Blood Moon - Sneak Peek!

As Reaghan walked into the “wolves’ den” — a bar that catered exclusively to weres, primarily wolves — she glanced around the room, well aware of how much she stood out.  The clientele, and even employees, were mostly wolves, but there was a smattering of bears and cats — mostly cougars, lynxes, and the normal local fare, but there were even a few lions, tigers, and leopards.  She’d long ago trained herself to see the aura — an ever-so-slight reflection of the body’s unique energy signature — given off by every living thing, and had learned to recognize the subtle differences each species displayed.  It had always served her well, allowing her to know ahead of time just which buttons to press to get what she needed.

Finally, her eyes alighted on just the person she was looking for.  A man — a wolf — sat at the back of the bar, leaning back in his chair with his head resting against the wall, calmly regarding her and sizing her up.  His aura was brighter than any other’s, but she wouldn’t have even needed that to tell her he was an alpha — he simply exuded an air of authority.

Despite the dim lighting, she could already see that his eyes were a deep golden-brown, nearly glowing in the murky yellow beams.  He had dark hair, the color right on the border between brown and black, and his skin was a subtle olive-bronze tone, indicating a Mediterranean heritage.  Keeping her eyes locked on his, she moved across the floor towards him, ignoring the gaping stares from the other patrons.  When she finally reached his table, she made the bold move of grabbing a nearby chair and, turning it backwards, sat down to face him.

A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.  “You are a slayer,” he observed.  His voice was low and even, but with just a touch of a raspy edge, and he spoke with an Eastern Bloc accent.

She willed herself to ignore the pleasant shiver she felt building, refusing to allow it to show, or to acknowledge it — there had always been something about those accents that just sent her melting into a puddle of pure desire.  You’re here for a hunt, she reminded herself, not to get laid.  Composing herself, she gave him a slight smirk in return.  “I prefer to think of myself as a mortician,” she replied.  “I put the dead back where they belong.”  Raising her voice slightly to ensure the others could hear her, she continued, “I have no problem with weres.  As long as they follow the rules and don’t get in my way.”

His smile broadened.  “Fair enough,” he said, extending his hand.  “I am Mikhael Kasun."

Mmmm.  Bosnian.  She mentally shook herself, then shook his hand, a little surprised by the gentleness in his grip.  What is it with wolves and the name Michael? she mused distractedly.  She forced herself to focus.  “Reaghan Hanover,” she said genially.  “I’m here because I need your help.”  He cocked a dark eyebrow in curiosity.  “There’s a rouge vampire clan on the loose, and I need a hand tracking them.”  She saw the predatory gleam in his eyes and knew he wouldn’t turn her down, but continued anyway.  “Will your pack assist me?”

He paused, refusing to allow her see his eagerness, but she knew.  No one knew why, but the vampires and weres hated each other, and had for as long as anyone could remember.  “Of course,” he finally answered, keeping his tone slow and nonchalant.

Volunteers wanted!

I'm toying with the idea of distributing a (as yet unfinished and undecided) book as a serialized podcast. But to do that, I'm in need of a few volunteers for the following tasks/positions:
- Voice actors (at least 1 female & 2 males)
- (Graphic) Artist, preferably capable of creating fairly realistic people, or a photographer (with some models they've previously worked with, preferably).
- Sound engineer (may or may not be needed for splicing segments or fixing audio quality).

Interested, or know anyone who might be and fits the bill? Here's the caveats:
- It's my project, I'm in charge, I have the final say, etc. And admittedly, I can be picky/finicky (though not opposed to fact-based discussions on why I'm wrong).
- I can spare very little $ for a budget - preferably, nothing.
- It's ALL volunteer work - that means you won't be paid. That being said, if the project/book happens to explode in popularity and actually makes money, I'm more than willing to share spoils with the people who helped me.
- I haven't finished the book yet. I have a good deal done, but it's hard to say how long it will be until actual completion. In addition, I have the book in mind currently, but it's possible I may decide to use another if I happen to decide I'm closer to finishing it.
- I'm doing this all out of my house - no studio or anything.
- I use a Mac, I do like my Apple products, and I do plan on putting it on iTunes. Unless you can give me extremely compelling reasons against any of this ("Apple's evil" doesn't cut it; they all are in their own way), it's not changing. But, I also plan to release it in other formats, too, so you'll need to be platform-independent (or something).
- Just because I'm doing this cheap doesn't mean I don't want quality. If you only plan to do a half-assed job, please don't waste my (and everyone else's) time.
- This will be an "adult" book: possibility exists for various amounts of swearing, drinking, smoking, violence (including graphic), drugs, sex (though nothing hard-core), etc. Basically, along the lines of an R-rated movie.

Still in? Sweet!! Send me an e-mail at stories@glitterfiend.net. Please include your name, preferred contact info, and (if possible) samples of previous work. Before you commit, I'm happy to give you parts of the book to read, answer questions I didn't cover, whatever.

Chasing Vespers - Sneak Peek!

