What Light Is

sweet

puff

mellow

fluff

love

this

Angel

sunshine

rough

Sometimes life is just hard, and yesterday and today have been those days… one of my four birds, a sun conure named Angel, became very sick very quickly, and then began to seizure. I rushed her to the exotics vet about 45 minutes away and she kept fighting the whole way, cuddled to my chest so she wouldn't fall off the seat. The vet gave her some anti-seizure medication and oxygen and she finally became peaceful. I hoped she would snap out of it, but instead, she passed away. I brought her home in a little white box.

It’s devastating for her mate, Phoenix, and of course the rest of the family. Conures and caiques are social and loving creatures, and they bond with each other and us—we’re all one big flock together. Take away one and there’s a gaping hole in the balance. Not sure what we’ll do in the next few days, but meanwhile, Phoenix is getting spoiled rotten, snuggling inside my shirt and being passed person to person, with brief meals and drinks in his cage. Birds were never meant to be alone.

Neither were we, and in the context of the season, I want to share how Angel’s life is such a bright spot in mine—she was the happiest, most content bird that ever lived, and she let me bask in it every day. I'm so grateful for the hours we spent together. I suspect she’s even happier now, having filled her life’s purpose by creating joy in ours. She was amazing and tough and so gentle.

I’m even more grateful for a God who doesn't leave us alone. He loves all of his creatures, including us, and He spent his life serving and healing and giving hope to his fellow men. He continues to bless us with the families and relationships we have, with the beauties of the earth and heavens, and with lessons of life and its value. I’m grateful for his Spirit that brings us peace and comfort in times of need… indeed, every day, and especially during the Christmas season. He is my light, and He is so kind.

Have a wonderful, merry Christmas... it really is a time to celebrate life's beauty and joy. :)

—Elm

Re: The True Story of Santa's Elves

Well, 200 feet of Christmas banner for tomorrow's church brunch later, I admit my Intergalactic shopping trip didn't quite get finished. I hope you'll accept this Christmas story from last year's Friday the 13th... but I wouldn't change the date even now, those poor elves need some glimmer of hope! --Elm

Whispers and muffled patters of hands connecting in elf-greeting swept through the cave of ice. "Today is the 13th... the 13th... it's our day to celebrate. Not the full power of the solstice, since Santa is suspicious, but the 13th will do. Friday the 13th has power, too."

A hush echoed as thickly as the whispers had, as a burst of cold light erupted at the center of the cavern. It came from a tower of ice carved into a figure as thin as an icicle, with clear, cold eyes. Tapping sounded from a walking staff as a tiny body ascended the steps carved into the sculpture. Despite the stick, his steps were agile, and the hush grew expectant.

At the top, their Elder raised his staff and light flared again from the tip. He set it into a sconce beside him, illuminating the gnarled skin that was as tough as the wood of a Christmas tree, the pointed hat, and the beard that wrapped around his body from chin to curled slippers, as white as the whitest snow. A breath of pleasure spread through the cavern. It was rumored that Santa was inspired by the beard of the Elder's Elder in days of yore, which is where the tradition of the Christmas tree had come, not to mention Santa's own, trying beard.

The Elder raised his arms and the stir settled.

"We assemble here to recall our deepest roots," he spoke. "We gather to show the ice king that we have not rejected our heritage. Snow and ice claim our true identities as the children of Father Frost."

A cheer rose from the elves, and the Elder thumped his stick. "Hear, now, the tale of how Father Frost's name was usurped by Saint Nicholas, the stranger to our frozen land."

"As night subdued the sun and bade it sleep beneath the ice, Winter called us from our deep caves, and we emerged, hungry and eager to do his bidding. Mischief we caused... fires decked with ashes, windows cracked beneath ice, doors opened to night's unforgiving wind. Bread burned, bedding churned, milk spilled, underwear chilled. Our ages were filled with cold delight as we brought Winter's gifts to all."

"Ever were we servants

of the ice king and his cold.

Ever did we list to him,

our Father Frost of Old!"

yelled the elves.

The Elder nodded. "On a night when the moon was at its lowest height, a force crept into the land. Wide was his berth, solid his stride with a belt round his girth. His cheeks were flushed with fervor in a color we feared, and his coat, yea, his coat was as red as the flames that he claimed would sear our souls.

"'Oh Hellfire, that fire that is worse than the sun,' the stranger said, 'it will burn you and your children, as your fathers already burn. Unless,' he gazed at our gaping mouths with a twinkle in his eyes, 'you accept my offer.'

"'How do you know our fathers burn in this place called Hellfire?' we asked him.

"'How do I know?' he said. 'As surely as the day bests the night and melts the snow you love. As surely as you have placed the bodies of your fathers into the ice to rest, so the sun melts even the most solid tombs and sets their souls aflame. There is no rest for them, and there will be no rest for you or your little ones unless you take my offer.'

"'What offer?' we crowded around, for his words struck truth. Our fathers' bodies disappeared during the heat of summer, their bones scattered. And their souls... what did we know about life after night? We slept, we woke, we danced until Father Frost called us in. Had our fathers, in fact, met their fate in that fire Saint Nicholas threatened?

"'My offer is this,' he placed his finger alongside his nose. 'You work for me as I work for God, the God who is more powerful than the day. You work to bring His warmth to all the good boys and girls on this earth. When winter is at its very darkest, you will bring hope to their hearts. And perhaps... just perhaps... you will redeem yourselves. The fire won't claim you as it has your fathers. Indeed, the fire will set you free.'

"With a nod of his head, he hefted his sack of belongings and left, chuckling over his shoulder. 'Think on it. I'll be in the house at the top of the world, where warmth never comes but the heavens glow just the same.'

