The post Lyme Disease in Cats: Causes‚ Signs &; Treatments (Vet Answer) by Dr. Emma Chandley‚ BVetMed MRCVS (Vet) appeared first on Catster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it‚ but all of these articles were assigned‚ contracted and paid for‚ so they aren't considered public domain. However‚ we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article‚ then linking out to the rest of the piece on Catster.com. Lyme disease is a bacterial infection caused by the bacteria Borrelia burgdorferi. Animals and humans become infected via the bite of a tick. It is a common misconception that Lyme disease is caused by ticks‚ as ticks merely spread the disease. Lyme disease is mainly spread by Ixodes ticks. These commonly feed off deer and other wildlife such as rabbits and foxes. Lyme disease is very common in North America and affects all kinds of mammals‚ including humans. It is not very common in cats‚ but they can get infected too. What Is Lyme Disease in Cats? Lyme disease in cats is caused by Borrelia burgdorferi which is a bacterium and is transmitted by tick bites. Lyme disease is a debilitating disease that has effects on many different organs and systems in the body‚ including the joints‚ the nervous system‚ the heart‚ and the kidneys. There are at least four known types of tick that are believed to spread the disease. The most common of these ticks is the deer tick‚ also known as the black-legged tick. Cats become infected when an infected tick bites the cat. When the tick becomes attached to the cat‚ it takes between 1 and 2 days for the bacteria to be transmitted. They pass the bacteria on through their saliva. This is why it is always advised to quickly remove ticks seen attached. The risk of infection is highest when the ticks are seeking hosts—this is springtime for nymphs and spring and fall for adults. Once a cat has been bitten by an infected tick‚ it can take months for clinical signs to develop‚ and some cats may never show any clinical signs. Image Credit: thka‚ Shutterstock What Are the Signs of Lyme Disease in Cats? It is actually very rare for cats to display clinical signs when they are infected with Lyme disease. Common signs are generalized and non-specific and may include: Lameness Lethargy Increased sleeping time Loss of appetite Less interactive than usual Fever Stiffness of joints Swelling of joints If the disease has spread to organs in the body and has started to affect them‚ further clinical signs may be seen such as: Vomiting Diarrhea Weight loss Edema of the limbs Tremors Swollen abdomen Unlike humans and dogs‚ cats tend not to react when they are bitten at the bite sight. Dogs and humans often get a characteristic “bull’s eye” rash‚ but this is not commonly reported in cats. What Are the Causes of Lyme Disease in Cats? The cause of Lyme disease in cats is being bitten by a tick infected with Borrelia Burgdorferi. The tick must have latched onto the cat for 24–48 hours for the bacteria to be transmitted. The bacteria invade the body and replicate rapidly‚ migrating through the tissues and affecting multiple organs. Due to the fact they groom themselves regularly‚ cats often remove ticks while they are licking themselves. This usually occurs before the bacteria has had a chance to be transmitted to the cat from the tick. This may explain why Lyme disease is a lot less common in cats compared to other animals such as dogs. How Is Lyme Disease Diagnosed in Cats? Diagnosis of Lyme disease is usually based on clinical signs and history. Your vet is likely to rule out other causes of any clinical signs present first‚ as Lyme disease is not very common in cats. Your vet will speak to you first to get a full history‚ including any relevant travel history and whether your cat goes outdoors or not. They will examine your cat from head to tail and they may then decide to carry out blood tests and urinalysis. There is a specific blood test for Lyme disease that can be carried out‚ and other diagnostic tests can help your vet assess the severity of the disease. Frustratingly‚ cats may not test positive for Lyme disease for up to 8 weeks after a bite. Image Credit: Stock-Asso‚ Shutterstock How Do I Care for a Cat with Lyme Disease Cats that are diagnosed with Lyme disease should be given a course of antibiotics. The usual length of the course is 30 days‚ although some cats may require a long course of antibiotics—this depends on how severe the infection is. The antibiotic usually given to treat Lyme disease is doxycycline. This is very effective against the bacteria; however‚ it is not tolerated well by all cats. Some cats can develop esophageal strictures when given oral doxycycline as the tablet can get stuck. Your vet may offer your cat the liquid form or advise you to flush the tablet down your cat’s throat with water after giving them the tablet. As well as antibiotics‚ your vet may prescribe pain relief such as non-steroidal anti-inflammatories. This can be helpful for joint pain. Depending on how severe the infection is‚ they may also administer supportive care‚ for example‚ intravenous fluid therapy‚ and nutritional support. This all depends on what organs have been affected. Image Credit; Uryupina Nadezhda‚ Shutterstock Frequently Asked Questions Can cats survive Lyme disease? Lyme disease is very rare in cats. If your cat does become infected‚ and the infection is identified early‚ then the prognosis is good. Cats can make a full recovery with prompt administration of antibiotics if the disease is caught in the mild‚ early stages. If a cat gets the disease and for some reason‚ it goes unnoticed and untreated‚ then it will be more complicated to treat‚ and recovery will be longer. How serious is Lyme disease in cats? Lyme disease can be very serious in cats if it is left undiagnosed. If cats are infected‚ the disease can progress to cause lameness‚ lethargy‚ stiffness in limbs fatigue‚ breathing difficulties‚ and kidney problems amongst other things. On the other hand‚ some cats can be infected but show no clinical signs at all‚ so the severity of the disease does vary. Can cats pass Lyme disease onto humans? It is not possible for cats to pass Lyme disease directly onto humans. Your cat may‚ however‚ bring infected ticks into the home‚ and they can easily move from your cat to you. If they bite any humans in the house and they are infected with Borrelia burgdorferi‚ they will pass it on‚ and the humans can become infected. This is why it is so important to use tick prevention parasite treatment. Image Credit: Anna Kraynova‚ Shutterstock Conclusion Lyme disease is relatively rare in cats. It is caused by bacteria and spread by ticks. If caught early‚ it is straightforward to treat‚ and the prognosis is good. If the disease has been allowed to progress‚ it can develop into a debilitating condition and the prognosis is poorer. Common complications include long-term kidney damage and arthritis. It is a zoonotic disease so humans must be careful too. It is very important to keep up to date with tick prevention treatment‚ especially in areas where there are lots of ticks. Sources https://www.msdvetmanual.com/cat-owners/disorders-affecting-multiple-body-systems-of-cats/lyme-disease-lyme-borreliosis-in-cats#:~:text=Lyme%20disease%20occurs%20much%20more‚noticeable%20signs%2C%20despite%20being%20infected. https://www.msdvetmanual.com/generalized-conditions/lyme-borreliosis/lyme-borreliosis-in-animals https://www.cdc.gov/ticks/diseases/index.html https://www.cdc.gov/lyme/index.html#:~:text=It%20is%20transmitted%20to%20humans‚heart%2C%20and%20the%20nervous%20system. https://www.cdc.gov/ticks/tickbornediseases/tick-bite-prophylaxis.html#:~:text=In%20areas%20that%20are%20highly‚a%20high%2Drisk%20tick%20bite. Featured Image Credit: anastasiya parfenyuk‚ Shutterstock The post Lyme Disease in Cats: Causes‚ Signs &; Treatments (Vet Answer) by Dr. Emma Chandley‚ BVetMed MRCVS (Vet) appeared first on Catster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it‚ but all of these articles were assigned‚ contracted and paid for‚ so they aren't considered public domain. However‚ we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article‚ then linking out to the rest of the piece on Catster.com.

Acclaimed author Howard Waldrop passed away on January 15‚ 2024 in Austin‚ Texas at the age of 77 after complications from a stroke. Waldrop‚ who is recognized by many to be one of the best short story writers in SFF‚ was known for works including 1980’s “The Ugly Chickens‚” a story about how the dodo became extinct in the South‚ which won the Nebula and World Fantasy awards that year. Waldrop was born in Houston‚ Mississippi on September 15‚ 1946‚ but moved to Weatherford‚ Texas when he was four years old. He lived in Texas for most of his life‚ and was a founding member of the state’s Turkey City Writer’s Workshop‚ a program founded in 1973 that is seen as the locus for the cyberpunk subgenre. Waldrop’s first published genre work was “Lunchbox‚” which appeared in the May 1972 issue of Analog. His first novel was 1974’s The Texas-Israeli War: 1999‚ which he co-authored with Jake Saunders. That story took place in a post-World War III dystopian future where 90 percent of the population had been killed. Waldrop‚ however‚ is best known for his short fiction. In addition to “The Ugly Chickens‚” he’s also known for 1987’s “Night of the Cooters‚” which Vincent D’Onofrio adapted as a 2022 film short that he directed and starred in‚ with George R.R. Martin producing. In over 50 years he published more than 80 short stories‚ and had several collections published‚ including Strange Monsters of the Recent Past‚ Night of the Cooters: More Neat Stories‚ Horse of a Different Color: Stories and‚ most recently‚ 2023’s H’ard Starts: The Early Waldrop. In 2021‚ Waldrop received the World Fantasy Award for Lifetime Achievement. “Most people reading my writing think I’m like a buffoon‚ you know‚ blowing off my bazoo just by the writing‚” Waldrop said in a 2017 interview with The Austin Chronicle. “I don’t use it to hide‚ but people reading it can probably figure out what I’m about. But I don’t set out to do that. Most people write to show off. I write because I don’t know anything else.” The post Author Howard Waldrop Passes Away at Age 77 appeared first on Reactor.

