Fic, Moonlight Shadow, Chapter 2.
Jun. 26th, 2007 07:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettChapter 2 : Sing a Song of Sorrow and Grieving
Author : fredbassett
Genre : Original Fiction
Copyright : Mine all mine (feel free to slash for fun and non-profit)
2
SING A SONG OF SORROW AND GRIEVING
The white dog threw back its head and howled for the third and final time. The sound of a Hellhound can be heard on both sides of the Veil, echoing even in the Shadows between the two worlds. The mist swirled even more densely, wrapping itself around the pillars of the bridge, but failing to muffle the sound that issued from the animal’s throat. It was time. A squeal of tyres ripped across the steady drone of the other traffic followed by the sickening sound of two vehicles hitting each other at speed. A horn blared out; metal twisted and ripped; tyres exploded and two cars were brought to an abrupt halt by the middle section of the bridge.
* * * * *
She stared at her watch. Eight thirty. They’d been due at their last appointment at eight, but the fog had probably slowed them down. The customer had called a few minutes ago, demanding to know when Otherworld Investigations were going to live up to their adverts and deal promptly and efficiently with his problem: a ghost who insisted on hanging around the men’s toilets in his pub and giving his customers a nasty fright. As the irate publican had pointed out, there are times when the offer of a helping hand isn’t always appreciated and he was getting fed up of paying cleaning bills. Philippa had pacified him, blaming the weather and then had tried to raise her husband and his cousin on the phone. She was still trying.
The one sight that no-one wants to see on their doorstep at that time of night is two police officers, especially not when one of them is female and looks nervous. The blood drained from the girl’s face, leaving her as white as the mist shrouding the garden. Even before the woman delivered the standard introduction and asked if they could come in, Philippa knew what they were here for, and as shock spread through her veins like iced water, she became conscious of a voice that wasn’t hers answering the standard question about whether she was alone.
He wrapped his arms round her and held her close, ignoring the two police officers who simply stood and stared, both wishing there was an easier way of breaking this sort of news. The female officer started to say “I’m sorry, Mrs Wakelin, there’s been a car accident and your husband is ….”
The faery swung the young woman into his arms as though she weighed no more than a child and carried her back into the living room. The fire sprung into life, obedient to an unspoken word and he settled down to let her cry into his shoulder. When the sobs threatened to turn into hysteria, he gave her narrow shoulders a slight shake and forced her to face him. “He didn’t suffer. It was a car crash. Michael died instantly. Frank is badly injured but he is alive.”
“I don’t know, sweetpea. I heard the Hound, but I do not know why he came for Michael. None of us ever know why.”
He held her tightly to give the lie to those words, but she was right, since her grandmother’s death three years ago, Michael had been all she had on this side of the Veil. For a moment, he felt his own heart tighten in his chest and he had to blink away tears. The worn leather chair was still in its customary place by the fire and just for a second he thought he glimpsed her there, as calm and serene as ever, compassion in her pale grey eyes. Neither young nor old, the way he would always remember her.
And the mortal woman in the faery’s arms wept until eventually there were no more tears left, only a cavernous sense of loss that no light could penetrate, certainly not the grey, watery light of the cold dawn that finally entered the equally cold room.
Green Jacket had never felt any inclination to master such human devices as telephones, but he had other means of communication at his disposal and eventually, satisfied that his attempts had been successful, he allowed himself to drift into a shallow sleep. But faeries, like dogs, sleep lightly and the slight sound of a car’s tyres on the gravel of the driveway was enough to bring him instantly awake. He had no compunction in settling a Glamour around Philippa like a blanket, and leaving her curled up on the sofa while he went to answer the door.
Father Murphy took one look at his face and said, “You look as bad as me, only without the bruises. How is she?”
“Asleep, which is a good thing. Come on, I’ll see if I can remember how to work the coffee machine. Did you get to see Frank?”
The priest nodded, “They weren’t keen on letting me in. He’d only come out of theatre five minutes before, but I told them I wouldn’t take the risk of him dying unshriven. That worked. He’s still unconscious. They had to remove his left leg below the knee to get him out of the car. They were cagier than I would have liked about his chances, but I suppose that’s only to be expected. Doctors are as bad as lawyers for not giving straight answers. Is there anything you can do?”
The faery shrugged. “I can get the truth out of them with minimal effort, but I don’t suppose that’s what you meant. Healing isn’t one of my strongest talents. It would be better if I could get one of the Queen’s people in there, but I doubt any of them would be willing to go near that much human machinery.
