Excerpt:Hospital Chief of Staff Natasha Lockham’s life has been all about work and no play. That is until a one-night stand with a man who lives his life on the edge, turns her sexual fantasies into reality. She never expects to see him again, but their paths cross when Natasha suspects an esteemed doctor of committing an unspeakable crime against his patients and danger lands at her doorstep. The closer she gets to the truth, the more she realizes she’s not prepared for the truth – or the consequences.
Former Navy SEAL, Malik Lewis, will always remember the night he spent with Natasha. It was the single most amazing night of his life. So when Natasha narrowly escapes a brutal attempt on her life, Malik stops at nothing to protect her, including hunting a man whose skills match his. Can Malik and Natasha outsmart a vicious assassin who has nothing to lose? And will they ever get to explore the sizzling passion between them that neither can deny?
Natasha sluggishly opened her eyes, blackness surrounding her. In the distance, the hum of an air conditioner pierced the silence of the room and a surge of anxiety leapt within her body. Wha…Where am I? Her hands fisted the sheet as her gaze darted back and forth in the dark trying to figure out where she was.
Okay. Okay. Calm down and relax. Calm down and relax, she told herself, using the same chant she had used plenty of times when doing a surgery. Just calm down. She breathed, inhaling a deep breath and releasing it slowly as her eyes began to adjust to the darkness. Memories of the evening slowly penetrated her mind.
Malik. I’m at Malik’s house.
She sighed in relief and turned onto her side, snuggling into the pillow and hoping that sleep would once again claim her. Time passed and like earlier, when she closed her eyes, the scene at the café infiltrated her mind. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to remember. All she wanted was to be lulled back into the mindless, dreamless state she’d just come out of.
When she realized that wasn’t going to happen, she sat up in bed, only to sway to the left and then to the right. Whoa. She grabbed her head. Once the room stopped spinning, she planted her feet on the floor and felt her way to the adjoining bathroom. She wasn’t much of a drinker and the queasiness flowing through her body reminded her why. She hated the after effects of alcohol.
Happy to see a new toothbrush and toothpaste near the sink, she brushed her teeth and splashed cold water on her face. The small gesture had her feeling somewhat alive. Returning to the bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed. It was too quiet. She could turn on the television mounted on the wall, but that’s not what she wanted. What she really wanted was to be wherever Malik was.
That’s not a good idea.
Ignoring her inner voice, she went in search of him. When she stepped into the hallway, it was just as quiet and dark. A light from the lower level illuminated part of the staircase, whereas the other end of the hallway was pitch-black. She didn’t hear Tank, so she assumed Malik had put him in the basement since he had mentioned it earlier.
She glanced across the hall at Malik’s bedroom, his door slightly opened.
Natasha brought her hand up to her mouth, her bottom lip folded between her teeth. She knew she was asking for trouble if she went to him in the middle of the night, but the need to be held was overriding all common sense.
With one foot in front of the other, she approached his door and slowly pushed it open. He had showed her around upstairs, but with the darkness, she could barely see her hand in front of her face. A sliver of moonlight shone through the slats of the blinds, guiding her to the massive bed in the middle of the room.
There wasn’t enough light for her to see him clearly, but it didn’t matter. She remembered every inch of his strong, enticing body. She licked her lips recalling how she dug her fingernails into his unbelievably broad shoulders the night he rocked her world.And she would never forget his wide chest, sprinkled with soft, dark hair perfect for running her fingers through.
Natasha swallowed hard. Why was she torturing herself? Torturing herself with memories of making love with a man who didn’t want the same things she wanted? Marriage. Children. She asked herself the question, but she knew the answer. Malik had brought her more pleasure in one night than her own husband had brought her in all the years they were together. She shook her head knowing she should go back to her room, but she couldn’t. She wanted him. Right now, she needed him.
Natasha stepped closer to the bed. Her heart lurched when her gaze landed on the spot where he’d been shot just below his ribcage during a mission in Afghanistan years earlier. She stretched out her hand, her fingers grazing the wound that had almost cost him his life.
Malik bolted upright with his gun drawn.
Natasha screamed when he grabbed her by the front of her T-shirt, the barrel of his gun between her eyes. Her heart slammed against her chest. Fear kept her from breathing. “Ma–Malik!” she cried, tears clouding her vision. “Please …”
Malik released her and slapped his hand against the side table. Light illuminated the room.
