The lanky man in the green plaid shirt said what he always said. “You won’t remember me come morning.” But Selina Ste Pierre always remembered.

Always.

She woke, stretched, smiled. The sleep-warm sheets whispered as she moved and breathed a scent of him – odd, as he hadn’t shared her bed. Yellow curtains fluttered in the window and she saw the crescent moon and the brilliant morning star; the rising sun had not yet burned them out of the sky. On a whim she sent a wish flying; upwards, she supposed, where angels might hear.

Invisible men, angels, prayers. Selina shook her head to clear the cobwebs. Time to get out of bed for the day and put the realm of dreams behind her. At least the moon and stars were real, a solid reality that had looked down on her and the man in the plaid shirt this past night.

Her feet were dirty again and a new scratch ran across her right calf. She couldn’t exactly remember how she’d gotten the scratch or collected the dirt, but she was sure she’d had fun doing it. She hummed while she showered the dirt and bits of dried grass away. A little ointment on the scratch, quick oatmeal for breakfast, a crisp blue suit, and she was good to go.

She liked the building where she lived, and the small gated garden yard, in an absent way that meant she seldom thought about it. It was home. The neighboring apartments contained friends or acquaintances who spoke congenial hellos and wished her good morning most days. Today the parking lot was empty but for her red Mustang and the stranger who slouched against it.

His arms were folded across his chest and his chin was down like he was napping. The lines of him blurred; she couldn’t focus or decide if his clothes were any particular color: shirt, jeans, boots, all rendered in shades of gray and fuzzy lines. She stopped in the act of beeping her car awake, still yards away. She couldn’t bring herself to step one foot closer.

The man opened one eye in a lazy lift, his eyebrow arcing reluctantly above it; she couldn’t decide his eye color, just that it was bright, and the pupil beamed hot white.

Both eyes open, the man said, “You remember him, don’t you? What’s his name?”

Selina wanted to ask who he was, what he was, how he knew the man in the plaid shirt. Instead she pursed her lips. Her anger was irrational; she knew this even as her neck flushed sweaty red but she knew also, down deep, that the stranger had no right to know those answers.

“Get away from my car before I call the police,” she replied. She groped for her cell phone.

He grinned and she shivered as though he’d blown a chill her way. Despite the perfect teeth, his was the most unpleasant grin she’d ever seen.

“Anything to oblige, ma’am,” he said. He sauntered a few steps away from her car. The red paint on the driver’s door recovered slowly, gaining color as the man’s misty outline faded.

“Still, I have to ask. You must know his name, you spend every night with him.”

She didn’t know his name. Not that she’d admit it to this faded stranger. “Go climb a tree,” she snapped.

He grinned again and she winced. “Ah, trees. Funny you should mention trees. He’s afraid of them, you know. Afraid he’ll hang from one some day.”

“Who are you?” she said, frustrated.

He bowed. “I’m the man your father hired to find out where you go each night. The cobbler is tired of making new shoes and the expense is bankrupting the treasury.”

Before she could express her bewilderment, he faded from sight.

She was about to say that her father was dead, but she couldn’t remember why she wanted to say that. Why was she standing in the parking lot? She didn’t want to be late for work again. She beeped her car open.

#

The break room held the usual gathering of admins and secretaries jostling for a turn at the coffee pot’s spigot; the aroma of strong roast overwhelmed the clashing concert of perfumes.

Most of the women wore suits with hose and heels. Julie Bennett, Selina’s best friend, wore a long sequined skirt and three layers of cotton shirts in three different colors, all belted at her waist with a tooled-leather cowboy belt and heavy sterling silver buckle. She wore Birkenstocks on her bare feet, her toenails embellished with shiny polish.

Julie was the director’s secretary. Everybody commented on her attire, but no one criticized it.

Selina held her cup ready and waited a chance at the hot water tap. Julie, who was pouring out a carafe’s worth of fresh brew, waved her forward.

“Come on, no one else is drinking tea,” she said.

Selina poured hot water onto her teabag. “I’m just trying to cut down on my caffeine intake,” she said. “I like to sleep, you know.”

Julie snickered. “You do know that tea has more caffeine than coffee!”

“Not this tea, it’s special. I got it from…” She had the sudden urge to lie, not tell Julie about her tea. That was silly; Julie had been with her when she’d gotten it. She rubbed her forehead. “It’s herb tea, no caffeine,” she finished.