"We considered, we laughed, we argued over the hilarity of his words, at the unconscionable sacrifice infused in his offer. And the following year, when we awoke from our rests and the bodies of our fathers were missed, we recalled the words of the strange man in red. And many of us took it upon ourselves to save our children. We trekked to that house at the top of the world where light shines through the winter."

Silence reigned over the hall.

"And here we are to this day," the Elder finally said. "Slaves to good ol' Saint Nicholas, in conditions many elves call preferable. We have food, we have clothing, we have night and day the year round in which to perform our deeds. And it may just be that Hellfire, that flame which grabs souls and burns them in the night, will pass us and our children by.

"But," the Elder's eyes shone bright in his staff's light, "our minds always return to our fathers, and to our one true father, Father Frost, who surely wraps his children in his endless eve, to rest in the ice of his embrace when we are weary. And this hope, the one our fathers lived by, we remember tonight.

"For we are elves!  The children of the night!  The servants of ice and chill and doused fires, yea, even that great Hellfire of which Saint Nicholas spoke!"

"Ever are we servants

of the ice king and his cold.

Ever do we list to him,

our Father Frost of Old!"

yelled the elves.

"Hear me now, my brethren," said the Elder. "On this unlucky night, I present to you a choice. A choice akin to the choice the man in red gave us long ago. Who will remain here, the servants of the Sun God, and who will venture back to the homes of our fathers and prove Saint Nicholas wrong?"

"For at long last," he said into the shocked quiet, "I have made my choice."

___
Whose side would you choose? Santa's or the elves'? :)

Chill Glow

(This is a really creepy picture, but aliens kind of are creepy. Or at least unexpected, no matter how much we like to expect them.)

The icy flakes stung my cheeks. I brushed them off my fur hood and peered for a glimpse of Evan, beyond the quickly filling prints of his boots.

I couldn’t dislodge from my lungs the colder idea that he was stuck, that he’d tripped into the creek, shallow as it was, and frozen from the moisture.

“Evan,” I yelled again into the snow, but the flurries didn’t carry it far.

Then, “Meriah?” A high voice came from the other side of the creek. A blue hood, haloed in flakes, rose from the bank.

“Evan.” I leapt across the creek in two bounds, not caring about the dryness of my own boots, and squashed his little body up against my chest.

He leaned back and gazed at me seriously. “I followed the snowflakes,” he said.

“They didn’t have to bring you to the creek,” I said.

“They wanted me to. They were glowing.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “Snow does glow.”

“No.” He turned and pointed. “See?”

I looked back at the creek bed.

“Do you see them?”

I looked harder. Hovering near the bank by the withered thistles were three tiny spheres, somehow more luminescent than the white dust. I blinked.

“There were more of them,” Evan said.

Another and then another appeared, floating down with the flakes but seeming reluctant to touch down. Little hovering lights, all along the creek, like stars in the snow. “I probably scared them when I ran through the water,” I said.

“No, they died.” His voice sounded so sad, I gazed back into his face. His cheeks were pale, not red, and I hugged him close again.

“We have to get you inside,” I said.

“Just a minute. Look.” He held out his little hand and brought it back. On his skin, a light flared. I wanted to think it was a trick of the sun but there was no sun. “Quick.”

I squinted at his palm. For an instant, a little form with five points, not six, opened its mouth before melting into a droplet of water. I wiped flakes from my lashes and stared upward into a vertiginous snow, then back at the creek.

“It isn’t all of them,” Evan said. “I don't know why. I was trying to get cold, to give them a safe place to land so I could show you.”

He held out his hand for another one and I knew what to expect this time. It opened its mouth, too, before it became a clear dome.

“What was it saying?” I asked.

“It just wants to live. The creek makes them float longer.”

“Why did they want you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they just wanted me to know.”

“Maybe. Evan, I’m taking you inside for some cocoa.”

“Meriah,” he placed his icy little hands on my cheeks, “we have to try.”

“Yes,” I promised. “We’ll try.”

___
Of course, then they make a field of cold air generators and someone finds out and the government gets involved, but there is always a moment of discovery. :)

I wanted to bring out a bit of the magic of the snow. And of life. It’s so precious a treasure, even in the cold seasons. —Elm

NaNo 2014 Week 4 - Black Friday

Today's fiction is brought to you by Black Friday last year, as I'm NaNoing full rush to the end. For some reason this story gives me a dark pleasure with its cynicism (even though I took advantage and got my first ever pre-lit tree this year, for the bay window at the front of the house). But if you are a Black Friday lover, I grant you permission to hate me. Happy shopping! --Elm

Two dark cloaks stood above a milling throng, on a rather traditional cliff over dark, sticky fog.

None of the individuals saw our cloaks, or their true surroundings. In their minds, they huddled in coats, noses barely discernible beneath hats and scarves, puffs of shivering air escaping their lips as they waited for the alarm that signaled the start of the shopping melee.

"They've forgotten what they were thankful for just two hours ago," I chuckled, without mirth.

He raised a pale finger. The same pale finger that used to stroke my cheek. "Hush. It's not much longer."

I inclined my chin. "It's almost worth the cold."

His lips pulled back without a sound--I couldn't tell if he was laughing or snarling. The enigma characterized his profession perfectly. He'd walked the trail of the dead more fervently than I, allowed necromancy to shape his very bones. "What are you, alive?" he mocked.

I pulled back into my cloak. "Like you, I chose death long ago. But I'm getting distracted, like there's a glimmer I can't quite pick out from among them."

"Where?" he asked sharply, and I pointed downward to a particularly dark area at the edge of our cliff.

"Nothing glimmers there."

"Perhaps it's my excitement," I shrugged.

"Sometimes I don't believe you ever died."

"I don't believe it matters," I said mildly, as the alarm rang. The crush of holiday greed began. Like explosions of dandelion puffs, white wisps erupted from the surging darkness as the crowd stumbled forward.

