Family Lies Backstory

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your wish is my command, milady.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong, Shortcake?”

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

“Point, Vi?” Duke interrupted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’d you do?” Duke demanded.

“Took out the advance party.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Family Lies short - 8 years before Daughter of Deception

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

- - - - - 

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


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

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

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

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

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

"What'd you do, Vi?"

"I just wanted to help."

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

"Fine."

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

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

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

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

"Are you high?"

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

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

"Nope."

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

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

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

"There's nothing wrong with Vi."

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

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

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

"Jeremy Whittier. The kid from Boston."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Olivia's said that."

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

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

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

"Oh?"

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

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

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

WOTD 4-4-11 (Duke/Viola May 1992)

dapple \DAP-uhl\, noun:
1. A small contrasting spot or blotch.
2. A mottled appearance, especially of the coat of an animal (as a horse).
transitive verb:
1. To mark with patches of a color or shade; to spot.
intransitive verb:
1. To become dappled.
adjective:
1. Marked with contrasting patches or spots; dappled.

Dapple derives from Old Norse depill, "a spot."

May 1992

Toby flinched at the sound of rubber soles on wet grass. Ever since his dad had started training him to recognize footsteps and different sounds, he’d grown more aware of his surroundings. He knew who those footsteps belonged to; only one person he knew skipped everywhere she went.

“Hiya Toby!”

He didn’t acknowledge the cheerful greeting. He carefully filled in the lines on his sketch of the demon his father had brought home earlier. If he got the drawing right, his dad was going to let him do all the autopsy sketches. He was taking advantage of the light summer breeze and sunshine, plus his father had burned the meatloaf again and the house stank.

Undaunted, Viola sidled closer to Toby. She bumped his elbow, peered over his hunched shoulder. “What’cha doin’?”

“Drawing. Don’t you have someone else to annoy, brat?”

“Nope.” Grape-stained lips pulled back to reveal two rows of even, purple teeth. “Livy and Mom are makin’ dinner, and I dunno where Bas went.”

Toby growled under his breath when she bumped his arm again. He shoved her away and went back to work shading in the Dundalk’s dark fur coat. If he was lucky, Viola would go away when she didn’t get the attention she wanted.

“You’re doin’ it wrong.”

His head drooped forward. Long, blond bangs fell into his eyes. He brushed them off his forehead and glared. Viola merely shrugged and stood on the toes of her pink tennis shoes. She leaned over his arm to point at the picture. Her long, auburn ponytail tickled his nose. He tugged on the neon pink rubber band in retaliation.

“Hey!” She swatted his hands, stuck out her purple tongue.

“I am not doing it wrong, brat.”

“Yes you are.”

“Am not.”

“Are, too.”

“Am. Not.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are, too.”

“I. Am. Not.” His nostrils flared, eyes narrowed as he contemplated dipping inside her mind. A quick change of her thoughts would send her back inside the house and out of his hair.

“Are, too. Are, too. Are, too.” She sucked in a quick breath. “Are, too to infinity!”

He snorted. Was that really supposed to work? Remembering his grandmother’s constant admonitions to be nicer to little kids, he resisted the temptation to alter her thoughts. “It’s fine the way it is, Vi.”

“Nah-huh.” She shook her head. The end of her ponytail lashed his cheek. He slapped two hands on her cheeks to keep her from doing it again.

“What’s wrong with it, then?”

“It’s supposed to have spots. You know, like the horses. White and black spots.”

“Like the horses.” Toby released her face and plopped back on his chair. He didn’t believe Viola, but to humor her he grabbed the book by his feet. With her staring at him intently, he flipped to the correct page.

“See, I told you!” She jabbed a short, pale finger at the picture of a Dundalk before twirling away.

He ignored the girl dancing merrily behind him. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that she’d been right. Rather than a smooth, unmarked coat like he’d been drawing, the Dundalk’s coat was dappled. It was a good thing he’d done the sketch in pencil.

“I was right and you were wrong.” Viola spun around his chair, tugged on his ears. “I was right and you were wrong.”

“Yeah, but you’re still a brat.”

WOTD - 3-29-11 (December 2000, D, V, O, S)

And you thought you'd seen the last word of the day. Silly reader. Now, I know these are generally short, but I was feeling wordy today.

And now... time for the fiction with a little bit of knowledge (it's like a word of the day calendar with a short story attached)

bedaub \bih-DOB\, transitive verb:
1. To smudge over; to besmear or soil with anything thick and dirty.
2. To overdecorate; to ornament showily or excessively.

Bedaub is from be-, "thoroughly" + daub, from Medieval French dauber, "to plaster," perhaps from Old French dauber, "to clothe in white, white-wash, plaster," from Latin dealbare, "to whitewash, to plaster," from de- (intensive prefix) + albus, "white."

December 2000

Olivia jerked when a warm hand unexpectedly brushed her arm. The smile she flashed her brother didn’t quite reach her eyes. She snuggled against his chest when he slung an arm across her shoulders. His sweatshirt absorbed the tears trickling down her cheeks.

