“Is this it?”

“Ja.” The troll smiled at Adrian, revealing yellowing, blood-stained teeth.

The book was old, massive. It was a curiosity on display in the Bodleian Library, Oxford University. Shards of glass littered the velvet cloth it rested upon. Ljotr’s handiwork. Adrian reached gingerly though the glass to caress the spine. Halfway down, his hand froze. He stood motionless, simply staring at it.

“Having second thoughts?” The troll hissed, glee and anger quarreling behind his eyes.

Adrain blinked and shook his head.

“No, Ljotr, I am not.”

“Well, Adrian, or whatever it is you’re calling yourself these days, what are we waiting for? The man in the moon to rise and spit in your eye?”

Adrian said nothing. He raised his free hand toward Ljotr, palm upwards. The troll snorted and looked askance at it.

“What’s the matter, Ljotr? Having second thoughts?”

The troll growled and placed his meaty paw into Adrian’s waiting palm.

“Double-cross me and you’re dead meat, mortal.”

“Transparse,” Adrian murmured, giving the troll no other answer.

There was a sound like a vast fluttering of pages, and the world just faded away…

***

Snowflakes like torn and yellowed parchment drifted slowly down from a sky without stars. There was no wind, just an oppressive weight to the air.

Adrian stood, eyes closed. Ljotr snarled and looked wildly about. Adrian slowly opened his eyes and turned in a circle.

“Well, I expected a cold reception, but this is ridiculous.”

“You aren’t funny, mortal,” Ljotr snarled. “Get to work. You’re on the clock.”

“Patience is a virtue, my bloodthirsty friend.”

“So is fortitude. How’s about we test yours?”

Adrian laughed. Ljotr blinked.

Before the troll could react further, Adrian scooped of a handful of snow and cast it into the air. The papery flakes drifted to the ground as the two watched. Adrian raked his hair back, out of his eyes.

“That way.”

The erstwhile writer strode off into the viscous night, leaving the troll to flounder in his wake. Their steps disturbed centuries of stillborn flurries. It was at once an endless journey and a trip of mere moments.
Ljotr blinked as a ring of fire suddenly appeared on the hill before them. Glancing behind, their steps seemed to trail off into infinity. The troll snorted.

“Narrative time dilation. Tacky.”

“Yet effective.”

The hill beneath their feet was blackened and blasted. Scraps of dirty snow half-melted to ice laced the hill like a ragged shawl. The ring of fire burned without heat, burned without roar or crackle. It danced in silence, spilling its light to the darkened sky above.

She slept upon a bier within. She was beautiful, in her own way. Her hair was long and white as the purest snow. Her complexion was as clear and fair a blue as an afternoon sky just starting to purple before the snow flies. Her breasts were lashed and bound by the intricate lace of a bridal gown. Almost imperceptibly, they moved, indicating that breath and life still stirred within her body.

She was also a full six feet tall if she was an inch, with rippling muscles that would put a bodybuilder to shame.

Ljotr pissed on the flames. The flames didn’t deign to respond. Adrian ignored the troll. The favor, unfortunately, was not returned in kind.

“Dude, stop feelin’ up my sister with your eyes and get her out of there. It’s what I’m paying you for.”
“Technically it is what you will be paying me for. And what is with that voice? You sound ridiculous.”

“Just trying to speak to you in your native tongue.”

Ljotr just snorted and thumbed his nose at Adrian. A missile of green snot shot out and hit the dirt of the hill with a faint splat.

“The bastard took her spear, her shield; he didn’t even leave her helmet.”

“And he’s done atrocious things to her armor.” Adrian cut in smoothly. “Although, at least she’s still wearing it, for what it’s worth.”

“That? The tatted lamb’s fart she’s wearing? That’s her armor?”

“What’s left of it. Don’t worry, she…”

“I know damned good and well what she’s capable of when she’s free. And that’s what you’re here to do. So get crackin’ and make with the magic.”

“I’m not a magician. It’s not that simple.”

“Then flutter your wings or whatever it is you do, fairy boy…”

“You of all people are not seriously going to stand there are mock me for being a fairy.”

