Amy Lane's Blog: Writer's Lane, page 83

As I Lay, Writing

Okay, it's 12:07. I need to be up until 1, and I need 3,000 words written. I have 1500--let's continue to write, even though we're nodding off.

Brandon walked naked to where he stood, and rubbed his lower lip with a thumb. “No. You love them. It’s family, Taylor. It’s the whole reason I’m leaving in a week, right?”
Taylor’s heart fell into the trees where it was picked up by the columbine and chucked live into the orgy of bees.
KERSPLANG AWAKE!!! Oh hell. What in the fuck? Hearts falling into trees? Bee orgies? Heaven help me--here. Chocolate. Let me go eat chocolate and drink some water, and I might manage write something intelligible.  Chocolate. Ice water, GO.
He’d managed to forget that. “Yup. All my idea. It’s awesome. So glad you’re going.”
Taylor stepped away toward the bathroom, only to be seized behind by a behemoth with more muscles than sense. “I hate going,” Brandon whispered, brushing Taylor’s ear with his lips. Just like that, their bubble butt bubble butt bubble butt champion bum smashers bubbling in buttland, bubble bubble bubble bubble...
KERSPLANG AWAKE!  More goddamned ice water. And cat petting. And don't I have to pee? C'non... I've got 1600 words done... what am I made of, chartreuse bubble butts?

“I’m… not excited about it,” Taylor said softly.
“Well, it’s a good thing we’re having a big family meeting then—we’re going to need some help moving you in.”
Taylor closed his eyes and leaned his head back against Brandon, shamelessly using his strength and vitality, because his own body felt stripped of any sort of volition.  “You know, we don’t have to—“  slow down into the magical lizard forest where the chimera danced nude before the bronze unicorn god. SPARKLES!!!
KERSPLANG AWAKE! Fucking Jesus. Sparkles? Naked chimeras and bronze unicorns? What the fuck is in this water????
“Stop,” Brandon whispered. “Stop. You promised.”
Rashly. Uncharacteristically. Whole-heartedly. “I promised,” Taylor conceded.  And whispered promises, in the DARK... never again, wasn't that how it went? And if taking was going to be done you'd decide to eat pancakes!
KERSPLANG AWAKE! Okay, take THAT song off Spotify. What was I going to write again? Wait. What do they have to do? There's action here, I can't just have them wandering around the house petting the cat. What just happened? Oh God, yeah. Sex scenes. Lots and lots of sex scenes.
“No go take care of your cat and I’ll shower first.”
Taylor started to pivot and turn toward the bed, but Brandon didn’t let go. “Let me imagine you naked,” he said with an evil little flick of his tongue in the whorl of Taylor’s ear. Against Taylor’s backside, Brandon’s impressive erection stirred. And they took off all their clothes and rolled naked in jello pudding using it as lubricant AND breakfast as they licked the sugary pudding goodness off each other's naughty bits before inserting tab A into slot B and building an underwear drawer.
KERSPLANG AWAKE! Oh dear God, I don't even want to know what my subconscious thinks my sex life is. NO PUDDING EVER!!! 

Taylor stepped away and scowled, grabbing his underwear. “Get in the shower,” he ordered gruffly. “We’re late.”
Brandon stroked him up and down with just the power of his gaze. “We are going to have so much fun,” he promised. “You and me—I don’t see ever getting bored.” The lizard and the butterfly went to pee in the beautiful sea green bloat. And then they danced at a party and the lizard done farted and the butterfly to death he choked.
KERSPLANG AWAKE! Oh hell. I'm writing poetry in my sleep. It's REALLY BAD. Can I just finish this damned scene?
He was trying to promise forever, but Taylor couldn’t do it. Not when he was leaving in five days. “Go,” he said gruffly. “Promises to keep.”

And he went.  To beautiful blissful sleep where the lizards and unicorns and chimeras and jello pudding could all coexist in peace without making me fat or getting in the way of my sweet little contemporary romance.  Sleep, Taylor, sleep, there will be sex scenes tomorrow and deep emotional discoveries and now me and the dogs are going to dream of endless fields of clovers and dog treats and the occasional pile of poop.
Wanders off to bed to sleep so soundly anything I've had to erase off my work in progress will be forever forgotten. Which is a real shame, because damn, I'd like to know where my head was when I wrote that shit.
Night!

Snapshot of My Day

Day: Wednesday

Mood: Philosophical

Pictures taken: This one, of the cat sitting, happy as a clam--or a cat, really-- in the street, surrounded by turkeys. Because, turkeys, I guess? Whatever. Cat and turkeys. It's a conundrum.

Weather: Stunning. I understand we'll get rain this weekend. Looking forward to that too.

Kid moment: I bought them Del Taco for when they got out of school. That, and they wanted to eat leftovers for dinner. You heard me. Wanted to eat leftovers. 
On my Kindle; Die For Me by Karen Rose

Writing: Manny Get Your Guy-- sequel to The Virgin Manny, a Dreamspun Desire due out from DSP this summer.

Knitting:  Well, I just finished this wrap for my friend (Squish loved modeling it though) and I had a half a ball of yarn left. (The wrap only took one and a half balls--it's a big put-up!)  So I'm knitting a family of tiny hats for a friend who has a new niece and nephew and two growing boys of her own. The yarn is soft and squishy and lovely and I couldn't imagine throwing the ball in the leftover stash and never using it again.


Thing I'm most behind on: Halloween costumes for kids. They haven't decided on anything-- it's driving me crazy.

Music: Goddamned Boxer Rebellion-- a friend of Chicken's turned her on to them in high school, and she doesn't even like them now. But me, no, I've got to have a bizarre ten year late obsession with this band.

Oh well.

Allow me to share my obsession--and the lead singer just sort of wraps his hands around my heart and squeezes mercilessly. Enjoy that:

And Here Shall I Lie...

Okay, so I have this green sweater--it looks a lot like my black sweater, actually, but it's green, and I don't wear it as much, but it's soft, and, well, it came out of the clean pile and got worn
.

And like all sweaters in our house, it goes through a cycle.

It comes out of the clean pile, gets worn comfortably and left in the front room, worn comfortably and left in the front room, worn comfortably and left in the front room, until finally we clean the front room and/or it gets washed.

And then there were dogs.

"Okay, dog, no sleeping on that. We're putting that over here, in this other pile."

Dog moves to other pile, curls up on sweater.

"Okay, dog, no sleeping in that. We're putting that over here, in this other pile."

Dog moves to other pile, curls up on sweater.

Sweater gets moved across room.

Dog curls up on sweater. Sweater gets moved to my lap.

Dog gets on my lap and curls up on the sweater.

Squish says, "Mom, I'm thinking that she's going to sleep on that sweater forever."

I scratch her behind the ears. "You know, I bet this is as happy as this particular sweater has ever been."

"You don't think it likes you better?"

"Oh, it likes me fine.  But you only get unconditional love from a dog."

Dog turns in a tiny circle again and makes herself at home, grunting.

She sure does love that sweater.

