Who’s Your WIP; Lori Sjoberg

[I swear I thought April had 31 days]

Ah April, spring time when a man’s fancy turns to love. I’ve been in a romantic mood lately as both my guest posters write romance. Definitely something in the air. This month’s excerpt comes from GRAVE DESTINATIONS, book two of Lori Sjoberg’s paranormal romance series GRAVE, published by Kensington around December 2010/January 2014. Enjoy!

~~~~~

Jack  Deverall leaned against the starboard rail, watching the ship’s slow departure from Port Canaveral. He felt a faint shudder as the boat picked up speed, cruising between two tiny tugboats on its way out to sea. On the top deck, the pulsing beat of samba music blared from the speakers as passengers celebrated the beginning of a seven-night Caribbean adventure. A few minutes later, the deep bellow of the ship’s horn cut through the air, eliciting a chorus of raucous cheers from the crowd.

He could have booked a flight to his destination, could have been there and back in the time it would take the ship to reach the tiny island of St. Angelique. But part of him was in no hurry, preferring to extend the trip and delay his inevitable disappointment.

He hoped this time would prove different from all the others, he really did. But continual failure made it difficult to fight his growing cynicism. For years he’d traveled the globe, consulting with every mystic, psychic, seer and shaman he could locate. All promised. None delivered. With that kind of batting record, it was getting harder to remain optimistic.

So no, he was in no hurry to hammer another nail in the coffin of his hopes and dreams.

He pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, thumbing through the billfold until he found the small scrap of paper, the crease folded and unfolded so many times it had almost worn a hole. In spite of his doubts, he prayed Madam Cassandra was right about the abilities of Jolie Duquette. He’d give Ms. Duquette damn near anything to break the curse that had plagued him for more years than he cared to count.

For better or for worse, he’d have his answer in three days’ time.

In the meantime, he had nothing to do but relax and enjoy the scenery. With over four thousand passengers and crew on board, the Sunshine of the Caribbean was a floating city devoted to the fine art of decadence. Alcohol flowed like water while inhibitions were nonexistent, a Sodom & Gomorrah of the high seas.

A stunning young blonde in a pair of short shorts and a purple bikini top sauntered past, a drink in one hand and a cell phone pressed against her ear. She was pretty, in a drunken party girl kind of way, young and brazen with an air of self-assurance that couldn’t be faked. She eyed Jack with open interest as she sipped her Mai Tai, giving him an inviting smile as she headed toward the shallow end of the pool.

He sensed her attraction, could feel the warm blast of sensuality from twenty feet away, curling around him like a lover’s embrace.

His darker nature noticed it, too. Jack felt it stir inside, urging him to take advantage of the situation, to seize the opportunity and feed its insatiable hunger for raw, unbridled lust.

“No,” he murmured through clenched teeth, pushing back against the powerful rush of desire pulsing through his body. Gripping the rail, he closed his eyes and took deep breaths until the craving cooled from a boil to a simmer, under control but still lurking beneath the surface.

Watching. Waiting.

A little over a week had passed since he’d last given in to the curse. He needed to feed it soon or risk losing control. Again. That simply wasn’t an option. The last time it happened he’d gone on an all-night bender, slaking his lust like a junkie on a binge. He’d been powerless to stop it, watching himself behave like an animal but unable to curb his own actions. In the end he’d felt cheap, and dirty, and somewhere lower than human.

Over the years, he’d gotten much better at controlling the cravings. It was a difficult juggling act, maintaining the proper balance to keep the beast at bay. Too little and it became ravenous and unpredictable. Too much and it grew stronger than he could handle. It was a fine line to tread, a narrowly defined path offering little margin for error.

On deck, the music changed to a bass-heavy techno beat. The blonde gave him one final lingering look before turning her attention to a tall, lanky brunette in neon orange board shorts and a tank top with Official Bikini Inspector scrawled across the chest.

Easy come easy go.

“She was too young for you anyway.”

Jack’s gaze cut to the right, to the gorgeous redhead standing a few feet away. Slender yet curvy, she was leaning against the rail with her back to the ocean, holding one of those frozen girly drinks with a chunk of pineapple jammed against the rim. Her face held an expression of amusement, over what he didn’t know.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she said, a sly smile curving lush crimson lips. There was a distinct southern drawl to her voice, a sultry purr that fired his imagination. “I’d be surprised if that girl’s old enough to drive. You should be ashamed of yourself, robbing the cradle like that.”

“I didn’t–” Jack paused to give the redhead a long appraising look. She was tall for a woman, loose-limbed and long-legged with the kind of soft, feminine features that made a man want to settle in for a good, long while. Her pale skin led him to believe that red was indeed her natural hair color. Throw in the high cheekbones and vibrant green eyes, and she made one hell of a package.

“Settle down, I was only kidding.” The redhead chuckled under her breath, a rich throaty sound that warmed his blood and stirred the curse. She held her hand out to him. “The name’s Ruby. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Her skin felt warm and soft, her grip firm and confident.

“Pleasure’s all mine. I’m Jack.” He held her hand a little longer than necessary and sensed an undeniable flare of attraction on Ruby’s behalf. Attraction, and something else he couldn’t quite identify.

“Is this your first cruise?” she asked, her fingers absently toying with the delicate pink choker fastened around her neck.

“No, but it’s been a while. You?”

“First time for me.” And she didn’t look exactly thrilled about it, which might explain why her back faced the water. She sipped her drink, her lipstick leaving a dark red ring around the straw. “I’m not real big on boats.”

Definitely not the response he expected. “Then why did you go on a cruise?”

“Boss booked it for me,” she said by way of explanation, her southern accent laced with irritation. She took a long pull from her drink, leaving the glass close to empty. Then the smile returned, brilliant and with a dash of sensuality he damn near felt in his gut. “You know how it is. It’s not wise to say no to the boss.”

“Understandable.” He paused while a trio of older women walked by, huddled close and giggling like teenagers. “So what kind of work do you do?”

“Oh, this and that,” she said with a casual wave of her hand. The ocean breeze kicked up, wreaking havoc on her long, auburn hair. She reached up, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. “Mainly, I’m a collector.”

“Collector of what?”

Ruby chuckled again, another one of those rich, throaty laughs that made his imagination run wild and had the curse chomping at the bit. It was both fascinating and disturbing, how easily she managed to shake his equilibrium. He inhaled a deep breath, forcing his darker half to play nice.

“Let’s save that subject for another day.” Finished with her drink, she set the empty glass on a nearby table. Then her eyes locked with his, bright with the kind of mischief that got a man into serious trouble. “A girl’s got to keep some secrets, doesn’t she?” She pushed away from the rail. “I’ll let you go back to checking out all the pretty girls. See you around, Jack.”

He watched while she took a leisurely stroll across the deck, appreciating the rear view almost as much as he’d enjoyed the front. Hips swinging, she drew the attention of every red-blooded heterosexual man she passed, a fact that left him unexpectedly annoyed. She stopped at the poolside bar for another drink, then glanced over her shoulder and gave him a smile and a finger wave before disappearing through the sliding glass doors leading to the lower decks.

It took him a few minutes to get his brain back in proper working order, to calm his baser urges so he could function like a civilized human being. Only then did he realize something strange and unsettling.

Ruby wasn’t human

~~~~~

Growing up the youngest of three girls, Lori never had control of the remote. (Not that she’s bitter about that. Really. Okay, maybe a little, but it’s not like she’s scarred for life or anything.) That meant a steady diet of science fiction and fantasy. Star Trek, Star Wars, Twilight Zone, Outer Limits – you name it, she watched it. It fed her imagination, and that came in handy when the hormones kicked in and she needed a creative excuse for being out past curfew.

