Wicked Intent - Chapter 2

Hey Everyone! Here's chapter two:

Alyssa

 

"And we're back live!" the host of the local television show Find Cupid announces, which causes the crowd to go wild with applause.

"Claudia, everyone is dying to know, how are you feeling?", Tracy Dawson, the quirky host whose wearing a strawberry dacuiri colored dress, asks the baffled guest.

The pretty, twenty-something blonde haired, brown eyed secretary, Claudia Jaimeson aka seat number 5 or better refered to as heart throb Leo, was just picked by the lonely risk managment agent to explore their newfound 'love connection' tonight at my restaurant with all expenses paid by the the producers of the television show.

The owner of Brewery & Barn, Arnold Desmund, thought it would be a good publicity stunt in hopes of gaining more clients from the big city across the bridge. Just about everyone has been tuning in to channel 13 on KQKD for the past two weeks just to see who the young bachelor, Zack Elliot Prescott, would pick.

The show started off with a bang.

The twelve lucky contestants, each of whom resembled virtues and characteristics of the twelve zodiac signs, were asked three questions that typically ranged from the ever random 'what's your favorite sports team' to the more intimate 'what's your ideal first date'. The catch? They did all of this from behind a little white curtain.

The bachelor had no idea what the women looked like much less what their voice sounded like and vice versa. Somehow it's supposed to bring people together by emotional intelligence rather than just base attraction towards physical appearance alone. Apparently, studies have shown that approximately 87% of guests who have appeared on the show have gone past their first date and are either in healthy exclusive relationships or are happily married to their 'soul mates'.

Or so I'm told.

In order to create the menu for tonight, I need to get a better understanding of the 'couple'. Arnold thinks that I have been watching in anticipation just like the rest of the town to see which of the young eligible women gets chosen by the subtly romantic yet ruggishly attractive bachelor. I never had the heart to tell him that I would rather get a Brazilian bikini wax than watch some random talk show after a grueling twelve hour shift.

Unfortunately, I have been catching up on the latest episodes using the small white television that's mounted on the wall inside the kitchen and so far, I have learned that Zack would rather roll his sleeve cuffs up and eat a messy hamburger for lunch than sit in a stuffy restaurant with co-workers eating tuna tar tar. While Claudia, the all-American ever athletic sports jokey, enjoys wind-surfing on her days off whenever the weather is 'just right'.

I sigh and blow a free strand of platinum blonde hair from my face, my red bandana blowing lightly against my head as I do so. Well, this is just exhausting. I thought.

Not even two hours into my shift and I can already feel my brain threatening to explode from all of the televised drama.

Fed up, I tune out Claudia's flustered reaction as she answers the t.v. host who has thrusted the microphone in her face for added effect. I continue on with the Mes en Place of fresh vegetables and herbs that will be used later on once the restaurant officially opens. The many excited voices coming from the televisions speakers are echoing through the otherwise quiet kitchen.

The other chefs are focused on the task at hand and busily preparing for the many dishes we'll be serving later on. Of course, the occasional greetings of a good mourning are said to fill the mood as more co-workers arrive.

"Chef, where do you want these?", Xander, better known as 'X' from his past life in special forces, and my long time sous chef asked once he entered the kitchen from the back entrance.

I peer into the wooden crate of fresh crustation, the intense aroma of sea salt and fresh water hitting my nose instantaneously. A few of the more dominant counterparts are clawing their way up to the top in an attempt to free themselves from their confinement, only to have Xander push them back down sharply with his stainless steel tongs. Living seaside sure has its : like getting the first pick of the day of homegrown inland lobsters from our fisherman and longtime customer who only insists on ordering the soup number 3 special, Clam Chowder, whenever he's not on the mainland. Mickey 'the guy' Sorento wasn't lying when he said they were huge. This will surely win over the infamous couple once dinner is served.

I smile at the beady-eyed crustations and look over to Xander. Much like the rest of us, the sleeves to his chefs coat are pulled up to the elbow showing off some pretty impressive tattoos. His blue-green eyes are waiting patiently for my instruction.

"Put them in the fridge for now.", I say.

He nods at the order and walks off to the other side of the kitchen. His bulky frame disappears out of sight once he enters the large industrial sized refrigerator. Last winter I managed to convince stingy Arnold into upgrading the restaurant while we were shut down due to the relentless storm that took off half the shingles from the roof. Although, he put his foot down when his wife, Cecilia, wanted to strip and renovate the front end of the house. Personally, I'm glad he did. Otherwise, if she had her way, we would have to wait at least three to four months for custom made upholstery coming from a warehouse in the big city.

Eager to get the morning started, I return to my station at the pristine white counter and continue chopping vegetables for the lunch special, shrimp gumbo with saffron rice.

****

"This is Tracy Dawson reporting live from the kitchen of Brewery & Barn.", the annoying host of Find Cupid says.

I never noticed how irritating her voice was.

When Arnold happily announced that we were having the honor of catering a four course meal to the newly found couple he didn't say anything about the tag along crew that would be filming us every step of the way.

Unfortunately for me, Tracy Dawson has been hanging over my shoulder like a bumble bee that won't shoo away no matter how many times I swat at it. She has even demanded to taste every single dish before it gets served out.

The other chefs in the kitchen have been smart enough to stay out of her way. Although, a few of the boys have been snuck up on from behind so quickly that they don't have a chance to react before she takes a spoon and dips it in the bubbling pots sitting on top of the industrial sized burners.

She's even tried to get her manicured hands on an oyster, but luckily Xander was their to rebuff her attempts at a free meal. Needless to say, she's kept a wide distance from Xander ever since. It seems that her charms are no match for the gruff ex-special forces agent.

"I'm here with the head chef and award winning culinary town genius, Alyssa Broderick.", Tracy says as she stalks towards me with her focus concentrated heavily on the screen. Her spiked heels are clicking on the ground with each step that she takes. A large guy with a black shirt that reads Crew in silver letters tilts the camera at an angle in order to get a better shot of us.

That's another thing. All of the stage equipment has become a danger hazard in the kitchen. The new dishwasher almost tripped on one of the many black wires splaying across the expansive black and white tiled floor. With our budget I don't have enough non-slip rugs to cover them up. When I told Arnold, he said to suck it up, that it was only for a few hours anyway.

Obviously he doesn't know how many people have already threatened to stuff Tracy in the freezer, his wife including. Xander even suggested once that he could make her accidentally trip in front of the camera. But that was too low. Even for me.

Tracy turns to me and smiles brightly, her straight white teeth glinting against her warm skin tone. "Alyssa, it smells wonderful in here. Tell us, what have you created for the handsome couple on their very first date?", she asks excitedly as she puts the gleaming microphone in front of me.

I look from the camera man to Tracy, who is bursting in a lime green v-neck jumpsuit. She has a thin shiny belt as an added accessory that accentuates her slim waist. Overbearing attitude aside, she's not all that different than you would see her on the show. Maybe that's because, according to her, she 'always keeps it real'. Looking up at her close and personal, I notice just how skilled her make-up artist, Koji, applied the medium shade of Face Atelier pressed powder.

