Copyright © 2007, Becca Furrow
Published by Whiskey Creek Press LLC

Reviews For TORRID TEASERS Volume 39 by Becca Furrow

"This is a fun, funny, definitely adult bundle of Christmas fun. Ms. Furrow has a gift for writing scenarios that bring her books and characters to life."
Dee Dailey, The Romance Studio

CHRISTMAS WIZARDRY
Daniel, High Wizard of Earth, was not an insensitive em-ployer. All his servants had midwinter festivities on their homeworlds or dimensions. As it happened every few centu-ries, this year all the different festivities occurred at the same time. This meant Daniel would be on his own for the first time since ascending to his lofty position.

Yardley, his First Assistant, tried to refuse to leave, but Daniel insisted. Yardley so enjoyed the antics of his many nieces and nephews, he would be a poor employer to make his First Assistant miss it.

Mrs. Garvey left many meals to be put in the micro-waver, with small written instructions on each plastic con-tainer. It was lonely, though, eating partially frozen foods by himself. Daniel decided to go out to a restaurant.

There were piles of money in the treasury vault, so he took plenty, and a few jewels, in case he needed them.

He found the car keys and was well aware the kitchen door led to the garage.

Years ago as a boy he had learned to drive and he was pleased when the car engine purred to life.

The garage door was a problem, as nothing seemed to open it. Finally he conjured it away. Once outside he had to conjure it back. Quite a time waster. He would learn how to open the door when Yardley returned.

The street was just as he remembered it, lovely older homes, with tall trees in every yard. His Dark Tower fit right into the neighborhood. No humans were able to see the magickal heights to which it rose, of course.

The houses were bright with colored lights, and he paused to enjoy the displays. A memory of his father tacking lights up on their little house came to him, and he felt warm.

Christmas, that was the holiday he had celebrated as a child. He remembered the excitement of presents under the tree.

A tree. He could buy one and get decorations. It would be fun, and fill the lonely hours until his staff returned.

He thought briefly about inviting Maog, the Serpent Queen, to a Christmas dinner, but he suspected she wanted him to fertilize her eggs. He wanted no part in a serpent god infestation throughout his dimensions, so he dismissed the idea. She was quite lovely though, pity she always had an agenda.

After much driving he found a tree lot, and the attendant roped a tall tree onto the top of his car. Daniel also got direc-tions to a store that sold Christmas decorations.

The store was crowded and garishly decorated, but he was able to pick out a whole shopping cart of decorations. He also bought cookies and a book, written for adults, about cow-boys. Christmas always reminded him of cowboys because of the toys he received as a boy—cap guns, a stick horse, felt cowboy hats and plastic chaps…

Feeling quite jolly, Daniel headed to the parking lot, only to find a horrock demon chasing a young woman. She wore a most revealing green dress, very short, with her pretty legs covered with green stockings and ending in odd shoes with the pointed tips curved up, ending in dangling bells. The horrock demon got closer and she smacked it with what looked like a book bag.

Well, that would only anger the demon.

Daniel stepped up. “If I may be of assistance?” He con-jured some melt powder and blew it on the horrock, reducing it to a pile of goo in a moment.

The girl looked at him, squealed, and tore off.

Daniel was smitten. She had hair the color of cinnamon, and eyes the color of milk chocolate. Her figure was trim but curvy and as she ran off he got a glimpse of a firm, round bot-tom when her short dress blew up in the December wind.

He wanted to taste her. How long since he’d had a lover…well, there was that swamp witch three years ago…clammy, though quite lovely…

While he was thinking, she moved several cars away.

WISHING RIGHTS
Pascal sighed as he pulled his hood back on and turned his back to the biting wind. Mid-November was a bad time to hike into the rocky heights of the mountains to search for coughwort. But it was also a bad time for an outbreak of the cough. Santa was nearly worn thin trying to fill in for so many absent elves.

Now the apothecaries were out of coughwort, and he, be-ing the youngest and strongest of the Guild, was the one elected to hike into the mountains to harvest more herbs.

Snow covered the heights and shadowed places but the meadows were dry. He found numerous plants and rejoiced that he would only need to spend one more night in the wil-derness. The journey downhill to the North Pole could be ac-complished in a day.

He went around a rocky protrusion and came upon a dry meadow full of coughwort.

He heard a gasp that made him jump a foot. It can’t be a bear, this time of year.

It was a dwarf woman, with a basket on her hip, digging coughwort with a tool similar to his.

They stared at each other, neither one moving or speak-ing. There was no contact between the elves at the North Pole and the dwarves who lived in the rock hills and forests to the south.

“I’m-I’m just harvesting coughwort. I mean you no harm,” he said.

The woman was small and very colorful. Her skin was a warm brown, and her hair flamed like a fire. Even from the space of the few feet between them, Pascal could see that her eyes were not the ice blue of elven folk, but bright grass green.

And her lips—they were nearly round, and coral pink. Nothing like the thin pale lips so prized in elven women. Her ears were pointed, like his own, but they were a little larger, and peeked out through her wild hair.

“Me, too.” Her voice sounded breathy, as if she was frightened. “Coughwort. The cough is in the villages down-river.”

He nodded. “I see. We have it also at the North Pole. I am almost done with my harvest, since my bag is nearly full.”

“Yes, my basket is almost full. I will return home now.” She backed away, eyes never leaving him.

There was an ominous grinding sound.

She gave a breathy scream and he followed her line of vi-sion to see a rockslide coming right at him. He lurched out of the way, but not far enough to miss the hits. He went down in pain.

* * * *

“Wake up. Oh please wake up.” A wet cloth was rubbing his face.

He opened his eyes to see the dwarf woman, before the blinding light forced him to close them tight.

“Are you awake?”

“Yes. Light—burns,” he gasped.

He could feel a raging pain in his foot and an ache in his head.

“My hands, are they injured?”

“No, not at all. But your foot is. I think it is broken in several places. I had to cut off your boot to try and stop the bleeding. And you have a bump on your head.”

He squinted at his foot and nearly blacked out. “I don’t think I can walk.”

“No. I can make a travois and pull you down to my boat. From there it is just a short way downriver to my home.”

“Yes, I guess that would be best. Thank you. I am Pascal.”

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