After completing her first manuscript, she joined the Romance Writers of America and Central Florida Romance Writers. Now she exercises the analytical half of her brain at work, and the creative half writing paranormal romance. When she’s not doing either one of those, she’s usually spending time with her husband and children of the four-legged variety.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLoriSjoberg?ref=hl

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6574214.Lori_Sjoberg

Twitter: @Lori_Sjoberg

Excerpt From Sympathy for the Demon

He stumbled into the elevator and leaned against the controls as he pushed the button for the twenty-ninth floor. Thoughts of Mike drifted back into his mind. The Metro police had a bulls-eye on them to begin with. This would have added fuel to the fire. Maybe he should make the missing person’s report himself. Take the suspicion off him. Anything to ease the police scrutiny. Or maybe he should just keep quiet and deny any knowledge of what happened to Mike if the cops do come looking for him. He rubbed his temples. This was worse than a hangover.

The elevator doors opened and Martin shuffled out and leaned up against the wall. His body ached and exhaustion was setting in. He slowly slid down the wall to the floor. All he wanted was to sleep. Maybe he would think clearly in the morning.

“Everything all right, sir?” Lucian’s cockney accent startled him.

Martin didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”

“I just wanted to let you know, the Evac. team put yer friend there in a safe place.”

Martin smiled weakly. “Thanks.” Lucian was standing on the other side of the open wrought-iron gate. Martin held out his arm. “Here, help me up please.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not…” Lucian waved a hand in the air. “…shall we say corporeal, over there?”

Martin rubbed his forehead in frustration. “What are you talking about?”

Lucian moved his arm through the bars of the gate. As his limb stretched out, it became transparent. A faint outline of his hand waved at Martin. “The gate here marks out the perimeter of the charm.” He stepped through the gateway and his whole body became partially transparent. “I can come out here and talk to ya, but…” He held out his hand and swiped it through Martin’s bent leg. “I can’t touch you.”

Martin’s stared at his knee in shock. A sudden blast of cold hit his knee when Lucian swiped through him. “But I’ve seen you guys outside picking stuff up and-”

“Amulets.” Lucian said. “Like the one Miss Dole wore to the police station. And they take several hours to charge.” He walked back toward the gate. “You can shuffle your ass over here faster.”

Martin pushed himself back up the wall and walked toward the gate. “I always wondered what this thing was doing here.”

“Yeah, the whole plaza has charms and spells protecting it, but this building in particular has extra stuff.”

“Because of the Acheron portal?”

Lucian looked at him sideways. “You know about that?”

“Yeah.”

“Wasn’t sure if you did or not. The Mistress told us that when it came to you, it was a need to know basis. Guess she didn’t want you to overload or anythin’.” He frowned. “Are you sure you’re all right? If you don’t mind me sayin, you look like hell.”

Martin trudged over to the large oak desk. He winced as he sat on the edge. His body ached from the pounding and grief. “Honestly Lucian. I feel like shit.”

“Oiy, alcohol’ll do that to ya.”

“No, that’s not it.” Martin glanced down at the floor as tightness gripped his throat. His lip trembled and he swallowed a few times to hold back his sorrow.

Lucian’s posture slumped. “Oh yeah, your friend. I’m so sorry, sir. Maybe Jezryall can do something and get his name on the List?”

Martin gave a slight laugh. The List. He’d forgotten about that. Souls on the list were next in line to enter heaven. “Do you think she would?” Martin’s voice cracked and he tried to cover his face with one hand as the pain of his grief returned.

Who’s Your WIP?: Mary Pax

I’m a little late with March’s entry, but better late than never!

For March, we have a wonderful excerpt from Mary Pax’s latest novel  Boomtown Craze, The Backworlds, Book 3. Enjoy!

~~~

Dactyl, Rainly, Dialhi, and the captain filed in and gathered around the island in Craze’s kitchen. He welcomed them all with a crock of ale and a bowl of roasted ricklits. He popped a few of the delicious creatures into his mouth, biting down on the spicy shell that crunched in a pleasing way. The meat spilled onto his tongue; hot, greasy, and buttery. In his opinion, they were the most delicious food available on the Edge.

“Help yourself,” he invited them all. “Pauder, meet our newest resident, Captain Dailhi.” He gestured at the gaunt, dripping gal with the blue tick nest on her head.

Softly taking her hand, Pauder gazed into her gray eyes. “Charmed ta meet ya. Welcome ta my world of dust. What wonderful goods is ya taking ta the Jixes?”

Subtle. Craze could feel a blush roaring into his cheeks and bent down, pretending to retrieve something from the lower cupboard. Why’d Pauder have to be such a shit? And he didn’t even have the right gal.

“I’ve never been to Jix, ‘n I’m not shipping anything,” the Sprinkler answered. “I gave up my vessel. I sold it to Craze, ‘n he’s been kind enough to hire me on.”

Pauder leaned over the counter, peering down at Craze. “Ya bought a spacecraft ‘n hired help? With what? Ya told me ya’d have ta delay rent this month so as ta get yar new bar ready.”

That old man needed tongue adjusting. Craze’s meaty hands pawed through pans and utensils in hopes Pauder would go away. He didn’t. “This is about gettin’ the tavern ready. I can’t run it alone, ‘n she gave me a payment plan where she’s workin’ for the price of her spacecraft.”

“She’s goin’ ta work for ya ta earn the price of the ship? Did I hear that right?”

Rising onto his feet with a huge aluminum-gel spatula in hand, Craze nodded and scraped the sides of the pot of soup. Honed muscles in his arm bunched and flexed, but on this oxygen anemic world, his brawn was all show. He needed a better atmosphere to put the might behind it.

The old man laughed and straightened the skull-hugging leather cap on his bald noggin. He nudged Dialhi’s shoulder with his, smiling at her as if he hadn’t recently turned one hundred twenty-one. “Workin’ for Craze some will be good for ya, ya’ll certainly learn better business. Ignore his sappy leanings, though. They leads ta troubles.”

“His bazooka wavin’ is worse.” Craze poured Pauder another ale and gestured at the leecher pirate. “This is the captain of the freighter that just came in.” He looked at Pauder pointedly.

“Gotchya. I messed up.” He slapped the slopsucking gal on the shoulder. “Welcome, Captain. Seems ya’ll be staying a spell, too.”

She gave the old man a hard shove — her creepy hair whipping at Pauder’s face — and jumped back from the island. “Don’t effer-luvin touch me! I didn’t give you permission to touch me.” Her fists balled and her face grew red.

“He meant nothin’ by it,” Craze said, patting the spot at the counter she’d just vacated. “Come on back. Soup’s almost ready.”

“You a bunch of shits.” She crossed her arms and plopped down on what passed for a couch in Craze’s place — bolted together chairs with the legs sawed off and fabric scraps sewn into big cushions thrown on top. “If I can’t eat over here, I’ll just go.”

This was a bad start to wheedling information and chips out of her. “Eat where you like. After bein’ on that ship alone for however long, seems you might want some company.”

“Don’t try ‘n figure me out. You’ll fail, galoot.”

“Noted.”

Rainly put a hand up to quiet the men. “Come sit over here by me. I’ll make sure they all leave you alone. Promise.”

The captain inched closer to Rainly. “Really?”

“I want to hear all about where you’ve been. Where was you before you came to Pardeep?”

The captain’s arms uncrossed and she took another step toward Rainly. “I delivered some fire rock to Pote.”

“That wasn’t on your itinerary,” Craze said.

She tossed her chin. “I don’t like folks keeping tabs on me ‘n knowing exactly where I am. It’s plain creepy.”

Nothing sane traveled the Lepper anymore. Craze took a long pull from his crock of ale.

“Did you pick up the fire rock from Bossilik?” Rainly asked, her pink irises glowing brightly. “Is it as fiery as folks report?”

The captain stood behind the chair beside Rainly’s. Her hair settled into gentle ripples as if she stood in a breeze. “It is. It’s very hot. If you isn’t a Sylik, you have to wear a spacesuit.”

“Oh wow. That doesn’t sound very hospitable, yet I’ve always wanted to see it. They say the eruptions splash across the sky in the most spectacular displays.”

“They do. Bands of yellow, red, ‘n orange arc across the black sky, like a fire fountain.”

“Oh, a fire fountain! You have a wonderful way with words, Captain. Captain what? With Talos ‘n Dialhi sharing the title, calling you by that name will get multiple responses. Her ‘n him ‘n you.” She giggled, her white hair jiggling with the motion of her shoulders.

Craze should have briefed Rainly about the information he wanted from the leecher captain. He could tell by the purse of the leecher’s lips she would give Rainly an honest answer.

“Kaesare,” she said, perching on the edge of the stool. Her mouth almost curled into a smile.

Dactyl’s head snapped up. “What? Did you say Quasser?” His hand flew to his holster.

Captain Kaesare’s hand moved faster, actually drawing her pistol and cocking it. “Stay back. All you bwatshits stay away from me.” She backed toward the door

Dactyl drew his revolver. Kaesare fired.

