Somehow … I still have no idea how … last Friday took me by complete and utter surprise. It slipped past in little more than a breath, like a ghost, and before I realized what had happened, it was Monday. It pains me to admit it, but I completely forgot about poor Alexander and Destiny and Fate and the unknown little one of as of yet undetermined identity. So, you can imagine, I was even more determined not to miss this week’s installment.

Unfortunately, I gave myself rather a tall order with where we left the story last time. So much ground to cover! And the votes were all quite close, by the way. I counted twice, just to be sure. If you’re trying to catch up, you can read the previous installments here: When Destiny Comes Calling.

Alexander ignored Miss Destiny’s interruption and forged ahead, pacing with his hands clasped behind his back as he spoke in the no-nonsense voice he’d learned from his father, the Baron of Midsig. “Considering that I just rushed an ogre to save the both of you, I think it is perfectly reasonable to expect to be told just what is going on, and to find out why you, Miss Fate, and the child were here in the swamp in the first place, and what in the realm of exploding things this has to do with my family’s curse.”

Miss Destiny pursed her lips and then nodded. “Fair enough. Fate, do you care to do the honors?”

With a heavy sigh, the young woman sat on a fallen log with the baby snuggled against her shoulder and her ankles crossed before her. She dipped her head toward Alexander. “I’m afraid it’s rather a long story, but I shall attempt to keep it brief so you can follow along without unduly taxing your mental abilities.”

Alexander started to stammer a reply, but thought better of it when Destiny’s glare set the skin crawling on his arms.

Fate cleared her throat. “As I was saying, we’ll keep to the short version. What do you people say, ‘short and sweet?’ Here goes: I am Fate, formerly a countess in the Emperor’s court in Amardell. And this,” she glanced down at the baby in her arms, “is Emperor Caldwell VI.”

“The sixth, you say?” Alexander stopped in his tracks and no amount of self-control could keep him from shivering. “Emperor Caldwell VI?”

“Indeed—” Fate broke off and her lips curled into a thin smile. “I see the meaning is not entirely lost on you. Really, Destiny, you did not do his mental skills justice.”

Destiny sniffed. “No one is more surprised than I am. Must be the moisture in this swamp air seeping into his brain and causing it to expand.”

“Stop!” The force of his own voice surprised him. He shook his head in a vain attempt to regain some of his composure. “If you please. I beg pardon but I simply can’t focus with you two bickering. Now hold on and back up. This baby is the Emperor? But then, oh hang it all, does that mean old Emperor Caldwell V is dead?” Both Miss Destiny and Miss Fate nodded. Alexander ran his hands through his hair—a nervous gesture his mother, the formidable Baroness of Midsig, had often warned against. (She claimed it made his hair resemble a pin cushion.) “Killed?”

“Gracious no,” Fate said. “He was a very old man. Died in his sleep, leaving his troublesome throne to his grandson and his empire on the verge of total chaos.”

“All right, let me get this straight.” Alexander folded his arms across his chest. “If Caldwell V is dead, and Caldwell VI is Emperor, than what in all of Cantakorious is he doing out here in the middle of a swamp with you two?”

Destiny’s skirt rustled as she adjusted it about her legs. “Really, Alexander, if you would just calm down we—”

“No! I am done being calm.” He paced back and forth in front of the ogre’s corpse, painfully aware of the pair of disapproving glances leveled his way. “I’ve had more than enough, thank you very much. It’s high time you were truthful with me. What am I doing out here? Where is here? And why do you have the Emperor? I do hope you didn’t kidnap him. Because being accused of kidnapping emperors is a sure-fire way to get me kicked out of military school before I can even apply!”

“Well …” Fate grimaced. “It’s not a kidnapping exactly.”

“Oh, don’t sugarcoat it.” Destiny rose and stared Alexander in the eye. He fought to keep from withering before her piercing gaze. “If he wants the plain and simple truth so much, he can have it. Yes, we kidnapped the Emperor. Yes, Alexander, you are now involved. Yes, a good number of people are already on our trail and will try to kill us. But we are trying to protect dear baby Caldwell and the Empire from those who would try to claim his throne, not harm him. And as to your involvement, well, you can thank your great great great grandfather for that and stop blaming me!”