Tracy smiles down at me. Her chocolate brown eyes threatening me silently if I don't comply 'right now' by answering her. I ignore the camera in front of us, which has been easy to do ever since they showed up, and explain my vision for the menu that I came up with just hours earlier.

"I decided to use the islands resources that we are so infamous for here in Cobblestone Frair.", I begin to explain.

Tracy nods in thought, encouraging me to continue. "Staying true to Brewery & Barn's motto, I created a menu using locally grown ingredients that separates us from the rest. Tonight, my intent is for the happy couple to get acquainted with one another while sitting on the deck closest to the beach, watching the sunset with a couple tall glasses of sweet long island iced tea and enjoying their four star meal that has been prepared for them." I finish.

Pleased with my answer, Tracy takes the microphone back and looks to the camera with a stunningly wide smile that had to sting her cheeks. "Well, there you have it folks. Don't change the channel. After the break we are going to see just how well the paired couple are getting along over dessert. Not too long after that are confessionals. Stay tuned everybody and we'll get to see just how surprisingly wonderful this night has truly been.", Tracy finishes.

The camera man turns his camera away and points it to my crew, who are busily making food orders for the other in-house guests. Just because a famous couple is eating here does not mean that we close down the restaurant. A tall man named Jack wearing a black Crew shirt shouts 'go to commercial' over his headset.

Tracy walks over to her three-person posse who have bags of cosmetics and a vast array of brushes along with hair products around their slim shoulders. The male and female duo with two-worded syllable names who could easily pass for twins, are frantically smoothing out any flyways in her shoulder length copper colored hair, while Kenji who is busy re-applying powder maneuvers his body in a way so that he is not disturbed as he skillfully repaints Tracy's lips with his free hand. I watch for a moment longer, stunned by how unfazed Tracy seems by the amount of rushed attention surrounding her.

I feel a presence behind me and turn around to see Xander standing with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He has a grim expression on his face and a murderous glint flashes in his icy blue-green eyes.

"You know, I could get rid of her if you want. Just say the word. Besides, I'm sure no one here would miss her.", Xander suggests as if that last part would make it okay.

I stare at him for a moment longer, uncertain if he's joking or not. Xander rarely looses control. I didn't think a five foot six women in four inch heels would be able to get under his thick skin. Then again, when she insisted that I let Kenji put make-up on me, I wanted to throw her out of the kitchen myself. Arnold just so happened to overhear us and gave me 'the look'. So instead I compromised and that's how I ended up with purple lipstick, rosy red cheeks, and black eyeliner. I put a stop to the whole thing when Kenji wanted to try a new look on me by using four different colored eye shadows. A girl has to put her foot down at some point.

I roll my eyes and take a quick glance at Tracy out of the corner of my eye. She is throwing a fit and demanding someone fix the chip on her polished fingernail. As if anyone could see it from the other side of the camera

I snort at the pathetic soul who is bent over with a nail polish pen, dutifully trying to placate the ill-mannered televised diva.

I look back to Xander who has a blank yet serious expression on his face.

"I don't think Arnold would appreciate the gesture. Besides, it's almost over. I think we can manage another hour with Miss. Hoity-toity.", I tell him.

I'm more worried for Tracy then anything. Xander may have retired from his long term career of whatever-the-hell-it-is that he did, but that doesn't mean he forgot how to make someone disappear over night.

I rake a bored stare at Xander. He's still as buff as he was when he applied for the position as sous chef nearly five years ago. He definitely wouldn't have a problem following through with his threats. .

Xander shrugs nonchalantly and walks back to his station directly across from me.

I shake my head at the mere suggestion of such a thing and put my beige mittens on. I walk over to the oven where the Merrideans'Chocolate Souffle is baking. I open it. Immediately I am hit with the most intense aroma of dark chocolate coupled with Madagascar vanilla and a secret ingredient that will enchant the two strangers by the end of the night. If they weren't in love now, they most surely will be. I thought.

I hold my breath and carefully take out the properly risen yet slightly cracked soufflé. I slowly walk over to my station and place it on the clean square white plate that's sitting on top of the counter. When I see the soufflé standing upright, I take a small step back and exhale the puff of air from my lungs. What a relief.

I grab a mesh sifter from the top of the shelf rack and hold it over the soufflé. I shake it a few times and watch the sweet white particles fall on top of the cake. Once I'm satisfied with it, I place the sifter back on the rack and scoop a ball of churned vanilla ice cream and place it neatly on the side of the plate.

Then, I grab a squirt bottle of sea salt and chocolate caramel and squirt a good amount of it in a zigzag pattern shape. I place the squirt bottle back on the lower shelf and grab the piping bag that's lying right next to me. I make sure to squeeze the air down with my hands and pipe the freshly whipped whip cream on the other side of the zigzag that I created with the sticky sauces.

"Here chef.", Xander comes from behind and hands me the small white cup of raspberry and rose petal dipping sauce.

I smile up at him. "Thank you."

I place the dipping sauce on the free space of the square plate.

Taking a step back I look at my handi-work. It's some of my best work. Definitely too good to get. Which is exactly what I was going for. Xander claps my shoulder and walks back to his station slicing up zucchinis for an order of Baked Ziti.

I hear the double doors swing open and watch as Arnold walks straight towards me with a huge grin on his lips. "C'mon! They're going live in less than three minutes!" he squeals.

I know I'm going to regret asking but I have to. "Where's Tracy?"

"She's outside setting up the live feed. Let's go!", he motions excitedly with his small chubby hands.

I grab the dessert plate and walk behind Arnold out of the kitchen. He holds the door open and I slowly walk out of the restaurant and to the side where the private deck is.

The bachelor, Zack, is dressed in a light blue fitted polo shirt and laid back slacks. He is leaning on his elbows and talking animatedly to Chelsea, who is wearing a dark blue halter dress and looks equally stunning under the dim lights of the swinging lanterns that are hanging from above the railing.

He says something that makes her laugh. When she retorts back his chest rumbles as he barks loudly in a deep masculine tone right along with her. Hmm, it seems they're hitting it off. I thought. Even I notice the sexual tension from over here. I glance at Arnold out of the corner of my eye and am stunned to see him acting unfazed by the cameras.

Once we get to the table, which has been decorated in white linen and a glowing candle as the center piece, I smile at the couple and place the dessert between them. "Merredians' Chocolate Soufflé. Bon Apetit." I grab a dessert spoon from my apron and place it downwards on the side.

Zack looks bewildered for a moment but then he looks at me and his deep brown eyes seem more than content by the turn of events. "Thank you." he says sincerely.

I nod and stand back next to Arnold. "It was my pleasure." I tell them.

I turn to Chelsea. "Enjoy"

She beams with delight and scoots closer to the table, inhaling the rich aroma of the chocolate. "It smells so good.", she moans.

Zack chuckles and grabs the spoon from the plate. He cracks the soufflé and lifts a good portion of it up to Chelsea's eager lips.

Tracy winks at me for the subtle approach and not wanting to be rude, I nod at her understanding then turn my head to watch the magic unfold as both Chelsea and Zack eat the remaining soufflé.

*****

"I don't know how you did it, but those two were giving each other lovey dovey eyes all the way to the limousine." Arnold announces proudly once he enters the now closed restaurant.

