Chapter One: Hollywood Underworld


 Title: Hollywood Underworld: A Hollywood Series
Author: Lindy S. Hudis
Publication Date: August 4, 2021
Pages: 203
Genre: Crime Thriller

First Chapter:

Dani Foxx sat at her computer in her small yet meticulous office on Ventura Boulevard diligently checking her day-planner. It was still early on this late-spring Friday morning, but the humid San Fernando Valley was already sticky and blistering-hot, a preview of the triple-digit summer sure to come. The air conditioner in her ship-shape Studio City office was running full blast, and the stack of papers, pictures and letters on her cluttered desk seemed to never get smaller. The temptation to procrastinate on Facebook and Twitter was overbearing, and she quickly closed them out. 

     “Gotta work today!” She murmured to herself as she began to get her space in order, taking advantage of some time alone. Dani was thirty-seven years old, and lived just a few miles to the north, off Coldwater Canyon near Magnolia, with her seventeen-year-old daughter, Dale, who attended Grant High School. She had started her talent management company from the ground up without any help from anybody, not unlike her life. She raised her daughter by herself, as well as running a household and business. She was smart, independent and subtly beautiful, with waist-length blonde hair and a figure as sexy and voluptuous as any starlet or supermodel. 

     Her ex-husband, a part-time actor and stand-up comedian, had abandoned the family when Dale was two.  Dani knew instinctively how to take care of herself and her child, and Dale’s father was long forgotten. Neither Dale nor Dani missed him, and they had made a wonderful and loving life for themselves. 

     Sighing, she checked her to-do list of meetings that day. She was to see several actors that morning, had phone calls and breakdowns in the afternoon, and she was running late due to an early-morning argument with her loving, yet typically rebellious teenage daughter. Barbara Thomas, one of the most powerful and respected casting directors in Hollywood, was currently casting a new feature film, and Dani was going to submit her best talent for the various roles. She was also seeking new clients, thus the many interviews she had scheduled for herself. Needless to say, this was going to be a busy day, and she was glad it was Friday, as a much needed and relaxing weekend was definitely in order. 

   Her office landline phone rang for the first time that morning, and Dani was swift to jump and answer it. 

   “Foxx Management.” She spoke professionally into the phone, while continuing to scan her computer screen. Her cell phone vibrated at that very moment, and she let her personal voice mail answer. Her life was a never-ending array of telephone rings, actor drop-ins and pulsating cell phones. However, the ambitious and hard-working Dani would not have it any other way.  

   “Hi Ms. Foxx, it’s Nick Savage. We met at the Actors Space Theater.” The cheery yet deep male voice said. 

   “Oh, hello Nick, of course I remember you. How could I forget your incredible performance in The Glass Menagerie?”

    “I certainly appreciate that, Ms. Foxx. I just wanted to confirm our appointment for this morning.”

    “Lemme check….” Dani clicked on the calendar icon at the top of her screen and skimmed the page when the document opened. “I see you have a ten-thirty with me.”

     “Yes, I do, and I am looking forward to meeting you again, Ms. Foxx.”

     “Likewise, Nick, and please call me Dani. Ms. Foxx is my mom.” Dani said with a friendly laugh. 

    “Okay Ms.…err, Dani. See you at ten-thirty. Is there anything you need me to bring? My demo reel? My new headshots? A Frappuccino from Starbucks?”

    “No thank you, Nick. Just bring yourself and we’ll work out the details of what you need later.”

     “Thank you, Dani. See you later.”

     “Great, see you then.” Dani smiled as the placed the phone back on the multi-line console. She remembered her acting and modeling days. She knew all too well the treachery and frustration of the entertainment business. The many pitfalls, vulnerabilities and precarious situations made life for the aspiring entertainer difficult, so Dani made it a point to be friendly, approachable and super protective of her clients. 

    She gingerly thumbed through the stack of actors' headshots and sorted them according to the order in which she was going to meet with them. Slurping her caramel latte, she eyed the pictures, one after the other. All of them beautiful, all of them with hopes and dreams in their flawless, white-toothed smiles. Nick Savage, the young man to whom she had briefly spoken on the phone less than a minute ago, was performing in a play that one of her clients was in. The Actors’ Space Theater Company in Burbank was bursting with phenomenal new talent, and she frequented there often with her faithful assistant, Doug.  However, this particular morning, Doug was running late, which was not unusual. The traffic in Los Angeles was becoming a joke, and one would have to leave home nearly two hours early to get to work on time. Friday mornings especially, it seemed, the freeways were like parking lots and everybody was always running late– which was why Dani, in her impeccably efficient manner, always made sure to live within a few miles of her office. 

    Shuffling through the stack, Nick’s headshot fell to the floor. She glanced down as she bent to pick it up. As she met so many actors and actresses, it was difficult for her to remember the names and faces, but she did recall meeting him. Dani studied his picture for a moment. His eyes shined with confidence, sex appeal and masculinity. She remembered his performance very well and thought he was talented and good-looking enough. Plus, he came highly recommended by her client, Jennifer Connors, who was also in the theater company. As with all actors’ headshots, his face seemed to speak to her, and they all seemed to have the same message. Hire me! Meet me! Love me!

    Her thoughts were interrupted as Doug, her exuberant assistant, burst into the room with a flourish. 

   “Oh my GOD, Dani! You will not believe the traffic on the 101 this morning!” Doug cried dramatically as he tossed his canvas tote bag onto his swivel chair in front of his chaotic desk. 

   “I know this, that’s why I live in Studio City and not West Hollywood, like you.” She grinned at her flamboyant, high-energy friend.

   “Well, we all have to live somewhere, right? But don’t you worry, you’ll always be my favorite valley girl!!” Dani giggled as he winked at her, approached the tiny kitchenette and washed out the coffee maker. “I need some high octane today, honey. I got zero sleep last night!”

   “Hot date?” Dani raised an eyebrow at him as he started to make coffee. 

   “Let me put it this way, Danielle, you know what they say about redheads.”

   “No, what do they say?”

   “That there is a fire down below. Trust me honey, whoever said that was NOT kidding.” Doug winked again as he filled the coffee maker with water and scooped the brown mixture inside. He felt comfortable with sharing intimate details of his life with her, as they were very close friends. Doug hoped to become a partner in her management firm one day, and Dani was encouraging Doug to find his own clients to gain some practical experience.

  “Well, I’m glad somebody’s sex life is full of excitement around here.” Dani scanned her e-mails and the various casting notices for the day: a new television pilot, a few independent films, and several commercials. 

  “Sweetheart, you just work too hard, that’s all.” Doug grinned at her knowingly as he poured the dark brown liquid into a mug with DIRECTOR printed across in gold ink. Dani couldn’t help but smile slightly and shake her head. Everybody wants to direct!

    “You’re right, as usual. I have no time for myself.” Dani took a sip of her caffeinated beverage as the constant, jarring ring of the office landline phone interrupted them. 

    “You just have to make time, girl!” Doug nodded as he was quick to answer the never-ending ringing phone. “Foxx Management.” He abruptly switched his tone from chiding to professional as he quickly sat down in the swivel chair and speedily thumbed through a stack of papers and scanned his computer monitor.  Another day at the office! thought Dani. 

    Her cell phone pulsated again, and she noticed Dale’s number on the screen.

    “Well, if it isn’t the fruit of my loins!  What’s up, kid?” 

    “Mom? Are you busy?” Dale’s voice was barely audible. She had the whiney, nonchalant tone of a typical teenager on a Friday morning who wanted to be anywhere else but in school. 

    “I always am. What’s up?” 

    “Can you come get me? I’m bored.” 

   “Yes, I’m sorry about this morning too, sweetheart…” Doug gasped in mock horror at the thick sarcasm in Dani’s voice. Dani waved him off as Doug answered the incessant phone without missing a beat.

   “Oh, right…. Yeah…. Sorry Mom, I….”

    “Are you at school?”

    “Yeah, but it’s a dumb class.” Dale sighed.

    “What class is it?”

    “Phys. Ed.” 

    “Are you skipping class now?”    

    “Yeah, the coach wants us to run laps around the gym. So stupid.” 

    “Dale, just give it a try, okay?”

    “I did Mom! You don’t get it.”

    “I get plenty, now get your butt to class.”

    “Excuse me Dani, but Barbara Thomas is on line three for you.” Doug interrupted politely but urgently – Barbara Thomas was not one you kept waiting.