I held out my hand and the wisps rose, blinked, shook, and responded to my gesture.

"Ah," I said softly, as a particularly bright one lit my palm. I gazed into its eyes, as though comparing myself beside it, as though it held something I wanted. With a sigh, I closed my fingers and tucked the soul into my breast pocket, close to my heart. Where there was no heart.

"Wistful, are you?" My companion's fingers pinched the tail of a wisp and stretched it thin between his hands, like taffy. A mosquito-like whine etched down my spine. I shook my head as it disappeared between his lips.

"This one was innocent. A child."

The grimace-that-might-be-a-smile spread again. "More power to you."

That might have been a joke. "I'm saving it for dessert."

A raspy noise came from his throat. Maybe even a laugh. "There is much to be thankful for... they began early this year. True love shows its black face."

"Like you know what love is," I said.

"I did once."

I measured him. Too many souls over the years? Were the last drops of honesty leeching out of him like blood?

"It's a thirst," he said.

I frowned. "Thirst signals a deficit of something necessary." In death, nothing was necessary.

"Things are necessary," he waved his hand at the crowd, catching another handful of tails. "Obviously."

"What things did you thirst for?" I kept my voice level.

This time I knew it was a grin. The grin I'd loved once upon a time. The grin I'd followed him into death for. It was not beautiful now.

"These," he held up his fist and crammed the souls to his mouth. "Freely discarded, freshly harvested power from the dead." 

A pang shuddered deep inside me. I'd known that. It's why I'd given up my heart when I died, so he could no longer have power over me.

What I hadn't seen, was that he'd never given up his.

I shrank back into my cloak and whispered silently to the bright soul in my pocket. "Let's you and I have a feast."

NaNo 2014 Week 3 - Alien Dragons

A random, alien dragon scene out of my sketchbook.

I discovered this site that's really helped me to structure my story this week, you should totally check it out: How-to-Write-a-Book-Now. You can never know enough about writing books and they have some GREAT helps.

Speaking of novel-writing:

Wordcount 23419

This week will be a wild ride to 50K :). Cheer me on. I, of course, am cheering you on whether you're NaNoing or not. All creativity is good creativity.

(You know, as long as it's used for good ends. But even if you're a villain or super-villain, you'll probably agree.)

Sometimes we all question our sanity, but remember, it's the actions that matter.

XO - Elm

NaNo 2014 Week 2 - On Things That Are Warm

See my new writing jewelry? A pretty 16 GB memory stick to keep my novel with me always. This baby is so little, it slides right into the usb port and warms up as my novel transfers onto it. Voila! Safe. I feel warm, too.

Wordcount 16599

Not quite 23K. But okay, I have to share my oh-so-warming news.

I have done five rewrites for this book. Rewrites, as in started from scratch with a year's worth of world-building every single time. Plus I took a NaNo to write part of the second book so I could clarify my main character. So I will tell you, the idea of starting over again was more than I could fathom. I really struggled with it.

But what are wonderful writing tools for? I'm using this year's NaNo to end this thing. And this week, I realized something that was pure sunlight to my soul.

This is not a rewrite, this is a revision.

I graduated! #singingdancinghallelujahs

This is 16599 words of a new beginning, new material through chapter eight, and some world-building that five years hasn't brought about. Do you know how much I love writing? (Yes, even with the love-hate thing.) It's the most heart-warming, satisfying thing on the planet. Worth putting in all that time and love and thought... or it will be.

Thanks for being warm with me :). Keep writing!

NaNo 2014 Week One

Week One down. Guess how many words?

7561.

Not to 10K yet. But since I can only count the fresh material on my rewrite, it's okay... I'm zoomin' through Chapter 5. Yes, that was a lot of new writing through the first four chapters. But I knew for forever that I'd have to redo the beginning... I swear the beginning is cursed, it's always the last thing done.

How is your beginning? I know, it's awesome. :D

On to Week Two! Remember: be fearless.

I Write for Fun

I have a bonus post for you, because tomorrow is the start of NaNoWriMo, which is just very exciting because it means RUSH!

The message? A reminder to love what you do... for you.

Do you ever get in a funk? The kind where the world presses in on your head and it aches, and you forget how you liked making things? Totally not recommended.

This happened with my almost-there novel and I had this epiphany… that the raw matter behind creating is NOT about everyone else. As awful as that sounds, it’s about you reaching deep into your muse for you—it’s your special, personal relationship and it's grounding and you love to connect with it.

And THEN, because you feel ownership of what you have created, you can happily, gladly share.

It’s easy to get it backwards because lighting up people’s worlds makes you tick. But you have to remember that without the you in it, there’s nothing to give. The muse swallows your (good) intentions into a black hole.

You’re the bridge.

So I made this reminder in the happiest colors, to help as we go about NaNoWriMo this month. Are you joining me for the 50K race? Please use the image and remember to love your writing!

Apocalypse

     For Halloween, I’m giving you a scene to spark your imagination. The painting is called Apocalypse. Have a great night! —Elm

Matters of Death, Life, and Kisses

We're on a roll with curses this month. Since it's creepy pumpkin month, it works, right? Here's a story about wishes that make you do bad things, and all the while, you hope someone might come along and save you from yourself. Warning: contains some graphic elements. --Elm

Mom called me Viva because she said no amount of life would slip me by, since my personality was forceful enough to get everything I wanted.

You can hear my eyes rolling--I wasn't that loud a baby, but what do you do when you have six older sisters who organize your most precious possessions and chatter nonstop?

Then an evil magician came and cursed me into the depths of slumber for a hundred years. (He stole it right out of the fairy tale.) I didn’t deserve it, and occasionally I wonder if my family put him up to it. It occurs to me, though, that maybe Mom’s naming worked—he couldn’t actually curse me to death.

