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Date Published: 11-01-2026
Publisher: 100X Publishing
About the Author
Julie Hansen is a Christian, wife, and mother of four who has always cherished
the wonder and joy of Christmas. Her journey as an author began many years
ago, while she was pregnant with her first child, a son.
As Julie prepared to become a mother for the first time, she found herself
thinking about Mary in a way she never had before. Through her own
anticipation, excitement, and love for the little life growing inside her, she
began to imagine what Mary’s heart must have felt like as she awaited
the birth of Jesus—the Son she would love as a mother and the Savior she
would one day watch give His life for the world.
From those thoughts came a story written from a mother’s heart, with the hope
of helping children experience the wonder of that very first Christmas.
Years later, that story has become Julie’s first published children’s book.
Her greatest hope is that as families read these pages together, they will be
reminded of the beautiful truth at the heart of Christmas: Jesus is God’s
greatest gift to the world.
Julie is grateful for the opportunity to share this story with families and
hopes it will become a cherished part of their Christmas traditions for years
to come.
Ann’s Undoing
Ghosts of Border House Book 4
by Leah Miles
Genre: Paranormal Ghost Romance
Ghost Dogs, a
performing troupe, and a murder to solve.
Ann Darby was a rising movie star but died alone in a river in 1975. It seems
she’s destined to spend eternity alone at Border House in Scotland. Halloween
is the one night she can be visible to the living, but this year she plans to
skip the party. That is, until a giant Highlander steps out of a green van in
front of the house.
Callum McLeod performs in a small troupe for parties and events, waiting for
his big break. Betrayed by the lover he trusted and fired by the employer he
outperformed, he’s at the end of the road—personally, financially, and
emotionally. His paycheck was supposed to cover rent. Now he’ll be evicted the
moment he gets home.
Then a killer strikes in the maze, and Callum never makes it home at all. The
house ghosts must work together to catch a murderer, and Ann has some hard
choices to make if she wants her future to look different from her past.
“Do you want to go
to the orchard? We can sleep out there under the stars.”
“Sleep? Ghosts
sleep?”
“It’s not a true
sleep, but it stills your mind and gives you time to think. Perhaps if you
rest, you’ll remember something about what happened to you.” She held out her
hand, and he took it without hesitation.
Ann Darby was the
only person … ghost … who’d stood with him from the moment he awoke, and she’d
asked him for nothing. Wordlessly, he let her lead him down the stairs and out
into the night. His dogs barked and raced across the grass as they walked around
the house and toward the orchard. The strong breeze carried a sharp, almost
vinegary sweetness of windfall apples beginning to ferment where they’d dropped
in the grass.
“Why are you
helping me?”
She flashed him a
wry smile. “I would say it’s because I’m a good person, but you already know
that isn’t the whole truth. Callum … I’ve been alone a long time. At first I
liked it that way because I was so angry about my death and the unfairness,”
she waved her free hand, “Of all this. You know, I had much the same problem as
you. The hours before I drowned were a complete blank. I was at a party, inside
Border House, and next I knew, Donnal was pulling me out of the river.”
“He was alive
then?”
“No. He wasn’t
pulling my body out. He pulled me out. What I am now out.”
“When was this
again?”
“Donnal died in
1970, and I drowned in 1975.”
He stopped walking
and faced her, still gripping her hand. “Ye’ve been here, at this house for 51
years?”
A single tear
rolled down her cheek, and she nodded.
“When we spoke at
the fountain, you said you were at a party and found out the man was married.
The producer of the play. Is he the one who murdered you?”
“Yes. It took me a
long time to remember, but it was him. He drugged me and tossed me off the
footbridge. I was a fine swimmer, so even impaired I might’ve survived, but, it
was this time of year, and we’d had some rain and flooding.”
Her eyes were huge
in her pale face, and the need to comfort her overwhelmed him. He gently pulled
her against his chest and stroked his hand up and down her back. Her spine
softened under his palm, tension leaving by degrees until she relaxed against
him.
“It was a long
time ago. I thought I’d pass on to whatever came next after I remembered, but
I’m still here.”
