Tahira Heru | Andree Koehler

@theru.agnubloom.com

Andree's writer self, all on her own ... I'm also a dreamer, academic, an occasional pc gamer whose the silent member of the guild. SFWA Associate, Spec Lit Foundation Member, Voodoonauts Fellow (2021/2022), and more. Find me at https://theru.substack.com/

Photo of the planet Venus above the sunrise. Taken by author.

Snip of text with the word "guy" highlighted in yellow that reads:

As Aubrigette ran to the subway entrance, smiling, she tried to memorize the timber of his voice. The smile turned to a wide grin, and she started to giggle as she skipped down the stairs to her platform. The looks on the faces as she passed the other riders as they gave way made her laugh aloud: she caught sight of her wavy reflection on the upright of the turnstile and could see the wild look in her own eyes. Vera thought she looked beautiful.
Stepping onto the crowded train, she pulled her lips between her teeth, clamped down, and breathed through her nose until her cheeks relaxed. The rhythmic rocking of the train calmed her giddiness. Aubrigette tried to remember every detail of Theatre Guy’s face. The sunny color of his eyes, framed by dark-rimmed glasses, and the smell of his flesh that kept coming back to her mind and seemed to fit the nickname she gave him, since she had no idea what he was really called.

Segment of text with the word "carry" highlighted in yellow that reads:

As soon as she entered and closed the door behind her, Mrs. Pindle bustled into the foyer. “Are you all right, Miss Vera? Have you eaten? I was so out of sorts after tidying that I started cooking.” Vera followed her nose (and Mrs. Pindle) into the kitchen, zigzagging through a maze of bags. “Oh dear, please excuse the mess. It doesn’t look like I was tidying, does it? When I left you, I did as I said, went to my rooms and collected what I could carry. There’s maybe two more trips and I’ll have everything, since I rented a furnished flat.” She leaned on the counter, pulled a cotton hankie from her bosom, and swabbed her face.

From my WIP, with the word "want" highlighted in yellow that reads:
Aubrigette smiled politely as the server returned and put her whiskey sour on a paper doily next to her salad plate. Albert squeezed the lime slice into his margarita, watching her. She sipped her drink, jiggled the glass, and said, “I figured you would be looking for me, but I didn’t want to be found. I needed a break from,” she waved her hand around the room, “all this.”
“And by all this,” he mimicked her wave, “I presume you meant the good life your parents and grandparents by extension set up for you and that I work hard to make sure you and your children’s children’s great-great-grandchildren will have?”

Small snip from my WIP with the word "sign" highlighted in yellow that reads:
The room dissolved and Vera closed her eyes to avoid the feeling of vertigo. When she opened them, she was standing by the hedges of a little house. The street sign read Coral Avenue. The air smelled like the sea. “Where are we?”
“The question is ‘when and where’. This is 1976 and that’s my house. Well, yours now, but we’ll get to that in a moment.”

Segment of text from my WIP with the word "garbage" highlighted in yellow that reads:
Vera put the key on her nightstand where the casual onlooker would never notice it, unlocked her bedroom door, and padded quietly to the kitchen, where she found Thea, humming and rearranging the spice cabinet.
“Oh! Miss Vera. Everything all right?”
Vera hoisted herself into one of the tall chairs at the café bar. “Oh, I’m fine, Miss Thea. I thought I’d sneak a little snack before bed. I may not have the time to take breakfast in the morning.”
Thea sniffed an unlabeled container and daintily dropped it into the garbage bin. “I’d be glad to get up earlier if you need.”
“Oh, no, Miss Thea.” Vera looked around. “Did you move everything without me?”
Thea dusted her cumin from her hands. “I didn’t arrange anything, but I did move the bags and boxes down, so it looked bit more civilized up here again.”

Short snippet from my WIP with the word "listen" highlighted in yellow that reads:
He leaned closer, is eyes locked on hers. She saw that he too was completely sober. “That name, which you will likely hear when you listen to the VR, is Aubrigette Opal Duquesne, the third, and she has been with TSV through every name it’s ever worn. You see, your grandmother has been our client for nearly one hundred forty years.”

Snippet of my WIP with the word "warn" highlighted in yellow that reads:
He did as Aubrigette said and after leaving a note for Mrs. Hershberger, his housekeeper, escorted Aubrigette to the private garage and handed her the keys to a vehicle with the name “Buick Gran Sport” on the insignia.
Vera felt herself leaning as Aubrigette navigated the powerful vehicle through a tunnel named Holland that she’d only read about in school and along the New Jersey Turnpike. Vera felt her own tension, but sensed Aubrigette was relaxed. In the glow of the dashboard and oncoming lights, Albert said nothing, save to warn her about staying well below the speed limit. Despite its power, the Gran Sport rode smoothly. Aubrigette took the exit for the Garden State Parkway and Albert held his wristwatch toward the windshield: it was almost ten. “Are you okay? Do you want me to drive for a while?”
“No, Uncle. I’m fine. Just settle back and rest yourself. It won’t be long now.”