*  *  *

Mate: Do you like this logo?

Me: Ew, no.

Mate: How about this one?

Me: Gross--worse!

Mate: What's wrong with them?

Me: They look like creepy crash test dummy heads stuck in a soccer ball.

Mate: Well that's the team. The Crash Test Dummies. See? CTD?

Me: Oh! Well in that case they're great!

Mate: Which one do you like best?

Me: The second one--that's the one that looks the most crash test dummy-like.

Mate: Huh.

*  *  *

And the cup?

The cup was a birthday present from Rhae, a reader--and a friend.

The slogan comes out in hot water... which is singularly appropriate, right?

It is officially one of the family's favorite things period.  We shall have to drink more tea :-)

Yes, it's a thing

So, on Friday, we were at Oktoberfest with friends.

"What's Oktoberfest?" my friend Teresa asked. Yes, that Teresa, the inspiration for the mom in Lollipop.  I adore her so much, I've got no words.

"White people getting drunk and yodeling," I tell her seriously.

"Oh my God--for real?"

"And wearing lederhosen."

"What's that?"

"Leather shorts with suspenders and knee socks and really quaint shoes."  Although I'm pretty sure the actual word only applies to one of these things.

"You're kidding."

"No. They really yodel. It's a whole contest, I swear."

"And they wear lederhosen."

"Yeah," I said. "And hats. And we sang 'Sweet Caroline' and did the Chicken Dance."

"Now you're yanking my chain."

Sadly no.  "It's weird. It's like, you never know how you know the Chicken Dance, but everybody knows the Chicken Dance. The polka will start playing, and people just get up on top of the tables and--"

"You are so full of shit!"

"I swear! No, seriously. And we eat bratwurst."

"Which is..."

"Mutant hot dog with sauerkraut. Mate got curried bratwurst, but it wasn't as good as the regular stuff."

"Okay-- I think I've heard of that."

"Yeah--pretty good. Their pretzels weren't great though. But I'm not a fan--"

"Of Oktoberfest?"

"Of pretzels. Too much mustard. Anyway, so, yeah. That's what we did on Friday."

"And got drunk."  Her eyebrows raised.

"No--but I did have a beer."

"You hate beer."

It's true. "Yeah, I know--I can't even explain it. It was like... like a requirement of something. I kept trying to give my beer to Mate, but he was getting plowed, so I had to pony up and drink."  Well, I nursed. I nursed a beer.

"What in the hell."

"I am saying."

"Drunk white people."

"Pretty much."

"Was it fun?"

I grinned. "Can't wait to go next year!"

I don't tell her that in a drunken fit of sincerity, Mate pledged to his friend that next year we'll actually go to real Germany for Oktoberfest.

I don't think she'd believe that.

Even if we make it true ;-)

Scorched Haven--Part 12-- the Long and Winding Road

So, we're nearing the end of this little adventure--I hope you've been enjoying the ride!  (Sorry for all the typos, though--thank Goddess for the editors at DSPP when the books come out, that is all I'm saying!)

So, this is sort of a celebration installment--and good that I'm showing the boys arriving home! Rampant Part 1 is already out, and Rampant Part 2 will be out shortly-- and for those of you new to the Little Goddess series, this could be exciting because yay! Another installment in the magic!  For those of you who have been around awhile--you have been waiting for what comes after Rampant for a VERY LONG TIME. And Rampant coming out means something special to all of you-- so yes! This is cause to celebrate!

Oh-- and don't worry about Jack and Teague and Katy-- their books are getting re-released too. Because Lynn and Elizabeth at DSPP are so awesome I don't even have words.

But it's coming. Quickening is coming.

I know I'm excited.

Anyway-- if you haven't read the first parts of Scorched Haven, this little werewolfy visit to the Little Goddess world you can find installments 1-11 here:

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10

Part 11

If you like what you read, and haven't read any of the other stories, remember the magic begins with Vulnerable. 

So, all that being said... where were our boys? Oh yes. I remember now.

Almost home.

* * *

The traffic in Sacramento sucked as always--Zeb hadn't been wrong about that. But he piloted the little Mini through the never-ending construction in Natomas deftly, and within an hour they were passing Madison and on their way up the hill toward Auburn.

And then Colton let out a little whine--and even Zeb could hear the gurgling in his stomach.

"Call Green for me again," he said, swinging the car off at the Madison exit and ignoring the honking and middle-fingers that came with that decision. Funny how driving on the lam could give a guy a sense of "I'm an asshole so what" when it came to road rules. He thought of all the useless frustration he'd spent in traffic and wished for this amount of adrenaline all the time.

"Where are we going?"

"A carnivore's last best hope--In & Out."

Colton's relieved laugh was followed by another stomach gurgle.

Ten minutes later, after ordering twelve double-doubles and animal style fries (mostly to hear Colton chuckle when he did it) Zeb pulled onto Madison cursing traffic all over again. Getting back onto the freeway was going to be a bitch. As they'd been in line at the drive thru, he'd seen five cop cars zooming onto the freeway headed east, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that something was doing up the hill.

Colton had been unable to get hold of Green when they'd been in the drive thru, and now as Zeb headed east on Madison and battled with gridlocked traffic, he had Colton pick up the phone and try again.

When the phone went to voice mail again, Zeb grunted with worry.

"Uh... this is not--"

Bad news is that I'm a little busy right now. Good news is, every wolf for miles is going to be focused on a jail break from Bell Road in Auburn. Your job is to get home without getting dead, deal?

Deal Green. Be safe.

And he was apparently too busy to respond.

"Okay," Zeb said, thinking fast. "We're going to stop for gas here, where the wolf thing isn't a deal, and then you and I are going to take the long and winding road back home."

"Snacks?" Colton asked, working on his third sandwich without slowing down.

"Snacks," Zeb agreed.

"Sex?" He asked hopefully.

"Alas, no."  Zeb felt the loss keenly. They were so close to Green's Hill-- where Colton would discover a cornucopia of possible mates. The hope that had filled Zeb earlier drained out of him as he thought of the trip around Folsom Lake and up through El Dorado Hills. "We just added another fifty or so miles to our trip--and something tells me we need to get to the hill while the rest of the team is busy. If Green is called into action, then big shit is about to go down."

"So, we're the little fish sliding to safety while the whales are engaged?"

Zeb thought of the last clash of the titans he'd been there to witness. "We are indeed," he said softly. "Gear up, little fish. Shit's about to get slippery."

Once Madison passed the intersection with Fair Oaks, the scenery changed slightly. Fewer strip malls, fewer old businesses, more trees. In this moment, in the cusp of August and September, Zeb felt a little bit of peace. Cooler days were coming, bracing days with a good wind and the smell of rain.

Cory had come to the hill in the winter--the winter gave him hope.

He turned left toward Folsom, then took another left on Blue Ravine toward El Dorado Hills. Colton looked around with interest, taking in the two sides of Folsom-- the older side, the historic district of Riley Road with the old brick buildings, antique shops, and restaurants--and the newer side, the developments that had come up in the past twenty years, the new high school, bright and hopeful as a shiny penny, and the big homes built into the foothills.