He rested his chin
on her hair and squeezed her against him. The moon over them was full, and a
strong breeze rustled the leaves, bringing the sharp scent of fresh apples. The
king aside, this place wasn’t so bad. He had his dogs, and he had Ann. “Perhaps
I’ll stay here then. Even after we solve my murder.”
She sighed against
him before easing back. The smile she gave him didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I
would love to have you here with me, if you want that as well.”
He smoothed back a
stray wisp of hair and cupped her cheek, trying to determine the cause of her
withdrawal. Then tried a different tactic, sliding his fingers into the hair at
her nape, not trapping her, only holding as much as she allowed. His fingers
lingered in her hair, and with his thumb on her chin, he tilted her face up
until his lips met hers. She didn’t speak, but her breath caught as she leaned
into him, meeting his caress with her own. It wasn’t a cinematic kiss of sudden
passion and overwhelming hunger, but a slow search for mutual warmth. She
trembled in his arms, and he let a little hunger seep into his caress, then
left her mouth to trail kisses over her cheek, pulling her tightly to his
chest. “Yer the one bright spot in all this. I’m not sorry I met ye, Ann
Darby.”
Black Cat Devotion
Ghosts of Border House Book 3
by Vanessa Victoria Kilmer
Genre: Paranormal Ghost Romance
Black cats love
sunshine.
Bubbly but lonely Scottish heiress, Morven Blair, connects
with Black Kat, a cranky internet pixie with a secret identity and a reputation
as a myth buster. Morven asks Black Kat to prove the existence of ghosts and
certify Border House, “the most haunted place in the world.” Black Kat intends
to prove it’s all a con. Opposites do attract, but do they really know love at
all?
“I’m an early riser,” Tibby
said, sipping from the only pink mug in the place. Interesting.
“Can
I make you something to eat? Eggs. Toast.”
“No,
I have to have second coffee before I can even think about food in the
morning.”
I
opened the back door for Dam. “Is she okay to wander around outside? We have
wild animals roaming around.”
“She
thinks she’s a lion, so she’ll be just fine.”
“You
said yesterday that Dam is black in the Thai language. Is your heritage Thai?”
I sat with my coffee in my favorite mug, covered in sunflowers. I inhaled the
aroma with a deep breath through my nose. I drink my coffee black. I peeked
into Tibby’s cup. Her cup had lots of milk in it.
She
wrinkled her nose as if she considered not answering.
“You
don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Privacy is a good thing.”
She
stared at me for a long time, deciding.
“It’s
not really that big a deal. I’m just not used to sharing with someone I just
met.” She dipped her pinky into her coffee. “None of us know our birth
families, but we want to know. We took those DNA tests to see if we could find
any relatives. Mine said I’m part Thai and part French.” She got up to pour
more coffee. She held the pot up to me in a silent question.
I
shook my head.
She
went to the fridge to dilute her coffee and cool it off. No wonder she drank it
so fast.
“Have
you taken one of the DNA tests?” She asked as she sat back down at the table.
“God,
no.” I laughed as I pointed at my chest. “Nobility here. There were few
marriages for love in my family’s history. If we took a DNA test, we might find
out we’re related to the stable boy.”
Tibby
blinked at me. I wasn’t sure if I was kidding her.
I
raised an eyebrow. “I’m not joking.”
“Well, alrighty then.”
The Brewmaster’s Kiss
Ghosts of Border House Book 2
by Leah Miles
Genre: Paranormal Ghost Romance
After fifty-five years, Nova Guthrie has returned to
Scotland for the annual Halloween Ball at Border House. Or that is her excuse
to return to the home of her youth and bid farewell to memories of her lost
lover.
What she doesn’t know is that Donnal Stuart still haunts the grand mansion,
along with a few other ghostly characters—one of whom will do everything she
can to keep them apart.
This story is about true love and secret ghost powers bundled up in a haunting
tale of second chances.
“Don’t yell at me. You told me to speak to her,” Ann replied
sulkily. “All I did was say hello.”
Donnal threw up his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think this
through.” He struggled to regain his composure. “If I can’t talk to her, and
hearing yer voice frightens her, what’s the alternative?”
Unaware of their presence, Nova pulled a book from the shelf and
began flipping through it.