Double image: on the left, a woman and man in 1970s era clothing and on the right a woman and a man in futuristic attire... They could be the same couple... That's the mystery!

A snippet of text with the word "cover" highlighted in yellow that reads:
Aubrigette ducked behind a rack of scarves and watched Ms. Kempinski stroll down a main aisle of the flea market on the arm of a man old enough to give consent but young enough to be her grandson. They walked and talked with the leisurely pace of lovers, more familiar than any teacher and protégé. They came toward the shop where Aubrigette had attempted to find cover. She turned her back and pretended to look through a sale bin.

Snippet from my WIP with the word "silence" highlighted in yellow that reads:
In the silence she dialed Daniel’s number. “Hello?” His voice made gooseflesh bloom over Aubrigette’s body.
“Daniel. It’s Aubrigette.” She imagined she could feel the heavy breathing she heard puffing into the receiver. “I know it’s been a while, and I am on my way to an appointment right now. I wanted to tell you that I saw the article and column in the Times on your performances. I would have –” she almost said loved, “liked to have been in attendance. Thank you for thinking of me. Best of luck with the coming shows.” She pressed the switch hook and disconnected the call before he could say a word, then released it and rang around to Albert’s.

Image of a woman who looks like she's from the 1970s looking in a mirror at her "twin" who looks like a futuristic version of her.

Snippet of text with the word "flashing" highlighted in yellow that reads:
Vera winced and Myra ignored it. “My dear,” she continued drily, “there is no need to be squeamish. I’m going to die whether you like it or not.” She swept the covers back and Vera turned away. “Not looking also does not change the fact that your grandmother is on house arrest.” The holographic ankle bracelet circled Myra’s leg, its flashing bright red stop signs blotting the sheets with intermittent blood-colored stains.

Snippet of text from my WIP with the word "sigh" highlighted in yellow that reads:
Vera snorted. “I can tell.” She stepped past him, pulling Mrs. Pindle gently by the hand. She folded down the funerary drape from the catafalque and they looked at Myra’s still form.
Mrs. Pinder found the lace hankie she’d stuffed in her sleeve and dabbed beneath each eye. “She looks like she’s resting, bless her. And that was her favorite half-veil.”
“She told me once she sourced her veils from a North African shopkeeper she’d befriended. It’s called a half niqab and …” Tippett’s mouth snapped shut as the women stared at him.
Vera let out a sigh. Mr. Ashwick, please continue.”

Snippet of text from my WIP with the word "piece" highlighted in yellow that reads:
They stepped out of the conveyor in front of a marble-front edifice adorned with a gilded pair of praying hands, the corporate headquarters for Merrin-Blythe-Ashwick Group. The double doors opened outward, and E. Thorne Ashwick walked down the slight ramp to greet them. Seeing him there, arms outstretched and hands on the doorknobs took Vera back to Pap’s funeral. Ashwick was a decade older now but looked two, his face still pasty and square with lips framed by thin mustaches that could only be laser applique.
“Miss Blake, please come in.” Vera’s eyes were drawn to Ashwick’s wingtip shoes, and she wondered what sort of soles made no sound on marble floors. He walked them to a room with couches, soft music, and a plaque above the door titling the space as The Eternal Wing. He handed her a piece of ornately carved stone paper with Myra’s name and photo on it. “We have followed Ms. Blake’s instructions, which are engraved there for you. If you and Mr. Tippett would confirm that we have completed this task?”

Snippet from my WIP with the word "cough" (part of "coughed") highlighted in yellow that reads:
Aubrigette waved a hand, coughed down the mis-swallowed tea, and apologized. “I know, Nana. I’m sorry. It’s just that word ‘masher’ sounded funny. You’re right. I’ll do some checking. I know who can get me answers.” She put her things on the tray and despite Nana’s protests carried it to the kitchen, put away the rest of the cream, then washed and dried the cup, saucer, spoon, and tray. Latifi had followed her and watched. “I’ll let you know what I find out. If he is a masher, I will stop volunteering and will need to change our phone number.” She folded the drying towel and hung it the way Nana liked. “But if he’s not a masher, may I invite him here for lunch?”

Snippet of my WIP with the word "power" highlighted in yellow that reads:
Though Vault Five’s walls thrummed with biometric power, the door to box 042 was something old-world. As if reading Vera’s thoughts, Vault Five piped up. “The door and its keyhole are practically a work of art, are they not Miss Vera? The inset is brushed steel, and those designs are done in bronze filigree. The iron hinges have been operating since 1893.”
If a vault’s voice could have a tinge of pride, Five’s did as it continued. “My records show this box has been accessed less than thirty times in two centuries. That key in your hand is the original and has only been used by three women, all in the Duquesne line. You, Miss Vera, are the fourth.”