While I slept, I dreamed of this totally hot guy in a black suit and cloak who loved me passionately. So when I was kissed awake by this totally hot guy in a black suit and cloak, I fell for him big-time.

It was not lost on me that this was the same magician who cursed me, so much as my heart called to him, I wasn't surprised when he ditched me for another woman at my ball. Evil, yah? I cried my eyes out.

Of course, that’s when I realized he was under a curse, himself.

I drew on my shiniest, blackest gloves, and set out to find him.

It wasn’t hard for a person like me to trace the carnage. The woman he ditched me for? I found her choked by a vine in a pumpkin patch. The lady he left her for? Poisoned in the middle of a forest. The sweetheart she was poisoned for? I found her eaten by wolves.

You see the pattern. Now you’re asking, what about the basket of food for Granny?

There wasn’t a basket, but there was a tower, with a woman choked by her own—very long—hair.

One bad dude, I tell you.

But I was badder. See, there’s another reason my mom named me Viva. I raised the first girl and made her croak out the man’s name. Ivan. Such a romantic name.

I stole the second chick from the dwarves and compelled her to spill the memories he’d confided. I bribed the third with an axe and a new red cloak to show me the path through the woods to her competitor’s house. And the fourth…

… I pulled the fourth out of the window and set the tower on fire. I understood what it was like to be locked up with no way out but your dreams.

I laid them all to rest in that thorny valley. I didn’t want them haunting my man when he couldn’t help himself in the first place.

I guess I’m not sure if I believe that. Everyone makes their choices, like I had with my spinning wheel. Somewhere in his past, he’d made one that led him to this.

But I forged ahead with my plan, if only to save a few more ladies. Since life has a way of taking you back to the beginning, I ditched Ivan’s trail for a short cut to the earliest memory he’d given girl number two. An island in the middle of a lake, with an old well set at the top.

I never understand why wells get built on islands when there’s all that water already around you. Maybe it’s purer. Or symbolic. But I didn’t find any inscriptions on the stones or on the bucket to give me a clue. Finally, I lowered the vessel for a drink of water and cranked the handle until it came back up. A coppery gleam at the bottom caught my eye.

I scooped out the penny and the world went hazy. Then clear. Like a dream.

A boy’s face glimmered in the well water, framed by moonlight.

“What is your wish?” a voice rippled up the stone walls.

The boy’s face half-disappeared, then drew forward again. His quivering lip hardened. “I’m tired of my brothers getting more attention than me,” he said. “Nothing I say or do matters.”

“You wish to matter?” the voice asked.

The boy gave one sharp nod and dropped his penny into the well.

I stared at it in my hand.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” A deep, familiar voice asked. I stared up at the man of my dreams. He seemed wary, and worn at the edges. Tired. No wonder he was recycling curses, truly evil deeds took a lot of time and energy to think up.

I held up the penny. “I think you dropped this, Ivan, a long time ago.”

He didn’t move, and he didn’t speak. His eyes just watched me, and I felt a heat rise through me. “No one ever listened to me, either,” I said.

Finally, he nodded. “You realize I’m going to have to kill you, Viva.”

I laughed. “I don’t die very easily. And I understand a thing or two about curses. For instance, I know that they’re broken by true love’s kiss.”

Ivan walked forward, his hand on the knife at his belt. “I have no true love,” he said. “None of them were the one. Not for over a hundred years.”

“I didn’t say it was your kiss that mattered, Mr. Ego. Try, the kiss of the one who loves you.”

His eyes widened, and I saw the moon glint on his Adam’s apple. “No one in their right mind would love me.” His voice sounded rough.

“If you had actually waited at the ball…” I looked back down at the penny, and swallowed my sudden nerves.

You’re wondering how a girl who raises dead people could be nervous of a boy. But, you know, he was a guy. A hot guy in a black suit and cloak… with a knife.

“So, one bad girl speaking to one bad guy… maybe we could just try it.”

“You would do that?” he asked softly. He was now very near. So near, I could see his knuckles tighten on the knife’s pommel.

I’d had a hundred years to think about it. Before I could lose those last threads of nerve, I raised up on my toes and kissed him.

It was sweet. Our first real kiss, since I was sleeping the first time around and he was only thinking about himself.

“My Viva,” he breathed.

Curses might be broken by true love, but true love itself isn’t magic. It’s clear eyes, determination, and a lot of forgiveness.

And when I looked into his eyes, I saw gratitude.

Evil men don’t feel gratitude.

I decided he was worth a second kiss.

Spell of Release

Haunted doors

Infinite floors

Made of thread

A demon’s web

Isla sang, stirring her pot. The mist rose.

Silken strains

Smooth refrains

Sing the voices

Dark rejoices

She waved at the foggy tendrils. They crept to the girl on the bed.

Calling tempting

Gently sifting

Twist the brain

Wind the pain

The cloud hovered overhead. The girl’s chest rose and sucked it in.

Sharp derides

Coldness pries

Love unfeeling

Mind unreeling

Isla shook, feeling the girl's emotion. She firmed her voice into command.

Break the shell

Seal the well

Ignited strands

Become brands

The girl’s chest caved, and a writhing mist shot from her mouth.

Of memory

But no longer fear

Be at peace

My dear

Isla dropped her jaw and sucked it in. Her brow trembled, but she swallowed... and smiled.

Reptilian Reputation

I don't know what that fly thought was so interesting. I'd showered with my peach blossom body scrub and slathered on all-day deodorant just six hours before, so there wasn't anything to smell. Or taste. Or whatever it was flies did with their feet.

Study hour droned as lazily as the fly did. I glanced across the room to where Shara, my once-best-friend, nestled heads with Bert, boy-of-my-dreams, chatting like they'd realized eternity. They evidently didn't notice the fly.

Or me.

Or the curse.