“Look there, Donnal. She isn’t frightened. She’s reading a book.”
Ann made a bored sound in her throat. “I’m going to the dining room. King Edgar
might be there. What did he say when you spoke to him? Am I in the clear?”
Donnal shrugged. “Edgar agreed to commute yer sentence, but ye
need to be in the drawing room before dawn tomorrow for the speech. And no
interruptions.”
“Ugh.” She made a face. “Fine. I’m going then. Louisa Stuart said
it was roast beef tonight, and I want to sniff it before it all gets eaten.”
“Ann …”
“What?”
“Thanks for trying.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it, pausing a long moment before
resting a hand on his sleeve. “When your lost love returns to America, maybe we
can take that walk in the garden.”
“Sorry, Ann.” Donnal shook his head. “Even if Nova is far away or
long dead, she holds my heart. I just wish there were some way to tell her how
I feel,” he said, sidling closer to read over Nova’s shoulder.
Ann huffed. “Well, if that’s the way of it, I do have one idea.”
Hope speared through him, but he quickly squashed it as he faced
Ann. “We tried, and that’s enough for now. Maybe on Halloween—”
“Use your water power,” interrupted Anne.
His mind went blank. What did she mean? “Water power?”
“Don’t be dense, beer man. I heard you talking to James Graham a
few years ago. You died when your steam device exploded, and the
steam-propelled metal bits stabbed you in the heart. Right?”
He pulled back his shoulders. “Aye …”
“So …” Ann tapped a red-tipped finger against her equally red
lips. “Can you manipulate water? Or is it just steam?”
“Not in great amounts, but I can move water.” He scrubbed a hand
over his thick black curls. “It’s nae impressive.”
Ann gestured toward Nova. “She has a cup of tea right there. You
could slosh it around or something.”
“What purpose would it serve?”
Ann clicked her tongue and crossed to where Nova was flipping
through a second book. She jabbed a finger toward the teacup resting on the
ledge of the bookcase, then whispered in Nova’s ear. “Donnal is here.”
Nova jolted and dropped her book on the polished wood floor. “Donnal?”
she whispered.
He glowered at Ann for forcing this moment and concentrated on the
tea until it churned and sloshed over the rim.
“What the—” Nova snatched up the cup and used her sleeve to wipe
the spilled tea from the shelf before it reached any books. She held the cup
away from her and cast her gaze warily around the room. “I can’t believe I’m
going to say this. Donnal, if you’re here, prove it.”
Ann giggled. “See? I was right! Come on, come on. Spill it again.”
“It’s no small effort to move inert fluid.” Donnal cracked his
knuckles and refocused on the tea. Seconds later, it sloshed over the rim a
second time.
“I know I didn’t do that,” Nova said, her eyes wide.
The library door burst open, and the Earl entered with another
man. “Jack, I need to … hang on. What are you doing in here? Nova Guthrie, isn’t
it?”
“Yes,” she stammered and moved a foot to cover the spilled tea on
the floor. “James.”
“No. It’s John.” His lips curled in irritation. “Dinner will be
served shortly. This is my private library. Not available to the guests.
Valuable things in here, you see.”
“Apologies.” Her gaze darted around the room before she hurried
out.
Excerpt 3 The Mist
She set down the coffee to tug on her gloves, then, picking up the
cup in one hand, she carefully made her way down the stairs to the edge of the
garden where she’d seen Donnal the previous morning. The soft rain created a
haze over everything. Not the same as yesterday’s mist, but thick and white.
Nova shivered and sipped her warm drink. This was ridiculous. She should go
back inside—
“Nova?”
She spun so quickly that she dropped her mug on the flagstones,
where it shattered into pieces.
“Can ye hear me then?” Donnal hovered, a shimmering apparition, a
bare foot away from her.
“Yes, Donnal. If that is you, I hear … I hear you.” Her knees
trembled.
He grinned. “My love. Can ye see me? Or is it only my voice?”
“I see an outline of you,” she said, raising a hand to the
shimmering image. When her fingers passed through his shoulder, she yanked her
hand back.
“Do not be afraid, my darling. Ye have no idea how happy it makes
me to stand in front of you again.”