Snippet from my WIP with the word "sweet" highlighted in yellow that reads:
Wait, did she just answer me? “Are you really here, talking to me?” Vera asked.
Nana smiled. “In a way. The me you know is truly gone, my dear, lying in – what was it I wrote for Ashwick to say? – sweet slumber next to your grandfather in the family crypt.” She held out her arms, twisted them back and forth. “But this VR body is quite realistic, isn’t it? Reacts to you just as if I was alive. That’s the ‘neuro’ part, darling. Now, you sit there, and I’ll do the rest.”

Snippet from my WIP with the word "confusion" highlighted in yellow that reads:
Vera went to her rooms, took a shower, and after securing her door to avoid an unexpected visit from Thea, she reattached the neuroplayer behind her ear.
“Good evening. Or is it afternoon? You always keep the curtains drawn, so I can’t tell.” Nana had appeared in the same place Vera had seen her last. This time, she was wearing an airy jumpsuit. “Well.” She shrugged. “It matters not the hour. Are you ready to continue?”
Very walked into the parlor and sat on the chaise opposite Nana’s couch. “Not yet, Nana.” She leaned forward, tempted to reach out to touch her grandmother’s hand. “I want you to tell me the next parts.”
Myra’s brow crinkled with confusion. “You’d rather listen to me rattle on instead of seeing it for yourself?”
“I have questions.” Vera sat back. Myra took a deep breath in through her nose, blew it out her mouth, and nodded.
“Tell me what was in the big envelope. Tell me what happened to Uncle Ames and Nana Latifi. How did you and Pap get together?”
“Questions, indeed.” Myra lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “You heard Mr. Barnard. The big envelope was filled with letters from your Pap. Well, the man who eventually became your Pap.” She placed both palms on her knees, her eyes twinkling in the silence. She looked like she was crying. “As far as Uncle Ames, well,” she turned her head.

Snippet from my WIP with the word "bark" highlighted in yellow that reads:
“You know you like him,” Aubrigette sing-songed. Latifi put both hands over her mouth and her eyes twinkled. “I think it’s nice. Go, have another cup of tea. Chamomile, the relaxing one. I’ll take a shower.”
Latif squeezed her wrist again, turned, and almost skipped out like a schoolgirl. Aubrigette heard Mr. Barnard’s deep bark of a laugh and the sound of China cups tinkling against saucers as she turned on the shower. The warm water ran down her body and she wondered what she would find in the heavy envelope. How long had Daniel been writing to her? Were they filled with stories of his acting experiences and time spent with paramours, or were they written to her, about her?

A snippet of text from my WIP with the word "after" highlighted that reads:
She stepped onto 63rd Street and took the conveyor to 200 Park Avenue, then walked a half-block to her destination: Argent & Marquess, one of several exclusive financial institutions that catered to those in her grandmother’s tax bracket. The clock above the entrance iris showed that Vera had ten minutes until the appointment. She held her identification disc to the reader. The iris spiraled open silently and subtle arrows lit a path in the floor panels, pointing her way to the management offices. After two left turns and a right, Vera saw a well-groomed man standing at the end of the corridor, hands held stiffly behind the back of his slate-colored tailored suit. The overhead light glinted off the silver streak in his hair and the clip of the fountain pen in his breast pocket.
“Miss Blake, I’ve been expecting you.” He stepped aside to allow her entrance to his office. “My name is Jorik Kessler. I am your grandmother’s personal banker.”
He stepped around Vera once inside and she had to walk fast to keep up with his long strides. “I thought you were the manager?”

Snippet from my WIP with the word "pant" out of "pants" is highlighted that reads:
Lou tucked the bill into his pants pocket. “No problem at all. Vera doesn’t typically come in this late, but I told her to call me anytime.” He smiled at her and added, “How long are you staying? Will you want to take your dad anywhere in the morning? I’d like to get some shuteye since we have the Shriners in town, and I’ve been running like a chicken these last couple days. I know you like to get to the flea markets early, sort of thing.”
Aubrigette unlocked the door and turned on the entryway and porch lights. “Thank you so much, Lou, but this is a quick trip. Dad and I will be leaving on the noon bus.”
He scratched his bald spot. “Golly, you aren’t kidding, quick trip. I’ll come for you at eleven-thirty. That will give me time to get back for the afternoon rush.”
"Thanks, Lou."

Snippet of text from my WIP with the word "where" highlighted that reads:
The door slid closed. “Good morning, Ms. Blake.” The emotionless voice never added a first name, but Vera assumed it would always recognize the female from penthouse B as Myra Blake. Her Nana and Pap had moved into the grand apartment on the Upper East Side in 2077, around the time of Vera Senior’s fifth birthday. The brick and marble building had certainly stood the test of time, according to the nearly smooth carving on the cornerstone by the front door, where “1901” could still be made out. The six-story edifice was home to three owners and held to the traditions of Manhattan’s exclusive neighborhoods, maintaining round-the-clock workers on the entrance and in the single elevator. This morning there was no live concierge worker or doorman, meaning Vera didn’t need to make small talk with those who made the grand residence still feel like a quaint enclave for the wealthy from years gone by.

