A Sapphire Sins teaser

I'm working on a new short piece that I hope to post later this week. Mother Nature is cooperating with my desire to sit on the couch in my pjs and write. For now, I'm offering a teaser from Sapphire Sins.

The following is a brief excerpt from early in the book, chapter 5 to be exact. Enjoy!

****************

Diana glanced down at her watch again. 5:45. Ten minutes. They had to be in the air in ten minutes. She hugged herself, unconsciously rocking back and forth again. The sun was a blazing orange ball sitting right on the horizon.

            Nora abandoned her book. She had completely ignored their conversation to that point which was weird because Nora always had something to say. Glassy-eyed, she leaned across Jen and stared at the setting sun.

            “He’s waking up.”

            Diana went rigid as she felt a familiar vibration run through her. He was there again, inside her head, returning as suddenly as he had left that morning, and he was hungry. She felt it as if it were her own hunger.

Raphael’s first thoughts were of her. Without her consent, her body responded. Her heart beat harder, louder, her pulse pounding in her ears, calling to him, betraying her to him.

She saw him clearly, standing in the shadows of the warehouse doorway, waiting. The minute the sun set, he would step across the threshold and into the night. He still wore the same brilliant blue shirt, but he no longer looked disheveled. His thick black hair was smoothly in place, and his oh-so-perfect face was clean and unmarred. 

He fixed his gaze on her and smiled.

            Soon, he whispered through her mind. We will be together soon.

            He knew where she was, and he was coming for her. The marks on her breast tingled in anticipation.

            “No, no, no, no, no.”

            Nora seized her arm. “He won’t let you leave, Di. You belong to him now. You willingly gave yourself to him.” Then she shrugged, “At least that’s how he sees it.” With that, Nora returned to her novel.

            Jen alternated between them, confused. “What’s she talking about, Di? Nora?”

            The captain spoke over the intercom, “Ladies and gentleman we are second in line for take-off. We should be in the air shortly. Flight attendants, prepare for take-off.”

            Diana ignored Jen, focusing on the movement of the plane.

“Come on, come on. Get this thing off the ground.” 

Her heart pounded so hard she thought it would burst through her chest.

            The orange glow faded as the sun inevitably disappeared below the horizon. Diana checked her watch. 5:55 on the dot.

Raphael stepped across the threshold.

            “He’s coming,” intoned Nora.

            Jen snapped, “Damn it, Nora! What’s the matter with you? This isn’t funny! Di’s scared half out of her mind.”

            Nora continued reading as if she hadn’t heard. Jen shook her arm, and Nora looked up with empty eyes.

            “What’s wrong with her, Di?”

            But Diana didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her heart had stopped.

Raphael strode down the taxiway alongside the plane, the blue lights backlighting him with an otherworldly glow. He was the most beautiful, frightening creature she had ever seen. He glanced at Diana, smiled in acknowledgment, and turned his attention intently toward the cockpit.

            The plane jerked, and Diana snapped her attention to the front of the cabin. A flight attendant reached above her head for the cockpit phone. Diana strained to hear. The concern in the flight attendant’s face was unmistakable. Something was wrong.

            Nora’s voice was flat, “A mechanical malfunction requires the captain to return to the terminal.”

            “God, Nora!  What’s wrong with you?” Jen turned to Diana, “Something’s seriously wrong with her.”  

Diana didn’t answer, so Jen followed Diana’s bleak stare.

“Oh. My. God!  He’s on the runway. Di? He’s on the freaking runway!”

            Diana ignored her. She was sure there was no real malfunction. Raphael controlled the pilot. Diana visualized the captain and focused all her energy on him, willing him to get the plane off the ground, but it was a futile effort. Whatever power Raphael had transferred to her wasn’t nearly as strong as his own. The plane rolled to a stop on the taxiway. 

She frantically scanned the cabin, pushing down the panic and thinking through her options. She could create a disruption to distract the pilot from Raphael, but that would insure they returned to the terminal to put her off the plane. Raphael was reading her thoughts because without looking away from the cockpit, he nodded in response, having already reached the same conclusion.

            He was going to win. That arrogant bastard was going to win.

She was trapped in an airplane that wouldn’t leave the ground. He would be waiting at the gate for her, and all the airport security in the world wouldn’t stop him. Again he nodded smugly, eavesdropping on her panicked thoughts.

She clenched her fists in frustration and pounded them on the window. “You son of a bitch! Leave me alone!” 

Pain shot through her hand as her fingernails reopened the wound on her palm, and the answer came to her. Inside the pain was a revelation.

She eyed Raphael, still intently focused on the pilot, and smiled. She hoped the bastard was still listening. She gouged her fingernail into the wound, causing blood to stream down her arm. Raphael’s head whipped around, away from the cockpit, his eyes locking on hers.

She had his attention. Good. She put her bloody hand against the window, allowing him to see it. She read the hunger in his eyes, felt it thrumming through him.

She smiled seductively and ran her tongue across the wound. Raphael staggered, tasting the blood as she did. She lapped at it, teasing him, letting him watch, letting him taste. His eyes were dark. They held that strange light she had seen the night before. Diana met his powerful eyes and stared boldly. Then she put her hand to her mouth and began to suck on the wound in a hard, slow, erotic rhythm.

His hunger became her hunger. The warm blood trickled down her throat, and she wanted more. She tore open the flesh of her palm, expanding the wound to her wrist, so the blood flowed more freely. She felt no pain, only warmth. He was inside of her, and she in him. The merging of their minds was sensual and intimate and awakened another hunger. She closed her eyes, shutting out everything except the desire he had conjured up inside of her.

Her eyes feasted on his naked chest as his sapphire shirt fell open. She stroked muscles made of steel and stone. She straddled him, riding him through their clothes. His hands massaged her breasts, pinching her nipples through the lace of her bra. She leaned into him, breathing him in, pressing herself down on his erection, driven by need. He caressed her mind as well as her body, and when he bared his gleaming white fangs, fully extended, she was not frightened. His fangs excited her. He leaned over to kiss her, and her heart fluttered in anticipation.

Abruptly and painfully, she returned to her window seat. Nora leaned across Jen, grabbing Diana’s arm, trying to pull her wrist out of her mouth. Diana was momentarily disoriented. The scene in the limo replaying itself had been so real. Her body still quivered from Raphael’s touch. She still breathed his rich, masculine scent. For the few moments they were connected, reality had shifted.

She took a long breath to clear her head. Diana couldn’t let Nora break her hold on Raphael.