Tears mixed with the mist on her face. “I have dreamed of you. But
I don’t understand how you are here.”
He shrugged, and the scent of apples and cinnamon flavored the
rain. Donnal hadn’t aged past the thirty years he was at his death. Granted, he
was an outline, a misty, colorless visage, and oh, how she longed to see his
black hair and blue eyes one more time. She didn’t even have a photo to
remember him by. “Most souls cross over to wherever they’re going as soon as
they pass, and others remain near the place of their demise. I’m one of several
ghosts that haunt Border House.”
“Do you want to stay here?”
“My darling Nova, I have only wanted to see ye all these years.
Before the sun rises or this mist subsides, I want to say that I love ye. And I’m
sorry for not being the man I should have been all those years ago. I hurt ye,
and for that I’m truly sorry.” He spoke fast as if afraid he wouldn’t get his
words out.
She shivered and moved nose to nose with Donnal’s apparition. “If
forgiveness is what you need to move on to the next life, then I forgive you.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Nothing happened. “Do you feel
different?” she whispered.
“Not particularly,” he said, opening his eyes. “I suppose it wasn’t
only forgiveness I needed.”
She shivered and folded her arms across her chest for warmth.
“Ye are cold. Perhaps if we walk, ye would be warmer, and ye can
tell me of yer life.”
“Ah.” Nova squinted at the path that she could barely make out in
the dark. “I might trip. I took a fall last night in the brewery.”
“I was there. Do ye remember speaking to me?”
Nova’s throat tightened. “That was real?”
He nodded. “The brewery is my favorite place in the house.”
“I can imagine you working there, if you had …”
“If I had lived. Aye.” Donnal’s apparition dissipated and
reformed. “Sorry, I’m upset about something that I have no control over.” He
flicked out his arms, and water splashed on her face.
She used the edge of her sleeve to dab at her cheek and shivered
again. “What sort of thing upset you?”
“The Earl is selling my legacy.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Do ye remember the Scotsman who came into the library with the
Earl?”
She nodded and stamped her feet. “I do.”
“He’s purchasing the brew recipes from Border House. All of them.
Including my special spiced beer.” He plucked his bottle from somewhere at his
waist and took a swig. “They are meeting this morning. If he sells the secret
recipe, the Earl may as well close the brewery down forever.”
“Border House is famous for its special beers. I don’t understand
why he would sell your recipes.”
“Money. The Earl is short of cash.”
She wished she hadn’t dropped her hot coffee. “Do you know what
the Scotsman is paying?”
“It doesn’t matter. There’s no way to stop it—”
The rain ceased, and when it did, his figure evaporated on the
breeze.
“Donnal?”
Nothing.
“Don’t give up,” she whispered before turning back to the stairs.
Love Lost & Found
Ghosts of Border House Book 1
by Vanessa Victoria Kilmer
Genre: Paranormal Ghost Romance
2026 National
Excellence in Romance Fiction Award (NERFA) – Romance Novella category
In 1566, Thomas Kincaid is murdered at Border House by agents of the Scottish
King. Thinking himself betrayed by his soulmate, Sara Mae Stuart, Thomas curses
her to a life of reincarnation with his dying breath.
When Sara Mae dies of a broken heart, she is reborn again and again.
After 450 years of reincarnation, Sara Mae returns to Border House to perform a
séance and break her curse. She discovers a host of unsettled spirits, each
harboring their own hidden agendas, and Thomas, lurking inside her crystal
ball.
Can love survive revenge, guilt, and a quirky spiritual divide?
Amazon * * Bookbub * Goodreads
Confused was too tame a word for
how Thomas felt after last night. Baffled. Befuddled. Bewildered. No, more like
flummoxed or deranged. He huddled in the Haunted Cellar, so named because he
haunted it. The lowest most point of the manor, it served as a cell for
prisoners. No one came here, so he was assured of some peace. The warped
floorboards felt smooth and cool; a breeze from a loose stone in the corner
foundation brought damp, earthy scents up through the gaps between the wooden
planks set a foot above the cellar ground.