“That’s right,” Fate chimed in. “You remember dear? The one who tried to assassinate Emperor Caldwell I?”

“Because of him, your family was cursed. And whenever a Caldwell was in mortal danger, a Beauford must arise to protect him and—”

“Die in his place.” Fate’s chilling whisper sent fear tingling down Alexander’s spine.

*     *     *     *

I thought it would be fun to try something different this week. So instead of choosing one of the options I wrote, y’all get to write a response to the prompt below, and a select panel of judges (ahem, yours truly!) will choose the winning line to feature in next week’s installment. Excited? I am!

PROMPT: Write Alexander’s response to this new development. It can be an action, reaction, line of dialogue, etc. But write only Alexander’s response—i.e. don’t pen a paragraph of dialogue between Alexander and Destiny—and you are limited to no more than four sentences.

Have fun! Can’t wait to see what you come up with!

I finished an intense round of edits last night, or rather at 3:30 this morning, then glanced at the clock and realized what day today is, and panicked! Because today is Friday, August 8th, the scheduled date for the return of poor Alexander Mitus Scott Beauford III’s story. So being completely brain-dead after hours spent tweaking, revising, cutting, rewriting, and revising again, what did I do? Sat down and pounded out Installment Five of When Destiny Comes Calling. I did it for you. Enjoy.

A high pitched scream brought Alexander reeling to his feet, pistols drawn. “Hullo? Miss Destiny, is that you?” He turned in a circle, scanning the dripping woods for any sign of the exasperating woman. He found it hard to believe that such a high pitched scream could have come from her throat. She just didn’t seem the type.

A second cry rang out, and this time Alexander dove into action. He darted off through the swamp in the direction of the cry, wet pistols held at the ready, wet cloak flapping about his legs, wet sword rattling in its sheath. He could only hope he wouldn’t be too late.

“Hold on! I’m coming!”

The third scream was even louder and shriller than the preceding ones, and it was followed by a roar so deep and fierce it could only come from an ogre. Alexander tugged his sword from its sheath and crashed out of the thickness of the swamp onto a dry, bare hummock of land. He halted, shocked at the sight before his eyes.

An ogre stood before him, massive as a boulder, with a head the size and apparent density of a sixteen pounder cannonball, and skin the hue of swamp mud and the texture of lichen. If lichen were armored, that is. The ogre stooped and poked at something on the ground, and the shrill scream rang out again. Alexander caught a glimpse of gray cloth and sprang into action.

Wielding his sword with a strength acquired through long hours of cannon dismantling and refurbishing, he swung at the back of the ogre’s knees. The blade sank deep into the monster’s skin, so deep that when the beast stumbled forward with a cry of rage, the sword tore free of Alexander’s hands.

Leaving him unarmed before an enraged ogre.

He gulped and tried to reconstruct what had just happened in his mind. It hadn’t turned out quite like he’d envisioned.

“Don’t just stand there! Move!” A voice he knew all too well rang in his ear.

Alexander prided himself on his ability to receive commands and completely ignore them. A habit he would have to break should he ever join the military, but one that proved remarkably useful in the meantime. But something told him that this was a command he should not ignore. He ducked behind a tree just before the ogre’s fist came smashing down where he had been standing.

Then Miss Destiny stepped into view, a pair of curved swords in her hands. She sprang into action, and Alexander’s mouth dropped open at the speed and grace with which she moved. The crippled ogre didn’t stand a chance. Within moments, the monster was reduced to a bleeding hulk sprawled across the ground.

Miss Destiny slipped her swords over her shoulders and they disappeared into thin air, then she bent down and tugged Alexander’s blade free from the ogre’s knees. He staggered out from the behind the tree, for once at a complete loss for the proper words.

Help decide what happens next! Leave your vote for your favorite story option in the comments!

Option 1: Alexander plucked his sword from Miss Destiny’s hand, scrubbed it with a slimy swamp leaf, and sheathed it again. All without saying a word. Miss Destiny patted down her hair then smoothed her skirt, though he didn’t know why she bothered since the hem was stained with ogre blood.

