She was an extremely petite brunette woman with an hourglass figure defined by the lean muscularity of a gymnast or platform diver. She wore black and gray denim camouflage pants tucked into black lace-up biker boots, and purple lipstick on her bow-shaped lips. Very “hard rock,” avoiding looking at all trendy, and yet there was something unattractively unapproachable about her, something a little dangerous.
Her name was January Ulrich and she had just turned ninety years old three weeks ago. She hadn’t celebrated her birthday with anyone other than her cat, a one-eyed, twenty-five pound, black short-hair tomcat she had named Griswald. An outlaw and a social reject, most of her friends were either dead or on the run. January’s few surviving family and relations had gone to her funeral eleven years ago, thinking she was dead. Biologically, she was dead. But they wouldn’t have understood that. It was best the way it had turned out. They didn’t need to know what had really happened to her.
They didn’t need to know that people mostly referred to her now as “Cold Janey.”
Once upon a very dark time, January Madison Ulrich had been inducted into the secret sisterhood of Bloodwitches, the oracles and shamans of Moon-Chosen society. She had surrendered her humanity and tethered her biology to the arcane technology, mutagenic treatments through chemicals and cellular implantation, of wampirii alchemical science. Too late, she had learned her mistake. Too late she had learned what murderous things she was expected to be a party to as a Bloodwitch. And too late, she’d learned that Magick, actual Reality-altering, physics-defying sorcery, demanded an awful price from its practitioners.
————————————————-
Want to read more—and cheap? Now on sale for 75% off in Smashwords’ Summer Blowout July ebook sale!
“So what do you want to ask of me?” she said after a long and quiet moment.
It was Ashton Brazil who ventured to break the stillness. “Do you know anything about a woman named Calianne? Or a human named Sherilynn Amanda Greyville? Or a professor named Rajan Seddig Al’Meffistah?”
“Or who would dare to be using enslaved revenants, Hounds, to do their bidding?” Quinn added.
Abruptly all of them, even Quinn, jumped as Babael erupted into raucous, mean-spirited laughter. It was a sound not unlike that of a hyena’s coughing titter mixed with the sound of rough steel spikes running across slate. As quickly as it had begun, the laughter faded, descending again into the Kymeric’s usual deep, rapid wheezing.
Madame Wintyrr, too, was chortling in very unladylike, uncharitable fashion. Her sunken eye sockets were stretched wide and she pointed at the tall Olympian with a taloned finger as she spoke. The airborne eyes circled her in a dizzying, almost playful display of gravity-defying levitation.
“Are you quite serious? Hounds? Calianne, Sherilynn Greyville, Rajan Al’Meffistah? Such exotic names! You ask me? Why, you dear, dear fools, you do say the funniest things! For goodness sakes, Quinn, why don’t you go ask your so-called sister—she’d know!”
That was when the audience ended.
Sam Carstairs allowed his hand to slowly wander towards the stock of his holstered Armpistol, his eyes narrowed as he sized up the odds. “Is that it?” he demanded of Quinn. “Is that all? We came here for this?”
“Leave it be,” Quinn advised solemnly. “We have what we need.”
“Do we now? Well, I don’t know about you, but I have some more goddamn questions!” the private detective said.
“If you force me to carry you out of here, cowboy, you won’t be breathing,” Quinn said with grim certitude.
———————————————————
Want to read more—and cheap? Now on sale for 75% off in Smashwords’ Summer Blowout July ebook sale!
The man snorted. “No, no. You’re Hedy Duchene and you are looking for someone to help you get to Rubicon. Tell us who you’re meeting and you live. Don’t and you die.”
“Fuck off.” Hedy thought she was doing a good job of playing it cool, but she didn’t want to die. Not right then, anyway.
The woman, who had a surprisingly strong grip on her upper arm, said, “She’s not smart enough to talk. Let’s finish this.”
“Perhaps a closer view of the trees will convince her.”
They dragged her to the door.
“What about him?” Hedy jerked her head toward Eyes.
The woman said, “Oh, he attacked you, you know how men are, and we had to push him out.”
The man slid open the door.
“So you’re going to push me out to kill me, right?”
“Unless you tell us what we want.”
“So, self-defense,” she muttered. A moment later, “Oh my God!” Suddenly weak-kneed Hedy bent forward, twisting to her left, forcing the woman on the right to step close to the edge. Out of sight of the assassins Hedy reached into her purse for her gun. “Oh, I’m better now.”
She straightened up with a jerk while swinging her arm behind the woman. It was an awkward angle for her, but the woman got the idea when Hedy pressed the gun against her back. “Can you fly, bitch?”
“Arrêtez. Suffisant!” Eyes shouted.
“No, not enough.” Catching the assassin by surprise with a full swipe of her hip, Hedy bumped the woman to the edge of the door and kicked her out.
———————————————————–
Want to read more—and cheap? Now on sale for 75% off in Smashwords’ Summer Blowout July ebook sale!
A barrage of gunfire came from the other side of the motel. She heard the familiar sound of their SUV at full get-the-hell-out-of-there throttle. A burst of black smoke rose from the other vehicles.