The fly landed on my head and I shook it off. I sliced it with a glare the way my sister withered pests-of-the-younger-sibling variety, to no avail. I lay my head on the desk and pulled my hair over my face instead, closing my eyes to make the time go faster.

To make the curse happen faster.

Which is why I felt betrayed a moment later when my tongue, without me even seeing the darn thing, snaked between my lips and whipped around the fly.

Three feet away. I know because that's how far my tongue stretches, ever since Shara cursed it using my hex-book.

And brought the fly swiftly, neatly back to my mouth.

Coming from a hex-book, the frog-tongue thing wasn’t a real curse. The real curse, obviously, had backfired. It took less than a second. Not long enough for anyone to have noticed a thing, but that's the way curses work, my grandma says. They take all the negative might-bes in any certain moment and pull them together into one gigantic whammy of a punch.

That’s all I wanted for Shara. For Bert to see how little she was.

But that’s the other thing about curses. They come back to bite you. I was just too mad to listen to my grandma on that one.

Not only did a (delicious) buzzing morsel tickle my teeth, the entire classroom and my teacher chose that nano-second to glance my way. Including Bert.

You could hear the fly in my mouth, the after-shock was so thick.

It was so not fair.

Shara started laughing, and I took the curse into my own hands.

“I’m sorry,” I said to my once-best-friend, and I meant it. Abruptly, the fly tasted disgusting. I spit it into my palm and smashed it onto her desk.

Her tongue shot out and snatched up the fly, guts and all. Her eyes bulged, and she half gulped, half croaked.

That’s the thing about hexes. They don’t stick to the innocent. I’d been too proud to apologize.

I didn’t look at Bert. His relationships were his business to decide. Instead, I walked over to my teacher. “Do you mind if I get a drink of water?” I asked.

“Of course, Lisa,” he smiled. “Or can I call you Lizard?”

I stuck my—short—tongue out at him, and walked out of the room.

Spirit Tree (Part 5)

At last, the ending of The Spirit Tree! Let me know how you liked it, and thanks for reading :). --Elm

Jake's high chuckle and the demon's low growl blended creepily together.

"What do you think you can offer that will counter your friend's ransom?" Jake asked.

I shook my head, hoping I was right because otherwise Zachary had messed up everything. "I'm not intending to counter it. I just want you to know that it isn't really valid."

"Stop playing silly games," he said.

"Because I know what the ransoms mean," I continued. "They have to be part of you, don't they? Like it says in the spell."

Jake nodded slowly, and Dagon made a low grumbling in his throat.

"He has a girlfriend already. And if he has a girlfriend who is not me," I stressed, "then I don't have any meaning to him." I swallowed. It was harder to say than I thought it would be. "He was just doing me a favor, remember?"

Zachary watched me with a pained look in his eyes. I'd hit his foot pretty hard.

"So I want to offer something of his that means he really can go free. And then I'll stay."

"You would stay?" Jake sounded surprised. It surprised me, too, but I meant it. "Why?"

"Because I don't have anyone left up there," I said. "The only person who cares about me is down here, and I've missed her. So those are my conditions--Zachary goes free and my mama stays alive, and maybe we can work on lightening things up down here."

I held my breath. He just needed to stay away from my mama.

"And what would you offer on Zachary's behalf? We haven't had someone simply give themselves over, have we, Dagon?"

Dagon watched me out of his blistery eye. His heat made me shiver with its strange warmth. It was the only warmth I'd have so I should probably get used to it.

"His sword."

I closed my eyes so that I wouldn't see the betrayal on Zachary's face. He loved his fencing more than life itself. Probably more than his girlfriend.

Dagon's laugh grew deep and rich through the cavern. "I accept," he said.

A burning heat touched my face, and I heard a metallic whisper. I squinted and saw the slender blade glimmering, alone on the altar of offerings. Beside it, Dagon's blistered whorls churned brilliantly at their core, smoldering at the edges with almost cartoon-like darkness. I sighed. I'd been right, he was more powerful with the offering.

Zachary was nowhere to be seen.

"If you ate him..." I started.

Dagon's eye blinked. "We had a contract, little one. That is the way we do things in Hell."

"You're a demon. How can I believe you?"

He chuckled. "Is your mother not still here? I haven't sucked her completely dry."

"Mama," I called, and turned to look for her. From the far corner, a dim shade flickered and then disappeared. "Mama!"

"I'm here, Rachel," I heard her rasp. "You've chosen sorry company for yourself."

"I don't think my mother is sorry company," I said sharply. "Hey Dagon, could you turn down the heat a little? I want to actually be able to see her."

Dagon rumbled with another laugh. At least he had a sense of humor. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad with him as company. Jake, on the other hand.... The cave darkened and I focused back on my mom.

"There's something I need to know," I said.

She gazed at me expectantly and all my bravery vanished. I wanted to throw my arms around her and cry. But she couldn't comfort me. She was so far from what I'd remembered.

I straightened my shoulders. "What did the ring mean to you?"

Her face grew pinched, and I told myself to wait. It might take a while for her to remember, if she remembered at all. I wanted to see if she could.

"I don't know," she whispered.

"You are amusing, little girl," Dagon's voice rumbled. "Do you not believe in my power?"

"I just have to see for myself," I said. "So Zachary's sword..."

"Represented his skill, yes." I heard the smile in his voice.

"He'll never forgive me," I whispered, gazing at my mama. Because I already knew what the ring meant. The ring was her memory of Dad. That night she went under the tree, she'd come home different. Changed. And that's why I'd searched so hard for the gleam of treasure afterward. I wanted to bring her back to normal.

But I never could find the ring, and in place of her warmth and smiles and chatter, I began to imagine them. As she wasted, my stories and her girth grew to quench the pain. Leanne hadn't been able to cope, but I'd had to. Of course this wraith was a different person than I remembered--that's all she truly was, this whole time.

