It's Fairy Possible

“Fionn!” Danu’s voice rumbled and echoed throughout Tir Na Nog, reaching Fionn’s ears even though he sat miles away on his favorite, flat black rock, one that overlooked the aquamarine sea. A Torquere Press Chaser - 1

Och, he thought as he winced, a shiver running down his spine, that woman ‘tis shrill enough to shatter glass. “Don’t get your knickers in a knot! I’m coming,” he mumbled under his breath as he stood and stretched. Hanging from a fine gold chain around his neck was a small, round mirror set in a mother-of-pearl casing, his only adornment other than a narrow strip of green plaid that he wore slung low around his lean hips. Tall and powerful, Fionn’s body was a study in perfection. Each muscle was honed tight and exquisitely sculpted, covered with flawless, sleek golden skin. Piercing green eyes the color of Éire herself were fringed with thick, golden-brown lashes and elegantly arched eyebrows. His face was that of an angel, or perhaps a Greek god, although he’d smirk at the comparison whenever it was made within range of his hearing. In Fionn’s opinion, neither the gods nor the angels could hold a candle to him. He took one last look of longing at the gently lapping waves of the sea as they kissed the black rocks of Tir Na Nog, and disappeared. *** “My Queen,” Fionn said, bending low at the waist in a courtly bow, his long golden hair sweeping the floor of Danu’s courtroom. “Ye called for me? Might I say that ye look most ravishing this fine morn, Your Majesty.” “Fionn, keep your false compliments behind your teeth,” Danu hissed, her fingers tightened on the arms of her throne as she leaned forward and bared her own teeth at him, obviously not the least bit moved by his chivalrous manners or his blatant attempt at kissing royal ass. “Ye tax me patience. Exactly where were ye last eve? I called ye to attend me but ye failed to answer!” “Och, ‘tis drowning in deep regret I am that I was unable to serve ye, My Queen,” Fionn answered, in reality not feeling a single ounce of remorse. It served the old crone right. He was sick and bloody tired of her forcing him to grant her a wish whenever the mood struck her. Especially when her wish undoubtedly would be the same – to fuck her until she screamed. Fionn shuddered as the memories of a thousand nights spent in Danu’s bed hit him. He sincerely hoped her pussy grew cobwebs and crumbled into dust from disuse. It would only be a suitable punishment for all she’d put him through over the last few millennia. “I was summoned, Your Majesty.” “Summoned! Again? That makes a dozen times in the past year alone!” “Does it? Forgive me, Danu, but I thought it pointless to keep count,” Fionn replied, biting back the grin that threatened to crease his cheeks. It was a struggle to maintain an air of sobriety in the face of Danu’s anger, considering she was the one who’d cursed him in the first place. He wanted nothing more than to laugh in her face. “’Tis by your will that I am summoned, and by your decree that I am unable ignore the call. If I remember correctly, ye said, “Heed my words, Fionn o’ the Fae, ye are cursed- ” “Ye would throw me own words back at me?” Danu screeched, standing up and balling her fists at her sides.

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Fionn could practically hear her blood boiling with righteous fury in her veins, but knew that he had her over a barrel. He could hardly be called to task just because he’d found a loophole in the curse and had exploited it to its fullest. After millennia of forced celibacy, of waiting hundreds of years in between summonses because the damned Book of Calls had been lost or misplaced or left unopened on a dusty shelf somewhere, he’d taken matters into his own hands. And fuck him sideways ‘til Tuesday if it hadn’t worked. “My heart is heavy. My soul is weary. My hands toil without rest. Come to me, thou fairest of the wood, that thou might ease my burdens.” By Danu’s decree, those were the only words that would grant Fionn the freedom to leave Tir Na Nog, the ancient home of the Fae, and enter the mortal realm. Once summoned, he was forced by virtue of the curse to grant the one who’d called him a single wish. But only if that wish was to bed him, could he ease the sexual frustration that was his constant companion. The curse forbade him from having sex at any other time – he couldn’t even relieve himself by virtue of his own ruddy hand. And of course, after the wish – whatever it might be – was fulfilled, Fionn was whisked back to Tir Na Nog straightaway, to start waiting all over again. It was bloody exasperating. Left to their own devices, Fionn had discovered over the centuries that mortals were a selfish lot, rarely wishing for anything as simple as a romp in the hay with him. More often than not, they wished for riches or revenge, or something equally boring. Worse yet, when the odd occasion did occur that they wished him into their bed, it was usually only their own gratification that they sought. No one ever gave a thought to Fionn’s needs. Well, almost never. But finally, after centuries of walking around Tir Na Nog with a perpetual hard-on, he’d found a way to circumvent the curse – or at least a part of it. Danu had forbidden him from leaving Tir Na Nog without being summoned, she had prohibited him from reaching orgasm without it being a direct result of a wish, but she had not barred him from nudging humans toward the book, or inspiring them in what wish to make. Through the use of two ancient Fae spells, the Seeing and the Whispering, Fionn found that he was able to keep track of the book that contained the Summons, have a measure of control over whose hands it fell into, and to gently nudge the wish of the caller in the direction Fionn wanted it to go. Luckily for Fionn, there wasn’t a damn thing that Danu could do about it. She had not yet figured out what he’d done, but when she did, Fionn figured that she’d throw the most thunderous hissy fit that Tir Na Nog had ever seen. She’d rage and storm until the very earth quaked with fear; until the mountains cringed and the skies wept tears of blood. Well, let her. It wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference in the scheme of things as far as Fionn was concerned. Even Danu had to play by the rules of a curse once it was spelled. “Is there anything that I can do for ye at the moment, my Queen?” Fionn asked, anxious to get back to his rock and peer into his mirror to ascertain the whereabouts of his book.