“No points for anyone, Monsieur.” Simone shot him in the head.
She paused for a long moment, staring at the body. How many mortals had died because of her? How many vampires had she ended permanently? Looking down at the lifeless man she thought how tired she was of killing, of struggling to survive. Their cause was good, but afterward…a quiet home somewhere, with Fin? No struggles, no enemies, a quiet, boring immortality.
A gunshot a few feet away yanked her out of her vision of an unlikely future. She spun around, dropping to a crouch, aiming at Teresa, who was frozen in place, .45 in both hands, watching a second vampire shudder and die.
Simone dropped her gun. “What happened to keeping quiet?”
Teresa lowered her weapon and let it hang at her side. “The same thing that was going to happen to you in about two seconds.” She gently gripped Simone’s arm. “You were just staring at that guy. You looked…sad. Did you know him?”
Simone laid her hand on Teresa’s. “Non. C’est bon, mon amie.”
Horn blowing, engine roaring, tires spitting out a trail of mud, grass and leaves, their SUV raced away from the motel toward them.
“Our ride is here,” Teresa said.
—————————————————————————–
Want to read more—and cheap? Now on sale for 75% off in Smashwords’ Summer Blowout July ebook sale!
Her kidnappers knew what they were doing. Her bonds were of heavy braided line with no stretch. A woman and one male vamp rode in back so she and Simone had no chance to help one another. The body of the vamp she’d taken out lay between them. They were helpless and knew it.
Where was Teresa? Did they get her? Justine didn’t think so. They’d asked where she was. Teresa would have been a bonus.
When the shooting started, Justine had no idea who it might be. For a moment she thought it might be Harry. Despite the gag, she smiled for a second, thinking of Harry riding in guns blazing to rescue the damsels in distress. But he was in California being a good cop. Though she was supposedly immortal, she did wonder if she’d ever see him again.
Her thoughts on the shooter changed when the vamp in the passenger seat said, “What’s that bitch doing,” just before half his head spattered the roof.
After they jolted to a stop Justine and Simone ended up face to face. “Tee,” Justine said behind the gag. Simone nodded. Her eyes smiled.
While they, and the kidnappers, followed the action, Simone managed to squirm around behind the woman. When she started cussing and shooting after the shotgun blast, Simone wound herself up then uncoiled like a spring let loose and kicked the woman out to roll down a small slope.
Christ, was that Teresa coming out of the dark like a B-movie avenger? When the bullet hit inches from her head, she barely flinched. They watched as she impassively dispatched the two vampires. What had happened to the sweet, tough woman who’d vowed to help her, but not kill for her?
————————————————————————
Want to read more—and cheap? Now on sale for 75% off in Smashwords’ Summer Blowout July ebook sale!
A woman stood over Westly. She was ten feet tall from Justine’s viewpoint, with black leather pants and a short-waisted leather jacket topped by wild dark hair. Westly, on hands and knees, was picking up the pipe. He lunged at the woman. Too quick for Justine’s freaked out mind to comprehend, the woman snatched the pipe from Westly and smacked his head. Stunned, he offered no resistance when she lifted him up and dropped him on top of a dumpster.
Near death experience forgotten, Justine marveled at the woman’s strength and speed, where she herself had been so inadequate. What happened next convinced her she was experiencing a dark dream before she woke up in Hell.
The woman held Westly’s right arm, wrist up, and raised it to her mouth. She bit down hard. Westly uttered a brief cry. He thrashed about for fifteen seconds, helpless against the woman’s steady grip. Blood ran across his palm. He lay quiet then. Justine heard a faint sucking sound as the woman’s jaws worked at his wrist.
At last the woman released him. Head tilted back to face the sky, she let out a long satisfied, “Ahhhhh.” Then she turned to Justine. She had a slight French accent, easily understandable.
“I do hope I saved the correct person. You were trying to kill him, ne c’est pas?”
————————————————
Want to read more—and cheap? Now on sale for 75% off in Smashwords’ Summer Blowout July ebook sale!
From ALL THE SHADOWS OF THE RAINBOW by Inanna Arthen:
She swallowed hard and started toward the huge weathered rock, so riveted on the dark shape, she stumbled several times. She realized she should make noise deliberately and began scuffing her feet hard on the ground with each step. When she was about twenty feet away, the figure sat up, although she was sure he’d heard her long before. His back was toward her.
“Brigid? What is it?” She stopped again, and the man pivoted smoothly around to look at her. He froze for a moment, and she saw him glance quickly back at the house. She faintly heard a woman’s voice calling something about a bed, and a reply, so the man on the boulder knew his housemates were safe. But she was suddenly humbled that his first thought upon seeing her was to check on his friends. Embarrassed, she waited for him to say something, but all he did was stare down at her, as motionless as though he was part of the boulder.
They stayed like that for a long time. Diana wished she could see his face more clearly, but without the glow of body heat, all she could discern above his dark beard was his eyes, locked onto hers. She started to shake; was this a staredown? Was he challenging her? Was he waiting for her to do something?
At last she could bear no more and flung her hands up helplessly. “I’m sorry to bother you.” She turned and started back toward the house.