He peeked through the gap beneath
him. Fiona had not put the locket back where he had hidden it. Perhaps if he
asked her nicely, she might bring it back to him or give it to Sara Mae. Did he
want her to have it? He lost his resolve last night when he almost followed
through on his revenge. He didn’t think he could try again. He still harbored
anger towards her, and the anger simmered in his heart, but the love was still
there, too. He didn’t think he’d ever see her again, so he hadn’t planned to
face the love that never went away.
That was the real curse they both
lived under, a situation with many names but well known throughout the ages:
Beloved of the Soul, Twin Flames, the Other Half, Soulmate. Whatever one called
it, it was inescapable. He spent so many years dreaming of revenge. Now that he
couldn’t follow through, he was at a loss.
A collective wailing, the spiritual
equivalent of a gasp of shock, whirled through the manor. Thomas followed the
disturbance to the first-floor family rooms. The room at the front of the left
wing housed the sitting room. Three-quarters of the ghost residents milled in
the tight quarters.
Davina Blair, dry, dreaming and
wrapped up in the arms of a new ghost, sat on the couch, smiling. The new ghost
seemed somewhat familiar. Thomas snapped his insubstantial fingers.
“Patrick Buchan.”
The new ghost nodded.
“But how?” Thomas stammered.
“I found my Vina. She waited for
me. And now, no one will ever keep us apart again.”
The room erupted with applause,
some ghosts forming hearts with their wisps of their spiritual selves like
smoke rings.
“Your dilemma inspired us,” Davina
Blair said. “And now that we are reunited, in love and happiness, we want to
find a way to help you and Sara Mae.” She rested her head on Patrick’s chest,
her ear pressed to the spot where his beating heart would be if he were still
alive.
Patrick nodded. “We can help. At
the very least, we can find the locket and get it to Sara Mae. Beyond that,
we’re not sure because you still hold so much fury, which will block any
suitable solution to your predicament.”
Now that the excitement of a new
addition to the household waned, Thomas was left alone with Davina, Patrick and
King Edgar.
“I had my eye on her,” King Edgar
lamented.
“She’s another relative of yours,”
Patrick said.
King Edgar shrugged. “Again, not a
very close one.”
“Go away, Edgar,” Thomas said. “I
need to think.”
“That’s King Edgar to a lowly
servant.” He blew a raspberry and left the room with a pop.
Malcolm Alba entered the room
through the door.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Thomas said.
“Are we never to have any peace?”
Leah Miles grew
up in Atlanta, Georgia, and planned to have a career as either a television
anchor or a successful author. After getting a bachelor’s degree in English and
communications, she worked at CNN for more than a dozen years in technical news
production. Her second career is managing an insurance agency in rural Georgia,
along with six brand-new Airbnb-style rentals, with her husband. When not
writing insurance or cleaning cabins, she cherishes quality time with her hubby
and their cocker spaniel, Hootie. They have three adult kids—a doctor, a
lawyer, and a journalist. Leah is currently writing a series with military
elements involving take-charge heroes and women who stand up for themselves and
the people they love. For updates, visit leahmilesauthor.com.
Website * Facebook * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads
Vanessa Victoria
Kilmer told her first story to an angel who visited her when she was locked
in a dark, medieval attic at the age of four.
She grew up surrounded by fortified castles, primal salt
mines, and the drama of ancient places. Her fantasy fiction teems with murder,
magic, and madness. She explores the abuse inflicted by those closest to us and
the various ways people deal with the damage. Between writing novels, she
blogs, paints, and takes pictures with her white camera named Traitor and
embroiders tapestries.
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Young Adult Fiction, Coming-of-Age, Contemporary Romance, Magical Realism,
Contemporary Fiction
Date Published: May 30, 2026
At eighteen, Solehn has everything figured out. A thriving social life in New
York, a close-knit circle of friends, and a future she’s carefully imagined.
