Sunday Snippet: Variations on Violence

Final Sunday of August. I'm kind of looking forward to the fall season even if it's going to very different. With a global pandemic and an election coming up, I don't think it'll be the lovely season I always look forward to. That said, cooler temperatures will be welcome. Even though it hasn't been overly hot this summer, I really love the crisp air of fall.

Had a decent week of office reorganization and not a bad one for television viewing, considering I had no power for twenty-one hours thanks to a thunderstorm with wicked nasty lightning. A tree not far from our house got struck and it took out a couple of pole transformers. We were really lucky that we caught a break from the heat of the day before.

Not a bad week for television viewing but not great either. I caught an episode of Peak Practice and enjoyed it. I'm halfway through the second season.

Watched the third episode of Ms. Fisher's Modern Murder Mysteries and it's definitely my favorite of the four episodes. I love the sci-fi feel and the background with Bertie.

Caught the Classic Who run of Genesis of the Daleks arc. I've seen this group of episodes before and enjoyed them. It's especially fun because New Who brought in big tie-in to these episodes.

Also watched another episode of Danger Man. I'm on the last two available on Amazon, which makes me sad.

That's it for television this week. Tonight's post is from Variations on Violence, a novella that got a start with a writing community prompt.

Here's the mini-blurb:

Nichol Gothe and Brewster Walters, two detectives in the major crimes unit, go undercover to bust up rebel alliance in the under city. But when Nichol has to use her meta-human ability, Brewster can't decide whether to trust she's working for justice or turn her in to the task force commander. Nichol sends him reeling when she reveals how deeply the secret society of freaks and geeks has infiltrated the regular human world.

And a preview snippet…

Nichol followed Brewster docilely until they exited the bar, turned to head down the alley, and started toward a row of squat houses. "What the hell, Brewster?" She kept her voice pitched low because Cardinal had eyes and ears everywhere lately.

Brewster nudged her up into the first dilapidated cottage-sized abode. "You're asking me what the hell?" He backed her into a corner, invading her personal space.

And, okay, a very smart move because they could get company at any time. But the delay would have Cardinal on high alert. They couldn't waste a lot of time here.

Nichol kept her voice down. "I already explained about setting the bar. Cardinal can't think he has any kind of rights to me, which means there can't be any strife between us." She blew out a harsh breath. "We have to sell this. Can you make it look real?" Even if she'd been the one to throw him off their plan.

Brewster snorted. "Are you kidding me? You got a feel of my dick, right? Selling it's not gonna be a problem." To prove his point, he flexed his hips, pressing the hard ridge of his cock against the apex of her thighs. "Making it not be real is gonna be the challenge." He didn't back up, keeping his thighs against her.

Her brain sizzled. God. Damn. Her body responded, heat zinging straight to her core, awareness pooling and making her panties damp with lustful desire. She wanted him so badly she could almost taste it. Could she risk a brief sample right now?

Throwing caution to the wind, Nichol quickly unbuttoned his pants and lowered the zipper, much to his surprise—if the breath he sucked in and the step he took back meant anything. When her palm curled around his velvety shaft, she shuddered. The man had length and girth, a dangerous combination for someone like Nichol, who preferred both. Oh, geez. We can't, can we?

Brewster hissed, his stomach twitching. "Nichol … what are you—" He broke off when she dragged his shaft out of his pants.

Fuck it. We absolutely can. She hauled him forward, fisting her free hand in his shirt. Grabbing hold of his shoulder, she braced her back against the wall and scrunched up higher, wrapping a leg around his waist.

She met his gaze. "Then let's make it real, Brewster." She reached down, pulling her panties aside. "Right now."

Shock entered his gaze, but a hungry need lurked right behind it. "I'm not sure you're ready. I could hurt—"

She rocked her hips, dipping down to brush her labia over the head of his cock, letting the tip enter her pussy. "Feel that, Brewster? I'm beyond ready." So far beyond, she needed it … him … now. "Fuck me." Footsteps echoed on the porch. "Right now."

He gave a nod and groaned, driving into her with a smooth, hard thrust.

She let out a hum of satisfaction. "Ahhh … yes." He filled her, stretching her out the way she loved.

He slapped one hand on the wall behind them and roughly palmed her breast with the other.

His breath fanned against her ear. "We've got company." He didn't stop moving, his thighs flexing, his mouth ghosting over her skin.