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“Yes. Ye can take thee from me sight, ye overgrown leprechaun!” Danu shrieked, her frustration palpable. “I don’t know what ye did, but I’m going to figure it out, Fionn o’ the Fae. And when I do, ye may very well curse the day ye were born!” She followed her statement by hissing through her teeth a list of all of the imaginative, excruciatingly painful things she had in mind for his punishment. With a small, sly smile, Fionn disappeared from the Queen’s court. *** Daniel O’Connell had a problem. Make that two problems, two very large, hulking problems at that, both of which were practically snarling and glaring down at him with beady, bloodshot eyes. “Where is it?” Problem Number One growled, showing Daniel a mouthful of square, yellowed teeth. Big and beefy, he was the kind of man one could imagine might earn his living swinging an axe of some sort, perhaps in a slaughterhouse -- the type of man who would truly enjoy his work. The fabric of his plain, white tee shirt strained over the bulging muscles of his biceps, shoulders, and chest. His craggy face and lumpy nose gave him the look of a boxer who’d gone one too many rounds in a losing fight. That he’d chosen to shave his bullet-shaped head didn’t help matters. All in all, he was not the prettiest thing to come down the pike. Unfortunately, he hardly made up for his lack of good looks with a winning personality or impressive vocabulary. Problem Number Two wasn’t nearly as eloquent as his partner although he matched him in size and looks. The two of them loomed before Daniel like a pair of massive, Neolithic bookends. As still and silent -- and no doubt as intelligent -- as a brick wall, the only sign Number Two gave that indicated he was actually alive and not chiseled from granite was the occasional flare of his nostrils and a well-timed grunt. “I told you that I don’t have it!” Daniel answered, struggling to keep his voice level and not hitch up a notch into dog whistle frequency. “The boss says you got it.” “Your boss is wrong.” A fist roughly the size of a small sports car whipped out, plowing into the left side of Daniel’s face. He dropped like a stone, hitting the pavement of the filth-covered alley so hard that he bounced. A combat-booted foot found itself a home across the back of Daniel’s neck as he wheezed and struggled to see past the red haze that had suddenly descended across his field of vision. “You got until tonight to find it, then. The boss wants it in his hands by midnight. If you don’t deliver, then you’re dead.”

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Thing One and Thing Two turned on their collective army-issue boot heels and left, leaving Daniel gasping for air as an ugly, discolored lump swelled up on his left cheek. He rolled over, lying face up in the alley, wheezing, his eyes watering from the throbbing in his cheek. “Goddamn it!” he murmured as he reached up to gingerly touch the painful lump. Goddamn his naiveté and his juvenile enthusiasm! If he hadn’t been so hyped up over finding that fucking book, he wouldn’t have flapped his gums in excitement over it and certain parties with big ears and bigger, rock hard fists wouldn’t have become interested in being “partners” with him. And since by partners they meant taking everything and leaving nothing for Daniel except a body bag, he was pretty much screwed. He’d sunk every fucking dime he’d earned doing odd jobs over the years into researching and tracking the Book of Calls, an ancient tome that was alleged to have once belonged to the Library of Alexandria, and that contained spells and enchantments of the fabled Fae. Not that Daniel believed in magic. That was strictly for the yokels, and while he might not be the smartest bulb in the tulip patch, he wasn’t an idiot either. What Daniel did believe in was the Book’s worth to collectors -- more than he could possibly spend in a lifetime, even if the Book itself was nothing but a bunch of hooey. The trail he’d been following suggested that the Book had disappeared from its display case in a less-than-prestigious museum, on loan from an anonymous collector. Word had it that the Book was now sitting on a dusty shelf in one of the city’s numerous secondhand shops. Unfortunately, now he was completely broke and regardless of the death threat to produce it, had no way of purchasing the book from the store, even if he were to be lucky enough to find it. He dragged himself to his feet and waited for the world to stop its mad spinning before stumbling out of the alley to the street. Lurching down the sidewalk, feeling his stomach roil and tumble over itself as he pondered the brevity of his soon-to-be-ended, meaningless sad-sack life, he paid no attention to the direction his feet took. Up one street and down another, he wandered aimlessly for hours, totally absorbed in his own misery. Just as he reached the point where his feet refused to take another single, solitary step, he looked up and found himself in front of a tiny, hole-in-the-wall antique shop. Although the hand-lettered sign that had been hung over the door read Cast Off Treasures, the store seemed the kind that would deceitfully label any garage-sale-rejected piece of junk to be an antique, and sell it for five times its worth. Daniel squinted and peered into the dusty display window, his fingers splayed across the cool glass. Sitting dead center on a black velvet cloth among a jumble of crackled bric-a-brac, tarnished silver, and shredded lace, was a brown, leather-bound book that he’d know anywhere from the descriptions he’d spent years reading and memorizing. The Book of Calls.

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*** Now this was interesting. Fionn cocked his head, allowing his smooth, golden tresses to cascade over his bare shoulder as he stared into his mirror. Within the small, oval reflective surface, he saw the front of the shop in which the Book rested. Peering into the window at it was a young man with hair more pale than Fionn’s own. Although the image in the mirror was small and a bit smoky, Fionn could see that the man was more than pretty. He was well on his way to handsome with a brief stopover at sexy, in Fionn’s opinion. But he had such a forlorn expression on his face that it pulled at Fionn’s heartstrings. There was a look in his dark brown eyes as he gazed at the Book that was a mixture of longing, despair, and anger. How odd. It was as if the young man knew what the Book was, and was frustrated and saddened because a thin layer of glass separated it from him -- as if the Book were but a few inches from his fingers and yet forever out of his reach. Intriguing. The man didn’t look the part of a historian, or antiquarian, or anthropologist, or any of the few others who would recognize the Book for what it was. He didn’t seem like one who’d spend his life digging through the past –- he looked more like an underwear model. Fionn’s lips curled into a lecherous smile as he imagined what the man’s body might look like under his stained and dirty polo shirt and khakis. Lithe and firm, smooth and silken, like a long stretch of flesh-colored satin. Like the latest Abercrombie and Fitch model that had captured Fionn’s imagination not long ago. The fair-haired one who’d been photographed in just his plain white briefs, one side pulled down to expose a sharp hipbone, and plastered on billboards twenty feet high. Yum. Fionn closed his eyes, his thick, dark brown lashes fluttering to lie softly against his cheeks. His full lips moved in The Whispering as he reached out to the young man’s mind. “Go inside,” he whispered. “No money,” the young man answered in his head, unaware that it was Fionn who urged him inside the shop and not his own inner voice. “Doesn’t matter, boyo,” Fionn insisted. “Go in. Pick it up. Feel it in your hands. It’s right there in front of ye. All ye need to do is take it.” As usual, The Whispering never failed. The young man walked to the door and entered, pausing with his hand on the doorknob for only a heartbeat as his rational mind questioned his motive. Another slight push from Fionn and he was inside, reaching into the window display for the Book.