“Do I look like I have wings, pinky?”

“Do I?”

Ljotr just grunted and turned away. Adrian turned to walk slowly around the perimeter of the ring of fire. After he had traversed the full circuit, he turned to Ljotr.

“Stand right here, please.”

“Why?” Ljotr glared suspiciously.

“You want revenge on the man who did this?”

“Well duh.”

Adrain fixed the troll with a steely eye. Ljotr farted and grumbled.

“Yes. I want to rip out his spleen and feed it to his ever lovin’ cats. Happy?”

“Ecstatic. Now are you going to stand there or not?”

“Why here?”

“Because whatever is keeping your dear sister here is going to appear right there.”

Adrian pointed to a spot about twelve inches in front of where Ljotr was standing. The troll sniffed audibly, glaring around with beady and malevolent eyes.

“How can you tell. I don’t smell nothin’.”

“Trus-“ Adrian sighed. “Because that, my odiferous friend, is the most dramatic spot in which to appear.”

“How-“

“And I know our adversary will appear there, because no one, and I mean no one, with a sense of taste or a hint of subtlety in their makeup would imprison a Valkyrie in a ring of fire. I mean for gods’ sakes, it’s been done to death. He’s not original, this one.”

“But-“

“You want his spleen or not?”

“I-“

“Do you want to walk through the ring of fire?”

“Well-“

“Do you?”

“I can’t-“

“Yes. Or. No.”

Ljotr fidgeted.

“No.”

“Then do as I say. I will wake your sister. The fire will vanish. The adversary will appear. You will rip out his spleen. There will be much rejoicing, and I will get us all the hell out of here. Good?”

“Well, yeah, but-“

“But what?”

“How do you know that you won’t get roasted? I mean, not that I care, but I would like to be able to get out of here.”

Ljotr scratched his armpit a bit sheepishly. Adrian sighed.

“Our adversary has to be able to get through the fire to woo her. Even if he didn’t, there would have to be a loophole. There’s a loophole. I will fit through it. It’s keyed to his power, and mine is close enough to his to work. If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t be here in the first place, and I’d be having a completely different discussion with you, in far different circumstances, involving far less pleasant terms.”

Ljotr squinted, then spat.

“Damn right you would. Get on with it.”

Adrian made a point to sigh theatrically before stepping up to the flames.

“Ready?”

“Shut up and step into the fire, flamer.”

Adrian turned and stepped through the flames. He emerged on the other side unscathed. Adrian let a short breath explode from his lungs before stepping up to the bier.

The woman, the valkyrie, reclined upon the rough wood as if sleeping carelessly upon a divan. She made it look royal. She made it look beautiful.

“Kiss the bitch already. I’m freezin’ my balls off and I want to warm my hands in wizard’s blood.” Ljotr hollered.

Adrian bent down and lightly brushed her lips with his. They were cold and tasted ever so faintly of ice and elderberries.

Her eyes flew open. Adrian found himself caught by the throat and slammed onto his back upon the bier, their places reversed in an instant. Those lovely eyes burned with an ice cold fire and the lips that tasted of elderberries twisted back in a vicious snarl.

A high pitched shriek split the night sky and curdled the blood in Adrian’s veins. The valkyrie’s eyes widened, and she looked over her shoulder towards where Ljotr stood. Her fingers did not relax their grip, however, and Adrian found himself hauled around to stare at a bloody tableaux.

A man of indeterminate age, white of hair and black of robe, knelt upon the ground. With pale hands he clutched at a gaping wound in his abdomen. Blood ran dark as ink through his fingers.
Ljotr was licking his. He belched and waved to the two on the bier.

“Came to fetch you home, sis.”

The valkyrie said nothing. The old man stared at her, weeping. She coldly turned away.

“You.”

The venomous hated in that voice snapped Adrian’s gaze about, locking it to the old man’s.

“You have stolen my love from me. Your beast has torn out my liver-“

“Spleen,” Ljotr muttered.

