Christmas Fluff

This is post-Daughter of Deception and pre-The Chaos Child & Mistress of Malice and Mercy

Tobias Duke stood on the side porch, just outside the kitchen, mouth agape and eyes comically wide.  When he’d left to deliver a dinner package to the team on Christmas Eve rotation, his wife had been firmly ensconced on the couch watching a ‘50s holiday cartoon.  There were a few decorations around the living room, and a massive, needle-dropping tree wedged in beside the fireplace.  He’d expected to come home to a similar sight. At some point in the two hours he’d been gone, his wife had been body-snatched by a twisted Goth Christmas elf, the pages of North Pole Living had exploded all over his house, and someone had taken to torturing dogs on the radio.

“You’re letting all the cold air in,” the Viola-shaped Christmas Demon snapped, brandishing the floppy, gingerbread man end of a spatula.

Despite the lighted, black-and-purple Santa hat, red-and-green striped tights, and holiday sweater, it was his wife’s voice.  Duke shuffled into the house, but kept on his leather jacket.  With his crappy luck, Christmas Demons exploded into showers of tinsel or something.

Finn, a set of reindeer antlers bobbing on his head, ambled through the kitchen and flopped onto the red-and-green bed under the built-in desk. Bells jingled when Finn rested his head on his paws.  For the first time in his life, Duke felt a pang of sympathy for Viola’s mutt.  

The Christmas Demon twirled away from the stove and beamed up at Duke.  Her eyes were twinkling and she smelled like nutmeg.  It was a shame she was a wife-stealing demon.  Duke enjoyed the way Viola’s whole face lit up when she was happy and nutmeg was a comforting scent.  He was going to regret making the Christmas Demon regret invading his house.

“Did Johnny and Juan enjoy the tamales?  Did you give them the pumpkin bread?” The Christmas Demon asked.  “You forgot the salsa, but by the time I found it in the fridge, I figured you were over halfway there.”

Duke blinked.  He closed his mouth, opened it.  He licked his lips before closing his mouth again.

“Tobias?”  The Christmas Demon extended an arm.  Holiday-themed charms dangled from a silver chain.  A small, warm hand tipped with red-and-white nails pressed against his forehead.  “Are you all right?  Did something happen to you?”

“To me?”  He wrapped his fingers around the Christmas Demon’s wrist and tugged it away from his face.  “What happened here?  It’s like someone killed Christmas Cheer, resurrected it, and set the zombie loose in the house.  And then they shoved the spirit of Baldor the Demented Elf inside you.  And then they attacked the Christmas station so that every song comes out sounding like it’s being sung by screaming cats.  I thought we were having a nice, quiet holiday.”

The Christmas Demon - Viola - deflated instantly.  She tugged her wrist out of Duke’s grasp and shoved her hands in the pockets of her green shorts.  The hat slipped down on her forehead obscuring her eyes.  “Sorry. “

“Vi,” Duke sighed, reaching for her.  She scurried backwards, shoulders hunched in and pigtails drooping.

“Run down to the store to pick up another half-gallon of milk, and I’ll take care of it.”

He started to say something, but the screaming on the radio was just too much. He snatched the stereo’s remote off the counter and shut the music off.  The sudden silence was a balm to his ringing ears. 

“Milk,” she repeated, eyes fixed on the Christmas tree mat on the floor.

“Viola.”

“Whole milk, please.  I need it for the fudge.”

“Viola!”

Her shoulders quivered and her eyes squeezed shut.  He tamped down his irritation.  He was cold, confused, and, thanks to the mouthwatering aromas filling the kitchen, starving.  Was that mulled cider he smelled?  And gingerbread?  And what was that she’d said about fudge?

“Please.”  She swallowed, lifted her head a fraction.  “Just go get the milk, Tobias.  I’ll clean up this and talk to Granny.”

“Granny?”  What did his grandmother have to do with the Christmas Horror Invasion?

“She called while you were out.  Asked if we wanted to have dinner.  I invited her over here.  I ran up to the attic and got my boxes and I guess I went a little overboard.  I just thought that since the holiday is all about family….”  She shrugged, hung her head again.  “It doesn’t matter.  I should have asked you or told her no.”

“Vi, it’s fine.  I don’t mind spending Christmas with Granny.  I usually do.  I was keeping it low-key for you.  You don’t care much for Christmas, so I wasn’t going to force it down your throat.”  That had been his reasoning, but the words sounded wrong.  What was it?  What was he missing?  There had been another reason he’d wanted to spend Christmas alone with his new wife.

She perched on the edge of a stool.  Somewhere along the way, the stool had acquired a big, red felt bow. “It’s my favorite holiday.  At least it was until, well, you know.  Livy tried but we never really celebrated it much because Mom was in the institution and Dad was gone.  Kinda hard to celebrate when almost half your family is gone.  I just thought that now… I don’t know… it would be nice to try again.”

He was an idiot.  The biggest idiot on the planet.   How had he forgotten teasing her about her Christmas obsession?  He’d even helped her hang lights outside her bedroom window one year, and another year he and Sebastian had cut down a small pine tree for her to put in her room.  She’d carried candy canes in her pockets and had been one of the first to memorize his “Twelve Days of Tracking Christmas” song.  Then her father had gone missing, four days before Christmas, and that had been the end of Santa’s gothiest elf.

“What did you do last Christmas, Vi?”

“Nothing.”

He arched an eyebrow.  His wife was a bundle of perpetual energy.  She never did nothing.  “Come on, Vi.”

“I bought myself a Christmas present or three from the liquor store across the street from the hotel and spent Christmas Eve watching It’s a Wonderful Life.  I don’t remember anything else until Boxing Day.”

He looped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on the top of her head.  “You could have told me you wanted to go all out for Christmas, sugar.  One word, and this place would have made Macy’s jealous.”

“I didn’t know I wanted it until Granny called.  We were talking about tamales and queso and eggnog, and it just hit me.”

Duke leaned back, lifted her chin, and pressed his lips to hers.  She tasted like candy canes and sugar cookies.  Her eyelids fluttered against his cheeks and she sighed happily against his lips.  He pulled back and flicked the fuzzy ball on her hat. 

“The Duke Family Christmas Extravaganza is on.  Hold on to your stockings, sugar.”  He grabbed the remote, hesitated.  “Maybe without the Manic Mutts murdering ‘White Christmas’.”

“Deal.”

By the time Granny arrived, there was a gingerbread army lined up on the counter, mulled cider steaming in the crockpot, and a tower of fudge cubes on the table.  Bing Crosby’s crooning was the perfect complement to the laughter and teasing.  Once the tamales were gone and the eggnog had been liberally laced with rum, Duke led the procession to the living room.

Skulls-and-crossbones, bats, and Goth Gabby ornaments were interspersed between the silver balls and tiny cowboy boots on the tree.  Granny had made Viola a stocking to match the one she’d made for Duke nearly three decades earlier, though hers looked like it had been purchased at the Halloween store.

He was distracted by Finn’s attempt to get a gold bow off his tail and missed the bright red gift bag Viola grabbed from under the tree.  It wasn’t until he heard Granny’s bark of laughter and Viola’s squeal that he turned back around.  Viola’s face was as red as the bag and she was elbow-deep in the present.

“Oh, sweet mercy.”

Oh.  Yeah.  There had been another reason he’d wanted to spend Christmas Eve alone with his wife.  Something about the tree and the fireplace and the lights down low…

“Vi, sugar…”

“Seriously, Tobias?  Tassels?”

Vi’s Fudge Recipe

·   2/3 cup cocoa
·   3 cups sugar
·   1/4 teaspoon salt
·   1-1/2 cups whole milk
·   1/4 cup butter
·   1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Grease an 8” dish.  Combine cocoa, sugar & salt in a large, heavy saucepan.  Stir in whole milk and bring to a rolling boil - STIR CONSTANTLY!!  Boil, without stirring, until you reach soft ball stage (234°F  or if small bit turns into a soft ball in cold water) Don’t stir.  Take off the heat.