If anything, she got more turned on. Having an audience didn't bother her and she didn't have to perform or fake a gasping response. With every pump of his hips, Brewster eased her closer to a climax. His grunts of exertion had goose bumps rising on her skin and her breaths coming out in panting rasps.

Nichol risked a glanced through her slitted eyelids. A shadow lurked outside the window. No doubt the unwanted intruder had a terrific view of Brewster's ass and her leg wrapped around his waist. Let them watch a master class in fucking.

Because, oh, god, quickies rarely did more than take the edge off the tension for her, but this … would be a full-blown release. Probably a toe-curling one.

Nichol opened her eyes and met his gaze. "I'm gonna come." Her mouth caught his just when she broke, a wave of bliss coursing through her bloodstream.

Brewster growled low in his throat and followed behind, pressing his groin into her and grinding over her sensitive clit.

An aftershock made her shudder and if he hadn't lowered his hand to cup her ass, she would've slid down the wall in a boneless heap.

Catching her breath, she whispered. "Audience of one outside." Getting her feet under her, she palmed the wall to stay upright when Brewster let go.

If she didn't know the real Brewster, the cold, twisting smile crossing his face would've given her pause.

Gotta say, I love this world. I'm always sad because I can't give it the attention I want to on a regular basis. Hopefully that day will come soon.

That's it for this week.

Cheers!

Skye

Sunday Snippet: A Valentine Caper

We're almost to the end of August and it's been a month. I'm glad we're closing in on the last quarter of the year. 2020 definitely provided a roller coaster ride. And we're not quite through yet.

Had a solid week of work and reorganizing. Made some terrific progress on the office clean out. Got two of my six bookcases put together and shredded a bunch of old stuff I don't need to keep anymore. I still have a buttload of shredding to do but progress is progress.

Got a little bit of viewing done this week, mostly Danger Man episodes. I wanted to finish season three then realized there are only two episodes of season four. I'm disappointed.

I also did a couple of marathon viewings on Ovation. The morning mysteries are a lot of fun and the Monday block of A Place to Call Home is pretty good also. I also caught Partners in Crime, which ended up being better than I thought.

That's pretty much it for television. Tonight's post is from A Valentine Caper, a holiday-themed novella that got a start with brainstorming session with a group of friends.

Here's the mini-blurb:

A cupid, Lorna Heartshorn, is a workaholic who wants to spend Valentine's Day—the one day her magic doesn't work—with a mortal man who needs a hot woman. When Gus Shepler pops up on her radar, she thinks she's found the perfect guy and sets out to seduce him. No easy feat, since he's sworn off women after a string of bad luck and nasty break-ups.

And a preview snippet…

Gus shook his head. "So basically you're only looking for a single night of sex."

Lorna frowned. Is he really less than thrilled I'm after a hot night in bed? For a primo piece of man, he disappointed her.

She snorted. "Let me guess, you're so full of yourself, your huge ego doesn't think a single night will satisfy me, right?" Ugh, why did she listen to her friends?

Gus's eyes went wide. "No, I'm less than thrilled because I thought you might be different." He pinned her with a hard look. "Did it even occur to you that I've been celibate because that's all women want from me? A hard dick connected to someone they can order around, sleep with and forget, or use when their husband is on the road with his mistress." His eyes rolled. "No thanks. I'm done."

Well, didn't she just pick the worst possible guy? Okay, not her, Marie and Katie. What in the ether were they thinking? Unless … oh, they were trying to be sly. But Lorna saw through the maneuver of trying to get her hooked on a keep 'em coming back for more kind of man.

Lorna tilted her head back. "All right. I'll grant your luck hasn't been great … but were any of those recent relationships actually honest and up front about what they wanted?" She'd lay odds against any of the women doing so.

Gus rolled a shoulder. "You've got me there. Not a single one." He jammed his hands in his pockets.

Lorna took the gesture as a positive sign she'd made headway. "Well, good. I should get points for stating exactly what I want." She moved to sit on the bench across from him. "And I'll explain my reason for the short-term duration." She patted the seat next to her. "If you'll indulge me and listen." She put her best eyebrow arch to work.

Gus gave a reluctant sigh and settled beside her. "Okay, I'm listening."

I'm having some fun with this story. It's supposed to be a sexy short but the characters keep coming up with more they want to say.

That's it for this week.

Cheers!

Skye

Sunday Snippet: Utter Not a Word

Well, we're off to move my daughter into her dorm for her very first semester of college. It's been a crazy whirlwind of a week, trying to get last-minute details nailed down and grabbing all the final items she needs to have with her. Thankfully, I've only got one project that has a deadline and my past self ended up being smart enough to work the move into the due date. Whew.

