 Q1) Tell us about your book
My book, Lost Wolf, is about a young woman who lives with a pack of wolf shifters, caring for her younger sisters after their parents perished. The night of her fated mate bonding ritual, he rejects her, and tries to kill her. So, she barely escapes and runs away with her sister into a post-apocalyptic world ruled by dangerous Alphas where Omegas like her and her sisters are rare. But when she and her sisters are split up, she ends up hiring four Alphas to find them. And these men are new in the country. They are Viking Alphas. and have their own agendas and secrets :) Q2) Why did you focus on myths/legends from that particular region? I have always loved mythology, and I use it in most of my books. I grew up listening to a lot of darker fairy tales, and I read a lot of books on mythology. There is so much lore from across the world, and I love exploring them, along with bringing them into my stories. In Lost Wolf, I did a lot of research into Norse Mythology for my four Viking Wolves and their backstories. Q3) Who is your favorite mythical figure? I love Medusa... she is very misunderstood :) Q4) If you could choose to hang out with one mythical God, who would it be and why? I really can't go past Thor... I am so there LOL. There is so much about Viking Mythology I'd love to explore more and who better to speak to than Thorn himself. Q5) Do you plan on writing similar books in the future? Absolutely. Lost Wolf is set in the same world as my Shadowlands Sector, which has some Romanian mythology through it. My plans are to release another spin off the same using where I'll be diving into some old Russian myths.  When I think of legends, the stories I most often think of are stories of human encounters with fairies. So when I began to write my own stories, I turned to those old legends for inspiration and threw in my own urban fantasy spin. This story takes place in an alternate version of Los Angeles where fairies live openly among humans. But not all humans find them beautiful… THE SMALLEST OF THE SUMMONER’S BELLS © Kat Parrish You could call it coincidence. You could call it fate or destiny or karma. You could call it any number of things but when the too-tan teenager walked through my door with that little scrap of fairy gold, I saw it for what it really was, a big, tasty slice of opportunity pie. You don’t stumble into my establishment by accident. I don’t advertise. I don’t have a website. I don’t distribute flyers on community bulletin boards. I don’t have a Facebook page or a twitter account. My phone number is private and I don’t use email. I’m hard to find for a reason. If you show up here it’s because someone who’s dealt with me gave you my address and you’ve gone out of your way to track me down. If you’re here it’s because you think you have business here. Maybe you’ve come here because you have something to sell and you’ve heard I give fair value. Or maybe you’ve come because you’ve heard I have something you might like to buy. For the right price, I might sell it to you; and the price isn’t always money. If I don’t like you, though, all the riches on earth won’t persuade me to take your coin and you’ll go away empty-handed. And you might be better off. I pegged the kid for a zip code in the San Fernando Valley trying to pass for Beverly Hills. He had the California smile that speaks of good genes and expensive orthodontia but he had a herpes sore at the corner of his mouth. His shoes cost more than I paid in monthly rent but they were dirty and maybe six months out of style. He was a wannabe on the verge of being a never was and he knew it. But he was a pretty boy, I’ll give him that—just the sort of kid who would attract the attention of the fae, at least until they got tired of playing with him and abandoned him to a life of utter dissatisfaction with his own kind. You know what they say, “Once you go fae you don’t ever stay.” Humans who’ve had close encounters of the fairy kind are ruined for other relationships. But try to tell someone that. The kid walked in with confidence and took his time looking around. He was doing a pretty good job of feigning casual but I was getting impatient, so I put an end to his charade by putting my elbows on the glass counter and leaning into the light so he could get a good look at me. You’ve probably heard the stories, the rumors that I’m half-demon with blood-red eyes that can kill you if I look at you too closely. The truth is a lot less interesting. I suffer from albinism. My skin is the color of aged ivory, my hair a pale straw. My eyes are pink, not red, and so sensitive I wear sunglasses even at night. I am no demon but nevertheless, I am no one to be trifled with. Or as my late mother would have said, “no one to fuck over.” My mother knew a lot about being fucked over. She’s the one who taught me about fairies, her knowledge hard-won and secret. She never talked about the source of her information and I knew better than to ask. The kid was surprised when he saw my face. The stereotype of a pawnbroker is an old Jewish man and I am neither old, nor Jewish nor male. He knew that of course. What he hadn’t expected was that I would be pretty in a pink-eyed sort of way. Expectations are funny things. Certainly I’d never expected to end up in the family business. I inherited the pawn shop not long after Los Angeles went broke. There were a lot of desperate people in the city in those days and the businesses that were booming—liquor stores and check-cashing places and pawn shops—provided easy pickings for the predators. My father had known this and he’d kept an extremely low profile. He drove a beater car, lived in a modest house, and wore clothes so shabby they looked like he’d fought a homeless guy for him. It was the mask he showed to the world in the hope it would protect him. It didn’t. My father had died of a heart attack while being robbed and I was his only heir. The thing that had killed my father was not an ordinary criminal. The killer had broken through state-of-the-art paranormal security and he was after just one thing—a gold chain with a tiny ruby pendant hanging from it like a frozen drop of blood. It was a pretty thing, simple and elegant, not the kind of flash bling an ordinary thief would have grabbed. Only someone who knew what it really was would have thought it valuable at all. The thief knew what it was. I knew what it was, too and one day I was going to get it back. And then the creature that had ordered the theft and sanctioned the murder to possess it would be very, very sorry. *** The boy’s voice broke through my reverie. “How much will you give me for this?” he asked. He put down a small plastic baggie like the ones dealers use for transporting their goods. Inside was a tiny gold bell, no larger than the nail on my pinkie finger. The kid knew what he had was valuable, but he also knew that it was dangerous. Once it was out of his hands he seemed relieved. I opened the little baggie and dropped the bell into my palm. It was very warm to the touch, body-warm, blood-warm. The gold was so thin and fine it was almost transparent but it was also strong. I could see what looked like scratches on