The Wishmaker

3/22/2007   I've started an urban fantasy short story. A bit different for me so it will be interesting to see where this goes. Still the element of the fantastic, still set in Britain (Edinburgh actually), still involving Celtic folklore . . .OK so maybe not as far off the path as I thought . . .see what you think . . ..

The old man shifted, pulling the weight off his heels. The cigarette in his fingers had burned low, long ash drooping slightly, ready to fall. He flicked the stub away and pulled his coat collar closer.

Mist had rolled in from the sea as it often did in the early hours of the morning. He hated this hour but the dampness was welcome. He was used to that. He lived by the water and knew its ways. He was never very good inland.

He leaned back into the shadow of the building as the sound of a car approached, echoing against the fog bank. He strained to see in the half light. No. A Fiat. Not a taxi.

She would arrive soon, he felt her presence. He must be patient. The game was only beginning. The hardest part. Too many unknowns. He was better at endings. But he had done this more times than he cared to think about. This one was different. He sensed that. There was nothing to be done but wait. A soft rattling sound cut the silence and another cigarette flickered to life.

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