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Edition 8: Serial Fiction: Intangible (Part 3 of 6) by A. A. Garrison
Hack’s machinations are wrapping Jeannie in an ever-tighter net. Her nights and days are full of Lincoln. She recalls her ingracious return to North Carolina, and the slimy events that preceded it. With her mother sickening, surely she’s had enough bad luck, unless that shaman is involved. SY
Man – Energy Body – Aura (Copyright Deosum | Dreamstime.com)
V. November, 1989
Night in the Tuttle household.
Hack hovers over the sleeping girl, impregnating her with a fresh dreamscape involving Abraham Lincoln. She stirs some as it finds purchase, but remains asleep, her aura pulsing as the dream unfolds, her face mutely quizzical in the way of the sleeping. The shaman leaves her for her mother.
Edition 7: Serial Fiction: Intangible (Part 2 of 6) by A. A. Garrison
In the last episode of Intangible, Hack the shaman had picked his target. His mark is a young woman, Jeannie Tuttle. He now begins to dabble in her everyday life, placing cues in the unseen movements of his grand plot. SY
Man – Energy Body – Aura (Copyright Deosum | Dreamstime.com)
III. September 11th, 1989
Jeannie knows she’s dreaming. It’s an inherent knowledge, like how to lie. She distantly wonders if she can manipulate her dream, steer it, but this proves impossible: it sprouts strange legs and runs, moving with the scripted adamance of a kabuki play.
It’s daytime and beautiful, concrete below a sunshot sky, people thronged along a cordoned street. In the distance, snare drums and a pan flute play “Yankee Doodle.” Good cheer lifts every face, a flag for every hand. The Fourth of July?
Edition 6: Serial Fiction: Intangible (Part 1 of 6) by A. A. Garrison
In part one, we meet Hack, a shaman who deals in intangibles. He can acquire what it is you need. His customer lives behind a mask in a chequered castle. The most important task: to make his mark. SY
Man – Energy Body – Aura (Copyright Deosum | Dreamstime.com)
I. September 7th, 1989
The shaman is named Hack, and he does not work for free.
He leans alongside an empty guardhouse beside a great gate, awaiting his client’s dispatch. The hilly countryside lies pastorally still, so much a postcard. His wintry hair reaches in the breeze, bald pate white with sun. A tattered overcoat mimics his hair, lifting in identical pattern. His appearance suggests nothing of a miracle worker.
Edition 12: The Bridge of Lok-Altor by Daniel Ausema
Long cut off from the outside world, the peaceful island of Lok-Altor has stagnated. When a stranger comes to town, the people of Lok-Altor must face long-ingrained fears to save themselves. SY
Pescal dangled a fishing line into one of the eddies that formed along the cobbled river edge. He breathed deeply, enjoying the smell of fish and the sharp taste of salt that came across the island of Lok-Altor from the sea. The ruined pillars of the ancient bridge seemed to shake in the sun-reflecting water. Here he could relax, forget about pretty girls named Sari—not that there could ever be more than one with that name, not for him—about a father losing himself in memories, about a sister who was convinced she would never marry.
The fish in these pools were strange creatures—unlike those caught in the nets—but they allowed his family occasional luxuries: a shark-tooth necklace for his sister, a drizzle of royal honey for his mother.
Edition 12: The Color of Tears by Angela Meadon
The Painter grants people a second chance, but only so long as they can keep up the repayments. Barton has one chance to save his little girl when it all starts going wrong. SY
Barton looked at the scrap of parchment he held between his fingers: 2653 Arcturus Street. The clay numerals above the polished oak door matched the number that the Painter had written out for him. Beyond the door slept a family that had been torn apart by the loss of a child. He was about to shatter their peace and tear the scab from the wound. Would his heart, his conscience be able to withstand it?
This could so easily be my door. If collections don’t pick up it will be my door, my Lilly on the other side of it.
Barton shook his head to clear the image of his unsuspecting family sleeping in their beds. He jumped when his partner laid a hand on his shoulder.
Edition 12: Over The Bridge by Lisamarie Lamb
The allure of the unknown is both a positive effect and a dangerous preoccupation. The author treats this beautifully in her dark childlike fantasy. SY
One day, Iris thought, she might cross the bridge. She might find out what was on the other side. But she had a fear of the trolls that her parents told her lived beneath it, and a fear of the devils that they said lived across it, and so she stayed where she was. Safe on her side of the bridge.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t curious about the world across the river. There was something there, there had to be, or the bridge would have no use. It must have been built for a reason.
Iris would spend hours simply sitting, staring at the narrow strip of moss covered wood that separated her from the other side with all of its seductive secrets. The greenery that grew up through the wooden planks was lush and plush and showed her that no one had crossed that bridge in a very, very long time.
Edition 13: Like Bread by Patricia Russo
When magic is a consumable, how much value does the life that controls the magic hold? When the talent matcher receives a promising new child to assess, she hasn’t even assessed him before the offer comes. Will the price be worth paying if she cannot live with what that means for the boy’s existence? SY
My son tells me to stop dwelling on it. Obsessing, is his word. He scowls when he says it, but he means well. Deep down, he is a kind-hearted boy. I don’t want him to worry about me, so I try to remember to smile when he visits.
Havvie, who’s kept the stall next to mine in Underpass Market for nearly twenty years, says much the same. “It’s not your fault. If anyone’s to blame, it’s that kiddie’s father. Selfish bastard.”
“He thought he was doing the right thing.”
Edition 13: Catch of the Day by J. R. Johnson
Ray is a glorified smuggler, who finds himself in an untenable situation that can only be solved with some outside intervention. Full of tricks and betrayal to make the waters murky, Ray’s plan requires all his wits and cunning to get out of the game. SY
The last drops of morning rain skittered past me, chased by sun shining brutal and hot against a backdrop of dark clouds. Gulls crowded the Walmart parking lot where I stopped to make the call, their white and grey feathers highlighting a magnificent post-storm rainbow. The colorful illusion faded as I watched, leaving only birds fighting for crumbs and screaming. Yanking at my thinning hair, I tried to think of options that didn’t end with me dead.
Nope, nothing. Except to turn my back on everything I knew, everything I was, and make a play for a real life. One with Keri.
Edition 1: Toxic Sludge by Tom Ribas and Lee Lackey
When waste takes over, it’s left up to the animals to preserve the forest. Will Rat, Frog, and Badger be able to defeat The Sludge and save the world as we know it? A fantastical story of a future where our filthy past finally catches up with us. SY
In a hollow den of glass and steel, blue and black shadows spread across holes and hallways leading down divergent paths; they stood exposed under rows of effulgent fluorescent lights.
Badger motioned to hurry, dark eyes darting. Dim esoterica on the walls stretched to the edges of his abnormally keen vision, panes revealing no signs of the enemy. He held the machine gun tight in his piebald paws; he smelled vividly the acrid stench of pollution.
“I’m trying.” Rat’s claws clattered and fumbled against the primitive electric lock on the metal crate. Her eyes were wide and frantic; she knew what would happen if they were to be caught. Sweat formed and ran down her nose, on the palms of her hands, onto her fingers, making them slippery. The other two shifted in place the longer they were forced to wait. Every second that passed made them more and more afraid.
With an audible click and hiss, hydraulic rams moved inside to open the crate and show the stash of ammunition within.
“Got it—I got it.”
SQ Mag 
