elsewhere.  Alive, for now.  Cooperate and it'll stay that way.”

I went quiet and waited.  Veremail took us to the outskirts of the city proper before pulling over.  I was pulled from the car at that point and the two demons escorted me between them to a house nestled down near a gully, where the terrain was broken enough that the builders couldn't fit them so close together.  It was a small, one-story building with white vinyl siding and a detached garage.  They brought me in through the back door, to a sparsely decorated interior.  The kitchen was narrow and there was a trail of dried blood on the floor, leading out into the backyard.  I balked.

“The previous owner is in the garage,” Veremail whispered in my ear, his hands tight on my arms.  “We won't be disturbed.  One of our other bodies will keep Peter close by and if you let Renfield out to breath, we'll kill him.”

'Just go with him,' Renfield said grimly.  'Don't fight back and give him a reason to hurt you.'

“What do you want with Renfield?” I repeated.

I was taken int the living room and shoved onto the coffee table.  One put a hand on my sternum, pinning me on my back on the table, and the other took my wrists and tied them to the legs of the table.  I heard Veremail hiss when he saw the rune copied onto my palm.

“Let's not have any of this,” he said and there was a flash of pain – sharp – and I felt blood slide down my skin.  I jerked my head back and saw Veremail folding a pocketknife and putting it back in his jeans.

“So let's talk,” the scrawnier one said, settling down on his knees and resting his elbows on the table, just near my head.  I twisted to look up at him, breathing hard, straining unconsciously at the ropes at my wrists.  “Originally, when I got thrown into this situation I thought – okay – distracting, disconcerting, but I can work with it.  Kill some people, have a bit of fun while it lasts, that sort of thing, and then bam – back into the mirror or back to my home world, I'm honestly not sure which will happen when this breaks.”

He paused and in the silence, Renfield supplied to me the answer.  I gave it, for there was no other reason for Renfield to offer that information.

“You'll go home,” I said.  “The mirror is expended.  The curse is broken.”

Veremail looked away, pleased, but there was some apprehension there.  Then he collected himself and turned his gaze back down to me.

“Good,” he finally said.  “There's that, at least.  But the thing is, then you come along and I think – ah – Renfield.  Now here's an opportunity.  Things haven't been the best for me back home, which is why I decided to take a night on the town and harass the humans a bit.  That didn't work out so well and I get trapped in that fucking mirror.  My luck seems to be changing, though.  I've got you.  And if I take you back with me, if we all go home, well.  Then I can just hand you over to our rulers – you remember them, don't you Renfield?  And maybe they'll be a bit more favorable towards me after that.”

And for the first time I felt fear.  It wasn't my own.  Mine, I knew well enough.  It was a familiar friend, stale and cold with the stink of helplessness.  Renfield's was like a river, surging through a canyon in the dead of night, blacking out the stars and the moon and dragging me down into its depths.  I couldn't breath, it was so cold and so sharp, and it was only once I heard my own weak cries, panting in the back of my throat, that I became aware of my surroundings again.  Veremail laughed and I felt his fingers stroke my hair back from my face.

“I am pleased you're borrowing this human bitch for the time,” he mused.  “It gives me an opportunity.  After all, whatever she feels, you feel.”

Fingers grabbed my ear.  I gasped, realizing once again that there were two of them, and then I screamed as pain flooded through my ear and into the side of my face, and I felt hot liquid draining along the back of the lobe and into my hair.  I couldn't tell what he'd done.  I couldn't see and it hurt – that was all I knew – it hurt.  My breathing was coming too fast and I felt light-headed and above my own cries, I heard Veremail laugh.

'Erin,' Renfield said evenly.  'Listen to me.  I understand why you weren't able to let me maintain the possession.  That... was escalating and it would have gotten Peter killed.  But when they dragged him with us to use as a hostage – Erin – he was dying.  You hesitated too long and Veremail subdued him with too much force.'

No.  Demons lied.  Renfield was afraid and would tell me anything.

'He could live,' the demon continued.  'If medical help gets to him in time and I do think that is possible.  The police are more competent than Veremail seems to think and he is nave if he believes we were not tailed in some way.  They know they are dealing with demons and humanity has learned not to take on demons in a straight fight.  They know to bide their time and throw a sucker punch.  I would not count on this, however.  You don't walk away from subduing a demon without casualties and if they're reeling from taking down just one of Veremail's bodies, then I doubt they'll be able to extract Peter in time.