Not much viewing of television this week. Too many things going on. I did catch another episode of Danger Man, which happened to be another one I hadn't seen yet.

Also got through almost all of Gabriel's Inferno. Like I said, I'm kind of taking my time with this one and thoroughly enjoying it.

Started a new episode of Blue Heelers and a new character has been introduced. So far, he's a bit of dick. Not sure if I'll end up really liking him or hating him a bunch. Time will tell.

I'm really looking forward to having a little downtime once we get the college-bound kid settled in. The whole pandemic thing has completely thrown off my usual groove and I'm not quite sure if I'll get it back or if my new normal will take some getting used to.

That's my week in a nutshell. Tonight's post is from Utter Not a Word, a novella that got a start with a writing community prompt.

Here's the mini-blurb:

Maren Roth is reeling over the loss of her oldest friend after a skirmish with an opposing faction goes horribly wrong. Wayne Edelman, a superior adept with the responsibility of their sect resting in his hands, offers comfort and support in a very unexpected way and Maren realizes the man has become an expert on reading her moods. With a huge battle brewing, she takes solace in the concept that together with Wayne, they might have a fighting chance at winning.

And a preview snippet…

Wayne didn't break his stride, keeping one hand on Maren's elbow, when Linder and Bart approached. "Give me an hour. I'll debrief after I get her settled." He nodded in Maren's direction.

Bart arched a brow. "Kincaid?" The actual question went unsaid.

Wayne shook his head. Linder stumbled a little but recovered quickly. He'd had hopes of pursuing a relationship with Jessie at one time. The timing never worked for either of them.

And with the elder mage ailing, Linder, Bart, and Wayne had taken on and split the leader's responsibilities.

And now they had a colleague's death to contend with. Not to mention Maren, which he needed to handle with care. Her history with Jessie went way back and the loss could have devastating repercussions.

Bart pitched his voice low. "Look, we'll give you as much time and cover as possible, but we've got to have a conversation about the hellfire Maren unleashed back there." He took the lead and opened the door to Maren's suite.

Wayne sent Bart a blistering glare. "Not now. She's barely functioning at the moment." He ushered Maren into the room. "Have you ever known her to be silent for any length of time?" Or act docile under any circumstance?

Frankly, she had Wayne a little scared.

He blocked the door, barring the other two men. "Let me get her checked over for any injuries and get her cleaned up. I'll call you when I know what's going on." He didn't wait for a response, stepping back and closing the door.

Maren swayed where she stood but blinked and finally seemed to focus.

Turning toward him, she met his gaze. "Thank you." She almost wilted, stumbling to one side.

Wayne rushed forward and caught her before she dropped to the floor. "Hey, stay with me here. Let's get you into the shower and checked out. Do you have any injuries?" Leading her to the bathroom, he got the water turned on.

She tugged her shirt free of her pants. "Probably. I hit my head earlier and my ears are still ringing." She paused to remove the garment and drop it on the floor. "I can't think straight. Everything keeps playing over and over in my head." Her eyes welled with tears, but she dashed them away.

Wayne helped her get the rest of her clothes off and into the shower. She winced when the sting of the spray hit her body. Wayne did a quick assessment, clocking the scrapes and bruises marring her skin.

She and Jessie put up one hell of a fight. We should've been there sooner. Linder and Bart would have to be ready to make some solid changes to the patrols. The wizards were ramping up for something and two-person teams wouldn't work anymore.

Once Maren had a towel wrapped around her, Wayne had her sit on the counter. "I'll see to these cuts and scrapes, but I want to check your head. Where did you hit it?"

Maren lowered her chin and pointed to her nape. Wayne gently ran his fingers over the area and winced when he found the good-sized bump, especially when Maren hissed out a breath.

She flinched away. "Still hurts." But her palm went to the location and rubbed over it.

Wayne's lips quirked but he didn't smile. She had him too concerned. No wonder she had trouble staying coherent. The combination of grief, sheer exhaustion, and the bump on her head meant she needed rest. And lots of it.

Maren slumped forward, her head resting on his chest. "So tired. And sore. I hurt everywhere."

Wayne shifted and got an arm under her legs. "Let's get you to bed. Some sleep will help a little." Nothing but time would help ease the pain of losing Jessie.

Maren didn't argue, a rare occurrence. Wayne deposited her on the bed then went to get some painkillers and water. When he returned, Maren had the sheet pulled up over her torso and her damp towel lay in a heap on the floor.

