Excerpt from The Eternal Pan Quest for Tink

Moonlight spilled from the cold night air into the mansion’s garden, causing the frosted dew on the ground and trees to glitter like diamond dust, a clear, chilly evening for early October. The trees were ablaze with fiery color in daylight, but at night, they were shades of frosted silvers, grays, and blacks. It was a beautiful and eerie landscape, with fog lying low like a creeping mist upon the ground.

            It made navigating the path through the scrubs to change a burnt-out bulb in the lamppost more difficult than normal. Why couldn’t he remember to do such tasks before the sun set? Age, the memory factor, doesn’t always work well nowadays. Bah! He exclaimed, bumping into the stone bench. He used it to balance while he screwed the new bulb in and pocketed the burnt one.

            Although the new bulb was installed, there wasn’t any light flooding from the lamp. He had forgotten to turn the switch on at the house. Instead, he sat on the old marble bench and hissed as the cold leached straight through his coat. The bench felt as if it were engineered to extract warmth from human buttocks with ruthless efficiency.

            “Engineered by sadists,” he muttered, shifting.

            Take it easy, old man. That’s what his doctor had told him this morning. They said he had a weak heart and gave him some pills. He wouldn’t take them. He didn’t believe in taking a bunch of pills. Doctors, he scoffed, they had a pill for everything, except old age.

            Beautiful, cold, and lonely, mused the old man sitting on the bench. Hunched over, he leaned on his cane, gazing through the wrought iron garden gate as the light of the full moon spilled through it. I’m eighty now. How did I get to be so old? 

            He shivered in the chilly air and pulled his coat collar tighter over his neck as the shadow of an owl passed over him—a harbinger of death or a reminder of the ghosts that haunted his memories? 

            Years ago, when he was a young man, laughing children filled the garden. It had felt full of magic back then, but now it just felt empty and cold. He’d outlived his children and his wife, Mora. She passed away over thirty years ago, followed shortly after by his children.

            She’d always been my sunshine and strength. How lost I feel without her. I’m nearing my end with no one by my side. I wonder, will anyone miss me?

            The owl settled on the tall iron garden gate and let out a soft whooo.

            “Now? There is no one, just you,” he told the owl as it watched him with its large, luminous eyes. 

             Then he saw it, a brief, sparkling glint deep in the ice-crusted shrubs.

            “Tink?” The name escaped before he could stop it. He snorted softly. “Wishful thinking.”

            Why now? After all these years, did I suddenly recall her? I’d forgotten about fairies and magic.

            “It’s a shame, he mused, that fairies don’t come for lost, lonely old men instead of lost boys. Fairies – it’s been ages since I considered them.”

             It’s been forever since I considered anything about my life. I never even thought about my past. I was too busy doing lawyer stuff, but what do I have to show for it?

            Looking back at the owl, he asked it. “Are they real? The fairies, I mean. Once upon a time, I believed they were. I even thought I knew one.”

            Being old and believing in magic and fairies? Thinking you once lived in a fairyland? Are those signs of dementia? Should I be locked up for my own protection?

            The owl dipped its head and turned away from him.

             I wonder, was she real or simply a tale I recounted so frequently that I accepted it as fact? No, she must have been real. My wife had faith in her, and so did the children. It’s odd, thoughts of Tink never consciously crossed my mind, yet she always lived in the back of my mind, like a beautiful, sunny, warm feeling.

             “I could use a little magic in my life now. Well, at least the warmth of it. I’m a wrinkly old man, with a weak heart, and I still believe in fairies.”

            The owl hooted again and silently flew off.

            “Guess I must be batty,” he chuckled. “I’m talking to an owl.”

            Why, after all these years, am I suddenly thinking of her?

             “Oh, Tink, were you a dream or real? Poor Tink. I was so cruel, without even realizing it. I never told you I was sorry when I left and never even tried to see you again. I was so busy being grown-up and dealing with everyday life, I never gave you a second thought. If I should find you, would you ever forgive me?”

            From across the garden came a soft, “whoooo.”

            Pete looked toward the fading sound. “Why is it we always wait until the end of our lives before we try to fix our mistakes? Fear of the almighty or relief from guilt?”

            The elderly man stood up slowly, wincing at the crackling sound his spine made as he straightened. Gazing out the wrought iron bars of the garden gate at the full moon, he came to a decision.

            “So, what if I’m crazy? I am old, but I am not dead yet. I’ll find Tink somehow and tell her I’m sorry, before my ticker gives out. No matter what happened in the past, I always believed in her in my own way. I guess I loved her, too, I just forgot to show her.”

            I can’t change my life on Earth. It’s basically done, but I still have time to address one thing from the past. Smiling now, Pete Panning slowly walked out of the garden gate, leaning heavily on his cane.