Add butter and vanilla to mixture.  DON’T STIR!  Let it cool to until the pan is almost cool  to the touch.  Beat until it gets thick and matte.  Spread in pan.  Let it harden and then cut into squares.

 

MMM & Vacation

Here's a Mistress of Malice and Mercy snippet before I go on vacation.  I'm spending one day in New Orleans before I head up to my brother's wedding.  Expect to be bombarded with pictures.  Apologies in advance.  :)

I am going on a ghost tour in New Orleans and am staying in a haunted hotel.  I plan on touring several cemeteries.  Unlike Viola, I have no desire to spend time with ghosts, so I expect to get almsot no sleep while I'm there.  If you happen to see a hotel room with all the lights on at three in the morning, that'll be me.



MMM - Chapter Thirty-Nine

“You’re not half wrong.”  She hooked her ankle around his calf and wriggled until she was plastered against his side.  “I could stay here, like this, forever.”

 

“We’re in a cemetery.”

 

Soft laughter floated on the breeze.  “J’rain and Temek don’t mind.  They’ve peacefully moved on.”

 

“I wasn’t worried about them.”

 

Her fingers skipped across his waist until they reached his belt buckle.  She traced the engraving for a moment before deliberately slipping southward.  “You know, back when I was in high school I had this recurring fantasy.  I’d sneak out of the house and you’d follow me and we’d argue and then you’d…”

 

He snatched her hand up and tucked it against his chest.  “We are not making out in the cemetery, Viola.”

 

“You’re no fun.”

 

He kissed her fingertips, moved his lips to the pulse fluttering at her wrist.  “I’ll make it up to you.”

 

“You’d better.”

MMM

She half-heartedly kicked his ankle. “I don’t need you to protect me all the time, Tobias.”

 

“Oh please,” he huffed, “you’ve been a trouble magnet since the day you were born. Sebastian and I spent most of the ‘90s rescuing you from one scrape or another. At times I swore you went looking for danger.”

 

Her warm breath tickled his neck when she laughed. She hooked her fingers through his belt loops and blocked out Sebastian’s gagging. “Can you blame me? I had my very own Prince Charming, complete with white horse and faithful sidekick. Besides, you know you enjoyed playing the hero.”

 

“I did.” He nipped her bottom lip, savored the way she melted against him. “Protecting you is second nature; don’t ask me to stop now, sugar. I don’t think I can.”

 

Family Lies Backstory

In Daughter of Deception, Duke mentions that Viola had a lobotomy, of sorts, shortly after graduation and turns into a Livy-clone for a while.  This is what prompted that change.

Asking Olivia Ashwood to be his date for the swanky, black-tie Network Council banquet had seemed like a good idea at the time.  She wouldn’t expect anything more than a walk back to her hotel room.  She knew enough about Tracking so that most of the conversations wouldn’t go over her head.  She knew which fork to use for salad, which spoon to use for the soup, and when to let her dance partner lead.  That she was a gorgeous blonde hadn’t hurt, either.

 He hadn’t had to ask the Ashwoods to meet him in Washington, D.C.  They were already in Baltimore chasing down a lead on their father’s location.  He’d offered to buy Olivia anything she needed for the last-minute dinner invitation, and she’d accepted.  It wasn’t surprising.  Olivia was a world-class shopper.

Sebastian was waiting in for Duke in the hotel lobby.  Uncomfortable in his tux, Duke perched on the edge of the paisley upholstered chair across from his oldest friend.  The piano music floating in the spacious lobby made his teeth ache, but he supposed he had to get used to it.  It was highly likely that he was going to spend the next four hours hearing the same thing.  Duke eyed Sebastian warily.

“You’re not here to give me a lecture or anything, are you?”

Sebastian arched an eyebrow.  “Do I need to?”

Duke caught himself mid eye-roll.  He’d been spending far too much time with the littlest Ashwood if that was his first reaction to something stupid.  “Livy’s coming with me as a favor.  As a friend.  Trust me, I don’t have any feelings of the romantic kind for your younger sister.”

Olivia glided out of the elevator and across the marble floor.  Pale rose satin fell in a straight line from her shoulders to her ankles.  Her long blonde hair had been curled and pinned back with rhinestone-studded silver clips.  Her jewelry was limited to diamond studs in her ears and a rope of silver around her neck.  The silver stilettos nearly brought her up to eyelevel.  Pink painted lips curved in a smile when she saw Duke.

Duke stood and offered Olivia his elbow.  “ It’s a good thing I have my FN,” he said, “I may have to use it to keep my date from being stolen.”

Olivia giggled.  She glanced back and forth between her stoic brother and tense date.  “All set here, boys?”

“Of course.  I was just assuring Prudeastian that I don’t have any wicked designs on his younger sister.”

Sebastian stared at Duke for a long, hard minute before nodding.  He kissed Olivia’s cheek, squeezed her hand.  “Have fun.  I had Vi brew a cup of Silent Night tea so don’t worry about waking me.”

“Thanks, Bas.”  Olivia returned the squeeze.  Her blue eyes were soft and serious.  “She said she needed another two minutes.  Do you want me to stay?”

Sebastian shook his head.  “No, no go ahead.  She’s been acting weird for two weeks.  I can handle another ten minutes or so.”

Duke led Olivia out of the lobby to where his rented black sedan was waiting.  He whistled at the BMW convertible parked beside him.  He wished he’d had the foresight to rent a convertible.  They weren’t practical for everyday use given his line of work, but he was on vacation.  Of sorts.  Like the gentleman his grandmother had taught him to be, he held open the car door while Olivia slid in the passenger seat.

“What’s up with Shortcake?” Duke asked once they were out of the parking lot and headed for restaurant the Council had rented out for the banquet.

“She’s fine.  That’s the problem.”  Olivia toyed with the strap of her tiny silver purse.  “Ever since graduation she’s been acting funny.  Calmer.  Not so Viola-like.”

“Maybe she’s maturing.”  Duke mentally congratulated himself for getting that out with a straight face.

Olivia wasn’t as restrained.  Gentle laughter filled the car.  “Bas and I are waiting for the other shoe to drop.  It’s driving him insane.”

“Maybe that’s part of her plan.”  Duke frowned, merged onto the freeway.  “Though she’s never been one for patience, subtlety  or particularly well-thought out plans.”

Two minutes later, the BMW zoomed past Duke.  He caught a flash of dark auburn hair and bright hazel eyes in the passenger window as the car zipped by.  He shook his head, forced a change of subject.  Too much talking about Viola Ashwood had him picturing her face on every brunette he saw.  It wasn’t good for his blood pressure.

At the restaurant, he handed his keys to the valet and escorted Olivia through the double doors.  The music was as he’d expected.  It was a shock to see so many Trackers, usually dressed in fluid-stained durable clothes, in tuxedoes, dresses, and jewels.  He snagged two flutes of champagne off a passing tray and handed one to Olivia.

“Are your shields up?” he asked, searching her face for signs of strain.  He’d learned from experience that when forced in the company of more than a handful of Trackers it was necessary build a series of think, impenetrable walls to protect his mind from intruders and mute his abilities.  Olivia didn’t have the same experience.

“Yes,” she murmured.  “They’re weak, but it’s okay.  Everyone’s so happy.  It’s infectious.”

Duke circulated with Olivia.  He enjoyed chatting with the region heads and senior Trackers from all over the country.  Though different areas had different demonic populations, there were enough commonalities to keep the conversation flowing.  He didn’t miss the way Olivia’s mouth tightened as the evening wore on or the boredom wafting from her like a cloud of cheap perfume.

He caught her staring off into space, eyes glazed and posture stiff, and frowned.  He only hoped the gentleman from Ohio regaling them with a tale of a Cedda hunt gone bad didn’t notice her inattention and take offense.  He tried shaking her arm to break her out of her daze.