Snippet from my WIP with the word "college" highlighted that reads: Vera/Aubrigette blinked at Albert and checked her watch, a Bulova Computron that he hated. Vera heard Aubrigette’s voice for the first time: “Uncle Ames, I can’t right now. I’m on my way up to City College. Remember? I signed up as a volunteer for the theatre department’s fall production season. There’s a meeting today.” She stepped away from him and slung her purse over her shoulder. “Let’s meet at the Club. I made us reservations for six-thirty. I’m all yours for the evening and promise to tell you every detail.” Before he could retort, Aubrigette dashed over to Albert, grabbed him lightly by the shoulder, and pulled him close. Leaning on tiptoes, she brushed her lips on his cheek. “See you there,” she said, and skipped out the door.
Vera felt Aubrigette’s relief as she ran for the subway. Albert Randolph Ames had been on her father’s payroll, but when Aubrigette had turned eighteen and gained partial access to her trust, her short list of employees grew to include Uncle Ames. He was more a protective family member since he’d known her from childhood, and she was one of the few who got to see his gentle side. As one of the handful of Black lawyers in the country to make partner, A. Randolph Ames was the way he presented himself in public. They called him the Obsidian Obelisk because he was tall, sturdy, stalwart, and seemed to flow like ebony ink as he stalked the halls of his office and the courtrooms where he served as lead counselor for the occasional important cases he wouldn’t leave to a junior litigator.

Snippet from my WIP with the word "give" highlighted that reads: Myra reached into the narrow bodice of her dressing gown and withdrew a key, dangling from a delicate platinum chain. “Now Vera, your birthday is still several days away, but under the present circumstances I’d be remiss if I didn’t give you your gift while still in relative control of my faculties.” Myra lifted the chain over her scalp and laughed, the sound wet with phlegm. “I forgot for a moment I no longer have hair.”

Two women looking at each other through a mirror; one is in the 1970s and the other is in the future ...

Moodboard showing an old limestone mansion in the upper left, a blended man and woman together beneath that, a futuristic carrier below that; and a futuristic dressed man and woman on the right who could be the same people as on the left ...

Snippet with the word "hello" highlighted that reads:
“Hello, Vera. Nice one there,” Lou came out on the stoop, pushed out his belly toward the Caprice. He lifted a hand toward it and from the corner of his mouth asked, “Is that Henry Junior? From the little dealership up toward Court House?” She nodded. “Hm. It’s the third Tuesday, so Henry Senior’s probably kicking back free drinks with his Rotary buddies at the Avalon Country Club. He never lets his cars go this far.”
“I didn’t see anyone else at the dealership.” Aubrigette turned her back to the Chevy and faced Lou. “I’m thinking of buying it, but the only reason I would is if you’d take me on.” His eyebrows went up, questioning. “Just this summer and around the neighborhood. I remember when my dad and I were here. You shouldn’t have to do all that alone.” Lou’s shoulders dropped and she continued. “I will cover the licensing or whatever,” she waived at the Caprice,” upgrades and so on. I’d like to have something to get around in while I’m in town.” She lowered her voice. “I still hope you’d pick me up and drop me off at the bus station, if we can work something out.”
“Vera, driving a cab isn’t work for a lady,” Lou answered. “But I could use someone with your softer touch.”

A snippet from my WIP with the word "bed" highlighted that reads:
Looking out of Aubrigette’s eyes was just like Nana said. It was like Vera was seeing the streets of 1976 Cape May Point herself. Vera knew that the locals knew Aubrigette as Vera Monroe and didn’t see a shoobie like they did when they passed the other Cape May day-trippers and summer vacationers walking their beaches. Vera had never heard the word “shoobie” before but from Aubrigette’s thoughts learned it was a derogatory term to describe vacationers who come to beach towns and act out of place by being rude to shopkeepers, expecting special treatment, and so on. As Vera Monroe, Aubrigette didn’t just come and go, leaving stray wet towels on the bed at a rental home. She had become a resident when she purchased the little cottage on Coral Avenue. Vera relaxed and allowed Aubrigette’s knowledge and thoughts to become her own:

Snippet from my WIP with the word "retort" highlighted that reads:
Uncle Ames looked stern, but his body language said he was glad Aubrigette was home. He glanced at his desk calendar: it showed that Labor Day was four days away. Ames said, “Now, tell me what has been going on.”
Vera/Aubrigette blinked at Albert and checked her watch, a Bulova Computron that he hated. Vera heard Aubrigette’s voice for the first time: “Uncle Ames, I can’t right now. I’m on my way up to City College. Remember? I signed up as a volunteer for the theatre department’s fall production season. There’s a meeting today.” She stepped away from him and slung her purse over her shoulder. “Let’s meet at the Club. I made us reservations for six-thirty. I’m all yours for the evening and promise to tell you every detail.” Before he could retort, Aubrigette dashed over to Albert, grabbed him lightly by the shoulder, and pulled him close. Leaning on tiptoes, she brushed her lips on his cheek. “See you there,” she said, and skipped out the door.

