Adventures in Ghost Hunting (Haskell Investigations outtake) Chapter 1/3

I have the rough draft of Vampires, Bears and Other Bitey Things 90% finished.  To help everyone get back in to the Az & Rick groove, here's a short story that takes place after the first book.

Adventures in Ghost Hunting Chapter 1 /3

Az trailed her fingertips along the wall as she quietly meandered down the hallway towards the staircase. It was dark, but she knew every inch of the hall.  She could walk it, and identify doors, with her eyes closed.  Or at three in the morning.  Same difference.

Halfway between her origin point – Jose’s bedroom - and her destination, she paused to press her palm against the cool wood of a closed door.  If she concentrated, she could hear a soft huffle-snore.  Two legs in Rick’s bed rather than four.  The invitation would still be open.  His goodnight kiss had made that clear.  It was tempting.

Too tempting.

With a wistful sigh, she dropped her hand back to her side and continued on her quest for a new book.  The Care and Feeding of Siberian Huskies had been interesting, but she doubted that many of the tips would translate well to the care and feeding of a house full of Shifters.  

At the murmur of voices from the room diagonally across from Rick’s, she stopped abruptly.  Her eyes narrowed as she tried to determine whether it was moonlight or artificial light seeping from underneath the door.  Uriah and Quinn had a strict midnight lights out rule.  Exceptions were only made for pack functions, school assignments, and illnesses.  

There were no pack functions.  All homework assignments had been checked and tucked away in backpacks.  The boys had been perfectly healthy during a surprisingly cutthroat post-homework game of Scrabble.

Az crossed the carpeted hallway and carefully turned the knob so that it didn’t squeak.  She couldn’t risk knocking first.  Knocking would undoubtedly rouse Rick, which would undoubtedly get the boys grounded.  And if the boys were grounded, she was grounded, too.

A flashlight clicked off as soon as she opened the door.  The edge of a sheet dangled off the top bunk.  Four pillows were piled in front of the window.  There two were two figures seated on the bottom bunk.  Though she didn’t have a Shifter’s senses, Az could practically taste the guilt in the air.

She stepped inside the room and pulled the door shut.  For ten seconds after the door closed with a snick, she held her breath.  When the growl of a sleep-deprived Alpha didn’t shake the floor under her feet, she relaxed and set her book on the corner of a nearby desk.

“What’s going on?” she whispered as she tiptoed toward the bed.  Navigating the teens’ bedroom in the dark wasn’t as easy as walking down the hallway.  There were dirty clothes landmines and sporting equipment roadblocks to avoid.

“Nothing,” Uriah said, voice equally quiet.

Az squirmed her way between the two teens.  She treated each to her harshest Rick-esque glare.  She’d practiced in the mirror for three days before trying it out on Rick.  He hadn’t even bothered to pretend to be impressed.  Jerk.  At least Jose had winced.  Ike had even handed over his pint of ice cream when she’d tested the glare on him.

“You’re risking missing out on an absolutely gorgeous weekend for nothing?”

The boys leaned in front of her to hold a silent brotherly conversation.  Az inspected the glow-in-the-dark galaxy adhered to the ceiling.  Orion’s Belt was in the wrong location, and she was pretty sure they were missing a planet.  Given their science grades, though, it was hardly a surprise.

Quinn straightened suddenly.  He raked a hand through his mop of hair.  “The house across the street is haunted.”

“Haunted?”  That wasn’t the answer she’d expected.  Az rose.  She picked her way to the window and pulled back the thick, thermal curtains.  The Gothic Revival house was dark.  According to Rick, it had been foreclosed months before her arrival in Houston.  With its lancet windows, steeply pitched roof, and decorative trim, it certainly appeared intimidating.

Uriah flopped back against the mattress.   “We’re not crazy.”

“I’m hardly one to toss stones,” Az murmured, squinting as a small speck of light appeared in one of the second-floor windows.  “It could be squatters.  That last cold front dropped the temperature.”

“We’ve seen faces in the windows.  And a woman on the balcony,” Quinn said.

“There was a man on the porch the other day.  I could see through him,” Uriah added. His enthusiasm paled in comparison to his brother’s, but there was a note of curiosity in his tone.   “Last week, I thought I heard a baby crying when I was out raking the yard.”