I smile knowingly. "Really?" I ask faking astonishment.

He nods rapidly and sits down next to me on a bar stool. "Oh yeah. I even caught Chelsea touching Zachs butt.", he sneers

Xander comes from behind the bar with a couple shot glasses and a large bottle of tequila. When Tracy and her crew left not more than twenty minutes ago, Xander was more than thrilled to see her go.

"We should toast.", he declares, once he arranges the glasses in a line.

I watch as he expertly pours the light brown liquid in a straight line. He hands us our shot of tequila and lifts his glass up in the air. "To Zack and Chelsea, may they never have to deal with Tracy again!" he shouts.

"Here Here!" I say, clinking my glass with theirs.

I down the contents in my mouth. I can feel the smooth liquid burn past my throat and settle into my stomach. I grimace at the after taste and place the glass upwards on the bar.

I stand up and push the stool back where it belongs.

Arnold looks at me questioningly but I shake my head and nod to Xander.

"Alright boys.", I say as I clap each of their shoulders.

"This is where we part. Until tomorrow." I tell them.

I head to the front door and push it open. The silver bell chimes against the friction as I exit the restaurant.

Once I am fully outside, the cold air hits my face bitterly.

I look up towards the black sky.

The stars are twinkling in a jumbled mass and the moon is slightly hidden behind white clouds. I can hear the waves splash in the distance as they hit the rocky cliffs.

Before I head over to my car, I allow myself to stand under the moons light and feel its energy awaken my spirit with a new vigor that I haven't felt in a long time. I spread my arms out wide and twirl around in circles. I can see the faintest colors of my aura as it releases the negative energy that accumulated over time. In this moment I am free. I thought. I smile at the feeling.

Once I'm done, I thank the moon goddess and walk over to my red Jeddah. I unlock the door and sigh in contempt as I sit on the cold grey leather seat.

I thrust the key into the ignition and turn it on, hearing the purr of the engine come alive. A hit song plays through the speakers and I bob my head at the fast paced beat, occasionally singing along off-key.

I swiftly put the car in reverse and back up from my parking spot in the 'employee only' section.

I drive up the steep hill and turn left at the familiar street sign. From the rearview mirror I watch as the restaurant slowly fades into a blur in the night.

Home, here I come. I thought.

The Temptress- chapter 3

Chapter 3 (Special Circumstances)

I stand feet apart and arms outstretched while the guard checks for any weapons hidden underneath my form fitting leather outfit. The purse sits heavily on my shoulder and for the moment he doesn’t bother to check it.

         The guy is in serious need for some heated rays. It’s one of the many signs of malnourishment that slowly decays their new form. It’s a myth that vampires burn to ash in daylight. It’s actually really difficult to kill a vampire. You would need extensive training in decapitation and the right tools for the job. A wooden stake to the heart won’t do the trick. If anything, when they wake up from the botched attempt they’ll be more pissed off than before.

         If you’re not careful enough your neck would be snapped in two before you get the chance to defend yourself. That’s how dangerous killing one of them is. Especially if it’s a starved newly turned vamp. Like the guard who’s patting me down for example. Now, I wouldn’t normally turn my back on him so openly. This just so happens to be one of those special circumstances.

         Little Tony must have neglected to feed the newbie low-ling some of his own blood. An important ‘missing ingredient’ that would effectively make the transformation to vampire-hood complete. The low-ling won't die without it, of course. It’s his senses that aren't as strong as a maturely grown vampire. So, if need be, I can easily pin him down. Even if he does give me the creeps I don't resort to that type of violence. Yet.

         In order for someone to become sirened they need permission from a willing vampire. This guy was awake and fully conscious when he accepted the vampires ‘gift’.

“Why would you choose to work for a sadistic vampire like Little Tony?” I ask genuinely curious.

He sneers at me. “You have some nerve coming here and speaking ill of my master.” He stops patting my sides and brings his ugly face dangerously close to mine.

         I twist my head sideways when he leans in. His offensive breathe hits me in cold waves. “A painless death would be merciful.” He contemplates.   

I roll my eyes when a hand lingers on my ass for longer than necessary.

His lips curve in a twisted smile. “Or better yet I should take care of you myself.” he suggests.

         He finishes patting down my legs. When he doesn’t find anything he walks around in a half circle and stops right in front of me. His freaky yellow eyes roam down to the large vein bulging on my chest.

         I suppress a disgusted shiver as a strip of his suggestive aura lingers and mixes dangerously close to my own. Being a disposable blood bag is currently not on my list of ‘to do’ anytime soon.
I sigh loudly. I so don’t have time for this.

“Enough!” a familiar voice booms.

Chasing Hellfire

Chasing Hellfire synopsis:

Macey Dawson can’t catch a break. 

The desk-bound witch thought all of her problems would be solved once her boss, Mr. Striker, finally assigns her to work in the field.
 
After years of applying for a shot as a field agent Macey is assigned the daunting task of capturing the infamous bloodsucker Nazareth- a creature of the undead who is practically a shadow in the supernatural world, who for some reason requested that Macey be the agent to capture him. 
 
Things take a turn for the worst when Macey confides in her friend Thalia, an independent private investigator, who insists on teaching her the tricks of the trade.
 
When her fellow co-workers mock her every chance they get and her boss threatens to end her career if she doesn't capture the perp, Macey reluctantly accepts Thalia's offer in hopes of luring the ancient vampire to her.
 
But when Thalia's head appears as bounty at the agency where Macey works, the only person who can help is the vampire that Macey is meant to subdue. 
 
As Macey tries to figure out who put the hit on her best friend and why, unknown dangers threaten the newly appointed agent. One thing is for sure: Someone wants to silence Macey once and for all.

Hopefully Macey can find the person responsible before she becomes next on the hit list.
 
But can she trust a no-good vampire who is claims they have one thing in common, revenge? 

The Last Key: Finnigans Redemption

 I had fun writing this synopsis. Finnigan is an interesting character. =)


The Problem
Sixteen year old Finnigan Lancaster is living on edge. He is one step away from being locked up just like his mother before him. When Finnigan is 'caught in the act' with an accomplice breaking and entering, his up-tight and rigid social services worker, Frances, gives him two options: Board the next flight out of Chicago and live with his estranged family, or Be tried as an adult and serve time behind bars.

The Solution
Reluctantly, Finnigan moves to Georgetown, a secluded area that is nestled not too far off the fisherman's border, a town reserved for only the swanky affluent society of Riverglen. With unwritten rules of their very own, young Finnigan is thrust into a world where debauchery and nosy neighbors are the least of his problems. 

Secrets to die for
In the picturesque town Finnigan stumbles upon a revelation that threatens to shatter the RavenClaw family name and the glitzy life they have built.
While on a private tour of the founding families' home, rightfully dubbed Thornton Hall, Finnigan is thrust back in time when he finds a leather bound journal with a black rose engraved on the withered spine, which belongs to a mysterious M. RavenClaw. Reading the journal helps Finnigan come to terms with the legacy of his newly-found family, learning the art of love, and finally being able to greive the loss of his beloved dead mother. 