And instead of returning it, I'd kept the ring, because I couldn't bear to lose that, too, on top of my mother.

I whirled on Jake. "This is all your fault!" I shouted. "How could you sacrifice your family? How could you sacrifice my family? It wasn't yours to give."

Jake tsked. "Now, we all have to make sacrifices in order to get what we want. Don't think I haven't paid my own price."

"What price could you have possibly paid that meant enough to gain the power you wanted?" I snarled. "Do you know why you're still down here? It's because your ransom wasn't enough--you never cared about your brothers, only about yourself. And there can never be enough sacrifice because all the rest of our pain isn't yours to begin with."

Jake's expression grew confused and Dagon began his dark laugh again. I was getting tired of that laugh. Even if it meant I was right.

"Dagon said..."

"Dagon's lying to you," I rolled my eyes. "That's what demons do."

"We are in a happy hole, aren't we?" Dagon said. "This is the moment I was waiting for, all these centuries."

Jake turned to stare at the demon, his mouth working but no sound coming out. "You don't mean that," he finally croaked.

"I mean what I contract," Dagon said. "You would have the power when the right amount of sacrifice was made. Meanwhile, we've had an amusing companionship all these years. A little flat but Hell generally is filled with similar-minded company."

"Flat," Jake said, clenching his fists. "Let me tell you who's flat. Your baking is flat."

While he argued, I turned back to my mother. Quickly, before she could see what I was doing, I pulled the chain from around my neck and placed it around hers. I wasn't even sure if it would catch on her shoulders, but suddenly her brilliance was more than I could take. "I love you, Mama," I whispered, and then fire erupted all around me.

It was so hot. I could feel my skin melting, and my lungs felt like dry tinder, flaming, disintegrating like ashes.

"That was not smart, little girl," Dagon's voice vibrated my entire burning soul.

The heat went on and on and on and on.

Eventually--I don't know how long it was later, with some instinct that wasn't a part of my pain, I reached. Reached for anything that could quell this consuming fever, and my fingers touched something they knew. They fumbled at the crumbs and smeared them all over a body that was somehow still solid beneath the fire. As the heat chilled, the fields of mint that once hung in my mother's kitchen made sense. It wasn't just a nice marinade for lamb. She'd met Dagon's heat herself when she gave him her ring. Bless you, Mama, I thought.

I crawled toward the altar, now glowing white with heat. The scripted words crawled in black along its surface and Zachary's sword gleamed red. Dagon and Jake were nowhere to be seen, but I guessed they were down inside the oven, roasting together.

"Dagon," I croaked. "Have a little spice for your baking rack."

I flung my remaining peppermint onto the altar, and the ceiling rained down.

I stared up at an angel.

I thought it was an angel, because it shimmered blindingly and made my eyes ache. That's what Mama always said heaven would be like for the unworthy.

I didn't care. It was better than the cave. Then I heard the voice of my angel.

"Rae?" Zachary called.

Even if he wasn't my angel. I also heard other voices.

"Well, I'll be. There really was a cave down there."

"How did she get inside there?"

"Are you all right, little missy?"

"I'm fine," I called up. "I just need some help getting out."

A long while of considering the peppermint on the altar later, a loop of rope was extended down. I stepped onto the center and they heaved me up. The altar looked dull and somehow sad in the daylight streaming through the opening, and Zachary's sword grew small, but I couldn't risk bringing it with me.

"Do me a favor and fill up that hole," I said, coughing at the dust. "It's a hazard to your health."

Zachary wrapped an arm around my waist and dragged me to the house. I found I was glad for the support because my legs didn't want to work so well. They just kept shaking.

"I can't believe you're still alive," he said. "Can I get you anything?"

"I could use some water," I admitted. "And maybe a bagel. I feel like I haven't eaten in days."

"You haven't. It's been two days," he said. He deposited me onto a kitchen chair. "I was worried sick. The guys wouldn't believe me about the hole, and I had to pay them double to come dig you out. It took me the whole time to chop down that tree."

"Two days?" I stared at him. "It felt like two years." I put my cheek on the table, feeling like Dagon's altar... cracked. I told him what I'd realized about Jake, and what Dagon had said. "And I don't know about the peppermint. Will I have to go back?"

"Not if there isn't a hole there," he said grimly. "Rae."

He set his jaw, and I swallowed. Here came the bad part where he yelled at me for sacrificing his sword. "There's one thing that I don't understand."

"What is it?" I asked dully.

"How could you think that you had no meaning to me?"

I widened my eyes. "It made sense. That's why you offered me, so I wouldn't bother you anymore. You know, like a hangnail."

"Like a... I was trying to weaken him." Indecision wrestled in his eyes and then his jaw firmed. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of my chair, and crushed me to his chest. "You are not an irritation, Rae," he mumbled.

He ran a hand down my hair and his breathing changed. He pulled away and I shut my eyes against the loss. And then his fingers lifted my chin and his warm mouth was on mine and I gasped. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back.

"But aren't you angry?" I said afterward, unable to fathom the change. And I needed to make sure he understood. "I gave away your sword. Your skills. Everything."

"Don't be ridiculous," he smiled. "That was just a matter of waiting."

"Waiting?" I asked, confused.

"Your mama would have come back from the grave to haunt me if I'd hung around." His teeth flashed. "I didn't know she was stuck under the Tree."

"My mama?"

He blushed. "She made me promise to let you grow up."

"You promised my mama?" I asked, unbelieving. I tried to trace the conversation back to when she was normal, and couldn't.

He looked miserable. "But if I'd had to watch you date other guys, I couldn't have handled it. I had to stay away."

"Me? Date other guys?" I laughed. "Zach, I was never interested in other guys. And you have a girlfriend."

"I've dated a lot of girls," he admitted. "But they were never the one I wanted."

