For the A to Z challenge, I present Murder Most Fowl, an unedited serial story from the unpublished Cera Chronicles. Please excuse the grammar mistakes. This hasn’t been critiqued yet. If you’re just diving into this story, you may want to start with part A.
Michael rolled his eyes at the angry accusation. “There was no need to cheat. Your nostrils flare every time you bluff, and you scratch your chin whenever you have a potentially profitable hand. It was impossible not to bid in a fashion to clean you out.” He flicked a hand to the pile of gold bits and coins scattered across the floor. “Winning is not cheating.”
Molly edged out and frowned at Michael. “I didn’t think they let children—”
“Don’t!” I shouted.
Michael spun and glowered, lips pulled back from his teeth. “I am not a child and if you so much as… Mistress Cera?” His face morphed. A smile spread across his lips, and his cheeks dimpled. He raced to me, flung his arms around me, and buried his face in my chest. He jerked his head back just as quickly and his nose wrinkled. “You…uh…when is the last time you bathed?” He released me and stepped back, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his hands. His eyebrows knit together beneath his mess of brown hair as he scanned me. “What happened to your shoes? Have you been shot? And electrocuted? Is that an ostrich footprint on your forehead?”
Molly frowned. “He don’t talk like a child either.”
Michael glared, mouth screwed to one side. The corner of his eye twitched.
She folded her arms. “What’re you lookin’ at?”
He shrugged and pretended to examine his fingernails. “Your shoelaces are untied.”
She eyed him suspiciously, then she leaned forward, exposing what little she had of her modest cleavage. “No, they ain’t…”
His lips curved into a smile, and he took his time ogling. “My mistake.” He may be eternally trapped in a 9-year-old body, but he was a lecherous old man on the inside. He looked around. “Are the others here?”
I shook my head. “Fues stepped out for lunch.”
The angry man fired another round of lightning from his gun. The chair to my right exploded. “Hey cheat! I’m gonna—”
I lifted a hand, pointed a finger, and cocked my thumb. “Kapow.” A fireball shot from my finger, struck him in the chest, and flung him out the batwing doors. I blew smoke from my fingertip. “Sore loser.”
Thanks for reading! If you want to start at the beginning, find it here. Don’t forget to visit other bloggers participating in the A to Z Challenge.
Do you have any criticism? Suggestions? Wild, off-the-wall ideas of “you know what would be funny…?” Let me know in the comments. I’d love to hear them.