“What the hell?” he roared, his gun still drawn. “Are you crazy? You could have been killed!”
Natasha stumbled back. Tripping over his shoes, she landed hard on her tailbone. Fear kept her moving. She shuffled her feet and scooted away from him until she hit a wall, unable to go any further, unable to breathe.
Excerpt:
How can Maple and her residents fight Stacy, find the artifact, and save their home with the rich and powerful of the town arrayed against them?
…And can she trust a demon to help her?
I rubbed my hands together nervously and smiled. “Walter, we got you a present today,” I said, indicating to both Derek and I. “You seem kind of lonely and we thought you could use…a friend.”
Derek lifted the draped fabric off the gigantic cage and we all looked in at the small, nearly featherless parrot. He lifted a tiny parrot wing in our general direction. “Happy birthday!” Batman said with contagious enthusiasm.
Walter narrowed his eyes at the bird. “What is it?”
“It’s a parrot,” Derek explained.
“It’s ugly. I don’t want no damn ugly bird,” Walter grumbled.
I pursed my lips at Walter. “Well, it’s the ugly bird, or you’re becoming a vegan to bring down your blood pressure and cholesterol.”
“Damn doctor,” Walter growled.
Batman was clearly insulted. He walked to the far side of his giant cage and tucked his little blue-green Mohawked head down under his featherless wing.
Willow was near tears, and so was Alex. They were a sensitive bunch to begin with, but Batman’s heartache was hard for any of us to watch, including Walter.
Walter grumbled something under his breath and peered into the cage again. “What does it eat?” he asked gruffly.
Derek opened the cage door and took Batman out, placing him on the chair next to Walter at the table. “What do you want to eat, Batman?”
“Cookies!” Batman said.
Derek looked exasperated. “How about some fruit?”
“Cookies!” Batman repeated.
Walter stood up. “He knows what he wants. Let him have cookies.” Walter ambled into the kitchen and returned a moment later with some lemon wafers. He took one and held it out for the little bird.
Batman backed away.
We all watched Walter lock eyes with Batman in challenge, but then his expression softened and Walter shook his head. “You’re not ugly.”
Batman scuttled back across the chair and took the cookie from Walter, using one small foot and his beak to break it into bite-sized pieces. Alex laughed at the display.
“What are you laughing at, hippie? He’s smarter than you are.” Walter held out his hand to Batman and the tiny bird hopped onto it. “The Wheel of Fortune is on, bird,” Walter said before scuffling into the parlor.
We all followed Walter and Batman into the room. And when Walter leaned his cane against his recliner, Batman perched himself on it. Walter sat down with a huff and glared at everyone. “Turn on The Wheel.”
I smiled as Walter angled his cane so Batman could watch the television without craning his neck. Vanna made her way to the big board wearing a bright green sequined evening gown and four inch spike stilettos. Batman whistled his appreciation and Walter smiled, patting what feathers Batman still had on his head.
Halfway through The Wheel, Derek and I headed off to our other jobs. Him removing his clothes for money, and me pretending that I wasn’t watching him do so while I dumped drinks into unsuspecting heiresses’ laps. It was a pretty good gig so far.
Excerpt:
When a handsome man from Gabby’s past agrees to a cross-country road trip, her master plan to re-launch her art career quickly morphs into an unexpected, romantic reunion.
Marney’s 9-1-1 emergency help arrives in the form of a rugged, blue-eyed cop. Now she has the perfect bodyguard to keep her safe during those dark, steamy nights…
The last thing Mia wants is a relationship…yet the headstrong florist can’t keep her hands off her sexy-as-sin ex-boyfriend. Will she open her heart before he leaves town for good?
Jenny is a woman on a mission – she’ll even resort to dognapping to make her point! But can she teach a reclusive, emotionally-wounded tycoon that love heals all things?
“Driving Mr. Wrong Home” by Shirley Jump
“That’s what friends are for.” Though he wanted more than that and had for a long, long time. He wasn’t on this trip with Gabby to see if he should forget her. He’d come to see if she loved him like he’d always loved her.
“Is that what we are?” she asked. “Friends?”
“Are we?”
The two-word question hung in the air. Hell, the question had sat between them for years, ever since the day they’d met. There’d always been this magnet that drew him to her, a magnet he’d attributed to her being so different from him, so wild, so unpredictable. When really, what he wanted more than anything was Gabby herself.