Netflix’s adaptation of Jaroslav KalfaÅ™’s novel‚ Spaceman of Bohemia‚ is set to premiere with much fanfare in a little over a month. The movie stars Adam Sandler as the Czech astronaut Jakub‚ who during a six-month stint alone in space makes friends with an alien spider named HanuÅ¡ (voiced by Paul Dano) who helps him with his faltering marriage to Lenka (Carey Mulligan). The premise on the surface could be seen as funny‚ but the novel—and apparently the adaptation based on the trailer released today—is a heartrending tale that explores themes of love and family across the seemingly unending chasm of time and space. The movie comes to us from director Johan Renck‚ who also directed all five episodes of HBO’s limited series‚ Chernobyl‚ with a screenplay by Colby Day. In addition to Sandler‚ Dano‚ and Mulligan‚ the cast stars Kunal Nayyar‚ Lena Olin‚ and Isabella Rossellini. The casting is one of the most intriguing things about this adaptation. Sandler has already proved his drama chops in projects like Hustle and Uncut Gems‚ and it looks like Spaceman will see him in another dramatic role. Dano’s eerie voicing of HanuÅ¡ also stands out in the trailer. “Paul was the first thing that came up in thinking about [the creature]‚” Renck told TUDUM‚ a Netflix-run website. “He has this peculiar cadence when he’s speaking‚ his careful formulation of words‚ and his very unique voice.” KalfaÅ™ was consulted during the adaptation and spent several hours with Sandler via Zoom to answer his questions about Czech culture. The author is also pleased with how the movie version of his story came out. “I was completely blown away when I saw the film. I’ve seen it twice now‚” KalfaÅ™ told TUDUM. “I think all the people out there who love weird things and weird art will hopefully be delighted by it.” Spaceman will play in select theaters starting February 23‚ 2024‚ and will be available on Netflix starting March 1‚ 2024. The post Spaceman Trailer: Adam Sandler Is Sad in Space‚ So Paul Dano’s Spider Alien Will Help Him appeared first on Reactor.

We’ve known for years that a reboot of the Highlander franchise was one of the many projects that John Wick director Chad Stahelski had on his plate (other projects include an adaptation of Black Samurai and a live-action television show and an anime installment in the Wick universe). Highlander‚ however‚ will not only be the next project the filmmaker tackles after John Wick: Chapter 4—due to a new deal with Lionsgate‚ Stahelski will also be overseeing all projects in both the Wick and Highlander universes across television and film. According to The Hollywood Reporter‚ Stahelski has been developing a Highlander movie since 2016‚ and Henry Cavill has been attached to the reboot since 2021. The original 1986 film‚ of course‚ starred Christopher Lambert as the titular highlander (pictured above)‚ the 16th-century-born Connor MacLeod. Sean Connery and Clancy Brown also star as two other immortals‚ and the three battle over hundreds of years because there “can only be one” immortal who survives and wins… the Prize. After that first film‚ the franchise spawned three additional theatrical releases‚ one made-for-television movie‚ two live-action and one animated TV series‚ an animated television series‚ an anime film‚ comic books‚ and more. The franchise has been dormant in the film and television space‚ however‚ since 2007. “I am pleased to be able to grow my relationship with Lionsgate in this new oversight role for the John Wick universe and its further expansion‚” Stahelski said in a statement. “John Wick is so close to my heart and to be able to continue shepherding it will be a blast for me. I’m so happy to also be launching another franchise with Highlander‚ a world that is so rich with engaging stories to be told.” No news yet on when Stahelski’s Highlander will go into production. On the Wick front‚ however‚ we have the theatrical spin-off Ballerina coming out on June 7‚ 2024 and a potential fifth John Wick movie in the works as well.   The post John Wick Director Is Officially Tackling Highlander Next‚ With Henry Cavill On Board appeared first on Reactor.

It’s January: for those of us in the northern hemisphere‚ the nights are long and the days are bitterly cold. For many‚ now is a season of new beginnings; of setting goals and fighting to achieve them. But thriving in January can feel—sometimes—an awful lot like trying to rise from the depths of a pond whose surface has frozen over. If you’re struggling to break through the hard shell of January into the new year‚ these twelve poems might be just the thing you need. Not optimistic but stubborn‚ they tell tales of ice and persistence in the gloomiest month of the year.   “Shelter From the Storm” – The Stupendium No gold or silver‚ coal’s the only thing of worth to me The only precious metal to our name would be the mercury That fragile strip of burgundy that ever hurtles to the deep Alerting us as Mother Nature’s taking every cursed degree… Unlike the other poetry on this list‚ “Shelter From the Storm” is a song‚ created by The Stupendium—a musician known for their nerdy verses inspired by various video games. This particular song tackles Frostpunk‚ a city-building survival game which takes place in an alternate-19th century London beset by an intense volcanic winter. With its tight rhyme scheme and intricate lyrics‚ its chorus reminiscent of a sea shanty or work song‚ this song paints a picture of hardship and endurance‚ and is motivating to listen to even if you’ve never played the game.   “Undoing” – Khadijah Queen In winter traffic‚ fog of midday shoves toward our machines—snow eclipses the mountainscapes I drive toward‚ keeping time against the urge to quit moving… There is something gritty and indomitable woven through this poem by the winner of the 2021 William Carlos Williams Award for poetry. It evokes bleak environmental fears with precision as cutting as the cold—yet even as the ice closes in‚ the narrator is determined to keep going.   “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” – Robert Frost My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year… This quiet‚ wistful poem from 1923 captures a brief moment of stillness in an unnamed traveller’s nighttime journey through the snow. What is his story? Why has he paused? There’s something eerie about this tranquil scene‚ and much opportunity to speculate.   “Tinnitus: January‚ thin rain becoming ice” – David Harsent The spirit lamp in that house on the headland could easily fall and spill and the fire burn all night… This frosty seaside scene is rich with ominous detail which truly captures the uncertainty of January. Read this poem and you’ll find yourself hearing the ghostly whisper of waves upon the shore.   “January Thaw” – Rosalie Dunlap Hickler There was rain in the night‚ a dull delivering rain That washed the air of sparkle and hard blue gleam… Penned in 1930‚ this poem illustrates the turn of the seasons: from bright‚ hard‚ sparkling ice there rises determined plant life and rushing water. And with it‚ laughter. If you’re in need of a reminder that this winter won’t last forever‚ look here and watch the first tendrils of spring as the cold recedes.   “Winter Flowers” – Stanley Moss Once my friends and I went out in deep paradise snow with Saint Bernards and Great Pyrenees to find those lost in the blizzard that God made for Himself because He prefers not seeing what happens on earth… Building on the tentative optimism of the previous poem‚ this one follows its narrator through a snowy landscape. The narrator‚ on their journey‚ is inspired into a surreal and speculative back-and-forth with God.   “Blizzard” – Linda Pastan The snow has forgotten how to stop it falls stuttering at the glass… Just as it seemed the seasons might be turning—here comes another relentless snowfall. With short‚ abrupt lines and beautiful simile‚ this poem narrates a cold snap in a way that will make you yearn for a blanket.   “January” – Nancy Schoenberger Two-faced god‚ looking fore and aft: Do you really belong to past glories‚ boredoms‚ indignities?… This poem from 1998 (almost the turn of the millennium!) marks the turn of December into a new year with a contemplation of Janus‚ the two-faced Roman god of duality for which January is named.   “Iron Burns Out” – R.B. Lemberg Sól ek sá (I saw the sun) when I was by a great grief stricken‚ tilting out of this world; my tongue was as trees in winter ok kólnat at fyrir utan (and around me‚ coldness)… In evocative‚ fantastical language‚ this poem describes the feeling of having no time to rest despite a dire need for it…of putting other things—more important things—first. The verses dance between ice and snowmelt‚ exhaustion and resolve. If you’re already feeling the pressures of the new year‚ this might be a good poem to read.   “Cradling Fish” – Laura Ma Winter storm: lightning flashes old ghosts on my blade. The metal light as a carp piercing through the dragon’s gate. When shÄ«fù still lived: she taught me that growth is a shattering of murky fins raining into silver scales‚ that a promise means swimming against the current‚ flailing up from the river to chance immortal wells… This beautiful wuxia poem begins with ice and ends with summer. With vivid imagery‚ it illustrates the shifting of relationships that comes with the shifting of the seasons.   “January‚ 1795” – Mary Robinson Pavement slipp’ry‚ people sneezing‚ Lords in ermine‚ beggars freezing; Titled gluttons dainties carving‚ Genius in a garret starving… The oldest poem on this list‚ this piece by Mary Robinson takes you back to a very specific January in 1795. Though over 200 years separate us from its creation‚ there is something deeply familiar about the scenes it brings to life in rhyme. A reminder that people have always been people‚ and January has always been January.   “Unlike objects‚ two stories can occupy the same space” – Charles Peek Out along the last curve in the brick walk the grass has begun to green‚ with the freezing cold and coming snow its certain fate… This final poem encapsulates the themes of all the previous: of cycles‚ of ice and summer locked in a dance. There may be false starts‚ and the progress made in spring or summer may feel as though it’s been undone by the harshness of the cold seasons when they arrive. But this—Peek reminds us—is okay. ***   Do you have any favourite poems about snow and ice? And what are you doing to dust off the ice at the start of this new year? Let me know in the comments. Holly Kybett Smith is a writer and a recent graduate in MA in Victorian Gothic. A keen lover of historical and speculative fiction‚ she specialises in all things dark‚ whimsical and weird. Her work has been featured in Issue #2 of the New Gothic Review. The post 12 Poems To Break Through the January Ice appeared first on Reactor.

