Rob Thurman's Blog: The Reaver Report, page 12

Rob Thurman's Blog Timeshare: Cheap & Filthy [Part 5]

Misha: Cal looked morose and guilt-stricken over causing his brother all that anguish. Fortunately, besides getting kidnapped at the age of seven…theoretically and it wouldn't be my fault anyway no matter the theory or reality of it…I didn't cause my brother any anguish.

I dug a fluffernut sandwich out of my bag, a little squashed from the C4, and opened the plastic. "He does need some work, Miss Terrwyn. Between all the maiming, moping, and pretending to be a monster…" I shook my head and took a bite of the sandwich, chewed and swallowed. "Ruffles. He wore ruffles. And he has a pair of leopard spotted furry handcuffs. He'll lie and say they belong to someone else, but who can believe anything he'd say any more. It's just like a little kid and Santa." I felt a little mopey myself for a moment. I really had wanted to believe. "A monster in an apron and spotted handcuffs. I'll never get over this. I believe in non-humans, but I don't believe in monsters anymore. I'm so disappointed." I sighed as Cal swung a fist at my head.

I ducked the blow, which was quicker than a human could throw, but once you'd worn ruffles, it was all over. I straightened and continued eating as he scrambled out of his chair to lunge for the one his jacket hung on. "But Miss Terrwyn," I said between bites, "I haven't caused Stefan worry anything close to your waitress has his brother. What I did was to save my brother. I was doing my best to be noble." It was hard to look noble while eating a fluffernut sandwich but I managed. "I'm a little devious, but I was trained to be, a genetic genius of unparalleled proportions, a pathological liar but on the side of good, mildly sociopathic but the closest thing to a sociopathic pacifist as you can find, and very definitely noble when it comes to Stefan. I save my brother. I don't annoy him."

I could tell by the feel of the muzzle against the back of my head, Cal had chosen the Desert Eagle. "Who cares? You annoy the hell out of me," came the snarl of his voice.

I finished my sandwich as I heard the trickle of fluid hit the floor. He must've been unconscious and handcuffed here a long time or the jeans would've soaked up most of the urine. "Don't worry about the bright purple color," I suggested. "That's just for entertainment value. And your finger, hand, and arm aren't permanently paralyzed. They'll improve when you sit back down. Then Miss Terrwyn can admit me being here is a mistake and go to work on you."

But it wasn't Caliban that Miss Terrwyn went to work on. Her eyes were focused on me as if she was a four-hundred pound Rikki Tikki Tavi and I was an earthworm who had delusions of cobra-hood. "Were you shot in the chest and almost died while trying to save your brother? Were you run over by a semi-truck, and then have a building collapse on you tearing a hole in one of your lungs, breaking your ribs, and nearly killing you again because you thought you were good enough to take on twelve chimeras like yourself and one more that can kill just by looking at you with her freaky eyes?"

"There are thirteen more of you shitheads running around?" Cal put the gun down when I released control of his motor pathway and sat down heavily. "I don't want to live."

"Only two now and if you did run into them, you wouldn't live," I said mildly. "And there's nothing theoretical about that."

"Enough." There was another pound of a fist on wood and I barely dodged the next donut, which hit Cal in the chest like a fastball and knocked him down again, scattering chairs. "Do you two know that your friend with the fluffy handcuffs, that perverted Mr. Goodfellow, is putting out a calendar to mark the sixth month mark for when each of you almost gets killed? So your brothers can relax the next six months before going through the blessed thing all over again?"

Her finger pointed at us both as Cal sat back up. He'd worked for her for four whole days? Maybe there was more monster in him than I thought. "You will stop getting maimed, mutilated, kidnapped, thrown off buildings, buried under buildings and give your family, the only family that would have either of your smart tongues, at least a year off. Because if you don't…"

She leaned forward, this time with two aprons, one in each hand, "well, I know one thing, boys. I didn't drive all those miles from South Carolina, crossing railroad tracks sitting on my hemorrhoid cushion, then fight my way through half of that porno district your mayor was supposed to clean up to show you lessons in humanity. Boys like you got no humanity. You're the foot soldiers of mass mental damage to your brothers. And I have a warning for you would-be 'we'll be good, Miss Terrwyn,' promising silly white boys. You make that promise and break it and that's a debt you owe me. Personally." She jerked a thumb at her large shelf of breasts. "One hundred days of waitressing. And I want my one hundred days. Taken out of the exhausted waitressing asses of you lazy city boys.