“I think we’ve always been more than that,” he said. He reached up, let his hand trail along her jaw. Her eyes widened, and her pulse leapt in her throat. “Don’t you?”
“T.J….” She turned away. “I don’t think we should take this any further. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Okay.” He lowered his hand.
A heartbeat passed, another. The temperature rose, heating the space between them. She caught his hand with hers, her fingers warm and tight against his. “I want you,” she said softly. “But I’m so afraid. Of a thousand things, of making a mistake.”
“Oh, Gabby.” Her name slid from his lips, part groan, part whisper. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”
A long slow smile curved across her face. She splayed her fingers, pressed her hand on his chest. Her touch trailed down the front of his shirt, skipping over the buttons, dancing along the ridges of muscle beneath the cotton fabric. “You’ve changed.”
“We both have. We’ve grown up.” His attention drifted to her curves and the desire that had been on a slow simmer began to burn hotter, brighter.
She laughed, a deep, throaty sound. “I don’t know if I have. But you have grown up. In very nice ways.” A flush of pink invaded her cheeks, nearly as bright as the streak in her hair.
“I’m not that geek you remember.”
“No, T.J., you definitely aren’t. But underneath it all, I think you’re still the same guy. You’re down to earth and honest. At your core, you’re the T.J. I remember. I’ve missed that person a lot.”
“You missed me?”
“More than I realized. You’ve always…tempered me. Brought out the best in me.”
The words filled him with joy. She saw who he was underneath. She always had. “And you’re still the same person who pushes me to step out of my comfort zone, to take chances.”
“I could say you’ve turned the tables in that department this week.” Her gaze softened when she looked at him.
“Maybe we should take this beyond just a road trip. To something more.” He’d said nearly the same thing years before. Back then, she’d rejected him. But this time, he sensed the undercurrent of attraction, the simmer of want, warring with whatever battles Gabby had inside her.
“But…” She got to her feet, and shook her head. “We’re just traveling together for a few days. It wouldn’t be smart to complicate that. What’s going to happen when we get to California? You stay there, I go back to Illinois? We have something long distance?”
“Honestly, I don’t know what will happen then.” He wanted more, wanted it all, but to have that, he had to tell her the truth about who he was...about why he stayed away all these years.
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Shirley Jump spends her days writing romance and women’s fiction to feed her shoe addiction and avoid cleaning the toilets. She cleverly finds writing time by feeding her kids junk food, allowing them to dress in the clothes they find on the floor and encouraging the dogs to double as vacuum cleaners. Look for her Sweet and Savory Romance series, including the USA Today bestselling book, THE BRIDE WORE CHOCOLATE, on Amazon and Nook, and the debut of her Sweetheart Club series for Berkley, starting with THE SWEETHEART BARGAIN in September 2013. Visit her website at www.shirleyjump.com or read recipes and life adventures at www.shirleyjump.blogspot.com.
In 2013 Susan Meier lived one of her career-long dreams. Her book, THE TYCOON’S SECRET DAUGHER was a finalist for RWA’s highest honor, the Rita! The same year NANNY FOR THE MILLIONAIRE’S TWINS was a Book Buyer’s Best Award finalist and National Reader’s Choice finalist.
Chef Ivy Turin is great with food, but not so good with men. When a mysterious vendor gifts her with a jade necklace guaranteed to find true love, she is skeptical. But no sooner does she put on the necklace then star football player, Sam Rockney, walks into her restaurant. Athletic, intelligent, not to mention drop dead gorgeous, Sam seems like the perfect man for her. Too perfect. Is the sexy Seattle quarterback for real, or is there something wrong with Mr. Perfect?
Chapter One
Seattle, Washington, July, 2013
“Have you noticed nobody holds hands anymore?” Chef Ivy Turin picked up a tomato from the pile of neatly displayed produce at Pike Street Market. “It was my favorite part of dating in high school. There was no PDA allowed in the halls, but my boyfriend would sneak up next to me and slip his fingers through mine. That simple little gesture made me feel special.”
Beth, her sous chef, eyed her with sarcastic amusement. “You are special.”
Ivy selected several more tomatoes and put them in the cloth grocery bag. Handing the items to the cashier, she fished money from her pocket. “Me? You’re as jaded as the necklaces in the next stall.”