Laurence J. Peter’s Peter Principle is elegantly simple: “In a hierarchy‚ every employee tends to rise to his level of incompetence.” The corollary is‚ of course: “In time‚ every post tends to be occupied by an employee who is incompetent to carry out its duties.” This is because people who are good at their jobs tend to be promoted. Given sufficient time‚ they will be promoted from a position in which their skills‚ aptitudes‚ and experience were applicable‚ to one in which they are not. Having reached that level‚ meritocratic promotion halts. The effect of this principle may be disheartening; it implies that even if one escapes being an example of the Peter Principle‚ one may well end up working under or supervising an example of the Peter Principle. For authors‚ on the other hand‚ the Peter Principle can be the germ of many fascinating plots. Characters can prove their mettle by creatively circumventing incompetent bosses or subordinates… or they can serve as cautionary tales. Herewith‚ five works illustrating the Peter Principle.   Mindswap by Robert Sheckley (1966) Unable to afford the eye-watering expense of conventional space flight‚ Marvin settles for the more affordable option of swapping minds with a Martian named Ze Kraggash. Alas‚ Kraggash is a con-artist who rented the same body to two people. One body can support only one occupant. Marvin would like to go back to his old body‚ but the scoundrel Kraggash fled into hiding while wearing Marvin’s body. Desperate to locate Kraggash‚ Marvin turns to Detective Urf Urdorf. Urdorf is utterly confident that he will catch Kraggash. Why is he so confident? Because Urdorf has failed to solve one hundred fifty-eight cases in a row. “One hundred and fifty-eight failures! It’s a fantastic record‚ an unbelievable record‚ especially if you grant my incorruptibility‚ good faith‚ and skill. One hundred fifty-eight! A run like that simply has to break! I could probably sit here in my office and do nothing‚ and the criminal would find his way to me. That’s how strong the probabilities are in my favor.” Is Urdorf’s unshakable confidence warranted? Everyone familiar with Sheckley knows the answer is no. Too bad for Marvin but huzzah for the readers.   The Big Black Mark by A. Bertram Chandler (1975) Chandler wrote dozens of stories and novels about John Grimes‚ hero of the spaceways. Grimes often irritated his superiors‚ thanks to his bravado and lack of interest in paperwork and other such minutiae. Nonetheless‚ Grimes’ one sterling quality—stupendous luck—has ensured his slow rise through the ranks. Nemesis arrives in the form of a promotion for which Grimes is not at all suited: commander of the Discovery‚ the starship to which the Survey Service consigns its square pegs. While tolerant of eccentricity‚ Grimes does prefer that the starships on which he is living be functional enough to sustain life. Efforts to ensure proper maintenance vex Discovery’s crew‚ who see Grimes as an interstellar Captain Bligh! Contact with a lost colony of voluptuaries proves the final wedge. Unwilling to obey Grimes’ orders‚ the crew resolves to heed the example of Captain Bligh’s Pacific voyage and rid themselves of their officious captain. The Grimes stories made it abundantly clear that at some point Grimes would involuntarily exit the Survey Service he loved and embrace a career in the Rim Worlds. Details of his exit (as noted in various tales) were hazy. This novel provided the link between those two phases of Grimes’ life.   The Anubis Gates by Tim Powers (1983) Magicians Doctor Romany and Amenophis Fikee have a bold plan to make Egypt great again. All that is needed is an arcane magical ceremony far beyond the pair’s abilities. The ceremony is an entirely predictable abject failure. Its calamitous results punch holes in time‚ all the way up and down the time steam. It is under these circumstances that bereaved Professor Brendan Doyle is recruited to provide commentary for an 1810 Samuel Taylor Coleridge lecture. In addition to his encyclopedic knowledge of the period’s art world‚ Doyle also possesses a remarkable talent for attracting danger‚ whether from his boss (Romany) or other sinister figures inhabiting the English underworld. Good news for Doyle‚ who may now be forced to focus on something other than grieving for his late wife. Many of the schemes in this novel fail because there are many people working at cross-purposes‚ often inadvertently. However‚ the cabal of traditionalist Egyptian magicians repeatedly proves ill-suited for plots of the magnitude contemplated. It’s almost as though clinging to a regressive‚ archconservative worldview can have a corrosive effect on the brain.   Growing Light by Marta Randall (1993) Growing Light was a thriving agricultural software company until visionary George Ashby took command. Under Ashby’s bold leadership‚ Growing Light now provides the world with unwanted‚ unworkable products. To ensure employees do not flee his disruptive management style‚ Ashby has staffed Growing Light with colorful eccentrics‚ each as ill-suited to their assigned roles as they would be unemployable if they quit. Enter widow Anne Monroe‚ whose competence threatens Ashby. Her unpleasant tour as Ashby’s designated enemy is as short-lived as Ashby himself. Alas for Anne‚ local Sheriff Jackson is as poorly suited to his job as any Growing Light employee is to theirs. Many people wanted Ashby dead‚ but Anne is Jackson’s prime suspect after the boss is found dead. If Anne wants to avoid arrest and possible conviction‚ she can’t depend on Jackson to properly investigate. While technically a mundane mystery‚ this contra-Hallmark small-town mystery has SFnal elements. Randall (best known as an SF author) must depict a computer company circa the early Nineties; to do so she must explain computers to readers who might not know much about them. Randall’s approach to the infodumping is very SFnal. [Side note: I was a bit boggled to note the absence of computers in Westlake’s 1984 publishing comedy A Likely Story. I was fairly sure that computers would have been used in offices by then. Even if they weren’t familiar to the masses. Industry insiders assure me I was hopelessly optimistic.]   Severance by Ling Ma (2018) Specta office drone Candice Chen packages expensive Bibles for the religious book market. Her job is boring. Still‚ Chen realizes that she’s better off than many other people—particularly the billions doomed to perish of Shen fever. Not only does Chen avoid fungal zombification‚ she is promoted to keeping the Specta New York office open for the duration of the catastrophe. Which may be as long as it takes for civilization to collapse. Forced to flee New York‚ Chen makes the terrible decision to accompany Bob to the secure location Bob swears is waiting for them. Bob’s self-confidence far outweighs his actual skills. To follow Bob is to forge relentlessly towards failure and almost certain doom. One of Bob’s little quirks is an inability to grasp the difference between fiction and reality. Another is his endearing conviction that other people want to listen to him expound at great length‚ even on subjects about which they are already well informed. It almost feels as if the author had real-world models in mind…but where could she possibly have met someone like Bob in real life? ***   Science fiction and fantasy is rich with plot-enabling characters promoted far beyond the bounds of their competence. Heck‚ Laumer and Sladek novels could keep me here all day. Perhaps I overlooked your favorite (fictional) examples. If so‚ comments are below. In the words of fanfiction author Musty181‚ four-time Hugo finalist‚ prolific book reviewer‚ and perennial Darwin Award nominee James Davis Nicoll “looks like a default mii with glasses.” His work has appeared in Interzone‚ Publishers Weekly and Romantic Times as well as on his own websites‚ James Nicoll Reviews (where he is assisted by editor Karen Lofstrom and web person Adrienne L. Travis) and the 2021‚ 2022‚ and 2023 Aurora Award finalist Young People Read Old SFF (where he is assisted by web person Adrienne L. Travis). His Patreon can be found here. The post Incompetence Is Inevitable: Five Books That Illustrate the Peter Principle appeared first on Reactor.