“-but you, you have stolen my heart. For that, you shall pay, and dearly. You shall have my curse, but first, I shall tear out your heart.”

“Oh no you don’t.”

Ljotr thrust his fist into the old man’s back, through the ribs and towards the heart. It emerged from the other side, grasping nothing. It was as if Ljotr has thrust his hand through a shadow. The troll gaped at his empty hand, flexing his arm through the old man’s body.

“He lives, wordsmith. He lives and he knows what you did to him.”

The old man laughed. Adrian went pale. He struggled to stop out the word, but the old man’s voice echoed through to the depths of his being, cackling n the vaults of his mind and setting his bones to vibrating with hateful reverberations.

“Your lover lives. All these years, you thought him dead. You were wrong. Wrong to make the pact; wrong to pay the price. No other has ever done as you have. Not even I. I who lusted after beauty and bound it within ink and parchment, with the story of my life to woo her down through the years.”

“I’m not listening.” Adrian laughed, a note of hysteria in his voice. “I’m not listening, you’re not talking. You’re not talking and I’m not hearing.”

“You took my heart. I do not mind. See? I even give you a gift in return. Your one true love lives still, breathes still, and thinks always of you. Thinks of nothing but you and the best way to repay your gifts.”
“You’re too kind.” Adrian babbled. “Too too kind, really, you shouldn’t have. Here, take back the gift, really. It’s too much. I wouldn’t want you to put yourself out. Why, I’m sure you can even find someone else who needs it. I don’t need it. It’s not even mine. Doesn’t suit me at all. I don’t know what you’re talking about, even. You must have me confused with someone else. You’re crazy. You have to be. Locked up in a book for all these years. Why, I wasn’t even alive when you penned this manuscript, so you have to be lying. You have to be joking. There’s no way you could know what you say you know…”

“A story always knows. A story always has the right words, at the right time. You know that. You know that as well as you know the price for every little trick you turn. It’s an instinct. It’s in your gut. You know I’m right. You know I speak the truth. Your lover lives. As you live. Just exactly as you live.”
Adrian’s eyes flashed. With one smooth motion he pulled himself free of the valkyrie’s stunned fingers and stood, standing astride the bier like a fallen colossus.

“Very well. I accept that your words are true. Message received. Dying words heard loud and clear. You’ve had your chance, you’ve said you bit. Now piss off. I’m taking the limelight.”

“What- You can’t- The story doesn’t end that way.“

The old man sputtered. Adrian leapt lightly down from the bier and stalked across the now dead ring of fire. His eyes were cold, but his lips held a smile.

“Actually, I can. I rescued the maiden from the evil wizard. It’s my story now, old man, not yours. And you should know as well as I that the end of this story has already been written. You’ll choke on the black bile of your last, hateful words, undone as your vile magics backfire, tearing you apart in one titanic blast of karmic glory. Poof. Just like that.”

Adrian snapped his fingers in front of the wizard’s nose. The old man flinched back. Adrian continued, relentlessly.

“Fade away into smoke and ink, old man. Your time has passed.”

“Never!” The old man rallied. He raged and spat black, inky blood. “You have not seen the last of me. I shall return, and you shall pay. I swear it, upon the black blade of night I swear it. You will rue this day.”
The old man pointed one skeletal finger in Adrian’s face. His hand spasmed and he coughed up more blood. With a gurgling wheeze he slowly slid down Ljotr’s arm, toppling to the side as the troll’s claws slid out of his body.

“You will rue the day.”

The old man grinned manically and tried to laugh. A blood foam flecked his lips and rather than cackle, he shuddered and died.

“I already do,” muttered Adrian.

The corpse had no answer for him. It’s lifeless eyes just stared up accusingly.

Ljotr reached down and plucked them out, popping them into his mouth and sucking on them like a pair of sweets.

“Why don’t they ever die before they stop talking?”

“Dramatic license.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t invent it.”

Ljotr just grunted.

“Get us the hell out of here.”

“Gladly.”

Adrian raised his arms. There was a great sound like the fluttering of countless pages. Then they were gone.

