"Other Sides" is here!
Gah! I'm on deadline (in hopes of making it into Like a Moonrise) and almost forgot the big news of the day!
My stand-alone story "Dalston Junction" is in the anthology "Other Sides." You can download it TODAY, RIGHT NOW, FOR FREE! Twelve stories by fourteen webserial writers, including M.C.A Hogarth, A.M Harte, Char Cotrill and Erica Bercegeay, MCM and more. Download the free "Other Sides" anthology in PDF or ePub.
And there's a scavenger hunt! Except someone already solved it!
My story will appear here at some point in the Patron area. I'm waiting to get the okay as to when that can happen.
Edit: Here's an excerpt of "Dalston Junction":
It always amused Amelia to see Margaret’s little round glasses steam over when she peered into the teapot. She herself had strong eyes, the only way in which she was stronger than Margaret, she mused. She returned her thoughts to the letter in her hand. “Another answer to our advertisement,” she said. The handwriting jumped its lines, as if the writer had trouble controlling the pen, and ink blots spattered the page. “No lack of sad cases this week.”
“So much the better for us,” said Margaret, taking the letter. “Boy,” she read aloud. “Three weeks old. ‘Discretion called for.’ Perfect.” Margaret linked her hands behind her back and stretched. “Damnable corset, I’ll never get used to it. Have you taken the last one’s clothes to the pawn shop yet?”
“No,” sighed Amelia. “I’ll sort them over tea, shall I.” A drooping, brown paper bundle tied with limp string stood on the trestle table. Margaret took up the tray sitting next to it, laden with the tea things, and strode through the kitchen door. Amelia tucked the sad package and her enormous pink challis shawl under her arm, and trailed after.
Once in the comfortable sitting room, she opened the package, thin hands moving among the tiny garments: two dresses; several flannel waists; two caps knitted in fine wool; miniscule shoes that shook in her trembling palm. “Shouldn’t we ought to burn these? The pawn shop’s bound to get suspicious at some point.”
“Then use another one. There are only several dozen in London,” said Margaret. The dull gold signet ring on her right hand clinked against the porcelain tea things as she reached for cake. “We need the money for housekeeping. The money’s the whole point.”
Amelia examined the fine seams of a little dress of pale blue fine wool. Expensive fabric for a baby dress. Such care taken in the stitching. She wondered about the mother who’d made these things for her child. Amelia had only seen the woman for a few minutes, but fingering the dress brought a closeness she shouldn’t allow herself. “Pity the wee one won’t ever wear them.”
“Somebody’s ‘wee one’ will.” Margaret fixed her companion with a pinched eye. “I often wonder why you’re here, Amelia. You’re far too soft-hearted.”
Amelia’s fingers hovered over the sugar bowl. Two lumps? One? “I like babies.” None.
“You spend minutes with them. I do all the disposal work. I don’t see how it matters,” snorted Margaret between bites of cake.
“I don’t suppose it does,” murmured Amelia. She folded the tiny clothes into a neat pile, set the tiny shoes atop them, and drank her tea.