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He plunked a piano with a mustached player under the steps. A tinny version of Buffalo Gals overlaid the background chatter.

The Witches

Glancing at the bar, he added a barkeep with a white apron polishing glasses. On the customer side of the bar, he conjured a few cowboys hefting mugs of beer. Looking to his right, he set up a poker table with more cowboys. One player was garbed in a black suit, black hat, black tie, black hair, a black cigar unlit , and a black pencil-thin mustache.

The villain. Taking a step, Rune paused, and then snapped his fingers. The saloon gal. Nodding with satisfaction, Rune clanked toward the poker table. Rune liked the brocade vest and quickly added a watch chain. Rune drew his own gun from its holster. The girl shrieked and grasped the arm encircling her neck.

Rune lowered his pistol. When Bart reached the door, he shoved the girl away from him and fled into the street. Rune chased after him, but stopped a moment to help the girl to her feet. She gave him a simpering smile and a wink. Rune jerked away. Bart obliged by raising his derringer and firing a round at Rune, who easily ducked to the side. The bullet smashed into the wood door jamb. Good guy rules kicked in again. Rune jammed his pistol back into his holster. The street stood empty except for Rune.

SFR Brigade Bases of Operation

There were people here before; he just had to get them back in place. He closed his eyes and concentrated, imagining the old west folk with their buckboards, cowboys riding down the street on horses. He opened his eyes. Then his mouth dropped open. There were people all right, but not what they should be. Two men dressed in black leather jackets stood next to their Harley Davidson motorcycles. A woman leaned against the wall by the saloon door.

Her silver, skin-tight outfit was so not western, and her wraparound silver sunglasses were definitely not. Rune flinched. He turned around to see his carefully constructed town melting and morphing into something entirely different, a melange of different centuries, none of them the old west he had envisioned.

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A lightning swift conjure restored the clapboard town. It now milled with cowboys with Stetsons and six-shooters and ladies in long skirts, their petticoats swishing the dust. Rune scanned the street for any more out-of-place people. Satisfied that only the old west people remained, he turned to go back to the saloon.

A horrible metal-shrieking sound made him whip back around. A Conestoga wagon, appearing out of nowhere, began wrenching and twisting, then rising and transforming. Rune grabbed at his holster and drew his wand instead of the gun. Instead, it took a gut-wrenching, clanging step in his direction. Rune ran for the saloon. Inside, he slid his back down against the wall and peeked under the swinging door.

The steel monster was nowhere in sight. He heaved a sigh, and pushed himself up. He really needed a sarsaparilla something awful. But the bartender, the cowboys, and even the saloon gal had disappeared. His mouth dropped open as the bar and the shelves behind it began to drip like burning candles, the wax pooling on the floor. The walls became hazy, then transparent. The glacier rose behind the fast disappearing structure. He glanced at his wrist, activating his built-in magic watch. No way is two hours up. Aunt Thordis gypped me.

The saloon melted away, and he stood freezing on the glacier. He searched for any vestige of his western town. With tears stinging his eyes from both cold air and disappointment, he began to trudge toward the shimmering bubble protecting the village from the arctic cold. As he neared, he glanced around trying to find the gate. From the village side, it appeared to be a simple garden gate with a morning glory vine twining around it.

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From the glacier side, it was barely visible. Frantically, he trotted up to the bubble, rubbed his hands where he thought the gate should be. He then moved to his left carefully searching for the extra sparkle encircling the gate. Then he ran back the other way. The gate was nowhere, gone, kaput, disappeared. Rune stood still, a tiny, sharp edge of anxiety gnawed at his thudding heart. It was only then he realized he was completely and utterly drained of magic. As the bubble faded away, he dropped to his knees and held his face with his hands.

When his knees began to freeze, he choked back his crying and stood up. He calmed himself, trying to think this through. But how long might that take? Maybe she was busy with Council work or taking a nap. He had to find his own way back into the village or risk freezing to death. It was dangerous, even stupid. He counted on the magic Thordis had pumped into him to work, but for some reason it had disappeared.

Why would that happen?


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It must be something about himself or where he was that caused the magic to go away. Rune had only one option left. He had to let his vampire out. Mostly, he succeeded, but onl y because his family kept all temptations away from him. He was not allowed to see human blood. His mother and aunt had swaddled him in a deep layer of binding to prevent his vampire from coming out. He still had to have blood, but his mother controlled him when he received his daily ration of animal blood.

Now, he had to fight off the damping spell that kept his vampire half in check. When Galdorheim was no more than a speck on the horizon, Kat left topside and went below. The supply boat often carried passengers, so Sean had made a small, but comfortable, lounge on the lower deck. Kat reached the bottom of the steps and stopped in her tracks.

Kat wrinkled her nose. She walked to the opposite side of the lounge from Merry and slung her pack to the floor. Flopping on the couch, Kat glared at her nemesis. Merry jumped up and stood in front of Kat. She stuck her hand out. Surprised, Kat sighed and conceded a truce. It might make the boat ride more bearable. Pasting on a smile, Kat extended her hand to Merry. Kat jerked her hand back as the electric bolt zapped the nail of her index finger sizzling it down to the quick. Merry threw back her head and laughed.

Merry deliberately turned her back on Kat and traipsed across the lounge. If you do stuff like that out in the real world, you might end up in jail Merry pulled an emery board from her hand-stitched, silk purse and flipped her hair back over her shoulder. Kat walked toward the stairs leading up to the deck. Merry waggled her fingers.


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  • Kat recoiled, fearing another attack. Merry snickered. She climbed up to the deck and headed toward the bow and the cabin where Sean steered the boat. When he reached the chorus, he harmonized with himself and sounded like a whole barbershop quartet. She smiled and listened for a couple of minutes. She slid the door aside, and Sean stopped.

    I love your singing.

    SFR Brigade: First Book in the Witches of Galdorheim Released

    Sean held out his hand, and Kat laid hers in it. I had a suspicion she came aboard early just to give you grief. Marva Dasef lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and a fat white cat. Retired from thirty-five years in the software industry, she has now turned her energies to writing fiction and finds it a much more satisfying occupation. Marva has published more than forty stories in a number of on-line and print magazines, with several included in Best of anthologies. She has several previously published books.

    Jane Dough said….


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    • Kim Baccellia said…. HM Prevost said…. I like the sound of the villain in this novel! And the setting sounds great too. Marva Dasef said…. Thank you all for your comments. I am giving away free books to selected commenters, so comment often on my posts all this month. And don't forget to drop by my blog to view Kim's new book trailer for Earrings of Ixtumea.

      Conda Douglas said….