She barked at Jen through her wrist, “Stop her, Jen.”

Jen gaped at Diana, horrified, but something in Diana’s eyes told her Nora was the bigger problem. Jen struggled to pull Nora off, and succeeded to some degree.

The plane was rolling again, making the turn from the taxiway to the runway. Diana’s heart stuttered at her last glimpse of Raphael, bathed in blood. She blinked and saw only the red glow of the runway landing lights. Then she lost sight of him.

Jen struggled with Nora. Raphael’s trance broke the same moment as Diana’s, and he fought to regain control of the captain. She sucked on her wrist, in his head as much as he was in hers. She felt his frustration and his desperate struggle to control the situation. Compelling an airline pilot to act contrary to his training and the safety of his passengers took tremendous focus. Diana’s distraction was enough.

The engines screamed as the plane lurched, picked up speed, and raced down the runway. Diana’s stomach churned. Raphael was angry. His rage burst through her brain like fireworks, like an airplane skidding off the runway in a ball of fire. She had overplayed her hand. He would stop her at any cost. She braced for impact, but the plane continued on its course.

The blood still flowed from her wrist, making her gag. What had been erotic was now just gross. When she felt the plane’s wheels leave the ground and its nose aim skyward, she dropped her arm limply into her lap. She panted, and sweat soaked the back of her shirt.

Nora quit fighting Jen. She pulled a bright green scarf out of her hair and handed it to Diana. She had bought it the day before in a trendy little SoHo shop. Diana pulled the scarf tight around her wrist. The bleeding stopped, but she was a mess. The couple across the aisle stared open-mouthed at the three of them.

************

You can order Sapphire Sins on Amazon.

Sapphire Sins is Live on Amazon!

I fell in love with my first vampire more than 20 years ago. I had a new baby boy who seemed immune to sleep, and there’s only so much late night television anyone should be forced to endure. Someone gave me a copy of Interview with the Vampire, and Lestat kept me company while I held vigil with my sleepless son.

Jean-Claude came along several years later. He was hot for all the obvious reasons. He was smart, powerful, handsome, and yes, a bad boy, but Jean-Claude’s real attraction for me was that he loved a bad-ass woman. Anita Blake was human, and she owned that vampire.

Lestat and Jean-Claude were the first, but I’ve loved many vampires since. Eric Northman, all of the Black Dagger Brotherhood (particularly Wrath and V), Jericho Barrons (technically not a vampire, but close enough), Kisten Felps, Quinn O’Connor…they all hold a place in my heart. Like Jean-Claude, all of them loved strong women, and that is the magic ingredient in paranormal romance. The female protagonist must be the equal of her undead lover. The doormat, damsel-in-distress is unappealing.

Seven years ago, after reading a particularly unsatisfying paranormal romance, I decided to write one myself. I had written short stories, but never a novel. In a fit of hubris, I decided I was at least as good a writer as the one I had just finished reading. Hubris always demands payment. I discovered that writing a novel is really hard.

I spent 8 months writing it and another year and a half revising it and querying literary agents. In 2010, I signed a contract with an agent. Aside from writing “The End” on the last page of my novel, it was the best moment in my writing life. I rode that high for about a month, and then reality set in again. The book didn’t sell. Vampires had already hit their peak popularity, and editors were looking for the next hot thing. Six months later, my agent left the business, and my book languished in my computer collecting electronic dust.

I have continued to write, mostly for my own satisfaction, but I earn my daily bread as a teacher, and that requires an enormous amount of my creative energy. I’m okay with that. Teaching is not merely my profession, it is my vocation. It’s who I am.

I am also a writer, and while I’ll probably never earn my living that way, I’m still proud of this book. My beta readers liked it. It was good enough to catch the attention of a literary agent. I want readers. I want you to read it.

I have dusted off my file, done one final, comprehensive edit, and published it using Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing. If you enjoy paranormal romance or like me, have a not-so-secret love affair with vampires, I invite you to read Sapphire Sins.

Click here to check it out on Amazon. Or you can search my name. (I’m searchable on Amazon! I’m not going to lie. That makes me more than a little bit giddy!)

Diana’s girls’ trip to New York was supposed to include shopping, a show, and the rare opportunity to shake off the stress of owning one of the last independent bookstores in Central Kentucky. Running for her life was not on the agenda. Bite marks and frightening visions were not the souvenirs she wanted to bring home. That’s just what happens when your best friend accidentally introduces you to a vampire. 

Raphael has moved through the centuries footloose and fancy free. He meets a beautiful woman, tastes her, and then leaves her happy and none the wiser. Diana is the first woman in his long life to not only resist his spell, but to bite back. He has to have her. She won’t be had.

Their battle of wills takes them across the country and across time. Diana is thrust out of her quiet, bookish existence to one in which she must face down not only her own demons, but Raphael’s as well. Diana discovers that there is a very thin line between love and hate, and that sometimes in saving someone else, you save yourself. 

Keeping Up

Over at terribleminds, Chuck Wendig has issued a flash fiction challenge in which takers click on a random sentence generator. That sentence then becomes the first or last sentence in your story of 1000 words or less. The sentences are mostly nonsensical, and therein lies the fun. I admit to reclicking several times, but I ultimately went with the sentence I got on my first click. Enjoy!

Keeping Up

“An officer doubts the pinched cyclist within an interference?”

“No, Gran!”

“And off is her towels the benched psycho with Ann enter fear us? It still doesn’t make sense.” Winnie laughed. “You need to slow down on the booze, honey.

“Put your hearing aid in, Gran!”

Winnie took a long swig of her sangria and fished around in the pocket of her shorts. “Let me put my hearing aid in.”

“Why do you keep it in your pocket?”

Winnie raised an eyebrow. ”Why do I keep saying fuck it?” She shrugged. “Most conversation is inane, dear. If someone comes around who has something interesting to say, I have my hearing aid right here.”

She patted her pocket, and then popped the tiny piece of plastic into her right ear.

“Now what were you saying about Ann and her benched psycho?”

“Nothing! Benched psycho? Seriously, Gran. I said, ‘An awful dubstep inched the vocalist with the audience.’”

“Dubstep inched the vocalist? A pinched cyclist makes more sense than that.”

A longsuffering sigh issued from her granddaughter. She pulled out her iPod “Dubstep is a genre of music. Listen.”

After 30 seconds, Winnie couldn’t take anymore. “Music! It sounds like an air horn got tangled up with a chainsaw.” She popped the hearing aid out of her right ear and slid it back into her pocket. “This is why I keep saying fuck it.”