"So you better try not dying."

She turned and was gone, the unseen door slamming again, but she left the aprons behind. "Did that speech sound familiar to you?" I asked curiously.

"I'm marinating in purple piss thanks to you," he snapped. "You think I care if it sounded familiar? All I know is she'll keep her word. I barely survived four days in her diner. A hundred? I'd hang myself with that apron first."

I put down a hand to help pull him up and he ignored it. "Uh, right, next you'll have me growing a tail. I don't think so."

"You were going to shoot me," I pointed out reasonably.

"I was not. I was just going to put the fear of the NRA into you."

I stared at him.

"Probably not," he amended. "If my brother found out, he'd kick my ass."

I didn't blink.

"Okay, okay!" he glared through strands of black hair. "I was going to shoot you! But only in the ass and you deserved it, shithead. You know how hard it is to hold onto your monster cred even when you're not soaked in purple piss? I have a psychotic ex-girlfriend out to kill me, a werewolf mafia out to do the same, and any creature who thinks his balls are bigger than mine is ready to take me on. It's like being an Old West gunslinger. It gets boring after a while. Ever think I'd like to go to a Yankee's game without having twenty flesh-eating revenants in team jackets try to eat me in the bathroom?" He stood and brushed off his jeans then looked at his purple stained hands with disgust. He used one of Miss Terrwyn's aprons to wipe them off.

Miss Terrwyn's.

He might not be a monster, but he was one damn brave son of a bitch. Despite it all, finding out I did annoy my brother and now had caught angst from Caliban like the flu with moping as a respiratory infection on the side, I was pleased. I'd used son of a bitch correctly.

Good for me.

To Be Continued…

Rob Thurman's Blog Timeshare: Cheap & Filthy [Part 4]

Cal: He'd given me a bigger bratwurst, he wasn't afraid of me, he actually was excited I was a monster. I'd almost grown not to loathe him…which for me is willing to die for someone. Now I changed my mind.

"A waitress?" Misha repeated, looking at his bag full of C4 and my autograph as if suddenly the last one wasn't as valuable as he thought.

"Hold on there, sugar. I have proof. Miss Terrwyn always backs up her word." She gave him a bit of a smile. I had a feeling it was something most ladies did—part of the genetic experimentation. You just wanted to like the kid. Even if he didn't deserve it.

Waitress. Like that had been my fault.

Miss Terrwyn held up a framed picture of me getting my ass pinched by a ninety year old lady while I carryied two whole pies, one in each hand. I was scowling and wearing a red and white gingham apron. Labeled at the bottom of the picture was WORST EMPLOYEE OF THE DECADE.

"Decade?" I immediately protested. "I was only there for like four days."

"And based on those four days I know what I know," she shook her finger at me, "and the good Lord will back me up on that. Mmm Hmmm."

"That picture is more frightening than any movie creature I'd ever seen. A waitress in an apron with ruffles?" Misha scooted his chair further away when we both sat back down. "You are the most horrifying monster around. What repels you? Crossed butter knives? A buckshot of Sweet-n-Low? A napkin folded like a swan? Apple pie without the ala mode?

"Okay, I get the annoying part," I snarled at him while speaking politely to Miss Terrwyn. Anyone would be an idiot not to speak politely to Miss Terrwyn. "But why are we here? We don't need to learn to cut back on annoying each other. We didn't know each other until we were brought together." I then hissed low beyond Miss Terrwyn's hearing. "I could kill you in a second."

"Masses and masses of issues," he yawned, hiding the words from Miss Terrwyn behind my hand. "I can kill you in less than a second, but I won't. I don't like to kill…but I could make your newly enhanced penis…I mean, dick fall off. Completely. Then melt. No sewing it back on."

I straightened in my chair, cupping myself protectively. "So…um…yeah, Miss Terrwyn. I mean, yes, ma'am, Miss Terrwyn. Like I was saying, could you tell us why we're here? Who are we annoying?

She rolled your eyes. "Saddest two idiots I ever come across. Who brung your useless selves here? Your brothers. Neither one can get mental health insurance, so they called me in. Because, boys, there ain't no one, including Freud himself, going to straighten you out like I will."

