Christmas Fluff

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Viola.”

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

“Viola!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you do last Christmas, Vi?”

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal.”

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

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

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

“Oh, sweet mercy.”

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

“Vi, sugar…”

“Seriously, Tobias?  Tassels?”

Vi’s Fudge Recipe

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

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

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

 

MMM

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Family Lies Backstory

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your wish is my command, milady.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong, Shortcake?”

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

“Point, Vi?” Duke interrupted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’d you do?” Duke demanded.

“Took out the advance party.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Family Lies short - 8 years before Daughter of Deception

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

- - - - - 

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


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

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

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

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

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

"What'd you do, Vi?"

"I just wanted to help."

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

"Fine."

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

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

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

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

"Are you high?"

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

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

"Nope."

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

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

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

"There's nothing wrong with Vi."

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

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

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

"Jeremy Whittier. The kid from Boston."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Olivia's said that."

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

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

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

"Oh?"

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

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

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

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

Duke/Viola - Spring 2001

Spring 2001

Muscles tense and right palm curled around the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans, Tobias Duke ran his left thumb along the front door’s deadbolt. Tiny scratches in the silver finish made it clear that someone had picked his lock. Recently. The wards his grandmother updated quarterly were still intact, so the intruder was human. He reluctantly took his hand off the gun.

Slowly and silently, he unlocked the door. He pushed open the door and crept inside the foyer. The lights were off downstairs. He started towards the safe kept in his office when the sound of running water over his head stopped him in his tracks. Someone had broken into his house to take a shower?

A long, black ribbon curled around the banister caught his attention. He pinched the ribbon between two blue goo stained fingers and held it up. Tiny white skulls dotted the wide ribbon. His jaw tightened as the faint hint of rosemary and sweat.

When he was on rotation, he tended to keep his mental barriers up. The last thing he needed was to be distracted by foreign thoughts when tracking a demon. In the safety of his home, he let his barriers slip and concentrated on the showering intruder. He caught a glimpse of familiar chaos before a wall slammed up between his mind and the intruder’s.

Feminine laughter echoed in his head. “Stay out, you big perv or I’m gonna tell Granny.”

“Viola,” he growled, taking the stairs two at a time. The upstairs guest bath was empty. He rolled his eyes at his own naiveté. Why would Viola bother to use a guest bathroom when his was free?

His bedroom light was off, but the lights in his bathroom were on. He dropped his Tracking pack on the floor beside his bed and stalked to the bathroom doorway. The shower curtain was pulled to one side and two damp towels were piled on top of the closed toilet lid. The back of a purple tank top and a dark auburn ponytail greeted him.

“You’re home early,” Viola observed mildly, not bothering to turn around.

“What are you doing, Vi?” Duke folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorjamb. He winced when the door hinge dug into the fresh bruise on his right shoulder. The thought of a hot, steamy shower had kept him going for the last hour of a rough rotation. He wanted nothing more than to pick up Viola by her ponytail and toss her out of his bathroom.

“Cleaning up. I was with Max when the call came in about the four Irgins in the Heights. Since you and Bas were busy with the demons in Conroe, Max and Vic went after the Irgins. Max thought it would be good training for me so I tagged along.” There was a pause as Viola splashed water onto her legs and rinsed her soapy hands. “Man, no one said anything about how foul Irgins are. I don’t think Max is ever going to get the stench out of his truck. I offered to set it on fire for him so he could get a new one, but all that got me was a ten-minute lecture on insurance fraud.”

Duke mentally counted to thirty. It did nothing to soothe his mounting anger. “Viola,” he snapped, “what are you doing here?”

“Cleaning.” She bit her tongue to stop the duh that wanted to follow. Regardless of what her brother and sister thought, she did have a few self-protective instincts. She swiveled her shoulders, careful to keep her face out of view, and pointed at the tattered tights near Duke’s boots. “Turns out I’m not as fast as I’d like to think I am. The cuts are shallow, but the blood was sticking to my tights and it was driving me crazy.”

Duke inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. He reminded himself that his grandmother was inordinately, unexplainably fond of the littlest Ashwood and would slap him silly if he wrung the girl’s neck. He had only himself to blame for his frustration, anyway. He’d forgotten that one had to be very, very specific when dealing with Viola.

