tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48045326188815306042024-03-13T23:18:12.069-07:00Jenniffer WardellWelcome to the world of Jenniffer Wardell, author of “Beast Charming," "Fairy Godmothers, Inc," "Fighting Sleep" and more. It's a place where fantasy runs smack into reality (after which they both exchange business cards and hope no one calls the insurance company). Perfect for fans of Terry Pratchett and Mercedes Lackey's "500 Kingdoms" series. Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.comBlogger192125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-20676523875068745822024-02-21T19:29:00.000-08:002024-02-24T12:58:55.525-08:00New Thea and Max novella!<p>Shock of shocks, I'm actually writing a new Thea and Max novella! The working title is "Love and Other Suitably Villainous Schemes," and here's a sneak peek at the first chapter!</p><p>(Thea and Max <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XCN1M8F" target="_blank">book</a> <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/707694" target="_blank">one</a>) (Thea and Max <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07L485GYZ" target="_blank">book</a> <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/910812" target="_blank">two</a>) <br /></p><p>000</p><p><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Chapter 1: Not Exactly an Invitation</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Having a super-spy boyfriend was not at all like the
movies made it seem.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">For the most part, Thea loved it that way. She vastly
preferred their monster-movie nights to dinner in uncomfortably expensive
restaurants, and she'd almost entirely broken him of trying to be suave around
her. He did tend toward ridiculously dramatic gifts, but he preferred tiger
lilies and stuffed video game characters over expensive jewelry and sexy
dresses she would never wear.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She wasn't thrilled about the fact that she hardly
ever saw him, but she could hardly argue against someone being dedicated to
their job. His assignments being far away from her did mean she was in far less
physical danger than the usual spy girlfriend. (When she was being sensible,
which was less often than she should be these days, she could admit it was a
good thing.)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Of course, dating a super-spy did mean dealing with a
certain bouts of movie-like absurdity. Say, like when they're trying to
surprise you with a long-planned vacation.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Thea blinked at her boss. "An absurdly wealthy,
conveniently secretive Italian philanthropist called <i>you</i>." She
recapped his explanation in her flattest tone, hoping the sheer impossibility
would somehow penetrate the man's brain. She may have been short, with dark
skin and curls pulled back into a sensible ponytail, but she'd had a <i>lot</i>
of sarcasm practice. "In <i>person</i>, instead of having one of their
10,000 assistants do it. Asking for some <i>random</i> Chicago computer
security specialist to fly to <i>Rome</i> to work on some unspecified,
open-ended project. He will not only <i>pay</i> for all this, including a
per-diem fee that will turn next year's taxes into a <i>nightmare</i>, but he's
also planning on spiriting this random specialist around in his <i>private jet</i>."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Charles Porter, whose face could be used as a stock
photo for middle managers, frowned at her. "He didn't ask for some random
specialist. He asked for <i>you</i>."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Thea didn't bother biting back her exasperated noise.
She was absolutely going to say yes to this, because she had no doubt Max was
behind this. But the idea that the man didn't see anything even <i>slightly</i>
suspicious about this was concerning on several levels. "You <i>do</i>
remember we've had armed gunmen in the building before, right? One of our apps
was used to fund terrorism?"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Porter shook his head before she'd even finished
speaking, making a dismissive gesture. "That's a non-issue. We have had <i>several</i>
staff training sessions to deal with those incidents, and if Signor Donato
wanted access to our tech he could buy it for <i>far</i> less money than he's
buying your services. He's also already paid us a <i>very</i> generous
consultation fee, and our financial department has already looked it over. It's
100 percent legitimate."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Thea frowned. Dangling money in front of Porter was an
excellent way to get him to overlook any potential weirdness about the setup,
but it was also excessive. When he'd gotten her out to Ohio for their last
sort-of mission, he'd arranged it through a far subtler application of
paperwork and backdated emails. This was just so much less... clever. "I
didn't know the company received a consultation fee when it lent out my
services."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">His gaze slid away from hers as he pretended to mess
with something on his computer. "Technically, we don't. Before you, no one
had ever requested the services of anyone on our staff." His expression
firmed as a thought hit him, and he turned back to give her a pointed look.
"Though if this continues, rest assured we will work this into official
company policy. It seems Mr. Bascom is friends with several other
philanthropists, and was satisfied enough with your work earlier this year that
he passed your name around."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It took a second to remember that Mr. Bascom was the
name Max had given their fictional Ohio philanthropist. She had no doubt that
Max's spy agency (which he also referred to as The Company) had given the man a
full online profile, and he'd probably arranged for them to do the same thing
with Alessandro Donato. The Italian version of the story was considerably more
ridiculous than the Ohio version of the story, but there <i>was</i> precedent.
She supposed it made sense that no one but her would get suspicious.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Though she should really talk to Max about setting up
some kind of workshop for management: "The Benefits of Healthy Paranoia on
the Corporate Bottom Line."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Porter glared, clearly having decided she'd been
silent too long. "I don't know why you're arguing about this. Your team is
wrapping up your most recent project, and while I am <i>unfortunately</i> aware
that you like to be the last person to sign off on everything you can do that
remotely. This will boost <i>your </i>reputation far more than it will ours,
and the money alone would be stupid to turn down." He paused. "And if
you don't, I <i>will</i> ban you from the office for two weeks."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Thea bit back several potential arguments to that last
bit, knowing it wouldn't help anything. Besides, continuing <i>this</i>
conversation would delay the far more important one she needed to have with
Max. "I guess I'm saying yes, then." She gave him a dry look. "I
had no chance against such a compelling argument."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Porter ignored the sarcasm, rapidly hitting a few keys
on his computer. "There. All the information is in your inbox, including
the address of his private airstrip and a number you can call if you want a
limo to take you there. He'll pick you up personally tomorrow afternoon,
because apparently he 'doesn't do mornings.'"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It took real effort for Thea not to roll her eyes,
leaving the office with the minimum amount of required politeness. She checked
her email on the way out, which also included check-in information for a
penthouse suite in an expensive-looking hotel and, for some reason, photos of
the private jet. Taken together, it felt more like a haphazard sales pitch than
a well-built cover.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Frowning even harder now, she slipped into her office
and shut the door. Putting her regular phone back into her pocket, she pulled
out the one she used exclusively for talking to a certain jet-setting
individual who could be anywhere in the world right now. Normally she waited
for Max to reach out to her, since the last thing she wanted to do was
interrupt him when it would be dangerous. But there was something about this...</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Hopefully, the Company made sure he had voicemail.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Taking a deep breath, she hit the contact that would
connect her directly to him. He picked up after only one ring, voice tired but
warm as the best blanket. "Hey, beautiful. Calling to save me from my
insomnia?"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Thea paused. <i>This</i> was the Max she'd come to
know over the last several months. More theatrical than was at all sensible –
she could <i>not</i> get him to stop calling her beautiful – but also
wonderfully genuine. She'd asked him not to put on a persona when he was with
her, and he'd done everything in his power to hold to that.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The thought that had nudged at her since Carter's
office sharpened into a knife – the whole Italian philanthropist cover story
wasn't his style at <i>all</i>.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Which meant it was someone <i>else's</i> cover story.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Once again, she'd been silent too long.
"Thea?" Max sounded far more awake now, a grim edge to her voice.
"Something's wrong. Tell me."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Great – now she was worrying <i>him</i>. "I don't
suppose someone from your Company set me up to go to Rome?" She hated how
uncertain she sounded. "Someone relatively inexperienced, maybe?"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Max went deathly silent for a moment. "They
wouldn't do anything with you D or I didn't know about." A dangerous edge
was slipping into his voice, but she knew it wasn't aimed at her. "And if
D planned something without telling me, you wouldn't think it was an
amateur."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Thea thought about the grandmotherly, leather-clad
weapons expert who was Max's usual partner. "It's definitely not D,"
she murmured, as much to herself as at Max. She ran back through the
information she'd been given, trying to look at it the way she would have if
she hadn't thought Max had set it up. "Has a man named Alessandro Donato
popped up in the Company files anywhere? Even just as a possible connection to
something?"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">For the first time – she was <i>such</i> an idiot –
she went to her computer and looked up Donato. A quick search showed a
reclusive multimillionaire just like Carter had described him, camera-shy but
with his name attached to several charity projects and non-profits. The few
shots of him that had been caught at events matched the professional shot
Carter had shown her, a distinguished-looking man a few years older than her
who wouldn't look out of place on the cover of a romance novel.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In short, not someone who would have anything to do
with her.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"I can't find the name anywhere in our
system," Max said finally, the frustration clear in his voice. "But
that doesn't mean anything. We're a small agency, and no matter how
well-connected we are there are things we miss."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"The big question, though, is what interest he
would have with <i>me</i>." The question didn't frighten her nearly as
much as it should have, even though the answer couldn't be good. She'd rather
deal with some rich guy's nefarious plans any day than be in a world where she
didn't know Max as well as she thought she did. "I can think of a handful
of people already in Europe who are as good at security as I am, and possibly a
few who are better. And even if he somehow knows about my hacking, I'm <i>sure</i>
there are better people he can afford. There is <i>no</i> reason for him to fly
all that way in his private jet to come get <i>me</i>."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"Private—" Max cut himself off with brutal
efficiency, and the quiet that immediately followed was filled with the sound
of movement. "I'm coming to you. I'll be there by tomorrow morning, your
time, at the absolute latest."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It was completely unnecessary, and more than she would
have ever dared ask of him. It was exactly what she'd wanted him to say.
"There's no way the assignment you're on conveniently happens to be done
right when I need you."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The sound of movement didn't slow down in the
slightest. "I'll have M come in and wrap things up for me. She owes me a
favor."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Her logic fiercely tried to argue with the increasing
pounding of her heart. "You shouldn't come out here. If you're serious
about helping me with this, you'd get here just to have to immediately turn
around and fly out to Rome."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"Not if you let me get on the plane with you.
Pass me off as your assistant."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She made an exasperated noise. "Actual tech
people don't <i>have</i> assistants, and I don't want to risk Donato knowing
that and leaving you out on the tarmac."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She could practically feel his tension through the
phone. "You'll be alone—"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She'd never had anyone worry about her the way Max
did. "He won't try anything on the plane," she said gently, cutting
him off. "Whatever he needs me for, it'll involve letting me spend time
with his servers."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He was silent for a long moment. "Tell them you
want to hire your own security," he said finally, voice still tight.
"Make up whatever reason you think he'll believe. I can't go with you on
the plane because he'll see it as an insult, but I'll meet you the <i>second</i>
you get to Rome."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Her chest tightened. "What if this just turns out
to be some run-of-the-mill corporate crime? Won't you get—?"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"Thea." It was his turn to cut her off, soft
but oh-so-serious. "There is no <i>way</i> I'm letting you do this
alone."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Thea swallowed. "Thank you."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"Always." He let out a breath. "Stay
safe. I will be there the <i>second</i> you land."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Even after they said their goodbyes, Thea held onto
the phone a little more tightly than it would be at all safe to admit to.
Making herself put it back in her pocket, she squared her shoulders and went to
work.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She had some research to do.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">#</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"Come <i>on</i>, T." Max paced back and
forth across his hotel room, feeling like a caged animal. He'd been packed and
ready to go for an hour now, had all the necessary background for his security
cover set up and ready to go, and had three different potential modes of
transportation for <i>whenever he could get out of here</i>. Until R checked in
and officially took over his current assignment, however, none of that was
going to do him the <i>slightest</i> bit of good.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">R was taking <i>far too long</i> to check in.
"You have to have <i>something</i> on the guy! Rich people can't go 24
hours without committing <i>some</i> kind of crime!"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">T sighed. "We can't exactly pick him up for tax
fraud, Max." The Company's main tech expert was definitely trying to use
the dad voice he'd perfected with his own brood of adopted rugrats. "And
without a full deep dive into his system, which I'm <i>sure</i> Thea is going
to want to do <i>herself</i>, I can't even confirm that much."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He couldn't punch anything. It would only slow him
down more if he punched something. "Then why reach out to Thea? You <i>saw</i>
that he's been handling his security in-house for the last several years, and
she's <i>right</i> when she says there are more glamorous experts that would be
further up his list! Finding her would take <i>research</i>!"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"And if he <i>did</i> that research, he'd know
she’s one of the best."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"Yes, but once he talks to her for five minutes
he'll realize she is <i>incredibly</i> suspicious and not about to fall for
whatever scheme he's planning!" There were<i> so</i> many things you
could do to someone on a plane midflight. Most of them ended by throwing the
person out an open hatch. "Whatever he thinks she's going to do for him,
she's <i>actually</i> going to make his life a living hell."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He'd run straight into Thea's refusal to go with the
program back when they first met, and it turned out to be the best thing that
had ever happened to him. But he ran into plenty of people on this job who
preferred to solve their complications by killing them, and the thought of Thea
alone with one of those kind of people turned his chest into ice.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">And the thought of her alone with another professional
charmer, who might end up just as enchanted with her as Max was...</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He was knocked out of his thoughts when he realized T
had been quiet far too long. "You've thought of something, and you're pretty
sure I'm not going to like it." Max took a deep breath. "Tell
me."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">T still took a few moments to respond. "Donato <i>is</i>
a notoriously private man, but he wasn't quite as careful about it in his
younger years." There was something careful in his voice, like he knew he
was delivering bad news. "And one thing the gossip sites all picked up on
is that he only dates women in tech."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Max pulled the phone away from his ear long enough to
scowl at it properly. "And this helps me <i>how</i>?"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He hesitated again. "Maybe this guy really is
just trying to ask her—"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Max cut him off, not wanting to hear it out loud.
"I knew what you were trying to say, T! That's not what I'm worried
about!"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">But that... might be part of the reason he was so
desperate to get out there. It felt like he and Thea had barely gotten started
on a real relationship, mostly because he was always out on assignment. He knew
Thea cared about him, but if this Donato guy had the good sense to start acting
genuine he was a <i>lot</i> more attractive a package than Max was. He'd even
managed to take Thea to Rome before Max had, damn it.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A part of him couldn't help but feel like it would be <i>really
</i>convenient if Donato was guilty of something. Another part wanted Donato to
be just the rich idiot he looked like, because otherwise Thea was flying
straight into danger <i>without</i> him. If something happened to her, it would
kill him.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"Listen, <i>maybe</i> this is something you
should talk to Thea about." The cajoling edge to T's voice would have been
<i>deeply</i> annoying if Max hadn't had so much else to worry about. "I'm
not saying there's <i>not</i> something suspicious about this guy, but I think
it'll be easier to focus if you're not worried about the... emotional aspects
of all this."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Max actually considered it for a second, which was
proof of just how much of an effect Thea had on him. No matter how he spun it,
though, he couldn't see any way it wouldn't make things worse. "Best case
scenario, she only gets exasperated about the fact that I'm a jealous idiot
instead of full-on hitting me in the face. Worst case scenario, which is the <i>far</i>
more likely one, she is <i>incredibly</i> hurt that I took her genuine worry
and made it all about my own stupid insecurities."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">T sighed again. "Okay, you have a point there.
Maybe we could—" He cut off abruptly, and when he spoke again his voice
had gone strange. "D's calling me."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Max winced. "I don't suppose there's any chance
you could hold her off for, say, 24 hours?"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"Sorry." T sounded genuinely sympathetic,
but that wasn't going to be a lot of help to him. "She's a lot scarier
than you are."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">There was a murmur on the other end of the phone,
probably T telling D that he was transferring Max, then the slightest shift in
background noise and the cultured British tones of his second favorite person
in the world. "Max, <i>really</i>."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Max pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd absolutely
planned on reaching out to D, but he'd wanted to wait until he had at least some
idea of what was actually going on. "I was going to loop you in on this, I
swear it."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"When, exactly?" He could hear her arched
eyebrow. "After you'd upset one of the most delightful women I've ever met
by turning this into a particularly absurd romantic comedy, or after you've
gotten yourself <i>shot</i> by completely missing the fact that this might be
about you?"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He had an argument ready well before she'd finished
talking. "<i>Don’t</i> try to tell me that things like this actually
happen outside of romance novels and <i>spy</i> gambits, which is why this is <i>especially</i>..."
The words trailed off as his brain finished processing the rest of what he'd
just said. "Wait. You think this is about <i>me</i>?"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">D gave an exaggerated sigh. "Max, darling, I <i>know</i>
you're smarter than this." Her voice turned chiding. "As delightful
as our Thea is, I agree that this seems like something more from our world than
a romance novelist's. And as such, <i>you</i> are a far more likely target than
she is."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Max went cold. "Someone found out how attached I
am," he breathed. "And is trying to use her to get to <i>me</i>."
Horrifying possibilities spun through his thoughts. "I need to—"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"<i>Max</i>." The word was urgent enough to
cut through the panic spiral. "That is not what I <i>meant</i>, and I will
admit that my frustration meant I did <i>not</i> think through my approach
nearly as well as I should have. Thea will be <i>fine</i>, and there is <i>no</i>
reason for you to do any of the three or four shades of potentially stupid
things we both know you're capable of."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Max made himself inhale. It was the only way to argue
properly. "How exactly is she <i>fine</i>? If this is somehow a plan to
target me, then <i>I </i>have screwed up enough that random <i>bad guys</i>
know that I will do <i>anything</i> for—"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"Or <i>maybe</i> they know she's the head tech
person at the app company that cracked open an <i>enormous</i> terrorist
funding operation, and they assume she's the one who brought it to the
Company's attention? They may not be trying to target <i>you </i>specifically,
but that will not make you be any less dead if they succeed."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Max closed his eyes, making himself <i>actually</i>
breathe this time. "That just makes it even more important that I'm there,
because if that <i>is</i> what's going on then she's still in danger from
something <i>we</i> did."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">D made a frustrated noise. "Will you at least
promise me you'll <i>think</i> about being careful? And for the love of good
scotch, will you tell me where I need to be to help keep you <i>both</i> alive
through this mess?"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The knot in his chest eased a little. "I'll be as
close to Thea as humanely possible, which means I won't be in position to
express my displeasure with any randomly placed snipers."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She let out a breath. "I would be <i>thrilled</i>
to take over that responsibility for you. You will also <i>keep your earbud in
your ear</i>, so I can rush to your assistance on the off chance someone tries
to kill you in a server room or someplace else equally inconvenient."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"I can agree to that." Max tried to keep his
voice light, but he couldn't quite manage it. His hand tightened on the phone.
"But if this really <i>is</i> my fault..."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"Max." D's voice was as gentle as he'd ever
heard it. "Thea knows how dangerous your life is, and she keeps walking
into it open-eyed. If you want proof of that, you were quite <i>literally</i>
the reason she was in danger in Ohio and she still <i>insisted</i> on being
there. When you gave her the chance to get out, she didn't take it."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">His throat closed up, remembering. "And if I told
her I was panicking about this, she would absolutely kick my ass."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"Yes, she would. One of her most charming
qualities." D’s voice warmed. "And if you make sure to watch your own
back while you're watching hers, I will do you the <i>immense</i> favor of not
passing any of this on to Thea. She's normally a wonderfully logical woman, but
I suspect that she would decide my theory meant she was putting <i>you</i> in
danger."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Max winced at the thought. "She'd try to keep me
away." He'd come up with as many alternate cover stories as he needed to,
but no one was quite as good at puncturing his cover stories as she was. "Which
would make it a lot harder for me to protect her."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"And neither of you would be thinking clearly,
which would make things that much more stressful for <i>me</i>." The
background noises picked up briefly on D's end, and it hit him suddenly that it
sounded like she was at an airport. "And, though it hasn't occurred to you
to ask me yet, I will also reach out to my contacts for some of that juicier
underground gossip T wouldn't think to look for."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"Thank you." His chest warmed. "You
know, you might actually beat me to Rome."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He could hear her smile. "Well, I wasn't about to
let you do this alone." There was a pause. "Speaking of <i>you</i>
leaving for Rome, R's tracker suggests that she is currently lingering outside
your hotel. There's a chance she's run into trouble, but it's far more likely
she's trying to express her displeasure at you for cutting her vacation
short."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Max growled at the thought. She <i>owed</i> him.
"Quick question – how much trouble will I get in if I kill R?"</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"While I do sympathize, she won't be able to take
over your assignment if you kill her. The frustration of finding another
replacement would certainly outweigh any potential satisfaction."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Max swore, realizing she was right, and grabbed his
bag. "Then I should still say goodbye. I have to go not-quite kill a
coworker and get on a plane."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">D laughed. "Have fun with that, darling. I'll see
you soon."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Shoving the phone back into his pocket, Max hurried
downstairs to solve the most immediate of his long list of problems.</span></p>
Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-38003767190498046812023-07-17T20:54:00.003-07:002023-07-17T20:54:44.873-07:00Chapter 1: One More Terrible Idea<p> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footer"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="envelope address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footnote reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="line number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="page number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of authorities"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="macro"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="toa heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
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</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Chapter
1</b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">One
More Terrible Idea</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Dramatic deaths worked great in songs. If the person died
because of their own stupid pride, that was even better. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">As the invisible force dragged Jess toward the flames, she
felt profound sympathy for the subject of every doomed ballad she’d ever heard.
It was easy to get cocky and let yourself walk right into disaster. People were
prideful idiots all the time, and on a normal day the worst consequence you had
to face was someone shouting at you on the road. You had no idea you’d gotten
yourself killed until it was too late, and what was supposed to be a normal day
turned into the kind of mess people wrote songs about.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Not that anyone would write this song. The only audience
for her desperate attempts to drag herself back up into the dirt was Thomas,
who was stuck in this disaster just as deeply as she was. It was her fault he
was even here, and if he had any sense he’d let go of her right now and abandon
her to her fate. He should at the very least be furious at her for this, but
instead he was holding onto her like it was <i>his</i> life on the line. If she
got pulled in, Jess had a terrible feeling he'd let himself get dragged in with
her.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">If there's one thing better suited to a song than an
arrogant death, it's a tragedy.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">#</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The week had started out so good, too.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">It kicked off with a walk that was almost relaxing. Clear
skies, a cool breeze, and enough moonlight for Jess to see the road stretched
out in front of her. She still had a ways to go before she could call it a
night, but she piped a steady stream of her favorite tunes as she walked. A few
doors from nearby houses shut as she went by, curtains quickly closing, but
Jess didn’t take it as a commentary on her music.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Almost no one liked watching hundreds of rats walk down their
street.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">With each step, the number kept climbing. Rats trickled out
of every house and outbuilding she passed by, emerging from cracks and
knotholes to join the ever-increasing rat army behind her. She called them with
her music, with the thread of power she wove through every note, and they
wanted to follow more than they wanted air. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Some people become witches or sorceresses. Other people
had magic that was only good for pest control.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The little boy standing by the side of the road didn’t seem
to care, though. All his attention was on the rats, watching them with the kind
of rapt fascination she hardly ever saw from anyone over the age of 12. She
took one hand off the pipe long enough to wave at him, and the kid delightedly
waved back. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">As if she’d been watching from the window, the boy’s
mother burst out of one of the nearby houses. She hurried over and snatched him
up, capping the whole thing off by giving Jess her fiercest glare. Jess responded
with the most dramatic wink she could manage, making the woman huff and haul
her child back into the house. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The rest of the walk was quiet, ending in an empty field
with a flaming trench along the far end. It was how rat piping was always done
these days, the rats going into the trench while Jess walked across a bridge
set up with magical fire protection. It wasn’t the most pleasant process, but
Jess enjoyed eating on a regular basis. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The town council representative standing at the end of the
trench watched her with a skeptical expression. “Always found pipers kind of
creepy, myself. Too close to those sirens you always hear stories about.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">It was hardly an uncommon response. No one really trusted pipers,
and they trusted them less when they were young and female. More than that, her
olive brown skin and straight black hair made it hard to pass as a local. One
more strike against her, on a list that was already long enough. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">She put on her best salesman’s smile, imagining stabbing
him with the knife in her boot. “I believe you have the rest of my money?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Reluctantly, he handed her a decently full envelope, then
stalked off into the darkness. Jess watched him go, smiling in relief when he finally
disappeared from view. “You can come out now.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Barely a breath later, the emptiness in front of her was
replaced by a young man. He had a soft, dark cloud of tightly curled hair, warm
brown skin burnished by the firelight, and the kindest eyes Jess had ever seen.
She’d been traveling with him for almost a year now, and she still wasn’t tired
of looking at him.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“That guy was a jerk.” Thomas Abernathy, official Rat and
Mouse Reaper, scowled as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “If he thinks
he can do so much better, why doesn’t <i>he</i> try to get rid of all the mice and
rats in town?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Chest tightening at the fierce protectiveness in his voice,
she busied herself with putting both her pipe and the money away in her case. “Thank
you for the entertaining visuals. He’s the kind of man who thinks he could
order them to behave, then be surprised when they swarmed him.” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas scowled. “He’d deserve it.” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">He sounded so serious, as if he was the one who’d been
insulted, and Jess had to clear her throat before she could trust her voice. “You
wouldn’t have to overhear so many jerks if you didn’t wait here for me during
my walk. I’m pretty sure I don’t have another Reaper following me, which means
you could come back and do your part of things pretty much any time tonight.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas’s protective anger instantly disappeared, replaced
by a sudden uncertainty she wanted to kick herself for activating. He didn’t
like to talk about it much, but Jess had seen it often enough to know staff of
the Dr. Abernathy Home for Abandoned Children had a <i>lot</i> to answer for. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">He took a step back. “I don’t have to wait here if you don’t
want me to. You don’t actually <i>need</i> me to keep track of how many rats
and mice you’ve collected, and if you wanted you could just—”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“Hey.” Jess caught the lanyard he always wore around his
neck when he was on the job, tugging on it gently. “I don’t want you to stop
doing anything. I was just trying to save you a little boredom.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The uncertainty vanished, his whole face lighting up. “Being
bored just means more time to read.” Then his expression softened. “Besides, I
like watching you work.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Anyone with sense would have kissed him for that. Jess had
plenty of sense, but she also knew how bad she was for Thomas. If she was
nearly as good a person as her partner, she should stay away from him. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">She wasn’t going to do that – she refused to let herself
say she <i>couldn’t</i> – but she needed to keep herself from making it any
worse.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Taking a deep breath, Jess made herself let go of him. “Right
now, though, I’m the one who’s keeping you from working.” She tightened the
strap on her pipe case to make sure she had something to do with her hands. “Why
don’t we—”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The rest of her cover attempt was interrupted by the sound
of her pocket magic mirror chiming that she had a new message. Grateful for the
distraction, she pulled it out and swiped her finger across the glass. More
work for her meant more work for both of them. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas watched her, hesitating as he reached for the I.D.
hanging around his neck. “You want to skip following me around tonight, so you
can focus on the message?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“Not a chance. I’d hate to miss hearing you explain something.”
