If you’re into urban fantasy (particularly the Hollows or Mercy Thompson series), you should really check out Annie Bellet’s Twenty-Sided Sorceress series.
It’s even easier because Annie has the first book, Justice Calling, available for FREE.
This interview is via CNN:
IMHO, this man speaks for a lot of people who are watching the violence in Baltimore.
I applaud John Valentine for standing against the mob.
“It is a great view at night, isn’t it?” said the man as he stepped out onto the catwalk. Erik didn’t bother acknowledging the other man’s presence. He’d come up to the top catwalk of the Temerity Pylon to get away from everyone, and Erik was annoyed that his solitude was broken. The man put his hands on the railing and looked down at Lower City. From twelve hundred meters up, the neighborhoods of the lower level of Avalon City looked almost peaceful. Both men knew the reality of Lower City.
“Your father wants to see you,” Colonel Michael Hastings said. Hastings, better known to the masses as Post Primam, was the senior officer of First Battalion of Whiteguard – the psychics and sorcerers that guarded the Emperor. As the Post Primam, Hastings was expected to be the finest example of the beyond-natural humans in the service of the Emperor. The Avalonian version of Captain America.
Erik knew Hastings better when the two were roommates at the Preternatural Academy. Erik, Samantha, and Hastings had been better known as the Terrible Trio that had terrorized the faculty with various pranks and jokes. Sam had even dated Hastings briefly after graduation. Erik and Hastings kept in touch over the years, but that had changed in the last year and a half. Erik had been avoiding his old friend since nearly getting Hastings killed during the ending of the Commandante Affair. Many of Hastings’s friends were killed when Erik unwittingly sent them into an ambush. Much to Erik’s relief, he didn’t sense any resentment or hatred coming from his old friend.
“My father’s dead, Michael,” Erik answered, flatly. He could feel Hastings’s frustration. Well, that was his own damn fault. Hasting knew Erik’s feelings on that subject.
“Your step-father then,” Hasting said, “Erik, quit being an ass. Do you think I would have been sent to find you if this was just a routine errand?” Erik stepped back from the rail and looked at Hastings. Erik probed harder with his empathic senses. There was an undercurrent of fear and worry running through him.
“What’s going on?” Erik asked.
“Not here,” Hastings answered, lowering his voice. “Your step-father’s office.” Erik looked out at Lower City. He could go down to the street and take the next lift up to the Upper City, but that would take at least a half-hour. Erik grinned maliciously at Hastings.
“What is going through that head of yours?” Hastings asked as soon as he saw the smile. He knew Erik far too well.
“Practiced your flying recently?” Erik asked, and Hastings blanched. In terms of raw power, Hastings’ telekinesis easily eclipsed Erik. That being said, Hastings never learned the fine control that Erik had with his telekinesis – and flying was all about control. Erik pushed off of the catwalk and felt the welcoming familiar sensation of falling. Telekinetic flying required creating “columns” of telekinetic force to push and pull against much heavier objects, such as buildings, pylons, and the ground. Most telekinetics strong enough to lift more than their own body weight were taught the basics of flight at the Academy. Of those, only about half ever became proficient. It just required too much concentration. Then, there were those like Erik who excelled at it. Erik luxuriated in the sensations as he soared out beyond the walls of Avalon City and up to Upper City. His powers were too weak on Earth to really fly. He missed it more than he realized.
In less than fifteen minutes, Erik landed gracefully in front of his stepfather’s mansion. Like all of the buildings in Upper City, the mansion looked more like a small fortress. Reinforced arms reached out from the gray stone building to four sentry buildings. From the air, it had a passing resemblance to a Maltese Cross. All of the Upper City buildings had the same drab severity on their exteriors due to the occasional windstorms that tore through the streets when the invisible wind shields periodically turned off. Like so much of Avalon City, no one knew why the shields went down, but when they did, the winds were strong enough to knock a lorry off the side of Upper City. The aristocracy and those wealthy enough to afford homes in Upper City had learned long ago to reserve their opulence behind the stout walls of their homes.
“You’re a jackass, Jaegar,” Hastings said as dropped to the cobblestones with a meaty thud. Erik wordlessly shrugged his shoulders. “Well, let’s not keep them waiting. They’re waiting for us in your stepfather’s office.”
“They’re?” Erik asked as they walked through the visitors gate. Erik had been expecting a servant to be waiting for them. Instead, one of his stepfather’s armsmen was waiting at parade rest. The soldier/bodyguard motioned for Erik and Hastings to follow him. His stepfather kept his office in the main house, just inside from the visitors gate. It was efficient and pragmatic, unlike many others of the aristocracy who made a person tramp all over the house just so the visitor would see all the expensive knick-knacks in the house.
Stephan Luugard, Duke of Amwell, High Counselor of the House of Lords, and Mayor of Avalon City sat behind his antique oak desk. He was a tall, thin man in his early fifties dressed in a conservative suit of navy blue. Erik’s mother must have picked out the green silk tie that set off the suit. Luugard’s dark eyes narrowed as Erik walked into the room. Absently, he began to stroke his thick gray-streaked beard with a long fingered hand. Erik could feel annoyance, loathing, and – relief? – coursing behind his stepfather’s impassive facade. In the time Erik had known his stepfather, the man had never once felt relief at seeing Erik.