    “Shit!” Dani was starting to lose her cool. “Okay, tell her I’ll be right there.”

    “Please Mom! What’s the big deal? It’s only gym.”

    “Dale, you’re going to get expelled if you keep this up!”

    “But Mom…”

    “Dale, you have to go, it’s part of the curriculum.”

    “A.J. is on line two.” Doug was growing more impatient.

    “Please tell him I’ll call him back.” Dani nodded over to Doug who went back on the line, but not without a playfully nasty look at her.

    “But Mom, it’s not fair that I…”

    “Fair?! What’re you, KIDDING me?! If life was fair, we wouldn’t need a Department of Justice, would we?”

    “What…?”

    “Exactly…Suck it up, buttercup, get back to the gym and sweat a little, it’ll do you good!”

    “But…”

    “I don’t have time for this.” Dani clicked off her cell phone and hastily picked up line three.    

     “This is Dani.” She announced professionally. 

     “Dani, darling. How have you been?” The throaty voice of the Hollywood legend herself was unmistakable. 

     “Great, Barbara. How are you?” Dani knew Barbara from her own acting and modeling days, and she was indeed a Los Angeles fixture. Barbara was a feisty, well-respected woman in her eighties and still going strong. She knew everybody and everything in town and had quite a reputation for being difficult and terse. She herself was a former starlet when the old Hollywood studio system was functioning and had been under contract with MGM and Warner Brothers. Rumor had it that she was a former lover of many a studio head. However, that rumor was never confirmed as nobody was brave - or stupid enough - to ask her. 

   “Oh, darling…. everything seems to happen at once. You know how it goes?”

   “When it rains, it pours, right Barbara?”

    “Absolutely, darling. I’m currently casting fifteen projects at the same time. It never stops.” 

     “Everybody in town knows that you have an eye for talent.”

    “That’s why I’ve been a casting director for over fifty years!” Barbara was never one to be modest.

    “Not a casting director, Barbara. The casting director!” Dani knew how to play the Hollywood game. Everybody’s egos were so fragile, so you heap on the praise. It was simply how it was done.

     “I love you, darling. You know exactly what to say.”

     “So, I’ve read the casting breakdown for The Love House.”

     “And what did you think?”

     “I think I have several clients who fit the bill. You know most of them. Solid, reliable.”

   “Any newbies?”

   “Could be, yes…I’m actually meeting a few prospective clients later today.”

   “Good. I’m sure you’ll find someone suitable; you’ve always had a good eye for fresh talent.”

  “Thanks, Barbara…” Dani laughed to herself - the old broad can dish out the schmooze too, well-played!

     “This town loves a good virgin once in a while, right…? About time for one now, maybe…” Barbara let the hint hover for a while. 

     “Could be, you never know…And who knows that better than you and I, right…?”

     The two women laughed reflectively and paused for a moment. They both had been fortunate enough to have a taste of ‘The Life’, emerging relatively unscathed and still on top of their game. But they also knew how quickly naive dreams and small-town hopes can be dashed by the vultures and thieves constantly circling over the land of glitter and make-believe. 

     “Right.” Barbara laughed briefly and politely, and then moved on quickly to the matter at hand. “I want to speak with you about the role of Linda.” Barbara became serious for a moment.  

    “Yes, sexy, beautiful and intelligent, with a wicked smile and sarcastic sense of humor.” Dani read the breakdown of the character.

   “A role you could easily play, darling.”

   “Not anymore, I quite prefer this side of things.” Dani laughed, taking the friendly compliment in stride. 

   “I wanted to know if your client Jennifer Connors was available. Is she still shooting that television series in Hawaii?”

   “No, she had a recurring role, but they killed her character off. She’s working on an indie film with Ross Mardsen now.”

“Ross Mardsen? Ugh.”

 “It’s a difficult set, but Jenn’s a pro.” Dani glanced up to see a uniformed delivery man at the door holding a large, pale-blue cardboard box. Doug grinned and leaped out of his seat to retrieve it.

    “Glad to hear it, darling. I’d like to see her for the role of Linda.”

    “I’m sure Jennifer would be glad to meet with you.” Dani checked her calendar. “She wraps next week; I’ll call her, and we’ll set something up.” Dani looked on as Doug opened the box. The aroma of pastries, donuts and muffins wafted through the air, causing Dani’s stomach to growl. Suddenly all her focus was on a maple bar.

   “I’d prefer to see her today, this afternoon, if that’s possible.” Barbara continued. Her tone was demanding yet endearing. You couldn’t help but like Barbara. 

   “Today? Uh…Sure, Uhmm…” Dani snapped her fingers, getting Doug’s attention. He checked his daybook and looked back at Dani with a thumbs up as he devoured one of the donuts seductively. “Actually, I think she’s on hold today, so no problem, what time is good for you?” Dani kept one eye on the box containing the delectable goodies, half listening to Barbara.

    “Three o’clock at my Beverly Hills office. I’ll have my assistant drop off the sides at your office.” 

   “Still not using e-mail, huh?!”

    “Oh God no, I hate those damn computers. Won’t have one in my office. I like doing things the old-fashioned way, it’s better for the soul.”

     “I guess you should know, Barbara.” Dani laughed and shook her head. She had always playfully teased her old friend who didn’t even have a cell phone. “Jennifer will be there. You want to see anyone else?”

   “Sure. Have some headshots and resumes ready and he’ll be over in about an hour.”

   “I’ll have them ready, Barbara.” Dani’s mouth watered as Doug placed a blueberry muffin, a chocolate frosted croissant and a delicious looking maple bar on a paper towel and placed them on her desk. She mouthed a ‘thank you’ as he returned to his desk and the incessantly ringing phone.

   “Then we’ll set up some more auditions.” 

   “Sounds good to me.”

   “Thank you, Dani.”

   “Thank YOU, Barbara. Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything else.” Dani stuffed a piece of muffin in her mouth as Doug handed her a message from A.J. Tarentella. He wanted her to call him back as soon as possible. 

   “You bet. Ciao for now!” Barbara hung up, leaving Dani with her treats. She attacked them as the phone continued to ring. 

   “Foxx Management.” Doug answered on the first ring, gulping down coffee. “Hi A.J., please hold.”  Doug turned his attention to the munching Dani. “It’s A.J. again. Should I tell him you’ll call him back?”

   “No, put him through.” Dani swallowed her food and took the phone.  “This is Dani.”

   “So, how do you like them?” A.J. spoke in low tones, his booming voice was intimidating and cold. However, Dani was not the least bit daunted by him. She knew his games and how to play them. 

   “Pardon me?”

   “The muffins. I had them delivered from Café Delicieux here in Beverly Hills.” A.J. sounded proud and amused.

   “Oh A.J., they’re amazing. Thank you so much. Doug and I are chowing down on them now. We really appreciate it.” 

    “I like doing nice things for you, babe.” His deep, male voice was harsh yet sweet, and Dani considered him one of her few close friends. A.J. Tarentella was dashing and charismatic. He was raised in a ruthless crime family. Being the son of a mob boss, he fought his way to the top with honor, loyalty and pride. He was now the proud owner of the Tarantella Agency, an immensely respected Private Investigation Company located in the heart of Beverly Hills. He used his father’s work ethic, connections and family ties to build his powerful business empire, and now he was always there to help those in need. He ingeniously cultivated and maintained a fragile balancing act between family loyalty and working with law enforcement. In his game, it paid to have powerful friends on both sides of the societal fence. A.J. could have easily taken his fortune and been frivolous with fancy vacations, cars and homes. Instead, he put all his money and energy into his trade. He sincerely cared about helping people, and that was a trait that Dani admired.

   “You know how much I love maple bars.” Dani exclaimed, chewing on the last bit of hers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Doug gulp down a chocolate glazed donut in one swallow.                        

“You are too kind.” A.J.’s smooth, velvety voice crooned through the phone line, giving Dani a bit of a shiver. The two of them were very close friends, but there was a sexual energy between them that could not be denied. Dani decided that she didn’t want to take the relationship any further, as she cherished her wonderful friendship with him. 

    “A.J., I have one-hundred and ten things to do this morning, and it’s not even nine o’clock.” Dani told him, as she noticed a sexy and curvaceous redhead peering through the window, looking lost. Dani checked the list of appointments for the day.

     “How about lunch?”

