The next Hightower book, New Beginnings is now available at Amazon and other fine ebook retailers near you.
Here’s an unedited scene to wet your appetite:
I can accept that the “Tom” nightmare didn’t happen, and that he wasn’t an Incubus trying to take over my mind with sex. Hell, I can even accept that Stony, Lysandra’s gargoyle statue isn’t a real gargoyle and never came to life, but there is no way I can accept that Ash and I didn’t have sex. I’m not talking about the traditional, physical sex. I know we couldn’t have done the deed while I was in a coma. At least, I hope we didn’t. I’m talking about sex in some kind of mental or magical hokey-pokey kind-of way. I come from a long line of witches, and Ash is a vampire. Magic is in my blood, so to speak. Anything is possible.
Fletcher’s desk was as tidy as ever. I think the woman has an OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder about clutter. Her neurotic organizational skills would drive me insane, but I wasn’t there to discuss her personal shortcomings. I had bigger and more important priorities. Nana and Ash were driving me nuts. I needed to get out of the house and out from under their watchful, prying eyes. If left up to them, I would become a Soap Opera Queen never having to leave the couch again. The three most popular shows, Not My Children, As the World Topples and Private Morgue consisted of the same basic storyline. Love, betrayal, sex and death, and in that predictable order. Can you say bo-ring?
I needed my own drama. I needed to feel the adrenaline rush of working on a case. Hell, I needed to live! Okay, maybe that last part was a little over the top.
“Get your feet off my desk, Bright.”
I jumped up out of the chair spilling coffee as I came to my feet. I never heard Fletcher come up behind me. Sometimes, that woman was too quiet for other people’s good.
“What do you want, now?” she asked as she placed her leather briefcase on the credenza and then sat in the big, cushy executive chair behind the desk, and started reading her perfectly stacked messages.
I lowered my head. “I need your help,” I said as I looked up at her, making sure that my head stayed lowered. Step one, look miserable, which wasn’t difficult to do.
She stopped thumbing through her stack and looked up at me. When our eyes met, I slowly batted my eyelashes. She smiled and leaned back in the recliner chair.
“Okay, you have my attention. Shoot,” she said, then grinned.
“I’m dying.” Step two. Break out the big guns - call upon on her pity.
She cocked a brow. “I see,” she replied as she shifted her weight and leaned a little further into the chair. I had the feeling my plan wasn’t working. Instead of acting or looking concerned, she appeared to be getting very comfortable. Time to heighten the stakes.
“I wanted to be honest with you. I didn’t think you should have to hear it from someone else, but at this rate, I won’t have long.” Step three is my infamous booboo face. I tucked my upper lip in while pushing my lower lip out, then slightly tilted my head to the side while still keeping eye contact.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Bright,” she sounded genuinely concerned. “The team sure is going to take this hard.”
I had to fight back a smug grin. I had her, now. I’d be back in the field in no time, flat. I didn’t say a word. I just shook my head in agreeance.
Fletcher leaned forward and picked up her phone. “Yes, Donna, please come in.” Donna was Fletcher’s secretary and personal assistant. Things were starting to happen, I felt confident.
Donna strolled through the door, and smiled at me. “Hi, Carly.”
I forced myself to maintain in character, I half smiled back.
“Get the academy on the line and," Fletcher ordered. "Schedule a shrink for next week. Bright is dying. I want to make sure that the team gets all the help they need when Bright’s replacement arrives.”
“Whoa!” I snapped as I stood. “You’re replacing me that easy?” I cried out flabbergasted. Oh hell, my plan went to shit in a hand basket. “Come on, Fletcher,” I said as I plopped back into the chair. “You know what I meant. I didn’t mean I was literally dying this moment.”
Copyright Annie Alvarez, 2011
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