“How long has she been like this?”

Olivia shrugged. She’d spent two days on campus finishing up an extra-credit project, and Sebastian had been busy with end-of-the-semester reports. Neither of them had paid too much attention to their little sister. There was no telling how long Viola had been holed up in her room.

“At least I don’t have to worry about a phone call from her counselor.” Sebastian sighed, ran his fingers through Olivia’s fine, blonde hair. Ever since their father’s disappearance a year earlier, Viola had made a nasty habit out of skipping school. He was on a first name basis with her counselor, principal, and most of her teachers. If she didn’t have to keep up her grades for track eligibility, he feared the problem would be exponentially worse.

“I should go in there.” Despite her declaration, Olivia didn’t move. “I’ll get her in the shower and we can take her out for dinner. I picked up one of those ice cream cakes she loves. I think we’ve got candles in a drawer somewhere. If not, we can run to Walgreens after dinner and…”

Sebastian chuckled, pressed a long finger across Olivia’s lips. “Breathe, Liv. It’ll be okay. I’m sure Vi wants to keep this birthday low-key, anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Duke’s here. He’ll straighten her out.”

“Why is he here? You shouldn’t have called him, Bas. This is a family matter.”

“He got here the same time I did. He was supposed to take Vi out on rotation for her birthday, but she blew him off. He got worried.”

Olivia nodded. She was worried, too. Viola adored both Duke and Tracking. There was no way she’d simply forget about either.

Both turned away from the doorway at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Duke, cradling a large black mug of steaming liquid, bobbed his head in greeting before barging into Viola’s bedroom. Olivia reluctantly followed Sebastian downstairs. She understood the need for privacy, but she wanted to know how Duke could pull Viola out of her funk when nothing else got through to her.

The bedroom was a disaster. Viola wasn’t a neat freak like Olivia, but the room was unusually messy. Duke shoved a stack of books onto the floor and set the mug on the newly-cleared section of desktop. He dragged a chair across the floor and sat beside her. When she didn’t bother acknowledging his presence, he flicked the tip of her nose.

“What do you want, Toby?”

“You can’t go skipping rotation whenever you feel like, Viola. Your partner counts on you to back him up.”

“You’re not my partner.” She didn’t look up from her notebook. “You didn’t even want me to go with you. You only asked because you felt sorry for me.”

“I think you overestimate how much I actually like you.”

“I think you overestimate how much I actually give a damn.” Viola blinked her gritty, dry eyes. She cradled her pen against her thumb and flexed her cramped fingers. “Thanks for the tea. You can leave now.”

Ignoring her profanity-laced protests, Duke lifted the notebook out from under her nose. His heart sank as he flipped through it. Viola’s handwriting was virtually unreadable. In her haste to write down every passing thought, she’d rendered the pages unreadable. She’d bedaubed the paper with ink and what smelled like chocolate.

“What are you working on, Shortcake?”

“Stuff.” Viola tried to snatch her notebook out of his hands. He held it just out of reach. Huffing, she flopped back in her chair and glared.

He was familiar with the desperation and grief swirling in her eyes. He’d felt the same way on the first anniversary of his father’s death. He knew Viola wouldn’t appreciate pity, but he couldn’t help the flash of sympathy. It was a sure bet she was researching her father’s disappearance. He needed to get her mind off her loss.

He leaned back in his chair and propped his ankles on her knee. “I got a call earlier about something eating dogs in Conroe.”

Viola’s pen fell to the desk. Intrigue softened her glare. “Big dogs or little dogs?”

“Two German Shepherds, a Lab, and a pit bull.”

Her nose crinkled. Poor dogs. “ Anything left behind?” She held up a hand when Duke opened his mouth. “Not of the dogs. I mean, any sign of a demon?”

“Dark green slime, or so the homeowners claim.”

“Smells like menthol?”

“Yeah.”

“Aetkc.”

He grinned. No other Tracker-in-training would have figured it out. “You should have heard Max bragging about you at the last meeting. You’d think he could take all the credit for your training.”

Viola rolled her eyes. “You, Granny, and D….” She swallowed, blinked back a flood of tears. “Dad taught me everything I know.”

“Yep, and as a special birthday bonus you get to help me take care of the Aetkc.” He stood up, wriggled his fingers. “I’ll throw you over my shoulder and drag you out of here if I have to, Shortcake.”

“Fine.” She stood for the first time in hours. Her knees wobbled, her head spun. Once she regained her equilibrium, she grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair and led the way into the hall. “Can I drive?”

“Don’t push it, sweetheart.”

WotD 10/26/10: April 1995 (Duke)

Word of the Day Challenge 10/26/10
Word: Eke; transitive verb
1. To gain or supplement with great effort or difficulty -- used with 'out'.
2. To increase or make last by being economical -- used with 'out'.
Timeline: April 1995 (Duke)

Duke’s eyes drifted shut. He propped his heavy head on his hand and lightly drummed the eraser of his pencil on the desk. It was only second period and he was ready for a nap.

