Ravings of a Textual Deviant

This one is for A.S-R., who gave me the title.

Nobody was more surprised than me when I won $25,000 ($13,750 after taxes) in the Minnesota State Lottery. I did the responsible thing and paid off my credit cards first, which left me just enough to fulfill one of my two lifetime wishes.

I’ve always been skinny. My nursing bra was a size A, and I really filled out during pregnancy, if you get my drift. I would love to be a B cup.

On the other hand, I would really like to take the kids to Disneyworld, and not have to do it on the cheap.

What to do?

Excuse the expression, but being a vampire sucks. No more surfing, tanning, or beach volleyball. And I am majorly wigging out over the permanent high-protein diet.

The dude who killed me promised that I’d, like, be power and rich. He left out the part about it taking decades before I even rate…not to mention how long it takes compound interest to work on a manicurist’s savings account.

This bites.

Still, I probably overreacted when I ripped his head off. He was right on about the super-strength and reflexes, at least. And the look on his face was totally worth it.

This story is for everyone who has ever had a bad Thanksgiving, but especially for H. A.

Grandma isn’t a bad cook. It’s that she’s been cooking to please Grandpa for forty-three years…and his mother was a terrible cook. She’s been cooking badly on purpose all this time, and she’s good at it.

I steeled myself for another year of oven-dried turkey, scorched stuffing, and white lies. I had a plane ticket and Pepto-Bismol. I was as ready as I’d ever be.

The shooting pains started when I was over Ohio.

I have never been so grateful for my appendix as I was that day. I’m told food poisoning is just as painful, and a lot messier.

I don’t really like my job, and sometimes I half-ass it. A lot of the time, actually. I feel vaguely guilty about that, but not enough to work harder…only enough to reassure myself that I’m not a complete bastard, just burned out.

The high point of my year is the Darwin awards—not the announcements, but watching the winning entry. The rest of the time, it’s “another day, another dead guy.” One more soul to chauffeur to its final destination.

I’d like to think it used to be more fun, or at least more interesting. Unfortunately, like taxes, it wasn’t.

I was very new, and very late.

When I reached the far corner of the cemetery, only three men with shovels remained. In spite of that—maybe because of it—I opened myself to the Spirit and preached like I’d never preached before.

“Amen!” shouted the diggers. “Amen!”

I preached about sin, redemption, the hope of Paradise, and about the meek inheriting the earth.

People love that last one.

At the end, I could feel His glory reaching out of the sky, like sundogs.

As I was leaving, one man said “This here’s the blessedest utility box in the state.”

Adam and Jamie burst into the cave, followed by a camera crew. The dragon awoke and scratched her nose with one claw, sending a handful of genuine antique Spanish coins cascading toward their feet. She watched, mildly amused, as they dashed around, taping everything, especially the nearly-pristine wreckage of the galleon Premio del Rey, and the skeletons of her crew. Adam examined one of the doubloons carefully.

“Busted!” he declared to the lens.

She guffawed. “I assure you, I am no myth.”

“Wrong show, lady,” Jamie hooted. “You’re on COPS, and this is definitely piracy, kidnapping, murder, and grand theft.”

“But what about the prince?”

“Doll, with your voice, you’ll be a star. You’ll have a career. Sign with me, and the prince will throw himself at your feet. Uh, fins. Princes, kings, emperors, even movie stars.”

“Would I be able to see my father and sisters?”

“Yeah, between gigs, no problem. For you, we will even guarantee front-row seats for them. At, uh, coastal venues.”

“And what do you want in exchange?”

“Ten percent is industry standard.”

Melusine examined the contract.

“It’s a hell of a lot better than the deal my idiot sister made. Where do I sign?”

The crucifix had fallen off my bracelet…not just any old crucifix, but the one I’d been given by Grandma, after my confirmation. I was frantic. I turned out my jewelry box, desk, closet, and laundry hamper.

Nothing.

I pulled everything out of my car—trunk and passenger compartment—and found a lot of interesting and scary things, but not my crucifix. I backtracked.

No luck.

Finally, I started moving furniture, tossing the pillows all over the place. And there it was, in the sofa.

They say that God is everywhere, but who’d have thought to look between the couch cushions?

My first field assignment for the Dragon Liberation Front was in Brunei, of all places. One of the royal family was breeding Argentine Enfuegos on an industrial scale…for food. The rich are different, and it’s a very rich kingdom.

Countries with medieval political systems usually have the best twenty-second-century security, and this was no exception. Fortunately, a good, old-fashioned bribe did the trick. We freed dozen of hatchlings and eggs from appalling conditions.

Then, we needed to figure out what to do with over two hundred fire-breathing babies.

I never should’ve told them that I wanted to meet hot chicks.

Alaric, the Third Assistant Royal Gardener, peeked through the briar hedge, staring openmouthed at the sight of his coworkers and employers in their magical sleep.

“Faerie magic,” said the pixie, breathlessly. She’d seen it all, and told him the tale.

“No job, and tomorrow’s—would’ve been—payday,” he thought.

He slouched off to the pub, where he told his woes to a rapt audience.

When he’d finished, a traveler threw him a coin. “That was great! Tell us another one.”

Alaric blinked. He reckoned he’d just made a…whatsit, a career change.

“Once, there were these dwarves, see. Seven of ‘em…”