He’d forgotten that while Olivia had grown up in the Network and still Tracked, it wasn’t a lifestyle choice.  She did it because she felt she had to protect her stubborn brother and reckless sister.   He would have been better off inviting an outsider.

“But why didn’t you use a gun?  Most metal alloys work on Ceddas,” a middle-aged, bearded Tracker from Idaho interrupted when the speaker paused to take a breath.

Two figures joined the cluster of Trackers.  Duke couldn’t see them clearly, there were too many heads obscuring his view.  A faint, familiar chaos brushed across the outer edges of his mind.  His fingers tightened around the champagne flute.

“Sure metal’ll kill a Cedda, but you’ll have a hell of a time finding a bullet that’ll penetrate their skin.  It’s like triple-thick Kevlar,” said one of the unseen newcomers, voice slightly smoky and with traces of Dixie stretching along the vowels. 

Duke gulped the rest of his champagne.  He nudged Olivia’s shoulder.  “Vi’s here,” he growled in her ear.

She jolted to awareness, blinked up at him with shiny eyes.  “Yes.  She came with Jeremy Whittier.  They’ve spent most of the week together.”

As a heated discussion on what the best way to kill a Cedda was started, enough people moved out of the way so that Duke could lay his eyes on his part-time nemesis, part-time best friend.  She’d cut her hair again and had arranged the short strands into messy spikes.  It should have made her look like a grubby hobo, but when combined with a dress that floated around her in shimmering shades of purple she looked like an elfin queen.   The strand of lavender pearls wrapped around her neck matched the ones looped around both wrists. 

Duke followed the masculine arm draped across her waist up to a pair of broad shoulders, neat bow tie, and a grinning face.  Jeremy Whittier’s grinning face. He distinctly remembered warning Whittier not to screw around with Viola.

“Hi, Tobias.”  Viola smiled up at him.  Unlike her sister, she’d chosen to wear flat shoes.  The ribbons wrapped around her ankles and twisting to disappear under the hem of her skirt looked fragile, but he wagered the shoes would hold up for a few hundred feet if she had to run.  Given that the girl was a danger-magnet, it was a sure bet trouble was only a heartbeat away.

“Vi,” he greeted gruffly before baring his teeth at Whittier.  “Whittier.”

“Livy, are you okay?  You don’t look well.”  Seemingly oblivious to the tension between the two Trackers, Viola slipped out of Whitter’s grip and laid a hand on her sister’s arm.  “Come on, let’s get you a glass of water or something.”

Thick, awkward silence filled the gap between Whittier and Duke.  “My father has pneumonia.  I flew in from Egypt last week when he was first hospitalized.  He’s home now, and I didn’t feel right leaving my family without a representative given that this is our region,” Whittier offered.  “Viola was kind enough to step up as my date.”

Duke snorted.  “A room full of Trackers talking about nothing but the Network.  You could have been a slimy Betzenal and she would have jumped at the chance to be your date.  This is her idea of heaven.”

“She does seem to be in her element doesn’t she?”  Whitter’s indulgent smile made Duke want to punch in those perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth.   Whittier leaned forward as if sharing a secret.  “The sister you came with may be the prettier one, but I think I got the better deal, my friend.  Beautiful and a Tracking-junkie.  The perfect combination.”

Duke set his glass on a nearby table and shoved his balled fists in his pockets.  “She’s only eighteen.”

“Which makes her perfectly legal in all fifty states.” 

Whittier straightened.  Duke didn’t need to turn around to know that Viola and Olivia had returned.  He could feel Viola despite the walls he’d set up.  She brushed by him and was immediately anchored to Whittier’s side. 

“Can we swing by and talk to Victor Reza from the So Cal region?  I want to ask him about that pack of Evvaboes they discovered last week,” Viola asked her date.

“Your wish is my command, milady.” 

Duke’s eyes burned holes into the back of Jeremy Whittier’s head.  He was inordinately grateful when he realized that he’d been seated two tables away from Whittier and Viola.  His relief only lasted through the soup course.  As plates of mouthwatering steak and fragrant vegetables were being served, Sawyer, a large man ten years older than Duke and the head of the Pacific Northwest region, jerked his head in Whittier’s direction.

“He’s a smart man keeping hold of that pretty little thing.  She saunters up looking like a goddess in that dress then spouts off about gutting Plankas and using their intestines as Warsaf bait.  I nearly dropped to my knees and asked for her hand right on the spot.”  Sawyer’s guffaw echoed off the walls.  Duke’s hand tightened around his fork.  “If she was in my region, I’m not so sure I’d have brought her here unless I was confident I could keep her from being lured away.  She’d be wasted on just any old Tracker.  That girl will make some region head a very happy man someday.”

“She’s an Ashwood.”  Duke bit out the name, letting the weight of its implications sink in.  Ashwoods were renowned for being self-absorbed, power-hungry, back-stabbing bastards.  He felt a momentary pang of guilt when Olivia inhaled sharply at his side.  Okay, so the three Ashwoods he hung out with weren’t like that – all the time – but it was the best way to derail the unmarried Sawyer’s train of thought.

Sawyer paused, chewed a bite of steak.  “No one’s perfect.  She’s young enough.  Habits can be broken.”

Duke viciously stabbed into his steak.  “She’s two tons of trouble stuffed in a hundred pound sack.  She’s impulsive and obstinate and too damn clever for anyone’s good.”  He fixed blazing blue eyes on Sawyer.  “Any smart man would run like hell in the other direction.  She’s an ulcer-in-waiting.”

When he glanced away, he caught a sharp, hazel gaze.  Viola glared.  Duke tensed, worried that she’d overheard.  He started to tear disassemble his walls and probe her mind when she stiffened, leaned back as if listening to someone no one could see.  Her lips moved but her voice was too quiet for him to hear over the cacophony of conversations.  She patted Whittier’s arm, slipped out of her chair.  Duke followed her to the alcove just outside the dining room.

“What’s wrong, Shortcake?”

Small hands darted under the hem of her skirt.  Duke averted his gaze.  When the rustling stopped she had two daggers, the ones he’d given her for her 18^th birthday, in her hands.  “Jim used to be the valet here.  He got hit by a jackass in a Rolls a few decades ago.  Anyway, Jim hangs out in the parking lot.  Likes to mess with the ones he can tell are going to be bad tippers – change the radio stations or the volume and adjust the seats.  He’s friends with the ghost of a bellhop at the hotel two blocks down.”

“Point, Vi?” Duke interrupted.

“There are about a dozen Swesas headed this direction.”  She waved a hand toward the diners.  “Get Liv somewhere safe.”  She shook her head, made a grumble of disgust.  “I told her she’d never be able to do any fighting in that dress.  It’s too confining.”

“You dressed expecting an attack?”  Duke had to admit that the wispy skirt did allow for a full range of motion.  He was concerned about the thin straps holding up the bodice of her dress.  If one of them popped, there were a whole lot of eyes he’d have to gouge out… in defense of her honor.  In her brother’s stead.  As a friend.  He couldn’t get Sawyer’s voice out of his head.

“It’s a building full of Trackers from across the country.”  She shrugged.  “If I was evil, it’s what I’d do.”

Duke bobbed his head in agreement.  “You take care of your sister and hide.  I’ll sound the alarm.”

Viola rolled her eyes, slunk away.  Toward the doors.  Duke bit back a growl.  He didn’t have time to waste chasing after her.  He raced back into the dining room and right up to the head table.  In a matter of seconds, the atmosphere went from elegant and relaxed to heavy with charged energy and anticiptation. 

Duke, leading a group of ten Trackers, headed for the front door.  He caught sight of Viola’s back, curved with the strain of lugging something heavy, as she slipped out the doors.  A moment later, she raced back inside and threw the bolt to close the door.  Her dress was damp and her face was flushed but her smile was happy.

A loud boom rocked the building.  Smoke curled under the door.  Viola’s laughter followed it. 