Julie rolled her eyes. “You still have that stuff? The valerian tea, right? Well, as long as it helps, I guess. Hey, where were you last night?”

“Last night?”

“I called and called and you never answered. Got some cute guy hidden away?”

Selina didn’t want to tell; no one would believe her, not even Julie.  She just shook her head.

Julie pouted.  ”Aw c’mon. You never go out with us anymore, not even for coffee break; don’t you like
us?”

The question was asked in half-jest, Selina knew, but she also knew that she’d have to spend time with the queen of the social circle at work if she didn’t want the answers pried out of her.

“Okay,” she said, “let’s do lunch. But… no coffee. I’m off caffeine.”

At lunchtime Julie grabbed her arm before she’d even stood up from her desk and hustled her down the hall to the smaller conference room.

“Here, we’ll have lunch in,” Julie said, snicking the door closed behind her. “The bosses had a catered lunch and I got us a couple extra servings. Lasagna and salad, my favorite!”

“They’re all your favorite,” Selina said as she sat in the leather conference chair.

“I’m hurt, really I am,” Julie said, sitting next to her. “Now, give. What’s been keeping you up at night?”

“No such thing as a free lunch, huh?” But Selina was smiling. Until now, she hadn’t wanted to share her man in the plaid shirt with anyone, but Julie was her best friend. Perhaps Julie would understand.

Five minutes later, Julie said, “Let me get this straight. You’ve found the man of your dreams.”

“Yes!”

“I never should have taken you to that new age shop,” she sighed.

“You said we could find some incense or herb or something to open my third eye and help with astral projection. And you were right.”

“And that fortune teller almost mugged you into trying tea instead,” Julie said. “That’s the tea you’ve been drinking all this time?”

“Yes, and I’m almost out. I went to another new age shop near my apartment and they told me it wasn’t even valerian. Valerian stinks, they said, and this stuff is sweet. They couldn’t decide what it was, either. I need to go back to that shop. What’s the address?”

“And get more of your ‘Distract-O-Tea?’ Nope, I don’t think so. You need to go out on some dates and forget about this figment of your imagination!”

Selina sipped her water. Julie didn’t understand. The man in the plaid shirt owned her heart. And she owned his. She couldn’t just let him go.

“How’s about we go clubbing one night and you give me the address?”

Julie’s eyes widened. “You sly vixen you! Bargaining, huh? You better be ready to put up!”

#

When she saw the man in the plaid shirt that night, she wove her fingers into his rough shirt and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. His lips warmed her and tasted of mint.

“We’re going further than usual tonight,” he said. “I want to show you … this.”

Selina looked where the man in the plaid shirt pointed and saw that she was on a crisp white sand beach. Lines of cresting green waves pounded the strand; hot blue sky overhead held no clouds, but huge gray birds flocked over the waves. They walked shoulder to shoulder, companionably bumping together when their steps mismatched. Sand crunched under their bare feet.

Above them, on the solid ground, she saw a palace of white marble and rounded turrets. Silk banners streamed from the towers, though she couldn’t see well enough to tell if they held coats of arms or any design to mar the pure prismatic colors.

“I would have been a Prince here, at least until the Old King died,” the man said, “but I found I could not stay in just one place. And then I found you.” He kissed her, quickly.

“We found each other,” she murmured.

A small group of men practiced dance on an open terrace. The man in the plaid shirt waved up at them; the men incorporated a return wave into their dance. Selina heard a drift of drum music and saw that the men used the beat to synchronize their movements.

“The Old King teaches others to be Prince,” the man in the plaid shirt said. “We are all happier this way.”

Selina said, “Is this where you grew up, in this white castle?”

“No,” he said. “My brothers and I lived in the grove. I will introduce you to the grove.”

“Are you afraid of trees?” she said. “Is that why you left?” She couldn’t think why she’d ask such a ridiculous question; who would be afraid of trees?

“No,” he said, startled. “The trees in the grove are not fearsome. They are princes in waiting. My brothers.”

He sighed, the unhappiest sound Selina had ever heard from him.

“If I feared, I feared to stay bound here, always in one place. The old king would never force me to stay, he allowed my leave. But every desire granted has its opposite side.

“I cannot remain.

“But I may visit! And bring you with me.”

