Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

“From the ashes I arose, in the great mounds where they were heaped.” Its voice was like a deep bellows, whispers of fire raked over cherry-red coals, and each syllable breathed forth a pinch of acrid smoke and let a little of the burning light within escape.

“I’ve heard it said that the best smiths put themselves into their work,” said Ona. “I suppose that, with enough ash and time, the shards of great smiths past must feel the need to create.”

Cinderforge nodded. “The urge is overwhelming,” it said, “though the materials run low and the supply of fuel ebbs. I have kept this furnace stoked for an age, making trinkets and weapons and whatever else is asked for with a genuine need. But I cannot wander far before the fire begins to fail, and I am diminished form what I once was. I fear that another blade such as Heartseeker is not within me to craft.”

“Why not?” Ona said. She watched the sparks rise from each hammer blow as Cinderforge worked away at the metal. “You’re as strong a smith as I’ve ever seen.”

“There was a time when four arms worked these forges, manning the bellows as well as the hammer and tongs,” said Cinderforge. “To keep the fire, I have had to cast off pieces of myself. In a year, perhaps less, they shall gutter out unless I give up the last part of myself. Even if you could bring me Heartseeker itself, I could not copy it as I am now.”

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The first time, I lost about a minute. My alarm went off before I was expecting and scared me nearly to death. I brushed it off. I mean, I barely even knew what time was before I got a cell phone.

I brushed off the next few just as easily. What’s losing track of a few minutes here or there? I figured I was just being tired, or forgetful. Especially in college, there are some frat boys that lose track of more time than that every weekend.

But then I started missing classes, looking up and noticing that three hours had gone by. Phone calls from worried people were starting to come in, and I lost my job at Stubb’s Coffee.

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the ocean
billows amid quilted squares
deep feathers to their base
cotton brine soft from use
offering
waves of
flux
tide
current

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“My cleric casts a spell,” said Dr. Robert B. Strasser. “On Angela.”

“Okay,” Myassa said. “But you can’t see her. You need to roll perception to see if you can.”

“I roll a nineteen.”

“You spot the fallen form of your rogue!” Myassa said. “What spell do you cast?”

“I cast Cause Moderate Wounds.”

“Wait, what?” Angela cried. “Dr. Strasser!”

“On your own rogue? Brutal!” Myassa rolled out the attack. “Thirteen hit points of damage! She’s almost dead.”

“The gibberlings are attracted by the smell of blood, no?” said Strasser.

“You’re right,” said Myassa. “They swarm toward her prostrate form!”

“DR. STRASSER!”

“And what of the traps?” said Strasser

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Do you know how succubi are formed?
They need chaos.
Chaos can’t grow a succubus alone;
They need evil.
Evil can’t grow succubi
here’s the reason why;
Blood War rages on the planes
and demons die.
Do you know how succubi are formed?
They need violence and distress,
enemies and darkness
and most of all they need lust!

With apologies to John Barry, Hal David, and Nina Van Pallandt.

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…and

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The circle was drawn. Salted, as was written in the rituals. The runes, scryed out in the cleanest way possible when living blood was the medium, were already ablaze with unholy incandescence.

They were general runes, offering a toehold on the mortal coil for any interested creature. The summoner was not picky.

When the answer came, it began as the sound of distant wailing, like mourners of old, before manifesting as a great pyroclastic column of smoke and sound at the dead center of the innermost thurmatological circle. It burst with a howl, revealing a foul and horned demon.

“Who summoned me?” it rasped in a voice made of suffering. “And what souls do they offer in return?”

The shadowy summoner stepped into the light cast by their foul evocation. “Hi there. I’m Sidney Angelle of West Side Realty, and I’ve got a deal for you.”

“W-what?” the demon said. “That is not how this works.”

“What I’m here to talk about is how I can work for you,” Sidney said. “I’ve summoned you into a lovely three bedroom one-and-a-half bath that’s been on the market for far too long. It’s in a great location, ten minutes to the beach, ten minutes to downtown. And it’s in a great school district.

Squinting, the demon snorted. “That’s not enough bathrooms,” it said.

“Of course it is,” said Sidney. “You’re only one demon.”

“But what if I want to have people over? They’ll have to use the whole bath, and it’s attached to the master suite. That’s my bathroom, and I don’t want to have to clean it every time I have people over. What if I take roommates?”