Tag Archives: Fiction

The Last Journey

Posted on by CM Schofield
Black and white image of train tracks criss crossing like an X

The door was stuck. Completely and utterly. It rattled with the movement of the train, budging just enough to tease. The carriage grew warmer – did it really, or simply an imagining, a symptom of the incarceration? My fine silk shirt stuck to me like cling film. My cell mate aboard the carriage was down at the other end and shook their head, hands falling limply from the door. They’d already missed their stop, of course they’d give up so easily.

I took a few steps back and rammed my shoulder into the door, even though I knew it opened by sliding. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t move. The heat crawled its way up my chest and through my shoulders, into my throat and mouth, choking me, and with it a taste of fury at the ridiculous circumstances of the morning which had resulted in me having to use public transport. My fellow captive in the faulty carriage opened their mouth and, with a single one of my glares, they closed it.

The train seemed to move ever faster, the strange sideways pull amplifying, the feeling of my organs sliding lanced a dread into my bones as we hurtled down the tracks. The light from outside vanished as we entered a tunnel, the windows becoming vacant voids of black. A faint wave of nausea eased up my body. I’d travelled this line many times, back before I could collect cars like trading cards. There were no tunnels on this route. I turned back to my fellow captive aboard this ghost train. Or I would have done, if they were there.

I spun, again and again, dashing between the seats. They were gone. The incessant, burning heat of the carriage, crawling over my skin like ants, ceased as if a bucket of ice water fell over me in cascades of confusion and despair. My flesh stung as my sweat crystallised, freezing along the lengths of my arms, through my scalp, down my back, making me one with my sodden silk shirt.

I spun a final time, the film of ice crackling with my movements and I came face to face with my fellow captive, stood uncomfortably close to me. At last, I recognised their face, and I knew I would never leave that train carriage. Something in the eyes, a glint of emptiness that reflected the abyss within. It was strangely liberating in a way, despite the mile wide terror that wedged itself into my being. It was all over now.

“I thought I had 10 years.” None of my fear was in my voice, just resignation.

“It’s been 10 years,” the demon said.

“Oh.”

The demon looked at me in their human guise, eyes twinkling with amusement and hunger, and I realised that, instead of money, perhaps I should have made a deal for better time keeping.

Book Review: Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao

Posted on by CM Schofield

This book is a really good reminder that I need to stop forgetting that YA books exist.

You remember the film Pacific Rim, right? Big, daft action film with giant monsters being punched by giant robots? Imagine that but written by a very angry Chinese feminist. Are a lot of the themes incredibly on the nose? Yes. Did it harm the book? No. In my opinion, it only enhanced it. This was not a subtle book. It was brash and in your face about everything. It was never intended to be subtle. It was here to scream at you, and scream it did. The book is ridiculous and over the top and great fun.

Cover of Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao. A Chinese woman in metal-looking armour stands engulfed in red, orange, and yellow wings.

Our main character is Zeitian, whose sister was murdered by one of the celebrity mech warriors who defends the people of Huaxia from the encroaching monsters. She decides to get revenge by volunteering as one of the mech warrior copilots (the problem being that, as a woman, the male pilot is expected to essentially use her as a human sacrifice to power the machine). Don’t worry though – she’s planning to murder him before she ever steps foot in there. What starts out as a dangerous revenge plot rapidly becomes something so much more.

Zeitian’s character growth is phenomenal. I love that she didn’t have the traditional arc of understanding her power – she knew she was a strong woman and she went out there to kick ass. Well, kick everything really. Zeitian was very angry. (In fact, it’s the main complaint I’ve seen from low star reviews of the book but I loved her for it. She suited it and it was nice to have a female character, especially in this setting, be so self-assured, arrogant, and forceful.) Her growth was far more centered on her overcoming her preconceptions and allowing herself to be vulnerable. Y’know, in between mech battles and planning to escape a horrifically oppressive patriarchal society. Look, she’s got a lot on, okay?

The ending was incredible. A lot of the book was predictable fun, but then that ending had my jaw drop with delight. Obviously I can’t say much without ruining it, but Zeitian makes it clear very early that she’s a woman who won’t settle and goddamn does she mean it.

Also, as a very minor spoiler, I did very much appreciate that there was a geometrically accurate love triangle. This is always one of my pet peeves in books that claim to have a love triangle. Most of them mean they have a love Less Than symbol. It’s not the same.