"This would be a good place to live," he said thoughtfully. "Pretty. Lots of hope."

Zeb laughed and took a left that would lead them to Coloma. "Hold on to the hope, buddy-- the next stretch of road is haunted as fuck."

"Haunted? As in ghosts?"

Colton's voice pitched, and Zeb took a moment to appreciate that this he seemed to take seriously.

"Oh yeah. Green's Hill is like a giant ghost-free zone in the foothills. The rest of this place was made by miners or entrepreneurs coming to seek their fortunes. When shit went south and their bodies did too, their souls hung around for a bit. There are some scary assed places down this little country road--believe you me."

"Does being a werewolf, does that let us... you know, see them?"

Zeb grunted. "No. Just the opposite, actually."

"I don't understand?"

"We talked about the Goddess?"

"Yeah..."

"Well the idea of a spirit and an afterlife--that's sort of God's purview. Most of these spirits--they believe what you learn in church, so they suffer and they twist and they get pissed off. The pagans went on to become part of the earth, or part of a larger consciousness, or to a happy field to fuck and fight and do it again--whatever afterlife turned their key. So these guys, these ghosts-- we might believe in them, but odds are, they don't believe in us. So we can't see each other--but we can sure sense their moods. So, like, a pissed off spirit might actually be visible to a tourist on the side of the road--but one of us passes through it, and we just get..."  He shuddered--it had only happened once. "Like a blinding flash of pain behind our eyes. We're two beings not meant to occupy the same space, you understand?"

"This happens to everybody?"

"Only were creatures. Not the vampires--I think because they're technically dead. Not the elves, and no, I don't know why. Just the shapeshifters. It's like our special curse."

"And we're driving down a haunted road? For real?"

Zeb watched as the houses dwindled, the stretches of property getting bigger and bigger, the age of the buildings getting higher and higher.

"That farmhouse over there?" he said, pointing to a recently renovated white clapboard house with red trim.

"Yeah?"

"We came up here when I was a kid, and I saw a woman in a bloody dress. Scared the shit out of me. My parents thought I'd come unglued."

"And now?"

Zeb   took a deep breath and resolved to keep his eyes open on this stretch of road. "Five, four, three, two..."

"Augh!!!"

They both screamed together, but while Colton doubled over, moaning in pain, Zeb kept his eyes open and on the road.  The Mini cleared the cold spot and he sagged against the leather seat, whimpering, covered in sweat.

"Oh Jesus, that sucked," Colton moaned, leaning his head against the window.  "One more like that, I'm going to have to throw--"

"AAUGH!"

Zeb was too nauseated to even scream--but he kept it locked inside. Werewolves. There were werewolves on their tail with a shitty smell and crazy eyes. Green was busy with big fucking goings down. And Colton trusted him to get them home.

Five.

They encountered five spirits through Highway 49, and up the canyon under the Foresthill bridge. Colton had to roll down his window at the third one, and Zeb had pulled over to the side of the road, while both of them tried to breath through the spirit-induced migraine.

When Colton had finished emptying his stomach--and drinking some water and rinsing off the car--he got back in and asked the obvious question. "How do you people live so close to this bullshit?"

"We never take this way," Zeb told him. "The last time someone went down here was sometime before the bridge was even built. One of the elves, I think--and a vampire. Green just sort of laid down the law--off limits. People listened.  Besides this road--and, oh, yeah, a scary fucking house down off of Foresthill Road, we mostly stay away from graveyards. I'm not sure Cory even knows about this glitch-- it seems to me like it might not even effect her."

"Not a shapeshifter?"

"Nope."

"Aces."

"Yeah, well, she's got--"

"Her own problems. Okay, are we read--"

"Fuck!"

And that was number four.

They got to the top of the hill near sunset, Zeb feeling nauseated and wrung dry. As he sat idling at the stop sign that--oh God--so close--allowed them to merge onto Foresthill road proper for the final mile before the magic little turn-off, he saw three black SUV's coming over the bridge--followed by what looked like half a dozen cop cars.

Normally, Zeb being the good citizen he tried to be, the invisible boy he'd worked his whole life toward, he would have let all of that drama just pass him by.

But watching that bullshit head toward him, two things happened.

One, was he recognized the SUV's-- they were Green's.

The other was that a shaggy form stuck it's head out of one of the cop cars.

On the driver's side.

And Zeb realized that once, just once, he was going to have to put himself first.

He stepped on the gas and prayed.

Behind him he heard the squealing of brakes and probably the blue curses of the people he loved best, but he didn't care. He stood on the gas, taking that Mini to 110 before he saw the turn-off.

It was the best bit of driving he'd ever done in his life, taking that car at a ninety degree turn into the turnout to home, and he kept gunning that thing until he was at the garage, when he spun off, giving the SUV's a chance to jam in behind him.

They didn't. Instead, the doors to the last one swung open and five people spilled out--and if Zeb had any words, he would have used them all in curses.

A tiny woman with wild red-blonde hair, two medium sized men, and one who was humanly tall, all three with the rangy builds of people who burned a lot of calories really fast.  And one beautiful neanderthal with wild black hair and eyes that threw amber sparks, even from fifty feet away.

Cory, Bracken, Nicky, Teague, and Max-- it was like the president's cabinet and the speaker of the house getting out of the same car. Most of the time the secret service wouldn't let it happen.

Cory--no less tiny than she had been when Zeb had left four days ago--turned to Teague and Max and snarled, "Stand back!"

Then Nicky went bird, lofting into the air with a squawk, and Cory and Bracken--oh, holy Goddess, he knew they could do this, but it was usually saved for when shit got real-- lifted up in tandem.

They were flying, and shit was real.

Bracken wobbled-- he wasn't great at this.

But Cory had been practicing, and her course stayed true.

"Jesus fuck us," Colton whispered.

Zeb still didn't have words.

Cory held out her hands and screamed, a giant power flare coming from her hands aimed at the point where the turnout met the road.  Zeb held his breath and then--

Heard it. The screech of metal, the scream of people trapped inside, and another, and another. The final sound was a car stopping just in time, before Cory sank to the ground. Bracken fell gracelessly next to her--and then wrapped his arms around her as she wobbled now, and fell.

"What just happen--"  Zeb held up a hand.

Green got out of the car and waved his arms. Tall and regal, a blonde braid falling down past his hips like liquid sun, he was just as kind, just as protective as Zeb remembered. Zeb's heart hurt, seeing him like this--a leader in wartime once again, but just as determined to keep his people safe. As he waved his arm and spoke quickly, an army of... well, people just like Nibbles, as well as walking rock piles and some teeny tiny little metal people all went scurrying to the front of the gate--the clean up crew.

From the driver's side of the SUV Green had cleared, Arturo got out, and Green nodded to him. Without a word of protest, Arturo strode toward the entrance, where Lady Cory had just wrecked five cop cars, and assisted with the clean up.