“It was a good effort,” she said. He grunted. “Really, it was. With a bit of training, some exercise, a little real world experience, I do believe you’ll do, Alexander.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and plopped down to the ground. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Destiny sighed and flounced away. “Well, all right then, though I did believe you wanted to end your family curse!”

Alexander watched her go without a shred of remorse. Insufferable woman. Was this the truth of the family curse? Cursed to failure? To be so completely ineffective as to be shown up in ogre fighting by a prim lady in a fitted gown who fought with vanishing swords?

Option 2: Alexander plucked his sword from Miss Destiny’s hand, scrubbed it with a slimy swamp leaf, and sheathed it again. He spoke without turning to face her. “You screamed.”

She nodded. “I did.” Sounded so pleased with herself too.

“It was really high.”

“I suppose it was at that.”

“My ears are still ringing.”

“Well, gracious me, Alexander. Do you want me to fetch a doctor for you, or do you think you can pull it together enough to carry on with the mission?”

He spun around then, no longer able to contain his frustration. “Well, hang it all, Miss Destiny, I don’t know! I haven’t the faintest clue what the mission supposedly is. I don’t know where I am. And you apparently can’t give an ounce of helpful information to save your life. So, the truth, if you please. Were you honestly in any danger back there, or were you simply endeavoring to devise a new way to torment and embarrass me for your own amusement?”

Her eyes twinkled. “It’s called a diversion. One would expect a young military enthusiast who’s done such extensive research would be able to recognize it.”

Option 3: Alexander plucked the sword from Miss Destiny’s hand, scrubbed it with a slimy swamp leaf, and sheathed it again. With a world weary sigh, he sank down onto an obliging rock near the ogre’s corpse. “What in the name of all things fierce and ferocious was that?”

Miss Destiny sighed. “It’s called an ogre. Gracious me, but I would have supposed you would know that by now. Come along, dear. You can come out now! It’s quite safe.”

Startled by the abrupt switch in tone and conversation, Alexander spun around. Miss Destiny stood on the far side of the hummock assisting a young woman out of the bushes. She was clad in a gray cloak over a starched black and white servant’s dress, and carried a bundle in her arms.

Alexander started to his feet. “Is that what I think it is?”

Miss Destiny shrugged. “Please note that I have made no claims about being able to decipher the workings of your mind.”

The bundle wriggled and a tiny fist shot out of the wrappings. From within the blanket, came a high-pitched squalling.

“It is . . . it’s a baby!”

Stop by next Friday to see your vote change the course of Alexander’s story! As always, if you enjoy the post, you are welcome to share it, please just link back to this blog.

This week has been a tad hectic, to say the least. First, my internet was down for a few days which kept me from getting on here and tallying votes until after I was supposed to have already written the next installment of the story. So the following was written somewhat last minute to the accompaniment of an overabundance of two of my writing staples—coffee and Dr. Pepper—so I pray you bear with me through any of the odd typos or sleep-typing that may have slipped through.

In case you missed last week’s post, every Friday I intent to post the next installment of a serial short-ish story on here. If you haven’t yet, be sure to read the previous installments:

Installment One: In which Alexander Mitus Scott Beauford III dismantles a cannon and has an unexpected brush with destiny.

Installment Two: In which Alexander Mitus Scott Beauford III has an unpleasant surprise, and Miss Destiny appears to posses the ability to walk through walls. The truly fun part of this story is that y’all get to help decide what happens. Curious how that will work?

Read Installment Three to find out …

“You’re Destiny.” Destiny smiled then, and a cold, shark-like smile it was. “Indeed. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I am Destiny, and you are a Beauford.”

Alexander felt the cold fingers of fear crawling down his back like an army of spiders. “But … I thought that was just a legend. You haven’t been seen in over three generations of Beaufords.”

Destiny shrugged. “That’s the problem with a family curse. They’re often unpredictable, but always unavoidable.”

Well … This was a conundrum and no mistake. Alexander scuffed a stockinged foot against the floor as he considered his options. It wasn’t every day one came face to face with a supposed family curse. What was the traditional protocol? His military handbooks had been disappointingly vague on the subject of family affairs—especially in regards to curses.

