As if.
Without any protest at all, she took his hand.
Heart-Shaped Box of Memories
By Nicole Luiken
The first fan mail confused the heck out of Brooke.
Dear Brooke (I know I should probably call you Ms. Harper, but I feel like if we met we'd be friends):
I just wanted to thank you so much for sharing your Perfect Date with me. Valentine's Day has been a low spot for me in recent years (I'm a widow). I picked your chocolate on a whim and it was so sweet! It brought tears (of joy!) to my eyes and has buoyed my sagging belief in True Love.
Wishing you and Jon many years of happiness,
Trudy Dorrheimer
Brooke wrinkled up her nose. She couldn't remember ever being in a movie called Perfect Date or even a Valentine's movie of any sort. Ms. Dorrheimer must have confused her with someone else. She deleted the message.
The next day there were nine more, all in a similar theme, thanking her and congratulating her on finding True Love. The next day there were 600.
Brooke stormed into her agent's office, waving a handful of print-outs. "Avery, what is this? Did you sell some subsidiary rights I'm not aware of?"
He barely glanced at the papers. "Brooke, darling, perfect timing! I just got a call. Paramount wants to make a romance starring you. The script is still in development, but they're very excited about it."
Her jaw dropped open. All thoughts of the weird emails flew from her head. She'd had a few lead roles before-seven years ago, to be truthful-but those had been hard-fought auditions. Apparently, she was more girl-next-door than Steamy Seductress. She'd never been courted before. "That's-that's fabulous. Tell me more."
"It's called Perfect Date, and they're trying to get Jake Gyllenhal as the male lead."
Her euphoria crashed to a halt. "Perfect Date?" That was the name mentioned in the weird emails. "Avery, stop. Something strange is going on. Do you know anything about this?" She handed him the print-outs.
He rolled his eyes in impatience, skim read one, then stopped and read three more with a more serious expression. "I don't know what this is. It sounds like someone has infringed on your rights. I will look into this-but Brooke, regardless, the Paramount offer could be your big break."
Brooke nodded, but worry tainted her earlier happiness.
At their next meeting, Avery was missing his normally jovial smile, his mouth set in a thin line. He shoved a heart-shaped box across the table. "It's being marketed like a box of chocolates, but it's actually downloadable memories. Yours is Perfect Date Caramel. Unfortunately, I don't think it's actionable. It's not your memory. Everything is seen from the point of view of your date."
The bottom dropped out of her stomach. "Is there? nudity?"
He shook his head. "It's just a date. A romantic one," he added.
"Who?" she asked. Several of the emails had referred to Jon or John. While she knew a number of Johns and two Jonathans, one of whom was a close friend, she'd never dated any of them. How memorable could the date have been if she didn't even remember the guy?
Avery shrugged. "The memories don't have names credited to them, not even yours. I'm trying to get names from the company so we can sue, but we're stalled in legal limbo. Your hair is caramel-tinted and short, the way you wore it in Flesh and Spirit. You need to view the memory, Brooke. Give me a name so we can sue his ass." He pushed the heart-shaped box across the table at her.
With great reluctance she took it.
The memory chocolate gave Brooke severe indigestion.
She remembered that sweet red-and-white polka dot dress. She remembered getting slightly buzzed on wine, but more intoxicated on his attention. She remembered kicking off her white sandals and running hand in hand on the beach, though she had no idea she'd looked so starry-eyed. God help her, she'd thought she was sophisticated back then, but her emotions were written on her face. She'd been so in love with him. But his name wasn't Jon or John, it was Conrad Whitten. Her co-star back in Flesh in Spirit.
And he'd turned out to be such a jerk. He'd slept with her that night and sneered at her in the morning. She remembered the pity in the cameraman's eyes when she'd made a fool of herself on set by daring to act as if they were a couple.
After Conrad Whitten, she'd learned to guard her heart. She let friends in, dates not so much.
