A Barrel of Vintner - Chapter 3

I'm closing in on 50K words, or approximately the halfway point of A Barrel of Vintner. A lot happens in these last three novel in the Justice series, so they all may be as long as A Cup of Conflict. Here's another tidbit to brighten your weekend!

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When I unfroze the cutpurse from my time bubble, I realized the man was younger than I originally thought. His body shook as if he were in the first throes of a seizure. His color faded to a dull, pale green. Not the grey-green of a skinwalker, but as if he was terrible ill and on the verge of death.

“Please, Justice, behead me now,” he cried. “I can’t endure this agony anymore.”

Before I could answer, Prince White Eagle ordered him taken to the Balance gaol to await trial and to contact him at the palace when the justice assigned to his case needed witness statements. The peacekeepers trussed up the cutpurse and dragged him away to Balance as he wept bitterly, still begging for me to take his head.

I had seen all manner of reactions when a suspect faced the possibility of execution, but I’d never in my thirty-two winters heard one beg for death like this man did.

“Back to the royal carriage,” the prince ordered. Long Feather fell into step on my right while the prince strode on my left. The royal guards marched in front and behind me as they escorted us back to where I’d leapt out of the royal carriage. Obviously, the prince wasn’t taking a chance of me running off on my own again.

“How is the civilian that damned cutpurse attacked?” I asked.

“One of the mounted guards has ridden to the Healers Guild house the next street over,” the prince bit out. “And don’t change the subject, Anthea. What the demon were you thinking?”

“That a woman was attacked and robbed in broad daylight on a street too close to the palace,” I snapped. “No idiot is so bold with an automatic death sentence.” I forced myself to breathe deeply and evenly in order to calm my rapidly beating heart. “Is it correct to connect this man’s actions with what you wish to discuss at the palace?”

“Yes.” The prince’s single word closed any further discussion of the matter.

I swallowed hard. The last thing I needed was to make any enemy of the queen’s husband. But my gut said something else was going on besides the cutpurse’s strange behavior. Whatever it was, the prince wasn’t going to discuss it in public. I wished I had the opportunity to truthspell the cutpurse before the peacekeepers hauled him to Balance. Had he attacked the woman because the terrible pain he claimed he was suffering?

Even if his affliction couldn’t be cured by a master, no Healers Guild member of sound mind would allow a patient to suffer. They’d use pain powder or soma tears if it were the wasting disease.

We reached the intersection as a Healers Guild wagon stopped next to the injured woman. Jonata had tended to her wound while Luc consoled her companion. Someone had collected the rolls and surviving melons and placed them into the fallen women’s baskets. They sat near her companion’s feet.

Yar tied the guild horses to the closest hitching rail. The berda journeyperson and their male apprentice ignored the prince and me as they jumped down, their supply bags in hand, as rushed to their patient. Jonata rose and stepped out of their way, but the injured woman cried out and reached for my warden.

“Stay,” the healer journeyperson ordered. “Keep her calm.”

Jonata crouched by the woman’s head and kept her soothing tone as she stroked the woman’s face and described the beauty of the Sea Peoples’ islands to distract the woman from her pain. The prince waited rather impatiently until the journeyperson said it was time to load the victim into their wagon.

After the healers drove off with the woman, her companion, and their baskets of goods to their guild house, the prince ordered our group back into their respective carriages. He seized my left upper arm to emphasize his command.

As much as I hated being handled in such a manner, I didn’t resist. Looking back at my actions, I realized I’d forgotten everything I learned during my time in Jing. Standora was not my city, and I’d left the prince consort vulnerable to a secondary attack. However, I needed to wait until White Eagle calmed before I offered any apology or amends. The man’s temper wasn’t easy to rouse, but when it was, he was notorious across the queendom for the violence he could inflict.

Once Luc and I were seated, the prince climbed in and glared at me while one of his guards closed the door. I endeavored to keep my expression neutral as I return the prince’s gaze. From Luc’s glances, perhaps I wasn’t as successful as I believed. The prince relaxed a tiny bit once the carriage was moving once again.

“Anthea, you must learn that the entire world does not rest of your shoulders,” he finally said.

“The emperor and empress of Jing have said as much,” I replied. “And all of you are correct, but this was a minor thing—”

But it wasn’t the prince who delivered the expected lecture.

“I can’t follow you into a fight like I used to,” Luc bit out. “And how many Balance wardens must die before you learn to think before you act?”

“Long Feather and Jonata are alive after our six-month journey to Chengzhou and back,” I grumbled.

“Reverend Father Biming lost one of his wardens saving Jonata,” Luc snapped. “Face facts. The whole reason you chose them to accompany you was because they are the youngest and most impressionable of the Orrin Balance squad. They go along with all your mad schemes—”

“I didn’t release one of my wardens from his vows in the middle of our mission—” I started.

“Stop it! Both of you!” The prince rubbed his temples. “I swear you two bicker worse than an elderly married couple.”

“We beg your forgiveness, Your Highness,” Luc murmured. “The last six months have been rather trying.”

I said nothing and settled for glaring at him.

“And I thought many people exaggerated Anthea’s penchant for seeking death until I witnessed it for myself,” the prince replied.

I sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to cool my temper. “I am not trying to get myself killed, Your Highness. The cutpurse would have disappeared into the city if I allowed him to escape. He could have done worse than stab an innocent person running her morning errands.”

“Anthea.” The prince shook his head. “What if he’d been an assassin luring you to your death?”

I opened my mouth to answer before it struck me the prince was correct. I had a breather over the last six months because Po and Shi Hua were the Assassins Guild’s primary targets. Now, that Po sat on Jing’s Dragon Throne and Shi Hua was pregnant with his son, they had plenty of extra protection. Worse, I gave neither of my wardens the opportunity to join me in the chase.

“I beg your forgiveness, Your Highness,” I finally said. “I had the luxury of not being in Issura over the last half year. I allowed my awareness of the true situation to pause for that time period.”

The prince grunted. “That’s the closest to a real apology I’ve heard from you. But you need to remember that the first half of the Skoloti prophecy was fulfilled when Emperor Bao Quan Po took the Jing throne. The second half has yet to be. According to Balance Herself, we have over twenty more years of this war. If you’re the key to the final battle, we have to keep you alive until then. So, no more running off like a disobedient child.”

I bristled at his description of me, but mainly because I hated to admit he was correct. “I hear your words, Your Highness. I will…endeavor to restrain myself in the future.”

“Very well then.” He smiled. “If you fail to do so from now on, I assure you the queen will confine you in the palace dungeon.”

He may be jesting, but I had no doubt Queen Chiara would do exactly that.

Another Delay and a New Chapter of Sapphire (The War of the Witches #1)

*sigh* I didn't get my editing done on Chefs, Shrooms, and Sherry ( The Enchanted Bakery #1). Life stuff has again interfered. I can't go into too much detail because I respect this person and their privacy. However, this particular family member was very supportive to me when I needed it nearly forty years ago, so I will damn well be there for them!

On the other hand, I finished the next chapter of Sapphire in an effort to distract myself. I hope you like it.

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Beryl supervised Jellia’s packing of a single carpet bag while she changed into traveling clothes. She hated traveling by Allophane’s silver shoes. The damn things were fast but stopping at their destination usually left her tumbling head over heels when they arrived. Still, the enchanted shoes were faster than the southern witches’ chariots drawn by swans or the western witches’ umbrellas.

Frankly, it didn’t make sense to waste the magic to create another pair of travel shoes when she could borrow Allophane’s. Her sister would definitely make her do the spell herself rather than enchant another pair for her. Even Beryl knew the energy created by just one of her lovers wouldn’t be enough for the spell.

She didn’t need Allophane’s disapproving looks if more than one peasant graced her bedchambers.

Once her own clothes and accessories were placed within her carpet bag, Beryl eyed her maid. “Jellia, pack a bag for yourself.”

The girl’s big green eyes widened. “Me?” she squeaked. “Surely, the palace has more than enough staff to suit your needs.”

“You must come because I will need to stay at the palace the entire time.” Beryl considered her options. “Did the royal messenger leave another letter for the governor?”

The girl hesitated for a moment before she gulped and nodded. She raised her chin. “It wasn’t hard to guess the contents of the letter, Lady Protector.”

Maybe Jellia was a little too smart. However, if that intelligence could be aimed in the right direction…

“The governor will have to make the announcement concerning the king’s death, if not today, then tomorrow morning.” Beryl exhaled and sat on the edge of her bed. “This is a delicate time for Oz with both the queen and king gone. Too many people will seek to control the princess. Her safety is of paramount concern to the witch protectors. The nobility will be careful about their word choices when I or any of my sisters are present. They won’t pay as much attention to our aides. Make sure you bring a civilian outfit for any errands you will need to run for me outside of the palace.”

“And to keep my ears open for you.” The maid nodded again. “I understand, m’lady.”

“Good.” Beryl rose to her feet, satisfied with the girl’s determination and loyalty. “Run along. I’m sure Allophane’s bag will be ready, and neither of us can dawdle.”

“Yes, m’lady.” Jellia curtsied and dashed off, presumably to her own room to gather her things.

Now that Beryl was alone, she pulled the sapphire key from her pocket and unlocked the chest that held her personal magical accoutrements. She selected a diamond bottle containing a syrup that would make a person malleable to her suggestions. A sapphire ring with a spell that could bring her back to the manor should the need arise. The last thing she desired was to be dependent on Allophane for magical transportation. Finally, she grabbed a paper envelope filled with dried and powdered belladonna berries.

