Droubbles

Standing pointedly inside his door, the suspect grinned. “No, you can not come in, warrant or no!”

Jenna took a breath, meaning to answer that. The door slammed shut in her face, so she sighed instead. From his criminal record including activity in an anti-supernaturals group a decade ago, neither his recognising her as a vampire nor his reaction came as a surprise. Still, it was annoying in its pettiness and shortsightedness.

Usually she would be partnered with someone who did not require invitation, but there had been some roster-shuffling tonight, leaving the pair of vampires the option to watch the house to keep him from running and call for reinforcements. To arrest one unarmed little loser with a habit of blogging rants against supernaturals while drunk. Embarrassing.

While she walked back to the squad car, a grin spread across her face. She had foreseen trouble like that, and both brought the right equipment and made sure with the chief that she could use it.

She hefted the sledgehammer and stalked back to the house. Invitations were required to cross a threshold, true. But it had turned out that if you removed the entire wall, the problem disappeared.

Inspired by the prompt "How does a vampire cop serve a warrant, if he has to be invited into a home?" by Royce Day

"Deliberate entry" is the name of an existing SWAT tactic. This is not it. Dynamic entry versus deliberate entry at policeone.com

The guests at the Princess's christening were in awe, and her parents proud as could be, as the three wise women of the Realm had accepted their invitation. All noise stopped when the trio stepped up to the cradle to give her good wishes, in solemn voices sweet as summer wind.

“She shall have a mind clear as ice, so she can detect the flaw in any plan, thing, or person,” said the first.

“She shall have a heart strong as steel, so she won’t be hurt or swayed by trifles,” said the second.

“She shall have a tongue sharp as a knife, and wield it expertly,” said the third.

The suddenly stricken silence was broken by the door opening, a messenger bursting in unanounced and out of breath. “The wise women are dead. I saw their bodies in a ditch...”

The impostors let their glamour disperse, showing skin pale as snow and eyes dark as night sky. One smiled at the messenger, the other two bowed mockingly towards the parents, holding all present spellbound long enough for their parting words.

“She will be strong, and smart.”

“She will do all our Realms proud.”

All three faded like a mirage.

Based on the prompt "The fairy godparents aren't the nice sort of fairy." by rix-scaedu.

Mary froze at the edge of the clearing. There really was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow! Her bare feet slipped on damp leaves as she rushed towards the prize, until the ground gave way.

The pot hid the bottom of the pit with a dull thud close to her head, spilling its contents, big, glittering discs. “Fool’s gold”, she whispered, and unsteadily reached for the closest.

“Actual gold is quite useless, you know.”

She looked up at the gnome who was grinning down at her from the edge of the trap. “You sure like your jokes.”

“I like catching friends of shinies. You will be happy to mine them, yes?”

“What? No!”

“You’re only coming out if you agree.” The gnome sounded like an older sister giving a toddler an ultimatum.

Mary snorted and stood up. Her hip hurt from the fall, but the pit couldn’t be that deep.

The moment she took a step towards its edge, the gnome lifted a gun she must have had next to her, and aimed it at Mary. Still grinning, still sounding cheerful, she said, “Or you come out dead. I am all kinds of hunter, you know.”

The title was a prompt by Tango

Bonus random fact: Pyrite was used to produce sparks at least in some wheel-lock guns.

Shobha Kaur enjoyed the view out of the window of the sparsely furnished office she was a “guest” in, while her “host” prattled on. Outside looked darker than it should be — some foil applied to the glass maybe — but since she did not think she would get out again, she might as well.

“Doctor Kaur, are you listening?”

She made an apologetic noise and turned to the bureaucrat.

The other woman’s skin was pale, almost grey; her hand when she greeted Shobha had been cold. Vampires not hiding themselves anymore was one of the recent developments.

“Well, then let me sum up,” she said with a sigh. “Our organisation is very grateful for your part in lobbying for vampire and lycanthrope rights, and would like to thank you with a grand gesture. Even if the ‘until they’re healed’ codicils were not all that popular.”

Her chipper tone grated on Shobha’s nerves. If Shobha could go back in time, she’d rather shoot herself than let her spread those ideas.

The vampire continued, “Your choice now: would you rather turn into a vampire, or a werewolf?”

