Immortal II: The Time of Legend

(Excerpt)

“Why are they holding them?” Karla whispered.

“It’s against the law to violate curfew!” Mark said sotto voce. The rest of the Others had climbed to the top and gathered around them: concealed for now in the shadows of the house. “They can be detained for up to two years and that’s just for starters! By the time those bastards finish with them they’ll charge them with drugs, resisting arrest and anything else they can dream up!”

“The pigs knew we were gathering here!” Joan hissed. “Maybe one of their snitches told them! They’ll use the curfew violation as an excuse to question them! But they don’t give shit about curfew! They just wanna destroy the movement!”

“The first ones to leave must’ve got away,” said Consuela, “thank the One for that!”

“We can’t just leave them!” Joseph protested.

“We’re not going to leave them, Joseph!” José whispered fiercely, “but that’s a lot a pigs – a lot of armed pigs!”

“We gotta think this through!” added Consuela.

The officers had formed a half circle around the prisoners, who were lying on the ground in groups of four. All of the peacekeepers were male and, except for one Amber and one Indigo officer, all were Fuchsia.

A beefy enforcer placed his foot on the Estella’s neck. “Who are the other agitators? Where are they?” he shouted as he ground his heel into her neck. She screamed piteously. “Where?”

The enforcer kicked the activist lying next to her. It was Keith. “Tell us!” When the youth only grunted in pain, he pulled his taser, squatted and pushed it against Keith’s temple “I’m going to splatter your brains all over this pavement! Then I’m going to kill your friends!

An officer with pitted skin touched him on the shoulder. “Hold on a second, I got an idea.” He reached down, grabbed Estella’s arm and dragged her to her feet. “Darkie,” he sneered, “but you’re a pretty little thing.”

Parco cried out and tried to stand. Another officer kicked him in the ribs. “You better stay down if you wanna live!”

The enforcer with the pitted face fondled Estella’s breasts. When she twisted away he slapped her hard and tore her uniform shirt open. “By the time we’re through with you we won’t be able to shut you up!”

Without warning, a growling fury sprinted into their midst on all fours. Thick black hair covered the creature’s face and body. Her ears were pointed and furry. Her eyes, bright yellow and outlined in black. Black talons gleamed at the ends of her fingers and toes – limbs that bore closer resemblance to a wolf’s paws.

Karla snarled, revealing wickedly pointed canines. As she neared the officer torturing Estella the lycan rose and leaped: for moments airborne, to land on his shoulders – a feat that brought gasps from enforcers and prisoners alike – squeezing his throat between her thighs.

He released Estelle… she fell to the ground and scuttled backwards on her heels, her eyes on Karla. The other prisoners scrambled out of the way.

“What the hell is that?” an enforcer shouted.

“Shoot it! Shoot it!”

They edged toward the struggling pair, tasers drawn, while the man clawed at Karla’s thighs – his face now bright red from lack of oxygen. Another werewolf his sculptured muscles covered with burnt sienna hair, loped through the queue and tackled the Indigo enforcer – the one closest to his woman – knocking the taser from his hand.

Joseph roared and jumped astride the man’s chest, his fists a blur as he struck the officer over and over again. He sprang up and clutched another in his lethal embrace – tearing the man’s flesh with his powerful jaws. Blood splattered his fur. . .

www.vjeffersandqveal.com

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Butler-Banks Tour: Griots: Sisters of the Spear

Griots: Sisters of the Spear Description
Griots: Sisters of the Spear picks up where the ground breaking Griots Anthology leaves off. Charles R. Saunders and Milton J. Davis present seventeen original and exciting Sword and Soul tales focusing on black women. Just as the Griots Anthology broke ground as the first Sword and Soul Anthology, Griots: Sisters of the Spear pays homage to the spirit, bravery and compassion of women of color. Seventeen authors and eight artists combine their skills to tell stories of bravery, love, danger and hope. The griots have returned to sing new songs, and what wonderful songs they are!

Excerpt for Griots: Sisters of the Spear

SPEARING STEREOTYPES

By Charles R. Saunders

The woman in Andrea Rushing’s evocative painting that graces the cover of Griots: Sisters of the Spear symbolizes the essence of the anthology. Although the painting is not a direct depiction of any of the characters in the stories, the spirit of this woman imbues all of them. She is a teller of truth, and a slayer of stereotypes.