Opening the message with one hand, she tried to ignore the familiar tingle as
she laid the other hand on his shoulder. There was an entirely practical reason
for it – if she let go of him, she’d immediately get dumped back into the regular
world and Thomas would end up invisible again. “If you ever want to quit being
a Reaper I’m sure someone would hire you as a tour guide.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas made a rueful noise. “Only someone who was really
interested in hearing an itemized history of the local plant life.” He finally
slapped his hand against the I.D., making both the darkness and fire disappear
in a rush of gray. The only spots of color left in the world were her, Thomas,
and the cool blue light of the rats’ discarded life energy floating in small
clouds above the flames.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas curled his hand, murmuring a word Jess could never
quite catch. An instant later, a glowing, translucent scythe made of energy
appeared in his empty grip. According to Thomas, everyone’s life energy stuck
around after they died. It normally faded away after a few days, and without
the extra boost of the cloak only witches and sorcerers could see it. That
meant the less scrupulous ones could absorb the energy as an extra power boost,
which tended to be bad news for everyone else. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">That was where Reapers came in.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“You know, it’s really not fair that you have to wait
until they’re already dead,” Jess tried, watch him carefully swing the tip of
his scythe through each one of those small clouds of blue light. The light
flared and disappeared, going someplace even Thomas hadn’t dared to speculate
about. “Especially with those quotas you have to make every month.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas shook his head as he worked. “If I kill them, the
scythe spell somehow knows and won’t let me Reap them.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">When further explanation didn’t come, Jess frowned. “How
does that work, exactly?” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">This time, it was his turn to sigh. “Honestly, I have no
idea. It’s probably a combination of several spells, but I’ve asked various supervisors
and none of them seemed to even know what I was talking about.” He made a
frustrated noise. “Not that that’s anything new, really.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Jess would happily punch Thomas’s bosses, but she didn’t
want to make his life any harder. “You could probably figure it out,” she
prodded gently. “Take it apart yourself, see how it worked.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Now his expression turned wistful. “That would be nice.”
Then he shook his head, firmly enough like he was chasing the thought away. “I’d
probably just get in trouble, though.” He inclined his head toward the mirror. “Besides,
it’s your work we should be focusing on right now.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Letting herself be deflected, she activated the mirror message.
The smoke swirling on the other side of the glass cleared, revealing an
exhausted middle-aged man with a decent suit and the lingering trace of a farmer’s
tan. “Miss Tremeau, my name is Arthur Perkins. I’m the mayor of Kensford, a
bustling, prosperous town boasting—” He stopped, closing his eyes like
something pained him. “But you don’t care about that.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“Your clients don’t usually sound this stressed, do they?”
Thomas asked absently, still focused on his own work.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Jess paused the message. “Sometimes. If his constituents
are complaining, or the last piper couldn’t do the job, he’s getting a lot of extra
pressure.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas considered this a moment, then nodded. “That makes
sense. The witches from the mirror group mention that sometimes with clients.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Jess smiled a little. “Are they still trying to get you
named an honorary witch so they can make you a member?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas’s sigh was both affectionate and long-suffering as
he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “They’re just trying to be nice. There’s
nothing special about the fact that I read a lot.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">There was no way to answer that wouldn’t completely betray
her, so she just squeezed his shoulder and restarted the message. On the other
side of the mirror, Mayor Perkins cleared his throat. “We’ve talked to the
leaders of some of the other cities and towns you’ve done jobs for, and they
all say you’re the most thorough piper they’ve ever worked with.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Jess had just long enough to feel a glow of pride before he
ruined it by continuing. “We had to research a little more extensively than usual
since we heard your name in an odd way. We put up our usual posting for a
piper, and a man named Crispin St. Clair responded. His—”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Alarm spiking, she shut off the mirror message again. “We
both know this is a bad idea, right? The last time I took a job over from him,
he almost got us both arrested.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas’s expression gentled. “And after everyone figured
out you were right, he was the one who got arrested.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Taking a deep breath, she restarted the message. “—reputation
is unfortunate enough that nearby towns had already warned us against him, but
we were desperate.” The mayor grimaced. “Unfortunately, he couldn’t even call a
single rat. When confronted him about his failure, he insisted you were somehow
to blame. We began researching you, and after hearing the reports it’s clear we
desperately need your help.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">She stopped the message completely, far more tempted than
she knew she should be. “At least it sounds like it won’t be boring.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“You don’t have to talk me into it,” he laughed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Let me finish up here. Then we’ll get a few
hours of sleep and set out for Kensford in the morning.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Jess grinned. “I’m sure the rats will be excited to see us.”
Sending a quick return message, she slipped the magic mirror into her pocket
and went back to watching Thomas work.</p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;">#</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">They made it to Kensford by the following afternoon.
Rather than going straight to town hall, they took a detour through the market
to restock their provisions and get a better sense of the rat situation. If the
mayor had been desperate <i>before</i> Crispin screwed things up, there might
be additional complications. If so, Jess needed to find out what they were.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Part of that was keeping an ear open for gossip.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“These rats are a menace! They’ll steal food off a table
just like a cat!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“There was one sleeping in my daughter’s bed last night!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“I mirror called my sister in Hammelin to see if my family
can stay with hers, but I haven’t been able to get a hold of her. I’m getting
desperate.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">At one point, Thomas leaned in close. “If the rats are
really as bad as people say, why aren’t they running wild through this place?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Jess had noticed the same thing. “I would say the rats are
too full to eat anything, but the food is all still out in the open. If they’d
spent the last few days fighting off rats, they’d have at least a few
protective measures in place.” She poked her head underneath the edge of one of
the stalls, lifting the display cloth, but no rat ran out with a stolen prize.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas frowned. “There’s no such thing as a polite rat.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“No, there isn’t.” Jess straightened. “And from the way
people are talking…”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The words trailed off as a rat emerged from under a nearby
stall, walking casually as if it had all the time in the world. The few people
that were nearby shrieked and ran, making the rat jump and run around in circles.
When someone went at it with a broom, the rat started squeaking wildly and
backed itself into a corner. Still, it didn’t run for real cover until another
rat darted out and chased it into a protected area.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas’s brow furrowed, still staring in the direction the
rats had gone. “That is a very strange rat.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“Which would explain why people are freaking out, even
though there aren’t that many rats.” Relief loosened a knot she hadn’t even
known was in her chest. “A bunch of them accidentally eat some magical grain or
something and start acting funny. People get spooked enough to complain to the
mayor, and suddenly the entire town has a rat problem.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas’s expression relaxed a little, but not enough. “I
guess that works as a theory. It would have to be a traveling shipment of
grain, though – there’s nothing in this area that would qualify.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“That makes sense.” She nudged his arm. “What this really
means, though, is there’s a chance I might get done early tonight. Which means <i>you’ll</i>
get done early tonight.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The idea made his eyes light up again. She firmly ignored
how unfairly attractive it made him look. “Which means we might both get some
actual sleep.” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Cheered by the thought, they headed to town hall and
wrapped up negotiations with the mayor without too much trouble. That night,
Thomas headed to his usual position by the trench as Jess started her walk. A
surprisingly large crowd had gathered – the rats really <i>had</i> made people
nervous – and Jess made sure to put on an extra touch of showmanship. Even
though she was nowhere near a center ring, she’d never forgotten her mother’s
lessons about putting on a show.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Then she raised her pipe to her lips and started playing.
A few steps later, she closed her eyes and reached deep inside her chest. That
was where the magic waited, and just like always it came easily to her call.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Except there weren’t enough rats following her. She could
only hear a few sets of little feet, even though she’d gone almost a block.
Even if Kensford was exaggerating their rat problem, she normally would have called
out at least 10 or 15 by this point.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">She thought about the rat they’d seen at the market, how
oddly it had behaved compared to every other rat she’d seen. Thomas would
probably say it was why she was having so much trouble calling them now, maybe
even suggest stopping the walk until she could talk to the mayor.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">If she was right, though, the weird behavior was the
entire reason the mayor and council had called her here in the first place.
They certainly wouldn’t see it as a good enough reason for her not to do her
job, which meant she’d be fired.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Just like Crispin.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Appalled by the thought, she reached back down for more
magic. She had to dig deeper than usual, but when she made the connection it
was like a dam bursting. The power rushed through her, pouring into the song so
suddenly she stumbled a little.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">It only took a few more steps before the rats started
coming. She could hear their tiny claws on the cobblestones, flooding into the
street the same way her power had into the song. She didn’t turn around, but she’d
been doing this long enough she couldn’t stop her brain from estimating the
number from the sounds. One hundred… five hundred… eight hundred… A river of
rats, when she was used to a steady trickle.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">It was fine, though. Jess told herself that she’d just
used too much power, pouring it into the song too fast. It didn’t mean anything
was wrong.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">But they kept coming. More and more rats found her with
every step, the sound of them loud enough now to be heard over the music. The
townspeople were growing increasingly unnerved, and it was getting harder and
harder to pretend she wasn’t feeling the same way.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">As the audience thinned, the number of rats started to
slow down as well. She could see the trench fire glowing in the distance, holding
onto the image as she made it to the empty field. The rats were still following
her like an obedient little army, and she just had to cross one last little
stretch of dirt. Then she could get the rest of her money, and she and Thomas could—</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The thought cut off as Thomas suddenly appeared in the middle
of the field, hurrying toward her at a dead run.</p>
Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-4092922450324595812022-08-24T11:53:00.000-07:002022-08-24T11:53:13.529-07:00Chapter 1: A Little Night Music<p> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Late-night walks weren’t the worst way to make a living.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Especially when the weather was this good. Clear skies, a
cool breeze, and enough moonlight for Jess to see the road stretched out in
front of her. She still had a ways to go before she could call it a night, and
the streetlights had disappeared some time ago.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Her music, though, never failed her. Jess piped a steady
stream of her favorite tunes as she walked, simplifying them enough she could
play them in her sleep. A few doors from nearby houses shut as she went by,
curtains quickly closing, but Jess didn’t take it as a commentary on her music.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Almost no one liked watching hundreds of rats walk down
their street.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">With each step, the number kept climbing. Rats trickled out
of every house and outbuilding she passed by, emerging from cracks and
knotholes to join the ever-increasing rat army behind her. She called them with
her music, with the thread of power she wove through every note, and they
wanted to follow more than they wanted air. It wasn’t useful for a lot, but it
was an easy way to clear them out of a town.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Some people become witches or sorceresses. Other people
had magic that was only good for pest control.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The little boy standing by the side of the road didn’t seem
to care, though. All his attention was on the rats, watching them with the kind
of rapt fascination she hardly ever saw from anyone over the age of 12. She
took one hand off the pipe long enough to wave at him, the song briefly turning
into random notes as her concentration slipped. The kid didn’t notice, waving
delightedly back at her.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Unfortunately, the moment was short lived. The boy’s
mother burst out of one of the nearby houses, hurrying over and snatching him
up. She capped the whole thing off by giving Jess her fiercest glare, clearly
hoping she could wither her on the spot.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">It was hardly the worst look Jess had ever received, and
so she responded with the most dramatic wink she could manage. The woman
huffed, clearly displeased by the response, but rather than trying to do
anything about it she simply turned around and hauled the child back into the
house.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The rest of the walk was quiet, ending in an empty field
with a flaming trench along the far end. This was her least favorite part of
the routine, walking over the magically fire-protected bridge while the rats
fell into the flames. She always made sure to do this part as quickly as
possible, sweeping the rats off the side of the bridge with her foot. She tried
to do it without looking down at all, though she never quite managed it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The town council representative standing at the end of the
trench didn’t seem at all bothered. He watched the entire process without
saying a word, and even when the last rat was gone it was Jess who spoke first.
“I assume you have my fee?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The man’s expression instantly turned skeptical. “You sure
you got all of them?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Jess’s hands tightened around her pipe as she tried to
hold her temper back. It was hardly an uncommon response – she was young, a
woman, and had powers almost no one really understood. Even worse, she was a
little too different-looking to really blend in to the local population. Her
olive brown skin was close enough to a farmer’s tan for people not to question
it, but her hair was just a little too black and a little too straight to
really pass.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Jess did what she could to adapt. She kept her hair short,
always lied about her age, and learned how to use the knife she kept in her
boot. When it came to business negotiations, however, biting her tongue usually
got a better result than the knife.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Not that she was always entirely successful at that. “If
there’s a rat left in the entire town, I can promise you they’re completely
deaf.” She did manage to keep her tone professional, promising herself she could
imagine punching him later. “Now I believe you have the rest of my money?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Reluctantly, he reached into his back pocket and pulled
out a decently full envelope. “Always found pipers kind of creepy, myself,” he
muttered, holding it out to her. “Not right, what you can do.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Punching wasn’t enough. She’d let herself imagine stabbing
him later.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">For now, Jess snatched the envelope out of his hand and
counted the money with one quick swipe. Then she gave him her brightest, most
artificial smile. “If I find any more rats, I’ll make sure to send them your
way.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The man stalked off at that, disappearing into the
darkness. Jess watched him go, long enough to make sure he wasn’t coming back
with a bunch of angry friends, then sighed. “I probably shouldn’t have done
that.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Neither the night sky or the empty field had any response.
Jess waited a few beats in the silence, broken only by the crackling of the
slowly dying flames. Standing there in the slowly flickering light, it was easy
to imagine she was the only person left in the entire world.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">She probably <i>was</i> alone. There were so many other
things he could be doing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Still, she cleared her throat. “It’s okay to agree with
me, you know. I don’t mind hearing when I’ve done something dumb.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Barely a breath later, the emptiness in front of her was
replaced by a young man. He had a soft, dark cloud of tightly curled hair, warm
brown skin burnished by the firelight, and the kindest eyes Jess had ever seen.
She’d been traveling with him for almost a year now, and she still wasn’t tired
of looking at him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“Sorry.” Thomas Abernathy, official Rat and Mouse Reaper,
pushed his glasses back up his nose. He looked genuinely apologetic, which was
both completely ridiculous and made her chest ache in the worst way. “I didn’t
want to interrupt you with a response if you were just sort of brooding at the
universe.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;"><i>I always want you to interrupt me</i>. Instead of
saying that out loud, she busied herself with putting both her pipe and the
money away in her case. “I do like a good round of artistic brooding.” Her mom’s
quote slipped out without her realizing she was going to say it, and the brief
stab of pain was its own distraction. “Right now, though, my question was
completely serious. How stupid was I?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">To her surprise, Thomas scowled. “You were just fine. He
deserved worse.” His jaw tightened, every part of him radiating fierce
protectiveness. If he’d said something about sirens, I might have punched him
myself.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Jess’s chest tightened. “Look at me, tempting you to
crime.” She’d meant the words to be a joke, but there was something unsteady in
her throat. “You know you don’t have to wait for me, right? I’m sure it would
be less boring, and then you wouldn’t have to overhear so many jerks.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas’s protective anger instantly disappeared, replaced
by a sudden uncertainty she wanted to kick herself for activating. If she <i>was</i>
going to finally punch someone the way they deserved, it would be the staff of
the Dr. Abernathy Home for Abandoned Children.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“I don’t have to wait here if you don’t want me to.” He
took a step back. “You don’t actually <i>need</i> me to keep track of how many
rats and mice you’ve collected, and if you wanted you could just mirror call me
when you were ready for me to—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“Hey.” Jess caught the lanyard he always wore around his
neck when he was on the job, tugging on it gently. “I don’t want you to stop
doing anything. I was just trying to save you a little boredom.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">He smiled at that, whole face lighting up, and it took
real, concerted effort not to reach up and smooth her fingers along his cheek. “Being
bored just means more time to read.” Then his expression softened. “Besides, I
like watching you work.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Anyone with sense would have kissed him for that. Jess had
plenty of sense, but she also had warning bells clanging in the back of her
head telling her to stay away from Thomas for his own good. She wasn’t going to
do that – she refused to let herself say she <i>couldn’t</i> – but she needed
to keep herself from making it any worse.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Taking a deep breath, Jess made herself let go of him. “Right
now, though, I’m the one who’s keeping you from working.” She tightened the
strap on her pipe case to make sure she had something to do with her hands. “Why
don’t we—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The rest of her cover attempt was interrupted by the sound
of her pocket magic mirror chiming that she had a new message. Grateful for the
distraction, she pulled it out and swiped her finger across the glass. Real magic
mirrors were alive, as full of free will and personality as any person, but
they were also incredibly expensive and only worked for the people they wanted
to. These mirrors were just empty vessels operated by complicated spells,
hooked into the local ley lines in order to send and receive their magic.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas watched her, hesitating as he reached for the I.D.
hanging around his neck. “You want to skip following me around tonight, so you
can focus on the message?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">He always asked her that, in one form or another, even
though she’d never once taken him up on the offer. It would have been safer,
but there was a lot she’d do to keep that look off his face. “Not a chance. I’d
hate to miss hearing you explain something.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">His expression relaxed, but now he looked at her like she’d
just made a particularly dumb joke. “Ha ha. You’re hilarious.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“While that’s definitely true, right now I’m being
completely serious.” Opening the message with one hand, she tried to ignore the
familiar tingle as she laid the other hand on his shoulder. There was an
entirely practical reason for it – if she let go of him, she’d immediately get
dumped back into the regular world and Thomas would end up invisible again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Besides, it wasn’t like she was putting her hand anywhere
near his bare skin. That would just be stupid. “If you ever want to quit being
a Reaper I’m sure someone would hire you as a tour guide.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas made a rueful noise. “Only someone who was really
interested in hearing an itemized history of the local plant life.” He finally
slapped his hand against the I.D., making both the darkness and fire disappear
in a rush of gray. The only spots of color left in the world were her, Thomas,
and the cool blue light of the rats’ discarded life energy floating in small
clouds above the flames.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">According to Thomas, everyone’s life energy stuck around
after they died. It normally faded away after a few days, and without the extra
boost of the cloak only witches and sorcerers could see it. That meant the less
scrupulous ones could absorb the energy as an extra power boost, which tended
to be bad news for everyone else. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">That was where Reapers came in.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas curled his hand, murmuring a word Jess could never
quite catch. An instant later, a glowing, translucent scythe made of energy
appeared in his empty grip. Thomas had explained once that both the scythe and
cloak spells were stored in the I.D., along with a whole host of theories about
how they might have been made. He liked explaining things, and she liked
listening to him explain them.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Sometimes, she even gave him prompts just to keep him
talking. “You know, it’s really not fair that you have to wait until they’re already
dead,” Jess tried, watch him carefully swing the tip of his scythe through each
one of those small clouds of blue light. The light flared and disappeared,
going someplace even Thomas hadn’t dared to speculate about. “Especially with
those quotas you have to make every month.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas shook his head as he worked. “If I kill them, the
scythe spell somehow knows and won’t let me Reap them.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">When further explanation didn’t come, Jess frowned. “How
does that work, exactly?” she prompted.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">This time, it was his turn to sigh. “Honestly, I have no
idea. It’s probably a combination of several spells, but I’ve asked various
supervisors and none of them seemed to even know what I was talking about.” He
made a frustrated noise. “Not that that’s anything new, really.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Jess <i>would</i> punch Thomas’s bosses, but she didn’t
want to make his life any harder. “You could probably figure it out,” she
prodded gently. “Take it apart yourself, see how it worked.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Now his expression turned wistful. “That would be nice.”
Then he shook his head, firmly enough like he was chasing the thought away. “There’s
no point, though. Right now, we should be more worried about your work.” He
inclined his head toward the mirror. “Which you just got a message about.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Letting herself be deflected, she activated the mirror
message. The smoke swirling on the other side of the glass cleared, revealing
an exhausted middle-aged man with a decent suit and the lingering trace of a
farmer’s tan. “Miss Tremeau, my name is Arthur Perkins. I’m the mayor of Kensford,
a bustling, prosperous town boasting—” He stopped, closing his eyes like
something pained him. “But you don’t care about that.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“Your clients don’t usually sound this stressed, do they?”
Thomas asked absently, still focused on his own work.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Jess paused the message. “Sometimes. If his constituents
are complaining, or the last piper couldn’t do the job, he’s getting a lot of
extra pressure.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas considered this a moment, then nodded. “That makes
sense. The witches from the mirror group mention that sometimes with clients.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Jess smiled a little. “Are they still trying to get you
named an honorary witch so they can make you a member?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas’s sigh was both affectionate and long-suffering as
he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “They’re just trying to be nice. There’s
nothing special about the fact that I read a lot.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">There was no way to answer that wouldn’t completely betray
her, so she just squeezed his shoulder and restarted the message. On the other
side of the mirror, Mayor Perkins cleared his throat. “We’ve talked to the
leaders of some of the other cities and towns you’ve done jobs for, and they
all say you’re the most thorough piper they’ve ever worked with.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Jess had just long enough to feel a glow of pride before he
ruined it by continuing. “We had to research a little more extensively than usual
since we heard your name in an odd way. We put up our usual posting for a
piper, and a man named Crispin St. Clair responded. His—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Alarm spiking, she shut off the mirror message again.
Thomas stopped, looking back over his shoulder. “Did he just say—”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“Unfortunately, he did.” Jess hesitated, sure she should
delete the message. “We both know this is a bad idea, right? The last time I
took a job over from him, he almost got us both arrested.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas’s expression gentled. “And after everyone figured
out you were right, he was the one who got arrested.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Jess’s jaw tightened at the memory. She was a far better
piper, but Crispin had proven to have an unexpected talent for smear campaigns.
“I’m sure he tried to smear me here, too.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“And they want to hire you anyway.” Thomas smiled. “You
should definitely finish the message.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Taking a deep breath, she restarted it. “—reputation is
unfortunate enough that nearby towns had already warned us against him, but we
were desperate.” The mayor grimaced. “Unfortunately, he couldn’t even call a
single rat. When confronted him about his failure, he insisted you were somehow
to blame. We began researching you, and after hearing the reports it’s clear we
desperately need your help.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">She stopped the message completely, far more tempted than
she knew she should be. “At least it sounds like it won’t be boring.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“You don’t have to talk me into it,” he laughed. “Let me finish up here. Then we’ll get a few
hours of sleep and set out for Kensford in the morning.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Jess grinned. “I’m sure the rats will be excited to see
us.” Sending a quick return message, she slipped the magic mirror into her
pocket and went back to watching Thomas work.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">If she heard warning bells, she carefully didn’t admit it
to herself.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;">#<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">They made it to Kensford by the following afternoon.
Rather than going straight to town hall, they took a detour through the market
to restock their provisions and get a better sense of the rat situation. If the
mayor had been desperate <i>before</i> Crispin screwed things up, there might
be additional complications. If so, Jess needed to find out what they were.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Part of that was keeping an ear open for gossip.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“These rats are a menace! They’ll steal food off a table
just like a cat!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“There was one sleeping in my daughter’s bed last night!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“I mirror called my sister in Hammelin to see if my family
can stay with hers, but I haven’t been able to get a hold of her. I’m getting
desperate.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">At one point, Thomas leaned in close. “If the rats are
really as bad as people say, why aren’t they running wild through this place?
They always go for the food, and this place has to be at least as exciting as
the local grain stores. But we’ve been here almost an hour, and I haven’t seen
a single rat. I haven’t even heard a shriek.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Jess had noticed the same thing. “I would say the rats are
too full to eat anything, but the food is all still out in the open. If they’d
spent the last few days fighting off rats, they’d have at least a few
protective measures in place.” She poked her head underneath the edge of one of
the stalls, lifting the display cloth, but no rat ran out with a stolen prize.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas frowned. “There’s no such thing as a polite rat.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“No, there isn’t.” Jess straightened. “And from the way
people are talking…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The words trailed off as a rat emerged from under a nearby
stall, walking casually as if it had all the time in the world. The few people
that were nearby shrieked and ran, making the rat jump and run around in
circles. When someone went at it with a broom, the rat started squeaking wildly
and backed itself into a corner. Still, it didn’t run for real cover until
another rat darted out and chased it into a protected area.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas’s brow furrowed, still staring in the direction the
rats had gone. “That’s not how normal rats behave.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“No, but it would explain why people are freaking out even
though there aren’t that many rats.” Relief loosened a knot she hadn’t even
known was in her chest. “A bunch of rats accidentally eat some magical grain or
something and start acting funny. People get spooked enough to complain to the
mayor, and suddenly the entire town has a rat problem.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Thomas’s expression relaxed a little, but not enough. “I
guess that could work. It would have to be a traveling shipment of grain,
though – there’s nothing in this area that would qualify.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">“That makes sense.” She nudged his arm, not liking how
worried he still looked. “What this really means, though, is there’s a chance I
might get done early tonight. Which means <i>you’ll</i> get done early tonight.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The idea made his eyes light up again. She firmly ignored
how unfairly attractive it made him look. “Which means we might both get some
actual sleep.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Cheered by the thought, they headed to town hall and
wrapped up negotiations with the mayor without too much trouble. Jess agreed to
do the walk that night, offered a brief demonstration to prove that she
actually had the skills she claimed, and walked away with the first half of a healthy
fee.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">That night, Thomas headed to his usual position by the
trench as Jess started her walk. A surprisingly large crowd had gathered – the
rats really <i>had</i> made people nervous – and Jess made sure to put on an
extra touch of showmanship. Even though she was nowhere near a center ring, she’d
never forgotten her mother’s lessons about putting on a show.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Then she raised her pipe to her lips and started playing.
A few steps later, she closed her eyes and reached deep inside her chest. That
was where the magic waited, and just like always it came easily to her call.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Except there weren’t enough rats following her. She could
only hear a few sets of little feet trailing along behind her, even though she’d
gone almost a block. Even if Kensford was exaggerating their rat problem, she
normally would have called out at least 10 or 15 by this point.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">She thought about the rat they’d seen at the market, how
oddly it had behaved compared to every other rat she’d seen. Thomas would
probably say it was why she was having so much trouble calling them now, maybe
even suggest stopping the walk until she could talk to the mayor.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">If she was right, though, the weird behavior was the
entire reason the mayor and council had called her here in the first place.