Longer snippet of text from my WIP that reads:
Vera and Mrs. Pinder arrived at the Blake family crypt in time to watch E. Thorne Ashwick maneuver the hovering catafalque inside the tomb. He paused it at the entrance. “Ah, Miss Blake. And Mrs. Pinder. So glad you could make it.”
Vera ran her tongue up her front teeth and brought it down with a loud Tsk! Ashwick jumped, which pleased her. “Mr. Ashwick, I’ll have you mind your tone when addressing my house matron or me.” His lips pruned and he blinked rapidly. “I know you heard me when I informed Mr. Tippett that I needed to look in on Mrs. Pinder and to dress. I should like to understand your haste that would preclude us, the two people closest to my grandmother, from bearing witness to the final passage of her remains to their final rest.” She punctuated the statement with a stomp of her foot, sending two flocks of pigeons to wing.
Ashwick removed his gloved hands from the platform’s direction bar and raised them in submission. “Please forgive my insolence, Miss Blake. I meant no offense –”
“Well, you’ve bloody well caused offense, Chappy,” Mrs. Pindle said.
“—and please rest assured it is not the standard of Merrin-Blythe-Ashwick Group.” He lowered his palms and pressed them together. “I too am a bit overcome by the sadness of this loss.”
Vera snorted. “I can tell.” She stepped past him, pulling Mrs. Pindle gently by the hand.

Snippet of text from my WIP with the "obvious" highlighted in yellow out of the word "obviously" that reads:
Hank’s forehead beaded with sweat, despite the coolness of the morning. “Just give me a minute, ah, Miss …”
Du—I mean, Monroe.” Aubrigette’s mind was somewhere in the future, where she was standing next to the Caprice and talking Lou into taking her on as a part-time taxi driver. She watched Hank (not-Aaron-but-Williams) trying not to run for the keys. He was back on the wooden ramp and locking the trailer door in what felt like seconds. Aubrigette slid to the right and pulled up the button to unlock the passenger door.
Hank fell into the car, handed Aubrigette the keys, and launched into his spiel. “Now, Miss Monroe, I must warn you that we are sitting in a real gem. You obviously have a good eye, but I am concerned that it might be too much car for someone as delicate as yourself. This is a top-of-the-line, TurboJet 454 and it is not an auto—”
“I got it.” Aubrigette turned the key and the big V8 roared. She adjusted the side and center mirrors, pulled the column shifter forward and up, then backed the car so smoothly Hank let out a sigh. A pull of the shifter toward the wheel and down, and Aubrigette eased the nose around toward the road. “Can I take it down to the Point?”
“Sure,” he said. “Let’s do it.” He bit his lips to hide the smile. “I guess I was a little off about you maybe not being able to handle this car. Where did you learn to drive?”

A snippet of text that reads:
“I can’t believe you gave him your number,” Casilda complained. “Or that he gave you his.” Vera saw the sneer that briefly crossed Casilda’s lips and suspected, as Aubrigette seemed to as well, that there was more going on between Daniel and Casilda.
Aubrigette wondered how she and Casilda had become friends. Whenever Casilda showed what seemed a jealous side herself, Aubrigette felt less and less affinity. “What of it?”
The snapback surprised Casilda into silence. She mashed the nearly complete cigarette into the ashtray. “I mean, if you want that Casanova having your number, it’s none of my business.”
Aubrigette tugged her bag onto her shoulder. “You’re right. Anyway, see you tomorrow.” She hopped down from the stool and walked away without waiting for Casilda’s reply. She checked her watch: if she walked quickly, she would make the next train. She chuckled to herself about the shocked look on Casilda’s face. The chuckle turned into a laugh by the time she reached 134th Street. That was something Vera would have done, she thought.

A segment of text with the word "over" highlighted that reads:
Tippett pushed his half-lens glasses higher on a nose that looked like it had spent years in a boxing ring. “E. Thorne Ashwick and his people are taking good care of her.”
Vera recognized the name. Her Nana had used Merrin-Blythe-Ashwick Group for Pap’s funeral arrangements. She felt warmth crawling up her face and tears clouded her vision. “No one waited for me?”
“Your grandmother left strict instructions in the event she” he glanced over the tops of his spectacles “met her end here at home.” The interior pocket of his suit produced more bounty in the form of a shiny page that had been folded so many times the seams were cracked. “She wrote this out years ago. The paper inside is real, so I was told. It’s sealed in some kind of – can you believe – petroleum byproduct.”
“What?” Vera was now convinced she was either dreaming or alone with a lunatic instead of a lawyer. “That’s not possible. Petroleum based products have been outlawed for years. I thought it was even illegal to possess them outside of museums.”