“This is the latest thing. Keeping up will keep you young, Gran.”

“You’re drinking sangria next to a pool in Florida. Quit nattering and enjoy it.”

“Right. About that…” Winnie watched her granddaughter adjust her bikini top and look around. “I really do appreciate you letting me stay with you, but the men here are a bit…old.”

“Oh, these old coots are bold because you’re pretty. They say outrageous things to me too. We have good genes, dear.”

The girl laughed and choked on her sangria. “So let’s take our good genes and go dancing.”

“Take off our jeans? I still got it, and I still flaunt it, but stripping? I don’t think so.”

“You have way too much class for that, Gran, but that’s not what I said.”

Winnie stood up and looked at her behind. “You think so? I still do my yoga every day and I avoid fried foods.” She wiggled her butt. “You’re probably right. I do have some junk in the trunk.”

“Too much CLASS, Gran!”

“Well you don’t have to shout it. Besides, glass houses and all, your cute little bubble will turn into a balloon if you keep eating all those carbs.”

Her granddaughter fell back into the chaise with a sigh. “You look great, Gran. Put a pole in the community room. I’m sure you’d be the belle of the ball.”

“Thank you, dear. I’ve always been a belle with balls.”

“Now that is the damn truth.”

Winnie smiled enigmatically, drained her glass, and then closed her eyes and relaxed in her own chaise. Fifteen minutes later, a cool hand touched her thigh.

“I should report you for sexual harassment.”

“Ah, but then you would be forced to behave yourself as well,” a teasing voice answered.

Winnie opened her eyes and sat up. The change in position moved the hand farther up her thigh.

“My granddaughter thinks I should take up pole dancing in the community room.”

“What a fine idea! I shall have the pole installed at once!”

Said granddaughter was staring with her mouth hanging open. Winnie laughed uproariously.

“Rodrigo, this is my granddaughter. She’s visiting from up north, and she thinks the men around here are too bold.” She flicked her eyes toward the hand on her thigh, but made no attempt to move it. “She might have a point.”

Rodrigo ran his thumb under the hem of Winnie’s shorts and squeezed, then stood and offered the same hand to her granddaughter. When she stuck her hand out, he bowed and brushed his lips across it.

“Rodrigo Izaguirre at your service. I see beauty runs true in your family.”

“Good genes,” the girl stammered.

“And bullshit runs true in yours, eh Rodrigo?”

“Indeed, but you are the only beautiful lady who enjoys saying so.”

            “Oh please, I’m not the only one who enjoys the show. I’m just the only one around here who will admit it.”

Her granddaughter tapped her ear pointedly.

“Do you have water in your ear, hon? You should wear ear plugs when you swim.

The girl rolled her eyes. “Um…is Rodrigo your...um…”

“My what, dear?”

Rodrigo chuckled, “I am her dance partner.”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad. He’s my dance partner. Dance instructor, actually.”

“What? Are you learning the tango or something?”

“Tango or samba? Both. We’ve been tangoing for months.” She grinned at Rodrigo who was still chuckling. “I’m learning the samba now.”

“Yes, and I must steal your abuela for an hour.”

“As long as you give her back.” The girl looked faintly alarmed.

Rodrigo waved his hand in dismissal. “I am but a dancer for hire.”

“You’re always on fire. Cool your jets in front of my granddaughter.”

“She doesn’t have her hearing aid,” the girl murmured.

“I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage.” He turned to Winnie. “Shall we?”

Winnie smiled girlishly and took his arm. With her other hand, she smoothed her hair behind her ear, revealing the small piece of plastic tucked snugly inside.

She winked at her granddaughter. “Let me finish with Rodrigo, and then I would love to go dancing later. You can show me the latest thing. Like you said, keeping up keeps you young.”

Extinction

In honor of his new ebook release, Chuck required that this week's flash fiction feature dinosaurs. In my head, I saw Fred Flintsone and Jurassic Park. Neither appealed to me, so I went a different direction entirely. Enjoy.

Extinction

The Sauropod turned her long, graceful neck skyward. The days had become an interminable twilight. The gray ash contaminating everything had even stolen the sun.

*****

Miriam stared out the window of the Gulfstream jet into a cloudless blue sky. The flight had been interminable. The last week had been interminable, but it would be over soon.

*****

Sauropod stood over the clutch of eggs nestled in the once tall grass. The grass had provided a fine hiding place from predators, and she was an attentive mother, keeping watch, warming them with her own body on cool nights.

Now the grass was bent over, weighed down by the ash falling from the sky like poison rain, suffocating, turning a Technicolor world monotone.

She snuffled her eggs in an attempt to blow the ash away, instinctively sensing the danger. Her efforts were futile. The ash was falling faster than her great lungs could clear it away.

*****

Blue skies were deceiving. They made you believe everything would be okay. They made you hope.

In spite of everything, Miriam still hoped. Not for herself. She was a lost cause, but for Philip who had a life to live, who had a future, a future she had jeopardized.

A bottle of Patron Silver beckoned seductively from the bar. This task would be so much easier if she could numb herself to what she had to do.

No.

She needed to feel. She deserved this pain. Oblivion would come soon enough.

*****

The ash stifled everything, even sound. The world had been on mute for days, and Sauropod didn’t hear the danger until it was on top of her. The bottle-nosed crocodilian slid out of the gloom, snapping at her great tree-trunk legs.

She could have run. He was too far from his water source to chase her, but she wouldn’t leave her clutch unprotected.

His razor teeth tore into her massive leg, and the taste of blood sent him into a biting, thrashing frenzy. She stomped and kicked, catching the beast squarely under his jaw. She used her size advantage, throwing her bulk sideways, whipping her long tail around and sending him end over end until he finally rolled to a stop.

He regained his feet and stood still as a statue. Sauropod paced back and forth in front of her precious treasure, stamping her feet in distress, not daring to get closer.

The beast waited, unmoving.

*****

The plane began its descent without warning from the flight deck. Miriam didn’t bother fastening her seat belt. The water she had been staring at for the last several hours gave way to dry land, and then the New York skyline appeared in all its glory.

Her phone beeped. She hadn’t turned it off in flight. They hadn’t expected her to. These people didn’t worry much about that sort of thing.

The incoming text message had a picture attached. Philip sat in the back seat of a car. The photographer made sure to show the US Consulate, clearly visible, through the window. Philip’s face was tense, but Miriam could see it was born of determination, and not fear. Two small creases between his brows told the tale. Even as a baby, he would make those creases when he was hell-bent on having his way.