“I’m jaded? You’re the one who hasn’t had a date since you dumped Kevin,” Beth said, examining an odd-looking fiddlehead fern. “Although I suppose I can’t blame you for being cautious after what he did to you. Stealing from the restaurant to cover his gambling debt was beyond wrong, but there are good guys out there.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Ivy said, accepting the change from the cashier. Although nine months had passed since the breakup, Kevin’s betrayal still stung. It wasn’t as much about the money he embezzled. It was the deceit it was predicated upon.
“I realize it’s cliché but you need to forget about him and move on. Maybe you could start with your perfect high school boyfriend,” Beth said, moving to the next stall. “He might be available.”
“Are you searching for the perfect man?” the jade vendor behind the counter asked. He had an Australian accent and pale grey eyes disconcerting in their intensity.
Beth pointed at Ivy. “Her, not me. She’s—well, she used to be—a hopeless romantic.”
The vendor gave Ivy a speculative look before lifting up a simple silver chain with a green jade amulet hanging from it. “If you truly want to find this elusive perfect man, and restore your faith in true love, this necklace will be your good luck talisman.”
He tried to hand it to Ivy. She refused. “It’s beautiful—”
Leaning forward, he clasped her wrist and pressed the necklace into her palm. “It’s a gift.”
Ivy expected the jade to be cool to the touch, It heated her skin, sending an unexpected jolt of energy throughout her body. Pulling away, she dismissed the unusual sensation as a consequence of the double espresso she’d recently finished. All of this talk of magic was giving her the creeps.
“I couldn’t. It’s too much.” She tried to pass it back. He merely grinned.
“The first step to finding true love is acceptance,” he said, winking at Beth. “Take the necklace. Wear it with hope in your heart, and when you find the perfect man, everything will become clear.”
To Sherri, the only thing better than reading a good book is writing one. She penned her first novel at seventeen and although she inevitably graduated to a keyboard, she is still creating stories full of adventure, romance, and humor. In addition to writing, she designs her own book covers. 
Excerpt:
U.S. Deputy, Alex Marshall is mad enough to spit nails when the beautiful, city-bred girl lands in his arms. Unable to abandon her to the cruelties of the gang, he searches for a way out of the responsibility. But her courage and sweet kisses begin to chip away at the bitterness inside his heart and he must choose between revenge on the gang that slaughtered everyone he loved or redemption for saving a women he can never have.
“He can’t discover who I am.”
Something indefinable in the tone of her voice scared the hell out him. “And just who are you?”
A long minute passed before she glanced up. Tight lines edged her eyes. He tucked her hair behind her ear.” I need to know what I’m up against.”
“Get me out of here, tonight,” Was the only answer she gave him.
Lips compressed, he took her hand and stalked to their campsite. Maybe if he opened up a bit he could coax something out of her.
Reclined on the grass beside Grace, Alex locked his hands behind his head and stared at the sky. “My real name is Alex. What’s yours?”
She fiddled with her skirt and avoided eye contact for several minutes. “Effie.”
“That wasn’t so hard was it?” Alex rolled to his side and propped his head on his hand. Grace hugged her knees. “No.”
“Now, tell me what has you so spooked.”
“I can’t.”
Alex curled his fingers tight. “Why not?”
“I don’t trust you much more than I do Ben.” She hugged her knees tighter.
That stung. “Haven’t I tried to help you?”
“You rob people for gain don’t you?” Sarcasm laced her accusation.
He sighed at the tangle of lies he was embedded in. “Not really.”
Effie scowled down at him. “Then what motivates you to steal?”
Alex doubted she could ever understand the loss of loved ones in a brutal mass murder. She’d never understand his need for revenge so he could ease the pain in his heart. It would be useless to try and explain it to her.
“Gives me a little excitement.” He added another lie to his list of deceptions.
“I don’t believe you.”
Alex jerked up, he wasn’t a knight in shining armor and he couldn’t afford for her to guess his real reason for being in the gang. “Keep your secrets then, but don’t blame me if you find yourself in a bind.” He marched off.
Let the sheltered city girl stew over his warning, he told himself. Memories of his family reminded Alex he still hadn’t discovered who pulled the trigger that fateful day, and Effie’s presence hindered his efforts. Alex was almost tempted to give her to Ben and let him figure out what to do with her.
Light but noisy footsteps followed him. He spun around. “What?”
“Please Alex, don’t be angry.”