I sat at the bar, nursing my bourbon and Coke, silently cursing myself for letting Kara talk me into going out with her tonight. “Come on, Hols,” she’d said, “all you do is work and sit at home. You need to get out of the house and live a little!” We weren’t great friends, but we’d known each other since high school — those good ol’ days at St. Peter the Fisher on the Rock, where we’d just been a couple of indiscriminate hellions the old nuns had given up any hope of providing salvation for — nearly 18 years now, so I figured that must count for something.

I had been feeling pretty antsy lately — a touch of wanderlust, or something — so I figured what the Hell, and we’d dressed ourselves up and headed out to Shades of Twilight, the only goth club in town. That’s when I remembered why I never go out with Kara — within minutes of arriving, she’d latched herself onto some random hottie and ditched me to lock faces with him out on the dance floor. And that’s how I wound up sitting here alone, waiting for the friend who’d never quite managed to grow out of high school to finish gods-knew-what in the bathroom with her boy-toy du jour, feeling sorrier and sorrier for myself.

“Got a light?” a man’s voice said right in my ear, startling me and causing me to jump a little, even though it was a helluva voice — a little quiet, but strong, with a touch of a Southern drawl and timbre that was just right — the kind of voice I’d love to hear whispering pillow talk in my ear. Normally I’d have noticed the intrusion into the arguably large area of my personal space much earlier — I must’ve been more lost in my self-pity-party than I thought.

I turned to find a guy, just as smoking-hot as his voice, standing nearly on top of me and holding a cigarette. He was tall — I guessed at least six foot four — and lean, with slightly spiked platinum-blonde hair — obviously bleached — and a pair of the most astonishing cerulean eyes I’ve ever seen, framed with a touch of black eyeliner. He wore discs in both ears, a bar through his left eyebrow, a pair of well-worn blue jeans, scuffed work boots, and a plain white t-shirt peeking out from under a brown leather 50s-style motorcycle jacket that was quite possibly even more worn than his jeans. Clearly, he was trying to emulate a goth-punk version of the bastard child of Billy Idol and James Dean — but damn, did he pull it off well.

“Sorry, I quit,” I replied. Those Caribbean-blue eyes were hypnotizing, and I found myself wishing I’d at least thought to keep a lighter.

“Too bad,” he said with a shrug. I expected him to turn away and go off to find some little waif with half a pound of metal in her face, but instead he tucked the cigarette behind his ear and slid onto the barstool next to me. He had an ingratiating smirk as he looked me over like a piece of meat — great, one of those guys. “I’m Declan,” he said, holding a hand out. “But you can call me Dec — remember it, ‘cause I think you’re gonna be screaming it all night.” And he actually winked to follow up the crappy pickup line.

I sighed and ignored his hand. “Look, Declan, I’m sure that line works great on all the girls half your age,” I said dismissively, “but I’m not falling for it.”

His smile changed a little, but stayed overwhelmingly sleazy. “I thought I was talkin’ to a girl more than half my age,” he persisted. And he chuckled a little, like it was some sort of inside joke.

I sighed again, frustrated. Why could they never take no for an answer? “Look, seriously, I’m not interested. So go use your bad lines on someone else.”

He cocked his head a little, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right. Yeah, the guy was gorgeous, he’d probably never been turned down. “Ok, ok, you’re right, the lines ARE bad,” he admitted. “But how about a dance?”

“What part of ‘not interested’ did you not get?” I said — maybe a little harsher than I should’ve, but it was already turning out to be a crappy night, and I didn’t need a guy like him trying to use me to get his rocks off in some dark corner. Frankly, that was Kara’s specialty.

“C’mon, just one song,” he insisted, backing towards the dance floor as he beckoned with his hands for me to follow. I just glared at him. “All right, you win,” he finally conceded, holding his hands up in surrender. “But if ya change your mind, ya know where to find me.” He gave me that wink again, and I turned my back to him — to be honest, mostly because I was afraid that smokey-eyed, sultry look of his would finally make me cave. But, I did peek back over my shoulder just in time to watch him saunter into the crowd. He was easy to spot, with that nearly-white hair picking up the black lights — and we WERE in a goth club, after all; everyone else was sporting either black or multi-colored hair. I found myself glancing behind me every so often to see if he was still out there, and there was this niggling little thought in the back of my head that maybe I should take him up on his offer — Kara’s plaything for the night was a friggin’ gargoyle by comparison, and it would be fun to rub it in her face for once…

I shook my head. Where the Hell did that come from? Ugh. Clearly, I needed new friends. Or to get laid. Probably both. But it was not going to be that narcissistic Lothario, that was for sure. I glanced back again — just one last time, I told myself — and felt my stomach drop when I couldn’t find his stupid head glowing over the top of the crowd. I found him again after a quick glimpse around the room, but the realization that he was cozied up with a cute, elfin goth boy — no doubt crooning his ridiculous lines in his ear, too — made me feel like I’d been kicked in the chest.