the metal. Under a loupe, I could see it was engraved with glyphs from the old language. I had been a history major when my father died, specializing in dead and fae languages. This was an inscription in old fae French, one of the most ornate and beautiful of the fairy tongues and one I couldn’t read. “Pretty,” I said and flicked the bell with my finger. Its pure tone rang in the small shop and briefly caused some items to come to life with a golden fire. “I’ll give you a hundred for it,” I added. His face fell. “A hundred? It’s worth at least a thousand.” He took my silence for a negotiating ploy. “Eight hundred?” I looked at him pityingly. He clearly had no idea of its true worth, just thought it was a shiny bauble. I shook my head again and dropped the bell back into its little bag before pushing it across the counter towards him. He made no move to take it. “You didn’t come all the way out here because you heard I pay great prices,” I said. “You’ve been going from pawn shop to pawn shop all day hoping someone will give you money on it. Someone who doesn’t know what it is.” I skewered him with my glance. “Someone who doesn’t know who it belongs to.” He looked at me then, a feral gleam in his eye. “It’s one of the Summoner’s Bells,” he declared defiantly. So he did know. Now that was interesting. “Yes,” I said. “I know.” I tapped it again through the plastic, just for the pleasure of hearing it ring. The smallest of the Summoner’s bells. You’ve heard the story, of course. Everyone knows the story of the Summoner’s bells. Seven in all, they were crafted by Rhodri the Summoner in the 11th century and stolen by a fairy king, who’d killed him to possess the set. Each bell was made of a different material and was a different size and each bell had a different power. The largest, made of bronze, was said to summon the future. This one, the golden bell, was said to summon the past. There’s a prophecy that warns ringing all the bells at the same time will summon apocalypse but that’s a fairy story and I long ago learned to discount such things. In any case, the larcenous fairy king never had a chance to bring doom to the world because he was killed himself and his ill-gotten treasure scattered to the four winds. Both mortals and fae have sought the bells ever since. And here was one that had just been walked into my shop. Call it coincidence, or fate, or karma. The boy was starting to fidget, caught between an intense desire to bolt and an even more urgent need to acquire the funds to pay for his escape. “How did you come by this bell?” I asked him, wondering if he would lie. “It was a gift.” I laughed at that and knew him for a fool. “The King of Air and Darkness is known to have a weakness for beautiful humans,” I said. “But he would never have given you such a gift. You stole it from him and now hope to avoid his wrath by selling it to me and bringing your trouble to my door.” The blood rushed to his face, telling me that I was right. I scooted the bag with the bell a little closer to him but again, he made no move to pick it up and leave. “You should return the bell to him right now and beg him for mercy.” “I can’t,” he said in a whisper. “He has no mercy.” And once again I said, “I know.” “Please,” he said with the little bell sitting on the counter between us. “Please help me,” he begged. With pretended reluctance, I pulled out an old-fashioned ledger book. “Why’d you take it, anyway?” I asked. “It’s not like he wasn’t going to notice it was gone.” A look of desperate pain passed across his face and I knew that his story was going to be the oldest story told about humans and fairies. The fairies take their fun but they’re easily bored. “I thought if I took it, he’d … he might see me again.” He paused to take a deep breath that was almost a sob. “And instead, he sent pixies after me.” Pixies. Nasty little fuckers. If he’d tangled with pixies he’d been lucky to get this far. “You’ll see him again,” I predicted, knowing that would not be a good thing. “I know,” he said miserably, knowing the same thing. I counted out $500 cash on the counter and then added another $200. It was all I had in the till and I knew that I was throwing good money away. He’d never live to spend the money and he’d die screaming. I didn’t want to tell him that, though, so I let him leave with the illusion that he could run for his life. And after all, $700 was a small price to pay for the smallest of the Summoner’s bells. *** I put the bell in a box of cold iron with the other three I owned—the bronze, the bone, and the jade. I knew the King of Air and Darkness would be coming for the bell and I knew he would not be coming alone. He’s not the first fairy I’ve fought to regain what is rightfully mine. He isn’t the first and he won’t be the last. My people are descendants of the Summoner and we have a few tricks of our own. Let the King of Air and Darkness come. And call what happens “fate.”  Kat Parrish is an international and Amazon bestselling author. A former reporter, she prefers making things up! An Army brat, her motto is "Have passport, will travel." She currently lives in Portugal where her apartment overlooks an 18th century church, a park full of oleander trees, and a street full of houses with narrow, decorative doors.
 Egyptian myths centered mostly around the dead and the Gods who controlled the world. Ra was said to be the Sun God who gave life, while his brother, Osiris, had dominion over the dead. Probably the most famous myth involves Osiris and his wife, Isis. Osiris was killed and cut into pieces. Isis loved her husband so that she traveled across the land in search of the pieces and put him back together. She was able to revive him and they were reunited.
 Q1) Tell us about your book A Chance in Hell is the first book in my Gods of Chaos series, which follows Persephone, the Greek Goddess, now living in modern day USA. It follows her as someone from her past shows up, causing trouble, but with a possible way to resurrect a God. Persephone sets out to bring Hades back to life, but the story takes a turn. It is part of a larger series, all set in the same universe which will cover deities from different cultures - Greek, Norse, Irish etc. Q2) Why did you focus on myths/legends from that particular region? I love Greek myths the most, but I will focus on more in the wider series. I love how the Greek Gods were so corrupt and screwed up all the time. It makes them much more relatable. Q3) Who is your favorite mythical figure? It's so hard to choose. Persephone, certainly, but I also like Athena too. Q4) If you could choose to hang out with one mythical God, who would it be and why? I think it would depend on the situation. Athena would be cool or maybe Freya. Q5) Do you plan on writing similar books in the future? Yes, I have started the Norse series with Daughter of Odin and I will be writing more on that sub series. On top of that, I have 12 books planned where the Gods of Olympus are reborn. I hope to start work on those next year.  USA Today Bestselling Author S. K. Gregory writes urban fantasy, paranormal romance and horror books. She currently resides in Northern Ireland, where she works as an editor.
