First paragraphs from Blackbirds First Flight

Heir to the Warrior Queen

By Wendy Blanton

I gripped the sword hilt in the pre-dawn gloom as I stood watch overlooking the sleeping village of Londinium. It wasn’t much of a village from what I had been able to see. Small, unprotected. Why would the Romans leave their trade center unprotected?
         A small scraping sound preceded warmth on my shoulders. My mother fastened the cloak under my chin and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. Her touch was the only one I could bear.
         "What are you still doing with that Roman sword, Scotta?"
         "I am going to kill Romans with it."

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Robbing the House of Roche

By Kent Bass

He moved quickly through the crowded Parisian streets, keeping his head down, careful not to make eye contact with anyone, not to go any place familiar, not to give anyone a chance to recognize him. He knew he had to get out of the city and fast. He had hidden for two days and waited until tonight to come out. He had to be gone before the night ended.

         Etienne had always lived on the edge of society but always on the safe side of that edge. He never did anything that would draw attention to himself. He worked odd jobs and committed the occasional petty theft, but nothing serious.

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Rage

By Gail Henderson

Nine o’clock.
         The book that had fascinated her at eight lay across her lap, face down, her hands rigid on its spine. Dark rage welled up inside her, filled her, and leaked out into the room, replacing wall-to-wall emptiness. With clenched teeth, she turned the book toward her face; her eyes straining to bring the words into focus, reading and re-reading the same paragraph, until, abruptly, she switched off the lamp next to her chair, placed the book on the end table, rose, and walked through the rage-dark room into the kitchen.
         She touched the light switch, illuminating a pan of cornbread and a pot roast cooling quietly on the stove and a few dirty dishes in the sink. Rage shrank back from her habit of orderliness. Rinsing out pans, wiping off counter tops already shiny dissipated her dark energy into apprehension. Nine o’clock was not so late. There might have been problems. Maybe a flat tire. He might not be able to call and tell her he was going to be late.
         What if there had been an accident?

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Quin

By Jean Schara

Francois’s hand had been poised to open the door to his new employer when it opened, revealing a courtly gentleman decidedly out of place in this rundown industrial district.
         “Mr. Bergeron, I presume?” the man asked.
         “Yes. Please call me Francois.” He offered his hand for a hand-shake, hoping the gentleman would introduce himself, because he did not like being at a disadvantage.
         The man took his hand, guiding him into the building before releasing his grip and shutting the door behind them.

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Grave Matters

By Stephen B. Bagley

The dead man on the blood-drenched bed had clearly seen better days. Justina Grave slowly approached the body. His heart had been cut out of his chest. Crow and raven feathers were scattered around the room along with other spell materials.
         “Charming,” she muttered. Her Nethersenses probed for signs of magic. She found many. Dark tendrils of energy hovered in the area, visible to any Mage. Something had fed on the victim’s life force and used that energy to power a spell.

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Endorphins

By Tamara Siler Jones

Edyth stood in the shower, hot water thrumming on her aching head, the heat refusing to soothe her tortured soul. “I just can’t do this anymore,” she sighed through the steam. She scrubbed herself with a complete lack of enthusiasm, refusing to acknowledge her loose sagging stomach, her wide cellulite-dimpled thighs, jiggly arms, or her soft, jowly face. Still sighing, she finished her shower and turned off the heat.
          As Edyth toweled off, she told herself not to look in the mirror, but she sought out her shame anyway. She stared at her reflection, at the droops and rolls on the stranger staring back at her. The hideous person she had become gawked back, sickened disbelief carved into the fat. How did this happen? she asked herself. How did I become so ugly, so utterly repugnant? But maybe, just maybe, I’ve found a solution. Maybe my luck is about to change.

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An Unattended Death, Part Four

An Unattended Death, Part Four

By Stephen B. Bagley

There I stood, my eyes fixed on the big black gun in Leon Brody’s hand. It was large enough to fire rockets. It was pointed at the ground.

“What are you doing here?” Brody asked again, his voice rising.

Thomas was nowhere to be seen. He was still looking for deer sign somewhere. I hoped a maddened buck trampled him.

“Don’t I know you?” Brody asked. “You work for the radio station? I’ve seen you at remotes.”

I nodded, my voice apparently having left my body in search of someone who didn’t have the brains of gravel.

He nodded and slipped the gun into his front pocket. I couldn’t understand how that honking huge thing could fit.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“My friend and I are looking for deer sign,” I said. “He’s around here somewhere.” Naturally
Thomas didn’t appear. Get him, Bambi, I thought. Kick him for me.

Brody nodded. “And I guess you saw this.” He motioned toward the tape. “And you had to see.” His face twisted.

“I was sorry to hear about your son,” I said. “I can’t imagine how terrible it’s been for you.”

He sighed and looked at the ground. “Thank you. What’s your name?”

I told him, and he nodded absently.

“I was just trying to look around,” he said. “I thought there might be something that they missed. Pretty dumb, I guess, but a man’s supposed to take care of his family.”

“No, it’s not dumb,” I said.

“He was clean,” Brody said. “I know everyone thinks he started again, but he was clean. Someone forced him to do it. Then they left him here. They left my boy here.”

He stood there a long time, looking at the fluttering tape.

Finally, he moved off, giving me a sort of wave.

I went back to Thomas’s truck and waited. After a few minutes, the brave white hunter returned.

“I found a lot of deer sign,” Thomas said excitedly. “Oh, it would have been hard for most people to see, but if you pay attention and keep your senses finely tuned, you can see it. You’ve got to be aware of the total environment. Why are you looking at me like that?”

***

After Thomas dropped me off at my place, I sat on my couch, petting my dog Bo.

“Bo, I think I’ve finished playing Rockford,” I said. “I’m done.”

Bo wagged his stump of a tail and wiggled closer to me.

But I wasn’t done. As I sat there, something nagged at me. Something about the trip out to the woods. Or maybe the funeral. It sat there, like a word on the tip of my tongue. Perhaps I was flattering myself, but just like Ron, I thought there was more to Aaron Brody’s death than it appeared. But really what could I do?

I kept thinking about how small and sad he looked in the coffin. I thought about his father and his mother. I thought about Simon. And then I thought about Marlene Postwain.

Marlene was bad through and through, they said. I’d seen her little red car around town, but I’d never seen her or noticed her before. I thought about what the gossipy lady at the funeral had
told us. She had said Marlene worked somewhere ... Where was it? Oh, yes, I remembered. I got my coat and car keys and left before I could change my mind.

And that’s how this Baptist, small-town boy ended up at the Stuttering Rooster, western Oklahoma’s most infamous strip bar.

Click here to read Part Five at Walking to Jericho.

Book blurb!

Here's the book blurb for Blackbirds First Flight:

An unhappy wife can’t decide what to do about her boorish husband until an uneaten meal gives her a dark idea...
Something is raising zombies in Tulsa, and Justina Grave is the only one who can stop it...
When a fat farm promises to make Edyth thin again, her dream comes true. She will never be fat again—or safe...
Hopping a freight train can be a cheap way to travel. Unless you pick the wrong boxcar...
One kiss gives Francois immortality, but at a cost he doesn't see coming...
A woman warrior must choose her fate as the Romans ravage her land...
Stalked by terrible creatures seeking vengeance, a band of robbers runs for their lives in medieval France...

This anthology will lead you into dark, twisted places filled with mystery and delight. Enjoy thrilling stories and chilling poems by authors Stephen B. Bagley, Kent Bass, Wendy Blanton, Gail Henderson, Tamara Siler Jones, and Jean Schara.

It goes on sale October 1st! Watch for it!