M³ Devilish Origin

            Not only could devils have sex and children, they did so all the freaking time. What can I say, they were horny (rimshot). The same asceticism that turned angels into beings incapable of sex hypersexualized the devils and demons. Copulation with devils and demons became one of the favorite methods of denouncing anyone different.

F³ WIP Delusions of Mediocrity

            “It doesn’t work like that.”

            “And how does it work? Magic?” The scorn in Reese’s voice came through loud and clear.

            “Autopsy.”

            “What autopsy?”

M³ Angelic Origin

            So there might have been a simpler way to give Merlin power: angels. Merlin—and Arthur, for that matter—could be the son of an angel. It certainly would have simplified the entire process. Arthur’s divine mandate could come from his angelic heritage instead of from a sword in a rock.

            So why didn’t it?

F³ Security

            The security line was a couple hundred feet long, moving like a drunk caterpillar’s legs. I felt naked, too. My gun, my bullets, my knife, and even my flask were all at home. I couldn’t take them on the plane. If any of the supernatural types wanted to off me, airport security was the perfect place. But I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t very well drive to Florida. There wasn’t time before Christmas and I didn’t think my Taurus would handle the trip.

            In front of and behind me, holiday travelers talked and texted away on their phones when they didn’t have to wrangle their children into shape. I was the oddball with physical paperback books.

            “Let me guess,” Nikki interrupted. “Your precious pulp detective books?”

            “you know, you gave me grief for interrupting the story last time. I was on a roll. But, yes, I had a couple of Chandler’s best Marlowe novels. I also had some other stuff, work related.”

            “Oh? Some ancient codex of ancient mythology revealing the secrets of the universe to you?”

            “Not exactly. I had a book of fairy tales for Cassie.”

            Nikki cocked her head with a wry smile. “Isn’t she a little old for such stories?”

            “Oh, these weren’t the watered-down versions in animated movies. These were the real deal. If my Ma knew what was really in those stories, she’d freak out.”

            Nikki let out a long laugh. “Corrupting your niece. Not exactly the Christmas spirit.”

            “I know! It’s why I can’t understand Nick’s gift. Anyway, where was I?”

            “The airport.”

            “Right. So, I don’t enjoy being ‘randomly’ selected to be patted down, but it happens all the time. . . .”

M³ Thoughts on Merlin's Origin

            As a student on superhero stories (comics and movies), I appreciate a good origin story. We all want to know where the hero came from—though I thank Marvel for skipping a third version of Spidey’s origins on the big screen (please do the same for the Fantastic Four now that they’re back!).

F³ Odd Jobs

            “Mr. Reese,” Flynn intoned with all the warmth of vacuum, “explain it to me again. How is it that we are unable to trade cargo in the Consortium?”

            “You flaring listened to a flaring liar, that’s how.” Ann didn’t bother to mask the contempt from her voice. She sat at her console forward of Flynn, plotting the entry path to the moon’s atmosphere. Her dark hair hung in loose curls to her shoulders. Since there was no expectation of combat, she hadn’t bothered to braid it or put it up.

M³ Young Sir Arthur

            Book VII of Le Morte D’Arthur describes Arthur’s coronation. What’s interesting here is that he “took the sword between both his hands, and offered it upon the altar where the Archbishop was, and so was he made knight.” Most kings don’t get knighted. They’re crowned, and that’s an end to it. With Arthur, the idea of knighthood is inextricable from his character. This is not merely a king, this is a knight-king, who holds to the chivalric code, someone of divine character.

F³ Paranoia

            I was getting ready to turn in, at midnight, when I got a text from Lindsey Reese, reporter for the Belport Clarion.

            “What’s the story?”

            I dialed her number.

            “Are we really doing this over the phone?” I said, relaxing into the couch.

            “You don’t want a record of it?”