Yes, eliminating the vizier would ensure the other witch protecters would take Willis’s suggestion that they should raise the princess a little more seriously. A mere mortal should be raising a royal child. Especially if the child in question had a single drop of her mother’s magical blood.

But magic hadn’t saved the queen from a childbirth gone wrong. It would be more prudent for one of the sisterhood to remain in the capital. Beryl smiled to herself. It was an idea she could convince the other witches would be prudent under the circumstances. And if they needed a little nudge to convince them she was the perfect candidate, well then, that was what her elixir was for.

* * *

A quarter of an hour later, Beryl tapped the toe of her right boot impatiently while she stood in the courtyard in front of the manse. She’d changed into traveling clothes. A dark blue wool jacket with a matching mid-shin-length skirt. Sturdy walking boots. A wide-brimmed hat decorated with a peacock plume.

Allophane finally came out of the front doors wearing a similar outfit, though hers was a royal blue. However, a wide buckled belt closed her jacket instead of buttons. Plus, she wore her enchanted silver shoes instead of boots.

“It’s about time, but we’re still waiting for my maid,” Beryl said in greeting.

Allophane’s eyebrows rose. “You want Jellia to accompany us to the capital?”

“We may need assistance.” Beryl lifted her chin. “We have no idea of the actual situation at the palace.”

Allophane nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you for anticipating the potential scenarios. In fact, Jellia might be more useful than you calculate. The palace staff are more likely to speak openly to her than to us.”

“Are you crediting me with having a good idea?” Beryl couldn’t stop the sarcasm dripping from her voice. Allophane always seemed to think she was better than anyone else. However, she never thought of Allophane as duplicitous. In fact, her sister protector always seemed rather naïve. Beryl would definitely need to be more careful around her fellow Munchkin Country protector if she wanted to see her plans come to fruition.

Several members of the household gathered around the courtyard to see the little group off. Beryl had no doubt the servants wouldn’t work the rest of the afternoon, knowing she and Allophane weren’t there to watch them.

Jellia raced down the steps of the manse with her own carpetbag in hand, slightly out of breath. “I’m sorry, Lady Beryl. I hurried as fast as I could.”

“Don’t worry, child,” Allophane said. “We’re pleased to have you accompany us.”

Beryl bit her tongue to keep from lecturing her fellow protector. Allophane was far too easy on the staff. They would merely take advantage if one didn’t constantly watch them. However, there was no sense in addressing the problem until they were alone. The staff would use any perceived disagreement to their benefit.

Allophane smiled at the girl before she looked at Beryl. “Are we all set then?”

She nodded curtly.

“Both you need to hold on tight to my belt,” Allophane instructed, but her attention was mainly on the maid. “If you lose your grip, you could be injured or killed. Do you understand, Jellia?”

The maid nodded briskly. “Hold on to your belt. Don’t let go.”

Beryl slung her own carpetbag over her shoulder and grasped Allophane’s heavy leather belt. The maid followed Beryl’s example. “Ready?” Allophane asked.

“Yes,” Beryl and the maid said at the same time.

“Here we go!” Allophane clicked her heels together three times.

Beryl was rather glad she’d pinned her favorite hat securely to her hair net as a whirlwind spun the trio into the air and westward.

Death Goddess Walking - Chapter 3

Here's the next unedited chapter of the first book in the upcoming The Books of Apep series. Sorry, I'm late. I got up early to go vote yesterday, but I can't do three hours of sleep in thirty-six hours without my body demanding payment.

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The dead seek her comfort, and she readily tends them with her mercy. – A prayer to Selket on the walls of the reconstructed Red Temple of Hatshepsut, the Karnak complex at Luxor, Egypt


Billie matched Cyrus’s glare. “If you don’t know how to help, then shut up.”

A soft woof agreed with her. She glanced at the black dog sitting next to her. “I don’t suppose you know how to take care of a ghost, do you?” A doggy grin was her only answer.

“Boy needs a doctor.”

“I said, shut the fuck up, Cyrus!” Hot panic filled her mouth. It’s not like they covered monster attacks in law school, much less medical school. Even if she called the twins, what could they possibly do? “And you and your little friend need to back away. I can’t see his injuries with you glowing all over the place.”

She breathed a sigh of relief when Cyrus and his guide backed away until the stone angel partially obscured the guide’s luminescence. Unfortunately, her idea light bulb remained dark as she returned to examining Marcus’s wounds.

This situation was different than the soul-eaters she’d seen attack ghosts in the past. Those things couldn’t touch her. These monsters could. Her aching hip, bruised spine, and sore ribs could testify to that.

Sarah Jane knelt on the other side of Marcus, stroking the weeping boy’s hand in hers. The girl’s eyes glistened with silvery tears. “You gotta do something, Miss Billie.”

An icy touch on her neck preceded Tommy’s words. “Marcus ain’t hurt that bad. Mebbe them things’re poison to us.”

She looked over her shoulder at the older boy. Snowflakes dusted through his form. “What’re you saying?”

Tommy inclined his head at the injured ghost. “Them marks look like when my pa got bit by a rattler.”

Billie examined the injuries on Marcus’s side. Four puncture wounds from the monster’s claw showed through the torn turtleneck the boy had been buried in. Black ringed each circle in his ectoplasmic skin. No, not black. Nothingness.

Again, the surety of the knowledge unnerved her, but not as much as the ghost’s condition. New fear gnawed on her intestines as the circles of non-existence reached for each other. A nugget of an idea formed in her head. “Then we need to draw out the poison.”

Cyrus’s voice rang from behind the statue’s wings. “You don’t have clue of what you’re doing, girlie!”

The almost-dog rose and trotted around the grave. When the canine’s distinctive growl thrummed the night air, followed by Cyrus’s yelp, Billie swallowed the hysterical laugh that threatened to erupt from her. The canine returned to sit on his haunches beside her.

She couldn’t resist the urge to ruffle his neck fur. “Thanks.”

Another woof and a nod.

No, she could not deal with canine communication that made sense right now. A deep breath helped focus on the immediate problem. This was no different than the bar exam. Break down the elements of the question and tackle them one at a time.

And time was one thing she didn’t have. The black edges surrounding the puncture marks had joined and now covered an area bigger than her palm on Marcus’s side.

Looking over her shoulder, she asked, “Tommy, how’d your father treat the snake bite?”

The older boy’s eyebrows drew into a vee as he struggled to pull out a nearly two hundred-year-old memory. “We headed into the woods to cut logs for the house. I jumped over a fallen tree and there he was, the biggest, fattest rattler you’d ever seen—”

“Tommy!”

At her sharp chiding, he blinked and his cheeks flared silvery white. “He had me cut ’im with his huntin’ knife across the bite and suck out the poison.”

Billie frowned. Sucking out poison was a myth perpetuated by pop culture. It didn’t work with real people.

But then, this entire situation was unreal.

“Now just how am I supposed to cut a ghost’s flesh?”

Tommy shrugged. “Your huntin’ knife worked on them monsters, and they can touch us ghosts.”

A snort came from behind the monument. She closed her eyes. “I said be quiet, Cyrus, or I’ll sic the dog on you. “A high-pitched bark confirmed her threat.

She opened her eyes and gazed at Tommy’s earnest face. “They were real.” At the boy’s flinch, she wished she could take the words back. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I meant my knife is steel, and those creatures were flesh, not ectoplasm like Marcus.”

He shrugged in acceptance of her apology. “It ain’t gonna hurt to try, Miss Billie. None of us were buried with anything we can cut ’im with.”

She looked down at Marcus. Even though he looked eleven, technically he was old enough to be her grandfather. Why was his consent so important to her? “It’s your call, Marcus. Do you want me to try?”

The ghost boy brushed at the tears trickling from under his glasses with his free hand and nodded. Steel and wood weighed in Billie’s hand. What the hell was she thinking? But the black patch on Marcus’s side was growing as she hesitated, and she had nothing to lose at this point. She sucked in a deep breath.

Two quick slashes formed an ‘X’ across the wounds. A short cry escaped from Marcus, but other than a jerk at the first cut, he remained still. Sarah Jane kept her grip on his hand while Tommy knelt beside him and clung to the other one.

This was insane. Even as the thought flew through her mind, Billie bent her lips to the boy’s side. Intense cold shocked her system, but it was the taste that launched her gag reflex into overdrive. Not even a real taste, but a foulness pure in its terrible state against her lips. Nothing so evil had ever touched her before tonight. Not even her foster father’s lecherous advances felt this bad. Swallowing hard against the threatening nausea, she sucked the blackness, turned, and spat. Repeating the sequence over and over until Marcus’s skin turned a dull gray and she was sure none of the evil remained in him.

Then she flung herself away from the children. The contents of her stomach heaved across the pristine snow. When the last of the beer and her birthday dinner were purged, she collapsed on the frozen grass. Every bit of strength had been consumed in her struggle to save Marcus. Or at least his soul.

White light pierced her eyelids. She forced one eye open to find Cyrus and his guide hovering over her. “I always said you shouldn’t waste perfectly good alcohol on a woman. They puke it up every time,” the ghost muttered.

Her eyelid drifted shut again. She couldn’t even summon the energy to curse at him, much less keep her eyes open. It would be so nice to take a nap. She didn’t even feel cold anymore.

Warm, sweet breath whispered across her cheek. Her eyes blinked open. Funny. The canine peering at her from inches away didn’t smell doggy at all. Orange and cinnamon and sandalwood filled her nose. Odd combination for an animal. He nudged under her chin with his frigid, wet nose, a reminder she was laying in the middle of a cemetery during a snowstorm.

Except part of her didn’t care. The miasma from the thing’s venom seeped into her bones and muscles, rendering her body inoperable. Even her mind fuzzed under the silent flakes gathering on her scarf.