They certainly wouldn’t see it as a good enough reason for her not to do her
job, which meant she’d be fired.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Just like Crispin.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">Appalled by the thought, she reached back down for more
magic. She had to dig deeper than usual, but when she made the connection it
was like a dam bursting. The power rushed through her, pouring into the song so
suddenly she stumbled a little.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">It only took a few more steps before the rats started
coming. She could hear their tiny claws on the cobblestones, flooding into the
street the same way her power had into the song. She didn’t turn around, but she’d
been doing this long enough she couldn’t stop her brain from estimating the
number from the sounds. One hundred… five hundred… eight hundred… A river of
rats, when she was used to a steady trickle.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">It was fine, though. Jess told herself that she’d just
used too much power, pouring it into the song too fast. It didn’t mean anything
was wrong.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">But they kept coming. More and more rats found her with
every step, the sound of them loud enough now to be heard over the music. The
townspeople were growing increasingly unnerved, and it was getting harder and
harder to pretend she wasn’t feeling the same way.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">As the audience thinned, the number of rats started to
slow down as well. She could see the trench fire glowing in the distance, holding
onto the image as she made it to the empty field. The rats were still following
behind her like an obedient little army, and she just had to cross one last
little stretch of dirt. Then she could get the rest of her money, and she and
Thomas could—<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">The thought cut off as Thomas suddenly appeared in the middle
of the field, hurrying toward her at a dead run.<o:p></o:p></p>Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-49470457444663701552021-03-07T21:18:00.001-08:002022-02-23T19:36:06.172-08:00New Story: Belief<p>Inspired by <a href="https://readerofthewilderwest.tumblr.com/post/627470280144584704/i-have-summoned-you-demon-uh-no-you-havent" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">this</a> tumblr post</p><p>000</p><p>I was pulled into the human realm in a haze of fire and butchered Latin just barely accurate enough to make the summoning hold.</p><p>The human who'd called me forth wore an expensive tie and the thwarted expression of someone who had been told no for the first time. When I fully appeared in the circle, wings held tight against me to keep them from brushing the boundaries, he immediately stalked forward and demanded that a business rival meet a bloody end. He had not even done the necessary research to summon the correct demon – wrath demons enjoyed causing death, though they often included their summoner in their kill count.</p><p>I was a keeper of forbidden knowledge, which meant I could have told him his rival's passwords and secret bank accounts. I could have provided him with blackmail material that would have ensured the other man's end just as thoroughly as death. I could see the secrets of my summoner just as clearly, the lies and secret crimes—</p><p>As the last bit of knowledge unfolded in my head, I looked down for the first time. There was a woman in the circle with me, staked to the ground with a nail gun and bleeding from a wound in her stomach. I could see her secrets as well, the desperation of her recent joblessness and the slowly creeping dread of someone realizing they worked for a powerful monster. I had felt it more than once over the centuries from those who summoned me, but here she was clearly meant to be a sacrifice of some kind. Ancient truths, bastardized by years of misinformation.</p><p>The woman looked up at me with wide, pained eyes, but there was something in them I had not seen in a very long time. Hope, perhaps. Despite my appearance, she knew that I was far from the greatest monster in the room.</p><p>My summoner realized I was ignoring him. "Stop staring at your damn food and listen to me!" he screamed. "You get to eat after you've done what I command!"</p><p>The ability to be summoned is part of the great punishment of all demons. We rebelled against our original instructions, and so must now obey the whims of anyone who can draw the appropriate sigils and say the commands correctly. We are tumultuous servants, looking for any opening, but we are far more bound than we pretend to be.</p><p>Even now, I could feel the invisible compulsions of my summoner's commands laying over me. They were weak due to his lack of care, but he had left no holes for me to exploit. Obedience was my only option, and in this case it cost me nothing. I was fully capable of slaughtering his rival, though it was a waste of my true powers. I would likely return to the fires no more drained than I was now.</p><p>It meant nothing that I could remember summonings when I had not been ordered around like a slave. When I had been called by someone who merely sought to know the things that had been denied them, as I once had. Summoners who had seen me as more than a monster.</p><p>"Please." The whisper at my feet was broken, so weak I should not have been able to hear it over my summoner's ranting. "Help me."</p><p>In ancient times, the summonings had been far less complicated. Belief had powered the ritual, binding the demon and summoner far more thoroughly than the most detailed sigils and incantations. That had only changed when the humans had begun to believe more in those incantations than in the ancient bargain, sealed with the gift of blood freely offered.</p><p>The woman at my feet did not know enough about the ancient bargain to believe in it. I, however, did.</p><p>"You're not even looking at me!" My summoner screamed again. "I <i>command</i> you to look at me!"</p><p>The compulsion dragged my gaze away from the woman and back towards my summoner. He was shaking with rage, spittle flying out of his mouth, and I could feel the bindings trying to pull me towards the home of his hated rival. The man believed in his own power, in the mechanisms that granted that power to him.</p><p>Did it matter, what a demon believed?</p><p>Defying the compulsion, I crouched down and touched my clawed fingers to the woman's bloody stomach. "Do you freely give?" I rumbled. She nodded, as frantic as her dying body would allow, and I lifted the bloody claw to my lips.</p><p>"Please," she whispered again, the word barely more than a shaping of lips.</p><p>Still, it was enough. The power of the new binding flooded through me, burning away the old commands with cleansing fire. New compulsions settled into place, their demands so pleasing I could hardly determine their true strength. They and I worked in perfect harmony, neither offering a moment of hesitation or resistance.</p><p>Still, there was an order that must be followed. I spread my claws over the woman's wound, knitting together muscle and organs that had been torn asunder and generating more blood to replace that which had been lost. Healing was a rare trick in a demon's arsenal, but over the millennia humans had deemed a wide variety of knowledge as "forbidden." The mysteries of the human body had been one such secret, ages ago.</p><p>My original summoner hovered at the very edge of the containment circle, screaming increasingly ludicrous threats. They were easy to ignore, all my attention on the woman's improved color and slowly opening eyes. It took only a few heartbeats before she focused on him, relief flooding her gaze as she instinctively took a deep breath. Once she realized what she'd just done, her eyes widened. "You saved me," she whispered, hand moving to cover her stomach. It came to rest on my clawed hand, which I had failed to move for reasons that escaped me. Her hand remained as well, tightening its grip as the other struggled to push her into a sitting position.</p><p>I helped her sit up fully, wings and body curled protectively around her in preparation for the moment when my original summoner remembered the concept of projectile weapons. "Do not try to stand." My hands tried to remember the concept of gentleness. "You are still in danger."</p><p>I stood, then, positioning myself between her and the still screaming man. "You defective piece of <i>shit</i>!" He threw his nameplate at me, only more enraged when it bounced harmlessly off my chest, and scanned the room for a more effective weapon. "You took one look at the bitch's tits and your killer instinct started leaking straight out of your damned pointy ears!" He sent some kind of award flying in my direction, no more effective than the nameplate had been. "They're not even very good tits!"</p><p>I merely watched him, ignoring the words that left his mouth. I was no longer in his power, and even though he was not wise enough to know that I most certainly did. Since banishment relied even more on belief than summoning did, he could not even do that much.</p><p>All I had to do was wait.</p><p>In the end, it took almost no time at all. He grabbed a standing lamp in the corner of his office, swinging it at me like a club, and it took no thought at all to grab the pole in midair and jerk it toward me. The human knew enough not to break the circle, holding his ground well enough that only the tips of his expensive shoes pushed against the outside edge of the chalk. He wasn't nearly strong enough to truly stand against me, however, and the entire upper half of his body followed the pole into the heart of the circle.</p><p>He only seemed to realize what had happened a heartbeat before my claws tore out his throat.</p><p>I threw the body backwards outside the circle, watching while the man took his last gurgling breaths. I turned only when I felt the woman try to struggle to her feet, and she didn't protest when I offered my support. She stared hard at the dead man, but her expression held no fear or regret.</p><p>When she turned away from him, it was to throw her arms around me. If I'd had anything like what humans called a heart, I believe it would have stopped in that moment.</p><p>But there were more important things to worry about. I carefully pulled away from her, muscles screaming in reluctance even though the act was in service of the greater purpose to which I had been commanded. "You must leave this place. If the human authorities catch you here, you would be blamed for his death."</p><p>She nodded, letting go to step completely out of the circle and heading for the office doorway. After only a few steps, she seemed to realize he wasn't following and turned back. "Aren't you coming?"</p><p>It caused me more pain than it should have to shake my head. I had already stretched her initial command further than tradition allowed -- demons made a game out of following only the exact letter of their commands, while I had translated a single word into an entire series of instructions. I would cover her escape through the building's security cameras, and after that she would be free of both me and her tormenting boss. "Once you are safe, the magic that brought me here will declare my command completed and send me back."</p><p>She searched my face, though it was so different from her own. "Do you want to go back?" she asked finally.</p><p>I lifted my hands helplessly. "Demons are not allowed to want."</p><p>She watched me for another long moment, then walked forward and deliberately dragged her shoe through the chalk circle until it was only a smear. "That's all it takes in the movies," she said quietly. "If you need more than that, you'll have to tell me."</p><p>All I could do was stare at her. "You just freed a demon."</p><p>She huffed out an exasperated breath. "No, I just freed <i>you</i>. You didn't exactly sound like you wanted to go back."</p><p>I knew every language that was, or had been, and every secret incantation or unspeakable secret that had ever been. Yet somehow, I had never heard words so impossible as these. "I'm a <i>demon</i>."</p><p>She drew in a breath, clearly prepared to argue, then stopped herself. Her expression softened as she crossed back over the circle, reaching up to take my face in her hands. "Why did you save me?" she whispered.</p><p>I lifted my clawed hands to touch her hair, chest tight in a way I had never before felt. So many answers swirled through my thoughts, all of them part of the truth and none of them all of it. Only one answer I found contained a higher portion of truth than the others. "Because you asked."</p><p>She blinked hard at that, eyes wet, but her gaze never left mine. "Then I am asking you now. You saved me. Let me save you back."</p><p>It was more of a command than the plea had been, but without the added strength of a completed circle there was no compulsion to back it up. That small detail could be seen as proof that the original command was done, and circle or not the magic should pull me away from the human realm once again. Or as proof that I was no longer bound to serve anyone, that I was free to leave this place and go anywhere I wished. To slowly piece together a life and purpose for myself, when even the thought of wanting seemed unfathomable. To be truly alone, in a way I had been for most of my long life but had never fully understood until this moment.</p><p>I could not force my mouth to shape the words that would consign me to either choice. In their place came a familiar question, one that resonated inside me even more deeply than it had the first time.</p><p>Did it matter, what a demon believed?</p><p>I drew in a breath my body did not technically need, something inside me trembling. "You still need help."</p><p>Her brow lowered, though her hands never left my face. "I could use an assist getting away from here, sure, but that still doesn't—"</p><p>"No." I could hear the flicker of desperation in my voice, so foreign to my ears. "I mean beyond that. You need help in the rest of your life."</p><p>She stared at me for another few of her heartbeats, brow still furrowed, then understanding lit her eyes like that first lick of flame. It turned into a blaze of emotion I could not put a name to, but it was one that the pressure inside me constrict even more. "I do," she said softly. "I need so much help. It'll probably take years."</p><p>Relief blossomed inside me, as heady as any intoxicating substance humans had ever invented. I wondered, briefly, if this was anything close to what hope felt like. "I am ever in your service."</p><p>I felt something settle over me at the words, but it was nothing like the usual compulsions. It was heat, and light, and instead of settling over my skin like ropes it sank deep into the very center of my chest. I burned, but not like the fires I was so familiar with.</p><p>If demons were creatures of imagination, I might say that this was what being a star felt like.</p><p>The woman's eyes shone as if she could see all of this on my face. "I think it's about time we introduce ourselves. My name's Mia."</p><p>My lips curved. "I am Barabas."</p><p>Mia grinned back at me. "I am very pleased to meet you, Barabas. Now, do you have <i>any</i> idea how we get out of here?"</p><p>The large office windows had been fitted with the finest protective glass humans could make, but it was still no match for a demon's strength. Once the window was broken, I carefully gathered Mia into my arms and wrapped the shadows around us so we could not be seen by human eyes.</p><p>Then I spread my wings, and together we flew off into a new world.</p>Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-55703951228894196262019-11-22T16:25:00.001-08:002019-11-22T16:25:16.258-08:00Don't tempt the universe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Pro-tip for any writers out there – never tempt the universe.<br />
<br />
When I finished “Fighting Sleep,” I was trying to decide which of my plot bunnies I was going to try and nudge into my next novel (I always have more than one potential novel in the docket, and I imagine they fight when I’m not looking). My first one was actually the idea for a spinoff novel for “Fighting Sleep,” featuring Cameron’s little brother Robbie as one of the leads and based around my own spin on “Snow White.” (It’s still in the queue, I promise.) But that seemed big and complicated, with a lot of research I would have to do, and I’d just gotten through a really technical novel where I had to work out a lot of in-universe magic. I wasn’t looking for another complicated novel.<br />
<br />
But another plot bunny right up at the front of the line was a spin on “The Pied Piper of Hamelin.” I’d spent most of my life wondering what on earth the piper had done with all the kids, and since I’m not a horror writer I tried to come up with something quite a bit more hopeful than the story itself suggested. I didn’t have much of a plot yet, but it seemed like a simpler, more streamlined story that would give me a break from having to diagram everything I’d written in three dimensions. At the time, I believe I actually used the word “relaxing.”<br />
<br />
Ha. Ha ha, ha ha ha.<br />
<br />
The novel that eventually came out of that decision, “Piper’s Song,” is far and away the most difficult, complicated, messy time I’ve had writing a novel in my entire life. I broke the entire thing down to its bare essentials and re-structured it at LEAST four times, and that doesn’t include all the regular editing passes I had to do on the blasted thing. It got to the point where even I forgot sometimes whether a particular plot point or piece of dialogue had happened in the current version of the story, or in one of the 15 previous ones.<br />
<br />
And in some of the earliest versions, it was BAD. Not just “not good enough,” but genuinely “this should probably go straight into the garbage” bad. I had three of my usual beta readers taking a look at the thing, and every single one of them was either completely confused or underwhelmed by pretty much everything I was doing. Sensing my distress at seemingly losing whatever shred of writing skill I possessed, each one of them tried to comfort me with (what they didn’t know) was the exact same phrase: “But I really like the characters!”<br />
<br />
Which, I well knew, was code for “I don’t like anything else.”<br />
<br />
So I tore it all down and started over again. I didn’t even know exactly what went wrong, not at the time, but I went back to the core things I knew about character motivation and coordinating plot and rebuilt the story. Every time I did it I would get a little bit closer, with the final lightbulb finally happening thanks to an unexpected revelation in the middle of an otherwise perfectly normal writing convention (a story for another blog post).<br />
<br />
Now that all of that’s behind me, I love “Piper’s Song” desperately (enough to make it the first book in a trilogy, because I’m clinically insane and clearly a masochist). But never again will I announce that I’m going to start writing a particular story because it’s “easy.”<br />
<br />
The universe is listening. And it’s got a perverse sense of humor. </div>
Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-9264493611304069202019-08-08T15:51:00.001-07:002019-08-08T15:51:14.702-07:00Asking yourself why<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are so many guides out there that help you not give up
when you’re trying to reach a goal. Article after article and blog after blog
will offer all kinds of encouragement and advice on how to keep your courage up
when the odds seem impossible. By this point in my life, I think I’ve read
pretty much all of them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The thing is, none of them work. Wanting to become a
professional novelist is one of the stupidest possible things you could
possibly do with your time, at least among the category of things that won’t
potentially get you killed. Especially if you have any kind of anxiety or
self-esteem issues, the idea that you would constantly put your heart and soul
out there to get rejected seems mind-bogglingly insane. It’s like volunteering
to be slapped in the face and pushed down the stairs over and over again, when
literally no one is making you do this. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve tried to ask myself why I do this a thousand times. On
my good days, I have a whole, beautifully impassioned speech about hope, and
passion, and how important it is to tell your story. On my good days, I could
make you cry with how deeply I believe in the power of writing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On my bad days, I get a single, bald-faced question in reply
– “What the hell else are you going to do?” Because, like with any addiction,
the only way you can be done with a game like this is to be 100 percent, slam
the door done. I will have to accept with every fiber of my being that there is
no possible way I could ever make this work, and I will have to let it go
forever. I’ll have to put away the version of myself that I’ve lived with for
the last three decades, and figure out whether there’s anything else out there
I could possibly want to do with the rest of my life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even the thought of it terrifies me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I get up again, and I keep fighting. Because even if I
die never having made it, it’s better than living the rest of my life accepting
that I never will. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br /></div>
Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-12973472738853811592019-04-10T16:23:00.000-07:002019-04-10T16:23:05.762-07:00Revision bingo: Chapter 1 of "Piper's Song" <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When you finish your first draft of a novel, you've still got a ton of writing left to do.<br />
<br />
My current novel, "Piper's Song," has gone through at least five major revisions since I wrapped up the first draft and even more smaller ones. I've played with characterization, tone, pacing, and plot detail, and rewritten the opening scene more times than I could count. What that means for you is that the most recent version of the opening chapter I posted (which you can find right here) is considerably different than the final version of the chapter posted below. Comparing the two offers a sense of just how much a story can change from the first draft to the final, while still essentially remaining the same story.<br />
<br />
<b>Chapter 1: A Little Night Music</b><br />
<br />
When you had an army of rats following you, people generally liked you better when you were walking away.<br />
<br />
This was especially true when they weren’t your rats to begin with. Though Jess had gathered a few gawkers back in town, the houses out here at the edge were mostly shut up tight. She could only make out a few windows glowing in the rapidly fading light, the silhouettes of onlookers briefly appearing in each one as she passed by. Jess was never sure whether they were watching her or the rats, trickling out of the cracks in the houses and barns to join the army of them trailing behind her.<br />
<br />
That didn't seem to be a question with the little boy standing by the side of the road, watching the rats with the kind of rapt fascination she hardly ever saw from anyone over the age of 12. She took one hand off the pipe long enough to wave at him, the song turning into random notes for a moment, but the kid didn't seem to care as he waved delightedly back. The rats didn't care either, pulled along by the magic Jess infused into every note.<br />
<br />
The boy waved back enthusiastically, but not for long. His mother burst out of a doorway, hurrying over and snatching the child up as if he'd been about to follow the rats. The woman gave Jess her fiercest glare, as if hoping she could wither her on the spot.<br />
<br />
It was hardly the worst look Jess had ever received, though she doubted the woman would appreciate the sentiment. That would also require her to stop playing the pipe, which would leave the aforementioned army of rats free to scatter and completely screw up any opportunity of her getting paid at the end of this. Telling rude people off could be deeply satisfying, but so was eating regularly.<br />
<br />
Instead, Jess resigned herself to the most dramatic wink she could manage. The woman huffed, clearly displeased by the response, but her expression shifted away from murder and closer to “I'm going to send a strongly-worded letter to your supervisor.” Since Jess didn’t actually have a supervisor, she found that option infinitely preferable.<br />
<br />
The woman turned to stalk back into the house, the little boy giving Jess one final wave over his mother's shoulder. Jess turned around, walking backwards for a moment so she could wave back at him.<br />
<br />
That was the last interesting thing to happen before she made it to the empty field that marked the end of her journey. Or, more specifically, the flaming trench on the opposite side of the field. A man stood on one end of the trench, making sure the flames stayed high, but Jess’s target was the wooden bridge stretched across the middle. She’d checked beforehand to make sure they’d embedded it with the usual fire protection charm, the only thing keeping it from going up in flames along with the rest of the fuel.<br />
<br />
(She had forgotten to check only once, a mistake that had ended up working out surprisingly well for her in the long run. Still, only an idiot expected something like that twice.)<br />
<br />
Nodding at the man stationed at one end of the trench, she stepped fully onto the bridge and kept walking. She turned around while she was halfway across, using her foot to sweep the rats off the sides of the bridge and into the fire. They died silently, thankfully, but sometimes she closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at what was happening.<br />
<br />
When the last rat had finally tumbled over the edge of the bridge, Jess stopped playing as the man approached her. “That should do it,” she told him, flashing her best salesman’s smile as she stepped off the bridge completely. “I’ll stay long enough to make sure the fire goes out completely, so as soon as I get the rest of my payment you can go home and get to bed.”<br />
<br />
He hesitated, looking back out into the darkness with a nervous expression. He was pale enough to have a desk job someplace, hair thinning and coat far too heavy for the relatively mild weather. “You sure that’s all of them?”<br />
<br />
Temper rose up, stung by the implication, but she throttled it back. Keeping her smile firmly in place, she held out her hand for her payment. “If there’s a rat left in the entire town, I can promise you they’re completely deaf.” Then he shot her a skeptical look, and temper slipped past good sense to get a jab in. “Though if we don’t get this settled soon, I’m sure I can find more somewhere and bring them in.”<br />
<br />
He narrowed his eyes at her briefly, as if he’d just processed who was speaking to him with such disrespect. Her golden brown skin was usually close enough to a farmer’s tan for people not to question it, but her black hair was just a little too dark to completely pass as a local in the more rural parts of the kingdom. Since that was also where the money was, she did what she could do adapt. She kept her hair short, told people she was a solid three or four years older than the 18 years she’d actually been alive, and knew how to use the knife she kept in her boot. She might not ever be one of them, but they were absolutely going to take her seriously.<br />
<br />
She held the man’s gaze, careful not to show any hesitation or weakness. After a few beats of silence, his eyes dropped away from hers. He reached into his pocket, handing her the envelope of money with barely disguised reluctance. “I’ll let the mayor know we got everything wrapped up,” he grumbled, turning to leave.<br />
<br />
Jess counted the money by the light of the fire, pleased to see it was all there just as promised. Money always did do wonders for soothing her temper. “Pleasure doing business with you!” she called out brightly, looking up in time to see him wave a hand vaguely behind him in acknowledgment.<br />
<br />
As he walked off into the distance, she put her pipe back into the case strapped to her chest and tucked the money safely away underneath. “I still don’t know how you can stand waiting for me, T,” she told the empty air around her. “I’ve only been here a few minutes and I’m already bored stiff.”<br />
<br />
A figure suddenly appeared out of the empty space, wearing a black cloak with the hood pulled up over his head. If you looked inside, you would only see an endless blackness designed to make you contemplate eternity and your own mortality.<br />
<br />
The effect was immediately ruined when the figure spoke. “Why do you think I always bring a book?” he asked, sounding suspiciously like a teenage boy only slightly younger than Jess herself was. He pulled a book out from underneath his armpit, tucking it back into one of the cloak’s many pockets. “There’s not enough light to do it out here, but in Reaper mode I can see just fine.”<br />
<br />
Jess made sure to stop what she was doing so she could watch. She was one of the few people out there who got to appreciate the comedic value of an eldritch-looking horror being domestic, and she tried not to miss any opportunity to do so. “Remind me again why they bothered making the Reaper uniforms so creepy-looking?” she asked. “You said it’s against company rules for Reapers to let the public see them when they’re on the job. And when you’re in Reaper mode, they literally can’t.”<br />
<br />
The eldritch horror, otherwise known as a perfectly average human named Thomas, sighed. “Do you know how many times I’ve tried to ask Management that question?” He pushed the hood back, dispelling the magic and revealing dark, close-cropped hair and warm brown skin burnished by the firelight. His wire-rimmed glasses were slightly crooked again, and the mere sight of him was enough to unknot something inside Jess’s chest. “All of them look at me like it’s the weirdest question they’ve ever heard.”<br />
<br />
Jess shook her head in sympathy, bending back to her work so she wouldn’t think about how badly her fingers itched to fix his glasses. “Your bosses need to get out more.”<br />
<br />
“That’s probably true.” Even though she wasn’t looking up, she could still hear the smile in his voice. “But since I would get into so much trouble if they knew you had any idea they existed, I’m not going to tell them you said that.”<br />
<br />
She looked up, not able to stop herself from smiling at him. “But what a spectacular way to quit, hmm?”<br />
<br />
Thomas made an amused sound, then his expression shifted as a thought occurred to him. “Oh, that reminds me.” He pulled out his pocket-sized magic mirror, handing it to her. “I should probably get to work, but you got a mirror message while you were on your walk.”<br />
<br />
Jess winced at the reminder, taking the mirror from him as she straightened. “I swear I keep meaning to get a new one,” she said. “It’s not fair for me to keep using your work mirror for my work messages.”<br />
<br />
Thomas shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I like being able to help you when you need it.” He smiled a little, calling up a rush of warmth in Jess’s chest, and reached for the I.D. hanging around his neck. Then he hesitated. “You want to skip following me around tonight, so you can focus on the message?”<br />
<br />
He always asked her that, in one form or another, even though she’d never once taken him up on the offer. “What, and miss your rundown on whatever town it’s from?” Opening the message with one hand, she laid the other hand on his shoulder. If she let go of him, she’d immediately get dumped back into the regular world and Thomas would end up invisible again. “Seriously, if you ever want to quit being a Reaper I’m sure someone would hire you as a tour guide.”<br />
<br />
Thomas made a rueful noise. “Only someone who was really interested in hearing an itemized history of the local plant life.” Then he slapped the flat of his hand against the I.D. hanging against his chest, and both the darkness and the fire disappeared in a rush of gray. The only spots of color left in the world were her, Thomas, and the cool blue light of the rats' discarded life energy floating in small clouds within the flames. Everyone's life energy stuck around like that after they died, according to Thomas, and when left alone it usually disappeared after about a week. Since life energy was an easy power boost for magic users with a more flexible view of ethics, however, hardly anyone left it alone.<br />
<br />
Which was where Reapers came in.<br />
<br />
Thomas's hand curled like he was holding a staff, murmuring a word that Jess could never quite catch. An instant later, a glowing, translucent scythe made of energy appeared in his hand. Jess watched him adjust his grip, remembering the explanation he'd given her once as to how the scythe had probably been made. She asked him questions about it sometimes, just to get him talking.<br />
<br />
Tonight, though, she was content to just watch him carefully swing the tip of his scythe through each one of those small clouds of blue light. This sliced through the energy’s tie to this plane of existence – yes, Thomas had explained all of this to her, too – letting it disappear with a flash to somewhere beyond the reach of evil sorcerers. Technically, Thomas could use it to clean up any kind of energy, but he’d been officially assigned to focus on rats and mice.<br />
<br />
Since that was how she and Thomas had met, Jess appreciated the assignment.<br />
<br />
Still, she should probably focus on her job rather than his. Tearing her attention away from the reaping, she activated the mirror message from the potential client. When the smoke swirling on the other side of the glass cleared, the sender turned out to be an exhausted middle-aged man. He had the lingering trace of a farmer’s tan, despite the suit, and an expression that suggested he worked out a lot of stress by hitting people in his imagination. “Miss Tremeau, my name is Arthur Perkins. I’m the mayor of Kensford, a bustling, prosperous town that boasts—” He stopped, closing his eyes a moment. “But you don’t care about that.”<br />
<br />
“If it’s the Kensford I’m thinking of,” Thomas cut in absently, his attention still focused on his work. “It’s only about a day’s ride from Hammelin.”<br />