I’m off track, what I should be saying is: Do you like big stupid action books? Do you like angry feminism and even angrier, unapologetic women? Do you like awesome cool Chinese fantasy? You may want to give this a go.

Character Profile: Tony

Posted on by CM Schofield
Portrait of Tony by OlieBoldador - commissioned by a close friend
Portrait of Tony by OlieBoldador – commissioned by a close friend

When Tony’s best friend decides he wants to stop a war, he supposes he should probably tag along. After all, Michael’s an idiot and Tony’s got connections. Totally legit connections, you understand, but they could come in handy – especially when things get heavy.

It’s easy to underestimate a man who’s four inches tall. Someone’s in for a big surprise.

Story: Twyned Earth Series, first appearance in The Virias Treaty.

Role in Story: Deuteragonist

Name: Tony

Age: 45

County of Origin: Aigorshuck, Sarn

Occupation: Unemployed. Nothing shady going on here. Nooooope.

Loyalties: Family, and one or two close friends

Goal: Save the world.

Morals: Strict, if skewed. There are some things you just don’t do. Try to keep the civilians out of it. Don’t hurt kids and kill anyone who does. And if there’s the risk of a world war starting, ugh, guess you try and help.

Book Review: What Moves the Dead by T. Kingfisher

Posted on by CM Schofield

When I picked this book up, I didn’t realise that T. Kingfisher’s What Moves the Dead was a retelling of Poe’s short story The Fall Of The House of Usher. I just saw that wonderfully mushroomy cover and was sold.

Photo of T. Kingfisher's What Moves the Dead book cover, featuring a hand splitting open with numerous mushrooms growing on and out of it.

This was a wonderful slow, meandering, gothic story in the spirit of the original. The author has a magical way with words which makes the bleak and unsettling atmosphere of the house so pervasive in the book. They describe the horrid little details so well to get us to Spook Factor: Neck Hairs several times. Glorious. The thick shroud of the House of Usher hung over me as I read.

The narration is, surprisingly but not oddly placed, hilarious. Kingfisher’s revamp of the originally nameless protagonist, now Easton, is brilliant. The details and the asides they add pour such flavour into the book. I could read about them doing literally anything and be entertained. The author absolutely nailed my sense of humour with this character, to the point where I know I’m going to have to pick up more of their books in the future. There’s a new book with this main character coming out in 2024, which will be getting preordered.

Despite the whole book taking place in the decrepit House of Usher, we were given such a rich feel for the fictional version of Europe in which it was set. The side characters, such as the mycologist, were fantastic and memorable. And again, it was creepy. I’m quite difficult to creep, so it was great fun to feel the goosebumps going for it.

A great, short read for people who enjoy beautiful gothic horror with a fair splash of humour added in.

The Big Goals

Posted on by CM Schofield

I was scrolling my way through social media recently when I happened across a post from someone asking about peoples’ most lofty writing goals. It was a great question and I loved seeing all of the answers, but it also really got me thinking about my own end game writing goals. I’m very used to looking at small monthly goals and large yearly goals, but I rarely think of the Big Picture. I write purely because I love writing and I would love to share that writing with others, but I rarely think about what I would like to actually achieve and this question got me thinking about it.

As evidenced by the fact that I’m currently working hard to pursue self-publishing, there are certain things that I want to get out of writing. My goals felt very small in comparison to those out to make a career out of their writing, especially as, between my mental health and having to work full time, I don’t ever see myself achieving such a thing, but below are the things that I would love to tick off on my writing journey.

Bookshelves

1.) Actually publish the things! – I’ve dreamed about this for a long time. It’s quite surreal to think that this one is actually getting pretty close, but all going well I’m on track to be published in 2024. Wowie.

2.) Get a review from a stranger who loved my book – Having anyone read your book is amazing (and terrifying), but with friends and family there’s always that feeling that they only read it because they know you. They only enjoyed it because they know you. For a complete stranger to pick up my book and think enough of it-good or bad-to write a review, well, that would be something else. And if they liked the book? Not sure I’d ever recover from that.

3.) See my book in a shop – This is possibly the loftiest of my goals, but my plans for self-publishing have always been geared around being able to get my books in brick-and-mortar shops. And if I ever manage to get this one done, and I see a book out in the wild, I can guarantee you will never hear the end of it.