A snippet of text that reads: Vera was overwhelmed. She emptied her glass and before the burn had faded from her throat she had refilled and emptied the glass once more. “Mr. Tippett, I thought you were my Nana’s attorney, and that Mr. Kessler was her banker.”
Tippett squeezed the slab that was the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I am your grandmother’s attorney . There are some parts of this tale that are not mine to tell, Miss Blake, but let me give you what I can.

A snippet from my WIP, with the word "cup" highlighted (out of the full word "cups") that reads: They drank quietly until their cups were empty. Latifi washed and dried them once they finished. “It sounds like you were happy there, at this beach place,” she said. “Will you go again soon? What about the young man you were so interested in? Daniel? He called for you, you know.” Latifi told her about Daniel, who had rung the house at first every week and then slowly stopped calling when Latifi told him she didn’t know when Aubrigette would return.
Aubrigette stared at Latifi’s back. She hadn’t imagined Daniel would have been trying to reach her, even though he’d mentioned “a friend” in that first newspaper article. She’d read the column over and over, wondering if she could find any cyphers or messages to her. She decided to ignore Latifi’s question about Daniel. “I would like to go back soon, and I’d love to take you with me, Nana. But it’s complicated.” Latifi turned with her eyebrow raised. Aubrigette took a deep breath and told Latifi about the name she had used while in Cape May County. Latifi squinted as she listened to what Aubrigette had told Albert about her double life and why she’d chosen to hide her family history and status. “So, if you come, I’ll call you my auntie, my mother’s sister. That would make it easy for us both, don’t you think?”

Snippet of text that reads: Despite the neighbors’ initial reticence, since it was obvious the little cottage wasn’t Vera Monroe’s only place to live (meaning she must have been a woman of some means), they eventually warmed up to her. She maintained a polite distance but regularly baked bread, cakes, and cookies that she gifted to every home in the half-block radius of her bungalow. To their surprise, Ms. Monroe showed up during the community Thanksgiving celebration and had every stomach grumbling greedily at the scent of her dinner rolls and apple pies, which she donated without being asked (no one mentioned that she hadn’t been invited either, but since she didn’t stay to eat, there seemed no need to talk about it). She sealed her position as a near local that first Christmas when she slipped into town the week before to decorate the cottage windows with battery operated candles that appropriately vanished the night before St. Agnes’s Epiphany services. Always dignified, well-dressed, and considerate of her neighbors, no one held reservations against Vera Monroe. Even Lou, who often had stories about what they all thought of as the seamier side of the Point because of all he saw as the owner of the only cab in the area, had positive reports of her conduct and overall attitude.

A moodboard showing a limestone mansion with an AI grid overlay on the top left; beneath that an image of a woman and man standing together; beneath that a futuristic travel pod ... on the top right a futuristic image of a woman and the lower right a futuristic image of a man, both of whom could be the people in the photo on the left

A snippet from my WIP that includes the word "blow" that reads:
Lou opened the back door of the taxi and took their bags. “Sure. Small town life is like that.”
Aubrigette blinked to clear her eyes as Lou drove away from the bungalow. Vera felt her longing for the day she could spend more time on Cape May Point than she did in Manhattan. She cranked the window down a couple of inches to fill her nostrils with the smell of salty air and her ears with the cries of gulls and kestrels, thankful that Albert was distracted by Lou’s small talk, turning her head so Uncle Ames wouldn’t see the tears she tried to hide.
She smiled as he paid Lou in cash and exchanged a last few pleasantries before the man drove away. As he followed Aubrigette on her circuitous route to the parking lot, he asked, “How about I drive?” A distracted nod was her only answer. “What’s the best route back to the turnpike that won’t blow your cover?”

A snippet from my WIP, with the word "talk" highlighted for today's prompt that reads:

The door slid closed. “Good morning, Ms. Blake.” The emotionless voice never added a first name, but Vera assumed it would always recognize the female from penthouse B as Myra Blake. Her Nana and Pap had moved into the grand apartment on the Upper East Side in 2077, around the time of Vera Senior’s fifth birthday. The brick and marble building had certainly stood the test of time, according to the nearly smooth carving on the cornerstone by the front door, where “1901” could still be made out. The six-story edifice was home to three owners and held to the traditions of Manhattan’s exclusive neighborhoods, maintaining round-the-clock workers on the entrance and in the single elevator. This morning there was no live concierge worker or doorman, meaning Vera didn’t need to make small talk with those who made the grand residence still feel like a quaint enclave for the wealthy from years gone by.

