His Dreams End


“I want you to find something for me. A book.”

She smelled of the deep sea, cold and vast and enchanting.

I shrugged. “Okay. Show me.”

Her mind touched mine. I saw the rite and smiled. “I can get you the Azif. Easy, but not cheap. There may be deaths.”

Her mouth-tentacles twitched. Artists for a dozen miles fell into dread nightmare. “Do what you must. You will have what you wish.” She turned, showed me a bit of glistening leg. I admired the view. “Soon. His dreams end.”

“I can read the stars”, I said. “And they’re almost right.”


Friday Fiction picked up this week from Darleen at protein wisdom and Smitty from The Other McCain. Read their stories, of course, and bathe in the noir!