Samhain Publishing

Tatterdemalion.

Convention warns us not to use an unusual word for a title, and especially not a long one. Yet Tatterdemalion was too perfect to pass up. A tatterdemalion is a person—sometimes an elderly one, sometimes a child—who wears shabby, torn clothing. The spirit of the word carries images of gypsies, vagabonds, and broken things. Tatterdemalion is a book filed with broken, ragged things, people hidden behind the worn-out remnants of their past lives, and heroes living on the outskirts of the tidy modern world.

Even without the etymology, tatterdemalion feels right; the dictionary meaning and history of the word are enhancements. The meaning is there in the shape of the word. The hero on the cover is—in the words of his oldest friend—“the beast that goes bump in the night”, hiding what is left of his humanity under ragged clothes and hair and beard. The man he saves from dying in a dumpster is just as broken on the inside, and equally destined to forever be on the outskirts of the human race.

Like people, books are more than their names or covers. Tatterdemalion follows the journey of healing the characters’ essential selves, uncovering everything they are under the rags and tatters and the husk of the physical form. That journey can only happen because the brokenness of each man holds a mirror up to the best qualities of the other.

When the beast that goes bump in the night is cornered into to caring for someone, his transformation is only a matter of time.

An Excerpt from Chapter 3 of Tatterdemalion:

“Go watch him.” Cyrus glared at Dane. “Perhaps you won’t have to look after him, after all.” The door slammed and Dane was left in the hallway, shut out.

He wanted to punch something. Punching things was what he was good at, beating things, fighting, but not caring for things. He wanted to snarl at Cyrus to put him back where he belonged. He kept his hands clenched at his sides as he stalked downstairs.

He was calm, though, when he came back into Lindsay’s room. “You okay?” he murmured, closing the door behind him. The anger had faded to a background crackle behind the worry for his… His. Dane was sorrier than ever for it now, for Lindsay’s sake.

Lindsay opened his eyes and relaxed visibly when he saw Dane. “I’m all right,” he said, but he was still whispering and his eyes slipped shut.

“I’ll get that cloth cold for you again.” Dane hardly knew what to do. “Cyrus is calling Mona. She’s not a doctor. She’s a grumpy old lady who lives over a pizza parlor.” He picked up the cloth. “I’m sorry if I did this to you.” He petted Lindsay’s hair back from his face, as though that would do anything.

Lindsay’s brow wrinkled. “You didn’t hurt me.” The firmness that came through in his faint voice made Dane feel worse, in a way.

“Okay. Stay right there.” Dane took the cloth and went to freshen it up.

He filled up the whole bathroom, it seemed, all huge shoulders and clumsy feet. He wasn’t made to be indoors. The face in the mirror wasn’t even human. His hands, when he didn’t pay attention to them, like now, were curled and heavy and tipped with black claws. He forced the claws to shift into something that looked like human nails so he wouldn’t tear the cloth up while wringing it out.

Back in the bedroom, Lindsay lay in the bed looking as fragile as he had the first night. Dane came over and laid the cold cloth on his forehead. “Mona will be here when she can be. Sorry it’s not sooner.”

Lindsay tilted his head, seeking out the touch, shivering. “Cold,” he whispered.

He smelled distressed, still. It was the same sick smell that had clung to his skin after the Institute. His skin was icy to Dane’s touch, in spite of the blankets piled up on him. The fire was hot in the hearth, so that wasn’t the problem. The air in the room was stifling.

Dane gave up and lay on the side of the bed, curling himself around Lindsay. It was all he knew how to do at this point, to keep his frail charge warm. He sighed against Lindsay’s hair, wrapping one arm over Lindsay’s body. “She’ll be here soon,” he promised, even though he didn’t know it for certain. Cyrus wouldn’t let them down.

Lindsay curled closer, pressing up against Dane as he always did. “Thank you.”

“Don’t talk.” Dane stroked Lindsay’s cheek, tucking his head down so his own cheek pressed against the top of Lindsay’s head. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

Lindsay ignored Dane’s instructions, this time. “Did you know?”

There wasn’t any suspicion in the little voice, in spite of the question, but Dane couldn’t help being a bit offended. “No. Hush.” All Dane wanted was for the little mage to stop smelling like he was so ill, to stop shivering.

“Not your fault,” Lindsay said, sounding almost imperious. He relaxed by degrees, his shivers slowing.

Dane put his fingers over Lindsay’s mouth to hush him up. He needed to be quiet, and to rest. Lindsay sucked in a breath, his eyes opening wide, but there wasn’t any pain in the noise. Dane moved his hand enough to cup Lindsay’s cheek, but he left his thumb on Lindsay’s lips to keep him from talking. Lindsay closed his eyes again, tilting his head into Dane’s hand. Dane’s guilt wasn’t Lindsay’s problem. What was Lindsay’s problem was that Lindsay was ridiculously stubborn at the worst times. For someone so small, such a thing could do far more harm than good.

“Good,” Dane murmured. That was better. Dane sighed and relaxed against Lindsay, waiting for the healer to come. He wanted to do more, but didn’t remember how, if he’d ever known.

Finally, Lindsay drifted off to sleep. It wasn’t an easy sleep—he was still shivering and his face was pinched with pain—but it was sleep and not the unnatural unconsciousness that had dragged him under in the park.

Want to know more?

Tatterdemalion is available from Samhain and My Bookstore and More, both of which have another excerpt from the story.

You can find the authors at their websites: Anah Crow and Dianne Fox.

You can also sign up for Anah Crow and Dianne Fox’s monthly newsletter here.