Ok, that was the last straw — I had to get out of there before the jerk showed back up hoping for a threesome and I gave in to him. I sighed and picked my phone up off the bar and sent Kara a quick text, Going home, enjoy what’s-his-face, before slipping it back in my purse. As I headed for the door, I dug my keys out and carefully positioned the giant one for the car between my middle and ring fingers — where I could use it to quickly cut at an attacker, if the need arose. Yes, I’m more than a little paranoid — but I’d read too much about serial killers, and human beings scare the crap out of me.

I ducked my head out the door, quickly scanning the parking lot for any signs of creepers lurking in the shadows, then turned and scanned behind me to be sure I wasn’t followed. When I was convinced it was clear, I made a bee-line for my car, vigilantly listening for any signs something was amiss. But the lot was quiet — almost eerily so, but I told myself it was just because it was still early. The real crush of people wouldn’t start for a good hour or so, and I was the only killjoy leaving the party prematurely.

I was halfway across the lot when I heard a rustle behind me. I spun around, keys jutting out between my fingers as I clenched my muscles, preparing to fight — but there was no one there, just a damn Taco Bell wrapper blowing in the wind. I let out another sigh, partially in relief and partially in frustration, as I calmed down. I shook my head at my silly delusions, even chuckled a little, before turning back around.

And finding myself face-to-face with a man, not much taller than me, but stoutly built, giving me a sadistic grin. He was clearly from the club, dressed entirely in black leather and hair dyed an unnatural black, even completed the look with a set of those insanely expensive canine extensions meant to make him look like a vampire. I resisted the urge to scream — I doubted anyone would be able to hear me over the music inside, and I guessed that was exactly what he wanted me to do. To Hell with that, I wasn’t going to give him whatever sick fantasy was running through his head.

Instead, I took a step back — but this time I hit a solid wall of muscle. I spun around again and found yet another man, taller, but dressed the same — right down to those ridiculous teeth — and grinning the same vicious grin. In my peripheral vision, I could see two more — all identically dressed, and equally psychotic — coming out of the shadows to circle around me. The parking lot wasn’t well-lit, but the small amount reflected off their teeth, making their sharpness gleam. Oh, fuck, I groaned to myself. Sure, my self-defense tricks might work against one or two of them, but I doubted that, even with the vast amount of adrenaline racing through my system, I could possibly fend off four bloodthirsty maniacs.

My only hope was that maybe I could dodge them, outrun them, get back inside the club where there were other people. They were all wearing big, clunky boots that had to reduce their maneuverability. I can do this, I told myself as I slipped off my heels. From the way they bared their teeth further, I knew they’d guessed my plan, but what they didn’t know is that I ran five miles every day in less than half an hour. I can do this.

I took off like a horse out of the gate. Muscle-man made a grab for me, but I easily ducked under his arm, and skidded around one of the other Wonder Twins. But then the first — their leader, I guess — came down from out of the fucking sky in front of me, making a landing like the Incredible Hulk and cracking the pavement all around him. My throat constricted in terror — even if the guy was on something, that was not normal. Not without breaking a few bones. And when he immediately stood and rushed at me faster than a cheetah, I couldn’t stop the keening that left my lips. I tried to dart around him, but he easily caught me and wrapped a meaty arm around me, preventing me from bringing my key up to gouge out his eyes.

Holy Goddess, what the Hell was going on?! As I struggled against him, he wrapped my hair around his free hand and yanked my head to the side. The others leered at me, while boss-man lowered his face to my neck. Again, I couldn’t contain the whimper that escaped, and he inhaled deeply. “You’re quite the little fighter, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he taunted in a gravelly voice, and the others laughed like a pack of hyenas on crack. “That’s ok, the adrenaline makes your blood taste sooo much better.”

By now, I was in an all-out panic attack and trying not to hyperventilate. This couldn’t be happening. I wanted to think it was all just a bad nightmare, but it was just all too real. Then a familiar voice came from behind us, and I would’ve gladly jumped into the arms of that angel with the over-inflated ego — at least, until his words actually sank in. “I’ve got dibs on this one,” Declan announced, sounding slightly bored.

“We did all the work,” Mr. Big griped, temporarily releasing my head from his hold. “Why should we give her up now?”

“I saw her first,” Declan growled in reply.

“Ya snooze, ya lose,” muscle-man prodded.

I didn’t even have to wait until Declan bared his own fangs before I realized he was one of them, too, and I very nearly gave into my rising hysteria — either way, I was doomed to become a vampire’s dinner tonight. A real-life fucking vampire. My brain kicked into overdrive as I watched them all posturing, trying to prove who was in charge here. I’d seen enough movies, read enough books — there had to be some smudge of truth, something I could use to get out of this.