But when her family unexpectedly falls apart, she’s uprooted from everything
familiar and forced to spend her final semester of high school in Austin,
Texas. Determined not to disappear into a life she never chose, Solehn
reinvents herself. She trades vulnerability for sharp edges, falls into
friendships that demand more than they give, and slowly becomes someone she
barely recognizes. Then there’s Alexander. Quiet, observant, and seemingly
immune to Solehn’s carefully constructed defenses, Alexander is the boy next
door who sees the person beneath her performance. Their unlikely connection
grows through rooftop conversations, shared silences, and an understanding
neither knows how to ask for. But when tragedy strikes, Solehn discovers that
a mysterious yellow umbrella holds an impossible promise: the chance to go
back and change everything. Armed with knowledge of what lies ahead, Solehn
sets out to rewrite the past. Yet the closer she gets to saving the person she
loves, the more she questions whether love means holding on, letting go, or
accepting what cannot be controlled. Because second chances aren’t always
gifts. Sometimes, they come with a price.
Seasons of Blooming is an emotional coming-of-age novel exploring messy
girlhood, complicated families, friendship breakups, first love, grief, and
the desire to undo our greatest regrets. Blending contemporary realism with
magical realism, Doreen Otaru explores what it means to lose yourself, find
your people, and discover that growing up isn’t about becoming perfect. It’s
about learning when and how to bloom. For readers who love complex characters,
slow-burn romance, found family, unexpected twists, and stories that linger
long after the final page.
About the Author
Doreen Otaru is a multidisciplinary storyteller and creative strategist whose
work explores human connection, culture, and the evolving relationship between
media and community. Drawing from experiences across storytelling, design, and
collaborative creative spaces, her work is rooted in curiosity, emotional
honesty, and a deep appreciation for the ways stories shape how people see
themselves and each other.
Non-fiction, Memoir
Follow the true story of two young yet disparate Brits as they venture east to
Hong Kong to join the colonial police out there. Initially bought-in to the
adventure, bright lights and the hedonistic pleasures of the Exotic East, Alan
and Bob are thrown into a world somewhat divergent to the picture painted
whilst under training. They begin to butt heads with corruption, colonial
excess, privilege and protectionism and run into connivers, skivers and
survivors.
The story follows the two young, relatively naive men along their journey from
their eight-month police training to their posts as policemen. It is filled
with colourful incidents and exotic tales, with liberal doses of tongue in
cheek humour and literary licence thrown in, you’ll scarcely believe what they
encountered.
About the Author
Victor Blair is a well-travelled, humorous, rather overly-free spirited
‘baby booming’ Brit, who is luckily still imbued with an energy
belying his years, so hence the slightly provocative gesture above, showing
him probably disagreeing with something or someone, yet again… our
apologies! He has worn ‘many different hats’ in UK banking, and in
a host of overseas appointments, including ten years in the colonial Hong Kong
Police Force, the tourism sector in Asia, and subsequently in worldwide oil
and gas exploration and logistics, and finally, engineering consultancy. An as
yet unappreciated comedic wit and poet, with a bright, if latent, creative
spark, and with early roots in Gloucestershire and Africa. He is now
semi-retired in north Thailand, where he busies himself with his sugar cane
plantation, scripting away at night time, and as the patriarch of his local
wife’s ever-increasing, extended family.
Contact Links
Purchase Link
Date Published: October 30, 2026
Publisher: Changeling Press
Adan, the fiery Spaniard, is a master of disguise. Barika, the dangerous
African Flower, can make any computer obey with a mere touch of a keyboard.
Shen, my delicate Chinese Warrior, speaks several languages fluently and knows
how to use his pretty face to get what he wants. Blain is my temperamental
Irish poet, with the soul of an artist, and the right cross of a heavyweight
champ. Nalu, a large chunk of Samoan perfection, knows anything and everything
about plants and poisons. Delsin has a way with numbers that is damn near
erotic to watch and an understanding of the world that makes me believe his
tales of being the offshoot of a rampaging Indian war-god. And then there’s
Raidon, my sexy Japanese Shogun. Skilled in several forms of martial arts,
Raidon is the smallest — and the most dangerous one of all.
Along with my lover Will, a hand model, we form the best detective agency
ever! We take on the most obscene and dangerous cases ever to develop in the
Red Light District of Baltimore. From cross-dressing vampires to dangerous
warrior cults, we’ve seen and done it all.