The pencil slid out of his fingers and rolled across the floor. With a sigh, he leaned over the edge of the desk to retrieve it. Not even the sight of Mary Hallimore’s tanned legs did anything to wake him up.

He forced himself to focus on the teacher’s lecture. He couldn’t get caught sleeping in class. He’d promised that Tracking with his father wouldn’t affect his schoolwork. It was a promise he was starting to regret, especially after a long night chasing down a Freldana. There was no way he was going to make it through the rest of the day.

His best bet was to eke out halfway decent homework during lunch and drink a gallon of Mountain Dew before baseball practice. As long as he didn’t get called on or have to do anything more strenuous than breathing, he could eke.

“Put away your notes, it’s time for a pop quiz!”

Duke’s forehead hit his desk. “Oh man, I am so dead.”

WotD 10/25/10: Summer 2002 (Viola, Olivia)

Word of the day 10/25/2010
Word: Juju: noun;
1. An object superstitiously believed to embody magical powers.
2. The power associated with a juju.

Timeline: Summer 2002 (Viola, Olivia)

“Please?” Viola clasped her hands together. She puffed out her lower lip and did her best to look utterly pathetic.

Olivia was unmoved. “No.”

“Pretty, pretty, please?”

“No.”

“Just for a second. I promise. I just want to look around.”

Olivia shook her head resolutely. “Don’t you think demons, ghosts, crazy blood rituals, and Sebastian are enough to deal with? We don’t need you messing around with voodoo juju and making thing worse.”

“I won’t buy anything. I swear.”

“Not going to happen, kiddo.” Olivia shuddered at the mere thought of entering the store. Superstitious by nature, she avoided black cats, open ladders, and breaking mirrors. She didn’t understand how the voodoo rituals worked and wasn’t going to risk accidentally cursing herself.

“You’re no fun, Liv.” Viola scowled at her sister. She was glad to be out of the ghost-infested hotel because her headache was finally going away, but she’d wanted to see more than art museums. Since the cemeteries were off-limits due to her temporary ghost-restriction, the store had seemed like a good choice.

“I’ll talk Sebastian into letting you drive all the way to Pensacola.”

“And I get to pick out the next hotel and dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Deal.”

WotD 10/24/10 - June 1998 (Olivia, Viola, Sebastian, Gerard)

Word of the day 10/24/2010
Word: Slugabed: noun; One who stays in bed until a late hour; a sluggard.
Timeline: June 1998 (Olivia, Viola, Sebastian, Gerard)

A bright beam of sunlight pierced through Olivia’s closed eyelids. With a groan, she rolled over onto her stomach and pulled the sheet over her head. A smaller body shifted beside her. Viola’s icy toes slipped beneath the sheet and grazed her ankle. She kicked at the icy feet.

“Daa-aad!”

Olivia grinned sleepily at Sebastian’s whine. Of the three of them, he’d stayed up the latest watching the horror movie marathon. When she’d woken up to run to the bathroom at three, Viola had been cuddled up and snoring beside a wide-eyed Sebastian.

“Up and at’em my little slugabeds!” Gerard’s booming voice had each of his children wincing. He grabbed the corner of the sheet covering Sebastian’s face and yanked. While Sebastian shielded his eyes, Gerard repeated the action twice more. He chuckled at the sight of his children frantically wriggling away from the sunshine like vampires.

“Lots to do and time’s wasting.”

Viola rose to her knees. She blinked furiously and ran a hand through her hair so that it was standing up in all directions. When the spots were gone from her vision, she glared up at her smiling father. “Daddy! It’s the first day of summer vacation!”

WotD 10/23/10 - January 2001 (Gerard, Viola)

Sorry for the delay - spent the weekend with family and was away from my laptop. I wrote this on my phone Saturday night, but couldn't get it to post. Guess I'll have to read the manual again!



Word of the day 10/23/2010
Parse: transitive verb;
1. To resolve (as a sentence) into its component parts of speech with an explanation of the form, function, and syntactical relationship of each part.
2. To describe grammatically by stating its part of speech, form, and syntactical relationships in a sentence.
3. To examine closely or analyze critically, especially by breaking up into components.
4. To make sense of; to comprehend.
5. (Computer Science) To analyze or separate (input, for example) into more easily processed components.

Timeline: January 2001 (Gerard, Viola)

“I've missed you my violet.”

Viola blinked twice and rubbed her eyes. Nothing changed. She pinched her arm, yelped. Not a dream, then.

“Dad?”

“I made the right decision, dearest. You'll see that someday. This was for the best.”

She sat up in bed, too stunned by his presence to parse the meaning of his words. He had been missing for a year, and she'd started to give up hope of ever seeing him again. There were so many things she wanted to tell him, so many questions she needed to ask. Forming words seemed impossible though. She couldn’t believe he was in her room!

