Category: WIP

Jasmine pushed open the door into the cool night air, a paradise in comparison to the stifling heat inside. The parking lot was sparse, as usual, despite the bar being packed beyond capacity. This wasn’t abnormal, she had become accustomed to that oddity in this world. She found her comfortable spot against the wall, just outside reach of the single light above the door. This was her time to recharge away from everything.

A match lit up a few feet away. The woman, dark olive-toned skin, black hair that hung in model-like waves around her shoulders, a dark brown cigarette held between two long fingers. She lit it and inhaled deeply, before the match was extinguished disappearing into darkness.

Looking back at her feet in the dark, Jasmine knew she had seen that woman before. In fact, it was here, in this same spot. Maybe another frequent visitor.

The clip clop of heels approached and she could make out the shape of the woman, who inhaled her cigarette the glowing orange ember lighting her face slightly.

“Back again?” Her voice sounded like Mrs. Butterworth’s syrup, rich, thick, buttery, and sweet, with a depth of timbre that was alluring in an uncomfortable way.

“I’m sorry?” she responded, thinking her voice sounded squeaky in comparison to the vixen before her. Now she felt painfully aware of her mediocre average appearance, looking down at her own dirty Chucks and faded jeans.

“I see you’re back again. It’s hard to stay away, I know.” She gave a throaty chuckle.

“Have we met?” Jasmine asked in what she’s now accepted must be a tiny, squeaky voice. Had she always had that voice? She internally groaned to herself. No wonder she was alone.

“Not yet, but I’ve seen you around, and I know you’ve seen me too.” This startled and embarrassed Jasmine. Yes, she had seen her, but they’ve never met. This Venus of a woman wasn’t someone she’d actually talk to. No, she was accustomed to staying in her normal human lane, avoiding the oddities of this new world.

The goddess inhaled deeply, lips upturned slightly at the corners in a playful smirk, looking up and down at Jasmine. “Chucks.” she nodded approvingly.

“Huh?” Jasmine’s heart pounded loudly in her ears, “Oh. Yeah. Love em.” she squeaked awkwardly.

The raven-haired beauty flicked the remaining portion of her cigarette, it falling in front of Jasmine. Without thought, she stepped on the glowing ember to extinguish it.

“How safety conscious of you.” the beauty purred with a smirk. She started walking away, the clip clop of her heels bouncing off the building behind Jasmine. “Until next time.” she looked back over her shoulder with a sensual and mischievous look at Jasmine. “Soon.”

His skin began to glow and radiate light, dread locks became beams of light from his head, and his eyes shined like diamonds. His mouth opened and a song you’d imagine was sung by angels came flowing out, but his mouth wasn’t moving, it was just open like a speaker projecting this ethereal sound. Jasmine would have thought that’s impossible, but after the things she had seen, she just sat back as Arniel instructed her to, awaiting the conclusion of this ritual.

To her this is what she imagined seeing angels must have been like. Perhaps that’s what people in the Bible days saw, not angels, but Elves doing this. She considered that this seemed to be an awful lot of work for a tear. Couldn’t he just fake cry, or stub his toe or something like that?

There were so many things in this world that didn’t seem to apply in her world, so many words that didn’t mean the same thing, or didn’t provide the same response. In a way this made her happy, or at least contended and satisfied that she was able to experience something so unique to her life thus far.

The vial glowed, a soft iridescent radiance that didn’t settle on a single color; it felt warm in her hands, and she wasn’t sure if that would cool down like a cup of tea might, or if it had magical properties so always stayed warm. It was fun to imagine that, and why not? It was the tear of an elf, fresh from the source. She looked over at Arniel and could see he was spent, panting and unfocused.

Without releasing the vial from her hand, she went to him. “Are you alright? Does that hurt you?” She was genuinely concerned, and glowing and singing like that might have caused him some pain. Or maybe it was equivalent to having an orgasm, I mean the after effects are similar.

“No, no. I’m just tired. It’s not painful at all, rather a bit enjoyable.” He replied, not even attempting to modernize his speech. He gave that up soon after their introduction.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Actually, before you go, can I ask you to pass something along to Pierre?” His brow was glistening, though no longer glowing and ethereal.

“Yes, of course.” She replied. She wasn’t about to deny him anything, he helped her in a way she never expected.

Arniel reached into his vest and pulled out a small, well-worn leather pouch. It was a rich chocolate color with faded patches where the color had worn away a bit. He placed it in Jasmine’s hands and looked her in the eyes, his were intense and mournful. “Please tell him that I’ve never forgotten, that I think about that day each morning, and hope he does as well.” Jasmine nodded and took the pouch, feeling a bit embarrassed that he would give her something with such an intimate message to share.