The Escape
As part of Finnegan's agreement, he attends the elite St. Regis Academy, where he meets the ever witty and masochistic Emery Jane Levett-Deveraux, an outcast who has Led Zeplin constantly on shuffle and prefers leather studded attire over the more flamboyant items her mother buys.
Befriending the castaway provides more problems than expected for 'bad boy' Finnigan when he meets Emery's well-known and distant twin brother, Ashter, who can easily match Finnigan with an icy glare of his very own. Determined to leave his old habits behind, Finnigan makes a point to distance himself from the sharp-tongued Ashter. However, that becomes increasingly difficult with each encounter that leaves Finnigan questioning what truth lies behind those penetrating steel grey eyes of his.      

A coming of age story where second chances are possible if you remain true to yourself and your inner light.

The Temptress - Chapter two

I just had to post this chapter. This story is different from my other ones. Very fun to write and experience through Morgans eyes. 

(Kismet Encounters and Ill-Fated Circumstances)


Giselle smiles prettily. Her straight white teeth stand out against her caramel colored skin. "Of course. Please follow me."

She moves a velvety red curtain to the side and motions for me to follow her.

         I’ve never been inside the restaurant during open hours. Whenever Little Tony and I had our secret rendezvous it would be on the other side of the restaurant in the steel appliance chef’s kitchen where I would shameingly gorge myself on bowls of pasta.

         It's too bad I'm not here for pleasure because I could really go for their Spaghetti alla Carbonara. It may be a simple dish based on egg, cheese, and bacon but surprisingly not many people get it right.

        Here at Little Tony's everything is home-made and 100% authentically Italian as opposed to other restaurants that serve store-bought spaghetti. I should know. One of my perps was a chef who worked in a family style restaurant similar to this one. He told me the secret to their In-House Spaghetti was Ragu. Needless to say I have not visited that particular establishment ever since. 
  
       Little Tony sure has expensive taste. The place looks regale; with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, long stemmed red roses posted every few feet, and expertly hand-crafted marble statues. If you don’t pay attention to where you’re walking you could easily break something and end up paying for damages that would cost more than a hefty tab of twelve people. 

I look around making sure one of Darius's goons isn't lurking somewhere around the corner.

         To the left is an open brick oven. The pizza maker is flipping dough in the air and twirling his hands expertly creating a large circle. Families seated next to the oven clap and whistle as the pizza maker does one final toss before placing the perfectly round dough on a wooden paddle.

         On the right side of the expansive restaurant groups of people laugh and talk animatedly as they stuff their mouths with carbs and creamy sauce. I don't recognize any faces in the mass of bodies, but I still have my guard up in case someone decides to surprise attack me. 

         We walk past a young shifter couple who are feeding each other samples off their plates. I try, and shameingly fail, to not stare at their intimate gesture of affection as the man positions a forkful of Veal Scaloppine Bolognese in front of his date. I know firsthand how it tastes. It’s just one of the many dishes that I have tried before passing inspection and becoming a regular item on the menu.

         The woman's mouth opens, revealing a double row of sharp razor-like teeth. She catches me staring and hisses in my direction, her long red tongue moving from side to side. Yuck. 

I roll my eyes at the pregnant shifter.

         I would feel bad for my rude behavior if it weren't for the fact that she is close to showing her true hideous form. My instincts kicking in, I stand legs apart and ready just in case they decide to attack. We may be in a room full of paying customers but that doesn't matter. It's kill or be killed. And, sure, I may be a 'dead woman walking' but over the years I have become quite attached to my body thank you very much.

The man glances towards me with a twisted look of fear and then back to the now half-lizard/ half-serpent woman.

         By the look in his eyes, it seems that he knows what I am. Great. I was really hoping to avoid a confrontation. Unfortunately, this sort of thing happens more often than I would care to admit. Once people find out what I am they either do one of two things. 1. Run away in fear or 2. Try to overcome me with brute strength and on occasion by street smarts. Neither of which work in their favor.

         Sure, I could easily kill the woman along with her unborn child and the boyfriend sitting across from her. But I really don't want to make a scene. Which is funny considering my kind gets a sick thrill from ripping people’s throats out.

         Calculating, I watch as the man rubs small circles on her now claw-like hand with his long thumb. Slowly her green scales turn back into human flesh and in place of yellow claws are perfectly manicured nails.

The woman picks up her fork and stuffs her mouth with her bowl of Sweet Potato Ravioli as if the whole incident never happened.

         Female shifters are known to be overly defensive when it comes to their young. Even though I did not psychically threaten the woman my strong aura must have set her off.

         Normally Shifters are not very aggressive creatures. They are pacifists and counselors. Even though they are less dominant than most, not many Underworlds’ pay much attention to them. I believe it is because of their dominantly blue aura. They are known to be calm under any stressful circumstance. That's what makes them such great mediators. And why they choose to live in the mortal world posing as human cops.
For now it seems the woman is controlled but who knows when something will trigger her protective instincts.

I take one last glance at the couple just in case they decide to surprise attack me.

         They are looking into each other’s eyes lovingly. After some time the woman rubs her belly affectionately and smiles up at him past her long eyelashes. Having seen enough of their intimate moment I flick my hair behind my back and continue following the hostess, Giselle, who is now speaking to some guy positioned in front of a closed off room.

        As if feeling my presence Giselle turns around and smiles. "Armand will take care of you from here.” she says and walks back to her station at the front of the house. 

         Armand is a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair shaved in a short buzz cut that has on a fitted blue dress shirt that hints to a perfectly sculpted chest and some slacks that cup his crotch snugly. He is a skilled warrior and has multiple tattoos along his arms to show for it. 

         You don't see warriors every day. They’re like the night. Deadly and silent. They use their skills working in high intelligence operations doing classified missions or in Armand’s case, personally seeing fit to a wealthy Underworlders well-being.

         One thing is for sure. He's not working for Little Tony. I know everyone that works intimately with Little Tony. I make it a habit to know as much as I can about the people I work with.

        I rest my hand casually on my purse so I don't draw attention to the bag resting on my shoulder. He would need to search it and I'm really hoping to avoid that. But if it comes down to it I might be able to take him. I think.

         I watch him as he checks me out with a calculating stare; starting from my curly hair that is framing around my heart-shaped face, to my c cup that is sitting upright thanks to my push-up bra, and down my leather stretched skinny jeans. His eyes scan my body once more as he glances back up. Once his eyes meet mine I smile in amusement. Well, it seems I did choose the right outfit after all. Either he has a really demanding boss or for some unknown reason he hasn’t gotten any in a while. From what I can tell he’s clearly not gay and he definitely doesn’t have a hard time getting it up. For the moment I pretend not to notice his arousal.

"If I wasn't on duty I would take you to nice restaurant that doesn’t serve Italian." Armand says in his thick and husky voice.

My smile turns flirtatious. "MMM...And I might have let you too."

         He grins widely and holds out a purple card with six pointed stars in front of him. I take a deep breath and channel the energy around me, focusing on the card but still fully aware of my surroundings. I can't risk tapping into my full power when there are people who want me dead. That would be suicide and really stupid on my part. I watch, mildly interested, as my aura moves in a colorful whirl around me; a mixture of blue, red, and pink.