As surprising as his stepfather’s emotional mix was, Erik’s eyes were drawn to the small, bookish man sitting in front of Luugard’s desk and sipping on a glass of amber. Thinning black hair and an off-the-rack gray suit made the man look like a mid-level manager or a slightly senior bureaucrat. The man’s perpetual bored look enhanced the image. Erik knew better. Vincent Paul was the head of the Grayguard’s Office of Special Investigations. In the ten years Erik had worked for him in Blackguard, Paul had been known as the Saint.
“Stephan, what’s going on?” Erik asked his stepfather.
“Much to my own annoyance, I’m just playing host for Mr. Paul,” Luugard answered. Erik turned to his former employer.
“What do you want Saint?” Erik asked. “What could be so important and secret that you had to appropriate the mayor’s personal office?” The Saint flicked his hazel eyes up at Erik. The Saint was one of the few people whose emotions Erik couldn’t feel. The small man was also a past master at controlling his body language.
“I don’t need anything from you,” the Saint answered cryptically. “Princess Corrine, on the other hand, is in desperate need of your services.”
“What happened to Corry?” Erik asked before he could stop himself. He felt Luugard’s flash of anger at the familiar name, but Erik didn’t give a damn. Erik had been part of a small coterie of children that had been allowed to play with the emperor’s son and daughter. Corry had been, if not his best friend, then a very close one.
“She was shot down doing a reconnaissance flight above Battle Island,” the Saint answered. “From our best reports, she’s been captured by the Dark Towers.”
“There’s more,” Erik said. Getting Corry out of the Dark Towers’ prisoner camps on Battle Island would be a job for the Imperial Guard, but from the intense frustration emanating from Hastings, they hadn’t been given the mission. Erik doubted they wanted him to go rescue Corry because of his prior relationship with the princess or his experience on Battle Island.
“We have reason to believe that she was shot down by someone working for one of the other aristocrats,” the Saint said. It could never be easy.
1. Still having the flinch issue. Getting better, but my shots are still clustering low. I’m looking forward to getting my SIRT M&P to work on trigger issues.
2. Grandpa’s M-1 Carbine is such a nice little rifle. I do so love shooting it. The only thing I need is some more magazines. And some more .30 Carbine ammo. Lots of .30 Carbine.
3. Next time Mom comes down, she’s going to be looking into the introduction to handguns class at the range. I half-joked that she needed the class to break all the bad habits that she picked up from me.
4. I NEED MORE RANGE TIME!
Culture – Anthropology. the sum total of ways of living built up by a group of human beings and transmitted from one generation to another.
Humanity’s development of culture is an amazing thing. Humans have developed processes and beliefs that allowed them to survive far from the African savannahs where we evolved. Cultures also have evolved faster than human biology, allowing humanity to adapt to new technology and philosophies. Unfortunately, humans are less likely to discard obsolete cultural practices than obsolete technology. Hell, sometimes they are enshrined in law and religion or we have day long festivals.
The question is how do we judge a culture? There is a school of thought that cultures can only be judged within the confines of their worldview. That’s valid from a scholarly perspective, but doesn’t necessarily help in the world outside academia. So how do we judge a culture?
I judge cultures based on their attitudes toward liberty and science. Cultures that value personal liberty and scientific advancement are superior to those treat humans as parts to a collective or refuse technological advancement.
Some cultures condone actions that are so against my beliefs that I can only label them as savages and barbarians. In this day and age, the biggest offender of that is Islamic culture.
For those of you who say Islam is a religion, not a culture, you’re both right and wrong. When Islam the religion was spread, it brought along with it the Arabic cultural values of Mohammed to the point it became it’s own culture (see definition above). There are variations, but the fundamentals of Islamic culture are the same. The tenets of personal liberty are not present in Sharia law. Science is eschewed for the myths of the Islamic religion. Those that go against the culture are not just shamed, but are subject to physical punishment up to and including death. This is savagery. This is barbarity.
This is why cultures must be judged on the real world.
The police of a state should never be stronger or better armed than the citizenry. An armed citizenry, willing to fight, is the foundation of civil freedom.
It’s that willing to fight that’s the kicker.
TL;DR – Police should be ashamed for warning young women to be careful. Women shouldn’t have to modify their behaviour; men who rape should modify theirs.
I can sympathize with the author’s sentiment. Because there are scumbags out there, women have to take precautions that they shouldn’t have to take. I’m a perfect world, this wouldn’t be the case.
Unfortunately, we don’t live in a perfect world. We live in a world where each environment provides dangers that will cause great trauma and/or death. I live in Florida. In my environment, especially in summer, I know to make sure to stay hydrated if I’m going to be outside for a long period of time. I know if I’m out in an orange grove to be careful of snakes. I know not to walk pets by lakes because alligators see them as tasty treats. I know to maintain my situational awareness when I have to go into the not-so-nice parts of the cities.
This is not society controlling me. This is taking reasonable precautions to prevent harm. Teaching women to be cautious because there are two-legged predators out there is not controlling them. It is preparing them to take reasonable precautions.