 Q1) Tell us about your book Halflings is the first book in a trilogy about a young woman called Riley who discovers that her father was a monster hunter and she may have inherited his skills. The situation is made more difficult by the fact that her rival at school may be her half sister. Riley is drawn into a strange world and must quickly learn to defend herself. It is dark fantasy and for adults only. Q2) Why did you focus on myths/legends from that particular region? Halflings draws on myths from both Native American and Irish mythology. One of the creatures is my version of a skinwalker and there is also mention of the Morrigan who will feature more prominently in the next book. I'm from Ireland myself so I wanted to include something from here. Q3) Who is your favorite mythical figure? I like myths from all over the world, but I do love the Morrigan and I like figures from Greek Myth too such as Athena - the Goddess of Wisdom. Q4) If you could choose to hang out with one mythical God, who would it be and why? Ooh that's a tough one. I would say Loki, because I imagine it would be interesting to say the least. Q5) Do you plan on writing similar books in the future? Yes, I have two more books planned in this series and I will no doubt write new stories with myths too as I think they are such a huge part of our lives and have strong messages.  Kat Gracey lives in the UK. She writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance novels featuring her two favorite supernatural beings - witches and werewolves.
 Q1) Tell us about your book The Lost Legends is the first in a mashup retelling series of Robin Hood and Rapunzel... with pirates. Princess Adalina grew up hearing tales of the Nihryst, a group of immortal warriors cursed and left on a secret island by her ancestors. All her life, she has vowed to one day find them and break the curse. When trouble strikes in her kingdom, she goes on the search for these immortals, thinking they might be the only ones powerful enough to save everyone. She sets sail with a crew that turns out to be pirates, and her quest becomes an adventure worthy of her favorite stories. Q2) Why did you focus on myths/legends from that particular region? I have always felt this deep connection to the history of the U.K., especially with the stories of Robin Hood and King Arthur. Something about these characters overcoming obstacles to help others draws me in. I'm aware that these are common themes in stories, but these two in particular have always called to me. Robin Hood has been my favorite story for as long as I can remember. Q3) Who is your favorite mythical figure? It's hard to pick just one, but probably Poseidon because I love the ocean. Q4) If you could choose to hang out with one mythical God, who would it be and why? Helios. I think it would be fun to see the world from above and bring people light. Q5) Do you plan on writing similar books in the future? Absolutely! In fact, I have a Hades and Persephone retelling planned. I'm very excited to jump into it more. It's set in both the current time and through history.  All her life, Cait Marie has loved fairy tales. When she discovered a passion for writing in 2015, she knew she had finally found the right path.
Cait is the creator and manager of Functionally Fictional. In 2019, she joined the indie staff of YA Books Central as a reviewer and then Indie Co-Manager in 2020. From 2017 to 2020, she held multiple positions within Coffee House Writers, including C.O.O., Editor, Advertising Supervisor, and Writer. She graduated with honors in 2019 from Southern New Hampshire University with a Bachelor of Arts in psychology, and she is currently enrolled in their Master of Fine Arts program. She lives in Indiana, where she freelance edits and provides a variety of other author services. When she’s not writing or reading, she can usually be found watching Disney movies, creating pages in her bullet journal, painting, or singing showtunes to annoy her family and cats.  Mythology, lore, legends, fairy tales...call them whatever you like, but for me as a creative these kinds of things are inspirational building blocks. In 7th grade English, I was about 12 at the time, we had a small unit on Mythology. I remember being handed coloring sheets for the Greek gods with paragraphs about each one. I immediately realized there were next to no goddesses in our unit and the ones we did get a sheet on had even less written about them than their male counterparts. I ended the unit with a dissatisfied taste in my mouth; I wanted more. Fast forward to 1996 and my 12th grade English class where we were preparing portfolio pieces for graduation. The big writing assignment was to essentially re-write Beowulf. My retelling of Beowulf was the first time I flipped a legend on its ear. Gone were the men as main characters. Instead, Beowulf was now told from a warrior woman's POV. I tore down the lore reworking the information to how I saw fit. In the end, my assignment was twice as long as assigned and included full color maps---quite a feat back in the day when color printers and computers in your home were still a rarity. I remember later using the story as part of my college application and the tale playing a part in me landing a scholarship. Once I graduated college, I found myself married to a gamer and started getting into MMORPG games. I loved the "lore" books that came with my favorite game, Guild Wars, and I spent hours crafting my character's name based on the included book. In fact, I joined a guild where one of the fun things to do was to post back stories of our characters. My guildmates were very much in awe of my stories because I chose to weave in actual lore from the game. Of course, I wouldn't realize how much I enjoyed mashing mythology into stories until around 2008 when the lack of Xena and Buffy like entertainment led me to dream up my Daughter of Ares stories. I often describe the series as if Xena and Buffy fell into Lord of The Rings. I spent hours researching certain names and mythology of the Greek pantheon. As the series progressed, I incorporated other mythology including Arthurian lore. When I finished the series in 2014, I thought maybe I was done with mythology and even writing in general. But what writer is ever really done with writing? After five years of a dry creative well, I came back full force...and realized I loved using mythology, lore, fairy tales, and folklore of all kinds in my stories. For instance, my Urban Fantasy branded Monster Hunter Tales series integrates elements of Greek, Arabic, Hindu, and Asian mythologies. The books also contain smatterings of dragons, fae, and Tír na nÓg. Excerpt To Free a Djinn: Book 3 Monster Hunter Tales “Unhand Lord Devyn’s Djinn, Kian!” The man in the