Sleek fur slid under her left hand. The dog wedged his head under her arm, lifting the unresponsive limb with his body. Her rattled brain finally got the memo. She had to get up or she’d freeze. Fingers stroked his surprisingly soft pelt. For the second time tonight, instinct said she knew this being.

His body heat burned away the dangerous lethargy clinging to her as he aligned his frame with hers. A whine and lick on her cheek encouraged her to climb to her knees. Too bad it wasn’t a kiss from Porter.

She jerked at the unexpected thought. Damn, had the ghost poison fried her brain cells?

A small giggle escaped at her incongruous thoughts. Attaining an upright position seemed to help clear her head. Maybe the monster venom did affect her if she was comparing her canine rescuer with Kyra’s bouncer friend. The two had nothing in common but the color black. She stared at the animal face so close to hers. And those strange golden eyes.

Another wave of dizziness threatened to spill her back on the ice-covered grass, and she tightened her grip on the dog’s fur. He bore it, not even emitting the tiniest growl of protest. Sarah Jane knelt next to her and the dog. “Are you going to be okay, Miss Billie?”

“Yeah.” Her stomach disagreed, but there wasn’t anything left to hurl. She glanced over at Marcus. Tommy and another boy were hefting the injured ghost between them. “Can you kids get Marcus back to his grave?”

They all nodded, matching solemn looks on their faces. Except for Marcus who looked like he had the phantom equivalent of her nausea. Thank goodness, the patch of nothingness on his side was gone.

“You all should go to your resting places,” she added. “I don’t think those things are coming back tonight, but your coffins and mausoleums should give you some protection if they do.” Once again, the odd tickle of certainty over the imparted information bothered her.

“What about you?” Concern pinched Sarah Jane’s face.

A soft yip sounded in her ear. She couldn’t resist another chuckle. “Our friend will help me to the back gate.”

Without another word, the group of children headed for Marcus’s section of the cemetery.

She didn’t get that lucky with the adult ghost.

“What about my problem?” Cyrus glared at her.

“Go haunt your son.” Biting her lip against her churning stomach, not to mention the pain from getting tossed around by the monster, Billie ignored the sputtering ghost, braced a hand on the dog’s back and climbed to her feet.

“Listen, you bi—”

She held up a hand. “Stop yapping and think, Cyrus. There are things prowling this cemetery that can hurt a ghost. Are you going to leave before they find you? Or are you as dumb as I think? Personally, I’m hoping for the latter—”

Cyrus and his guide faded from view.

Well, that was two problems down.

Then the reality of what she still held in her upraised hand sank into her exhausted brain. It took two tries to sheathe the knife. She was damn lucky she didn’t slice off her ass in the attempts.

She raised the fallen scarf back over her hair and ears before she looked down at the dog. “I suppose cutting off my butt would be an improvement, wouldn’t it?” The dog actually took a step backward and seemed to examine the mentioned anatomy. He returned to her side and shook his head vigorously.

“Great. Dead people weren’t bad enough. Now, I’m talking to animals.”

He peered up at her through thickening flakes, tongue lolling in a doggy grin. She took a few tentative steps with one hand still on his furry back, his muscular strength a comfort. He paced her patiently as she shuffled through the accumulating snow. Damn, she didn’t realize how big the thing was. His shoulder came nearly up to her hip, and she wasn’t exactly short at five-foot-seven.

Deciding to ignore the question of her strange hero, Billie set off for the back gate, her normal stride hampered by her bruised body. With the snow already at a half-inch, her tracks couldn’t be helped. The dog padded alongside, his puffs of foggy breath matching hers.

Questions raced through her muddled brain during their silent walk. The biggest one was exactly what were those things that had attacked her and the children.

She could touch them. They had mass and weight, not like the soul-eaters she’d encountered before. Not like the one that had ripped her mother’s ghost apart and munched ectoplasm with gleeful abandon. A shudder shook Billie at the memory.

The dog paused and gave her a curious look.

“I’m fine.”

A questioning whine followed.

She stopped as well and searched her coat pocket for her gloves. The wind died down, but the snow seemed to fall faster. Her sigh sent a cloud of steam through the flakes when only the left one made an appearance. She must have lost the other glove in the fight, and the ever-thickening whiteness would swallow the bright red yarn. Shoving her right hand into her coat pocket helped, but her fingertips were staring to go numb. She and the dog continued their slow trudge.

Fifteen minutes later, they finally reached the back gate. Held by a chain and padlock, the wrought-iron gate had enough of a gap to slip through. A soft whine stopped her on the street side.

Dammit, she couldn’t leave the poor creature behind, not after he’d saved her life. And not in this kind of weather. Tonight, he could sleep in the kitchen, and tomorrow morning she could put up signs around the neighborhood and campus. Surely, he must be someone’s trained guard dog from his behavior towards the monsters. She held the gate so he could pass through the narrow opening, and she turned to head down the street when a white glare blinded her.

Unfortunately, it was caused by something worse than her annoying ex-client and his bird-like spirit guide.

A commanding female voice rolled past the light. “Columbus PD, ma’am. What’re you doing in the cemetery after visiting hours?”

Queer Eye for the Super Guy (888-555-HERO #11) - Chapter 3

Here's the next unedited chapter of the upcoming 888-555-Hero novel!

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“Are you friggin’ kidding me?” Jeremy shouted. “I will not have a supervillian wearing one of my creations!”

Leonardo frowned and laid aside the knife. Well out of Jeremy’s reach.

“No, no, no,” Mel replied. “He wants you to be one of the judges.”

If they weren’t totally immune to the effects of any and all drugs, Jeremy would suspect they were high on something.

“This Dale better be worth it in bed,” Jeremy grumbled.

“Oh, he is.” Mel laughed. “Why do you think I’m just getting home?”

“Let me talk it over with Leonardo and call you back.”

“Can I have Dale’s assistant send the contracts to Winters and Franklin for their review?”

“That’s awfully presumptuous of you,” Jeremy retorted.

“Puh-leease. We both know you won’t sign a damn thing without your foster sisters’ input.”

Jeremy looked at Leonardo who wore a shit-eating grin. Oh, he was definitely going to hear about this over breakfast. “All right, e-mail the contracts to Harri. But this is not a yes by any means, Mel.”

“Of course. Talk to you later.” Mel made kissy noises before they ended the call.

Jeremy at Leonardo. “What are you laughing about?”

“We both know if the money’s right, you’re going to do it.”

“Did you know about this?” Jeremy laid his phone on the counter before he pulled out the carton of eggs from the refrigerator.

“There’s been rumors in the gossip rags that TV wunderkind Dale Bernhardt has signed a producing deal with the ABS network.” Leonardo shrugged and popped a mushroom slice in his mouth. “The execs want a show to compete with the reality series on their rivals. Between cable and streaming, they are hemorrhaging money like crazy.”

“You mean reality shows are cheap.” Jeremy cracked two eggs into his mixing bowl, added two tablespoons of water, and whisked everything until it was evenly smooth and yellow. Did he really want to out himself? Mel didn’t care if they were outed or not. Very little could hurt them. Plus, they always kept their relationships casual. Jeremy, on the other hand, had Leonardo and his foster sibs and foster parents to worry about being used against him.

Jeremy cut a pat of butter into the small non-stick skillet and turned on the heat. He had some issues with two villains when he first started designing for supers. If it weren’t for Mel, he’d be dead. But the odd thing is Mel never it over his head when they asked for a favor.

“It would mean living out on the West Coast for a few months,” Jeremy murmured.

“What’s the point of having your clients train the local Alphabets to take care of themselves if you can’t stop being a mother hen?” Leonardo asked while he diced the onions.

“Your parents accepted you for what you are, babykins.”

“Being gay, yes. Marrying you, yes, though Mom sides with Betty about us eloping. But my parents didn’t agree with a lot of other stuff in my life.”

“That’s because you can freaking do calculus in your head. You should be teaching at MIT.” Jeremy sobered and swirled the melting butter around in the pan. “You have no idea what it’s like to live on the streets.”

“The only reason you do is because you let your pride get in the way,” Leonardo responded gently. “I know damn well once Harri and Aisha found out what had happened to you, they talked Betty and Marvin into helping you.”

Jeremy shuddered. If it weren’t for Aisha’s parents taking him in along with Harri—well, he’d come pretty damn close to prostitution in order to eat. On the other hand, Leonardo was right. He’d lived on the streets out of a misplaced sense of pride.

“A couple of months in California would be a perfect opportunity to see how Elaine can handle the salon,” Leonardo continued. “We get a furnished apartment. I can take my laptop and work on my designs while you’re at the studio.”

“You’re jumping way ahead here.” Jeremy poured the eggs into the bubbling butter. “I haven’t agreed to a damn thing yet. But you’re right about giving Elaine a probationary period as manager.” He added the onions, garlic, mushrooms, and shredded Swiss cheese.

“You want me to talk to her.” Leonardo rose to refill his coffee cup.

Jeremy considered the matter. “When is your first appointment today?”

“I’m booked from one to nine.” Leonardo set his filled cup on the breakfast bar and reached for Jeremy’s mug.

“Let’s go in early and take her out to lunch,” he suggested.

Leonardo paused and looked at Jeremy. “Mabel Longwood is my first client.”

“She can handle it if you’re late.” He shook his head. “You can’t let people like Mabel run roughshod over you.”

“Oh, please, darling.” Leonardo glared at him. “You let her run over you when she was your client, too.”

“And then, I did the smart thing and dumped her on the cute, naïve, new stylist who joined my salon.” Jeremy smirked while he flipped the omelet over in the pan.

