Now that "House on Top of the Hill" (the third book in the BryonySeries Limbo trilogy) is published, I'm working on the hard edits on "Recovering Ruthless," the third book in the BryonySeries Ruthless series by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara.
The goal, of course, is publication before Calkins Day 2025, so with the holidays and all, I will definitely be busy.
Here is part of the third chapter, which references familiar characters (for the one or two out there who's read my books).
Just keep in mind that Ed - as a character and an author - is unreliable and lives completely in his imagination.
Or as Ed said in "Staked!": "I, like all
creators of mythology, can’t stress out over what actually happened when I can
control what I imagined happened.”
Enjoy!
CHAPTER 3:
FRAUDULENT
It was/is/will be on the last day
of Tara, the worst Christmas in Beulah County, or page 439 in the BryonySeries
novel “Staked!”
But all of that was subject to perception.
Fists pummeled his brain.
“John-Peter! You promised! Where are you? Come back! Come back! Come
back!"
He wrapped his fingers around the
locket chain and mustered up the hardest words he ever had to say. “I’m not
coming back, Karla!”
For the last time, John-Peter
reached up to slam a door, but his waist snapped in two. Pain faded. Karla’s
lips met his. His stepfather, Kellen Wechsler, smiled as John Peter sold
another burial plot. Karla and he broke into the basement of Eircheard’s pawn
shop. “You’re not human,” Dr. Rothgard told him, and John-Peter held a knife at
his neck. A newspaper flew out the van window while Uncle Ed’s undead life kept
growing dim. Imaged Tara faded into a growing black hole. Soda bread. Dying.
Mother.
“I’m here, John Peter,” his mother answered sobbing.
Her touch felt warm. Banshee wailed as nothingness comforted her hands on his
cheeks.
John Simons is not your father. Grinning leprechauns.
Piano music. Faries and enchanted mirrors.
Peace.
“Mrs. Wechsler, the chaplain wants a word with you.”
“Did he hear me before he died?”
“Yes, I’m sure he did.”
Blackness. Final peace.
It didn’t last long.
Bright lights were too intense to see anything, but he
could hear.
“Error, error,” a mechanical soothing voice informed
him. “Please remain calm. System aborting. Linkage lost with interface.
Distress call initiated. Would you like to see our special deals while you're
waiting? Unable to connect with internet. Ejecting. Please seek immediate
psychiatric care. Thank you for using ‘We-Live-Yellow Electronic Womb. Merry
Christmas and have a happy eighteenth birthday.”
John Peter felt himself flung into the air, past the
tree line into the clouds. Open air felt deliciously cool on his skin. The
thing is…he never landed.
All at once, he was in a large comfortable bedroom,
sitting at a small wooden desk. A mirror hung on the wall he was facing, but
the image in it wasn’t anyone he knew. A polite knock on the door didn’t give
him a chance to take it all in. It opened before he answered.
The attractive blond girl was carrying a musket.
“Judge Arkins will not be seeing you today as he is
busy with other cases,” she informed him in a neutral voice. “His Ruthlessness
will see you now and decide what actions to take concerning your case. Follow
me.”
Something was different about her. She wasn’t from
modern times, but he couldn’t place who or what…
“Are you quite done gawking? Move. Now.”
Her musket had a bayonet. On the march down a long
hallway, he realized that the girl’s shoes feet were wider and flatter than
they should be. She was Ireland’s interpretation of a mermaid called a merrow.
He must still be in Uncle Ed’s imagination somehow. Didn’t he already kill him?
The merrow made the greeting an announcement before
opening the large double doors.
“Steward, the prisoner awaits your mercy.”
Uncle Ed Calkins, also known as the Steward of Tara,
sat on the far end of a long, narrow, empty dining table with only two chairs, including
the one he was sitting in. He seemed as confused as John Peter. The guard left
in a rush, as if she feared what was about to happen.
Ed squinted despite his glasses.
“Henry?”
“John Peter,” John-Peter corrected. His own voice
seemed as strange to him as it was unsure.
“Come. Sit close to me so I can see you better.”
The Steward made it seem like he had a choice. “If I
didn’t have you to deny it, I’d swear you were Henry Matthews, but you say
you’re John Peter. How? Oh, I remember now. Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be
selling burial plots or throwing papers with me if you’re not at home or in
school?”
John Peter answered with a frustrated wave of his
hand. The motion felt unfamiliar. “Apparently, I’m a prisoner awaiting your
mercy.”
“Why? What did you do?” The
Steward studied the incredulous look on John-Peter’s face. “Look, if you think
I should know this or you’ve told me before, you were probably telling a later
version of me. It seems I will become more incompetent as I become more
experienced. I was called by what will be me to solve what will be a problem
and you are just an interruption. So tell me again, what did you do?”
“I thought I killed you.