~~~

M. Pax is author of the sci-fi series, The Backworlds, and the new adult contemporary fantasy The Renaissance of Hetty Locklear. A Browncoat and SG fan, she’s also slightly obsessed with Jane Austen. In the summers she docents as a star guide at Pine Mountain Observatory where the other astronomers now believe she has the most extensive collection of moon photos in existence. No fear, there will be more next summer. She lives in stunning Central Oregon with the Husband Unit and two lovely, spoiled cats.

Website / Blog ~ Twitter ~ FB ~ Goodreads

You can also find M. Pax on LinkedIN, Pinterest, YouTube, and Wattpad

 

Booomtown Craze blurb:

In the far future, humanity settles the stars, bioengineering its descendents to survive in a harsh universe.

To secure his future, Craze must propel his world into a more prosperous era. Only days away from the grand opening of his new and improved tavern, he is confronted by a loony Backworlder intent on mucking up his plans. Gaunt and trembling, she claims her spaceship is possessed. She also has a connection to the underworld that shakes loose the dark past of one of Craze’s closest friends. It all threatens to end Craze’s prosperity before it begins.

Meanwhile off world, Captain Talos works desperately to outwit the mercenary Jixes and lure them away from his and Craze’s budding prospects. The mind-control weapon Talos uses against them is wearing thin, and his next move may be his last.

Will Craze and Talos’s efforts bring about a grand new age of boom or damn them to forever struggle in the dust?

 

Available in paperback and ebook:

Amazon / AmazonUK / KOBO / iTunes / BN / Smashwords /OtherOutlets

 

 

Who’s Your WIP?: Anne Michaud

This month I bring you a dark and delicious excerpt from Anne Michaud’s Death Song.  I was lucky enough to be able to read the whole story last year and found it to be an excellent story. Enjoy!

~~~

Something catches in the back of my throat. I
hide my face in my hands to quiet the sobs. But then,
something ain’t right. Air moves around me and I
stop. I look between my fingers, but the blur of my
tears thickens everything: the bathtub, the towels,
and someone on the floor.

A woman’s in here with me, door still closed and
locked. An exhale, like after a deep swim, and a smell,
like the swamp close to my empty home. A chill runs
down my back, I wipe my eyes, rub and scratch them
to see more clearly. And I do.

Two gray hands scratch the floor tiles, nails green
with algae, putrid flesh sagging on her legs, arms
and torso, hair so long and wet and heavy, it drags
her down. Diluted, impossible to focus on, like little
waves rippling over her body from head to foot, seaweed
in the water. Scales and fins, mermaidlike, little
knives, those are. And they scrape the floor, like a
fork on a plate. It’s her—Limnade.

She opens her mouth of scissor-teeth and the rotten
smell of fish wraps around my throat like two
hands trying to choke me.

“You can’t be…” I don’t finish my breathless
thought and jump backward, knocking over the dish
of decorative soaps. Blurry waves, vision impaired,
out of focus, unreal. She crawls toward me, eyes unblinking,
lethal, hands inches from me: my legs refuse
to move, as my body feels like stone. Frozen,
hypnotized, a statue. Then I hear something coming
from within her…

A melody, reminding me of something lost, tickles
my ears. It drags on until the sweetness turns sickly,
vibrating into a full-on super-scream, hyena-like,
enough to pop my ears and make them bleed. Her
large mouth deforms her face into one gap of black,
the cry so high and strident, I scream from the pain.
Limnade stares at me, everything but her fades
away—Jo’s nice bathroom, Jo’s new life, Jo himself—
none of it matters anymore. Her fingers brush my
forehead, they’re cold and sticky like clams. And I let
the darkness take me away.

~~~
Death Song is part of an anthology of dark stories Anne will be released April 30th. Her blog tour to support the book will involved a giveaway of Skellies!

GOODREADS GIVEAWAY: http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/45289-girls-monsters

She who likes dark things never grew up. She never stopped listening to gothic, industrial and alternative bands like when she was fifteen. She always loved to read horror and dystopia and fantasy, where doom and gloom drip from the pages.

She, who was supposed to make films, decided to write short stories, novelettes and novels instead. She, who’s had her films listed on festival programs, has been printed in a dozen anthologies and magazines since.

She who likes dark things prefers night to day, rain to sun, and reading to anything else.

She blogs http://annecmichaud.wordpress.com

She tweets @annecmichaud

FACEBOOK: http://www.facebook.com/annecmichaud

Who’s Your WIP? Sean Hayden

Welcome to the first instalment of Who’s Your Wip; an end of the month blog series highlighting authors and their Works In Progress. This month I’m proud to bring you an excerpt from Sean Hayden’s soon-to-be released Abominations; the third book in the Demonkin Series.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Kid, wake up.”

I opened my eyes and Thompson stood over me like a big black tidal wave threatening to crash down on me. “What?”

“It’s an hour after sunset. Why are you still sleeping?”

I closed my eyes and felt around for the sun. Sure enough I could feel it glowing well below the horizon. Most vampires woke and rose with the sun. I’m a little different. My name is Ashlyn Thorn and I was born a vampire. I use that term very loosely. Vampires aren’t born, they’re made. I was an anomaly to say the least. I didn’t burst into flame when exposed to sunlight, but it hurt like a son of a bitch. I had talons instead of nails. My fangs are curved. Oh and when I get really pissed off, I grow horns and my fangs and talons get longer. Yeah, I know. I’m a freak. I’ve been calling myself that for eighteen years. Especially since I don’t eat people, I eat monsters.

The gigantic black man standing over me was Special Agent James Thompson. He had the dubious honor of being my partner. He’s a werelion and a pretty tough bastard, so I haven’t managed to get him killed like everybody else in my life as of late. He actually even kind of likes me a little.

“Sorry, I’ll get dressed. Shoo.”

“Oh, you did not just shoo me, did you?”

“It’s my house, don’t make me sorry I gave you the damn key. Now unless you want an eyeful of naked partner, go wait outside. Be out in a minute.”