'And more, Veremail admitted that he's been needing to kill someone each night to keep in control of his possession.  He doesn't need Peter alive.  He just needs you to believe he still has a hostage.'

I couldn't see through my tears.  There was a form of a man, leaning over me again, and then I felt the cold point of the knife just under the collar of my shirt, positioned along the collarbone.

“You're listening to him, aren’t you?” Veremail asked tersely.  “What's he saying?”

I didn't reply.  The tip of the knife dug in, I gasped and strained at the rope holding my wrists as he traced a line to my shoulder.  Then he pulled the knife away, holding it so that I could see the thin line of blood along the edge.

“We found your address in the registry,” he said indifferently.  “I'm on my way back with the clock and then we can all leave.  Tell me – does that frighten Renfield?”

“Yes,” I whispered.  Veremail laughed and sat back, tapping the knife on the edge of the table.

“Good,” he said, pleased.  “Let's make a deal, you and I.  Keep Renfield inside that head of yours until we get the gateway open and then we'll take him inside the clock and you'll be free.  Won't that be nice?  You can have your life back.”

Somewhere, Renfield was whispering that Veremail was lying, that he wouldn't release me.  He urged me to give him control of the body again, but I was no longer listening.  Veremail's words were like honey, like the first touch of warmth after a bitter winter.  I could be free.  I owed Renfield nothing.  He'd threatened to kill me, he'd hurt me, and he'd done terrible things in my body and I'd seen things I would never be able to forget because of him.  He was a demon.  I had no reason to protect him from anything.

'Please Erin,' he implored.  'Veremail betrayed me, you think he would keep his word to a human?'

I shuddered, swallowing hard.  My ear throbbed with pain with every beat of my heart.  He'd scored it, I thought, up in the cartilage.  That was where the pain was located and I tried not to move my head, light-headed as I was.

“Okay,” I whispered to the demon.  “He's yours.”

Veremail laughed softly and patted my head as he stood.  I winced and then reeled under the resulting roaring in my ears from the motion.

“Just lay still then,” Veremail said.  “Don't try to get free.  Consider it insurance for now, just in case Renfield manages something.  But you can keep him in check, can't you?”

I listened as he walked away, leaving me alone in the living room.  I heard the stairs leading to the basement creak.  Inside my head, Renfield began imploring me again, not quite begging, but I heard the strain of fear in his voice.  

“Shut up,” I hissed, my eyes firmly closed, trying to relax my wrists and earn some slack in the ropes.  “Why should I listen to you?”

A long silence.

'I guess you shouldn't,' he finally said.  'I've done nothing for you and with as many people as I've harmed and killed, I cannot even appeal to your sense of mercy.'

He settled down, quiet inside my soul, and I waited for a caveat that failed to come.  Renfield had nothing to bargain with and he was too proud to beg.  Part of me was angry at that.  I'd begged.  I would deny it, I would claim I bargained, but ultimately the demon was correct: I'd begged.  I didn't recall what words I'd used, but somewhere in there I'd broken down and pleaded with the demon, curled against the wall, sobbing that I didn't want to die just yet.  That I'd do anything.  Anything at all.  I'd always believed myself to be strong and independent and yet, when confronted with a malevolent force I had no defense against, I crumpled under its weight and discovered inside myself a coward, huddling like a child in the dark.

I'd give Renfield over to my enemy just for the hope of saving myself and the only comfort I could use to assuage my soul was that the demon deserved it.

It was difficult to keep track of time.  My shoulders and back began to ache, splayed as I was on the hard surface, and I struggled to remain still, conscious of the ebbing pain from my ear and from the back of my head where I'd been struck by the demon.  It was a fitful wait and I almost spoke again, just to hear Renfield's voice in my mind in reply.  I could feel his resentment, however, and though it ate at me and the terror of waiting in silence wore me thin, I remained quiet.  I heard the back door open and then footsteps on the stairs leading to the basement.  One of Veremail's bodies had returned.  I was struggling to keep track of them.  There had been five, but Renfield had killed one, and there were two guarding me and a third with Peter.  This would be the fourth, then, carrying Renfield's clock.

