Loose Ends – A Story of the Azure Blade

Sophia Rothman looked up at the production assistant. “I’m trying to get this pyro working, Jen. The shoot starts in half an hour, and if this doesn’t go off, friggin’ ponytail-boy’s going to have his ass in a major bind.”

“I know, I know, but this guy says he knows you from a long time ago. And, uh, he’s kinda sounds like he’s part of a Family, yanno?” Jen was born-and-bred New Yorker, and if she said that? There was one guy it could be, and she tried not to let the fact her heart felt like it had turned to ice in her chest show on her face.

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The Night’s Casefile: Amanda Mulligan

I slipped in the window, which had been left open for me. The crime scene had been processed; the coroner’s on-site prelim completed. The only person in the room besides me was Detective Sergeant Patrick Mulligan. I knew Mulligan – he was an honest cop who admitted that sometimes, a costume could handle things a uniform couldn’t. At the same time, I was not on the Boston PD’s list of approved people to call in, which meant that he wasn’t sure the PD could handle it. Or there was another reason. A call on the way over to my contact in the coroner’s office confirmed it for me.

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Homecoming – A Story of The Night

(This story is actually the first of the cycle, preceding other published stories.)

The trip from the bus was short. This morning she’d gotten off the ship at the Port of Newark. A walk, a bus to Newark, then Greyhound to New York. An hour got her something American to eat (she’d learned to like Filipino food, but man, that first hot dog…), then to the next bus, to Boston. She walked to Downtown Crossing, then caught the Orange Line to Haymarket, then another bus to where she’d lived. She’d had enough money to afford the trip.

The pay for a dockhand had been okay, especially since it was mostly off the books, and the captain would be annoyed at her desertion, but also pleased to have “LilamataPurple-Eyes” (as he’d called her) off his ship, getting rid of the woman and the bad luck superstitious sailors thought women brought on board. Click to continue reading.

Questing – an Outback story

James Donobran stepped out into the rain, locking the door of his brownstone behind him. He muttered two short incantations: one summoned a small dome of force above him, and the other cloaked it to make it invisible. He flipped the collar of his coat up to keep the wind off, and stepped off into the streets. His goal was a couple blocks away. Should be simple, a quick errand.

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Retaliation – A Story of The Night

Allston, MA

10:22 PM

 

Mellisa Flanagan, or more accurately with how she dressed and with her clip-on hair extensions on, Marishka Petrovskaya, walked down the block, a few blocks from the club she’d kidnapped a mob boss’s son from a few weeks before, hands in her pockets and head down. She was going to her favorite (not favorite) dive to talk to someone she could get information from. The weather was cool, and a little rainy, and she wasn’t enjoying it.  She would have preferred to be up there, above the streets, running across the rooftops and launching herself with her swingline, the wind in her face. 

So intent in her grumpiness was she that she nearly was surprised by the three large men in t-shirts, jeans, leather jackers, and boots, all with the particular hairstyle popular with the not-quite-made-men associated with the Patriarca crime family’s street muscle. One of them sported a bandage across the front of his somewhat crooked nose.

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Revisiting the Impostor. (Reposts)

A few years ago I wrote a series of posts about Impostor Syndrome. It occurs to me that people might not have seen those, and so I’ve decided to put this post up linking to all four of those.

I know some other people have been having trouble with it lately. I thought it might help. I hope that if this is something troubling you, it helps you a little.

Imposter.

Fighting the impostor, Part 1

Fighting the Impostor, Part 2

Fighting the Impostor, Part 3

 


This is the time, and this is the record of the times.