“Then you’ll just have to do your best. You did well enough with me earlier, although I have to say driving with a broken hand is none too easy.”
“You were in a hospital, why didn’t you get it fixed?”
“Our people can’t mend things as easily as yours and anyway it’s been carnage on the roads tonight with this fog. A & E was like a battleground. I told them I’d slipped on some wet leaves and they told me to take two painkillers and come back tomorrow if it was no better. I took the hint and left.”
Green Jacket reached across the table and carefully untied the splint he’d strapped to the first three fingers. Underneath the strips of torn cassock which had doubled as a bandage, the fingers were bruised dark and swollen. He took the priest’s hands in his and held them. There was a hint of mischief in his strangely feline eyes as he asked, “What about the Bishop?”
Nathan hurt all over and he had spent a night with no sleep. “Bugger the Bishop.”
Cool hands stroked broken and bruised fingers and the pain started to recede. “No thanks, not my type,” said Haleth, continuing to use his long fingered hands to soothe away pain and swelling and when that was done, he concentrated on re-knitting the bones, wishing he’d been able to take away Philippa’s pain as easily as this, but broken hearts did not mend like broken bones. The only respite he could bring to her would be nothing better than an illusion and he knew the girl well enough to know that she would prefer honest grief to a dishonest reality.
It took half an hour, but when the faery lent back in his chair and raised one eyebrow questioningly, the priest was able to flex his fingers without wincing even though he was still tentative in his movements.
“They feel all right, thanks. What do you want by way of payment?”
Green Jacket looked puzzled and Nathan Murphy grinned, “A faery never helps a human for free, remember?”
The smile he got in return was too weary to hold any humour. “Make some more coffee. Philippa’s in no state to face that ghastly brew of mine.”
“I’ve drunk your coffee before, Uncle Hal,” said a quiet voice from the doorway. “And Nathan’s isn’t much better. I’ll do it. You make it strong enough to corrode iron, that’s your problem.”
It’d been Michael’s problem as well, but he and Frank had liked it that way, so she’d mainly taken to drinking tea as a defensive measure, but not now. The coffee she poured was black and strong enough to stain the table. She stirred two sugars into the faery’s mug. He had a sweet tooth, like many of his kind.
Both men were conscious of the tears that lay on her pale cheeks but neither of them made any comment. Philippa was grateful for that and even more grateful for the fact that neither of them asked how she was feeling.
“Can I see them?”
Nathan noted the use of the plural and just for a second he wondered if Philippa was more confused than she looked, but one glance at the girl’s eyes disabused him of that notion. He looked at his watch. Frank Wakelin had been out of the operating theatre for two hours now. They might allow visitors without an argument, but even if the staff were still less than keen, he suspected Haleth could be relied on to deal with that without the need to resort to violence. He presumed the same would be true for Michael, but he had no idea how badly damaged his body had been by the crash.
His body was badly damaged, said a voice in Nathan’s head at the same time as he replied, “I expect we can get in to see Frank. Do you want to go now?”
The hospital staff offered no comment on the advisability of Philippa’s request to be taken to the mortuary to see her husband. She was informed that the mortuary was available 24 hours a day, but a member of staff would need to be contacted to make the arrangements. The nurse was sorry, but in view of the chaos caused by the fog they’d been on the receiving end of several arrivals last night and she couldn’t immediately confirm a time for a viewing. She took Philippa’s details and said she would contact her as soon as possible.
Green Jacket wondered idly what state a body would have to be in for a relative to be denied access. He didn’t think it was a good idea for Philippa to see her husband’s body, but he knew arguing with the girl would get him nowhere.
“Can I see Frank Wakelin now?”
“He’s in Intensive Care,” said the nurse.
“Yes, but can I see him?” said Philippa, inserting an element of Compulsion into her voice that the Guild would not have approved of.
“As long as the two of you don’t disturb him, and only for five minutes.” The fact that she was talking to three people clearly hadn’t registered.
“And then I want to see my husband.” There was now no disguising the coercion and Nathan Murphy hoped the hospital didn’t have any detector spells that would be triggered by it. He glanced at Green Jacket and the faery shrugged. There were far too many humans and way too much machinery around for his senses to work well in here. It was all he could do to stop himself ripping the Veil apart just to get away from it all. The acrid smells of blood, pain and death came at him from all sides and he had to keep his mind tightly shuttered against the raw overspill of human emotion from nearly every inhabitant of the building.