If her sixteen year-old son could push aside his fear, then so could she. The plane touched down, and she opened the attaché case on the opposite seat. A woman’s blazer was folded neatly inside. It was chic, stylish, exactly what one would expect a US ambassador to wear on business.

She slipped into the blazer, noting the extra weight, her fingers running over the hard plastic inside the front pocket.

*****

The Crocodilian monster blinked once, and then made his move. Sauropod was ready, stamping and kicking to protect her injured leg, but she miscalculated. The beast didn’t attack her, choosing instead to dart underneath her to the nest. He snatched two of the five eggs in his long snout, and wheeling around, headed back to his murky hole.

She howled in agonized protest, and for a moment, considered following him. She couldn’t hope to catch him, and even if she could, her eggs were likely already gone.

She circled the nest. Three lone eggs remained in the clutch. The leathery skin on her left foreleg was torn and bleeding. She stared at the red streaks, startled by the sudden explosion of color. The ash continued to fall, mixing with the blood, turning the brilliant red to black, and then gray until all that was left was the pain.

*****

Miriam descended to the waiting limo.

“Good afternoon, Ambassador.”

Customs waved the diplomatic car through the airport exit.

“79th and Central Park West.”

“The Museum?”

“I want to clear my head before the meeting.”

“Of course, Ambassador.”

Miriam fingered the hard plastic in her pocket, worrying it like a cold sore, embracing the pain.

*****

Sauropod was weak. The nearby trees had been stripped bare, the ash-covered grass inedible. She dared not move further from her clutch. The beast was out there. She heard him sliding through the ash, waiting her out, waiting for her great strength to fail.

She tottered on wounded legs, and then lay down, circling her massive body gently around the nest. She closed her eyes, tired beyond reckoning.

The monster moved closer.

The ash fell.

*****

Inside the museum, a fossilized dinosaur lay on its side, curled into a ball, filling the cavernous exhibit hall. Miriam saw it encircled a clutch of eggs.

She activated FaceTime. “I’m in position.”

“When your son leaves the car, you will have ten seconds to complete your task. If you do not, I will shoot him in the back.”

“Mom?”

She smiled, “Run to the Consulate, Honey.”

A hand shoved Philip out the door.

The fossil’s placard read “EXTINCTION.” She climbed over the rail.

“Ma’am!”

Miriam stroked the mother’s long neck.

“We both failed spectacularly, didn’t we?”

She closed her eyes and pressed the detonator.

Operation Irascible Owl

This week, Chuck Wendig provided a link that generates funny military operation titles. Each click generates five random titles. The challenge was to create a story of no more than 1000 words, any genre, using one of the titles. I was sorely tempted by "Indulgent Cougar." Seriously, that's an awesome title. I might still write that story! But ultimately, I went with  "Irascible Owl." A piece of my eldest son's artwork got the wheels turning. He has graciously allowed me to publish it with my story.

Operation Irascible Owl

Artwork by Sean Owens

Rafa stopped his troops at the fence.

“Archer! Go, no go?”

“Archer is a go.”

“Wrangler! Go, no go?”

“Wrangler. Go.”

“Ninja! Go, no go?”

Esme rolled her eyes. “Ninja. Go.”

Like any of them would wuss out now.

“Head Man is a go.”

Wrangler, otherwise known as Stu, stifled a laugh at their leader’s call sign. Though not a native English speaker, Rafa was skilled enough to disguise his accent. Unfortunately, he still missed some of the nuances of the language.

He knew when he was being mocked. 

“Maintain your bearing, soldier! Radio silence begins now!”

Nevermind, they didn’t have radios.

Rafa was an asshole, but he was also the best strategist in the game. Esme put up with his theatrics because his team always won. Strategy was mission-critical this round. Professor Gerrity, anthropologist, primitive artifact collector, and all-around creepy dude, would not give up the prize willingly.

“Operation Irascible Owl is a go. Wrangler, you’re up.”

Stu produced wire cutters and cut a hole in the fence. He slipped through and exchanged the cutters for a ziplock bag. He whistled low and opened the bag.

A rustling in the bushes was followed by a chorus of growls that made Esme’s hair stand on end. A pair of German shepherds burst into the clearing, their dark coats invisible in the waning light, so they appeared all teeth and crazy eyes. Stu didn’t flinch. When the dogs were within 20 feet, he tossed the meat out of the bag and slipped back through the fence.

The dogs skidded to a halt in front of the hamburger and swallowed it in three bites, then trotted to the fence and sniffed with interest. The growls and gnashing teeth subsided, and Stu hand-fed them pieces of steak. He slowly pulled the fence apart and allowed the dogs through. Esme slid behind them and crawled to the other side, followed by Rafa. Frank lowered the rifle at his shoulder and came third. Stu stroked the dogs and continued feeding them until they both lay down and went to sleep.

“Good work, Wrangler!”

“Radio silence, Head King.” Esme murmured, just loud enough.

“Head Man!”

Stu snorted again, and Frank grinned. Esme shrugged and headed into the trees. Night had fallen, but Esme was at home in the woods. Even Rafa deferred to her skill.

Ten minutes later, Professor Gerrity’s house appeared. Esme stood in the treeline and scanned the back of the gothic structure. Few lights were on which was helpful. Their prize was kept on the third floor which was not.

“First floor. Far left,” she whispered to Rafa.

“Archer, eyes on Irascible Owl. Library, far left.”

Frank peered through his scope and nodded. “Got him.”

He dropped to the ground and low-crawled across the back yard until he was within 30 yards of the library. Professor Gerrity was reading in a large wingback chair facing the window.

“You’re up, Ninja.”

“Ay, ay, Head Job.”

“Head Man!” Rafa hissed. “This is not hard to remember!”

Esme nodded, poker-faced, as they low-crawled side by side, past Frank, to the back wall of the house. The motion-activated lights wouldn’t trigger on anything 36 inches or lower because of the dogs. Esme stopped just to the left of the library window.

Professor Gerrity’s collection of primitive artifacts was a source of controversy because he chose to display it in his spooky house in the middle of nowhere instead of the university gallery. The gallery’s collection was nothing to sneeze at, but it paled in comparison to the creepy old coot’s private collection.

The centerpiece of the collection was Gerrity’s Zulu walking stick. Four feet tall and carved from a twisted piece of wood, it was whispered to have supernatural power. The red dye splattered across the knob and streaking down the length of the stick fueled the legend, as did Gerrity bringing the stick to his classes and pointing it at students he deemed slackers. Reportedly, one such student had wrecked his car after class. Another had contracted chicken pox.