As is the case with black men, black women have been subjected to invidious stereotyping for centuries in real life and fiction alike. For the most part, these characterizations have ranged from the condescending to the downright hostile – from the faithful “Mammy” of Gone with the Wind to the scornful “Sapphire” of Amos ‘n’ Andy to the degraded “Ho” made infamous in all-too-many rap-music lyrics. The fantasy-fiction genre is no exception. Until recently, black women have been either non-existent, or portrayed in ways that made absence the preferable alternative.

Real life defies the stereotypes. Throughout history, there has been no dearth of strong and courageous black women who have stood alongside – and sometimes in front of – their men and children during the course of a 500-year-long struggle against oppression in Africa, and the places in the rest of the world to which Africans were taken against their will to fuel economies with their forced labor.

A few examples: The Candace, or queen, of Kush defied the legions of ancient Rome. Queen Nzinga of Ndongo in central Africa fought to protect her people from the depredations of European slavers. Harriet Tubman risked her life to lead slaves to freedom in the years before the U.S. Civil War. Fannie Lou Hamer endured vicious physical abuse from the authorities in her non-violent quest to win basic civil rights for black Americans. Women such as these – and many more like them – stand as living contradictions to the misrepresentations that persist to this day.

So do the women in Sisters of the Spear. When Milton Davis came up with the idea of a woman-themed sequel to our first anthology, Griots, I co-signed immediately. Like Griots, Sisters of the Spear presents an opportunity to bring more black representation to a genre that’s still in need of more color. Thanks to Griots, we knew there were more than a few writers and artists of all racial persuasions who would embrace our theme of powerful black womanhood and create stories and illustrations that would be excellent by any standard.

Our expectations have been more than fulfilled. Our modern-day griots came through with – not to belabor the point – flying colors. The fictional warrior-women and sorceresses you will meet in the following pages can hold their own and then some against the barbarians and power-mad monarchs and magic-users of both genders who swing swords and cast spells in the mostly European-derived settings of modern fantasy and sword-and-sorcery. The reach of sword-and soul has expanded greatly with Sisters of the Spear.

It’s time now to allow the woman on the cover serve as your guide through the anthology. The light she carries will illuminate the truth that is always inherent in the best of fiction. And her spear will slay the stereotypes.

Look for my story The Sickness!

The Switch II: Clockwork (excerpt)