three-piece-suit had busted in through the door. Beau was now out of her trance thanks to all of the shouting and door flinging. She found herself in a rather embarrassing position wrapped around Kian. She looked up to see the man in the three-piece-suit. Fear crawled through her body. Beau tightened her grip on Kian. “That is the man, Kian.” “I know, Beau, I know. Let me take care of this.” He untangled Beau from his arms and pushed her behind him. “Lord Devyn would not like it if you turned his Djinn into a vampire, Lord Kian. Now, please, for the sake of all of our well-being give me the girl.” Kian shook his head. “What claim does Devyn have on Isabeau, Finn?” The man in the suit, Finn, responded to Kian with a gruff answer. “That is none of your business. He has a proper claim on her. I have all of the paperwork right here. I had tried to deliver it to her only moments ago, but she took off on me.” “Fat chance, Finn. I saw her first. I have a claim on her and have had for the last three years. Every day she comes in here flirting with me. If you had not interrupted us, she would have already been turned.” The words made Beau angry. She jumped off the table and started yelling. “Wait just a gosh darn minute here fellas! I do not know what a Djinn is, but I am not one. I am a mechanic; so, if you have something you want fixed, I can probably fix it. I also have not been flirting with you for three years, Kian. Plus, vampire, really? Did you think that would impress me? What is this the 2000s?” Finn grinned. “Looks to me she is a fine fire Djinn. Just look at that personality. Lord Devyn will be doubly pleased as fire elements are the most powerful.” “Listen Finn or whatever your name is, I am not a fire Djinn. I do not know who Lord Devyn is and I am most certainly not going with you!” Finn fished out an odd-looking device. It looked a bit like the oil- lamps from the old genie movies. He removed the top and started chanting. Kian pushed Beau towards the exit to the alley. “Get out of here, Beau!” A blue light filled the room and Finn slammed the lid back on the device. The light vanished once the lid was back on the device. Kian and Finn were standing there glaring at one another, but Beau was gone. “What did you do with her, Finn! Where’s Isabeau?” Kian’s temper flared as he rushed towards Finn. “Ah-ah-ah. Do you really want to start a war over this Djinn? Count her among your losses, Kian. She is not worth it.” “She is worth it to me! I love her.” Kian screamed his anger slowly turning into despair. Of course, he knew what Isabeau was before he set his stakes on her. That was the first thing that attracted him to her, but over the last few years he had really gotten to know her. She was so much more than the magic she could use.  A lover of all things fantasy, USA Today Best-Selling Author Shannon McRoberts writes fantastical tomes and tales in between gaming, making art, herding cats, and being a mother.
 Norse Mythology covers the Scandinavian region and mixed Paganism and folklore. The Gods were led by the mighty Odin and the Gods resided in a place called Valhalla. There are many legends from this mythology, but probably the most famous is that of Thor, particularly since he has been introduced to the MCU.
The Gods of Norse mythology were seen as warriors and were often involved in one or war or another. The image above depicts a Valkyrie, a fierce warrior woman who decides the fate of men in battle. If a warrior dies in combat, they are transported to Valhalla as a reward.  Q: What is your book about? A: The Seventh Day Series tells the story of a found family of human-born angels, witches, a vampire queen, and Lucifer navigating complicated romantic and familial relationships while saving humanity from one Apocalypse after another. There are epic battles and love stories, funny and deep conversations, and a lot of twists. A reader called it, “Supernatural meets Shameless but with money” and, honestly, I can’t describe it any better than that. Q: Why did you focus on myths/legends from that particular region? A: In Seventh Day, there are angels from the Judeo-Christian/Muslim faiths, Norse gods, Maori legends, and Wiccan traditions. Vampires, werewolves, demons, and golem. I wanted to bring all those things together in one universe as a way of making them seem more realistic. Over the course of the series, readers see how they’re all kind of connected and play their parts in the grand scheme of things. Q: Who is your favorite mythical figure? A: I think Loki is my favorite because Loki can be anything, create anything, and is always up for a good time. Plus, who doesn’t love a mischievous trickster? Q: If you could hang out with one mythical god, who would it be and why? A: Loki for the above reasons and maybe a few inappropriate ones. Q: Do you plan on writing similar books in the future? A: I’m currently writing an urban fantasy novel based on Greek mythology and religious lore. It’s a stand-alone right now, not seven books like The Seventh Day, but it has series potential, so we’ll see. Excerpt from Seraphim, book one in The Seventh Day Series: “I was hoping to do this gently but you give me no choice.” He opened his arms and waved his hands toward himself. The remaining servants all came forward, shock and horror covering their faces as they were forced to move closer and closer to their Queen. For the first time in her very long life, Allydia saw fear in her stepmother’s eyes. The servants now rushed to Lilith, grabbing her and holding her steady. She fought them, tossing their bodies around like pillows. But they kept coming. Even the ones she killed reanimated and came for her. They forced her down into her throne and held her there as her brother neared. “No!” she barked. “You can’t!” Allydia backed away, knowing what the man was capable of. Lilith’s anger turned to fear as her fate seemed sealed. “Please, brother,” she begged. “We can all rule this world together. You don’t always have to do what He says!” “You know that simply isn’t true,” he said, kneeling before her and placing his hand on her head. He began the incantation while she screamed. “Stop!” she pleaded. “Don’t! Please! LUCIFER!”  Bio:
I'm a forty-one-year-old poet turned novelist with three kids and a pretty serious Dr. Pepper addiction. I write urban fantasy and horror with plans to jump into sci-fi at some point. I'm loud, funny, and I prefer the term "eccentric".  Curses and Chaos © Tod Tinker “What right do you have to tell me that you can’t help me?” I swallow the groan that vibrates in my throat as those words greet me the moment I step into the office. With the turning of the moon last night, I woke this morning with a headache, and I was hoping for a quiet day today. Obviously, that’s not to be. “Can I help you?” I ask, stepping up behind the man who is harassing my front-desk staff. A collective flinch circles the waiting room, but I ignore it. The groan I suppressed has added a slight growl to my voice, but I suspect the reaction comes more from a general recognition of who I am. Recognition the man now turning to face me shows no sign of. More’s the pity. “I should hope so!” the man snaps, his own voice dropping into a growl. I take a quick inventory of his amber eyes, bared teeth, and the curl of his fingers that does nothing to hide the length and filth of his nails and check a sigh. “What seems to be the problem?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I already know. “Your guard dog here,” he sneers, in a tone that makes it clear he’s thinking of a much worse word, “claims she can’t help me find a job. Even though your agency is supposed to help those of us with certain . . . conditions.” Light coughs and shifting sound from around the waiting room. Movement catches at the corner of my eye, but I don’t take my eyes off the man. Last night was the full moon, and I’d be a fool to look away from him if what I suspect is true. “And what condition do you have, Mr. . . . ?” The man grunts. “Monal. Welof Monal.” I nod. “Mr. Monal. Well?” He grunts again but still doesn’t seem to notice the discomfort filling the waiting room. “Lycanthropy.” A soft snicker drifts from one corner of the room that I didn’t notice anyone in earlier, and I just barely hold back from rolling my eyes. Thankfully, Mr. Monal doesn’t seem to have noticed the laughter at his expense, but a leprechaun turned invisible due to an accident is hardly going to help this conversation. “And were you cursed with lycanthropy, Mr. Monal?” That seems to confuse the werewolf. He blinks and steps back, breaking out of full-challenge mode. “What? What do you mean?” Again, I check a sigh. “I mean, Mr. Monal, were you cursed with lycanthropy, or were you, as your name suggests, born a werewolf?” His sharp cheeks turn red. “What does that have to do with anything?” This time, I roll my eyes without bothering to hold back. “Mr. Monal, this is the Hexes, Enchantments, and Curses Agency for Temporary Employment. Unless you have actually been cursed to change into a wolf once a month—a situation I have seen maybe once in the more than twenty years I have been running this agency—we cannot help you. There are plenty of agencies set up to help were-animals and other races who might face discrimination in the workplace, but this is not one of them. Do I make myself clear?” By the time I’ve finished, my voice has fallen into a deep growl that could rival any werewolf’s, and Mr. Monal stares at me with wide eyes and an open mouth. I grimace as I realize I’m leaning over him, my shadow extending farther than it should and a wind howling in my ears and tugging at the bun that holds my hair back. Huffing softly, I straighten and whisk one hand up toward my shoulder, banishing both the wind and the extended shadow like annoying flies. This is exactly what I was hoping to avoid, but some confrontations cannot be prevented. “Well?” I ask again when the silence throughout the office has grown unbearable. The werewolf swallows and lowers his head, lifting his shoulders around his ears as though that will help him hide. “I, uh, was born a werewolf, ma’am. I, um . . . I’m sorry for bothering you.” He beats a hasty retreat after that. As the agency door swings closed, I release a long breath, and the silence breaks. “Thank you, Director Triod,” says the nymph who is currently running the front desk. “I was beginning to worry that he would become violent. None of my soothing seemed to help.” I shake my head. “That’s only to be expected, Tyra. Werewolves can’t be soothed this close to the full moon. Only challenged.” I glance around the waiting room, nodding to the regulars I recognize and narrowing my eyes at the corner where I suspect Gogarty, the invisible leprechaun, still sits. “I’ll let you get back to helping everyone,” I finally say, turning back to Tyra. We trade nods, and I open the door next to the front desk, stepping through into the office proper. A low murmur fills the office proper. Desks are scattered throughout the open space—not symmetrically, of course, because a gnome and a centaur do not need the same layout—and a couple are occupied by employees and their clients, as they discuss options for their next job placements. “Morning, Kate,” hums my secretary. The faerie zips through the air from the refreshment area and lands on my shoulder. Kayley may be small, but I decided years ago that I couldn’t run this agency without her. “Nice job handling the werewolf. Kind of ridiculous, though, how often we get them.” I nod and rub my forehead. “And almost always the day after the full moon.” I groan and shake my head. “Call me Hector today, would you? I don’t much feel like Kate.” “Will do, boss.” A light tapping fills my right ear as I open the door to my office. “You up for covering today’s agenda yet, or do you need a minute?” I smile. Kayley knows me so well. “Give me five, will you?” “Got it. Be back in a few, Hector.” I feel the press of a tiny hand against my neck. Then Kayley’s small form zips out the door, which swings shut behind her with a soft click. I settle into my chair with a sigh and slide open the top desk drawer. Staring at the drawer’s contents, I ponder for a moment which headache remedy would be best, before fishing out a small vial of pain potion. I’m pretty sure I used ibuprofen last time, and I learned a long time ago that I do best when I alternate magical and science-based remedies. Change and transition—my constants. I spend the next few minutes just sitting with my eyes closed. By the time Kayley’s tiny knock sounds on the office door, the pain in my temples is gone. “Come in.” Kayley zips in, making sure to close the door lightly again, and settles gently in the middle of my yew desk. In her hands is a tiny tablet, a marvel of science and magic that is as powerful as any tablet I might use. “What have we got today?” She offers me a calm smile. “We had seven successful placements yesterday, and one termination.” I nod. That sounds about right. “We also got a phone call yesterday from one of our clients, who had a major complaint about the company he was placed with.” I frown. “Which client?” Kayley taps on her screen a couple of times. “Talman Sevetti. He’s the man who was cursed to change into a slime monster every night.” “Sewage monster,” I correct, recognizing the name. Kayley glances up at me, then frowns at her tablet. Her face turns bright red. “Oh, right. Sorry. Must have misread that.” I wave a dismissive hand. “Honest mistake. What was his complaint?” “That they’ve placed him in sewage