That stick was the grand prize this year.

Rafa gave Esme a boost, propelling her lithe body high enough for her to grab the second-floor window sill. She swung her legs up, used the arched window frame to climb to the point at the top, and stood on the façade to reach the third floor sill. Her cutting tools made short work of the window. No alarms sounded, confirming Rafa’s intelligence that the dogs comprised the bulk of Gerrity’s security system.

Esme ignored the garish masks and odd carvings, going straight to the display case in the center of the room. A silver plate contained two words.

Zwali

Knowledge

A shiver passed over her like someone stepping on her grave. She shook it off and opened the unlocked case. She grasped the stick, expecting…something, but nothing happened. She lifted it out of the case and went rigid.

Distant barking, getting closer, and then silence.

She darted to the window. Rafa was still in position below, plastered against the wall, staring across the backyard to the woods beyond. She followed his gaze. Frank was hauling ass to the treeline. She couldn’t see Stu.

“Psst!”

Rafa looked up and she dropped the stick. He caught it, hit the ground, and made like Frank to the trees. Esme threw her legs over the sill in time to see a muzzle flash directly below her. The shot sounded like cannon fire in the silence, and the yard lit up like the outfield at Yankee Stadium.

Gerrity stalked over to Rafa.

“My property, please.”

Rafa raised the stick. Gerrity reached, then clutched his neck and crumpled to the ground. Frank stepped out of the treeline.

“Irascible Owl is down.”

Rafa removed the dart as Esme jogged over.

“Nice work, Head Man.”

Rafa grinned slyly. “Would you like to hold my stick?”

Esme glanced from the grotesque prize to the understanding in Rafa’s eyes.

Zwali

Knowledge

“Nope. I’m good.”

The Stardust Palace

This week's challenge kicked my ass, but once started, the story wouldn't let go, so I soldiered on until I finished. The game, this time, was setting. Chuck gave us five possibilities, and our choice had to not only drive the story, but be so pervasive, it was almost a character in itself. I chose "lunar brothel" and came in at exactly 1000 words and just under the deadline. Enjoy.

The Stardust Palace

Baker ground his cigarette against the cinderblock wall and when he was sure it was out, slid it into his front pocket. The sun sat low on the horizon, and shadows stretched long. Full dark wouldn’t arrive for two days, but folks were already antsy. Earth loomed large in the waning light, but for the two weeks it would take this god-forsaken rock to rotate back to the sun, Terra Firma would light up the sky like the Vegas strip at midnight. A thousand souls would gaze at the brilliant blue sphere and despair.

Baker stepped out of the shadow, unseen by the angry patron. His stealth would have been impressive given his size, except the asshole screaming into the speaker was blind drunk.

“That’s enough, Flynn.”

He hadn’t raised his voice, but the wiry man staggered back in belligerent surprise.

“Baker! I ain’t looking for trouble, but you know I already paid. I get a dee-duction taken out every week.”

Baker stood unmoving, arms crossed.

“C’mon man.” Flynn whined, “I just want my time.”

“Rules apply to you same as everybody else. You drink after you get your time, or you don’t get your time.”

“That’s bullshit, man! ‘Nother way for the Company to cheat me!”

“Sober up. Come back next week.”

“Bullshit, man…”

Flynn turned, blinking into the sunlight, harsh even in the last days of the cycle. He left pissed and bitching, but he left. Nobody messed with Baker.

Baker slouched into the faux bricks, flicked his vintage Bic, relit the cig, and pondered the irony of life on the rock. Humankind had built a colony inside the lunar eco-dome, and the walls still looked like cinderblock. Somewhere on Earth, an engineer was laughing.

“That habit is going to get you in trouble.”

Even through the tin of the speakers, Misha’s voice was cultured and exotic.

Baker shrugged, “CP knows where I am.” Ashes floated as he saluted the nearest Company camera. “They’re welcome to take me any time.”

Her low chuckle sent an involuntary frisson of pleasure down his spine.

“The Company Police? Not likely, my dear. No, I fear you are going to stray too near an oxygen vent and incinerate yourself.”

“I’ll try to avoid that,” he said drily. “What’s the evening look like?”

“The usual fare. Flynn was the only problem on the book.” Misha’s voice was light. “The other issue I mentioned will need handling.”

“Sure.”

He took a deep drag and ground the cigarette out a second time. With a nod to the camera, he dropped the butt into his collection near the door and punched in the entry code.

Baker stepped through the looking glass into the Stardust Palace.

“Good evening Mr. Baker.”

He nodded to the hostess on duty and entered the parlor. Red velvet chaise lounges sat atop handmade Persian rugs. The décor, 18th Century bordello, felt more contrived than the cinderblocks. The only nod to reality was the screen on the opposite wall, rotating salacious images of the girls available that evening.

When Sunshine appeared, all wide-eyed innocence, Baker tapped the screen twice. The picture disappeared, and a moment later, Sunshine stepped into the room in a buttery negligee.

Her sultry expression wavered when she met his eyes.

“Baker. Is there a problem?”

“No darlin’,” he drawled, “just feeling lonely.”

Her eyes darted around the room.

“But I thought you and Misha…”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Long night’s comin’. I need a little Sunshine.”

She didn’t smile at his joke, but she didn’t argue either. His authority trumped her reluctance, so she squared her shoulders and led him through the door, stopping in front of a guest room.

“Uh uh. Your room.”

“I…uh…don’t…I mean we don’t entertain in our private quarters.”

“You don’t entertain clients in your private quarters. Surely, I rate higher than Flynn.”

Baker’s tone was light, and he was still smiling, but Sunshine twitched like a rabbit ready to bolt.

“Well, yes.”

Baker placed a firm hand on her shoulder and led her to her own door.

She offered one last protest. “My room is messy. I could take care of you better in one of the VIP suites.”

The effort was wasted. Baker dropped the pretense.

“Open the door.”

She entered the code with shaking fingers, and Baker pushed her roughly inside.

“Sit down, Sunshine.”

She obeyed, huddled on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

“You know why I’m here.”

She nodded miserably, “I’ll leave on the next transport home.”

“Home?” Baker snorted. “You Earth girls never get any smarter. Ivy League, right? Journalism?” He shook his head, angry now. “Editor calls you special. Persuades you to go undercover in the infamous Stardust Palace, and you just have to prove yourself. Congratulations! You make a convincing whore.”