    “Sounds good Hun, I’ll call you at eleven.” Dani hung up before A.J. could answer as Doug was greeting the nervous looking, but beautiful young woman. They shook hands cordially as she grinned the typical, I’m-an-actress smile that Dani knew all too well. She herself used to get that look on her face when going to meetings and auditions.  Dani smiled warmly at her, as Doug approached her untidy desk. 

    “Dani, I’d like you to meet Duckie Buckly. She has a nine-thirty appointment with you this morning.” Doug amiably introduced them, as the young woman excitedly extended her hand to her.

    “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Foxx.” She said a little too eagerly. 

    “Please sit down, Duckie, and call me Dani.” She nodded professionally as she sat down in the swivel chair opposite her.  

    “Thank you, Dani.” Duckie continued to smile her ear-to-ear grin. “I didn’t mean to be this early, but I left myself plenty of time to get through all the traffic.”

     “That’s perfectly fine, better early than late. Interesting name you have there, Duckie.”

     “Yes, I changed it to make it sound more theatrical. My legal name is Mildred Schneller.”

Dani paused, considered both names and shrugged slightly. “Well, you know, potato, potah-to…”

“Excuse me, Miss…. Dani…?”

“Oh nothing, just showing my age!” Duckie giggled nervously, unsure how to react and a little embarrassed. Dani picked up on this and switched gears to put the girl at ease. 

     “I like Duckie Buckly, it’s very…catchy.”

     “Thanks, I like it too.” Duckie anxiously twisted back and forth in the swivel chair as Doug brought over the coffee pot, refilling Dani’s cup.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thank you. Caffeine makes me nervous, more nervous than usual.” Duckie said with a laugh. She crossed her long legs and exhaled deeply.  

“I completely understand. However, if I don’t get my high octane, I’ll fall asleep at my desk, and I don’t think Dani would appreciate that.” Doug returned to his desk with a smile and a wink.

“Relax, it’s okay,” said Dani, reassuringly. “Would you like something else to drink? Some pastry? We just had a lovely box sent over.”

“No, thank you, I’m fine….”

“You sure?”

“Well, maybe some water…?”

“Of course.” Dani turned towards Doug who was already bringing over a bottle of water.

     “So, you’re signed with the Robby Round Agency commercially?” Dani scanned her resume. She had done plenty of live theater and commercials. She was referred to Dani by a client of hers who worked with her on a commercial shoot. Dani had seen Duckie in a national commercial for a diet soda and knew she could take this beauty to the next level.  Duckie was certainly something, very beautiful and sexy, but also had a sweet and innocent quality about her.    

     “Yes, I am, but not theatrically. I’m seeking representation for film and television.” Duckie took a deep breath and seemed to relax a little.     

“That’s fine. I could help you with that. You’ve got a fresh, natural quality about you, and I’m pretty sure once I put the word out, they’ll come running.” 

    “Sounds great to me.” Duckie smiled, running a perfectly manicured hand through her long, luxurious auburn hair 

“Jeffrey Donaldson wants you to call him as soon as possible. It’s about his live action project.” Doug approached and placed the pink message paper on Dani’s desk.   

“So, Jeffrey Donaldson called?” Duckie asked wide-eyed and impressed.

    “Yes, he’s actually a very new contact that I’m nurturing. I want to get my clients in to see him when he starts casting for his new feature.” Dani told her. Jeffrey Donaldson was the President and CEO of Lioness Studios, an old Hollywood institution that was founded in the 1950’s by a fading – yet visionary and daring – movie star from the “Golden Era of Hollywood”, Sasha McDonald. Over the years, the studio had become a powerful force in the industry but had fallen on hard times a few years back. Jeffrey had made his mark, and earned the respect of the Hollywood elite, by taking the washed-up studio and turning it into a powerhouse conglomerate with their enormously successful action franchise, Fire!      

    “Wow!” Duckie grinned, crossing her legs again.

    “Would you like to meet him?” Dani asked.

    “Yes, of course. Are they in production for the new sequel?”

    “They’re always doing something.”

    “Great.” 

    “Duckie, this is what I do for my clients. I can offer you a two-year contract with a six-month escape clause. If we both mutually feel this won’t work out, after six months we can terminate, and you’ll be free to explore other options.” Dani printed out a standard management contract and handed it to Duckie, who studied it. 

     “Okay, I see no problem with that.” Duckie looked closely at the printed paper. 

     “What I will do is work on getting you auditions and meetings. In the meantime, are you taking any classes?”

     “I take a scene study class with Brian Hodges twice a week.” Duckie answered.

    “Yes, I know Brian. He’s a great teacher. Do you work out with a personal trainer? I want you to stay fit and keep your figure.”    

“Of course, I work out every day at The Body Beautiful in Santa Monica.”

    “Oh, yes. I know that place. Ocean Avenue?”

    “Yes, that’s the one.”

     “Also, as your manager, I will be here to give you council and advice.” Dani told her knowingly.  Managers usually became mentors, mother figures, and a shoulder to cry on. That is why Dani kept her client list small, so she could be there for all of them.

    “I appreciate that, Dani.” Duckie crossed her legs a third time and leaned back in her chair. Dani made a mental note to speak with her about that, if she and Duckie did decide to work together. Perhaps an image consultant could help Duckie with her self-esteem and her nervy habits. They would not look professional at meetings and auditions. 

     “First word of advice for you, stop being so fidgety. I want to build up your confidence. You’re a beautiful young woman and there’s no need for you to be insecure.” Dani explained.

     “I understand.” Ducky looked at her intently, taking in every word. Dani could tell that she was ready to work hard, and not give her any attitude. Just the kind of client that Dani liked. 

     “Dani, John Gregory is on line two for you. Says it’s urgent.” Doug called over to her.

     “Thanks, Doug. Everything is urgent to John. Please tell him I’ll be with him in a minute.” Dani said, and then turned her attention back to Duckie. “Let me know what you think of my management contract, and if it’s to your liking we will have lunch next week and discuss the next step.” Dani smiled and offered Duckie her hand, which she shook with enthusiasm.

    “Thank you, Dani. I think this will work out great.” Duckie got up and gathered her things. 

    “Sorry, but I have to take this call.” Dani nodded and picked up the phone. 

    “Welcome aboard.” Doug grinned as he shook Duckie’s hand. “Dani’s great, and so are all of her clients. You’re gonna fit right in.”

    “Thanks, Doug. She’s really busy, that’s a good sign.”

    “Busy isn’t the word for this office, my dear! Crazy is more like it.” Doug gave her a knowing look as three phone lines rang at the same time. Doug rushed to answer them as Duckie strode self-assuredly out the door. 

     “John, let me tell you, this girl is absolutely gorgeous, and nice too. She’s like a big, sweet kid.” Dani was already selling Duckie to one of the top agents in town. John Gregory was a theatrical agent at the powerful and respected Independent Artists Agency, or as it was known the world over, I.A.A.

    “Has she signed with you?” John asked impatiently, always on the lookout for new talent and fresh faces, especially the attractive female kind. 

     “I offered her the contract literally ten minutes ago. She just walked out of our office. We’re going to be having lunch next week.”

    “May I join you?” John asked, interested in meeting the actress and seeing his friend, Dani, again. 

    “Of course, you may, John. We’re going to meet at Le Dome.”

   “Oh, no. I know a much better place. Everybody meets there. La Petit Four on Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood. It’s an outdoor sidewalk café. Much better and way trendier than stuffy old Le Dome.”   

“I’ve heard of that place.”

   “Trust me, Dani, it is the place for lunch these days. Le Dome is way too ‘90’s.”

     “Well, you would know…” Dani gave a friendly laugh as she glanced over at the clock. She was surprised to see that it was already after ten. The day flew by when the office was hectic and that was one of the many reasons that she like being busy. Fifteen minutes seemed like fifteen seconds in this office. It was just like Dani wanted it to be.

    “Who else are you seeing today?” John asked.

     “I have a ten-thirty with a wonderful actor who I saw in a play. His name is Nick Savage. Do you know him?”

     “Nick Savage, hmmmm. Yes, the name rings a bell. I do believe I remember seeing him on an episode of Crimes in the Hills.”

    “Yes, that’s him. He has lots of television credits. Handsome and talented. I’ve gotta say Dani, you have some of the most professional and marketable talent in town.”

    “I do appreciate that, John. As a matter of fact, Nick should be walking in any minute. I have a meeting with him shortly. I’ll let you know how it goes, John.”