Then, the back door opened yet again, and I heard someone enter and there was the sound of something being drug across the floor.  Something heavy, and after a moment footsteps came from the basement and then the two went back down.  The stairs creaked under their weight.  They were carrying something heavy and my breath caught in my throat.

'No one told you?' Renfield commented dryly.  'Opening a temporary gateway between our worlds is very difficult.  The easiest way to bridge the gap is by using something else as the fuel source and honestly, there's few things more powerful than the death throes of a mage.  Peter wasn't just a hostage.  He's the sacrifice.  But... they have my clock.  It's too late now.'

No.  He was lying.  He had to be.  My arms had gone taut and the ropes bit into my wrists.  I couldn't put anything in order in my head.  I tried to ask Renfield what I should do, I impulsively thought of giving him control but I could not calm myself enough – and then it was too late.  I heard Veremail returning to the living room and I knew he was coming, this time, for us.
Renfield's Clock - Chapter 12
And around this chapter I was like, 'am I going to hit 50k words before the novel is done?'
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I'm okay.  I was just rear ended on the highway today.  It was scary, don't know if there's damage to my car as I don't see any, but it was a pretty hard hit, so I'm getting it checked out.  I'm not at fault.  I did get pretty bad whiplash so the urgent care doctor put me on some painkillers and muscle relaxants, but otherwise I'm okay.

But you can read all about it on my tumblr, if you like.

If you're wondering what I'm up to right now, I'm working on revising Summoner.  I'm also doing some work on expressiveness in my drawings, if that's what you call it.  I dunno.  I guess you can tell me when I finally finish up the series and post it.
Since I'm doing NaNoWriMo, I wrote this little blog post about it.  It features my best illustration to date.  Seriously.  I'm super-proud of it.

road-rage-letters.tumblr.com/p…

So here's the thing. I have only done NaNoWriMo once. It was while I was in the throes of my illness and taking a ton of meds. As a result... that month got nuked from my memory. I had to e-mail someone that was my writing buddy, asking if he remembered anything of my plot, so I could then run a search on my C: drive to find the folder I'd stashed the novel in.

I still haven't read it. I can't. It's too weird, like someone else wrote it.

And it's also terrible and I get this horrible second-hand embarrassment when I look at it.

So that's my NaNoWriMo story.

I've been getting some friends that are doing it, some people asking if I'm doing it too, so while I KNOW I shouldn't add anything else to my plate, I'm kind of tempted to give it another shot. I usually give myself a little bit of time each evening to kick back and relax, I'll just shuffle that time into NaNo and I should be able to crank out the required word count each evening.

The question is, what do I write about? My coworker was asking, so I wrote up some ideas and sent them to her. She voted for one and I won't say what it is. I do not favor any one of these over the other, so let me know which looks interesting.

Renfield:

Modern era, world is much the same except magic and supernatural stuff is commonly known and just part of life. People can learn magic at the local library. Protagonist is part of the 20% of the population that has an adverse reaction to magic and gets violently ill, so she’s without. Story starts with someone dumping a cursed (and homicidal) artifact on her doorstep. Instead of trying to get rid of it and cursing someone else in the process, she negotiates with the demon trapped inside. Now he lives in her house and when she leaves, he rides along in her head. She’s lost her job as a result (apparently HR wasn’t too happy with the pseudo-possession aspect) and to make ends meet, the demon suggests they freelance for the police working on their high-casualty supernatural cases that typically never get solved because they’re too dangerous.

Hijinks ensue.

Death's daughter:

Modern era, young adult. The supernatural is kiiiind of known about, but most people assume it’s completely separate from their lives and doesn't really interact with the world at large. The main character loses her mother and the grim reaper takes a personal interest in her situation, contacting a government agency that is like the FBI for the supernatural, and they take custody of her and place her with a retired agent’s family, conveniently close to their HQ. She gets a bit older, starts highschool, then starts seeing weird things at school, gets suspended for fighting, and death shows up for a father-daughter talk, because she’s the kid he didn’t know he had. He then talks the supernatural FBI into letting her help them, because she’s effectively immortal as death has no desire to take his daughter to the underworld, and because she can see and interact with said underworld and it’s currently being ruled by a queen that is slowly invading the mundane world and unraveling the world at the seams. And she’s got a chokehold on death and he’s unable to overthrow her without help, and hopes that his daughter will be just the help he needs.