4.) Keep writing books just for the love of it – I’ve fallen into the trap before of worrying about making my books marketable and thinking about what the nebulous blob of “readers” want. It almost killed my drive to write. I know I’m never going to be one of these big name authors. I just want to write books I love and attract some little weirdos who like my style.

What are your own personal writing goals? I’d love to hear about them in the comments!

Book Review: Humanborn by Joanna Maciejewska

Posted on by CM Schofield

Ah, Humanborn. Where to start?

Let’s start with the book itself. Joanna Maciejewska’s Humanborn is a novel following Kaja, war veteren, investigator, and refuser of choosing sides. She lives and works in the wreckage of Dublin in a post-magical-war Ireland. You can see already why this might float my boat, right? Well, a concept isn’t enough. It’s got to be done well.

Folks, this book made me stop playing Tears of the Kingdom for a FULL WEEK while I powered through it (don’t forget I am the world’s slowest reader, even if I am loving a book).

Book cover for "Humanborn", book 1 of Shadows of Eireland by Joanna Maciejewska, featuring a wry looking woman with long brown hair who is brandishing a small orb of blue light in one hand.

Maciejewska’s Ireland was enthralling. From the tales of how the magic came to be there, to the creatures now living there, to the treaties and alliances and the workings of the magic itself. To the cost of the magic. I hung on every word telling me about this fantastical world. The intrigue as well of the world outside Ireland stuck in the mind, ever present, with hints woven through the book. That alone would have had me entertained for the whole novel, but then there’s the characters.

I already knew that Maciejewska was a bit of a rockstar when it comes to crafting characters, especially ones who you don’t know if you should trust or not. In Humanborn, she takes it up a notch. Kaja herself was wonderful, complex, and faceted, and then she was surrounded by a complete set of allies, enemies, unlikely friends and uneasy colleagues. And there’s extra plus points because Kaja (in my opinion) even smooched the right one.

The story itself was about Kaja and her task to track down the culprits of terror attacks in the city, but it’s much more than that. It’s about Kaja and her journey into the world of the fae, and her ensuing entanglement with them that might end up affecting her a lot more than she might think.

Urg, look, it’s damn good. I don’t want to spoil anything, just read it.

Printspiration

Posted on by CM Schofield

The process of writing a novel is a long, difficult, and tiresome thing. It can be very easy to lose inspiration, especially when life outside your writing is hard or you’ve been slogging away on the same project for a while. There are a few little things that I find are great for injecting a little of that passion back, which also coincides with a handy method for editing too.

It can often feel like all this time I spend pounding away at the keyboard doesn’t produce anything. I don’t have anything tangible after and sometimes, when things are tough, that can make it easy to forget the final product. Sometimes a word count on a screen offers little comfort or accomplishment.


I very rarely actually print my work, partly because nothing ever feels finished enough to waste the paper on and partly because I’m convinced that all printers are out to get me. It can be easy to forget just how amazing it feels to hold that work in your hand, to flick through the pages you’ve worked so hard on all these years. Even just a print out for scrawling across can be enough to remind me both what I’m working towards and what it’s come from.

So if you’re feeling a little disillusioned with your writing, maybe try printing out a chapter or two and have a read. Touch the words, smell the paper. It might just give you that little boost you’re looking for.

A photograph of a printed out manuscript.

Living By The Sea

Posted on by CM Schofield

For almost all of my life, I’ve lived close to the sea. It has a special place in my heart and was a part of my daily life for a very long time, whether viewing out of my window or wandering along its beaches or up its piers. In 2017, I lived in a tiny little fishing village. The sea was a stone’s throw away; the harbour visible from my window. The experience of living in a tiny seaside village got me thinking about the delightful little seaside towns we see portrayed idyllically in books and films, and about the cliches which are undeniably true and some very loud omissions.


Writing a story set in a quaint, tiny seaside village? Here’s an incomplete list of things, obvious and not, which you can use to add some authenticity to your setting.