       “Great, call me later.” John clicked off as Doug answered the relentlessly ringing phone. Dani sighed, glanced at her watch and shrugged. It was ten-thirty already and her appointment was nowhere to be found. 

    “Is Nick Savage running late?” She asked over to Doug, who held up his palms.

    “I guess so, traffic is getting worse and worse around here.” Doug scribbled a message on a pink notepad and gulped more coffee. “But it is weird, Nick seemed like such a professional when we met him at the theater. He really wanted to meet you, too. I’m sure he’ll be walking through the door any minute with the latest L.A. freeway saga.” 

    “Of course.” Dani turned her attention back to her computer screen to double check the time her meeting with Nick Savage was. He even called to confirm. It was rare for an actor to behave unprofessionally and be late to appointments. Exhaling loudly, she glanced down at her watch again. Twenty minutes seem to have flown by. She picked up her phone to give Nick a call. Perhaps he was stuck in traffic or just running late. When she got his voice mail, she left a brief message then leaned back in her chair, a puzzled expression on her pretty face. Where was he?

***

     The man sat stoically in the dim room; eyes glued to the eerie, blue glow of the computer screen. He had been using his special browser, Invisible Web or IW as it was known in various circles, in order to access the forbidden and illicit websites that littered the ‘Dark Web’. The dark web contained a specific type of Internet content that was unknown and not accessible by traditional web search engines and regular folk. They wouldn’t want to view the torrid and despicable innards of that part of the World Wide Web anyway. It was a revolting creation that existed only on darknet, an overlay of networks which required precise software, configurations and authorization to access. One didn’t want to tread there lightly, as it was a dizzying array of illegal products ranging from cocaine, weapons and child pornography. The police and law enforcement were always hot on their trails but seemed to be a few steps behind the internet hackers. Many attempts have been made to monitor this unlawful activity, and a few people have gotten caught and gone to prison for their crimes. 

     The man was his employer’s ‘offspring’, basically the second-in-command of the whole criminal operation. Being that the man was incredible technically savvy, he created his own server, hosted the website on his own, and even created a legitimate business front to throw the police off their trial. The man used his talents as a ‘Doxxer’, and that is exactly who he was, a ‘Dark Web’ master. 

    The man’s employer ran one of these illegitimate websites, and the Doxxer was in charge of running it, selling products, and hiding from law enforcement. ‘Black Panties’ was the type of dark net marketplace one needed a cast iron stomach to even view. The products and services promoted on the various crypto markets were purchased with a secret type of currency, and the whole transactions were surreptitious and hush-hush.

   The main product that the man’s employer sold were people. Beautiful, sexy people, and they were all for sale to the highest bidder. There were many people in Los Angeles with money, lots of money, and money can buy anything. The man discovered one very harsh truth about the City Of Angels: There are a lot of sick and disturbed individuals with lots of cash and wealth.  After the years of sex and debauchery go by, the sadistic acts they need to get their thrills only escalate. That is exactly where the dark web came in. 

     People were bought and sold like pieces of prime steak. Some were aware of their situations, some were not. Many of these attractive young people simply disappeared, and many just slipped into the deep well of drugs and prostitution. There was certainly no shortage of young, pretty, naive and lonely people in Los Angeles. It was almost as easy as simply posting a ‘casting notice’ in one of the trade papers or on practically any actor’s website. There were quite literally way too many to count, and they all kept coming, all with stars in their eyes. All desperate and hungry.  Some went willingly, some had to be forced, and some were even injected with heroin to get them to comply. It didn’t matter to the customer; they just wanted the fresh pussy or dick. Some clients just wanted straight or kinky sex, others wanted to tie up the young man or woman and beat them to a bloody pulp. If the client was heavily into sadomasochism, as many of them were, then the poor, unfortunate soul could quite literally have anything cruel, humiliating and torturous happen to them. Some were never heard from again. None of it was any concern to the man’s boss, as it was all about acquiring money, no matter how twisted and bizarre the means. 

     Right now, the man had a job to do. The demand far outweighed the supply, and it was his duty to provide the high-class clientele with what they wanted. What the rich men wanted were virgins, fresh and pure teenage girls. The human trafficking industry was a powerful and sordid one, run by underground crime figures and the wealthy underworld.  One wouldn’t think that such a repugnant and harrowing business could exist, but it did.  The customers were quite discriminating in their tastes as well, and the owner of these said industries were quick to supply them with product. 

  At this time, they were running out of product, and the man was burdened with the business of acquiring more. Lots more.

About the Author


Lindy S. Hudis is an award winning filmmaker, author and actress. Lindy is a graduate of New York University, where she studied drama at Tisch School of the Arts. She also performed in a number of Off-Off Broadway theater productions while living in New York City.

She is the author of several titles, including her romance suspense novel, Weekends, her “Hollywood” story City of Toys, and her crime novel, Crashers. Her latest release, “Hollywood Underworld – A Hollywood Series” is the first installment of a crime, mystery series.

In addition, she has written several erotic short stories, including “The S&M Club”, “The Backstage Pass”, “Guitar God”, “The Guitarist”, and “The Mile High Club”.

Her short film “The Lesson”, which she wrote, produced and directed, has won numerous awards, including ‘Best Short Film’ at the Paris International Film Festival, The Beverly Hills Arthouse Film Festival and the San Fransisco International Film Festival.

She is also an actress, having appeared in the indie film Expressionism, the television daytime drama “Sunset Beach”, also “Married with Children” , “Beverly Hills 90210” and the feature film “Indecent Proposal” . She and her husband, Hollywood stuntman Stephen Hudis, have formed their own production company called Impact Motion Pictures, and have several projects and screenplays in development. She lives in California with her husband and two children.

Website & Social Media:

Website/Blog ➜  https://lindyinparadise.wordpress.com/

Twitter ➜ https://twitter.com/Lindyscribe

Facebook ➜ https://www.facebook.com/LindyScribe/

Instagram ➜ https://www.instagram.com/lindys.hudis 

Goodreads ➜ https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6470478.Lindy_S_Hudis 



Chapter One: Urbex Predator by Jens Boele

 


Title: Urbex Predator
Author: Jens Boele
Publisher: Amazon KDP
Publication Date: February 4, 2024
Pages: 394
Genre: Horror/Thriller

 

A relic from the Cold War, the old barracks beckon photographers, influencers, and adventurers, shrouded in secrets and peril. Nela and Tess dare the eerie ruins for their photography thesis, while Zander, Yelka, Vivien, and Damon embark on a simultaneous shoot. Amid the abandoned shadows, Yelka’s group runs into Steven and his ruthless gang, initially outsmarting them. Yet, Nela and Tess fall victim to a nightfall ambush, escaping but torn apart. As adrenaline courses through the gang, they stalk Yelka and her friends, unleashing a relentless manhunt. Vivien becomes their captive, setting off a chain reaction. Tess encounters Damon and Yelka, while Nela, guided by Ben, the barracks’ security manager, races to find Tess. Yelka strives to rescue Vivien, trapped in an abandoned outdoor pool. On his lone pursuit, Zander witnesses the gang’s brutality, delving into a darker realm within himself, spurred by the horrifying thrill of Steven’s actions. The scene propels Yelka, Damon, and Tess into a frenzy, unleashing chaos to liberate Vivien. Nela and Ben, attempting to overpower the gang, witness Yelka and Vivien’s escape as the gang closes in. With the arrival of Steven’s older brother, Henry, the stakes are set; the old military hospital transforms into a battleground. No one is to leave alive, and a matter of life and death ensues. In the ruthless clash, Nela and Yelka emerge as the lone defenders, while Zander pursues a mission for his own catharsis. In Henry’s basement, dubbed his Hades, the teams converge for a pulse-pounding final duel, where survival is the ultimate prize. You can pick up your copy at Amazon.  


Chapter One:

 

Silence was all that was left. Neither the shouting of the officers nor the marching thunder of the soldiers had remained from the Cold War. Finally, it was time itself that had defeated all enemies.

 

Unwavering, indifferent, and relentless, it gnawed at the foundations of what the Allied forces had left behind. Heat had cracked the asphalt, rain washed out the concrete, wind and storm had smashed doors and windows. Tar paper had melted in the sun and frozen in winter. Tiles had cracked in the freezing cold. Weather had crept into the woodwork and driven the paint out of the wood. Moss and ferns clung to exterior walls, clogging gutters, and water pipes. The forces of nature had achieved what those of the enemy had failed to do.

