In honor of St. Patrick’s Day–an excerpt of my new story
Exciting news! I have been chosen to be part of a special secret project TBA sometime in the next couple of months. And that means I am writing a sequel to my Irregulars story, “Cherries Worth Getting.”
My new story doesn’t have a title yet, but it features the return of Special Agent Keith Curry and…..at least three leprechauns.
So here’s a peek, in honor of the day!
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Special Agent Keith Curry didn’t like going nowhere. But where else could a guy go on a stationary bike? Not that he didn’t like to work out. He liked free weights just fine. Cardio day? He wished he could pass on it. But even when he was in top shape being one hundred percent human in NIAD had some disadvantages. When arresting an extra-human suspect he could not turn invisible, shoot geysers of flame or fly. The only magic he had access to resided in his shoulder holster in the form of his mage pistol.
And besides he had to try and compete with Gunther. Well, he couldn’t compete with Gunther, but he could try not to look too bad by comparison.
Tall, dark, handsome and naturally fit, Gunther did not need to tag along with Keith to the company gym, but most mornings he did anyway. He sat his duffel bag down on the gray carpet and started scrolling through the messages on his phone.
“Looks like strike force is on call for the Saint Patrick’s Day parade again,” he commented.
“Damn leprechauns,” Keith muttered.
“Their labor dispute looks like it’s getting intense,” Gunter observed. He showed Keith a photo of six nasty-looking specimens forming a three-layer pyramid that stood about knee high to a normal man. The one on top held a sign reading, “Pixies Go Home.”
“I do not envy you. They look like ball-biters,” Keith said. “Be careful.”
“I’m always careful. And I’m a good planner. I brought you some breakfast.” He reached into his gym bag and pulled out a can of MNA Power Drink and waggled it at him.
“That’s not breakfast. It’s a meal-replacement product.” Keith pushed the pedals harder as his velocity-free vehicle simulated a steep incline.
“But it has nine grams of protein and it tastes like a ray of creamsicle-flavored sunshine.” Gunther sat on the bike next to his and idly pushed one of the pedals around. Insofar as Keith knew, Gunther only ever worked out to be social. His perfect physique had been bestowed on him by the mages who had transmogrified his goblin body in utero so that he could be consistent with the human world.
“It tastes like baby aspirin sprinkled on sawdust. Besides I’ve got my own breakfast.”
“I hope you don’t mean that tofu dog in a baggie I saw you put in your pocket this morning.” Disapproval darkened Gunther’s expression.
“No, that’s my lunch.” Keith grinned at Gunther, unable to stop himself from winding him up. They’d been living together for one year now and although many of their domestic conflicts had been smoothed out, Gunther still found Keith’s eating habits appalling. Which Keith thought was pretty rich coming from a guy whose goblin origins allowed him to eat cigarettes and swig lighter fluid.
“Are you sure you used to be a chef?” Gunther asked.
“Either that or I just loved wearing checkered pants.” Keith grinned up at his boyfriend. “Seriously though, I’ve got a hard-boiled egg as well. And a couple of mustard packets. I’m fine.”
Keith reached a plateau in his imaginary bike ride and took the opportunity to get his wind back. He glanced out the fifth-story window. If he looked between two buildings he could just see the Washington
Monument poking up at the end of the National Mall. Dismal winter fog still clung to the tops of the buildings around them. Dirty slush coated the sidewalk below.
As a native Californian, Gunther had been game about his first east coast winter, getting very excited about owning his first pair of snow boots. But then Guther’s outgoing nature and high spirits were hard to deflate by any means—the exact opposite of Keith’s own inborn pessimism and suspicion.
“Is there any more news on the security breeches?” Keith asked.
Gunther shook his head. “No one has claimed responsibility and the spells leave no residue to analyze. Pixie-pure magic. That’s what they say.”
Keith rolled his shoulders to try and remove tension building there. For the past three weeks, seven NIAD agents had been attacked by a bizarre and completely incapacitating spell that caused severe hallucinations that lasted several days. During that time the agents became convinced that they’d been abducted, recognized no one around them and often had to be physically restrained. Afterward the agents remembered little about the experience, but seemed mostly to be unharmed.
While it was true that many extra-humans, especially in the fey community, might regard this sort of attack as more of a prank than a terrorist assault, NIAD took a dim view of any kind of breech of security.
“I suppose they haven’t bothered to interview the local pixies yet, then,” Keith asked.