“What’d you do?” Duke demanded.

“Took out the advance party.” 

She unlocked the doors and yanked them open.  Duke stuck his head out and spotted two charred corpses a foot away.  Smoke poured out of a large stockpot.  Three topiaries had been blown to smithereens.  Branches and clumps of green leaves littered the walkway.

Though the Swesas were outnumbered, the fight was hard.  The demons were large and refused to go down easily.  As the battle moved inside the dining room, Duke lost sight of Viola.  It wasn’t until the last Swesa had been beheaded and the nasty job of hauling bodies out the back started that he saw her again. 

She seated on the table with the melting ice sculpture, holding court over eight battered Trackers.  There was a bruise on her right cheek, a scratch across her collarbone, and blood streaked across her forehead, but her dress, fortunately, was intact.  His feet automatically moved in her direction, but stopped when Whittier appeared at her shoulder with a damp cloth and gently dabbed at the scratch on her collarbone.

A long, slender arm wrapped around his waist.  In contrast to his ripped tux and stained shirt, his date looked as immaculate as when they’d arrived.  Not even Olivia’s lipstick had smeared.  He was willing to bet she’d stayed barricaded in a bathroom stall until the fight was over.  Pink, perfect, passive and anti-Network, she reminded him of his mother.  Sebastian didn’t have to worry about Duke trying anything with Olivia.  He wouldn’t make his father’s mistake.

Olivia’s keen blue eyes followed his stare to a grinning, effervescent Viola.  She smiled knowingly, leaned in to whisper in his ear.  “Bas warned you off the wrong sister, I see,” she teased.  “Perhaps he should have given you the lecture he had planned for Jeremy.”

Duke turned, his lips almost brushing hers.  His mouth was twisted in a snarl only she could see.  “She’s… she’s Viola,” he said, as if that explained everything.

It did.  Olivia’s eyes twinkled.  “Yes.  She the headache-inducing,  demon-befriending, Network addict who just so happens to be in hopelessly love with you.”  Her long, manicured fingernails dug into his side.  “She’s also my baby sister.  You hurt her in any way and I will kill you.”

Neither noticed the wounded hazel eyes fixed on their huddled heads.  Neither noticed the tears that shimmered in those eyes before resolve stiffened Viola’s spine and squared her shoulders.  Neither saw Whittier’s wince as a wave of sorrow and jealousy hit him like a freight train.  Neither saw the way he helped her sneak out of the dining room.

 Three weeks later, the Ashwoods were back in Houston.  Duke dropped by the house to check in with Sebastian.  Viola answered the door.  At least, he assumed the girl in a pink sundress with pink painted nails and rose lipstick was Viola. 

“You’re a few months early for Halloween, Shortcake,” he teased as he stepped into the cool, dark house.

She giggled.  Giggled.  “You’re so funny, Toby.”  Her voice was light and completely devoid of sarcasm.  Completely devoid of the biting snark he expected.  Of everything that made her Viola.  She sounded like Olivia.

He paused, studied her for signs of injuries or possession.  His eyes narrowed as he remembered what Olivia had said in D.C. about the pod-Viola behavior.  “I’m on rotation tonight.  You want to tag along?”

Something in her lined-and-mascaraed eyes sparked.  He knew that spark.  It was the sort of anticipation only Trackers felt.  The spark died.  She shook her head, lips still curved in that plastic smile.  “Thank you,” she said politely, “but Olivia and I are going shopping and then we are going to a movie.  I appreciate the offer.”

She turned on her heel and disappeared down a hallway.  Duke stared after her.  He didn’t understand women.  Never would.  Teenage girls were even more of a mystery.  He shook it off and went in search of Sebastian.  As the summer continued, Viola morphed into a terrible amalgamation of Sebastian’s arrogance and Olivia’s cool detachment.  Duke forgot, for a while, why she’d been his favorite Ashwood and Sawyer’s words.

Family Lies short - 8 years before Daughter of Deception

A gift for a friend who wanted a jealous and confused Duke.  This is an incident mentioned in Mistress of Malice and Mercy and features a main character from an eventual Network-verse book.

- - - - - 

Duke has always considered himself a fairly laid back person, all things considered. As long as his Trackers follow the rotation schedule, take care of the demons, and turn in their paperwork in a reasonable amount of time, he's content to let them be. When Max Sparks, his late grandfather's friend and a former member of the Network's elite International Threat Response team, says he's going to bring in Jeremy Whittier, son of the head of the New England region, for additional training during the summer, Duke doesn't think twice. He's actually a little pleased. People are coming to his region for training.


He does his region head duty and meets Whittier at the airport. The kid, only a year younger than Duke, is older than he'd imagined. Whittier’s cool and standoffish on the way to short-term parking, but warms up quickly when discussing his impending transfer to the ITR and defending his beloved Patriots. Whittier doesn't want to join the ITR to get away from his jerkwad father, but because he genuinely wants to help areas that do not have a permanent Network presence. By the time Duke pulls his truck into Max Sparks' driveway, Duke's thoughts have blossomed into full-fledged respect for the younger man. Despite his terrible taste in football teams.

Max is waiting for them on the front porch. So is a familiar, sulking black-clad girl. With school out, they've created a rotation of their own. Sebastian Ashwood calls it "Viola-watch." Duke has a few other names for it he'll never speak aloud. The theory is that if they keep the teen occupied she won't get into trouble. Into much trouble. Max, bless his masochistic heart, has volunteered for most of the daytime shifts. Whittier and Duke walk up to the porch just in time to catch the tail end of an argument.

"But he had a broken ankle," Viola protests, tone edging towards a whine.

"Yes he did, but you know better than to rush a wounded creature. You're lucky all he did was crack a rib and dislocate your shoulder," is Max's patient response.

Duke's eyes snap to Viola’s torso. Nothing looks out of place, but he doesn't miss the way she holds herself so straight and still. Duke has a thousand adjectives he uses to describe the littlest Ashwood, but 'still' isn't one of them. Once he's certain she's not going to die - the paperwork for that is terrifyingly complicated and her brother would be a pain in the ass to deal with - his eyes drift to the young Igral dozing by the toes of her combat boots. Ace bandages are wrapped around the hairless, goat-sized demon's left ankle.

"What'd you do, Vi?"

"I just wanted to help."

Her lower lip juts out in a pout that never fails to have her brother and sister falling over themselves but only makes Duke arch a blond eyebrow. He’s immune to most of her tricks. "Admirable, Shortcake, but stupid. How's the shoulder?"

"Fine."

It's a lie. Dislocated shoulders hurt like a bitch, but he'll let it slide and won’t wound her pride. He knows Max, ridiculously overprotective of his jeopardy-friendly mentoree, would have marched her to the doctor if the injury was serious. He offers Viola a ride home, shrugs when she declines, and moseys back to his truck while Max makes introductions. With his rotation schedule thrown off by Trackers taking summer vacations, he gets so busy he forgets all about Whittier being in town.

Two weeks later, he's at the Ashwood house doing paperwork in the kitchen with Sebastian. He'd prefer to do the reports on his own, but this is the best way to make sure Sebastian fills out everything correctly and doesn't skip over sections. Viola, dressed in a pair of bike shorts three inches too short and a size too small and a t-shirt that looks like it shrank in the dryer, breezes into the kitchen. Her face is flushed and damp with sweat and her smile could light up half the city.

"Hey, Bas." She ruffles his hair affectionately as she passes on her way to the fridge. After twisting the cap off a bottle of orange sports drink and taking a swig, she sags against the counter. "It's hot out. I mean hot. Should have gone for a run earlier, but we were up way too late. I think it's going to rain later. Good thing you're not on rotation tonight, huh? Sucks for me and Max and Fred and Jeremy, though. It's okay, I guess, a little rain never hurt anyone. Unless you’re a Lhba. Max says that he's considering telling Fred to stay home. He plans on letting Jeremy and me do most of the work anyway. Which is just awesome. You should have seen the way Jeremy handled that Rigalin on Monday. He... I mean it was gorgeous."