May the spice flow… for one day. IMAX announced today that it would play Denis Villeneuve’s Dune: Part One in select theaters for just one day‚ and those who can snag tickets will also be treated to an “exclusive sneak peek” of Dune: Part Two. The event‚ which will take place at 7:00 p.m. on Wednesday‚ January 24 at select IMAX theaters‚ is‚ of course‚ part of the promotional lead-up to the release of Dune: Part Two‚ which is set to premiere in theaters on March 15‚ 2024. What will be part of the “exclusive sneak peek” at this screening is unclear‚ though it’s likely to be scenes from the upcoming film‚ which chronicles the second part of Frank Hebert’s iconic sci-fi novel‚ Dune. Dune: Part One takes place through the first part of Hebert’s book‚ up to the moment when Paul (Timothée Chalamet) and his mother (Rebecca Ferguson) have joined the Fremen after the Harkonnens have murdered Paul’s father (Oscar Isaac) and reclaimed rule of the desert planet‚ Arrakis (aka Dune). The second film‚ according to Villenueve‚ will be more emotional than the first. “Part One was like the promise of something‚ but Part Two delivers on that‚” the director said in an interview this summer with Empire‚ later adding that‚ “the first movie was more contemplative—a young man discovering a world. Here‚ it’s a war movie.” Part Two will also bring some of the book’s major characters to the big screen‚ including Feyd-Rautha (Austin Butler)‚  Princess Irulan (Florence Pugh)‚ and Padishah Emperor Shaddam IV (Christopher Walken). Whatever we have in store for us in Part Two‚ the opportunity to see the first film on an IMAX screen (again) before the second movie comes out is a good thing. You can see if there are tickets available for a screening near you by clicking here. The post Dune: Part One Returns to IMAX for One Day‚ Includes “Sneak Peek” of Part Two appeared first on Reactor.

Welcome back to Reading the Weird‚ in which we get girl cooties all over weird fiction‚ cosmic horror‚ and Lovecraftiana—from its historical roots through its most recent branches. This week‚ we continue Max Gladstone’s Last Exit with Chapters 23-24. The novel was first published in 2022. Spoilers ahead!   “You and me‚ we’re gonna ride the whirlwind all the way to Hell or Oz.” The first time Zelda followed Sal into the Medicine Wheel‚ she didn’t believe Sal’s contention that the place felt “completely normal.” Now Zelda understands. Though from inside the Wheel seems to stretch on forever—wouldn’t it be stranger not to see everything‚ not to be able to “greet every being face to face and name it in its own tongue”? Above her‚ the sky births stars‚ golden webs‚ three moons “full‚ new‚ gravid‚ and gone.” She’s larger here‚ unfolded. Her strides cross leagues‚ and she soon approaches the Wheel’s center and the fixed light of the northern Bear. Vertigo-sickened‚ she stares down “a pit four hundred and thirty light years deep” to a tri-star system. Another step plunges her into storm: a rage of wind‚ lightning and thunder‚ music and whale-shapes surging through the dark. Once she thought the storm came from outside‚ from the rot. Instead the storm lives here‚ as if “the weight of so much spin‚ of so many different worlds and might-have-beens‚ created this vortex.” Ten years before‚ a voice on the Wheel-wind asked “What do you seek?” Zelda answered‚ for “it to be okay.” The answer: “Child‚ it never is.” Still‚ she reached Sal and dragged her from the Wheel nearly frozen‚ arm shredded as if by a barbed-wire hand. Ten years later she turns her spin against the storm of “grief‚ hunger‚ blame‚” and her skin is too scar-armored for the storm to defeat her. Show me the way‚ she demands‚ and—the storm stops‚ so abruptly that she falls. A hand reaches toward her—Sal sits in the eye of the storm‚ not the sky-tall fire-and-shadow Sal but “Sal‚ before she was lost. Sal‚ before Zelda failed.” Zelda struggles to figure out how this can be and how to say something that won’t mess things up. Sal speaks Zelda’s name‚ and they simply embrace. Everything Zelda’s reading about time travel tells her it’s dangerous to answer Sal’s: “How long?” She answers anyway. “Am I…” Sal asks. Is she dead? No‚ Zelda says‚ as she’s always insisted. Zelda got scared‚ Sal says. But everyone gets scared‚ including the Sal Zelda thought so fearless. Zelda’s impulse now is to tell Sal to leave and never think of her again. Instead she tells Sal that she never stopped loving her. Sal replies that she loves Zelda. They’re in this together‚ and Sal won’t let go if Zelda doesn’t. It’s not our choice‚ Zelda wants to say. Out there is a great hungry darkness‚ and love won’t “blunt its teeth.” “I’m scared right now‚” Sal says. And why not‚ with the eye of the storm closing in. Zelda clings to Sal‚ silently begging the moment to be forever‚ for them not to have to face what comes next‚ ten years back. Don’t let Zelda fail‚ don’t let Sal change‚ let them stay together‚ holding each other. *** Ramon wakes to a storm that shakes the Challenger. Zelda should have warned him it was coming‚ but she always meant to enter the Wheel alone‚ didn’t she? The Challenger responds I told you so. Ramon can’t trust anyone out here‚ it insists‚ and he’d rather have his cozy life back home than the truth. Zelda knows he’s not fit to follow her. Does he think he can help her now‚ struggling in the tempest inside the Wheel? No‚ says the Challenger: “she wins or dies. That’s America.” Nevertheless‚ he struggles into the Wheel and lets his knack lead him one step at a time to Zelda. He had faith once in his power to fix things. He had faith Zelda would always know what to do. Now he believes if there’s a cosmic design‚ only a “vast and utterly alien consciousness” could apprehend it. That said‚ there’s some gravity to it all that led them together by the intent of will‚ care‚ love. He finds Zelda and carries her out along a stone-delineated spoke. Emerging from the Wheel‚ he steps into dawnlight. The sky’s clear‚ the Challenger half-covered in drifted sand. Three riders approach on dead horses: two women and‚ unmistakable‚ “the bulk of Ish.” *** Ten years before‚ after Zelda pulled Sal from the Medicine Wheel‚ they huddled in one sleeping bag‚ Zelda desperate to warm her lover. Sal was like ice‚ but even asleep she smiled‚ happy. Zelda lay awake‚ wondering if their capital-Q Quest would ever lead to an end: the treasure‚ the grail. The crossroads was still far away‚ if it existed at all outside their needs and desires. The night silence was broken by the jingling of silver bells‚ too melodious to belong in the rotting alts. Zelda looked toward their ashed-over campfire where the air twisted as if someone was hitching in. What appeared was a woman in white on a white horse. The woman was about Zelda’s age‚ and she fixed on Zelda a wise‚ gentle smile. “Do not be afraid‚” she said. “Long have I sought you‚ and we have much to do.” This Week’s Metrics Fighting the Cowboy: Continued creation of Terra Preta in the Amazon. If you don’t know about Terra Preta‚ you’re one of today’s lucky 10‚000! Libronomicon: Is there advice to the reader in Zelda’s wish to pause time with Sal alive “like a sentence is when you close the book and put it down and never read the next”? Weirdbuilding: Zelda may be genre-savvy about time travel‚ but that doesn’t make her behave any differently when talking to Younger Sal. Madness Takes Its Toll: Zelda has faced the cracks in the world before‚ and “the madness there.” So she’s very sure she can make her way through the storm within the wheel‚ and make it “bow to her.” I’m not sure that’s how any of this works.   Anne’s Commentary In Chapter 23‚ Ramon confronts home truths about the human intellect’s limitations in grasping the core nature of the cosmos‚ its “logic or justice”: If there was a design to it all‚ a way the pieces fit‚ the consciousness that could apprehend it would look vast and utterly alien to his own‚ all wrong damn angles and higher dimensions‚ the kind of math professors said that even geniuses would understand for at most fifteen minutes in their whole career‚ and in those fifteen minutes the question was‚ how fast can you type. I tried to type fast enough to record my insights from our first trip inside the Medicine Wheel‚ which epiphanies lasted for roughly five microseconds—I’m no higher (or even lower) mathematician. Nor am I a vast wrong-angled consciousness‚ fun though that might be. But since I did type down my impressions‚ I include them below. Is the Wheel singular but omnipresent across all worlds by some trick of the altiverse‚ or is it plural‚ each world/alt having its own Wheel? Or is the Wheel neither singular nor plural but both? Say there’s One Wheel to Rule Them All‚ if ruling is what the Wheel even does. We could think of an omnipresent Wheel as having a site-specific iteration in each alt. I first visualized an infinitely expansive Sphere. Its interior holds the One True Reality (OTR). On its surface‚ percolated from the OTR‚ are an infinite number of bubbles or buds‚ each a discrete world/alt/possibility. All buds remain connected to the Sphere and communicate with the OTR interior. Or to stick with the Wheel metaphor. Picture an infinitely large wagon wheel‚ with an infinite number of spokes radiating from the central hub to the outer rim. The hub would represent the One True Reality‚ the rim (like the surface of the Sphere) an interface with the Not-Cosmos (see below.) The spokes‚ then‚ are analogous to the Sphere buds‚ site-specific iterations of the OTR‚ one per world/alt/possibility. All the spokes connect to and communicate with the OTR hub. Beyond the surface of the Sphere or the rim of the Wheel is the Not-Cosmos‚ call it a second OTR. This would be the Outside‚ the Realm of Rot—maybe the home of that utterly alien consciousness Ramon supposes capable of apprehending the design of it all. As it’s in contact with Sphere-Skin and Wheel-Rim‚ the Outside can infect their bud/spoke iterations; via these iterations‚ the Outside could conceivably infect the Sphere-Interior and Wheel-Hub. Which would suck. Or would it? We’re not sure the Outside is Totally Evil. In the end‚ Sal experienced it as ecstatic revelation…. Maybe I didn’t type fast enough after all‚ because I bogged down in confuddlement at this point.  