“Ah that. Page 434. I’m pretty sure you think you
conspired with some of my slave poets to shoot an arrow through my back during
a limerick competition. Is that what will happen?”
“Please tell me this isn’t my afterlife.”
“It’s not. You’re not done with
your first. And sorry, but ‘I thought I killed you’ isn’t going to cut it with
the judge here. If you’re going to go with that, you need to sound a lot more
definite. I know Judge Arkins, and he’s a stickler for positive proof. He’ll
dismiss your case before you have a chance to claim that you had a hand in it.”
John Petter shook his head. “Why
would I prove that I did kill you? Wouldn’t I try to prove that I didn’t?”
“You didn’t. That’s the problem.”
“Then, I’m free to go and we can
end this pointless discussion?”
Ed Calkins sighed heavily,
“Let’s not do this on an empty
stomach,” he told the young man and then called out. “Good merrow, we are ready
to order.
A different merrow rushed forward.
She was as beautiful as the first but dressed in a Sue’s Diner uniform. She had
no musket but held a pad and quill pen.
“Goblet of blood for you, Your
Ruthlessness?” The merrow asked, quill pen poised over the pad, ready to jot
the order.
“Thanks, Wendy. That will do.”
“And you, sir, what will…hey! My
eyes are up here, sir!”
The Steward broke in
diplomatically. “Never mind him, Wendy. Just bring him prime rib and lobster.
Cook the prime rib medium rare and bring plenty of butter for the lobster.”
“As you say, Your Ruthlessness.”
She bowed to the Steward of Tara but gave John Peter a hostile glare before
returning to the kitchen.
When she was gone, Ed Calkins leaned
forward and studied John-Peter, who now looked highly annoyed. “I can see that
you’re upset. You’ll have to forgive the merrows. They are in a sexual
harassment suit with the leprechauns right now. Perhaps they're hypervigilant
about any unwanted attention, even if the attention isn't really that unwanted.
You know how crude leprechauns can be.”
“And you know I don't eat meat,”
John Peter retorted. “Even a prisoner has the right to edible food. I can't eat
anything from an animal. I'm a vegan. You know this.”
But Ed had already launched into
a monologue about something or another.
“…and so your father, John Simons
who wasn’t really your father, but everyone back then knew him as John Simotes,
told me that I had died and come back as a vampire. Well, I didn’t believe him
until he placed a slab of uncooked corn beef in front of me, completely raw,
mind you. I scuffed the whole thing down like it was my last meal, but what
really shocked me was the way I wanted more…the bloodier the better. I could
have...”
John Peter’s eyes found another
mirror that should have captured the reflection of the diners. Instead, it
showed a single person: the young man with dark, neatly combed, shortish hair
that he had seen in the bedroom.
“…don’t you see? That was the
brilliance to my plan. John Simons couldn’t believe me when I told him that
artificial intelligence was beyond my ability as a programmer. I couldn’t argue
with him successfully because you were already here. So, cleverly convincing
him that he was right, I... ah, the food is here.”
The food was carefully matched to
the proper diners. John Peter frowned at his plate. Uncle Ed sipped his blood
goblet expectingly. Something was wrong. The sight of dead fish and animals
should have turned his stomach. Instead, the smell seemed inviting. There
wasn't a single plant-based item on his plate.
“Go ahead,” Ed urged.
“I can’t eat this. You programed
me to shudder at dead flesh.”
“I did promise to do that. I’m a
fraud, I’m afraid. Take a bite.”
John Peter did as he was told.
Cutting a piece of the prime rib and putting it to his lips made his mouth
water. The deliciousness of the mouthful was undeniable. “Are you sure this is
meat?”
Uncle Ed nodded. “This is your
Pinocchio moment. It seems like you're not changeling anymore. You're a real
boy now.”
“Dr. Rothgard lied to me.”
“No, young man. I lied to Dr.
Rothgard. He told you that I made you because that's what I told him. The truth
is I didn't make you as much as I recruited you. You were a deal I made with
three others. John Simons wanted a son and gave his blood and a leg from his
prized piano to the construction. Eircheard was to build a stock changeling of
the finest quality from those two materials, and I was to write software to
make that changeling something special. Knowing that was beyond me, I instead gave
Eircheard a creature to put inside that Oakwood 360 changeling. I mistakenly
thought it was a wood sprite named Glorna. His name might have been Glorna, but
he was no wood sprite. He was an imp hypnotized into believing he was a wood
sprite. Eircheard knew about that. What no one knew was the additional step I
took because I had an infant that Glorna brought me, and he wasn’t going
anywhere unless I made sure that infant had a childhood. That baby is the young
man you see in the mirror.”
“But I was slightly green…with
red hair!”