I scowled out the window, staring at the men filling in the hole. It'd take dumptrucks to fill that hole. The things my mama had done to keep me safe.

The yard looked so different without the tree. Empty. But the light shined everywhere.

"Well," I said, "you'll just have to wait a bit longer."

Zachary's arms dropped and I laughed.

"Just a bit longer. I have some words for my mama." I grabbed him by the hand, and pulled him out the front door.

Spirit Tree (Part 4)

I couldn't believe my ears. Neither could Jake, since his cheeks turned blotchy.

I studied Zachary to see if he was serious. He looked serious. Cold and detached, and I suddenly couldn't feel him anymore. Like he meant it.

I bit my lip. Looked like there was another relationship in my life that I couldn't trust. Ditched by my best friend in sixth grade, ditched by my aunt. Ditched by my sister and my mother... and now Zachary was offering me up as demon food in exchange for his own backside.

Monster Jacobus smiled coldly. "That might lengthen my sentence, but you realize you'll still take her place in the end."

Zachary shrugged. "Rae is tough. By the time she's sucked dry, I'll have had my family and be an old man. I'll come take her place then, as pennance for my rashness."

Jake's smile lengthened. "Very well. I was hoping to draw on the power of your connection, but the anger that comes from a broken heart is more powerful still. I accept your ransom."

"Wait," I said, "I don't agree to this." I glared at Zachary. "You jerk." I slammed my heel down on his foot and his eyes grew wide and glassy.

He lurched past Jake in the direction of the altar, and then everything went kind of haywire.

Zachary caught himself against the stone and the bracelets and miscellanea slid off the altar. The ghosts swarmed him, catching at their possessions. A brilliant glow lit the cavern as each soul rejoined with their ransom. They all looked so... happy.

The spirits blinked out, and my reality crashed down on my head. I drowned out Jake's protest with my shriek. "What are you doing? Those were my ancestors. Are you trying to make me the loneliest chick on the planet?"

"Give your mom the ring," he called.

I froze.

And that was our undoing, because another earthquake the size of the Carolinas shook the chamber and a bunch of dirt rained down into my face. But that wasn't the scary part. The scary part was the gigantic rocky hand that grew out of the new crack in the altar and lit the room with flame.

"You'll still have a few companions left," Jake laughed behind me. He wrapped my ponytail into a tight ball in his fist and yanked my head back so I was looking down my nose at the growing apparition. "Say hello to your next meal, Dagon," he said.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"Rachel, meet the baker of Hell."

He did know my name.

"Baker?" I said, blowing dirt out of my face. "We've come to an all-time low in demon summoning."

Jake yanked on my ponytail. "Not at all. Dagon's specialty are the fresh souls he feeds to Beelzebub for his Sabbath dinner. Not that you will have that honor. Dagon takes a bit of energy to keep his own creative appetite humming. In return for your energy, he will grant me a percentage of your soul's power."

"You could have been an accountant," I said, as the rest of the demon jumped down off the altar. The figure was smaller than I'd imagined from the size of the hand. He was a canny match with Jake almost, as if Jake and the demon camped together inside Hell's oven. The demon wasn't so much bubbled lava rock as a conglomeration of scars and blisters and nasty burns. One eye squinted and the other just wasn't there anymore.

The demon made a disgusting choking noise. "Double the feast?"

"I tried," Jake said, "but the one offered the other. She's angry, though. She should last a long time."

"Looks like you'll have to wait a little longer for your escapade," Dagon grunted, and Jake grunted in return. Grunt must be their secret buddy language.

"You know, I didn't agree to this," I said again, trying not to wince as I pulled my head forward. Jake--or was it the demon?--smelled disgusting. He kept his grip on my hair tight.

The demon chuckled. "It doesn't matter. You are here. Bring her to me."

Jake stepped forward and I stumbled along with him. Zachary crawled from where he'd huddled out the dirt storm and stretched out a palm.

"Shouldn't she be my offering?" he asked coldly.

I gave him my most withering look and stepped past him, but Jake pulled my leash.

"Technically, yes," he said. "But after that little stunt of yours, I don't believe I can trust you. Insignificant as it was."

"The demon can't accept her unless the ransom comes from me. How else am I supposed to get out of here?" He sounded whiny. I'd never heard him sound whiny before.

"True. Very well, you may take her to the altar." He let out a burst of noise. "Take her to the altar, get it?" He laughed as though it were uproariously funny. "Mrs. Corman," he called, "come and watch your daughter take her vows."

My mother floated between Zachary and I, looking so thin she was going to disappear any second. Her face looked utterly disapproving... and desperate. A glow of anger warmed me--anger at her frailty, anger that if she stretched any finger to help, the juice would be sucked from her. I couldn't let Dagon get to her first. We still had words to say, she and I.

"Get out of the way, Mama," I said, as Zachary grabbed at the chain around my neck and yanked me forward. I eyed daggers at him. He tugged harder so the chain left a practically permanent line on the back of my neck.

I wasn't that dense, I knew he wanted me to give it to her. But if I was going to spend a lifetime down here, I wanted a heart-to-heart with my mama before she disappeared forever. Or at least some advice.

I'd gotten over mourning, remember?

I stopped in my tracks and Zachary raised his eyebrows. I took the opportunity to stamp my heel on his other foot. He tumbled over, releasing me, and I straightened my back with dignity.

"By your own rules," I announced loudly, "I get to offer my own ransom."

Spirit Tree (Part 3)

“This is getting better and better,” I said to Zachary as we scuffed away from the altar and the crowd.

For one, I couldn’t believe we were talking to my dead mama. For another, I hadn’t realized she didn’t want me so much. And last, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea that not only did ghosts and the entrance to the underworld exist beneath my friendly front yard tree, but that someone named Jake had a pet demon under it.