“You are evil.” Leonardo laughed and shook his head. “It’s a wonder you didn’t become a supervillain.”

“And have a certain foster sister beat the crap out of me if I did?” Jeremy slid the finished omelet onto one of the waiting plates and handed it to his husband. “No, thank you.”

“I admit Harri’s a lot of bark—” Leonardo said.

“Harri would only yell at me. I wasn’t referring to her.” Jeremy dropped another pat of butter in the omelet pan and cracked two more eggs in the mixing bowl.

“Aisha would only resort to fisticuffs—”

“Not her either. She’d give me the same disappointed parent look Marvin would have.” Jeremy whipped the eggs with two tablespoons of water.

“LaShun?” Leonardo wore a confused expression. “Wouldn’t she break a nail?”

“Do not underestimate her, darling.” Jeremy poured the egg mixture into the bubbling butter. The liquid hissed and steamed. “When we were kids, she towed Mama Betty’s line, and she made sure the rest of us did, too. And that was long before Betty and Marvin let Harri and me move in with the Franklin clan.”

Leonardo giggled. “What would LaShun do?”

“Pull my hair.” Jeremy ran a hand over his locks. “Sit on me, or dig those damn claws of hers into very sensitive flesh as a last resort.”

Leonardo winced in sympathetic pain. “What did you do for LaShun to resort to the third option?”

“I used her makeup without permission.” Jeremy smiled at the memory while he added fillings to his omelet. “But the next day she took me to Arrow’s and helped me select my own makeup while she lectured on not sharing products because of germs. She even pitched in her own allowance to pay for everything and gave me my first lesson on proper application.”

“And here, I thought she had no heart.” Leonardo chuckled.

“She and Betty are a lot alike.” Jeremy flipped his omelet in half. “In a way, they care too much. Then, there’s the perfectionistic streak. Eat your omelet before it gets cold. And please call Elaine after breakfast so she doesn’t have lunch without us.”

“And what will you be doing?”

Jeremy slid his omelet onto his own plate. “I need to call my attorney to draw up Elaine’s paperwork and consult with her about the contracts Mel’s boyfriend will be sending to her.”

As he dug into his breakfast, he wondered if would really be worth his time to participate in Dale Bernhardt’s reality show. Because the idea of an unknown supervillain involved worried him to no end.

A HInt of Thief - Chapter 3

I've been bouncing between A Hint of Thief and Death in Double Mocha for the past couple of weeks. But I'm settling my focus on Thief because I'd like to meet one of the few deadlines I have for 2023. That will leave the rest of January to finish Death.

Hopefully, the weather stays above 20F for the next few days. My office is our Florida room. While I have a portable heater in there for winter, it doesn't make much of a dent when the temps are in the single digits or below like they were over Christmas. And it's a little hard to write in the main house with Genius Kid and the Grandpuppy here on leave for a month.

Anyway, here's another sample of A Hint of Thief.

-----------------------

Despite never wanting this moment to end, I switched back to the trade tongue. “Please, everyone, we are being incredible impolite to the Reverend Mother. This is her Temple after all.”

“It is quite all right, Chief Justice.” A broad smile lit her wrinkled face. “We all need to enjoy good fortune when Thief grants it.”

She ordered her staff to bring us more tea and some light fare, and she asked for one of her clerks to attend us. No one else ate more than a few bites, but I was extremely hungry. In between morsels, I told the tale of my strange adventures after I fell through the skinwalker’s portal.

Everyone was astounded by some of the things I described. In fact, the clerk asked me to stop and repeat some things because she was so entranced by my peculiar tale at times she forgot to take notes.

“I’m not sure if that’s a total wagonload of horseshit, or if this really happened to you,” Reverend Father Biming proclaimed when I was finished.

I shrugged. “One of you could truthspell me, and the Reverend Mother or Chief Justice Fumiko could perform a formal interrogation.”

Reverend Father Biming flushed a brilliant orange as he realized his insult.

“Really, Reverend Father?” Shi Hua clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth three times. “You dare to call the Queen of Issura’s ambassador a liar?”

“I beg your forgiveness, Lady Justice.” Biming bowed his head. “My ill-chosen words are inexcusable.”

“After the last three winters as a chief justice, I have neither the energy nor the desire to call you out, Reverend Father.” I returned his bow. “All is forgiven.”

“Now that is settled, do you have any objections to my clerks disseminating this information to the other nations’ Reverend Mothers of Balance?” The Ryukyuan Reverend Mother appeared gravely concerned about my tale.

“I have no objections, Reverend Mother,” I said. “However, I’d like the opportunity to review your clerk’s transcript prior to it being sent out to clarify or add information I may have forgotten in my exhaustion.”

“I think we could all use a good night’s sleep after all the excitement over the past two days.” As she spoke, I noticed her coloring had faded from a medium yellow to a pale yellow. Fumiko had stated the Reverend Mother wasn’t well. Between the demon attack and being roused from her sleep at my return, we were wearing out the poor woman.

I rose and my friends followed. “May I be allowed to call on you after the midday meal, Reverend Mother?”

“We were—” Reverend Father Biming started, but with sharp glances from both Quan and Shi Hua, he cleared his throat and began again. “We would be honored to have you and Chief Justice Fumiko as our guests for the midday meal on board the Unbridled.”

The Reverend Mother chuckled. “Ah, Thief Biming, you are as much as a scamp as your father was when we were novices.”

The Reverend Father couldn’t have looked more shocked if someone had tossed their cup of tea in his face. “Y-you knew my father?”

“It was a long, long time ago.” Her wide smile showed some missing teeth. “I’m too old to be running around Naha. Come to Balance for the midday meal with Anthea. While she and Fumiko review her testimony, I can tell you some tales of your father.”

Her expression turned sad. “We used to talk much more between our nations when I was younger. The failure to continue has hurt us all in the short term, which means we need to resurrect those older traditions. The Revelation of Balance says we still have twenty-one years of demon incursions to suffer through.”

I glanced at Shi Hua, who nodded her agreement. After the last two years of working closely together, she knew my question without the need for silent speech.

“May Lady Shi Hua accompany the Reverend Father and me to your Temple tomorrow?” I requested. “As part of her instruction in diplomacy, of course.”

Once again, the Reverend Mother laughed. “To make sure a Light accompanies you, or so Biming has eyes and ears everywhere?”

“Actually, I have found the lady’s counsel to be a great asset in my own duties, Reverend Mother.” I chuckled. “And between her and my wardens, I shouldn’t fall into any more holes.”

Everyone in the room, including the Ryukyuan wardens, deemed my comment highly amusing.

“As long as her husband has no objections,” the Reverend Mother said. “I would not wish to start a diplomatic incident with the new ruler of a regional neighbor.”

“As Chief Justice Anthea pointed out, I trust my wife to keep her out of trouble,” Quan replied. “Given the recent demon attacks in both Jing and Ryukyu, we need to support and defend each other.”

Amazement filled me. Whatever worries I had about Quan ascending to the Jing throne disappeared with his answer to the Reverend Mother. And it reminded me Shi Hua was not Temple anymore. I could no longer rely on her assistance in certain matters. Or for much longer.

“Thank you, Your Highness, for this small kindness.” I inclined my head to him. “I apologize for my presumption regarding your lady wife.”

“No insult was taken, Chief Justice.” His smile was gracious. “The two of you have become great friends, and I owe you her life. I would not to presume to interfere in your relationship in the short time you have left.”

“Not to interrupt your mutual admiration society, but it is late, and this old woman needs her sleep,” the Reverend Mother said. “Until our visit tomorrow, my friends, may the Twelve bless your paths.”

The Issuran and Jing contingents hastily rose at the Reverend Mother’s dismissal. I offered a quick thanks to her before Chief Justice Fumiko and their Balance wardens escorted us from her presence.

How much longer? I asked Fumiko silently as the Balance escort walked us to the Naha docks.

Every day she remains with us is a blessing from the Twelve. The Ryukyuan justice’s unease permeated our private link. If she lives through the Spring Rituals, our Master Healer will be shocked.

You will make a fine Reverend Mother when the time comes, I assured her.

Fumiko’s self-deprecating laugh felt like glass beads clinking together. She says the same thing, but I fear I will not live up to her excellence.

No, you will have to do better. I sent a thread of empathy for her position. Yesterday’s demon incursion is the first one in Ryukyu during her tenure, isn’t it?

Yes.

And you led the Balance forces in the battle against the demons?

Yes.

Naha and the Kingdom of Ryukyu still exist to fight another day. I would call your first combat experience a rousing success, and you will do just fine leading your Temple as a whole.

Fumiko laughed her glass-bead laugh. I can see why the Jing crown prince trusts you. Such logic can uplift while being practical.

The real practicality facing me was completing my mission and seeing Quan take the Jing throne without enduring anymore losses. And I still didn’t know the fate of all who fought in front of the gates of the Crimson Palace what was for me nearly a fortnight ago.

Update and Death in Double Mocha - Chapter 3

I had a very bad cold last week (not COIVD-19, I swear), which kicked my ass. I was moving like the Enterprise at a quarter impulse through an asteroid field. Then, my mother died yesterday morning.

I'm not asking for sympathy. In fact, I owe my readers a HUGE apology for being so behind. Especially the backers of the Soccer Moms of the Apocalypse Kickstarter. I'm busting my ass to get the War in White Chocolate paperbacks formated and ordered before I leave for the hometown this weekend. I owe my brother and sister-in-law a ton for dealing with the funeral arrangements.

So while I deal with all the family stuff, here's another chapter tidbit to tide you over!