Az watched as the speck of light bobbed in the window before unexpectedly winking out.  Something dark moved against the window, but she couldn’t tell if it was the wind moving branches or something spectral.  She scanned the house’s other windows for signs of occupancy.

“Ghosts exist,” she said, “of course they do.  You die and that supposed to be it, but sometimes things go haywire.  Wires crossed.  It could be a conscious decision or just a fluke.  Combination of both.  No one knows.  The energy transfer relating to death is too massive to be accurately quantified. The la Fay Constant is supposed to be the best estimate, but even that’s come under fire.  Energy and magic feel similar, can be used in many of the same applications, but they don’t dissipate in the same way.”

“In English, Az?”

“There’s a very good possibility you aren’t hallucinating.”

“We’ve been keeping a log.”  Quinn flicked on the flashlight.  He held up a battered spiral notebook.  “Do you want to see it?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

The three of them huddled on the bunk with the notebook and the flashlight.  Uriah hogged most of the mattress with his long legs while Quinn was content to cuddle up against her side.  Their notes were detailed.  They boys had carefully denoted the weather and traffic patterns at the time of each incident.  Rough sketches were included with the notes.  

“I wish you’d put this much effort into your schoolwork,” she muttered as she flipped to the notes on the latest occurrence.  “I will say that it does appear there is something odd going on across the street.”

“Ghost odd or drug smuggling ring odd?” Uriah asked.

“I love your imagination,” Az said, grinning at the teen.  “And the answer is: I don’t know.”

“But we’re going to find out, right?” Quinn asked.

Az playfully nudged his ribs with her elbow.  “Have you ever known anyone in this house to pass up a mystery?”

Before either teen could respond, the scritch of nails on wood cut through the silence.  Quinn and Uriah exchanged worried glances.  Az hurriedly turned off the flashlight and then motioned for them to lie down.  She slid off the bed and crept to the door.  

A thousand explanations – okay, lies – raced through her brain.  She hadn’t settled on one when she opened the door a crack.  She expected an irritated Alpha glare.  She got a sleepy ocelot stare.  Jose used his head to push her out of the way so she could enter.  She quickly scanned the hallway before shutting the door behind his tail.

“I was coming back,” Az said.  She glanced at the alarm clock beside the bed and winced.  It was nearly six in the morning.  In thirty minutes, Rick would knock on the door to wake the boys.  “Wow.  I didn’t realize I’d been gone that long.”

As if on cue, Quinn let out a jaw-cracking yawn.  Uriah followed seconds later.  Az eyed them speculatively.  If they went to school, they wouldn’t learn anything.  They’d only fall asleep in one class or another and wind up with detention.  Why put them through the hassle of detention and punishment from Rick for said detention?

“So sorry you boys came down with the stomach flu,” Az said, shaking her head.  “I know you were both looking forward to going to school today, but I’m afraid that you’re going to have to stay home.”

Jose padded toward the bed.  He sniffed both boys before cocking his head at Az.  His ears were perked up and his tail was curled around her left knee.  She stared at him imploringly.  If Jose didn’t back her story, Rick would know something was wrong.  After one, heart-stoppingly long minute Jose blinked.

“Thank you.”  Az ran her fingers across the tuft of fur between his ears.  “Why don’t you go back to bed?”

Jose shook off her hand and, with a liquid grace Az envied, leapt onto the top bunk.  The bed creaked as he turned Quinn’s blanket into an acceptable kitty nest.   The tips of his ears were the only parts of him visible from the floor.

Az scarcely had time to stash the ghost journal into a nightstand drawer and tuck the boys into bed.  She was dragging the wastebasket to the bed when the door flew open.  Rick, dressed only in a pair of faded jeans, stood in the doorway.  He scrubbed a hand across his face, and his attention was on the activity in the hallway.

“Up and at ‘em, boys.  If you’re lucky, we can sweet talk Jose into making breakfast.  I’m thinking chocolate chip pancakes, bacon and...Az!”

She bit back a grin.  He was downright adorable when startled.  “Afraid I’m not on the menu this morning, Ricky.”