~Book 1:The Switch~
~Prologue~

Z100 stood on the tube platform waiting for the next car. She was dressed in a one-piece, white jumpsuit and thigh-high boots: standard dress for the upper city. Pods only seated three to a car, and were propelled by compressed air through tunnels that webbed across Tyrol. Access was granted through palm recognition scanners.
On her left, a Latino couple waited for the car. The man was dressed in a derby hat and striped pants with suspenders; the woman wore a bustier, and skirt with petticoats. Their musty smell reached her, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.
At least these cars are self-cleaning.
An egg-shaped pod slid to a stop in front of her. She pressed her palm against the scanner and then shot an icy glance at the couple.
They looked away. They knew better than to try to ride with her. Under dwellers were not permitted to socialize with city residents, and only ventured above ground to work. They would wait for the next car.
The hatch door lifted and she stepped inside, sitting on a cushion beside the three-inch window. The pod sped off, and Z100 gazed out the window: the rounded towers of York were a blur of beige and white. In the distance, she glimpsed the tripod mansion of the supreme leader.
The car reached her platform. Z100 stepped out of the transport tube and climbed into a waiting hover craft.
“Where to, ma’am?” a mechanical voice asked.
“Mulberry 5000.” The hover craft zoomed forward.
In minutes, Z100 had climbed out on her porch that stood miles above ground. She stood at the door of her oval-shaped condo, and placed her palm against the flat box beside the door. A laser strip slid down her palm.
There was a brief hum. “Welcome home,” her house announced.
The clear hatch lifted and she stepped inside. Z100 walked up the floating staircase to her bedroom, and undressed in front of her mirror, turning to the side so she could admire her implants.
Her honey-brown skin and thick, bobbed hair were natural. But her green eyes and full lips had cost a pretty credit—as had her 38 C breasts. Naked, Z100 twisted again to admire her waist and rounded hips, also natural, then slipped on the kimono lying across the bed.
Adjacent to the king-size bed, was a picture window with a stunning view. She walked over to it and stood for a moment looking out over the city’s multicolored lights.
“You look beautiful, Ms. Z100,” the house said in a baritone male voice, “as always. What would like for dinner?”
“Broiled fish with sea salt, green salad and white wine.”
“No dessert?”
“No.”
“Very good.”
Z100 walked down the stairs into her living room. Across from the futon and coffee table were three opaque closets. An android stood inside each one, clothed only in white trousers.
She lingered before them, choosing a dinner date. She decided on the third one, Jason, a robot with chocolate skin, exquisitely defined muscles and a nappy cap of hair.
Z100 punched in the definition codes on the curved stand beside the closet: Dinner in 20 minutes. Dress: casual. Language…
At this she hesitated. English tapes sounded so flat lately. But other dialects were worse. The tapes were recorded by under dwellers who were paid only a fraction of a credit for each one. So they were stepping on them—using the original track to produce five, even ten, more tapes.
They were given an upgrade today, but it probably won’t make any difference. To hell with it. She typed in: Language: English.
She pushed set and the android stepped jerkily out of the closet, walked past her and up the stairs. From his chip, he knew to pull male clothing from her closet and dress.
Minutes later, Jason came down the stairs and sat in the dining room alcove. Another robot began to set the table. The second one had a head with only the semblance of a nose and mouth. Beneath its pink shoulders were a metal torso and limbs.
At times, Z100 longed for a real man, but she’d never mate.
In the twenty-fifth century doing so was dangerous.
Her line of work made it even more deadly.
Tyrolean law said that women and darker peoples were second-class citizens. Women of color had the lowest rungs on this ladder. Poor whites were also assigned lower class citizenship.
Once a woman married, all of her credits became her husband’s. And forced marriages, as well as the murders of newly wedded women, were not uncommon.
Z100 had been a key player in the war that unseated the first rulers, catapulting her to the top class. Because of her role in the coup d’état she, and a handful of other female spies, were immune to these laws.
But if she were to marry this would change. Even taking a lover was risky. She’d heard of wealthy women drugged by men they were sleeping with, waking up to find themselves married. And penniless.
The overthrow of the old regime had created a class of ultra-wealthy Tyroleans. The rest became under dwellers —those who lived under the city and earned only enough for food, shelter and oxygen; like her housekeeper Simone2.
And because Z had helped to overthrow the old world, because she worked as a spy to make sure nothing changed, she was hated. She had enemies everywhere—men and women who’d cheerfully murder her to bring down the society she’d helped create.
Z100 sauntered over to her futon, sat down and pushed a button on the underside of the end table next to the couch. The top of the table flipped over, revealing the keyboard hidden underneath. She twirled the dial of her wristband to release a disc and slid it into the front of the keyboard.
Z100 tapped the play key. A holograph of a thirtyish black man appeared. This was H36 a lawyer suspected of being sympathetic to the rebels. As she looked on, the man stepped from behind his desk to meet with a client.
She sighed. God, he’s boring. She forced herself to watch for another twenty minutes. He’s clean.
Z reached over and pushed the next button on her keyboard. The image vanished and another holograph took its place: this one of an older white man. Like the target before him, T40 was dressed in tunic and slacks. But he wasn’t alone.
Z’s lips curled up in a tiny smile. This ought to be good.
She pushed pause, got up and went into the kitchen, detouring around her android butler to pour a glass of wine, then made herself comfortable on the futon once more.
As she looked on, the target unzipped his jumpsuit and pushed it down. His blond companion sauntered over to his desk, and slipped off her pants. She straddled him, curling an arm about his neck. With her other hand she unzipped her tunic to bare her plump breasts. Moans of pleasure filled Z100’s apartment.
Z100 watched them, arousal spreading down her pelvis. She cut the tape off, got up and poured herself another glass of wine. She’d planted the tiny cameras in the men’s offices. They were later retrieved by spies posing as under dweller janitors.
I should send him a holograph thanking him. I bet the rest of the tapes are nowhere near this interesting. He’s clean too. Nobody cares about him knocking off a piece of tail in his office.
“Dinner’s ready, Ms. Z100,” the house announced.
She smirked. Time for my date. She pushed the button on the underside of the desk, hiding the console. You couldn’t be too careful.
She walked over to the alcove and sat down facing Jason. The robot butler sat the plates in front of them, then two glasses for more wine. The android wouldn’t eat of course, but it would spoil the mood to have an empty place sitting in front of him.
Z100 smiled, her teeth flashing against her honey-brown skin. Her smile activated his AI chip, cuing Jason to respond to dinner conversation.
Jason blinked and shifted in his chair. “Good evening, Z100,” he said in a rich baritone. “You look lovely tonight.”
Boy, he’s good! This is one of the best I’ve heard! She made a mental note to buy from the same shop when his tape wore out.
How was your day?” she asked.
His lips spread in an amazingly human smile. “I missed you…I thought about you all day.”
Her question had stimulated a second response chip. Different questions triggered different menus. But he was still a robot—still chemically treated human skin stretched over plastic limbs.
Gazing at his ebony face, Z100 pushed herself to forget this reality and embrace the fantasy.
“We’re finishing up the senators’ profiles for the next election,” Jason went on. “But it’s all for show. They aren’t going anywhere. Citizens aren’t going to vote—not in this century.”
The android was hardwired to “believe” he was a politician. Candidates, including the supreme leader, weren’t voted in. They were appointed to lifetime terms.
Very realistic dialogue, thought Z, I am so loving this tape! Outloud she said: “You better watch your back— the rebels are waiting for a chance to gun you down.”
He flashed his gorgeous smile again. “We got enough snipers on the payroll to handle anything they throw at us. How was your day?”
Z100 gulped her wine. She felt giddy, reckless. And his brown eyes were so intense.
“How about my life story instead?” she blurted, her eyes hard and bright. “Once upon a time there was a little girl working as a courier for the most powerful man in Tyrol. Don3000 the supreme leader.”
“She was screwing him too, so she had access to his most private files. She plotted with his enemies to have him and the heads of state killed and replaced with look-a-likes.”
Z giggled hysterically. “The imposters pushed through laws to have senators appointed to lifetime terms. Then they shifted credits to a lucky few and the little girl — that would be me — became rich beyond her wildest dreams!”
“I’m still a courier. But now I’m a courier of death. One word from me,” she popped her fingers, “and that’s it. And because I’m so well liked, at the end of the day I get to eat—and screw—an android. No real man, no real love for me. Not ever. Not if I want to keep my head attached to my shoulders.”
“There endth my story.” She took another sip of her wine. What’s wrong with me? I must be drunk!
Copyright 2012 Valjeanne Jeffers all rights reserved

