Viola in The Chaos Child

My notes for my books aren't always in outline form.  Often I write short snippets of what a character is thinking or feeling at a certain point (which is where many of the back & side stories come from).
This is Viola in The Chaos Child when Duke is impaled:

Viola's life, for the most part, has been spent in flux. Growing up in the Network is never easy, but she's flexible. The motto Semper Gumby serves her well. She clings to a few constants - not many, but enough to get her through endless road trips, abandonment, and rebuilding her life. Her constants are this: her father loves her, Aunt Hattie always has her back, and Tobias Duke exists. She doesn't rely on his friendship or wish for his love (except when she does, of course). It's enough to know he's out in the world somewhere.

A month before her twenty-fifth birthday, she loses a constant. Aunt Hattie's decades of betrayal are revealed.  She repays that betrayal with torture and release.  Vengeance does little for the ache in her heart. Another constant is shaken. Her father isn't a victim but a cold, calculating monster. He loves her but hurts her, and she tries to separate Demon from Daddy. It's hard, though, when the devil wears a beloved face.  She's been Daddy's Girl all her life.  It's a hard title to lose.

The third constant evolves. Not only is Duke in the world, he's in her life. In her head. In her bed. He becomes her rock, her safe harbor, every cliché she can think of, her heart and soul. While her world crumbles around her feet, she wraps her arms around him and holds on for dear life (sanity). Throughout Sebastian's detox, anxiety over her father ( the Daddy-Demon), fearing for Finn's life, and guilt over Granny's injuries, her remaining constant runs through her mind like the chorus of the annoyingly catchy pop songs Olivia used to love (and there's more guilt added to the load). At least I have Duke. At least I have Duke. AtleastIhaveDuke. AtleastIhaveDuke.

Until one bright afternooon, she doesn't. An ambush. Folists (sweet mercy, haven't they done enough damage to the Duke family). A traitor in peril. That damned Duke honor. Before she can blink, he's on the ground with blood pooling around him and static in their link. The third constant wobbles. Flickers.

Viola's fists clench. Her heart stills. The breath catches in her throat. Fireworks burst behind her eyes, and heat sears her skin. Power bursts from its prison.  Without that last constant, her world dissolves into flames. Chaos.

MMM Snippet

I have started on the last six chapters of MMM (which is poor timing on my part because college football season has started).  I adore this story, but I am worried because this is it for Duke and Viola (for now, at least) and I love them so much that I don't want to let them (or anyone) down.

Dinner was awkward, but not a disaster. Sebastian took pity on his brother-in-law and directed the conversation away from the Network and recent events. It was easiest for him since he was the only one, aside from Isabel, who’d tried to live without demons or ghosts. Fortunately, the Wfsals had agreed to eat their gumbo in Aggie’s bedroom. Sebastian had a feeling Viola’s bribe of pie and cartoons had a great deal to do with their compliance.




Isabel chatted about her latest gallery event but refrained from extending an invitation. She ignored the stab of disappointment when Duke didn’t press for details about her next showing. He’d never expressed much interest in her watercolor landscapes and portraits. She wondered if he’d believe that she had every issue of his comic book series tucked away in a drawer in Florida. She even had the handmade cards and school artwork he’d sent on his father’s prompting. Feeling he was wasting his talent didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate it.



“I’ll make tea,” Viola offered while Sebastian and Duke cleared the table.



“No!” Duke flushed when all eyes fixed on him. It was possible he’d been a little too vehement. “I’ll make it, sugar,” he added in a much softer tone.



She rolled her eyes and followed him into the kitchen. “I’m not going to poison her in Granny’s house. That would be rude.”



“Okay.”



“I mean, Granny dislikes her just as much as I do. She’s better at hiding it.” Viola retrieved a tin of mint and chamomile tea from the pantry. Under Duke’s suspicious stare, she measured out scoops of tea, filled infusers, and lined up five mugs. “If I poison your mom by myself, Granny’d feel left out. That’s not fair.”



“Bloodthirsty tonight, aren’t we?”



She shrugged, leaned back against the counter while he set the kettle on the stove. “It was a rough day. I need to go to the office tomorrow afternoon to see Becky, but I’m not going to Burkeholt. We can talk about it in the morning.”



“More bad news?”



“Some. Some of it’s stuff I – we – already suspected.” She snuggled against his side, slipped a hand into his back pocket. “I’m surprised your father isn’t here tormenting your mother.”



“Bowling night, remember? He said he’d stop by tomorrow to see if she was still around.”



“Lucky man,” she muttered. When the kettle whistled, she poured boiling water into each mug. After setting the timer over the stove, she returned to Duke’s side. “We have four minutes. Whatever shall we do with the time?”



His lips were pulled to hers as if drawn by a magnet. He ignored the dull ache in his shoulder and pinned her against the refrigerator door. “I have a few ideas, sweetness.”



The door separating the kitchen from the formal dining room swung open. A frustrated male sigh echoed off the walls. Sebastian slapped his hand across his eyes and spun back to face the door. “That’s it! I’m staying at Burkeholt tonight!”

Too Much Science Channel

Want to know what happens when I stay up way too late watching the Science Channel?

http://www.fictionpress.com/s/3051564/1/The_Loop

That happens. 