What are Zelda’s impressions of the internal anatomy of the Wheel? First‚ that its interior is as big as the world. Second‚ that her vision expands not only to encompass its expanse but to see every being in it. Third‚ that she herself expands as if bursting free from a larval shell. It’s a euphoric experience until she nears the center of the Wheel. There a “pit” descends light years to a triple-star system—the actual location of the alt where she and Ramon are camped‚ or of the alt she needs to find? Her sense of normality becomes a crushing sense of alienation‚ and she plunges into storm. She used to think the storm came from outside the Wheel. Now she realizes the storm “lives” in the Wheel‚ a vortex manifested from all the grief and spent spin of ruined worlds. With the road-scars accumulated over ten years‚ Zelda’s sufficiently armored to fight through the storm to the very center of the Wheel. The Wheel‚ she’s believed‚ is the same in every alt‚ every point of time. This trip in‚ she leaps to a new comprehension of the Wheel as infinitely layered. Other worlds exist within the storm-vortex‚ but they’re “written” in languages she doesn’t know‚ scribbles without meaning. The language that she can read‚ the heart of Zelda’s Wheel‚ is Sal—unchanged‚ unlost‚ unfailed. It’s as if the Wheel‚ having asked what Zelda seeks‚ provides it. Zelda wants it to be okay‚ and “okay” for her is Sal‚ dauntless. Chapter 23 ends in story present. Chapter 24 opens in story past: Having rescued Sal from the Wheel‚ Zelda is clueless about their next step forward‚ unsure the crossroads even exist. It’s time for the cavalry to gallop in‚ right? No‚ nothing so noisily dramatic. Scratch the bugles; ethereal silver bells will do. Scratch the troop of lathered horses; a single horse‚ immaculately white‚ will do‚ ridden by a very Galadriel of a white-clad woman‚ young but ages-wise‚ immune to all earthly stainage. She even speaks in high-fantasy fashion‚ eschewing “I’ve been looking for you guys forever” to “Long have I sought you.” The princess‚ I presume! It looks like the White-Hat Cowboy has a counter in the White Lady of Elsinore‚ on a White Palfrey to boot! It remains only for those Whales cruising the Wheel-Storm to be White‚ proper avatars of natural/supernatural Malice or at least Indifference. Yes.   Ruthanna’s Commentary The Wheel is present in every alt. The wheel is a gorgeous inversion of the eldritch: it’s everyday experience that feels uncanny when compared to the all-encompassing perceptions within. The wheel’s spokes point to north stars‚ personal or astronomical. There are a lot of things in this book that claim to represent the really real; only the Wheel makes a persuasive case. Which is ironic since it’s one of the few things that doesn’t take on anthropomorphic form to argue for itself. This is the first point at which it’s really struck me‚ for example‚ that the Challenger’s voice isn’t just Ramon’s internal monologue‚ but an actual entity in its own right—possibly the Cowboy. Or at least a near relation: what’s as American as guns‚ if not cars? Which puts a whole new light on the Challenger’s insistence that Only The Road Is Real. On this read‚ those claims are less Ramon’s own self-doubt and self-sabotage‚ and more the negging that keeps him in an abusive relationship with a genius machina. What happens‚ I wonder‚ when Ish’s firearm meets up with Ramon’s vehicle? I wonder a lot of things‚ in fact. Maybe it’s the inevitable result of spending a chapter in close proximity to the heart of the really real: it’s increasingly obvious how much I don’t know. For example: In a place where all times are one time‚ are temporal paradoxes actually a thing we need to worry about? If so‚ did we just get one? Why does Zelda insist Older Sal is being tortured‚ given that Older Sal seems pretty happy (if pointy) whenever we encounter her? Are we about to learn the deal with Elsinore? If the gang really did make up the Crossroads‚ does that mean they aren’t there? (If the U.S. really did make up the nightmare alts‚ does that mean you wake up after getting eaten by a cannibal zombie? I suspect no‚ on both counts.) If Zelda planned “so much to do” with the woman in white ten years ago‚ what happened after that? And if that woman’s the Princess‚ what’s she been up to this past decade? And et cetera. This is a master class in peeling away layers of assumption: from the reader‚ from the characters‚ from the genre(s). I know less than I thought I did at the beginning‚ but that’s the beginning of wisdom‚ right? No one ever says what the completion of wisdom involves. Probably more not-knowing‚ grumble. This is such a big part of what Zelda and Sal struggle with: both are afraid to admit to not-knowing‚ and both want desperately for the other to deserve her pedestal. There would be real potential for a mature relationship there‚ someday‚ if they hadn’t tumbled into the sort of adventure that makes pedestals plausible. And so here’s Sal‚ sitting at the heart of the Wheel‚ torn in a tug-of-war between Zelda and Zelda. And here’s Zelda‚ torn by desire for Sal-who-was and fear/desire/repulsion for Sal-who-is. An endless moebius strip of mutual tug-of-war‚ drawing the universe forward. Zelda feels a kinship with the Wheel‚ caught in a storm of grief. This seems both accurate and arrogant. The heart of reality is grieving for apocalyptic loss: not some nightmare-alt but the bone-foundation that the Cowboy seeks to deny and celebrate all at once. Survivors building in the ashes‚ making space amid those who did the burning‚ isn’t as cinematic as Mad Max stitchmouths—but it’s what every one of those nightmares is built to elide. Zelda doesn’t fully grasp it even walking the storm. Maybe none of them grasp it—or they wouldn’t be so anxious to pull each other back from the center. After all how else‚ other than turning a wheel‚ are a gang of adventurers likely to finally make a revolution?   Next week‚ Nadia Bulkin’s “Seven Minutes in Heaven” asks why one world survives while the next one over dies—a pressing question for any alt-rider. You can find it in Nick Mamatas’ Wonder and Glory Forever anthology. Ruthanna Emrys is the author of A Half-Built Garden and the Innsmouth Legacy series‚ including Winter Tide and Deep Roots. You can find some of her fiction‚ weird and otherwise‚ on Tor.com‚ most recently “The Word of Flesh and Soul.” Ruthanna is online on Twitter and Patreon and on Mastodon as r_emrys@wandering.shop‚ and offline in a mysterious manor house with her large‚ chaotic household—mostly mammalian—outside Washington DC. Anne M. Pillsworth’s short story “The Madonna of the Abattoir” appears on Tor.com. Her young adult Mythos novel‚ Summoned‚ is available from Tor Teen along with sequel Fathomless. She lives in Edgewood‚ a Victorian trolley car suburb of Providence‚ Rhode Island‚ uncomfortably near Joseph Curwen’s underground laboratory. The post Into This World We’re Thrown: Max Gladstone’s Last Exit (Part 12) appeared first on Reactor.

Godzilla Minus One has made over $50 million at the U.S. box office‚ no small feat for the Japanese monster movie from Toho International and the film’s director‚ writer‚ and VFX supervisor Takashi Yamazaki. Its success has led to a limited release of a black-and-white version of the film‚ cleverly called Godzilla Minus One/Minus Color‚ which will play in the U.S. for just one week. The movie’s success has much to do with it being perhaps one of the best kaiju movies ever made. Our own Leah Schnelbach said the film was so good they couldn’t believe it‚ adding that it’s a movie where “honest engagement with PTSD is balanced perfectly with some of the most terrifying kaiju attacks I’ve ever seen.” We can now see this film via a new lens (and you can see a snippet of this new lens in the teaser trailer above). According to Yamazaki‚ it was the original version’s success that paved the way for this black-and-white one. “I was very happy that the North American audience embraced Godzilla Minus One and gave us positive feedback such as ‘it was incredible!’ ‘it was scary!’ and ‘it made me cry!’ And now I am very pleased to be able to release a black-and-white version for North America as well‚” he said in a statement. “Godzilla Minus One/Minus Color will bring a new and visceral experience to audiences and I hope they will tremble with a new kind of terror!” Takashi also explained the process for making Minus Color. “Our colorist took the time and care to go through a very meticulous and complex process‚” he said. “The black-and-white images make Godzilla look very realistic and documentary-like‚ which leads to even more fear. Even though we have seen Godzilla Minus One many times‚ we felt that something completely different appeared here—and it’s very scary! So this is not only for those who liked Godzilla Minus One but also those who are seeing it for the first time—they should definitely see this black-and-white version. Especially the scene at the beginning where Godzilla appears in the night—it is so terrifying that it made my knees shake!” Godzilla Minus One/Minus Color will be in theaters for one week starting on January 26‚ 2024. The post Godzilla Minus One Black-And-White Version to Hit Theaters for One Week appeared first on Reactor.