"We…well, I don't annoy my brother," Misha said promptly. "He rescued me ten years after I was kidnapped. He never gave up. He throws himself in front of me to take a bullet at least once a week. To save my life, he's killed at least…." He started counting on his fingers, pulled a calculator from his pocket, and then sighed. "Limited microchip. He's very protective. We are family. All we have. Of course I don't annoy him."

Miss Terrwyn put on a pair of reading glasses and thumped down a book as big as the NYC phone book. Opening it, she ran a finger along a page and asked with a flinty glare over the rims of the glasses, "Did your pet ferret bite him over fifty times while you did not correct its behavior? Did you cause a tourist slash assassin to vomit all over the street, alerting him to who and what you are? Did this cause you and your brother to flee town, while burning down the only home you'd ever known to cover up evidence of your DNA? Did you build pipe bombs in your garage and blow it up, Lord, Lord, Lord? Did you start a mari-ju-ana ring just to have an excuse to buy a plane from very bad people by posing as a drug dealer? Did you learn to fly the plane by watching videos on the internet and then crash that plane almost cracking your brother's skull? And did all that happen in less than one day?"

Misha whipped out a Bberry and looked up something with lightning fast finger-strokes. "Ah. Convenient." He put it away. "I invoke the Fifth Amendment which states that I cannot be forced to incriminate myself. And it was forty-eight times, not fifty. My brother was in the Russian Mob, you know. They lie quite often."

"And you did not carry on a relationship with a genetically mutated sociopathic assassin chicky-chicky named Ariel, although you knew she was a genetically mutated sociopathic assassin chicky-chicky?"

He leaned in my direction. "She was hot. Really hot. With pink hair and a mermaid tattoo."

Before I could say I had no room to talk, Miss Terrwyn dangled that red and white checked apron from one hand and said, "Tell the truth, boy, or I'll put this on you and you won't like it."

I swallowed hard. Once Miss Terrwyn threatened to cut off my dick if she thought I was full of lust and wickedness. I scraped through on the lust. "Yes, ma'am."

"Did you manage to get yourself possessed and try to kill your brother, Niko? Do you never do your laundry? Do you regularly kill the patrons of the bar where you work? Sometimes accidentally as you're dumb as box of hair? Did you threaten to cut the nose off a gypsy? Did you try to cut the nose off a gypsy? Did you turn loose several undead mummified cats loose in your friend's condo? Did you make your own brother stab you to save the world? Did you get a bite taken out of you by a supernatural cannibal causing your brother anguish? Did you set off a nuclear bomb in an alternate dimension causing OSHA anguish? Did you get amnesia causing your brother anguish? Did you date a psychopathic white werewolf named Delilah and cover your black clothes with white fur causing your brother massive amounts of money for crates of de-linters? And, child, that would cause anyone anguish. Did you attempt to take a fork and stab…."

"Enough," I slid down in the chair. "Yeah, yeah. I did all those things and more. I'm annoying. I get it. Nik has every right to send me here." I was miserable and guilty and I deserved worse than this.

Until Misha leaned over again and patted me on the shoulder. "I gave thirteen or so kids younger than me lobotomies, killed a federal agent, and made my brother's best friend impotent for a week." He grinned, cheerful and happy. "And I'm just getting started."

Huh. Maybe I wasn't so bad after all.

To Be Continued…

ROB THURMAN'S BLOG TIMESHARE: CHEAP & FILTHY [PART 4]

Cal: He'd given me a bigger bratwurst, he wasn't afraid of me, he actually was excited I was a monster. I'd almost grown not to loathe him…which for me is willing to die for someone. Now I changed my mind.

"A waitress?" Misha repeated, looking at his bag full of C4 and my autograph as if suddenly the last one wasn't as valuable as he thought.

"Hold on there, sugar. I have proof. Miss Terrwyn always backs up her word." She gave him a bit of a smile. I had a feeling it was something most ladies did—part of the genetic experimentation. You just wanted to like the kid. Even if he didn't deserve it.

Waitress. Like that had been my fault.