Snipped from my WIP that reads:

“I wish you’d stop asking,” Aubrigette insisted. “I can’t tell you.”
Casilda wasn’t easily swayed. “What, you don’t trust me?”
“That’s not it at all. Well,” Aubrigette sipped her beer. “Maybe it’s a little of that.”
Casilda made a face and smacked Aubrigette’s free hand. “Boy, your summer must have been something.” She took a deep pull from her cigarette and blew four perfect rings to the applause of the theatre volunteers at the next table. “If I had to guess, I’d wager that you either took a French lover or instead of going to Europe, you spent the whole time in the Orient or maybe a meditation retreat in the Australian outback.”
“I’d bet the French lover.”
The voice made Aubrigette’s stomach drop.
“What do you know, Daniel?” Casilda blew a stream of smoke over Aubrigette’s head, and she ducked to keep her hair from being engulfed. “You just met her yesterday.” She turned her attention to Aubrigette. “If you want, I can see if you can switch to my work group to get away from him.” She nodded toward Daniel.

A snippet from my WIP that reads: It was 1977, a new year, specifically, late March and despite Punxsutawney Phil’s prediction of a long winter, the weather slowly changed. The evenings were still cold and the days, bright with blue skies, were less chilly. It was on an unseasonably cool morning that Aubrigette saw a blurb about Daniel in the Reviews section of the New York Times. Aubrigette gripped the paper like she wanted to crumble it into a ball as she leaned close to the pages. It seemed Daniel had been busy in the few weeks after the last show closed and had secured a role as an understudy in an off-season production. His performance earned him a role during the City College upcoming theatre season. Aubrigette skimmed over the title of the performance, the names of the other actors, and began to read the details of Daniel’s responses to the reporter. Her breathing stopped as she read a quote: I am so excited, Daniel had stated. I told my friend this past summer that I’ve wanted to act for a while. The reporter asked what his friend had thought of the production and Daniel answered, she’s been away for a few months and didn’t get to see it.

There is a highlight on "predict" in the word "prediction".

A snippet of text that reads:
At the sound of his voice, the vault said, “Good day, Mr. Kessler and thank you for your validation. Do we have Ms. Blake’s key?”
“Yes, Vault Five.” He turned to Vera and twerked his head toward the illuminated keyhole. “Yes, you’ll receive it presently.” When Vera didn’t move, he eyed the keyhole intently.
“Oh.” Vera pulled the chain from around her neck and stuck the key in the vault.
There was a loud click. “Please identify,” said the vault politely.
“You’ll say your full name,” Mr. Kessler explained.
“Vera Aubrigette Blake, Junior.”
“Thank you, Miss Blake, and it’s lovely to meet you.”

A take on the visual prompt entitled "Aubrigette and the Lab" that reads:

Aubrigette held Daniel’s hand: she could see nothing through the blindfold she’d foolishly allowed him to tie round her head. It was quiet, the only sounds the gentle double footfalls of their feet on what sounded like tile flooring made even more hushed through the fabric covering her ears as well. It smelled like a hospital, and she was afraid.
“Okay, you can look now.”
She blinked in the antiseptic light as Daniel bounced on the balls of his feet and squeezed the blindfold in one hand. She looked down and recoiled against him. “What in the world are those?”
“It’s okay, they’re harmless.” Daniel squatted down and to Aubrigette’s horror, lifted one of the things in his hands. “I told you the experiments were a little unusual. The subjects are people who give their bodies to science. The Institute only accepts healthy clients, not like those other places who study disease. Unfortunately, not everyone tells the truth – doctors included. When they receive a sick person, they sometimes harvest the good parts. In there,” he pointed to a set of stainless-steel doors, “you’ll find legs, arms, even fingers and toes. They keep the mouths and faces in here.”
Sickened, repulsed, yet curious, Aubrigette leaned toward the thing in Daniel’s hands, and it licked out its tongue from between a set of perfectly straight teeth. “Oh!”
Daniel put the ball of flesh back in its place on the floor, where it closed its lips. “Do be careful, darling. They will bite.”

A snip from my WIP that starts at the top of the page, which is marked with my pseudonym last name, the title of the novel (Ancestors of Earth), and page number (85) in the header, followed by the text that starts mid-sentence: ... the room to hear. With a breathy voice, Inphe said, “Head Inquisitor, thank you for allowing us this time. I asked for an audience to make a request.”
Tavno turned slightly. They looked like they were going to kiss Inphe on the mouth. Their tone softened. “Speak, Inphe.”
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and held it there as Tavno watched. “Our individual teams are making progress. One of my biggest findings,” she cut her eyes at Orek, “is that the sarcophagus has interconnected systems.”
Without taking their eyes off Inphe’s lips, Tavno nodded and said, “So, you came seeking our permission to …?”
She tossed her head, and her hair brushed Tavno’s face. “Head Inquisitor, you put together the best scientists and technicians in teams to examine what we thought were distinct systems. I am requesting your permission to have the teams rotate to study every element of the object.”
“Ah, we comprehend. Each team will use their expertise to study the sarcophagus for a holistic report.”