Frank Wakelin lay pale and still, connected to various machines by more tubes and wires than the faery had ever seen before. He didn’t know what any of them did, and he didn’t want to remain long enough to find out, but he had a nasty feeling that a quick exit wasn’t going to be an option. A plump young nurse with blonde hair coiled into an untidy knot at the back of her head showed them to the bedside, or rather she ushered Philippa and Nathan Murphy in and looked right though Green Jacket, so at least he knew his Glamour was still holding.
The young man’s eyes were closed, his light brown hair, almost identical in colour to Philippa’s was held back from his face by a bandage around his forehead. Long brown eyelashes lay unmoving on his cheeks. His bottom lip was cut and bruised and looked like he’d bitten through it in the crash. A sheet was held up over the lower half of his body by a wire cage. Keeping his thoughts as tightly focussed as he could, Green Jacket tried to learn something useful from the nurse. What he found out wasn’t comforting.
Frank had lost a lot of blood in the crash and the emergency surgery to remove the remains of his leg at the scene had come very close to killing him. Haleth had stayed at his side until the first ambulances arrived. Until then, he had watched and waited and lent what strength he could, but it wasn’t easy sustaining any link in those circumstances, although he had at least managed to dull the injured man’s senses with a Glamour until the humans arrived with the morphine they seemed to prize so highly. And after that it was work for humans, not him.
“There’s been no change, Father.” said a young doctor, who to Nathan’s eyes didn’t look old enough to be out of medical school. “His wife?” he asked in a low voice, glancing at Philippa, who was standing at the bedside, oblivious to any observers.
Nathan Murphy shook his head. “His cousin’s wife. Her husband died in the same car.”
“Nasty crash,” muttered the doctor. “Two killed outright. Another died at the scene and they’re still working on three of the others. One of the women was pregnant. Twins,” he remarked as an after thought and in response to Nathan’s raised eyebrows he gave a slight shake of his head. “This guy was luckier than most of them.” He moved to Philippa’s side, unconsciously stepping around Green Jacket, without being aware of him. “He’s not in any pain and I’d say he stands a good chance. Go home. Someone will call if there is any change.” He laid a hand lightly on her arm and added, “I’m sorry about your husband.”
Philippa looked up, her face as expressionless as the man on the bed. “I want to see him now.”
“The nurse on the desk outside will be able to arrange a time when she has spoken to the mortuary staff, but you might want to consider talking to someone about it first. I don’t subscribe to the theory that seeing the body is always the wisest course. There are some sights you might prefer to forget.”
“I want to see him now,” repeated Philippa, casting a Spell of Compulsion which settled around the man like a fire blanket.
He blinked rapidly, but made no move to obey the command and Green Jacket saw surprise register on the girl’s face. The doctor shouldn’t have been able to do anything except follow orders, not after a spell of that strength had been thrown at him. What he shouldn’t have been able to do was smile and shake his head.
Philippa frowned and started to make a small movement with her left hand.
“Don’t, sweetpea, he’s needed here. And this is not the place for a fight.”
The doctor, identified by his badge as Mark Phelps, looked straight at the faery, blinked twice and said, “I didn’t see you before, I’m sorry,” then to Green Jacket’s even greater surprise, he added to Philippa, “If you wait ten minutes, I’m going off shift. We can talk then. And don’t worry, I don’t make a habit of calling the police to deal with grieving relatives, even if they do have a tendency to use illegal spells in inappropriate places.”
And with that he smiled and carried on about his business on the ward, leaving three people staring after him in stunned silence.
No-one made any attempt to get them to move and they stood beside Frank’s bedside, each of them struggling with very different thoughts and emotions. Hoping that Mark Phelps would be true to his word, Green Jacket concentrated on doing what he could to weave healing Charms around Frank Wakelin’s body, but he found it hard to draw on any power here, surrounded by so much metal, with death hanging in the air like a thunder cloud, dark and oppressive. He still found the smell one of the worst things, even breathing shallowly through his mouth didn’t help. Air that seemed to have been endlessly re-circulated round the building fouled his lungs and distracted his thoughts. And he still wanted to get far away from this place as fast as he could manage, but it didn’t look like that was going to be an option.
Ten minutes stretched to twenty, but even Philippa displayed no impatience, seemingly lost in her own thoughts, one hand resting lightly on Frank’s.