disposal after he expressly requested not to work sewage. I believe his exact words were, ‘I spend all night in sewage. Why would I want to spend my days there too?’” I chuckle for a second before the severity of the complaint makes me frown. “What company did we last place him with?” Another couple of taps on the tablet. “Let’s see. Looks like Tiberian Electric.” My mouth grows tight as I consider what I know of Tiberian Electric. Then I scowl. “What are they doing with a sewage disposal position?” Kayley taps the tablet a few times before shaking her head and turning her face up to me. “I don’t see anything related to sewage in the information I have. Want me to have someone look into it?” “Yes.” Considering a moment longer, I add, “And have everyone reach out to any other clients we’ve placed with Tiberian Electric. If we’ve had one complaint like that with the company, I want to make sure there aren’t any others.” Kayley’s head bobs as she makes her notes. “Got it, boss.” “Anything else?” I ask once she seems to have finished with her notes. The faerie lifts her face to meet my gaze. “Only one.” I blink. Kayley’s voice has become somber, something that happens very rarely. Clenching one hand into a fist, I prepare for bad news. “We have a client who needs your personal touch, Hector.” I blink again, and my whole body relaxes. “What do you mean?” Kayley doesn’t break her gaze, not even to glance back down at the tablet for more information. “I mean, we have a client who has been placed twenty times without more than a couple weeks of success at each location, and I think it’s time you finally had a hand in the matter.” I shake my head and lean back in my chair. I can feel the headache coming back, but I dig my fingers into the yew wood of my desk to keep from touching my face. “Twenty times? Why wasn’t I informed of this sooner?” Kayley finally glances away, muttering too softly for me to hear. I sigh. “Kayley?” Her posture sags, her wings drooping to touch the surface of the desk. “Rosemary and Hadwyn thought they could take care of it.” I reach out a finger and nudge her chin up. Once I catch her eye, I offer her a small smile. “What matters is that we’re taking care of it now.” Kayley takes a deep breath, straightens her spine, and nods. “Right.” Lifting her tablet, she taps a few more times and then turns to the monitor that sits on my desk. Lifting my gaze, I find a list of assignments spilling across the screen of my monitor. I raise an eyebrow as I read through them. Twenty assignments might be a lot, but the variety of them is even more startling. They range from florist to welding technician, bulldozer driver to waterways engineer, and seemingly everything in between. I shake my head. “What’s his specialty?” Another tap, and a resume appears on my monitor. “Anything natural, really. Flowers, animals, the elements, you name it. The limit of his skills hasn’t been his problem in finding or keeping a job.” I scan through the resume, my brow tightening the further I get. “Veterinary license, floral design certificates, heavy equipment operator license, various technician licenses . . . ?” I shake my head. “I’ve never seen someone with so varied a background.” “That’s one of the reasons Rosemary and Hadwyn thought they could place him themselves.” I frown down at Kayley. “What exactly is the client’s condition?” Here, Kayley falters. “Well, you see . . . we don’t know.” I blink. “What do you mean, we don’t know?” The faerie shrugs, her wings fluttering in agitation. “The client doesn’t actually think he’s been cursed, enchanted, or anything of the like. He’d been having trouble holding down a job for about a year before someone recommended he come to us.” I cross my arms. “So why did we accept him as a client if he doesn’t meet the agency requirements?” Kayley’s wings flutter harder. “I . . . wouldn’t say he doesn’t meet the requirements, exactly.” I stare at her, unimpressed, and she sighs. “It’s hard to explain, Hector. Tyra was going to turn him away, but Rosemary overheard some of what he’d been through and insisted on taking him on. And then after the tenth assignment fell through and Rosemary was reaching her breaking point, Hadwyn stepped in.” I settle back in my chair and stare, unseeing, at my monitor. Most of the time, my employees are good about sticking to agency policy and only working with those who suffer from curses, enchantments, and the like. Troubles due simply to race or some inborn personality trait are beyond the agency’s purview. Yet for both Rosemary and Hadwyn to insist that this client needs the agency’s help, when both have been with the agency for over a decade and their instincts rarely steer anyone wrong. . . “What’s the client’s name?” I ask. Kayley’s smile is blinding despite her small size. “Balasi Mercantus. He’s a human with no magic, as far as we can tell. He just . . . has really bad luck sometimes.” I sigh, shaking my head. “Very well. Have him come in to speak with me, and I’ll see what I can do.” # Kayley gets Mr. Mercantus set up for a three o’clock appointment, and I spend the afternoon leading up to it trying to review his file. Trying, because the next few hours end up being filled with one fire after another. Five phone calls to clients we’ve placed with Tiberian Electric reveal not only an uncomfortable number of position changes but an alarming amount of positions that don’t fit the company’s profile. Kayley and I end up spending two hours in phone conversations with the C-level management of Tiberian Electric before I finally order Kayley to start working on the paperwork to cancel our contract with them. While she attends to that, I reach out to several of my contacts to report my suspicions of Tiberian Electric’s fraudulent business activities. No one treats my clients with such disrespect and gets away with it. Almost as soon as I’m off the phone with my federal contacts, shouting breaks out in the office proper. Still furious with the Tiberian Electric mess, I shove my chair away from my yew desk and stomp to the door. When I see the rivers of color that the open portion of the agency has begun to turn into, I almost turn around and barricade myself in my office. Pain throbs in my temples and behind my eyes; I don’t feel up to dealing with a Daliesque curse right now. As it turns out, the melting effect is directly connected to the woman’s emotions and stops once we’ve gotten her calmed down. I make a comment to her new caseworker not to even consider a retail position for her and head back to my office. I’ve been sitting in my chair for maybe fifteen minutes, wondering if it’s been long enough since I took the pain potion for me to pop a couple of ibuprofen, when the door to my office creaks open. I sigh and open my eyes, curious what