The tips of his ears burned a bright red.  “What are you doing here?  I thought you were bunking with the furball.”

“You realize that to me you are all furballs, right?”

“What did I say about attempting diversions before my first cup of coffee?”

“That they were only acceptable if they involved actions that I cannot discuss in a room with two ill teenagers.”  Az glanced over her shoulder to ensure that the boys were still feigning sleep before herding Rick into the hallway.  She closed the door but kept her hand on the knob.  It was the only way to keep her hands off the shirtless temptation in front of her.

“Ill?  They were fine last night.”

“No,” she corrected.  “They were fine until they started vomiting around three in the morning.  Stomach flu, I think.  Which is kind of a misnomer, actually.  It isn’t actually influenza.  It’s gastroenteritis.  If they had the actual flu, they’d be feverish, congested, and achy.  This is just stomach pain and puking.  Lots and lots of puking.”

Rick was silent for a few seconds.  He shook his head as if coming out of a daydream.  He’d likely zoned out while she was talking.  Az knew he did it often.  She didn’t mind.  Much.  It came in handy at times.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“And why would you?  You were snoring loud enough to wake the dead.”  A slight exaggeration but not out of the realm of possibility.  He complained about Jose’s snoring, but he could be just as loud.  Especially if he was as tired as she suspected he’d be given the mess at the Astrodome.

Rick made a move for the doorknob.  Az slid to intercept him.  She curled an arm around his bicep.  Fought the urge to give it an experimental squeeze.

“Please, no.  They just fell asleep.  And the bathroom is finally clean.  Let them rest.”  She fluttered her eyelashes and tried to look as exhausted and guileless as possible.  It was more difficult than people assumed.  She was grateful she’d cleaned their bathroom the previous morning so that the smell of bleach was still fresh.

“They’ll need to stay home from school, then.  You’ll call the office?”

“Absolutely.  I’ll have them text Lenny Parker and ask to him bring by any assignments they missed.”  She relaxed against the door. He was buying it.  “You’ll have to settle for cold cereal.  Jose is snoozing on the top bunk. I woke him when I tried to sneak out.”

“What were you doing up so late?” Rick asked.  “Nightmares again?  Why didn’t you come to me?”

The kicked-puppy look on his face made the corners of her eyes sting.  She flung her arms around his neck, plastered herself against him, and pressed her lips to his scruffy cheek.  Silly Alpha.  For all his gruffness and cockiness, he was insecure about the oddest things.  She didn’t  hide how much she utterly adored him, but he still worried.

“No nightmares.  Haven’t needed to sleep.”

Rick’s fingertips dug into her hips.  He turned his head so they were nose-to-nose but made no attempt to extricate himself from the embrace.  “That’s three days with no sleep, Princess.   Are you sure you’ll be able to handle two sick teens?  I have meetings at the ‘dome I can’t cancel.”

“Jose’ll be here.  I’ll catch a quick nap while he’s on vomit bucket duty.”

Rick buried his nose in the soft skin behind Az’s left ear.  His teeth gently scraped across her neck.  A shiver zinged down her spine.  His smug chuckle rumbled through her chest all the way to her toes.  He nibbled his way down to her collarbone.

“You said you weren’t on the menu this morning, Princess.  Does that mean I get a rain check?”

Down the hall, a bedroom door opened.  Tommy stuck his head out into the hallway.  “Hey, boss,” he called, an odd note of uncertainty in his tone.

“Yeah?” Rick asked, lips still firmly attached to Az’s skin.

“You two going to be at it much longer?  Normally, I wouldn’t try to rush l’amore or anything, but it’s my day to open the shop, and I need to grab a shower.”

Heat rushed to Az’s cheeks.  She struggled to get free, but Rick’s arms were like iron bands.  “Put me down,” she muttered, slamming her toes into his shin.

“Keep wiggling like that, sweetheart, and I won’t settle for a rain check.”

“Put me down,” she repeated through clenched teeth.

Rick slowly, punishingly slowly, slid Az down until her feet touched the floor.  He rocked back on his heels and hooked his thumbs in his front pockets.  Dimples bracketed his satisfied smile.  “Try not to miss me too much today, Princess.”