Widowed at twenty three wasn’t exactly what Haleth had expected for her when he’d stood in the place of the father who had died only two years after her birth and had given her in marriage to Michael Wakelin in a ceremony that certainly could not have been described as conventional. The man lying on the bed in front of them had been best man. The three of them, Michael, Philippa and Frank had still been at University with a years studying left ahead of them, but they had already been making plans to set up their own firm. Two years later, Otherworld Investigations had been born, just as soon as each of it’s newly qualified principals had received their Guild Licences. It had caused quite a stir in the notoriously conservative city. And after six months, they had been doing well and were even talking about employing someone else.
And now Michael was dead and Frank looked perilously close to joining him, whatever the young doctor said.
Green Jacket sighed and did what he could to keep the young man alive by pouring as much of his own strength as he could into the Healing Spells he had woven. He wouldn’t be crossing the Veil again this day, that much he was sure of. He’d be lucky if he had the strength to open a door, let alone the Veil between worlds.
A light touch on his arm eventually broke his concentration and he found himself looking into Nathan Murphy’s dark eyes. “Your Glamour’s slipping, Hal. One of the nurses just noticed you. Philippa managed to blank her memory, but this isn’t a good place to start using Spells of Confusion, not in an I. C. Unit. Let’s wait outside. You’ve done all you can for Frank. Any more and we’ll be needing a bed here for you, as well.”
They retired to a small waiting area just down the corridor. Green Jacket slumped into an orange plastic chair, his head cradled in his hands. He had reduced the Glamour to simply concealing his weapons and blurring his features enough to pass for human. Philippa stared at the opposite wall, pale and unmoving. In contrast, Nathan paced up and down, trying to achieve a measure of calm in prayer.
The faery looked up, his pupils narrowed again to slits. “Stop pacing or stop praying, I don’t really care which, but if you carry on doing both you’ll regret it.”
The priest stopped pacing and grinned. “Which do you find the most annoying?”
“You know the answer to that. Your God has never shown much inclination towards ending suffering in the past, so I fail to see why you expect him to start now.”
It was an old argument and Nathan had known the faery too long to take offence, but he was saved the need to reply by the approach of Dr Phelps.
“I’m sorry. It always takes longer than I expect to get out of there.” He looked at Green Jacket, approval in his eyes. “Your spells appear to be working. He’s stronger than he was. I presume it was your intervention at the scene of the crash that kept him alive? I felt the residue of magic when he was brought in, but none of the ambulance crew claimed responsibility.”
“Are you Guild Registered?” asked Philippa, curiosity surfacing for an instant.
The doctor shook his head. “My Abilities are strictly limited. As you found out earlier, I’m a difficult subject to practice magic on. Apart from that, I can detect its use, but that’s all.”
“Sensitive?”
“Yes, which can be a problem around here. The current Administration spends more on mousetraps than they do on Cleansing, and the number of spirits who decide to hang around can be a distraction at times, to put it mildly.”
“I saw the woman you have back there in I. C. U. She looked pretty pissed off. Someone needs to convince her that there are better ways to spend eternity than in a hospital gown. Does she accost every set of relatives you get in there? I set Wards around Frank’s bed, but you really would be better of getting rid of her before she gives someone a heart attack.”
“Tell me about it,” sighed Mark Phelps. “Or better still, put in a complaint. If they get enough of them, they might even make proper provision in next year’s budget somewhere.”
“Get me in see my husband without an endless wait and I’ll deal with her free of charge,” said Philippa. “I’ll even add interest and get rid of a second one for you if you have any more.”
“At the last count we had at least ten in various places. What are you like with bogey-beasts in basements?”
“Good enough. Does that mean you’ll arrange something for me?”
The smile the doctor gave was almost as tired as Green Jacket’s, but even so it lit up his face and wiped away the lines of strain from around his eyes. “Yes. I’ve already spoken to the bloke in charge of the mortuary. Your husband is here and you’re now at the top of the queue. We can go down there now.” He held his hand down to Philippa and drew her to her feet. “But I’ve got to ask you this again. Are you sure this is how you want to remember him? It won’t be nice.”
“Death rarely is,” said the girl, her voice barely above a whisper. “Is he in one piece?”