Thompson chuckled and did as he was told. I smiled a little at his retreating back. He and I had been through a lot in the past six months. I had charged into a burning building to pull his fat from the fryer. He’d done a hell of a lot more to keep me safe. I couldn’t imagine doing this job without him. A soft sigh escaped from my lips. As of late I had been having trouble doing the job even with him. It seemed the more I tried to do the right thing, the worse I screwed up.

I stripped my clothes on the way to the bathroom and left them lying on the floor with the countless others. It was Wednesday and I would probably be doing laundry all weekend just to catch up. If my aunt, the former owner of the house, were still alive she wouldn’t let me live it down. I glanced over at her picture on her, I mean my, dresser and smiled. I missed her. I missed her a lot. If it weren’t for the Special Agent in Charge of the Chicago Field Office, I wouldn’t have this house, the picture of her, or anything else in Chicago.

When she died, I ran. I was recruited by the FBI to smack around the monsters that couldn’t get along with the normal people. I didn’t want her memory tarnished as the lady who hid the freaky vampire, so I dropped my last name and just became Ashlyn. Special Agent in Charge Reese did a little digging into fatal car accidents that happened around the same time I came out of the vampiric closet and put two and two together. Smart man, that Reese. As it turned out, he had all me records changed to show my last name, got the house pulled out of probate put into my name, and gave me more than a home. Thompson and I were originally supposed to be stationed in Washington DC. We’re both from Chi-town. His wife was very happy we were staying here. I was very happy, too. Mostly because I got to take vampire lessons from a hunky French vampire who owned a bunch of nudie bars. Shucky darn.

Thoughts of Marcel made my thoughts drift to Vic. Vic was the first “like me” vampire I had ever made. I hadn’t meant to, it just happened during a “I think your hot let me suck on your neck while you suck on mine” feeding frenzy in California. I had actually fallen in love with another girl. I made her like me. I got her killed. The memory haunted me every minute of every day, but that’s what happens when it turns out the bad guy is the good guy you were trying to protect.

I silent cursed Governor Greer and hoped he was rotting in one of the seven hells. I put him there. I just wish I could have delivered him personally. The problem with that is I might run into dear old dad. Yeah, as it turns out, my papa is a demon. Asmodisomething. I planned on skipping all the family reunions since he wanted me deader than I already was.

I flipped on the light switch in the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like shit. My cheekbones were sticking out, my eyes were sunken, my flesh was pasty, and I had black circles around, below, above, next to, and to the right of my eyes. I looked like an undead raccoon. I tried to remember the last time I ate and drew a blank. I kicked myself and made a mental note to grab a lycanthrope juicy pouch from the fridge on my way out the door. Yes, I kept werewolf blood in my refrigerator. Oh, and I’m a Scorpio.

I brushed my teeth and fangs and flossed to remove all the unwanted plaque and red blood cells from between my teeth. With half lidded eyes, I rinsed with minty medicine flavored mouthwash. The floor suddenly tilted up at a ninety degree angle to smash me in the face. At least that’s what it looked like as I passed out and fell to the floor.

* * *

The feeling of cold liquid burning like the sun as it hit my tongue, spread a nummy warmth throughout my body woke me from my little nap. Thompson had my head in his lap and was holding a little plastic sack of Chateau de Werewolf Pinot Sangreal 2011 over my face and was squirting copious amounts into my open mouth like a high school football team water-boy. I blinked twice and took the pouch from him and sucked it dry. I didn’t have the strength to move, and honestly, the wonderful feelings spreading through my body were too good to ruin by standing up. I stretched like a cat and ran my hands over my stomach.

“Um, Ash. Ixnay on the etchystrays, okay?”

I looked up at his face and he wasn’t looking anywhere near my eyes. They were transfixed on something about two feet down. I looked down and realized I was still butt naked and rubbing myself in front of my partner, a happily married man. I punched him in the chest. “Get a good look, perv?”

I used the little strength I had gleaned from my juice pouch and shot into the bathroom like a cheetah with a bottle-rocket shoved up its ass. I wrapped a towel around me, choked down the sense of horrific embarrassment threatening to make me curl up into fetal position, and walked calmly back into my bedroom. Thompson still sat on the floor. He had his elbow on his leg and rested his head on his fist. He didn’t look angry or remorseful. He looked worried.

“Kid,” he said without looking up, “Go eat some more.”

“I will. I planned on eating before we left, I just didn’t make it.”

“I mean now. Go.”

“Yes, sir,” I said with a little more sarcasm than I intended. I walked through my very quiet, very clean house and into the kitchen. I heard my bedroom door close and thought I could hear the sounds of a cell phone dialing, but I couldn’t be sure. With the door closed my hearing was good, just not that good. He was probably calling his wife. He had a tendency to do that when weird stuff happened between us. He called quite often.

I opened the fridge and forgot about Thompson. My stomach sounded like somebody tried to flush a screaming squirrel down an airplane toilet. I pulled out three pouches of blood and sat down at the kitchen counter to enjoy my meal. By the time I was done, Thompson came out of my bedroom.

“Were you trying on my clothes?” I tried to sound light hearted. I sounded like a bitch, even to me.

Thompson furrowed his brows. The effect was lost on me. “Kid, you’re a fucking mess.”

“Yeah, well…you’re a big poopie head.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that. You’re grounded.”

I rolled my eyes and stood to go get dressed. “Whatever.”

He grabbed my arm as I tried to pass. I looked down at his hand and back up at his face. “Ashlyn, I’m serious. You’re on leave. I called Reese and I called Marcel. You are off active duty until you get your head on straight.”

I couldn’t do anything but stare. I thought he was joking around. He still didn’t look angry, he looked worried as hell. “Jim, I’m fine,” I tried to lie to him and myself. It didn’t work.

“Marcel is on his way. Reese is sending over the bureau psychologist. You’re to remain in Marcel’s care and supervision. That is the standing order. You get to get your head in the game and learn all sorts of vampiry stuff. Got it?”

“And what do you get to do?”

“I’m taking some vacation time, too. If you’re out, I’m out,” he said with a wink.

That sort of sealed the deal for me. It told me how screwed up I really was. If he was going to take vacation time, either the world was going to blow up or he was really worried. I think I would have preferred the whole world blowing up thing. I lost it. I dropped to the floor on my ass and started crying. They came and wouldn’t stop. Wracking sobs shook my entire body and I was helpless to stop them. I heard Thompson slide down the side of the counter and sit on the floor next to me. My eyes were too full of bloody tears to see him, but I felt his arms as the scooped me up and pulled me tightly to his chest. I buried my face in his black suit jacket and cried some more. I did that for another hour before I finally fell asleep with the sun hours away from rising.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Abomination will be released later this year by Untold Press: http://untoldpress.com/

Born the son of a fire chief, Sean naturally developed a love of playing with fire. His family and friends quickly found other outlets for his destructive creativity. Writing is his latest endeavor.

Always a fan of the macabre, mythical, and magical, Sean found a love of urban fantasy and horror. After writing several novels in this genre, he found, fell in love with, and immersed himself in steampunk. He has always wanted to rewrite history and steampunk gave him that opportunity.

Sean currently lives in Florida as a fiber-optic engineer as well as an author. He was blessed with the two most amazing children he could ever hope for, has met the absolute love of his life, who coincidentally is his partner in everything. His hobbies include grand designs on world domination as well as a starring role in his own television sitcom.

Teaser Tuesday; The Possession of Mercy Moreau

As some of you may know, I’m working on a paranormal romance. What makes mine different than others, is that I’m trying to create it in its Gothic roots; where the paranormal is a background element, rather than a characteristic. Gothic horror always had an element of romance in it, and so does this. Only steamier.

 

This teaser introduces one of Mercy’s new lovers. Warning! Graphic Language!