Sunshine aka Sharon Billingsworth reached blindly, haphazardly, gathering her things. Baker grabbed her right arm, twisting it almost to the breaking point. He produced a vintage Swiss Army knife and opened it one-handed. Sharon flailed, screaming, but Baker outweighed her by 150 pounds. No help was coming.

The blade sank into her forearm, peeling back the skin.

“NO!” Her shriek echoed through the living quarters.

He pulled the bloody chip from beneath her skin and released her. She fell onto the bed sobbing.

“Don’t fret. It’s not a tracking chip. It never was. It contains instructions for the wire transfer to your editor.”

He watched horrified understanding cross her face.

“All our girls are educated. Keeps the boys in line. They’ll work a week in hell for an hour on top of a fresh-scrubbed Earth girl. You’ll see.”

“I won’t!”

Baker wiped the blade on his sleeve. “An option, yes, but if you don’t earn your keep, you’ll have to move into the colony. All-male dormitories. No security. No income. Same end result without the comforts of home.”

He leaned over, brushed a blonde strand behind her ear, and whispered, “Welcome to the Palace, Sunshine.”

Being Nice makes you Happier

Another flash fiction challenge offered up by Chuck Wendig enticed me to play. The game this time is to write an unlikable protagonist who remains compelling and readable, 1000 words or less. Mine comes in at 747. Enjoy.

Being Nice makes you Happier
Condoms? Yeah, good luck with that, buddy.

Out loud, “Big date, tonight?”

The teenager flushed underneath his zits. “No, but you can’t be too prepared, right?” He reached for a nonchalant smile and failed. “That’s what they taught me in boy scouts.”

Boy scouts don’t get laid.

Brody examined the box before bagging it. “Ribbed for her pleasure,” he read. “Very considerate. You are a boy scout.”

The boy laughed nervously, shifting his weight and clutching his wallet with white knuckles. The soccer mom unloading groceries on the belt behind him radiated disapproval.

Beautiful.

Brody grinned and totaled the order. “Okay, box of condoms, pack of gum. That’ll be $4.78 with tax.”

The kid threw his money at Brody, grabbed the bag like he stole it, and hurried out the exit.

“You embarrassed that boy on purpose.”

Brody fixed an impassive stare on the woman. She stared back.

He shrugged, “If you’re man enough to have sex, you ought to be man enough to buy a condom without turning five shades of red.”

“It was unkind.”

“So it was.”

And speaking of Trojans…

Brody typed a code into the register before he scanned the first item. The display screen dimmed slightly, indicating his program was running in the background. He swallowed another grin and scanned silently.

Vegetables, fruit, chicken. Damn, this chick needed some red meat in her diet or something. Whatever. Produce was easy to hide behind.

“Being nice would make you happier.”

Your money will make me happier.

He allowed the grin to show. “I couldn’t resist teasing him. He reminded me of my little brother. But you’re right. I should’ve been nicer.”

The muscles in her face relaxed, but not enough to produce a smile. He slid a box of tampons across the scanner. Bitch must be on the rag. The bag of Oreos confirmed it.

“Those cookies were marked on sale. That’s not the sale price.”

“I’m sorry. Do you remember the price? I can send someone to check.”

“$2.99.”

He voided the cookies at $3.78 and punched in $2.99. He considered killing the worm. She didn’t fit the profile. She was paying attention and confident, and he had nullified his native charm dicking around with condom boy.

Would she go home and examine the receipt?

“Shouldn’t you tell someone those cookies are ringing up wrong? A manager or something?”

“Technically, the sale starts at midnight. The guys on the floor got a jump on the signage.” He pointed to the plastic pinned to his chest. “I am a manager.”

“Oh.”

She kept her voice neutral, but the raised eyebrow told Brody exactly what she thought of his managerial skills.

Game on.

He scanned her organic milk. The shit was expensive, and the worm left it alone. People paid attention to the pricier items on their ticket. Her eyes were glued to the display screen.

The block of cheddar cheese rang up .30 higher than the correct price.

She didn’t blink. Neither did he.

Cheerios, .20 higher. No reaction.

A loaf of fresh-baked bread, a nickel higher. She flicked her eyes from the display screen to his face. He smiled pleasantly.

Antiperspirant, a full dollar higher. I’ve got a Secret too.

Her eyes returned to the display as he scanned a two-pack of toothbrushes, .20 higher. Toothpaste, razors, and a bottle of Midol.

“Your total comes to $76.42.”

Her brows knitted together, and she stood frozen, debit card in hand.

Come on Mama. Scan your card for Snakebyte.

Deliberately, she returned the debit card to her wallet and pulled out her checkbook. Brody ran the check and handed over her receipt.

“You have a wonderful day, ma’am.”

She slid the receipt into her checkbook, eyed him suspiciously one last time, and walked away silently.

“Being nice makes you happier,” he called after her.

She kept walking and Brody chuckled. The cash drawer popped open of its own volition, and he removed $5.20 and slid it into his pocket. A grain of sand in his rapidly growing sand castle, and undoubtedly, the best $5.20 he would earn today.

His gleeful meditation was interrupted by the sound of screaming children. A woman in sweats threw her credit card at him and struggled to unload an overflowing cart. The toddler on her hip crushed a fistful of goldfish and reached for the opened bag on the belt. A red-faced infant screamed from its seat in the cart.

Snakebyte smiled sympathetically and punched in the code.

Beautiful.

When Just Right is Just Wrong

If Chuck Wendig's TerribleMinds is not already on your daily blog roll, it should be. Among other interesting tidbits, he hosts regular flash fiction contests on his blog. Each week a specific set of parameters is given and everyone is invited to play. You post your story of no more than 1000 words on your blog and link to it in the comment section of his.

This week, I couldn't resist. He linked to a set of 50 Unexplainable black and white photos on Buzzfeed. Many of the photos were disturbing. They were all weird. Perfect story material, right? Here's mine, along with the photo that inspired it.

Just Right

Onyx had never found Papa B’s bed too hard, but when her subversive sister, Goldie, uploaded her first self-produced video to YouTube, it had inexplicably gone viral. Papa may have been cast as a lumbering oaf who slept on an iron mattress, but he was no fool. He turned the den into a B&B and charged extra for Baby B’s room.

Mama B left when Papa sold the movie rights to Hollywood. No one was surprised. After all, they slept in separate beds. While Papa had laughed off the caricature Goldie made of him, Mama hated being seen as a frumpy housewife eating cold porridge and driving Papa off to his hard, lonely bed. The prospect of a nationwide movie release sent her over the edge. She took her share of the advance and hit the road.