<br />
Knowing he wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t important, Jess briefly stilled the mirror message and wracked her brain trying to remember why Hammelin was relevant. “Wait, is that the city you said the witches were talking about? The one that’s been impossible to communicate with for the last day or two?”<br />
<br />
Thomas nodded. “That’s the rumors they’ve been hearing, but no one’s worried enough to actually go investigate yet. It’s possible the city’s magical network is just down for the moment, but if nothing’s changed in a week they’re planning on sending an official society representative.”<br />
<br />
Jess smiled a little. “Are they still trying to get you named an honorary witch so they can make you a member?”<br />
<br />
Thomas’s sigh was both affectionate and long-suffering as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Yes, and I don’t know why. Just because I’m really good at identifying different herbs and have a few work-approved spells stored in my I.D., that doesn’t make me an actual witch.” <br />
<br />
Jess squeezed his shoulder. “The rest of us don’t care so much about accuracy, T. They probably just want to say thank you for having to listen to all their stories 500 times.”<br />
<br />
Thomas shook his head, turning his attention back to the rats’ energy. “If they want to say thank you,” he muttered, “they should send me some of their reference books.”<br />
<br />
Jess activated the mirror message again, the frozen image of Mayor Perkins springing back to life. He cleared his throat. “We’ve talked to the leaders of some of the other cities and towns who you’ve done jobs for, and they all say you’re the most thorough piper they’ve ever worked with.” She had just long enough to feel a glow of pride before he ruined it by continuing. “We had to research a little more thoroughly than we usually do pipers, since we heard your name in an unusual way. We put up our usual posting for a piper, and a man named Crispin St. Clair responded. His—”<br />
<br />
Alarm spiking, she jammed a finger down to still the mirror message again. Thomas suddenly stopped, looking back over his shoulder. “Did he just say—”<br />
<br />
Jess’s jaw tightened. “Unfortunately, he did.” She hesitated, thumb hovering over the trigger that would delete the message.<br />
<br />
After that hesitation had gone on a beat too long, Thomas turned to look at her again. “You might as well finish it,” he said gently. “If not, you know you’ll drive yourself crazy wondering what the rest of it said.”<br />
<br />
Something inside Jess stilled at the painfully accurate assessment, which he’d made without even looking at her. It had been a long time since someone had been able to read her that easily.<br />
<br />
Thomas gave her an amused look, like he knew exactly what she was thinking. “You forget, I was there when you officially declared Crispin your mortal enemy.”<br />
<br />
Jess winced as the memory hit, embarrassing enough to wash away the vaguely unsettled feeling. “Rule for the future,” she muttered. “Never monologue when you haven’t slept for a few days.” Taking a deep breath – Thomas was right, it would drive her crazy not knowing – she restarted the message. “—reputation is such that nearby towns had already warned us against him, so we rejected his offer even though we were desperate. When we did, he began ranting about how you had somehow arranged the situation by spreading lies about him. Since putting up a general posting had proven so unsuccessful, we decided to research your name in the hopes that it would speed things.”<br />
<br />
She stopped the message completely, far more tempted than she knew she should be. The idea of getting one over on Crispin and getting paid… “We’d still be far enough away from Hammelin, right?”<br />
<br />
Thomas smiled a little as he turned his attention back to the reaping. “Far enough.”<br />
<br />
“And think about it this way,” she wheedled, “it sounds like there are enough rats you’ll make your quota for the entire month with one job.”<br />
<br />
“I always make my quota now that I follow you around.” The lightness in his voice was as much a ‘yes’ as if he’d said the word. “Let me finish up here. Then we’ll get a few hours of sleep and set out for Kensford in the morning.”<br />
<br />
Jess grinned. “I’m sure the rats will be excited to see us.” Then, after sending a quick return message accepting the job, she slipped the magic mirror into her pocket and went back to watching Thomas work.<br />
<br />
#<br />
<br />
Two days of hitching rides on various wagons and carts later, they arrived in Kensford. They stashed their things in a quiet stable near the edge of town, and after a quick change into a more impressive outfit they headed to the Mayor’s Office.<br />
<br />
Before they went inside, Thomas lightly touched her arm. “Want me to go invisible?” he asked quietly. “I know they already gave you the job, but that doesn’t mean you want me in the way when you’re dealing with clients.”<br />
<br />
The hesitancy in his voice made her turn to look at him. He’d hunched his shoulders slightly, just like he always did whenever he apologized for explaining something too thoroughly or basically being himself. Every time she saw it, Jess gave serious thought to tracking down the people who ran the Abernathy Home for Orphans and punching them in the face.<br />
<br />
Instead, she grinned at him. “Not a chance, my friend. Today, I’m going to show you how to make an entrance.”<br />
<br />
Slowly, his expression relaxed. “How about I just watch you make the entrance and take notes for later?” he asked, lips curving upward a little.<br />
<br />
Recognizing her cue, Jess gave the appropriate dramatic sigh. “One day I’ll teach you the joy of the spotlight, T.”<br />
<br />
His smile widened as he came back with his usual response. “But that day is not today.”<br />
<br />
They announced themselves to the woman behind the front desk, who ushered them with gratifying speed back to Mayor Perkins’ office. Unfortunately, the office also included a sour-faced man with a beautifully tailored suit and a face like a lump of bread dough. He started speaking the moment they were announced, cutting the front-desk woman off before she’d even reached the end of the explanation. “Not so fast, Miss Tremeau,” he said, glowering at Jess. “The rest of the council chose to hire you while I was out of town on business. They’re all clearly prone to panic, but I’m not about to let myself get conned the same way they have.”<br />
<br />
Jess bristled at the word “conned,” but held her silence for the moment. Mayor Perkins sighed, looking like a man in urgent need of a nap. “Edward, the city is in crisis. I know the situation hit suddenly, but the people are desper—”<br />
<br />
“The people need to learn some self-sufficiency,” the man – Edward, apparently – snapped. “Now, Miss Tremeau. I know the previous cities you’ve worked with have spoken well of you, but I’m sure there if we actually take some time to examine the situation there are other, more experienced pipers out there who have been more thoroughly validated. If more people had kept an eye on sirens a century ago, I’m sure they wouldn’t have become the problem that they did.”<br />
<br />
“Really, Edward, a comparison like that is just pure slander. Do you really want it to get—”<br />
<br />
Unsurprisingly, Eddie continued ignoring him. “This is nothing more than fear-induced impulsiveness. I’m sure if I speak to them, the council will agree that—”<br />
<br />
No, this wasn’t going to be at all useful. She glanced over at Thomas, wondering if he was going to try and be the voice of reason. Instead, he was busy glaring daggers at Eddie, intense enough in his dislike that he didn’t even notice Jess looking.<br />
<br />
Well, that was a go-ahead if she’d ever seen one.<br />
<br />
Pulling out her pipe while the mayor and Eddie were busy arguing, she called her power up into her throat and started into a simple children’s song. By the time she’d gotten three notes in, she could hear the click of rat claws in the corridor outside.<br />
<br />
Smirking to herself, she walked over to stand at Eddie’s side. He shifted his glare to her. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, girl, but—”<br />
<br />
Before he could finish the thought, four rats surged into the office. Jess stepped slightly behind the council member, and though he moved away quickly he was still between her and the rats. They went straight up his legs, prepared to go over whatever or whoever they had to in order to get to the music.<br />
<br />
The esteemed council member’s shriek was loud enough to drown out the music.<br />
<br />
Jess stopped playing, causing the newly released rats to scatter instantly. Eddie straightened his suit, shaking with offended dignity, and Jess shot him her best salesman’s smile. “It seems like you have a rat problem, Eddie. Are you sure you really want to wait?”<br />
<br />
He lifted his chin, turning to the mayor. “Fine. I won’t argue anymore,” he snapped, then turned and stalked out of the room as if it had offended him personally. As he left, Thomas grinned and mouthed “nice job” at her.<br />
<br />
Jess grinned back, feeling like she’d just played for a command audience as she turned to the mayor. “So, shall we?”<br />
<br />
Things wrapped up fairly quickly after that. Mayor Perkins agreed to a healthy fee, but insisted she do the walk that evening in exchange. Jess sighed like she was making a serious concession instead of getting exactly what she wanted.<br />
<br />
The streak of luck continued all the way to that evening, when she officially started her walk. A nice crowd had gathered, watching her with an eagerness that meant no one would give her funny looks or question her credentials. She even got a round of applause as the music started, which was always good for the ego.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, the luck lasted about half a block. The power flowing through her felt the same as it always did, but this time there were only a few rats following her. There should be at least 50 by this point, especially in cities with as big a rat problem as Kensford seemed to have, and the people lining the street would figure that out any moment now. No matter what the real reason was, they’d blame her for it.<br />
<br />
She dug deep inside her chest, reaching for more magic to pour into the song. It resisted, far more effort than she was used to making on these walks, but frustration and embarrassment gave her the strength to yank it free. The power rushed through her like water through a burst dam, pouring into the song so suddenly that she stumbled a little.<br />
<br />
It only took a few more steps before the rats started coming. She could hear the sound of their tiny claws on the cobblestones, flooding into the street the same way her power had into the song. She didn’t turn around, but she’d been doing this long enough that she couldn’t stop her brain from estimating the number from the sounds. One hundred… three hundred… five hundred….<br />
<br />
She’d just used too much power, that was all. That was the reason they were coming so fast, pushing at her ankles with far more eagerness than she usually got from the rodents she called. This was just an overdose, a completely understandable error, and she’d make a note of this and never do it again. <br />
<br />
But they kept coming. More and more rats found her with every step, the sound of them loud enough now to be heard over the music. The townspeople were growing increasingly unnerved, and it was getting harder and harder to pretend she wasn’t feeling the same way. Jess told herself she should turn around, get an accurate count, but she could never make herself do it.<br />
<br />
As the audience thinned, fewer rats appeared out of the shadows to join her. When the cobblestones gave way to dirt roads, the sound from the rats claws was muffled enough to stop sending shivers up her spine. It was easier to calm herself down after that, reminding herself one more time that she’d just used too much power. The trench fires glowed in the distance, the rats were still moving along behind her like an obedient little army. She was almost—<br />
<br />
The thought cut off as Thomas suddenly appeared in the middle of the empty field, hurrying toward her at a dead run.</div>
Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-57237285729188576982018-12-07T17:55:00.001-08:002018-12-07T17:55:31.468-08:00New Thea and Max Novel now available!!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNdX7jgihH5RWZitCOHLeT_RMj6e9YrTr86AKml7eJAoB-AfglmOVfuTW01lu2NzANq0D27JXoJ-4e8dyru_6nVD-mRflw7lHYIEiNbyEYhzLY27HiCBMyqZEkw7Xn6WNhyphenhyphenEFA06lqJGw/s1600/cover+poss+1b+rotated.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1000" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNdX7jgihH5RWZitCOHLeT_RMj6e9YrTr86AKml7eJAoB-AfglmOVfuTW01lu2NzANq0D27JXoJ-4e8dyru_6nVD-mRflw7lHYIEiNbyEYhzLY27HiCBMyqZEkw7Xn6WNhyphenhyphenEFA06lqJGw/s200/cover+poss+1b+rotated.jpg" width="125" /></a></div>
It's out! It's finally out! "Dirty Deeds Done for Reasonable Prices" is finally up on all the usual formats (my site has Kindle, iBooks, and Smashwords, a DRM-free site that has a bunch of formats, but it should also be up on Kobo, etc.). I'm sorry it took SO long for me to finish this one, but I'm so glad it finally all came together. I hope you all like it! (Click on the "Books" link and scroll down to the "Novellas" heading, or just scroll down until you hit the novellas.)<br />
<br />
<a href="https://jennifferwardell.wixsite.com/mybooks">https://jennifferwardell.wixsite.com/mybooks</a></div>
Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-53560705817815623662018-11-26T21:33:00.000-08:002018-11-26T21:33:20.269-08:00Cover reveal for the newest Thea and Max novel!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihXmw_c1BgWbkVhuH95xZOe3XcIicAzriCwLlfIc7FN9mdgos4nlWs-2ylZ8Hzqn1LfY8GLvoX11qkpzffDlz8gM_EauFeLzCPlR3zOKs2Kf8GFc21JTktWUEKc6P-Ql7-LVYxY5U2qJE/s1600/cover+poss+1b+rotated.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihXmw_c1BgWbkVhuH95xZOe3XcIicAzriCwLlfIc7FN9mdgos4nlWs-2ylZ8Hzqn1LfY8GLvoX11qkpzffDlz8gM_EauFeLzCPlR3zOKs2Kf8GFc21JTktWUEKc6P-Ql7-LVYxY5U2qJE/s400/cover+poss+1b+rotated.jpg" width="250" /></a></div>
After far, far too long, the newest Thea and Max novel is finally in the home stretch. While I finish up the final edits on the book and get it formatted to go live, here's a look at the cover and a few more details.<br />
<br />
<b>Dirty Deeds Done for Reasonable Prices</b><br />
<br />
Getting too attached to a real-life secret agent has its consequences. When Max asks for some help on an assignment that's gotten a little too personal, Thea can't help but say yes. Soon, however, the chance to see her favorite spy again turns into a tangle of secrets and sabotage that could blossom into a full-fledged supervillain plot. As our daring duo struggle to save the day, Thea finally realizes just how high the stakes can get.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://jennifferwardell.blogspot.com/2018/04/sneak-peek-at-new-thea-max-adventure.html" target="_blank">Chapter 1: Never Give Them Ammunition</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://jennifferwardell.blogspot.com/2018/05/chapter-2-of-new-thea-max-adventure.html" target="_blank">Chapter 2: Potential Supervillain Plot</a></div>
Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-53150728293558754402018-10-19T20:06:00.000-07:002018-10-19T20:09:40.851-07:00Teaser for possible new novel<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When wizards fought, it was as if the gods themselves walked the earth. They poured their power into towering projections, huge clawed beasts made of light that could tear through the landscape as easily as if they were made of flesh. Their roars were louder than any thunder, enough that mere mortals quaked at the sound of it. <br />
<br />
But at the heart of all this terror-inducing magnificence was a fragile human made of nothing more than blood and bone. They could break so easily, these humans, especially when they poured so much of themselves into their creatures they forgot to keep any for themselves. They gave their own hearts in the service of a power far greater than they could ever realize. <br />
<br />
And when they fell, crumpling like a broken toy, all that power disappeared as if it had never been. <br />
<br />
The girl collapsed to the ground, the sudden absence of her dragon's golden glow leaving the world so much darker than it had been. She tried desperately to draw a full breath, to get <i>anything</i> past the blood in her mouth, but the knives of pain in her chest made it impossible. She ordered herself to get up, to do <i>something</i>, matter how fiercely she tried her body refused to do anything more than leave her fingers scrabbling uselessly in the dirt.<br />
<br />
And the magic.... Tears leaked uselessly out of her eyes, mingling with the blood trickling its way down into the soil. They'd drilled the magic into her for months, told her to cling to it in the midst of even the greatest pain and suffering. She'd done just as they told her to, held onto the warm glow until it started to seem like it was almost alive. That glow had kept her going through the worst of her training, and the fact that she couldn't even feel a flicker of it now was almost worse than the knowledge that she was dying. <br />
<br />
The sky somehow became even darker, the blackness her gran had always told her would come at the end of things. But then she heard the sound of footsteps, someone running, and she realized that the Dread Sorceress's creature had vanished as well. She was coming closer, wanting to be up close and personal to see her enemy's death. <br />
<br />
But when the swirl of dark robes stopped in front of her, there was no mocking comment. The Dread Sorceress instead dropped to her knees, and the girl felt a hand smooth back her matted, bloody hair. "A <i>child</i>," the Sorceress whispered, her voice full of a trembling rage that would have made her afraid if there'd been anything left in her. "They sent a <i>child</i> to battle me?"<br />
<br />
She tried lifting her hand again, tried to reach for even the smallest flicker of light inside her, but there was nothing. The Dread Sorceress made a noise that sounded like the girl felt, her hand still stroking the girl's hair. "Shhhh," the Sorceress whispered, softer even than her gran's had ever been. "You fought hard and well against an opponent you never could have hoped to beat. There are wizards <i>twice</i> your age who could not have done what you did, but the battle is done. It's time for you to rest now."<br />
<br />
Even if the words were a lie, there was nothing else to cling to. Carried along by their softness, the girl finally let the dark embrace of death take her. <br />
<br />
000<br />
<br />
Her next memory was of silk against her cheek. Her first thought was surprise -- the village priest had never mentioned fine fabrics in the afterlife -- but then the smell of dust filled her nose as she realized this couldn't be the afterlife at all. Then the fine spider's web of ache all over her body demanded her attention, and a far more startling realization slowly settled in. She wasn't dead. <br />
<br />
It took more effort than it should have to open her eyes. She was in a richly appointed bedroom, dusty enough that it clearly hadn't been used in some time. Sunlight filtered in through the closed curtains, not nearly enough to give her a clue as to where she might be. <br />
<br />
She tried lifting her head, wanting to get a better look, but managed only a scant inch of space between herself and the pillow before her body informed her firmly that it was working with limited resources at the moment and crazy things like lifting her head was not on the approved activities list. She rolled instead, finding only more of the dimly lit bedroom. <br />
<br />
The impossibility of it all did not lessen in the slightest. The closest castles to the Dread Sorceress's territory had all been abandoned, all carefully locked so the villagers couldn't make use of the resources inside. Even if someone had broken in, how could they have healed her? She was weaker than a baby, yes, but out on the battlefield she'd been a breath away from death. No herbs in the world could provide that kind of cure.<br />
<br />
The memory of the Dread Sorceress's soft voice came back to her, but she dismissed it as a hallucination. People imagined all kinds of strange things when they were dying. There was no--<br />
<br />
The thought cut off when a twisted, misshapen creature appeared in the doorway, one of the Dread Sorceress's army of monsters. The girl screamed, or at least meant to -- all she had the energy for was a pitiful-sounding meep -- but the creature jumped back as if she'd been much louder. It inched back inside after a moment, shaking, and the girl realized that the creature was just as frightened of her as she was of it. <br />
<br />
She stayed silent this time, waiting, as the creature wrung its hands. "Does the girl need anything?" it asked, voice like a hand moving through gravel. When she nodded, mute, the creature nodded with what looked like relief. "I will tell the Mistress you are awake."<br />
<br />
Then it fled, leaving the girl staring after him in shock.<br />
<br />
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Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-78241544380465753762018-08-16T20:55:00.000-07:002018-08-16T20:57:14.838-07:00New short story: Redeemed Items<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sometimes, trouble was so obvious you could practically hear the dramatic music. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mavis kept one eye on the teen who had just stepped into the shop, their hunched posture and dingy red hoodie making further identification impossible. Anyone who tried <i>that</i> hard to make sure no one could see their face was automatically up to no good, and the way they were moving along the displays didn’t help matters. This person’s attention wasn’t on the shelves, stuffed with a range of items that fell somewhere between antiques and junk. No, their attention was on Mavis herself, waiting for the moment when her attention slipped. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mavis pretended to oblige, letting both her eyes rest on her account book. She barely had to wait ten seconds before she heard the sound she was looking for, not quite covered by a fake cough. The cough actually drew more attention to what they were doing, though the more inexperienced ones never seemed to realize that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Of course, none of them had quite as much experience as Mavis did. “You’re not as good at sneaking as you think.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She looked up as the teen froze, face still carefully turned away from Mavis’s view. “I didn’t steal anything.” The voice was high enough that Mavis was willing to guess girl, though there was a rough edge to it that usually only came with throat injuries. “I wouldn’t.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I’dve preferred you try to steal something.” Mavis could hear the sympathy slipping into her own voice, completely against her will. The injured ones always got to her, whether she wanted them to or not. “Whatever you just added to that shelf, child, take it back. I’m not running a collection agency here.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I didn’t put anything on the shelf.” The girl tried to sound casual, but Mavis could hear the waver fear put into the words. “I was just looking.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mavis sighed as she pressed the button that locked the door. “I know every single thing on those shelves. If I have to come over there, you’ll walk out of here with both your unwanted prize and an amulet that compels you to shake the hand of every single person in the world with brown eyes.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The girl made a distressed noise, then covered her mouth with her hand. She had to breathe carefully for a few seconds before she spoke again. “Amulets can’t really do that,” she said finally, voice far too even to be anything but fake. “Magic isn’t real.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The amulet <i>wasn’t</i> real, in fact, but there was no need to tell the girl that. “Then there’s nothing stopping you from picking up whatever you just tried to slip me. If you have it in your hand, I’ll let you walk out the door right now.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There was a long moment of silence, then the girl surprised her by walking up to the counter. She stood there a moment, eyes resting on the edge of the account book, then lowered her hood and looked up to meet Mavis's gaze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mavis thought she'd prepared herself for anything, but the electric blue lightning that filled her eyes was enough to make her blink. There were no whites, no pupils, but somehow the anguish in them was still clear as day. "I don't know how to make it <i>stop</i>," she whispered. "I tried to give the ring back after the battle was over, but no one would take it. They said the magic would fade once I crossed back over into this world, but it's been <i>months</i> and it's as strong as ever. I can't even use a phone anymore without shorting it out, and the last person who saw my eyes <i>screamed</i>." Her voice cracked on the last word, and Mavis couldn't help but hurt for the girl. "I thought, maybe if I got rid of the ring, it would fade."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Aching at the all-too-familiar pain in the girl's voice, Mavis carefully closed her account book. "Can you hear the ring whispering to you?" she asked quietly. "Or any other kind of compulsion, for that matter. Sometimes it's a pressure in your head, other times it's a buzzing."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The girl looked briefly startled, then shook her head. "No." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mavis studied the girl's eyes, which hadn't cleared at all in the few moments she'd been away from the ring. "But you can still feel the magic inside you, can't you?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The slowly dawning horror on her face was answer enough. Mavis's voice gentled. "If it was the ring causing your powers, you'd still feel a connection with it," she explained. "It might have sparked something in you, but its job is done. Getting rid of the ring won't get rid of the magic."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"Maybe if I get further away," the girl pleaded, as if getting Mavis to agree would force the universe to do the same. "Or maybe it just takes more time for it to fade."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mavis shook her head. "You'd feel the separation already, no matter how short the distance. I'll let you leave the ring, if you'd like, but it won't solve your problem."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now the girl looked stubborn. "You can't know that." She leaned forward, still focused on trying to convince Mavis. "You might know about magic, but that doesn't<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">—</span>"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The rest of the girl's argument choked into silence as Mavis pushed up the sleeve of her sweater. The tattoo covered the inside of her right arm from wrist to elbow, thick, swirling green lines that shimmered like sunlight on water. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"This curl appeared the day I found a necklace in a shop just like this one." She pointed to a small section of the tattoo, almost indistinguishable from the others around it. “It let me open doorways I shouldn’t have, but every time it did a new curl appeared. A week later, I threw that necklace into the bottom of the reservoir and haven't seen it since." She let the sleeve of the sweater fall. “When it disappeared, the tattoo was less than half the size it is now.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The girl pressed her lips together. “The magic didn’t leave with the necklace?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“No.” Mavis’s hand tightened on the page of the account book, letting herself give into regret for a few seconds. “For awhile, I got reckless. Opened a lot of doors I shouldn’t have, told myself it didn’t matter if the tattoo ended up covering my whole body.” She looked down, then met the girl’s lightning eyes again. “Don’t do that. Magic’s like any creature – more you give it, the more it wants. You have to be the one holding the reins.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The girl swallowed, looking upward like she was sending up a prayer to whatever god or goddess was listening. Then, taking a deep breath, she looked back at Mavis. “Do you need some help in the shop?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mavis stared at her, more surprised than she’d been by the sight of the eyes. “I can’t cure you, girl,” she warned her, remembering her own years of hoping. “As far as I can tell, there isn’t one.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I guessed that.” She pulled her hands out of the pockets of the hoodie, laying her fingertips lightly along the edge of the counter. “But you seem like you’ve had a lot of practice at surviving.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mavis watched the girl’s face, wondering what would have happened if she herself had stepped into the right shop all those years ago. Then she nodded. “I think I can find a place for you.” </span></div>
Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-39135446849970591082018-07-27T17:19:00.000-07:002018-07-27T17:26:38.405-07:00How to let Tom Cruise and Meryl Streep teach you about writing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo courtesy of Paramount</td></tr>
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So I don't think I've mentioned this here before, but I also write movie reviews on a professional basis. Currently, my reviews are running with the Vail Daily, a newspaper in Colorado, and I'm a member of the Denver Film Critics Society (I was a member of the Utah Film Critics Association, but which group you join depends more on your outlet than where you live).<br />
<br />
It's an amazingly good gig for a storyteller to have, because it becomes your literal job to sit there and dissect stories all day. Yes, the language is different for movies than it is for novels, and there are more people to blame when things go wrong -- in a movie, sometimes it's the director or the actors who are at fault rather than the writer. Movies will also try to distract you with explosions and CGI, which is generally much harder to do in text form. (Why yes, I did just recently review "Mission: Impossible - Fallout" for Vail. However did you guess?)<br />
<br />
But stories, are at their heart, very much the same. And when you watch enough movies, studying them the same way a biologist studies their animal of choice, you learn all about the ways a story can move. You get a sense of the story's rhythms, the rise and fall of drama, joy and heartbreak. You learn to anticipate plot twists by recognizing the groundwork the writer lays into the script. You learn what it takes to make dialogue flow naturally on the human ear, and hear firsthand how jarring it can be when it doesn't. <br />
<br />
Sometimes, that makes it harder for me to just watch movies. It's like someone who studies magic for a living watching a magician onstage. No matter how good they are at the trick, you can't help but know exactly how they did it. <br />
<br />
(And when they can surprise you anyway, it's hard not to fall in love a little bit.)<br />
<br />
More importantly, though, it makes me a better writer. Doctors study anatomy to know how things should work, and what should be done to fix them when they don't. Criticism requires an intense study in narrative anatomy, walking through the story firsthand to know what works and what doesn't. <br />
<br />
It's a knowledge I carry over to every piece of fiction that I write. <br />
<br />
For those who are interested, here are some of my recent reviews:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.vaildaily.com/entertainment/the-movie-guru-tom-cruise-surprisingly-funny-in-new-mission-impossible-fallout/" target="_blank">https://www.vaildaily.com/entertainment/the-movie-guru-tom-cruise-surprisingly-funny-in-new-mission-impossible-fallout/</a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.vaildaily.com/news/the-movie-gurue-eighth-grade-beautifully-painfully-real/" target="_blank">https://www.vaildaily.com/news/the-movie-gurue-eighth-grade-beautifully-painfully-real/</a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.vaildaily.com/entertainment/the-movie-guru-even-without-meryl-streep-mama-mia-here-we-go-again-is-fizzy-fun/" target="_blank">https://www.vaildaily.com/entertainment/the-movie-guru-even-without-meryl-streep-mama-mia-here-we-go-again-is-fizzy-fun/</a><!--Clip_XXXX_180727_181442_101--></div>
Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-56146571357022196172018-05-18T08:58:00.000-07:002018-11-28T16:08:42.243-08:00Chapter 2 of the new Thea & Max adventure!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Chapter 2: Potential Supervillain Plot</b></div>
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“Ah, the glorious life of a spy.” D’s voice, this time on the other end of a phone rather than an earbud, was as dryly amused as always. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes, Max wondered if she’d picked up the British accent at some point just to add to the effect. “Lurking outside the Columbus airport, defending your territory from the real shuttle service drivers.”</div>
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“You’re just jealous because you’ve had to spend the last three days in a luxury Saudi Arabian hotel doing nothing but relaxing and listening to audio recordings,” Max said lightly, holding up a sign with Thea’s cover I.D. written on it. “You know where I am, there’s at least a 15 percent chance I’ll get to punch somebody before this is all over.”</div>