“I can't stay long, my violet. I just wanted to see you. It has been a long year, and I fear we are in for several more difficult years.”

“Why?” Why couldn't they go back to normal? Why couldn't he come home? She needed him. Sebastian and Olivia did their best, but they weren't adequate substitutes for her Daddy.

“Neither one of us is ready. I am afraid we must be patient.”

“Patient for what?”

“For it to be our time.”

“Dad?”

“Soon. Until then, keep this between us, my dear. The others won’t understand.”

WotD 10/22/10: October 2000 (Sebastian, Viola)

Word of the Day Challenge 10/22/10
Word: Crepuscular;
adj:
1. Of, pertaining to, or resembling twilight; dim.
2. (Zoology) Appearing or active at twilight.

Timeline: October 2000 (Sebastian, Viola)

Sebastian tossed a sheet of paper on the table in front of Viola before sprawling onto the chair beside her. “I need you to look that up, Vi.”

Eyes narrowed in annoyance, Viola studied the rough sketch of a demon. It had four eyes, curved horns, and was covered in wiry hair. She’d never seen a demon like it before. Abandoning her weekend homework, she retrieved her laptop and logged on to Duke’s pride and joy, the regional Network database.

“Duke saw one of those yesterday, but lost it. He’s swamped and didn’t get a chance to look it up.”

“Is this what I am now: your unpaid, unappreciated research assistant?”

“He said I could take you with me to take care of it.”

“Oh.” Viola flashed him a quick grin. “Give me a sec.”

“I hope it doesn’t take too long. I promised Amy I’d take her to watch the sunset or some crap like that.”

“You’re such a romantic, Bas,” Viola teased. She frowned suddenly and twisted her laptop around so he could see the entry for their demon. “I’m afraid you’re going to miss your date. Pflans are crepuscular. We have to catch it just after sunset.”

WotD 10/21/10: June 2003 (Viola, Duke)

Word of the Day Challenge 10/21/10
Word: Coruscate;
Intransitive verb:
1. To give off or reflect bright beams or flashes of light; to sparkle.
2. To exhibit brilliant, sparkling technique or style.
Timeline: June 2003 (Viola, Duke)

Viola wanted to believe it was heartburn from the chili cheese fries. The burning and tingling in her chest wasn’t from the appetizer she’d shared with Duke, though. Ghosts made her shiver and plasma-dependent parasites gave her the hiccups. She felt like a walking demon detector.

“What’s up, Vi?” Duke paused to wait for her to catch up. His hand drifted to the gun tucked in the back of his jeans when she frowned and rubbed her chest. Either she was going to belch loud enough to rattle the windows or there was a PDP around.

“Vampire. Close. Maybe more than one.”

A low growl caused them both to spin around. Three snarling PDPs stood at the entrance to the alley. Viola cocked her head and bit her lip to keep from laughing. Duke’s gun nearly slipped from his hand.

“Is it just me or are they… sparkling?”

“It’s not just you.”

Between Duke’s gun and Viola’s knife, it took only minutes to take out the PDPs. While Duke called for a cleanup crew, Viola dragged a finger along the coruscating vampire’s skin. The pad of her finger sparkled. “Glitter. They’re all coated with glitter!”

“Freaky, even for a demon.”

WotD 10/20/10: October 1996 (Olivia, Viola, Sebastian)

Word of the Day Challenge 10/20/10
Word: Antediluvian;
adj:
1. Of or relating to the period before the Biblical flood.
2. Antiquated; from or belonging to a much earlier time
noun:
1. One who lived before the Biblical flood.
2. A very old (or old-fashioned) person.
Timeline: October 1996 (Olivia, Viola, Sebastian)

Olivia was jerked out of her daydream when a foot made contact with her ankle. She rubbed the fresh bruise and glared at her sister. Viola stopped swinging her feet and blushed guiltily.

“Watch it, brat.” Olivia was bored out of her skull. She didn’t need to be bored and in pain.

“Sorry, Liv,” Viola whispered. She glanced over her shoulder at one of the six spirits hovering nearby, shuddered, and shifted closer to Bas. Nervousness made her jittery. She was afraid that if she looked again, she’d see Grandmother Ashwood in the group.

“Oh, come on,” Olivia groaned when a frail, white-haired woman shuffled to the podium. At least six ‘friends’ had gone up to give a eulogy. Did they believe that if enough people claimed Opal Ashwood was a good person it would make it true?

Sebastian leaned across Viola to speak to Olivia. “Is it just me or are all Grandmother’s friends incredibly old?”

“Positively antediluvian.” Olivia smiled to herself, pleased at finally being able to use one of her Pre-SAT vocabulary words.

“Who’s that?” Viola shot Olivia a questioning look. “Auntie Del Uvian? I didn’t meet her.”

Olivia stifled a giggle. “It means they’re ancient, kiddo.”

Request Fic - Backstory April 2000

The first of the request fics - this is for someone (who already got to read her copy) who wanted to see Olivia and Viola as children. I couldn't quite get them too young, but it does take place before the main series.