Duke knows his mouth is gaping, but he can't help it. Viola isn't usually a chatterbox. Since her father's disappearance a year earlier, she's grown angrier and difficult to talk to about anything but Tracking. He starts to dip into her mind, braces himself for the defenses she's annoyingly adept at building, and nearly falls out of his chair when he finds the gates thrown wide open. Who did she let her guard down for? He glances at the thoughts zipping around at light speed and retreats.

"Are you high?"

Viola jolts, smiles sheepishly at Duke. "Sorry, Toby. Didn't know you were there."

Duke blinks. Not know he was there? Viola always knows when he's within a ten-mile radius. He's accused her of having a special Duke-radar because she's constantly in his face. How had she walked into the house without knowing he was already inside? "Are you drunk?"

"Nope."

She pauses, starts to say something else, but the trill of her cell phone cuts her off. She checks the display. The way her eyes brighten and giddiness practically rolls off her skin makes Duke's stomach churn. As soon as she's out of the room, he's going to beat the hell out of Sebastian for neglecting to tell him that Viola had been possessed.

"Jeremy? No, I made it home just fine. Told you I would. You're so sweet. It was a good run. I’m glad you could keep up with me." Phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder, she skips out of the kitchen with her bottle of sports drink. Bubbly laughter trails in her wake.

As soon as she's out of earshot, Duke slugs Sebastian in the shoulder. "What's wrong with your sister?"

"There's nothing wrong with Vi."

"She just giggled, man. Giggled." Duke doesn't point out that she didn't notice him. As much as he complains about Viola's crush on him, he knows he'll never hear the end of it if he complains about the lack of attention.

"Oh, that." Sebastian shrugs, twirls his pencil. "She's been like that since Jeremy came to town. She's over at Max's all the time, which I don't mind, honestly. When she comes home, it's always 'Jeremy-this' and 'Jeremy-that.' I don't mind that much, either. She seems happier, which let me tell you, is something we never thought would happen."

"Who is Jeremy?" Duke's voice drips with ice.

"Jeremy Whittier. The kid from Boston."

"He's not a kid! He's twenty-one! She’s seventeen."

When Sebastian only shrugs again, Duke flings himself back in the chair and crosses his arms over his chest. Whittier has no business getting involved with Viola. He's leaving the country at the end of the summer. The ITR is dangerous and he'll be out of touch for months at a time. He shouldn't be messing around with a teen girl's heart only to shatter it later. Especially considering that heart belongs to the girl who... Duke shakes his head, stops that thought before it can fully form.

Duke tries to let it go. Viola isn't his sister or his partner. She’s just a friend, sometimes, when she isn’t driving him up the wall. He tells himself that he should be glad she's following someone else with those puppy eyes and undisguised adoration. He tells himself that he's glad she isn't dogging his every step and pestering him with questions or contradicting him. He goes out with long-legged, blue-eyed Pauline, who never argues with a word he says, and spends his whole night trying to pick a fight. When he drops her off at her doorstep and ignores the come-hither look in her wide eyes, he can't help but wonder what a certain hazel-eyed girl is doing at that moment. The next morning, he invites her out for a quick sweep of an area that's teeming with activity, but she turns him down. Flat. For breakfast with Jeremy. Duke very nearly throws his phone against the wall.

The same thing happens four days later. He's not used to Viola saying no. When he subtly questions Sebastian about Viola's pod-behavior, his friend cheerfully relates that Viola has taken to spending every waking hour, and a night or two, at the Sparks residence. Olivia, taking a break from summer classes to do laundry and cook a week of meals for her culinary-deficient brother, adds that she'd been surprised when Viola didn't cancel a planned shopping trip. She'd even had to talk the tomboyish Viola out of an indecently short leather skirt, though they had picked up a "cute" sundress. A pastel sundress. Duke chokes on his beer.

Six weeks into Jeremy Whittier’s stay in Houston, Duke's had enough. Max's annual summer barbecue seemed like the perfect time to quietly watch Viola and her Jeremy, but Duke can't hold his tongue anymore. Whittier and Viola haven't been apart from each other's side since the party started. Duke's jaw twitches every time she flutters her eyelashes or smiles that wide grin that used to be reserved just for him. He'd like to throttle Olivia for letting Viola buy that sundress. The skirt may not have looked short in the store, but the light summer breeze lifts it so that it twirls high above her knees with irritating regularity.

Muscles tense, jaw clenched, and spine stiff, he stalks across Max's backyard towards the laughing duo. Viola's eyes flick up to him, but the delight that sparkles in them is only a quarter of its usual luminescence. "Hey, Toby."

"Vi. Whittier." Duke inclines his head at the younger man, pinning him in place with his glare. "Max was looking for you, Shortcake. He said something about running out of potato salad."

Having taken over as hostess for her widower mentor, Viola frowns. "Damn. Thought I bought enough. Thanks, Toby." She pops up on the toes of her sparkly silver sandals to peck Whittier's cheek before prancing off.

"She's a good kid," Duke starts.

"She's wonderful," Whittier corrects, eyes following an auburn head as it bobs through the crowd.

"She's a good kid," Duke repeats, making sure to put the emphasis on the right word.

"She's not a kid. You'd better not let her hear you say that. Not only would she kick your ass, but it's wrong. The law may say she's just a kid, but she doesn't Track like one. I've seen guys twice her age with about half the level of training or competency she has."

Stung by the reprimand, Duke's glare intensifies. "That doesn't give you the right to toy with her. A summer fling may sound like fun, but when you run off to join the ITR, you're going to break her heart. If she's as wonderful as you say, she doesn't deserve that. She’s been through enough. I know it can be intoxicating having a pretty girl flatter you and cling and hang on to your every word, but - ."

"Is that what you think this is?" Whittier interrupts firmly, voice as cold as Duke’s and eyes hard as stone. "That I'm letting the attention go to my head? I admit I was flattered at first, but it's more than that. You know what my ability is, don't you?"

Duke nods. Olivia Ashwood is your run-of-the-mill empath - she can read and often feel others' emotions. Whittier's abilities are light-years beyond that. People like him taste emotions, can manipulate them. It's one of the reasons for Duke's concern. Who is to say how much Whittier is amplifying Viola's crush to suit his own needs.

"Viola feels so much. All the time," Whittier continues.

"Olivia's said that."

"And while not all of it's pleasant, there's a fair amount of anger and pain there, it's all honest. She doesn't cover up her emotions or try to change them to fit in with anyone else. They're big and bold and in your face. You can't escape them even if you wanted to. Which I don't." Whittier stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. "When you cover up emotions, it sours the taste. Makes you want to gag. Back home, with Dad, everything tasted like spoiled milk and moldy bread. Viola's a palette refresher, for lack of better comparison. She’s a gourmet meal after years of gruel."

"So you're using her." Duke's fists clench at his sides. It's all he can do not to pound Whittier into the ground. If Sebastian won’t pull his head out of the sand and defend his baby sister, Duke’s more than willing to stand in as a substitute. No Yankee with a smug smile and pretty words uses Viola Ashwood while there’s still a breath in his body.

"Yes. But she needs a friend, so it's not completely selfish. She knows I'm leaving in August. She won't be as heartbroken as you think."

"Oh?"

Whittier's lips curl up in a sly smile. "If you only knew how much I've heard about her precious Toby these past weeks. I figured there was something between you two that first day when you were so worried about her shoulder. The way she talks about you and the way you try to eviscerate me with your eyes every time we see each other only confirmed that. I know better than to poach someone else’s territory."

"Viola and I aren't... there's nothing... she's a kid." An annoying, reckless, brilliant, compassionate, loyal, strong, amazing, pain-in-the-rear,best-friend's-little-sister, kid. It's embarrassing how often he has to remind himself of the last two items on his list.