“Anybody with a handful of jelly beans can score a thimble-full of pixie dust these days,” Gunther replied, giving a shrug. “It’s half of what the leprechauns are so pissed about. All that magic dust flying around is completely ruining the market for three wishes, or so they say.”
“I would say the three wishes racket also suffers from some credibility issues that are unrelated to pixies as well.” Keith didn’t like to think of himself as prejudiced, but the antics of leprechauns often rubbed him the wrong way.
“Such as?” Gunther glanced up from his phone.
“Oh, like a bald guy wishes for hair and ends up getting a rabbit. You know, a hare? Douchebag leprechaun humor.”
“Yeah, that’s probably true. Still if the pixies don’t get on the self-regulation ball, our brass is going to step in and do it for them. Then nobody will be happy. Especially not that sugar junkie Buttercup.” Gunther pocketed his phone and picked up the MNA again. “If you’re not going to drink this I will.”
“Knock yourself out.” Keith bore down on the pedals again, pushing against the last incline in the computerized interval training. Sweat slicked his palms. Beside him Gunther cracked the top of the can and chugged the entire twelve ounces. Even then he looked good, like a guy in a commercial. He finished, crumpled the can in his hand and gazed out the window.
“I’m really looking forward to seeing the cherry blossoms this spring,” he said. “I just missed them last year.”
“They’re pretty good… if you like pink trees.” Keith dismounted from the bike and scrubbed his face with a dry towel. When he glanced back up he found Gunther’s expression fill with sadness. He’d screwed it up again, damn it. He should be more appreciative of Gunther’s more sensitive nature. To make up for his callousness he said, “You okay?”
Gunther didn’t reply. He moved closer to the window until his forehead was pressed right against the glass. Keith could see how Gunther’s breath fogged the pane. Gunther’s lips moved but Keith couldn’t hear what he said.
Keith glanced around the workout room. They were hardly the only guys there. Eight or nine other agents occupied the space. A couple of Gunther’s strike force buddies were toward the back, pumping iron. One of them noticed Gunther’s dejected posture and gave Keith the stink eye.
Keith ignored him and turned back to Gunther. Quietly, he said, “Hey baby I didn’t mean to make you sad. We’ll go have a picnic out there under the cherry trees just like the Japanese exchange students do. I’ll make sushi.”
Slowly Gunther turned to face him. His blue eyes shone with tears.
“Baby?”
“I have to get out of here,” Gunther whispered.
“Out of DC?” Sure, he thought, the city could be dreary at this time of year but he thought Gunther might be overreacting a little. Could it be homesickness? Trans-goblin families were very tight-knit and Gunther had left his behind on the west coast.
“Out of here!” Gunther’s voice rose with each word. “I have to get out!” He spun to face the window and smashed his fist directly into a window designed to withstand a mage blast. Blood exploded across the glass as his knuckles split and popped against the unyielding surface.
Gunther howled with rage and threw himself at the glass thrashing against it like a fish caught in a net. Keith lunged forward and caught him around the waist, pulling him back from the impenetrable barrier.
“I need some help here!” Keith bellowed.
Gunther fought him, throwing an elbow that caught him like club in the gut. Keith curled over in pain, but managed to keep hold of his boyfriend long enough for Gunther’s strike force buddies and a couple other agents to get across the room and help restrain him. Someone hit the alarm. A red light coalesced in the center of the room, flashing like the light atop a cop car.
Gunther struggled against them wailing and writhing on the gray carpet. His already injured hand smashed against the pedal of an elliptical trainer. Blood spattered across the device. Being goblin inside, Gunther’s strength easily overwhelmed the men restraining him. He kicked one of his friends back against a weight rack, sending dumbbells crashing down.
On-duty security came through the door, mage pistols drawn.
“Clear off!” One shouted.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Keith rushed forward, but not in time. The point man leveled the gun and fired. A blue bolt of magic flared from the muzzle, slamming into Gunther’s chest. Gunther went still.
Keith launched himself at the shooter, screaming. “I’ll kill you you stupid fuck!”
Gunther’s friends caught Keith by the arm and held him back. One of them was shouting something in Keith’s ear.
“…he’s been compromised. It was on stun. Calm down. He’s fine.”
Keith stopped stilled as he saw a medical team also coming through the door going toward Gunther’s limp body.
“Let me go,” Keith growled.
“No, you’ll just get in their way,” Gunther’s friend said. “They’ll take him to the medical unit. You can see him there.”
“What the hell happened?”
“I think he just became the eighth agent to get pixie-dusted.”