Green strode toward Cory then, but Bracken had already scooped her up, in spite of protest they could hear from where they stood.

"Dammit, Brack--I'm fine. Put me down!"

"No."

"Nicky!"

Nicky squawked from above them, obviously still supervising cleanup.

"Dammit."

Green murmured something over her, and she relaxed into Bracken's embrace, and then the three of them came striding toward the stairs that led up to the main floor entrance. The other SUV opened up, followed by a host of people Zeb knew only by reputation, and they followed, leaving the vehicles outside, probably to be serviced and parked by people like Nibbles, who adored the task.

Green peeled off from the main group though, walking toward Zeb and Colton, and opened his arms. Zeb's throat grew tight.

"After all that, he's coming to see you?" Colton asked, awed.

"That's why he's our home," Zeb whispered. "That's why we're here."

He walked toward Green--and then he ran toward him--taking his embrace and all the comfort, all the warmth it offered.

"Sorry I wasn't there at the last," Green said quietly.

"You obviously had some other shit to sort."

Green laughed and kissed the top of his head.  "You want to introduce me to your friend?  And then, inside, both of you. Bath and food and comfort, I think. We've got you set up in the same room for tonight. I hope that's okay."

Zeb nodded, his heart sinking and rising at the same time. It was almost over. But he and Colton, they'd have one night to say goodbye and part as friends.

"Green, this is Colton. Colton, this is Green. Welcome to Green's Hill."

Colton--Goddess, that kid. He came around the car, and before Green could embrace him, he sank to one knee.

"It's an honor to meet you," he said, head bowed. "Zeb has told me so much about you."

Green smiled.

*  *  *

Whew!  Okay-- that's it. Just the epilog to write, and then this little adventure is all through.

Now, folks, I do have a disclaimer to make. That last scene does NOT appear in Quickening per se. So when Quickening comes out, just imagine what kind of adventure they could have been having before Green and company came crashing through the gates of Green's Hill :-)

Mom, what did you do today?

It's finally occurred to me that the little poppets are exacting some sort of middle school revenge upon me.

They get into the car and say, "Mom, what did you do today?"

Now, my days are pretty uniform, actually. Take Squish to school, T to the bus stop, the dogs on their walk-- half a mile on aqua days, a mile and a half or more on non-aqua days, work, aqua, get lunch, pick up one kid, nap in front of the school while waiting for the other kid to get out, get home, nap and/or work.

I'm serious--unless you are inside my head, when I'm not with my kids (or, you know, losing my shit) I am about as exciting as watching paint dry.

So I should have gotten suspicious when it started to happen.

"Hey, mom, what did you do today?"

"Uh, nothing.  Did you have a good day today?"

"Sure. How are you?"

"C'mon, guys, work with me here!"

"Did you tell any jokes?"

"You mean like..."

"The Del Taco kid-- did you tell any jokes to him?"

"I don't know-- you tell me, we're on our way for snack!"  (Okay, I lied-- on Thursdays we have snack day where we get to go somewhere for a soda and a snack.)

"Well, do you have a joke ready for the kid at Del Taco?"

As it turned out, I did.

"So, what's a dinosaur's favorite pickup line?"

The kid--an adorable twinkie with Pokemon earrings and chin fuzz, is always game for a terrible joke. "I have no idea."  (I know he likes me because he pulls the earpiece away from his ear when I drive up to his window, so he can hear whatever bullshit thing I'm going to say today.)

"Hey, baby, you put the ass in Jurassic!"

He laughs. "Babies everywhere!"

"See, the Flirtatious period-- them were rockin' times!"

And then we get our food and leave.

So, we're driving away and I'm congratulating myself on cracking up the Del Taco guy (because I have a very boring life and a teeny- tiny brain!) and the kids are back at it.

"So, did anything else happen?"

"I, uh, found my shit."

"Did you have a good day?"

And about here, on the umpteenth repetition, it hits me.

Deflection.

I have been a victim of a classic deflection technique.

"More importantly," I say, "Did you have a good day? How are your grades? How was your test? Your speech for student council? Your interaction with your teacher? Is the bully still bullying? Is your bestie still there at lunch? How is your teacher? Are you having a pizza party? A regular party? Do I get details when it happened? Have you flirted with anybody? Did that terrible kid you hated move away? C'mon, guys, MAMA WANTS DETAILS!"

They spill details, of course, but I have to breathe a sigh of relief.

It really is MUCH more exciting to be on the other side of the interrogation.

My little monsters live such interesting lives!

Malware!!

Eek!

So, I'm a sucker for clickbait.

I am- I mean, it wouldn't be an internet thing if a lot of us weren't, would it?

And I was on a clickbait site about the paranormal yesterday when I accidentally clicked something I shouldn't have.

I fell asleep knitting while I was waiting for Mate to deal with it.  I finally got to bed, and he dragged himself in an hour later, after having erased and rebooted my web browsers-- and paid for and downloaded some virus protection above and beyond our usual.

He said the most insidious thing about this particular virus was that it had cloned a fake Google-- every time I used my web browser, it took me to a lookalike and I used that to find my stuff-- and gather my info.

I was lucky yesterday-- I was actually not on the computer that long-- I mean, long enough to visit the clickbait site, but mostly, I was dealing with real world bullshit, and then working out and taking the kids to dance. I was going to do most of my work last night.

So, today, besides a massive, not fun kink in my neck, I've got a total fear of clickbait sites now, which is too bad, because I get a lot of inspo from the stuff I find there. (And from real life and from research and, sometimes, from internally editing the copy because some of them are AWFUL) and I also have a vague sense of embarrassment.

I mean, paranormal firefighters.  I always assumed that if I gave my computer a bug, I'd get it from porn.

And a little bit of afterparty...

So, I blogged about our birthday coming up and then blogged about everything else, and didn't tell you about the birthday. So here's a few after party highlights, in case anyone was wondering:

A. I wasn't able to "surprise" Mate with the wagon because, of ALL the days, the game schedule was different and he needed to load up the vehicles differently. So I showed him the wagon in the back of the car after dinner and a movie--and he really loved it and I'm calling it a win!

B. Dinner--Logan's Steak House--was awesome. We ordered a 30 oz steak with mushrooms and brought half of it home for the kids. The kids also love Logan's. And it was pretty economical to do that and order salads and a couple of sides as opposed to two full meals. Win!

C. The Magnificent Seven-- it was like King Arthur with Clive Owen, except it had Denzel, Chris Prat, Ethan Hawke, and a gay love story to rock the ages. (Okay, Arthur and Lancelot WERE pretty tight, I have to admit.)  Anyway-- I adored it. Booyah!

D. The shirt--was actually pretty funny. While I went running up and down the sidelines to get the shirt signed, two things happened:  1) One of the parents said, "Talk about the last minute! You couldn't have done this during one of the practices?" I was like, "Well, since I didn't think about it until Tuesday, and then bought the stuff Wednesday, and made the shirt Thursday... no."  2) Mate knew I was getting it signed because ZoomBoy was such a good sport at getting his teammates to sign dad's shirt that every time Mate looked up to sub him, Zoomboy was somewhere else. THAT was funny.