“What. Are. You. Doing. In. My. Bathroom?”

“Oh!” Viola chuckled, reached for one of the towels. She spun around and dried her pale legs. Streaks of red criss-crossed her shins. She ducked her head down, refused to meet Duke’s furious stare. “Well, Bas doesn’t ‘xactly know about my little trip with Max and judging by the radio chatter I heard, tonight’s not a good night to tell him.”

“Viola.”

“Sooo,” she bit her lip and flashed him a quick grin, “I couldn’t go home. I thought I’d pop in here real quick to clean up and then head out to the rave on Scott.”

“Viola!”

She coughed. “I mean the study session at Aaron’s. Study party. Promise. Do you have a pair of black socks I can borrow? My boots are downstairs.”

Duke pivoted sharply, stomped into his bedroom. He yanked open a drawer, retrieved a pair of black socks, and tossed them at Viola’s head. “Out, Shortcake.”

“No problemo. Just give me a sec to clean up.”

“I’ll clean up.” Duke’s eyes narrowed suspiciously when she started folding one of the towels. He recognized a stall tactic when he saw one. “Now, Vi.’

She winced at his sharp tone. “Okay. Okay. No need to bite my head off.” She dropped the towel, grabbed her ripped tights, and tugged down the hem of her black-and-silver skirt. “See ya, Tobias.”

Lips pursed, Duke’s arm shot out to block the doorway when she started to brush past him with her face firmly pointed towards her pale toes. “Hold up, kiddo.”

She blew out a heavy sigh. “Talk about bipolar. Stay or go. Which is it?”

“Look at me.”

“Uhh… no. I’m not feeding your ego tonight.”

“Look at me, Viola.”

“No.”

Duke grasped her chin between to fingers and forced her face up. The entire right side of her face was red and swollen. Her lip was split and the bruise had already started to turn purple. “A little slow, huh?”

“Okay, way slow.” Viola shrugged. “I shouldn’t have had that second burger for dinner. Or the shake.”

“How were you going to explain that shiner to Bas?”

“Raves are dangerous. He’d have been pissed and grounded me, but he wouldn’t have banned me from Tracking.”

Duke released Viola’s face. He silently kissed his plans for an early night goodbye. “You need to ice that or your eye will swell shut. Go downstairs and put an ice pack on that. Don’t leave.”

Viola knew better than to challenge the angry glint in his eyes. Duke was one of the few people capable of tracking her when she tried to disappear. She nodded, slipped past him and scurried to the hallway. “Want me to make you a sandwich or anything?”

“Just get the ice and park your ass on the couch. I’ll be down in a minute. We’ll watch SportsCenter and then I’ll have a look at your legs. They should be disinfected. I’m too tired to drive you home, and I don’t trust you with my truck. You can crash here tonight.”

“Thanks, Tobias. You’re the best.” Viola beamed at Duke before skipping to the stairs. The smile slid from her face when his next words reached her.

“First thing in the morning, I’ll call Sebastian to pick you up.”

Birthday Present

Okay, so it's my birthday, but I thought I'd give y'all the present.

I have been utterly swamped with work, getting ready for my trip, and working on both Mistress of Malice and Mercy and my contemporary romance (which I may start posting snippets of, if you'd like). I did manage to get this very short, early Duke & Viola piece done.

2007

A noisy, crowded outdoor party in The-Second-Wheatfield-Beyond-The-Middle-Of-Nowhere, Oklahoma was the last place Duke wanted to be. Since he’d stopping traveling with the Ashwoods, though, Bert had made it clear that Duke needed to make sure his Trackers remembered his name and his face. Tommy Calhoun, Duke’s eyes and ears in the Oklahoma City area, had invited him to their pre-busy summer season bash.

He took a sip from his plastic cup of warming beer and ignored the sweat trickling down his spine. Though the sun had set over an hour earlier, it was hot even a good distance from the bonfire they’d lit before the first stars twinkled. He nodded at a pair of Trackers he remembered attending one of his database training sessions.