A bloodthirsty monster either way. “I’d rather die.”

“That, my dear, is part of the process.”

Based on the prompt "A human key to allowing werewolves, vampires, and other fantasy monster types to go public is 'rewarded' after they go from hiding, to being in the open, to seizing control." by LilFluff

Worry and irritation mingled in Sylvie's mind. Ayu-Asra, the two-headed pet dragon she could not get rid of, had gotten her thrown out of an inn, and she had really looked forward to not having to sleep outside.

Not that she could blame the landlord. A glance at the animal trailing her by alternately running along the top of the fence next to the street and gliding a short distance showed her that its chest was still glowing faintly. Maybe she should have claimed this was normal and harmless, rather than admitting he had never done that before. The dragon didn't seem bothered, so maybe it was harmless, but what could it be? He was able to breathe fire, so maybe something going wrong there? Trying to remember if she'd ever heard of a dragon overheating and exploding, Sylvie flinched as Ayu-Asra whistled shrilly and veered off towards an orchard.

After a furtive look around, Sylvie followed to see what had him so excited, or what damage she would have to apologise for.

She found him chasing insects, his heads occasionally fighting each other for the fattest bugs.

Luminous fluid sprayed from the fat glow-worm corpses.

The chants rose slowly, shaping sounds not part of any human language. The acrid smoke of incense swirled as the air in the closed chamber started to move. Only when the candle flames changed from their natural colour to a dim midnight blue the glow of the diagram drawn on the floor with unsavoury substances became apparent. It brightened, spitting sparks as the chants crescendoed. A flash of light and a thunder strike, then silence, broken by genteel coughing.

A strange figure stood in the summoning circle, short, and with a fringe of hair framing its properly bald head.

"William Aloysius Coltrane."

"Yes?"

"You have been summoned and bound to our service."

"What?" The man in the circle straightened his glasses and peered up at the speaker. His opposite was about nine foot tall. The horns and goat's legs and all seemed to be way too realistic for a mask used in a prank.

"You will serve as our accountant for a year and a day."

A glance at the even more disturbing other figures around the cavernous room decided William against protesting.

"What does the job entail?"

It had to be a dream. He blamed the cheese sandwich.

Ron wondered how much the tall girl's nonstandard healing process would complicate matters. She sat in the back of the police car, holding her side. If she'd been unclaimed, and their story true, she should be bleeding, but a green growth had closed the wound. The smell, somewhat like freshly cut grass, was odd in this context, but unmistakable.

Her companion caught Ron's eyes in the rear-view mirror, and held them.

"So, what kind are you?"

The assumption he had to be claimed, too, just because he had not sided with the locals whom she accused of taking pot shots at her and her friend, irritated him. However, he cut the lecture, on the basis that she'd had a really bad day. Besides, her assumption was correct.

"Lunar."

"So, do you turn into a big shaggy monster on fullmoon nights?"

"He's not that insistent." Well, if she wanted to talk... "What about you? Dragon?"

She rolled her eyes a little. "Wyvern."

"So, do you turn into a venom-spitting flying lizard on occasion?"

She rubbed her cheek self-consciously. The scales had faded to something resembling giant freckles, her eyes to an unspectacular hazel. "I try to avoid it."

After weeks of searching, Mara had finally found the spirit pond. She knelt and recited the traditional verses that attracted the spirits. They communicated with each other, an echo of which tickled the human's mind, faint like sounds just at the edge of hearing.

She ended her invocation: "By the seekers' pact, I ask, grant me a wish."

What is your wish? the spirits asked in her thoughts.

"I want to be able to see the future. I-"

She perceived that the spirits did not want to hear her reasons. She didn't guess that they knew them already. They could see the thoughts of helping beloved people avoid death, and buried beyond those the wish to be special and respected. After a short exchange among themselves, the spirits agreed.

Very well. Their satisfied mood seemed benevolent to the human. You will have your wish when you wake up. Now sleep, child.

Making her tired enough to curl up on the spot was nothing. The actual magic would take a bit more effort.

And time.

On the ground of the slowly silting pond a stone egg waited to be found and cracked. It would be a huge surprise.

Archaeologists don't expect to dig up living people.