Miss Terrwyn held up a framed picture of me getting my ass pinched by a ninety year old lady while I carryied two whole pies, one in each hand. I was scowling and wearing a red and white gingham apron. Labeled at the bottom of the picture was WORST EMPLOYEE OF THE DECADE.

"Decade?" I immediately protested. "I was only there for like four days."

"And based on those four days I know what I know," she shook her finger at me, "and the good Lord will back me up on that. Mmm Hmmm."

"That picture is more frightening than any movie creature I'd ever seen. A waitress in an apron with ruffles?" Misha scooted his chair further away when we both sat back down. "You are the most horrifying monster around. What repels you? Crossed butter knives? A buckshot of Sweet-n-Low? A napkin folded like a swan? Apple pie without the ala mode?

"Okay, I get the annoying part," I snarled at him while speaking politely to Miss Terrwyn. Anyone would be an idiot not to speak politely to Miss Terrwyn. "But why are we here? We don't need to learn to cut back on annoying each other. We didn't know each other until we were brought together." I then hissed low beyond Miss Terrwyn's hearing. "I could kill you in a second."

"Masses and masses of issues," he yawned, hiding the words from Miss Terrwyn behind my hand. "I can kill you in less than a second, but I won't. I don't like to kill…but I could make your newly enhanced penis…I mean, dick fall off. Completely. Then melt. No sewing it back on."

I straightened in my chair, cupping myself protectively. "So…um…yeah, Miss Terrwyn. I mean, yes, ma'am, Miss Terrwyn. Like I was saying, could you tell us why we're here? Who are we annoying?

She rolled your eyes. "Saddest two idiots I ever come across. Who brung your useless selves here? Your brothers. Neither one can get mental health insurance, so they called me in. Because, boys, there ain't no one, including Freud himself, going to straighten you out like I will."

"We…well, I don't annoy my brother," Misha said promptly. "He rescued me ten years after I was kidnapped. He never gave up. He throws himself in front of me to take a bullet at least once a week. To save my life, he's killed at least…." He started counting on his fingers, pulled a calculator from his pocket, and then sighed. "Limited microchip. He's very protective. We are family. All we have. Of course I don't annoy him."

Miss Terrwyn put on a pair of reading glasses and thumped down a book as big as the NYC phone book. Opening it, she ran a finger along a page and asked with a flinty glare over the rims of the glasses, "Did your pet ferret bite him over fifty times while you did not correct its behavior? Did you cause a tourist slash assassin to vomit all over the street, alerting him to who and what you are? Did this cause you and your brother to flee town, while burning down the only home you'd ever known to cover up evidence of your DNA? Did you build pipe bombs in your garage and blow it up, Lord, Lord, Lord? Did you start a mari-ju-ana ring just to have an excuse to buy a plane from very bad people by posing as a drug dealer? Did you learn to fly the plane by watching videos on the internet and then crash that plane almost cracking your brother's skull? And did all that happen in less than one day?"

Misha whipped out a Bberry and looked up something with lightning fast finger-strokes. "Ah. Convenient." He put it away. "I invoke the Fifth Amendment which states that I cannot be forced to incriminate myself. And it was forty-eight times, not fifty. My brother was in the Russian Mob, you know. They lie quite often."

"And you did not carry on a relationship with a genetically mutated sociopathic assassin chicky-chicky named Ariel, although you knew she was a genetically mutated sociopathic assassin chicky-chicky?"

He leaned in my direction. "She was hot. Really hot. With pink hair and a mermaid tattoo."

Before I could say I had no room to talk, Miss Terrwyn dangled that red and white checked apron from one hand and said, "Tell the truth, boy, or I'll put this on you and you won't like it."

I swallowed hard. Once Miss Terrwyn threatened to cut off my dick if she thought I was full of lust and wickedness. I scraped through on the lust. "Yes, ma'am."

"Did you manage to get yourself possessed and try to kill your brother, Niko? Do you never do your laundry? Do you regularly kill the patrons of the bar where you work? Sometimes accidentally as you're dumb as box of hair? Did you threaten to cut the nose off a gypsy? Did you try to cut the nose off a gypsy? Did you turn loose several undead mummified cats loose in your friend's condo? Did you make your own brother stab you to save the world? Did you get a bite taken out of you by a supernatural cannibal causing your brother anguish? Did you set off a nuclear bomb in an alternate dimension causing OSHA anguish? Did you get amnesia causing your brother anguish? Did you date a psychopathic white werewolf named Delilah and cover your black clothes with white fur causing your brother massive amounts of money for crates of de-linters? And, child, that would cause anyone anguish. Did you attempt to take a fork and stab…."