The Switch II: Clockwork includes books 1 and 2 and is now available!
Contact me here for purchase.
Also available at amazon and barnes and noble

Drumvoices Revue 20th Anniversary Celebration!

I’m very, very pleased to be included in this volume and to post this announcment!

FROM: Southern Illinois University Edwardsville English Department/
Eugene B. Redmond Writers Club: 618 650-3991; eredmon@siue.edu

TO: All Media, Poets & Writers, Musicians & Music Students, Visual Artists & Photographers, Citizens

May 25 in East St. Louis (IL):
“DA-DUM-DUN”: Homage to Miles, Dumas & Dunham
Combines with Book Release Party for “Drumvoices Revue”

An annual multi-arts festival in honor of three world-class creative geniuses whose expressions influenced—and were profoundly influenced by—East St. Louis (Illinois) will be held on Friday, May 25, at 6:00 p.m., in Room 2083-84 of Bldg. “B” on the SIUE-ESL Higher Education Campus, 601 J.R. Thompson Dr., East St. Louis. Included in the celebration will be a book release party for “Drumvoices Revue,” a 700-page volume co-published by the Eugene B. Redmond Writers Club and SIUE, co-sponsors of “Da-Dum-Dun”–a free family event. The 200-plus writers in “Drumvoices” range from Maya Angelou to Derek Walcott. Amiri Baraka to Andrea Wren, Gwendolyn Brooks to Richard Wright.

Miles Dewey Davis III (1926-1991), Henry Lee Dumas (1934-1968) and Katherine Dunham (1909-2006)—musician, poet-fictionist and dancer-anthropologist-choreographer, respectively—will be celebrated in music (the Bosman Twins, saxophone virtuosos); literary expression from Drumvoices “poetrees” (Pacia Anderson, Michael Castro, Roscoe “Ros” Crenshaw, Angela Cureton, Byron Lee, Susan “Spit-Fire” Lively, Charlois Lumpkin, Patricia Merritt, Treasure Shields Redmond, Mary Z. Rose, Darlene Roy (Club president), Cheryl D. S. Walker, Dr. Lena Weathers, and Jaye P. Willis); dance and percussion (Sunshine’s Community Performance Ensemble); and a multimodal exhibit (DavisDumasDunham) from the EBR/SIUE Collection. Book sales and autographing will open and follow the expo.

