John Charming. Ex knight. Current monster hunter. Somewhere in Alaska a locked house full of ripped apart bodies and one teacup poodle covered in blood. Somewhere in Alaska, the voice of a dead woman speaks through a car radio. And somewhere in Alaska, the last surviving descendant of one of John Charming's only friends is being pursued by nightmare hounds. The dog days have begun. This is a short story from contemporary fantasy author, Elliott James, within his Pax Arcana world. The first of his novels, Charming and Daring, are available now.
Release date:
February 18, 2014
Publisher:
Orbit
Print pages:
40
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Once Upon a Time, I missed the first part. This was the part where two Alaska state troopers pulled up to a large three-story house that looked like a wooden palace in the middle of nowhere. And I mean nowhere. The nearest town was Swelling, Alaska, five miles away and not so much a town as a truck stop with a glandular condition. The state troopers were responding to a 911 call from one Anna Sharpe, who claimed to be trapped in her attic by a bear that had broken into her house and killed her husband.
The reason I gave a damn was that one of the responding officers, Bob Franklin, was the son of Lily Alguvuk. Well, technically I suppose her name was Lily Franklin, but there are legal names and real names. I should know; I have several legal names on several legal driver’s licenses, but my real name is John Charming. That’s right, Charming. You know all of those stories about guys named Prince Charming who were always rescuing maidens and getting tangled up with witches and slaying some kind of monster or another when they weren’t being maimed or turned into something? Those were my ancestors.
You’d change your name a lot too. Oh, and by the way, I’m cursed.
Anyhow, Bob Franklin wasn’t any kind of tracker, which is ironic since his grandfather, George Alguvuk, had been an Inupiat shaman and one of the most skilled trackers I’ve ever known. In fact, I would go so far as to say that George Alguvuk was one of the greatest wendigo hunters since Jack Fiddler. George was also one of my few actual friends. Bob hadn’t known his grandfather, though. Bob’s mother, Lily, had wanted to find a safe home for her baby, far away from George Alguvuk’s dangerous lifestyle, and she had left her name and her tribe behind when she married Doug Franklin, a white man who owned a lot of small businesses: a pizza parlor, a convenience store that had a gas pump and sold moose barbecue, a pawnshop…those kinds of places. Safe places. Then Lily had eventually left her son and his father too. Bob kind of tangled his mother’s abandonment and her ethnicity all together into one big emotional snarl and silently resented both of them without ever examining why too closely. I imagine Bob’s father, Doug Franklin, was a big help in this regard.
But even Bob, tracker or not, noticed that there weren’t any large animal marks in the snow around the Sharpes’ house. He walked all the way around it just to be sure. There also weren’t any broken windows or doors. What kind of bear breaks into a house and leaves an intact door closed behind it?
Bob didn’t think it was a prank call, though. He had a bad feeling, and Bob trusted his instincts. He was probably wise to do so. George Alguvuk had possessed the sight, and such gifts tend to pass down family lines. Bob took an 870 Remington shotgun up to the front door, while his partner, Andy Wilson, stayed in the car in case there really was a bear in the house. Bob’s partner wasn’t being a coward; he wanted to be ready to call for back-up or get Bob the hell out of there fast if Bob came running out of the house with over half a ton of pissed-off mammal coming after him.
Bob put an ear to . . .
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