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Excerpts From:
Spellfire
Collection, Vol.1: A Spellfire Christmas
===
A Statue For All
Seasons
By Mae Powers
Geo couldn’t believe what
he was waking up to. After decades of being teased during the Christmas
holiday seasons, some one was doing something to his cock other than
putting tinsel on his shaft or hanging bells on his balls. What with all
those blasted pubescent kids putting tinsel and bells all over his
granite genitals, it made his statute form look silly.
For nearly one hundred
years, Geovani “Geo” Leone McMillan hated Christmas. It was more than a
humbug feeling for him. If he could feel everything that went on around
him his curse would have been much worse. The problem was that most did
it during the December holidays, when he came awake completely for one
day out of the year – from midnight on Christmas Eve until midnight on
Christmas Day.
Geo could see everything
going on in town, during those long frustrating twenty-four hours.
Sometimes, his mind vaguely awoke, but mostly when Frightful Frieda was
around. She’d come around to taunt him sometimes over the years, until
these last two decades and now she barely glanced his way.
When she left him, he
would be awake for a few hours afterwards and see what was going on in
the paranormal country city of Spellfire. Well as long as it was in the
Spellfire Park, town square area. It lay close to the Town Hall and
Sinful Sundaes Ice Cream Shoppe, so the things that went on there often
amused him. His mind sighed. It was the only part of him that could
sense or see anything, when he awoke. His body stood frozen in marble.
And his flesh never touched ground except during the period between
Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.
When no one was in the
vicinity mentioning him, he often went back into the deep sleep in his
granite form, but if his cock was touched or the spell made him aware of
a potential curse breaker, then he came awake for brief moments.
However, unless it was the appointed time, he couldn’t get down from his
stone pedestal. He hated Christmas and horny, frustrated witches.
He heard a soft, grinding,
creaky noise. His cock stirred.
Geo looked down, more
awake now to the present situation.
He saw a woman kneeling
before him in the thick snow covered ground. Her head was bent towards
him. He heard what sounded like a muffled “mmfffmm”. Was she sucking
him?
He felt the creak in his
marble shaft this time. Her head came back and her lips puckered. She
kissed his cold cockhead and then she widened her mouth and lathered his
large mushroom shaped tip with her tongue and lips.
Well by the old bastard
bards of Ireland, she was giving him the Devil’s Kiss! And oh, he could
feel that cock of his shiver with delight in the cool air.
Cool air? Oh that hit him
and much more. The more she swallowed him into her mouth, the more his
flesh became apparent. Oh, by the ancient gods of Italian lust, he was
becoming human once more!
Her head bobbed up and
down more voraciously. The stone skin encasing his body creaked and
started dissipating like melting snow. Then she stopped.
His
cock froze in solid fleshy stiffness. No! She couldn’t stop now. NOT
yet! Oh shit, not now. He was almost … well to his thighs anyway… almost
human again.
Eid
al-F’tr
By Ann Regentin
Chapter One
The mosque in Spellfire
was an unassuming building across the street from a deli, its dome
painted a discreet mustard yellow. It housed a small, equally discreet
congregation. Although the women wore headscarves, there were no veils
or chadors, nothing that would make them stand out too much, and the men
were quick to point out that lessons offered there in the Koran
emphasized The Prophet as a man of peace. Because it was a small
community, it was also a diverse one, with people from all places and
all sects setting aside differences on the common ground of faith. They
worshipped together, studied together, played together, and took care of
each other, whether they were Suni, Shiit, Saudi Arabian, Bosnian, or
African American, good friends to each other and good, quiet neighbors
when at home.
Still, in Spellfire it was
possible, no matter where one was, if one knew just how to listen, to
hear the call to prayer.
* * * *
The early morning call
was, to Salwa, an irritation, since it woke her at least an hour before
she needed to be awake, and she often could not get back to sleep. It
made her grumpy in the morning, and she was sure it made the kids
grumpy, too, even though they hadn’t quite learned to listen for it yet.
Even worse, no matter how early she got up, the morning always ended up
in a frantic headlong rush that was a ripe breeding ground for forgotten
lunchboxes, homework and science projects, and the first morning of
Ramadan was no exception “Get your backpack,” she said to her oldest
son. “It’s time to go. Aida, finish your breakfast,” she added, glancing
back at the table.
“I don’t like toast and
Ensure,” her daughter whined. “I want cereal.”
“It’s Ramadan,” Salwa
reminded her. “You don’t get cereal until it’s over.”