The Good Side

It’s almost guaranteed to be somewhere beautiful. The sea is beautiful all by itself. Small fishing harbours, cliffs, beaches – they’re pretty hard to mess up. The setting is good for the soul. As a writer, even the bad weather can be fantastically atmospheric. You know in those old films, where the wild winds literally howl? That actually happens. It’s easy to dismiss as creative hyperbole but there were times where I wasn’t sure if it was the wind or voices, screams, clawing their way through the shutters. Between the wind and the haars—thick, rolling fog that devours everything from sight—even the bad days can really put you in the mood to write. And, if you’re a writer writing one of these dark, spooky scenes, you can take solace in knowing that this isn’t the fancy of some overly purple prose. Between shrieking winds, consuming fogs, driving rains, and every other type of weather you can think of, there’s plenty of scope to put your characters in whatever atmosphere you need.


Even the tiniest, least touristy places are probably going to have at least one really great ice cream shop. And, if you’re anything like me, live somewhere like this long enough and you’re probably not going to just save it for the sunny days. There’s nothing unrealistic about your character going out for ice cream in the rain. Or snow. I know, I’ve done it.


Not always applicable if the town is more cliff than anything, but there’s a good chance you’re going to have a beach right there. It might be sand, it might be pebbles, perhaps a combination, but it’s delightful all the same. Depending on what route I was taking, I’d have to walk across it to get to the shops. I skipped across stepping stones that crossed the river right where it met the sea as I walked home from dentist, stones that were only there depending on the time of day. Seaside towns, especially old ones, have weird layouts.

A photo of a path of large concrete stepping stones, leading across a shallow river to a harbour wall and a set of steps leading upwards.

In the summer, he village becomes Dog Central. Now, I’m actually pretty timid around dogs but I can appreciate how darn adorable they are from a distance. Where do people who can’t take dogs abroad or don’t want to put them into kennels go? The seaside. If soaking in the ambience of strangers’ adorable furry friends sounds like a good time to you, get yourself to the seaside in the summertime. Want a little extra authenticity to your summer seaside scene? Dogs.


There are other critters who are here all year round. Crabs, cockles, fish, jellyfish, sea birds, non sea birds (birds really don’t give a damn). A lot of cool things hang out in and around the sea, including some things you wouldn’t expect. Most people don’t generally consider mallards to be sea birds but no one’s actually told the mallards that.

The Bad Side

Winter sucks. And that’s speaking as someone who prefers winter to summer. My particular town took the full brunt of the North Sea winds, right in the face. And of course, it was an old town, full of beautiful buildings – which were all listed. That means no insulation, no double glazing, and a very unlikely chance of having decent heaters. We spent as much money on heating that winter as we did on rent, and we were still cold all the time. We lived in one room, because there was no way we could have afforded heating more than that. I couldn’t feel my toes until the end of March.


Every now and then, you’ll wake up ready to face another day, expecting to be gently rocked awake by the soft light of morning. It’ll take you a moment to realise that something is wrong. You frown, confused, and go to open the window. For some reason, you really need to get some fresh air in here. Only when you do, it gets worse. That’s right. We all know it, people are just afraid to say it. Sometimes that great majestic and mysterious body known as the sea quite simply just smells like farts. Often it’s subtle. Other times? It’s not. Just occasionally, it’s so thick you can taste it, like you’re stuck in a lift with that person. The entire town stinks and there’s nothing you can do. You’ve just gotta ride it out.


Another one that is easy to forget amongst the romantic idealistic idea of living next to the sea is that, depending on your particular town’s layout, there are occasions when the main road and the sea are the same thing. You’ll look out the window and think “wow, the tide’s really in toda- oh.” Good luck catching that bus! Always fun if you really just want to mess with a character’s day.


As mentioned previously, it gets busy in the summer. There’s people everywhere and they’re all in holiday mode. That means they’re walking slowly, taking up the whole pavement, and getting really confused and annoyed when someone is actually trying to hurry somewhere – the same type of people who’d probably kick a granny out of the way to get the train on their way to work. Anyone who lives in a holiday destination will probably know this already – people who are on holiday have the amazing ability to forget than not everyone is on holiday. Why in such a hurry, they wonder as they eat their ice cream cone? I wonder whoever sold them it, since everyone is on holiday. If your character is in a hurry in the height of summer, even if it’s getting into the evening, they’re probably going to have crowds to contend with. The town might not even have that many tourists but let me tell you, the older it is, the less it’s going to be designed to accommodate a lot of people.