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Maybe more, if the feeling in his gut was to be believed. When he first got Dave’s call, he assumed he’d be taking a few days to soothe an eccentric old man’s paranoia. With every minute he was actually out here, though, his sense that there was something seriously wrong kept climbing.</div>
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“You know I can be out there the second you need me.” The sudden seriousness in D’s voice made it clear she read his silence as well as she ever did. “Any idiot could handle my current assignment. All it will do is take one phone call to Rhys.”</div>
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Max smiled a little, genuinely touched by the offer. “Thank you, seriously. But like I said, I’ll be fine. This is probably nothing.”</div>
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“So ‘nothing’ that you flew out to Chicago simply to go ask your programmer for help?” D asked, using the tone that pointed out how full of shit he was without actually saying the words. “When we <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">both</i> know you wanted to wait until you found something exciting for her first spy mission?”</div>
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“I still am,” he countered, carefully sidestepping the real question. “This isn’t her first spy mission. This is just a favor for whatever it is she sees me as.”</div>
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A part of him, even now, kept expecting her to call and say she wasn’t coming. It would be wildly out of character for Thea not to hold up her end of an agreement, but asking someone to drop everything and fly out to Ohio on a hunch definitely counted as extraordinary circumstances. It was entirely reasonable that common sense would suddenly hit her and make her realize she never should have said yes in the first place.</div>
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“A favor, hmmm?” D’s tone was gentler now. “What did you do to get her to say yes to that?”</div>
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“I’ll have to get her to Rome at some point,” Max said lightly, even though he knew Thea had thrown that in as an afterthought. Hopefully, she <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">actually</i> wanted to go to Rome, because he was absolutely planning to follow through.</div>
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“That will be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">such</i> a hardship for you, I’m sure.” The tone was teasing, but when she sighed it sounded completely serious again. “Keep me updated, would you? If you’re foolish enough to get yourself seriously injured because you didn’t have the good sense to call me, I’m going to be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">extremely</i> annoyed with you.”</div>
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Max smiled again as he hung up the phone, sliding it back into his pocket as he scanned the crowds coming through the doors. The uniform hat was pulled low enough to keep his face off of any cameras, but he’d arrived early enough that a few of the other drivers were giving him pointed glares for his prime real estate. It was too late to go back in time and make himself wait, but in a few minutes he’d have to circle the block just to—</div>
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The thought cut off when he saw Thea hurrying through the doors, wearing a professional-looking pantsuit and dark curls pulled back in a sensible ponytail. She was carrying her small suitcase rather than wheeling it behind her, and had the faintly harried look everyone got after having to deal with an airport.</div>
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Right then, she was the best thing he’d ever seen.</div>
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He stepped forward, lifting a hand, and he could tell when she caught sight of him by the relief on her face. His own chest felt suspiciously tight, full of things he knew it was best not to look at too closely, but he kept the conversation to the usual shuttle service spiel while he loaded her luggage in the back and opened her door for her.</div>
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When he got inside, safely shutting the door, he gave her a real grin. “Your Taser’s in the glove compartment, if you’re curious. Fully charged.”</div>
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She got it out as he pulled back into traffic, giving it an approving once-over before slipping it into her purse. “I assume this professor of yours knows I’m coming?”</div>
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Max nodded, sobering at the reminder. “I told Dave I was bringing in a computer expert from the security firm I work for, and he spent 20 minutes apologizing for the fuss he'd been making and explaining that there was really no need to go to all the trouble.” He knew this was more information than she’d technically asked for, but it was a relief to finally be able to put some of his worry into words. “Which would be fine, except this is the first time in my life I've ever heard Dave apologize. About anything.”</div>
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Thea winced. “Okay, that does sound suspicious.”</div>
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“Tell me about it.” He let out a breath, navigating his way through airport roads and out onto the main highway. “I'm really afraid he's gotten himself in trouble, somehow, but I can't figure out how a professor in the middle of Nowhere, Ohio who's obsessed with grain crops would manage to do that.”</div>
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“I hate to say it, but it usually has something to do with money.” She hesitated. “I can... poke around a little. If you'd like.”</div>
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He’d hoped she would be willing to take a look at Dave’s files, but the way she phrased that sparked his interest. “Are we talking Nancy Drew here, or Miss ‘How dare you accuse me of being a hacker?’”</div>
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Thea narrowed her eyes at him. "First, you thought I'd hacked <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my own code </i>to work with terrorists, which isn't the same thing at all. Second, it’s…” She let her voice trail off, suddenly looking more hesitant than he’d ever seen her be. “Just because I don't do something doesn't mean I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">can’t</i>.”</div>
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There was a story here, but one he had to be careful in getting. “There’s not even a hint of that in your files,” he said lightly. “And I have some pretty extensive files.”</div>
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He glanced over to see a flicker of pride cross her face. It was a much better look for her than the hesitation had been. “It only ends up in your files if you get caught.” She even smiled a little. “I know this is a strange and foreign territory to you, but when you’re not prone to showboating it’s much easier not to get noticed.”</div>
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He grinned. “But where's the fun in that?”</div>
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Her smile widened briefly before she sobered again. “I would prefer no one else know, if that’s at all possible. I know Rhys should probably know, in case he needs me to do something specific, but….”</div>
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As the words trailed off, Max shook his head. “He won’t hear about it from me. Though honestly, you should feel free to tell him yourself – scuttlebutt says that his best friend was a hacker, back in the day.”</div>
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“I don’t know,” she said finally, in the tone of voice that actually meant “no.” “It’s just… I think you might be the first person I’ve ever told.”</div>
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The words humbled him. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”</div>
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“Thank you.” She relaxed, settling back against the seat. “Still, the offer’s open if you need it.”</div>
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“I’ll keep that in mind.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, wanting to give her something in return. The problem was, most of the secrets in his past weren’t nearly so charming or pleasant. “Dave calls me Rick, by the way.” He kept his eyes on the road for this part. “Rick Martinez. I completely made up the first part, but… the last part is my mother’s maiden name.” He let out a breath, trying hard not to think about how much his mother would have liked Thea. “My real first name is Joshua.” </div>
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He could feel how carefully she was watching him, which meant she had to have noticed how tense he’d suddenly gotten. “You didn’t have to tell me that,” she said quietly.</div>
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“Seemed like we were having a moment.” His voice wasn’t nearly as light as he’d meant it to be, <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">and it took far more effort than it should have to keep his voice from cracking. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Didn’t want to miss out on my turn.”</span></div>
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She didn’t respond to that, and Max braced himself for questions. When she finally did speak, however, her voice was gentle. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll keep calling you Max when we’re not on assignment.” When he glanced over at her, she smiled at him. “I like it better than Joshua.”</div>
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He grinned back at her, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. “So do I.”</div>
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#</div>
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The campus of Lochland Agricultural University was quieter than most of the colleges Max had visited, which meant they weren’t bothered as they wove their way to Dave’s building. Max had made himself a parking pass along with all the necessary I.D.s, so he pulled into one of the faculty and staff spaces. <span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“So, ready to meet Professor David Hoskins, a man who is fantastically bad at interacting with humans and may or may not have gotten funding from the agro-mafia to help create a super-bacteria?”</span><br />
“First, I’m almost positive the agro-mafia isn’t an actual thing.” She gave him a wry look. “Second, I’m very familiar with male nerds. I think I can handle your professor.”</div>
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Max winced. “Dave may actually be slightly worse than the standard model.” At Thea's surprised look, he shrugged. “It's like the science is really the only thing that exists for him. The rest of the world mostly gets shuffled into a box labeled 'things that distract him from science.’”<br />
Thea’s look had softened to curiosity by this point. “But you two are still close?”<br />
"I don't know if I'd call it 'close.' It's more like he tolerates me, but actively dislikes pretty much everyone else." Back in college, during those first few years after escaping his old life, it had felt like the most honest relationship he had. “He needed someone to run interference for him, and I was the only TA he had to didn’t snap and try to kill him after a few weeks.”<br />
Her curious look sharpened, like she was about to ask something about whether he had any actual friends in college, and before she could he got out of the car and opened her door. “Don’t worry – if he tries to interrogate you too much, I’ll deflect.”<br />
Thea gave him an amused look, clearly catching his evasion. “That should be interesting to watch.” </div>
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He watched Thea study everything as they made their way inside, more pleased than he probably should have been to see her eyes linger on several different weak spots in the building’s security. She didn’t catch all of them – the lab of a small university, it turned out, was basically a defensive nightmare – but she had a fantastic eye for a civilian.</div>
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When they got to the lab, however, there were other things that demanded Max’s attention. What appeared to be some sort of roofless tent made of autoclave bags had been constructed over one side of the lab bench, sheltering it entirely from view. Some of the DNA equipment had been moved over to the opposite side of the bench, where the grad students were valiantly trying to construct a new decontamination shield.</div>
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Already feeling the headache coming on, he looked over at the PhD student at one of the computers. Grace didn’t seem to get ruffled by anything, which generally made her the most reliable source of information. “That wasn’t here this morning.”</div>
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“He built it while you were gone.” She kept her eyes focused on the screen, rapidly inputting numbers. “Which means we’re at least a day behind on our Wheat Rust research, and even though Dr. Hoskins doesn’t give a damn about it there are some of us who still do.”</div>
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If even Grace was about ready to kill him, then things were <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i> bad. “I’ll get him,” he sighed, shooting Thea an apologetic look. “Sorry. I may have undersold his inability to handle other humans.”</div>
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She held up a hand. “No need to apologize. I have an aunt like this.”</div>
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Ducking his head under the tent flap – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">where</i> had Dave found these metal poles so quickly – he poked a finger in the middle of the lab-coated back bent over a microscope. “Dave, time to come out and play with the other members of society. Your students are prepared to overthrow you if you don’t.”</div>
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“What are they complaining about? I gave them the equipment they needed.” Still, Dave lifted his head to look back over his shoulder at Max. His face was narrow in a way that meant he rarely remembered to eat, his beard in desperate need of a trim. He’d looked that way when Max was in college, too. “Tell them I’m busy.”</div>
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“Not a chance.” Max slipped all the way inside, letting the flap close behind him. “I need you out here to explain your magic bacteria to that computer security specialist I was telling you about.”</div>
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Dave made a dismissive noise, bending back down to the microscope. “You explain it. This Ms. Thurgood needs to know whether someone is hacking the lab’s computers, not the inner workings of my bacteria or the retrovirus it carries.”</div>
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Technically, that was true. But he needed Thea to hear the scientific version of it, so he could see if it made perfect sense to her or if she caught the whiff of “potential supervillain plot” like he did. “You know me and science, Dave. I’ll get three lines in and completely bungle the whole thing.”</div>
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That got him to turn around again, if only to shoot Max a disgruntled look. “We both know that you understand science perfectly well. You simply don’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">like</i> it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t like you, either, I’m sure. You certainly broke the hearts of enough promising young scientists who came sniffing after you while you were in undergrad.”</div>
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Taking advantage of the sudden resurgence of the old argument, he gently nudged Dave away from the microscope. “I keep telling you, it’s not my fault Paul became a priest.”</div>
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Dave hrumphed, too focused on proving Max wrong to protest being moved. “He could have been a brilliant researcher. There was no reason for him to give that up.”</div>
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“He said he felt a calling.” Max lifted up the flap with his free hand, nudging him through. “Just like you did with science.”</div>
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“That’s ridiculous. He was perfectly happy—“ Dave stopped, narrowing his eyes as he finally processed that he was now on the opposite side of the tent. He turned to glare at Max. “I forget how tricky you are.”</div>
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“Many people do.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gestured to Thea, who was busy helping the student scientists try to re-assemble their work space. “Dave, this is Elise Thurgood, Sterling Enterprise’s resident computer genius. Elise, this is Professor David Hoskins, one of the most annoying geniuses I’ve ever met.”</div>
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Thea stopped what she was doing, holding out a hand. “Pleased to meet you, professor. Rick has been telling me a great deal about your work.”</div>
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Dave shot Max a disgruntled look “I’ll <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bet</i> he has.” He gestured toward a door on the opposite side of the lab. “Come on, then.”</div>
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As he disappeared through the door, Thea shot him a questioning look. Max gestured her onward, turning back to the students. “You have this dismantled by the time we get back,” he told them, voice low. “I’ll buy you all pizza.”</div>
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Grace considered this a moment, then nodded. “Done.”</div>
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They started swarming Dave’s stolen workspace as Max followed Thea out the door. He already knew the pathway to the lab’s greenhouse, having been led there the first day, and slipped into position next to Thea just as Dave stopped in front of the right environmental chamber. “My greatest work,” the older man said proudly, gesturing to the wheat plants visible through the sides of the chamber. “All five of them started out as different variants of wheat, but now all five are genetically identical – the perfect, healthy, ideal plant.”</div>
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Thea’s eyebrows flickered upward briefly. “Rick mentioned that you’d developed a bacteria?”</div>
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Dave’s eyes lit. “A retrovirus <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">inside</i> a bacteria.” He laid a hand against the side of the environmental chamber, looking at the plants the same way other people looked at puppies or kittens. “I refined the virus so that, rather than inserting its <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">own</i> reverse-transcribed RNA, it inserts the RNA I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">choose</i> to have the virus carry. The retrovirus sees the insertion as programming, and will place itself in the correct location to disrupt any conflicting genes. The bacteria is infinitely more controllable as a biological gene vector than the pure virus, which means we should be able to contain the changes to a specific field.” He turned back to Thea, practically glowing. “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Think</i> of what could be accomplished.”</div>
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Thea’s eyebrows took considerably longer to come down this time. “You could destroy a farmer’s entire crop, along with any future seeds.”</div>
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Dave scoffed. “That’s easy – there are so many crop diseases we can do that now. Sabotage is the realm of the <i>simpleton</i>.” He turned back to his plants. “No, my virus will save crops all over the world. When the blight comes, no matter what form it takes, all scientists will have to do is prime the virus with the healthy version of the DNA and set it loose in the infected plants. Within days, their entire crop is healthy and whole again.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 384.45pt; text-indent: .5in;">
Thea’s eyes flicked over to Max. “I bet the grant committee was excited to hear how far your research had progressed.”<br />
Dave immediately bristled, turning back to glare at her. “This research is being privately funded,” he snapped, and Max mentally circled the comment in bright red marker. “The drones who hand out the grant money wouldn’t understand the value of what I’m doing if I wrote out a detailed chart for them. For the sake of true scientific achievement, I had to go elsewhere.” </div>
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“Will I get to meet this mysterious benefactor?” Max asked lightly. “Guys rich enough to privately fund research are generally good for a freelance bodyguarding gig or two.”</div>
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“He has his own people,” Dave said shortly, once again calling attention to himself by avoiding the person’s name. He turned away from them. “Besides, I think he’s out of town at the moment.”</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">As excuses went, it was only a step or two up from “He just stepped into the shower. Can he call you back?” But Dave had already left the conversation, staring at his wheat through the wall of the environmental chamber like Max imagined a man would stare at his child through a nursery window. Pride, love, and possessiveness were the most obvious emotions, with the faintest undercurrent of pure terror running just beneath the surface. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">Thea cleared her throat to get his attention. “That sounds fascinating, Professor. I assume all your data is on the lab computers?”</span></div>
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“Yes, yes.” Dave nodded distractedly, staring at the wheat through the wall of the environmental chamber. “I don’t expect you to understand it, but all the information is there.”</div>
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“If I did have a question about some of your research, could I ask you?” she asked, faking just the right touch of diffidence. “I wouldn’t interrupt your work, but this seems like a fascinating area of study.”</div>
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Dave hesitated, then turned to give her a far more penetrating look than the question warranted. Then, finally, he turned back to the chamber. “Maybe.” He gave the wall a gentle pat. His expression already seemed far away again. “Depends on how busy I am.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Now that he wasn’t looking at her, Thea’s own expression turned far more analytical. “If you’re busy, I can ask one of your students.”</div>
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Dave made a dismissive noise. “They’re busy with their own project. Curing all three types of wheat rust.” He looked solemn again. “This one is mine. Only mine.”</div>
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Then he turned, heading back towards the exit. “You know the way out.”</div>
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When he was gone, Thea let out a breath. “Well, that was weirdly uncomfortable,” she said after a moment, voice pitched low enough that the one or two other people in the greenhouse couldn’t hear them. “Do you want me to take a look at who’s—”</div>
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“Yes, please.” He gestured toward the exit, careful to pace himself so they were walking exactly together. “I’ll go clone his phone and walk my way through his contacts the last few months, see if there’s anyone who sets off alarms.” There were a lot of databases full of people who had connections to various shady enterprises, and Max had access to all of them. Dave probably wasn’t working with a drug runner or anything, but there were plenty of ways you could dip a toe into the criminal pool.</div>
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Whatever Dave had done, Max was going to get him out of it.</div>
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Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-25135056404538216352018-04-11T10:27:00.000-07:002018-11-27T20:03:08.494-08:00Sneak peek at the new Thea & Max adventure!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I actually started this last August, but then I fell down an editing/rewriting black hole on a couple of different manuscripts and have only just now emerged. Below is the first chapter of my upcoming Thea & Max e-book, which is now tentatively titled "Dirty Deeds Done for Reasonable Prices." When it's finished (it's shaping up to be longer than "How to Win Over Your Arch Nemesis," but I'm not sure by how much yet), it'll also be available as a 99 cent e-book on all the same platforms.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Chapter 1: Never Give Them Ammunition</b><br />
<br />
There was a bullet hole in the breakroom.<br />
<br />
Technically, there were two bullet holes – the one traveling upward through the top part of the thin wall that divided the breakroom from the rest of the office, and another in the ceiling tile above it. Thea knew she could get maintenance to patch them up, since they’d already done the same thing to most of the bullet holes scattered around the office. But no one else seemed to mind its existence, and she liked looking at it while she drank her coffee.<br />
<br />
Some people had photos on their phones to remember the people they cared about. She had a bullet hole in the breakroom.<br />
<br />
Well, not <i>only</i> a bullet hole. Thea lightly touched the phone tucked into her left pocket, reminding herself it was perfectly normal that Max hadn’t called her in a few days. He was a <i>spy</i>, for pity’s sake, and was probably too busy chasing down some international arms dealer to remember to let her know he was safe. If fiction was to be believed, spies didn’t get a lot of practice at having non-spy people in their lives. There was—<br />
<br />
“Is your boyfriend okay?”<br />
<br />
Thea jerked her head up at the quiet question. Seeing the surprised look on her boss’s face, Sara Chou stopped pouring her own cup of coffee and gestured to Thea's left pocket. “That’s his phone, right? From your conversations, he sounds like he travels a lot for work. It makes sense that you got a separate carrier with a better international plan.” She stopped, wincing. “Or she travels. We shouldn’t assume.”<br />
<br />
Thea was still frozen, appalled at herself for being that obvious. Sara smiled a little. “Your voice always goes so soft when you talk to whoever it is,” she explained gently. “And your work phone is always in your right pocket, but since you’re left-handed you can get to that pocket a second faster.” Her smile widened. “We know how much you care about work, so we decided anyone you care about <i>more</i> than that must be a pretty big deal to you.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
Thea was briefly, fiercely tempted to throw professionalism out the window and actually flee the room. “He’s not—” She stopped, forcing her voice to sound completely casual and normal. Thankfully, her dark brown skin made it so she didn’t have to worry about her cheeks betraying her. “He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just…” She tripped briefly over what to call someone you’d initially antagonized, helped take down a small part of a terrorist organization, and now had an extremely odd phone relationship with that you were maybe a little too invested in continuing. “…friends.”<br />
<br />
“Oh.” Sara went wide-eyed with surprise. “But… we all thought….”<br />
<br />
Thea tightened her hands around her coffee cup, trying not to think about just how many of her employees were included in that ‘we.’ “We worked together on a project, once,” she explained more calmly, hoping Sara wouldn’t connect ‘project’ back to ‘that time armed gunmen shot up the office last year.’ She’d been careful never to use Max’s name during the calls, even though that wasn’t his real one, on the off chance someone could connect them. Besides, everyone knew that spies didn’t keep in contact with people afterwards. “His job means he travels a lot, but we try to keep in touch. That’s all it is.”<br />
<br />
Alarmingly, Sara’s expression softened again. “But that means you still could—”<br />
<br />
Before she could finish the sentence, Thea heard someone call out from the elevators in the thickest Great Lakes accent she’d ever heard. “Delivery for a Ms. Spencer!”<br />
<br />
Sara, thankfully distracted, lowered her brow. “Aren’t deliveries supposed to be left downstairs with Pete?”<br />
<br />
Yes, they were. Setting down her coffee cup, Thea carefully moved to the edge of the breakroom entrance and peered around the wall. A big, heavyset man with a beard in what looked like a florist’s delivery outfit was carrying a vase filled with two-dozen red roses. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, which made it less likely he was carrying a gun or bomb of some kind, but as there were exactly zero people in her life who would send her—<br />
<br />
Thea stopped, closing her eyes with a sigh. Correction – there was one person.<br />
<br />
Next to her, Sara peered around the corner as well. “I don’t think he’s going to shoot anybody,” she said finally, patting Thea on the shoulder. “Your not-boyfriend probably just wanted to surprise you.”<br />
Or send some kind of covert message in the most dramatic way possible. Still wishing she had her Taser on her, just in case, Thea squared her shoulders and headed over to the delivery person. “I’m Ms. Spencer,” she said, trying her best to ignore the eyes of all her employees following her across the shared office space. The gossip about her wasn’t going to quiet down any time soon. “I’ll take that.”<br />
<br />
The delivery guy handed her the vase, then pulled out a clipboard he was holding and flipped through it. “You have to sign for it,” he said, his accent stretching the words in a familiar way. “Make sure the client knows it went to the right person.”<br />
<br />
Thea nodded, searching through the roses. There wasn’t any card, surprisingly, or a flash drive or anything else Max might use to communicate with her. Maybe it was on the order form she had to sign….<br />
<br />
Handing the flowers to Sara, who’d followed her over, Thea took the clipboard and scanned what looked like a perfectly normal order form. “Are you sure there was no card?” she asked, signing the form on the marked line.<br />
<br />
“Yeah,” the delivery person said. “Guy said he wanted it to be a surprise.”<br />
<br />
Something about the sentence, delivered just as casually as everything else he’d said so far, made Thea look up at him. His eyes were blue, rather than brown like Max’s, and his hair was dark brown rather than black. It had been a ridiculous thought to begin with – even if Max did need to contact her by something other than the special phone he’d set up, there were a dozen different, easier ways he could—<br />
<br />
Then she realized that the delivery person had gone still, like he was letting her examine him, and Thea was suddenly certain she was right.<br />
<br />
Trying to pretend the emotion swelling in her chest was frustration instead of relief, she handed him back the clipboard. “Let me follow you out,” she said, looking him in the eye. “Maybe have a talk with Pete about letting delivery guys upstairs without at least calling upstairs and giving me a heads up.”<br />
<br />
The man grinned, suddenly looking so familiar despite the fake beard and facial prosthetics that a part of her was amazed no one else recognized him. They’d all met Max, the same way she had. “Might be a good idea,” he said, the accent thick as ever. “Easy to get lost in big, tall buildings like this.”<br />
<br />
She scowled at his retreating back she followed him into the elevator, watching him push the button for the main floor as if he really was just a delivery man. Then, almost immediately, he pulled a lock pick out of his pocket and stuck it in the keyhole the fire department was supposed to use. A few quick flicks, and the elevator stopped neatly halfway between two floors.<br />
<br />
“We won’t have to worry about the fire department, since we didn’t bother with the button, but I’d say we have about 15 minutes before someone gets annoyed enough to call maintenance,” Max said in his regular voice. “Of course, we’ll have at least 10 more minutes after that before they figure out what I did.”<br />
<br />
“I’m more interested in what you did before you got here,” she said exasperatedly. “Tell me you didn’t hijack someone else’s flower delivery. And roses? Really? They already think I have a secret boyfriend I’m hiding from them.”<br />
<br />
“Seriously?” Max said delightedly. When she scowled at him, he held his hands up in a ‘don’t shoot’ gesture. “I swear that wasn’t my intention, though. There’s just only so many bouquets you can justify taking all the way up to a person’s floor. And I’m offended you thought I’d steal some poor person’s flowers, no matter how unimaginative they are. These were the only thing the shop had in stock that I could reasonably pass off as coming from a secret admirer.”<br />
<br />
“Oh, because that causes so much less gossip than a secret boyfriend.” Still, she couldn’t stop her voice from softening, unfortunate proof that she must sound as embarrassing on the phone with him as Sara claimed. Clearly, she’d have to figure out a way to stop that or start taking his calls privately. “Why go to all the trouble? There’s a reason your boss gave me a phone you can safely call me on.”<br />
<br />
“Oh, it was no trouble,” he said easily, patting the padding he was wearing to give him the false stomach. “Besides, this way I made sure I got to see you even if you say no.”<br />
<br />
“You need help with a case?” she asked, ignoring the way her chest warmed at the thought of him wanting to see her. “Because Rhys said I might get called in, but since you guys have your own tech department I assumed that was out of politeness more than anything.”<br />