April 2000

Olivia stood on her tiptoes and tried to spot a head of short, dark auburn hair in the crowd. She heard Viola’s track coach bark out Vi’s name and turned towards him. Seemingly from out of nowhere, Viola appeared at his side. Olivia kept an eye on their interaction as she made her way towards them.

Whatever the coach was saying made Viola smile. Olivia couldn’t help feeling envious. No matter what she or Sebastian did, Viola always seemed to be angry or depressed. Though her grades hadn’t slipped, they were getting phone calls from her teachers about hostile behavior in class and a short attention span. Tracking demons and school track meets were the only things that interested her anymore.

“Hey, kiddo. You did great.” Olivia waited until the coach had moved on to another student to approach Viola.

Viola dropped the purple and white towel onto the top of her matching gym bag. She brushed sweaty bangs out of her eyes and flashed her sister a tired smile. “I’m glad it was my last event. I’m beyond ready for a shower.”

“If your coach clears it, I can take you home. Unless you want to stick around to watch the other events, I mean.” Olivia sighed softly. Talking to her sister was growing increasingly difficult. She never knew what to say to her. She thrust a cold bottle of orange sports drink at Viola. “Here. I got this for you.”

Viola smiled again. Despite what Bas and Olivia thought, she did know how hard they tried. She didn’t mean to shut them out all the time, but with Dad missing, it was hard to feel anything except lost. Her first instinct was to keep the pain, confusion, and hopelessness locked away, but she’d been slipping. She needed to work on keeping her temper in check.

“Thanks, Liv. Orange is my favorite.”

“I know.” She was the one, after all, who’d had to take over grocery shopping after they’d put their mother in the institution. She had an index card for both of her siblings so she wouldn’t forget Sebastian’s Cheerios or accidentally get the mint toothpaste instead of the cinnamon.

Olivia fingered the design on the gold medal hanging out of the gym bag’s front pocket. Viola had won the gold in three of her events and the silver in the fourth. “I thought you were going to run the relay today.”

Viola’s lips thinned and her eyes hardened. “I don’t do relays.”

“Why not? With your speed, I thought they’d kill to have you on the team.” Not usually a violent person, she wanted to hit whoever decided Viola wasn’t good enough for the relay. Her sister didn’t deserve such blatant rejection.

“Oh, they want me on the team. I’m the one who said no.”

“Why?”

Viola twisted the cap off her sports drink and took a swig of the icy liquid. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before putting the cap back on. “I don’t do team sports.”

“Viola.” Olivia couldn’t understand why Viola had such a hard time dealing with her peers. Their high school experiences were completely different. She’d been on every committee, a Student Council member, Class Secretary for four years, and part of the court for nearly every dance. Viola ran track and hung out with outcasts.

“Sweet mercy Liv, can’t you just be happy for me? I beat my 100-meter dash record and set a new school javelin throw record. Why does there always have to be more?”

“Oh, honey.” Olivia wrapped an arm around Viola’s shoulders. She ignored the sweat soaking into her patterned blue blouse. Comforting her sister was more important than a dry clean only garment. “I am so proud of you.”

Viola nodded. It wasn’t worth arguing over, really. She and Olivia were different. They had different goals and different priorities. Viola had accepted it years earlier. She wished Olivia would do the same. She needed to do her part, though, and stop being such a brat all the time.

“Give me a sec to talk to Coach about going home with you. He’s so thrilled with my new records, he won’t dare tell me no.” She pressed a kiss to Olivia’s cheek before slipping out from under Olivia’s arm and darting off in search of Coach Miller.

Olivia folded the damp towel and set it inside the gym bag’s main compartment on top of Viola’s windbreaker. She zipped it up, tucked the medals inside their pocket, and zipped that pocket up as well. By the time Viola returned, all her things were packed and ready to go.

“I was thinking,” Olivia said as they neared her car, “that you and I could head out to the mall after you shower and change clothes. There’s a sale at that store you like and then we could grab dinner at the Italian place Sebastian hates.”

“Where’s Bas going to be?”

“He and Duke are helping out with a demon that got away from Bert.”

Viola’s eyes lit up. Shopping with Liv or demon hunting with Bas? There really was no doubt which she preferred. One look at the Olivia’s face, slightly hopeful but braced for rejection, stilled her tongue. She playfully nudged her sister’s shoulder. “You going to let me buy that skirt I wanted?”

“Not a chance, honey. Bas would kill us both!” Relieved she wasn’t being passed over in favor of demons, Olivia grinned and swatted the back of Viola’s head. “I can’t be expected to monitor everything you buy, though. So, if a pair of those jeans he bitched about and threw away finds their way into your shopping bag…”

Viola laughed. She pounced on Olivia, hugged her until the older woman gasped for air. “Thanks, Liv! I love you.”

“Love you too, sis.”