This brings me to my next point. In the summer, every night is Saturday night. If your character lives between any pubs or restaurants and somewhere people might be staying, they’ll get to enjoy listening to drunks every night. Admittedly, I did have the worst of this as I lived right next to a pub. It was a poor choice.


Your character has a car? Great! They’re going to spend a lot of time swearing and/or parking really illegally. My partner and I used to have a game counting how many illegally parked cars we could spot in one place. The best we got was eleven on one corner. As you can image, this makes getting around—both on foot and by car—more tricky.

Photo of a large seagull with a threatening aura, stood on a seawall.

That’s right. These bastards. They sit on roofs and squak, swoop down and steal your food, sometimes they just stand in the way and refuse to move. It’s even more annoying than you’d think to be forced to walk around a stubborn seagull. Like sure, I’m probably 40 times your weight but I’ll walk around you, bird. Great. Stories of seagulls aggressively swiping things out of your hands or just point blank ignoring you as you try to walk past them aren’t exaggerated. They’re used to people. They don’t fear you. They don’t fear your character. Not even that cold blooded assassin of yours. The guy who makes the peasants’ neck hair stand on end or silences the pub with their presence as they enter? Seagulls. Don’t. Give. A. Shit. They’re watching. They’re waiting. And, if you’ve got a poke of chips, they’re coming for you.

The Summons: Part 3

Posted on by CM Schofield

Start with Part 1 here!

Harris forced them forward another two steps, a panicked sound escaping their throat. He let go of their shoulders and Jay realised what was about to happen. They just had the time to snake a finger through his belt buckle before the push came. A sudden burst of force against Jay’s back sent them shooting forward faster than they could keep up with. Their arms straightened as far as they could go and pain shot through their finger, but the buckle came free as they stumbled away.

Harris swore but he sounded far away now. Jay floundered on, unable to right themself with their hands still bound behind their back. They lasted three more steps before they finally lost their footing but the cold, hard smack against the stone floor never came.

Face first, Jay collided with what must have been Gelethil’s chest, his arms wrapping around them and supporting their weight. His touch wasn’t warm – it was hot. Falling against him had the same effect as stepping into a steaming shower on a cold winter’s day. He lifted them easily back to their feet and Jay tried to pull away but he held them still, firm yet gentle. One of his hands slid down their back until it reached Jay’s own. He carefully prised the belt buckle away from them.

Good, he thought after a few seconds, keeping them softly pinned against his chest with one arm. This will do nicely.

Jay’s body was so tense it ached. Here they were – in total darkness, held captive by a demon. Just this morning they were on the bus to work. His claws brushed against their back and their mind ceased to function. Gelethil must have sensed it, giving them a gentle shake.

We’re almost there, he told them. I still need you.

Jay just about managed a nod, difficult with their face pressed against him. They were less inclined to pull away now that their skin grew used to his heat, realising just how cold they had truly gotten. A shudder ran through them and Gelethil held them slightly tighter.

“You see?” came Caine’s echoing voice. “You’re fine.”

An almost inaudible whimper escaped them. With his other hand, Gelethil patted their head in a rather similar manner to how someone slightly afraid of dogs might pat an Alsatian.

Answer them.

“Fuck you,” Jay said, the sound muffled by Gelethil’s chest.

Caine tutted. “Now, now, all I need to do is flick a switch and you’re trapped with a desperate beast. Does that sound fun to you?”

Her conversational tone infuriated them. Gelethil stopped patting and moved his hand back to Jay’s. With a simple flick of his finger, the rope was severed. Their arms fell to their sides and they flexed their digits as the blood flooded back.

Give me your hand, he said and they held one up in the darkness. Gelethil placed the belt buckle into their palm. It already radiated heat. Caine was speaking again but Jay wasn’t listening as the demon put his hand over theirs, closing their fingers around the square buckle. He guided them deeper into the darkness.

Caine cleared her throat pointedly.

Gelethil crouched down to the ground, taking Jay with him. Such low level agents these must be, to be so foolish.

Agents? What’s going on?

“Do you want these lights turned back on?” Caine persisted. “Answer me.”

Jay glanced up and saw the silhouetted outlines of their captors against the eerie red glow. Gelethil guided their hand down to the stone floor.

She’s going to- Jay began, but he didn’t give them a chance to finish.

Do you feel the binding? he asked, pulling their fingers along the rough stone and onto something smooth. I can’t damage them myself.