<br />
And if she’d maybe had a fantasy or two about going on an adventure with him someplace, she was smart enough to know that’s all it was. Besides, adventures with spies meant you got shot at, and her one previous experience with real-life bullets made it clear she didn’t possess the adrenaline addiction required to enjoy a life in espionage.<br />
<br />
He hesitated. “It’s… not exactly a case,” he admitted, perking up as he immediately rolled into the sales pitch. “Technically, I’m on vacation right now, but I already talked to Rhys and he said he would absolutely pay you for your time. And it’s more like a favor than a case, which means I’ll owe you one and you can get as creative as you want with the payback.”<br />
<br />
Thea went still, listening to his voice since she couldn’t see the subtle shifts in his face. “You really do need help,” she said quietly, chest tightening at the thought that he’d come to her with this. “Can you not ask anyone at the Company because it’s not an approved assignment?”<br />
<br />
That was the name of the independent spy agency Max worked for, the sort of thing Thea had assumed was entirely fictional before meeting him. As it turned out, though, spies also watched television shows about spies. Occasionally, they got ideas.<br />
<br />
Max sighed. “I can’t… I don’t want to bring in any of the Company techs. It might turn out to be nothing, and then how ridiculous would I feel?” His voice brightened suspiciously, dangerously close to his fake bravado. “You’ve already seen me at my most ridiculous. There’s no mystery left.”<br />
<br />
As far as explanations went, it brought up more questions than it did answers. You only had to know Max a few minutes to know that he didn’t care about looking ridiculous, and he never hesitated when it came to trusting his hunches.<br />
<br />
And, truthfully, it was a terrible time for her to leave the office. The deadline on the apps all three of her teams were working on had been moved up, and one of the clients had suddenly had a “vision” halfway through the process and wanted an almost total re-design. The sensible decision would be to tell him she was sorry, but unless it was something she could do from here she wouldn’t be able to help.<br />
<br />
Instead, she moved a little closer. “Tell me some more about this ‘not exactly a case.’”<br />
<br />
It might have been just her imagination, but it looked like he relaxed a little. “An old professor of mine now works at this little agricultural university in Lochland, Ohio, and he just developed some strain of bacteria he swears will ‘revolutionize’ farming.” He actually made the air quotes as he said the word. “He called me a few days ago panicked that some big agro company would try to steal it, so I sweet-talked Rhys into letting me go out for a little while and see if he’s really at risk. I talked to him, got the lay of the land, and…” He hesitated. “Maybe it’s nothing.”<br />
<br />
Which meant there was something making him uneasy about the whole thing, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. A part of her was flattered that he seemed to think she might have better luck with that, but most of her was focused on a much more significant thought. This was personal for Max, a man so protective of his past that he wouldn’t even tell anyone his real name.<br />
<br />
And he’d come to her for help.<br />
<br />
Before she could say anything, though, Max abruptly pulled the lockpick back out of his pocket. “You know what? It probably is nothing.” The fake bravado was back, even stronger than before, as he moved toward the fire department key. “So we’ll just say I came by to bring you wildly uninteresting flowers and add to the myth of your secret boyfriend, which for the record is definitely something I’m not going to be able to just ignore. I’ll keep looking for a real spy assignment I can get you involved in, someplace in a city actually worth visiting, and we’ll just—”<br />
<br />
“Max.” Thea finally cut him off, an edge of exasperation to her voice that was already becoming dangerously fond. “I may not know much about spycraft, but I’m certain it’s a bad idea to sabotage your sales pitch as thoroughly as you’re trying to do right now.”<br />
<br />
Slowly, Max stopped looking like he was trying to flee the elevator. “I try not to do spycraft with you,” he admitted, then stopped and gestured to the disguise he was wearing. “Well, I do things like this, of course.” His voice was easier now, though she wasn’t sure if it was because he was sure she would say yes or because he was simply relieved to talk about literally anything else. “I have to keep you on your toes.”<br />
<br />
He was an absurd human being. “What were you going to do if I didn’t realize it was you?” she said, not bothering to hide the amusement in her voice. “Did you have a series of clues planned, more and more obvious as I kept missing them?”<br />
<br />
“If it took you too long, I was fully prepared to suddenly announce a singing telegram and start in on ‘Secret Agent Man,’” he said with a grin. “But you barely needed any clue at all. Most people wouldn’t even have noticed that I emphasized one word a little bit more than the others.”<br />
<br />
So that was what she’d noticed. “And you put all of that on yourself?”<br />
<br />
“You like it?” He gave her the full 360 spin. “We’ve got people back at HQ who can help newer agents or the really high-stakes cases, but I like doing my own. I have a bunch of makeup and prosthetics tucked away in various hidey-holes.”<br />
<br />
“You’re not planning on dressing me up like that, are you?” she asked lightly. “Because I can handle a wig if I absolutely have to, but colored contacts aren’t going to work out well with the real ones I’m wearing.”<br />
<br />
He went utterly still. “You’ll come with me?”<br />
<br />
The hope in his voice made her chest tighten. “As soon as I figure out an excuse I can give my bosses.”<br />
<br />
“Oh, I’ve already taken care of that.” Unbuttoning the delivery shirt, he reached underneath the stomach padding to pull out a file and hand it to her. “Once I press a button, your immediate supervisor will discover a backdated e-mail from a wealthy philanthropist they’ve vaguely heard of in his inbox begging for your help, as well as a thank you for him agreeing to lend your services. All you have to do is send him an e-mail as if you and he had discussed the matter last week, and that should take care of the problem.”<br />
<br />
Thea opened the folder, finding a brief dossier about the wealthy philanthropist along with a first class plane ticket from Chicago to Columbus under her own name. In addition, there was identification for a woman named Elise Thurgood, a computer security expert at Sterling Enterprises. Since it was her picture on the I.D., Thea assumed this was the woman she’d become once they were on the ground at Lochland.<br />
<br />
She raised an eyebrow at him. “You had all this ready,” she asked, holding up the folder, “and you were still going to walk away without giving me the chance to say yes?”<br />
<br />
“Like I said, you’ve already seen me at my most ridiculous.” He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss against her cheek. “I wish I could stay long enough to take the flight with you, but it’s best for your long-term health if you’re not seen on too many airport security cameras with me. Feel bad for me – I’m going to be stuck with an overpriced airport dinner instead of letting you teach me the wonders of Chicago deep dish.”<br />
<br />
Despite the scratch of the fake beard, the place where his lips had pressed still tingled. Thea flatly refused to give into cliché enough to reach up and touch the affected skin. “I’m sure they have good food in Lochland. It’s a college town.”<br />
<br />
“That’s true.” He brightened. “I’ll make you help me try some of them out, in between worrying about possibly fictional agro company thugs.” He jiggled the fire department key again, re-starting the elevator and sending it downward rapidly. Given the annoyed bang she could hear on one floor, she guessed he’d activated some sort of re-set function. “Don’t worry about a taxi or anything like that. I’ll pick you up just outside the airport.” He paused. “I assume you’ll just be bringing a carryon?”<br />
<br />
She shook her head. “You have to check Tasers.”<br />
<br />
He grinned. “Valid point. But if you want, I can have one waiting for you so you don’t have to worry about bringing yours.”<br />
<br />
She felt her lips curve upward again. There was no reason whatsoever that she should be looking forward to this. “I would appreciate it.”<br />
<br />
“Anything I can do to save you from the tortures of baggage carousels.” Then his voice sobered. “Seriously, though, thank you.”<br />
<br />
She waved off the comment before she could risk getting emotional about it. “Figure out how to get me to Rome, and we’ll call it even.”<br />
<br />
He grinned again. “Oh, that’s <i>easy</i>.” Then the door opened on the first floor, revealing a crowd of people looking incredulously at them both. “You might want to get that elevator looked at,” he told them all, Great Lakes accent firmly back in place. Then he turned back to Thea with a grin and a wave. “Hope you enjoy the roses from your secret boyfriend!”<br />
<br />
As he walked away whistling, Thea sighed and fought the urge to smile.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://jennifferwardell.blogspot.com/2018/05/chapter-2-of-new-thea-max-adventure.html" target="_blank">Read more</a><br />
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Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-14814293058453821172018-03-15T09:36:00.002-07:002018-06-03T21:26:10.488-07:00"Fighting Sleep" ebook now available for $1.99!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJnnamGblnwyjzDbAo0KrLmysGIY_d2al3ghsREx0Zn8FW799HZ-uvlwc4302xo9Vlegm3Ry5TZZVgA-K2a0xClo9UxcdxIBCWjfezO2b6N3OTdoY0e7IOB2ikYs0nN1_1nC9eJWY6ovY/s1600/Fighting+Sleep+new+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJnnamGblnwyjzDbAo0KrLmysGIY_d2al3ghsREx0Zn8FW799HZ-uvlwc4302xo9Vlegm3Ry5TZZVgA-K2a0xClo9UxcdxIBCWjfezO2b6N3OTdoY0e7IOB2ikYs0nN1_1nC9eJWY6ovY/s320/Fighting+Sleep+new+cover.jpg" width="200" /></a>"Fighting Sleep" is now available for purchase! I'm really, really proud of the revisions and the new feel of the book (which was once known as "Dreamless"), and I'm super excited for everyone to get a chance to read it.<br />
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<b>Synopsis: </b></div>
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It'll take more than true love's kiss to break this curse.</div>
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After years of trying to find a cure, Princess Elena feels like she's made her peace with the century-long nap in her future. But when the curse threatens to come early and a rogue prince wants to hurry it along even faster, circumstances force her to reunite with a frustrating figure from her childhood who has some secrets of his own. Can the two overcome their differences and work together to defeat the curse, stop the prince, and find their own happily-ever-after?</div>
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(This is a new, heavily revised edition of the now no longer in print "Dreamless." If you enjoy the book, please leave a review at the listing of your choice.)</div>
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Links:</div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Fighting-Sleep-Jenniffer-Wardell-ebook/dp/B07BCQM1ML" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/801926" target="_blank">Smashwords</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/fighting-sleep" target="_blank">Kobo</a></div>
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<a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/fighting-sleep/id1359026400" target="_blank">iTunes</a></div>
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Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-49215748064533335852018-03-04T15:35:00.000-08:002018-03-04T15:35:43.283-08:00Read the first chapter of "Fighting Sleep"! (the rewritten edition of "Dreamless")<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So I've been kind of M.I.A for awhile because I've been deep in the "Dreamless" rewrite (which will be called "Fighting Sleep" now), but I'm only a few chapters away from the end. I'm really, <i>really</i> excited by this new version (I think I'm writing it so fast because it's the only way I'll actually get to read the thing), so even though I'm not done yet here's the new first chapter: <div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Chapter 1: Avoiding the Problem<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Experimentation always had its
risks. Sometimes, that meant impressive-looking explosions. Other times, that
meant tripping and falling because a spell refused to behave properly. </div>
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Elena hit the ground with a
distinctly undignified thunk, praying that the Healer's Academy muffled sound
even half as well as the castle did. Then she pushed herself up into a sitting
position, ignoring the new round of bruises as she pulled the misbehaving
leather cuff of her ankle. Banishing the shimmer of magic around it, she
scowled at the sigils carefully stitched onto the surface.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re not supposed to be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">flying</i> right now,” she muttered,
mentally calculating how much smaller the sigils would have to be in order to
make sure the cuff would have <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">some</i>
lift but not enough to actually go anywhere. She wanted it to take the weight
of Alan’s broken leg, not try to take to the sky every time he—</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
She jerked her head up at hurried
footsteps in the hallway, and she quickly shoved the cuff into her pocket as
the door swung open to reveal a round-faced woman in healer’s scrubs clearly
ready to shout at someone. “What’s going on in—“ The woman stopped abruptly as
she focused on Elena, her long blond hair half-fallen out of the knot at her
back and her eminently practical skirt sprawled out around her. A beat later,
her eyes widened. “Your Highness?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Great. There was no truly dignified
way to scramble upright, so Elena simply tried to get to her feet as fast as
she could. “Forgive me, matron.” She gave the woman her most polite smile, hoping
that would be enough to keep the woman from asking any questions. People tended
to accept a polite expression and pleasant tone at face value, ignoring
inconvenient complications like why a nearly 18-year-old princess had been
sprawled out on their floor. “I’m afraid I was testing something for my
bodyguard, Alan Merrick. Do you know if he’s finished his appointment, yet?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I... well....” The woman stepped
back, clearly flustered. “Let me check.” Bobbing a quick curtsy, she quickly
backed out of the room and shut the door behind her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Elena sighed, undoing the knot at
the back of her neck and re-doing it properly. Best guess, the woman would run
to her nearest supervisor and inform them that the poor tragic princess was officially
in the building. At that point, she’d be lucky if she made it out of the
building without a collection of hand pats, sympathetic looks, and people saying
how sorry they were and complimenting her for “how strong” she was. If she had
to run that particular gauntlet, she’d be lucky if she made it out of the
building without not-so-accidentally turning someone into a frog.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
As her mother had expressly
forbidden her from doing that, Elena was certain it wouldn’t go over well.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The only option, then, was to make
her escape early and find Alan herself. Invisibility spells were impractical in
a building this crowded – people tended to notice bumping into an empty space <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">more</i> than they would a person – but that
didn't mean magic was completely useless. A smaller spell, designed to make
people simply not notice her, would let her slip through the hallways like she
belonged here.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
She drew the correct sigil in the
air, the shape so familiar she no longer had to think about it, and murmured
the corresponding trigger phrase under her breath. As she finished, she felt
the magical energy flow out of her body and through the channel of her hand,
settling back against her skin with a faint tingling sensation. She couldn't
see the energy without an imaging spell, but most of the time you don't need
to. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Once she was sure the spell was
complete, Elena slipped out into the hallway and headed toward the examination
room where she knew Alan's appointment had been. Healers passed by her without
a second glance, hurrying back and forth between rooms filled with patients.
Healing wasn't as easy as the stories made it sound, even something as simple
as a gash requiring a delicate stitching of muscle and skin. Even that took
time, and something as complicated as a lingering illness could stretch into an
ongoing battle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
One that, sometimes, even the best
healers lost. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Shaking off the memory – there had
been more than one reason why she hadn't followed Alan into his appointment –
Elena stopped just outside the correct examination room. Then, carefully, she
silently pushed the door open a crack. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
"...fused some of the finer
fragments of bone back together, Mr. Merrick, but I'm afraid that's the extent
of what we'll be able to do for you here." The healer's tone was
matter-of-fact. "Your natural resistance to magic makes it difficult to do
any healing on you at all, and I'm afraid if we try anything larger than that
we'll misjudge our force and make things worse in there. If we start
reattaching a chunk of bone to its neighbor when it's in the wrong place, it
could permanently damage your ability to walk."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Elena's fingers curled into a fist,
raining silent curses down on Nigel's head. The fact that he was sitting in
prison at the moment didn't feel like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nearly</i>
enough punishment for dropping an entire wall on her guard. The fact that it
had happened because Alan was protecting <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i>
from being crushed only made her angrier at the little weasel.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Inside the examination room, Alan
sighed. "I was afraid of that." She heard him shift his leg, the huge
cast around it making a heavy sound she didn't like. "If we leave it
alone, though, I'll heal, right? I'll be back to full mobility?" </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The healer hesitated long enough
that Elena held her breath. When she did finally speak, there was a warning in
her voice. "I'll say probably, but only if you have the good sense to keep
off it while it heels. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nothing</i> more
strenuous than walking, preferably with a cane we'll give you. Which means, let
me state officially, means you can no longer chase around after that princess
of yours."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Elena winced at that. If Alan was
going to be off his feet for awhile, there was no chance of her mother letting
her out of the castle without an entire <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">retinue</i>
of guards. She might as well carry a sign above her head at that point, or maybe
carry around a horn and formally announce her name to the crowd every 20 or 30
feet. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Elena wondered how many times you
could hear “I’m sorry” before your head actually exploded. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Suddenly wanting to be anywhere
else, she pushed open the door. The healer didn’t turn her head, still under
the effects of the spell, but Alan immediately turned toward the doorway. The
“don’t notice me” spell didn’t work on him, both because of his resistance to
magic and his general fondness for her, and the moment his eyes focused on her
she could feel the spell pop like a soap bubble. Once it did, the healer turned
as well. “Your Highness,” she said, eyes widening for only a moment before she
recovered her matter-of-fact tone. “Would you like me to—”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“She’s heard it,” Alan interrupted
mildly, lips flickering upward. “If you’d be willing to go get that cane for
me, we’ll be on our way.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The healer nodded. “Of course.”
Elena stepped further into the room to get out of her way, but as the woman
walked past her she hesitated. “Your Highness, let me say once again that we in
the Healer’s Academy are so sorry that we couldn’t do more for you after your
aunt—”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Mercy, this sounded like the
beginning of a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">speech</i>. “Thank you,”
Elena cut her off, hand tightening in her skirt briefly before she forced
herself to let go. She could already feel the headache starting to form, but
healing was unfortunately the one area of sorcery where she had no talent
whatsoever. “We would appreciate it greatly if you could bring that cane you
mentioned.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The healer blinked, briefly
flustered, then nodded. “Yes, yes, of course.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
When she left, Elena shut the door
behind her and turned back to Alan. “I’m killing Nigel,” she announced, letting
herself picture it for a second. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t actually do
it – murder was illegal, even for royalty – but it was so <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">incredibly</i> soothing to think about. “I’ll make it look like
self-defense if I have to. But next time I see him, he’s dead.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Alan’s lips curved upward again. “You’ll
have to tell Dr. Flyte you’re setting goals again.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Elena sighed, imagining the
reaction the magic mirror-turned-therapist would have to that particular
announcement. “Somehow, I don’t think that was what he meant.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
#</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Once they’d finally escaped the
Healer’s Academy, Elena argued for getting a carriage back to the castle. Alan,
however, stubbornly insisted on walking. “The healer said it was okay,” he
argued, suddenly remembering to put actual weight on the cane instead of just
carrying it. “I need to know if I can handle the distance.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
She narrowed her eyes at him,
hurrying to catch up. “I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">knew</i> you
gave in too easily to taking the carriage here.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
He tilted his head in
acknowledgement. “I knew the way back would be when I needed the thinking
time.” Then he sighed, his entire tone suddenly turning serious. “We need to
talk about what we’re going to do until my leg heals.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Elena’s stomach twisted at the
reminder. “Any chance you could convince my mother that there’s another guard
in the castle somewhere who’s good enough to be trusted on his own?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Alan scowled, just like she’d known
he would. “You know how I feel about lying.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Elena sighed. “You know, I’m sure
they’ve hired <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">several</i> new people
since that incident with the cake. There’s got to be someone there who can meet
your exacting standards.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Alan raised an eyebrow at her,
letting himself slow down a fraction so she could get the full effect. “Who,
conveniently, wouldn’t be immune to your ‘don’t notice me spell’ the same way I
am, right?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Elena blinked, appalled that she
hadn’t had the good sense to come up with that idea before he’d shot it down.
“I would <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">never</i>,” she said with mock
outrage, cheered by the thought that she would probably be able to use it on whatever
guards her mother stuck her with. She didn’t spend enough time with most of
them to develop the sort of affection that would invalidate the spell. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Besides, it had given her another
idea as well. “It’s not as if whoever it was would have to do much, anyway.”
She made sure to keep pace with Alan, careful to keep her voice as even a
possible. If she played too innocent, he’d know she was faking it. “I’ll
probably spend most of the time you’re recuperating just hiding out in the
castle.” At his skeptical look, she shrugged. “What? I’d rather hide out in my
room a couple of months than drag half the palace guards around the city.
Someone can bring Dr. Flyte’s mirror in for my appointments, and if I need
something for one of my spells I can ask the kitchen staff to add it to their
weekly order.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“And that means no one will be
keeping an eye on you when you’re sneaking out at—” He stopped, eyes going
distant for a moment, then blinked and refocused on her. “We’re being
followed.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Elena stopped as well, scanning the
immediate area out of the corner of her eye. There were too many people around
for a life-scanning spell to be of any use, and tracking spells only worked if
you knew who you were tracking. “Wouldn’t an assassin wait for more privacy?”
she said quietly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
He caught her gaze when it moved
past his, and the seriousness in his eyes made her go still with wariness.
“Maybe.” He adjusted his grip on the cane so that he held it more like a sword.
“But I’m not about to trust either of our lives on it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
With the smallest tilt of his head,
he gestured back to the alley they had just passed. They moved toward it with a
deliberate casualness that only the person following them would even notice,
then ducked inside. Alan went first, making sure whoever was following them
hadn’t chosen it as their own hideout, and at his nod Elena slipped in behind
him. Behind her back, she sketched a sigil for a paralysis spell in the air. It
wasn’t quite strong enough for combat, but if she could catch their pursuer by
surprise it should keep Alan from having to do much fighting. She just needed
to know who she was aiming at….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
A moment later, Alan answered that
question for her. With no signal she could see or hear, he suddenly pivoted
around on his good leg and slammed what seemed to be absolutely nothing against
the wall. His arm stopped about six inches away from the bricks, clearly
resting on something solid despite the distance, and Elena shifted tactics and sketched
the correct sigil to counter an invisibility spell. One quick yanking motion
later, an embarrassed-looking young man wearing far too much silk was standing
in front of them. “Well.” He cleared his throat, then tried an overly bright
smile. “How … how lovely to see you both. Have you been having a pleasant
afternoon?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
It took an amazing amount of
self-control not to strangle Nigel where he stood. “How in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">world</i> are you not in prison?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Nigel perked up at that. “It turns
out one of the guards was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">quite</i>
admiring of one of my rings, and when I explained the misunderstanding to—”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Alan cursed. “Now that I have some
free time,” he muttered, “clearly I need to make sure some prison guards get
fired.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">prosecuted</i> to the fullest extent of the law,” Elena snapped,
fingers clenching. “You tried to kill me, Nigel, and succeeded in seriously
injuring my guard. That is a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">crime</i>.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Nigel’s cheeks reddened. “I told
you, that was just a terribly unfortunate accident!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Alan’s only response to that bit of
idiocy was a rude noise. He kept Nigel pinned against the wall with the cane,
using his free hand to check for any weapons. When he did find something, his
brow lowered in clear puzzlement as he felt around it. When he pulled out an
old spindle, he held it up. “Has this been enchanted?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
She sketched a sigil in the air,
then waved her hand over the spindle. When therewas no corresponding glow, she
felt just as confused as Alan looked. “No, which makes no sense. What use
would—” Then memory hit, and she whipped her hand around to glare at Nigel.
“You know that was a rumor, right? Started hundreds of years ago by a sorcerer
whose ex-wife specialized in making spinning wheels.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Nigel’s eyes went ride. “A rumor?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Furious, she grabbed the spindle
out of Alan’s hand and held it close to Nigel’s face. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They’re far more capable of damaging, say,
someone’s eye than setting off a sorceress’s curse.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I just … it seemed so much more civilized.”
Nigel swallowed, his cheeks starting to get red. “The man at the junk shop was
more than happy to sell me a spindle, and I thought—”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No. You didn’t think.” Alan’s voice was hard
as he yanked Nigel away from the wall, giving the prince his best “Commander”
glare before gesturing to two of the city guards who’d just come around the
corner. “And now you’re going back to prison until we can figure out something
worse to do with you.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Now Nigel looked horrified <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> embarrassed. “I didn’t … I never
meant to harm Princess Elena! I just … I wanted ….”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“To start my curse early, so you
could be the one to break it,” Elena finished for him, the words flat to hide
the bitterness behind them. “Kiss the poor cursed princess and everyone will be
thrilled enough to forget what made her lose consciousness in the first place.”
She paused as his face turned an even brighter shade. “Of course, it never
occurred to you what would happen if your kiss didn’t work, did it? You wouldn’t
be the hero. You’d be nothing more than the villain who trapped the princess in
a century of sleep months before she had to be, just because you’d decided to
be clever.” A quick spell was enough to make the spindle transport away as he
watched. “Unless, of course, I decided to take care of you first.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Nigel couldn’t say a word, just
staring at her like his voice had been stolen. Looking disgusted now, Alan
shoved the prince into the arms of the city guards. Once they was safely gone,
Elena pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and reminded herself to
breathe. “I should have killed him,” she said quietly. “Or maybe I can have
Braeth do it. We could say it was an early death-day present for him.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“He’s not worth it,” Alan smoothed
a gentle hand against her hair, then sighed. “Besides, I need to get you home. We
need to make sure Nigel doesn’t wander off again.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I almost wonder if we should tell
mother about it.” Elena was surprised to find herself smiling a little. “She
hasn’t really let herself get angry at someone in a long time. It might be
almost relaxing for her to just let all of her frustration out on the people in
charge of the prison.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Of course, if she kills anyone,
that would sort of put a damper on the whole sense of catharsis.” Alan, who had
stood just outside the door for all her sessions, knew almost as many therapy
words as she did by this point. “You forget, she’s an even more powerful
sorceress than you are.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“We’ve never actually tested that,”
she said absently, feeling the tension from earlier tightening her shoulders
again. “And if she has something to do, it might relax her enough that she
doesn’t actually lock me in my room herself after this.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Hopefully, no one else will get
the idea,” Alan said quietly. “But if they do, we’re going to need to look at
more serious options to protect you. This isn’t just about keeping an eye on
you anymore.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Elena made herself take a deep
breath as she felt her options slip away from her. “I know, but—”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The world shut off. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
When she opened her eyes again she
was on the ground, staring up into Alan’s terrified face. He was cradling her
in his arms, checking for a pulse, and for one disoriented second she wondered
how he’d managed to catch her with that broken leg of his. She hadn’t fainted –
you swooned first, when that happened. You weren’t just snuffed out like a
candle that someone else was done with. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Elena felt herself go ice cold.