Wayne handed her the caplets. "Take these and I'll grab some ice for that lump on your head." He entered the kitchenette and made a cold pack.

He found Maren already nodding off but got the ice pack behind her head and the blanket pulled up around her. "I'm sorry, Maren. So sorry." Leaning over, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, something she'd normally never allow.

Dragging a throw from the end of the mattress, he tucked into the recliner to stay close … just in case. If she had a concussion and tried to get up, she could end up doing more damage.

And he didn't want her to be alone. Not yet. They needed to talk about the hellfire she unleashed and discuss why she couldn't do anything so foolhardy again.

Loving the way this one is progressing. I'm excited to see how everything comes together.

That's if for this week.

Cheers!

Skye

Sunday Snippet: Urban Grit

First week of August down and in the books. Next weekend we move my daughter to her dorm and pray for the best. They're doing a shortened semester, very similar to what a college quarter used to be. She'll be moving back right before Thanksgiving and won't return to campus until January.

Busy week with projects and random things that needed attention. I did get more of my desk cleared off for the big overhaul organization.

Limited viewing time this week but I got a few things watched. I did start Gabriel's Inferno part two and have about half of it finished. I actually decided to dedicate actual time to watching and not do anything else while it's playing. Hence the reason I'm only halfway through.

I watched another episode of Danger Man and also started a new episode of Blue Heelers. Like I said, busy week where I couldn’t spend the time I wanted to catching up on television.

I did have Ovation's morning mysteries on as background noise during the day. Murdoch Mysteries, Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries, and Midsomer Murders for the win. I also caught a block of Numb3rs on Friday.

That's pretty much it for this week. Tonight's post is from Urban Grit, a novella that got a start with a writing community prompt.

Here's the mini-blurb:

Keeley Fitz and Holt Matterworth produce and star in the reality docu-style web drama, Urban Grit. They shamelessly drag their friends along on their adventures where they try to bust and debunk urban myths … except they quickly learn most legends all have a basis in truth.

And a preview snippet…

Holt led the way up the ornate staircase with Dean backlighting the area. "The research on this place is sketchy, but we had an opening to get some filming done." He held the camera and did a slow sweeping shot of what the steps looked like.

Dean cocked his head. "So, it's what? Haunted? Possessed by something? Do you know?" He moved ahead and adjusted his angle to illuminate the long, wide corridor.

Holt shrugged. "The legend talks about running footsteps, growling and scratching sounds, and claw marks in some of the rooms." Honestly, nothing that would be overly difficult to replicate if anyone had a mind to do so.

Dean caught up, casting a shadowy glow ahead of them. "Hmm. Who owns the place?" He paused beside the first door.

Holt snorted. "Apparently, that's in question. Records have Margaret DuBois listed as the last title holder. But the guy we got permission from claims he has the deed. His name is Mortimer Sparrow." The document certainly appeared to be authentic.

Dean barked out a laugh. "Seriously? Now that's a name for scary tales." He entered the room and swept the light in a wide arc. "Yo, Holt. Check out the corner over there." He wiggled the beam back and forth to indicate the location.

Holt trained the lens on the spot and moved forward. "Ahhh, yeah. Scratches or claw marks." He met Dean's gaze. "Hoax or real?" Hard to tell in the waning light of the evening.

Dean shrugged. "Who knows? But if it's fake, it's a damn good job." He got closer, giving Holt some good backlighting.

Holt zoomed in and panned from one edge of the swipe marks to the other. "About a six-foot arch, yeah?" He glanced over his shoulder to get confirmation.

Dean nodded. "At least. Weird that it's only one, right?" He turned and directed the light in a wide circle. "I'm not seeing anything else on the walls."

Holt moved toward the window and leaned down to get a better look. "Hmm. There're some marks here, too." Directing the camera, he got some footage of the scratches on the sill.

Dean wandered out into the corridor. "Wanna check the room across the hall?" He tried the knob but the door wouldn't budge.

Holt got a kick of warning. "Locked or stuck?" He made his way over to Dean's side.

Dean set the light down. "Stuck, I think." He put his shoulder to the wood panel. "Lemme try to give it a shove." Putting his weight into it, he moved back and lunged forward.

The door gave way and the nasty stench of something disgusting rolled out. Dean coughed and grimaced, backing away. Holt pulled his T-shirt collar up over his nose and grabbed the light. Shining it inside the dimly lit space, he blinked at the sight greeting him. The walls were spackled with feathers and dotted with pock marks—maybe from a beak pecking at the surface?