         I grimace as a strip of Armands' turquoise and red aura mingles in with mine. I hate it when that happens. It's like when somebody invades my personal space. Uncomfortable and awkward.

         When a person has a turquoise aura it means that they are highly energized, good organizers and capable of influencing others. These are qualities that are found in great leaders.

         Based on his aura alone I can tell Armand is a strong warrior and a very good one no doubt. And, by the looks of it, great in bed too. The red strip of color that’s slowly coming from him is lust that still has yet to fade away.

         I build an energy wall up and around my entire body which keeps his aura at a safe distance away from me. Now that my aura is not 'tainted' I can comfortably use my clairsentient ability to 'see' what image is on the card. 

         The spot between my eyebrows heats up and slowly a picture forms in my mind as if I were looking right at it. In the greyish background the sun is rising. Death is dressed from head to toe in armor and is sitting on a malevolent white horse. There is a black flag with a white rose on it in his left hand. Lastly, there is a boat steadily floating along the river bank.

         I create the seal of a mental barrier around my body. The invisible energy around me fades away. My aura is now a low hum in the background, no longer visible unless I choose to open my channel once again. Which, for the time being, I will not.

I look at Armand with an easy grin plastered on my face.

          To anyone passing by the whole skit took less than ten seconds. I would have been quicker if I used my full strength but the night is still young and I need to use it sparingly.

"Death.", I answer the silent question.

         He nods and puts the card at the bottom of the pack that way no one else gets the same card twice. With a 78 card deck there's a fat chance of that happening any time soon.

"Right this way Miss Collins.", Armand says. He opens the curtain to the private section of the restaurant.

         I walk passed a fully alert Armand who is now in soldier mode watching for any suspicious activity that may want to cause harm or worse, deadly injury to his subject. Well that makes sense. He’s married to his job. What a pity. He places the curtain back down for privacy measures once I enter the private section of the restaurant.

         The room is full of very important vampires who are throwing back shots of the good stuff and of course, Little Tony, who is seated at a table near the far end of the room casually smoking a cigar. Once he catches sight of me he smiles and dismisses the men at his table.

         I may have somehow gotten past Armand with a loaded gun in my purse but I'm not too sure I'll be as lucky with Little Tony's bodyguard. 

Sirens are compelled to do whatever a vampire tells them. If Little Tony sirened one of them to set themselves on fire and jump off a cliff they would do it even if it meant the end of their existence. That's how powerful the psychic bond is between a vampire and his or her siren.

Thankfully I can't be compelled easily. Just the very thought of being at someone’s every beck and call makes me sick.

A guy in a green suite and way too many gold chains around his hairy chest comes up to me and pats me down.

Wicked Intent- Chapter one

I enjoyed writing this chapter. I can feel for Meagan. In this chapter she's going through a bit of a rough patch. =(

 

Meagan

"I'm sorry Miss. Broderick, but seeing as how you do not have sufficient collateral, I must decline your application for a loan at this time.", the bored agent replies, as if this sort of thing happens all the time. I reach out and take the over sized packet, the thick material heavy in my palm.

"You are welcome to try again once you find someone with sufficient means who can co-sign on your behalf.", he adds. As if that would help the situation. I don't bother telling him that no one can help me. Instead, I smile, a fake smile, one that has become almost mechanic ever since I got the dreaded phone call.                                                                   

"I see. Well, thank you for your time.", I manage to say, even though I can feel my heart breaking in two with despair clutching in my gut.
  
       I stand up from the plush chair and find my footing. I walk in a daze past a line of people waiting for the teller, a scrawny guy who is busy helping someone over the phone. I push the large door open and button my blue petticoat up to my neck to keep me warm from the cold October wind. I look around, glad that I actually watched the news for a change before heading out of my apartment this morning. The sun is hidden behind a pool of grey clouds coming in from the West. It shouldn't be much longer before it starts to pour. Although, that type of weather is nothing unusual on this side of the coast. It seems befitting. Like the universe can feel my melancholy and is mourning along  with me. The young trees to the side of the building are swaying from the strength of the wind, a few branches hitting my shoulder as I walk on by.

         I step onto the sidewalk and hail for a yellow taxi, my brown hair getting caught in my mouth as I do so. I climb in the back and sit on the warm torn-up seat. "1345 PineView", I tell the driver automatically as I buckle my seat belt. 

         He starts the timer and puts the left blinker on as he enters the congested traffic. I lay back with my head leaning against the headrest and let out a long collective sigh. Well, so much for that. I thought darkly. I glance at the dashboard. 3:20. With any luck I'll make it just before the deadline that's hanging over my head like a lifesaver keeping me above ground.

        I take my cell phone out of the coat pocket and flip it open. Three missed calls. I wonder who it could be. I thought bitterly. I scroll down and notice the same number showing up three consecutive times. The latest one at 3:01. About the same time I was in the bank trying to save my shop from going under. I re-dial the all too familiar number and press the phone to my ear.
  
       On the second ring my lawyer and confidant, Andrew, answers with a sharp "Where the hell have you been?! Do you have any idea what time it is?", he demands in his deep baritone voice. A voice that, once consumed the appropriate amount of alcohol, sounds like an instrument sent straight from heaven. You can find out a lot about someone in a drunken game of karaoke. I guess that's why he wont go to Spade's Bar and Karaoke with me anymore. I roll my eyes and force myself to count in my head, not wanting to take my frustration out on him. It's not his fault that I'm on the verge of loosing everything.

"Hello?", I hear him say clearly from the other end of the line. I don't bother answering. Instead I count in my head, already feeling infinitely more relaxed than before. "Meagan, I know you're there....I can here you breathing....are you counting to ten?" he asks incredulously, although I have a sneaky suspicion that he already knows the answer.

 I let out a puff of air, my bangs blowing freely in my eyes, maybe I should get them cut. They're getting too long.

"No.", I finally manage to say. "I was trying to clear the ringing in my ears. Look, I'm on my way. Just stall for me will ya?", I tell him quickly. I shut my phone, not wanting to hear his voice any longer. I know he's just doing his job, but I cant deal with the Q and A right now, not when I'm still trying to process it all myself.
        
         Fletcher and Sons, a north coast based company in California, opened up a two-story bookstore that has a children's nursery, just one of the many services that I don't offer, and apparently serves the best mug of hot cocoa this side of the hub. I haven't been inside myself, but I've heard plenty from customers who end up never returning either because the jumping characters that greet the little children at story time, or for the free WiFi and drinks.
        
         In the midst of trying to keep my business afloat I have lost countless friends that have turned on me and I have even managed to accidentally kill my pet turtle, Rex. in my defense, I thought it was playing hide and seek, only later to find it lying upside down in his pirate toy chest. That's the last time I let Andrew convince me that I need a roommate.
        
         My children's bookshop on the corner of seventh and pine,  Topsy Turvey, can't compete with the likes of them and they're mass media advertisement. my loyal customer base has dwindled ever since the grand opening of Borderstone & Co. I can't even sit down on a park bench in peace without seeing their character advertisement that looks like some type of fox in a hole wearing glasses surrounded by books.  
        