“That’s it,” Caine said, her heel clicks sounding. “I warned you.”

Jay saw the shadowy shape of her arm moving up to the switch on the wall and held their breath. A slow, deep rumble of laughter emanated from Gelethil.

“Yes, you did,” he said aloud, his voice a low and satisfied purr.

Jay’s jaw dropped and time slowed. Their captors panicked and Caine hit the lights. Gelethil screamed, throwing Jay away and falling to the ground. Harris reached for the dial, cranking it up. Jay’s eyes burned and thick, black smoke erupted from Gelethil’s skin. They looked down, one of the pristine, obsidian lines running right between their knees. In a split second decision they chose what they prayed was the lesser of two evils.

Jay raised their hand up, bringing the edge of the buckle down on the paint. The tiniest piece of black flecked off, twirling through the air and landing with a gentle pitter on the stone.

The silence was striking. Both the smoke and Gelethil were gone. On the other side of the room stood the two captors, appearing frozen in place. The pair shared a glance and Harris dove for the door. He battered the thing but it would not budge.

“What do you want?” Caine asked, her previously authoritative voice trembling.

That rich laugh came from directly behind Jay and their heart rose to their throat. He was free, they knew. He was free and he was powerful.

“You’ve already given me everything I want,” Gelethil said. His hand lightly curled over Jay’s shoulder and they glanced at those long, frightening claws.

Caine paled. “It was all an act,” she said, the horrifying realisation shaking her. “The lights, the language…”

Jay’s mind raced, blood pounding in their ears. Had this all been about them?

“It was her,” Harris shouted, pointing at Caine. “She’s one of them! It’s just a job to me!”

Anger flared in Jay’s chest as they recalled the people coming for them, stopping the bus. They remembered the blood and the bodies, and their fear melted away in the heat of their outrage.

“She didn’t kill those people,” they spat. “You did.”

“Excellent,” Gelethil said. “He dies first.”

The room dropped into darkness. No red glow, just a crushing black that made Jay momentarily fear they’d gone blind. The warmth of Gelethil’s hand left their shoulder. Far ahead of them, something swiped through the air, followed by an agonised scream. Jay shuffled backwards in the darkness, a thick tremor in their limbs, until their back hit the wall. Caine shrieked, first in fear and then pain. Jay cradled their head, covering their ears, trying to block out the wailing, clattering and tearing sounds. The spattering. The pleading.

They buried their face in their knees and became so efficient at wishful thinking that all they heard was their own sobs. Time passed. Eventually they became aware of the stillness in the room. They risked a glance up. The room was light again. The opposite end was painted red. They retched. Sat cross-legged before them, covered in blood, was Gelethil.

“What an odd sort of day,” he said conversationally. His hands rested on his knees, blood lazily dripping from them.

Jay opened their mouth and air came out. No sound. They tried again to no avail.

“At first I truly thought you were one of them, you know,” he carried on. “I’m pleased you aren’t.”

“Why?” Jay managed, nothing more than a breath.

He shrugged. “Makes things easier. My escape, and now the rest of our business together, I expect.”

Jay shuddered.

“You’re cold,” Gelethil said, extending a bloody hand. “Come here.”

They shook their head frantically and tried to huddle closer to the wall. “What business?”

“These people, this… ‘organisation’ has been summoning demons and binding them. I want to kill these rats and free my brethren so we can return to our home.”

“Home?”

Gelethil’s eyes flicked to the floor and back up to Jay’s again. They felt a little sick.

“It’s real?” Jay asked.

“As real as I am.”

“What do you need me for?”

His tail flicked from side to side behind him. “Information.”

Jay’s gut roiled. “I swear I don’t know anything.”

Gelethil shuffled closer, leaning forward with a glint in his eye that caused Jay to tense further. “Not yet,” he said. “Torture is unreliable. You can read minds like a book.”

Jay considered his words. He was right, even if it did take somewhat more effort than that. Their mind crept back to the blood splattered bus and they looked up at the crimson stained walls. Jay probably wasn’t the first innocent to be taken but they might very well have been the first to live. Their brow hardened. Jay wasn’t tied anymore and the people who had wronged them were gone. Their heart was steadying. It was worth a shot.

“You want to stop this organisation, free your people and what? Just leave?” they asked. Their sense reached out, subtly picking their way into his head, like mental fingers flicking through the files of his mind.

