Ascension Guest Writer: Jaye Wells

Jaye holds a very special place at The Clarity of Night and these contests. Beyond being a great friend, Jaye earned esteemed recognition for her story "I Can Dig It" in the immensely competitive "Lonely Moon" Short Fiction Contest. This spring (I can't wait!!), Jaye will be celebrating the major release of her first novel Red-Headed Stepchild. Here's the juice:

In a world where being of mixed-blood is a major liability, Sabina Kane has the only profession fit for an outcast: assassin. But, her latest mission threatens the fragile peace between the vampire and mage races and Sabina must scramble to figure out which side she's on. She's never brought her work home with her---until now.

The idea for the story was sparked by her entry!! I'm so very honored to host a forum for that sort of creative energy. Thank you, Jaye, for all that you've done, and all the support you continue to give. We wish you all success!

(Catch Jaye over at her website and The League of Reluctant Adults.)

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Some of Us Are Looking at the Stars
by Jaye Wells


The hangover of Soviet Russia still pulses here despite the infusion of Western luxuries like toilet paper and fresh bread. Irena clings to her baguette and tries to ignore the stale scent of urine. The smell intensifies as the escalator descends and mingles with another odor—the grey scent of despair.

Irena is smiling. Her red lips are unnaturally chromatic in this drab underworld. She fingers the badges of honor on her neck, remembering the pleasure-pain of penetration. She shifts and revels in the secret sting between her thighs. Her body is descending into Moscow's bowels, but inside she's flying.

A Babushka bumps Irena on her way down the steel steps. She mutters about young people with their heads in the clouds. Irena wonders if the old woman ever felt this quickening in her belly, this divine anticipation. She shakes her head. Babushkas would rather stare at their sensible black shoes than revel in the promise of stars.

A whistle screeches through the tunnels. Irena reaches the bottom of the escalator and blends into the muddy puddle of humanity pooling there. Their heads hang as they shuffle toward the train's hungry mouths.

Irena surrenders herself to the tide. She knows she will say yes to him. Say yes to an eternity of nights spiced with copper. The blood will be troublesome, of course. But when you've spent your life surrounded by grey, a world soaked in red sounds like heaven.