Kristine Kathryn Rusch writes in multiple genres. Her books have sold over 35 million copies worldwide. Her novels in The Fey series are among her most popular. Even though the first seven books wrap up nicely, the Fey's huge fanbase wanted more. They inspired her to return to the world of The Fey and explore the only culture that ever defeated The Fey. With the fan support from a highly successful Kickstarter, Rusch began the multivolume Qavnerian Protectorate saga, which blends steampunk with Fey magic to come up with something completely new.
Rusch has received acclaim worldwide. She has written under a pile of pen names, but most of her work appears as Kristine Kathryn Rusch. Her short fiction has appeared in over 25 best of the year collections. Her Kris Nelscott pen name has won or been nominated for most of the awards in the mystery genre, and her Kristine Grayson pen name became a bestseller in romance. Her science fiction novels set in the bestselling Diving Universe have won dozens of awards and are in development for a major TV show. She also writes the Retrieval Artist sf series and several major series that mostly appear as short fiction.
To find out more about her work, go to her website, kriswrites.com.
One of the best short story writers of her generation, Kristine Kathryn Rusch does not limit herself to genre. She writes award-winning mystery, fantasy, and science fiction stories. She dabbles in short romance and commits the occasional literary piece.
Like its author, this collection does not limit itself to any one genre. Instead, it focuses on small creatures. Cats feature prominently as do dogs and mice. But Rusch's fanciful side shows as well, with basketball-playing aliens, warlike pixies, and "little men" who provoke a gunfight in the American West.
Ten stories that go from funerals to bars, schools to poker tables—and every place in between.
As I put my own collection together for this StoryBundle, I realized that I have an affinity for the small and mighty. I've written so many stories about tiny powerful folk that I couldn't include all of them here. I added my favorites and called it good. And I hope you enjoy each and every one of them. – Kristine Kathryn Rusch
"Kristine Kathryn Rusch is one of the best writers in the field."
– SFRevu"[Rusch's] stories often unfold with a breezy, entertaining flow, leading one to expect something fuzzy and warm. Except at its heart, her fiction has a deep emotional edge that, while it might seem at odds with the storytelling style, turns out to be perfectly suited to it, paying off her readers with rich dividends."
– Charles de Lint"[Flower Fairies] is a sensitive, beautiful and heartwarming tale of honoring the dead."
– The Internet Review of Science Fiction"Rusch's straightforward prose is a joy, and this tale is studded with little nuggets of humor stemming mostly from (cat) Wall T's unique view of the world."
– The Cuddlywumps Cat ChroniclesS
he stands behind the bouquet of flowers, her little face barely visible through the green fronds. Her skin is the color of loam, her eyes the faded green of underwater seaweed, and her lips the dusky rose of the tulips that hide her.
My heart pounds. I see her among all the bouquets set on the long white table, but my colleagues don't. They're moving flowers, checking tags, figuring out which bouquet goes into what memorial chapel.
We have four funerals this afternoon and two viewings tonight. The funeral home is large, modern, with several exits and entrances, so none of the groups will see each other. Their music shouldn't even overlap.
On days like today—a Saturday, shortly after the winter holidays—I employ nearly a dozen people, some of whom just stand by the doors and make sure the right family goes to the right memorial chapel.
It's all very delicate and very sad, and I try very hard to make sure that my employees seem sympathetic. After hundreds of funerals, however, many people lose sympathy. They recognize the patterns and realize some people are loved, some are hated, and some are simply forgotten.
And then there are the very old, whose friends and family have died long ago.
The very old touch me. I can easily see myself as part of their ranks, alone and forgotten. I want someone to honor me when I die, just as I'm sure they wanted someone to honor them.
So I do. For their funerals, I put on my best dress, and sit in the chapels myself. The ceremony is often elaborate, planned for friends and family who are now gone. When that happens, it's clear the person never expected to live so long. Often she (and it usually is a she) planned her ceremony with my father or my grandfather.
We keep amazing records. My family has planned funerals for this town for more than a century. If a historian comes into our little parlor and asks to see the records from a burial sixty years before, I can find it. I can tell who presided and who attended.
I can also tell what kind of floral arrangements decorated the memorial chapel.
Flowers have always been my specialty.
Perhaps that's why I notice the flower fairies long before anyone else does.
This little girl looks no more than three, but looks can be deceptive, particularly among flower fairies. Three is a problem. Three means I might have to return her to her family.
When she realizes that I see her, she smiles. Her eyes brighten to emerald and actually twinkle.
She touches the flowers in front of her. Ferns accent a mix of dusty rose and purplish blue tulips, with a single well placed lily in the center.
"I made this," she says in a decidedly childlike voice.
Everyone in the room turns. The silence, which was already heavy, turns oppressive.
She doesn't seem to notice. She's smiling at me. She is as young as I feared.
"Isn't it pretty?" she asks.
I turn to my assistant Diane. Diane's skin is normally the color of chalk, but it's gone even paler now.
"Call Roderick," I say.
Roderick is the only one of the flower fairies who uses modern technology. He burns through cell phones like smokers burn through matches. Fortunately, he's smart enough to keep the same number with each phone change.
Diane slips out of the room. Technology usually doesn't work well in the presence of the magical.
I smile at the little girl. "Your flowers are lovely."
"Thank you," she says primly. Then she waits. She wants me to ask what it is she's doing here or, worse, what she wants.
I never ask the flower fairies what they want. That's the wrong question. It's a question—particularly with a magical child—that could get the questioner in decades of trouble.
"Is this your first bouquet?" I ask, not really wanting to hear the answer.
She nods. "Can I stay?"
I don't dare say no to her. Saying no to an infant flower fairy is much more dangerous than saying no to an adult.