Dean pulled a mask from his pocket and put it on. "Man, that's some epic aroma. Think a bird got trapped in here?" He moved forward and took the light, giving Holt a chance to grab a mask also.

Holt put the covering on and entered the room. "Eh, this couldn't be from a single bird. No way." The sheer number of feathers littering the floor and walls indicated multiple numbers.

"Holy shit. What the hell happened in here?" Keeley winced and covered her nose, quickly backing out of the room. "Joanie, trust me when I say this, break out the masks and gloves."

Leave it to Keeley to state the obvious. But, damn, if she didn't have a valid point.

This story can't quite decide if going to be super scary or more of a tongue in cheek romp. Either way, I'm having fun writing it!

That's it for this week.

Cheers!

Skye

Sunday Snippet: Unforeseen Consequences

Is it really August? Man, I'm actually kind of thankful. I'm ready for 2020 to be over and done with. It's been a very crazy year.

Had a fairly busy week of calls with potential new clients and a new project starting. It's been kind of slow since May and I'm excited to see if things pick up a little now.

I also got quite a few of my long-form brainstorming sessions converted into text. I'm seriously thrilled with this!! I can't wait to see how many I get translated and transferred over this week.

Didn't get a lot of shows watched this week, but I did catch another couple of episodes of Danger Man.

Also watched episode seven of The Witcher and I'm so happy there's going to be another season of this show.

I'll be catching the second Gabriel's Inferno movie this week, even if I have to stay up super late to watch. I'm looking forward to this one.

I'll hopefully be catching up with a few other shows also. It's been hit or miss with both time and lack of focus to get into a show.

That's pretty much it for television this week. Tonight's post is from Unforeseen Consequences, a novella that got a start with a writing community prompt.

Here's the mini-blurb:

In the School for the Extraordinarily Gifted, Stella Stubbs and Dak Satterfield hold the record for the most challenges won. As instructors, they no longer join in on the fun, but both enjoy watching their students try to break their top scores—until a dangerous element is introduced and they discover their last wager won had unforeseen consequences.

And a preview snippet…

Stella entered the headmaster's office when he called out a greeting. "Wilson, it's that time of year…" Her voice trailed off and she hoped he picked up on the meaning.

His lips twisted in a wry smirk. "Ah … and you've come to get the ball rolling so to speak?" He withdrew a folder from his drawer. "You always did like to be the first one, didn't you?" The file had a blank page on the top of a full two decades' worth of predictive wagers.

Stella's lips curved when memories assailed her. "I don't have to be the first … but I do like being the last one standing." The very first time had been her and Dak against Wilson.

Wonder if he remembers?

Wilson flicked his gaze to her. "From what I remember, you have a habit of getting what you want." He turned the folder toward her. "We'll see if you can hit the mark this year." He placed a pen on top of the page.

Stella cocked her head and quirked an eyebrow. "Will you be joining in?" She filled in the first line with her prediction and added Dak's name beside hers.

Phelps frowned, his mouth flattening to a thin line. "The entries should be individual ones. Is there a reason Satterfield can't pick another number?" He leaned back in his chair, giving her a speculative stare.

Stella rolled a shoulder. "If we disagreed, absolutely. But we don't. Neither of us thinks we'll lose anyone this go around." She tapped the paper. "This is one of the best groups we've ever had. Possibly rivaling our class way back when." She didn't exaggerate; the vibe from this group took her back a decade.

Wilson gave her a bland look then shrugged. "Fine. Since I'm still finding my footing, we'll let it go this year." He took the folder and closed it. "But next year, there might be some changes." His tone didn't match the placid look on his face.

Wonder what kind of grudge he's still holding?

Stella resisted the urge to find out, but pressed for some additional information. "Will you be making a lot of sweeping changes? Or sticking mainly with the status quo?" She didn't see a need to mess with a good system but wouldn't discount a new perspective.

Phelps narrowed his eyes. "I'm not completely certain. I'm still going through the staff files." He folded his arms across his chest. "You've been here pretty much since graduation, haven't you?"

Yeah, she had. And she didn't regret it one bit. She and Dak traveled during their breaks but the school had become their home. They'd never leave voluntarily.

Giving Wilson a nod, she answered with a question. "Have you ever found a place that speaks to you on an instinctive level? That's what I found here. From the very first day." Might sound a little out there, but true nonetheless.