Mark Phelps nodded. He’d also given the morgue attendant enough warning so he could clean up the worst of the blood, which was the main reason he’d kept them waiting so long. He now owed the man a big favour, but if he was lucky, he’d manage to hold Philippa Wakelin to her promise, which would go a long way to paying off that debt. It might even put him in credit, if she was as good as his contact in the Guild had led him to believe. It had been a hurried phone call, but a productive one.
He’d even managed to find out who her two companions were. The faery wasn’t to be messed with, that was for sure. His informant had been quite adamant on that score. He’d been vaguer on the subject of the priest, but there was a quiet confidence in the black robed man’s manner that told the doctor he could handle himself should the occasion arise, even though he was doing a less than perfect job of disguising the pain from what appeared to be some cracked and bruised ribs.
Without another word, Mark Phelps led them down two flights of stairs, the second of which clearly went below the level of the main entrance. Nathan Murphy had been down to the hospital mortuary before on several occasions, but he’d never managed to accustom himself to the various twists and turns of the tunnels underneath one of the City’s busy main roads which connected two parts of the enormous sprawling hospital complex.
Glad to be away from the people and the machines, Green Jacket relaxed slightly and paused for a moment to breathe the cleaner, colder air. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked slightly and his nostrils twitched at a barely detectable smell. The doctor hadn’t been kidding about the bogey-beast. He said nothing and walked on after the others. Few Otherworld creatures would be stupid enough to attack a member of the
Mark Phelps noticed the movement and saw past the Glamour. “It’s not dangerous to that extent, but it has given a lot of people a nasty fright. These tunnels are the only way out of the
“I’ll deal with it for you,” said Philippa, “but you really do need a budget for this sort of thing. A hospital this size needs more than charity jobs.”
“Tell me about it,” muttered Mark, an edge of bitterness creeping into his voice. “We’re reliant on enough of that just for equipment. This sort of thing doesn’t even figure in anyone’s calculations, which is hardly surprising when most of the Bean Counters up in Admin are as Sensitive as the average brick. I’ve only worked in one hospital which spent as much as was needed on this Cleansing, and that was entirely down to the fact that the Chief Exec was scared to death of monsters under the beds. And we had more beds than most.”
He stopped outside a door marked No Admittance, Authorised Personnel Only and tapped a series of numbers into a keypad. The door opened and they set off down a different passage. The feeling of being followed abruptly. A man behind a desk at the end of the corridor looked up at their approach.
He recognised Nathan Murphy and smiled. Switching his gaze to Philippa, he said, “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs Wakelin. Your husband had identification on him. It would be sufficient for Father Murphy to make the identification for you if you would prefer.”
“It isn’t a question of identification,” said Philippa, knowing perfectly well that Green Jacket’s intervention at the house had prevented the two harassed police officers even thinking about such technicalities. “I just want to see my husband.”
Without trying to persuade her any further, the mortuary attendant slid a clip board and a pen across the desk. Philippa paid no attention to whatever was written on the form and simply scrawled her signature and then stared expectantly at the door. The man opened it and led them into small room which contained nothing more than four chairs and a narrow trolley bed on wheels, the metal bars around the side in place, even though there was no chance of the occupant of the bed falling out. A white sheet covered the figure from head to foot. The smell of disinfectant didn’t entirely mask the metallic smell of blood.
Nathan Murphy made the sign of the Cross and moved to stand at the foot of the trolley, his head bowed in prayer.
Philippa took three steps into the room and looked around, her head tilted to one side, like a dog at a half-heard noise. She stretched her hands out, looking at them as though they belonged to someone else, conscious of an uncomfortable prickle running the length of each finger. She flexed one hand, then the other. The feeling didn’t change. If anything, it only intensified.
She closed her eyes and with a effort, forced her breathing under control, taking air in through her nose, ignoring the smells, as exhaling slowly and deliberately through her mouth. Her eyes closed and she tried to forget her surroundings, tried to forget the still form shrouded in white, tried to push away the crushing pain that had settled around her chest over the last ten hours of her life.
She felt rather than saw the movement of the mortuary technician as he closed the door and stood just inside it, watching her with sympathy but without curiosity. He had watched far too many relatives in this room to even consider guessing at their likely reactions. He knew it was selfish to prefer the calm ones, but there really were only so many hysterical reactions that anyone could take in a day, and he’d witnessed two already and it was only ten o’clock. He was hoping to avoid a third, but he had a nasty feeling that the slender girl with the pale face and loosely plaited long brown hair wouldn’t keep her composure beyond the removal of the sheet. They so often didn’t and there was something that struck him as unnatural about this one’s calm. The man’s thoughts brushed across Philippa’s mind, but true to her Guild oath for the first time today, she made no attempt to pry further than the surface.
