As many of you know, I've got a series in production that I refer to as Etudes in C#. Book 1 (TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES is finished and I'm seeking representation and publication. Call me.) Book 2 and Book 3 have both been started and I've written a companion short. The rest of the series is in outline form. While my daughter is home on Christmas break I'm letting this project breathe...but I had an idea of tying in this challenge with that world. What follows is a prequel of sorts following Catherine Sharp and Marius on one of their earlier tasks for Eris. At exactly 1000 words, I give you the rough cut of "Belize Navidad ". Thank you for reading.
Also, as it is Christmas Eve Eve, I will be going radio silent here on the blog to spend time with family for the next few days. Whatever you celebrate--Christmas, Hannukah, Kwanza, Festivus, Giftmas or something else entirely--I wish you the best of days and brightest of blessings. Boomdeyada and Nerdmaste!
Belize Navidad
by Jamie Wyman
“I
can’t believe this,” I groaned. “It’s Christmas Eve. On the other side of that
wall there are beaches with sugary sand and gin clear water. Pool boys just
waiting to bring me fruity drinks with little umbrellas in them. And here I am
stuck with you.”
I
glared across the cell at Marius. His long hair hung in charcoal waves around
that smug bastard face. His moustache and goatee twitched as he sneered.
“Oh,
you think this is how I’d choose to spend a holiday? Trapped with a prude like
you? Not even a drop of wine to make you the slightest bit more interesting.
And of course on that beach there are the bikinis to talk about. Thongs,
Catherine! I’m missing nubile women of loose morals in thongs!” He let his head
fall back. “This, Miss Sharp, is hell.”
“Are
all satyrs drama queens or is it just you?” I asked.
His
lip curled in disdain as he turned away from me. There wasn’t much space to
maneuver in this bulbous prison, but Marius did his best to draw up his
human-looking legs and fit into the curve of the wall.
Marius
and I had been sent on a business trip of sorts. Our boss is Eris, the Greek
goddess of discord and bitchery. When she sent me to Belize
“Fucking Eris,” I
said. “She can’t give fruit baskets or a bonus check. When Eris stuffs your
stocking it makes you wish she’d handed you a bag of flaming dog shit.”
Before my eyes, a
fire appeared. In the center of the blaze, a brown paper bag curled around a
lumpy mass. I gagged at the stench. Marius jerked and stamped to put out the
fire, smearing the contents of the bag on the golden floor.
“What the bloody
hell was that for?” Marius shouted. “These shoes cost more than half a year’s
rent on that hovel you call an apartment!”
He slipped off his
shoe and began scrubbing the sole clean on my pants.
“Jesus, stop! I
didn’t do it!” I kicked him back onto his side of the sphere and let out a
frustrated growl. “Spending Christmas locked up with you and now I’ve got shit
on my jeans. Just fantastic.”
Marius tossed the
soiled shoe to the other side of the cell. “As if it’s such a chore to be near
me. At least I know how to have a good time. We wouldn’t be here if you weren’t
so work, work, work all the time.”
He may have had a
point there, but the bastard isn’t allowed to be right about anything. It’s
true, though, that if I hadn’t been so hellbent on finishing the job, the djinn
might not have woken up when we tried to steal the lamp. How was I to know
about the shrieking idols?
Miserable, I
curled into myself. “It doesn’t even feel like Christmas. I wish I had my
pajamas.”
Marius’ eyes
widened.
“What?” I asked.
He pointed a
slender finger at me. “Just how did you do that?”
I looked down to
see that my stained jeans had been replaced by my favorite pair of
red-and-black fleece jammy pants. Stunned, I muttered, “I have no idea.”
Marius’ eyes
shifted conspiratorially. To no one in particular he called, “I wish we had a
good bottle of port.”
A smile spread
across his face as a black bottle appeared between the satyr’s feet.
“Lovely,” he said.
“Now, I need a corkscrew to open it.”
Nothing happened.
“Well, bugger,” he said. “It was worth a shot.”
“Well, bugger,” he said. “It was worth a shot.”
I held up a hand.
“Wait. I wish I had a corkscrew.”
Instantly, I held
the tool.
“Oh, now this
could be fun,” I said.
“You have no
idea,” Marius leered.
Exposing the
golden apple brand on his forearm, Marius rolled up his sleeves, cracked his
knuckles and set to work. By the time he’d finished making a score of requests,
he’d filled our cell with more wine, a duck glazed with raspberry and shallot
sauce, buttered snow peas, and a shortcake trifle. Our feast presented itself
on glittering silver trays and gilt plates.
“Take some wine,”
he said filling a crystal goblet. “You might actually become bearable company.”
Though Marius had
wished for elegance, I shook my head. “This doesn’t feel like Christmas at
all.”
At my command,
strands of colored lights wound around the walls. A pumpkin pie joined the food
with a can of whipped cream, and the air filled with the sound of Bing Crosby.
“This is
Christmas?” he asked incredulously.
“Oh, wait.” With
one more wish, he wore a red Santa hat. “Perfect.”
Spying
the fluffy white ball dangling over his face, Marius rolled his eyes. “Bon
appetit.”
It’s
not every day you find yourself trapped in a genie’s lamp with a rat bastard
satyr. But, with his decadent tastes and my touches of home, Marius and I
crafted our own version of the holiday. For a little while on that one day, I
didn’t want to kill him.
When
the duck was little more than a carcass and the trifle had been reduced to
crumbs, Marius sat back swirling wine in the bottom of his glass. He muttered
something that I couldn’t quite catch. I may have been spraying whipped cream
into my mouth. “What was that?” I asked.
After
draining his port, he shook his head. “Nothing.”
I
sagged, full of yummy food and warm from the wine.
“You
know, Catherine, there is one thing missing from this gay yuletide
celebration.”
He
pointed to the ceiling. To my horror, I saw a bundle of green leaves and white
berries dangled there.
Marius smiled and
bounced his eyebrows.
“I wish we were
back in Vegas,” I said.
And just like
that, the holiday was over.
4 reactions:
ha-okay, that's funny.
I identify more with Marius. God help me, I'm a satyr.
Good story.
Thanks. :) Marius is one of my favorite characters to write. He's too fun. And he's fun to torture. :)
I like how they had a good feast before wishing themselves out of there. I was starting to think they had it pretty good, why not stay longer?
Yeah, the shitty situation turned rather nice for them. I've got WAY more than 1000 words that I want to throw into this whole thing of how they got there in the first place... all that fun stuff. Cat and Marius can only take each other in small doses... and when he starts being a lecherous satyr (or, you know normal for him) that's when she's done. So, that's why the party is over so soon.
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