WotD 10/19/10: September 2001 (Viola, Aggie)

Word of the Day Challenge 10/19/10
Word: Viand; noun: An article of food, now usually of a choice or delicate kind.
Timeline: September 2001 (Viola, Aggie)

Viola shifted uncomfortably. The presence of a demon didn’t bother her. She’d been around enough of the Network’s allies to not be afraid of them. Her irritation was physical. Her big toe itched but, because of the thigh-to-ankle cast on that leg she couldn’t reach it.

She smiled apologetically at Aggie and swung her leg onto the chair beside her. Using the tip of her pencil, she stretched forward and scratched her sock-covered toe. Movement from a corner of Aggie’s yard caught her attention. She watched a small Siamese kitten jump from the top of the fence to a tree limb and then onto the grass.

“Kitty!” she squealed happily, something she would later blame on the pain reliever Aggie slipped in her drink.

The Zerndi turned towards where Viola was pointing. Its three eyes lit up. Its long, black tongue darted out to lick thin lips and it murmured softly to itself.

Viola shuddered when she found the right entry in her translation guide. The Zerndi had called the kitten a viand. Her eyes slid to the “treats” the demon had brought to tea. If cats were a Zerndi delicacy, there was no telling what was on the tray.

Taking Requests

Because I don't have enough to do with work, finishing up TCC, my WotD challenge, a side project, and it being football season, I'm taking requests for any short (like the last two) "backstories" for the Ashwood series. Give me a time period or something you'd like to see and I'll try to work a little magic.
I just need a little push to get the last few chapters done, and I think burying myself in the 'verse might help with that!

Thanks!

WotD 10/18/10 - September 1997 (Duke, Abelardo)

Word of the Day Challenge 10/18/10
Word: laconic; adj: Using or marked by the use of a minimum of words; brief and pithy; brusque.
Timeline: September 1997 (Duke, Abelardo)

“Here you go.” Duke swallowed the lump of what felt like ground glass lodged in his throat and handed the file folder to Abelardo. His bloodshot, swollen eyes burned with fresh tears. “It’s my final report.”

“Sebastian already turned his in. You didn’t have to do it, son.” Abelardo’s frown deepened at the way Duke winced at the word ‘son.’ He clapped the younger man on the shoulder and squeezed. “Go on and see your grandmother. Leave this to us for now.”

Duke stared at his feet for a moment before nodding. He knew he needed to pull himself together and take over the Network like his father would have wanted, but it was hard. The overwhelming need for vengeance had kept him from focusing on the heartache, but now that his father’s killer was dead, there was nothing left to distract him.

With somber eyes, Abelardo watched Duke trudge out of the house. He waited until Duke’s taillights disappeared around the corner to open the file. Since Sebastian Aswhood’s report had been four pages long, he’d expected at least six from a detail-obsessed Duke rather than a single sheet. The unusually laconic report contained only the words: “Target terminated.”

WotD 10/17/10 -- January 1975 (Gerard, Alicia, Hattie, Warwick Burke)

Word of the Day Challenge – 10/17/10
Word: Fulsome: adj;
1. Offensive to the taste or sensibilities.
2. Insincere or excessively lavish; especially, offensive from excess of praise.
Timeline: January 1975 (Gerard, Alicia, Hattie, Warwick Burke)

“Gerard, darling, could you come here, please?”

At his aunt’s call, Gerard set down his book and ambled into the foyer. Sharp hazel eyes studied the girl standing between his father and Hattie. With long blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and an attractive figure she should have been pretty. The drab skirt, matronly blouse, and pearls around her slim neck reminded him too much of his mother for him to consider her worthy of a second glance.

“Darling, this is Alicia Ashwood. Her family has quite the reputation in the Network, and she is a very gifted seer.” Hattie curved an arm around Alicia’s shoulder and thrust her toward Gerard. “She was president of her school’s Future Homemakers of America club. She’s top of her class at Texas Woman’s University. Can you believe a pretty, smart girl like Alicia has been right under our noses this entire time?”

Gerard arched an eyebrow. His blunt aunt wasn’t one for fulsome flattery. A quick glance at Alicia’s flushed cheeks had him frowning. He’d foolishly hoped she’d see past Hattie’s glowing praise and put an end to the matchmaking.

“She’s everything we’ve been looking for, son,” Warwick added, eyes bright with glee. “Everything.”

WotD 10/16/10 - Fall 2002 (Sebastian, Olivia, Viola)

Word of the Day Challenge – 10/16/10
Word: Ineffable: adj;
1. Incapable of being expressed in words; unspeakable; unutterable; indescribable.
2. Not to be uttered; taboo.
Timeline: Fall 2002 (Sebastian, Olivia, Viola)

“Does it look like the demon’s following a particular path?” Sebastian squinted, stared at the map, and then held out to Olivia. “I can’t see any patterns in his movements.”

“No, it looks like the demon’s… wandering, I guess.”