Copyright ©2026 by Stephanie Burke
“This is the third such death in five months. Police are baffled as to who
could be doing this… and why. The Irish Eyes Conglomerate, producers of the
ever-popular line of skin care, hair care, and waxing products directed toward
men, is scrambling for answers, and its investors are scrambling to keep their
heads above water.
“This is Denise Robberston reporting live at the site of the Fifth Annual
Microbrewery Convention. Dick, back to you.”
Shelby used the remote to shut down the television and its disturbing imagery.
There was silence for a full minute after the screen went black — total
silence.
She turned to face the group of men sitting around the downstairs boardroom —
okay, living room — of Club Angels. All seven of her boys, plus her man, sat
with faces twisted in an array of emotions from shock to disgust.
“Well?” she asked, feeling that maybe something had gotten through to them,
that they were no longer wrapped up in their own petty concerns, realizing
there were things out there that mattered, and the world didn’t revolve around
them.
She stood back and waited to hear about the injustice of it all.
“Oh my God!” Delsin started, with a toss of his yards-long hair.
“I know!” Adan exclaimed, his voice breathy in horror as he stared wide-eyed
at the blank screen. One hand was balled in a fist pressing against his chest
while the other reached for Nalu, who was just shocked into silence. Like some
of the others, he stared out at nothing.
“Did you see?” Delsin whispered again, turning wide eyes to his compatriots.
“She was wearing red lipstick and blue eye shadow! Those color combinations
are so not in this year!” Adan said. “And they do nothing for her complexion,
like that burgundy shirt. You’d think that someone would have told her it
would make her look more ruddy than she already does!”
“And who styled her hair?” Raidon chimed in. “That just makes her look
bloated! If you’re heavy like that, you pick a haircut that doesn’t make you
look like a reject from parochial Samurai school in Neo Tokyo.”
The others — even William, usually uber-intelligent — for a model — nodded
in agreement. Of course, then he flushed in embarrassment as he took in the
red that had begun to stain Shelby’s cheeks.
“And that’s all that you got out of it?” Shelby nearly shouted, arms akimbo,
indignant that this group couldn’t pull it together and see the big picture.
“That and the co-announcer should be named dick-less,” Shen almost timidly
announced. All the others turned to stare at him as silence filled the room.
“What? I dated him before his male pattern baldness caught up to him — but
for the grace of the Lord we go.” All the men sucked in a fearful, shocked
breath that he would even mention that out loud. “And he got the bad toupee
and the cheesy voice. He’s every size queen’s nightmare.”
“And you still went out with him?” Adan leaned forward to get the good gossip.
He ignored the auburn-highlighted black curls that fell endearingly into his
face as his accent purred around the room, sending an erotic shiver down more
than one back.
“I don’t put out on the first or second dates,” Shen responded. “Besides, I
thought he was a grower, not a shower. Boy, was I wrong.”
They all ah-ed in understanding as Shelby finally reached her boiling point.
“Hello? Narcissi on speed? A man was killed! Now’s not the time to discuss
dick size! There’s murder afoot!”
“And his feet are big so there goes that foot-as-a-ruler thing.” Shen nodded
his head with authority before smiling up innocently at his benefactress.
“I need a drink!” Shelby sighed, looking toward the heavens for help as she
shook her head at the insanity that she willingly surrounded herself with.
“It’s not noon yet, Shelby,” William told her with a frown, taking her at her
word. “But I can make you an Irish coffee.” His smile was both innocent and
charming. “Coffee’s a morning kind of drink.”
“And it’s much later than that in Ireland!” Blain chimed in, all smiles and
helpfulness. “And there’s always a good reason for a shot of good Irish
hooch!” His accent made the words seem cute even though they were the most
idiotic thing she had ever heard.
“Don’t you people understand?” Shelby growled. “People have died!”
“I know!” Barika sighed, looking sad. “I don’t think anyone can recover from
such a bad public appearance. You’d think they would have dressers or someone
to help them out.”
“Too much alcohol.” Will’s mind was still on Irish coffee in the mornings, but
the others agreed.
“Turning into a lush can do that to you, make you forget your appearance and
things,” Shen agreed with Will, silently wondering how such an intelligent man
didn’t get wrinkles from thinking such deep thoughts. “It’s an angle we can
look into.” He smiled at Will. “An alcohol breakdown’s something you can
really never overcome. Even with the help of Betty Ford, your image would
be… irredeemable.”