He opened his mouth to start a conversation, when an unforgettable, feminine laugh reached his ears. His jaw snapped shut. Muscles tense, he whipped out his phone and tapped out a text message to his high school best friend Sebastian Ashwood: Where are you?

‘Shreveport,’ came the one word answer.

Duke blew out a sigh of relief. He was always happy to have a six-hour drive between him and Sebastian’s little sister, his nemesis/friend/sorta-trainee. Relaxed, he asked the two closest Trackers about the funniest thing that had happened on their last rotation and forgot all about hazel-eyed, Goth-wannabe imps.

Forty minutes later, he edged closer to the bonfire. The heat was no longer unbearable, and the sweat drying on his back was actually a little cool. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of that impossible, unmistakable laugh. His head swiveled around as he tried to find the source of the laughter. If the party hadn’t been so crowded, or full of people with unique abilities like his own, he would have dropped the extra-thick walls surrounded his mind. Her mind was usually the most chaotic in any room, and he knew the feel of her brain as well as he knew his own.

His feet carried him to a grouping of fifteen or so men a dozen feet from the fire. Salsa music, oddly enough, blared from the open windows of the ancient pickup truck that doubled as the bar. A smaller fire had been built specifically for the smokers in the group. The heavy blend of cigarette and cigar smoke made his eyes water, but it was what he saw near the center of the circle that made the breath catch in his throat.

A slim, dark-haired gypsy in a long, gauzy pink skirt, matching halter, and jingling bracelets grabbed the hand of the nearest Tracker and dragged him into her dance. Her skirt whipped around her calves and her loose hair, curling in the humidity, bounced around her grinning, elfin face. When her dance partner planted large, calloused hands on the bare skin between the hem of her skirt and her shirt and dipped her, she threw her head back and laughed merrily.

Duke’s plastic cup crumpled in his hand. He shook off the warm beer and elbowed his way into the circle. It was obvious that every man watching her dance was under her spell. He longed for a water hose or a bucket of ice. A growl rumbled low in his chest.

He expected her to notice him right away. He waited for her eyes to widen with surprise, for her cheeks to flush with shame and not giddiness, and for her to gravitate to his side like she always did. He mentally prepared a lecture on attending parties like this without a chaperone.

Viola Ashwood, lost in the music and the three sweet, high-octane drinks she’d downed earlier, never glanced in his direction. When her dance partner shuffled back to his friend, she simply spun and grabbed the nearest arm. The short, stout man was good for a turn around the fire before he pecked her flushed cheek and slipped out of her grasp.

Freer than she’d felt in over a decade, she giggled to herself and reached out blindly for a new partner. Fingertips hitting skin and coarse hair, she trailed her hands down until she was able to lace her fingers between rough, warm digits and yanked. The palms pressed against hers were familiar, but she chased away that thought as soon as it skittered through her mind. She was at the party to forget about Tobias Duke, not pretend that every man was him.

Her newest partner was surprisingly good. He lacked the awkward reluctance of the others and seemed to anticipate her moves. She smiled beatifically at her partner and lifted her mascara-laden lashes. If she was lucky, it was one of the downright edible Cooper boys who’d been flirting with her all night.

She gasped at the furious blue eyes blazing back at her. The hands twined with hers tightened until they were almost painful. Her heart sped up and her knees turned to jelly momentarily. Courage, bolstered by alcohol, stiffened her spine when Duke dragged her out of the circle. She dug her heels into the soft, red clay.

“Wait a minute, Tobias!”

He didn’t pause for a second. She twisted her hands quickly and pulled herself backwards with surprising strength. Before Duke could grab her again, she disappeared into the crowd. Bewildered, Duke rubbed the back of his neck. It wasn’t like Viola to run away from him.

He found her an hour later slumped on a hay bale next to a dozing, behemoth of a farm boy. The man’s thick, tanned arm was wrapped around Viola’s waist and his beefy bicep acted as her pillow. Four empty cups were piled near her feet; she’d lost one of her delicate, silver sandals and her pink-painted toes were dusted with red dirt.

“Knew you’d fin’ me,” she slurred, peering at him through half-lidded, bloodshot eyes.

He exhaled slowly, reined in his temper. If he came across too harsh, she’d only run. Or get the behemoth to break his jaw. She was unpredictable when mad or drunk.

