I loved writing this next story–it brought together so many different ideas I’ve had (and begged for a sequel in each case) while further defining vague notions I’ve been thinking about for maybe a decade. Not to mention, some parts of it had me rolling with laughter as I wrote it. All this from a simple prompt: Cordelia, an airport, and a vintage carpet bag.
But looking at it now, the beginning’s a little choppy, and the end is pretty rough (this excerpt is actually a few paragraphs further up the last page), but like I said, this story begs for a sequel, so it didn’t exactly end easily. Why don’t you tell me what you think?
Cordelia turned precariously between en elderly woman on the right and a slightly older gentleman on her left; she hoisted up her carpet bag to clear their heads (thankfully people tend to grow shorter at their apparent age) and then she dashed forward. She nearly ran into a stroller; as she skirted around it, tossing apologies toward the mother, she realized it was merely a ghost walking with its kin and she cursed herself for losing time not running straight through them. Yes, it wasn’t considered high etiquette, but most ghosts had come to live with the expectation someone would walk through them sooner or later.
The curator reached around to the jewels, scanned them a moment, and then pulled out the flint, the cloudy-white one. He gripped it in his hand, said a word Cordelia had never heard before, and suddenly the jewel was overcome with light that burst from his hand and formed a shining dagger of radiance. “The Blade of Righteous Justice,” he said, then opened his hand and watched as the light withdrew into the stone. He placed the flint back in the case and crossed his arms. “This is a national emergency, Cordelia. We must recover those stones at all costs.”
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