Ravings of a Textual Deviant

I wish I had bothered to study the rules of physics. Or magic. Or, preferably, both.

I was minding my own business in the palace garden, when a frog hopped up to me and spoke.

I’m no genius, but like every princess, I thought I knew what that meant. So, yes, I kissed the frog, and yes, just as advertised, he turned into a handsome prince. Better yet, an unmarried, handsome prince. Everything a princess hopes for.

Correction: almost everything.

You can imagine my dismay at his lack of charm when I woke on a lily pad this morning.

Alone.

The faerie knight blinked in the late October sunshine spilling through the door under the hill.

“Mr. Tam Lin?” asked the lovely young lady standing there.

He smiled winningly at the maiden. “I see my reputation has preceded me.”

She smiled back. “You might say that, sir.” She reached under her cloak and handed him a sheaf of papers fixed with an unfamiliar seal. “Tam Lin, you are hereby ordered to appear in court on a matter of paternity one week hence, November first. Have a happy Halloween, sir.”

He heard footsteps behind him.

“Who is this?” asked the Queen.

“I see you have used frog, where the instructions call for toad.”

“I was out of toad, Madame. I substituted.”

“The proper substitution is iguana, which you would know had you paid attention earlier in the year. Your rosemary—was it gathered at noon?”

“I don’t know, Madame.”

“How can you not know?”

“I, ah, that is…”

“You did not harvest it yourself.”

“I ordered it off the Internet.”

“You. Ordered spell components. Off the Internet.”

Madame’s face turned sour. “Miss Lutine, I suggest you reconsider your course schedule. I have never seen so many spelling errors in my life.”

“There’s no proof that using magic adversely affects…well, anything, on its own,” said Morgan.

“That doesn’t change the fact that there’s only so much thaumaturgic power,” Niniane retorted.

“There are still plenty of active ley lines. We don’t even know how many more there might be.”

“We can’t count on finding more! If there’s to be magic a hundred, five hundred, or a thousand years hence, we need to use it wisely now.”

“Merlin,” asked an exasperated Morgan, “You remember the future. What is the state of magic a thousand years hence?”

“Hard to say. But the argument sounds familiar.”

Author’s Note: I had to cheat a bit on the word count by using the acronyms, but what the hell.

The scorched remains of California’s last dragon oozed at our feet. Before we could heave a sigh of relief, the spotlights hit us.

“Freeze, murderers!”

The SPCS* freaks were running toward us, cameras blazing, screaming about keystone species.

Jason’s eyes were still rolling when the SPOOCs** came up over the hill behind us, nightsticks out and arrest warrants in hand.

They hated us pissing in their pool. Again.

We teleported the hell out of there as the groups crashed into each other like tectonic plates. Scylla and Charybdis have nothing on the ensuing riot.

Looked damned impressive on CNN, though.

*Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Supernaturals
**Special Police Occult & Oracular Corps

Sir Benedek hurried toward the lair. The princess had only a few minutes before the dragon arrived.

Or so he thought. The dragon already clutched a limp Astrid. “Oh, a matched pair” it cooed, grasping him and squeezing until all went black.

When he awoke, Astrid lay next to him. She was unconscious, but breathing. They were on wooden surface, under a tapestry.

“Happy birthday, darling,” the dragon boomed, and the tapestry fell away. “Pets are a lot of responsibility, but I think you’re ready.”

Benedek fainted again. It was the last rest he got for a very long time.