Sorry

Sorry. I won't be able to get new posts very frequently from now on; I got a new novel idea and the writing for that is spilling out of me faster than I can write. Most of my time spent online is spent writing the new novel. I apologize for this, and I'll try to get posts as much as I can.

I'll let you know when you can expect more frequent posting.

Night Puma

I smiled and turned to go towards the campus when Officer Ryans (I hope you're fine with me calling him Evan from now on) ran forward to catch up with me.

"Hey, there's one other thing I want to give you."

"A present already?"

"Well since we're, you now, fabula creaturis, I think that you might have more of an appreciation for this than the average person."

He fished in his wallet and pulled out a pin. It was the shape of a kind of cat, black with two sapphires for eyes.

"It's called a night puma," he explained. "It's a rare kind of fabula creaturis, of the beast variety, and only found in the Rocky Mountains. They say that one holds the power to reverse as much damage as you want, but it can only do this once, so it needs to judge whether it's a worthy cause. However, the night puma also has supreme wisdom. According to superstition, jewelry of a night puma can give you similar wisdom."

"Oi bet it'll 'elp me on me studies," I said, taking it.

Before he got back in the squad car, he said, "I'm serious about that date, you know. Call me after class so we can figure something out."

Officer Ryans

As soon as he pulled out the gun, Officer Ryans and the other police officers were on him immediately. As he was taken away, Officer Ryans came back to me.

"He was a Barbebleue," the police officer explained. A barbebleue was sort of like a Bluebeard, and it turns out that this guy had been found out for all of his charges and was trying to escape, which is why he was going through the five stages of grief.

"Anyway, I know that you've gone through a lot of trouble. Can I buy you a drink?"

"Not if Oi 'av ter make it," I said.

"Are you even old enough to be working at a bar?" He asked skeptically.

"Oi'm workin' on gettin' me doctorate," I said. "Oi really want ter be a 'orror author, though. Or somethin' artistic loike dat."

"Sounds interesting. Tell me more."

"Is it easier for yer ter 'ear American? Oi spake it well."

"Say whatever you want."

Together I told him all of my dreams to do something that involved the arts and horror and how I was studying to be a veterinarian, and he told me about all the things that he had seen while on duty.

I looked at my watch after a while and panicked. "Oi nade ter git ter class," I said.

"I can take you in the police car," he said.

"Naw, Oi'm gran' on de 'arley," I said.

"Well, I don't want you getting in a motorcycle accident. How about I follow you and turn the alarm on if you start falling asleep."

"Is dat allowed?"

"I don't think so, but I'll risk it for you."

Together we drove to the campus, and he got out when I parked with a slip of paper in his hand.

"I want to take you on a real date sometime. Call me so we can arrange. And I mean it; I'm not going to wait for some other Barbebleue to wave a gun just to talk to you."

Cat Sì

Chapter One

In Which I Meet a Police Officer

"Welcome to Grimm's Bar," I said in a well-rehearsed American accent. My name is Ainsley Aithne (my family loves the alliteration), and I was a bartender here while trying to get my doctorate. For some reason I had this silly idea that I could actually be a great success, despite the fact that I was constantly hiding something about myself. I'm a Cat Sì, a Scottish and Irish werecat of sorts. In my cat form I'm black with a white spot on my chest, and most humans fear me. To other creatures, though, I make the best drinks in the city.

Grimm's Bar was just the way it sounded; a safe haven for any creature straight out of a storybook or mythology to have a drink and transform in some peace. Occasionally a human came here, but they were usually driven away by the drink choices before they could notice how off this place was in the first place. I don't blame them; in my whole life I have never actually tasted anything I've served; I was more or less pushed away.

"Officer Evan Ryans, FTPD," the man said, showing me his badge. "I received a complaint saying that there was a man in here that was drunk and disorderly."

"Roi dis way, officair," I said, reverting back to my traditional accent as I showed him the creature that was weeping in the corner about how horrible his life was. "'e's 'eadin' through de foive stages av grief roi in 'ere," I pointed out. When he came in he was fine, then threatening to fight with anybody who offered, trying to give me all his money to "make his life better", and now he was here.

"Yer don't 'av ter get 'im if yer don't want ter," I said. "'e'll accept it soon enoof."

Suddenly the man stood up on a table and waved a gun.

"Yeah, he's accepting it all right," Officer Ryans said.