"Enough," I slid down in the chair. "Yeah, yeah. I did all those things and more. I'm annoying. I get it. Nik has every right to send me here." I was miserable and guilty and I deserved worse than this.

Until Misha leaned over again and patted me on the shoulder. "I gave thirteen or so kids younger than me lobotomies, killed a federal agent, and made my brother's best friend impotent for a week." He grinned, cheerful and happy. "And I'm just getting started."

Huh. Maybe I wasn't so bad after all.

To Be Continued…

Rob Thurman's Blog Timeshare: Cheap & Filthy [Part 3]

The first ever meeting of AAA
Astoundingly Annoying Anonymous

Misha: "You're really a monster? I mean I definitely can detect the non-human, but monster? That is the shit. Did I use that right? 'That is the shit'? I'm having a difficult time with that. Never mind. You're a monster?" I eased my messenger bag to the floor, crouched beside it, opened it and dug out a pen and piece of paper. "Can I have your autograph?"

Cal, I hoped it wasn't short for Calvin—Calvin isn't a good name for a monster, eyebrows lifted, mouth dropped open slightly, head shook lightly as if he couldn't believe it. "You want my autograph? Most monsters piss at the sight of me and you want my autograph?"

I held up the paper and pen. "To Misha if you don't mind. M—I—S—H—A. And it's not a girl's name. It's short for Mikhail in Russian or Michael if you're Russian-American. And sign it Cal the monster if you could. I am framing it and putting it beside my original framed Nosferatu print." He was still staring at me. I frowned at him. "Many people are into collectibles. People of all ages. Don't be rude," he said defensively.

"And your name is Misha and you're not afraid of me?" He was beyond nonplussed. He was shocked as he automatically took the paper and pen and signed his name, his full name: To Misha…Best Wishes but Only Because of the 'Boost in the Weiner schnitzel'. Caliban the Monster."

Caliban. Shakespeare. A much better name for a monster, but I didn't say so. If he liked the name Caliban, he would use it. Like if I could stand the name Michael, I would use it. "Thanks." I carefully folded it up and put it back in the bag.

"What else is in there?" Cal peered over my shoulder. "Oh, shit. I recognize that. C4."

"Sometimes things need to be blown up." I closed the bag and hoisted it on my shoulder. "And you never know when that sometimes will be."

Cal pointed at the door. "Like now? Or I could gate us out although I might end up naked again."

I heard the slam of a door just as Cal said, "I smell…."

There were four or five folding chairs and in front of them a lectern, a podium, something to pound your fist on. This woman did. Bang. Bang. Bang. "You are not going anywhere. I call the first meeting of AAA to order. Now sit your sad, worthless be-hinds down."

She was big and black and wearing her Sunday-Going-To-Church clothes and she had a look in her eye that had me clutching my C4 and sitting down as told. "What's AAA?" I asked meekly.

"Astoundingly Annoying Anonymous," she pursed her lips and folded her arms. "Now, Mister Cal, worst waitress in this half of the country, maybe the whole country for all I know, sit your bony butt down."

"Miss Terrwyn. Ah, Jesus," he groaned, but he sat.

"Did you blaspheme, boy? Did you just blaspheme the name of the Son of God?" she snapped. I'd seen a dingy sign by the door. Old. It had said 'free coffee and donuts.' The donuts must've been as old as the sign as the one this Miss Terrwyn flung at Cal's head. It knocked him backwards and he groaned again as he clutched his already bruising forehead.

I bent over him quickly, anxiously asking the most important question of the moment. "Were you really a waitress?"

To Be Continued…

BASILISK Virtual Launch Party: The Reaver Dance!

A shout-out to Carol L. aka @qultng1 on Twitter for doing a little "Reaver Dance" for BASILISK!

And yes, that was a Celtic-flavored pun, and yes, I meant for it to be a groaner.