E. The shirt--really was his favorite thing, but the wagon was close.

F. I got flowers. *happy glow* Is all I wanted.

G. The parking lot-- this parking lot took a week to get paved. They forgot something vital. Three guesses.

H. So, birthday successful, and I shall leave you with this:

I was waiting for dinner to cook and cleaning off the kitchen table *gasp* when I came upon paperwork for an annuity I used to contribute to when I was teaching. When I stopped teaching, I'd given maybe $3500 to it, and now, six years later, there's $7500 in the account. I'd forgotten all about this, and so I scanned the details with mild disinterest until I saw it was a death benefit-- which I'd forgotten.

At this point, Mate walked in.

"Hey," I said, waving the paper. "Look! If I die, you get almost enough money to ship my yarn to all my friends."

"Well, you do have another death benefit-- you remember that, right?"

"Seriously? No. I don't remember that at all. Is it a lot?"

"Sure. I have to fight against taking a hit out against you every day."

I laugh and gesture to the crap cooking in the pot. "So, what you're saying is that I should hire a food taster."

"Yeah," Mate said. Then, "ZoomBoy, get out here! Mom has something she wants to feed you!"

ZoomBoy rushed right out--because he smelled dinner--and started poking around the now clean kitchen table. "You said food?"

And that's when Mate and I both lost it--hit men we are not.

And here's to another good year. I'm grateful to have made it through this last one--and so grateful for all the wonder life has brought me so far.

*Kermit Flail* October

YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!

I thought I'd start out with that, because hey, it's been a fanTASTIC weekend.

But, now that the madness of birthday weekend is over, we've got some great stuff coming this month--EJ Russell gives us traditional Halloween monsters in Wolf's Clothing, Rick R. Reed gives us a little sadness, a little healing, and some food in Dinner at Jacks, John Inman gives us a scavenger hunt in Ben and Shiloh, Shira Anthony gives us SO MUCH ADORABLE with Take Two, and Elisabeth Staab gives us some het new adult with Piece by Piece. See what I mean? Something for everybody, right? *flails some moar*

All in all?  It's a a wonderful, eclectic bunch of writers with some STUNNING cover art, and some blurbs that I found weep worthy in their intrigue. (Read, I want to read ALL THE DAMN BOOKS, and yet the day is still as long as it was last month which is totally unfair!)

Oh... and I've got a teeny bit of a cover reveal at the bottom of the page. I JUST got the cover today, there is no buy link yet, but for those of you who remember, this is Mason's story, and he was a side character from Winter Ball.   (And I love the cover art ever so!)

So, here you go, folks-- enjoy the new goodies for me, because reading? Still the ultimate pleasure. YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!






















Wolf’s Clothing

by E.J. Russell

What do you do when you finally prove the existence of the otherworld, but the ghosts kick your ass?

For Trent Pielmeyer, the answer is run like hell—away from his hostile family, away from the disbelieving cops, and far, far, faraway from anything that smacks of the supernatural. After seven years’ captivity in a whacked-out alternate dimension, he isso over legend tripping.

When Christophe Clavret spots Trent in a Portland bar, he detects a kindred spirit—another man attempting to outrun the darkness of his own soul. But despite their sizzling chemistry, Trent’s hatred of the uncanny makes Christophe hesitant to confide the truth: he’s a werewolf, one of a dwindling line, the victim of a genetic curse extending back to feudal Europe.

But dark forces are at work, threatening more than their growing love. If Christophe can’t win Trent’s trust, and if Trent can’t overcome his fear of the paranormal, the cost could be Trent’s freedom and Christophe’s humanity. Or it might be both their lives.



Buy at Publisher























Take Two
by Shira Anthony
Lights, camera, action! When Professor Wesley Coolidge accepts a summer job as a historical consultant to a pirate movie being filmed in North Carolina, the last person he expects to bump into is his soon-to-be-ex, movie star Sander Carson.

Just like the flamboyant pirate he’s playing, Sander, aka Sam Carr, is used to getting what he wants, and he makes it clear he wants Wesley back in his life. Sam lost Wesley when he left their life in New York City behind for a career in Hollywood. But Wesley has finally managed to put the pieces of his heart back together, and he isn’t interested in Sam and Wesley: The Sequel.

Convincing Wesley to give their relationship a second chance will take much more than Sam’s apologies and reminders of good times past. If Sam wants Wesley back, he’ll have to show Wesley that they really can sail into the sunset together—a real-life happily-ever-after that won’t end once the final credits roll.


Dreamspinner Press

Amazon

ARe





Piece by Piece
by Elisabeth Staab
ETHAN'S HIT A ROUGH SPOT

So I caught my dad in bed with my ex-girlfriend.

My best friend cancelled our plans to celebrate my birthday.

Decided to drink away the betrayal.

Made out with a cardboard cutout of a celebrity in front of my new roommates.

Got in a bar fight.

Hooked up with that pretty bartender whose sad smile I’ve secretly been painting pictures of since forever, but she shoved me out the door with hardly a word.

Did I mention the tattoo I don’t exactly remember getting?

And that’s only Saturday.

Now I need to pick up the pieces of my messed-up life.



LEEANNE’S HAD A TOUGH LIFE

What do you do when you’ve lived in the same small town your whole life and you feel as if you’ll always be stuck in the same rut, like a piece of busted wagon wheel? Well, maybe you start by hooking up with the first decent guy who walks into your bar.

Maybe once you do, it’s hard to get him out of your head even though you try. And maybe, just maybe, you find out he makes you laugh even more than he makes you want to shout his name.

If you’re me, you don’t even know what to do with a guy like him. A little piece of happiness…that feels downright dangerous.


Kindle
iBooks
Nook 
Kobo 
Play 
ARe 








Dinner at Jacks
by Rick R. Reed
Personal chef Beau St. Clair, recently divorced from his cheating husband, has returned to the small Ohio River town where he grew up to lick his wounds. Jack Rogers lives with his mother Maisie in that same small town, angry at and frightened of the world. Jack has a gap in his memory that hides something he dares not face, and he’s probably suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.



Maisie, seeking relief from her housebound and often surly son, hires Beau to cook for Jack, hoping the change might help bring Jack, once a handsome and vibrant attorney, back to his former self. But can a new face and comfort food compensate for the terror lurking in Jack’s past?



Slowly, the two men begin a dance of revelation and healing. Food and compassion build a bridge between Beau and Jack, a bridge that might lead to love.



But will Jack’s demons allow it? Jack’s history harbors secrets that could just as easily rip them apart as bring them together.



eBook

Paperback
AllRomance ebooks 

Amazon Kindle





Ben and Shiloh
by John Inman
Shiloh Smart is alone and looking for a fresh start. Convinced he’s finished with love forever, he signs a lease at the Belladonna Arms, a tacky, run-down apartment building situated high on a hill in downtown San Diego.