Wilson inclined his chin. "I thought the same thing until senior year." A dark look crossed his face but cleared almost immediately. "But ten years of new experiences makes me appreciate what can happen here. I'm glad to be back." He stood up and came around the front of his desk. "It's not quite the same, but it's starting to feel like home again."

Stella smiled even though his words struck a weird chord. "Well, it's good to have you back." She jerked her head toward the door. "I'm gonna be late for training, but thanks for letting me get my name down first." Starting for the exit, she paused when he mumbled something under his breath.

Shaking her head, she gave him a second to continue but he didn't say anything else.

When she reached the jamb, Wilson called out a farewell. She gave a small wave and ducked out of the room. An odd sense of foreboding settled between her shoulders but she shook it off, putting the vibe down to opening the door to the past.

Maybe Wilson didn't like the reminder that she and Dak were a package deal.

I love a little cat and mouse and this scene ended up being a lot of fun to write.

That's it for this week.

Cheers!

Skye

Sunday Snippet: Underbelly

I seriously can't believe I'll be moving my daughter into her dorm in three weeks. It's coming up fast! She's very excited and I think I have almost everything she needs to be prepared for the daily masking, temperature taking, and hand sanitizing she's going to have to do.

On a super-positive note, I found an app that will let me not only brainstorm but will translate the long-form handwritten brainstorming I've done into text! This is true game changer for me. I'm so, so, so excited.

Had a semi-slow week for watching shows. I made some serious progress on getting my office cleared and organized. I'm almost ready to add a bookcase or two. I've been a little light on work projects so this is a terrific time to get the tedious sort, sort, sorting accomplished.

I did get to watch another episode of Peak Practice. I'm about midway through the second season and I have a sneaking suspicion someone will be leaving at the end of this one.

Also rewatched the second episode of Ms. Fisher's Modern Murder Mysteries. I truly love this spinoff.

Caught "The Sontaren Experiment" episodes of Classic Who. It's a lot of fun to visit Sarah Jane way back when. I miss Elisabeth a lot.

Watched episode four of Picard. I'm trying to figure out what the captain's deal is. All of his holographs are versions of himself? I kind of love it but also really wonder about it.

Got a few more episodes of Danger Man in, both ones I didn't remember. I thoroughly enjoyed each.

Also watched another compilation of Cirque du Soleil shows. I honestly can't fathom how the performers do what they do. I'm always, always amazed at their ability. And the costumers and makeup artists along with the musicians pull everything together. It's mind-blowing.

That's it for television this week. Tonight's post is from Underbelly, a novella that got a start with a writing community prompt.

Here's the mini-blurb:

Jarrod Steele is a private investigator who deals with the weird and the unknown and can find anything his clients want. His super-efficient assistant, Maylin Rose, along with her unique skill set, makes sure of it.

And a preview snippet…

Jarrod straightened his clothes and grinned. Maylin started typing—something she could actually do but not accurately at her current speed—just before their prospective client entered the office.

She rose to offer a standard greeting. "Mr. Pemburke? Mr. Steele will see you right away." Ushering the man into Jarrod's office, she made the introductions. "Jarrod Steele, this is Mr. Aston Pemburke."

Jarrod stood and offered his hand. "Pemburke, what can I do for you?"

Maylin ducked out, no doubt going back to her desk to resume typing, but not before she turned the intercom record button on. She'd have an earphone in so she could listen to the entire meeting.

Aston didn't waste time, getting directly to the point. "Steele, I'd like to hire you to retrieve an object stolen from my family's estate." He sat down and reached inside his interior jacket pocket. "This is what was taken." He handed Jarrod a photograph of a cube with carved runes embedded on all sides.

Jarrod's curiosity piqued and he met Aston's gaze. "I'll need to know what I'm getting into here. The runes imply magick. Is there a protective spell or backlash to deal with?" He'd run into some nasty scenarios and now charged his client's accordingly.

Aston's eyes widened. "Uh, I'm not certain. The object is my father's and he doesn't know it's missing yet." He leaned forward. "I'd like to keep it that way. I know who has it but I can't get close to him."

Interesting. Jarrod mentally added another line item to the bottom line, as would Maylin when she gave Pemburke the contract.

Jarrod pulled out a notepad. "I guarantee confidentiality. You're the client. The rest of your family can be none the wiser." He glanced up. "Tell me who has it and anything else you can think of regarding the artifact."