That’s what you get when nobody tells you anything.

I'd just figured my mom had told me everything. How to protect against supernatural creatures, how to skin a pig with my knife (which approximated skinning unwelcome boys with my knife), and what kinds of kisses to give acceptable boys… pecks. She forbade other options until I was an adult. She'd even quizzed me on my times tables.

All good wisdom that nevertheless left a gaping hole in my education about my own climbing tree.

Maybe she wanted me after all--she just wanted me alive. I just wished she had told me.

I wished I hadn’t been so stubborn about keeping her ring. I could have given it back years ago and we'd have resumed our usual life. I ignored the knowledge that Aunty hadn't come back after Mama had gone under the tree with her barrettes.

"So, what do you think we should do?" I asked Zachary.

"Isn't that your department of expertise?" he said.

I growled. "I forgot the flashlight, remember? And I came here to learn something because I was ignorant."

"True. I was just wondering what kind of ransom we should offer."

"You think that's real?"

"A few minutes ago, I didn't believe ghosts were real. I'm taking your mom's words with a certain amount of weight."

I sighed. "I guess you're right." I held up my bag. "We always have peppermint."

A voice interrupted our conversation, high but hardly feminine. "If you're really interested in a ransom, peppermint might not be your best option."

I turned to take in the new guy. He was shorter than I would have thought a demon-keeper would be, but I guess people were shorter back in the old days. Or else hell was a bit cramped. He wasn't bad looking but his features weren't all that memorable, either. A bit round in the face with full lips and a mop of dark hair. His black, big-collared robe glowed healthier than the ghosts.

"Are you Jake?" I said.

The man's lips twisted. "Jacobus Nathasson. Welcome to my comfortable home."

"Do you have allergies?" I asked, deciding not to offer my own name just yet. He probably knew it anyway. "The peppermint might freshen things up for you down here."

He smiled outright. "It might. But it wouldn't last very long. And then where would you be?"

I hazarded my most hopeful guess. "Free?"

"In one sense of the word. Free to join your mother, perhaps."

"That's not quite what I was thinking."

"No. But dying never is."

"Correction," I said. "Dying and coming here isn't."

Jake chuckled. "And where else would you go?"

"Um, heaven?" I looked pointedly at the sad guests who had bunched near the far reaches of the cavern. "I don't see billions of dead people hovering around in this place. More like a handful."

He waved a hand. "The others were siphoned off."

"Siphoned?" That didn't sound good.

"They fed my demon, of course."

"Wait," I said. "So you're telling me that everyone who ever died on this planet got digested by your pet demon?"

He sighed. "Not quite that many, unfortunately. Only your ancestors, it turns out."

"Oh, lovely."

He dared a cheerful smile. "But you just might make the situation a little better for us down here. I'm sure you noticed that your mother isn't looking so lively."

It was the demon's fault Mama was different. "I might have," I said guardedly.

"My demon and I could use a little pick-me-up, and you look like just the thing. You and that interesting morsel you brought."

I narrowed my eyes and stepped sideways toward Zachary. My shoulder touched his folded arms. "The peppermint?"

"The boy."

Zachary cleared his throat. "If you'll excuse me for interrupting, sir, there's something I don't understand."

"And here I thought I'd made things clear. What is it?"

"Why are you the one who's in charge? Shouldn't the demon be in charge?"

Jake turned a bit rosy in the cheeks. Not the best look for him, but oh yeah, it was his nasty soul and not the cheeks that mattered. "Certainly not. I am in control of the demon."

"But didn't you just say that he consumes people like Mrs. Corman? Why doesn't he consume you?"

"That's the essence of it, isn't it?" he smiled. "I was smarter than my brothers. I simply traded something I valued very much for something I valued more--my family for my life."

I felt the blood leave my face despite Zachary's warmth. "What an ugly monster you are."

Jake shrugged. "It was either that or be eaten."

A dim light caught the corner of my eye and I startled to see my mama had left the gathering and come close. "He's only telling you half the story," she whispered. She looked so thin the slightest breeze would put her out. "He called the demon first."

Jake shrugged. "There is a cost for every gain. It was the only way I could achieve power over my brothers."

"It looks like all it got you was stuck in the underworld." I wrinkled my nose. "And not even."

He laughed. "Don't worry, it was only a temporary sacrifice. Thankfully, you are here to help me out the door into a better world. And whether it is now or in a few more years, it's all the same. You'll be back here eventually. You and your sweetheart. All it took was getting you here."

Mama didn't disagree and I took a deep breath. "That's what the poem is for?"

"It's part of the spell," he looked pleased. "What I didn't expect was my day of deliverance would arrive so soon."

"A few hundred years is soon?"

"I imagined longer since your mother refused to educate your sister about her duties to the Tree. But you've sidestepped that dilemma for me quite nicely. You and your companion will do."

"We're not related," I said, thinking hard.

He didn't seem fazed. "Yet you are of importance to him or he wouldn't have come."

"He was doing me a favor."

"Call it what you will. What matters is that you are together. All I needed was a boost. Your mother's ring was nearly enough with the memories it contained of your father, but she left it for too long and when she returned, she had nothing of him left inside her. Only you and your sister."

That was the difference from that night so long ago. I'd thought she was sad about the ring. Or about Aunty. But that was also the moment she'd stopped talking about Dad.

"So I waited for you two girls to come," Jake said. "It was almost too long. And now here you are in the nick of time to see the last of your mother wink out, and you and your lover take his place."

Zachary cleared his throat again. "Since my soul is one of those items that is up for grabs at the moment, can I have a say in this conversation?"

"What is it?" Jake snapped. Evidently he liked me better than Zachary.

In the ghost light, Zachary's face looked suddenly like an intense and calculating swordsman, and my heart throbbed inside my chest.

"I'm offering her as my ransom."