Here is this Teaser Tuesday’s excerpt from The Possession of Mercy Moreau.

~~~~

The waitress picked up the menu and walked away, leaving Mercy alone again. She shifted in her seat and looked out the huge window next to her table. The light from the building front barely made it across the parking lot and the woods looked dark and eerie. She glanced skyward to the rock face that looked out over the channel. It was steep and very high. She was pretty sure the light she’d seen with the deck hand was somewhere around this area but as she shifted to get a better look at the outside, a shuffling sound along with chair legs scraping across the floor seemed a little too close, and was followed by a feeling she was being watched. The smell of engine fluid and alcohol was strong. Mercy turned back around in her chair and discovered the table directly in front of her was now occupied.

He nodded at her. His auburn hair hung down past his shoulders and looked like some of the motor oil on his clothing greased his hair back. “Ain’t seen you around here before?” He slurred his words as he played with the moustache that framed his mouth. He could barely keep his eyes open and reminded her of the bikers she’d seen riding around town in the summer.

Mercy smiled and looked away. He was trouble in more ways that one.

“What? Don’t you talk?”

“Leave her alone, Clyde,” her waitress said, coming around and placing some condiments down on Mercy’s table.  ”The woman doesn’t need you bugging her. Go sit back at your own table.”

He kept his focus on Mercy. “But I wanna eat here?”

Mercy felt uncomfortable under his glare and tried to focus on something outside of the inn.

“Well I’m not serving you if you sit there.”

This got Clyde’s attention. “You better fuckin’ serve my food!”

Her waitress stepped between tables, blocking his view of Mercy. “You get off your drunken ass, you ignorant son-of-a-bitch, and walk yourself back over to the other side of the room, or I’ll call Carl out here and he’ll throw your sorry ass out.”

Clyde leaned back in his chair, almost like he couldn’t focus on her any other way. “Carl wouldn’t do that. He’s my friend.”

“Carl doesn’t give a rat’s ass about you.” She put her hands on her hips. “Now move!”

Mercy heard the chair legs scrap along the floor as Clyde stood and shuffled his way back across the room. He sat down with several other men, all dressed in the same backwoods, grease-monkey outfit.

“I don’t know what you were getting so upset about, Aggie” Clyde said, falling into a chair. “I just wanted to talk to the pretty lady.”

“Well that’s fine, but she just got here and the last thing she needs is to be bothered by the likes of you.” She put some food down in front of him. “Especially since you’ve been drinking.”

The young woman walked back into the kitchen, coming out a few moments later with a sandwich on a plate. Mercy watched her in the reflection of the window as she grabbed the coffee pot and headed back her way.

“Sorry about Clyde, here,” the waitress said and put the plate down in front of her. “I promise he won’t bother you again.”

Mercy smiled as more coffee was added to her cup.

“Clyde’s a jerk. Even more so when he’s drunk.”

Mercy nodded as she picked up her sandwich. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” She pointed at her nametag. “My name’s Aggie. If you need anything, feel free to come and ask. Enjoy your meal.”

Mercy nodded as her phone rang. She looked at the small blue screen before she flipped it open.

“Mrs. Macintyre, hello! I hope my call didn’t get you out of bed…Good, I was a little worried that it was too late to arrive….I’m not sure. I’m at the inn in Lennox right now… Oh good. Okay, would you like me to come now or in the morning?…Sure, not a problem. See you in a while.”

Mercy closed her phone and dropped it back into her purse. Mrs. Macintyre sounded older on the phone than her fifty-five years. From the exchange in emails the last couple of months Mercy pretty much knew the Macintyre family history off by heart. She felt a weight lift from her shoulders as she bit into her sandwich. At least she wouldn’t need to spend the night here. Maybe it was because she was sitting next to a very large window, but she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched.

Mercy took the occasional glance out the window, watching things in the diner through the reflection. Aggie was right about Clyde. He never came back her way again, but he did give her a really long look when he and his friends left the inn. It sent shivers through her the way he smiled at her. Like he knew she was watching him through the reflection, and liked it. Mercy looked away. She wasn’t used to men looking at her like that; like she was some piece of meat. She felt her face get warm as a knot tightened in her throat as she chewed her food. Being single, starting over; none of this was going to be easy.

She didn’t stay long after she finished her food. She left Aggie a nice tip as a thank-you for running interference with Clyde. It was the least she could do for dealing with that drunk.

The cool night air was refreshing. It wasn’t this cool back in the city. A chill ran through her again and she hurried to her car. Maybe she should have brought warmer clothing. As she keyed the lock on her car, shouts and laughter echoed in the night from somewhere across the street. Mercy froze as she saw the same drunk man standing in the parking lot of the local convenience store, standing around with his friends. Her hands trembled as he stopped joking around and looked straight at her. He wasn’t two-hundred feet away, but it felt like he was right there, on the other side of her car.

He started walking toward her. Mercy’s heart raced as she yanked open the car door and got inside. She didn’t want to look at him, but could see him coming closer from the corner of her eye; stumbling in a drunken walk as he made his way toward the road. She fumbled with her keys trying to find the one to start the car, and looking at the diner, hoping to see Aggie, but her saviour wasn’t anywhere to be seen. She keyed the ignition but the car wouldn’t start. Mercy’s eyes teared up as she tried again and again to get the car going.

The quick alarm of a police siren caused her to jump back in her seat. The black and white patrol car pulled up in front of Clyde and stopped. She watched, hunched over her steering wheel as the officer got out and pointed at the drunk. A low, muffled, and rather angry voice argued with the officer, but after more finger-pointing and the removal of handcuffs from the officer’s belt, the men got into a beat-up pickup truck. Mercy glanced quickly back at the diner. This time Aggie was standing by the entrance, her arms crossed, glaring at the scene across the street. She looked over at Mercy, smiled and nodded.

Mercy managed a weak smile back as the engine roared to life with the turn of the key. She sat and waited until the pick-up truck drove down one of the empty side streets before she put her own it in drive and pulled away. Mind you, she kept a close eye on her rear-view mirror. Just in case.

There were no street lights on the road into Hallowell. Mercy kept switching her gaze from the road ahead, to the rear-view mirror. Last think she wanted was to be alone on a stretch of highway with Clyde and his cronies behind her. She was so caught up with what might be going on behind her that she almost missed the turn off to the Macintyre’s home.

The driveway was better lit than the road with several replica gas-lamps lining the driveway up to the house. Mercy pulled up to the huge two-story Victorian home and let out a deep breath. She was beginning to feel better about being her and her anger with Thomas was just about gone. At least she was off the road.

Teaser Tuesday; Sympathy for the Demon

Welcome to the first of two new blog series – Teaser Tuesday (obviously), where I will post a short excerpt from one of the three novel WIPs I’m working on, or maybe something from another project. I’m also doing a guest excerpt post once a month as well so keep an eye out for those. It’s another way for me to highlight authors. There are a few guidelines, but if you’re interested, send me an email!

Anyhoo…here is this Teaser Tuesday’s 1,500 word excerpt from book four of THE WATCHTOWER series; Sympathy for the Demon.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Everything all right, sir?” Lucian’s cockney accent was stronger tonight.

Martin didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”

“Well, if ya don’t mind me sayin’, you don’t seem fine.”