         For the past three months I've been struggling to come up with the $17,000 in back rent. The bank finally had enough and gave me one week before they send someone over to close up shop. that was last Friday. Now it's Wednesday and I have until four this evening before the deal with Mr. Richard Fletcher, the eldest son from Fletcher and Sons, expires. For some reason they want to buy my shop before the bank takes it over. Andrew says even though they are strangely persistent with the banks deadline so close, its a deal that we cant pass up. I have nothing to loose. Besides, it couldn't possibly get any worse.    
        
         I'm not in denial, although my friends would seriously argue otherwise. I just know when I'm out of options and right now the only person that can guarantee I wont become bankrupt is the very man that got me in this mess in the first place.
        
         I message my temple with the stub of my finger. If anything, I wish I had something to soothe the continuous migraines that keep me up at night. 
        
         The taxi driver maneuvers the car and pulls up at the sidewalk. I can see the large building past the rows of elm trees in front of me that are swaying from side to side against the concrete wall. "1345 PineView.", he announces, stopping the timer for effect.
I grimace at the price.
"Fifty even.", he says in a demanding tone as if I were planning on stiffing him.         
         I take my wallet out and my mood turns sour. Great. I hand him my last fifty dollar bill to which he huffs appreciatively. I step out of the taxi, shutting the door on the way out. I turn away as the tires screech against the pavement, leaving behind a trail of black smoke in the air.   
        
         I walk up the short steps and onto the expansive concrete platform that has a miniature garden in the center with a circular fountain that is turned on and has crystal blue water flowing up in the air even though it's supposed to rain later on. The tall black twenty-five story building stands out among the other smaller offices in the area. Price and Wellington has the best lawyers that money can buy.

        Fortunately, Andy is taking my case pro bono, so long as I remember to get him something good for Christmas. I don't see why, the guy practically has one of everything. It certainly helps when you have a boyfriend whose a trust fund brat. The way I see it, I'm coming out way better in the deal.
        
         I hike my purse on my shoulder and push the swiveling door open until I am greeted by a petite receptionist who is saying something inaudible in her headset. I walk up to the massively lit black and green desk as her fingernails hit the keyboard at impressive speed. Now that I am up close and personal, I notice everything about her is strikingly average. She has a small round-ish shaped face with exotic caramel skin and long black hair pinned down in a braid. Her eyes are a dull green color that are traced with black eyeliner and complemented by thick eyelashes. She's wearing a black lace dress and a thin belt that accentuates her small waist. Once she notices my presence, the receptionist whose gold name tag says Katrina in black print, stops typing and smiles up at me.

 "Hello. Welcome to Price and Wellington. Do you have an appointment?" she asks sweetly.

"Hi. I'm Meagan Broderick and I have a 4:00 o'clock appointment with my lawyer, Andrew Brady.", I tell her.         

        She looks through her palm pilot and nods her head at me. "Of course", she says with a soft smile. "Give me one moment while I let the others know you have arrived.", she touches the headset and talks to someone named Vicky. After a quick moment she ends the call and looks at me with a pleased expression. 

"They're in conference room number two. It's jut down the hall to your right.", she informs me. "Would you like me to dispatch a guard who can assist you?", she asks.

I shake my head 'no' and thank her for her time. "I'll manage.", I tell her.         

        She smiles and sits back down at her seat when a new call gets transferred to her desk. I excuse myself quietly and walk along the empty hallway with offices that are either closed or empty until I come to a wooden door that has a large plaque saying conference room two. I take a deep breathe and knock three times before I reach for the chrome handle and push open the door.
        
         Six pairs of irritated eyes stare at me from the oval shaped glass table. I didn't think I was that late. I take an empty seat next to Andrew, who  looks about ready to strangle the brown-haired lawyer, who is wearing a snazzy three piece suite, with his dark purple tie. Well, this should be interesting. I thought halfheartedly.
                                                                            *****
        
         Not even twenty minutes have passed by and already I feel completely lost by all of the technical jargon that's being thrown back and forth between both of the lawyers sitting at the table. I can't be certain but Mr. Wellington, the guy sitting across from me who hasn't said one word since the meeting started, looks entirely indifferent about the entire situation. But what really annoys me is the fact that Richard Fletcher is M.I.A.

I mean, this whole meeting was his idea in the first place.  

"Mr. Fletcher was unable to make it.", was all that was said.
        
          Of course he couldn't make it. He must be too busy crushing other small-name business owners with his company and $25,000 an hour leech of a lawyer to back him up.        

        Mr. Wellington is a relatively tall man with brown messy hair that's styled back from his calculating dark blue eyes. When his lawyer, Mr. Zimmerman says something that catches his attention, he takes out a titanium pen from his pinstriped suit and twists it open, handing it over with a nod. Everything about Mr. Wellington screams business tycoon. It makes me sick.   

"As I was saying, if you would just sign at the appropriate places then we can makes this official.", Mr. Zimmerman says       

         Andrew takes the papers and looks them over before nodding and handing them to me. I sign where the X marks are, right across from Drew Wellingtons' neat signature. I slide it back to Andrew, who signs below my name on the highlighted lines before giving it back to Mr. Zimmerman, who then hands us our copy of the legal papers. 

"To complete our end of the deal here is the deed to Miss.Broderick's shop, effectively making it yours, Mr. Wellington.", Andrew says, handing over the blue and white paper that was once mounted on my wall, back when I thought I had no trouble keeping up with the big boys.

How wrong I was.
        
         Mr. Wellington smiles and puts his copy of the paperwork, along with the deed to the shop in his black leather briefcase. He stands up and sticks out a well manicured hand in front of me. "It was a pleasure doing business with you." I do the only thing that I can. I stand up along with him and shake his large hand in a firm grip."Likewise.", I tell him, ignoring the dry sensation tickling in my throat from lack of speaking for nearly thirty minutes.
        
         I wait while Andrew gives a strong handshake to both men. He then grabs his brief case and faces me with a knowing look in his twinkling blue eyes. I pretend not to notice and follow Andy as he shows both of the men out. We say our goodbyes to the receptionist who smiles and wishes us a good evening. Even though she is just being polite, I wish people would stop acting like the world is so great. It makes me want to throw up the dry toast and fruit I had for breakfast. Ahead of us, Mr. Wellington and his lawyer are walking in long strides towards the parking lot. Now that they have what they want, they re most likely planning to expand their bookshop around the entire city. At least that's what Andrew says.
I never want to see them again.
        
         The sound of the water bubbling in the fountain is soothing to my nerves and echoes in the otherwise empty garden. The colorful flowers are swaying from the harsh wind with a few petals floating in the air.    
 
"I'm so sorry, princess.", Andrew starts, breaking the silence. I look at him from the corner of my eye. He's standing proudly with straight shoulders but his eyes tell a different story. "I know that shop was your baby." he tries to console me.
        
         I don't bother telling him to save his breath. Nothing can console me. Nothing, but a bottle of whiskey and maybe a carton of soggy noodles.       

         Andrew sighs irritably and shakes his head, his blonde hair flapping in the wind. "I know you wanted to hang out, but Eli is sick and is requesting that I take care of him. The big baby." he adds and rolls his eyes in a way that only Eli can make him do.
        