“I said she’s mine!” Declan hissed, following it with a snarl that would’ve sent a grizzly bear running. Muscle-man returned his challenge with a roar and a head-on charge, but Declan was much faster and rolled out of the way. It took the much larger man a full second — which seemed like an eternity, compared to the rest of their movements — to slow himself enough to turn back around. Declan fell into a half-swaggering fighting stance and gave the guy a simpering grin, before the big ogre made another bull-elephant charge he easily swept away from. “This really all you’ve got?” he goaded.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see their fearless leader’s face turning red with fury. “Get him!” he thundered to the other two, who obediently scrambled into the fray. Declan easily side-stepped their attacks as well, and I could see my captor becoming more and more flustered. One of the duo managed to connect a punch, causing Declan to pause slightly to shake it off, and I saw my chance.

While the leader was distracted, I managed to wiggle myself out of his grasp and bolted for the door. He lunged for me, but I spun around and got a good slash at his face with my key — still clenched tightly in my hand. Aided by his own momentum, it split the skin open from just below his eye all the way to his jaw — though it also knocked my only weapon to the pavement — and he clutched at the wound for a moment, howling in pain. Unfortunately, it was quickly forgotten, and he made a mad dash after me, but Declan leapt between us and barreled into him, knocking him to the ground.

To my horror, Declan then turned and sprinted towards me — of course I wasn’t fast enough to out-run him, and he caught me with an arm around the waist. But to my astonishment, he pressed his lips to my ear and quickly said, “I’m here to help, ok?” I really wasn’t sure whether I could trust him or not, but he sounded sincere, and I didn’t really have another option, so I nodded and kept close to him when he released me.

“Ah, now I see,” the big bad boss surmised as he lurched to his feet. “She’s your little pet, is she?”

Declan shrugged. “Never saw her in my life,” he replied. “Just deserves a helluva lot better’n you ugly cowards.”

Big Cheese bellowed and plowed towards us. Declan swung me away before coming at him from behind, but it made me dizzy watching them assail each other at high speed, so I turned my attention to the rest of the pack. They were warily watching the fight, no doubt making out far more than I was. I knew I should make a break for it, but I just couldn’t pull myself away from the fracas — or maybe it was just Declan. Eventually, I caught Declan getting in a solid hit to the chest, and then everything stopped. It took me a minute to realize his hand was covered in blood, clutching onto something, as the leader just stared down at his shirt. The others started to slink backwards, even the brawny giant, and that’s when I realized there was a gaping hole in the left side of his chest.

Dec had torn his heart out.

This is my brain NOT on drugs...

A mini-recap of my dream from early this morning:
James Spader is a big-shot lawyer. Who is also a T-Rex. And apparently has mystical lazer powers!

What has 2 thumbs and can manage to injure herself just walking out of the dentist's office?

Err...Itself? Eh, whatever - punchline:

THIS CHICK!!

Yep, managed to sprain my ankle leaving a dental cleaning. Now THAT takes some mad skillz.
But, hey, still 30(-ish) yrs and no cavities!

It's Beer-Thirty...

I <3 my job!

The word of the day...

...week...month...year...decade...whatever...is "clusterfuck!"

The Nameless - Sneak Peek!

This is it, Xenalia thought, the end of it all.  Of course, she knew that wasn’t entirely true.  The Nameless would always be around — there would always be sorcerers who took their power too far and were cast into The Outlands.  It was part of human nature — there would always be those who hungered for more and more power, never satisfied they had enough.

Normally, their narcissism kept them solitary.  True, they were dangerous, but on their own they could only take on small caravans at a time.  But every few generations, there would be one cast out who could organize them all, creating an army capable of destroying entire cities at once.

This was what she now faced…

Sneak Peek - But I have no title!

New story sneak peek - but, I haven't come up with a title for it yet.  Leave your suggestions in the comments!

There was a knock on the door; Rachel looked up from the book she was reading and called, “Who is it?”

“Hong Kong police,” came the reply — in a quiet man’s voice.

“Jesus Christ,” she swore, “is this some kind of joke?!”

“No, Ms. Lane, this is not a joke,” said a different man — this one with a harsher, more familiar New York sound.

She wasn’t stupid — there was no way in hell she was opening the door.  “And who are you,” she asked the second man, “Paris police?”

“NYPD,” he replied.  “Please open the door.”

“Shit,” she swore under her breath.  Then, to the two men at her door, she said a little angrily, “Look, I haven’t done anything.  And I haven’t even been to Hong Kong since I was 15.  So unless you’ve got a warrant, you can just leave.”

“You are Rachel Lane, aren’t you?” the first man asked, sounding a little puzzled.

“Yes, I am.”  She started to say something else, but he interrupted her.

“And your sister is Cherry Yen?  Married to one of the Chinese ambassadors currently here — Bai Yen?”

“Yes,” she replied hesitantly.  Of course, Cherry was a Hong Kong cop, too, but she would’ve said something if she knew something was up.

“Ms. Lane,” the New York cop said again, “we need you to open the door right now.”

The Hong Kong cop cut him off.  “I am not here to arrest you,” he assured her.  “I am here about your sister.”