Shesheshen has made a mistake fatal to all monsters: she’s fallen in love. We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Someone You Can Build a Nest In by John Wiswell‚ a creepy‚ charming monster-slaying fantasy romance publishing with DAW on April 2. Shesheshen has made a mistake fatal to all monsters: she’s fallen in love. Shesheshen is a shapeshifter‚ who happily resides as an amorphous lump at the bottom of a ruined manor. When her rest is interrupted by hunters intent on murdering her‚ she constructs a body from the remains of past meals: a metal chain for a backbone‚ borrowed bones for limbs‚ and a bear trap as an extra mouth. However‚ the hunters chase Shesheshen out of her home and off a cliff. Badly hurt‚ she’s found and nursed back to health by Homily‚ a warm-hearted human‚ who has mistaken Shesheshen as a fellow human. Homily is kind and nurturing and would make an excellent co-parent: an ideal place to lay Shesheshen’s eggs so their young could devour Homily from the inside out. But as they grow close‚ she realizes humans don’t think about love that way. Shesheshen hates keeping her identity secret from Homily‚ but just as she’s about to confess‚ Homily reveals why she’s in the area: she’s hunting a shapeshifting monster that supposedly cursed her family. Has Shesheshen seen it anywhere? Eating her girlfriend isn’t an option. Shesheshen didn’t curse anyone‚ but to give herself and Homily a chance at happiness‚ she has to figure out why Homily’s twisted family thinks she did. As the hunt for the monster becomes increasingly deadly‚ Shesheshen must unearth the truth quickly‚ or soon both of their lives will be at risk. And the bigger challenge remains: surviving her toxic in-laws long enough to learn to build a life with‚ rather than in‚ the love of her life.     Each year when Shesheshen hibernated‚ she dreamed of her childhood nest. Oh‚ the warmth of it. A warmth unlike anything in the adult world‚ soft and pliable heat keeping her and her siblings alive. In that warmth‚ they were fed raw life. Her father’s ribs‚ rich in marrow‚ cracking delicately in their mouths‚ and providing the first feast of their lives. His fat deposits were generous‚ and his entrails sheltered them from the cruel winter elements. If Shesheshen could have spent her entire life inside the nest of his remains‚ she would have. But all childhoods end. Hers ended when one of her sisters bit off Shesheshen’s left heel. Her siblings matured too quickly and hungered for more than their father. Shesheshen had to defend herself using jagged fragments of their father’s pelvis—his final and most gracious gift. The assault was a gift from her siblings‚ too‚ for she spent a week dining on their savory carcasses. Mourning wasn’t natural to her. She missed the succulence of her siblings for some time‚ and had the errant moment of nostalgia for sharing their body heat. Little of her prey was memorable. Of her mother‚ she only remembered her wide maw and the artificial steel fangs she’d worn. Still‚ Shesheshen would always miss the nest that her father had made out of himself. He had been a good parent‚ and a better setting. Buy the Book Someone You Can Build a Nest In Buy Book icon-close Someone You Can Build a Nest In Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget Nothing matched that nest. These ruins were little more than an unloved cave. Where weather had caved in the ceiling‚ ornery spruce trees grew and plugged up the gaps. Poison ivy and spiderwebs were the few decorations‚ overgrowing everything architects had once achieved. Deep beneath the ruins lay an underground hot spring that some aspiring human had connected to a bathing room. Nowadays the chamber was flooded with humid murk‚ gone brackish and amniotic from Shesheshen’s excretions. It was nearly opaque down in the waters. They were a refreshing place to hibernate through winter seasons. Yet noises had roused her prematurely. Her lair had unwelcome visitors again. They did not even wipe their shoes. She heard them before she saw them. The water of the hot spring stretched into so many cracks in the building’s foundations. Sounds from all ends of the property traveled through the network of water‚ alerting Shesheshen when something worse than a bear was coming. “Good gods‚ above and below. Rourke? Do you smell that?” “Yeah. Like death without the sulfur. This is no wyrm.” There were two visitors. Both human men‚ with two feet each‚ trampling over the weeds at her threshold. They paused in the foyer‚ snuffling and fighting with their gorges. Her foyer opened to many hallways‚ and one would lead them to Shesheshen. It was fortunate they didn’t know which one. She had to act before that changed. The one called Rourke said‚ “Malik‚ don’t pass out on me. Put your mask on.” “I’m fine‚” the one called Malik said. “The contract is for a wyrm. Could it be an eastern wyrm? From the Al-Jawi Empire?” “Those smell like burned bread. This just stinks of infection. I’m telling you‚ whatever is in this place isn’t a wyrm.” The one called Malik spat upon the floor. He didn’t clean up after himself. “Then what is it?” The one called Rourke muffled his coughing‚ probably behind a fist. “I’m not sure. But we need priests. At least three of them.” Shesheshen liked priests. They tasted righteous. “Did I hear you two mention priests?” Shesheshen had thought there were two. She was wrong—distracted and foggy-headed from having her hibernation interrupted. Whoever had yelled was a third voice‚ matched by the clank of heavy armor heading into her foyer. She listened carefully around his footfalls; the noise of his gear was cacophonous‚ but she believed this third man was the last. The one called Malik said‚ “Sire Wulfyre‚ from certain environmental details we have reason to believe we need religious assistance—” “For the last time‚” the third man interrupted‚ “my family is not employing the entire region. You said you were experts. Experts don’t need to hire bonus people. That’s the point of expertise. You want priests now? Do you two hunt monsters or just pray at them?” The one called Rourke said‚ “Sire Wulfyre‚ you’re not going to want to come in here yet. The odor is overpowering.” “Don’t tell me what to do. I’ve slain lords. The Wulfyres have killed off wyrms since—” His words dissolved into wet choking sounds. The metal plates of his armor clicked musically‚ as though he was bending over. This third man was definitely retching. She hoped he had a helmet on so it painted the inside. It would serve him right for trespassing. The name ‘Wulfyre’ was familiar‚ too—a family who claimed some ownership over her lair and occasionally sent killers after her. She’d never actually met a Wulfyre before. She was in no mood to meet one now. Rourke said‚ “We warned you about the odor.” Sire Wulfyre said‚ “Next time come outside and warn me. Give me one of your breathing masks.” Malik said‚ “This is sensitive equipment.” Sire Wulfyre said‚ “Equipment my family is paying for. Now find this wyrm and kill it before I go looking for monster hunters who actually hunt.” Listening to all their words was exhausting. They were so noisy for professional killers. Any self-respecting hunters would’ve used the element of surprise. Why‚ if Shesheshen had been cold-blooded enough to kill people as a source of income‚ she would’ve slipped in here while she slept and poisoned the pool with rosemary and lye so she’d die in her sleep. But Shesheshen was not a monster hunter. She was prey. Three armed visitors‚ and she was still weak from hibernation. From the weakness in her flesh‚ she ought not have roused for weeks. Tensing her soft tissues made them tremble as though threatening to liquefy. She didn’t have the strength for a great battle today. She had to do something‚ and soon. These murderers couldn’t be allowed to find her room and corner her. They’d do something awful like set the place on fire or collapse it atop her. She opened pockets in her flesh and took in her first real breath of the season. The air was stale and frigid‚ making it feel as though icicles were forming along her innards. She shuddered‚ using the air to puff out her body‚ and emerged from her pool. Water streamed from the many lumps of her body‚ gone loose from weeks of slumber. The water sloshed across the stone floor‚ until she wholly emerged. All that submersion in water left her flesh sodden. She took a step‚ and collapsed against the nearest wall. It was always tricky‚ getting the hang of being conscious again. Hopefully the monster hunters hadn’t heard that. It would be embarrassing to die in this state. Most bones that she kept inside herself during hibernation digested down to nothing. Her kind did not naturally have many solid internal structures‚ just as the hermit crabs on the north beaches naturally lacked shells. They had to scavenge. Her mother had worn prosthetic steel fangs to compensate when she hunted. That one memory of her mother taught Shesheshen the importance of keeping tools around. Along the floor of the bathing room lay iron rods and dense stones‚ which she’d left out last season. She rolled across them‚ letting them cut through external layers of her flesh with a sting that felt like waking up. Her innards squeezed those rods and stones‚ aligning them into a loose skeletal structure. A steel chain once used to bind her now made an excellent spinal column‚ flexible without breaking when catapults lobbed debris at her. Inside her chest‚ where humans put their lungs‚ she placed an open bear trap. It was her prized skeletal possession. It did not trap bears anymore. Instead‚ she kept it as a secret pair of jaws‚ for when people needed to be