Kayley could have to report now. Except Kayley’s nowhere to be seen. In fact, no one seems to have come through the office door. I narrow my eyes, remembering my impression that someone invisible had been in the waiting room this morning. “Gogarty,” I growl, “if that’s you, I swear—” “I swear . . .” I jerk upright in my chair. The responding voice sounds just like mine but fainter, the phrase seeming to fade throughout the room even as it repeats. I might have mistaken it for an actual echo if I hadn’t made sure my office was echo-proof years ago. I lock my jaw against the urge to curse and rub my forehead. Like we don’t have enough problems right now. “Let me guess,” I mutter. “Zeus and Hera are in town.” “In town . . .” the echo repeats mournfully. I nod and climb to my feet. “Very well. Let’s get you to someone who can help.” I lead the most recent victim of Hera’s echo curse out of my office. Thankfully, it’s one we’ve dealt with before—Zeus and Hera tend to roam between major cities fairly regularly, and Hera has become a bit predictable with her choice of punishments for her husband’s conquests. Though Hera has added invisibility to this particular one since she cast it on the original Echo, she still hasn’t bothered to make the curse affect forms of communication other than speech. # It’s quarter to three when I finally settle in my office again. My head is pounding so hard, I’m tempted to cancel any other plans I have for the day and just go home. No one would blame me, right? It’s the day after the full moon—my worst day of the month. Surely-- I open my eyes, and they settle on the folder lying in the middle of my desk. An orange note is plastered to the front, directly in the center, with two words scrawled in a familiar handwriting. Balasi Mercantus. For a split second, the image of an intersection forms in my mind. Not the paved kind we’re used to today, with red, green, and yellow lights and more signs than one knows what to do with, but a dirt trail with multiple paths and an old rickety wooden signpost declaring the destination of each path in worn, too-old lettering. A crossroads. Mist wreathes one of the paths, pulling back here and there to reveal prickly thorns and winding vines. When I glance at the destination sign for the hidden path, I find moss and leaves overgrowing it. Magic. I curse as the image fades from my mind and my eyes once again focus on the folder sitting in the middle of my desk. Something, or someone, is interfering with my mind, trying to steal paths from me that I might normally travel. If I were anyone else, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. But you can’t obscure the crossroads from the one in charge of them. Pulling open the top drawer of my desk, I grab the bottle of ibuprofen from within and pop a couple of the pills into my mouth, swallowing them dry. Putting the bottle away, I tap my throat with one hand, encouraging my body to process the medicine with a touch of magic, and flip open the folder with the other. By the time the expected knock sounds on my door, I’ve read ten of the reasons for Mr. Mercantus being released from his assignments, and my fury has only grown. “Come in,” I growl. The door creaks open, and a wide-eyed, timid-looking man peers around it. The expression is nothing like what I might expect from a man with the experience listed in Mr. Mercantus’s resume. I grind my teeth as the fire within me flares. “Miss—er, Director Triod?” The man glances around the office, and I wonder if he’s looking for what might go wrong. “I, uh, was told you wished to meet with me.” I force my jaw to relax, nod, and motion him to the chair across the yew desk from me. This man—this Balasi Mercantus—is not the one who has angered me, and I know better than to risk scaring him off when he’s most likely the intended victim of the magic threatening my paths. “Yes, Mr. Mercantus. Please, sit down.” He scurries in, shutting the door behind him, and settles into the chair. “And please, call me Hector. My title is a bit too formal for the discussion we’re about to have.” If anything, the man’s eyes widen further. “I-it is?” When I only nod, he swallows and sits up a bit straighter. “Then, please, call me Balasi.” Despite the fire raging within me, I find a sincere smile pulling at my lips. “Very good.” Glancing down at my desk in hopes of centering myself a bit more, I flip the folder back to the first page. “Do you understand what we do here, Balasi?” The man hesitates long enough that I return my gaze to him. I’m not sure what he sees in my eyes, but it’s apparently enough to get him to talk. “You help people who have been cursed or enchanted find jobs.” I nod. “And as I understand it, you came to us even though you were certain you hadn’t been cursed.” When he nods in return, I add, “Why?” Balasi blinks. “Well, I, uh . . .” He scratches his head. “A good friend of mine, Lin Garrin, recommended I come. The nursery he works for has had a couple of positions filled by your agency, and he thought you might be able to help me.” Balasi’s cheeks redden. “Lin was rather insistent, actually.” “And do you understand why first Rosemary and then Hadwyn insisted on taking your case?” Balasi shakes his head. “No, sir. I mean, Hector.” His flush deepens. “I only know that they overrode the lady at the front desk.” I smile. “And for good reason, though I doubt they’d be able to explain why.” Balasi’s head snaps back. “What do you mean?” I lift a hand and flick my fingers at the wall behind the man. The lights click off, leaving only the light glowing through the closed blinds of the window behind me. “I understand you don’t have magic yourself, is that right?” “Y-yes, that’s correct.” I close my eyes. “And have you ever been able to see magic?” The answer is slower in coming, but Balasi does answer before I feel the need to open my eyes again. “Only when the magic user made it visible.” I nod. “Then I’ll just have to make the magic surrounding you visible.” I make another gesture, this time lifting both hands. A howl starts up behind me, distant, like the cry of a hound on the hunt. Something small and long skitters across my feet, and a faint angry chitter joins the howl. A gasp from across the desk completes the symphony, and I open my eyes. Balasi is gaping at the dancing red that glitters in loose spirals around his body and trails toward me and back through the door of my office. I have no doubt that if I were to open the office door, I would find the trail of red glitter encircling several of my employees, including Kayley, Rosemary, and Hadwyn. “What . . . what is this?” I offer Balasi a sympathetic smile. “This is the visual representation of the curse that affects you.” “Curse?” Balasi reaches toward the light with one hand, but he can’t