“You’ve let her get too
Westernized,” said Salwa’s oldest, twelve going on thrity, who had
recently gone from the American “David” he’d insisted on in grade school
to the “Daoud” he’d been named at birth. “You should make her fast
properly.”
“You’re a terrorist,” Aida
said, drinking the last of her Ensure and making a face, “and if you
don’t stop being mean, I’ll report you.”
“Aida, that’s not even
remotely funny!” Salwa snapped, then she turned to Daoud. “She’s too
young to fast and you know it. Leave her alone and go get your
backpack.” She shoved her grumbling daughter’s lunchbox into her hands.
“You don’t have time to complain. Go to the bus stop. Now.”
“I hate Ramadan!” Aida
announced as she slid off her chair.
“Mom should beat you for
that,” Daoud said, shooting a resentful glare over his shoulder at his
mother.
“See you later, Mom,” said
Dean, Salwa’s middle child, who had eaten quickly and determinedly
through his siblings’ banter and was now halfway out the door.
“Bye,” Salwa said to their
backs, breathing a sigh of relief. Once again, her brood would make it
to the bus in time. Salwa put the younger children’s breakfast dishes
into the dishwasher, her own stomach already starting to grumble. She’d
had a bite to eat at dawn; she’d get nothing else until sunset.
Thanks to the shorter
months of the Islamic calendar, Ramadan was creeping gradually away from
Christmas, but it was still too close to what Americans called the
holiday season for Salwa’s comfort. Just as she was forced to starve
herself for a month, visions of turkey dinners with all the trimmings
were dancing across the television screen at every commercial break.
There were plans for parties, gifts to buy for both Christian and
secular friends, the inevitable questions about exactly what they
celebrated, and over and over again the sense that this was a time to
indulge. It was a harsh contrast to the austerity of Ramadan.
A
Fairy Merry
Christmas
by Anna Fallon
Chapter One
“Hey Barnesy, you ever
heard of a place called Spellfire? Says ‘ere it’s in Texas.” Scott
Robson turned the envelope over, the background decorated with what
looked like the American flag. Addressed to him; he’d never even been
out of Australia. A sticker on the back said Spellfire in fancy blue
writing and nothing more.
“Nuh.” Barry Barnes
answered without even looking up from the newspaper.
Scott held the envelope up
to the light, he couldn’t see inside. Giving it a couple of shakes next
to his ear, nothing sounded any different. He tapped it on his hand.
“Crikey, just open it,
will ya?” Barry put the paper down and shook his head.
“Yeah…” Scott always felt
wary of strange mail. “Could be one of those scam things”
“Well, it’s not gunna
bloody jump out and bite ya is it?” Barry huffed. “Jesus you’re a fairy
sometimes! Give it ‘ere.”
“Bullshit, I’m no fairy.”
Scott handed the letter
over. A fuzzy tingle rippled around his body and he reached over and
scratched his shoulder blade, the mosquito's must have been out last
night. Mozzie bites, I hate ‘em. As Barry lifted the sticker, the
itching stepped up. Scott leaned against the doorframe and rubbed
furiously.
“Fleas, mate?” Barry
chuckled.
“Shut up, Bazza.”
Scott watched his best
mate take a crisp white sheet of paper from the envelope, unfolding it
carefully. As he perused the letter, Barry shook his head.
“You lucky mongrel!” Barry
exclaimed and peered into the envelope pulling out something in a
colorful cover.
Scott stopped scratching,
“What?”
“Says you had some
relative called Virgil in this place called Spellfire and you’ve
inherited property. A bar apparently. Fuck me, Mate, you own a pub!”
“You sure?” Scott took the
letter from Barry and read the words for himself.
Dear Mr. Robson,
It is my pleasure to
inform you that, as the last living adult, male relative of Virgil
Robson, you now own the Boo Bar. This bar has proudly been owned by the
Robson family for many generations and once you prove your identity it
will pass to you.
Virgil spoke of his
Australian family, but said he had never met any of you. I have
forwarded air tickets for you and one other person. I need you here in
person for the reading of the will. If you do not attend, then the Boo
Bar will go on the market and the money to charity. Your family heritage
will be lost.
I know it is very close
to Christmas, but I was hoping you may be able to have a holiday here
while we sorted this matter out.
I look forward to your
arrival and I will meet you at the airport.
Sincerely
Jerry Normil
Attorney
Spellfire, Texas.
“Shit! Whaddya think of
that? I can’t go!” Scott felt confused. Could he just pick up and fly
off to the United States?