"Okay, sorry," Whittier claps Duke on the shoulder as he wanders toward a potato-salad carrying Viola. "Your jealousy tastes like dill pickles, by the way. Very heavy on the vinegar."

Mistress of Malice and Mercy - title

Someone asked me recently where the title for the third book came from.  Since "from my brain" wasn't answer enough, here's a snippet to explain:

Viola settled back against Duke’s side and tucked her head against his chest. The steady beat of his heart under her ear grounded her like nothing else on earth. “Those who oppose my father call me the Mistress of Mercy.” She dug her elbow into his ribs when an image of her dressed in a leather catsuit and wielding a whip filtered through the link.
“Pay attention, gutter brain.”
“Yes, mistress,” Duke purred, lips pressed against her temple.

“Those who follow Dad call me the Mistress of Malice.”
“Nice to see alliteration transcends battle lines.”

Her lips twitched. “Yeah.” She blew out a sigh, let her eyes fall shut. “Thing is, I think they’re both right. I don’t feel like an angel of mercy or the destroyer of worlds. I feel a little like both.”

Duke’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “You’ll find, sugar, that the truth behind most myths lies somewhere in the middle.”
Viola’s nose crinkled. “Could you not channel Tom when we’re snuggling?”

Mistress of Malice and Mercy

Early in the book (release date still pending)
- - -
Duke watched Viola slowly crawl on all fours towards the group of oblivious cat-like demons. He kept one eye on his wife’s wiggling derriere and one on Bert’s face. He was prepared to drive his elbow into Bert’s stomach the second it looked like the older man was paying more attention to Viola than to his poker game.

“Well, hell.” Viola froze in place as a flash of silver on her hands caught her attention. She eyed the still-unaware Chaisans and jumped to her feet.

“What?” His heart skittered to a stop as he performed his customary visual injury check. She wasn’t bleeding and didn’t appear to be in pain. Listening in on her scathing internal monologue only confused him further. “What’s wrong, sugar?”

“I’m a moron. Hold out your hands.”

He obeyed, eyebrow arched in silent demand for an explanation. His other eyebrow lifted when she stood in front of him and stripped off her jewelry. Two pairs of silver hoop earrings followed by a silver watch, charm bracelet, wristlet key ring, silver necklace, silver-and-copper linked belt and five rings filled his hands. He was surprised she could move so quickly weighed down with so much metal.

“Is that all?” he asked dryly.

She bit her lip as she considered the question. Sighing in resignation, she unsheathed the dagger he’d given her for her seventeenth birthday and set it on the tailgate. She still had her gun, but giving it up wasn’t an option.

“Freakin’ kleptos.” She glanced down at Duke’s waist. “You might want to untuck your shirt. One look at that satellite dish you call a belt buckle and you’ll have a pack of Chaisans attached to your jeans.”

Family Lies future story - October

I do backstories all the time, so I figured it was time for a future story. Please note that this contains a spoiler or two for the end of the series.

October… sometime in the future

“Good Afternoon!” Wiff sang out happily as he twirled on the countertop in front of Viola. He hopped up on top of the ceramic pumpkin and perched on the stem.

“Hey, bud. Where’ve you guys been?” Viola closed the lid on the container of dog food and gently ruffled the Wfsal’s hair. She hadn’t seen any of them all day. Even Griff, normally her constant companion, had abandoned her.

“Preparing.” Wiff poked his tongue out at Finn as the dog passed by on his way to the food dish. He and his siblings got along fairly well with Finn, but there were still a few disagreements about sleeping places and playtime.

Viola frowned. She didn’t like the sound of that. Since Duke had, thankfully, taken over Spawn duty for the day, feedings aside, she’d spent the morning cleaning the house. For the first time in the two weeks since the baby’s birth, everything was in place and dust-free. Despite being such tiny creatures, the Wfsals were experts at creating huge messes.

“Preparing for what, Wiff?” She’d have to send them to Burkeholt if it looked like they were getting out of hand. Tad and Tom were experts at keeping the Wfsals in line.

“The happiest day of the year!” Wiff slid off the pumpkin’s smooth side. Bare feet on the counter, he broke out into an impromptu merry jig. “It’s the day, Lady Viola!”

“Yay!” Mixie called out from the floor. Six graceful hops later, she linked arms with Wiff and joined in the dance. “It’s the day!”

Viola’s eyes darted to the baby monitor. Mixie and Wiff weren’t being too quiet and it seemed that any sound, no matter how small, woke the baby. “Keep it down,” she whispered, “Tobias and the Dukelet are taking a nap.”

“They’re awake,” Griff corrected as he joined his siblings on the counter. He darted forward to kiss Viola’s thumb before tossing a giggling Mixie in the air and pirouetting around Wiff.

“Toby Duke is cooing at the baby and tickling its belly. It smiles and laughs. A lot,” was Pip’s contribution to the conversation.

Griff grimaced at what he believed to be un-manly behavior. He hadn’t bonded with the baby the way the others had because, in his eyes, it was the one who’d caused his Lady Viola such pain and misery for months. He treated the baby with respect but didn’t dote on it like Pip or Mixie. He also couldn’t understand how a squirming, crying miniature human had turned his rough, tough role model Duke into a cooing, sappy mess. To make matters worse, everything that came out of the baby stank!

“So,” Viola began as she pulled a large, plastic orange bowl out of the cabinet and set it on the counter, “what’s so special about today?”

All four Wfsals stopped in their tracks and stared at Viola in horror. Griff shook his head slowly and closed Mixie’s dropped jaw. “It’s Halloween, Lady Vi,” he explained solemnly.

“The best day of the year!” Pip cried, a smile returning to his face. “It’s Candy Day!”

Viola rolled her eyes. She should have known. While they ate some vegetables and fresh fruits, the Wfsals adored anything sugary. Why wouldn’t they love a holiday that included copious amounts of sweets?

“Look! Baby is ready for trick-or-treating,” Mixie cried, clapping her hands together excitedly.

Viola grinned at the sight of a shirtless, barefoot Duke and their child. Spawn was dressed in a tiny orange onesie with a green cap on her head. Assuming the outfit made it through the next couple of hours, Aggie would no doubt fill the memory card of her digital camera with pictures of her great-grandbaby.

“The baby’s not going trick-or-treating,” Duke informed the instantly crestfallen Wfsals. He kissed the top of Viola’s head and leaned against the counter beside her. “No one’s going trick-or-treating.”

“B-but we’ve g-got costumes,” Wiff stammered, tears filling his brown eyes. They had spent all week working on making the perfect costumes so they could blend in with the humans and collect the glorious candy. Mixie and Griff had even planned out the perfect route for optimal treasure retrieval.

“Costumes? Couldn’t you guys just… you know, poof… into something?” Viola asked.

“Nope,” Pip replied, popping the p and shaking his head. “It has to be done the right way.”

“Can’t we take the baby? It’s perfect and cute. Cute always gets more candy,” Mixie cajoled, face screwed up in a pretty pout.

“Sorry guys, Duke’s right. No one’s going out tonight. Spawn’s too young.” Viola stroked the baby’s soft cheek before moving to the pantry to grab a jumbo-sized bag of assorted candy.

“Stupid, smelly baby,” Griff muttered, eyeing the baby with distaste.

“We’re Aggie and Bas over for dinner and then we’re going to watch television. You guys can help answer the door.” Viola dumped the bag of candy into the bowl, shooing away the Wfsals hands reaching for treats.

While Viola was busy with the terrors, Duke reached behind her bag and snagged a handful of Tootsie Rolls. The baby watched with wide blue eyes as he unwrapped a candy and popped it in his mouth. It let out a gurgling laugh when he pressed a finger to his lips and slipped the wrapper into his pocket.

Viola’s head swiveled around. Her eyes narrowed. His ‘I’m-so-innocent’ look only confirmed her suspicions that he was guilty of something. “What did you do?”