 

In the cold moonlight, Scott and Billy wandered between the former apartment blocks near the barracks. Six-story residential silos had probably housed the soldiers’ families at that time. Today they were surrounded by trees that had not been planted yet when the houses were abandoned. In the moonlight, the open front doors of the house looked like the entrance to a more sinister and terrifying world than the darkness of the woods. The night wind carried the heavy smell of forest soil and damp cellars to their noses. Now the nocturnal animals came to life and mingled their calls with leaves rustling.

 

“Wait!” Billy put his hand on Scott’s shoulder. “There’s something up ahead.”

 

They stopped on a grassy path that once had been a road.

 

“What’s supposed to be there?” Scott folded his arms in front of his chest.

 

“Look …” 

 

A black shadow emerged from the forest. Billy froze, Scott held his breath. It appears the animal was slowly approaching them. Gosh, let it be just a dog that has lost its way.

 

“It’s a wolf,” Scott whispered.

 

Billy felt Scott’s arm pushing him back.

“Damn, what do we do now?” Scott breathed frantically.

 

The animal approached slowly; head bowed.

 

“That’s a wolf,” Scott kept whispering, “that’s a wolf …” Breathing frantically, his voice grew louder with each word.

 

“That! Is! A! Wolf!” he shouted energetically, stamping his foot with each word, and waving his arms.

 

When Billy came out from behind his back, the animal had disappeared. His shoulders slumped. Scott exhaled in relief.

 

“Was that really a wolf?” asked Billy in a low voice.

 

“I don’t know,” Scott went on. “Anyway, it’s gone.”

 

“Can’t you even turn on the flashlight?”

 

“No, man. Not until we get inside. I don’t feel like getting caught by security anytime soon.”

 

Taking a deep breath, Billy let go of his tension. “And how is this even going to work? We’ve been walking through the forest for about half an hour now.”

 

“Yeah, so what?”

 

“How are we supposed to move those cables back to the car? Do you think I will run the route back and forth umpteen times?”

 

Scott abruptly stopped and glanced at Billy. “You aren’t even listening to me, are you? We will get all the cables out of the ceilings that night and stash them here. Then we’ll see what we got, and tomorrow night we’ll break down the gate and drive up here with the transporter. All right?”

 

Billy chewed on his lower lip. “Yes, but why don’t we go with the van already?”

 

“Because the broken gate would attract the security service in the morning, which would then catch us, stupid.” 

 

Waiting for an answer, he glanced at Billy, “It’s not that hard to understand, though, is it?” Billy nodded mutely.

 

“But do you think there’s still a lot to earn here anyway? This place is kind of old, you know. I’m sure others have been here before and pulled the copper outta the walls.”

 

“Take a good look around. Do you see any graffiti? Do you see any trails? Has anyone been partying here?” Billy let his eyes wander. No, no one has been here for a long time. “Don’t ask me why, but this place is hot.” 

 

Scott raised his eyebrows. “Now let’s get going.” Forgivingly, he patted Billy on the shoulder. “Otherwise, the Big Bad Wolf will get you right away.”

 

Sighing, Billy kept walking.

 

“This is probably just too far away from civilization. We’re just out here in the middle of nowhere. Nobody gets lost here …”

 

A bloodcurdling scream echoed throughout the night. 

 

Frozen, Billy stopped, Scott took a step back.

 

“What was that?” Billy’s voice trembled. 

 

Scott stared into the night. “I’m sure it was just an animal.”

 

Billy shivered. “Was no animal, dude.”

 

Scott turned to him. “What else would that have been? The wolf probably took a deer. You know what kind of noises animals make when they’re scared to die?”

 

Billy shook his head quietly as he remained in a state of shock.

 

“See it like this—the wolf will feast now and leave us alone.” Scott smiled. “Is even better for us.”

 

After a brief silence, he added, “Think of the money!”

 

The wind had eased, the dark forest path lay in silence. Behind them, the moon illuminated the clearing where the houses stood. In front of them, there was darkness.

 

Billy whispered, “Wait,” and then walked on hesitantly. His legs were heavy as lead, his breathing shallow. “Wait for me.” 

 

“Hurry,” Scott whispered softly.

 

As the path narrowed, the trees came closer, denying them the last light of the moon.

 

They could barely see anything when they noticed a motion in the shadows.

 

A large shade moved slowly between the trees.

 

It walked upright on two legs.

 

This was not an animal.

 

Billy felt an icy chill as his arms felt numb. He felt an invisible band tighten around his chest, draining his breath as Scott disappeared into the darkness.

 

“Scott?” He gasped for air.

 

“Run! Run Billy!”

 

Billy’s stomach clenched. He heard Scott try to shout something, but his voice turned into an uncontrolled gurgle. Like he was going to throw up. Then a rattle. 

 

Billy wanted to run away, but he just stood there, unmoving and trembling, paralyzed with fright. He grabbed his cheek. His eyes stared into the forest, widening.

 

“Scott?”

 

A branch cracked.

 

Darkness surrounded him.

 

Silence.

 

About the Author:

Jens Boele, a veteran media designer in the entertainment industry, brings over two decades of cinematic expertise to his writing. Born in Germany in 1975, Jens embarked on his writing odyssey in his youth, culminating in the publication of his debut book, "Sunshine," in 2015. This was followed by "Hurensohn," and his latest spine-tingling creation, "Urbex Predator."

 

Jens is a genre-bending author, specializing in horror and crime thrillers. His narratives often blur genre lines, weaving intricate tales that plunge readers into the darkest corners of the human psyche. Jens's storytelling brilliance lies in his fascination with the criminal mind; his villains are always profoundly human, offering readers a chilling examination of the psychological aspects of the criminally insane.

 

Jens sets himself apart by seamlessly integrating classic horror with the gritty authenticity of the present day. This innovative fusion imbues his narratives with a dynamic quality, seamlessly blending archaic thrills with contemporary intrigue, resulting in an immersive reading experience that resonates with both vintage enthusiasts and present-day readers alike.

 

Jens Boele's latest endeavor takes his work across borders, as "Urbex Predator" becomes his first book to be translated into English. A globetrotter with deep connections to the United States, Jens's passion for exploration and his international perspective, nurtured by family and friends in the US, shine through in his writing, offering readers a captivating blend of horror and cultural diversity.

 

Visit Jens’ website at https://jensboele.com/.

Chapter One: The Flying Barons of Negriponte by James Calbraith

Title: The Flying Barons of Negriponte (The Aether Empire Book 1)
Author: James Calbraith
Publication Date: September 20, 2023
Pages: 134
Genre: Historical Fantasy/Candlepunk

They killed her father. They took her ship. But nothing will stop Ikaria's vengeance.

Forty years since Constantinople fell to the Venetian flying citadels, high-altitude Aether racing is the favoured pastime of bored, wealthy Latin nobles. Ikaria, proud daughter of a legendary Aether engineer and one of the best racing pilots in the Aegean, is determined to uncover the truth behind her father's mysterious disappearance at the end of the last Grande Regatta of Negriponte.

Driven by the thirst of vengeance and pursuit of engineering excellence in equal measures, Ikaria vows to win the next Regatta herself - and to find out what really happened to her father. But there's a catch: a new Imperial edict bars her, and anyone not of noble blood, from taking part in Aether races. To her rescue comes Sire Mikhael of Chiarenza - an enigmatic handsome young Greek turncoat in the service of new Latin masters. His motivations unclear, the source of his funds and supplies a secret, Ikaria nonetheless agrees to accept his help: together, they set out to challenge the supremacy of the six Hexarchs, the infamous Flying Barons of Negriponte.

Pick up your copy of The Flying Barons of Negriponte at https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CJKXXQB1 .

First Chapter:

A black-headed gull landed on the bowsprit. It glanced around, confused as to why a small, sleek sailboat suddenly appeared in its path in the middle of a billowing cloud hundreds of feet above the surface of the sea. Its eyes met Ikaria’s; the bird squawked in indignation and spread its wings as if to protest this sin against God and nature. A sudden, violent gust pushed it off the spar. Still squawking in disgust, the gull continued on its way while the boat pushed onwards, deeper into the cloud and out the other side.