The way he saw it, he could make one of four choices:

1) Run for his life and see how fast Miss Destiny could chase him in her long dress and heeled shoes …

2) Beg for his life. Perhaps Miss Destiny would show mercy and leave him in peace.

3) Fight for his life. Between the cannon in the center of the room—that Miss Destiny was still using as a seat—and the various handguns and rapiers mounted strategically on the wall, he had a fairly good supply of weapons, should the curse necessitate defense.

4) Or lastly, yield his life in servitude as a good little cursed descendent of a cursed family should.

Four options … But Alexander, being Alexander Scott Mitus Beauford III, heir of the Baron of Midsig, decided to follow none of them. Instead, he simply laughed, plopped down in Father’s leather desk chair and flipped open a massive tome to continue his research. Curses were a thing of the past. Relics from a time when magic reigned supreme and fantastic critters prowled the night. They belonged to the era of swords and shields and knights clad in not-so-shining armor, not this modern age with its guns and cannons and firearms and research.

Destiny cleared her throat.

Alexander answered without lifting his gaze from the book. “Do you need assistance finding the door? Because that can be arranged, though we are a tad short on servants at the moment.”

“Stalling gains you absolutely nothing, you know.”

“More’s the pity.”

Miss Destiny took a deep breath, and Alexander crooked an eye at her over the edge of his book. She looked like she was about to explode. “Time is wasting! And you, unfortunately, don’t have much of it! You know what they say, heroes always die young. Now shall we get on with it before I die of old age?”

What was that about heroes dying young?

Alexander tried to conceal his concern as he let the tome snap shut with a thump and rocked back in the chair with his stockinged feet on the edge of Father’s desk. Not that he was a hero … or anything approximating one. Not yet at least. Still Miss Destiny certainly took the cake for persistency. “You know … I do believe I’m rather rusty on the details of this whole, nasty curse business. I can’t for the life of me remember who or what or how it all began … Care to enlighten me?”

“There simply isn’t time.” Destiny pursed her lips. “Suffice it to say that Emperor Caldwell has need of your services, and you, as a cursed member of a cursed family, are cursed to respond.”

Alexander’s chair settled with a thud. “And do what, exactly?”

Destiny’s eyes glittered. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

“Fine.” Alexander pushed out of his chair, swiped his hands on his trousers again, took a deep breath, and pulled his cloak from the hook by the door and his dueling pistols and rapier from the umbrella stand. “Fine. Let’s get it over with.”

Help determine the course of the story by voting for your favorite next scene starter below! (Leave a comment with your vote.) And don’t forget to share the story with a friend!

Option 1) Confound the woman! Of all the exasperating, irritating, high-falooting people he had ever met, she had to be the worst. With mud plastered hands, Alexander tugged the hood of his cloak down over his sodden hair and squelched through the noxious pools of the swamp where Miss Destiny had deposited him.

“Oh, no, Alexander. I’m sorry!” He muttered in an exaggerated attempt at a falsetto. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it? No, it wouldn’t! Because apparently it’s absolutely impossible for you to tell anyone anything! Like maybe that an umbrella would have been more helpful than dueling pistols!”

Option 2) “Now, before we get started, there really are a few things we should cover,” Destiny said over her shoulder.

Alexander trudged along the road, feet already sore in his stiff leather boots, throat already dry with dust, and already hating the sight of the stiff figure in the gray dress marching briskly ahead of him. “Like what?”

“Rules of the road.” Without slacking stride, she counted them off on her fingers. “No dilly dallying. No complaining. No short cuts. And no asking if we’re there yet. Trust me, you’ll know when we’ve arrived.”

Option 3) “Don’t forget. Heroes die young.” Destiny’s final, chilling admonition sent a shiver crawling up Alexander’s spine. He cleared his throat, straightened his black and white servant’s livery, then stepped through the massive double doors that enclosed the Emperor’s great hall. He couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the irony of it all. Only a short while ago, he had been complaining over the fact that he had to play servant in his own home. Now he played servant for an Emperor. A game that might very well get him killed.

The votes are in! It was extremely close by the way, and the winning option was determined by a matter of one point. Curious to know what it was? Read the next installment to find out. In case you missed last week’s post, every Friday I intend to post the next installment of a serial short-ish story on here.