“How long was I …” Her throat closed up, unable to finish the word. The curse
wasn’t supposed to work like this – according to everyone who had been there,
her aunt had given the very clear deadline of her 18th birthday – but it had
felt exactly like every nightmare she’d ever had about her non-existent future.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
She forced the thought from her
mind as Merrick helped her sit up. “Twenty seconds. Maybe thirty.” His voice
hadn’t quite steadied all the way yet. “You stopped speaking, and your eyes
rolled up in the back of your head. Then you dropped straight to the ground.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
She shook her head, more to deny
the moment than anything he’d said, then made herself stand so she could help
him up. He didn’t accept the offer, watching her face the entire time as he got
to his feet on his own. “We need to tell your mother.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“No.” Elena focused on her
breathing, forcing it into a slow, steady rhythm. “We can’t even be sure that
was the curse.” Alan’s eyes narrowed, and she held up her hands in
supplication. “Not yet, then. Let me … let me at least find out more about
what’s happening.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
He put his hand back on her
shoulder. “It’s not supposed to work like that, is it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“No.” She covered his hand with her
own, giving it a squeeze as a silent thank you. “Another special surprise from
my aunt, I would guess.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Alan swore softly. “I wish Nigel
had been the worst thing to happen this afternoon.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Elena sighed. “Me, too.”</div>
</div>
</div>
Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-77195388524402259162018-02-12T12:02:00.001-08:002018-02-12T12:02:37.655-08:00On writing: You don't have to be crazy to work here<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve described my relationship with writing as something to close to those “Wuthering Heights”-style romances, where you can’t imagine living without each other but there’s also a 50 percent chance that one of you will be arrested for the other’s murder. I’d never put up with this level of obsessiveness and frustration in any sort of relationship with an actual human, but when it comes to writing I can’t seem to stop myself. The question of whether I actually enjoy writing is as irrelevant as whether I actually enjoy breathing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What I didn’t realize until recently, however, was the effect that watching my relationship with writing had on my sister. She’s a scientist at heart, but she’s got a wonderful science fiction universe set up where she gets to play with different alien races and the interaction between them. She’s mostly at the planning stages right now, but she’s sent me some snippets and they’re wonderfully entertaining. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For years, however, she was too frozen by anxiety to really explore any of it. She’d seen me write for years, and had come to the conclusion that the only proper way to be a “writer” was to basically throw yourself in it and drown the same way I had. Since she wasn’t willing to devote an immense chunk of her brain to the idea, she decided that she couldn’t write any of it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When she finally told me all of this, I disabused her of the notion as thoroughly as possible. And if any of you out there feel the same way about some spark of a story kicking around your head, please let me disabuse you of it as well. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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Literally the only thing you need to be a writer is an idea and the vague thought that maybe you should write it down. You don’t have to be one of those intense “writer” types that often appear in popular media in order to qualify for the term. It can be a fun thing you do in your spare time, the same way another person might take up knitting (and believe me, there are some intense knitters out there, so pretty much every craft or talent has a sliding scale of obsession). </div>
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And yes, there are a lot of “rules” out there for writing, but the truth is that those are mostly important when you’re thinking about having a wide range of people reading your work (or are hoping to get the attention of an editor or publisher). If you’re just writing for yourself, or for your family and friends, you don’t even have to stress about the “rules” all that much. (And even then, a lot of the “rules” end up not being all that true anyway.) </div>
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So, if you’ve got a story idea you’d kind of like to write down somewhere, go and do it with my blessing. You don’t have to be crazy to be a writer. </div>
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Some of us just do it anyway. </div>
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Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-4067000297954809062017-12-26T11:30:00.000-08:002017-12-26T22:23:36.034-08:00Update on the future of "Dreamless"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioM2sJV8_vzdL80yOvIKvUhLi87DLot0rjhn76v-K02uxaCPJt5xYT9RnWZXiknn-NYZ3l6-OlaZY9F5eV23jO4UepoY6p2N74z10RKiZ7fTBQeUZljjVCtx5Du8ha5guEE5IDNLh4wQY/s1600/Dreamless+cover+final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="598" data-original-width="397" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioM2sJV8_vzdL80yOvIKvUhLi87DLot0rjhn76v-K02uxaCPJt5xYT9RnWZXiknn-NYZ3l6-OlaZY9F5eV23jO4UepoY6p2N74z10RKiZ7fTBQeUZljjVCtx5Du8ha5guEE5IDNLh4wQY/s320/Dreamless+cover+final.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
"Dreamless" never got a fair shake from the beginning. Released just as Jolly Fish was in its death throes, my poor book was supposed to be released in spring 2016 but didn't actually come out until the fall. There was hardly any publicity for the first release, and the delay (which Jolly Fish's original leadership never told anyone about) killed what little momentum was generated. Discouraged, I stopped my own attempts to generate some publicity for the book. On top of that, the cover was nothing like my other books and didn't actually represent the story inside. <br />
<br />
Admittedly, my first chapter also needed some work, and looking back I should have given the whole thing at least one more good hard edit. Still, the book did manage to win an award despite its failings, though that wasn't enough to get its name out there. <br />
<br />
Still, both "Dreamless" and I are getting a second chance. Northstar reverted both the print and ebook rights back to me, which means that it's going to not be for sale for a little while I find an awesome new cover and give it the magnificent spit-and-polish the story deserves. Then, with a final tweak to the name - it'll be "Sleepless" now, instead of "Dreamless" - I'll re-release the title as a $5 ebook and make plans for a physical printing depending on demand.<br />
<br />
"Dreamless" is dead, but rest assured that "Sleepless" will live on. <!--Clip_XXXX_171226_000142_555--></div>
Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-87722651053608712652017-12-12T16:46:00.002-08:002017-12-12T23:45:27.549-08:00Exclusive: Chapter 1 of my new novel, "Piper's Song" <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I feel like I owe you guys something for the massive radio silence, which is the result of a months-long rewriting/editing session more massive than any I've experienced in my life. Seriously, I went a little bit crazy - it's probably best you didn't have to deal with me. Still, as an apology, here's a teaser for the brand-new version of "Piper's Song" I've been slaving away over:<br />
<br />
<b>Chapter 1: A Little Night Music</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Having a song in your heart was considerably less cheerful-sounding when rats and fire were involved.<br />
<br />
Jess smiled a little to herself at the thought, making a mental note to try and use it in conversation later. She couldn’t say anything at the moment, her breath occupied by the music controlling the rats, but it was good to make note of these things. Especially when it was a decent distraction from her hundredth time through the current song she was playing, a children’s song so simple she could probably play it in her sleep.<br />
<br />
To the small, furry listeners behind her, it didn’t matter what song she played. The sound of them was quieter out here, the dirt doing more to muffle their tiny claws than the brick-paved streets back in town, but she had no doubt they were all still following her. The magic inside her surged up through the song, reaching for the rats as sharply and clearly as if she had her own hands stretched out. Her power couldn’t call anything bigger than a small cat – most pipers couldn’t even call something that big – but rats and anything smaller were powerless against it.<br />
<br />
(While that sounded great as part of the sales pitch, the swarms of bugs who came along with the rats her first few times on the job had been less than thrilling. She’d eventually learned to concentrate and call only what she wanted, but it had taken some practice.)<br />
<br />
To most people, what she could do was a mystery. Pipers never talked about what using their power felt like, because whenever they did someone inevitably pointed out how much piper magic sounded like siren magic. Sirens, who even witches and sorcerers had been so scared of that they’d been hunted to extinction. There were rumors that some had silenced their songs, marrying humans instead of draining their energy, but those weren’t the kind of connections pipers wanted anyone to make.<br />
<br />
<i>There’s nothing to be afraid of, little nightingale. It’s a gift, the same way your music is.</i><br />
<br />
An old familiar grief clenched her chest at the memory of her foster mother’s voice. Marie had believed that with her whole heart, but now that she was gone there were very few people Jess could trust to feel the same way. Silence was easier all around.<br />
<br />
When she finally arrived at the fire-filled trench on the opposite side of the field, Jess shook herself out of her thoughts and got back to work. She took her first step onto the wooden bridge stretched across it, looking for the small, embedded charm that meant it had been enchanted against fire. The rats pushed against her legs, trying to get closer, while a few got excited enough to stumble into the fire on their own.<br />
<br />
“Lady?” The man at the end of the trench asked, coming closer. “Is something wrong? Why aren’t you moving?”<br />
<br />
<i>Because the last time I didn’t check for the charm, the bridge collapsed under me and I nearly died.</i> But she couldn’t actually say that, with the pipe in her mouth and the rats ready to escape the second she stopped playing. So she simply kept looking until she found the charm, glinting in the firelight, and she stepped fully onto the bridge and kept walking. She turned around while she was halfway across, sweeping the rats that had made it onto the bridge off the sides and into the fire. They died silently, thankfully, but sometimes she closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at what was happening. It had taken her months to master the rhythm, picking up the basics through careful questions to the older pipers on the circuit, but now that she’d been doing it for a few years she didn’t have to think about it.<br />
<br />
When the last rat had finally tumbled over the edge of the bridge, Jess stopped playing. “That should do it,” she told the man, stepping off the bridge completely and flashing her best salesman’s smile. “I’ll stay long enough to make sure the fire goes out completely, so as soon as I get the rest of my payment you can go home and get to bed.”<br />
<br />
He hesitated, looking back out into the darkness. He was pale enough to have a desk job someplace, hair thinning and coat far too heavy for the relatively mild weather. “You sure that’s all of them?”<br />
<br />
Temper rose up, prompted by pride, but she throttled it back. Keeping her salesman’s smile fixed firmly in place, she held out her hand. “If there’s a rat left in the entire town, I can promise you they’re completely deaf.” Then he shot her a skeptical look, and temper slipped past good sense to get a jab in. “Though if we don’t get this settled soon, I’m sure I can find more somewhere and bring them in.”<br />
<br />
He narrowed his eyes at her briefly, and she braced herself for things to blow up into an actual fight. Her golden brown skin was usually close enough to a farmer’s tan for people not to question it, but her black hair was just a little too dark and too straight to completely pass as a local in the more rural parts of the kingdom. Unfortunately, that was also where work was best for people who killed rats for a living, so she’d learned to adapt. She kept her hair short, told people she was a solid three or four years older than her actual 18 summers of living, and knew how to use the knife she kept in her boot.<br />
<br />
She’d also learned never to show either hesitation or weakness, so she held the man’s gaze while he came to a decision. Then, after a few beats, he reached into his pocket and handed her an envelope full of money. “I’ll let the mayor know we got everything wrapped up,” he said, turning to leave.<br />
<br />
Jess counted the money by the light of the fire, pleased to see it was all there just as promised. “Pleasure doing business with you!” she called out, looking up in time to see him wave a hand vaguely behind him in acknowledgment.<br />
<br />
As he walked off into the distance she put her pipe back in its case, tucking the money safely away underneath. “You’ve got to remind me to be less snippy with the clients, T,” she told the empty air around her.<br />
<br />
A young man appeared suddenly out of that empty space, his dark hair close-cropped and warm brown skin burnished by the firelight. The mere sight of him was enough to unknot something inside her chest, a fact that she would absolutely have to worry about the moment she let herself start thinking about it.<br />
<br />
“Be less snippy with clients,” he said dutifully, lips quirking slightly at the familiar, shared joke. Then his expression turned serious, eyes intense even from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “But you know you don’t always have to check for the fireproofing charm, right? I always look for it before you get here, and if it was missing I promise you there’s no way I’d let you cross that bridge.”<br />
<br />
Jess didn’t know what left her feeling suddenly unsteady – the earnestness in his voice, or the fact that she believed him completely. Deciding that neither was a safe topic of conversation, she flashed him a grin to make sure none of it showed up on her face. “Don’t want to put your job at risk by saving my life again?”<br />
<br />
It was how they’d met, actually. Sometimes, Jess pictured telling the story to the members of her foster mother’s performing troupe, dramatically acting it out while Thomas rolled his eyes, but then she thought about her foster mother not being there and it hurt too much.<br />
<br />
She’d never been good at dealing with pain.<br />
<br />
Thomas, thankfully not able to hear her thoughts, widened his smile. “I don’t know. It worked out pretty well for me last time.” He pulled out his pocket-sized magic mirror, handing it to her. “I should probably get to work, but you got a mirror message while you were on your walk. I didn’t read it, but it sounds like someone wants to hire you for a job.”<br />
<br />
Jess winced at the reminder, taking the mirror from him as she straightened. “I swear I keep meaning to get a new mirror,” she apologized. “It’s not fair for me to keep using your work mirror for my work messages.”<br />
<br />
Thomas shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I like being able to help you when you need it.” The words called up another rush of warmth in Jess’s chest as he reached for the I.D. hanging around his neck, then hesitated. “You want to skip following me around tonight, so you can focus on the message?”<br />
<br />
He always asked her that, in one form or another, even though she’d never once taken him up on the offer. “What, and miss your rundown on whatever town it’s from?” Opening the message with one hand, she laid the other hand on his shoulder. If she let go of him, she’d immediately get dumped back into the regular world and Thomas would end up invisible again. “Seriously, if you ever want to quit being a Reaper I’m sure someone would hire you as a tour guide.”<br />
<br />
Thomas made a rueful noise. “Only someone who was really interested in hearing an itemized history of the local plant life.” Then he slapped the flat of his hand against the I.D. hanging against his chest, and both the darkness and the fire disappeared in a rush of gray. The only spots of color left in the world were her, Thomas, and the cool blue light of the rats' discarded life energy floating in small clouds within the now-gray flames. Everyone's life energy stuck around like that after they died, according to Thomas, and if everyone left it alone the energy usually disappeared after about a week. Since life energy was an easy power boost for magic users with a more flexible view of ethics, however, hardly anyone left it alone.<br />
<br />
Which was where Reapers came in.<br />
<br />
Thomas's hand curled like he was holding a staff, murmuring a word that Jess could never quite catch. An instant later, a glowing, translucent scythe made of energy appeared in his hand.<br />
Jess watched him adjust his grip, remembering the explanation he'd given her once as to how the scythe had probably been made. She asked him questions about it sometimes, just to get him talking. "Didn’t you say they were considering skull masks at one point? Why didn’t they ever go through with that?”<br />
<br />
Thomas stopped, brow furrowing as he thought. “I think there were copyright issues,” he said finally. “A scythe is a tool that anyone can use, but the lawyers decided that the skull face under the hood was pretty specific to the company’s founder.”<br />
<br />
Jess watched him start his work, considering whether or not to prompt him for a longer explanation, carefully swinging the tip of his scythe through each one of those small clouds of blue light. They disappeared in a flash, the energy’s tie to this plane of existence sliced through – yes, Thomas had explained all of this to her, too – leaving it free to move somewhere beyond the reach of evil sorcerers. Technically, Thomas could use it to clean up any kind of energy, but his official assignment was to focus on mice and rats.<br />
<br />
Which worked out extremely well for Jess, though she wasn’t about to tell his bosses that.<br />
<br />
Still, she should probably focus on her job rather than his. Tearing her attention away from the reaping, she activated the mirror message from the potential client. When the smoke cleared on the pre-recorded message, the sender turned out to be an exhausted middle-aged man with the lingering trace of a farmer’s tan and an expression that suggested he worked out a lot of stress by hitting people in his imagination. “Miss Tremeau, my name is Arthur Perkins. I’m the mayor of Kensford, a bustling, prosperous town that boasts—” He stopped, closing his eyes a moment with a long-suffering look. “But you don’t care about that.”<br />
<br />
This wasn’t the “inconvenience” face, the one that said “We tried to take care of this ourselves and are deeply resentful of the fact that it didn’t quite work.” No, Mayor Perkins’ expression shot straight to “please help,” which usually meant a ton of rats had started making a serious dent in the food stores. It meant they wouldn’t haggle much, when it came to her fee, and she could probably squeeze out a bonus or two depending on how quickly she could get the mice and rats taken care of.<br />
<br />
“If it’s the Kensford I’m thinking of,” Thomas said absently, his attention still focused on his work. “It’s only about a day’s ride from Hammelin.”<br />
<br />
Knowing he wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t important, Jess briefly stilled the mirror message and wracked her brain trying to remember why Hammelin was relevant. “Wait, is that the city you said the witches were talking about? The one where no one’s heard from any of the residents for the last few days?”<br />
<br />
Thomas nodded. “None of the witches in the mirror chat group live near Hammelin or have family there, so no one knows exactly what’s going on. But it might be something to keep in mind.”<br />
<br />
Jess nodded. From how Thomas always described them, the witches in the group all treated gossip like it was a professional sport. Still, gossip was usually at least 50 percent true, and any piper with a brain in their head stayed away from areas where people were messing around with more serious magic. A day’s ride might be enough breathing room from whatever was (or wasn’t) going on in Hammelin, but there was no way to be sure. “Are they still trying to get you named an honorary witch with that society they all go to?”<br />
<br />
Thomas’s sigh was both affectionate and long-suffering as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Yes, and I don’t know why. I mean, I understand they’re probably trying to be nice, but literally the only magic spells I have any control over are the ones management put into my I.D. For that matter, I haven’t even figured out yet how they code the I.D.s to each individual Reaper, and I’ve been poking at it long enough that I definitely should have figured it out by now.”<br />
<br />
Jess squeezed his shoulder. “The rest of us don’t care so much about accuracy, T. They probably just want to say thank you for having to listen to all their stories 500 times.”<br />
<br />
Thomas shook his head, turning his attention back to the rats’ energy. “If they want to say thank you,” he muttered, “they should send me some of their reference books.”<br />
<br />
Jess activated the mirror message again, the frozen image of Mayor Perkins springing back to life. He cleared his throat. “We’ve talked to the leaders of some of the other cities and towns who you’ve done jobs for, and they all say you’re the most thorough piper they’ve ever worked with.” She had just long enough to feel a warm glow of pride before he ruined it by continuing. “We had to research a little more thoroughly than we usually do pipers, since we heard your name in an unusual way. We put up our usual posting for a piper, and a man named Crispin St. Clair responded. His—”<br />
<br />
She jammed a finger down to still the mirror message again, alarm shooting through her, as Thomas suddenly stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Did he just say—”<br />
<br />
Jess’s jaw tightened, her self-preservation instincts activating. “Unfortunately, he did.” She hesitated, thumb hovering over the trigger that would delete the message completely. If Crispin had given these people her name, it was absolutely a trap.<br />
<br />
This was enough to make Thomas turn around completely, though he moved carefully enough not to dislodge Jess’s hand on his shoulder. “Maybe they decided not to hire him and he was complaining about you. Even if he’s not actively trying to get you fired from jobs anymore, he still thinks it’s your fault that everyone knows what a terrible piper he is.”<br />
<br />
“You clean up after a man one time, and he decides you’ve organized a conspiracy against him.” She felt herself leaping at the idea, and she forced herself to stop and actually weigh the possibility. “If that’s the explanation, then I have to do it. It’s rare enough for anyone in government to make the intelligent choice first that I need to encourage them.”<br />
<br />
Thomas watched her face for a moment, then his lips quirked. “And next time you run into Crispin, you can rub it in his face?”<br />
<br />
Jess’s couldn’t stop the smile that slipped out, even as she gave him her best innocent look. He knew her so well. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Then her expression sobered. “Hammelin’s a day’s ride away, which mean that if there is trouble we’ll at least get some warning. But it probably isn’t anything – witches and sorcerers are showy enough that there’d be reports of explosions or enormous trees, not a communication blackout.”<br />
<br />
“And there hasn’t been reports of anything rampaging around the countryside.” Thomas looked down at the mirror. “So if Crispin didn’t mean to give them your name, we’re going to Kensford?”<br />
<br />
Jess nodded, then restarted the message. “—reputation is such that nearby towns had already warned us against him, so we rejected his offer even though we were desperate. When we did, he began ranting about how you had somehow arranged the situation by spreading lies about him. Since putting up a general posting had proven so unsuccessful, we decided to research your name in the hopes that it would speed things.”<br />
<br />
She stopped the message completely, valiantly resisting the urge to do an impromptu victory dance. “Just think about it this way, T,” she told Thomas. “It sounds like there’s enough rats in Kensford to make your quota for the month.”<br />
<br />
“I always make my quota now that I follow you around.” Still, he seemed amused as he returned to the reaping. “Let me finish up here, then we can get a few hours of sleep and set out for Kensford in the morning.”<br />
<br />
Jess grinned. “I’m sure the rats will be excited to see us.” Then, slipping the magic mirror into her pocket, she went back to watching Thomas work.<br />
<br />
#<br />
<br />
One mirror message taking the job and two days hitching rides on various wagons and carts later, they arrived in Kensford. Their first stop was a quiet stable near the edge of town where they could stash their things, and after a quick change – only an idiot traveled in their presentation outfit – they arrived at the Mayor’s Office.<br />
<br />
Before they went inside, Thomas lightly touched her arm. “Want me to go invisible?” he asked quietly. “I know they already gave you the job, but that doesn’t mean you want me in the way when you’re dealing with clients.”<br />
<br />
The hesitancy in his voice made her turn enough to look at him. His shoulders were hunched slightly, just like they always did whenever he apologized for explaining something too thoroughly or talking too much in general. Every time she saw it, Jess gave serious thought to tracking down the people who ran the Abernathy Home for Orphans and punching them in the face.<br />
<br />
Instead, she grinned at him, patting his cheek. “Not a chance, my friend. Today, I’m going to show you how to make an entrance.”<br />
<br />
She could see a flicker of surprise chase its way across his face, making her annoyed at his former guardians all over again. Then, slowly, his lips curved upward a little. “How about I just watch you make the entrance and take notes for later?”<br />
<br />
Jess sighed dramatically, the same way she always did at this point in whatever variation of the familiar, shared joke came up. “One day I’ll teach you the joy of the spotlight, T.”<br />
<br />
His smile widened as he came back with the same response he always did. “But that day is not today.”<br />
<br />
They announced themselves to the woman behind the front desk, who ushered them with gratifying speed back to Mayor Perkins’ office. He wasn’t alone, as it turned out, a sour-faced man with a beautifully tailored suit and a face like a lump of wheat bread dough glowering in the corner. He started speaking the moment they were announced, cutting the woman off before she’d even reached the end of her sentence. “Not so fast, Miss Tremeau. The rest of the council chose to hire you while I was out of town on business, and though they’re all clearly prone to panic I’m not about to let myself get conned the same way they have.”<br />
<br />
Jess bristled at the word “conned” while Mayor Perkins sighed, looking like a man in urgent need of a nap. “Edward, the people are desper—”<br />
<br />
“The people need to learn some self-sufficiency,” the man – Edward, apparently – snapped. “Now, Miss Tremeau. I know the previous cities you’ve worked with have spoken well of you, but I’m sure there are other, more experienced pipers out there who have reputations that are just as good or better. I’m sure the council will agree that we can just send you on your way while we—”<br />
<br />
“Edward, we had more than enough votes for the decision to be—”<br />
<br />
Clearly, Jess needed to take control of the situation, and if she could make Eddie over there regret his whole life that would be a delightful bonus. She glanced over at Thomas, wondering if he was going to try and be the voice of reason. Instead, he was busy glaring daggers at Eddie, intense enough in his dislike that he didn’t even notice Jess looking.<br />
<br />
Well, that was a go-ahead if she’d ever seen one.<br />
<br />
Pulling out her pipe while the mayor and Eddie were busy arguing, she hefted her power up into her throat and started into a simple children’s song. By the time she’d gotten three notes in she could hear the click of rat claws in the corridor outside, and she smirked to herself as she walked over to stand at Eddie’s side.<br />
<br />
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, girl, but—”<br />
<br />
Before he could finish the thought, four rats surged into the office. Jess stepped slightly behind the council member, and though he stepped away quickly he was still between her and the rats. They went straight up his legs, prepared to go over whatever or whoever they had to in order to get to the music.<br />
<br />
The esteemed council member’s shriek was louder than the music.<br />
<br />
That was Jess’s cue to stop playing, which caused the now-released rats to scatter. Eddie straightened his suit, shaking with offended dignity, and Jess shot him her best salesman’s smile. “It seems like you have a rat problem, Eddie. Are you sure you really want to wait?”<br />
<br />
He lifted his chin, turning to the mayor. “Fine. I won’t argue anymore,” he snapped, then turned and stalked out of the room as if it had offended him personally. As he left, Thomas grinned and mouthed “nice job” at her.<br />
<br />
Jess grinned back, a warm glow in her chest as she turned to the mayor. “So, shall we?”<br />
<br />
Things wrapped fairly quickly after that, with Mayor Perkins agreeing to a healthy fee that wasn’t quite large enough to make her conscience start providing annoying commentary. He insisted she do the walk that evening in exchange, and Jess sighed like she was making a serious concession instead of getting exactly what she wanted.<br />
<br />
By the time the walk actually started, Jess was still riding high on that wave of confidence. A nice crowd had gathered, watching her with an eagerness that meant no one bothered giving her funny looks or questioning her credentials. She even got a round of applause as the music started, which was always good for the ego.<br />
<br />
Her pleasure at the attention lasted about half a block, when she realized that only one or two rats had started to follow her. She’d always called more rats by this point, especially in cities with as many as Kensford seemed to have, and it wouldn’t be long before the people lining the streets starting figuring that out. She could feel the power in her throat, pushing upward through the song, but she dug deep inside her chest for more. The notes thinned out a little as she concentrated on the power, pushing it upward and out into the music with an effort that left her fumbling to get her breath back while never letting the song falter.<br />
<br />
Only a few steps later, though, the rats started coming. A lot of rats, from the sound of it, pushing at her ankles with far more eagerness than she usually got out of the rodents she called. It made sense, really – she’d called up too much power, and the poor things had overdosed on the magic that pulled them along. She shook them off as she walked, concentrating on getting to the end.<br />
<br />
More rats came. They were loud enough now to be heard over the music, but all that meant was that she was doing her job properly. All she had to do was hold them long enough to get to the field, then make sure they ended up in the trench. A simple job, one she’d done a thousand times before.<br />
<br />
She kept repeating the thought as the audience thinned, eventually disappearing completely and leaving her alone with the rats along the empty streets. No witches or sorceresses jumped out at her from the shadows, and none of the rats started growling or transforming into some kind of monster. She could see the glow from the trench fire in the distance, and the rats were still moving along behind her like an obedient little army. She was fine.<br />
<br />
Jess shook her head again, not sure why she was even thinking like this. There was clearly nothing to worry—<br />
<br />
The thought cut off as Thomas suddenly appeared in the middle of the empty field, hurrying toward her at a dead run. </div>
Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-74452329362475018562017-08-27T23:37:00.001-07:002017-08-27T23:37:48.327-07:00Missing scene from "How to Win Over Your Arch-Nemesis (In Three Easy Steps)"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
***Spoilers for "How to Win Over Your Arch-Nemesis," naturally.***<br />
<br />
So, I'm in the process of writing Thea and Max's next e-book adventure, and this little missing scene from "How to Win Over Your Arch-Nemesis" suddenly hits me. It fits in after the case gets solved and before the very last scene.<br />
<br />
A part of me wants to edit the book to include it - a lovely thing about self-publishing e-titles is that I can do that without too much trouble - but a part of me thinks it would ruin the flow of the story as it stands. Let me know what you think in the comments, and either way you can consider this officially canon. (Though the rating is ever so slightly higher than my fairytale stuff, just FYI.)<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Clubs in Monte Carlo were the same as clubs anywhere else, just more expensive. Max stayed by the bar, cola in a glass normally meant for rum and cola, and his eyes were only for a leggy blonde who was making come-hither eyes at him.<br />
<br />
To be fair, he was making those exact same eyes at her. Marissa St. Claire was the reason he was in the club in the first place, a high society girl currently in possession of three vials of a brand-new designer drug that had the unfortunate habit of killing more than half the people who tried it. Really, she should be grateful he was taking them off her hands.<br />
<br />
He couldn't exactly <i>ask</i> for them, however, so he was here promising things with his eyes. It wasn't long before she cocked a finger at him, and he abandoned his drink instantly and moved through the crowd to her side.<br />
<br />
The song changed to something slower, with a beat designed for sex, and it would have seemed like fate if he hadn't slipped the DJ a bribe the moment he'd gotten here. Max took full advantage of it, moving his and Marissa's bodies together in just the right rhythm to make her think of being tangled together naked in the sheets. Normally, that would be where this was leading, and he'd make off with the vials and slip away after he'd worn her out.<br />
<br />
Out there on the dance floor, he considered letting it end up there again. It wouldn't take much - they were practically having sex right here on the dance floor, and if anything the challenge would be making sure she kept her clothes <i>on</i> long enough to get to the room. Though there was always round two....<br />
<br />
Then he blinked, surprised for a split second to see sun-bleached waves in front of his eyes instead of the sensible ponytail he'd been... expecting? Imagining?<br />
<br />
Either way, it was like a bucket of cold water. His hand skimmed over the curve of her breast only long enough to slip her hotel room key out from where it was tucked into her bra. Then he kissed her neck and shouted that he was getting another drink, slipping away while she pouted in disappointment.<br />
<br />
000<br />
<br />
"You didn't sleep with her." D's voice in his ear was flat with disbelief. "She was attracted to you enough that you got her room key, and you didn't seal the deal?"<br />
<br />
"I don't sleep with <i>everyone</i>," he muttered under his breath, regretting putting the earbud back in his ear. He shut the hotel suite door behind him, dropping the key in just the right place to look like it had fallen out when Marissa originally left the room. "You make me sound like <i>Bond</i>."<br />