            “Crazy or not, I reckon it’s time to fix my biggest mistake.”

Excerpt from There Be Dragon

Doc. Thomas Cost stood atop a hill overlooking the excavation site. He had climbed the steep slope to get an overview of the dig site. The air was completely still, lacking any breeze on the hot and dusty hill, which grimaced at the lack of plant life, once abundant and lush. Now it was dead or dying in the graying landscape that surrounded him. It had made the task of climbing the hill tougher than it would have been normally.

It was hot and dusty on the hill. The plant life, once abundant and lush, was dead or dying in the graying landscape that surrounded him.  It was the dry season in the Amazon Basin, but this year it was exceptionally dry. The traditional winter rains had failed to fall for the past two years. Tributaries that carried the runoff to the great Amazon were now dry ditches. The mighty Amazon appeared to be a muddy stream with dying fish along its banks. It was sickening. Illegal gold mining upstream had dammed what little water. The runoff from the mines spewed contaminated runoff into what was left, poisoning the natives and wildlife alike. As I observed the destruction and rapid depletion of the environment that was being driven by greed and profiteering, I was ashamed of my part in contributing to the suffering of the indigenous people.

How low I’ve fallen! I’ve degrees in Archaeology, Paleontology, and Alethiological Methodology, and was well respected in my field until I published my damned theory on cultural splits. Almost overnight, I became the laughingstock of the archaeological society. Fellowships, grants, and teaching positions dried up along with any income opportunities. I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to working for borderline legal corporations like the Cartanzia Group. They’re paid by collectors rather instead of the government or scientists. Groups that invested in any and every profitable venture, from black marketing, illegal mining and logging, to, I suspect, drug running. It pays my salary, but I feel like a dirty bottom feeder, a failure.

The jungle might be dying from lack of rain, but the heat and humidity remained. Too humid to allow the sweat that rolled off my body to evaporate and cool me. All the sweat did was allow the dust and dirt to stick and create a greasy layer of misery on the skin. I shook my head to dislodge the sweat from my eyes and shoved the wide-brimmed hat down over my forehead to block the midday sun.

I stared angrily down at the site where sweaty, dirty ruffians were helping to pack the latest dig discoveries. “Every last one of them, profiteers that would slit each other’s throats at the first hint of an opportunity to turn a coin.” The company had hired them. “The bloody gold diggers are more interested in profit than history. Dam black marketeers would sell their grandmother without a second thought if it netted them a few dollars.” What surprised me was the number of native Indians amongst the diggers. I didn’t think that the locals would have condoned the treasure hunting of their ancestral remains, and yet, there were six of the locals mixed in with the other thugs and suspected cartel castoffs.

Why should I be surprised? I’m in the same boat. They have to eat, too. Survival comes before protecting history. But these bloody gold diggers are more interested in profit than history. Wiping the sweat from my face again, I tucked the greasy rag back into my belt. It was as dirty and wet as I was.

At night, I’d have dreams of bathing in the dying river, filled with piranha, and almost a day’s walk through the forest. The oppressive heat didn’t help my temper or the fury I felt dealing with the foreman, Louis Caldaro. The man was pushing to move on after dynamiting the site to uncover anything else of value. Wanton destruction, I steamed. How much history is lost through that man’s greedy gold-hunting practices? I’ve been stalling, hoping to slow the onslaught of destruction on other sites, but he is planning to move to another site in a day or two.

“Disgusting thief,” I grumbled, pulling my wide-brimmed hat lower to block the sun, then searched for an easier path back down to the site.

I can’t wait to finish this job. Anything of value is going to disappear into the collector’s vaults before it’s ever documented or studied. It betrays everything I believe in. Nowadays, everything’s done for profit.

 Sighing, I strode down the hill to break up the latest scuffle between the Indigenous men and the professional thugs. I can’t have them killing each other, or the company will hold me responsible.

The hill was steep, and halfway down, I slid on a pile of dying plant life. Throwing out my arms to brace myself, I nearly cut my arm open on a large protruding boulder. Cursing, I quickly shifted position and used the rock to brace against my fall. Although it appeared to be solidly embedded, the boulder shifted slightly as I gripped it.

Drying dirt and dead shrubbery slid away from its base, revealing marks etched in the surface. My fall stopped; I checked to make sure the rock wasn’t going to come loose and send me tumbling down the rest of the hill as part of a rockslide.

The rock didn’t move. I could no longer shift it when I pushed against it. Looking closer, I realized there was something carved on its base.

OH My Lord!

I stared in disbelief at the weathered marks near the foot of the rock and hastily covered the boulder with more loose dirt until it blended in with the rest of the hillside. After taking several deep breaths, I rapidly picked my way down the rest of the hill, heading for the diggers’ campsite.