“You want my help, my protection, with no concept of the consequences. I’m not some hired hand you can boss around. Dangling false promises of money under my nose won’t work. I take you away and I can never show my face around here again.” He thrust a finger at her. “You have no idea what that costs me.”
Hands balled on her hips, Effie glared at him. “Then you should never have brought me here.”
Guilt washed over him and he snapped. “Why don’t you hustle on down the hill and tell Sam you’d rather be his. Solve my problems.”
Effie threw herself at his chest and fisted his shirt. Panic bleached her face. “No!” she cried out, fear heavy in the one word.
Damn, the girl made him feel like a bastard.
Steeped in a rich family history, Karen Lopp has always been drawn to the courageous lives of the women who lived through the hardships of the past and triumphed.
Excerpt:
Baillie thought life was content, successful in the Pacific Northwest until her bookshop became haunted. Inheriting a Scottish castle leads her on a wild adventure of Celtic chaos where she meets her gorgeous ghost. Finding her life in danger, Baillie calls the diva squad to the rescue: her friend Gillian Nation and his girls.
Will she choose her normal, safe existence or grab onto an unusual love that makes life magical?
Chapter One
The cat flattened itself to the carpet near the front bookcase, ears lost against its orange-striped head, frozen in fear. A terrified hiss leaked through his open mouth and, slinking backward, the cat spun and ran toward the back of the store.
Catching a brief flash of orange out of the corner of her eye, Baillie shook her head. “Now what’s gotten into Sebastian? Must be a mouse.” She fanned her painted fingernails along the spines of books stacked on the shelf beside her. Listening to the hushed clicking sounds of her nails against the bindings as she walked down the aisle, she inhaled the intoxicating aroma of paper and leather around her. She loved opening her bookshop every morning, where antique classics, used and new volumes of various sizes filled the shelves around her. Framed paintings by local artists dotted the walls between the bookcases.
“Morning,” Baillie called to the previously owned hardbacks without the slightest apprehension of appearing insane. She talked to inanimate objects all the time—great audience, no heckling. Besides, I’m alone in here unless you count the cat, and you can’t count on that spoiled feline for anything. Where did he dash off to just now in such a hurry?
A thin volume of poems lay exposed on a shelf. “You don’t belong here,” Baillie said, sweeping it up to reshelve. She hesitated; the book cover felt cold in her hand, the worn leather chilling her fingers, sucking the warmth from her fingertips in seconds. She quickly shook her head to keep her thoughts from running amok. Of course the book was cold; in the Northwest, things always seemed cold.
“I swear someone helps themselves around here at night. The least they could do is put the books back where they belong when they’re done.” She turned and pushed a ceramic bookend aside and placed the wayward book next to the others as a quick chill shivered down her spine.
“Hey, Einstein, ol’ buddy.” Baillie grabbed an ornate feather duster from a brass umbrella stand nearby and took a few housekeeping swipes against the framed lithograph hanging on the wall. “Dang, I’m looking more like you every day.” She checked her reflection in the glass. “Tell me, did you see who moved Robert Burns’ book of poems last night? Maybe I need to borrow your glasses—going blind in my old age and missed putting it away after closing.”
Baillie turned, whistling the theme song from Fame, at the end of the aisle. She missed seeing the slow, deliberate movement as the same book silently shifted out from the shelf. The dark brown edition slid away from the other poetry books, hanging suspended for a moment, then lay back on the empty surface of the shelf. The ceramic bookend moved, closing the empty gap.
The front door of the shop opened with a tinkling of metal chimes. “It’s just me,” yelled a female voice as she came in.
“I’m in the north quarter, Sally. Would you turn on the computer?” Baillie responded from somewhere behind the walls of books. “Time to open up, I guess.”
“No problem, boss.” Sally dropped her purse under the counter.
Baillie knew her assistant’s routine by heart: She’d click the black toggle switch on the power strip with the toe of her shoe, sending juice to all the electronics at the same time. Baillie heard the calculator, printer and credit card unit each create its own hum as Sally pressed the power button.
“How are the hot flashes this morning?” Sally asked.
“Midlife under control, thank you very much young whiner.” Baillie dusted another shelf with a few fast swishes. “You can kick the personal heater on for a while.”
“Just a little damp for June this year, you know. Some of us don’t have the benefit of hormonal heaters,” she taunted.