“Wait! Just…wait, don’t go.” She turned back to see him step off the boulder into mid-air, drop ten feet and land as lightly as though he’d stepped off a curb.
—————————————————
Want to read more—and cheap? Now on sale for 75% off in Smashwords’ Summer Blowout July ebook sale!
Diana cleared her throat. “It really is very important, and we’re working against a deadline. Can you make a compound for us? We’re willing to discuss any terms you ask.”
He simply looked at her in silence, his expression enigmatic. But when Diana started to speak again, he reached out and put a finger on her lips.
“I have one more thing to show you, come over here.” He walked toward the far wall of the cellar, beckoning. She followed, taken by surprise, to where a heavy wooden chest she had assumed was a tool box stood against the wall. He knelt down beside it, undid its complicated encoded latch and lifted the lid. Inside the chest, carefully nestled into a deep bed of gray fluff made from cattail rushes, was a heavy glass bottle filled to the brim with an iridescent liquid that appeared to glow with its own nacreous light.
“You made it already?” Her voice was hushed, partly from incredulity, partly from awe. She extended a hand over the bottle, feeling tiny prickles in her palm. The purity of the compound’s magical nature was as close to perfection, she thought, as a mortal could have achieved—certainly closer than she ever could have accomplished on her own, if she had taken a year in seclusion to make it.
“Ay, after your first letter came, that’s when I started it.” He stared raptly at the bottle as well—as anyone would have who glimpsed it. The soft shimmering colors played like light on water. “This is what you wanted, then?”
For a moment she couldn’t speak. “It’s…it’s perfect, Gregory. But—how did you know?”
“From what you said in your letter—and I see things now, Di. More than before, even, I can’t explain it. But this…” he stroked the surface of the glass with one finger, and the colors moved and changed where the shadow of his hand fell. “It’s the best I’ve made, or ever will. And it had to be, since it was you asking for it.”
——————————————————
Want to read more—and cheap? Now on sale for 75% off in Smashwords’ Summer Blowout July ebook sale!
Detective Fellman nodded. “What did you think when you saw Miss Standish at the wake?”
“I just about fainted from shock. I didn’t know what to think.”
“Why didn’t you call her presence to the attention of the funeral home staff?”
“I was too stunned. I didn’t want to create a disruption at the wake. I took Veronica’s hand and led her outside, so I could ask her what was going on.”
“And did she tell you what was going on?”
“She was very uncommunicative.”
“Why didn’t you take her to the emergency room immediately to be checked out?”
“Veronica hated hospitals. She didn’t want to go.”
“So she was communicating well enough to indicate that.”
“She was communicating very clearly indeed by the time we parted. Very clearly.” Regan could feel herself grimacing at the memory, and tried to smooth her expression, but she could see that Detective Fellman had noticed. He was watching her so intently, he couldn’t miss the slightest change in her face.
“You said that she didn’t tell you anything about her plans, when she left you.”
“Nothing. She seemed very…purposeful. She seemed to have something in mind. She got out of my car and just went walking off. I tried to…to ask her some questions, but…” Regan had to blink, because the memory of Veronica spinning around and throwing her hand off was suddenly so clear, the room around her had momentarily vanished. She realized that she had raised her hand, the one Veronica flung off, from the table top and uncomfortably put it back down. She looked up and saw Detective Fellman leaning back, his expression calculating.
There was a pause, and then he said, “Did she hurt you, Ms. Calloway?”
———————————————————————
Want to read more—and cheap? Now on sale for 75% off in Smashwords’ Summer Blowout July ebook sale!
“Stand back!” I said, and the crowd gave me room to dismount. I approached the prostrate husband and commanded him to rise and speak.
“Justice, my lord Baron!” He wept, clinging to my doublet. “My wife has been slain!”
I steeled myself not to pull away from his rank breath. He had nearly twice my years, an advanced age for a peasant. Half his teeth were gone and the rest rotting. I doubted that his deceased wife had been any more attractive, but his grief was piteous to see.
“Where is your lady?” I hoped my voice didn’t betray my apprehension. I had no idea what I faced.
Jamie struggled to my side and soon had the crowd dispersed back to their usual tasks, save the new widower. My steward repeated my question.
“She is still in the field where she was found,” the Goodman finally said. “None thought it meet to move her until you had seen her, my lord.”
More likely, I thought, they had left the corpse to lie where found out of superstitious fear. “Show me,” I said. Jamie at my side, I followed the man to the field where the woman’s body lay. Her drab-clothed form lay like some weird fungal growth among the glistening wheat. An overturned basket, its contents ransacked by animals, lay nearby. After making my way along the already trampled path to her body, I knelt beside her. I had been expecting something gruesome, and was surprised at how peaceful she looked. Her eyes were closed and her arms were folded across her chest. My nose detected the usual unpleasant aftermath of death, but I saw no signs of violence.
“You said she was slain, Goodman. What caused you to call it thus? She appears to have gone peacefully to God.”
“Look at her neck, my lord,” the Goodman whispered, crossing himself.
————————————————————-
Want to read more—and cheap? Now on sale for 75% off in Smashwords’ Summer Blowout July ebook sale!
