Dawn’s Escape at Dusk

I didn’t normally respond to demands, especially demands by purple-wearing, soothsaying, weirdly-named psychics.

But at this point, I was more worried than peeved by Aurora’s “request” to visit her immediately. On my cell phone just minutes earlier, an on-line newspaper bleeped a headline: “Man found dead on quest to find Hal the Huntsman treasure.” (See last week’s From Dawn to Dusk.)

Was Todd the man found dead? Perhaps Aurora/Dawn truly could “see” the answer. Continue reading

Fear of Dawn

psychic“Yes, I can help you,” she answered, “but my magic has a price. Although under the circumstances, perhaps you will be eager to pay it.”

“How do you possibly know ‘my circumstances’?” I asked the woman. My friend Lacey told me that her cousin Jennifer knew a woman who was a psychic. This “spirit goddess,” as she called herself, rented a small room in the tiny village 20 miles from my home. I deemed myself desperate enough to pay her a visit.

Perhaps “pay” was the operative word here. I didn’t expect her services for free, but… “Whatever my circumstances, what is your fee?” I asked. Continue reading

THE SWITCH

romance, flash fiction, the switchBefore further conversation, I grabbed my brown suitcase, the one Derek was still holding in his hand. “I think I’ll make the switch before we forget,” I said with a wry laugh.

Ignoring me, he tapped his finger on his forehead. “I knew I recognized you. Bob. Bob’s girlfriend.”

“Ex- girlfriend,” I interrupted quickly. (Story begins with The Wrong One and then Summertime Baggage.)

Derek continued, “At my parent’s Christmas party in Brookline. Bob and I were…” Continue reading

Summertime Baggage

dark chocolate, caramelHalfway through the third piece of chocolate, my apartment bell rang.

Too late for a UPS delivery or for a friend to stop by.

Definitely too late for Bob (see last week’s The Wrong One...).

I hit my pink-manicured finger on the speaker and asked, “Yes?” Only it sounded more like, “Yethhh?” since I was swallowing the last bit of dark chocolate caramel.

“Sloan?” a male voice inquired.  “Ms. Molly Sloan?”

I had a bad feeling about this, but I couldn’t deny the inevitable. Continue reading