At the grove. A row of straight trunks and leafy heads and roots clenched tight in black soil. Mushrooms circled each tree in a fairy wheel and frothy green moss grew on every side.

He bowed towards a large white-trunked tree with glossy green leaves and peeks of scarlet blossoms buried in its canopy.

“The old king of the grove,” he said. “I know it is silly, but this one is my favorite tree,” and he patted the trunk. “Once upon a time I told it all my secrets and childhood desires. I believe it gave me the courage to find you.” He smiled at her.

Selina said, “Well then, it’s my favorite tree too!” She wrapped an arm around the trunk and the tree didn’t shiver away from her touch.

The man in the plaid shirt said, “Be careful not to step on its roots. These trees do not grow from the earth, they grasp the ground.” He stroked the large tree’s smooth bark. “They love us so much, they hold on tight so they won’t fall away. Perhaps they hold the ground down for us. Would you like to know what I am afraid of? Someday, they’ll let go. The ground and sky will meet and we’ll forget which way is up.”

Selina laughed aloud.

The trees in the grove shook.

“So they’re flying trees,” she said.

“They are princes of the forest,” he replied. “But they are not natural to this place. They had to break through and create an angle so they could stay. Their history is our history and our story here is long.”

He put his arm around her waist. “The night is almost complete; it is time for you to return. You won’t remember me come morning.”

“I always remember you,” she said. She kissed him and slipped away.

#

At work, Selina sipped the last of her valerian tea while on break, daydreaming idly about handsome trees. The tea warmed her from the tip of her toes to the crown of her head. The scent reminded her of the man in the plaid shirt. She smiled.

“So there you are!” Julie plopped into the chair next to her. She frowned a bit at the tea in Selina’s mug. “We’re going out tonight; that dance bar by the college?”

“Live Bait,” Selina murmured, rolling her eyes.

“Come on, it’s the real world! Find yourself a flesh-and-blood guy and you’ll forget all about that figment of your imagination.”

Selina laughed. “Not likely. You promised the shop address, remember? And I need to get back early.”

“Address tomorrow,” Julie said, “after a night out. And girlie, we’re going out and not coming back until the rooster crows.”

Selina wore her slinky black dress with the handkerchief hem that flirted with her legs and pointy red patent leather heels. She locked the apartment door behind her.

“I’ll be back soon,” she promised, not sure who she addressed but certain the words needed to be said.

She met Julie in the bar’s parking lot. Her friend wore a blue dress and black sandals and appeared as exuberant as always.

“Wow, you look good enough to eat!” Julie laughed. “I guess I’ll have some competition tonight, huh?”

Julie winked at the door bouncer, a stereotypical over-muscled man with tanned arms bulging under his plain white tee shirt. His tight black pants left no single curve of his legs and backside to the imagination.

“No charge,” the bouncer said, leering. “We’ll say you got here just under the wire.”

“Eww,” Selina whispered to her friend. “Hope he doesn’t expect something for the favor!”

Julie giggled. “Bobo? Bobo’s okay, he’s just a little upset since he had a fight with his boyfriend. He flirts with the girls to make his boyfriend jealous. Probably why they fight so much!”

Selina laughed. “How do you know all this?”

Julie shrugged. “I like the night life, I love to boogie, in the disco rou-ound,” she sang. “Bobo’s always letting me in for free.”

Julie shouted greetings to the bartender. The lead singer of the band came over and hugged her, ignoring Selina. She didn’t mind. She’d dance for a while, go home, and sleep. The man in the plaid shirt would enjoy her retelling of tonight’s adventures.

The band spilled some warm-up music into the cacophony of the bar. Selina got into it, dancing a few steps, letting the rhythm move her. She was disappointed when Julie snagged her arm and led her to a tiny table with tall stools.

They clutched the complimentary drinks — “Sent by Maxwell!” — and Julie blew a kiss to the band’s keyboard guy.

“Hey!” Julie yelled, “I think that guy over there likes you. He’s checking you out. Wave at him!”

“Maybe he’s looking at you,” Selina said. She glanced at the man. He wore torn jeans and an untucked wool shirt, like a grunge band singer, but his hair was cut short. He held her gaze with eyes so fiery she thought she’d burn if she didn’t look away, but she couldn’t. Heat suffused her belly. She blushed furiously.

“Hey!” Julie said. “Cut it out, you’re staring. Oh my God, he’s coming over!”