         I laugh weakly at his antics. This sort of thing happens a lot. As much as Andrew acts like he cant stand the thought of having to take care of a full grown man, he loves being needed. its why he chose to be a prominent lawyer in the first place. Those two are always seen together. Even if it's doing remedial things like grocery shopping.
        
           I place a hand on his shoulder, which isn't a tough feat since he's shorter than me. "I understand. Tell the Chancellor to get better for me?" I ask.
He air kisses my cheeks. "Of course darling! When he gets better we should do something." he insists.         

         I just nod and walk beside him, out of the garden and down the four steps that lead to the street. "Ta-ta!" Andrew waves and heads to the garage across the street where he parked his white Mercedes. He's the only person I know that has a car and uses it. "Darling, why walk when you can drive?", he once said when we first me. My crazy best friend who is a shark of a lawyer but underneath those tailored suits is a complete teddy bear, all soft and cuddly. Eli is lucky to have him.
  
       I start walking downhill towards Park Avenue. I avoid bumping into strangers in the bustling crowd as I walk along the sidewalk, my purse falling off my shoulder every so often. Fed up with the shoulder strap I clutch the round purse in my arms and continue on with my destination. Known as the shopping centre mecca for the average bored housewife, Park Avenue has clothing boutiques and chandelier stores that glitter in color.

        I walk past the glass shops and head across the street where Park Avenue turns into Fourth Street. I walk down the steep hill at a slow yet comfortable pace, which forces the passerby's to step around me in order to get by. I smile at that. It's like I'm in my own personal bubble that repents anyone from coming in close contact with me. My stomach growls angrily and for a moment I am caught off guard. I haven't managed to keep anything down for the past few days. Once the intoxicating smell of garlic and sesame hits my nose, my stomach responds appreciatively. I stop in front of the red and golden restaurant in the shape of a Chinese wonton bowl. It certainly stands out among the more dainty shops in the neighborhood. I open the red door and the gold bell jingles, alerting the host that someone has entered the restaurant and is need of assistance. A young man with dark hair that falls in his eyes every so often greets me from behind the podium. 

"Hello. Table for one?" he asks.

I nod my head. "Please."

         He grabs a menu and leads me past the fish tank and deep into the restaurant where people are eating and drinking to their hearts content, completely at ease with one another and unwinding from a long days worth. The host heads over to a side booth on the left. "Actually, if you don't mind, I would like to sit at the bar.", I tell him.

He looks puzzled for a moment but nods anyway. "Of course." he says.

        I walk past a table of young women who are sharing a meal of fried fish with steamed rice and lemon grass chicken. The combining scent of fresh fish and lemon hitting me instantly. I continue on my way to the bar and plop a seat on a free stool. The waiter hands me a menu with a smile. "Here you go."
"Thanks." I say, even though I don't need it.

         Once he leaves I swivel in my seat and wave to catch the bartenders attention. 

"A shot of whiskey, please." I order. He nods and grabs the bottle, pouring a good amount in a shot glass before handing it to me.

         I smile as I life the glass full of the brown liquid. I don't need Andrew, I'm fine on my own.        

And tonight, I'm going to have a good time. It's not like I have a job to get ready for in the morning. I thought sourly.

Wicked Intent Synopsis

So here is the synopsis for the story. I must say it's one of my favorites.

Unbeknownst to the community of Cobblestone Frair lives a family of witches with curses of their own.

Meet the four Broderick siblings: 

Meagan, the free spirited Broderick sister is forced to shut down her small book shop in the city. She begins to wonder if she has what it takes to run a successful business. Unable to pay her way in the city; she leaves her apartment behind, and moves back in the two-story Victorian childhood home that sits on the corner of River Street. Meagan thought picking up where she left off would be easy. But old memories resurface when her ex-boyfriend, Ashton, gets married to her long time child hood friend. Wanting to prove her sisters wrong, Meagan accepts the brides' wedding invitation and rsvp's for plus one. However, complications arise at the rehearsal dinner when the man who bought her out of business is the groom’s best man, and related to the bride. Meagan's straight edged beliefs are challenged when the opportunity for revenge lies within the big Book of Spells that is passed down with each new generation.

Alyssa, the wild spade, is better known these days as the head chef at a mom and pop café that sits near the edge of the pier, called the Brewery and Barn, where she uses herbs from her leather pouch to help enchant quarreling lovers by the time dessert is served. Being the black sheep of the family, Alyssa has finally made a name for herself doing something that she loves. However, when a pro-surfer turned chef pushes the boundaries in the culinary world by using both sweet and savory ingredients to make the slow rising local favorite, red velvet fried chicken, Ally decides to go on a stakeout with her reluctant younger sister as accomplice, who has her own reasons for not wanting to be seen. The universe seems to be sending her some kind of message. Eager to set her hunches aside, Alyssa draws upon her deck of Tarot cards and the end result does nothing to ease her mind or her nagging intuition. One thing is for sure, something bad is coming. But can she figure it out on her own when everything that she has worked so hard for is threatening to crumble?

The eldest, Deandra, wants nothing to do with the lifestyle that killed her parents. When Alyssa starts rambling on about a string of murders that may be related, Deandra chalks it up to paranoia and stress. But when a stranger arrives, wounded on their front porch claiming to know their parents, with a message about an evil foe wanting to end the Broderick family line once and for all, they grab their shovels and dig up the big Book of Spells from the garden to un-bind their powers. With the priestess dead and an entry full of possible suspects who could be the Dark One, the Broderick siblings are on edge. Even with the looming danger present, Deandra is unwilling to give up the life that she has created. When her prestigious white collar fiancé leaves for a conference in the city, she is forced to the grueling task of planning seating arrangements and picking out center pieces with his tight lipped aunt, who insists on having only the best money can buy. Luckily, the most important part of the reception is being taken care of: the Hors d'oeuvres that her younger sister is catering. It's a good thing that her family is around to keep her grounded, otherwise, she would get lost in a world where money is of no expense to her future husband, whose deep rooted lineage goes far back to a time before the town was created.

Eager to prove herself, CJ is the youngest Broderick, fresh out of college with a niche for numbers. She does well for herself working as an accountant at a small accounting firm in the city. When she receives a new demanding client who has enough money to feed a small country, CJ helps the wealthy billionaire juggle his employee law firm account. On a chance encounter, CJ is re-introduced to her high school enemy, who just so happens to be her clients sister. Her loyalties are tested when she accepts a lunch invitation to the new popular hot spot and meets the head chef, who just so happens to be her sister's rival. When things start breaking for no apparent reason,CJ chalks it up to coincidence. But when she learns about their family lineage, CJ finds herself with uncontrollable powers that combust objects when she's feeling a strong emotion, particularly whenever she's around the secretive billionaire, who has secrets of his own.

~~Hopefully they can set aside their personal problems and find the evil foe who is blood thirsty and after revenge.~~

Wicked Intent

 So here is a preview for my story called Wicked Intent. Check it out and see what you think.

I am like the wind: Strong and Cold. I keep the scorching fire at bay. In order to silence the enemy I must set aside my differences and combine my powers with my equally unwilling siblings.
                                                                                  
                                                                                   *****

Magic is potent in large doses. If you’re not careful even the most strongest of witches can become tainted by its poison.
                                                                                   *****

In the thriving town lies a danger so dark and twisted that not even the purest of magic can withstand. In order to keep innocent mortals safe from the hands of evil, the Broderick siblings must once again pick up their old straw brooms from their webbed closet in the attic and dust off their big Book of Spells that’s buried right below the flower garden in their front yard.