***

The book was a sodden mess of torn pages, black ink and stagnant meltwater. Adrian, Ljotr and his sister stood in front of the case, surrounded by silence and the Bodleian Library. Adrian turned to smile at Ljotr’s sister.

“Welcome back to the real world.”

“Thank you. I-“

Her eyes widened; nothing more. It was warning enough. Adrian dove to the side.

Ljotr’s claws sliced through empty air. The troll grunted in surprise. Adrian tumbled through a sideways roll, coming to rest upon his knees in a basic stage combat defensive posture. One arm was outthrust, the hand with fingers splayed wide.

His eyes locked onto Ljotr’s.

“Amanuense.”

Ljotr’s eyes bulged and his jaw worked soundlessly. One clawed hand twitched, spasmodically. Other than that, he stood, frozen. Tears of blood welled up in his eyes and slowly spilled over the banks of his eyelids.
Adrian’s gaze remained locked on the troll.

“Take his blood for ink, his skin and flesh for parchment white…”

Ljotr shuddered as his skin split in a hundred places. It began to writhe off of his body, slowly flaying him alive where he stood.

“Sinew for threading, tooth and bone for binding…”

Tendons tore themselves free from binding muscle to bone, slithering off like pale and bloody snakes. Muscle sloughed off, revealing ivory bone beneath, delicately tinctured with gore. His tongue flattened and split, sliding in amidst the pages to rest as a bookmark.

Ljotr’s eyes alone remained to identify him. His body flowed and changed. Thoughts and memories, dreams and nightmares poured out of the well of his mind, writ indelibly upon the parchment of his flesh with the ink of his blood. Secrets unknown to even Ljotr himself were scribed into the book of his life, all veils ripped from their hiding.

A book coalesced out of the maelstrom of teeth and blood, hide and sinew. Bone melted and twisted into ivory filigree, tooth and claw into clasps and binding. Last of all were the eyes, culled of their color to paint the cover in garish glory, robbed of their gleam to polish the metalwork and filigree, and finally sunk into the cover, one front and one back, closed as the book was closed.

Adrian’s outstretched fingers closed slowly, firmly about the book. Reverentially he set it on the ground.

“We had a deal. You broke your word. Your service is now forfeit.”

He tapped the cover with a fond hand.

“Don’t worry, I’ll release you in a hundred years or so, if I don’t have need sooner.”

Calm returned somewhat huffily to the library. The books on the nearby shelves would have something to talk about for years to come. But that would be later. For now, they stood in silent witness.

“Thank you.”

The valkyrie’s voice threaded itself through the silence. Adrian glanced up.

“I’m sorry about your brother.”

“No,” she raised one hand to tuck a lock of gleaming frost-white hair behind her ear. “What you did was just. My brother broke faith. So long as you free him when his penance is done, we have no quarrel.”

Adrian nodded and rose. He slid the Book of Ljotr into his shoulder bag. When the clasps were secure, he glanced back to the valkyrie standing in the library.

“What will you do now?”

She smiled.

“I have a debt to repay. There is a man who could use my protection, I think, so I shall watch over him.”
Her eyes flicked to his face and back again for the briefest of instants. Adrian didn’t notice. The Book of Ljotr did not sit easily in his bag, so it had to be adjusted. In all likelihood, frequently.

“Good luck with that.” Adrian glanced up, smiling. “Let me know how that goes.”

With that, he turned and headed through the stacks, towards the library exit and the wide world beyond.

The valkyrie watched him go. When he was out of sight, she shook her head and smiled.

“I shall, oh savior mine. I shall.”

A spear of light lanced through a window, high in the wall above. It bathed her in an iridescent aurora and she dissolved into a small flurry of snowflakes. A phantom wind caught up the flakes and carried them after the retreating man, leaving only fading laughter in its wake.

“I shall.”

The Vengeful Gods of the Internet have claimed this Story as their own.  It will return, someday, when it has been reconstituted from the aethers…

Max Murphy, stage manager extraordinaire, crumbled into his chair. A fourpack of Starbucks went on the table in front of him. Adrian, writer, director and producer of this soon-to-be theatrical experience quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Are those all for you, or were you planning to share?”