Martin raised his head. Lucian was standing on the other side of the open wrought-iron gate. Martin held out his arm. “Here, help me up please.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not…” Lucian waved a hand in the air. “…shall we say corporeal, over there.”

Martin rubbed his forehead in frustration. “What are you talking about?”

Lucian moved his arm through the bars of the gate. As his limb reached out, it became transparent with only a faint outline of his hand. He waved at Martin. “The gate here marks out the perimeter of the charm.” He stepped through the gateway and his whole body became partially transparent. “I can come out here and talk to ya, but…” He held out his hand and swiped it through Martin’s bent leg. “I can’t touch you.”

He stared at his knee in shock. It felt cold as ice when Lucian swiped through him. “But I’ve seen you guys outside picking stuff up and-”

“Amulets.” Lucian said. “Like the one Miss Dole wore to the police station. And they take several hours to charge.” He walked back toward the gate. “You can shuffle your ass over here faster.”

Martin pushed himself back up the wall and walked toward the gate. “I always wondered what this thing was doing here.”

“Yeah, the whole plaza has charms and spells protecting it, but this building in particular has extra stuff.”

“Because of the Acheron portal?”

Lucian looked at him sideways. “You know about that?”

“Yeah.”

“Wasn’t sure if you did or not. The Mistress told us that when it came to you, it was on a need to know basis. Guess she didn’t want you to overload or anythin’.” He frowned. “Are you sure you’re all right? If you don’t mind me sayin, you look like hell.”

Martin trudged over to the large oak desk. He winced as he sat on the edge. His body ached from the pounding and grief. “Honestly Lucian. I feel like shit.”

“Oiy, alcohol’ll do that to ya.”

“No, that’s not it.” Martin glanced down at the floor as tightness gripped his throat. His lip trembled and he swallowed a few times to hold back his sorrow. “One of my friends died tonight.”

Lucian’s posture slumped. “Oh I’m so sorry, sir. Was he a good person? Cos if not, you could give his name to the Mistress. She might be able to put his name on the list. You bein’ friends with him and all.”

Martin gave a slight laugh. The List. He’d forgotten about that. Souls on the list were next in line to enter heaven. “Thanks.” Martin’s voice cracked and he tried to cover his face with one hand as his grief overwhelmed him. “That’s really kind of you.” He nodded. “Yeah, that would make his mother happy. Knowing he made it to Heaven.”

Lucian sat on the desk next to him. “In the end, that’s all it’s about, isn’t it, sir. Makin’ sure people are happy.”

“Yeah, and considering how he died, it would make me a lot happier too.”

“If ya don’t mind me askin’ sir, how did your friend die?”

“Something got him.” Martin’s gaze drifted away. “Killed him right there in the park. Right in front of me.”

“Something as in…”

“Supernatural. Yeah.”  

Lucian’s look of concern turned to interest. “What did it look like?”

“It was a woman, or it was masquerading as one.”

“What did this woman do, exactly?”

Martin composed himself. He didn’t want to recall her face. He was sure have nightmares about her. “She was really beautiful at first, but when I looked at her, like really looked at her, I saw shadows move across her skin.”

Lucian brought his hand to his face and stroked his chin. “Then she was either a half-breed or a vessel. What did she do to him?”

Images of the long talons came to his mind. “She stuck her hand into his back and pulled out some kind of white orb.”

Lucian’s looked worried. “A white orb? That’s not good.”

“Ya think?”

“No, what I mean is, it sounds like she’s a Siren. They lure humans into deals for their soul. Wealth, stardom, beauty, anything they want, but when the deal has been fulfilled, they harvest the soul and take it to their masters to feed on.”

“What are their masters?”

“Usually an Incubus or Succubus.”

“Isn’t Jezryall a Succubus?”

Lucian shook his head. “Half-breed Incubus.”

“There’s a difference?”

“One’s male, the other female.” Lucian stood and walked toward the wrought iron gate. “Are you sure she plunged a claw into his back?”

Martin’s grief erupted into anger. “I know what I saw, Lucian!” 

Lucian raised his hands in defence. “No offence, sir, but I have to know for sure.”

Martin lowered his head. He knew Lucian was only trying to help but his emotions were too raw. He looked up at him. “So the orb I saw…”

“Was your friend’s life-force.”

“And her master would be a creature like Jezryall?”

“A full blood, yeah. Sirens are the Overlords of the Second realm of Hell.” He looked at Martin. “Ya know about the levels, right?”

“A little.”

Lucian motioned him to follow. “Come on, we have to check on this.”

Martin stood and followed Lucian down the hall and past Daniel’s laboratory and the Conference room. This part of the corridor was dark and ominous. The shadows felt darker here and the light from the drippy candles barely lit the hall.  

“You know there are nine levels of Hell,” Lucian said, as they walked deeper. “Each reserved for those who ‘sinned’.” Lucian made air quotes and didn’t look overly impressed. “Now Sirens, they reside in the second level. Nothing too nasty there. Just those souls who succumbed to lust and greed.”

Artemis’s voice echoed in Martin’s mind.

‘Lured by Sirens into a life of their own selfish needs. They put their desire for sexual pleasure, money, anything, ahead of everything else, and at the expense of others.’

A shiver ran through him. That kind of sounded like Mike.

There was a bricked-up archway at the end of the corridor and Lucian walked right through it. Martin stopped and looked around. He snorted and put his hands on his hips. “Hey, how am I supposed to follow you, when you walk through walls?”

A moment later, Lucian stepped through the bricked archway. “Sorry. Forgot. Go down the hall to the wooden door right before the stairs. I’ll meet you on the other side.” He turned and walked back through the wall.

Martin’s heart pounded as he hurried down the corridor. He’d never been anyway other than the two floors, and even though he knew what lay inside the building, he was anxious about venturing into new territory. Anxious, but curious.

He stood in front of the wooden door. This had to be the one Lucian meant. It was the only door between here and the stairs. He recognized it immediately. Something about this door memorized him. He’d been trapped by it way back when Jezryall first brought him to the living quarters. His heart raced at the idea of what could lay on the other side. Was this the doorway that housed the portal? The wood looked the same as the large door that guarded the one at the Spire. He looked into the grain on the wood. The oblong circular knots were hypnotic as they swirled into deep vortices that pulsed to some unheard rhythm. He reached up traced the lines with his finger. They shimmered in silver under his touch.

A hard smack against the back of his head snapped him out of his trance.

Lucian’s voice bellowed from next to him. “I said go through the door, not stand there and stare at it!”

Martin shook his head and rubbed the spot where he’d been slapped. “I was going to. I just…”

“Don’t worry. Not your fault. All the doors on this level are charmed into distracting anyone who looks at them. Keeps unwanteds from entering this part.”  

“Unwanteds?”

“Yeah, every now and then one of those tree-huggin’ Liberal do-gooders manages to sneak past Lizzy and make it up here.”   

“Wait? Live people make it this far?”

“Personally, I think Lizzy lets them get by on purpose. Just to keep me on my toes.” Lucian turned the knob on the door. “I have no idea why they want in, but they sure do give it one heck of a try.” He pushed the door open and walked through. “Door stops them, every time.” The darkness engulfed him and Martin had second thoughts about being so curious. He didn’t need to know what the rest of the building looked like. As a matter of fact, he’d be perfectly fine not knowing.

He squinted into the darkness. “Are you sure it’s safe for me to go in there?”

Lucian re-appeared. “Don’t know. I don’t think any live human has come through here before, but Jezryall wanders around here, and she’s half human so….”

 Again, Lucian disappeared into the inky darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~

Still a little rough in places, but not bad.

Sneak Peek: OF COVENS AND PACKS Book Excerpt and Cover Art

It’s almost ready. Four months in the making and it’s almost ready. So today, I am unveiling the cover art for book three, done by Calista Taylor, book blurb and excerpt. I hope you enjoy them.

