Plugs

Ken Brady’s latest story, “Walkers of the Deep Blue Sea and Sky” appears in the Exquisite Corpuscle anthology, edited by Jay Lake and Frank Wu.

Trent Walters, poetry editor at A&A, has a chapbook, Learning the Ropes, from Morpo Press.

Edd Vick’s latest story, “The Corsair and the Lady” may be found in Talebones #37.

Jonathan Wood’s story “Notes on the Dissection of an Imaginary Beetle” from Electric Velocipede 15/16 is available online.

Archive for March, 2010

Emmot’s Dream

Friday, March 12th, 2010

I had a dream last night. But Emmot did too, and hers was much stranger; Margery and Constance and I all agreed. I heard it from Emmot at noon, when Maud sent me back to Baker’s, again, for having brought home the wrong kind of bread. I was sore angry, for it’s only Maud’s fussiness that makes the bread wrong. At least this time it gave me the chance to hear Emmot’s dream.

Emmot said: “I dreamed I was in a house, like a lord’s house, only small. There was a window glass, clear as water, and outside snow was falling. But inside it was like summer, though there was never a fire or torch. And such furniture — and everywhere soft pillows.

“Then they brought out strawberries, and oranges — though it was dead winter! — and told me I might have all I wished. And oh, I haven’t said, but there were books in every room. And all the people all had gold and silver on their hands and arms.

“And then… Is this not the strangest part? I asked them who kept the rooms for them, and who did all the cooking. And they said: ‘In this house we have no servants. And everyone has gold and silver, Emmot, and books, and a warm room. And oranges in winter. Even you.’”

“Was it not a strange dream?” she said again. And we all nodded, and went away thinking; or at least I did.

As for my own dream… well, last night I dreamed that my mother was alive again, and the baby too: his face looked like Father’s. My mother laughed and said how tall I had got, and like a woman. She stroked my hair, and said: “Don’t be afraid, my Mariot: I know your secret fear, but put it aside. I shall watch over you, and be your midwife and physician at need, so you and your children will live.”

You see how commonplace it was. We all see our mothers when we’re asleep: Emmot does too, and Margery. (Constance still has her own mother. But she’s supposed to be due again in the summer, so we will see.)

My dream was not like Emmot’s. Mine was only an ordinary thing, with no mystery about it, and none of that strange feeling dreams can give you about how there could be a different world, or what things might be like otherwise. So I know there is no use thinking or talking about it any more.


The Cabal’s third anniversary is approaching, and we’re looking for help figuring out how to celebrate, so we’re holding a contest. Click here to read the details and give us your ideas!

Grain of Truth – Part One

Thursday, March 11th, 2010

Baron Samedi watches as I pour out the wine and measure the grain. He makes sure I don’t have a chance to steal some for my poor, shrunken belly; to sift through in search of something special. It’s not fair, but he knows me too well; isn’t prepared to risk the loss.

            Erzulie is different, sweeter, sloppier. She would turn a blind eye, figuring ‘What are the odds?’ Not the Baron, though.

            The other loas will be here soon. They always gather before a ceremony, to drink, eat, gamble. Their poker chips are souls.

            The humans – my people, once, before I wandered, too stupid to know better – call the loas down. Offer them food and libations – little do they know the spirits would come if offered nothing else. They hunger for the moment of possession, of stealing a physical form if only for a few minutes, a few hours, before the living body spits them out again.

            For the most part, the loas are lazy, which is why they steal away small idiots like me. I should have known better than to take the shiny beads the pretty lady dangled in front of me. But I didn’t and I’ve spent nearly thirty years trapped in the body of a nine year old.

            And I’m searching, seeking, looking for the thing that will set me free. The grain of truth they all talk about in hushed voices, the thing that will release me.

            There’s a knock at the door – the Marassa Jumeaux have arrived, the divine twins. They are children, they look like me, but I don’t play with them. Mama Bridgette lumbers up the stairs behind them and glares at me …


The Cabal’s third anniversary is approaching, and we’re looking for help figuring out how to celebrate, so we’re holding a contest. Click here to read the details and give us your ideas!

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