If you haven’t yet, be sure to read last week’s installment in which Alexander Mitus Scott Beauford III dismantles a cannon and has an unexpected brush with destiny. The truly fun part of this story is that y’all get to help decide what happens. Curious how that will work? Read Installment Two to find out …

So of course, Alexander Mitus Scott Beauford III did what any reasonable person would do when confronted with such a statement. He smiled politely and slammed the door shut on Miss Destiny’s primly upturned nose. The heavy paneling muffled her indignant cry.

Good riddance!

Alexander allowed the smile to remain on his lips as he marched back to the study to continue his research. The son of the Baron of Midsig had far more important things to do than bandy words with a madwoman. Just as his hand settled on the latch, the doorbell began to ring again. He growled, shoved the study door open, dashed inside, slammed it behind him, and flung his back against the door, breathing hard.

No more visitors. No more interruptions! He’d had about as much as he could stand. He really was going to have to talk to Father about hiring a new round of servants … or at the very least a butler!

“You really should answer the door, you know. It’s considered the height of rudeness to leave a guest standing on the threshold.”

Alexander jumped and nearly fell when his stockinged feet slipped on the wood floor. She was here … in Father’s study. Destiny glared primly down her nose at him, perched casually as could be on the barrel of his cannon. His cannon! A highly sophisticated, highly rare, highly valuable instrument of modern warfare! Decidedly not a seat.

He resisted the urge to race over there and drag her away before she could break anything and forced a polite grin to his face instead. “You do realize you are sitting on an extremely dangerous weapon that’s covered in several layers of grime, mud, and powder residue, don’t you?”

“Indeed.” Destiny pursed her lips and scribbled a line in her notebook. “Manners: decidedly lacking. General appearance and cleanliness: atrocious.”

“Wait … what? What are you writing?” Curious despite himself, Alexander inched forward to snatch a peek at her paper, but Destiny closed the notebook with a snap of her wrist. “Contender evaluation. Normal procedure.”

Indeed. Because everything about this day was completely normal. Alexander rubbed his aching forehead.

Destiny’s mouth quirked into something that no doubt was supposed to resemble a grin. It looked like she had been sucking on a lemon. “You do realize your hands are covered in several layers of grime, mud, and powder residue, don’t you?”

Apparently politeness could only carry one so far. “Look … how did you even get in here? What do you want?” She flipped open her notebook cover, and her pen hovered once more over the page. “And stop taking notes about me!”

“Like I said, it’s normal procedure. Gracious me, but you are a dull one.”

It hit him then. Like a twelve pounder cannon ball that barreled through and left the dead in piles and the living bleeding and gasping for breath. “You’re ________.”

Destiny smiled then, and a cold, shark-like smile it was.

You get to help me decide. Who/what is Destiny? Or who does Alexander think she is?

Option One “You’re one of them.”

Destiny smiled then, and a cold, shark-like smile it was. “Why yes, I am. Took you long enough.”

One of the Fey Folk …. here … in Father’s study. Alexander took a deep breath and fumbled in his trouser pockets for a semi-clean handkerchief to wipe his forehead and hands. “Is this it then? Am I being summoned?”

Because if not, he had research to get back to.

Option Two “You’re Destiny.”

Destiny smiled then, and a cold, shark-like smile it was. “Indeed. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I am Destiny, and you are a Beauford.”

Alexander felt the cold fingers of fear crawling down his back like an army of spiders. “But … I thought that was just a legend. A family myth. You haven’t been seen in over three generations of Beaufords.”

Destiny shrugged. “That’s the problem with a family curse. Often unpredictable, but always unavoidable.”

Option Three “You’re one of them. This is a test, isn’t it?”

Destiny smiled then, and a cold, shark-like smile it was. “Indeed. How ever did you figure it out?”

Alexander snapped to attention, back straight, arms at his sides, shoulders and head erect. He was painfully aware of his stained clothing and stockinged feet, but there was no help for that now. He couldn’t recall seeing any sort of a military emblem or rank insignia on Miss Destiny’s dress, but he might have overlooked it, distracted as he was by the whole surprise appearance thing she had going.

Vote in the comments. Share the story with your friends. Then stop by next Friday to see how your vote determines the course of the story!