“Not a thing, sugar.” He wrapped the arm not holding the baby around her shoulders and pulled her against his chest. Having his two sweethearts snuggled against him was utter bliss. “I’m not sure we should subject the kiddo to The Rocky Horror Picture Show so early, though.”

“A) I don’t think the Spawn'll be able to actually see or understand anything at all. B) It’s never too early for the RHPS. C) You’re not getting out of it that easy, buckaroo.” Viola pinched his ribs just enough to sting but not enough to make him drop the baby. “You can’t use the Spawn as an excuse for everything. It already got you out of the horror movie marathon.”

“I like horror movies. What I don’t like is you contradicting everything they say about ghosts,” Duke protested.

The Wfsals stared at Viola as she picked the bowl of candy up and carried it out of the kitchen. Exchanging startled glances, they sped off the counter and followed her to the living room. She put the bowl onto the table next to the front door then turned and nearly stepped on a curious Wiff. “What’s up?”

“Why is the candy in here? You said we have to keep our food in the kitchen or in the living room. We can’t eat it in here.”

“It’s not for you. It’s for the trick-or-treaters.” Viola scooped him up and set him on her shoulder. “If you guys change into something larger you can help me hand out the candy.”

“Give. Away. Candy?” Pip gasped, hand pressed against his chest.

Mixie fanned her face. Wiff was doubled over, face pressed against the collar of Viola’s shirt. Pip swayed and bumped into Mixie. Mixie fell onto the floor; she hooked her foot around Pip’s ankle and dragged him down with her. Pip sniffled loudly while Mixie wiped tears off her cheeks.

Griff’s eyes were screwed shut and his face was unnaturally pale. He staggered towards Viola and leaned against her ankle. “Worst holiday, ever.”

Massive Blog Giveaway

The wait for Mistress of Malice and Mercy is almost over and it's time to celebrate.

I've already posted the link to the Goodreads giveaway of the paperback version of Daughter of Deception, but I wanted to do something for my faithful blog followers.
Leave a comment about your favorite thing about the series (if you haven't read the books, you can click on any of the tags at the end of this post to read some of the backstories) and be entered to win a paperback version along with an e-copy of The Chaos Child and be one of the first to get a copy of the Mistress of Malice and Mercy.

I'll pick two names at random to win the Family Lies bundle. Contest ends 2/30/12

Date night with Duke and Viola

From Mistress of Malice and Mercy

Sighing in disgust, Duke glanced out the window. He caught a glimpse of sand-colored fur and a short, bushy tail. “It’s a dog.”

“Dogs do not set off my radar. Not even Mrs. Pagillo’s nasty Jack Russell.” She stroked her big toe along his hairy calf. “Come on, it won’t hurt to take a look. Besides, you know ignoring your duty like this is just going to give you heartburn later.”

“It’s moving away from the parking lot. My FN is locked in the car.”

“I have a Glock 26 Gen4 and one of my birthday daggers.”

Duke’s eyes fell to the miniscule silver clutch on the edge of the table. “There is no way you have a Baby Glock in there. I have my doubts you even managed to fit a stick of gum in that thing.”

“Oh, it’s not in my purse.” A slow, satisfied smile spread across her face at the way his nostrils flared and his pupils dilated. His hand rose to signal the waitress. “If you’re a very good boy, I’ll show you later.”

“Good? I thought it was bad boys you had a thing for, sugar.”

Viola smiled apologetically at the waitress while Duke signed the credit slip for their appetizers and drinks. Once she was out of earshot, Vi hooked her fingers into the crook of Duke’s elbow. “I admit I have a Tracker fetish. All the more reason for you to move it, buster. Let’s see if your shoulder really is healed enough to stop using the sling.”

“Sweetness,” he sighed warningly, “you called Doc Luna and the therapist. They both told you that it was fine.”

“I’ll be watching you.” She tapped the side of her head. If she felt even the slightest twinge of pain from him, she was going to wrestle his arm back in to the sling.

Halloween fluff with Duke & Viola

Happy Halloween, y'all.
I have my devil horns headband, the tail that attaches to the back of my jeans, my black cat socks, and a big bowl full of Snickers. Tubular Bells and the theme from Psycho have been playing on my computer speakers all day. It's like Christmas round one. My co-workers don't necessarily share my enthusiasm (though they don't mind the candy or the pumpkin cupcakes).

Here's a little Duke and Viola backstory to celebrate the Wfsals' favorite holiday.

October 2001

The Ashwood house wasn't on his way home, but Duke veered off course just to check. He'd been stuck helping Sebastian and Viola clean up after the two little McClary bastards down the street had papered and shaving-creamed the entire house. If a five-minute detour meant he didn't have to waste an entire morning picking up soggy toilet paper, then he didn't mind in the least.

Of all the things he expected to see when he drove by the red, two storey house, the blazing porch light wasn't one of them. Sebastian had been bragging about his invitation to some fancy Halloween party for weeks. Olivia lived on the Rice campus and rarely returned to the house during the week. The littlest Ashwood hadn't said much about her plans, but he'd assumed she had a rave or party or séance penciled in her date book.

He parked his truck in the driveway, grabbed his leather jacket to fight off the early fall Canadian cold front, and jogged to the front door. A grinning skeleton pointed a bony finger at the doorbell. He rolled his eyes at Viola's obvious handiwork and rang the bell. A tone that reminded him of the Addams Family echoed from inside the house. He heard the slap of bare feet on a tile floor seconds before the door opened.

"Happy Hallo-- oh, it's you." The orange melamine bowl of Snickers and M&Ms was replaced by a cotton-candy pink frown and pale, wrinkled nose. Silver-lined hazel eyes studied him critically. "Nice costume. Almost didn't recognize you. Tracker was a good choice. I especially like the authentic Mokiis stench."

"What are you doing home, Shortcake? Would have thought you'd be out somewhere with the rest of your kind. Isn't this your national holiday or something?"

Pearly white fangs peeked out from under Viola's lips. "Bite me."

Duke took a step back to take in her short, pink skirt, matching t-shirt and the tiny pink flowers clipped in her short, dark hair. The light, pink-themed makeup and long, pink fingernails were something he expected to see on Olivia and not the normally Goth-centric Viola. "Vampire cheerleader?"

"Bunny the Brainless Vampire," she corrected with a fangy grin. She pulled the door all the way open and jerked her head inside in a wordless invitation. "You're scaring away all the trick-or-treaters."

"Seriously, what are you doing home?" Duke's eyes fell to her feet. Neither of her ankles looked swollen and the scratches that had covered her a week ago seemed to have faded. "Still sore after the Graca attack? Bas didn't say anything about you hurting."

Viola waved a hand dismissively. She let the door swing shut and led the way into the living room. "I'm fine. Spent four days in the training room and three days getting my ass chewed by Coach, but I'm fine. Bas grounded me, that' s all."

Duke arched an eyebrow. She'd never let a little thing like being grounded stop her from going out when she wanted. She was sneaky as a cat-burglar. He couldn't count the number of times he'd caught her slipping in or out of the house past her curfew.

Her grin broadened. "It suits my needs to be at home tonight."

"I don't even want to know." He sniffed the air as the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked cookies wafted from the kitchen. His stomach grumbled. "Are those Granny's snickerdoodles?"

"Yup," she said, popping the p and bouncing on her toes. "She dropped 'em off this afternoon."

"What was she doing here?"

"A favor for me." The smug twinkle in her eyes made it more than clear she wasn't going to expand on the type of favor or the details of his grandmother's visit.

Two minutes later, Duke was in the Ashwood breakfast nook seated across from Viola with a plate of his grandmother's warm, buttery cookies between them and an ice cold glass of milk by his elbow. Every time the doorbell rang, she popped up like a sparkly, demented jack-in-the-box and he stole another cookie.

"So what are you in for this time?" he asked when she returned from yet another doorbell run. He brushed stray crumbs off his lip and nudged the half-empty plate towards her.

"Nothing, yet. Do you know how utterly unfair it is to have a psychic as your guardian?"