bitten. The harder ends of her makeshift bones tore apart her insides‚ and her poor tissues had to generate cartilage and tendons to adjust. It was an ache that left her shuddering against the wall. Was this how getting older felt? Wulfyre was louder now‚ audible through the limestone walls and down her hallway. He hollered‚ “I want the wyrm slain before Mother reaches the countryside. Do you know how upsetting it would be for her to encounter that thing? Of course you can’t. Now you say you don’t even know what it is.” Malik’s voice was softer. Shesheshen had to strain to hear him. “The creature has left many markings in the stone that could be claws or teeth‚ and we haven’t found any droppings yet. We’re still investigating.” “Father died fighting this thing‚ so I can promise you my family knows what it is. It’s a wyrm.” That was a familiar word. Shesheshen had been called a wyrm many times‚ often by startled hunters. She’d also heard drakes‚ harpies‚ qilins‚ kappas‚ and giraffes called wyrms. In her experience‚ it was an epithet for whatever thing greedy humans wanted dead and were too afraid to kill themselves. “Wyrm or not‚” Rourke said‚ “if you really want this thing dead‚ there is only one way to go about it. To purge it and harm it enough to slay it‚ you’re going to need to burn this lair to the ground.” “Oh‚ yes. I’ll just burn a stone building. Thank goodness I hired professional advice.” “It could be tucked anywhere in here. With enough oil‚ fire will find it.” “This place is my family’s ancestral home. Of course you don’t care about the priceless heirlooms being destroyed. But I hired you to bring me the wyrm’s blood. One of you two can read‚ can’t you? It’s in your contract. Mother wants its heart. We can’t exactly bring her a heart that’s burned up.” Malik said‚ “Perhaps we should talk strategy in private.” The Wulfyre kept ranting. “No strategies that include broiling it. If you want to get paid‚ you’re slitting it open over a vase. Mother was very clear: blood‚ not fire.” Well‚ this was interesting. The Wulfyre family was going to be disappointed when they learned she didn’t have blood. She didn’t have one of those pesky mammalian circulatory systems. Rourke said‚ “You’re not paying us enough to die in here.” “Go on‚ then. Breach the contract. Then you’ll be outlaws. Let’s see how much business you get with Mother and L’État Bon hunting you.” Malik whispered like a man who didn’t know how to whisper. “Rourke. Come on. We have rosemary oil. Locals swear it works.” Then there was the rustle of leather being pulled off of blades. Rourke said‚ “How much rosemary do we have?” That made Shesheshen grip the limestone bricks of her wall. These people had rosemary oil? She cursed out of multiple orifices. These monster hunters had done their research. One of the things she couldn’t tolerate was rosemary. Once a local girl had candied it and fooled her into eating it‚ and Shesheshen pissed bile for a week. As it was‚ her flesh struggled to keep her aloft on her makeshift bones. She needed to eat and gather strength. A fight would not go pleasantly. The last thing she wanted to wake up to was dying. Getting older had given her wiles. While the humans chatted about how best to kill her‚ she went through some growing pains and formed two relatively passable legs. She hobbled for a while‚ convincing herself that these knees and ankles mostly worked. On a rack beside the door was a set of wigs she’d made from the scalps that people hadn’t been using anymore. She selected a wig of sooty black hair for her disguise. Then she added a red riding hood; it was a leftover possession of a bygone occupant of the lair‚ from back when this building had been a castle or brothel or whatever humans enjoyed. As her innards churned to form an esophageal passage‚ she wrapped the red garment around herself‚ pulling the hood low to hide how little of a face she had. It was an old role. By shifting her body mass within the cloak‚ she gave the illusion of a lithe frame. The belled-out bottom of the cloak gave her plenty of room to hide most of her body mass. She had passed as a human on plenty of excursions when she was at full strength. Doing so depleted from hibernation was a gamble. Shesheshen pushed downward on the door as she opened it‚ so that the wooden door scraped along the stone landing. The sound stung her ears‚ and if it bothered her‚ it was likely to make these men soil themselves. Part of the plot was announcing herself in advance. She ran with wet feet slapping the floor‚ loud as she could be. They would know something was headed in their direction‚ and they would be ready for a nightmare. What they got was a girl’s harried face poking out from under a red riding hood‚ gloved hands flailing. She turned as frightened a face as she could on them—it was easy to make‚ since they made three frightened faces at her. All three of the murderers she’d eavesdropped upon stood in her foyer. Two of them wore practical leather gear and chain mail‚ with awkward half-masks over their mouths and noses. One man was much younger‚ shaped like a barrel that had grown arms‚ with several jeweled piercings in his ears. The other was a withered old root of a man with tufts of gray hair sticking out of every spot on his uniform‚ and eyes the green of pine needles. These two must have been Malik and Rourke‚ standing in front‚ each holding polearms with their blades pointed down the hall at her. They protected the third man. The third man hid behind them‚ wearing golden plate armor all the way up to his throat. Who wore gold for defense? It wasn’t holy‚ it was terribly heavy‚ and it was one of the softest metals Shesheshen had ever bitten. His chestplate was molded to have the likeness of nipples and rippling abdominal muscles. Parts of her salivated at the thought of crushing that chestplate. At his hip‚ he held some kind of crossbow at a bad angle‚ more likely to hit one of his underlings than her. Well‚ it was easy to pick out which one was Wulfyre. Shesheshen said‚ “Sires and masters. Thank the good gods‚ above and below‚ that you came. The wyrm could wake at any moment. Please‚ keep your voices quiet or we’ll all be skinned alive.” She kept her own voice soft‚ since a whisper was easier to fake than a full-throated human voice. It took quite some concentration to keep a vocal passage open and functional like this. It would be easier once she consumed one from a person. Perhaps one of the hunters would donate. The older hunter‚ Rourke‚ lowered his polearm. “What are you doing here‚ lass? The townsfolk said no one has approached this lair in years.” “Sire‚” Shesheshen said. “The wyrm has kept me in darkness so long that I have no memory of when it kidnapped me. It held me in one of the lower chambers of this place.” The younger hunter‚ Malik‚ made a holy sign in front of himself‚ then asked‚ “It held you?” Rourke said‚ “I thought anyone abducted by this thing would’ve been consumed before it went to hibernate.” Well‚ the old hunter was right about that. Shesheshen never left food in the cupboard before hibernation. If you did‚ the remains spoiled and attracted scavengers. Scavengers were a nuisance when you were trying to regenerate. She mimicked Malik’s holy sign with one hand‚ then resumed clutching her cloak. For some reason‚ clutching at clothing was a classic human sign of being pathetic. In her experience‚ clothing never ran away from you even when a monster literally ate your head. “Sires‚ the wyrm spares my life for my songs. It can only slumber when I sing to it the dark songs of distant lands. I know not where these verses come from‚ and they chill me to my core. Yet if it wakes‚ it will destroy the village with its ravenous appetite.” “Your squeaky voice?” said the man in gold‚ definitely Wulfyre. “I guess a hellbound monster would have shitty taste in music.” Both monster hunters shot glares at their employer. Yet those glares were gone before Wulfyre saw them. Hedged sincerity. A classic human trait. Malik asked‚ “What is your name‚ madame?” Shesheshen pondered. “Roislin.” It was a plausible Engmarese name. Someone she’d eaten had probably had it. Rourke said‚ “Roislin. My name is Eoghan Rourke‚ and this is my partner‚ Nasser Akkad Malik. Our employer here is Catharsis Wulfyre‚ son of the Baroness. We have seen so much pain that monsters have created in this world. Nobody should be left alone with a beast so unholy and wretched. Come with us. We’ve got water and honeycomb in our wagon. Right‚ Malik?” “That’s right‚” Malik said‚ holding out a hand for her. “We’ll get you out of here. You’ll be in town by tomorrow.” Town was the last place she wanted to go. It was full of wretched humans‚ precisely the kind that hired monster hunters in the first place. What she needed was rest and isolation. Adding more squeak to her voice‚ she said‚ “Sires‚ if we flee together‚ then the wyrm will be on us before we reach the second hill. She knows my scent above all at this point. Instead‚ I need you to retrieve me a weapon.” Wulfyre was the one to say‚ “A weapon?” “Please. On the northernmost island of Engmar‚ in the west‚ there grows a flowering plant that the locals call summoner’s jaw. It is the only herb the beast fears. It can rend her skin and make her husk wither. A curse from the good gods‚ above and below. If you can collect it‚ I can keep her slumbering until you return‚ and we can be free.” Actually‚ she was not even mildly allergic to summoner’s jaw. Merchants called it a remedy for minor cuts and bruises. However‚ Engmar was multiple nations away. By the time these would-be murderers finished their trip‚ she would be fully rested‚ fed‚ and ready to