----------------

Dani wasn’t sure whether to be ecstatic or frightened. Mark devolved into a weeping mess. Heath held their son tight. Maybe it was finally sinking in he had been gone from hers and Mark’s lives for six years because he kept murmuring, “I’m sorry, Mark. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Dad.” Mark pulled away from Heath and looked up at him. “It was never your fault. You wouldn’t have left us on purpose. I know you wouldn’t. But you’re back now.” Mark looked at Dani. “Dad’s back like Justine and Derek’s abuelas, right?”

Dani didn’t want to break Mark’s heart or her own. “For now.”

“What do you mean for now?” He glared at her. “You’re Death. Aren’t you supposed to know these things?”

Dani crossed her arms and glared back. “God forgot to send us the instruction books when He made me and your friends’ mothers the Soccer Moms of the Apocalypse.”

“Uh, Dani, are your eye sockets supposed to glow green?” Heath murmured.

Crap. She closed her eyes and concentrated on rainbows over Lake Michigan. The power flowed back into its hiding place in her heart. When she opened her eyes, she was back in her jeans and sweatshirt.

“Can Dad come to my game on Saturday?” Mark abruptly changed the subject. “It’s our last game of the fall season.”

“If you go back to bed—”

“But this is the first chance I’ve had to speak with Dad since I was in first grade,” Mark protested.

“I know, sweetheart, but—” she started.

“Can’t you call me in sick for just tomorrow?” Mark’s tone switched to begging. “Justine got to stay home after she got kidnapped, and this is way bigger.” He flung his arms wide to indicate how much of a deal this was to him.

“Mark—” Dani growled.

“But—” Her son’s voice cracked. For the first time, Dani realized exactly how much Heath’s death affected Mark.

“Mark,” Heath said. “Listen to your mom. She and I need to talk, and I will be here in the morning.”

“This is no different that Justine’s or Derek’s grandmothers, honey,” Dani said. “Your dad’s not going anywhere, and I will call you in sick tomorrow so you can spend some time with him.”

Mark’s shoulders slumped. “How do you expect me to sleep after this?”

He had a point. She knew she definitely wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight. Not with her dead husband in the house.

She faced Heath again. “Why don’t you take a shower, honey? Mark and I will make us some cinnamon toast and hot cocoa. We can cuddle on the couch like we used to and talk.”

Heath’s pale cheeks flushed red. “Um, do you have anything I can wear?”

“Your clothes are still in your dresser and in the closet,” she said. “Towels are in the same place.”

He blinked, but he didn’t question why she’d kept his clothes. “Okay. I’ll just be a couple of minutes.”

Dani watched him stride out of the kitchen. Part of her wanted to chase after him and kiss him senseless. The rest of her wanted to scream in agony. And he had the same weird vibration that all the risen dead in Oakfield had. Why the hell did God rip him away from her and then bring him back? What had she done to deserve this special kind of torture?

“It’s going to be okay, Mom.” Mark hugged her.

She couldn’t remember the last time her son had hugged her. But she remembered the last time she hugged Heath before tonight.

It was the morning before the day he died. He had to spend a couple of days at a client located on the north side of Chicago. She suggested rather than wasting the time on the four-hour round-trip commute, he should stay at a hotel for the night near the client’s office. She’d hugged Heath that morning and told him to be careful of the crazy Chicago drivers.

Little did she know it would be an Oakfield resident driving drunk on the freeway, and Heath would die only a couple of miles from their home.

Mark released her. “I’ll make the cinnamon toast while you make the cocoa.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dani sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“Geez, Mom.” Mark rolled his eyes. “Use a tissue like a real person. You want to impress Dad, don’t you?”

“Since when did you start worrying about appearances?” she teased as she reached for the box of tissues sitting on the table. The box that never made it upstairs to be put away in the linen closet. She had been a better housekeeper when Heath was still alive.

“I don’t,” he grumbled. But the deep rose blush on his cheeks said just the opposite. He glanced at the kitchen doorway and lowered his voice. “Maybe you should call one of the other Soccer Moms and let them know what’s going on. You know, just in case.”

Mark was only making sense. Like the other demon hunters assigned to protect the Soccer Moms’ immediate family members, Father Rodriguez only stayed at the Elante home when Dani was out. He’d gone back to the rectory hours ago.

Dani nodded. “You’re right. If I put the ingredients in the pan, could you—”

“Mom, I’m almost thirteen.” He scowled at her. “I think I can handle a pan of cocoa, especially since you premix the cocoa and sugar in a jar.”

She held up her hands. “I didn’t want you to think I’m dumping chores on you.”

“Shit.”

“Marcus!”

“I’ll take the garbage and recycling bins out first—”

“Already done.” Dani tried very hard not to smirk at the guilty expression on her son’s face. She reached into her jeans for her phone, but it was already ringing when she pulled out the device. Dad.

Why on earth would he be calling this late?

She thumbed the icon to answer. “Hey, Dad! What’s up?”

“I need a Soccer Mom over here right now!” In the background, there came a sound of glass shattering. “She’s already whacked Pierre with a frying pan and knocked him out!”

If the demon hunter guarding her father was already down, he was in deep, deep trouble. “Dad! Grab a cross and get into the bathroom!”

“Carmen’s already locked herself in there!” The way Dad huffed and puffed, he was running. “I need help now!”

Across the kitchen, Mark had pulled out his phone and texted to someone. He looked up at Dani. “Penny’s on her way to Grandpa’s house.”

“Dad, Penny’s on her way to your house.” Dani’s heart thudded in her chest. “Can you get to the basement? Lock yourself in that bathroom.”

“Penny’s coming? I need you here, Daniella!”

“Daddy, listen to me. Are you wearing your cross? The demon can’t possess you if you’re wearing your cross.”

“Demon? What demon?” There was another crash of breaking glass, followed by some Spanish invectives. “It’s your mother who’s trying to kill me!”

War in White Chocolate - Chapter 3

Things are chugging along with the writing of War in White Chocolate. Here's another unedited sample to whet your whistle!

------------------------------

Wila squelched the threatening hysterical laughter. “Now, why on earth would I believe that?”

“You haven’t even heard my offer yet?” it said with mock disappointment.

“I don’t need to hear it to know it’s utter bullcrap.”

It clicked its tongue against its teeth. “Such an angry Black woman. Positively a textbook stereotype.”

“I’m not an angry Black woman,” she shot back. “I’m an irritated Soccer Mom with a flaming sword. And I’ve got a hankering for demon shish kebab.” She lunged for the demon.

It danced out of reach of her steel. “Talk to your sisters, War. Before you all make a decision you’ll regret. I’ll be in touch.” It backed out of the housewares aisle and disappeared around the endcap.

Wila started to follow, but Gammy grabbed her right arm. “Don’t be a fool, child. He’s taunting you to get you to act stupid. While I’d do my best to watch your back, I’m not your sisters.”

“I don’t have any sisters,” Wila growled.

“Penny, Francine, and Dani may not be your kin by blood, but the four of you are tighter than any family.”

Gammy was right about the demon as much as it burned Wila to admit it. The bastard could have an associate waiting for her to leave Gammy alone. It wouldn’t be the first time the demons kidnapped a family member of the Soccer Moms to use as a hostage against them. As one of the resurrected, Gammy was super vulnerable. Only God knew was else the demons could do with a human soul.

Besides use them to kill the Soccer Moms of the Apocalypse.

And Gammy was right about the other Soccer Moms, too. They’d always been there when Wila needed someone. Even Francine, who normally irritated the hell out of Wila.

Wila closed her eyes and evened out her breathing. The weight of the steel in her hand faded. When she felt calm enough, she opened her eyes.

“Let’s pay for your colander, and get out of here,” she muttered.

“What about your own shopping list?” Gammy protested.

“Those things can wait.” Wila softened her voice. She didn’t need to take her bad mood over the demon out on her grandmother. “Right now, I need coffee and a talk with one of my so-called sisters.”

##

The parking lot in Java’s Palace was more than half full when Wila turned into it twenty minutes later. She and Gammy wasted fifteen of those minutes in the check-out line when Arrow’ store computer crashed and all the registers went down. If Wila were a betting woman, she’d lay a week’s paycheck the damn demon who’d confronted her was behind the computer issues.

She parked her red minivan next to Penny's white one. It would give Scarlett and Silver a chance to spend time together. Wila couldn’t say how she knew it, but the four Soccer Moms’ minivans/horses seemed to communicate with each other, especially about their drivers/riders. It was freaky as hell, but it was just one more element in the weirdness her life had become.

They entered the coffee shop. Penny’s assistant manager Josie grinned at them from beneath her mop of wild pink curls as they approached the counter.

“What can I make for you this morning, Wila?”

“My usual, Bubblegum, but I also need to talk to Penny. I thought she worked today.”

“She’s in the back doing inventory.” Josie reached for a large paper coffee cup and scribbled their code for a white chocolate mocha and handed it to Oliver who was manning the espresso machines.

“Gammy, order whatever you want. I’ll be right back.” Wila handed her grandmother her debit card and strode down the hallway toward the café’s store room. She opened the door. The light was on. “Hey, Penny!”

“I’m in the back!”

Wila followed Penny’s voice to the corner of the store room. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Besides my missing shipment of large cups?” Penny rose from where she crouched and counted plastic-wrapped stacks of coffee cups on a shelf. She set aside her clipboard and pen before she brushed an auburn lock that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear and grinned.

“More like demon trouble.”

Penny’s smile fell, and she swore under her breath. “Another team try to kill you and/or kidnap your grandmother?”