She was still puzzled, but the Hong Kong cop sounded like a fairly nice guy.  She looked out the peep-hole of her apartment door.  “What about my sister?” she asked suspiciously.

“May I come in?” he asked gently.

She paused.  “You can,” she replied.  “But he can’t.”  She gestured toward to NYPD cop.

The Hong Kong cop nodded to the other man and said, “Thank you for your assistance.  I can handle it from here.”  The NYPD cop looked disappointed, but he tipped his hat and left.  As soon as he was gone, Rachel opened the door for the Hong Kong cop.

When she did, he looked surprised.  “What?” she half-snapped at him.

“I…I’m sorry,” he stammered.  “It’s just…you don’t look…”  He shook his head.

“I don’t look Chinese,” she finished, sounding slightly bitter.

“Yes,” he conceded.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean —“

She shook her head and interrupted, “No, don’t worry about it.”  She sighed.  “Come on in.”  She shut the door behind him and muttered, “Guess they don’t have the fact that my mother’s a slut in your files.”  When she saw the uncomfortable — but unmistakably puzzled — look on his face, she continued, “Cherry’s technically only my half-sister.  We don’t have the same father — mom was always sleeping around, and I’m the product of one of her many affairs.”  She sighed again.  “So, you’re here about my sister,” she said, changing the subject.  “What about her?  I mean, I thought she’s one of the best cops on your force.”

“Yes,” he replied, “she was.”

“Was?” Rachel exclaimed.  “What do you mean ‘was?’  I just saw her yesterday; she didn’t say anything about quitting!”

Again, he looked both uncomfortable and puzzled all at once.  “You mean you haven’t been told yet?” he said carefully.

“Told what?!” she barked.

He hesitated.  “You should probably sit down,” he replied gently.

“What happened?” she demanded.

“Your sister…was found dead this morning, along with her husband,” he finally said.  “I am very sorry, I thought you’d been told already.”

“Then why are you here, if it’s not to tell me that?” she snapped again.

“It appears they were shot with Cherry’s own gun,” he said delicately, trying not to upset her more.  “Unfortunately, the only fingerprints on it are hers; her wounds seem to be self-inflicted.  We were hoping you might have some information…”

“You think it was a murder-suicide,” she accused.  “No way.  Cherry would never do that, not in a million years.  My sister was murdered.”

He nodded sympathetically.  “I know it’s difficult to imagine,” he began.

“It’s impossible,” she interrupted, adamant.

“Do you know if she had been planning to go anywhere?” he asked.  “See anyone?”

As the reality of the situation finally started to sink in, she shakily lowered herself into a chair.  “Not really,” she replied.  “We went out to lunch, but she said she had to get back to the hotel early — she was going to an Embassy dinner with Bai.  That’s all I know.”

“Had she mentioned any threats against either of them?”

“No.  But she probably wouldn’t have told me if there were — she never wanted me to worry.”

Oracle - Sneak Peek!

Everyone had worried about nuclear war-but it was conventional weapons that did us in.  Cities were bombed, millions died.  The UN took over governing duties, but life would never quite go back to normal.

“Stop fucking with me,” Rabbit growled at the beady-eyed little man in front of him.  “I delivered your damn shipment.  Now give me my money.”

“Yes, you delivered my shipment,” the man replied patronizingly.  “Missing $250,000 worth of merchandise.”

“Bullshit!” Rabbit roared.  “If anything was missing, it’s because you got screwed over by your partners, not me!”  He was a fearsome looking man — six and a half feet tall, pure muscle, head completely shaved, covered in scars and tattoos.  And to top it all off, his eyes were a piercing steel grey.  He hoped it was enough to intimidate the man and his goons, but prepared himself for a firefight anyway.  The guy was a low-level gangster, trafficking only in drugs and prostitution, and his type was prone to hiring nothing but bat-shit crazy thugs for security.

But luck was once again on Rabbit’s side.  The man finally nodded and motioned to his guards to stand down.  “You’re no fool, Rabbit,” he agreed.  “So I have another proposition for you.”

“I’m not a damn hit man,” Rabbit snarled.  “Take care of it yourself.”  As his phone started to ring, he waved the man and his entourage off.  “Talk to me,” he said into the phone.

“Mr. Raibeart,” a woman’s voice said.  She didn’t sound anything like the people he was used to dealing with — in fact, she sounded almost refined.  “I’m told you’re the man to speak to about a job I need completed.”

“How do you know my name?” he demanded suspiciously.  He hadn’t used his real name in years, and kept it a tightly guarded secret.  “Who the Hell is this?”

“Just a client, Mr. Raibeart,” she replied.  “I have a very delicate, and very important...shall we say...package...I need escorted.  Are you interested or not?”

“How am I supposed to know this isn’t a trap?” he said.

“You’re not.  But I’m prepared to make it worth your while,” she responded.  “If you accept, $750,000 will be delivered to you tomorrow.  Upon the package’s delivery, you will be provided an additional $750,000.”