Max just gestured towards the cups. His gesture floated out a bit too far and the steam rising from the coffee made a guerrilla attempt at scalding his hand. Max snatched his hand back and ended up toppling over backwards in his chair. He did not bother to get up.

“Rough night?” Adrian smirked over the rim of his cup.

“I didn’t get much sleep. Well, not much restful sleep,” Max amended.

“Bad dreams?”

“You have no idea. I was at the Mall of America, and there was a demoness and an attempt on my life…”

“How much of this was dream and how much reality?”

“I’m not certain. I think–”

Kai, the leading man, swept through and regally laid claim to the venti soy latte. Kai was graceful, handsome and an absolute bitch on wheels. He was also a pixie with a penchant for masquerading as a human and an over-developed flair for the dramatic. It served him well on stage, less so in life.

“You’re welcome,” Max said pointedly. Then he managed to give himself a papercut on the yellow legal pad he kept for notes. Kai smirked.

“Well, it looks like it will be another wonderful day, courtesy of Murphy Enterprises. We’re so blessed to have you around.”

“Back off, pixie sticks, or you’ll see just how blessed I can be.”

“Touchy, touchy.”

“Kai,” Adrian said in that hyper-serene tone of voice that brooked no mutiny, “would you be so good as to go and notify the ladies in the foyer that we’re about to begin? I take it you have them already organized?”

“Of course.” Kai sniffed and swept out. He paused in the doorway just long enough to shadow a dramatically posed silhouette, then let the door slam shut behind him. Typical.

“That pixie is such a fairy,” Max muttered.

The corners of Adrian’s mouth quirked upwards, just a tad.

“You ready for a long day?”

Max groaned and reached for his coffee.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The latch clanked and the door swung open. A tall, brunette beauty swept into the room. Adrian made a small sound of approval in his throat.

“Know how to make an entrance,” he murmured.

Max glanced up. The scent of Chanel no.5 hit him first. It was all too familiar, on the heels of last night’s dreams. But it was her face that took his breath away. Reaching for a pencil, he tipped his coffee and sent a brown flood washing across the table. Max didn’t notice.

The woman of his dreams had just walked into the audition hall.

***

Max sat in the third floor food court area of the Mall of America. His table was right next to the balcony, so he had a great view of the people wandering down below as well as those walking past on his level. Max leaned against the railing, sipping his Orange Julius through an equally orange straw and watching the world go by.

The world looked back at him. Or rather, one woman did. One woman who, Demetrius being bated, Helena’d give to be to her translated. She was beautiful, brunette and flawless, with legs all the way down to the floor. Those legs were carrying her towards Max at a striking pace.

She drew eyes to her like honey drew flies, but she only had eyes for Max. Not once did her smoldering gaze leave his face. It did not go unnoticed.

“Hello,” she breathed once she reached him.

“Hello yourself,” Max smiled back.

Now Max was getting a glance or two. A man in a John Deer cap glowered and reached for a cup of coffee. His attention wasn’t where it should have been and the cup tipped, spilling hot liquid all over his crotch. The man jumped to his feet swearing.

Max’s eyes flicked for the barest instant towards the commotion. The woman reached out and trailed one nail gently down Max’s cheek. His eyes locked on her once more. She smelled of Chanel no.5 and her nails were lacquered rose red. She smiled.

“Buy a girl a drink?”

Max grinned, bemused.

“Sure. Coffee? Or something stronger?”

“Something stronger, I think.”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and the two of them were sitting at a crowded bar. There was a martini in from of Max and the lady appeared to have some sort of fizzy offering with a tiny umbrella. The ice in her drink cracked.

The woman’s eyes were a bit wild. The sultry air that had hung about her a moment ago was gone, replaced by something else, something decidedly dangerous. Eyes hard as flint, she shot a wary look towards Max.

“What the hell did you just do?”

“Me? Nothing.” Max reached out one languid hand and claimed his martini. “This is all your doing. You wanted a drink, remember?”