Mark Phelps stood to one side of the bed, his thoughts unreachable. He had a natural shielding of a type rarely encountered. Philippa wouldn’t make the mistake of using Spells on him again. It’d be the equivalent of using a pea shooter against kevlar, in any event. His quiet breathing was the only detectable sign of his presence in the room.
Nathan Murphy may not have had the doctor’s impervious mental armour, but his habit of running prayers on continuous loop in his mind had much the same effect. A slight smile curved Philippa’s lips. The Bishop may have felt that Father Murphy spent too much time in the company of one particular faery, but it was clear that the priest had developed his own ways of ensuring his thoughts remained private.
Green Jacket himself stood at her side, his presence as comforting and dependable as it had always been in her life. She could feel his exhaustion lying heavily in the air and knew without needing to be told what an effort it was for him even just to maintain the basic Glamour needed to pass for human and to prevent the hospital staff seeing the sword at his side and the long knife hanging from his wide leather belt. Fortunately, he’d left the bow behind.
A faery’s thoughts are normally almost impossible for any but the strongest human magic users to reach, but on this occasion his mind lay open to her, grief for Michael mixed inextricably with an older pain of his own, still as sharp and brittle as broken shards of ice, even after three long years. She knew how much it hurt him to return to the mortal world and she also knew that if it wasn’t for his love of her and his friendship with the priest that he would gladly leave this side of the Veil to its own devices without a backward glance.
Fear of loss twisted in her stomach like a snake and tears sprang into her eyes.
He won’t leave you, it’s not what faery godfathers do.
Her eyes snapped open, focussing not on the body on the trolley, but on a point about a metre beyond it. The shimmer in the air was barely perceptible and when she had first stepped into the room, Philippa had dismissed it as wishful thinking on her part, even with the evidence of her own hands as corroboration.
Her voice was steady and quiet as she said with barely concealed exasperation, “I told you to drive carefully, why didn’t you listen to me?”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 07:53 pm (UTC)Also liking the hints about the wider world of the story, giving the reader little details to build up a bigger picture e.g. the Guild, the Veil, and things like the detector spells around the hospital. The background of the Philippa character is also part of this - we're finding out things about her slowly but surely.
Just one little thing, though - more of a typo than anything else. When the story moves to the hospital (at the beginning of this paragraph: The hospital staff offered no comment on the advisability of Philippa’s request to be taken to the mortuary to see her husband.), it wasn't immediately apparent to me that we had actually shifted locations. I thought Philippa was talking to the nurse on the phone. Maybe you just need some formatting or punctuation to make the shift more obvious.
Other than that I'm just looking forward to the next chapter!
no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 08:39 pm (UTC)The other huge departure for me was writing this story in the third person, whereas the other two were written in the first person, using the same character for both. This was actually the first time I'd written anything at all in the third person for a helluva long time and I had absolutely no idea whether I could pull it off at all.
That's one reason why the Primeval saga has been a help to me as it's allowed me to practice writing in the third person. I still struggle with the different POVs someimes, which I know shows, so crit is always welcome, as it helps me get a handle on where I'm mucking up. Practice, practice etc.
MUST HAVE NEXT LINK!!!! :D
Date: 2008-01-02 11:02 pm (UTC)Re: MUST HAVE NEXT LINK!!!! :D
Date: 2008-01-03 04:32 pm (UTC)http://fredbassett.livejournal.com/8737.html#cutid1
I'll check to see if I have more ready to post, probably 4, I think.
I can email you word copies of the other books. I haven't got anywhere near trying for a publisher, as haven't even done final edits, but I write for fun and friends anyway, no no worries there :) My ISP is down until tomorrow, but I'll email you a couple of chapters of book 1 to see if they come through ok as attachments and if you like it I can send more as and when necessary.
I'm really glad you're liking it :)
no subject
Date: 2009-10-02 06:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-02 08:18 pm (UTC)There's only one more chapter up, but two more are written beyond that, and I will post the slash snippet for you as well..
no subject
Date: 2009-10-05 08:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-07 11:06 pm (UTC)Wonderful weaving together of the plot threads and characters, it all flows so easily and makes you want to know *more* and *now*
*is off to part three*
no subject
Date: 2011-04-08 07:29 am (UTC)