“Every vomit bucket will remind me of you,” she promised with a beaming grin.  Before he could retaliate, she slipped into the bedroom and swiftly closed the door.  

Two pairs of brown eyes peered at her from the depths of the bottom bunk.  She waggled her eyebrows and rubbed her hands together.  “Who’s ready for a little ghost hunting?”

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.

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

November 2004, Duke/Viola

What I should be doing is working on another chapter of Mistress of Malice and Mercy, but since Duke's mother Isabel makes an appearance in several chapters, I've been doing a lot of thinking about her. She's not a character I've focused too much on. All that thinking eventually turned out this backstory.

November 2004

The pounding on the motel room door would not stop. A sliver of unease prickled the back of Viola’s neck. There were only three people she knew in Boca Raton. Two of them were eating overpriced seafood in Miami and the third wasn’t aware she was in town.

Frowning, she grabbed the first item her hands hit and tiptoed towards the door. She tried to peer through the peephole, but the glass was so dirty she couldn’t make out anything but a blurred figure. After a mental count of three, she yanked the door open with one hand and held her book up with the other.

“You’re going to hit me with...,” Duke tilted his head back to read the title of the book hovering over his head. “Matrix Computations, Shortcake?”

Viola’s arm dropped limply to her side. She exhaled noisily as the rush of adrenaline faded. She scowled at her brother’s best friend. “What in the hell are you doing here, Tobias? I thought you were in New Orleans.”

Duke ignored Viola’s question and pushed his way into the room. He dropped onto the edge of the king size bed. He glanced around the bland, dim room. He recognized Viola’s overnight bag shoved against the wall between the dresser and the closet door, but didn’t see any other luggage.

“You’ve got your own room?”

Viola shut the door, locked it. She dumped her textbook on the rickety metal dinette table and perched on top of the long, low dresser. “Yep. Liv and Bas have been bitching at each other for the past three days. I told them if I didn’t get some space I was going to hitchhike back to Houston.”

“It’s not like they couldn’t track you down,” he said, gesturing to the wide leather band strapped to her left wrist. The pewter runes fixed to the band acted like GPS locator. He had designed it to replace the tracking bracelet she’d lost a year earlier. “It’s how I found you.”

She flicked at the chunky silver clasp. “It’s removable.” She was flattered, undeniably so, that he’d bothered to track her, but couldn’t understand why he needed to do so in the first place. “What do you want, Tobias?”

“For you to stop calling me that.”

“Not likely.”

“I didn’t think so.” He leaned back on his elbows, crossed his ankles. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

Viola ran a hand through her shoulder-length hair and tried to mask her irritation. She adored Duke, had since she was a kid, but had never been able to make him see her as more than Bas’ little sister or the annoying brat he couldn’t wait to be rid of. Loving him didn’t mean she was going to waste time listening to the same old insults. Her Ashwood pride wouldn’t allow that.

“Yeah, we’ve had this conversation about a hundred times, To-bias,” she said, purposely drawing out his name. “If you’re waiting for Liv or Bas, you might as well do it in your car. I don’t have time for the same old arguments. I really do need to study.”

“You’re…” Duke slowly sat up. Confusion clouded his eyes. “You’re kicking me out?”

“I know this isn’t usually what happens when you’re with a girl in a hotel room, but try not to die of shock. There has a first time for everything. Think of it as a learning experience.”

“I actually came here for a reason, Vi. I need your help.”

She arched an eyebrow but did not respond. She didn’t expect it to be demon-related. Duke took the Network very seriously and would have gotten straight to the point as soon as she answered the door. Besides, the demon population in the Miami area was relatively small. It was one of the reasons people who hated demons, like Duke’s mother…

Viola groaned, squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t put the pieces together before. Duke was in Boca Raton. Florida wasn’t part of his region, and it wasn’t the season for a sunny vacation. He was in town to see his Network-despising mother. The same woman whose phone calls never failed to send him into a drunken stupor or depression. Or, if Viola was really unlucky, both.

“Do you still have your fake?”

Her eyes popped open. They narrowed as she considered the consequences of giving a truthful response. “That’s a trick question, isn’t it? I'm going to have to plead the fifth this time around.”