Perhaps the stage lights struck the man in just the wrong way; he blurred around the edges like a piece of tissue floating too long in water, only holding form at the center. The lighting washed out his color as well. To Selina he was gray.

His touch on her elbow numbed her arm to the shoulder. The man led her out to the crowded dance floor. Not that she noticed anyone else: sounds faded and her vision narrowed to just him.

“Wear this same dress tonight,” he said. “He will dance with you. He will tell you secrets. He will tell you his name. If you ask.”

“Why do you want to know?” Her voice sounded faint, a million miles away.

“He’s a demon,” the gray man said, “and I need his name to send him away.” He grinned his horrible grin again.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

“I am the soldier seeking a bride,” he said. “I am a Prince seeking to return to my Kingdom. I am a man in search of an answer. What is his name?”

“What is yours?” she said.

His smile faltered.

“You’ll have to guess… is it Rumpelstiltskin? I don’t ask for your firstborn, I just ask his name.”

She wrenched her arm from his grasp. “I have no straw for you to spin into gold,” she said. “I need no gold to save my life! My life and love belong to him and I wouldn’t tell you his name even if I knew it!”

The man flinched but opened his smile wide.

“But you will know and you will tell me.”

He mocked her with a bow and faded like mist dissolved by sunshine.

Selina’s eyes snapped open as if she’d just awakened from a bad dream. She stumbled back to the tiny bar table. Had she danced with the strange man? She wasn’t sure. Her arms ached with cold. She rubbed them.

“Who was that guy?” Julie asked, her eyes shining. “He was awfully cute!”

Selina frowned. “What guy?”

“What guy? Are you kidding?”

“I need to go home. I feel strange.” Selina swayed on her stool.

Julie frowned. “Oh my God, he slipped you a mickey. I knew he was too good to be true! — Bobo!” She put her hand on Selina’s shoulder to keep her from falling. “Jesus, we need to get you home right now.”

She yelled for the bouncer again.

“Bobo, help me get her to the car. That guy slipped her a mickey!”

Selina didn’t feel the man carry her and she scarcely knew when Julie deposited her at her door.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay? I can come in and help you get in bed.”

Selina waved her off. She barely shut the door behind her before losing her grip on the world. She fell in a heap on the floor.

“You’re late,” the man in the plaid shirt said, holding her hand. “Are you all right?”

“I’m better now,” she said, kissing him.

“That’s a lovely dress,” he said. “Perfect for tonight.”

He brought her to an empty parking lot, damp black asphalt relieved by yellow lines. Mercury vapor lights dissipated in the fog.

“I suppose this could be a dream,” she said, “but I can see a trash can over there, and that’s a closed restaurant, and the smell is something awful; why’d you bring me here?”

The man in the plaid shirt said, “Listen.”

After a moment she heard the music spilling from the overhead speakers. An old rock and roll song about dancing in the moonlight, one of her favorites. She grinned.

He held out his hands. “Dance?”

This was one of the better nights.

When the sky began to lighten, he kissed her. “You won’t remember me come morning,” he said, as always.

“Of course I will,” she answered. “It’s the other one I have trouble remembering.”

“What other one?”

Without thinking, she answered. “The one who looks just like you except exactly opposite; the one who is hunting you. I never remember him afterwards.”

The man in the plaid shirt grabbed her shoulders. “What does he want?”

Selina’s eyes were heavy-lidded, dreaming. “He wants your name.”

He frowned. “I don’t know my name,” he said. “I relinquished it … to find you.”

Selina smiled. “He lied to me, he said you were a demon. If you were a bad guy,” she said sleepily, “you’d just make something up.”

She was unable to stay awake another moment. When she opened her eyes again, sunlight streamed through her bedroom window. She wasn’t so terribly late, but late enough that her coworkers remarked on it.

Worse yet, her boss noticed.

“You’ve been tardy quite a bit lately,” he said. “Perhaps you need to take that vacation you’ve been saving. Starting today.” He stood up behind his desk. “Come back when you’re feeling better.” He opened his office door for her.

Julie was angry. “The putz didn’t have to do that! I can have my boss set him straight!”

“It’s okay. I need some time off to catch up on my sleep. I’ll call you.”

“You don’t need to catch up on your sleep; it’s all you’ve been doing, is sleeping. This all started when I took you to that new age shop. You haven’t been okay since then.”