-Jayda

Rob Thurman's Blog Timeshare: Cheap & Filthy [Part 2]

Cal: I hated him. I didn't have a problem hating people younger than me. So he was nineteen at best. I hated him and right now I was hating Niko and Robin for drugging me and dumping me here. They kept on and on about interventions and meetings and blah blah. Then Goodfellow gave me a beer and I wake up handcuffed and worse. Then I try gating out of the restraints, which I hadn't tried before, and end up gating out of everything, naked in front of some guy who was twirling a pair of Robin's furry handcuffs around his finger and smiling and it damn sure wasn't a sympathetic smile.

It wasn't a mean smile either, but…shit…more a Dr. Phil smile. Knowing. "You should take down the attitude some," he said earnestly. "Buy a blue shirt or a smaller gun with better aim. You're not a potential porn star," he coughed modestly, "but it isn't as if you can't get by. Average is nothing to be ashamed of physically. Now mentally…."

"Shut up!" I snapped. I slid over, grabbed my jacket and covered the average…and who decided average was average anyway? I could be huge. Who set these goddamn standards? "And kick my clothes towards me." I added hastily, "Keep the damn handcuffs. They're not even mine."

"Oh. Absolutely not. I'm sure," the smile became grave, his eyes…one blue and one green, weird…glittered. "Just because you were wearing them I would never think they belonged to you. That would be crazy, utterly illogical." He kicked my clothes, the dim light gleaming off the few pale blond streaks in his dark brown short hair.

I scrambled to put them on, staring at him, startled, this time instead of glaring. "You saw me gate. Teleport, I guess. That doesn't scare you?"

He tilted his head. "You're not human. I'm not human. The things I can do, they scare everyone. I know how it is. Prejudice everywhere you go." He shrugged.

I took a quick whiff of him. No. He wasn't human, but he wasn't a monster either. I had no idea what he was—similar to human but much stronger pheromones. "If you're not human and you're not a monster, then what are you?"

His eyes narrowed but brightened at the same time. "There are monsters? Not just TV and movies? That would be entertaining. I want to see one. Oh, me? I'm a genetic mutant. Created in a lab by a maniacal genius out to rule the world. The usual."

"You're shitting me. That's only in movies and TV," I said scornfully as I finished dressing, zipping first. Average my ass.

"Want me to prove it?"

Before I could decide between 'knock yourself out because there's no damn way' and 'Hell, no. Keep your distance, Frankenteen', he covered the ground between us and touched a single finger tip to my forehead. I felt a peculiar sensation, so peculiar and…shit…kind of enjoyable that I froze—and I never freeze—until he stepped back.

He looked down at the front of my jeans and smiled, "Go ahead. It seemed important to you and will solve several of your psychological issues."

I swallowed, unbuttoned, unzipped and took a look. "Okay," I said hoarsely. "I believe you and you are now my best friend. Hey, there's a puck I know…you any good at shrinking too?"

To Be Continued…

Rob Thurman's Blog Timeshare: Cheap & Filthy [Part 1]

Available Immediately.
Correction: Rented for AAA Meeting
Astoundingly Annoying Anonymous

(free coffee and donuts)

Misha: New York was a good place to hide. Lots of people, but I still preferred hiding in small towns. Bad guys…ummm…badder guys than Stefan and me were easier to spot and doing a background check on everyone including the town pet moose, Mickey…Mickey the Moose—I named him. That wasn't exactly pertinent to the situation, but I did have a file on him regarding him kicking an overweight mailman the next town over and destroying twenty-five garbage cans in search of food that tasted better than grass. It seemed logical to me. I'd rather have a Big Mac than a mouthful of chlorophyll.

But New York…it'd take a long, long time to get a background check, picture, proof of birth and fingerprints of everyone there.

I had no idea why Stefan had dropped me in this impossible and annoying place, but he said it was for his own good. Not my own good, I just this moment recalled, but his own good. Stefan, as older brothers went, was the best, but having been an ex-member of the Russian Mafiya he often did what had to be done.

When he slammed the door behind me and told me he'd be back to pick me up in about two hours, I shrugged. Stefan knew I could protect myself, but he was a worrier. He'd be back sooner with an explanation and probably several bags of greasy food as an apology …at least I thought so until I heard a padlock snick into place outside the door. Stefan's own good didn't seem to have my own good traveling along with it.

Craptastic.