Duke waved a hand nonchalantly. “Never mind. I’ll find out myself.” Diving into Viola’s mind to find the answer took only a second. Her defenses were good, but he was better. “Good, you’ve got it. I need you to go to a gallery thing with me tonight.”

“Gee, last minute much, Tobias?” Her mouth snapped shut as she realized what he’d said. At least it explained his dress pants and shirt. “What does a gallery thing have to do with my fake id?”

He shot her a withering glare. “After spending a few hours with Mom, I’m going to need a drink or seven. I need you in the bar with me to keep me from doing something stupid like starting a fight.”

“Or going to a cheap motel with a hooker and getting gonorrhea.”

“Viola…”

She blinked owlishly, unfazed by his growl. A slow, sly smile spread across her face. “Yes, Tobias? You know,” she tapped her finger against her chin, “maybe you should go by yourself. I’m sure there are plenty of single women your mother is just dying to introduce to her only son.”

He shuddered.

She laughed. “Oh, calm down before that vein in your forehead bursts.” Stuck in a hotel room studying or a night out with Duke? Of course, she’d choose Duke. She jumped to her feet, glanced down at her flannel pajama pants and wrinkled her nose. “Guess I’d better change clothes.”

As she’d originally planned to go to dinner with Olivia and Bas before they’d gotten too annoying, Viola had a gallery-suitable outfit in her overnight bag. Her black lace pencil skirt and silver cashmere-blend tank top weren’t especially glamorous, but they packed well. After dressing, she hurriedly applied the barest amount of makeup and tied her curling hair back with a silver ribbon.

Back in the bedroom, she dumped her pajamas on the bed and slipped on a pair of silver snake-embossed leather ballet flats. Like most of her dressier clothes, they had been a gift from Olivia. She handed Duke her fake id, room key, and credit card.

“No pockets in the skirt and my purse doesn’t match,” she said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. She yelped when his cold knuckles brushed the inside of her knee. She jumped backwards and slapped at his hands. “What are you doing?”

“Your skirt is way too short, Vi.”

She rolled her eyes. Sometimes he was worse than Sebastian. “No it’s not, you overgrown hypocrite. Now, let’s get this over with.”

She left a message on Olivia’s voicemail so her siblings wouldn’t freak out when they returned from the restaurant and found her gone. Any attempt she made at small talk on the drive to the gallery was met with one-word responses or distracted grunts. After a few minutes, she gave up and stared at the cloudless sky. It was going to be a long night.

At the art gallery, Duke reluctantly handed the keys to his precious truck to the valet and reached for Viola’s hand. The strength of his grip bordered on desperate. She bit her lip to keep from whimpering and moved closer to his side.

“I’m not going to abandon you, you big baby.”

The pressure on her hand eased marginally. She resigned herself to the loss of feeling in her hand for the duration of the evening. Both flinched when they stepped inside the gallery and were immediately assaulted by elevator music. Forced laughter and chuckles along with the clink of glass did little to cover up the music.

“You owe me,” she muttered as they weaved in and out of the crowd in search of Isabel Duke Carrington.

“Suck it up, Shortcake.”

She briefly considered slipping free from his grasp and letting the crowd swallow her up. His thumb twitched. She huffed. Stupid paranoid telepath.

“Toby!”

Duke froze. Viola’s nose slammed into his arm. She didn’t need to see Isabel. There was no mistaking the heavy rose-and-gardenia perfume the older woman used as her ‘signature’ scent. It burned the back of her throat and deadened her sense of smell.

“Hello, Mom,” Toby greeted politely. When his mother wrapped both arms around his neck, he didn’t relinquish his hold on Viola’s hand. The awkwardness of the embrace made it possible for him to break it sooner than his mother intended.

“Oh darling, you look wonderful.” Isabel patted his cheek. Tears sparkled in her pale blue eyes. The pastel pink gown that seemed to be nothing more than layers and layers of silk and chiffon reminded Duke of a tiered cake.

“You look great, too, Mom.” Floundering for something to say to keep the conversation going, he glanced around for his step-father. “Where is Pete?”