There are rules she's supposed to follow: don't get close to other time travelers, never give out your name, timelines must be followed. She knows that loving her, getting too close, is dangerous so she tries to protect him. She is, after all, a guardian at heart. Despite her best intentions, she curses him to a fate worse than death. Utter nonsense.

Now it's back to MMM and Rocket Science and a werewolf story that completely came out of left field. 
And maybe I need to put "nap" on my to-do list. 

Hope y'all enjoy your Sunday!

Soundtrack

I listen to music when I write.  Most of the time, what I listen to depends on which part of the story I'm working on or the mood of the day.  Each book has a general theme, though.  For books in the Family Lies series, I listen to a lot of rock and "angry" music and some country music.  For Sometimes it is Rocket Science, it's usually a lot of old love songs (Rat Pack on repeat, much to my husband's consternation) and some Texas country.  I adore Jamie Cullum and have been listening to him for Rocket Science, but this song seems more appropriate for the Ashwoods. 

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.

Mistress of Malice and Mercy Chapter 32

Chapter 32 of Mistress of Malice and Mercy is one of my favorites for several reasons - a fight, a turning point of sorts, and it starts out bloody but ends so sweet. 

- - - 

“Sugar,” Duke started, voice gravelly and low.


A tendil of longing skittered down her spine; she imagined hooded blue eyes and strong, welcoming arms. She’d lived like a gypsy for years while hunting her father and had started her business because it allowed her the luxury of travel, of never being tied to one place. Homesickness, not for the house or her apartment but for Duke, the only home she ever needed, made her throat tighten and her knees wobble.
“Yeah, Tobias?"

“Come home.”

 - - -

And we also get to see Viola offer up some wisdom... of sorts... to a demon in a similar situation


Orili remained silent. With a grunt, Viola studied the reticent Grimadore. The stony face and compressed lips didn’t give much away, but the combination of sorrow, anger and guilt swirling in his eyes was familiar. She saw it in the mirror whenever she thought of her father. Sympathy temporarily trumped dislike.


“You know him.”

Orili jerked like a puppet on a string. Encouraged by the reaction, Viola continued. “Not in the mortal enemy way, either. You know him. Looking at him right now hurts you. Not just because he’s been your oppressor but because on the outside he looks like the guy you knew but on the inside he’s a stranger. A monster.”

Orili nodded slowly. “You are truly wise, Lady Viola. He is my mother’s first son. We are half-brothers.”
Viola awkwardly patted his shoulder. “Family sucks.”

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 Preview

Since I feel so terrible about Mistress of Malice and Mercy taking so long, I am offering an advance copy (PDF) of the first 20 chapters.  If you are interested, you can leave a comment here or email me.

- Just a note, though, this will be an advance copy so there are bound to be a few errors.  Those who request the advance copy will also receive a free PDF version of the completed book.

Limit of 20 requests, sorry!  I don't want too much to get out :)

Hope you're having a fantastic weekend!

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?”

National Museum of the Pacific War (Kara's Vacation Part I)

Happy 4th of July, all!

On July 22nd, the majority of the females on my Mom's side of the family congregated in Fredericksburg, TX for a wine tour.  It was a really awesome way to spend my 30th birthday.  I'll post more later on the great wines and wonderful tours we went on, but I had another reason for really looking forward to the trip. 

For over two years now, I have been a volunteer transcriptionist for the National Museum of the Pacific War/Nimitz Education and Research Center.  I got started with the Museum because Grandpa Misenhimer does the oral interviews.  As of July 2012, he has done over 700 interviews.  He needed a transcriptionist, I like to type, so we worked it out.  I enjoy listening to the tales from our vets, but I have never been to the Museum.

So, you can guess what I did that Sunday, right?  I had a picture in my head of a small-town museum and that's what I was expecting.  I've never been so glad to be wrong in my life.  The Nimitz part of the museum is what I expected, but the George H. W. Bush Gallery is huge.  HUGE.  I wish I could have spent longer - they aren't kidding when they say it takes 4 hours. 

They offer an hour-long tour at the Pacific Combat Zone.  It is a little over 2 blocks from the main museum, but you can drive and park there (our car was at the hotel so I jogged - not fun in June).  I am so glad I didn't skip that part of the museum like so many people do.  Our tour guide was wonderful.  There is a TBM Avenger, a PT boat, and outside there are several other WWII relics.  They do a reenactment several times a year that Davis and I are going to attend. 

Since I was short on time, I did not go through the Plaza of Presidents, Memorial Courtyard or the Japanese Peace Garden.  They are on my to-do list for next time. 

The George H.W. Bush Gallery is large.  Very large.  And filled with information from the end of WWI and Japan's rise to the end of the war.  My favorite parts were the visual aids - where you hear bombs going off and radar and the shouts from Pearl Harbor to getting to walk inside a sub to see how little space crewmembers had. 

I'm sure you don't want to hear me go on and on about a museum, but I couldn't not tell you about this wonderful place that not many people know about.  There is a wealth of information for everyone - whether you are a military history buff or not.

For more information please visit http://www.pacificwarmuseum.org/Index.asp

Fredericksburg itself is a great place for a quick weekend vacation - there are wonderful shops up and down Main Street, wineries all along 290, Bier gardens, open container laws for those walking up and down Main Street.  I truly enjoyed my vacation and cannot wait until we go back.

- Pictures taken from the museum website.