Born in Alton (Illinois), Davis was raised in East St. Louis, graduating from Lincoln Senior High School in 1944. That same year he joined Lincoln classmate/pianist Eugene Haynes at New York’s Julliard School of Music. As a trumpeter, composer and true “original,” he is revered across the globe as a leader and shaper of musical directions, tastes and styles. Drumvoices Revue, a multicultural journal, often honors Davis in poems and photographs.

Writer Dumas, born in Sweet Home (Arkansas) and raised in New York’s Harlem from the age of 10, taught at SIUE-ESL’s Experiment in Higher Education in 1967-68. At EHE, he mentored local poet Sherman L. Fowler and was a colleague of Redmond (EBR has been HD’s literary executor since 1968). Nobel laureate Toni Morrison called Dumas “a genius, an absolute genius.” Patron saint of the Writers Club, Dumas’ writings and photographs appear in multiple issues of Drumvoices Revue.

A Chicago area native, scholar-artist-author Dunham returned to her home state after several decades of studying, performing and teaching in more than 60 countries. Becoming an East St. Louis resident in 1967, she taught in EHE and founded the Performing Arts Training Center and namesake Dynamic Museum and Children’s Workshop. This adopted matriarch of ESL has also been the subject of several volumes of Drumvoices Revue.

Founded in 1986 and chartered by Fowler, Roy and Redmond, the 25-year-old Club meets twice monthly in ESL. Trustees are Maya Angelou, Amiri Baraka, Avery Brooks, Haki R. Madhubuti, Walter Mosley, Quincy Troupe, Jerry Ward Jr., and Lena J. Weathers. Margaret Walker Alexander (1915-1998), Gwendolyn Brooks (1917-2000), Raymond Patterson (1929-2001) and Barbara Ann Teer (1937-2008) were also trustees. For information about the Club or “Drumvoices Revue,” call 618 650-3991 or write the Club at P.O. Box 6165, East St. Louis, Illinois 62201.

To order “Drumvoices,” send an $18.00 check/money order ($15.00 + $3.00 shipping/handling) to the above address. Email: eredmon@siue.edu. The ESL-based Black River Writers Press is also a “Da-Dum-Dun” sponsor.

Grandmere’s Secret

“One by one, the loa appeared and rode their human horses. The sisters watched wide eyed as a woman fell to the ground and became a serpent, as another transformed into a growling panther…”

Grandmere Angelique was a powerful Vodoun Mambo. Her house, though ravished by Katrina, is a place of precious memories. Her granddaughters are fiercely divided over the sale of Grandmere’s old mansion. But they will soon uncover a terrifying secret that will settle all debts.

Cover art by Quinton Veal
Now at Amazon Kindle & Barnes & Noble Pubit 🙂

The Switch by Valjeanne Jeffers

Now on sale at Mocha Memoirs Press’s New Site!

http://mochamemoirspress.com/the-switch/

Dating can be deadly… On the futuristic planet Tyrol, a beautiful, black assassin searching for pleasure has her life turned inside out. Published by Mocha Memoirs Press

Immortal 3: Stealer of Souls

Available at Amazon, Amazon Kindle, Barnes and Noble & Pubit

IMMORTAL (excerpt)

1/ SPECTER

SHE was in the basement again. It was pitch black, the only
illumination a glowing, quarter moon etched into the floor.
A burst of light split the darkness, and she moaned
low in her throat.

Please, I don’t want to see anymore…I don’t want to look.

Yet her feet moved of their own volition, inching toward the
mark…and the twisted bundle now lying in its center. A man was curled
upon the stone. He wasn’t breathing, and his limbs were tiny and
withered. But she knew he wasn’t dead.

He wasn’t human.

The daemon opened his eyes. I’ve been sleeping. But for how long?

He could feel his arms and legs, but the sensations were muted as
if they’d traveled from a great distance.

Then he remembered. He’d been imprisoned – snatched from his
body by the magic that had trapped him here. Even now sleep, like a
delicious drug, threatened to overtake him. But he fought it away.
How many centuries would pass while he slept?

A doorway appeared in his mind and just beyond it, a tattered
clump of flesh and bone…

Karla’s eyes flew open – the scream caught in her throat. It’s just
a nightmare. I’m Ok. I’m here now, at home.