I despised the foreman. Louis Caldaro was a self-made man. At one time, I knew he’d been a cop, but had turned manipulation, threats, bullying, and selling information into a profitable career. As the project foreman on the dig, Louis was in a position to profit from any firsthand information from discoveries made by others. That includes any discoveries I make. Plus, the foreman made a sizable amount from whatever he secreted away for himself.

Most of the men on the dig were Caldaro’s cronies and would do anything for money.  Whatever they found, they would take it to the foreman to sell or pay the price of disloyalty. In Louis’s book, that consisted of not getting his way or the largest share of the gold. I viewed him as a cross between a corrupt lawman and a petty dictator. His associates suspected him of murdering anyone who disagreed with him or his methods. He was the last person I wanted to know about my possible accidental discovery on the hillside.

The Djinn Dilemma

Saffron was the granddaughter of a retired Nasa astronaut, and Jennie, a former Djinn. Her mother was a normal human and never mentioned her grandmother’s extraordinary past. Facts that Saffron was totally ignorant of until she turned 21 and suddenly found herself in the middle of a Djinn Dilemma.

On my 21^st birthday, I received a visit from the Grand Vizier of the Djinn, who promptly informed me that I was now a Djinn and my powers had been activated.

What the heck was a Djinn, and what was one doing in my bedroom at midnight? I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out, so I pulled the covers over my head. I must be having a bad dream. If I ignored it, I hoped that the vision would go away. It didn’t. Instead, the blanket I had been taking refuge under floated to the ceiling, and the funny-looking man in colorful silks was still standing in my bedroom. In fact, he was scrolling through his cell phone. I was definitely dreaming. No more booze before bedtime, even if it was for a birthday celebration. I was hallucinating.

“Now then,” announced the bad dream man, “Since you are not a full blood, your powers will be limited, and of course they come with stipulations.”

I groaned and covered my face with my pillow.

” Unfortunately, they also came with a lot of stipulations,” he continued. “Regulations you will have to live with for the next one thousand years or until someone you love can love her back strong enough to wish you out of the Djinn world. In which case you would give up your powers. In addition, just like your grandmother, you will be confined to an unbreakable bottle and cast randomly to the winds of time. Whoever finds you and releases you from the bottle will be your master for three wishes, but no more. You will then return to the bottle until found and released again.”

“Go away. I need to wake up. I start my job tomorrow. I don’t need this. Shoo!”

The nightmare continued: “Do not address me as Shoo. I am Habeeb, Grand Vizier of the Djinn. Since you are not a full-blooded Djinn, your powers are limited, which is probably why you failed to recognize me. Now to the knitty-gritty. You cannot grant any wish that would change history, add more wishes, extend a mortal’s life beyond one hundred and ten years, cause them to fall in love, or cause another to die.

The mortal must agree to the conditions of this contract to use their three wishes. Breaking the contract would transform them into animals and cancel any remaining wishes while returning you to the bottle. Children who break the contract would become animals for only a day, but others would remain transformed. Once the wishes were used, you return to the bottle until another releases you. Former masters will have no control over who ends up with the bottle next. The bottle will vanish into the winds of time to be found by another. On the plus side, it’s a very nice copper red bottle. The latest model, but no cell phone service. “

Why, oh why is this happening to me?

I’d just graduated from college with a degree in history. I planned to start my working career as a history teacher, not live history through a magical life. This vizier was giving me a day to get my life in order, then my term as a Djinn would begin at midnight. He seemed to think it was a great gift, but to me it sounded like a prison sentence of a thousand years. The more I heard, the angrier I got. Scrunching my face into a grimace, I yelled. “This isn’t remotely how I plan to spend my life!”

It’s a good thing that I don’t have a boyfriend or husband at this time; it would have been an even bigger disaster. If this isn’t a dream, I need to do something quick. I can’t be a Djinn. I’m just getting started with life. My life! Not Djinn life!

The first thing I planned to do was call Grandma and give her a piece of my mind. Then I needed to extract everything I needed to know about Djinn and how my grandma had escaped her bottle. I reached for the phone, but it wasn’t on the nightside where I normally kept it.

Oh bother, I can’t even find my phone now. Clenching my fists in fury, I yelled, GRANDMA!

Jennie was relaxing in a lawn chair on the beach with a glass of fruit punch in her hand. She had her feet at the surf line and was enjoying how the water tickled her toes as the gentle waves swirled about her painted toenails before retreating into the ocean. Suddenly her granddaughter appeared in the surf before her. It startled her so much that she fell off the chair into the retreating water and spilled her drink. Shaking off the sand from her wet clothes and grabbing the glass before it floated away, she confronted the girl with an exasperated, “What the heck Saffron! I was enjoying that drink, and now it’s nothing but saltwater.”