“I will always find you, Vi,” he responded, not sure whether he meant that as a threat or a promise. Given the rollercoaster of emotions she evoked in him, it was a fifty-fifty split.

“Now who’s th’ stalker?”

Duke perched on the edge of bale in front of Viola. He leaned in close only to pull away at the alcohol fumes wafting off her. “Woah! You’re plastered.”

Her head shot up at the accusatory tone. Her nose crinkled and she kicked half-heartedly at his shins. “’M legal,” she reminded him archly. “Nothin’ you can do ‘bout it now.”

The behemoth’s arm snuggled her back against his chest. Duke’s hackles rose. He stuffed his fists in his pockets to keep from knocking the farm boy away from Viola. “What are you doing here, Shortcake?” He hoped the old nickname would get her to open up. He wasn’t used to not being able to read her thoughts or have her babble on about every idea racing through her mind.

“I,” she started, voice quiet but resolved, “am getting over you.”

Duke’s stomach twisted. He tried to tell himself that he was glad Viola was finally going to stop pestering him with her crush, but something like disappointment settled heavily in his heart. “Vi, sweetheart…”

“And Mikey here’s gonna help me,” she continued.

“It’s Gil.” The behemoth didn’t even open his eyes as he corrected her.

“Whatever.” Viola reached up to tickle the short hair at the nape of Gil’s neck. “Gil is gonna help me f’get all about your stupid face and your stupid hero’sm and your stupid smile and your stupid…”

“Eyes?” Duke suggested helpfully when she floundered.

“Everything,” she seethed.

Duke’s patience was wearing thin. He surged to his feet and grabbed her arm. “Come on, Vi. I’m driving you to Shreveport.”

“Wha’s in Shreveport?”

“Your brother.”

She shuddered. “He and Amy are cel’bratin’ their ann’versary.”

“Where’s Olivia?”

Viola shrugged. “I dunno.”

Duke sighed. He was glad his hotel room had two beds. He’d drag Viola back with him, but she was going to have to deal with the hangover on her own. His charity only extended so far.

Gil slowly opened an eye when a Viola disappeared from his grasp. He stared at the swaying, sleepy girl and the angry, blond man holding her up. He recognized the regional head and scratched his chin speculatively. “She yours, boss?”

Duke hesitated. If he said no, there was the potential for jaw-breakage. Saying yes meant… a lot of things he didn’t want to think about surrounded by drunkards and cow patties. “In a way.”

“Am I going to regret letting her go with you?”

“Not as much as I am,” Duke groaned. “Trust me, not near as much as I am.”

The next morning, Viola awoke to a dark, quiet room. A bottle of Tylenol, a bottle of water, and the keys to her rental car were on the nightstand. The trash can was on the floor beside her head. Duke wasn’t in the room, but the faint scent of his soap lingered in the air. She clamped the pillow over her face. Her plan had been a complete failure. She didn’t remember much of the party, and she was dirty, nauseous, sore, and as in love with Duke as she’d ever been.

Soundtrack Fridays... "Slow Down Sister"

Now, this next song is on my "Duke" playlist, but it's not necessarily one he would like. He's more of the rowdier, Texas country music type of guy. The song, however, reminded me a lot of how he felt at the beginning of Daughter of Deception.



"Slow Down Sister" by Lady Antebellum


So what are you listening to today?

Duke, post TCC

A glimpse inside Duke's head post-The Chaos Child. Minor, minor spoilers.

I will get back to work on Mistress of Malice and Mercy soon. Ish.



The residents of Burkeholt treat Viola like a goddess. They fall over themselves rushing to fulfill her every whim and vie for the opportunity to touch her hand or brush against the sleeve of her jacket. Duke thinks that if they could, they would spread rose petals on the ground for her to walk on or carry her around on a padded chair.

Many of the women from Duke’s past would have exploited the demons. They would have soaked up the attention like a sponge and wished aloud for every petty thing they desired: trinkets, exotic foods, anything the demons had that caught the eye. They would have transformed themselves into their version of a goddess – beautiful, elegant, and wholly self-centered.