“I wanted a nightcap in a twilight hotel, with soft backlighting and a convenient bed. This has none of those things.”

“I guess your aim was off.”

“Impossible.”

“Apparently not, for here we are.” Max gestured at their surrounding with his drink before taking a small sip. “Mm, perfect. Just how I like it.”

The woman picked up her drink and took a small sip. Her face immediately soured and she set the drink back on the bar.

“Well, this is certainly not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“An overly idealistic trust-fund brat who didn’t have the good sense to stay home and let mommy and daddy give him everything he’d ever wanted.”

“Oh, well, you found that.” Max slid an olive from the garnish with his teeth and bit down gently.

“Apparently that’s not all I have found.”

“Oh? What else?” Max washed down the remnants of the olive with another sip of gin.

“You tell me. I can’t finesse your dreams, I can’t leave, I can’t shift things so they attack you…just what have you done to me?”

“Ah. This is a dream. That explains a lot.”

“You didn’t know?” She stared at him incredulously.

“Not until just now.” Max grinned. “I suppose that makes you, what, a succubus?”

“You’re not as dumb as I was told you’d be.”

“And just who, exactly, told you I’d be an easy mark?”

The succubus shot Max another smoldering glance. She picked up her drink with one hand and toyed with her hair with the other.

“I don’t think so. Information appears to be my only bargaining chip, at the moment.”

“For the moment.”

“So…”

“So what?”

“Why don’t we make a deal? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“I’m not sleeping with you. One kiss and I’ll never wake up.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” The succubus rolled her eyes. “It takes a bit more than one kiss, and we’re past time for that in any case. I was referring to an information trade.”

“Ah.” Max took another drink. “Question for question? I suppose that might be interesting.”

“I can make it very interesting,” the succubus promised.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Let’s do it.”

“Very well.” The succubus leaned back on her barstool. “What’s your first question?”

“Why don’t we start with your name? What should I call you?”

Max smiled. The succubus looked startled. They might as well have a bit of fun, so long as they were stuck here.

***

“Oh my god, you did not!”

Max was laughing breathlessly into his drink. Tears of hilarity were streaming down his face. Across from him, the succubus was actually smiling.

“I did! I swear. Devil’s honor.”

Mona extended two fingers and gave herself little horns. She waggled her fingers and Max practically snorted his martini. His fifth martini. Mona straightened.

“Alright, my turn.”

Max gestured her the go ahead.

“Let’s see,” the succubus pursed her lips. “Tell me, what, in your opinion, is my best shot at getting out of this mess intact?”

“Oh, so we’re finally getting down to business, are we?”

“Some of us have lives,” Mona replied, dryly.

“Ouch.” Max reached for his waterglass and took a long draught. “Well, it’s hard to say. I can’t just let you go, and you can’t just leave. You’re under contract and I have no real control over my, ah, talents.”

“And your little curse of a blessing won’t let me go so long as I’m a danger. We’ve been over this. You have to have some sort of idea as to how to free me.”

“That’s the key, actually. Freeing you. We get you out of your contract, we get you out of here, which means we can both go free.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?”

“I think it’s my question now, actually.”

Max grinned at her. The succubus threw up her arms.

“Fine. Ask.”

“Tell me who summoned you.” Max held up a hand to forestall protest. “It’ll make it that much easier to get you out of your contract, we have an agreement, and I’m guessing he wasn’t smart enough to forbid you from speaking of it, considering how much we’ve talked in the past howeverlong it is we have been here.”

Mona stared at Max for a long moment.

“Fine. I’ll tell you. However, you have to guarantee me, on your talent, that you will not tell anyone where you obtained this information.”

“Done.”

“Michael Murphy.”

As easy as that. Max rocked back and crossed his arms. All vestige of alcohol haze vanished from his eyes.

“Well, that’s a bit unexpected, but…”

“But what?”

“Oh, this is just less Michael’s style. I suppose, Theodora put him up to it.”

“Who are these people?”

“Siblings. Well, half-siblings. Doesn’t matter.”