Her throat swelled with emotion, choking her. How dare he? How dare he stomp on her heart and then make a cheap profit off of it? She started to reach for the phone, then stilled. Conrad Whitten was pulling down millions a movie as an action hero. Why would he sell this?
She watched it a second time and spotted some discrepancies. Like she'd only danced a slow song with Conrad, not a fast one.
And then she remembered: it had been a double date. She'd gone with her friend Kerri, who turned out to not be a very good friend at all, sleeping with Conrad a week later. And Kerri's date had been-
The phone rang. It was Avery. "Some interesting news. The Perfect Date Caramel has been withdrawn. Apparently the owner of the memory is also suing-though I still don't have a name. He claims it was stolen from his private collection and that it's a fantasy. Brooke, I know you're upset about this, but as long as we have a disclaimer that it never happened, I'm not sure pulling it is the best move for us. This is generating a lot of publicity. If it fades, Paramount may not green light the movie project."
Brooke wasn't listening. "I'll think about it, Avery. Good night."
Brooke rang the doorbell of Jonathan's condo. How many times had she come here bearing pizza for a movie marathon or script reading fest? How many times had she cried on his shoulder after a bad date? Kerri had turned out to be no friend, but Jonathan had become her best bud. He was sweet and funny and cute in a bookish way.
Jonathan opened the door, his expression wary. "Hi, Brooke. What's up?" But he was a cameraman, not an actor, and she could see the panic behind his eyes.
She asked him flat out. "Jonathan, are you in love with me?" Her knees were shaking.
He didn't lie. In fact his shoulders straightened like a burden had been lifted. "Yes. For years. I'm sorry-"
"Shut up." She went up on tiptoe and kissed him until he stopped talking and kissed her back.
Fade to black.
Dear Trudy,
Thank you so much for your email. I'm glad the memory of our first date gave you joy, and I wanted to let you know that True Love is out there-even if sometimes it takes some of us a while to find it.
Best wishes,
Brooke and Jonathan
The Silver Prison
By Shona Husk
It had taken him close to a century to tack down the damn box. A century of stalking witches and making sure they didn't trap him too. But now he was close he could almost smell the magic. He dragged his captive forward. She mumbled against the gag he'd shoved into her mouth, and while the rope cut into her wrists, the pain wouldn't worry her for much longer.
The witch who was supposed to be guarding the box was out at her coven meeting. Her cat hissed at him, but when he hissed back, it skulked away to hide in the shadows. He didn't need to turn on any lights to see where he was going. The box up was upstairs on the dressing table. Hidden in plain sight.
A stupid move, really, considering he knew what the silver box looked like and had been scrying for it for decades. Previous witches in charge of its safekeeping had kept it wrapped and in boxes, handing it over while masked so he never saw their faces. It was hard to track something when he didn't have a clue about where it could be. But this witch either didn't know what was inside or they'd made a box for him and this was a trap.
After stalking the witch in the real world, the astral and online, he was sure it was the former. She was less witch and more wanna-be.
The college girl he'd kidnapped struggled against him. He shoved her up the stairs and down the hallway to the bedroom. He paused in the doorway for a moment.
Perfect. Just as he'd see
n in the bowl of blood, the box sat on the dressing table. The box was shielded from simpler scrying methods such as water and crystal balls. Did the witches really think that he wouldn't stoop to using blood? He'd lost track of the number of people he'd almost killed to find the box.
The silver, heart-shaped box glinted in the moonlight. It was truly a beautiful prison. The woman kicked him in the shins in a futile attempt to get free. He grabbed her hair and growled, revealing his mouth full of fangs. Her angry mumbles became a smothered whimper. No doubt she'd never seen a demon in the flesh.
He ran his knuckles down her cheek and her eyes widened. He'd picked her because she was very pretty. She'd also been very willing to accept his offer of a lift home after a few drinks. He could be a perfect gentleman if he chose or lust incarnate.