“He has a name,” Viola said from her spot on one of the motel room’s beds. She rested her injured arm on a pillow. Listening to them talk about their demon-possessed father like he was just any old demon drove her absolutely crazy. Did they think that playing pretend made things easier?

“What was that, Vi?”

“He’s got a name,” she repeated. “You keep calling him ‘the demon,’ but we learned his name two weeks ago. Can’t you just call him El - .”

“No!” Sebastian leapt across the room and slapped a hand across Viola’s mouth to stop her before she uttered the name he’d declared ineffable weeks earlier. “We don’t call him by his name, Viola. We don’t know what it would do.”

Viola engaged Sebastian in a staring contest. Sebastian broke first, but Viola nodded in concession. To keep the peace, she’d refrain from speaking the demon’s name out loud, no matter how stupid a rule it was.

WotD 10/15/10 - August 2001 (Duke, Viola, Sebastian)

Sorry it's terrible, my brain doesn't often function properly when I'm sick. Blame the person who gave me their cold!

Word of the Day Challenge – 10/15/10
Word: Smithereens: noun; Small pieces; bits.
Timeline: August 2001 (Sebastian, Viola, Duke)

“Honeys, I’m home!” Viola called out as she gracelessly maneuvered through the front door. She’d seen Duke’s truck in the driveway so she knew Sebastian wasn’t home alone.

“Hey, kiddo.” Sebastian dashed out of the kitchen and took her backpack from her and led the way to the kitchen. “How was the first day back?”

“Absolutely terrible.”

Duke’s face darkened. “Any of the kids giving you a hard time?”

“Nah.” Even if they were, she wouldn’t tell either of them. She could handle a little bullying on her own. “I had to answer a ton of questions from the counselor, sign away my firstborn to get an elevator key, and my track coach refuses to talk to me. To top it all off, you two are about to go on rotation, and I’ll be stuck here with Olivia. This really sucks, you know.”

“Next time you’ll think twice about doing acrobatics on the back of Duke’s truck and smashing your leg to smithereens, huh?”

As she’d only done it to avoid a demon Bas had accidentally sent her way, she glared at him. She shook one of her crutches threateningly. “C’mere so I can smash you to smithereens, insensitive jerk.”

WotD 10/14/10 - April 1989 (Viola, Gerard)

Word of the Day Challenge 10/14/10
Word: hopscotch:
Verb; To journey quickly and directly from one usually far place to another.
Noun; A children's game in which a player tosses or kicks an object into one of several numbered sections of a diagram marked on the ground.
Verb; To move or pass through something, as a geographical area or a field of endeavor, making many brief stops.
Timeline: April 1989 (Viola, Gerard)

Viola twisted her fingers together and smiled hesistantly at the girl beside her. “That’s a pretty dress.”

The girl in the pink, ruffled dress continued to stare at her sad eyes. Viola sighed softly and swung her feet. She was so bored. They were at the park for Sebastian’s birthday and none of the boys wanted to play with her. Bas said she was too little and Toby said she was a big baby. She’d kicked him in the shins for that one. Her father had put her in time out, but he’d been smiling when he did it so she knew she wasn’t really in trouble.

“D’you wanna play tag?”

The girl shook her head.

“Who’re you talking to, my violet?”

“The girl, Daddy.”

“What girl?”

“The one sittin’ next to me!”

He couldn’t see anyone sitting beside Viola, but that wasn’t surprising. The park was over a hundred years old. It was likely to be haunted by at least one spirit. He’d have to work with Viola on learning the difference between ghosts and real people. “Well, have fun, darling.”

Viola sighed again. Her eyes slid back to the silent girl. “Do you know how to play hopscotch?”

Glide Like Ghosts - May 2001

Another shorty, but am actually putting this one up on FP. It's the rave incidented referenced in TCC.

May 2001

Duke knew, without a doubt, that he was going to commit murder before the night was over. The only thing yet to be determined was whether or not he killed his soon-to-be-ex best friend or one of the hundred drunkards packed in the abandoned warehouse. He still couldn’t believe he’d let himself get talked into swinging by a rave while he and Sebastian were on rotation. The music, a complex blend of trip-hop and 80s rock, made his head ache, he couldn’t escape the smell of pot, and someone had spilled cheap beer all over his boots.

“Dude!” Someone called out just as a hairy, tanned hand landed on Sebastian’s shoulder and yanked him backwards. Duke balled his hands into loose fists, ready to back his partner up if a fight broke out.

“Stan, man!” Sebastian’s easy grin eased the tension in Duke’s shoulders. Sebastian slapped the back of a tall man with a boy-ish face and floppy black hair. Stan was one of the guys who’d mentioned the rave, and the supposedly hot new band, to him.

Duke didn’t recognize the other man, but that didn’t mean much. Though they’d attended the same college and been friends for nearly their entire lives, Sebastian was older and they’d run in different circles. Besides, Duke tended to stick with other Trackers; that way he had fewer secrets to keep.