Secretly, Onyx was glad. Other than the separate beds, she couldn’t speak to Mama’s relationship with Papa, but she had been best friends with Baby since the third grade. Baby was sad when Mama left, but truth be told, she had been motherless for years. Her real mom had died in childbirth, and a desperate, broken-hearted Papa had remarried, hoping to give Baby a mother.

Desperate and broken-hearted is no way to begin a relationship. Everything about Mama B had been wrong. She was bi-polar, and while Onyx would never fault a person for having an illness, she could fault them for refusing to treat it. Mama only took her meds about half the time which made her highs and lows even worse.

She was too happy or too sad, too mellow or too angry, too trusting or too paranoid. Goldie’s video had, in fact, been an homage to Mama’s earth-moving shifts. Unfortunately, one character trait was constant. She was too freaking critical, and it was all aimed at Baby.

Baby was beautiful, but you wouldn’t have known it if you heard Mama talk. She told Baby one day, that she was too fat to fit in the den and the next, that she was too skinny to survive the winter. Mama railed over Baby’s lush, perfect hair. It was too long, too short, too thick, too thin, too dull, too shiny, too, too, too…it was Mama’s favorite word.

Everyone knew Baby B was just right. Onyx knew it better than most, and she reminded Baby at every possible opportunity. She spent a lot of time in the B’s den working the desk, cleaning, cooking for the guests, and anything else Papa needed done. Goldie was off at film school on Papa’s dime, so her own house felt cold and empty.

Baby had gone into the new family business as well, giving tours and having her picture made with the guests. At night the two of them would curl up on Papa B’s big, very comfortable bed (Papa had taken to sleeping outside) and whisper their dreams for the future.

Onyx’s dreams had not included getting pregnant, but Brad had been so handsome when he checked in late on a cold February afternoon. The fire had roared cheerfully, warm porridge steamed on the stove, and Onyx had been alone. Reservations were light in the winter. People came to B’s B&B to see big Papa and just right Baby, not Goldie’s homely sister.

Brad had been different. He didn’t seem to care that he was in a celebrity’s den. He had eyes only for her. They had shared a bottle of wine over a bowl of just-right porridge, and before she could say, “My what big teeth you have,” Onyx found herself wrapped in Brad’s arms.

The magic of the night had been washed away the next morning when she woke alone in Baby’s bed to the sound of Papa B’s booming voice.

“Onyx! Where are you?”

Wearing her disheveled clothing from the night before, she had slunk out of Baby’s room. Brad sat grinning in front of the fire, and Papa caught on immediately.

“Oh Onyx, I thought you had more sense than this.”

Brad fist-pumped like the frat boy he was. “Big Brad Wolfe strikes again!”

“Get out and don’t come back!”

When Papa B roared, one ignored it at his own peril. Brad made a quick exit, but the damage had been done. When the stick turned pink, Onyx’s shame was complete.

Good friends make all things bear-able and no matter how low Onyx sank, Baby B was there with a kind word and gentle touch which of course was just right.

Something Gained. Something Lost.

This is a first for me. I've never posted my fiction on the blog, mostly because I don't tend to write short. I write long, and posting even bits and pieces of my novels would diminish their chances of being published traditionally. I like long story arcs and rich character development. Writing short stories is about packing a lot of story and character into just a few words. What follows is just under 2k words. By contrast, my agented novel is 105k.

I'm a romance writer, but this is a horror story inspired by a quote from The Merchant of Venice that popped up on my iPhone Shakespeare quote of the day app. Sooooo...I'm posting my first fiction in a genre I don't write and a form I don't write. What could possibly be wrong with that? :)

Enjoy.

Something Gained. Something Lost.

“Light thinks it travels faster than anything, but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.” ~~Terry Pratchett

A shadow flitted across Mina’s peripheral vision, but when she turned her head, nothing was there. She peered out from her hiding place. Traffic was sparse, but a kaleidoscope of light strobed down the block. Club-goers milled outside the entrance.

In between, darkness wove a pattern around a pair of streetlights. It filled the space she occupied, surrounding her. When she had ducked into the recess just a few minutes earlier, the darkness had seemed welcoming, an ally. Now, it felt heavy.

As if fueled by her fearful thoughts, the darkness grew deeper, suffocating her, suffocating the sounds of the city. She imagined herself underwater as even the pounding bass from the nearby club was silenced. A chill worked its way down her back, and she pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders. It wasn’t much help.

She dropped her cigarette, stepped on it, and quickly emerged from the recessed entryway of the closed shop…the same secondhand shop in which she’d found the cute little bolero jacket. She smiled ruefully.

Should have bought the leather bomber. Would’ve been warmer.

Her heels clicked on the concrete in time to the steady thump escaping the club down the street. She reached into her bag and pulled out a stick of gum.

Or maybe I should just quit smoking.

She followed the gum with a small bottle and spritzed a light perfume over her clothes and into her hair. Jasmine and sandalwood.

Jack loved it. To date, she had been stealthy enough that he hadn’t noticed it masked Eau de Marlboro Light. After three dates, four counting tonight, she was getting dangerously close to lying to a guy that had potential long-term written all over him.

He’s never technically asked if I smoked.

She rolled her eyes. Even she wasn’t buying that crap. Inventing a phone call and sneaking out to smoke was not the way to start an honest relationship.

She fumbled the perfume bottle while putting it away, and ended up dumping half the contents of her bag into the street.

“Shit.”

Her voice was strangely muted, and she looked around for the first time since leaving her hiding place. The street was empty. The lights still strobed outside the club, but everyone had gone inside. Not a single car moved up or down the long stretch of asphalt.

Mina knelt down nervously and threw her stuff back into her bag. She felt around for stray items she might have missed. A hand closed over hers, and she rocked back on her heels, then fell on her ass with a shriek.

“I’m sorry.” The voice was behind her. “I did not mean to startle you. I saw you drop your things, and I wished to assist you.”

She scrambled to her feet and backed away from the hand at her elbow offering to help. Caught between the two streetlights, those golden pools of light were miles away.

She turned on her heel, heart pounding, to get a look at her Good Samaritan. The darkness was so thick, she could only see his silhouette. He reached out, and she instinctively backed away.

“I believe this belongs to you.”

Her cell phone lay in his outstretched hand. She snatched it up without regard to good manners and found it in two pieces.

“The battery fell out when it hit the ground.”

His accent was thick and unfamiliar.

