Chapter One

A very wise friend once told me that there's a world out there that most people have no idea exists. I used to be one of those people. However, my eyes were opened to this world and my life hasn't been the same since. I've decided to write my tale; it's up to you to believe it.

It all started as I boarded the flight back home. I was pleased to see that it was almost empty. I flew enough to know which flights to schedule, and the "red-eye" from Honolulu to San Diego was almost always empty on Friday evenings. This would allow me to get some much-needed sleep without listening to some tourists talk about their "dream vacation". My seat was near the back of the plane and I hoped that I would be by myself. The rows around me were also empty, which suited me just fine. I'm not anti-social; rather I am pro-sleep!

This is a sequel to my story "The Witch, the Warlock, and me"  If you haven’t, you might want to read it to find out about a few of the characters in this story.

My name is Carl and during the break between my junior and senior years in college, I’d taken a drive to a little town on the ocean about an hour from campus.  I was walking through the older part of town, which had been renovated and turned into a very nice shopping area with many small shops.  But, most of these shops didn’t interest me.  Then at the end of one street was a very large old house that caught my attention.  The first floor had been turned into a book shop and they specialized in old books.  Old books were my down fall.  I loved them.

Bravery of the Nameless

by Arcie Emm

At the fence-line she stopped, staring at her home, and wondering if it was safe to return to the unhappy house. Were her parents still yelling at each other or had winter settled between the two? Would her return draw their glacial stares?

Probably.

And it was so unfair, she was not to blame. She was never to blame, just the easiest. As a female, despite being oldest, she was always judged, maybe not as worthless, but definitely as worth less than her brother. Eric the fair-haired angel to her mother, hope to her father, and sniveling, little weasel to her. Eric, who was so good at playing her mother against her father and vice versa, who always got his way despite the damage it did to everyone else, in particular her.

Tales of Airousse Moor One

The Assassin’s Curse                   By Tenwaters (for reading on http://stardustr.us only)

To say Bill Bigalow was a killer while technically correct, would be imprecise, insulting, and most likely unhealthy.  To start with Bill Bigalow was not his real name just the last one he had been using.  Though he had killed a number of people there was no one who could prove it.  In most cases no one could prove that his victims were even murdered.  The man currently calling himself Bill Bigalow was a master spy and assassin.  He was no casual killer he was an artist.  Of course he did not practice his trade in Airousse Moor the Guild there was a little to territorial for his tastes.