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The shopkeeper was a skeletal woman who’d reached the far side of her fifties. Time had marched on for the poor lass, and it appeared that the parade route had been directly across her face. Deep crows feet creased the corners of her eyes, train tracks furrowed her forehead, and her mouth was drawn down in a perpetual sneer. Her hair looked like a frizzy, iron gray poodle had curled itself up on the top of her head; the look in her eyes was suspicious and mean. Fionn disliked her on sight. “Here now, put that back unless you plan on buying it! This ain’t no library!” she called to the young man from her seat behind an ancient, obsolete cash register. Fionn whispered again, this time to the proprietor. “Give him the Book for free, woman.” The power of the indignation that shot like a cannonball through the woman’s mind at Fionn’s whispered request jarred him physically, rocking him back on his heels. Evidently, the woman would rather hack off her own arm with a blunt and rusty blade than give anything away for free. Fionn frowned and pushed harder. “Take it,” the woman said through gritted teeth to the young man, as if the words were tearing her miserly heart out. “Just take it and get out!” The young man looked up at the proprietor with a puzzled expression then back down at the Book he held reverently in his hands. Another slight push from Fionn had him outside and halfway down the street before the small bell over the shop’s door had stopped jingling. Daniel O’Connell. Fionn plucked the name out of the young man’s head and spoke it out loud. He liked the way it felt on his tongue; it was a strong and capable name, and Irish to boot. “Go home now, Danny boy. The pipes, the pipes are calling,” Fionn chuckled, whispering in Daniel’s mind. “Ye have some reading to do, boyo.” *** Where the fuck had this come from? Daniel sat at his rickety, avocado green, aluminum kitchen table staring down incredulously at what could only be the Book of Calls. The very Book he’d been tracking for a decade. The one that, for want of it, he’d gotten his neck slung in a noose. The one he hadn’t yet found, nor could he ever hope to afford to buy even if he had. The only thing on the planet that might save his sorry hide from being hammered into dust by Problem One and Problem Two. The Book he was half convinced didn’t exist. And yet here it sat, in the middle of his tiny, roach-infested kitchen. It was a case of What the Fuck at its finest. There was no mistaking it -- it look exactly like the few descriptions Daniel had read, and the fewer drawings he’d had seen of it. Thick brown leather, intricately tooled with scrolled golden Celtic knots and crackled with age, encased thin, nearly transparent vellum pages. The sheets were A Torquere Press Chaser - 7

covered with lines of neat, hand-lettered calligraphy written in a language Daniel couldn’t begin to decipher. If time had a scent then it would smell like this Book, Daniel decided as the musty, earthy odor tickled at his nose. He lightly ran a finger down one page, wondering what long dead language it was written in, and by whose equally long dead hand. In truth, Daniel hadn’t quite decided if he actually believed in the Book’s existence, but here it was, in the flesh so to speak; proof positive that Daniel hadn’t wasted the last ten years of his life chasing a myth. The Book was opened to a page about halfway through its thickness, and Daniel’s eyes lazily traced the delicate curlicues of the spidery handwriting, not understanding a single word. They didn’t look like any alphabet Daniel had ever seen, although that didn’t mean much. He’d begun his quest for the Book during high school when a teacher had told the legend of the Irish Fae during class. He’d become so obsessed with the Book that he’d never attended college, beginning his search in earnest the night he’d graduated from high school. Considering his lack of education, Daniel thought himself lucky that he could recognize his own language in print. Daniel had never thought of himself as overly bright -- inventive, perhaps, resourceful, certainly. Clever was even in the realm of possibility. But college-educated he wasn’t. And yet, as his eyes drifted over the words, he heard a translation whispered in his head, and he spoke it aloud without knowing why. “My heart is heavy. My soul is weary. My hands toil without rest. Come to me, thou fairest of the wood, that thou might ease my burdens.” Whoa. Where the hell had that come from? I’ll take What the Fuck for two hundred, Alex. Daniel shook his head, blinking his eyes. Ridiculous. Just because his mind had finally snapped under the pressure and pretended to translate the looping, graceful calligraphy in the Book, didn’t make it true. “Oh, ‘tis true all right, boyo. Believe me, I’ve heard those words enough times to know. Ye got them exactly right.” Daniel’s head snapped up, his jaw popped open, and his eyes bugged as far out of his head as they could without actually leaving his skull. Across the battered, beige linoleum of his kitchen floor stood a tall, golden-skinned, nearly naked man. Oh God. Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dumber must have followed him home and killed him. That was it. He was dead. He had to be. Gorgeous, practically naked men did not appear as if by magic in Daniel’s rent-by-the-week apartment. Not unless they were on pay-per-view. And considering that he hadn’t paid his cable bill in months, even that was highly unlikely. So the bad news must be that Daniel was dead. The good news was that he must have ended up in Heaven because only an angel could be so beautiful. Somehow that didn’t come as much of a relief as Daniel would have thought it would. “It’s just my luck that I finally find the Book of Calls, and I die before I can do anything with it,” he murmured, flipping the Book closed and folding his hands on top of the leather binding. He A Torquere Press Chaser - 8

sighed in resignation. “All right. What’s next? Is there some kind of orientation I need to attend? A harp class or maybe Halos 101?” “Um, no. Ye do get a wish though, boyo.” “A wish? Okay, I wish I wasn’t dead.” The man laughed with a deep, melodic sound that felt like velvet in Daniel’s ears. “That’s no wish! Even if ‘twas within me power, I couldn’t very well spell ye back to the land of the living if ye never left it! Ye aren’t dead, Daniel. Whatever gave ye that idea?” “You’re an angel, aren’t you?” “By Dagda’s hairy ass! An angel? Me? Not bloody likely! I’m much better looking and ten times as much fun. Perhaps it would be best if I introduce myself. Fionn’s me name. I’m of the Fae... a fairy to the unenlightened, and at your service, young Daniel O’Connell.” “A fairy, huh? What’s a fairy doing in my kitchen?” Daniel asked, deciding to play along. After all, a delusional, virtually naked angel was better than no angel at all, no matter how tetched he was in his pretty head. “And how do you know my name?” “Ye spelled me here when ye read the words of the call. The ones in the Book there,” Fionn smiled. “As for your name, well... I have me ways.” “This Book? The one I can’t read?” “Ye read it just fine, Daniel.” “That’s impossible. I don’t understand the language. I was making it up.” “No, ye weren’t. I helped ye along a bit, I confess,” Fionn said, grinning. “So tell me, Daniel O’Connell, what is it that ye wish for?” He walked over to Daniel, pinning him to his chair with a smoldering look from his emerald green eyes. Daniel opened his mouth, but nothing came out. In his mind a war was raging. On one side, his inner voice was protesting loudly the impossibility of Fionn being real and not a figment of Daniel’s imagination. If he really weren’t dead and Fionn an angel, then there was a good chance that Daniel had been struck harder than he’d realized earlier and was now enjoying a full-blown hallucination, albeit a very attractive one. But at the same time another voice, one Daniel didn’t quite recognize, was urging him to wish Fionn into his bed for a marathon session of playing spank the monkey. That second voice was tempting -- and very, very persuasive. He turned his face up to meet Fionn’s eyes. “I wish you would fu-” “Saints preserve us, Daniel! What’s happened to your poor face?” Fionn suddenly exclaimed, cupping Daniel’s chin with his fingers and turning his head so that the ugly purple bruise that had risen under his left eye caught the light. “Who did this to ye?” A Torquere Press Chaser - 9