“I bent one of my wings. He’s off getting a replacement.” She giggled girlishly, swept an arm towards two watercolors on a nearby wall. “This is my fairy collection, so I chose to dress in character.” She patted the sparkly, diamond-studded tiara secured to her blonde head.

Viola popped up on her toes to reach Duke’s ear. “She knows fairies have fangs, right?”

“Oh?” Isabel gasped, pressed a hand to her heart theatrically. “Who’s this? You brought a date, Toby?”

“Mom, you remember Viola, don’t you?” Duke gave Viola a small shove in his mother’s direction.

“The Ashwood girl?” Isabel’s bright smile dimmed. She eyed Viola speculatively. “It is good to see you again, dear.”

“You too, Mrs. Carrington.”

“Toby, darling,” Isabel turned her attention back to her son, “whatever happened to that lovely Candace? I enjoyed our lunch together last spring.”

Viola snorted. She slapped a hand across her mouth to contain her laughter. Duke’s warning growl went ignored. “Candi? Fake tan, bleach blonde hair, blindingly white teeth?”

Isabel nodded dumbly.

"Candi!" Viola shook her head in disgust. “I can't believe you took a stripper to lunch with your mother.”

“Is that true, darling?” Isabel frowned. Viola was certain her forehead would have wrinkled had it not been recently Botoxed.

“I’m not seeing Candi any more Mom. It was a phase.” He squeezed Viola’s hand to keep her from giving anything else away. A plan sparked in his head. There was a way to get his mother off his back with a minimal amount of fuss. He smiled adoringly down at Viola. “I’ve moved on to better things.”

Viola was as confused as Isabel. Pretending to be a couple hadn’t been part of the plan. Before she could drag Duke aside to ask him what the hell he was doing, Isabel latched onto Viola’s free arm. Her smile was as false as half the breasts in the room.

“Oh, darling, I’m so glad that you’re settling down. Peter and I have been worried about you.” She tittered brightly. “Just remember that I’m too young for grandchildren.”

Viola paled. Duke kissed the top of her head. He’d have to alter his mother’s memory before he left the gallery, but it was a small price to pay for a night of peace. Fortunately, Viola was easily bribable.

“Come along, Viola, dear. I want to introduce you to a few of Peter’s associates and hear all about what you’ve been up to. How is your poor mother, by the way? Such a tragedy about your father. You know…”

Duke released Viola’s hand as his mother dragged her into the swarm of people. She craned her neck to glare fiercely at him. “You owe me for this, Tobias.”

He grinned, tucked his thumbs into his belt loops. “I know, sweetheart, I know.”

Duke/Viola - December 2008

December 2008

"Football? Again? I thought I erased the last one off the DVR." Viola froze, eyes wide and lips parted. She swallowed loudly and offered up a sunny smile. "I mean I thought the last game mysteriously disappeared when the power went off last night."

Duke's eyes slid from the television screen to his wife's pink cheeks and guilty eyes. "I was on the phone with the damn cable company for an hour this morning arguing over damn DVR glitches."

"I know." She bit down on her lip and bounced on her toes. Her smile broadened. "I'm sorry?"

He glared at her before a loud cheer from the crowd on the t.v. captured his attention. "You're lucky you’re cute, you know that?"

"Oh, I think you lucked out in that instance, Tobias."

He grinned, curled an arm around her waist, and yanked her onto his lap. Sparks and dots exploded behind his eyes as she wiggled and writhed until she was wedged in the sliver of space between him and the arm of the chair. He coughed to clear his throat and exhaled shakily. "Viola," he rasped.

"What?" Her smile was all innocence, but mischief danced in her bright eyes.

"Football." He coughed again and pointed at the screen.

She rolled her eyes and flopped her head onto his shoulder. "Married for a month and the romance is gone."

"You want romance, sweetness, I'll give you romance." Duke's lips unerringly found the sensitive spot behind her ear. "After the game, though."

"Ugh." Viola slapped his chest lightly. She watched the uniformed men run across the field for a few minutes before growing bored. She frowned at the clock on the wall. "What time is everyone coming over?"

"Huh?"

Lips pursed, Viola grasped his chin and forcibly turned his face away from the t.v. screen. "What time is everyone coming over?" she repeated, over-enunciating every word.