~~~~~

 Terin Global is on the brink of exposure. Something Detective Raleigh Darch could do with a simple warrant.

Yet there are other problems. The increase of paranormal activity worries Jezryall and dregs up personal demons for some of her staff. A planned visit to the Spire-a forgotten relic from the ancient world leaves them with more questions than answers, along with a cryptic message from the spirit of a werewolf.

One thing is certain; something is stirring within the bowels of Hell. Jezryall and her team must discover the reason behind the increase in demon activity before things become too big for even them to handle.

 

 

 

Excerpt   

Feeling a bit more relaxed, Barb stepped past the kettle palms, and headed across the foyer toward the receptionist. Lizzy looked up from some paper work on her desk and gave her a concerned look.

“He’s been waiting for a while,” she said and took a quick glance in Darch’s direction. “Was pacing back and forth outside for an hour before he came in. I guess he thought he could catch you before you went to work.”

“You didn’t tell him I lived here, did you?”

“No, it’s none of his business.” She pointed a boney finger at Barb. “Remember that, if he starts snooping around and asking questions.”

Barb forced herself to keep from rolling her eyes. “I know the protocol, Lizzy.”

Lizzy held up her hands. “I didn’t say you don’t, but he looks like one of them fast-talking characters. You have to watch yourself around those, Miss Dole.”

Barb nodded and fiddled with her outfit again before walking away from the desk. He was still staring at a painting on the wall. He was looking so intently at the painting, she guessed this cop never visit art museums much. As she approached, the strong odour of stale tobacco lingering in the air around him and she waved her hand in front of her nose to remove the smell.

Her anxiety suddenly reared up. “It’s a depiction of Dante’s Inferno,” she said. There was a slight squeak in her voice and she hoped her apprehension wasn’t noticeable.

She examined Darch carefully from behind. At the police station and the warehouse, he came off as a hard ass cop with a permanent scowl, but up close, he was attractive with his short, dark brown hair, and the days old stubble on his face gave him a rugged look. She traced a few lines etched on his face with her eyes and figured from his matureness, he was probably around the same age as her.

Barb let out a little snort. She was fawning over him? He was nothing like the guys she was attracted too. In their two brief encounters, he’d been too brash and rough around the edges. She preferred well-dressed and groomed gentlemen, but there was something about him that she found appealing. She felt safe around him. Like his very presence instilled a sense of calm in her.

“That’s kind of an odd picture to be hanging in the lobby of a business,” he said, keeping is focus on the painting.

Barb gave a whimsical smile. “Not really.” She stepped past him, keeping an eye on the portrait. “I kind of like it. It’s sort of a moral reminder of what can happen if we make the wrong choices in life.”

“I guess that’s one way of keeping your employee’s in line.” Darch turned and gave her a small smile, but it turned to confusion after a quick look at her outfit. “Do you always wear pajamas to the office, Miss Dole?”

Barb clenched her jaw as her infatuation disappeared. “What can I say? Casual Friday.”

Darch frowned. “But it’s Wednesday.”

Barb inhaled slowly through her nose. “What can I do for you, officer?”

“Detective,” he said, facing her. “Detective Raleigh Darch.”

She wiggled her index finger at him. “Yes, I remember you. You’re the officer from the warehouse.” What was she doing? Finger-wiggling was a flirt tactic and she never flirted with people she wanted to get rid of!

Darch nodded. “Yes ma’am, and I’m also the lead investigator in the cemetery murders.”

“How is that case coming along, by-the-way?”

“Slower than expected, especially now that your lawyers have restricted access to our only suspect.”

A sly smile crossed her lips. “We were afraid she might be co-erst into admitting to something she didn’t do. We wanted to make sure she remained innocent until proven guilty.”

Darch looked down at the floor briefly as he shifted from one foot to the other. “Oh, you don’t need to explain the law to me, Miss Dole.” He looked up at her. A hard glare in his eyes. “But what you can do, is explain what employees of Terin Global were doing at the warehouse a couple months back? What exactly was going on that night?”

“I believe Mr. Cunningham issued a statement with both the police department and the press as to-”

Darch leaned in close. “Let’s cut the crap, Miss Dole. I don’t care what bullshit story you fed to the press, I know what I saw. Whatever was in those paintballs you shot me with, it didn’t erase my memory. I still remember the flashes of light and smoke, and what looked like a black hurricane disappearing into thin air.”

A chill swept through Barb as she tried to brush off his cold stare. This guy wasn’t about to give up. She needed to throw him off the trail, or at least de-rail him for a while until they could conjure up more evidence in their favour.

Barb tilted her head to one side and gave him her best, condescending look. “You know, I could never understand that saying. Thin air. Why is it always thin air? Why not fat air. I mean, how does one tell if the air is thin or fat?”

“Cute,” he said, as one side of his lip curled. “You always try to circumvent the conversation?”

“I’m not circumventing anything. I’m just asking a simple question.”

Darch crossed his arms in front. “But it’s not so simple, is it? Twice now, the company you work for has stepped into one of my investigations. I’ll give you credit for coming to Miss Weiss’ defence, but you’ll have a hard time convincing me you had nothing to do with the murders at the docks. Not when you knew exactly where they took place.” He stepped back and looked around the lobby. “Pretty fancy looking lobby. Must have cost a fortune to build especially for a company with sporadic work opportunities.”

Barb narrowed her eyes. “Have you been investigating Terin Global?”

“Just did a little research on the web, that’s all. Apparently, whatever jobs you specialize in, are few and far between.” He looked around the lobby again. “And with a workforce of this size, your bottom line must delve into the red quite a bit.” He paused for a moment. “Unless you’re subsidizing your profits in other ways. Maybe that’s something Revenue Canada would like to know?”

Barb raised her chin in defiance. “What are you getting at?”

Darch shoved his hands in the front pockets of his pants and gently rocked back and forth. “I think Terin Global is a front for some kind of criminal syndicate.”

Barb rolled her eyes. Cute, but stupid. “That couldn’t be farther from the truth, and you’ll have a hard time proving it too.”

“Maybe,” Darch said. “But not to certain people.” He pulled out a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

Barb’s hands trembled as she unfolded the paper. “What is this?”

“It’s a copy of your rap sheet. I thought you’d like to see all the charges that have been levied against you over the years.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Just reminding you that you’re not as untouchable as you think.”

She folded the paper up. “If you know this much about me, then you also know that I made a solid deal with the Crown.”

“True, but that deal doesn’t exempt you from future prosecution.”

Barb glared at him. “Are you threatening me?”

“No ma’am. Just stating the facts.”

She handed the paper back to him. “Sorry, Detective, I can’t help you.”

Darch looked down at the folded paper, then up at her. “I’m sorry too.” He turned and walked toward the revolving glass doors.

~~~~~

Release Date; July 2012

New Cover Art for the New Year!

Ah, the start of a new month, a new year and new cover art! Welcome the new cover for the second book in my paranormal series, UNDER THE COVER OF WICCA.

 Here is an excerpt. For a special treat, those of you who receive my newsletter will be getting a second excerpt. A hint of things to come? In the meantime, enjoy and Happy New Year!

~~~~

Martin opened the door and walked in. The office was quiet and from the looks of a thin layer of dust on Barb’s desk, no one had been there in some time. The room felt cool and the silence sent a shiver up his spine. He walked back out into the hall and headed for Daniel’s lab. Maybe everyone was gathered in there? He turned the knob on the second wooden door and poked his head inside.

“Hello, anybody home?”

“Good morning, Mr. Cunningham.”

Martin jumped as Jezryall’s sultry voice came from behind him. “Shit! I didn’t see you in the hall!”

“My apologies,” A playful smile lit up her face. “Barbara informs me frequently that I am too quiet in my approach.” She tilted her head to one side. “I suppose that is something I should work on.”