Duke chuckled. He did, in fact, know what she meant. His future-seeing grandmother had often punished him for transgressions he hadn't committed. "What'd the wonder weenie see?"

"A's girlfriend is going to dump him in the quad next week. She's been seeing Frankie behind A's back. For weeks. Apparently, I'm going to kick Miranda's ass in the parking lot after track practice."

"Sounds like something you'd do, Via-mia." If this Miranda really was cheating on the nice but freaky dude with the Mohawk, Duke felt sorry for her. He'd watched a nine-year-old Viola verbally emasculate a boy who'd slighted her sister. The girl who’d broken up with Sebastian in college had wound up with slashed tires and a car filled with creepy clown statues.

"Yeah. 'Cept now Miss Miranda and I are going to have a long talk after school tomorrow. I'm not going to wait for her to humiliate A in front of the entire senior class."

"Grounding you didn't do much good, did it?"

"Nope. But double jeopardy means I can't get grounded twice for the same ass kicking. Captain Justice can’t argue against that, can he?"

They shared a laugh. Had Duke been in Sebastian's shoes, he would have kept the details of the vision to himself and punished Viola after she got in trouble. Sebastian still didn't understand how his baby sister's devious mind worked. He kept trying to treat her like she was a carbon copy of himself or Olivia.

Just as they were set to battle over the last cookie, the sound of a bell chiming came from the vicinity of Viola's waist. Small fingers wriggled under the waistband of her skirt and retrieved a small, rectangular box. She shushed Duke with a glare and waited for the bell to chime a second time.

With a manic, gleeful grin, she pressed the button with her thumb. Twin howls filled the air. Duke dashed to the front window. Viola followed at a more sedate pace. Two soaked sheet-clad figures raced off the Ashwood lawn in the direction of the McClary house. Clumps of sodden toilet paper trailed behind them like breadcrumbs.

"Granny warded the yard and I grabbed the remote for the sprinklers." She bumped his hip with hers and dangled the remote under his nose. "Told you I had a good reason for staying home. Wanna make fun of that Ghost Gabbers Halloween special?"

Mistress of Mercy and Malice preview

Do you know how hard it is to write with a cat in your lap? Especially one who digs her little claws into your leg if you stop petting her for too long? I am busy finishing up Mistress of Malice and Mercy as well as Sometimes it is Rocket Science inbetween work headaches and actual headaches (who knew a toothache could be so bad??)

Now for what you really came here for: a MMM preview

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Six of Bert’s bullets bounced off the demon’s scaled chest. One ricocheting bullet narrowly missed Viola’s thigh. The streetlamp and telephone pole weren’t as lucky. Struggling to resist the temptation of Viola’s black energy, Duke covered the older man while Bert reloaded. He aimed his gun between the Aspisia’s eyes, but the demon’s yellow gaze was locked on Viola’s scarred arm. He took advantage of its distraction and slipped inside its mind.

“It wants to rip you apart because you killed its mate,” he said once he translated the demon’s thoughts. He slowly inched towards Viola careful not to make too much noise or move too swiftly.

Viola tilted her head. She recalled setting ablaze several Folists. “I’m familiar with the feeling.”

“It’s torn between tearing off your head and taking you to Elrachaim. Right now its fear of Elrachaim is trumping its need for vengeance.” Duke eased out of the Aspisia’s mind. He glanced down at Viola’s discarded knife. The mustard-yellow blood dried onto the blade would be nearly impossible to clean off. “How’d you kill the male, Vi?”

“Slit its throat from ear to little ear.”

Duke grimaced. There was no way he was letting her get that close to the female. He struggled to remember the best way to kill a fully-grown female Aspisia. There was a weak spot, but since they rarely ventured out into heavily populated areas he couldn’t…

“Under the chin!” Bert called out from the other side of Viola.

Duke fired first. Three bullets pierced the thin, pale blue skin beneath the demon’s chin. Two of the bullets exited through the top of the demon’s skull. The third took out the Aspisia’s left eye. Brain matter and bone fragments splattered across sedan parked behind the demon. Duke ducked to avoid the stream of thick, yellow blood. It smelled worse than the venom and would make him break out into a rash if it touched his skin.

Drenched in Aspisia blood and skin, Viola jogged to the downed demon’s side with her gun in hand. She checked for signs of life, but the Aspisia was dead. With a sigh, she holstered her gun. She shook her head the same way Finn did after a bath. Yellow liquid splashed Duke’s shirt.

“Thanks, sweetness.”

She opened her mouth to apologize, but snapped her jaw shut when she got a good look at her grinning, almost completely dry husband. “How is it I’m soaked and you don’t have a drop on you?”

“Better reflexes?”

Her left eye twitched at the jab. There was no way his reflexes could be better than hers. She eyed him coolly before breaking out in a beaming smile. Arms flung open, she stalked towards him. “Aw honey, you killed the big, bad demon for me. Let me show my… appreciation.”

He didn’t trust her sugary tone of voice or the mischievous glint in her hazel eyes. As soon as he picked the word ‘hug’ out of her jumbled thoughts, he hastily backed towards Bert. The other man’s dry chuckle implied Duke would get no help from that corner.

“Lady Viola!” Pip’s high, clear voice cut through Viola’s laughter and Bert’s chuckles.

“Saved by the munchkins,” Viola said, stopping an arms’ length from Duke. “This time.”

“Phew,” Pip moaned, waving a hand under his nose. He and his brothers had returned to their normal size but regretted the action. In their natural state, their senses were more sensitive than when they were transformed. “That’s nasty, Lady Viola! It’s worse than Finn farts!”

Duke scooped the three Wfsals off the ground and settled them on his shoulders. He fished his cell phone out of his pocket. Even with his truck and Bert’s, there was no way they could haul two Aspisia corpses and two blood-drenched Trackers. Calling in a team to pick up the second corpse took less than a minute.

“Nicholls and Spitzer are on their way. Spitzer’ll take the female to the work shed. Spitzer will drive Bert’s truck with the male to the house, too.” He braced himself for the explosion his next statement was sure to cause. “I’ll drive you two to the nearest car wash for a quick rinse before we head home. I’ve got a few towels and a bottle of shampoo left over from the last time I had to give Finn a bath.”

Rather than jumping all over him like he’d expected, Viola shrugged and scrubbed at the thin layer of blood dried on her cheeks. “Is it that rosemary flea stuff or the mint shampoo Granny made?”

“Mint, I think.”

She shrugged again. “Works for me. The flea shampoo makes me itch.” She narrowed her eyes at Duke as she remembered the last time he’d taken her to the car wash to clean up after a demon attack. “I’m controlling the hose this time, Tobias.”

“Spoilsport.”

“You nearly peeled my skin off last time!”

“Oh? Now who’s exaggerating, sugar?”

Viola stomped towards Duke, lifted the hem of her wet shirt, and pointed to thin, pink line parallel to her navel. “That’s where I hit the muffler of your damn truck when I fell because you hit me so damn hard with the water.”

“Oh no, sweetness. I’m not taking the blame for that one. You slipped because you refused to take off those ridiculous boots and then you insisted on prancing around like an idiot. You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

“Some days I’d like to break yours.”

“And I’d like to see you try.”

“Children!” Bert grasped the squabbling couple by the elbows and dragged them towards the cars. Abelardo owed him at least a case of beer for forcing him to take on the Dukes by himself. A rotation with a coughing, phlegmy partner would have been a less irritating experience.

“Sorry, Bert.” Viola craned her neck to stick her tongue at Duke behind Bert’s back. “We get a little carried away sometimes.”

Bert grunted in agreement. He supposed it could have been worse. They could have been an overly affectionate couple. He’d rather listen to a quarrel than watch the mating habits of adrenaline-hyped Trackers.

“Karma will get you both,” he said. “Good Lord willing, y’all will have a passel of kids to drive you up the wall like you’ve done to the rest of us.”