I'd only heard that word recently. I liked it. Craptastic. It was better than craporama. Or fuck me running. I liked fuck me running, but I hadn't figured out exactly what it meant yet and the mental picture wasn't helping me any.

I heard a mumble and flicked on the lights to the mostly empty small building and saw a figure curled on the floor, handcuffed, ankles duct-taped together, gagged…with a sock…a smelly sock even from several feet away that was easy to tell and was ninety-seven percent unconscious.

Approximately.

I walked closer. He…and it was a he, I sighed…small towns are great, but short on women my age. He was about twenty-four and fifteen days old. He had straight black hair that hung over his face, his skin was unnaturally pale, and he was dressed in jeans, a black T-shirt that said King of the Fucking Universe, and black combat boots. There was a black leather jacket draped over a folding chair near his feet. And in and underneath the jacket was a double holster with a Glock 40 and a Desert Eagle .50. I didn't care about guns, but I knew about them.

I knew about everything.

That sounded arrogant, but it wasn't. I really did.

In the jacket I could see the jagged edges of four matte black combat knives and two more knives of the switchblade kind. And that summed up the psych profile—I'd been doing them since I was five. Two seconds maximum. This guy…half a second was enough.

Diagnosis via T-shirt, all black clothes stemming from parental issues, over-compensation due to small genitalia size evidenced by a large size in weapons, a T-shirt announcing his 'bad-ass' arrogance to the world equaled low self-esteem which resulted in easily triggered aggression to hide said low self-esteem. The need of weapons of any sort suggested a dangerous occupation, confidence in his fighting skills as evidenced by the wear and tear on them, probably also requiring their use by, again, the hostility-inviting T-shirt, and….oh….lazy. He was lazy. The smelly sock.

I sighed again. It couldn't have been a girl that Stefan had locked me in with. No, it was a mass of issues, kinky bondage gear, and unwashed footwear.

I bent over and touched a finger to the skin of one of the hands cuffed behind him. I shook my head at the cuffs, but then went on to the more important.

He was drugged with an amount that would kill a normal human…I'm not a normal human, it made that easy to recognize…and he was not human either. Not true. He was about one-third human, but he wasn't my kind. I was about ten percent human, although my first cell had started out fully human. Those were the days, and then mitosis had gone and ruined it all.

I concentrated for a second, neutralizing the drug and its effects, and then he was wide awake and not happy. He glared at me as he shimmered with a silver streaked, dark gray and black light and disappeared. He reappeared across the room without the handcuffs, duct tape or sock…or any of his clothes that were in a pile at my feet.

"Cool trick." I'd been wrong. Despite the overly large guns, he was average sized. I was not. Stefan once was shaving and caught a glance at me getting out of the shower in our one bathroom and said if the assassin thing didn't work out for me, that I had porn star in my future.

I bent down and held up the leopard spotted furry handcuffs. "You want these or maybe your shirt and pants instead?"

To Be Continued…

CHIMERA Review by Bookshelf Bombshells

CHIMERA: The CHIMERA Novels, Book 1

Buy It. A new series with a bold concept that's well worth owning.

"From the rescue on, the story gains momentum to become an excellent thriller, full of tests, betrayal, and discovery. Both brothers find themselves in situations that require them to do things they not only don't wish to do, but desperately wish the other did not have to witness. It's a strange sort of bonding, peppered liberally with the sarcasm of cynical young men, but throughout the process, they both learn the importance of family, however dysfunctional. The closer they get to freedom, the more difficult it becomes for them, and the reader, to believe they will make it. The twist at the end, which I will not ruin, is smart, logical, and yet surprising.

Rob Thurman has shown an impressive talent for creating memorable stories and compelling worlds. I believe Chimera is a fine beginning for this new series. Stay tuned for my review of the sequel, Basilisk, released this month." -Bookshelf Bombshells

BASILISK Launch Party Fan Art: Not. A. Kid.

From Gnine on Deviant Art:

After reading BASILISK and very very much enjoying it in all its wonderful, co-dependent, adorable brothers glory, I wanted to do something. So, here, a little chibi doodle, hope you like. As always, I look forward to more great works ^_^

BASILISK Launch Party: There Be Ferrets Here!

Submitted by Julia S.:

Simon & Slinky check out Basilisk by Rob Thurman. Ferrets unite!