Jasmine felt the pouch, it felt like a few small items were inside. Her curiosity wanted her to peek in, but her exposure in this world had taught her that ignorance wasn’t just bliss, it could mean survival.

It occurred to her that this rich world she lived in, where she could smell the jasmine vining up the walls, and feel the warmth and heat of the sun occurred while everyone sleeps. Her dreamscapes were more fanciful and fulfilling than her humdrum life, and she needed it. Some part of her knew there were answers in these moments, that they weren’t simply dreams, but a map.

The labyrinth remained the same as always, the pinkish stone walls with flowering vines, the openings with benches and pergolas strategically placed, and all looking identical. On the rare occasion Erik might appear in one of those openings, providing her with wordless conversations about the desert and her quarry, it made her heart speed up, the urge to find what was hidden grew stronger in his presence, despite the niggling feeling that he wasn’t there to help her. No one since these dreams started seemed to be helping her, but everything, every part of it propelled her forward, and stoked the desire to satiate her knowledge of what was in the desert.

And then it happened, no longer did her feet feel the cool stones underneath, but she emerged onto hot, smooth sand, the sun brighter and more intense above. She wanted to cry. She escaped the neverending labyrinth, she could feel herself closer to the vision in her head.

Squinting in the brightness, shielding her eyes from a sun that had no tress or vines between it and herself. She felt her body heat up and begin to sweat, her breathing quickened. She looked back and saw nothing.

She had dark, tumbling hair, skin the color of bronze, gleaming, smooth and perfect, eyes black as onyx, and a face too lovely; Jasmine couldn’t stop staring. The mystery woman turned her focus on Jasmine, she felt her face heat up, yes she was blushing, but she felt warmer with that gaze upon her.

Something about the woman’s focus that felt as if it was seeping into her soul. She imagined the rays of the sun penetrating her skin, reminding her of beach days as a kid.

Immediately Jasmine could picture the day, including the bathing suit she was wearing, a mock bikini that made her feel older than her 9 years of age, and the sandcastle she built that was destroyed in seconds when a wave took it out, a tsunami to the imaginary princesses and princes. She could hear the laughter, feel the beach blanket on her cheek and she napped in the radiance of the sun.

No, wait… was it the sun? There was no sun, she wasn’t at Huntington Beach, she was in this dark, wet alley, in a city she couldn’t remember. But she felt like she wasn’t there, that she was warm and safe and cared for, and it was this mysterious woman.

The raven-haired goddess nodded to her compatriots, inso turning her gaze away from Jasmine, and she instantly felt cold and alone, a sadness consuming her, a tightening in her chest, she thought she might cry. Her elbow was gripped gently from below.

“My dear, that’s perfectly normal,” she could hear Sir Reginald’s calming velvet voice, but never removed her eyes from the woman. “She has that effect on all mortals, even you it would seem.”

Jasmine began to register that words were being said to her, “I’m – I’m sorry?” she said, shaking off what felt like the lethargy of a sleeping pill.

“Ana, my dear,” Reginald indicated his head in the direction of the source of warmth.

“Ana?” Jasmine said, still stunned and groggy.

“Yes, Jasmine,” Reginald trying to be more forceful, “Ana… the djin. The immortal goddess of infinite power.” His voice was a forced whisper, that never seems to be actually quiet.

Jasmine shook her head, feeling the cobwebs break apart and her conscience returning. The dark alley returned, the sounds of cars and shuffling feet in the city got louder, and Jasmine felt an emptiness, and a longing for Ana to return her focus, providing that sense of warmth once again.

Reginald took Jasmine’s arm and led them out of the alley, and she accepted that this melancholy was now a part of her.

An excerpt from an upcoming novel….

According to Google maps the mass of trees should not have been there, smack dab in the middle of a barren desert, close enough to see the glow of Las Vegas debauchery, yet there it was, out of place. Jasmine had learned that unnatural things often meant magick was afoot. So off she went, venturing her way through the dense and moist foliage thick from years of growth.

Uncertain of the hours she passed walking, her body ached, the blisters rubbed painfully in her boots, but she refused to slow or resign. She had come too far in this world, no longer willing to cling to the bland and safe existence she had lived until a few short weeks ago, when she first learned the signs of magick, The air of this impossible forest made her certain a witch or something greater must be near, so despite the pain, she pressed on.

Faint blue lights streaked through holes in tightly packed greenery. Hacking at the shrubbery to augment the spaces, she finally saw it. A flat opening surrounded by massive trees bending over a small unassuming house nestled in the center. It was quaint and somewhat square, covered in large gray rocks and pebbles stacked crookedly forming an imperfect but enchanting house with a thatched roof and chimney peeking out above. It was the quintessential witch’s house.