When it comes to being a goddess Viola, however, is just plain awkward. Duke can’t help but sit back and watch. It’s the most entertainment he’s had in years.

She listens to the outpouring of effusive compliments until her ears are a bright red, and Duke can practically see the steam pouring out of them. She’s never been one for flattery. When the frustration reaches its boiling point, she snaps at the nearest demons. Tells them to stop calling her Lady Viola, Most Benevolent Savior, Glorious Liberator, or whatever ridiculous title they’ve strung together.

Of course, the demons cower in the face of her anger. Duke bites his tongue to hold back his laughter. They think that’s bad? They should’ve seen her after Sebastian broke her favorite bow her junior year of high school. No one had been spared her wrath then. He has a scar on the back of his left knee from where a dinner plate shard had hit him. Her little tirade on false gods and brown-nosing is nothing.

The demons don’t know better, though. All they know is that they’ve angered their goddess. They prostrate themselves in front of her, beg for mercy. A few of the braver ones fall at her feet and tug on her jeans. There are tears, wails and, buried beneath it all, Duke’s muffled laughter.

Under Viola’s sarcastic, waspish bitter coating, is a heart as soft and squishy as a bean bag chair. When faced with crying, desperate demons, she melts. She forgives them in an instant, begs them to ignore her outburst, and allows them to continue. The cycle begins again.

At Burkeholt, Duke is mostly forgotten. He’s okay with that. He likes staying in the background and observing. Well, he likes watching Viola, at least.

He finds it hilarious that Viola is their Virtuous Queen of Victory. Watching her shift uncomfortably as a Xilarian bard sings (Duke’d rather listen to one of those damn auto-tuned pop songs, but his earplugs are in the truck and they rode in her SUV) her praises, all he can see is his Viola. The girl who shot herself in the foot when she was a kid. Who threw tantrums, skipped school, drove her siblings insane, and got into more trouble than he’d like to remember. She has the curiosity of a cat and fortunately, or unfortunately if you’re on the wrong side of that curiosity, the lives to go with it. She has horrible taste in music, no appreciation for his authority, and an acid-dipped tongue. Five days out of ten, he’d like nothing more than to wrap his hands around her neck and choke the stubbornness out of her.

In the middle of his musings, a scuffle breaks out in the crowd surrounding Viola. Someone starts shoving his way towards her and someone else shoves back and, like all the riot videos Duke’s seen, pandemonium ensues. He tenses, ready to jump in the fray to protect his wife, when she dissolves the tension with a single quiet but firm word.

“Stop.”

Miraculously they do. They freeze in place. Viola scoops up the tiny, blue-skinned Crean they’d trampled and cuddles it to her chest. She glares the offenders into giving apologies. They bow their heads in shame, she immediately pardons them, and peace once again fills the sanctuary. The Crean wraps its long, spindly arms around Viola’s neck and stares at her with complete adoration.

Yeah. Duke knows that look. He’s certain it’s been on his face more than once. He gets it. Gets how they can mistake her for a goddess. How many times has she stopped him from making a drunken, stupid mistake? How often has she lifted him from depression or teased him out of self-destruction? She thanks him for keeping her from losing control, but she’s the one who saved his sanity first.

Over the Crean’s head, she flashes Duke a bright, slightly nervous smile. She glows so brilliantly inside and out, that he has to look away. For all her demonic ties and potential for destruction, he’s the one who feels unworthy. He’s struck dumb by the need to wrap her up in his arms and hide her from the rest of the world. Keep all that brilliance to himself. He’s always been the greedy sort.

He wonders if the demons know what they’re asking of her. Defeating Elrachaim won’t be simple. It could cost her every ounce of power she possesses. Could cost her life. She’d do it in a heartbeat because she’s weighed down with guilt. Hell, even if the guilt factor wasn’t an issue, she’d do it. That’s just who she is.

He hates it. They see her as their goddess, but gods fall and can be replaced by someone else with flashing eyes and superpowers. He knows too much about the true Viola to put her on a pedestal or place a crown on her head, but she’s… everything. They need her to save them from her father, but they’ve never asked him if he’s willing to sacrifice her for their freedom. He’s not quite sure what his answer would be if they did.

He thinks maybe he’d say no.

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.”