Determined to turn his back on romance, Shiloh works hard at carving out a life for himself where love doesn’t stand a chance and staying single is all that matters.

Then his drag queen landlord’s nephew, Ben Moss, moves in. Thanks to a rumor Ben has heard since childhood of a fifty-year-old crime and a fortune in stolen money, he sets out to find the loot supposedly hidden decades ago in his uncle’s apartment building.

The minute Ben spots a kilted Shiloh toddling off to work at the Scottish restaurant up the street where he waits tables, he falls hard and fast for the aloof young redhead. Even a hidden treasure can’t compete in Ben’s eyes with the beautiful waiter with the fiery copper hair.

But even while he diligently works to break down Shiloh’s defenses, Ben doesn’t give up his quest for buried treasure. Soon, as their friendship deepens, the two young men join forces in a search for the stolen cash.

As the treasure hunt gathers steam and all the tenants get involved, Ben and Shiloh come to realize the greatest treasure isn’t buried in the Belladonna Arms at all. It’s buried far deeper—in each other’s hearts!

Amazon  Dreamspinner Press

  

Mason Hayes’s love life has a long history of losers who don’t see that Mason’s heart is as deep and tender as his mouth is awkward. He wants kindness, he wants love—and he wants someone who thinks sex is as fantastic as he does. When Terry Jefferson first asks him out, Mason thinks it’s a fluke: Mason is too old, too boring, and too blurty to interest someone as young and hot as his friend’s soccer teammate. The truth is much more painful: Mason and Terry are perfectly compatible, and they totally get each other, but Terry is still living with his toxic, suffocating parent and Mason doesn’t want to be a sugar daddy. Watching Terry struggle to find himself is a long lesson in patience, but Mason needs to trust that the end result will be worth it, because finally, he’s found a man worth sharing his heart with.

Sequel to Winter Ball.  Out in November.  

Fish in the Desert--Ficlet

Hey all!

So, the birthday was wonderful-- thanks for the warm wishes!--and tomorrow is *Kermit Flail*.

Today, for my birthday (and Mate's) I felt like writing something totally frivolous.  NEXT week it will be more Scorched Haven, in celebration of Rampant's re-release, but today?

I wanna do a crossover fic.

And since I'm starting the next Fish Out of Water sometime this month, that felt like a good enough reason to go with that.  And Ace and Sonny ALWAYS live such interesting lives...

(This takes into account events written in this post right HERE.)

 *  *  *

Ellery's blue-blooded roots were never so apparent.

He stood in the auto bay of the tiny garage in the middle of Victoriana, California and looked like a sweaty guy in a pricey suit.  His normally slicked back mahogany brown hair hung straight and lank in his eyes and his once-white shirt showed dust creases as he'd pushed it up around his elbows in the ungodly September heat. His suit--which would have been perfectly fine in Sacramento where things were, thank God, in the 80's at the moment-- was a prison down here in San Diego, and he kept doing a little shimmy like it was sticking to his creases.

Well, it was tight enough.

 But still, he was trying to maintain professionalism-- and Jackson tried to keep his eyes from rolling out of his head.

This interview as not going well.

Ace Atchison seemed like a decent enough guy--although he sported a healing wound on his forehead that looked like it should have used stitches, and walked with a limp, that didn't detract from a handsome young service man with dark brown hair, gold-brown eyes, square jaw and a way of gritting his teeth, lowering his head and glaring at the world straight. Between that and biceps the size of softballs--and as soft as hardballs-the guy was damned easy on the eyes. And amiable too in a good old boy sort of way.

He'd been helpful in the extreme--lots of "Yessir," and "I'm sorry sir," and "Well sir, Sonny and me, we woulda seen that, sir," and not a drop of goddamned truth.

"Look, Mr. Atchison," Ellery said for maybe the fourteenth time.

"Ace is fine," he said, nodding and winking in a good-ol'-boy sort of way. "Now, I can see you're getting upset, but I'm not sure what I can help you with here.  Your guy, the one you're trying to defend, says that he could not possibly have killed anybody in  Sacramento because he was down here shooting a kid in Las Vegas. And that we would know that, because he heard the kid came by our little flea-shit shop to fix his broke car."

Ellery nodded definitely. "That would be correct," he rasped, wiping sweat from his eyes with a handkerchief that used to match his shirt.

Jackson had two bottles of water in the pocket of his cargo shorts and he pulled one out, cracked it, and handed it over. Ellery took it without looking at him or even nodding thanks and Jackson did roll his eyes--and kick Ellery in the ankle.

Ellery glared at him and Ace kept talking. "Now see, I don't remember that. And I'da remembered that, cause you say the car was shot, and it's hard to fix a shot up car, sir, so I think maybe this kid stopped by another gas station." He paused and raised his voice so it could carry over the knocking of wrenches coming from under a Dodge Caravan on the rails in the bay proper. "Sonny, do you remember a kid coming by here with a shot up car?"

"No, Ace, I do not." The words were staccato and wooden--and rehearsed.

"Jai, do you remember anything like that?"

"Nyet." The Russian accent sounded wholly authentic. And deep and resonant enough for a big, big man.

Ace looked up at both of them and smiled a knee-melter of a lie. "Well, sir, you heard'em. Sonny and Jai don't remember, so it must not have happened."

"But the police said you got shot and cold cocked by a thief-- we have that on record!"  Ellery's voice cracked, and Jackson wasn't sure he'd ever seen the man so discombobulated by a lie.

"Well, yeah. But, you know, I was cold-cocked. I can't remember much more than waking up. Alma wasn't here. Jai and Sonny were out. The guy stole our money and Sonny's car. Isn't that right guys?"

The two men in the auto bay both said, "Yup!" and "Da!" at the same time.

Ace turned and smiled gamely. "And that's what we told the police, and that's the God's honest truth."

The sound Jackson made was a cross between a snort and a "bullshit" and a cough, and Ellery glared at him again--but this time with his mouth open, and Jackson thought it was time to change tactics.

"I'm sorry," he said with a smile. "My friend here has some other questions to ask you about that day, but I'm telling you, I gotta piss like a racehorse. Do you folks have a restroom here?"

Ace's look in Jackson's direction had a smirk in it. Ace knew what Jackson was doing, Jackson knew that Ace knew, but Ace was pretty damned sure there was nothing to find.  "That's fine. Alma over there has the key to the john around the corner. Let us know if it's not stocked or gross or anything--she prides herself in keeping that thing clean."

"Thank you, sir. Ellery, be nice to Mr. Atchison, I have the feeling that's about all he knows."  But he kept eye contact with Ace as he said it, so Ace would know that he knew that every word of his story was Grade-AAA bullshit.

The teenager behind the counter wore a bright turquoise T-shirt--a little tight, but not uncomfortable--and a bright flowered comb in her glossy raven's-wing hair. She had a school book in front of her, but her eyes were all for Ellery and Ace in the center of the auto bay--and for the two sets of feet sticking out from under the Dodge Caravan.