They found purchase.

“That’s all I want,” Gelethil said, holding their eyes. “We’ve no interest in this realm.”

Able to focus, their sense held. It was the truth. Jay thought once more of that blood smeared bus and smiled.

“Alright,” they said. “I’m in.”

I hope you enjoyed and if you did, why not check out some of my other short stories!

The Summons: Part 2

Posted on by CM Schofield

Read Part 1 here!

“Well?” Caine asked.

“I’m getting there, give me a sec,” Jay snapped, scowling.

“Harris,” she said with a sigh.

The man’s fist pounded into Jay’s jaw, knocking their head to the side, splattering blood across the floor. It was dazzlingly bright in the pure, white light. The punch hurt. A lot. Jay groaned, closing their eyes. The initial sensation subsided quickly but a strong, pulsing ache was left behind. When Jay looked up again, they flinched: Gelethil stood at the edge of the runes closest to them. He was far taller than Jay had guessed – taller than any human. His face was stern and cold. With a squirm from their stomach, Jay noticed the thin haze of smoke rising from his flesh. The light was literally burning him. His next thoughts sounded incredulous.

You truly are a prisoner.

“Find out what we need,” Caine said. “Or that’ll seem like nothing.”

Jay’s mouth tasted of iron. Yeah. I am. They rolled their eyes. Thought it was a trick?

He nodded.

They want to know what your price is, Jay projected. Whatever that means.

Gelethil snarled, his ears dropping flat along the side of his head. I am no Bargainer, feeding on greed. This little organisation thinks they are so clever. Pah! They are insects, playing with things they do not understand.

“He says he doesn’t have a price,” Jay relayed to their captors. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

Harris stepped behind Jay and grabbed their hair, jerking their head back. They cried out but fell silent as something cold pressed against their cheek. They glanced down to see a knife glinting there.

“An answer or an eye,” he growled. “Pick.”

“I can’t make him talk,” Jay spat back in a poor attempt to hide their terror.

A low, feral rumble drew the attention of all three humans.

What’s happening? Gelethil asked.

The blade was pressed harder against them and a sound escaped their throat. “They want an answer!” Jay cried out, both aloud and in thought.

Gelethil showed his lengthy fangs in a sneer. Idiots can’t even summon the right demon and they think they could handle a Bargainer?

“Tell it these lights only get brighter,” Caine said through grit teeth.

They’re going to torture you, Jay pressed on, limbs trembling. The blade bit their flesh.

How?

The lights. They get stronger.

He growled and swore but then his ears perked up above his head, a wicked smirk creeping onto his face. Tell them I want you.

Jay balked. “What?” they asked aloud, stricken.

“What did he say?” Caine demanded. Harris flicked her an uncertain look.

Tell them, Gelethil insisted. Trust me or trust them.

Great choices. You want to EAT me, Jay thought. With their chest still tight, breathing took focus.

I was thinking of your other suggestion.

Harris moved the blade closer to their eye, a hot dribble of blood running over their cheek.

“Me,” Jay said, barely a whisper. “He wants me.”

That gave both captors pause. The pair glanced at each other before the woman nodded. Jay held their breath but Harris simply withdrew, taking the knife away. They released a shuddering exhale as the pressure was removed from their flesh.

Gelethil’s grin darkened. It seems you are an acceptable price. Ask the bitch what she wants.

What do you want with me?

Ask her, he replied curtly.

Jay’s mouth felt dry as sand, despite the blood. “He’s asking what you want,” they managed, at length, to say.

Caine chuckled. “Excellent. Tell it we’ll get to that after I’ve asked it some questions.”

Jay relayed the message as if on autopilot, too stunned for anything more. Gelethil threw his head back and laughed, a deep and rolling rumble. He then shook his head.

Tell them that isn’t how this works.

Jay did.

Caine glowered. “Turn up the lights.”

Harris mumbled discontentedly but reached for a dial on the wall opposite the switch and turned, eliciting a click from it. The brightness of the room doubled. Gelethil screamed and dropped to his knees, clutching at his eyes as thicker steam plumed from his skin. Jay shuddered, his agony pulling them from their shock.

“There are four more settings.”