“I had a little trouble this afternoon, just before I found the Book,” Daniel replied, smiling a bit as he noticed how gentle Fionn’s fingers were, and how warm they felt against his skin. Fionn’s touch sounded reveille for Daniel’s nether regions, and something hard was saluting in his chinos. “As a matter of fact, I only have about a few minutes left before a pair of goons roughly the size of Godzilla are going to show up and retro fit me with a new ventilation system courtesy of a couple of extremely large caliber guns,” he said, glancing at the ticking wall clock, “so if we could get back to that wish thing now...” “These Godzilla boys, they’re the ones who did this to ye?” Fionn growled. “For what reason?” “They wanted this,” Daniel answered, thumping the Book with his knuckles. “Or rather, their boss wanted it. Wants it. And will no doubt have it before very long, so if we could just get back to the matter of that wish...” “Och, it will be a cold day in the bowels of Hades before I allow this Book to fall out of me control again!” Fionn spat. His eyes grew hard, almost glowing with fury, and he would have been frightening to Daniel if it hadn’t been for the gentleness that remained in his fingers. Fionn’s thumb stroked over Daniel’s sore cheek with a feather-soft touch. “There now, boyo. Ye be as good as new.” Daniel reached up and touched his cheek, surprised to find that the ache and tenderness were gone. Wow. It was good to have an angel around the house. Fairy, Daniel reminded himself -- or, more accurately, the voice in Daniel’s head corrected him. “Fionn? About that wish...” Daniel asked, feeling his face warm as a blush tinted his newly healed cheek. He hesitated, barely believing that he had the nerve to ask what he was about to ask of Fionn. It wouldn’t be the first time that Daniel had had sex with a man -- it would be the second, but the first time didn’t really count in Daniel’s book. Not unless you considered the frantic, drunken rubbing of rental tux clad groins under the bleachers after his high school prom to be a proper fuck. Truthfully, he’d been so consumed by his hunt for the Book that he’d barely had sex at all over the last ten years. He’d never had a relationship with anyone -- he simply hadn’t had the time. Most of his sexual experience had come -- pardon the pun -- in the form of a blowjob; paid for with what pitiful earnings he could spare. Man or woman, Daniel had been so hard up during those few and far between times that he’d hardly cared or thought about which set of body parts the lips closing over his cock had owned. He didn’t consider those times to be good and proper fucks either, especially since he hadn’t had to do anything other than unzip his fly, and not always even that much. But this time was different. Daniel wanted Fionn, wanted him in a way he’d never wanted anyone before. Daniel ached to see if Fionn’s tawny skin would feel as velvety under his fingers as it looked; if his full, pinked lips would taste as sweet as Daniel thought they would. He hungered to know if Fionn’s touch would feel as good on other parts of Daniel’s body as they did against his cheek. More than anything, Daniel wanted to see what that scrap of green plaid that was slung around Fionn’s hips was hiding.

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“I want to fuck you,” Daniel whispered, cringing at the harshness of his words as they tumbled from his mouth. Smiling a long, lazy grin, Fionn leaned down, bringing his lips so close to Daniel’s that Daniel could both smell and feel his sweet, warm breath. “Your wish is-” Fionn didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence because in that very moment all hell broke loose in Daniel’s kitchen. *** The front door to Daniel’s studio apartment burst wide open, the old wood cracking as it banged hard against the wall, the doorknob poking a dent in the plaster. Daniel looked over Fionn’s shoulder just in time to see two familiar, hulking figures squeeze in through the jamb with guns drawn. “Fionn, get out!” Daniel yelled, pushing Fionn away from him and springing out of his chair. He ran in front of Fionn, standing there like a scrawny human shield, holding out his hands out in front of him as if he could catch the bullets that he was certain would soon be flying in his direction. Thing One and Thing Two had returned, and from the looks of things, this time they meant business. “We told you that the boss wanted that fucking book by midnight, but you didn’t show. Big mistake, asshole,” the larger of the two evolutionary throwbacks growled, swinging the barrel of his gun toward Daniel. “Yeah,” the second agreed. He gestured toward the table with his gun. “Is that it? Thought you said you didn’t have it, you fucking liar.” His close-set, piggy eyes wandered over Fionn’s near-naked body. “Who the fuck is this? Oh man, the boss is gonna be pissed that we had to ice two faggots instead of just one.” “Don’t matter. Bullets are cheap,” the first sumo-in-training said. “Och, are these the same two who hurt ye, Daniel?” Fionn asked, folding his arms across his broad chest. Daniel could hear the anger in his voice, and almost feel the heat in his gaze as Fionn glared at the intruders. “Stay out of this, Fionn. They’ll shoot you just as soon as look at you,” Daniel warned, his eyes trained on the barrels of the guns. Fionn tossed his head dismissively, his golden hair swaying. “Bah, as if these two should be worrying me! Not a half a brain between them, and ugly to boot.” “Who are you calling ugly, faggot?” The first man roared, his finger twitching on the trigger of the gun. “You are so fucking dead! You just don’t know it yet.” “No!” Daniel took a half step toward the men. “He doesn’t have anything to do with this. Let him go!” A Torquere Press Chaser - 11