A white-washed dot of Saint Elijah’s chapel appeared among the rocky outcrops, marking the eastern end of the Chalcis Pass. Ikaria reached under her tunic and took out a small brass key, inlaid with a piece of ruby glass, hung on a silver chain at her neck. Gingerly, she inserted it into a slot in the side of the Caput Chamber and turned it a quarter to the right. A conduit linking the Inhibitor Retort with the Tribikos Manifold hissed, indicating a forming air gap. She turned the spigot in the nozzle, releasing half a dram of the Inhibitor into the Sublimation Aludel. It took another few moments for the reaction to start. She turned to the Hygroscope and observed the four liquids behind the pane of rock crystal: a mixture of quicksilver, aqua fortis, brine and fish oil, each coloured with a different hue of vitriol, indicated the proportion of gaseous Quintessence – the Naviferous Aether – in the air under the hull. The liquids bubbled behind the crystal, reacting to a sudden change in pressure, then stabilised at the new levels, layer upon layer, at their respective measuring notches carved in the crystal pane. And then – a new layer emerged where there shouldn’t be one: a fifth, ruby-coloured liquid filled out the unmarked space between the quicksilver and aqua fortis.

Ikaria barely needed the confirmation of the Hygroscope. She could feel the hull tremble; she could see the triangular Pteron wing flutter as the buoyancy beneath it decreased; she could smell the subtle change in the density of the Aether leaking over the Pteron; with a sharp lurch, the entire boat dropped straight down several dozen feet until at last, the surrounding pressures equalised, and the Aether-filled air took the hull in a soft embrace.

It was reckless. It was counterintuitive. It was against any established pilota custom. The air was barely dense enough to support the tiny, fragile gondola; it wasn’t enough to keep it straight and balanced, so Ikaria was forced to constantly counter the sudden draughts and gusts with tugs on the yards and the pulls of the rudder, else the boat would capsize at any moment in the unpredictable breezes. Her rivals would have by now slowed down, struck their sails and increased the rate of Sublimation in preparation for the challenging final crossing. This was Ikaria’s chance to catch up. She knew she could still glide the currents where others no longer dared, that she didn’t yet need to turn on the aeolipile, or Hero’s Engine – a turbine wheel fitted with wooden paddles, turned by the power of the Quintessence Engine’s exhaust fumes, used to propel the boat when the wind could no longer be relied upon.

She cut off the last of the ballast sacks. The gondola rose again, though not by much. Ikaria stared at the two hilltops in front of her; beyond them, the mouth of the pass opened wide onto the green plain below, stretching for the last couple of miles before the finish line. Shimmering in the afternoon haze, the tall stone mooring towers of La Citta di Negriponte, the island’s capital city, rose high over the battlements. Where a bend of the Euripos Strait carved an arch deep into the land, the sea water was brown from the churning tides, pock-marked with white dashes of the billows rushing against the beach. Ikaria braced herself as the gondola passed between the final two hills, its keel almost touching the domed roof of Elijah’s chapel. A gust struck from the larboard first; the stern lurched to starboard, the entire boat heeled at a threatening angle. Ikaria countered with the rudder, but with the air so thin, she had little to push against. Wrong, she scolded herself. She acted on instinct, but this was no place for instinct; this was science. She slackened the mainsail until the turning boat picked up the new gust, then trimmed it swiftly. The hull turned upright again.

Ikaria wiped the sweat from her brow. She looked up to see the bottom of another boat, a heavy barchetta soaring majestically above her, sails and ropes neatly trimmed, the pilota having already turned on the aeolipile to reach the finish line; she couldn’t spot the crest on the sail from below, but she could imagine the surprise on the pilota’s face as he watched her pass swiftly beneath his keel.

All the racers in front of the pack were veterans of the sport, wealthy aristocrats who lavished their court alchemists and engineers with gold in exchange for the finest, fastest, most agile Aether boats current skill and knowledge could provide. They knew each other well, and they raced for the sheer glory and exhilaration of victory rather than pursuit of reward. Not that the reward was foremost in Ikaria’s mind, though the promised purse of golden ducats and a gem-studded goblet would undoubtedly come in handy to fund her further experiments. Ikaria was a newcomer; she had built her boat with her own hands, almost from scratch, with only her father’s blueprints for help. This Theban Regatta was the final race of the season, her first and last chance to thoroughly test her design before the winter winds. She hadn’t yet dared fly this ship in public before. Nobody had yet seen what her Quintessence Engine was capable of; nobody had yet witnessed the power of the ruby-studded key and her father’s Seraphim Lock. Until now.

The crosswinds eased as the gondola flew out onto the plain. Ikaria could now straighten the hull, trim the sail a little – and turn the ruby key a fraction to the left again. The layers in the Hygroscope wobbled imperceptibly. The Pteron grew taut. Ikaria glanced once more at the Hygroscope, then raised the forward exhaust valve, increasing the density in the front of the gondola. Holding the rudder tight, Ikaria glanced back – she could now see that rare, faint line tearing through the mystical elements swirling underneath the hull: the Aether wake, a gleaming, rainbow-coloured ripple of condensed steam and alchemical vapours which appeared only when the boat sailed at its highest speed. The gondola’s bow tilted upwards, out of the Aether, riding the pure air propelled by the mysterious interaction of forces that not even her father fully understood. If unchecked, the gondola could easily flip over and crash, just like the toy Aether boats in Ikaria’s experiments; all it took was one rogue gust or an unseen air hole to send the hull flying.

But the gain in speed was worth all the risk. Ikaria passed the next boat with ease; its sail painted azure with a golden band marked it as belonging to Sire Saint-Omer, Half-Lord of the Thebes. This surprised her; the master of the city of Thebes was the favourite to win this year – after all, the regatta started in his home town, and the route mainly ran through his domain. He must have made some mistake at the final approach – she glimpsed the hapless pilota struggling with the halyard, the mainsail fluttering in the side wind. This meant that there was only one boat left in front of Ikaria: a sleek, cerulean-blue barchetta flown by none other than Gilberto da Verona, the son of Guglielmo, the Baron-Overlord of Negriponte: the wealthiest and the most skilled pilota on the island – and perhaps, all of Latin Greece.

She tugged on the sheet, feeling the breeze, searching for a gust that would propel her forward even faster, but she couldn’t find it. The hull of her gondola was trembling and creaking dangerously on the swift currents, threatening to fall apart under the competing pressures. The gondola surged forward on its cushion of light Aether, still tilted upwards and still much faster than Verona’s, or any other boat taking part in the race – but Ikaria still couldn’t be sure if it’d be enough to overtake Gilberto before both of them reached the finish line.

As the twin, square ‘Frankish’ mooring towers at the eastern end of the Negriponte Bridge came into view, a mischievous thought occurred to Ikaria. She was now just a few hundred feet behind Gilberto’s boat. If she positioned herself just right, she could steal the wind out of her opponent’s sail. It was risky – do it wrong, and she could end up with her sails aflutter herself; but she didn’t get this far without taking risks. Carefully studying the billows below her for the right direction, she leant on the rudder. The boat swayed to starboard. A short while later, she felt the familiar sharp tug on the sail: she caught a new breeze. Verona’s sail, meanwhile, fluttered and flapped, then hung on the ropes, limp and futile. Quick-thinking, Gilberto promptly unlocked the aeolipile to help him onwards, but it was too late; Ikaria’s boat leapt ahead. The two boats passed within inches of each other, the tips of their Pterons almost touching; Ikaria’s vessel swayed in the Aether waves produced by Gilberto’s much larger barchetta. She clutched the ropes tightly in her hands; the mast creaked from the strain. Any greater tilt and the boat would capsize… But it held straight. The twin towers grew closer until, at last, the keel of Ikaria’s gondola cut through the thin silk rope stretched between them.

The crowd below fell quiet for a second, as if uncertain how to react to this unknown pilota defeating all the famous and wealthy Latin noblemen at the last moment – and then erupted in deafening cheers.

She moored the boat to the southern tower and turned the Caput key to ‘Land’. The complex system of pulleys, weights and gears regulating the flow of Aether inside the Caput lowered the pressure of the exhaust steadily until the gondola gently descended into the waters of La Citta’s harbour. A jubilant crowd gathered at the piazza adjacent to the pier. Ikaria searched for Marco: she knew he’d be here, cheering the loudest, but he was hard to spot in the packed crowd; at last, she saw him, bright-eyed and dark-haired, waving a green cloth cap in his hand – but just then, the broad smile on his face turned into a confused scowl; a troop of Imperial Guards shoved Marco and several other onlookers aside. The crowd hushed. The guards, resplendent in bright red tabards over gleaming mail, capes with the Imperial Eagle on their backs and curved falchions hanging threateningly at their belts, stomped towards Ikaria; following closely by were several burly dock workers, hammers and axes in their hands. She glanced around to see who else these men might be coming for, but all she saw was Gilberto da Verona, climbing out of his barchetta and looking at her with a mocking grin.