The blue glow came from luminous apparitions in the sky, floating and flying around the dwelling; one to the chimney, a few to the windows, soaring in a circular pattern flowing synchronously like a school of fish working together in majestic harmony, and It was hypnotic.

Jasmine found her body swaying with the rhythm of the specters, hearing, and feeling a soothing musical hum of connectivity. An invisible string was tugging from her core, trying to lift her from the ground, singing directly to her essence.

Fear prickled her skin urging her to fight, to remain tethered to the earth. She physically reached out to grip the thick branches nearby in a vain attempt to hold on to terra firma. The sound of the musical humming grew more intense, drawing Jasmine’s focus back to the swirling luminescence, as the apparitions sped up melting into a smooth glass-like forcefield surrounding the building protectively. The spectacular sight intensified the pull towards it, luring her in with its siren song. 

She felt a part of her flying, watching the entire scene from above. Her spirit abandoning her to join the dance. It could look down and see there was desolate land, a moat of cracked dirt surrounding the lush forest of trees, the crooked stony house in the center of the opening, the pale blue dome of light, containing symbols burned into every surface of the building; various runes and pictograms from multiple cultures; Nordic runes, Egyptian hieroglyphs, and so many others she couldn’t identify. They sang to her, tempting her body to join her spirit, and release herself completely.

Fizzling and crackling, the dome lost its smoothness, evaporating into the space above as if was never there.

Her spirit crashed down to earth. She was breathless and alone, the forest eerily silent. Her mind reeled with thoughts of the incandescent glow.  The symbols so clear in her mind, their absence leaving an emptiness inside her.

The uncanny silence broken by trees swaying and singing with a fresh breeze. She looked at the house, its stones bland and gray, but it sang with the trees, a song calling to her center, encouraging her to push back any fear and simply feel with her whole being freely and openly.

This frightened her more than anything this world had yet presented.

She could feel a deep chasm inside of her bubbling and boiling awakened by the symbols’ song. Was it darkness? light? Mere water that would evaporate into steam once released?

Once again she wondered who she was, who she had become through a lifetime of being a pinball, moved and directed into different roles. A daughter, student, girlfriend, employee, wife, divorcee. So many labels that felt stuck on with post-it’s; a false permanence that carved the weak resemblance of a life.

Unable to resist the magnetic force of the song she walked towards the house, the rhythmic beating and hum of each symbol summoning her with increased ferocity, the glyphs joining into a symphony of harmony, music like she had never heard or felt before, her eyes became wet with emotion.

When she connected with the stony surface, the music became a part of her, she felt it in each cell, each raised hair on her skin; the music joined directly with that exposed chasm, beckoning to it, calling it out from the hidden space within, a pied piper luring out this cloistered part of her.

The cold stone walls burned under hot her hands as the symbols glowed vividly opening her up wider, allowing each image to be brought directly into her. Dancing with the music. the symbols flirted with that void, twirling and spinning; a ballet pas de deux of the orange glowing marks and the unseeable murky depths of her soul. With each arabesque, each rellevé, gracefully twirling deeper into her spirit.

As they further invaded, the hidden contents of the chasm slowly revealed itself, like a dance of the seven veils, stripping away the labels of her existence, discarded to the floor, forgotten and meaningless, revealing the naked truth of who she was. This wordless dance elegantly transformed Jasmine’s realization of what her life had been, of the mere existence she had shuffled through.

Silver ethereal smoke rising from that abyss within creating a formless dance of light encircling her. The soft feel of it brought a comfort and sureness that Jasmine had never recalled.

The runes and glyphs nestled themselves into every open space in that chasm, filling it like concrete filling a defunct well, making it whole.

A final rune “the warrior” laid on top burning into it, igniting a connection with all the other symbols filling that chasm and lighting it aglow, sending a shock of heat and energy reverberating through Jasmine’s body.

She could no longer feel the world around her, no earth beneath her feet, no wall under her hands. She felt light and free, floating in an ecstasy that was unfamiliar, yet intimate.

The shimmering smoke shaped into wisps white and glowing, with tendrils that reached around creating a female form.

A single sheer curl of light floated from behind the form’s back to gently caress Jasmine’s cheek. Upon touch, her body became consumed with compassion and it overwhelmed her. Tears poured down her face, it was an unfathomable beauty and grace, a feeling of profound acceptance and understanding. Jasmine then knew. She knew who she was, she understood what her role was, not just in this moment or quest, but in her life. She could clearly see the truth of each person she had met over the last few weeks, each encounter, and who was friend, who was foe, for she finally uncovered the reality of who she was.

She stepped into the faceless form, allowing it to become her, and she realized it was comfortable and right. Because It was her. She had hidden herself away deep inside, and knew why, she finally understood what had to be done, she just didn’t know how it would be possible.