“Actually, this was a new tactic.” Wila hugged herself. Things could have gone very badly at the super store. “A demon approached me while Gammy and I were picking up some things at Arrow. He made some nasty comments, but nothing worse than the shit our dear Officer Pence has said to me.” The beat cop had it out for all the Soccer Moms because they failed to stop a demon from killing his own resurrected grandmother.

Wila frowned as she replayed this morning’s incident in her head. “The demon said it would help the Soccer Moms stop the Apocalypse for something other than our souls, but it didn’t specify what. It also said I needed to relay the offer to my sisters, and it would be in touch. And the weirdest part was that it just walked away. Not move to hurt me or Gammy, much less any threats.”

Penny’s right eyebrow rose. “Do you believe it?”

“It’s a different play than interfering in our lives or trying to kill us outright.” Wila shrugged. “But no, I don’t believe it. I can’t figure out why a demon would want to stop the Apocalypse.”

It was Penny’s turn to shrug. “Maybe they’re worried their boss will lose the war, and they won’t have humans as playthings anymore. Or one of the translations I said they’d be condemned to non-existence once the Lamb and His armies won.”

“Maybe.” Wila shook her head. “There’s something else. Gammy could see it was a demon.”

“Really?” Penny’s eyes widened. “My mother-in-law was trained on what to look for, but your grandmother?”

“I know. She caught me off guard, too.”

“If any of the other dead can see demons through a possession…” Penny’s attention was lost in her analysis of the situation from every conceivable angle.

“Has Francine or Dani mentioned anything about the dead being able to see demons?” Wila prompted.

“Neither of them has said anything to me,” Penny said. “Should we call them?”

“No. I’ll text a warning to them in case this idiot shows up again.” Wila sighed. “We can discuss it in depth during our girls’ night. Is Laura coming with you?”

“Yeah.” Penny grinned. “She likes you grandmother.”

“And the situation with Edward and Marian is still driving her crazy.” Wila laughed.

“She’s honestly trying to remind herself their vows were until death do us part.” Penny leaned closer to Wila. “Would you believe Gene told Edward if he didn’t like Laura staying with us, he could move in with Marian?”

“And what did Laura and Marian say to that?”

“Marian refuses to sleep with him, much less have him stay at her condo. She’s of the opinion Laura’s resurrection nullifies her death. Therefore, Edward and Laura are still technically married.” Penny sighed. “On the other hand, Laura says her death ended their marriage, she has the right to date, and Edward can—and I quote—go screw Deborah Gibson’s brains out—as far as Laura is concerned.”

Wila cocked her head. “Who the hell is Deborah Gibson?”

“A neighbor Edward was having an affair with while Laura was in hospice.”

“What!” Wila stared at Penny. “Mr. I’m So Conservative I Make the Amish Look Like Punk Rockers had an affair?”

“I’m afraid so.” Penny grimaced.

“I know damn well he wouldn’t admit that to Gene, much less you. And I thought Laura didn’t remember the last year or so of her life.”

Penny sighed. “She doesn’t. Deborah recognized Laura when we were at the grocery store over the weekend, and with the coming Apocalypse, she decided she needed to beg for Laura’s forgiveness for committing adultery with Edward.”

“Oh, my god. What did Laura do?”

“She cold-cocked the bitch.”

Wila pursed her lips in an attempt not to laugh.

Penny chuckled. “Go ahead and laugh. I did when it happened.”

Wila roared at the thought of some elderly woman thinking a badass demon hunter like Laura Hudson wouldn’t slap her silly for screwing with Laura’s husband.

When Wila finally got her mirth under control, she said, “This Gibson woman isn’t going to sue Laura, is she?”

Penny shrugged. “If she does, how’s the court going to handle it? Laura may be running around now, but legally, she’s dead.”

“Is that what you think, or is that what Fred Whittaker said?”

“It’s what the attorney Fred referred me to said,” Penny amended.

A chill ran through Wila. The demon she and Gammy encountered at Arrow claimed to be riding a lawyer, but the timing couldn’t be a coincidence. She pulled out her phone. “What’s the name of the guy you talked to?”

“Chance Paxton.”

Wila tapped the name into her phone. A local listing came up with a picture. Her heart stopped. She turned the phone to Penny. “This the guy?”

“Yeah.” Penny looked up at Wila, and her face turned sheet white. “No. Oh, no.”

“Yep. This was the demon who confronted me at Arrow.”

Wila wanted to scream. The shit that went down with Seth Rimmon had been bad enough. Through this Chance Paxton, the demon inside him could make their lives living hell.

Famine in French Vanilla - Chapter 3

Here's another taste of the upcoming second volume of Soccer Moms of the Apocalypse. Please don't lick the creme filling off the books and carpet.

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“Justine, what does Wila need?” Francine asked.

Instead of answering, the girl threw herself into Laura’s arms, regardless of the grave dirt covering her grandmother.

“Penny!” Edward bellowed.

Francine jumped to her feet. “I’ll deal with him and Wila while you take care of Justine and Laura.”

The last thing they needed was Edward to have a heart attack or stroke from having his dead wife in the house. Francine strode out of the living room’s second entrance and shut the door behind her. She was supremely happy her parents and Neal’s were all alive and living happily in Florida. She couldn’t imagine how she would deal with a dead parent showing up on her front porch.

Francine charged into the Hudson’s kitchen to find Edward on his cell phone. “Give it to me.” She held out her hand.

Surprisingly, he complied without complaining. When she lifted the phone to her ear, it sounded like Wila was in a vehicle.

“It’s Francine,” she said. “What’s going?”

“I think the Fifth Seal broke,” Wila snapped. “I’m on a call—”

Francine rubbed her forehead. “Please tell me you’re not calling and driving your rig at the same time.”

“It’s on speaker, bitch.” Wila was silent for a moment before she said, “I’m sorry. I’m freaking out here.”

“Just tell me what happened.” Francine looked up. Edward was paying close attention to her conversation. Too close. She needed to be careful of how she worded things with Wila.

“Brian and I were sent on a 9-1-1 call this morning,” she said. “The husband called it in. The wife fainted and hit her head. They’re both in the back right now with Brian.”

“And?” Francine prompted.

“We had a call to the same address last year,” Wila bit out. “The husband had a cardiac event. He was DOA.”

Francine shuddered. “Didn’t Brian notice it was the same person?”

“He’s talked himself into thinking this guy is the deceased’s brother,” Wila said. “For now anyway. Is Penny okay?”

“No, she’s not.” Francine sighed. “The last three weeks have cracked her mental health, too, not just Gene’s.”

A concerned look crossed Edward’s face.

“I’m dealing with a similar situation here,” Francine continued. “Can you call Dani for backup? I don’t know how long Penny will need me to stay here.”

Edward shuffled to the coffee pot and refilled his cup before he tottered out of the kitchen. Francine sagged in relief. At least, he wasn’t staring at her anymore.

“I’m finally alone, so listen fast,” Francine murmured. “Penny’s mother-in-law showed up here first thing this morning.”

“What?” Wila shouted. “She—we were at the damn funeral!”

Francine winced and held the receiver away from her ear. “I know. That’s why I have my hands full here.”

“Grandpa, no!” Justine shrieked. It was followed by a female scream that was abruptly cut off.

“I gotta go,” Francine said. “Call you when I can.” She ended the call, set Edward’s phone on the table, and raced for the living room.

Only to find Penny and Justine desperately trying to pull Edward off Laura. He wasn’t someone Francine thought of as a violent person, but the revelation he used to be a demon hunter for the Vatican showed how little she knew about Penny’s father-in-law, much less anyone else.

“Let her go, Edward!” Francine snapped.

When he didn’t, she stopped keeping Famine in check. Her jeans and favorite Halloween sweater melded into her black robes. The odd feeling of her skin tightening flowed over her body.

Penny and Justine backed out of the way as Francine strode over to the couch. She grabbed hold of his collar and belt and yanked him off Laura. Edward flailed. His kick sent the box of Long Johns flying through the air. The box hit the top shelf of the bookcase where Gene kept his collection of antique volumes. The white cardboard tumbled down, depositing frosting, crème, and pastry bits on the contents of the every single shelf until the last of the doughnuts splatted all over Penny’s brand new cream-colored plush carpet.

A weird gurgling sound came from Laura.

Justine rushed over to the couch. “Are you okay, Grandma?”

“Goddammit, Francine!” Edward shouted. “Put me down! We have to kill it!”

“Listen to me, Edward Hudson,” Francine growled. “Think about it. Demons can’t possess the dead. That is not a demon!”

His struggles slowed. “But-but—”

“She’s right, Edward,” Penny said. “If the first four Seals have broken, it makes sense the Fifth Seal would break.” She looked at Laura. “It seems sooner rather than later.”

On the other hand, Laura stared at Francine, shock muting her despite Justine’s repeated question about her status.

Edward stopped struggling. “Put your hair back on, Francine. I won’t fight you anymore.”

She set the elderly man upright. Obviously, he still wasn’t sure about having his late wife sitting on the living room couch, but he didn’t make a move towards Laura.

Francine took a deep breath and shoved her obscene hunger back into its hole. Her black robes faded into her jeans and black sweater with the Jack o’lantern family.

“What are you?” Laura stammered.

“I wasn’t joking when I said the Four Horsemen manifested three weeks ago,” Francine said. “As you could probably tell from my appearance, I’m Famine.”

She reached into her right jeans pocket and dug out her keys. “Justine, since your grandfather ruined this box of doughnuts with his homicidal tendencies, would you please grab the extra box sitting in my front seat?”

“Absolutely!” The girl grinned.

Francine tossed her keys to Justine, and the girl ran out of the living room.