The commander of the guard loomed over Ikaria with a stern expression and unrolled a piece of parchment, freshly marked with the Imperial Seal; the red wax was still dripping. He showed it to the crowd first to prove his actions had all the correct credentials, before reading the order out loud.

“By the decree of His Illustrious Imperial Majesty, Baldwin of Courtenay,” he started, “and in accordance with the Assizes of Romania, in this year of our Lord twelve hundred and forty-three, in the month of September, we declare: that only those of noble blood are allowed to participate in the regattas organised anywhere within the Empire and its subject and allied territories. Anyone of common stock caught trying to take part in a race will receive a fine and have their vessel confiscated. Repeat offenders will be punished more severely.”

“What?” Ikaria cried out. “Since when? I know nothing about this!”

“The decree came into law this morning,” the guard said. “Just before the start of the race. Did nobody tell you? You had plenty of time to withdraw.”

The third boat finally arrived at the mooring tower. Ikaria caught a knowing glance exchanged between Saint-Omer and Verona; of course – the master of the Thebes would have had the means to delay the pronouncement of the Imperial decree in his city until all the regatta boats launched. This was all a plot against her. There have been a few other commoners in the competition, but none that could threaten the position of the nobles the way Ikaria could. They knew all along.

“I won fairly,” she said. “They can all confirm it.” She pointed to the crowd around her. “I deserve a reward, not punishment!”

The onlookers all murmured in angry agreement, but it only took the guards to reach for their swords to silence them all down. Like Ikaria herself, most of the townsfolk were local Greeks; they remembered well the massacres that the Latin invaders perpetrated when taking the city and knew how easily the soldiers could succumb to the blood lust at the slightest perceived offence. The crowd moved away from the commander’s glare as if the man could send death with only his gaze.

“Enough,” the commander declared. “Step aside, girl. You two,” he ordered the dockyard workers, “you know what to do.”

“No!” Ikaria shouted and launched herself at the workers. “You have no right – it’s my father’s work –!”

Two guards grabbed and shoved her at the piazza’s hard, hot pavement. The impact stunned her for a moment; when she came to, Marco was beside her, holding her back from launching at the guards again.

“You can’t help it,” he insisted. “They’ll kill you if you try.”

The dock workers stood on the deck, one of them dismantling the rudder and the aeolipile, the others hacking and smashing at the brass tubes and crystal orbs of the Quintessence Engine.

“Stop!” Ikaria let out a futile cry. “You have no idea what you’re doing! I haven’t even turned the Caput off! There’s still vitriol in those conduits – if you break them…”

She heard the hiss first, then saw the twin plumes of red and blue steam, and then, a blink of an eye later, a powerful blast shook the harbour, showering the piers and the piazza with splinters, debris and fragments of shattered wharf wall. One such piece flew straight towards Ikaria’s brow, the dull strike sending her into oblivion.

With a hand clad in a glove of salamander cloth, Ikaria took the annealed copper tube from the furnace. She put it in a clamp and, with a wooden mallet, started hammering at one end, slowly bending the tube until it achieved the desired shape. She lifted it to the light and nodded to herself in satisfaction.

“How’s it going?”

An old, bearded man entered her cave, dressed in simple clothes of a common man: a light-blue tunic, a fur-lined mantle of red oiled cloth – it was a cold January day, the northerly wind blew fierce over the Aegean – and plain stockings of russet wool; he was a Greek, like Ikaria, but the medallion of the Cicon family embroidered on his mantle – a black horizontal stripe on a brown background – showed he was a turncoat, working as a chamberlain for the Latin master of the nearby castle and all the surrounding land: Otto de Cicon, Baron of Anemopylae, one of the six Hexarchs of Negriponte.

Marco, sitting cross-legged on the floor and busy chiselling a guiding groove into a long piece of cedar wood, leapt up at the old man’s sight and bowed deeply as a mark of respect. Though Marco’s father was a minor Venetian noble, the boy himself always felt and behaved more like a commoner in the presence of those of higher stature, even if they were mere Greeks.

Ikaria only gave the chamberlain a slight polite nod and reached for another copper tube. “It is no more ready today than it was yesterday, Ignatios,” she said. “Tell your master if he wants to hurry the work, he needs to provide me with ingots of far greater quality than this dross. I’m wasting too much time cleansing the impurities.”

“He’s your master too, Ikaria,” Ignatios reminded her, pointing at the crest on Ikaria’s own cloak, thrown over the back of her chair.

She scowled. “I am a free Greek, like my mother. I only work for Otto because he pays me.”

Ignatios threw his hands in the air. “Show some gratitude, girl! If it wasn’t for the Baron, you’d have been whipped and pilloried. Two of the Emperor’s men lost their lives on that piazza!”

“I did warn them not to damage the engine. Besides, I’m sure I must have repaid my debt of gratitude with interest. I am the best engineer and alchemist in the entire Hexarchy, and for the last six months, I’ve been tinkering with the spare parts and impure preparations. I need work – real work!”

Ignatios smiled mysteriously. “About that – I may soon have some good news for you.”

She put away the tube and removed the salamander glove to brush the hair from her brow. She was once proud of her dark, raven-black curls, but years of working with alchemical fumes bleached them to an almost translucent white, with a few stripes gleaming rainbow like the shimmer of the Quintessence wake. “What are you talking about, old man?”

“Word is, the Baron will need someone to work on a ship for the Grande Regatta.

“He’s going to run in the Regatta?” exclaims Marco.

“Not him, of course – he’s far too old. His son, Guy.”

“It’s only six months,” Ikaria said. “I can’t build a boat in six months.”

“The hull is ready,” said Ignatios. “The Donna Agnes, the same batella the Baron sailed the last two times. All it needs is a new Quintessence Engine.”

“A ten-year-old wreck, then. He’s not serious about his son’s chances, is he?” She scratched her head. “When can I have a look at it?”

“As soon as the Baron returns from La Citta. Shouldn’t be more than two, three days.”

“Fine. Send someone down when it’s all ready. Now let me get back to work – I still have four of these pipes to go through today.”

Ignatios nodded, took one last glance at the mess of metal, crystal and other scrap strewn about the workshop, crossed himself and retreated from the cave.

Marco ran up to Ikaria and hugged her.

“What are you so happy about?” she asked, pushing the boy gently away.

“An engine!” Marco cried. “You’ll get to work on a real engine again!”

“An engine for a Latin’s boat,” she spat. “I’m sorry,” she added quickly, remembering the boy, too, was a Latin: a scion of a family of sailors and carpenters from Venice. “You know I don’t think of you the same as those nobles. You’re my friend – my only friend… And yes” – she rustled his hair – “I suppose I am glad to be back at my proper job. But we’ll have to see that heap of scrap and splinter Otto de Cicon calls his batella before we can truly rejoice. There must be a reason why I’ve never heard of him or his son winning any trophies.”

The small, plain graveyard by the Panteleimon’s Chapel, on a hilltop overlooking the harbour town of Caristo, was empty and quiet in the morning. A robin trilled in the branches of a gnarled, bare pine tree, which grew over the two graves as Ikaria laid a bundle of wild winter flowers on each tombstone.

The stone on the left was marked with the slanted Byzantine cross and the name of her mother: Ariadne of Caristo. The date carved on the tomb showed her die only a couple years after Ikaria’s birth, in the great Cyprus earthquake of Twelve Twenty-Two; too early for the girl to remember anything about her other than a few glimpses of her soft, beautiful face, as if chiselled out of a piece of Naxos marble, and the scent of olive oil and rose water with which she washed her long, black hair. Ariadne of Caristo; the reason why her father had moved to this remote place at the far southern tip of the Negriponte Island from Vicenza, never to return to his Italian homeland.

Her father’s tomb, though newer, was overgrown with moss, lichen and thorns; Ikaria never cleaned it thoroughly, wary not to reveal the straight Latin cross carved into the soft stone. This was a Greek cemetery – the Latin invaders had their own lavish burial ground just outside the Red Castle, a mighty fortress built on a nearby hill to ‘guard’ the town – or rather, make sure its people remain faithful to their new masters; but her father had insisted on being buried beside his beloved Ariadne and the priest at Saint Panteleimon’s, knowing how strong their love was, graciously agreed; as long as the two graves were set aside from the rest, under the dark, twisted pine.