A snip of text from my WIP that reads: A-oq made several popping noises and squeaks. “I am grateful for your offer of hospitality, but I will forgo a sojourn in your villa. Too much time has passed since I was last with my wives.” He pointed to a belt that circled his ample midsection and added, “I keep my timepiece close and will be prompt to meet with these board members.” He lowered his head, his effort to bow, toward Gilberta and flapped an official good-bye to Tavno, then used the conductor to wink to his home.
“I too have been away for too long,” Tavno said. “And I am sure the sarcophagus citizens await you, as do the Dra’am and the news correspondent.” He paused, then in an uncharacteristically gentle voice asked, “Is that female one of your relations? She has the look of a Belagatian but favors you in other ways.”

Snip from my WIP: 1
Two hundred fifty years before an android was elected as Chief Executive Officer of Earth Conglomerate Incorporated, James was smiling into the screen in his helmet. However, to the orbiting ship monitors, it looked like a grimace. “Are you all right?” Sandra asked, pausing as she flipped through the shift reports.
“I'm great,” he answered through gritted teeth as sweat ran into his left eye. The temperature was rising rapidly but he was enjoying the trip. It had been his dream to go on the Mercury mission and when he got the assignment as a member of the surface crew, he had screamed with joy. Years of orbital study had suggested that the planet might have once been colonized and as a team, Specialist James Macnamara and Engineer Sandra Williams were sent down to gather evidence before the planet's demise. Due to its proximity to the sun, Mercury’s temperatures typically passed 900 K near the Handel crater. However, studies from the last two centuries revealed that planetary core temperatures were exponentially increasing: the sun's solar winds were melting the surface and soon, the planet would be gone. This was the final opportunity to explore the Swift Planet. James had found enough relics and fragments to fill three of the rover’s side hoppers. “Oof!” he exclaimed as his foot struck an unexpected hardness and he stumbled.

Snippet from my WIP: EPILOGUE
“Headwoman, please stop pacing. You’ll wear yourself out,” Thelline pleaded. She tucked one of Gilberta’s locs back into the side loops she’d intricately woven. “Not to mention all my hard work on your hair is going to be for nought.”
“Yes, Headwoman. Please relax. There is nothing to do but wait and then follow the CEO’s direction.” She found it interesting that Trizec’s assistant, Phedula, was already so comfortable in his duties. She wanted to both laugh and cry when she’d first met Zedra’s replacement, who was also his Hegonite cousin. Every nerve ending felt raw and thoughts Zedra did little to calm her, despite Phedula’s similar mannerisms. Gilberta wanted to take off the formal attire and headdress, run to the gryphon barn, and fly away in her pantaloons and undershirt like she did when she was a child. But today she had several official duties. A-oq, Tavno, Mchaza VI, and an additional contingent of twenty or so leaders were expected. Simsi and Trizec had already made an appearance as she was getting ready. Trizec said it would be important to preserve a record of what Gilberta’s official duties would entail. It was a strange pronouncement and Gilberta wondered if what the secretive CEO and provocateur meant was that it was necessary to make sure Gilberta was provided with a suitable cover story.
After all, every Iron Sand had a cover story.

$A screenshot from my WIP that reads: As Orek turned to Inphe, waiting for her to tell Tavno the reason for the visit to their chambers, there were several grunts and Mchaza curses as Minayane broke through the rank of guards who had been walking her to her holding area. She was fast, faster than Orek suspected. In a fraction of a second, she was standing between Tavno and Inphe, who’d taken a closer step to answer the angry Chief Inquisitor. The narrow hall exploded with action: Tavno’s two guards and three of the retinue that had accompanied Orek and Inphe leaped toward Minayane, who wrapped each guard in her vine-like limbs. She whipped them away as if she were tossing a handful of pebbles and they tumbled several hundred feet back toward the sarcophagus chamber. “No!” she yelled. “You will not harm Orek or Inphe!” Tavno’s mouth hung open and their eyes bulged. Inphe stepped forward. “Minayane, the Head Inquisitor won’t harm Orek or me. It’s just a tone of voice that leaders sometimes use. Isn’t that so, Head Inquisitor?” Tavno nodded. Their forehead was dotted with perspiration, evidence of the effort he was expending not to speak. Inphe stepped closer to them and took their hand in her hers. “Orek and I need to chat with the Head Inquisitor. Why don’t you go and have something to eat or take a rest? We likely won’t need your help again until tomorrow, since Orek needs to rest as well.” She nodded at the guards, who had regained their composure. They hesitated before moving back to their positions around Minayane, waiting to see what her reaction would be, since her digits were balled into fists and her breathing was rapid and puffing with anger.$