Sunday, March 29, 2015

Flash Fiction by Cindy Spencer Pape

Posted by: Cindy Spencer Pape

My words: kraken, strut, super, chimera, calumny, eclectic
Mort’s in the Afternoon

“So, a kraken, a chimera, and a griffin all strut into a bar.” The small, red-haired man (loosely speaking) perched on a barstool, making Dita, my waitress, giggle while she dried glasses before the dinner rush.

“Mr. Finn, how could a kraken strut?” In the six months she’d been working for me, the waif I’d taken in had lost a touch of her Bosnian accent and gained the ten pounds she’d been missing from malnutrition. It was amazing how quickly she’d settled into our eclectic little group, even if she was as odd as the rest of us. “Wouldn’t it have to swim?”

Just for fun, I thumped Mickey Finn on the shoulder. “Dita, you should know better than to believe a word a leprechaun says. Can’t trust a word of it.” I winked at Mick, one of my oldest friends and best customers. Dita got a kick out of our antics.

He replied with a haughty hmmph. Calumny! Especially coming from a lying lizard of a dragon!” He thumped his mug on the bar, and Silas, the only human on the staff, and a retired Detroit cop, poured another round of Jameson’s with his right arm, having lost the left back in his days on the force.

Dita mouthed the word calumny, and Silas, who’d quickly taken on the role of father to the young witch whispered, “Slander.”

“Ah.” Dita nodded and chuckled. “It is all right. Mr. Finn’s jokes are super. And you, Mr. Gwynn, should know better than to punch a customer. Well, except for trolls. You may punch them all you like.”

“Call me Mort,” I grumbled. My name, at the moment, was Mordecai Gwynn and my place was the Draig Gwyn, Welsh for White Dragon, aka, me, but most folks call it Mort’s. It’s is an odd little bar that most people walked by without noticing. Unless they had special…gifts, that is. Dita, a white witch, had originally found the place when she was trying to escape a particularly nasty troll. “I’m not your freaking father.”

“No.” Her voice softened as she smiled at me. Once again, that spark of…something… glimmered between us and then the moment was gone. That happened maybe once or twice a week, but never lasted long enough for either of us to explore the possibilities, damn it. “But you are my boss and I was raised to show respect.”

“Got you there, lad,” Mickey muttered, lifting his glass. The little bastard knew I’d been holding back because she was so young—and I was several hundred years old.

The front doors opened and a handful of regulars strolled in. No kraken or chimaera, but there was, oddly enough, a griffin among the crowd. I wondered if Mickey knew?

I tore my eyes away from Dita and sucked in a deep breath. Another time, dragon-boy. Another time. Something in the way my magic clicked with hers told me my relationship with Dita might someday be far from over. Might even be, as she liked to say, super.

To read the beginning of Mort and Dita’s story, Christmas at Mort’s check it out on my website: 

To find out more about my latest paranormal romance, Sea Change, you can check it out at or any other major e-tailer.

Shot at by drug dealers and left to drown, marine biologist Heidi is rescued by the hottest boat bum she’s ever seen. Tall, dark and handsome, Jake is every girl’s dream. But with her best friend missing or dead and the bad guys still after her, the last thing she has time for is romance.

As a merman, exiled from his colony and under a curse on when to shapeshift, Jake can’t afford to be around humans, especially a
marine biologist who might discover his species. But he can’t throw Heidi to the wolves of the drug dealers and possibly corrupt law enforcement. 

He’ll fight drug lords, pirates and even the gods to protect
her. More complications arise when Jake’s family shows up looking for help, but the biggest problem of all is whether Jake and Heidi can resist the massive attraction that grows between them.

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