Jay glanced uncertainly between the dial and the demon twice before relaying the message. Gelethil said nothing, curling over in his anguish. Jay chewed their lip anxiously. On one hand, he was terrifying and would kill all three of them given the chance. On the other, Jay and this demon were both captives, both wronged by these people.

“He said make it dark and he’ll talk.”

Caine took a long moment to consider the offer, brow furrowing theatrically. Taking her time, she reached up and flicked off the light, plunging them all back into the eerie red. Gelethil gasped and there was a soft thud that Jay assumed to be him falling to the ground.

Sweet darkness, came the velvet voice of his mind.

Jay exhaled slowly. I told them you’d talk if they killed the lights.

“Now,” Caine began, “to my questions.”

She had a series of queries about the dark world below and the truth of demons, which Gelethil answered tersely. Thanks to their talent, Jay had always suspected the world was not as mundane as advertised, but hearing such things discussed so candidly was chilling. The questions moved onto magic and the answers became slower and increasingly vague until she had to ask questions exceedingly specifically. Jay’s mind ticked through the exchange. Enough time passed that they began to feel brave again.

Has anything you’ve told them been true? They could practically feel his smirk from the darkness.

Of course not. This is not knowledge for mortal minds, much less these morons.

What about the things you told me?

My name is Gelethil, he replied. And I do very much intend to devour them both.

Jay’s shoulder was nudged, a reminder of the presence of Harris and his knife, and they relayed more of the demon’s bullshit.

And me? they asked.

He was silent for a time. You never told me your name.

They hesitated. Jay.

A telepath is a useful thing, the demon mused. Almost a shame I can’t make a true bargain for you.

Jay’s skin crawled.

Yes, a pity, Gelethil went on. Still, I’m sure we can come to some arrangement. You can tell them I’m done answering questions now. They’re not getting anything else until you’re with me.

“What?!” Jay exclaimed aloud.

“What did it say?” Caine asked. She rose from the desk, interest piqued.

Jay opened their mouth, heart thundering, but no sound came.

You need to listen very carefully, Gelethil said.

“What did it say?” she repeated, this time a barked order.

Answer her, the demon said, a surprising softness to his voice. Make sure she knows she has no choice.

Harris took a fistful of Jay’s hair and they grunted in discomfort.

When they bring you, you must grab something sharp or hard. You MUST.

I’m tied, I can’t-

Do it! he commanded, making them flinch.

With voice quaking and no other plan, Jay gave Gelethil’s demands to their captors. They braced for a punch that never came. Caine gestured and they both moved behind Jay, far enough that the ensuing whispers were inaudible. Jay glanced around, desperately looking for anything that might fit the bill. It was difficult in the gloom but a faint glint caught their eye. Harris’ knife was sat upon the desk to their side. Jay’s hands slickened with perspiration.

What’s happening? The demon asked.

I don’t know, I can’t hear, Jay replied, feeling sick. I don’t like this, I don’t trust you. They flexed their mental muscles to try and pick at his brain again but to the same result. They needed focus and none of that would come in this state.

It’s me or them, he shot back. I won’t hurt you. I need you.

And when you don’t?

Silence.

Gelethil? Jay ventured, breath quickening.

The only sound was the steps of their captors returning. A near silent whine escaped their throat. They released a short, startled yelp as something grabbed their wrists. Harris was untying the bonds that held them to the chair. They instantly felt sick with regret.

“No!” Jay cried, limbs surging with desperate strength as they writhed against their bonds. “He’s gonna eat me!”

“Not until he’s free,” Caine replied, a cruel sneer on her face. “He needs you at least until then.”

Jay swore. Profusely. “You can’t do this!”

Come, come, little one, the demon crooned.

Jay, far less substantial than the bulky Harris, was easily pulled to their feet and dragged towards the darkness. They bucked and struggled but there was no give. Only one option presented itself – appease the demon and hope for the best. It wasn’t a great plan.

They rammed their shoulder into Harris with all the strength they had, causing him to stumble ever so slightly into the desk. He chuckled, amused by their pathetic efforts. So amused that he never noticed Jay’s fingers curl around the knife handle. A brief thrill went through them before something hard slammed down on their hand. They grunted and felt the knife pull away easily from their grasp as Harris righted them both. “Nice try,” Caine said, placing the tome she had used to assail Jay’s hand on the desk. “But you’ll need a little more than that to defend yourself from that thing.”

Read Part 3 here!