“Thank you.” Her own voice sounded strange, like she had cotton in her ears.

Her fingers were thick and uncoordinated as she forced the battery back into place.

“Why were you hiding in the dark?”

She looked up sharply. “I wasn’t hiding.”

She couldn’t make out the features of his face, but she felt his amusement, heard it in his voice. “Why, then, did you seek shelter in the darkness?”

He had obviously seen her sneak out of the recessed doorway. Realizing he had been watching her, a new frisson of fear kicked her pulse higher.

“I stepped out of the club for a smoke.”

“You walked all the way down the block to smoke?”

Adrenaline already poured through her, and fear morphed into anger.

“Yes, and I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

She turned and stalked toward the club, toward the streetlight, toward that golden pool that seemed to get farther away with every stride. He fell in step beside her, a shadow superimposed on the darkness.

“Smoking is a common habit. Why are you ashamed?”

“I’m not ashamed.”

“You hide to smoke. You mask the scent.” He shrugged. “You are ashamed.”

Mina whirled to face him. “I’m with this guy, okay? And he doesn’t approve, and I haven’t figured out how to tell him or even better, how to quit.” she crossed her arms. “So there it is, Mr. Nosy. Happy?”

Mina leaned in, trying to see his face. His hair was shoulder-length, and judging by its silhouette, unkempt, ala Kurt Cobain. The contour of his jaw line suggested he was clean shaven, and the sudden flash of white teeth suggested he was smiling. Beyond that, she couldn’t see a thing.

“Yes. I am happy. Thank you.”

She shook her head, convinced he was crazy, but harmless. If he was going to hurt her, he would have done it already. He had given her phone back and watched her replace the battery.

She turned once again toward the strobing lights of the club.

“Would you like to quit?”

“Quit?”

“Smoking.”

“Well, yeah.”

Her eye roll was evident in her tone.

“I can help you.”

She stopped again and sighed. “I tried the gum. Nothing. I tried the patch. Smoked while I was wearing it and got so dizzy, I passed out. I even tried hypnosis from a guy doing a demonstration at the mall. Nada.”

His voice grew deeper and softer, as if he didn’t want to disturb the silence. Almost hypnotic. More so than the guy at the mall anyway, and Mina smiled.

“If you will agree to payment terms, you will be cured before you walk back inside.” He nodded toward the club.

Mina threw her head back and laughed. “Let me guess. You came out of a magic lamp?”

“I do not grant wishes. I make bargains.”

His voice held no humor, and her amusement faded as well.

“And I don’t make deals with the devil. Sorry.”

“I am not the devil.”

No shit, Sherlock.

Out loud, she said, “Who exactly are you?”

“Erebus.”

The R trilled exotically off his tongue, and Mina shivered. She had never heard the name before.

“Ariboos?” she repeated, mimicking his pronunciation.

“You sought shelter in the darkness, and the darkness can provide…for a price”

“Erebus,” she repeated again, this time with recognition. She raised her eyebrows. “You’re the god of darkness?”

“I am the darkness.”

Something in his tone stifled her laugh. He believed what he was saying, and they were still alone on a dark street. Probably best to play along.

“Okay…and you’ll cure my smoking…in return for what?”

“Something you have temporarily lost in this time you spent with me.”

Fear again. This guy was crazy. What had he done? Who had he hurt?

Seeming to read her mind, he continued, “What you have lost you carry with you all the time. It affects only you. You gain something. You lose something.”

“And you’re not going to tell me what it is before I agree to it?” She crossed her arms. “I would be stupid to make that bargain.”

“You would give up something you have lost and have not even noticed.” His voice dropped, hypnotic again. “And look at what you will gain. You will no longer have to sneak away from this man to do something you do not enjoy.”

She hated smoking. Even worse, she hated lying about smoking. Jack was a great guy…funny, smart, hot as hell. Everything she wanted, and she knew, she just instinctively knew that smoking would be a deal-breaker for him.

She stared at the pulsing lights of the club, then shrugged. This guy was full of crap anyway. She felt exactly the same as she did when she snuck out into the cold ten minutes ago. Nothing was different. What did she have to lose?

“Okay, Erebus.” She grinned when she said his name. “You have a deal.”

“You must be sure, Mina. Once the bargain is struck, it cannot be undone.”

Her name sounded foreign on his lips, and her grin faded. She peered into the dark, suddenly desperate to see his face. A man-shaped ink blot stood in front of her. Only his unkempt hair blowing in the wind gave him depth. She reached out to touch him, to assure herself he was real and solid. He reached out simultaneously and grasped her hand.

“Do we have a bargain?”

His hand was warm and strong, and her childish fear evanesced.

No guts, no glory…

“Yes. We have a deal.”

She saw a flash of white, and his smile made her shiver.

“What was yours is now mine. What you wished to lose is gone. Goodbye, Mina.”

A horn blared, and Mina jumped out of the way of a city bus she hadn’t seen coming.

“Damn, buddy! Slow down!” She looked around. “You okay, Erebus?”

She turned in a circle.

“Erebus?”

She was standing alone on the street. Well, not entirely alone. There were people outside the club again. Traffic moved along briskly, and she hustled over to the sidewalk.

She stopped short of the streetlight. The pool of light had lost it’s golden quality, only marginally brighter now than the street around it. The suffocating darkness was gone, almost as if a blanket had been lifted off the block.

The light did not cheer Mina. Erebus’ parting words still rang in her ears. Everything about them was wrong. Even the way he said her name was wrong with his emphasis on the second syllable.

Bile rose in her throat.

When did I tell him my name?

Never. She had never told him. She had a hard and fast policy regarding her name. She only gave it to a man after she decided she liked him. She had disliked Erebus from the moment she met him.

She stumbled through a small group of smokers outside the doors of the club, breathing in a lungful of secondhand smoke as she passed. She coughed until she gagged and, in that moment, knew she would never smoke again.

No joy came with that knowledge. Dread lay on her chest like a lead weight.

The club was crowded, more so now than when she stepped out. The lights pulsed and strobed wildly, rhythmically. She stopped just inside the entrance.

People leaned in close and shouted at each other. Couples gyrated wildly on the dance floor, grinding against each other in time to the pulsing lights.

Mina heard their shouted conversations, felt the vibration of the bass in sync with the lights, and Erebus’ words echoed in the awful accompanying silence.

You gain something. You lose something.

The music was gone.


“The man that hath no music in himself, nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils. The motions of his spirit are dull as night, and his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted.”
~~William Shakespeare