“No?”

“Not beyond the fact that it tells me why you’re here, how you got here and what is most likely the best place to look for the loophole.”

Max stood and offered his hand to Mona. The succubus took it and rose warily.

“What? Where?”

“Here.”

The bar was gone, replaced by a library. The smell of parchment and ink was strong, slightly too strong. Mona wrinkled her nose.

“You don’t spend much time in libraries, do you?”

“No, why?”

“If you did, your dreams wouldn’t smell so strongly of all the wrong things.”

“Ah. No worries.”

Max closed his eyes and spun around in a circle. He came to a stop, finger pointing down one of the aisles. He set off at a brisk pace.

“This way.”

“What are you doing.”

“Finding the loophole.”

“By pointing your finger?”

“It’s a gift and a curse. I’m either the luckiest man in the world, and everyone else around me suffers the slings and arrows of misplaced misfortune, or I’m unlucky and everything around me goes smoothly.”

“And this is relevant how?”

“It’s why you’re stuck here with me and me with you. As soon as you tried to attack me, things went bad for you and good for me.”

“How is this good for you?”

“I know who is out to get me, how they came after me, and most likely, before you leave, I’ll know a few new ways to defend myself.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“What is?”

“How that works.”

“Tell me about it. Here we are.”

Max reached up and blindly chose a scroll from the lefthand shelf. Without looking at it, he unrolled it and presented it to Mona.

“Sign here please.”

“What am I signing?”

“I have no idea, but I do know it will do the trick.”

“I like to know in advance what–”

“You want out or not?”

“Yes, but–”

“Sign it! Trust me. Right now, it’s the best thing for me, for you to be free, so what’s best for me is also best for you, and this is best for me. So make with the John Hancock.”

“Fine,” Mona sighed theatrically. She conjured a pen out of thin air. As she moved to put ink to paper, Max interrupted.

“Wait.”

She froze.

“What?”

“I had a nice time tonight.”

Mona looked at him.

“Me too, oddly enough.”

Max nodded and smiled.

“Goodo. Well, I guess this is goodbye. I doubt we’ll see one another again once we’re out.”

“Yes, well. Aufwiedersehn.”

Mona signed the paper with a flourish.

With a start, Max sat bolt upright in bed.

It was nearly dawn. The first stirring of light were just beginning to stealthily creep into the window. Max groaned. Auditions today.

***

There was silence for a moment as Mona finished her audition speech. Adrian had that look in his eye, the one that meant he had every intention of working with this woman in the future. If she didn’t fit this production, there would be another where she would, even if he had to write it for her.

“Thank you, Mona. Are you available for a callback around six this evening?”

“Of course,” Mona loosed a radiant smile.

Adrian nodded.

“We’ll see you at six, then.”

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to it.” She inclined her head and prepared to make her exit. “Until then, Mr. Bard. Max.”

She was out the door before Adrian’s pen stopped skritching its way across the pad. Slowly, he turned to Max. His gaze was penetrating. Max sighed and reached for the unspilled cup of coffee.

“Max,” Adrian’s voice was mild. “Do you know that young lady? Because I am quite positive that your name did not come up until she herself spoke it.”

“That’s the woman from my dreams.”

“I beg pardon?”

“Succubus.” Max sighed expansively. “Sent to bind me in eternal slumber. In fact, her brother was the one to bind Sleeping Beauty in her curse.”

“Did he really?”

“Apparently.”

“So much for the virgin and a spindle story.”

“Sounds like.”

“So…she isn’t seriously auditioning for the play?”

“Probably not.”

“Pity,” Adrian sighed. Then he brightened. “Perhaps I can convince her.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t.”

“Why is she after you, anyway?”

“Sibling rivalry.”

“Ah.” Adrian paused. “Wait, if you bested her in your dreams, what is she doing here, in the waking world, still chasing you?”

Max sighed theatrically.

“It’s just my luck.”

The Vengeful Gods of the Internet have claimed this Story as their own.  It will return, someday, when it has been reconstituted from the aethers…