“Edward, you are going to clean up the mess you made.” Francine waited for him to argue. He did shoot a pleading expression at Penny.

“Uh-uh.” His daughter-in-law shook her head. “You made the mess. You clean it up. And you can explain the damage to Gene’s books.”

“Francine’s the one who threw a demon through your front door!” he protested. “And I paid for that.”

“The girls are right. Clean it up, Edward,” Laura snapped.

“All right,” he grumbled before he shuffled out of the living room.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted toward you, Francine,” Laura said. “Or should I call you Famine?”

“Francine is fine.” She smiled.

Laura turned to her daughter-in-law. “Penny would you mind if I use your shower and borrow something to wear?” She brushed at the dirt on her left sleeve. “It seems digging my way out of the grave left my clothing rather disheveled.”

“Of course.” Penny started to leave but stopped and looked over her shoulder at Francine. “Is Wila okay?”

“For now.” Francine shooed Penny toward the door closest to their staircase. “Go take care of Laura and I’ll tell you the rest when you come back down.”

“I got the doughnuts,” Justine warbled from the front door.

“To the kitchen with those before there’s more chocolate stains on my new carpet,” Penny ordered from the landing.

Francine chuckled to herself as she headed to the kitchen, too. All her friends claimed she was the stuck-up one when it came to how her house looked. But she wasn’t cutting her chairs in half with a flaming sword or smearing Long Johns all over a priceless book collection and brand-new wall-to-wall Berber.

Hero Ad Litem - Chapter 3

Here's the next unedited chapter of Hero Ad Litem. Later this weekend, I'll post a notice once A Measure of Knowledge is available for download.

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Monday morning, Harri Winters’ eyelids popped open, and she rolled over on her back. Some wrongness had infiltrated her sleep. No, it was the absence of something.

It was still dark outside. She was in her own bed in her own bedroom in her loft from the greenish glow of her alarm clock. Her husband Tim lay beside her, snoring slightly. She inhaled deeply.

That was it. A lack of coffee aroma from the loft across the hall. Even though Rey didn’t drink the beverage himself, he always got up early to make Aisha a pot of coffee.

Tim jerked upright. “What’s wrong?”

Harri chuckled. “I never realized how much we depended on Rey to start our own days.”

Tim groaned and flopped down on the mattress. “This is why we should get a coffee pot with a timer.”

She cuddled against his side and pulled the covers over them both. “Can’t you install a timer on our current coffee maker?”

“I could.” He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. “But it’s kind of a waste of my talents considering coffee pots with timers are already on the market.” He yawned.

“It’s too quiet with them gone,” she murmured. “I kind of wished Molly would have taken the Garcias’ offer to loft-sit while they’re in France just for the noise.”

Tim laughed. “You want her throwing parties across the hall?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“When does Aisha start back to work?”

“Today,” Harri said. “I don’t think it’s her being gone that bothers me as much as missing some of our godson’s milestones. Mitch will be walking by the time they return to the states.”

“Let’s just pray he’s not flying yet when they get back,” Tim said. “Regular parents do not realize how fast toddlers can be. If Mitch ends up with Rey and Aisha’s power set, he’ll be hell to deal with.”

“Locks on the cookie jar?”

“I was thinking more of a titanium-reinforced safe for all the junk food.”

Harri giggled at the idea. “You could probably sell that to a ton of parents.”

“Heck, I could use one to keep you from eating all my Girl Scout cookies next month.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“Prove it.”

She rolled on top of him and launched her very thorough apology.

##

Later that morning, Harri took her first sip from her second cup of coffee when the intercom buzzed. She glanced at the two clocks displayed on the corner of her laptop’s monitor. Nine a.m. in Canyon Pointe equated to five p.m. in Paris. Aisha was right on time.

Harri jabbed the intercom button. “Yes?”

“Cathy Blanchett from the 126th Family Court is on line 1 for you,” Patty Ames chirped. Their paralegal, receptionist and all around Girl Friday was the only person at the firm who was more of a morning person than Harri.

“Thanks. If Aisha calls while I’m on the phone with the court, tell her I’ll call her back in a few minutes.”

“Sure thing,” Patty said.

Harri picked up the receiver and punched the flashing button. “Hey, Cathy, what can I do for you?”

“It’s your turn to play ad litem,” the court clerk replied.

“Already?” Harri sat back in her chair. “I just signed up in December.” In fact, her husband, her foster siblings, and all her staff insisted she volunteer as an ad litem in the family courts. Apparently, everyone was fed up with her mothering them.

“The judge needs someone with supers experience, Harri.” Cathy sighed. “The parents are in the middle of an ugly divorce, and she wants someone who will actually look out for the kid.”

“Are the parents supers?” Harri straightened in her chair and flipped her legal pad to a clean page.

“Nope, but they’re both looking at the kid as a meal ticket, which is why there’s a huge battle for custody.” Cathy paused a second before she added, “Harri, if you don’t take custody of him, you know the NSB will. Special Agent Nesmith said they’d back off if you are assigned as ad litem. He was adamant no one else would do.”

Special Agent Wilbur Nesmith had become a particular thorn in Harri’s backside. He was doing his damnedest to earn the firm’s trust. But someone within the National Superhero Bureau had set up Rey to be abducted and experimented on by Professor Paranoia, so trust of the NSB didn’t come easy to anyone at Winters and Franklin.

And Harri knew she’d be lying to herself if she thought Rey, Aisha, and Mitch were totally safe from the U.S. government while they were in France.

“All right.” She sighed. “I’m assuming you already made arrangements for me to meet with the kid?”

“The next hearing is scheduled for two this afternoon to decide who gets temporary custody,” Cathy said. “Can you be here?”

“Nothing like waiting until the last minute,” Harri grumbled. “Yes, I’ll be there. How old is he?”

“Thirteen.”

Line 2 started blinking on Harri’s phone set.

“Cathy, can you shoot me a copy of the file by e-mail? I’ve got an international call scheduled for now.”

“Sure thing,” the court clerk chirped. “See you at two.”

Harri clenched her teeth. If this kid’s case didn’t keep her mind off her godson, nothing else on earth would.

A Measure of Knowledge - Chapter 3

Here's the unedited version of Chapter 3, A Meassure of Knowledge.

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Talbert magically amplified his voice. “All junior clergy are to return to your Temples immediately.”

There was a great deal of grumbling among our subordinates, but I understood their resentment of being left out during major discussions. Elizabeth, the former chief justice of Tandor and the soon-to-be chief justice of the newly formed Duchy of Anacapa, whispered to Yanaba and Erato.

I stood and added, “Your seats will inform you of our additional findings. But considering this is a foreign ally, please allow us the discretion of diplomacy before you all get your hackles up over being excluded.”

Most of the clergy weren’t sure whether to be insulted until my justices and half of the Wildlings laughed. That seemed to ease everyone else’s minds.

Quan approached me. “Findings?”

I lowered my voice. “Let the sanctuary clear first. Then, we’ll explain everything.”

##

It took nearly a quarter of a candlemark for the visiting clergy and their wardens to gather and don winter cloaks. At the same time, Thief’s staff cleared tables and brought in steaming pots of black Jing and Meca bean teas.

Yin Li stayed as well on the pretense of the ambassador’s trusted advisor. She wasn’t simply an Imperial concubine. Known to only a few in the room, Yin Li was a priestess of Love, Quan’s personal bodyguard, and Shi Hua’s aunt. As fierce of a fighter as the young Love priestess was, I knew I never wanted to face Yin Li in battle, but I’d definitely want her on my side.

The chief wardens who had not attended this evening’s entertainment were alerted. Since Elizabeth remained at our impromptu convocation as a courtesy to a visiting seat, my own chief warden Little Bear brought his second Gina. She had accepted Elizabeth’s offer to become her chief warden when she moved to the islands this spring, so it only made sense for Gina to assume some of those responsibilities.

There had been a time when all wardens had been excluded from a convocation of the Temple seats. However, with the spate of demon attacks over the course of the last year and a half, it seemed unwise not to include those who were responsible for Temple security. Knowledge was essential to preparedness as Little Bear constantly pointed out to me.

Once Cedar Grove and Shi Hua returned to the Thief’s sanctuary and the household staff departed, Talbot warded the huge room. I sat with the statue of Thief to my back and pulled my hood as forward as I could to keep from squinting at heat from the fires.

Han took the seat to my left and muttered, “You should have been in Conflict, Anthea.”

“Why is that?” I asked softly.

“You’re the only one besides me, Jax, and Talbert who keeps their back covered and sits where they can keep an eye on the doors and windows.”

I chuckled. “I’m afraid that’s sheer experience, my friend.”

It could have been worse. Elizabeth sat between Leocadia and Mya because she still had problems being around men after the tortures the skinwalkers who had taken over Tandor had put her through for a year. I couldn’t imagine being so damaged I couldn’t sit between Han and Quan as I did now.

Shi Hua and I related each of our impressions during the brief contact with Justice Mei Wen. Cedar Grove had blocked the emotional response from Mei Wen, and Shi Hua was able to recall a little more than I had. Flashbangs detonated in the streets. The amplified voices of officers of the imperial armies giving orders. The whoosh of thousands of arrows launched at the same moment.

Quan took the news without comment. He wore a solemn mien as he played with the gold beads that decorated the ends of his long moustache. Finally, he exhaled and said, “I believe Brother Jian of Light is our backup if we cannot contact Reverend Father Biming at Third Evening local time.”

“And Brother Fa after him.” Shi Hua sounded so damn tired. I could understand why. Exhaustion tugged at my eyelids, and I didn’t have nearly the contact with Justice Mei Wen that Shi Hua did.