“What are we standing around talking for? Just fucking shoot them and let’s go, Herb. I’m hungry and the diner closes in an hour,” the second man growled to the first. “No names! How many times do I have to tell you that, Pete?” Herb hissed. “It doesn’t matter – they’re both going to be dead in a minute.” Pete leveled his gun at Daniel’s chest. Two pops sounded, much softer than Daniel would have believed gunshots to be, although they seemed to echo forever within his small studio apartment. He screwed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the pain of impact. A moment ticked by, then another -- far longer than a bullet would need to travel across the short distance that separated him from Pete and Herb. Cracking open one eye, Daniel looked down at himself. No blood. No holes. Not even a crease in his polo shirt. Patting himself in disbelief, vastly relieved to find himself undamaged and still breathing, Daniel looked up to see Fionn standing in front of him. How had he moved so quickly? Daniel hadn’t even realized that he was no longer behind him. Oh God, had they shot him? “Fionn!” he cried, reaching for Fionn’s shoulder to turn him around, petrified that he’d see Fionn’s smooth, golden chest covered in fairy blood. Fionn half-turned toward Daniel, a smirk creasing his handsome face. He held out both of his fists and opened them, letting two small, gray lumps fall from his hands to the floor. They clattered and bounced across the linoleum, rolling to a stop almost at Herb and Pete’s oversized feet. Bullets. He’d caught them. Caught them with his bare hands! If Daniel had harbored any lingering doubts that Fionn was who he said he was, they evaporated like smoke on the wind. “Holy shit! How the hell did you do that? Who are you... David-fucking-Copperfield?” Herb gasped, staring at the bouncing bullets as they rolled across the floor toward him. “Superman. He’s fucking Superman,” Pete took a half step back, away from Fionn. “Super, yes of course. Man? Never. I’m a fairy, ye pair of bug-eyed bastards,” Fionn grinned. “And neither of ye are super nor men -- not any more.” He waggled his fingers in Pete and Herb’s direction. In the next heartbeat, all that was left of them were two piles of triple-X size clothing, two guns, one imitation Rolex watch, and a handful of gold teeth. “Wow! That was incredible! Fionn, what did you do with them?” Daniel asked, toeing the pile of recently discarded clothing. “Och, boyo, I just turned them into what they already were on the inside -- a pair of worms. See? There’s one now. I believe that might be Herb.” Fionn laughed, pointing to a fat inchworm that was slowly wiggling its way toward the door.

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“Oh man, thanks, Fionn. You saved my life!” Daniel said earnestly. He dropped down into the kitchen chair, his legs no longer able to hold him up as the reality of his near miss sunk in. That close. He’d come that close to getting dead. “Think nothing of it. Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Ye were about to make your wish...” “God, I can’t believe that they were going to kill me over a stupid book!” Daniel muttered, beginning to feel angry now as his relief at not getting murdered in his kitchen gave way to a rising fury over the situation. “What kind of asshole tries to kill somebody for an old, ratty piece of leather and a few crumbly parchment papers?” “The kind who understands that the Book has power, Daniel. Men have murdered for less than that, boyo. Now, about that wish...” “Shit. What if he sends somebody else? Am I going to have to run for the rest of my life? It’s not fair, Fionn. I didn’t do anything except find the fucking thing!” “Och! Daniel, whoever it is will just think that Herb and Pete ran off with the Book. Whoever sent them thinks that you’re dead. Just let them go on thinking that, Daniel. Leave the city, start fresh somewhere else.” “That’s a nice thought, Fionn, but how am I supposed to disappear? Starting over in a new place requires something I’m in terminally short supply of -- money.” Daniel groaned, lowering his head and repeatedly banging his forehead against the tabletop. “Stupid! I’m so incredibly stupid! I couldn’t spend my life looking for something safe, like the Loch Ness Monster. No-o, I had to spend all of my time and money chasing after the goddamn Book of Calls! I bet no one will ever get shot for finding Nessie.” “Daniel?” Fionn called, stroking his hair. “Daniel! Look at me, boyo,” he commanded. Daniel found that Fionn was hard to resist when his voice took on that stern tone. Daniel raised his head, blinking back tears of frustration. “W-what?” “Look over there,” Fionn said, pointing toward the kitchen counter. On the counter sat a large, black plastic garbage bag, filled to bursting. The mouth of the bag was open, and a little of its contents had spilled out onto the worn Formica. Money. Piles of it... wads of it. Daniel could see that the bag was stuffed with twenties and fifties. “Fionn, I can’t take your money.” “’Tis not mine, boyo. ‘Tis not anyone’s really. Fresh from the mint, unmarked and untraceable, and it’s all yours, Daniel. Think of if as an apology for everything you’ve gone through. Now, could we please get back to your wish?” Fionn pleaded. “My wish? Oh, yeah... my wish!” Daniel repeated, remembering at last what they’d been discussing before Yin and Yang showed up. “Fionn...” A Torquere Press Chaser - 13

“Yes, Daniel?” “I really like you.” “That’s good, boyo. I like ye, too. Now, about that wish...” “Well, that’s just it. It isn’t right for me to use my wish for what I’m thinking, Fionn. Maybe I’d just better pass,” Daniel said softly, shaking his head. “It would be horrible to force you to do anything you didn’t want to do, just because I wished for it. I think maybe we’d better forget the whole thing.” Fionn rolled his eyes and sighed. “Daniel, whatever it is that ye wish for, it’ll be fine by me. Trust me, boyo.” “Even if I wish you into my bed? That would be tantamount to rape, wouldn’t it? See why we need to forget the whole thing?” Daniel moaned, covering his face with his hands. He pushed his palms up over his cheeks and twisted his fingers into his hair. “Don’t worry, Fionn. I’d never force you to...” He stopped mid-sentence, suddenly realizing that his seat had gotten considerably softer than the old wooden kitchen chair he’d been sitting on. Clamping a hand over his mouth, he looked around him, startled. His kitchen was gone. Poof. Disappeared. In its place was a large, airy, white-walled room, with ceiling to floor windows draped in whispering silk. The kitchen table and chairs were gone too, including the one that had been supporting his ass, replaced by a decadently soft, wide bed that was covered in rich, black satin. Yards of gauzy black fabric dripped from four intricately carved, high posts and canopy. Daniel lowered his hands slowly to his lap, his head twisting first in one direction then the other, eyes wide, trying to make sense of it all. “What happened?” he whispered, looking up at Fionn, who stood next to the bed Daniel was sitting on. “Ye made your wish, Daniel,” Fionn said softly, smiling. “Ye wished me into your bed. I hope that ye don’t mind that I substituted me own bed instead of yours – yours was too narrow and the mattress too thin for us to be very comfortable in it.” “No, Fionn. That wasn’t my real wish. I was just trying to explain to you that I’m not going to force you to-” Fionn’s soft, warm lips swallowed the rest of Daniel’s sentence. “Och, boyo, you’re not forcing me do a damned thing except wait far too long.” Fionn’s fingers slid into Daniel’s hair, pulling his head in closer, his soft tongue brushing across Daniel’s lower lip until Daniel opened for him. Nothing had ever tasted or felt as good to Daniel as Fionn’s tongue as it slid over his, warm and silky and delicious. The taste fueled a hunger within Daniel that exploded before he was aware it A Torquere Press Chaser - 14