“Why not?” Barry asked
loudly.
“I‘ve got stuff to do and
work.” Scott defended to no avail.
“What a load of crap…Awww
poor little Scott. Scott no-friends. He’s too chicken to go on a little
trip to Texas.” Barry pouted, his bottom lip as if talking to a baby.
“Whatsa madda, Scott, no-friends, you scared of a few little cowboys?
You think they want to ride you?” Barry laughed raucously as he thrust
his pelvis back and forth and slapped his rump.
Scott laughed in spite of
himself. Bazza affected everyone like that. He was a laugh a minute with
his style of sarcastic wit. But a good bloke all the same, he’d give you
his right arm if he had to. Scott did not have a genuine reason not to
go, but it did make him nervous. Of course he would not admit that to
Bazza, no way. Aussie outback men had a reputation to upkeep.
“You knobber. Tell ya
what…dare you to come with me?” Scott knew his mate could never say no
to a dare.
“Oh yeah, you and me going
on a Christmas holiday together…yeah the blokes’ll really love that!”
“Double dare.”
“Don’t be stupid, Robbo.
I’ll knock ya block off!”
“Chicken.” Scott put his
hands under his armpits and flapped like a chicken, clucking all the
while.
Right Man, Wrong Time
by Jane Carver
“Why can’t you ever do
things ahead of time, Butch?” Sunny Cassidy leaned next to the open
second story window so her brother could hear her better. A chill
December wind blew in and sent a shiver down her back.
“Listen, Sundance, we’re
doing just fine. These decorations will be up in no time.”
“Yeah, right.” She imagined her brother and
his new friend on the rooftop, putting up Christmas lights and
decorations. With a brisk wind and a temperature hovering in the high
30s, she didn’t envy them the chore.
“You and what’s-his-name
should have started a couple of weeks ago.” She leaned out again, to
stop the comment her brother would make. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s
rained the last two weekends. Two days before Christmas, though, is
cutting it close. You’re going to break your neck. And give me gray
hairs.”
She turned away from the
window to admire her image in the full-length mirror. Not a gray hair to
be seen. Five-foot eight of lush curves and full breasts fit like a
glove in a late-19th century dress. Green-flowered velour
complemented her grass-green eyes and copper-colored lashes. She leaned
over to wipe the bridge of her nose. “Dang, I wish those stupid freckles
would go away.” Along with her red hair and green eyes, she inherited a
faint glow of fairy dust, her mother’s name for freckles.
Back at the window, she
called Butch one last time. “Are you going to make it in time for the
Texas Western Christmas Celebration? Mary Sims will miss you if you
don’t come.” She knew that would get him. He detested Mary. Would he
rather hear this? “Oh, by the way, Alice Garrett asked about you the
other day. Said she’d be at the kissing booth from five until closing.”
She counted under her
breath, but got no further than six, before she heard someone scramble
to the edge of the roof.
“Alice asked about me?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you think, Tommy?” Butch consulted
his new friend. The other man answered too low for Sunny to hear.
“Tommy said we can
probably make it, if we only do the lights today. We’ll put up the other
decorations tomorrow.” Butch scrambled up the steep roof. Sunny heard
the scraping sounds on the shingles. A loose board, used to hold the
roof’s garland, sailed past the window and buried itself in the front
yard’s soft grass.
“Hey, watch it up there,
you two. Someone could get hurt.”
“’kay,” drifted back as
she picked up the caba, a small handbag that matched her outfit.
“Just like a school marm
or one of those hair-brained women who left home and hearth to traipse
over the prairie, following some man.” Sunny made no bones about women
who were “TSTL”—too stupid to live. She wrote novels and killed off
female characters that went into dark basements, with just a flashlight,
when they knew a murderer waited there.
She tucked her brilliant
red hair, rolled at the back of her head, under the poke bonnet. Her
pelisse, an ankle-length coat with short attached cape, lay across the
foot of the bed. Her research into clothing styles of the 1800s produced
great results, she thought. The pelisse might look severe in all black,
but dark green stitching across the bodice and the forest green silk
lining, peeking out from underneath the cape, relieved the starkness.
One last check in the mirror: green bonnet with a purple feather, dress
with bustle, pelisse to ward off the cold, kid-leather gloves, the small
caba attached to her wrist with a strap, and her balmorals—those
laced-up shoes inspired by England’s Queen Victoria.