The Indigo woman turned her head to look at the bedroom
console. Six-thirty glowed on the screen. She scooted out of bed, picked
up a remote from the nightstand and turned off the alarm.

Karla walked across the wooden floor of her living area into a
kitchenette. A press of her fingers on the first sphere of a triangular pod
started coffee brewing.

She filled a cup with chicory, walked back into the living area and
pushed the second button on her remote, activating a blue panel beside
the window. Jazz music filled the apartment. Like her bedroom console
the unit kept time, transmitted holographic images and played tapes.

Using the third button, she opened the curtains. Curled upon her
futon, the Indigo woman watched as the illuminae changed Topaz’s
violet sky into a mellow shade of peach. She thought of the dreams.

For as far back as Karla could remember, she’d had them.
Otherworldly, exquisite and always with an unsettling clarity so
different from the normal phantasms she read about. When I eat, I wake
up full – and stay that way until lunchtime. If somebody hits me, it
hurts like hell…

And her dream lover left her limp with satisfaction, even after she
awoke, sure he was still beside her.

At night Karla wrote them down, pouring all of her fears and
desires into the notebooks. She spent hours in the library, reading stories
of reincarnation and demonic possession, searching for answers. She’d
found them too – dozens of them. But none could satisfy the yearning
that burned inside her.

Every time she closed her eyes to sleep they beckoned, calling to
her. Mornings, she awoke like a swimmer who’d been underwater for too
long, grasping for the fabric of reality – moaning with pleasure or
trembling with exhilaration.

One night they’re going to swallow me whole. I’ll never wake
up or maybe I’ll just fall through to whatever’s on the other side…and
this new one, something’s different about it. I know the others but this
one – this one scares me so bad I’m afraid to sleep.

“What time is it?”

The top left knob of her console blinked. “The time is 7:00
am,” a pert, female voice replied.

Seven o’clock! I’d better hustle! Karla gulped down her coffee,
and hurried back into the bedroom to dress.

Tehotep watched the tall, slender woman thumb through her
closet. He wasn’t invisible, only dim. As long as he stayed in the
shadows,she couldn’t see him. But noise couldn’t be cloaked by magic.

The Indigo woman tossed a red knit, shirt and jeans on the bed,
slipped off her pajamas and walked into the bathroom. As she stepped
into the shower, the nozzle automatically clicked on, spraying her body
with water. He followed, standing just beyond the doorway …

Karla finished bathing, and Tehotep quickly moved back into the
shadows – all the while devouring her with his eyes. Her skin, dewy with
moisture, looked like melting chocolate her nipples, blackberries.

She toweled off her full breasts and long legs and he licked his
lips imagining the things he would do with her – to her – the endless
perversions he’d force her to submit to. Things she’d come to enjoy,
when she tried to please him.

The young woman walked into the bedroom. He watched her
pull up her panties, hook her bra, slip her arms into the straps. Image
after image flooded his mind. Tehotep felt himself harden; a soft groan
escaped his lips…

Karla froze then stared into the corner facing her bed. It’s only a
bunch of dirty clothes, you’re hearing things!

In that instant he appeared: an Indigo man with full lips, slanting
onyx eyes and a shaven head. Voluminous garments hung from his
muscular frame. Their eyes locked, and she gasped in recognition. The
dark man smiled, nodded his head…

And vanished.

Karla gazed at the pile of laundry – all that remained of him –and wondered if she’d lost her mind. With trembling hands she finished
dressing her thoughts scurrying about like rats in a maze.

It’s him! I didn’t imagine it! He was here, but that’s impossible –!
There was a knock at the door and she jumped. Get it together
girl, that’s the twins.

She walked into the living room, picked up her remote and
pointed it at the entrance. It slid open and the eight-year-old twins,
Carlos Jr. and Ashley, small and brown like their mother, ran

Copyright Valjeanne Jeffers all rights reserved

Immortal 3: Stealer of Souls

Buy Immortal I, II & III at NUBIAN BOOKSTORE
Nubian Bookstore is located at:
2447 Southlake Mall,
Morrow, GA 30260

Immortal/Chapter 1 (excerpt)

1/ SPECTER

SHE was in the basement again. It was pitch black, the only
illumination a glowing, quarter moon etched into the floor.
A burst of light split the
darkness, and she moaned
low in her throat.

Please, I don’t want to see anymore…I don’t want to look.

Yet her feet moved of their own volition, inching toward the
mark…and the twisted bundle now lying in its center. A man was curled
upon the stone. He wasn’t breathing, and his limbs were tiny and
withered. But she knew he wasn’t dead.