He hesitated.  Everything about this sounded suspicious-but that was a lot of money.  Enough to retire and get the Hell out of this God-forsaken shit-hole city.  “How far?” he asked.

“Singapore to Saint Petersburg,” she said.  “You will have ten days for the delivery.”

“That’s cutting it awfully close,” he reminded her.

“But you can manage it,” she responded.  “Do we have an agreement?”

He paused again.  All of his instincts screamed not to do it.  “Fine,” he finally acceded.

“Excellent,” she said.  She even sounded somewhat relieved.  “I will send further instructions with your money.”

Rabbit saw two women standing at the end of the pier when he pulled up.  One wore a long, black tunic over black leggings and boots, her hair covered with a black headscarf — the uniform of a New-Buddhist nun.  The other wore battered blue jeans, scuffed work boots, and an oversized hooded sweatshirt, her hands buried deep in the pockets to ward off the cold.  She also wore a scarf — much longer, and made of brightly multi-colored silk.  But it was wrapped so it covered most of her face and fell loosely enough over her hair to even hide most of her eyes.

“I assume you’re the one I spoke to,” he said to the nun.  She nodded.  “Where’s the package?”

“You’ll be escorting us,” she replied.

“I didn’t sign up to be a damn coyote,” he growled.  “I don’t traffic in humans.”

The other woman chuckled, and he glared at her slightly.  “You’re a smuggler, Mr. Raibeart,” the nun began.

“You didn’t ask what that consisted of,” the other woman interrupted.  Even muffled by the fabric, her voice had a touch of an Eastern European accent.  “It’s your own fault for not getting the details of the job before you took it.”

“Csilla,” the nun rebuked quietly.  From the matronly tone of her voice, Rabbit could guess she was the older of the two.

“Listen, sister,” Rabbit snarled, “you want my help, you show me some respect.”

“I’m not your sister, Evandrus Pahana Raibeart” she said pointedly, carefully emphasizing every word of his name.  “And I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Csilla!!” the nun hissed in frustration.

“You’ve got some balls, girlie,” Rabbit snapped.  She was taller than the nun, but still a good foot shorter than him, so he pulled himself up to his full height just to make sure he loomed over her.

Finally, Csilla pushed back the scarf, revealing her face.  Her hair was dark brown — short, and slightly spiked — with blonde highlights dyed throughout.  But what caught his attention were her eyes — they had likely once been just as dark as her hair, but were now covered with a cloudy film.  Cataracts were common these days, especially in this area, but he’d never seen them so severe in someone so young.  “Look, are we done with this pissing match yet?” she sighed.  “I can’t see you.  You don’t intimidate me.”

Lessons from the Venture Bros.

Don't fuck with David Bowie!!

I am the Reverend Mother!

Yup, I am a nerd.

I think I should start claiming to be a "wild" Bene Gesserit.  I am apparently able to use the Voice to bend even the most difficult dealers (and dogs) to my will.  Here is a simulated exchange between a tech, a particularly crabby dealer, and me:

Tech: No, the software can't do that.  But I can put in an enhancement request so it can be considered in the future.

Dealer: This is inexcusable!  You need to wave a magic wand and make this incredibly useless feature that no one but me will ever use, and which will explode the size of our database, come straight out of my ass right now! (As a side note, I'd really like to make him say "INCONCEIVABLE!" too.)

Me (when he calls back later, thinking maybe he'll somehow get a different answer): No, the software can't do that.  But I'll put in an enhancement request so it can be considered in the future.

Dealer: Ok, great, thanks!  You're always so helpful.  And now that I know you're still taking phone calls, I'm going to ask for you every single time I call (which is often), no matter how trivial the question, even though you've told me you've actually moved into a different position and don't take support calls often.  Bye!

WTF?!

And as for dogs, the best example is a 125-lb. Rottweiler my uncle used to have (D).  He was an incredibly sweet dog, but he was also incredibly stupid.  Any training he got stayed in his teeny little pea brain for approximately 4.2 seconds, and then was gone.  Not to mention the fact that despite his weight, he didn't look it-long legs, long body, etc.  Except maybe his big ol' shovel head.  Pretty sure that's where most of the weight came from.  Anyway, he was big, but he literally thought he was the size of a teacup Chihuahua.  We had an end table that was maybe 2 ft. tall x 1 ft. wide, and he would try to hide under it-and then look bewildered when he couldn't fit.  I kinda think maybe he was a little retarded, even (not in a bad way, mind you).  And he was so friendly, he'd just go bonkers when people were around.  So one year, the whole family-my parents, my brother, 2 uncles, an aunt, my grandma, and 4 cousins-were at the other uncle's house for Xmas.  One of the cousins was only about 4 at the time, and he was all excited, and he'd been playing with D, plus with all the people around, D was just beside himself with rambunctious joy.  The uncle whose house it was also had a dog, which excited poor, stupid D even more (I expect that the only thing going through his head was PLAY PLAY PLAY PLAY PLAY PLAY!!!).  So my 3 older cousins (who were probably 19, 15, and 13, but were each well over 6' tall, and the 2 younger boys were/are football players) were ALL trying to hold him by the collar to keep him out of the way, and having a difficult time.  But when I walked in the friggin' door and told D to sit, his ass immediately hit the wood floor and he STAYED there (I should also mention this dog NEVER got a grasp on the concept of stay).  The boys were even able to let go of him, get dinner, and he didn't move! Honestly, I would've liked to get a picture of the look on everyone's faces, because they were just all in shock.

