Author's notes:

Don't write as you. Write as the fantasy you. Write as the you that you know you will never be. Write as the you that exists only in your daydreams. You can't write as someone else, but you can write with a different you, one that ... you fill in the blank

These words I penned in encouragement to a fledgling author. I'll leave the rest of the context and details out. As the above are my words and do not reveal anything personal about my fellow correspondent, I feel I can share them here.

This is how I write. I don't write as T. Kat, Software Engineer, husband to S. Kat, proud daddy to Kitten, etc. I write as someone who feels qualified to tell this sort of ribald story, as someone who has leave to leave you hanging in suspense chapter after chapter.

I won't recount my own sexual exploits. Firstly, it's gauche. Secondly, well, it's rather ... brief. Ahem. If I were writing as T. Kat, I would feel utterly beyond my depth in describing the depth of passion, the intensity of touch that Sian undergoes (but too infrequently, I know, I know.)

Instead, I draw on memories of vicarious lives, ones lived as I consumed fiction, spoken, written and acted. Again, ahem. I write as if I were the protagonist and/or antagonist of all fiction I felt relevant. That's because, if the stories are well-crafted, I felt an investment, a personal involvement in them. I may not have been one of the principals, but I sure wasn't an impassive observer.

Let's not focus solely on the carnal. The Powers in this story are not anything with which I've experience. I can't influence minds with voice, or open locks with force. I can't freeze someone's body or absorb a punch just because someone around me ... ahem. I write them as if I could, as if I did. That's the only way to invoke the necessary verisimilitude.

This type of story. I've never seen a Republic serial. They were nickel movies from the 40's. Each week, you'd get another installment. I've read about them, and heard about them. The closest I came was the full-colour comics in the Sunday paper, the ones only in that edition.

The most relevant account was when Spielberg and Lucas met in the late 70's, each a newly-minted Hollywood golden boy. They talked about their inspirations, and both confessed a love of those films with their lantern-jawed heroes and cliffhanger endings.

Supposedly, one said to the other, "Why don't they make them like that anymore?" And the other said, "We can." Thus was born Raiders. From watching Raiders and seeing how it went from one high point to another, that's my one and really only serious exposure to serial fiction.

Yes, it wasn't really serial, but I could see where someone could put a 'to be continued' at just the right spot to guarantee some kid will drop a nickel to see how they get out of that jam.

Thus, I find the wherewithal to write this tale. Not as me, but as one of may could-be me's.

(Those of you just joining here, start with Callan and Sian 1)



The mist grew thicker. The two older women stepped in front of Sian, their hands out, but loosely bent at the elbows.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Ressa risked a glance over her shoulder. "Don't know, love. Let you know when I do."

"You three look bored. There's a party going on back at my place. Want to come with?" The voice was muffled, but came from the distant man-shaped shadow that formed out of the grey. A wave of warmth washed over Sian with his words.

"No thanks, we're waiting for someone," Ceili said, her voice sweet with saccharine.

"Three someones, actually." Sian was surprised her voice still worked.

"Oh, we're not that particular. Bring your friends if you want. More the merrier." Two more silhouettes formed in the gloom, both slightly behind the leader, flanking him. Again, as he spoke, more heat fanned out. Callan's name, his face, his touch, even his scent all arrayed themselves to defend her. They held, and held well.

"Yeah, aren't you cold in all this muck? It'll be nice and warm there." One of the two other spoke, but Sian couldn't tell which. A different tingle broke itself against her memories of Callan, this one far weaker.

They all continued to approach.

Ressa spoke, her voice clear and strong. "We're all Claimed, you know. You don't want that sort of trouble."

"'Claimed.' How old-fashioned." He reached through the fog, laughing, his hand trailing more haze. Ressa neatly batted it away. "Oh-ho! The cat has claws!" His cohorts echoed his jibe, then added their own, building up their bravo. "I wonder if she'll meow for us?" "Hey, Wilhelm! All kittens are grey in the dark, right?"

They attacked. The lead traded jabs with Ressa, each parrying and riposting with blinding speed. Ceili was slower, as was his follower. However, each of Ceili's blows each left a wake that parted the fog, either spiraling off when she missed, or splashing across him when she didn't. Her attacks were slower, more circular than Ressa's thrusts and strikes.

The third cohort grabbed Sian, and received half a cup of hot coffee for his attempt. It didn't burn him, only distracted. He crushed Sian's arm with his one hand, his other slinging free the liquid from his face, his eyes burrowing holes in her. "I tried asking you nicely. Let's go party."

Ressa struck his elbow, eliciting a howl as he released Sian's arm. Her opponent landed a blow, a hard one. No sooner had Sian's attacker let go did Ressa go flying back into the park bench. "Jarls, take her," he said casually pushing Sian at her original opponent. "She's weak. I'll take this other one. She looks like she has a bit more fight in her."

Jarls bear-hugged Sian, trapping her arms under his. She landed two good kicks on his shins, but he didn't relent squeezing the breath out of her. She flung her head back, again and again, but couldn't connect with his.

"Now, no need to fight." His voice rumbled and she felt urges flow from his arms into her belly. Again, they fell short of the indelible image Callan left, and she continued to resist as he dragged her away from the other two women.

Ceili had stepped in front of Ressa and engaged the leader, while still fending off the other follower. Unlike Ressa, she focused her defense on the main attacker, and the other one landed two punches that staggered Ceili, but didn't upend her like that one strike did Ressa. Sian couldn't see the aftereffects through the flashes of light in her eyes.

She did see Ressa supporting herself on the bench with her hands while her feet struck at the lesser one. She scored one kick and he went down. Sian didn't see what happened next, as her vision blurred, dimmed.

The earth roared around her. Just before unconsciousness engulfed her, the arms constricting her went limp, fell away. She landed on dewy grass, and the tableau slowly came back into focus. As quickly as the fog fell, it had cleared. Brank gently tended to Ceili as they sat on the bench. Locke engulfed Ressa in a hug. Lavender was crouched in front of the follower Ressa felled just before Sian's attacker overcame her.

And her attacker, Callan had locked in a hold around his neck. The man's struggles waned, his attempts at counterattacks more spasms than strikes. His face was already a deep red, and turned an angrier hue, leaning toward blue.

"No," Sian gasped. She coughed, the air burning the back of her throat. "Don't kill him."

Callan shook his head, his face passive, eyes set. "He was going to use you up. I'm just doing to him what he would have done to you."

The man's eyes bulged, his pupils constricted.

"Not for me. Don't kill him for me. I don't want that." Sian's heart filled her throat. Her lungs grew sour, her belly bitter. "Please."

"Bah." Callan flung him to the ground next to Sian.

"Thank you." She struggled up on wobbly legs to embrace him. Only then did his face soften, but it was never locked in rage. Sian blinked, replaying the immediate events in her mind.

"Are you all right, little one?" He brought her back to the present with a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Yes. Yes, thank you." She looked around, saw Brank and Ceili, Locke and Ressa staring at her and Callan. "Are you okay, Ceili? Ressa?"

"Fine now." "Yes, love."

A scream tore the air.

Lavender straightened, brushed something off her jacket. "That's more than can be said for this schlub."

Her smile glinted in the setting sun.