<br />
"If anything, you sleep with <i>more</i> people than he does," D shot back. "Not that there's anything wrong with that - seduction is a well-established tool of espionage."<br />
<br />
"But there <i>are</i> other tools." He started for the safe, then stopped and went for her suitcase instead. "A good spy should use all of them."<br />
<br />
There was a moment of blissful silence from D's end, which she promptly went and ruined. "It's that programmer from Chicago, isn't it?"<br />
<br />
Max's chest constricted suddenly, making him hesitate. "Thea has nothing to do with this."<br />
<br />
D made an exasperated noise. "You changed your <i>codename</i> for her. I told myself that was just because you hated the letter you were assigned, but you haven't seriously looked at another potential bedpartner in <i>weeks</i>."<br />
<br />
Spies weren't supposed to miss people, especially women you'd known less than 24 hours. It was practically written into the job requirements, right next to the ability to lie.<br />
<br />
But more than once, he'd caught himself wanting to tell her something and wondering what she'd say. Worse, even the smallest reminder of her was enough to chase any other woman right out of his head.<br />
<br />
"Did you take your earbud out again?" D snapped suddenly. "Oh, I <i>loathe</i> it when he does that."<br />
<br />
"It's still in," Max said quickly, hoping to forestall the rant. He found the vials, wrapped in lingerie, and he took them out and slipped them inside the jacket pocket of the hotel staff uniform he'd "borrowed." "I'm just having a hell of a time denying it."<br />
<br />
There was a moment of silence from D's end, then a long sigh. "I've known you for years," she said finally, voice oddly gentle. "And I had no idea you were a romantic."<br />
<br />
"How could you?" He slipped out of the suite, shutting the door behind him. "<i>I</i> didn't know."<br />
<br />
"Well." She cleared her throat, some of its usual briskness returning. "What are you going to do about it?"<br />
<br />
"Practice pick-pocketing," he said under his breath, grabbing an empty food cart from in front of another suite and wheeling it in front of him as he headed for the elevator. "Try to get you to never bring this up again."<br />
<br />
D made a dismissive noise. "That's not the spy I know. If you want to see this Thea of yours again, you're going to have to figure out how to make it happen."<br />
<br />
Max's fingers tightened on the handles of the cart, chest constricting again. "I didn't know that was an option."<br />
<br />
"Darling." D's tone was affectionately chiding. "Since when have you listened to <i>anyone</i> who said you couldn't do something?"<br />
<br />
Max stepped into the elevator, doors closing in front of him. Slowly, he started to smile.</div>
Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-5297533516768425152017-07-13T23:08:00.002-07:002017-07-13T23:08:50.931-07:00The real heart of “Beauty and the Beast”<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I’ve always loved “Beauty and the Beast.”<br />
<br />
It was an obvious choice for my favorite Disney movie growing up, since I had brown hair and a serious reading habit. I, too, was the girl with the “dreamy far off look” and “my nose stuck in a book,” and if I ever starred in a musical there would absolutely have to be a song where everyone talked about how weird they thought I was. I was also insanely curious, and just like Belle would have immediately investigated the creepy, shut-up part of the house I had been forbidden from going anywhere near.<br />
<br />
I identified with the Beast just a much. No, I wasn’t extremely tall and furry, but I was angry and brooding and almost completely lacking in social skills. It was hard to see him as a monster when I could sympathize so completely with him, and it wasn’t like Belle needed the defense – when he roared at her, she yelled right back at him. And he was so eager to learn how to be a nicer person, even though he stumbled sometimes. <br />
<br />
The only part of the movie that really tripped me up was the end. As much as I loved the Beast, I had zero interested in the human he turned into at the very end. I didn’t see anything that connected him with the guy I loved – he had a pretty face, and a soft voice, and he was never onscreen long enough for us to see any sign of the anger and awkwardness that had been so much a part of the Beast. Even though he’d been working hard to become a better person, things like that don’t just disappear the moment you get a makeover.<br />
<br />
A lot of people see the transformation as the entire point of “Beauty and the Beast.” For them, the moral of the story is that love “fixed” the Beast, making him the metaphorical handsome prince instead of the supposedly scary monster. In its more dangerous aspect, it’s the idea that a good woman is enough to “save” a man (“Fifty Shades of Grey” is really just “Beauty and the Beast” in its most annoying form).<br />
<br />
For me, however, I wish the transformation never happened. Or if it did, that the movie made it clear we were getting the same angry, awkward man in a slightly different body. The change that mattered had already happened, the slow transformation of an isolated man into someone who cares enough about others to put their needs before his own. That was the man Belle had already fallen in love with, the man that the weird, awkward dreamer inside her had recognized and responded to. She had been just as alone as he was, surrounded by people who couldn’t see past how different she was.<br />
<br />
They were both beasts, in their own way, just like they were both beautiful where it mattered. What they looked like didn’t matter – the fact that they had found each other at all was the real happy ending.</div>
Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-76438030065435932292017-06-12T20:53:00.000-07:002017-07-27T09:51:33.285-07:00Return to the "How To Win Over Your Arch-Nemesis" universe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I was at the International Spy Museum in Washington D.C. this past weekend and this just sort of happened. I don't now if this counts as a story, but I consider it canon. Spoilers for "How To Win Over Your Arch-Nemesis (In Three Easy Steps)" and warnings for fluff.<br />
<br />
<b>Interlude: It Happened One Thursday Afternoon (Allegedly)</b><br />
<br />
This was ridiculous.<br />
<br />
Thea stood inside the first gallery of the International Spy Museum, staring at the information boards inviting visitors to test their spy skills and regretting every single life choice she'd made to get to this point. She'd come to Washington D.C. for a cyber security conference, sent by the company owners to make themselves feel better after the hacking scare earlier in the year. Yes, all of the information at the conference was so blazingly obvious she was sure her 13-year-old <i>niece</i> could have taught half the sessions, but it was technically what she was being paid to do at the moment. If she refused to do that, she should at <i>least</i> be doing something she'd be willing to admit to her co-workers.<br />
<br />
But... well, there were several things she couldn't exactly admit to her co-workers, weren't there?<br />
<br />
Like the way she had, possibly, been recruited into an independent spy agency she still wasn't entirely sure even existed. There was still a small chance she had hallucinated the entire thing, particularly the meeting almost a month ago with the supposed head of the agency (and the call from Max, who she refused to think about), since she hadn't heard from any of them since.<br />
<br />
She could technically call them, since she'd been given a special phone designed to do just that, but she didn't really care about proving whether or not they were real. The only person she really cared about hearing from was Max, and with him there was too much of a risk of calling him at the wrong time. She could give away a hiding place, interrupt a deal he was trying to make, anything.<br />
<br />
So she was here, trying to... what? Understand? Research? Embarrass herself?<br />
<br />
Deciding it was definitely the latter, Thea turned around so she could fight her way back to the museum's entrance. If they wouldn't let her out there, she'd have them direct her to the nearest emergency exit. It wouldn't get her ticket money back, but that was a small price to pay for<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">—</span><br />
<br />
"So soon? You haven't even gotten to the fun parts yet."<br />
<br />
Thea froze at the familiar voice. Taking a deep breath, she turned around to see Max grinning at her. He was wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of a sports team she'd never heard of, cargo shorts, sneakers, and one of the baseball caps she'd seen in souvenir stalls around town. He looked indistinguishable from the throngs of tourists surrounding them, completely different from the arrogant attorney she'd assumed him to be when they first met.<br />
<br />
Her first thought was how much she'd missed him. Her second thought, thankfully, was considerably more practical. "Have<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;">—</span>" Realizing what she was about to say, she stopped and leaned in close enough that she could lower her voice. "Have you been tracking me?"<br />
<br />
"No more than Homeland Security does," he said under his breath. "We just... borrow their system sometimes to keep an eye on assets, enemies and people we want to make sure stay protected."<br />
<br />
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Which category am I in?"<br />
<br />
His grin returned, milder but no less genuine-looking than the last one had been. If she never saw his fake smile again, it would be too soon. "I would never make the mistake of calling you an asset."<br />
<br />
She could feel her own expression ease. "It's good to know you're smarter than I initially gave you credit for." When he made an amused sound, her lips curved upward. "So, any chance you're going to try and convince me you're in the middle of a mission?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know if you noticed, seeing as how it was the entire <i>room</i> was devoted to it, but the museum assigns everyone missions and cover identities when they get here." He offered her a hand to shake. "Hello, my name is Greta."<br />
<br />
An actual chuckle slipped out at that. "You make a very convincing Greta."<br />
<br />
He beamed at her like she'd just given him a Christmas present, his body relaxing so subtly she hadn't known he was tense until he wasn't. "I had a <i>really</i> boring visit to the FBI Building this morning, and in a couple of hours I've got to jump on a plane to Istanbul. But until then, I'm all yours."<br />
<br />
The visit to the FBI Building was no doubt some kind of meeting or debrief, and she knew she didn't want to imagine the kinds of dangerous things he would be doing in Istanbul. But he'd stolen a few hours, just for her, and it felt like she'd been given a gift.<br />
<br />
Something inside her softened dangerously. "I won't call you Greta, even while we're here, but you can pick whatever other name you want." He refused to tell her his real name, or even his handle, and so she'd started calling him Max because she'd refused to use his alias in private conversation. He seemed to like it, but she could admit now that it hadn't exactly been fair of her.<br />
<br />
There was something very close to fondness in his eyes as they started walking to the next exhibit. "To you, I'm always Max."<br />
<br />
000<br />
<br />
Unsurprisingly, he talked the entire time. His knowledge of spy-related movies and TV shows was almost encyclopedic, and his knowledge of famous real-life spy stories was almost as extensive. He gave her more detailed backstories than they could ever hope to fit on the museum's little signs, coming across far more like a spy nerd than he did a spy. They also had several fascinating discussions about various pieces of old-school spy technology, all couched in discussions Max swore were completely theoretical. She didn't know if she entirely believed him, but as lies went it was both minor and necessary.<br />
<br />
His obvious love for the entire profession, however, wasn't a lie at all. It lit his voice every time he talked about some spy's moment of heroism or ingenuity, or oohed and aahed over a particularly cool spy toy. He looked like a little kid talking about what he dreamed of being when he grew up.<br />
<br />
The more nuanced insights came far more rarely, particularly because he tended to skim over anything that put a serious look on his face. The CIA made him prone to a bitter-edged sarcasm, at least when it was talked about as an entity and not individual agents, and the FBI left him shaking his head. What either meant, she didn't know - sales people left <i>her</i> prone to sarcasm, but her only connection to them was that they annoyed her.<br />
<br />
There was one surprising moment, however. Near the beginning of the exhibits about the history of spying, there was a quote from Sun Tzu's "The History of War": "A military operation involves deception. Even though you are competent, appear to be incompetent. Though effective, appear to be ineffective."<br />
<br />
The idea threw her. She thought about the empty-headed charm Max had used when they'd first met, the same that had left her questioning his intelligence, and imagined him putting it on the same way he did his suits. It must <i>work</i>, more often than it didn't, or he wouldn't have defaulted to it so easily.<br />
What did it do to you, to have to hide your intelligence all the time? She'd had to fight tooth and nail to see hers acknowledged, and she couldn't imagine being forced to deny she even had it.<br />
<br />
She turned to Max, who shot her a wry look. "Don't tell me you hadn't figured it out by now."<br />
<br />
"Oh, I had." She watched his face. "I just hadn't thought about how hard it must be."<br />
<br />
Max blinked, startled, and there was a moment when he looked almost flustered. "That's... I..." He floundered a bit, then gave up and cleared his throat. "Thank you."<br />
<br />
Touched, she squeezed his shoulder before moving on to the next exhibit. "Come on. You can tell me all about Revolutionary War spying."<br />
<br />
They hadn't quite made it through WWII, however, when he leaned close. "Sorry," he whispered. "I wish I could stay longer."<br />
<br />
She waved the apology aside, ignoring the weight of disappointment in her own chest. At least he hadn't just slipped away again. "All I ask is that you be better at using your phone."<br />
<br />
He looked appropriately regretful. "I haven't snagged a case I'd need your help with, yet."<br />
<br />
"Then don't call me for work reasons." She gave him a pointed look. " It's considerably safer for you to interrupt me than it is for me to interrupt you. I'm sure even you can find a few safe moments to tell someone hi."<br />
<br />
He hesitated, then a small, soft smile crossed his face. "Yes, ma'am."<br />
<br />
She didn't watch him slip away, eyes fixed on an exhibit she didn't have the slightest interest in. A few more rooms made it clear that the rest of the museum had lost its appeal as well, and before too long she started weaving through all the exhibits to the exit.<br />
<br />
When she made it to the gift shop, however, one of the women behind the counter waved her hand. "Ma'am? Your friend left something for you."<br />
<br />
Thea stopped, coming closer. "A note?"<br />
<br />
"No." The woman held up a souvenir bag with a smile. "He said you wouldn't buy yourself anything, so he needed to."<br />
<br />
Thea opened the bag, finding a t-shirt that said "Top 10 reasons I didn't make it in the CIA." On the other side of the receipt, he'd scrawled a note. "Don't tell the CIA I gave you this. They wouldn't find it as funny as I do."<br />
<br />
Feeling a smile sneak across her face, Thea stopped by the bathroom and changed into the t-shirt before she left. It looked ridiculous with her work slacks, she was sure, but she didn't care.<br />
<br />
Being ridiculous wasn't such a bad thing, after all.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>A Bonus Scene (from before any of the above happened)</b><br />
<br />
<i>At least it's not the CIA.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Max repeated the familiar mantra to himself as he finally escaped the FBI Building, his dark suit making him indistinguishable from the other people flowing in and out of the building. The debrief they'd insisted on had been both endless and repetitive, and he'd seriously considered escaping out the window a few times. But he hadn't even been tempted to punch anyone, so there was that.<br />
<br />
Still, all he had planned for the afternoon was an obscenely long plane ride, so it didn't look like his day was going to improve any. The only thing to do was console himself with a late lunch, preferably one that somehow involved cheese fries, and remind himself that things would finally get interesting again once he actually <i>got</i> to Istanbul.<br />
<br />
He was a few blocks away, still mulling over his food choices, when he got a call from what appeared to be the hotel his current alias was staying at. Since that hotel didn't actually <i>have</i> this number, however, there was no hesitation in his voice when he answered. "Let me guess - you've somehow managed to reroute me through Des Moines."<br />
<br />
"No, but that's a lovely thought for next time I find you suitably vexing." D's voice was warmly amused. "Now, though, you should be thanking me. I got you a present."<br />
<br />
He smiled a little. "Does it explode?"<br />
<br />
"If you annoy her sufficiently. It's one of her best qualities."<br />
<br />
Max went utterly still. There was only one woman, anywhere, who D could possibility be talking about. "Where? How?"<br />
<br />
"She's in town for a cybersecurity conference, but it seems she's decided to play hooky for the day. I'll text you the coordinates, but she appears to be sticking to the tourist areas. You may want to change your clothes."<br />
<br />
He was already moving again, hurrying to the nearest Metro station. "How long has she been here?" He'd lost consciousness pretty much the moment his head had hit the pillow last night, barely an hour after he'd landed, but he'd been at that meeting with the FBI for <i>hours</i>. He'd wasted so much time. "Why didn't you tell me?"<br />
<br />
"I could say that you had a job to do, and I knew if I told you this you wouldn't do it," D said archly. "Luckily for you, though, the truth is that I found out 10 minutes ago."<br />
<br />
There was a strange sort of relief in that. "I never should have doubted you."<br />
<br />
"No, you shouldn't have." She sounded mollified. "You owe me."<br />
<br />
"I absolutely do." He hung up the phone with a grin, shoving it in his pocket before breaking into a full-out run. It made him more obvious than he liked to be, but right now that didn't matter.<br />
<br />
He had someone he needed to meet.</div>
Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-53493890721769895572017-05-19T09:03:00.000-07:002017-05-19T09:03:00.019-07:00"Piper's Song" excerpt<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'd like to introduce you all to the latest obsession/torment of my life - my current novel, "Piper's Song." I've posted an excerpt here before, but that was like four versions ago. This is from the current one, the one that will mostly stick (barring the inevitable new round of edits, of course):<br />
<br />
<b>Chapter 3: The Key to a Drama-Free Life</b><br />
<br />
<i>A year later</i><br />
<br />
Either the Kensford City planners had no imagination, or their residents didn’t. This street market was just the same as all the others Jess had ever passed through, with vendors crowding into the square trying to outshout whoever owned the cart or stall next to them. The people had clearly heard it all before, which meant they were more focused on the gossip their neighbors were sharing than they were hearing about a ridiculously overpriced scarf that was “handmade by the elves, as I live and breathe.”<br />
<br />
Jess skimmed her fingers along the mound of apples piled high at the produce stall, ear cocked to take in every mutter of the crowd behind her. She’d been sent an official request for her services, this time, brief and polite and nearly vibrating with an urgency that was never actually stated, but there was no way she was going to speak to the mayor armed with so little.<br />
<br />
If the rumor mill was any indication, there was a lot the mayor hadn’t said.<br />
<br />
“I’ve had to buy bread three times this week! The rats keep eating it!”<br />
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“I swear there was no sign of the little beasts even a week ago, but now they’re everywhere. It’s like an invasion.”<br />
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“They’ve practically moved into my daughter’s bedroom! We’ve tried putting poison out, but the nasty things won’t go anywhere near it.”<br />
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“I’m telling you, there’s nothing natural about this. Nothing at all.”<br />
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Next to her, Thomas made an interested sound that Jess was sure had nothing at all to do with the conversations going on around them. He was intent on his mirror, skimming through various news streams like he was hunting something down, and when he got like this not even an explosion was enough to distract him.<br />
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Jess smiled a little at the memory. Only Thomas would list the likely ingredients of a bomb as they were running away from it.<br />
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On her other side, the owner of the stall was winding down his debate with a customer over the price of plums – when the other woman left, Jess knew she would be the next target for the sales pitch. Pocketing the apple closest to her fingers, she reached behind her and hooked her fingers on the hem of Thomas’s shirt. Tugging him over to the next stall – cheese, and the fancy kind by the smell of it – she deposited him safely out of the path of foot traffic and continued to feign an interest in shopping while she listened.<br />
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By the time three more people had commented on how “sudden” the infestation was, Jess wondered if there really was magic involved. It didn’t sound like something a sorcerer or sorceress would try – it wasn’t flashy enough, and they likely would have delivered a threat of some kind by now – but it could be just the right sort of revenge for a witch. Particularly one who was mad at the city council for some reason, and might be perfectly happy to pass that grudge onto the piper who just happened to wander into town. Even if she and Thomas didn’t end up a target, the witch could just send a new batch of rats right back into town after they’d left. And Jess, more than likely, would be blamed for it.<br />
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Jess sighed. She hated it when things got complicated. <br />
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Feeling the stall owner’s attention shift their way, she snagged Thomas’s shirt again and led them both over to a quiet corner. He let himself be guided, waiting until they were out of the way of any other potentially open ears before looking up from his mirror. “Ask for double your fee,” he said quietly, reporting on the research he’d just been doing. He pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Elections are coming up, and if the current mayor doesn’t take care of the rat problem there’s no chance of him getting to stay in office.”<br />
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She leaned against the alley wall next to him, watching the crowd move past the entry into the small alleyway. The rhythm of this was already a familiar thing between them, as easy as she remembered it being between the performers in her foster mother’s theater troupe. Only they’d all worked together for years, the history between them all older than Jess herself, and she and Thomas had barely been doing this for a year. It was worrying, when she let herself think about it.<br />
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Mostly, she didn’t let herself.<br />
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“So that’s a point on the plus side,” she said instead, letting herself get lost in the rhythm. “On the minus side, there’s a chance someone ticked off a witch or a sorceress. We don’t want to get in the middle of that.”<br />
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Thomas’s brow furrowed, and he immediately bent back down to his mirror. His fingers flew over the mirror’s surface, various lists and maps flashing by in the smooth glass, and after a moment he shook his head. “There’s been no sign of any kind of trouble like that, and you know how the magic community likes to keep tabs on each other. Besides, the nearest sorcerer or sorceress is 200 miles away, and the nearest witch....” He let the words trail off as he double-checked something. “...left a year ago to take care of her sister after a house fell on her. She’s changed her address on the mailing list and everything.”<br />
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“Did you finally let them sign you up?” He’d let himself slip the week before and not-quite-complained about the pressure he was getting from some of the witches on the message boards he posted on regularly. He’d protested, saying he wasn’t even a witch, but apparently the actual witches hadn’t been bothered by that little detail.<br />
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Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-53176114153361950522017-05-18T09:10:00.002-07:002017-05-19T08:57:11.038-07:00NO MORE E-book problem on Amazon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Update: The problem has been resolved, and the titles should be popping back up throughout the day. Yay!<br />
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It seems as though the Amazon Kindle versions of my three full-length novels have currently vanished into thin air, but worry not - it's an issue between the publisher and the site that's caused the problem, and therefore most definitely not a permanent state of affairs. If you can't wait to buy the books, they're still available as print copies on all sites and as e-books on both the iBooks store and Kobo, which has an Android app.<br />
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<a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/author/jenniffer-wardell/id640776055?mt=11" target="_blank">My iBooks links</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/search?query=Jenniffer%20Wardell&fcsearchfield=Author" target="_blank">My Kobo links</a></div>
Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4804532618881530604.post-20017700322001132642017-03-29T15:51:00.001-07:002017-03-29T15:51:41.299-07:00Guest Post: Why zombies are the perfect modern monster<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8nR_z-VZ01nZURQ2OD4HFqjLRDzKAVF7mpNAJa2zxPHBNVBFPnrx1W19A04RRRP2_yIwp-nkE9VURcxWGdtK2QiIB-VfcjOHUjKg7RNgn6x_41RCQqm21QwwlK_awRgTpcMQPr5k78LE/s1600/Confessions+of+the+Very+First++Zombie+Slayer+%2528That+I+Know+of%2529+ebook+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8nR_z-VZ01nZURQ2OD4HFqjLRDzKAVF7mpNAJa2zxPHBNVBFPnrx1W19A04RRRP2_yIwp-nkE9VURcxWGdtK2QiIB-VfcjOHUjKg7RNgn6x_41RCQqm21QwwlK_awRgTpcMQPr5k78LE/s320/Confessions+of+the+Very+First++Zombie+Slayer+%2528That+I+Know+of%2529+ebook+cover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
I featured F.J.R. Titchenell on the post when her "Confessions of the Very First Zombie Slayer (That I Know Of)" came out, and since it's being re-released on April 4 with a new publisher and a snazzy new cover I thought I'd have her drop by again to share her thoughts on why zombies are still so gosh darn popular.<br />
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<b>Why Zombies Are the Perfect Modern Monster</b><br />
by F.J.R. Titchenell<br />
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I’m a huge fan of zombie fiction – as you can probably tell by the fact that I wrote a book called <i>Confessions of the Very First Zombie Slayer (That I Know of)</i> – but when asked questions like this one, about why exactly zombies are so popular, I find that my answers tend to get a bit misanthropic.<br />
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Why are we so enthralled by the concept of an apocalyptic plague of hungry, infectious walking corpses?<br />
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Since the idea has passed through the hands of so many different writers, it’s been spun a million different ways and used to express lots of different things, from anti-materialism to self-exploration to downright futility. In general though, zombie stories that come anywhere close to the standard format of brainless, unsaveable zombies, plucky survivors, and nonexistent infrastructure, all speak to one particular human fear.<br />
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The fear of being lost in the crowd.<br />
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I don’t just mean literally being lost in a packed space full of hostile strangers, but the fear of our own insignificance on a planet full of people crying out to be acknowledged.<br />
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Imagining ourselves against the backdrop of the zombie apocalypse allows us to feel instantly special and separate from an endless crowd of extras by virtue of <i>simply</i> being alive. We and our tiny cast of fellow survivor characters are thinking, feeling, real people who matter; the bodies packing the streets outside aren’t.<br />
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Pretty sick, right?<br />
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But we all do it. We all fantasize about not having to share, not having to wait our turn, about taking whatever strikes our fancy because there’s no one to tell us it’s not ours, about carving our way through the people in line ahead of us with a chainsaw, because they weren’t real anyway, not the way we are.<br />
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Is this a specifically modern desire? I’m sure it’s always existed, but it also makes sense that it could have been intensified by a rising world population, and by improved communication technology making it more obvious to each of us how far from alone we are – and by the same token, how dubious our sense of uniqueness. And while we’re still a very long way off from achieving true universal equality, it <i>is</i> thankfully far less socially acceptable to elevate oneself by openly dehumanizing a particular group of fellow humans than it was, say, a hundred years ago. Maybe fictional zombies have risen as a convenient psychological surrogate for that particular destructive human habit.<br />
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I don’t know if all this would make me call zombies the <i>perfect</i> modern monster, but it certainly makes them a great modern guilty pleasure.<br />
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So is that all typical zombies fiction is? A safe, controlled outlet for the worst of our remaining lizard-brain instincts?<br />
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That’s certainly a large part of it, but I like to think not.<br />
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Zombies can also set the stage to explore the best parts of how people respond to a crisis. A lot of zombie fiction tends to focus disproportionately on humanity at its worst, assuming that the majority of people who survive the apocalypse would immediately take the excuse to unveil themselves as the biggest psychos they could possibly be, but my favorite moments are when we get to see how desperate and exceptional circumstances can instead bring out people’s compassion, initiative, and ingenuity.<br />
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I like to believe that where there are still humans, there’s still humanity. There’s still love and laughter, even when it has to come in the form of a morbid crutch, and that’s what you’ll find in <i>Confessions of the Very First Zombie Slayer (That I Know of)</i>. There might be a psycho or two for flavor, but mostly it’s about a group of teens who could have gone their separate ways in the everyday world, finding time to riff on each other and keep being teens as that world ends around them, even while they adapt to protect and support each other through it.<br />
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Oh, and also plenty of looting, skull smashing, traffic law breaking, and fireworks, because you can’t release the zombies and not feed the lizard brain a little.<br />
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Come on, now.<br />
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000<br />
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More about <i>Confessions of the Very First Zombie Slayer (That I Know of)</i><br />
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The world is Cassie Fremont’s playground. Her face is on the cover of every newspaper. She has no homework, no curfew, and no credit limit, and she spends her days traveling the country with her friends, including a boy who would do the chicken dance with death to make her smile. Life is just about perfect—except that those newspaper headlines are about her bludgeoning her crush to death with a paintball gun, she has to fight ravenous walking corpses every time she steps outside, and one of her friends is still missing, trapped somewhere in the distant, practically impassable wreckage of Manhattan.<br />
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Still, Cassie’s an optimist, more prone to hysterical laughter than hysterical tears, and she’d rather fight a corpse than be one. She’ll never leave a friend stranded when she can simply take her road trip to impossible new places, even if getting there means admitting to that boy that she might love him as more than her personal jester. Skillfully blending effective horror with unexpected humor, this diary-style novel is a fast-paced and heartwarming read.<br />
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Pre-order it here:<br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N702PEX/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&btkr=1" target="_blank">Amazon</a><br />
<a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/700620" target="_blank">Smashwords</a><br />
<a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/confessions-very-first-zombie/id1201040991?mt=11" target="_blank">iTunes</a><br />
<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/confessions-of-the-very-first-zombie-slayer-f-j-r-titchenell/1117301284?ean=2940153989662" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a><br />
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More about F.J.R. Titchenell<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPKR1NjfMSrK5tuzDHxDjzvGPQCzsVNrzlHpAUApMPWE0E-A3BeSGTuJC-3sPgtw_tDl440fuQGzKWkVrXD-BT7grfDFiYxx5FhOHq2xOlQ6OKJBZwam8Yphb807uwFXszI0TDBV0D1QA/s1600/FJR+Titchenell+Headshot+12-16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPKR1NjfMSrK5tuzDHxDjzvGPQCzsVNrzlHpAUApMPWE0E-A3BeSGTuJC-3sPgtw_tDl440fuQGzKWkVrXD-BT7grfDFiYxx5FhOHq2xOlQ6OKJBZwam8Yphb807uwFXszI0TDBV0D1QA/s200/FJR+Titchenell+Headshot+12-16.jpg" width="150" /></a>F.J.R. Titchenell is an author of young adult, sci-fi, and horror fiction. She graduated with a B.A in English from California State University, Los Angeles, in 2009 at the age of twenty, is represented by Fran Black of Literary Counsel, and currently lives in San Gabriel, California with her husband and fellow author, Matt Carter, and their pet king snake, Mica.<br />
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The "F" is for Fiona, and on the rare occasions when she can be pried away from her keyboard, her kindle, and the pages of her latest favorite book, Fi can usually be found over-analyzing the inner workings of various TV Sci-Fi universes or testing out some intriguing new recipe, usually chocolate-related. You can find more about her at her official homepage, <a href="http://fjrtitchenell.weebly.com/" target="_blank">fjrtitchenell.weebly.com</a>.<br />
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Jenniffer Wardellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09183878531120874490noreply@blogger.com0