had even been brewing, bringing every nerve ending in his body to tingling awareness and nearly overwhelming him with sensory overload. He could taste honey on Fionn’s tongue, smell the clover of Ireland and the salty spray of the sea in his hair. Wherever Fionn’s fingers touched they blazed a fiery trail across Daniel’s skin as they slipped up under his polo shirt and tickled across his abdomen. It was almost too much. Daniel pushed Fionn away, suddenly eager to slide naked across the expanse of golden skin that covered Fionn’s finely muscled body. His own personal lack of experience wasn’t a deterrent, rather he felt excited and hopeful and just a bit nervous, like an explorer poised to set foot on land never before seen or touched by humans. Stripping out of his shirt, Daniel leaned over as he wiggled out of his pants and captured Fionn’s lips in a heartpounding, openmouthed kiss that left them both breathless. Naked, his chest heaving with the intensity of his desire, he reached over and yanked Fionn’s plaid from his slender hips, letting the scrap of fabric float to the floor. Daniel’s eyes grew large and round as he let them wander over the sharp angles and flat planes of Fionn’s flesh. Fionn straightened to his full height, looking down at Daniel from under his thick lashes, a knowing smile playing at his full lips. Daniel didn’t notice Fionn’s amusement at his reaction. All he saw was over six feet of smooth, flawless, golden skin and hard muscle standing before him, and a cock worthy of worship rising from a thatch of crisp golden curls, crowning a pair of strong, sculpted thighs. Fionn’s erection was long and thick, and Daniel shivered as he imagined what it would feel like slipping inside his body. “Oh God, Fionn,” he whispered, when at last he remembered to breathe. “You’re so beautiful, so perfect. Lie down. I want to touch you. Hold you. Taste you.” He eagerly scooted over, making room for Fionn to stretch out over the black satin sheets. *** Och, ‘twas was heaven, or as close to heaven as an immortal could get, Fionn thought as he stretched out across the bed. The soft satin caressed his backside as Daniel’s tongue and lips paid homage to his front, and the combination was making him painfully hard. Daniel’s warm breath puffed against the skin of his chest as Daniel kissed his way from one rosy nipple to the other and back again. His fingers slid over Fionn’s flesh, leaving a tingling trail in their wake, skimming over his ribs and hipbones until they reached his groin. Every inch of his body was, at one point or another, licked, nipped, or stroked by Daniel’s clever tongue, lips, and fingers as Daniel slowly made the long journey from Fionn’s face to his toes and back again. Teeth teased at the skin of Fionn’s abdomen, making the muscles under it twitch fluidly in response. Daniel’s tongue lathed Fionn’s bellybutton, dipping in and out in an erotic mimicry of sex. His hips, his sac, his inner thigh, the underside of his knee, all were subjugated to the same tender treatment, as if Fionn were a buffet and Daniel a diner set on savoring every morsel offered.

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When Daniel’s fingers wrapped around his cock, caressing it with long, languid strokes, they brought with them one of the very rare moments over the past several millennia when Fionn almost felt grateful to Danu for cursing him. Fionn knew from being in Daniel’s head that he had next to no experience in having sex with another man. But if this was Daniel’s attempt at a first time, it staggered Fionn to think of what he might be capable of with a little practice. He was pushing Fionn to his limits without even really knowing what he was doing. When Daniel finally finished teasing Fionn’s body with his mouth and hands, his pinked, parted lips hovered over Fionn’s erection. Hot breath ghosted over the head of Fionn’s cock, and it jerked eagerly in anticipation. After what seemed like an eternity to Fionn, just the tip of Daniel’s tongue peeked out to flick at the crown of Fionn’s cock. It was brief and barely there, but that tiny tease made Fionn’s entire body tremble in response. Daniel had Fionn’s body drawn taut, strung so tight that he felt ready to explode, and they’d barely gotten started. Incredible. By Dagda! Daniel took him by surprise, swallowing him whole, taking him in to the root. Fionn’s head snapped back and stars danced before his eyes, a long, breathy moan escaping his lips. “Daniel, boyo! Oh gods, Daniel...” He twisted his fingers into Daniel’s corn silk hair, his hips thrusting upward as wave after wave of mounting pleasure coursed through him, pushing him closer and closer to the brink. And just as suddenly, Daniel stopped. Fionn’s eyes flew open, a cry of frustration on his lips. “No... Daniel... I was right there! Right there!” he cried, bucking his hips toward Daniel’s mouth, his hands pressing down on his head. “Ye can’t stop there! ‘Tis... inhuman!” “Fuck me,” Daniel said simply, raising eyes dark with desire to meet Fionn’s own wide ones. Again, Fionn was taken by surprise. Never in any of the encounters he’d had over the years had a man asked Fionn to enter his body. Never. Women yes, of course, but never a man. It had always been their wish to fuck him, to take their pleasure from his body. Sometimes, on the very rare occasion -- until recently -- Fionn had been allowed relief as well, but never in that particular way. He hesitated, but only for the space of a few heartbeats. Daniel lay back on the bed, his eyes flashing a come-hither look, his tongue peeking past his lips to wet them. He bent his knees and parted them, and the sight of the dark, tempting recesses exposed between his cheeks sent Fionn’s lust level soaring. He growled, rising to his hands and knees and crawling toward Daniel like a sleek jungle cat stalking its prey. Settling down between Daniel’s legs, Fionn nipped lightly at the soft flesh of his inner thighs, creating a trail of small bruises, lathing each one with his tongue before moving on. Daniel groaned, writhing on the bed, rustling the satin as Fionn drew inexorably closer to his cock.