Ikaria removed only enough thorns and moss to unveil her father’s name: Roberto da Caldogno; the date of his death – almost exactly ten years ago – and a small, barely perceptible mark carved underneath of horned circle and cross: the sign of Mercury, the crest of the alchemists’ order. She put her hands together and whispered a prayer for her parents’ souls, then sat down on a patch of ice-parched grass in the pine’s shade, waiting for the robin to finish its song.

“I’m working for the Latins now, Father,” she started, tightening her cloak around her shoulders. “Baron Otto of Anemopylae. He was in the Grande Regatta with you – but you wouldn’t remember him, he was one of the last to finish. Of course, at least he did finish…”

It was nine years and four months ago, at the Grande Regatta of Negriponte, the greatest of Aether races in the whole of Empire, that her father had lost his life. In the final stage, as the boats rushed over the Volo Gulf towards Demetrias, Roberto’s gondola mysteriously vanished into the calm waters below, seemingly without a trace, until, a few days later, the waves started washing out the charred flotsam and, eventually, Roberto’s bloated remains. The cause of the accident seemed clear – judging by the scorch marks on the wood and the pieces of brass casing bent out of shape, the Quintessence Engine must have exploded as Roberto pushed it to its limits, pursuing the victory: an unfortunate but common enough occurrence.

“I never believed that it was a simple accident,” she whispered to the tombstone. “You’ve always been too careful, too precise. You never took any chances. You wouldn’t have risked it – not even for the ultimate victoryIt was them. They hated you – for the love you’ve shown to the Greeks, for the secrets you threatened to reveal, for your blasphemous discoveries… And so they plotted against you – just like they now plot against me. They even convinced the Emperor to release his edict just in time to ban me from taking part in the next Grande Regatta.” She wiped a tear from her eye and touched the stone, cool in the shade despite the spring heat. “I’m sorry, father. I have failed. I will never win the Regatta now – never get the trofeo – they made sure of it. The Greeks of Negriponte will forever be slaves to their Latin masters. They are lording over us even in our own home town.”

She rubbed her sore wrists with a scowl. On the way to the chapel, as she passed through Caristo, she saw the Hexarch’s guards wrestling with a Greek family in front of their house; the father lay in the gutter, blood trickling from a cracked skull, and the soldiers were manhandling his wife, children and an elderly mother. Ikaria rushed to their aid without a second thought. Only Baron de Cicon’s crest on her cloak saved her from being put in the gaol with the others; instead, one of the guards simply grabbed her wrists and held her in place until the entire family was hauled away to the Red Castle.

“That will teach them to pay their due taxes,” the guard said as he let Ikaria go. “And you, girl, better watch yourself. This isn’t Sire Cicon’s land. Next time, we may not be so lenient.”

Forty years had passed since the Latin and Frankish knights and their Venetian paymasters treacherously captured Constantinople, the greatest city in the world, sacking and razing it into ruin, murdering and raping its inhabitants, sending the true Emperor and his court into exile and eventual death; they then proceeded to take the remaining lands of the Empire and parcel them among themselves. Mercenaries, adventurers, rogue noblemen wandered all over Morea, Macedonia, Thessalia and the islands of the Aegean Sea, taking over the castles and towns, inventing for themselves preposterous titles like ‘the Megadux of Lemnos or ‘Marquis of Bodonitsa’ – and subjugating the local population with a rule harsh and unjust, exploiting the serfs and the townsfolk alike for tax and plunder. The rich and fertile island of Chalcis, which the Latins renamed Negriponte, the Black Bridge – after the ancient, age-blackened crossing linking it with the mainland – had the misfortune to be seized by three such robber families all at once; the three Barons divided it among themselves and ruled in relative peace for a while at first – but their six sons did not share their fathers’ patience. The fratricidal war which erupted twelve years after the conquest was so long and bloody that, in an unusual turn of events, the Emperor and the Doge of Venice themselves felt compelled to intervene personally.

It was then that the Grande Regatta was established; with the island now split into six parts, the Emperor had decreed that once every five years, the Barons would solve their differences in a great Aether race around the island and decide who among them would take the overlordship of the Hexarchy.

The trofeo of Negriponte came later, long after the first Regatta – at the request of the Barons who wanted to draw more glory and more ducats to the spectacle. It was the greatest prize of all, its worth potentially limitless: the winner of the Grande Regatta could request from the Emperor anything they wished: any treasure, title, property, an Imperial pardon… But the lure of the trofeo was a false one. The six Barons prided themselves on the skill of their pilotas, engineers and alchemists; they spent fortunes making sure no other contestant could get even close to their gondolas, batellas and barchettas – and none ever did. The prize remained a meaningless curiosity until that fateful Regatta ten years ago, when a mere commoner, a merchant’s son from Vicenza, challenged the Barons on their home ground – and came closer to winning than anyone had ever come before.

“Your father was a great man.”

The unfamiliar voice startled her. Ikaria jumped to her feet, reaching to her waist for the dagger. The young man standing before her – not much older than herself – wore the rich clothes of a Latin nobleman, broad-sleeved and layered in crimsons, azures, yellows and purples, all trimmed with precious northern furs; a short sword in a jewel-studded sheath hung from a golden chain-girdle at his waist; but on his head, bound with long, black curls falling to his shoulders, rested the square red cap of a Greek commoner, rather than the dark velvet hat of a Latin – and his robe bore no crest.

“Who are you?” she asked, pointing at him with the dagger. “What do you know about my father?”

The young man raised his hands. “Only what everyone here knows. That he was a friend to the Greeks. That he was the finest Aether engineer in the Empire – and the only commoner to ever challenge the Hexarchs in the Grande Regatta.

“You’re a Greek?” she asked, the dagger still firmly in her hand. She studied his face more closely. He was fairly handsome, with thick eyebrows arched over deeply set round eyes, a broad, slightly curved nose and full lips, pale from cold, curved in a seemingly perpetual light smile. “But you’re a noble.”

Forty years after the Latin Conquest, there shouldn’t have been any Greek noblemen left on the island, all their lands confiscated, their families dead or banished to the East, where the rump successor states of the old Empire still clung on to the wind-swept, rocky shores of Anatolé. She certainly hadn’t heard of any young nobles fitting the description of the man standing before her.

“Correct on both counts,” the man smiled. “I am Mikhael, son of Andronikos, knight of Chiarenza.” He bowed, deeply.

“And what is Chiarenza?”

“A town in Morea, on the Ionian coast.”

“A turncoat, then,” Ikaria said, scowling in disgust. Like Chamberlain Ignatios, this Mikhael was a traitor to his people, facilitating the Latin Conquest of his kin. “What did you do? Chased after some tax debtors? Threw out a poor family from their land to take it for yourself?” she scoffed. “And the reward for your betrayal – a chance to further serve your masters, to assist in the oppression instead of being oppressed yourself?”

Mikhael of Chiarenza shrugged one shoulder. “What I did to deserve my titles is neither here nor there. Thanks to my efforts, I am now in a position to ease the burden of my fellow Greeks. Help them – help you.

“Me? How can you help me? And why would you? What are you even doing here on Negriponte – Morea is a long way away.”

“Please,” – he touched the tip of her dagger with his finger – “Why don’t you put that nasty thing away and let us retire to some more suitable place to discuss what I have to offer. I assure you it will be worth your while. Assuming, of course, you have finished paying respects to your parents.”

Ikaria sheathed the dagger, still eyeing the stranger suspiciously.

“There’s a shepherd’s shelter halfway down the hill,” she said. “No one will disturb us there – if you can stand the smell.”

“I have seen it on the way here.” He nodded. “It will do us just fine.”

About the Author


James Calbraith is a Poland-born Scottish writer of history-adjacent novels, coffee drinker, Steely Dan fan and avid traveller.

Growing up in communist Poland on a diet of powdered milk, “Lord of the Rings” and soviet science-fiction, he had his first story published at the ripe age of eight. After years of bouncing around Polish universities, he moved to London in 2007 and started writing in English. Now lives in Edinburgh, hoping for an independent Scotland.

His debut historical fantasy novel, “The Shadow of Black Wings“, has reached Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award semi-finals in 2012. “The Year of the Dragon” saga sold over 30,000 copies worldwide.

His new historical fiction saga, “The Song of Ash” has been on top of Amazon’s Bestseller lists in UK for months. 

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