“Yes, about that shop: do you have the address? I need to go back there.”

“And get some more of that it’s-not-valerian herb tea? I don’t think so! You need to get out and clear your head, Selina!”

“No, I need some answers and I bet that fortune teller can supply them. I need to understand why this is happening to me!”

“All right, I get that,” Julie said. “Give me an hour, I’ll come with you.” She pulled a business card from her desk.

Selina hugged her friend. “No, I need to do this alone. See you in a week.”

The new age shop was a bit cleaner, a bit brighter, a big larger than Selina remembered. The décor – crystals, tie-dye clothing, candles, and of course teas, seemed rich and close like an overstuffed but luxurious home.

No other customers stood in the shop. The door swooshed closed behind her and she stood uncertain near the cash register, listening to the tinkle of tiny water fountains and smelling the hot breath of jasmine incense.

A man pushed through the bead curtains at the end of the shop. A gray man, not old, just colorless; and somehow familiar to her.

“You’ve returned,” he said. “Just in time.”

“I want to see the fortune teller,” Selina breathed. The man’s smile disturbed her. Her stomach fluttered and sweat beaded her forehead.

“Ah, yes. The fortune teller. But that is not his name.” The man’s brow creased with puzzlement. “I suppose you could say I am a fortune teller. I can tell your fortune, anyway.” He reached for her hand.

“You’re not the fortune teller,” she said, edging towards the door.

“No, I am lost to fortune,” he said. He grabbed her.

His touch was so cold and so hot at the same time. She tried to jerk her arm away but he held fast, moved closer to her. His scent washed over her: burnt cinnamon and something else, something darker.

“He took my fortune from me,” the man continued. “Fortune favors the bold, and I shall boldly go to him, with you leading the way.”

She shook her head. “No, I will never…”

He pinched her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. “Do not be so unfortunate as to swear something you cannot promise,” he said. “You will.”

His touch on her face was too much to bear. Her ears buzzed as the blood drained from her head, her eyes rolled up til the whites showed, and she fainted.

He still held her when she opened her eyes in the grove of trees. His fingers no longer touched her face and for that she was grateful.

The man in the plaid shirt stood close by, but for once he wasn’t looking at her, not coming to her, not speaking her name with a smile on his face. He stared eye to eye with the other.

“She cannot help you here; let her go,” the man in the plaid shirt said.

The gray man showed his dark gleaming smile. “She is but a route, a bridge, a road to where my journeys began and end. Now that I have returned, I shake the dust of her from my feet.” He threw her down at the foot of the man in the plaid shirt’s favorite tree.

Though neither man noticed, the roots bent to catch her and support her as the two men argued themselves into a fight.

“Honeyed rudeness is not a new trait for you,” the man in the plaid shirt said, “and it is still a disagreeable one. Why have you returned to this place you despise so much that you left before the Old King could grant your permission? Why do you kidnap the one I love? Why are you here?”

“I want but one thing. I want what is mine. I want the return of my name.”

The man in the plaid shirt shook his head. “It is far too late for that. What was yours is no longer. When you fled this land, you released your name. You released mine as well.”

“Give it back!” The gray man raised his voice in a shout.

The trees of the grove shivered.

“You may not have it,” the man in the plaid shirt replied.

“When you no longer live, I shall have back what is mine,” the gray man said, and with that he lunged at the man in the plaid shirt.

They fought in silence, only the rustle of the shivering tree leaves giving an audience to their struggles.

Mist, or perhaps dust, rose up from the ground to surround them. Selina tried to believe that what she saw was an illusion created in that mist; for whenever the men’s skin met, hands touched, body made contact with body, they slid into each other like a soul into a bit of flesh, making the two wholly one.

Selina stood in the safety of a tree’s shade. She didn’t understand what magic the gray man possessed, but his intent had always and only been a threat to her lover. Even if they were somehow the same man, she wanted just her own version of him, her gentle man in the plaid shirt.

She whispered, “Stop. They must stop.”

The trees responded to her voice. Roots reached out and caught the men, branches reached down and stroked them. The two were held fast and silenced with red blossoms stuffed into their mouths.

Selina rushed to her man’s side and pulled on the tree branches. It didn’t release him.

“Let him go!” she said, pulling at the blossoms in his mouth.

“They cannot let him go.”