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Fionn breathed deeply, filling his lungs with Daniel’s musky scent before licking a long, slow path up over the underside of his erection. Following the thick vein that pulsed just below its velvety skin, he paused to flick lightly around the ridge of the head of Daniel’s penis. His mouth filled with Daniel’s taste, rich and heady and salty-bitter, the taste of life dancing on his tongue. Drawing Daniel deeply into his mouth, he began to hum a tune older than himself, his hands working Daniel’s cock along with his mouth and throat. Daniel bucked up underneath him, his breath coming faster and his abdomen rippling as he came hard. Flicking his eyes upward, Fionn watched Daniel come, watched the tendons stand out in his neck like ripcords as he emptied himself into Fionn’s mouth, and felt his own orgasm stirring in response. Not yet. After licking Daniel’s penis clean, Fionn pushed the man’s knees to his chest and touched his tongue to Daniel’s peach-colored asshole. With a single-minded diligence, he licked and probed, sampling Daniel’s most private area until Daniel pleaded with him for more. Rising to his knees, Fionn positioned himself between Daniel’s legs, trying to hold off entering him, trying to savor the moment for as long as he could. Slowly, in one long, even movement he sheathed himself completely inside Daniel’s body. Fionn was an ancient, had seen and experienced more over the course of his immortal life than any human could possibly imagine; had tasted fruit both forbidden and unforgettable, but this... this linking of bodies, this primal act was the most exciting and intimate thing he’d ever experienced before. He’d fucked fairies before -- the most recent being an attendant of Danu before the curse, but never a human male. It was immediately apparent that there were differences in the two, and Fionn couldn’t help but make the comparison, even though his mind felt as though it were splintering from sheer pleasure. Fairies were cooler, more distant. They didn’t grind and writhe underneath him as Daniel was doing, didn’t respond to his touches or his cock with such intense enthusiasm. They more or less lay there as wooden as two-by-fours after they came -- if they came. Sometimes Fionn thought that fucking fairies was no more stimulating than fucking a knothole in one of the great willows that dotted the countryside of Tir Na Nog. Not Daniel. He moaned and twisted on the satin sheets, his fingers rubbing along Fionn’s biceps and chest, reaching between them to stroke his own cock back into hardness. He urged Fionn on vocally, telling Fionn to fuck him faster, harder. Begging him. Fionn wanted it to last forever. But even a fairy could only take so much punishment before losing control. Screaming his pleasure, Fionn came so hard that his entire body seized, every muscle tightening into hard knots, bulging under his skin. His orgasm engulfed him, a great wave of ecstasy that rolled on and on and seemed never to crest, to end. It did, of course, but not until Fionn’s body lost its struggle to stay upright and he collapsed on top of Daniel. Even then, his skin twitched pleasantly with aftershocks, making him want to laugh and weep and do it all over again. Alas, as Daniel shot a second load over his already soaked stomach, his wish came to an end and with it Fionn’s ability to stay in the mortal realm.

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Damn the fucking curse, and damn Danu for casting it. “Wow,” Daniel whispered, stroking Fionn’s hair. “That was amazing.” “Indeed it was, boyo,” Fionn answered, smiling against Daniel’s chest. “Thank ye for letting me be a part of your wish.” “No, thank you for granting me one. And thank you for giving me the money, and for saving my sorry ass. I owe you a helluva lot, Fionn.” “No ‘tis I who owe ye, Daniel, and would that I could grant ye another wish... a thousand more, a million more. But I cannot -- ‘tis not the way of things. One to a customer, as they say.” Fionn rolled over onto his back, still smiling. “Take the money and start over somewhere else, somewhere safe, boyo. Be happy. ‘Tis the best way to pay me back.” “Do you have to leave, Fionn? Couldn’t you stay awhile? Maybe travel with me...” “No, ‘tis impossible, Daniel. I must remain in Tir Na Nog. Will ye do me a wee favor before ye leave?” “Of course -- anything, Fionn.” “Take the Book to a secondhand shop and leave it there, forget it exists. It will do ye no good now, and ‘tis me only way out of Tir Na Nog.” Daniel nodded slowly. “I searched my whole life for that Book, and it was worth every minute. But I’ll never be able to forget it, Fionn. Or you.” “Och, but ye will, boyo. Ye will in time. You’ll meet someone else, someone who stirs your blood and makes your heart pound. Don’t be spending the rest of your life searching for old dreams, Daniel. Go make some new ones instead.” *** The Queen’s court was hushed as Fionn strode up the center aisle past Her Majesty’s attendants, advisors, and general ass-kissers, toward the dais. Danu sat imperiously on her intricately carved and bejeweled throne, looking down her nose at everyone and everything, as usual, but reserving an especially hateful glare for Fionn. “Your Majesty,” Fionn said, executing a low bow of subservience that he didn’t feel, “Ye called for me?” “Ye used the Whispering and the Seeing, didn’t ye? I finally figured it out, Fionn.” Danu hissed. She pointed a finger at him, her eyes shooting daggers. “That’s why you’ve been summoned so frequently lately, and why ye always return to Tir Na Nog with a smug smile on your face. You’ve been influencing the Book!” “Me smile is me smile, Danu. ‘Tis the only one I’ve got,” Fionn grinned. A Torquere Press Chaser - 18