“Are they both in Chengwu?” Luc asked. Shi Hua shook her head. “No.” She glanced at the ambassador, but he showed no reaction, so her attention returned to Luc. “When I was assigned to the ambassador, Reverend Father Biming made sure my additional contacts were in three different Temples and assigned to three different cities. Justice Mei Wen was appointed as the emperor’s legal advisor five years ago, which is why she is also in Chengzou.

“It’s the middle of winter.” High Brother Ben of Vintner rubbed his chin. “With this year’s storms, we may not get conventional word until next spring.”

Han snorted. “It was a year before we learned of the takeover of our own sister city of Tandor. What makes you think we’ll learn what happened in Chengzou before a demon army sails into our harbor?”

Leave it to the high brother of Conflict to give voice to my own fears.

I cleared my throat. “If all else fails, Sister Shi Hua, would you be able to contact your mother?”

She looked at me uncertainly. “I could, but she’s a farmer.”

“Certainly there’s a Temple in your home village?” Leave it to Luc to ascertain where I was going with my questions.

“Of course, but—”

“This may be the advantage of me learning the Jing language,” I said. “If the ambassador, High Brother Luc, and I join the link with you, your mother, and the priest or priestess she trusts in your village—”

“We could tax her abilities,” Quan protested.

“She’s stronger than you give her credit for,” I retorted.

“She just gave birth.” Quan glared at me.

“Four weeks ago,” Shi Hua snapped as she abruptly stood. “I’m fully healed.”

Cedar Grove rose, too, laid a hand on Shi Hua’s shoulder, and whispered in the Jing priestess’s ear. Slowly, both women sat again, though Shi Hua gave the ambassador a rather murderous look.

“Anthea and I can boost Shi Hua’s resources,” Luc said. “And you’re the highest ranking Jing official we have to prove our identities.”

Yin Li cleared her throat. “With all due respect to you, Ambassador, and you, High Brother, it might be better if I participate instead. I personally know the Love sisters in Yintze.”

“All of this is moot if we can contact Reverend Father Biming tonight.” Talbert sat with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. The pose showed just how worried he was.

But then, so was I.

“Let’s take this one step at a time,” I said. “We’ll try to contact Biming tonight. If we can’t, then we send messages concerning the situation to Queen Teodora, the Matriarch of the Diné, and the King of Cant at first morning. They can alert their own distance speakers and triangulate until we get an answer from Chengzhou.”

Surprisingly, the other Temple seats agreed to my idea. They also agreed to retreat to their own Temples with my promise to give them an answer about whether tonight’s efforts were successful or not. In turn, I asked them to pray to their own deities for our success.

When they left, Quan looked at me and shook his head. “I never thought I’d see you ask your colleagues to pray for their deities to intercede on your behalf.”

I chuckled as I donned my winter cloak. “I hope the other Eleven take pit on me. I know damn well Balance won’t answer my prayers.”

Apocalypse? Not Now! - Chapter 3

I wasn't going to post another chapter, but I'm behind on some things thanks to the head cold I managed to pick up. I'm fairly certain it's not COVID-19. For one thing, I haven't lost my sense of taste or smell. And other than some chills on Tuesday, I haven't been running a fever.

However, DH and I are playing it safe, as in he's not going to see his dad for the rest of this week. I'm home curled up on the couch with my protective princess pup in my lap and alternating between writing and watching the winter Olympics.

So while I finish up some things, here's another raw chapter to tide you over...

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Ed spent the next week physically training with Father Lambert’s team along with a couple of the taskforce personnel who were in residence during the mornings. Afternoons were reserved for researching the Vatican side of the accounting issues with Mbaye and Lambert. Ed wondered what Deacon and Laura did during the afternoons. The Scottish priest was about Ed’s age.

The Vatican’s gymnasium was the only normal thing about the teeny, tiny country. Utilitarian yellow block walls. Polished hardwood floors. Padded gray mats neatly stacked against one walls. Basketball hoops and punching bags hung from the ceiling. And like every other gym Ed had ever been to, the place stunk with body odor no matter how clean everyone tried to keep it.

The place would have reminded him of high school or the army if Father Lambert hadn’t stuck him with the ladies. Unfortunately, he found out every morning just how talented in various martial arts Laura and a couple of the nuns really were.

Seven days into training, Ed slapped the mat to indicate his surrender after Laura wrenched his right arm into painful hold. Thankfully, she wasn’t vindictive. She immediately release him, and he rubbed his right shoulder.

“Just remember, child,” their primary trainer Sister Joan chided. “A demon allows the possessed person to resist pain more so than a non-possessed person.” Like everyone else in the gym, the nun was dressed in a gray t-shirt and black athletic shorts, and her feet were bare. However, unlike Laura’s long braid, her medium brown hair was cut chin length and held out of her eyes by a headband.

“Yes, ma’am,” Laura answered. “But I don’t think it’s wise to severely injure a teammate right before we go on a mission.”

Sister Joan chuckled. “True, but there’s another hold I would suggest in the same situation.” She motioned for Ed to stand.

He stifled a groan. There were few things more demeaning than being used as a fight dummy by a bunch of nuns, but he couldn’t think of any at the moment. And the older the sisters were, the nastier they fought. He pushed to his feet.

“Grab me like you did Laura,” Sister Joan ordered.

He may not be Catholic, but he was raised not to beat up on women. Much less ladies old enough to be his mother. It didn’t help Sister Joan was a very good-looking woman and she had a delightful English accent that reminded him of Emma Peel of The Avengers. All she needed was a leather cat suit.

“Come along, Mr. Hudson,” the nun demanded.

He stepped behind her and wrapped his right hand around her throat and his left arm about her waist. Next thing he knew, he was face down on the mat, and Sister Joan twisted his right thumb behind him to the point where his entire arm had gone numb. “The nerve is now pinched, which makes it hard for any person, possessed or not, to regain control of their limb.”

“I’ve never seen that hold before,” Laura said. The ladies continued their spirited conversation concerning their different martial arts styles until he cleared his throat.

“May I please have my arm back before I’m permanently disabled?”

“Oh, sorry, dear.” Sister Joan released him.

“I think I can vouch for the sister’s analysis.” Pins and needles rippled down his nerves as he climbed to his feet. His fingers tingled, burned, and twitched while the individual neurons tried to analyze what had been done to them. He shook his hand to get some feeling back into his hand.

“Father McAvoy?” Sister Joan called. “Can I borrow you for a moment?”

He jogged over from another set of mats where he’d been sparing with Mbaye with staffs. “Yes, Sister?”

“I want both Mr. Hudson and Ms. Campbell to learn the thumblock.” The nun eyed Ed and raised her left eyebrow. “Assuming your right hand nerves are cooperating again, Edward.”

He wiggled his fingers. “I believe I can continue, ma’am.”

She walked through the maneuver a couple of times with Father McAvoy before she had Laura try. Once she got the hang of the thumb lock, it was Ed’s turn. For the life of him, the moves seemed ridiculously simple and terribly complex at the same time.

“C’mon, ya dobber,” McAvoy mocked after Ed’s third attempt, his accent thickening with each insult. “Ma wee sistah mastered this move before she started school.”

“Not everyone jumps on the chopsocky bandwagon,” Ed retorted.

“Gentlemen! Mind your manners!” Sister Joan reached up and whacked them both in the back of the head. “Don’t make me fetch my ruler.”

Maybe it was the priest’s insults or the nun’s threat, but Ed managed to get McAvoy down flat on the mat with his fourth try. Whatever good feeling he had were quickly abolished when Sister Joan wrenched his thumb around again. He found himself face down next to McAvoy.

“Pride’s a sin,” she lectured. “And it’s a good way for a demon to get inside you.” She released Ed. “Now, go clean up before the noon prayers.”

As Ed and Laura walked to the dorms, she glanced up at him. “I hope I didn’t bruise your ego too much this morning.”

He laughed. “Not half as much as Sister Joan.”

“She’s right though,” Laura said softly. “If you let male chauvinism get the better of you, a demon can take advantage before you realize what is happening.”

He groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re a bra burner.”

“I’m serious,” she bit out.

“I don’t think male chauvinism is how one got into your grandmother.” Ed didn’t realize how bad he screwed up with Laura until her face went blank. He grabbed her elbow and pulled her to a stop. “I’m sorry. That was really out of line.”

“Yeah, it was.” She looked up at him with shimmering liquid in her eyes. “Her arthritis was bad. The pain got to her. Bad enough a demon took advantage of her wish the constant agony would go away.”

“It doesn’t take much,” he said softly. Hell, he still had nightmares of those three days in a village so remote it didn’t have a real name. Of his own sergeant pointing his pistol at Ed’s face when he refused to rape a little girl. “What happened after your grandmother stabbed you?”

“The demon—” Laura emphasized the word. “—pinned me to the ground. I grabbed a trowel to keep her away from me, and—” She stared a nearby flower bed for a long moment before her attention returned to him. “The demon deliberately threw Grandma on the trowel to kill her, and it kept telling me it was my fault she died.”

A lot of words backed up in Ed’s throat, none of them fit for polite company. He let go of her arm. “That’s…I’m sorry, Laura. I won’t bring it up again.”

“You need to know what you’re really up against,” she murmured. “They will use any trick, any threat, any technique to get you to sin. That’s their way into you. And once they have you, it’s next to impossible to get them out.”

“But an exorcism—” he began.

“You’ve got to catch the demon by surprise,” she said while she continued walking. He jogged a couple of steps to catch up with her. “If you don’t, well, there won’t be much of the person’s mind left to save.”