“I heard that!” Baillie continued up and down the aisles, swishing the duster back and forth. Suddenly, a bitter cold swept around her, sending a blinding chill through her body. She gasped from the icy shock. Baillie couldn’t catch her breath as the splash of numbing cold flowed into her heart and out again, pounding inside her chest. The reddish blond hairs on the back of her exposed neck stood on end. Her teeth chattered against the chill, like Lucy Ricardo locked in the meat freezer .
“What the…?” She leaned against the shelving for support. “Whoa.” Baillie blinked rapidly and focused on her right hand, more specifically the beige metal shelf under her crimson-painted fingernails. The metal felt warm, warmer than her soul at the moment. Goose bumps traveled up her bare arms and under her short-sleeved blouse. Titles describing Scotland and its clans stood in military straight rows in front of her.
As quickly as it had struck, the air around her trembling body returned to normal temperatures. She took a shaky breath, mentally searching for some logical explanation for the bone-chilling cold. “Who turned the air conditioner on?” she whispered to herself with mock confidence. Looking around the cramped quarters of bookshelves as she moved away, the store seemed peaceful. She dropped the feather duster into a stand with a soft thud.
Kathleen Shaputis, author/ghostwriter, lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, Bob, where curling up with icy Diet Coke, writing romantic comedies is her ultimate paradise. 
While having some muscle around can’t hurt her investigation, fighting her growing attraction for Kale is worse than a hex, especially considering she knows he—and their Coven—are hiding something from her. When she turns up clues that point to something far more sinister than slaughtered cats, though, the elusive warlock isn’t the her only concern. She now has a political rebellion on her hands, too. And when the truth about who she really is begins to surface, the only person Libby can trust is herself.
Excerpt:
Ariel Thomas knows smart women don’t stop for hitchhikers, but the one she spots on the Arizona roadside lures her like an irresistible mirage. For once in her well-regimented life she decides to do something out of character, and offers the gorgeous hobo a ride. She’s got a long drive ahead to North Carolina, and what better way to stay awake behind the wheel than to have eye candy to ogle?
John’s unsophisticated charm makes Ariel swoon, and he’s enthralled by her worldliness. The two fall hard and fast, but Gulielmus wants to put the skids on their cross-country love affair. John may be hiding his true nature, but Ariel has some secrets in her family tree Team Hell won’t forgive.
Demon spawn aren’t supposed to fall in love with their prey, and John is forced to make the age-old choice: good versus evil. Who’d be easier to run from—his powerful demon father or the woman who actually thinks he’s worth loving?
John bolted upright from the hard cot he’d been tossing and turning on and readied the shotgun he kept at the bedside. He fired off a shot without warning when the intruder took a step forward.Book Tour Info:
He should have fallen. His chest should have been a bloody ruin, but the massive blond pillar stood there like a statue…and a bored one, at that.
The intruder yawned and tilted his face down to assess his buckshot-shredded button-up shirt. “Fuck.” He flicked some shrapnel off his apparently bulletproof chest and growled. “That was a two-hundred dollar shirt, son.”
Realization settled into John like bad chili on an empty stomach. Even without formal introduction, he knew this man. He was programmed to. “You’re him.”
“What gave it away?” The blond pillar reached out and ruffled John’s hair, an odd gesture toward a man who was nearly thirty.
John flinched.
“Was it my invincibility or my unworldly good looks?” He wriggled his brows.
John took a moment to assess him. He had the same yellow-blond hair as John that’d always made people at the compound whisper. His mother’s hair was nearly black, and his supposed father had brown hair. And there were those same startlingly blue eyes and the square chin. The only thing preventing the man from resembling a Ken doll was his bulk.
John put down the gun. “I thought Ma was lying all these years. Fallen angel? Come on. You could have given me some warning you were coming. Woulda cleaned up.” He swept an arm demonstrably, indicating the dilapidated cabin’s dusty, drafty interior.
“You don’t seem scared enough of me,” the man said.
“Should I? I suspect you want something that only I’ve got, so what do I have to be afraid of?”
The demon lifted a brow and quirked one corner of his mouth into a lazy smirk—the same one John wore in every one of the few photographs that existed of him. “Hmm.” He extended one perfectly-manicured hand to John to shake. “Gulielmus, no last name. Most people call me William or Bill. You can call me Dad.”
John shook his head. “No thanks. What do you want?” He patted the nearby chair for the overalls he thought he’d left there, suddenly hyperaware of his underdressed state.