deal with them. If she got lucky‚ they’d spread the rumor of her one weakness so that later hunters would make the same mistake. Malik said‚ “I’ve heard of summoner’s jaw. It’s used for medicinal purposes. Stands to reason that devils would be weak to medicine.” Rourke lowered his mask‚ then unstrapped his bowl helmet and held it over his chest. “Roislin‚ I am also from Engmar. I have traveled the world many years‚ and seen many cultures. To stay in this cave‚ singing a monster to sleep‚ in the hopes we will find its bane? You are the bravest hero I have ever encountered.” “Fuck off.” Catharsis Wulfyre barged between the two monster hunters‚ causing Rourke to drop his helmet. It clanged off the floor‚ and Wulfyre kicked it so that it skidded out through the entrance of the lair. “I’m not riding around the countryside until my ball hairs turn gray looking for magic weeds. Mother is paying you to kill the thing this week. It cannot be alive when she arrives.” Malik said‚ “Sire‚ this herb is the key to slaying your monster.” “You don’t hire locksmiths to find a key. You hire them to pick open the lock‚” Wulfyre said‚ spinning the cap off a jug as he went. He doused his breastplate and gauntlets in a viscous fluid. It puddled beneath him‚ on the floor at the end of the hallway. “Tie this girl up. Let’s go.” Rourke paused in the pursuit of his helmet. “Tie her up? She’s an innocent.” “She’s one of those virgins that wyrms love eating so much. On top of that‚ we know the monster likes her voice. It’ll crawl out of its shithole if we have the right bait. That bait isn’t a plant. Bait needs to squirm.” Wulfyre bustled along the hall‚ coming straight for Shesheshen. The oil from the jug dulled the shine of his armor. Malik raced after him‚ grabbing the man’s gold-plated bicep. Malik said‚ “Wait‚ wait. There has to be another way.” From the exit‚ Rourke said‚ “We’re in over our heads here. Unidentifiable monster. Unfamiliar ground. We need whatever advantages we can get to kill it.” Malik said‚ “Like the summoner’s jaw.” Wulfyre held up his gauntleted fingers‚ oil dripping between them. “We don’t need summoner’s jaw when we already know rosemary works on the thing. It’s not going to eat me with this much of the stuff.” This had to slow down. Shesheshen tried to shrink into the adjacent hallway‚ while pushing a few of the sharper stones inside her body toward the surface‚ readying claws. “Sires‚ your voices. If you rouse the monster‚ no one will be safe.” Wulfyre batted Malik’s hand away. “My family has slain wyrms this way for generations. Leave a useless commoner out where the monster can smell them‚ and when the monster comes out for a snack‚ we get the drop on it. Slit this thing’s belly‚ get the blood‚ and you two can spend the rest of your lives trying to spend all the money you just made.” Malik’s feet slowed. He wasn’t chasing his employer anymore. “No.” Wulfyre said‚ “My family is paying. I’m giving the orders‚ or you’re becoming wanted men. Which would you prefer?” How Shesheshen wanted one of the hunters to stop this. For one of them to stand up for common sense‚ if not for the rights of a young damsel. A damsel who had offered them a perfectly good reason to get lost for a few weeks. But humans never stood up for the right thing. They stood around feeling uncomfortable‚ and later pretended that feeling uncomfortable meant they were virtuous. Now Malik stood to one side‚ only slightly obstructing Wulfyre’s path. Surely he’d feel awful about this tomorrow when he was spending his blood money‚ before running off with his partner to the next kill. And they called her monstrous. There was a way to salvage this without fighting them and getting killed. She started‚ “Sires‚ perhaps there is summoner’s jaw in Underlook Forest‚ to the south of here. It is where Papa and I first made sight of the monster‚ and Papa said he thought he saw its peculiar color in the brush. It could be why the monster so seldom hunts there. Less than a day’s travel. You could—” Catharsis Wulfyre’s hand felt like winter had abruptly returned and fallen exclusively over Shesheshen’s face. His gauntlet dug into her flesh‚ squeezing her mouth closed. He said‚ “That’ll shut her up. Get some chains.” Worse than the metal or his strength was the chilling burn. While Shesheshen had no sense of smell‚ her flesh tasted the rosemary‚ making her hide bubble up‚ boils rising everywhere the oil made contact. Her eyes fled deep inside her head to protect from that hideous pain. It was so awful that the urge to vomit overcame her. She opened up her throat and chest cavity‚ and vomited the wide-open bear trap at him. It clanged shut‚ the noise echoing throughout the hallway‚ cutting off Wulfyre’s shriek—as well as his right hand. Her bear trap had been too enthusiastic‚ biting straight through gold and bone alike‚ severing his hand between its jaws. Wulfyre clutched at his mangled forearm. “Fuck! Fucking gods‚ help me!” Shesheshen spat the trap and hand away‚ not wanting another taste of rosemary. Every spot where the rosemary oil had scalded her continued to crack and corrupt. She had to tear the skin off her own face and neck‚ screeching as she forcibly shed onto the floor. Stray juices poured from the wounds. Pain made her lose coherence‚ so that the bonerods in her body jutted out and punctured her hide‚ knocking bricks from the walls in her flailing. She hoped she beheaded one of these damned self-important mammals. By the time she could see clearly again‚ Rourke was gone. He’d fled as fast as a ghost that smelled reason in the air. Malik remained‚ bobbing around Wulfyre‚ trying to wrap cloth around the stump of the man’s arm as he guided his employer to the exit. It was a gusher of a wound‚ painting the floor with rich crimson. Catharsis Wulfyre kicked one boot between Malik’s legs‚ snagged a knee‚ and tripped him to the floor. Malik went straight down‚ his skull making a heavy report against the stone floor. Wulfyre stepped over his fallen henchman and kept going for the sunlight of the exit. He kept his mauled arm elevated‚ left hand trying to squeeze metal plates and apply some pressure. Gore still streamed out‚ painting his expensive armor with his own insides. “Mother will come for you‚ you fish-drowner! You’re going to be a trophy!” In the middle of his cursing‚ he stepped on a puddle of rosemary he’d left on the floor when he’d decided to baste himself. One heavy boot landed with a mild splish sound. Before he could raise the other leg in stride‚ he slipped. All several hundred pounds of man and gear veered across the corner of the hall‚ and he went straight down on his back. Then there were two unwanted people on Shesheshen’s floor. She let strands of her flesh dangle free of the cloak‚ the ends dragging on the floor until they found stones. She braced herself with the rods inside them. The stones served as decent feet‚ but could be repurposed into flails. Her bulk swelled with each step‚ lumbering over the two intruders. She was fantasizing about cracking Wulfyre’s armor like the shell of a lobster when he reached down with his remaining hand. Before she could leap on him‚ there was the thunking sound of his crossbow. The bolt hit her high in the chest‚ near where the bear trap had been lodged. Now that was all raw tissue‚ so soft that the bolt pierced deeply through her innards. Its tip pricked the hide of her back. Wulfyre said‚ “Right in your heart.” Much as she didn’t have blood‚ she did not have a heart. She looked forward to ingesting this man’s soon enough. She grabbed the end of the crossbow bolt‚ which was unusually thick. A jerk did nothing to free it‚ and gave her seven smaller stings‚ where hooks from the bolt must have lodged inside her. She commanded her inner tissues to relax and release it. Instead‚ they went feverishly rigid. Her meat seized up and refused to obey her. It was going to be a nuisance digging that thing out of herself. She needed to get her strength up. Fortunately‚ she had these two humans over for breakfast. “Not today!” It was the rusty voice of the elder monster hunter‚ Rourke. The old man ran into the hall with a torch burning orange in the air. He waved it wildly as he came at her. “About time‚” said Wulfyre‚ trying and failing to roll to his knees. That armor looked disgustingly heavy. He raised his arms at Rourke. “Get me out of here.” Rourke ran to Wulfyre—then past him‚ and to Malik. He caught the younger man under the armpits‚ holding the torch in front of both of their bodies as he lugged him to the exit. They were both lucky that she was still getting her footing and fighting this contraption lodged in her chest. They would escape. While Catharsis Wulfyre bellowed about broken contracts and what he’d do to their testicles‚ Shesheshen straightened up. If those monster hunters returned with proper weaponry‚ she needed to be ready. She formed two thick tentacles and wrapped them around the base of the crossbow bolt. Jerking it made her knees weaken‚ and half her frame quivered from the pain. It hurt like a week of starvation jammed into one instant. What had they poisoned her with? Wulfyre tried to sit up‚ and his ornate breastplate stopped him. That was what he got for wearing golden armor in the likeness of abdominals. Still he sneered up at her. He turned those strong cheekbones and his blond stubble up at her and said‚ “At least you’re dying with me. The Wulfyres never forget.” Those were not the words of a worthy father. They were the words of breakfast.   Excerpted from Someone You Can Build a Nest In‚ copyright © 2024 by John Wiswell. The post Read an Excerpt From Someone You Can Build a Nest In appeared first on Reactor.