When he pulled the knife from his pocket and flipped the blade, all color faded from her skin. She shook her head and her mumbles became more pleading. He couldn't stand whiny women, but he needed her alive.
"Shut up and pick up the box." He hoped it wasn't booby-trapped. He didn't want to have to find another woman.
The woman complied, her hands shaking. The silver heart box fitted in the palms of her cupped hands. For a moment he hesitated. It had been so long. The witches who'd made this prison had paid with their lives-he'd made sure of it.
"Open the lid." He knew he wouldn't be able to open it. It was warded against anything that wasn't human. The witches who'd set the trap had been far more knowledgeable than the ones currently in charge.
The woman shook as she struggled to get the lid off. He almost considered cutting the rope binding her hands just to speed up the process. Then the silver lid popped off and fell on the floor with a muffled thunk.
Inside was a cloth poppet bound in a nest of spider's silk. The white cotton cloth heart had been personalized with a piece of golden hair and stained with blood. It pulsed, making the web tremble. A black spider the size of a fingernail crawled from underneath and sat on the fabric.
He smiled. "Hello, lover. I've brought you a new body."
The Knowing and the Myst
By Danube Adele
"I know you're there."
Bryland said this casually, the deep timbre of his voice giving me those warm, swirling tingles in my tummy. He donned his shirt over his sweaty chest. I pursed my lips with pouty displeasure. One of my favorite activities was sitting up on a leaf in the old oak tree closest to his home and spying on him. It was a plus if his shirt was off.
I wasn't going to lie. I loved looking at his big man muscles. He was tall and broad, his dark hair tied back at his nape, and with a presence that commanded the respect of those from his village, Tregarsby.
"You aren't very subtle." He grinned, leaning his ax against the bottom of my tree and pausing, as though waiting for a response. Strange.
Who was he talking to? I did a curious scan of the immediate forest. No one was on the path. There was no other cottage for several miles. Was someone in the house?
"I'm talking to you, little sprite." He smiled warmly, reaching to put a hand on the trunk of my tree. A faint blue light glowed under his palm. "I can't see you, but I can feel you." He closed his eyes and sudden warmth pulsed through the tree surrounding me.
Mother of the forest, he was talking to me! My heart fluttered. Escape? I pushed off my comfy seat to hover above it, but he opened his sparkling, green eyes and turned a wolfish grin my direction.
"I've surprised you."
That was an understatement. It was unheard of for anyone of the Myst to be discovered by those of the Knowing, or anyone else for that matter. How in the worlds had he done it? Apprehension began to stir. This was unacceptable within the Myst community. We weren't supposed to show ourselves to anyone. Ever. There were horrific consequences for such actions.
He frowned. "Don't be afraid, sprite. I'm not sure of your exact words, but I can feel you're worried."
Yes, I was worried. This was wrong. Very wrong.
"I've enjoyed feeling your presence. It's given me comfort. I'm sure you've heard talk of coming war. The Vieshins are in preparation."
We'd heard rumor, but the Myst didn't involve themselves in the affairs of the humans. We'd seen many battles over time, and this one would not be the last, but it would likely weave threads of destruction that would be devastating to the forest. We were nurturers. Healers. Helping the forest grow was our primary job. We would have much to do after the battle with repairing the forest. There would also be human death.
A sense of anxiety washed over me.
Could Bryland be killed in the coming battle? The Knowing were strong and skilled warriors and many had mastery of their blue magic. But even if they won, some might die.
"Don't worry, little sprite. We'll be fine. Guards are posted all over the forest. We'll know the moment they come."
At least that was something. There was nothing the Myst could do in any case, and besides, we tended not to become involved in human matters. Feeling a sense of heaviness, I realized this was more time than I'd ever spent spying. I had work to do.
"You're leaving." He seemed disappointed. "I understand. I thank you for listening."