She spun around. In all her time with the man in the plaid shirt no one else had ever talked with her.

The man standing before her was young, as young as her lover. Behind him stood a row of white-clad men, the rank of defenders that had practiced a dance some nights before. What they needed to defend now, and from what, she didn’t know.

“I am the Old King,” the first man said. “The trees of the grove cannot release him. He is an intruder here.”

“The one in the plaid shirt lives here,” she said. “He’s not an intruder. Let him go!”

“I cannot,” the Old King repeated. “My son belongs to the grove now. My son traded away his name to be with you. My son discarded his name to leave this place. My son no longer knows who he is.”

The Old King walked into the trees until he stood between the two captives. He placed a hand on each man’s shoulder.

“My son needs something I gave him once but cannot give him again.” The Old King turned to face Selina. “But you can. You have his key folded deep in your heart. You can release him.”

He waited.

Selina stood rooted in place. What could she do to release the man in the plaid shirt? She couldn’t force the branches apart; she couldn’t embrace him.

The world held its breath. The light grew gray and still; even the trees stood motionless, waiting.

“A name. So simple a thing. Is that all he needs?” She kissed the man in the plaid shirt’s brow, tasting sweated skin and tree branch equally. “Your son – both of him – needs a name?”

The Old King’s lips curled up in the barest smile, yet he gave no other indication.

She whispered into her lover’s ear, “Do you remember? You once told me your name. At the fortune teller’s shop. Julie led me to you and you gave me the key and your … your other part confirmed it.”

His eyes widened; perhaps he remembered, after all. She hoped she was right.

“Valerian,” she said simply. “The name is Valerian.”

The trees released the men. The man in the plaid shirt melted into her arms, embracing her as if they’d been separated for too many ages. The other man fell to his knees before the Old King.

“My name is Valerian!” the gray man screamed, exultant. “My name is returned; return my kingdom to me!”

“I promised only release,” the Old King said. He waved his hand. “You have your release,” he said to them both.

The man in the plaid shirt bowed his head. The other Valerian, faded and weird in the grove-light, raised his fists.

The roots of the tree lifted and wrapped around the other man’s body, gently covering his hands. The tree released its hold on the ground. Together, man and tree floated straight up, orthogonal to the astral plane.

She looked away from the sky.

The man in the plaid shirt was gone, vanished while her attention was on the gray man. All the company, Old King and princes, had vanished from the grove. She stood alone in the cold mist, alone with the trees.

A stiff jolt of hurt struck her as her heart broke.

“I will remember you come morning!” she screamed.

She expected to wake in her own bed, after such violent dreams, but instead she was in a parking lot. Night was edging towards dawn; she could still see stars, fading but still brilliant above her.

Hard truck headlights washed across her, blinding her. She threw out a hand and shielded her eyes. The truck swerved around her, its backwash of diesel stink engulfing her. She spun around, dizzy.

A diner owned the parking lot. The neon sign blinked, though it probably wasn’t supposed to. Julie’s, it read. All Night Long. She pushed open the heavy glass door and was engulfed with friendly smells of frying bacon and brewing coffee. The sign said to seat herself, so she slipped into the first booth. The sparkly red vinyl showed cigarette burns and lost edging rivets. Still, the booth was clean, the table didn’t stick to her skin, the light cheerful after the blackness outside.

She ordered coffee, her first cup in too long. She felt so foggy and sleepy. She wanted to wake up and be clear-headed; she didn’t want to sleep. Or dream. Last night’s dreams were fading; surely the coffee would clear out the last of the cobwebs.

A lanky man wearing a cowboy hat above his plaid shirt slammed through the door.

“Hey lady, are you all right?” he said. He met her eyes. “I about ran you over…” His voice faded away. His puzzled expression was matched by hers.

She said, “Have we met before?” just as he said, “I feel I know you.”

They laughed.

She offered her hand and said her name; then she asked his.

“Valerian,” he said, claiming it forever.

© 2009 By Jude-Marie Green

Jude-Marie Green’s fiction has appeared in several anthologies, including “Visual Journeys,” “Legends of the Mountain State,” and “Sporty Spec,” as well as Ideomancer, Abyss & Apex, and Defenestration.  She is associate editor at AbyssAndApex.com.  She loves to attend conventions, read books, and slurp pina coladas by poolside.  You can find her current updates at JudeMarieGreen.Wikispaces.com.

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