“Ye don’t deny it?” “Of course not. ‘Tis true enough. Ye cursed me, but neglected to think it through, Danu. Ye can’t blame me for wanting a little relief after so many millennia.” “How dare ye disobey me? I’ll curse ye again, and properly this time! You’ll not be finding a way around this one!” Danu screeched, rising from her throne, her entire body trembling with rage. She raised a hand, pointing at Fionn. “Fionn o’ the Fae, I curse ye-” Thunder crashed, rattling the very foundation of Danu’s palace, and Danu’s words died in her throat as a shadowy being took form in the center of the courtroom. Taller by far than any fairy, including Fionn, he was as broad through the shoulders as two of them put together. Nearly seven feet of thick, bulging muscle, he coalesced into solidity from the smoke, casually resting a huge wooden club on one immense shoulder. “No, ye will not, Danu.” “Dagda!” Danu cried, sinking into a deep curtsy as everyone else, including Fionn, sank to their knees. “What brings ye to honor me with your presence?” She asked, her voice suddenly soft, timorous, and respectful. “Honoring ye is that last thing on me mind, Danu. ‘Tis a disgrace to hear ye spouting curses left and right, and ‘tis bloody embarrassing to see ye stoop to revenge over slights ages old. Leave it be, Danu. Ye cursed him once already. Live with it.” Dagda’s deep, booming voice echoed throughout the courtroom and beyond, quaking the very earth with its volume. He shifted the club from one shoulder to the other, purposely drawing Danu’s attention to it. His club was deadly to all, and one of the few things that could -- and had in the past -- kill a member of the Fae. Kill as in good and truly dead, cursed to wander Tir Na Nog as a disembodied spirit, forever. Not the choice of futures any Fae with half a brain would wish upon herself, including Danu. Danu opened her mouth to retort, but one searing look from Dagda as his fingers twitched over the club sealed her lips shut again. As powerful as Danu was, she was no match for the All Father. Their relationship was as convoluted as any Fionn had yet to see. Father at times, son at others, Dagda’s relationship to Danu was as murky as the sea during a storm, and twice as tempestuous. What had drawn Dagda’s attention to Fionn and Danu’s bickering was a mystery, but Fionn was inclined to believe that it was simply a way for Dagda to put Danu in her place in front of her subjects. Sometimes she -- and they -- had to be reminded who was really in charge, Fionn supposed. “Yes, Dagda,” Danu said meekly, dropping her eyes. The words must have cost her, Fionn thought. She was trembling with rage, forcing herself to be obedient. Fionn cringed inwardly, wondering how much of her fury was to be taken out of his hide. Even if she couldn’t re-cast the curse, there were other punishments she could reign down upon his sorry, fairy ass. In a thunderous, spectacular display of lightning, Dagda disappeared, leaving the courtroom to expel a collective sigh of relief. A Torquere Press Chaser - 19

Fionn risked a glance at Danu, who slumped, still shaking, into her throne. Her eyes were icy with hate when they flicked up to meet his. “Leave me,” she said, in a voice as cold as her gaze. “Danu, I--” “Leave me!” she bellowed, flashing a hand out toward Fionn. An instant later he found himself standing on his black rocks by the sea, the wind whipping his hair into a golden halo around his head. “Oh, this is going to be bad,” Fionn muttered, looking over his shoulder in the general direction of Danu’s palace. “Very bad, indeed.” Whatever revenge Danu was planning for him -- and that she would seek revenge was inevitable, since Fionn was certain she blamed him for Dagda’s mortifying visit -- was going to be truly nasty. A storm was brewing at sea, whipping blue-green waves against the rocks. The ocean spray misted over him, filling Fionn’s nostrils with the scent of the sea, but he barely noticed. His mind was otherwise occupied with thoughts of his impending doom. Whatever Danu had in mind for him would probably be painful. Definitely painful, Fionn amended, slowly sinking down to sit on the cold surface of the rocks. He sighed resignedly then picked up the small, oval mirror that once again dangled from his neck on its fine gold chain, unconsciously stroking it with his fingers. *** Danu paced the length of her boudoir, dressed in a frothy explosion of white lace and silk, her long red hair tumbling freely down her back in cascade of curls. Her mood was as dark and dangerous as her gown was fragile and delicate, a study in polar opposites. Fury was coiled tight in her belly like a venomous snake, scaly and cold, itching to strike and sink its fangs into Fionn’s throat. Fionn had once been her favorite. His beauty was unparalleled, even by Fae standards. Always amused by his dry wit, and aroused by his solidly muscled body and well-endowed sex, she’d bedded him often, rewarding him with gifts unlike any others enjoyed by the Fae. She’d bestowed her favors upon him freely -- perhaps too freely. He’d paid back her generosity by turning his nose up at her and fucking her attendants. Her male attendants, at that, which only served to bruise her ego even further. Catching him hip-deep yet again inside one of her attendants, after she’d warned him repeatedly, had been the last straw. She’d lost her temper and cursed him. But among the gifts Danu had granted Fionn had been the ability to use the Seeing and the Whispering, inadvertently giving him the very means to outwit her. He was right about one thing. She hadn’t thought it through. If she had, she would have incorporated any possibility of his circumventing the curse. But what was done was done, and she couldn’t undo it. And since Dagda had made it painfully clear what would happen to her if she cast another curse on Fionn’s head, she had to find another way. A Torquere Press Chaser - 20

Pacing a furrow in the cool marble flooring under her dainty feet, Danu’s mind whirled with possibilities, each more painful and devastating than the one before. She could bury him alive for a few millennia, or alter his appearance into something so horribly disgusting that no one would ever want him to touch them. Perhaps she could simply lop off his cock. Eternity as a eunuch would serve him right. Then again, each of those options might rouse Dagda’s anger, each being just a tad too close to a curse for comfort. No, there had to be another way. Suddenly, Danu froze in her tracks as an idea occurred to her. She didn’t need to bother with Fionn at all. He wasn’t the only one who could use the Seeing and the Whispering. What better way to drive a stake of revenge through his heart than by interfering with his precious mortals? Especially the ones he handpicked to find the Book and receive a wish. A slow, evil smile spread across Danu’s face, and she laughed. *** Fionn turned his face to the storm, stoically ignoring the wind that buffeted him and the sea spray that soaked him. The storm had been raging for weeks, since that day in Danu’s courtroom when Dagda had appeared. The storm stank of Danu’s jealous rage, and he refused to allow himself to quail in the face of her petulant tantrum. “Go on with ye,” Fionn shouted into the wind. “Is this the best ye can do, Danu? Is a bit of wind and rain the worst ye can conjure to throw at me? Och, do ye never tire of these hysterics? Well, bugger off, Danu! I’ve got more important things to worry about than your hissy fits!” He turned his back on the storm, turning it on Danu herself by proxy. In truth, the fact that Danu hadn’t spelled him into a toad or something infinitely slimier worried Fionn more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t like her to allow such an insult to go by without retaliating. Her silence spoke louder than any shouted curse. She was biding her time, and that made Fionn nervous. As long as she didn’t lift a finger toward him, the possibilities of what she might be thinking of doing were terrifying. He needed a distraction, needed relief from the awful tension that was building to a crescendo inside of him, stringing his innards tighter than a violin’s strings. Picking up the mirror that hung around his neck, he peered into its foggy depths and waited. To be continued in Fionn ‘o the Fae 3, coming soon from Torquere Press.

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Fionn O’ the Fae 2: It's Fairy Possible Copyright © 2007 by Kiernan Kelly ISBN: 976-1-60370-091-7, 1-60370-091-9 All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680 Printed in the United States of America. Torquere Press, Inc.: Single Shot electronic edition / July 2007 Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680

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