I didn't know what to say, or if he'd even be able to interpret my thoughts, so I left. I spent the rest of the day mysting through my trees, creating the life-giving nutrients to spread within their veins and deep into their roots, accepting their thanks and feeling their renewal of strength and growth; however, a feeling of dread held me in a strong grip by the end of the day.
"Eadaya! Come quickly to the West Valley!" My sister Harine sent her message on a breeze. I could hear the urgency. Mysting to her at nearly the speed of sound, I covered hundreds of miles quickly and found her deep within the crevice of two boulders on the edge of a human encampment. A campfire was melting metals into the shape of a strange looking harness.
"They have strange winged creatures." Harine looked to me with fearful eyes. "Look."
Penned across the way were enormous, half-grown humans covered in scales, with reptilian-skinned wings that looked to span twenty feet. More than a dozen were chained together. When had they come?
"I heard the humans talking. They plan to drop liquid fire and burn the forest within the in a matter of days."
"Oh no!" I thought of Bryland. They would expect an attack from the ground, not the sky. They would all die for certain. "You need to find the Council of Elders."
"I told them. They said not to interfere, but that doesn't seem right."
"No. It doesn't."
"Eadaya?"
My sister called after me as I mysted through the forest faster than I ever had before. I went straight to Bryland's home, but found it empty. Where would he be? The village? I knew where it was.
Only a few moments later, I was there, weaving undetected through people, between the buildings, and within village stores, trying to catch sight of him. He was on a training field not far beyond the village's boundaries wearing breeches and a wielding a large sword.
He felt me immediately. A look of concern touched his face as he turned in my general direction.
"Little sprite?"
"Who are you talking to, Bry? Did I knock your senses loose just now?" His sparring partner chuckled, but frowned, not having any sense of my presence.
I tried to tell him about the attack, but Bryland only shook his head, frustrated.
"I can feel your fear, but I don't know what you're saying."
Panic fueled my determination. There was only one thing left to do. I would need to morph into form on the human plane so he could see and hear me. However, stepping through the myst might mean never again being able to return.
I couldn't let him be murdered. Concentrating on the film between my world and his, I created the light, and it enveloped me. Sticking my hands out, I pulled the film apart, tearing it, and stepped through one foot at a time into the cold air. Unused to the weight of the world, I fell weakly to the
ground, my long black hair covering most of my pale, naked body, and looked up, gasping for breath.
All of the men were speechless.
"The Vieshins created flying creatures," I said with a soft, shaky voice. I'd never used it before. "They plan to pour fire from the sky." The energy it took to move so quickly through the forest and undergo change from one dimensional plane to another drained me. I could only put my head down as darkness blacked out the world.
Bryland was watching over me when next I woke. I rested on a bed, likely at his house, with a sheet pulled over me. His expression was one of no nonsense as he captured my eyes, refusing to let me look away for a moment, but something he was holding caught my attention. It was a heart-shaped box he was pulling apart. Two small stones, soft and pearlescent, spilled into the palm of his hand.
"What is that?" I asked faintly.
"A conduit, from my heart to yours. It will give you energy to heal. It will also allow you to know my thoughts, and for me to know yours. Is that all right?"
I hesitated.
"With war coming, we need to be able to communicate." His green eyes were piercing with their intensity. "We can help each other."
I realized it was for the best and nodded.
Holding one of the stones over his heart, it came alive, turning into blue light and sinking harmlessly beneath his skin. Holding the second stone over my breast, I saw his hand glow a light blue before the heat of the stone sank through me.
"A time of reckoning has come."
The Shape of His Heart
by Jane Kindred
It was an extravagance. She insisted she didn't need a gift. It was the same every year, and every year, he ignored her, presenting her with trinkets, dainties, and posies, which she accepted with grace, chastising him gently. And every year, his gifts were piled with the others from her many admirers and instantly forgotten. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the gesture; she did say repeatedly, after all, that she didn't need the gifts he insisted on giving. But the queen had many admirers, all of whom ignored her wishes on the matter.