Aston snarled. "Jayson Barrowman is the cretin who stole the cube from our home. He'll have it secured in his compound, which is a gated, guarded, and gilded monstrosity located in the foothills of Quark Mountain." His hands fisted in his lap. "You're not going to have an easy time of getting the cube back. I attended a party last month and it's nowhere on the main levels of the house. But I know it's there."

Jarrod narrowed his gaze. "How, exactly, do you know?" A red flag went up.

Aston shrugged. "I scried for the object. It's there but nowhere on the upper levels." He shifted his position on the chair. "Barrowman has to have a sublevel. There's no other explanation."

Jarrod jotted the information down but Maylin would already be researching the architect and builder details. "I'll look into whether or not he has one. It's not a problem if he does." Jarrod paused and met Aston's gaze. "Do you have proof of ownership? If you don't, things could get sticky." He'd had his share of off the books item-retrieval, which always got dangerous.

Aston withdrew another document. "This is a copy of the decree that gave my family control of the cube. My grandfather purchased the artifact from the Manchurins three decades ago."

Jarrod had a working knowledge of the Manchurins. Old family, old magick, old money that ran dry. But he now had a thread he could pull to find out more about the cube. Especially if Pemburke didn't give Jarrod more to go on.

Jarrod prodded Aston a little. "Okay, you've got ownership. Why did Barrowman steal the item?" A dispute between buyers couldn't be ruled out.

Aston glanced away. "I'm not completely certain. The cube has immense power if the wielder understands the runes and how they work. Barrowman fancies himself a dark arts master." Pemburke met Jarrod's gaze again. "Which means he could turn the power against whomever he wants to."

Well, hell. The stakes just anted up. And Pemburke knew more than he wanted to share with Jarrod. Another dollar sign to add to the contract.

Jarrod stood. "Pemburke, the terms for this case will be fluid, dependent upon what I'll need to get in and out of Barrowman's estate and how much trouble I have doing so." He wrote an amount down. "This is the amount to put me on retainer." Sliding the paper toward Aston, he waited until the man nodded to continue. "If I don't have the job finished within a week, I'll provide an update to you and only you. Since you want this to stay confidential, I'll contact you via a messenger service under the name Atlas Limited." He moved around the desk and directed Pemburke to Maylin's desk. "Maylin, please provide a standard contract with this amount as a retainer. We're leaving the expenses open-ended for now."

Maylin turned and opened a file cabinet to retrieve a contract.

Jarrod thrust his hand forward. "Thanks for coming in, Pemburke. I'll leave you in Maylin's capable hands." After a firm handshake, Jarrod reentered his office and strode over to the windows.

He didn't like the potential for mishap the cube represented. He'd be doing some careful research on any side effects handling the item might generate. Neither he nor Maylin needed another curse to be unleashed on them.

They almost hadn't survived the last one.

This story took on a life of its own and I'm completely okay with that. The sages knew exactly what little twist to add to make this ten times better.

That's it for this week.

Cheers!

Skye

Sunday Snippet: Raid at Midnight

Wow, half of July is gone and I'm trying to get my office organized and figure out how we're going to get my daughter moved into her dorm. If she can even move into the place. The clear out and organization is going better than expected. I ordered several types of smaller bookcases and some drawers to help corral all the crap I've had surrounding me for close to a decade. It's way past time.

I didn't get a ton of television watched this week but I do have a few updates. First, I'm still having feels about Arrow's final episode. There might be more coming about the series as a whole at some point.

Caught Roswell, New Mexico and honestly truly enjoyed the episode, "I'll Stand by You." The entire cast got some solid screen time and that makes me very happy. Special kudos for Michael and Isabel's arc and I loved Kyle telling Liz she's family because he gets what she means now. I'm starting to truly appreciate the complexities of the characters' interactions. So good.

Watched the penultimate episode of Strike Back and, damn, the cast brought their A games. Seriously, every single moment had me on the edge of my seat. The crazy fight between Coltrane and Wyatt topped the list because the size difference is almost comical but the entire point wasn't lost on me. The trio needed to clear the air and that was the best way to do it. And I'll freely admit I absolutely loved Chetri's journey. I love that she pretty gave a giant middle finger to her captors and that her end didn't happen before the team arrived. Another huge eff you to the antagonists. Excellent viewing. Seriously.

Started another new episode of Blue Heelers and this one is off the charts crazy. Different from the usual and I like that.

Began a rewatch of Hollywood Dirt, a Passionflix original. I love the chemistry between the actors and I also appreciate the fact that the casting department will go back to actors who are terrific.

Caught several episodes of Danger Man and both were ones I don't remember watching. Each ended up being terrific.