Of course, this doesn't work at all on who/what I actually need it to.  Like, uh, the cats.

I could carve a better father out of a mango!

And now I can Google that phrase and have something come up.  Too bad I can't find any clips of it (Sealab 2021, kiddos).  Damn, and here I thought you could find ANYthing on YouTube...

Lila & Nick - Sneak Peek!

“Ready?” Marian asked, standing next to the door.

Lila glanced around at all the ridiculous black-lights that had replaced the spotlights over her paintings and sighed.  “Ready as I ever will be,” she replied.  She hated shows-she could never understand why her studio had to be transformed in order for her work to be appreciated.

Lila watched another group walk into the gallery.  Most of them were the usual type of patrons-rich playboys showing off for their model dates, middle-aged women desperately trying to be hipsters and beatniks, and self-proclaimed “art critics” who loved nothing better than to look down their noses at everyone else.  But there was one man mingling with the latter group that just didn’t seem to fit.  He was tall and thin, but he wore a close-fitting shirt with the sleeves rolled up that showed he was still definitely muscular.  He had dark hair pulled into a short ponytail-just long enough to show it was slightly curly.  His skin was a beautiful bronze-obviously Mediterranean-but paler than anyone she’d ever seen.  He wasn’t speaking much, and didn’t really seem to even be listening to the conversation, though he would occasionally absently nod his head as if in answer to a question.  She could only see the profile of his face, but the bone structure was perfect, reminding her of Greek and Roman statues of their gods.

“Who is that?” Lila asked Marian, motioning towards him.

Marian giggled.  “Gorgeous, isn’t he?” she sighed.  “His name’s Nikolai Romanov.  He’s Russian, I think-”

“Balkan, more likely,” Lila muttered absently.

“He’s a big art dealer in Seattle,” Marian continued, ignoring the correction.  “You’re pretty lucky to have him show up here-he rarely does shows.”

“Mm-hmm,” Lila replied, still distracted.  She just couldn’t take her eyes off of him.  Suddenly, he turned his head toward her and smiled slightly.  For a split second, their eyes met-his were dark, like his hair, but intense; she felt like they were burning into her soul.  Embarrassed, she quickly turned away.  Her face felt hot, and she was sure she was blushing-she felt ridiculous, like a teenager.  But somehow, she felt compelled to look up again, and was surprised to see him walking toward her.  He moved amazingly quickly, even though he didn’t seem to be rushing.

When he reached her, he held out his hand.  “You must be the artist,” he said.  His voice was low and quiet, but she had no trouble hearing him, even with the din of all the other voices in the room.  He had a strong, but not overpowering, Eastern European accent; combined with the steady rhythm of his voice, it was almost hypnotic to listen to him.  Now that he was close up, she could see his eyes were a warm chocolate brown, and his hair a darker shade of the same color.

For a moment, she just stood there, as if in a trance.  Finally, she took his hand-his grip was strong, but still gentle, and his skin was cool and soft-and he shook hers.  She could feel herself blushing again and nervously stammered “Lila...”

“Kelly,” he finished, smiling that slight, warm smile again.

Daggers in the Sands - Sneak Peek!

  Risa didn’t know how long she’d been wandering in the desert.  She knew it had been at least two days, but by now, she had lost all sense of time and direction.  Everything was blurring together.

  She had no idea how she’d gotten here-or even where ‘here’ was.  She’d had a long day at work-she’d just gotten an important promotion-then gotten into an argument with her mother over the phone, and had fallen asleep on her couch.  But when she awoke, she was greeted by only the harsh view of nothing but sand as far as she could see, instead of her comfortable living room as she’d been expecting.

  Not knowing what else to do, she’d began walking, hoping to find some sign of civilization.  All she found was more sand.

  “[Who are you?]” the older man demanded.

  “[Are you friend or enemy?]” said the other man.

  “I-I’m sorry,” Risa stammered.  She didn’t need to know the language to know she was in serious danger if she didn’t answer correctly.  “I don’t know what you’re saying!”

  “[She does not understand us,]” the woman said to her companions.  Then, switching to what sounded like a different language, she asked Risa, “[What is your name?]”

  “What?” Risa replied.

  The woman looked puzzled.  “[She does not speak the common tongue, either,]” she murmured, reverting to what Risa assumed to be her native language.  “Saya,” she said, pointing to herself.  “Janiq.”  She pointed to the younger man.  “Taqar.”  She pointed to the older man.  “[You?]”  She pointed to Risa.

