Scald Crow

     The smell of grandmother and cigarettes filled the car. The tires hummed against the mixture of ice and asphalt. Despite it being springtime in Alberta, thick flakes of fluffy white snow splattered against the windshield before they turned into droplets of water, brushed away by the windshield wipers. Uncomfortable silence ruled the car with an iron fist.         Several times Melanie looked over at Warren, with her mouth open ready to speak. Words eluded her. How do you talk about the unexplained? Did the events of the arena happen? How real was the dream in the darkness? In a world gone crazy easy answers were in short supply.        “Mom just spits it out already,” Warren said after she stared and said nothin

   The rickety old station wagon pulled into Fox Creek on a wing and prayer. The gas light began to blink erratically. Warren felt like someone pulled the rug out from under his sense of hope because Fox Creek looked like a warzone. Overturned cars with crushed windshields and crimson trails ended at the tree line.       The atmosphere in the vehicle wasn’t much better. Warren tried to keep his mind off the dead body in the trunk area. “Mom, I don’t want to stop here. Whatever happened in Edmonton is happening all over. You always knew what to do. I don’t.”       The car sputtered and coughed, just as he pulled into the gas station, and great tufts of smoke billowed from under the hood. Warren surmised the old station wagon refused to live on without his mom. Dim lights watched o

   Secrets are horrible things. People have to keep them. In the end, they serve little purpose unless you are throwing a surprise birthday party. The words of the creature haunted Warren, “I’m you.” The raptor yellow eyes invaded his thoughts and distracted him at all hours of the day. He chose not to tell Nerea.       The day started at the breakfast table. Fresh coffee dropped steadily into the decanter, Warren stared at it with sleep-deprived eyes. Since the last dream, he developed a fear of falling asleep. The sizzle of the frying pan promised bacon would arrive at the table.       “How are you doing this morning, guapito?” Nerea asked. Warren enjoyed her accent, but it did not replace his mother's cheerful whistling as she prepared for the day. On some days, Warren swore t

   Funerals the farewell party for people unable to enjoy them. Although with the return of magic, maybe the dead did creep up on the graveyards to get one last look at their loved ones before they moved on to the next adventure. Warren believes the previous statement to be true. He and Nerea were the only two present at the somber affair.        The return of magic wrought great changes in society. Warren did not like any of them. The latest change came on the way home after the service. “In other news, the government of Canada has passed a law requiring any peoples with magical gifts to be registered and tested. When asked if the law infringed on human rights, Prime Minister Helios responded with, “We have laws to govern firearms, people with magic are walking firearms waiting to go off by accident. We in Ottawa must consider what is good for the whole.”        Nerea turned the radio off and let sile

     The Dodge Charger rolled through the Caribou Interior, of British Columbia. Nerea decided to take Highway Sixteen.  Once upon a time logging trucks and heavy machinery ruled the area. Government legislation changed all that. The logging industry took a nasty downturn in the ’90s and many towns suffered the consequences.        The highway itself was a curiosity. Among the hills and valleys, ghostly figures floated on the shoulder of the lonely stretch of road. Their incorporeal bodies mimicked their death state. The visceral display added a heaviness to the interior. The engine revved into high gear and Nerea sped up.       Plume gripped the handle on the roof. His knuckles were white, “Why did you have to take Highway Sixteen?” The Seelie spent much of t