Have Spacecat, Will Travel: And Other Tails John Hartness (reading cloud ebooks TXT) 📖

morning and I don’t have a spare uniform at your house. You called me an hour ago sounding like you’d just woke up, all upset and adamant that I bring you out here. You said there was somebody who needed peace, and you knew what to say. I picked you up, drove you here, and been sitting here for half an hour with my flashers on watching you talk to thin air. But there hasn’t been a death in a car wreck in Union County for three weeks, and I’ve never heard the name Peter Smalls before you just said it a minute ago.”

I sat back in the passenger seat, all the wind taken out of me. I looked out the window, over to the sad little tomato stake cross, and there stood Peter again, but this time the light around him was so bright it was hard to see past it. It was like he glowed from the inside, and it was almost blinding. The light dimmed, and I saw his face.

He smiled at me, and even though he was twenty feet away and through a car window, as his lips moved, I heard his words as clear as if he sat in the back seat. “Thank you, Lila Grace. You helped bring her home, where she needed to be. Now she can be at peace. Well done.” Then, in the space between eyeblinks, he vanished again.

“You okay, Lila Grace?” Willis asked.

“I think so, honey,” I said. “Take me home, I need a drink.”

“Lila Grace, it ain’t even noon.”

“Five o’clock in Dublin. Sounds like a whiskey lunch to me.” I gave one last look at the rugged little cross as we drove away.

8

Of My Understanding

He’s a Stratocaster Messiah,

long hair swirling around his tattooed shoulders

as he wails the Word at the wasted youth

who scream with the tear-streaked cheeks

of the truly untouched.

She’s the Shepherd swaddled in cardboard,

shivering beside the dumpster,

faith discarded like yesterday’s meatloaf

crying for a piece of salvation

or just a promise of resurrection.

He’s the God of his understanding

all turned out in pinstripes and pocket square

with his envelope bulging ostentatious in the plate,

greasy grin and clammy handshake

for the pastor on his frantic

way down the steps for kickoff.

She’s the Trinity of love, innocence

and the suffering of little children

with her blond hair covering the scars

from mommy didn’t mean to

and daddy gets angry when he drinks.

She smiles undimmed and leaves a flower

on the lady sleeping in the alley

so she can have a pretty

bright beside her when she wakes.

Shiny

A Queen of Kats Short Story

There it is,” Remarin whispered. “That’s perfect.”

That store is closed, Remoron, Trand, his best friend, whispered in his mind. The fact that Trand’s consciousness was trapped inside an enchanted dagger provided only the slightest impediment to his incessant heckling.

I don’t care, it’s perfect, and I’m going to have it, Remarin thought back to his friend. The “it” in question was an ornate silver pendant in the form of a cat’s head, complete with emeralds for eyes and a tiny ruby where the cat’s tongue poked out of its mouth.

Remarin turned from the jewelry store window and crossed the street, pretending to be interested in the wares on display outside a bakery. He poked and prodded the day-old loaves for a moment while he took in every detail of the jeweler’s storefront. No access from the front, that much was obvious. Every window was barred vertically and horizontally, almost as though there were valuables inside and the proprietor didn’t want to be robbed. Thoroughly inconsiderate of him, Remarin thought.

The cobbler’s shop to the right was far less secure, but breaking through a wall in the middle of the night was bound to draw more attention than he wanted. He looked up, seeing a line of spikes set into the masonry atop the store to deter pigeons from crapping on the customers as they entered or window shopped. That level of care meant the clientele was well-off, meaning that the stones in the cat were most likely real. That settled it, this was the place. And if he couldn’t go in the front, he’d check the back, but it was almost certainly going to mean the roof.

You do know the owner probably sleeps above the shop, don’t you? Trand’s mental voice cut through Remarin’s planning.

Were you this shrill when you had lungs? Of course I know the owner sleeps up there, probably in that room with the curtains on the window. I also know that it’s a warm night, so his back window is likely open to let in a breeze. That’s where we’ll make our entry.

Right into the man’s bedroom? You’re truly remarkable, Remoron. Most people grow more conservative with age. You have managed to, if possible, become even more reckless.

Impossible, Trand. You should have seen me when I was a child. I once tried to ride a trebuchet across to a neighboring island. Fortunately for me, our Arms Master caught me before I cut the rope.

And yet somehow that doesn’t feel lucky for the world at large, Trand replied.

Remarin ignored his friend, as he so often did both before and after Trand’s physical body was lost in an unfortunate disagreement with a spellcaster. The slim thief tossed the baker’s boy a coin, snatched up a sweet roll, peeled off the burned crust, and walked off, munching on his treat. He walked several blocks up, then crossed the street and strolled down a side street, apparently carefree.

The thief turned left onto another side street, walked a few blocks, then ducked down an alley leading to a narrow courtyard that opened up behind several shops, including the jewelry store. Remarin kept to the shadows, peering out into the open space to determine the easiest route to the roof. He nodded to himself as he saw that the rear window of what he assumed was the jeweler’s bedroom was indeed open.

That makes things simpler, he thought.

Oh, certainly, Trand replied. Now it looks like all you need to do is scale the