  Risa pointed to herself.  “What about me?” she asked, still confused.  When the woman nodded, she realized what they were looking for.  “Oh, my name!”  She pointed to herself again and replied, “Risanna.”

  The two men recoiled in fear.  “[She is a demon!]” the older man-Taqar-cried.

  “[She does not know our language,]” Saya said, amused.  “[I do not think her name means the same in her own tongue.]”  Seeing Risa’s bewilderment, she pulled a knife from her belt and pointed to it, saying, “[Risana.]”

  Risa motioned to the knife.  “Risanna?” she repeated.  Saya nodded.  “My name means knife?!”  She shook her head, and then pointed to herself again.  “Risa.”

  Saya pointed to her and asked, “Risa?”  Risa nodded.  “[This ‘Risana’ is also called ‘Risa,’]” she said to the men.

  “[I do not like this, Saya,]” Taqar said.  “[It is a bad omen.  We should kill her; leave her water to the desert.]”

  “[You see bad omens everywhere, Taqar,]” Saya replied.  “[We will let the elders decide her fate.]”  She turned to Risa.  “[Come,]” she said, motioning to follow her.

  Risa hesitated.  She knew she couldn’t survive on her own in the desert, but without knowing their language, she couldn’t be sure she’d be safe with these people, either.  For all she knew, they could be leading her to some sort of ritual where she would be used as a human sacrifice.  Oh, what the hell, she thought.  I’m dead either way.  At least I’ll have a higher chance of survival with them.

  As she followed them, Risa was surprised at how quickly they moved.  While she struggled to keep her footing in the shifting sands, they walked as easily as if it were solid rock.  Every time she stumbled, she would earn glares from both Taqar and Janiq, but Saya simply patiently stopped and helped her up.

  “[She is slowing us down,]” Janiq grumbled.  “[We’ll never reach the caves before full sun now.]”

  “[She will not be left behind,]” Saya replied sharply.  “[Do you wish to challenge my judgment?]”

  Janiq tensed for a moment, but then his shoulders slumped in defeat.  “[No, Saya,]” he said.

  Risa of course had no idea what they had said, but determined from the exchange that Saya was the leader in this group.  She was somewhat amused by this revelation-since this seemed to be a primitive society, at least by the standards she was used to, she’d expected Taqar more likely to be in charge.

  As Janiq had expected, the sun was beating down with its full force by the time they finally came into view of a small outcropping of rock.  Risa breathed a small sigh of relief-she didn’t think she’d ever been more exhausted in her life than she was now.  Once they entered the shelter of a cave, she could immediately feel the difference in temperature, and it continued to drop as they descended farther down.

  Finally, they stopped inside a large cavern.  Risa immediately dropped to the ground and leaned her head back against the cool wall.  Saya looked at her and said, “[Janiq, give her food.  And water.]”

  “[I am not sure we have enough, Saya,]” he protested.

  “[Then give her my share,]” she snapped.

  He scowled, but did as he was told.  

Heretic - Sneak Peek!

  Heretic.  Murderer.  Every day, Izra heard them whispering it as she passed.  It was what had gotten her thrown onto this god-awful, piss-poor excuse of a planet.  She couldn’t blame them, really-after all, there at least was a reason she was here, even if it was horse shit.  And you miserable bastards all got stuck here with me, she thought.

  In the slums near Kanehani, young girls disappeared all the time-everyone accepted it as a fact of life.  Everyone knew where they were.  But no one was willing to stop it-they were all to afraid of the consequences of even admitting they knew what was happening.

  The truth was, the children were being stolen by a monster, one that hid behind his priest’s robe deep within the monastery.  The ecclesiastics protected their own, no matter how ghastly their appetite.  And no one went against the Church; to do so was suicide.

  But when Izra’s sister Priam went missing, she didn’t care what the cost was.  She was all Izra had left-their parents had perished toiling in the Fegueran mines years ago, leaving Izra alone to care for her.  And she was going to make the beast pay for his crimes.

  She’d taken a knife and managed to sneak into the priory.  It hadn’t been difficult to find the devil: sickeningly enough, she’d been able to hear Priam’s screams once she’d entered the hall near his quarters.  But by the time she broke through the door, she was too late-she was greeted by the horrific sight of the priest with his hands still clenched around the neck of Priam’s lifeless, naked body.

  Blinded with rage, Izra had flown at him with the blade, slashing every inch of flesh she possibly could before the others got to her.  When they’d reached the door, she slit the demon’s throat, slicing so deep she hit bone.  When they pulled her off of him, she was covered in blood, spewing curses at them for allowing this abomination to hunt freely.

  She’d expected to be executed for her “crime.”  But somehow, the Fates had smiled down on her, and the Premier decided to be merciful and spare her life.  Instead, he’d ordered her to be exiled to Azariah, the newly discovered planet far on the edge of the Empire.  The next day, she was on the first transport, filled with pilgrims praying for a better life on the new frontier.