“Bas, dude.” Stan chuckled, dimples appearing on his cheeks when he smiled widely. It was obvious by the size of his pupils and the odor wafting off him that he was utterly wasted. “When’d your sister get hot?”

Duke froze. Tension stiffened his muscles and straightened his spine. He scanned the gyrating crowd in search of an auburn-haired delinquent. There was no doubt in his mind that Viola was the sister in question. Raves weren’t Olivia’s scene.

“I can see now why you never invite us to your place. If she was my sister, I’d keep her locked away, too. I’m telling you, she is…”

“Jailbait,” Duke interrupted icily. Sebastian’s tight grip on his arm was the only thing that kept him from pounding that eager smile off Stan’s pretty boy face. At least he had his answer on the question of whom he was going to kill. As soon as he got his hands on Viola Ashwood, he was going to wring her neck.

“Where is she, Stan?” Sebastian couldn’t understand how Viola had gotten out of the house. He’d locked her in her bedroom, bolted the windows shut, and taken her car keys and cell phone. He’d also given her a mild sedative before dinner and waited until she was asleep to leave.

“Up there.” Stan pointed towards the second level of the warehouse. “You can’t miss her. She’s got about a dozen glow sticks including a fat purple one tucked between -.”

Duke’s hand shot forward and wrapped around Stan’s neck. He hauled him closer and growled. “You ever look anywhere but that girl’s eyes again, and I’ll castrate you with rusty barbed wire, you get that?”

Sebastian pulled Duke off Stan and towards the staircase. They pushed their way through the crowd before splitting up to search for her. Given the mood Duke was in, Sebastian hoped he reached her first. He was pissed as hell at her for sneaking out when she was grounded, but he wouldn’t make a scene the way Duke would.

Five minutes later, a sulky Viola appeared in front of Sebastian. One of her wrists was handcuffed to Duke’s. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” Duke spun on his heel without waiting for a response and led the way to his truck. Viola had to jog to keep up with his quick pace and long stride.

“I grounded you, Viola.” Sebastian shook his head in disappointment. He hated how difficult disciplining her had gotten and how little control he had over his younger sister.

“For a totally bogus reason.”

“You gave one of the boys on the track team a black eye!”

She dug in her heels to try and stop Duke, but he kept dragging her along. The metal edge of the handcuff was starting to leave marks in her skin. She had to settle for glaring at Sebastian over her shoulder. “So it’s okay for him to be a pig and make downright filthy comments about my gym shorts, but I can’t defend my honor?”

Duke muttered something under his breath that neither Sebastian nor Viola understood. Finally at his truck, he unlocked the door and grabbed his water bottle from the front seat. He dug two aspirin from the first aid kit in his toolbox and quickly downed them with the water.

“What did you say, Toby?” Furious and embarrassed at having been caught so easily, Viola gave in to the anger. Why had either of them been at the rave in the first place? The Manic Mutts weren’t exactly their type of band.

“I said that you didn’t seem to mind everyone and their sleazy brother ogling you tonight.”

“The difference is that I chose to wear this. I didn’t pick out the obscenely short gym shorts they make us wear.”

“You’re dressed like a hooker, Vi.”

Viola’s face reddened. She sucked in an outraged breath and sneered. “I guess you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Still attached to her wrist, Duke walked back to the cab of the truck to retrieve a t-shirt from behind the seat. Eyes locked on her face, he thrust it into her arms. “Put that on.”

Viola jangled their linked wrists. “Undo these first, moron.”

Duke’s nostrils flared. He tamped down a surge of fury. She was, by far, the most maddening creature on the planet. “Watch your step, princess.”

She arched an eyebrow, rested her free hand on her cocked hip. “What’re you going to? Hit me in front of Bas?”

Sebastian cleared his throat pointedly and, once he had their attention, deliberately turned his back on them. He loved his sister dearly, but he wasn’t going to give her a free pass to walk all over Duke. He heard Viola swallow and Duke chuckle darkly. When he turned back around, Viola was glaring at Duke and rubbing the back of her head.

The loud chirp of his cell phone kept Duke from starting his lecture on bitchy behavior and unsafe situations. He tossed Sebastian the key to the handcuffs while he answered the phone. He winced at the location of the demon spotted. It was only a few miles from where they were so there wouldn’t be an opportunity to drop Viola off at home. She couldn’t be trusted to stay out of the way, and handcuffing her inside the truck was not a good idea. If the demon got away from them, she’d be a sitting target.

“What’ve we got?” Viola rubbed her red wrist and bounced on her toes excitedly. Going out to hunt a demon with them totally made up for having to leave the rave early. She was glad she’d remembered to stash her favorite knife in the waistband of her pants.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. Duke rounded on Viola and grasped her chin tightly. “Your brother and I have a Bendad. You have nothing. You’re going to be quiet and stay out of the damn way.”

Viola ripped free of Duke’s hand, crossed her arms over her chest. A broad, anticipatory smile lit up her face. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”

Duke growled and ran a hand through his hair. It was official: he was definitely going to kill someone before the night was through.