First: A story featuring a male keeper and a female Kept.
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The chickens were excited when Mélanie went out to feed them, clucking away at something.  Mélanie tensed, worried she was going to find something strange in the pen again — but it was only one of the rescued former slaves, clucking back at them.  He jumped when Mélanie approached. 

“Oh, sorry!  I just– I used to be in charge of the animals–“

“If you want to feed them and get the eggs, I’d appreciate it.  I’ll go turn the horses out into their paddock then.” If they were going to have company long-term – and House seemed to think they would – they might want to think about getting a rooster around and hatching some more chickens. “The food’s kept right over here, in the barn.” Continue reading →

First: A story featuring a male keeper and a female Kept.
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The House was waiting for them. 

The wagon ride back had been – well, strange. The former slaves had spent a lot of time looking at Jasper — and then at Mélanie — as if they were some sort of strange creature.  Which, Mélanie supposed, was not all that unfair. 

“So…” one woman had asked, maybe twenty minutes before they reached the house, “what’s going to happen to us?”

They really had been slaves for a while.   Continue reading →

The table’s at the wrong able to the sink (should be // with it, not ⊥ ), but this is how I picture the kitchen in Haunted House.

First: A story featuring a male keeper and a female Kept.
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The whole barn seemed to be holding their breath — even the slaver, who had stopped wiggling in his captors’ arms.  Do you understand what I am doing?

You’re turning things on their head, and it’s impressive.  Mélanie stayed quiet; she was holding her breath, too. 

The woman nodded, cleared her throat, and nodded again.  She tried one more time; Jasper handed her the water again.  Continue reading →

First: A story featuring a male keeper and a female Kept.
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Neil, the slave-guard that wanted to buy his own slave headed into the barn while the slaver (and, unseen, Mélanie) watched and listened. 

It took only a moment, a surprisingly short moment, for the shouting to start.  Jasper?  No, none of those voices were familiar.  She moved closer, listening until she heard Neil shout in panic. 

Good. She smiled a little bit.  It might not be stinging bugs in his pants, but it was probably just about what he deserved. 

The slaver looked between the barn and his nice warm house.  She could almost see the gears turning in his head. Safe house, profits, safe house, profits. Continue reading →

First: A story featuring a male keeper and a female Kept.
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One guard was heading for the slave factor’s house; the other was heading for Mélanie’s distraction.

Mélanie trailed back from the stalking slaver-guard enough to whisper a Working that would shake the grasses and make a lot of noise in  a slowly retreating stream and then one that would throw her own voice all over the place. Then she followed Neil into the house to the side of the slave pens, swallowing the bile in her throat.  She hated this place, even if she’d never been in it.

He let himself in — probably not fae; she wouldn’t give someone like this an open invite to her house if she had him in her employ, but humans weren’t limited by thresholds the way the fae were — and headed upstairs.  She waited on the porch, since she couldn’t go into the guy’s house without an invitation, and focused on making the noise outside the gate distract Neil’s partner.

The slave factor came down the stairs several minutes later and out the door, trailed by Neil and a slave.  The factor was buttoning his pants; the slave was wearing a blanket as a sort of wrap, a collar, and a nervous expression. Continue reading →

First: A story featuring a male keeper and a female Kept.
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It was a strange feeling, even after the little trick she’d done in the wagon, walking up to someone while completely invisible and inaudible.  

Mélanie did it anyway, because Jasper had agreed to let her come along, and this had been the thing she could do better than him (or than Kearney, but since, as far as they knew, Kearney had no magic, that wasn’t as much of an accomplishment.

Kearney was, in the meantime, sliding through the back in a gap in the fence that was too small for an adult or even most children — Kearney was very good at moving in tight spots and didn’t have much fear of getting caught on the wires.  A lifetime ago, Mélanie might have asked but shouldn’t we worry about DNA?, but here, now, there was nobody with the resources to pull that blood off the wires and run it through the right machines, even if Kearney left any blood. Continue reading →

First: A story featuring a male keeper and a female Kept.
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She was doing her damnedest not to be miserable.

Mélanie bit her lip. “It’s going to be dangerous,” she offered carefully.  The kitchen seemed too small, too tight; Jasper was getting ready to go out and she wanted to wrap herself around him and make him stay.

“I think it’s worth the risk.”  Jasper’s smile was still bright; he wasn’t looking at her right now, so she could look as worried as she wanted without bothering him.   “Besides, it’s not going to be that dangerous.” Continue reading →

First: A story featuring a male keeper and a female Kept.
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It was not, exactly, a routine. Jasper seemed allergic to those.

But there was a rhythm to their lives.  Jasper would head out — the first time was hard, the second time, easier, the third time, she found, even harder than the first — but he came back every time without fail, without damage. Continue reading →

First: A story featuring a male keeper and a female Kept.
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Washing the House with Jasper was surprisingly fun. It was also hard work, because the House had years of embedded grime in her shingles. “Did you somehow roll in the mud?” Mélanie found herself accusing the house at one point. “And… in a pine tree?”

The House bumped one set of shutters in her direction.

“I can’t tell if that’s a yes or a no,” Mélanie admitted. “But I need some sort of brush that can get up here under the shutters. Maybe a butter knife, actually. “

Jasper frowned at the scrub brush he was holding. “I could–“

A window opened and a butter knife slid out into Mélanie’s hand. Continue reading →