“No. You were inside an
electrical device from the distant future. It cost me two trips to the end of
time and back to get the thing. From that ‘electronic womb,’ you and Glorna
acted together to make John-Peter Simotes. It was the Oakwood 360 unit that was
green. It was Glorna that couldn’t eat meat the same way an alcoholic can't
drink the smallest bit of alcohol lest he go back to what he was. Before he was
part of John-Peter, he ate a woodsman. Once an imp tastes blood…well imagine
John-Peter’s childhood as a cannibal.”
“And now?” John-Peter stuffed
another bite of prime rib into his mouth.
“Now? You’re grounded, of course.
Your mother died giving birth to you. Your father died in a murder/suicide. He
became a vampire and his victim, also a vampire, became your stepfather. Both
vampires have been staked, so all you have for a guardian is me. Sorry about
that, but your grounded for the next eight years. It won’t be so bad. I sent
you to the future of this Tara, which is still in the ancient past, but all
portals that lead to Munsonville do so in the year 2019. That’s how I know you
won’t escape. That’s where we are right now, so most of your grounding is
already served.”
“But you’re grounding me for a
crime you claim I didn’t commit.”
“Indeed. You’re welcome. You have
to prove to Judge Arkins that you would have been brave enough to kill your
uncle to save the imprisoned young women. My punishing you for it might help
your case. I know you think you did. You remember doing it, but that was Glorna
who did the deed, not you. You never went through the enchanted mirror. You
remember what happened only because of the telepathic link that Glorna had with
you. Try and understand. Most vampires just crawl into their coffins when it's
time to sleep. Some have to reenact their murder or suicide every day just
before sunrise. I only reanimate once a year, but somebody has to kill me.
Sometime in my future, Glorna will. But I believe that you would do the same.
The two of you are like twins. You had the same parents and shared the same
thoughts for the last eighteen years. The only difference is you're different
creatures and only you have parents. That was another fraud. Your mother,
Bryony, was the first love and wife of John Simons, but John was not the
father. Care to guess who your father was?”
“Henry Mathews?”
“Indeed. Can you imagine what he
would have done to you if he’d found out that you were the love child of that
illicit pair? That's why I kept you living your life remotely in that
electronic womb. Now you have to prove to a judge that you would have murdered
Ed Calkins and traded yourself for the girl you call Angela – even though her
name is 42 – just as Glorna did. If you can prove that, your sentence would be
a four-year, full ride to Jenson college.”
It was all too much for the
eighteen-year-old. “So I’m not a changeling anymore?”
“You never were.” Ed took another
sip. “And if you continue to call yourself John-Peter Simotes, people that knew
him will not be amused. John-Peter Simotes is dead now, and the pieces that
made him are ready to live their own lives. For Glorna, that’s going to be far
more difficult. He’s been three different creatures. I think you should take
your father’s name. Matthews. Jean-Pierre Matthews.
“Jean-Pierre is just John-Peter
in French,” the boy informed the vampire dryly. “And I must be sick, or the
food is enchanted. I can’t eat another bite.”
“No matter,” the Steward replied.
Then he shouted at the door. “Wendy, would you come here for a moment? I have a
candidate for the Red Branch that I’d like you to consider.”
The youth was shocked. “You don’t
mean the Knights of the Red Branch, do you Uncle Ed? You’ve been filling me
with those legends for years.”
The annoyed merrow rushed forward
immediately, but upon noticing that no others had entered the room, she began
clearing plates and paid no notice to Jean-Pierre. When the Steward called her
out, the merrow frowned but politely set the silverware she was carrying on the
table.
“With all due respect, Your
Ruthlessness, I cannot be compelled to accept any lad just because you desire
it.”
“Noted, Wendy. I only ask that
you consider him.”
“Didn’t you say he’s eighteen? He’s
too old. We don’t accept married men and if he’s been unable to find a wife by
that age…well.”
“Boys don’t marry so early where
he’s from.”
The merrow sighed and looked Jean-Pierre
over in a way that made the lad blush.
“Stand up,” she directed with her
hand as much as her mouth.
Reluctantly,
he complied.
“Turn around.”
Her boldness made her pause, but –
again – Jean-Pierre did as he was told.
“See how you like it,” she hissed
but then addressed the Steward. “He’s attractive enough, but in what way is he
elite? Has he known battle? Because for the looks of him, he’s hardly been
outdoors.”
“He killed a vampire once,” the
Steward hedged. “But that was an accident and only half of him participated…the
half he was not, I’m guessing.”
“Kellen Wechsler?” the still
standing lad turned to ask.
The vampire nodded his head, but the merrow was
clearly not impressed. She stared him down with one more question.
“Life for a Red Branch Knight is
hard,” the merrow said, almost defiantly. “Why do you wish to be in their
number?”
“I really don’t.” Jean-Pierre answered
honestly. “It’s my uncle’s idea.”