“Ready to knock ‘em dead
at the celebration,” she said to her mirrored image with a grin. An icy
blast of air from the window reminded her to close it before she left.
Never quiet, she clattered
down the stairs; her sturdy shoes made sharp clicks on each step. “Mom,
I’m gone. I’m meeting Alison at the cake booth.”
Clarice Cassidy stuck her
head out of the kitchen door and waved. “Bye, dear. Your dad and I will
be there when he gets home. Got called out for an emergency at Riker’s
horse farm.”
Her skirt held in one hand
so she wouldn’t trip, Sunny made her way down the front steps and headed
to her car. “Shoot, that guy parked his car behind me.”
“Butch.” She didn’t see
the guys on the front side of the roof so called louder. Heavy clouds,
dark with possible rain, rolled beyond the roofline. Wonder if it
will snow. That would be so cool, but it never snows around here for
Christmas. Wrong part of Texas.
Deseos Navideño,
Christmas Desires
by Ravyn Reccio
Chapter
One
The
beauty of the sun setting became the hardest thing to give up. The
nightly ritual of watching the sunset started with her husband. Even
after his death she continued, promising him she would not stop. She
found strength within herself not to look back, not allow hurt to
overcome her. She hid the pain of losing her husband, Carlos, of twenty
years to cancer. From the deepest part of her soul, the pain washed out
while swimming. This she would miss once she moved to Spellfire, Texas.
She alone made the decision to move from
Puerto Rico to Spellfire. So many changes to come; a whole new
beginning, learning to live life without her husband and getting to know
herself once more. Raquel would finally live the life she always dreamed
of having; opening a Spanish restaurant. Her younger cousin, Juliana
Baez, constantly pestered her to move to the States. Juliana planted a
small seed of the idea in Raquel’s head long before her husband died.
Raquel had mourned his passing for over five years now.
A soft breeze of night air whisked
through her flowing red hair. Palm trees’ leaves crackled and swayed
against the gentle wind. Raquel watched her very last sunset on the
beach of her hometown, Arecibo, Puerto Rico. The white sands and
crystal-clear water called out to a special part of her at sundown.
Every night, from her earliest memories, she would come down to the
beach at sundown and swim. It seemed those swims lasted an eternity.
Ripples of incoming tide move closer to her toes.
She often sat on the rocks, combing out
her hair while she looked into the mirror. Her mirror’s polished silvery
surface, reflective of the sea. The rounded shape and luminescence
connected with the orb of the moon that controlled the sea. The ancient
sea legend stated that once you look into a mermaid’s mirror, one could
see his or her true self, which explained how Carlos came to fall madly
in love with Raquel, accepting her for who she really was.
Raquel was descended from the line of
the great sea god Poseidon. Her grandfather was one of the youngest sons
of the mighty sea lord, and founded a coven of merfolk off the shores of
Puerto Rico. Many pirates visited a tavern that Raquel’s grandparents
built there, to make Raquel’s grandmother happy, her being human and
all. Her own mother was half mer-person, half human, while her father
was all merman. Still, as unusual as it looked, her mother and father
raised her and her many brothers and sisters Catholic, as were her many
cousins of both merfolk and human kin.
Carlos first saw her one night while out
on his fishing boat. He thought what he envisioned to be a dream, Raquel
realized, but it wasn’t. Raquel glanced at him from across the rocks
where she sat, at the time. She swam over to him, falling immediately in
love with him.
Her family at first appeared very
reluctant in giving them their blessings, but in time, they did. Raquel
prayed that he would see the great love they shared. A true love that
would make her the happiest she had ever been. Carlos being a man of his
word and a noble soul, gave his word to his father-in- law that he would
love her, never mistreating her. He allowed her the freedom to return to
her home in the sea whenever she wanted. This pleased her father very
much, who then in turn granted Carlos his heart’s desire when he chose
it.
Being a mermaid, Raquel possessed
abilities to predict and control storms as well as foretell the future
events. Even before marrying Carlos, she knew the marriage would not
last forever. Merfolk and mortal marriages normally didn’t last long,
though she promised him, for the time they had together, she would make
him a very happy man. Carlos promised that, when his time came, he would
release her from her bonds to him, returning her back to the sea.
During the twenty years she lived with
him as his wife, not once did she have any regrets. They lived a very
happy and fulfilled life together. They did a lot of traveling back and
forth to Spain. Carlos took ill on the night their eighteenth wedding
anniversary. They spent the last two years of his life fighting a long,
drawn-out battle with cancer.
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