The Temptress- Chapter one

So here's the first chapter for The Temptress. It was a lot of fun to be in Morgan's shoes while writing this scene. Anyways, enjoy!


Chapter one- (Tall Tales and Burning Leather)

The engine puttered as the car slowed down to a stop.

"Dammit!" I slam my hands on the wheel causing the horn to go off.

         Well this is just great. I should have known something was wrong when the salesman practically handed me the keys. At the time I was desperate and in need of a car. The idea of it breaking down in the middle of the road never occurred to me. Well so much for driving.

I jimmy the handle and push the door open.

         I grab my black purse from the side of the passenger seat and step out of the car slamming the door on my way out. I take one last glance behind me at the Oldsmobile. It's a Camaro Z28. The orange paint is fading on the rooftop and two hubcaps are missing. What can I say? I have a thing for old cars. When I saw this baby in the lot I had to have it. It's too bad I have to leave it behind. Oh well. Someone will find it and put it to good use.

         I hike the purse on my shoulder and cross the street blending in with the shadows. My name is Morgan Collins. I am a bounty hunter more by necessity than anything else. I used to work for a man named Darius McKneeley. He owns and operates a bail bonds shop for the supernatural. He may be an elf but don't let that fool you. There is nothing he won't resort to when it comes to getting his share of the money. Like today when he set my one bedroom apartment on fire for example.

         You see, it all started when he came to me a couple days ago with a job. Instead of bringing in a perp like I normally did, I had to look for an object. A rare enchanted jewel thought to be inside of a tomb. After slumming it with downworlders I followed a lead that took me to an underground tunnel. Hidden deep in a brick wall was the prized jewel wrapped tightly in a purple velvety pouch.

         When I saw that emerald for the first time I couldn't help but think 'this is it'. I did what any sensible person would do. I took it for myself. I figure I could sell it to someone with deeper pockets than cheapskate Darius himself.

         Instead of handing it over I told Darius the lead was a bust. What I didn't count on was Darius figuring out that I jipped him. I thought I was careful enough. There’s a first time for everything, I guess. I just wish I knew who ratted me out. I don’t exactly make the best first impression in my line of work. Hey, I can’t help it if half of the people that I meet want me dead. While the other half would no sooner come to my aid even if I bribed them. What can I say? It comes with the job description. 

         It sure is too bad that Darius burned my apartment down. It was nothing fancy but it was mine and I was damn proud of the fact that I could pay rent when it was due.

        It's a good thing I wasn't home at the time, considering. Imagine my surprise when I was greeted by sirens and police who, after taking my initial statement left to file the report. There was nothing the firemen could salvage. I lost all of my worldly possessions when the fire set everything ablaze.

        The superintendent offered me a room until construction was done but I knew I couldn't stay there any longer. Darius didn't find what he was looking for and I didn't know when one of his goons would return.
  
       The first thing I did after I broke my lease was go to The Better Savings Banking Group. It was one place good OL' Darius didn't know about. If he did I'm sure he would have wasted no time in cleaning me out.

         When I first took the bounty hunter gig I set up a safe that I made in another name. I emptied it and put all the contents in the only place that I could think of. My purse. I’ll admit it’s not the smartest idea, but I figured it would be a lot easier roaming the streets knowing that I have something to defend myself with in case anyone recognizes me. Inside I have my Smith and Wesson .45 ACP, an extra clip of specially made silver bullets, a couple of throwing knives, and some left over money minus what I paid for the Camaro. I know it's not much but I have a plan. Well, sort of. If there's one person Darius hates more than anyone it would be Little Tony.

         You see, a while back Little Tony dated his younger half-sister, Daisy. One morning Daisy wanted to surprise Little Tony before her shift started. What she didn't count on was catching Little Tony in a compromising position with some waitress in an alley next to a dumpster. Nothing says surprise like watching your boyfriend, butt-naked in all his glory; cheat on you in broad daylight. Little Tony could have at least had the decency to rent a room in one of the many vacant hotels around the neighborhood but that’s not his style. I get the impression he’s more of a ‘do now’ and possibly ‘regret later’ type of guy. Not that I heard any complaints from anyone before.

        After that Darius and Little Tony never saw eye to eye. In my opinion Daisy should have known better. Everyone knows Little Tony will hump any woman that spares him a second glance. He's not ugly or anything. He just can't seem to keep it in his pants. And as for Daisy, well, the last I heard she met Tammy and swore men off for good. I'm not sure how well that's working out but I wish her all the best just the same.

         When Little Tony's not chasing after some unsuspecting woman he goes to his day job. Little Tony owns an Italian restaurant not too far from here. We go way back him and I. When I first started as a bounty hunter I ran into him by pure accident. He was running his own underground blood bank and I interfered with a drop off. For some reason he didn't kill me. Which, of course, I'm grateful for.

        I'm not sure if he still smuggles humans but I learned to keep well enough alone. Ever since then our paths have crossed once or twice. I would try his new pasta dishes and in return he would give me whereabouts to my perp. In the end we both got what we wanted out of the deal. He got someone to try his new recipes while I got a free meal.

         In a lot full of hungry shoppers it would be hard not to miss the restaurant. It's a huge building with large windows that wrap around to the other side of it. The dark green banner says Little Tony's Spaghetti House and Pizzeria in large white letters.

         I stay away from the streetlamps and survey the scene around me. Even though it’s well past dinner time the parking lot is full with minivans and luxury cars. There is nobody within the area. My guess is everyone is inside having a grand old time.

         Eager to join the festivities I cross the street and look myself over; I'm wearing a deep red bustier that has a ribbon tied in the back, tight black leather pants that hug my round ass, and my favorite six-inch heels.

         I rearrange my girls and flick my curly auburn hair over my bare shoulder. I take the steps one at a time and collect my thoughts before making myself seen. The light filtering from the inside through the glass door spills onto the concrete pavement entrance and shines on me, making me visible to anyone that might be in the shopping area.

        I grasp the golden handle in a firm grip and pull it open. Immediately I am hit with the most intense aroma of garlic and herbed cheesy bread. I ignore my rumbling stomach and cross the threshold.

A tall hostess in a long white flowing ball gown greets me.

        Her name tag says Giselle. She has flawless exotic-looking skin, defined slim cheek bones, ample glossy lips, and narrow green slits for eyes.

        I’ve heard about her kind. I never thought I would get the chance to meet one up close and personal. She’s a toad. They're incredibly rare but if you manage to find one all you need is a witch to conjure up some potion, say a few words and BAM! The once ugly toad turns into a beautiful maiden right before your very eyes. It is said their beauty attracts abundance, wealth, and prosperity. Looks like Little Tony added some insurance just in case his restaurant turned to shit. Dare I say, that was a good move on his part.

"Good Evening and welcome to Little Tony's. Do you have a reservation?" Giselle asks politely.

"I came to see Little Tony. Tell him it's Morgan."