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I wrote this years ago, before I discovered romance. It was originally published in Metropolitian, a magazine that was published in France. I can't find the magazine on the web, so I'm assuming it has ceased publication.


I liked John. I got along with most of the clients in the house, but John was the one I'd ask stuff like where's the peanut butter, or how do you think I should describe that incident last night. We'd hang out when it was his turn to cook. Sometimes he'd make real food. He'd borrow my pocket knife to chop garlic--they aren't allowed to keep sharp knives at the house.

As he cooked, I'd sit on the counter smoking and listening to his stories about New York. He'd even listen to my stories about Madison. Not many of the clients are interested in a staffer's outside life.


This is a more recent short story that I wrote specifically for Hint of Seduction, a no-longer-published romance magazine.


The pounding on the door rather than the harsh cry woke Linna. She lay in bed wishing she didn’t have to throw off her warm covers again.

This was beyond absurd. Ever since the slaves of the city had whispered the news that a foreign Tactician had taken up residence at the edge of the forest, they came trotting to her the moment they broke free. Men and women -- most still bearing their manacles, some with intact chains -- slipped to her house at night.

Her days were devoted to the masters, of course.