physically touch it. “You mean, it wasn’t all just bad luck?” I consider the words and what I’ve read of the circumstances of his release from each of his assignments. My lips spasm into a grimace. “Actually, if I’m interpreting everything correctly, bad luck is exactly what it is.” “How?” I blink and raise my eyebrows. Balasi is leaning forward in his chair, no longer cringing and wide-eyed. For the first time since he arrived, his eyes are alight with the curiosity and intelligence that I’m certain led to the experience listed on his resume. “Have you ever met anyone claiming to be a god?” Balasi’s brow wrinkles. After a moment, he shakes his head. “Not that I’m aware of. I know the old pantheons live among us, but don’t they generally hide themselves as mortals for day-to-day life? I can’t imagine I’d know if I met one, either way.” My lips twitch, and I nod. “Too true. Even Zeus and Hera tend to hide themselves until Hera catches Zeus at cheating again.” I roll my eyes, thinking briefly of the wave of clients the agency is sure to get in the wake of Zeus and Hera’s latest visit. “This curse isn’t from one of them, though, is it?” Balasi is frowning when I focus on him next. “Don’t the two them always make themselves known when they ‘punish’ mortals?” I nod. “You are correct. They do, and your curse is not from them. The truth is, I recognized the flavor of your curse the moment I realized it was affecting my own magic.” Balasi’s eyes widen, but this time, the expression isn’t driven by fear. “Does that mean you know how to work around the curse now?” I purse my lips and consider the question. After a long moment of silence, I shake my head. “Unfortunately, a curse of bad luck cannot be circumvented. Change is its nature; adaptation, its strength. As long as you’re cursed, you’ll continue to fall victim to circumstances you cannot control.” Balasi’s shoulders slump, and his gaze drops to the floor. “Then your agency can’t help me.” I harrumph. “I did not say that.” He blinks up at me warily. “But if you can’t circumvent the curse . . .” I bare my teeth. “I don’t plan to circumvent it. I plan to unravel it.” He frowns, his head tilting to one side. “Isn’t that against your agency’s policy?” I chuckle dryly. “You have been a client of ours for some time, haven’t you?” Balasi flushes. “Nearly seven months.” I nod. “Normally, you’d be right. It is agency policy to not interfere with curses, only to work around them. But there are rare circumstances, like yours, in which a curse or enchantment simply cannot be integrated into society. In those cases, it is my prerogative to possibly interfere.” “You’d do that?” Balasi asks. “For me?” I smirk and lean back in my chair. “Not just for you, though I don’t appreciate the strictness of such a curse in general. No, I would do it for both you and my agency.” I wave one hand to encompass the sprawling nature of the curse’s glittering red light. “As you can see, the curse is affecting me and my employees as well. That, I simply cannot accept.” The smile Balasi hands me then is as blinding as the one Kayley offered me earlier. # “And they call me a thief.” I firmly and steadily close the office door behind Balasi Mercantus. He’s only just finished spilling his profuse thanks for me unraveling the curse of bad luck. A curse I’m certain has been trailing him for most of his life, if its depth within his spirit was any indication. “Well? Did you hear me?” I glance over my shoulder, one eyebrow raised. Leaning against my desk is a young man in a loose button-down shirt, cargo shorts, and sandals, his long hair held back from his face by a wide-brimmed hat. The left breast pocket of his shirt is embroidered with a pair of wings. My lips twitch upward. “Oh, I heard you. I simply saw no reason to reply.” The young man scowls, but he doesn’t hold the expression long. He shrugs and surges to his feet. “So the great Hecate has decided to interfere after all these years.” It’s my turn to scowl, and I’m not as inclined to drop the expression. “It’s Hector right now. Better yet,” I add, feeling uncharitable, “Director Triod. You have no right to refer to me so familiarly right now.” The young man flashes a mischievous smile. “Oh, really? Hector? And I thought I was the hermaphroditic one here.” I roll my eyes and walk past him, dropping into my desk chair. “Seriously, Hermes, what do you want?” Hermes pouts and crosses his arms. “You’re no fun, you know that?” When I only roll my eyes again, he huffs. “You stole my mortal.” “You mean your plaything?” He scowls, and I shake my head. “You’re worse than Hera, you know? At least her victims can still live some kind of life under her curses.” Hermes’s arms tighten across his chest. “He was doing just well for himself beneath my curse. You saw all the certificates and licenses he had.” “Yes, successes he managed despite the suffering you put him through.” I sigh and shake my head. “Hermes, you had to know I’d interfere the moment the curse began affecting me. I don’t take kindly to my choices being threatened.” Hermes huffs, glances away, and then nods. “Fine. I won’t complain. Chaos knows what you would do to me if I pushed the matter, anyway.” I snort, and he flashes me a grin. “Guess I should get going, then, before Balasi gets too far.” I frown. “I thought you were going to give up on him.” Hermes chuckles. “Give up on him? When he could do so much with a boost of good luck?” He flashes a feral grin. “I’ve only just started with Balasi Mercantus.” With a tip of his hat, he spins in place and disappears in a puff of smoke that smells like incense. I sigh and shake my head, but I can’t help the smile that touches my lips. Well, at least Balasi Mercantus should be easy to place now. I spend the next two hours focusing on that and trying to forget the chaos that Hermes’s curse wreaked on the rest of my day. Bio
Theodore Niretac Tinker is a spec-fic trans author, meticulous editor, and deep-diving worldbuilder. Words and worlds are his passion; quality and consistency, his goal. Specializing in the spiritual, he fights for justice and equality through his books, explores the weird and whimsical in his short stories, and helps other writers find the voice and power of their own stories through his editing services. All these infinite literary endeavors are supported by an endless supply of chocolate, which he hoards in his library alongside his books like any good dragon. You join his Magical Army and keep up with his writing and editing at |
 
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About the Author:S. K. Gregory is an author, editor and blogger. She currently resides in Northern Ireland. “Description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s.” 
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