Welcome to
prompt no. 1. As I said in the previous post, I pulled these prompts from Bryn
Donovan and will use a character from my Lost Souls ParaAgency series to
create a super short story. Today’s pick is Dara!
You can
expect updates on the stories at least once a week or maybe more so be sure to
check back often or watch my Facebook page for
updates. Sometimes they will be in two or three parts and sometimes it will be a one-shot. Don't be afraid to let me know what you think.
PROMPT: A collector buys an unpublished manuscript by an obscure writer that
describes a terrible historical event a year before it occurred. The collector
learns the writer wrote many unpublished stories…
The character: Dara Henry
– sassy, southern brunette who isn’t afraid to use her charms on any of the men in Burberry. She’s married to the mayor’s
son and thinks that boosts her status in the community.
Nemesis to
Ris Walker who dated the mayor’s son before Dara stole him.
The story:
Dara Henry parked her convertible in front of the
motor home that had set up shop outside the city limits of Burberry. Mystical Mayhem & Tomfoolery. Not a
very appealing shop name.
She pulled down the visor and opened the vanity
mirror to apply another layer of bright pink lipstick. A smile curved her lips.
How easily she’d taken over the use of the color on everything and watched the
Walker women wallow in jealousy. Especially Ris.
She lifted her sunglasses and settled them on top of
her head to push her hair out of her face. The weird guy who’d taken up shop in
her diner had sent Ris here for whatever reason to pick something up for him. A
gift for his wife or something.
She’d have kicked the old man out long ago, but he
tipped well and when she eavesdropped, he provided some interesting gossip.
Like this indie book and herb shop. With the mayor’s birthday right around the
corner, Dara needed something to impress. The man, Sparsh, had said the word
relic and the mayor collected old crap that could be considered relics.
“Patrick should be doing this himself if he could be
bothered with staying home once in a while,” she murmured to her reflection. Whatever. At least she had his money and
someday the mayor’s. She blew herself a kiss before exiting.
A generic “Open” sign hung from the door handle. She
twisted the knob and with a creak the door pulled open. The acrid scent of
burning incense hit her nostrils hard. She’d always hated that smell.
The inside of the camper was cramped with shelves
lined with books and jars of unlabeled herbs and other things. She shivered.
“Can I help you?” A woman sat at a small table and
lifted a vaping pipe to her mouth.
“I need something antique and expensive.” Dara didn’t
care what it was at this point as she’d already made up her mind to get out of
the place as quickly as possible before the smell stuck to her clothes. She
lifted her wallet out of her Hermès purse. “I’ll pay cash.”
“Good thing,” the woman started. “I only take cash.”
Dara could tell the woman had an accent but didn’t
care enough to place from where. Something foreign and thick. The woman needed
a good hair brush and an even better pair of tweezers for her brows and upper
lip.
“What do you recommend for a collector?” Dara asked.
“That depends on what kind of collector.” The woman
paused for another vape.
“I don’t know. Books, I guess.” This conversation
was taking way too long. Dara glanced around at a pile of parchment sown
together with leather binding. She picked it up and blew off a layer of dust. “Is
this like an original Shakespeare play or something?”
The woman snorted a laugh. “No dear, that is an
original manuscript of Sir Henrique Malachi. Some say he could predict the
future and that it drove him mad.”
A
weird book with a creepy story. Good enough. “How much?”
“Three hundred dollars,” the woman said.
It was Dara’s turn to laugh. “I don’t think so. I’ll
give you one hundred for it. If it’s an original.”
“Deal. It is the only one. His manuscripts were
never published.” She held out her hand for the money. “But I should warn you—”
“You’ve already made the sale, lady,” Dara interrupted.
“Stop while you’re ahead.”
Dara tossed two fifties on the table and scooted to the exit. Back in her car, she flipped through the pages. She should have
checked to make sure it was complete first, but again, whatever. She set it in
the backseat and checked her reflection. Still looking like a goddess.
She turned her head and sniffed her sleeve. Gross. But not smelling like one. Now, she’d have to change before
opening the diner for lunch. At least she’d have time to wrap the present for
Patricia.
She settled her sunglasses over her eyes and headed
back to Burberry.