That's pretty much my week in a nutshell. Tonight's post is from Raid at Midnight, formerly known as Under the Black Hawk Banner, which became the series title. I've done a little research and decided I need to make a change for the series and it's tentatively going to be Under the Black Raven Banner.

Here's the mini-blurb:

Verity Jones joins an elite group of civilian protectors in a battle-torn land. She's the daughter of an ace fighter pilot who tore up the skies in the first epic war. Emory Cavendish is the lead pilot and his crew pulls off amazing feats, largely thanks to Verity, which drives their commanding officer mad to the point of putting Verity in danger.

And a preview snippet…

Emory quelled the urge to stare at the newest member of the group. Whitcomb already set a terrible standard with his lack of welcome. Emory didn't care who worked on their planes as long as they flew.

He led Specialist Jones down a darkened corridor then withdrew another set of keys. "We'll be heading to the east wing. No one is currently housed there, but it's kept clean and ready." After unlocking the door, he motioned for VJ to precede him.

She stepped through the doorway and paused. "This isn't going to cause problems, is it? Only having one person in the entire wing?" Her eyes squinted when he pressed the lightswitch.

Emory's lips curved. "Not at all. We're not fully staffed, but we do have a group that comes in to clean and air out the unused sections of the manor once a week. We have a cook that stays here full-time and his wife does the bulk of the cleaning and laundry. I'll introduce them to you…" He paused and tilted his head. "What do you prefer to be called? We're fairly casual around here since we're a civilian outfit." Only Whitcomb really adhered to rank and structure. "Do you go by your initials?"

His companion lifted a shoulder. "Sometimes. But Jones is fine. I'm used to being referred to by my last name." Her gaze darted away from his.

He shook his head. "We have two other Joneses. Do you mind if I ask what the VJ stands for?"

She frowned for a moment. "Uh, Verity is my first name. The middle name is Jay, as in J-A-Y." She rolled her eyes. "My dad's got a thing for family names and every generation's firstborn has that middle name."

Emory stopped at a set of stairs. "Up this way." His curiosity compelled him to ask more questions. "So, the firstborns are usually male then?" Her lips quirked and the smile reached her eyes.

She gave a nod. "Got it on the first guess." Her gaze raked over the landing when they topped the stairs. "Wow. I'm going to be the only one here?" A slight echo bounced off the walls.

Emory lifted his chin. "For now, yes. Whitcomb, no doubt, thinks you'll go stir-crazy not having any kind of company and you'll ask for a transfer straight away." He paused and caught her gaze. "But you're not gonna give him that satisfaction, are you?" He arched a brow to let her know he hoped she wouldn't.

Verity grinned. "Probably not. I tend to stick to my guns." She sobered. "And I will prove my worth." Her tone held a ton of conviction.

Emory flashed a smile. "I have no doubt…" Making a quick decision, he added, "Verity."

She blinked, showing her surprise. "Um, okay. I appreciate the confidence." She glanced around then met his gaze again. "Do I take my pick? I'm a little out of my depth here."

Emory shook his head. "Me too. And, yes, choose a room or rooms, whatever you'd like. I'll see if Mrs. Bainbridge can sort out a kettle and maybe a hot plate for your use." He pointed down the hallway. "There's a loo at either end of the corridor and you can do some washing in the one on this end if you need to."

He waited while Verity poked her head into a few of the rooms then chose one. A good choice. The window looked out over the hangar and the runway would be in full view.

Once she placed her rucksack at the end of the bed, he gave her a full briefing on the planes and upcoming missions. She asked intelligent questions, not surprising given the credentials and signatures she'd brought with her. But she completely threw him when she asked for details about a damaged rudder and the degree it affected the yaw. Only someone who flew would really think to ask something that specific.

Intrigued beyond measure, Emory started piecing a few bits of information together. First and foremost, the home office finally sent someone who could maintain their small fleet of planes and really understand how they got used. Secondly, she had a ton of pull if the president and prime minister endorsed her presence. And, finally, whether she liked it or not, he had a pretty good idea where her intrinsic knowledge came from. And Whitcomb is going to be dead in the air if he thinks he'll run her out of the group.

He wanted to verify his gut instinct, but if it proved correct, Verity Jones would be a valuable asset to the Black Raven program.

Female or not.

I love this series! I think I've finally got a handle on how everything is going to play out. There might be a few tweaks here and there, but the alternate reality thing is so much fun to write.

That's it for this week.

Cheers!

Skye