“Not one for chit-chat are you? Oh well. It’s time to go to work, son.”
John gave up on the overalls and slipped on a pair of dirty jeans instead. “Why do I get the feeling the family business will suck the life out of me?”
Gulielmus flashed a wealth of white teeth. Surprisingly, none were excessively pointy. His tongue probably wasn’t forked, either, but John couldn’t tell for sure. “No, no. We do all the life-sucking. Didn’t your mother tell you?”
“Like I said, I wasn’t sure if she was deluded or if maybe she’d gotten into some bad apple juice.”
“You’re charming. I’m glad I kept you in my back pocket for so long because I really need ya.” He grinned again and held out his hand once more. “Might I see your palm?”
John clenched his hands into fists and held them at his side. “Why?”
Gulielmus’s grin receded in a flash. “Because I said so. I’m asking because I’m that kind of father. I’d prefer not to take it.”
John sighed and held out his left hand.
Gulielmus took it in his and used the index finger of his other hand to trace some complex symbol onto his palm. It was too fast to make out, and felt a lot like a disorganized tickle. He tried to draw his hand back, but Gulielmus was already done.
John’s palm went numb, followed by his fingers and wrist. He squeezed the hand into a loose fist and gave his sire a hard stare until the numbness moved up his arm to his torso and radiated out like a starburst.
And then, as quickly as it started, the tingling went away. He felt the same as before, but more energized. It was as if every cell in his body had a keen awareness of its existence. They called out for action. For movement. For…food?
“What did you do to me?” he asked.
Gulielmus looked on with bemusement. “Woke you up. Normally I claim you kids right after birth and get you online, but getting into that rinky-dink compound poses some problems for me. Too many old religious symbols hidden out of sight, I think. Kept me from teleporting. Amazing how much power things people have forgotten about can hold.” He shrugged as if it was all so inconsequential. “I had to resort to more pedestrian means to get in. Anyway, I’m so glad you survived childhood. Are you even vaccinated? Oh, don’t answer. Doesn’t matter now.”
“Am I damned?”
Gulielmus shrugged. “Define damned.”
“Am I going to burn in hell forever?”
“No. You need to redefine what Hell is.” He made a waffling gesture with his hand and paced. “It’s an amorphous thing. You design your own Hell, and for some folks, Hell is their worst fear. I suggest you pick a different fear if fire isn’t your thing. Perhaps being cuddled eternally by giant bunnies or something.” He shrugged and bared straight white teeth in a grin. “Regardless, you’re gonna live a long, long time kiddo. Fringe benefit of being a demon.”
“Half-demon.”
“Cambion, technically, but don’t quibble. Now, why don’t you pack up that raggedy bag of yours and you can start your assignment?”
John hoped his cocked brow relayed his suspicion sufficiently. “Assignment?”
Gulielmus nodded. “Mm-hmm. Got your territory all carved out. Wouldn’t want to overlap with one of your siblings, but I think you’ve got it in you to be far more productive than that lot. You’ve got the look.”
John scoffed. “Whatever you say.” He zipped his bag closed and tightened the laces of his boots. It wasn’t that he was excited about the revelation of his true nature. He was just that bored. In twenty-eight years, he’d never been anywhere except the compound, into town, and out on a few overnight trips on behalf of their illustrious leader. And town was just more of the same—more die-hard lunatics who believed their leader’s preaching.
His eyes rolled, even thinking it. He’d been born a skeptic, but it wasn’t until he was around twelve that he realized he lived in a cult.
They all really thought when they died, their spirits would join their family members on the other side and adhere themselves into one giant, shapeless, spiraling ball of energy. The bigger the ball, the more energy. The more energy, the more eternal swagger.
Or something.
John had once asked the leader what all that disembodied energy was good for. Did the energy blobs come through and do good deeds or were they just like jewelry? Something people strove for, but that had no actual purpose beyond exhibiting one’s wealth.
That question had earned him a backhand and a week on outhouse duty. Apparently, one should not question the leader, even if the leader was a certifiable lunatic—John had seen the certificate. The leader had it framed and hung it on the wall as evidence of the World Beyond’s treachery.
John had given some thought to running away numerous times in the past, but never figured out the logistics. Where would he go? Who would he reach out to? There was no one. His entire world had been right there in that compound.
And now, the world was his for the taking. Being a cambion didn’t sound that bad.
“Well, let’s go. I’ll get my toothbrush.”