She was standing way too close to him again and the weight of her gaze made him feel self-conscious. Those eyes were too inviting, and he forced himself to look away.

“Maybe you could wear a bell or something,” he murmured, uncomfortable with her closeness. “You know, something small so we know when you’re coming.”

Jezryall nodded. “I will take that under advisement. Now, if you will follow me.”

He watched her walk away. Her long silk dress swayed rhythmically with each graceful step. They walked past the desk and continued down the hall. The dim light from the drippy candles did little to light the corridor. Martin wondered if maybe, like everything else, there was a reason for this too.

 “I am impressed you arrived so quickly,” she said, as Martin shuffled behind.

“Well considering I haven’t spoken to anyone since the ride back here from the Embassy, I figured I’d better jump down here right away.”

They came to a second corridor and Jezryall turned left and continued. Sunlight from a large window at the end of the hall, brightened up the corridor.

“Yes, I am sorry about that, but I thought it would be better if you had some time to yourself. To let you digest the events of that day.”

Martin smiled. “Thanks. I have to admit, I did need some time to wrap my brain around that whole zombie-killer worm thing.”

“That is only natural.”

Martin eyed several doors along the corridor. A strange noise caught his attention from the door closest to him.

“What’s behind these doors?” he asked.

Jezryall paused for a moment. “Private places.”

Well, there went his notion that he’d start getting a straight answer. A stray thought popped into his mind and he looked wearily at one of the doors.

“Is that creature behind one of them?”

Jezryall stopped and faced him. “Creature?”

“Yeah, that Brosnie.” He reached up and placed his hand on the door. There was something about the way the wood looked. The pattern in the grain seemed familiar…

Jezryall stepped next to the doorframe, glancing first at the door, then at him. “No, we have him someplace safe below the building.” She reached out and lifted his hand off the door. “Daniel is thinking of keeping it as a pet.”

Martin gave his head a quick shake. “You’re kidding.”

“No. He’s become quite fond of it, actually. Seems to think he and the Brosnie have something in common.”

Jezryall turned and continued on down another corridor.

“You know, I don’t know him that well, but somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

Martin ran to catch up. He found her waiting by a stone staircase.

                “Wow,” he chuckled. “This place certainly does have its twists and turns.”

Jezryall smiled. “There is much more to Terin Global than what you see on the outside.”

She turned and walked up the stairs.

“Yeah,” Martin whispered. “I’m beginning to see that.”

Story Excerpt; The Watchtower

He stepped out of the elevator, package tucked uncomfortably under his arm, and into a Goth’s dream. Old grey flagstones covered the floor and walls, with medieval looking wall sconces holding drippy candles mounted to the wall. A wrought-iron barrier blocked the corridor several feet in front of the elevator. Its cemetery-like gateway pad locked closed.

Martin stood there, dumbfounded, and wondered if being here was the right idea. He didn’t need this job that bad, did he? Yet something pushed him on, edged him to give in to his growing curiosity. Besides, there was still the package to deliver.

He walked up to the gate and squinted, trying to get a better view of what lay beyond. There was a huge wooden desk, nothing on it, and two wooden doors embedded in the wall behind. More of the drippy candles lined the walls, but he didn’t see or hear anyone.

“Hello,” he called out, shifting the package around to his other hip. “The eleven o’clock appointment is here.”

Dead silence.

“And I have a package.”

A low and drawn-out creak came from the door on the right as a young blonde woman emerged. Even in this dim light, Martin could tell she wasn’t impressed.

“Sorry,” she said, as the door creaked to a close behind her. “I should have been out here waiting for you, but I hate this hall. Gives me the creeps.”

He recognized her voice immediately as the woman he’d spoken to on the phone the other day. Perfect hair and make-up, fashionable clothing, pink-lace gloves to match her stiletto shoes. She was definitely at odds with her surroundings.

Martin smiled as she unlocked the pad lock with a huge skeleton key. “I know how you feel.” He handed the package to her. “As do some of your delivery guys.”

She gave him a strange look and held the package away from her body.

“You must be Martin Cunningham,” she said, and shoved the package back at him so fast he almost dropped it. “I’m Barb Dole. Jezryall’s personal secretary. I screen all outside applicants who wish to work at Terin Global.”

Martin frowned. “Jezryall? That’s a unique name.”

“She’s a unique person, and you’ll love working for her.” She shot a disgusted look at the package. “You can give that to her yourself. Follow me, please.”

Martin frowned. “How do you know I’ll like working for her, when I don’t even know?

Barb walked up to the wooden door. “We all do. Now hurry up, she probably has a few things she wants you to do already.”

Martin stopped at the front of the desk and tucked the package back under his arm. “Wait a minute. I thought this was just an interview.”

Barb hesitated before opening the door. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you never said anything about me having the job when we spoke on the phone.”

“Yes I did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.” Barb turned the huge brass knob on the door. “I said, ‘you’ll do’, and then told you when to show up for your first day on the job.”

Martin thought back to the conversation. “But how do you know I’m even right for the job?” he asked, walking toward the door. “How do you know I even want this job?”

She gave him a wicked smile. “I just know these things.”

Martin shrugged and walked into the main office. The weirdness of the hall décor continued in there. A cathedral ceiling stretched several floors up with heavy wooden doors scattered around the main floor. There were doors positioned higher up, connected to one another by a wrought-iron walkway. More old sconces with drippy candles lined the walls, and a shiver ran up his spine. It looked as though it had been modeled after Frankenstein’s castle, with one exception: a huge picture window sat directly opposite the door he entered, with a plush black leather chair turned to face the window.

“Jezryall, our new Public Liaison officer is here,” Barb said, as she strolled over to an identical desk as the one out in the hall. There was a pile of fashion magazines fanned out, along with a scattering of manicure objects.

Martin slowly walked toward the chair. “Hi, uh, Miss Jezryall, um, is it?” he stuttered. “I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding. I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to take this job. I was under the impression this was only an interview.”

“Were you a member of the debate team at university?” The voice was strong but seductive, with a hint of a Russian accent.

“Captain, actually.”

“This means you were good at it?”

“Well, yes. You don’t get to be the Captain unless you are.”

The chair began to turn. Martin’s heart beat faster. How the chair moved, he couldn’t tell, but he knew it wasn’t from the occupant.

“Good. What I need is someone to run interference for me,” she said, “None of us here are any good with dealing with the public.”

Jezryall was stunning. Long, black hair that hung down to her waist, but it was her eyes that struck him. He couldn’t stop himself from staring into their smokey grey, almond shape. He felt as though he were being drawn toward her. She was saucy, seductive. He could see it in the way she moved as she left the chair; her hair falling about her waist as the low-cut, red dress with black lace hugged her well-endowed body. Oddly enough, she was barefoot.

“I’m sure there are others who–”

“No!” She walked toward him, keeping her focus on him. Martin was paralyzed, but not with fear. The way she looked at him made him feel like he was the only one in the world. “Barbara has informed me that you are the one we are looking for. And I trust her instincts completely.”

“Why? You don’t even know me. How can I be right for this job?”

“How are you wrong for it?”

The question left him speechless. What was he supposed to say? Apart from the fact this place gave him the creeps, Martin couldn’t see any reason not to accept it, except for this underlying feeling…

“How about this,” Jezryall said, taking a few steps closer to him. “You work for me for one week, and after that, if you do not want the job, you will be free to go. Two weeks’ pay included, of course.”

His eyebrows rose. “Two weeks?”

Jezryall nodded. “Consider it compensation for your time.”

Martin took a second look around the room. It was creepy, but nothing he couldn’t get used too. At least for a couple weeks. “I guess we have a deal.”