“What,” Exclaimed the furious girl! “You’re not even surprised to see me. Do you even see me? Do you know what I am? Why grandma? Why didn’t you tell me what I was? What am I gonna do? How do I get out of this? “

“Well, I wasn’t expecting this. After all, your mother was normal. I guess it could skip generations. Hmm, I guess it did. Well, love, welcome to the world of Djinn. What do you want to know?” Jennie replied with a distracted look. “Maybe I should talk to Habeeb? He could make an exception in your case. After all, you haven’t been trained….”

Unfortunately, they also came with a lot of stipulations that she was going to have to live with for the next one thousand years or until someone she loved could love her back strong enough to wish her out of the Djinn world. In addition, she, like her grandmother, would be confined to an unbreakable bottle cast randomly to the winds of time. Whoever found her and released her from the bottle would be her master for three wishes, but no more, then she would return to the bottle until found and released again.

Since she was not a full-blooded Djinn, her powers were limited. She cannot grant any wish that would change history, add more wishes, extend a mortal’s life beyond one hundred and ten years, cause them to fall in love, or cause another to die. The mortal must agree to the conditions of this contract to use their three wishes. Breaking the contract would transform them into animals and cancel any remaining wishes while returning her to the bottle. Children who broke the contract would become animals for only a day, but others would remain transformed. Once the wishes were used, Saffron would return to the bottle until another released her. The former master would have no control over who ended up with her bottle next, as the bottle would vanish into the winds of time to be found by another.

Why, oh why was this happening to her. She had just graduated from college with a degree in history and had planned to work as a history teacher, not live history through a magical life. The vizier gave her that day to get her life in order and then her term as a Djinn would begin at midnight. He seemed to think it was a great gift but to her it was a prison sentence of a thousand years. The more she heard, the angrier she got. Her face scrunched up into a grimace. This wasn’t remotely how she planned to spend her life. It’s a good thing that she didn’t have a boyfriend or husband at this time, it would have been an even bigger disaster. If this isn’t a dream, I need to do something quick. I can’t be a Djinn. I’m just getting started with life. My life not Djinn life.

The first thing she planned to do was call grandma and give her a piece of her mind while she tried to extract everything she needed to know about Djinn and how her grandma had escaped her bottle. Oh bother, she didn’t need to use her phone now. Clenching her fists in fury, she yelled, GRANDMA!

Jennie was relaxing in a lawn chair on the beach with a glass of fruit punch in her hand. She had her feet at the surf line and was enjoying how the water tickled her feet as the gentle waves swirled about her toes before retreating into the ocean, when her granddaughter suddenly appeared in the surf before her. It startled her so much that she fell off the chair into the retreating water and spilled her drink. Shaking off the sand from her wet clothes and grabbing the glass before it floated away, she confronted the girl with an exasperated, “What the heck Saffron! I was enjoying that drink and now it’s nothing but saltwater.”

“What,” Exclaimed the furious girl! “You’re not even surprised to see me. Do you even see me? Do you know what I am? Why grandma? Why didn’t you tell me what I was? What am I gonna do? How do I get out of this? “

“Well, I wasn’t expecting this. After all your mother was normal. I guess it could skip generations. Humm, I guess it did. Well love, welcome to the world of Djinn. What do you want to know?” Jennie replied with a distracted look. “Maybe I should talk to Habeeb? He could make an exception in your case. Ater all you haven’t been trained….”

“Talk to Habeeb,” Saffron shouted! Of course, you should talk to Habeeb! Who is Habeeb? Can he get me out of this?  Wait, is he that vizier?  He’s the one who condemned me to this!”

“Calm down love, let’s go somewhere less public for this discussion,” said Jennie with a snap of her fingers.

Saffron reappeared on her grandmother’s couch in the front room with Jennie standing in front of her holding another drink. “Now don’t panic, I’ll talk to cousin Habeeb and sort this all out. After all, you are only a quarter Djinn.”

With a head shake and a blink from her grandmother the Vizier appeared playing a game on his phone. He ignored them and continued to play the game until Jennie poured her drink over his head.

“Jiminezes cousin what was that for?” exclaimed Habeeb as he tried frantically to dry off his phone. I was winning and now look at it,” he yelled as he held up the wet phone. “Why?”

” Oh, get over yourself, Jennie snapped. “Why is Saffron being recruited into the Djinn? She’s only a quarter blood and I’ve never told her about us. She wasn’t supposed to have any powers. Tony is gonna have a fit. Good thing he’s at a golf tournament. He won’t be back till late. We need to resolve this now Habeeb.”

“What’s to resolve? She’s a Djinn. Sometimes it skips a generation… or two. But you can’t undo genetics and I can’t change the rules of magic. She must serve her time until it’s up or love releases her.”