Samantha:

Modern era, young adult, mix of sci-fi/fantasy. Main character gets pulled into an in-between realm that connects all the other worlds by a boy in need of saving. He’s currently being held at a ‘hub’ that controls all the networks between worlds, as he’s a ‘key’ that can open gates between and is being used to connect one part of the universe. The protagonist is also a key to another part of the universe and the hub would really love to get their hands on her as well, as they’re currently engaged in a conquest of the various settled worlds. She basically spends the story running from them, as well as the monsters that inhabit the hub, as the previous ‘key’ is being kept in suspended animation because she ripped open the worlds and the hub was forced to imprison her. The monsters are born out of her nightmares and are what’s keeping the boy a prisoner there, the hub is just exploiting that to their advantage. The main character gets some people to help her from the various worlds of varying technological levels that are sick of the hub’s control, and they find the boy, wake the sleeping key, realize ‘oh shit she’s crazy and is responsible for the monsters’ and have to undo their mistake. I’ve also been wanting to write about a protagonist with a disability and this is one I’d do that with.

Keepers:

Future dystopia, a world war has rendered most of the planet radioactive and inhabitable. The biggest human settlement is a single city, building up and down in one of the few ‘safe’ areas left. It’s not too terrible of a dystopia, they just have to manage everything since resources are so limited now. With the world war, a lot of the old supernatural things in hiding have started to take over the remnants of the world, as they’re not affected by the toxins in the environment as the humans are. The main character is the second-oldest remaining vampire, helping shelter a bunch of the other surviving vampires. Their nest is raided by the city and they’re brought to said city and then recruited into taking up a very old tradition of keeping the other supernaturals in check so they don’t wipe out humanity. Because vampires are about the only supernatural that is sympathetic to humans. Technically the job is for the oldest vampire, but he’s too busy playing politics with the city, and delegates to the protagonist.

And I'm adding this one by request: Langley's Ark:

Other world, steampunk. Ships hover instead of sail over the ocean, twin mages that own their own ship are employed for a research mission to the south pole investigating where undead penguins are coming from. A member of the royal... secret police? organization is assigned to tag along to arrest said necromancer, because necromancy is illegal. Then they find the necromancer and she's 12 years old. Hijinks ensue.


Also, I'm Fainting Goat on the website.

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fainting-goat
Bonnie Quinn (which is totally a penname)
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
I write. I draw. I write way too much. I paint and play the harp. And I'm part of the Society for Creative Anachronism as Lady Brighid of Red Spears.

kiki-doodle drew that awesomeness for me.
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:iconlorien077:
Lorien077 Featured By Owner 14 hours ago  Professional General Artist
Hey there, happy birthday!
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:iconbrian-oconnell:
Brian-OConnell Featured By Owner 1 day ago  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy birthday!
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:iconmkr:
mkr Featured By Owner Dec 11, 2014  Professional General Artist
:turbopoke:
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:iconsaraplante:
SaraPlante Featured By Owner Edited Nov 15, 2014  Professional General Artist

Thank you so much for the favorite on Reprisal! Also, since you seem interested in goats check out my piece The Kids!

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:iconsleepyowlet:
sleepyowlet Featured By Owner Aug 4, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
I love your minecraft textures. To bits. Thank you so much for creating and sharing that thing of utter beauty!
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:iconjf123:
jf123 Featured By Owner Jun 6, 2014  Hobbyist Photographer
Have a Llama for writing good stories. They are enjoyable.
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:iconkiki-doodle:
kiki-doodle Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2014  Professional Digital Artist
Thought of you!!
i am goat. by sketchinthoughts
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:iconfainting-goat:
fainting-goat Featured By Owner Apr 4, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
LOVE IT.
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:iconaviskye:
Aviskye Featured By Owner Jan 4, 2014
Darn, I missed your birthday. Facepalm Have a very late happy birthday and a very late merry Christmas and a very late happy New Year and a llama badge from me. XD
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:iconfainting-goat:
fainting-goat Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you.  :)
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