"Heya," he said, flashing his sweetest smile at her. "I understand you can give me the key to the bathroom."

Her wide, expressive brown eyes went narrow and flat. "Did Ace tell you yes? I'm not doin' nothin' Ace didn't say."

"Yeah." Jackson nodded sincerely. "Ace said it was fine. Told me to let you know if the paper wasn't stocked."

The girl--Alma--swore at him in Spanish. Jackson kept his face impassive, and she told him that if he said one goddamned word about the state of her pristine bathroom with the potpourri she picked out just for Ace, she would tell her gay cousin who lived in Twain-Harte to come out of retirement as a brujo and curse off Jackson's balls.

Jackson endured it all with a straight face until she got to the part about his balls--he was still a little sore from the thought of his poor cat.

"Your cousin can leave my balls out of it," he said blandly in English. "Sweetheart, I just want to use the head."

She made a face at him and buried her nose back in her book, but Jackson wasn't done yet.

"Chemistry?" he asked--in Spanish. "That's good. You look like a smart girl."

Alma looked up warily.  She was a beautiful girl--but she probably heard that a lot. A girl who prided herself on her brains didn't hear praise for it nearly often enough.  "Ace, he's going to send me to college," she said in English. "He and Sonny, they're good men."

And then, as though she'd revealed too much of herself, she buried her nose back in her book, and Jackson took the hint.  As he walked away from the cashier's window, he noticed that to the side of the garage sat a small white house. Someone was trying to grow grass and was growing algae instead, and a yapping dog was losing his shit from inside.  But the swamp cooler was on, probably to keep the dog comfy, and there were curtains in what looked to be the kitchen window by the porch stairs. Who lived here, he wondered. Ace? Sonny? Jai?

Probably Ace. By himself?

He rounded the corner just in time to see a black-bearded, bald man-mountain in blue coveralls escape from the restroom, wiping his hands hurriedly on his ass. He was pretty sure this one wasn't Sonny.

"Heya there," he said with a smile, running to catch the door before it slammed shut.

Man-mountain slammed it shut and eyed Jackson impassively as he approached.

"Well, that was unfriendly," he said.

"You walk stiffly," the man said, his voice thick with accent. "You are either horny or injured."

Jackson choked on a laugh. "Oddly enough, injured and not horny."

Man-mountain nodded thoughtfully. "The silly man in the suit is not bad looking. Is he yours?"

Jackson swallowed past the relationship panic he'd been fighting since he'd been forced to move in with Ellery while his house was being fixed. "For the time being."

To his surprise, Man-mountain--Jai?-- slumped a little, looking defeated. "I would fuck you until you sobbed. I like the yellow hair."

Jackson's eyeballs were going to pop out of his head. "That's, uh, flattering. And terrifying. And flattering. But I really do need to use the john."

Jai waved his hand expansively behind him. "Do you? There is much desert that needs water." He smiled and his white teeth looked big as roof tiles. "It is even the same color."

Oh God--he couldn't even stop it from coming out of his mouth. "Piss yellow is a coward's color," he said, lowering his head and getting ready to get beaten back into the ground.

But the giant just cocked his head. "Which is why it is a good place for burying cowards," he said, flashing more roof tiles at him. Then he stepped sideways out of the way. "Enjoy your piss, yellow-haired man."

Of course, after that conversation, Jackson really did need to pee. He finished, sweltering in the little bathroom attachment, and exited quickly, splashing water on his neck and forehead.

He ran straight into the slighter, shorter man in the blue coveralls.  He had blond hair over his collar, blue-gray eyes, and a thin face. Pretty, in a faded sort of way, like he had to rub off layers of scared to find himself. He was stringy strong--not bulky at all, and would probably be tough as tree roots until he lived to be ninety.

This must be Sonny.

Jackson tried a smile again, and wondered how Ellery was faring, banging his head against the brick wall in the auto bay.

"Hello there--should I give you the key, or get it back to Alma?"

"Ace didn't do anything," he said flatly.

"Uh, we didn't say he did?"  Sonny's eyes were cutting to the desert and back in hard little darts, but like he was having trouble focusing on the goal. "We just-- we just want to know if a kid came in here shot."

"Kid didn't do anything either. I mean, if one did. Cause he's the one that was shot, right? Kid that's shot, he's not going to be the bad guy. Just running from the bad guys."

Well, couldn't argue with that. "Yeah, well, the guy we're defending isn't great."

"Ace is," Sonny said, and Jackson thought that, should he have to fight one of them, the man-mountain or this rabid rat-terrier here, he'd take the man-mountain. Sonny would sink needle teeth into Jackson's jugular and not let go.

"Is he now? How'd he get hurt?"

Sonny looked down. "I did. Swung my wrench wrong, nailed him in the head. Not his fault. None of it is his fault. He's a good guy."  He fixed his eyes on Jackson's face again. "He's the best guy. Mine. You don't go fooling with Ace now, you hear?"

Oh hell. This was a surprise. "Well, as long as he doesn't go fooling with Ellery, I'm fine with that."

Sonny shook his head. "Ace takes care of people. Alma, Jai..." His voice trailed off. "Me. He takes care of me when shit goes south. You can't be yelling at Ace."

Oh hell. Sonny lived in the house too.

Jackson heard Ellery's voice raised loud enough to be heard over the small garage.

"I'll go fix that," he said calmly. "But look-- I need you to tell me one thing, and then you'll never see us again."

"We'll see what the thing is," Sonny said cagily.

"If, say, a kid came by this garage, bleeding, what would you do?"

"That depends," Sonny said softly.

"On what?"

"On whether he was a bad kid or a good kid. If he was a good kid, just trying to get his sister back from bad guys, well then we'd help him. If he was a bad kid, and he held a gun on one of us, we'd hurt him."

That was oddly specific. "And if he was both?"

For the first time Sonny met his eyes. "We'd do both."

Jackson nodded his head. "Well then. We'll be on our way."

"Will you be coming back?" Sonny asked, his voice hard and vulnerable at the same time.

"Not on your life," Jackson said grimly.  Or his life. Or Ellery's life. Because Jackson had no idea that coming back to this place might not end in death or blood or terrifying sociopaths holding tightly on to their one true person by killing the whole world.

But it might.

He rounded the corner and Ace hadn't broken a sweat--but Ellery had.

"Won't you even check the calendar?" he yelled.

Ace Atchison just smiled. "Well sir, I could, but we're simple folk. If Alma didn't have to go to school, we might not even know where summer stopped and winter began. I mean, this is the desert after all. Unless the rains come, or it gets hot enough to cook a dog in the road, we don't always know."

"You know what month it is!"

"No you don't," Jackson said, grabbing  Ellery's bicep and hauling him toward the Lexus.

"Jacks--"

"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Atchison!" Jackson called over his shoulder. "I promise you if you ever see us again, it's cause we're having car trouble on the way to Vegas and for no other reason!"