He wasn’t human.

The daemon opened his eyes. I’ve been sleeping. But for how long?

He could feel his arms and legs, but the sensations were muted as
if they’d traveled from a great distance.

Then he remembered. He’d been imprisoned – snatched from his
body by the magic that had trapped him here. Even now sleep, like a
delicious drug, threatened to overtake him. But he fought it away.
How many centuries would pass while he slept?

A doorway appeared in his mind and just beyond it, a tattered
clump of flesh and bone…

Karla’s eyes flew open – the scream caught in her throat. It’s just
a nightmare. I’m Ok. I’m here now, at home.

The Indigo woman turned her head to look at the bedroom
console. Six-thirty glowed on the screen. She scooted out of bed, picked
up a remote from the nightstand and turned off the alarm.

Karla walked across the wooden floor of her living area into a
kitchenette. A press of her fingers on the first sphere of a triangular pod
started coffee brewing.

She filled a cup with chicory, walked back into the living area and
pushed the second button on her remote, activating a blue panel beside
the window. Jazz music filled the apartment. Like her bedroom console
the unit kept time, transmitted holographic images and played tapes.

Using the third button, she opened the curtains. Curled upon her
futon, the Indigo woman watched as the illuminae changed Topaz’s
violet sky into a mellow shade of peach. She thought of the dreams.

For as far back as Karla could remember, she’d had them.
Otherworldly, exquisite and always with an unsettling clarity so
different from the normal phantasms she read about. When I eat, I wake
up full – and stay that way until lunchtime. If somebody hits me, it
hurts like hell…

And her dream lover left her limp with satisfaction, even after she
awoke, sure he was still beside her.

At night Karla wrote them down, pouring all of her fears and
desires into the notebooks. She spent hours in the library, reading stories
of reincarnation and demonic possession, searching for answers. She’d
found them too – dozens of them. But none could satisfy the yearning
that burned inside her.

Every time she closed her eyes to sleep they beckoned, calling to
her. Mornings, she awoke like a swimmer who’d been underwater for too
long, grasping for the fabric of reality – moaning with pleasure or
trembling with exhilaration.

One night they’re going to swallow me whole. I’ll never wake
up or maybe I’ll just fall through to whatever’s on the other side…and
this new one, something’s different about it. I know the others but this
one – this one scares me so bad I’m afraid to sleep.

“What time is it?”

The top left knob of her console blinked. “The time is 7:00
am,” a pert, female voice replied.

Seven o’clock! I’d better hustle! Karla gulped down her coffee,
and hurried back into the bedroom to dress.

Tehotep watched the tall, slender woman thumb through her
closet. He wasn’t invisible, only dim. As long as he stayed in the
shadows,she couldn’t see him. But noise couldn’t be cloaked by magic.

The Indigo woman tossed a red knit, shirt and jeans on the bed,
slipped off her pajamas and walked into the bathroom. As she stepped
into the shower, the nozzle automatically clicked on, spraying her body
with water. He followed, standing just beyond the doorway …

Karla finished bathing, and Tehotep quickly moved back into the
shadows – all the while devouring her with his eyes. Her skin, dewy with
moisture, looked like melting chocolate her nipples, blackberries.

She toweled off her full breasts and long legs and he licked his
lips imagining the things he would do with her – to her – the endless
perversions he’d force her to submit to. Things she’d come to enjoy,
when she tried to please him.

The young woman walked into the bedroom. He watched her
pull up her panties, hook her bra, slip her arms into the straps. Image
after image flooded his mind. Tehotep felt himself harden; a soft groan
escaped his lips…

Karla froze then stared into the corner facing her bed. It’s only a
bunch of dirty clothes, you’re hearing things!

In that instant he appeared: an Indigo man with full lips, slanting
onyx eyes and a shaven head. Voluminous garments hung from his
muscular frame. Their eyes locked, and she gasped in recognition. The
dark man smiled, nodded his head…

And vanished.

Karla gazed at the pile of laundry – all that remained of him –and wondered if she’d lost her mind. With trembling hands she finished
dressing her thoughts scurrying about like rats in a maze.

It’s him! I didn’t imagine it! He was here, but that’s impossible –!
There was a knock at the door and she jumped. Get it together
girl, that’s the twins.

Copyright Valjeanne Jeffers 2009 all rights reserved