"No one's coming over, Vi."

"You picked up a sandwich tray and that deli platter. There are two twelve-packs of Shiner in the fridge. You asked me to bake two batches of brownies. I assumed there was a New Years' Eve party planned." She shook his chin gently. "I cleaned the entire house for three hours this morning."

"I know." He lightly nipped her fingers. "I’m sorry?"

Her left eye twitched. "You're lucky you have..."

"After the game, sugar."

She counted to ten and focused on her breathing until she was reasonably certain she wasn't going to throttle her husband. "So there's really nobody coming over?"

"The food's so we don’t have to worry about cooking. It's just you and me tonight."

"Aw," she cooed, anger instantly forgotten. "That's incredibly, surprisingly sweet."

"And a couple of bowl games."

Her eye twitched again. "Sometimes I hate your living, breathing guts, Tobias."

He chuckled, tucked her firmly against his side. It didn't get better than a night of food, beer, football, and his girl. Had he been single, he might have gone down to his favorite bar to watch the game, but he enjoyed not having to deal with crowds or girls who wouldn't take no for an answer. Besides, Viola's brownies were better than the dry chocolate cake Joe's wife made every New Years'.

Viola squirmed, resigned to the fact that she was going to spend the next several hours watching football. It was a sport she'd never really followed. She liked baseball because Duke and Bas had played in high school, and she liked hockey because of the violence factor. Besides, the rules were easier to understand in both games.

"What are we watching, anyway?"

"Sun Bowl. They're playing in El Paso."

Viola squinted at the screen. "Neither team is from Texas, though."

"That's not how it works, Vi." Duke groaned and tried to come up with a simple, short explanation for the rather complicated college football bowl system. He gave up after only a few seconds. "Just watch the game. It's almost over."

"Which game is next?"

"The Texas Bowl."

"Who's playing in that one?"

"Navy and Mizzou."

Her nose wrinkled. "They’re not Texas teams either."

"They don't have to be from Texas. Look, it has to do with the conferences and rankings. Different bowl associations take the ranked teams in different conferences. For example, the Sun Bowl Association took a team from the PAC-10 and a team from the Big 12. Since they had fifth pick with the Big 12, they got Oklahoma."

"Huh?"

Duke ran a hand through his hair and cursed Sebastian for not properly educating his baby sister. "Okay, teams are ranked in their individual conferences. The bowls match up teams from different conferences. Some conferences get automatic bids, but sometimes the bowl association gets to pick. It's complicated, Vi."

"You don't even understand it." She laughed and playfully dug her elbow into his ribs. She tried to pluck a more coherent explanation out of Duke’s brain, but there was nothing but a jumbled mess.

"I do, too."

"No you don't." Viola laughed harder, tears dripping down her cheeks and sides aching. "I'm inside your head, remember? You're as confused as I am."

"Oh, shut up and watch the game," he grumbled, clamping a hand over her grinning lips. "Pick a team and cheer for them."

She nodded and resisted the childish urge to lick his palm. Knowing Duke, he'd only wipe it across her cheek afterwards. She snuggled against him and watched the last quarter of the game, drawing on the information in his head rather than asking questions aloud. She had to admit that the game was a little easier to understand once she knew all the rules. She still didn't get the whole bowl thing, though.

"How many bowls are there?"

"Over thirty."

Viola whistled. "It's sorta like t-ball, huh? Everybody gets a trophy."

Duke's head thumped against the side of the chair. "This is worse than trying to watch pro football with you."

"Aww, that's just because you were happy the Texans were beating the hell out of the Colts." She ran the pads of her fingers across his jaw. "You'd be happier if a Texas team was playing in one of these stupid bowls."

"The Cougars were playing earlier," he pointed out, neglecting to mention that they'd lost to the Air Force football team. He was a proud University of Houston alumnus, as was Viola, and didn't want to reflect too long on the loss.

Viola wasn't listening to him. She stared at the television screen with brow furrowed and shoulders tense. After a moment, she let out a small squeal and kissed Duke's cheek happily.

"Sweet mercy, I finally understand what a safety is! Where were you during all those awful high school football games? This is awesome!"