Ellery was literally digging in his heels and Jackson just kept going, letting the hard soles of his shoes stir up little dust devils around his legs. "Jackson he was just going to--"

"Not tell you a fucking thing," Jackson muttered, throwing Ellery into the car--passenger's side--and getting into the driver's side before Ellery could even scramble to the other side.

"Got your keys?" Jackson asked, and as Ellery was patting his pockets, Jackson used the push-button start and started the car. He didn't rip out of the dusty parking lot, because that would have resulted in a giant donut and Ellery's first aneurism. He accelerated at a leisurely pace and turned the car west, toward San Diego.

"Jackson-- what in the hell?"

Jackson glanced at him and thought he looked rumpled and pissed and... oddly dear.  Innocent. He hoped Ellery was innocent enough for what Jackson had to say next to appeal to him.

"Ellery, I want you to tell me Gordie Simms story one more time."

Ellery huffed, put his seatbelt on, and crossed his arms in front of him. "Gordon Simms, small time thug, mob muscle, drug dealer, petty-thief, conman. Pulled in for questioning literally two-dozen times, arrested once. Our time.  Someone paid up his bail and hired us to defend him."

"Awesome. So we're defending a scumbag. Go us. Now tell me his story."

"He is accused of shooting a store owner in Sacramento in June. He claims he couldn't have been, because he was involved in a drug throw down in Vegas. He and another small-timer were hired for the moment, and some kid was supposed to deliver drugs in Vegas or his sister would eat it in San Diego. It was a double cross-- the two bosses in charge had no intention of either giving up drugs or giving up money, and the kid and his sister were sacrifices in some big fucking game. Gordon and his buddy shot at the kid, but the kid drove off--he left a blood trail and his car was leaking oil, so they followed him to the little shithole we just left."

"Victoriana," Jackson said, but seriously. How many shitholes were there on that road with a Carl's Junior, a service station, and a garage.

And nothing else.

"Victoriana," Ellery confirmed. "Anyway-- that's when things get fuzzy. Gordie and his buddy didn't see anything at the garage, so they took off toward San Diego, to see if the kid made it back for his sister.  They found no girl--but no buddies either, and a fuckton of blood."

"And then..."  Jackson needed him to see it.

"And then they drove back to the people who hired them in Vegas and..."

"And some Russian mob-- these guys were working Italian--but some Russian mob guy tells them that the shop is closed and they shouldn't be seen any further south than Bakersfield. And that's when they drove to Sacramento, that day."

"Mm-hm..."

Ellery grunted. "I mean, it's an unlikely story."

"It is."

"If we can't find some corroboration, I'm going to tell him to plead out."

"It sounds poetic."

"But that doesn't change that we don't know what happened, and there might be a murderer out there."

Jackson sighed and edged up the speed. His own car was in the shop--he'd promised Ellery a trip down to San Diego, and Ellery asked if he could take care of some business before they parked themselves at the San Diego Marriott and spent most of their time naked in the hotel room when they weren't looking out over the harbor.

"Ellery, do you know why we discourage the hunting of rattlesnakes in California?"

Ellery frowned. "Because there's no reason to. They fulfill a vital part of the ecosystem and they don't seek people out to kill them. If you introduce a pot bellied pig or a natural predator to their environment they don't overpopulate to the point that they seek out animals or humans. Mostly, you don't bother them, they don't come bother you."

"So I want you to keep this in mind. Imagine you are holding a small garage together by the seat of your pants--"

"And suspected illegal street racing," Ellery said dryly, because that had been in Ace Atchison's docket too.

"Still-- not pulling in buckets of cash. And suppose, there you are one day when a kid in a broken car pulls into the service station and holds a gun on you--or one of your people."

"Then that kid would be dead," Ellery said seriously.

"Well, if it was me, yeah. But suppose you're the one used to talking people down, and you do t his on a regular basis because your boyfriend is a borderline psychopath and you need to keep him together."

"You got all that from running into the little blond guy at the bathroom?"

Jackson remembered Sonny's eyes and shuddered. "Yup. So, you talk the kid down, and your boyfriend comes unglued and accidentally nails you in the head with a wrench and the kid accidentally shoots you, and you wake up going, what the fuck?"

"You call the police?" Ellery asked, like it was obvious.

"Unless your trusted employee, and the other person you depended upon to keep your boyfriend from collecting scalps like beads, disappears with the kid to help him get his sister back. Your trusted employee is a big Russian guy with mob connections and a soft spot for young girls--not the pervy kind, just... you know..."

"Sisters," Ellery said softly.  Well, yeah. Jackson had a soft spot for his own sister, that was the kind of thing that would give a young girl a flowered comb that she'd wear with pride, even though it was hopelessly out of fashion.

"So, the Russian guy disappears and comes back and tells you it's taken care of. And you don't ask another question."

"Because Russian mob?" Ellery asked, sounding appalled.

"Because family," Jackson insisted. "Because you were making your family safe. And trying not to bite the unwary traveler. And your family closed ranks to take care of you."

"But..."  Ellery flailed. "My client!"

"I'd hazard a guess that your client is more dangerous unprovoked than those people are if you walk into their place of business with a gun and insist that they help you so your sister doesn't die."

Ellery let out a groan of frustration. "We don't have any proof of any of this!"

"Nope," Jackson said smugly.

"But our client is going to be convicted!"

"And that's bad because..."

Ellery's voice dropped with embarrassment. "It will fuck up my record."

Jackson laughed, because Ellery didn't like to admit he was vain, which meant Jackson had him.

"Rattlesnakes, Ellery."

"A helpful part of the ecosystem."

"But don't step on them by accident."

Jackson smiled. "So, San Diego Marriott?"

"You owe me!"  Ellery demanded.

"I owe you nothing but a dick up your ass. And you'll like it!"

"This is going to haunt me," Ellery muttered.

"Legally, you are under no obligations here. This is purely speculation. The official record stands and backs us up.And all of the evidence is, more than likely, rotting in the desert. And I don't see it coming back."

Ellery grunted. "I'm not... this isn't..."

"I'll top all week, Ellery. All week."

"I like topping!"

Jackson laughed, low and dirty, and imagined Ellery, on his stomach, thighs spread, body despoiled, monosyllabic with satiated lust.

"So do I."

"What if I think of a reason--oohhh..."

Jackson squeezed his thigh, then higher, then higher, steering with one hand. "All week."

"You are still injured."

"We shall find ways."

"I want to top," Ellery said petulantly, and Jackson found him, swelling under his boxers. He swallowed audibly. "Eventually."

"Are we going to tell the police about that little service station in Victoriana?" Jackson asked silkily.

Ellery melted into the leather upholstery, thighs spread. Yeah, it had been a long time since Jackson had been able to top.  "Nothing to tell," Ellery mumbled. "You know I'd do it if we had even one scrap of proof..."

"Sure. Sure you would."

"Can we stop on the way and nail each other?"

"A shower, Ellery?"

"Oh God. You suck."

"I do--I suck a lot. I suck, I rim, I swallow..."

"Hurry, Jackson. We've wasted enough of our vacation already."

"Sayin'."