Solemnly, the other seven nodded, then dropped their heads, giving the
fallen-from-grace reporters a moment of silence.
Giving up on trying to make them see her point of view, Shelby walked over to
the low coffee table and snatched up a file folder.
“Okay, Angels, listen up.” When you can’t beat them, move on, was her motto.
“There’s a mystery to solve, and we have been hired to crack this case.”
“Somebody hired us? After that Jacuzzi incident?” Will asked, shock in every
line of his body, as a fire suddenly lit in his eyes. Then his eyes narrowed
in suspicion. “Model or PI?”
“PI,” she assured, then sighed as several masculine exclamations of delight
floated around her, accompanied by hand slaps and high fives.
“And if we’re all finished celebrating, I think I should inform you of the
particulars.”
Suddenly, they were all business, attentive as a pack of puppies fresh from
obedience school.
Excellent.
“Okay, Angels, here are the facts. Irish Eyes stock’s going to start to
plummet, despite the fact that several important celebrities endorse them. The
scandal’s good for sales with the gory set, but we’re all sure that won’t
last. They need answers and they need them fast. That’s where we come in.”
“We get to sleuth?” Adan asked, almost wriggling in delight in his seat.
“We get to sleuth and model and crack this case. I’m sure you are all
qualified and we’ll wrap this up quickly.”
She smiled at the pride that beamed from her seven boys and one man. This was
a good thing she was doing. It was the right thing, giving them something
rewarding to do with their lives. And it was better than shaking their asses
and having drunken rowdy women shove dollars down their G-strings.
“Who does what?” Barika asked, placing a calming hand on Adan’s shoulder.
“Well, I have broken this down as I see fit. If there are any objections,
please let me know and we’ll discuss it. I’ll give you my reasoning as well.”
There were nods of agreement, and Shelby looked down at her file folder and
began to read.
“Adan, Blain, and Raidon, you will play model this trip. No fighting, Blain,
but feel free to defend any of the guys, not that they’ll need it. You fit the
traditional look they’re going for, and you have the accent.”
“I have the lilt in my voice and the face to pull it off.” He smiled. “Plus, I
really am Irish, Shelby! I’m authentic! Don’t be forgetting that!”
She nodded, then carried on. “Adan, you can be anything so be more European.
Foreign buyers relate to that and Americans find it sexy. Not only that, but
while Blain distracts them, you can ferret out inside info from the people
behind the scenes.”
“Right, Boss,” he agreed, already planning his persona for this job.
“Raidon, you’re going because you can kick ass and take names.” They all
laughed at that and a rare blush, a flush of delight, spread out over the
Japanese man’s face. “That, and I need you to back up the guys, to keep anyone
from getting too close, and see if you can use that brain of yours to find any
underworld connections.”
“Mafia, Yakuza, or Tong?” he asked. No one questioned how he would know. Hell,
Shelby wasn’t sure she wanted to know. But he was on their side, and that was
good enough for her.
“Any and all, and if there are organized, non-familial groups too. You’re good
at that sort of thing.”
“I’m great at that sort of thing,” he corrected, and it wasn’t bragging, it
was just the pure and honest truth.
“Barika, I want you on computers. I want you to dig up anything you can about
Irish Eyes and its parent company, Green Isles Industries. Make it thorough.”
“Give me time and I can tell you what color underwear the president wears and
his sperm count.”
“Um, do it fast and you can keep the sperm.”
“Good for the skin, ain’t that right, Shen?” he chuckled, and Shen blushed red
as a beet.
The rest groaned.
“Nalu, if I get you the autopsy reports, can you tell me what’s going on?”
Shelby continued.
“Yes.” Then he was off in his own little world again, probably dancing with
dolphins or something.
“Delsin and Shen, you guys are backup. I want you to be communications for the
inside guys — be boyfriends, best friends, makeup people, entourage, or
something. But you’ll be the only connection between them and me and any help
they may need. I’m counting on you two.”
“Do we get that neat spy stuff that William’s always buying and refusing to
let us touch?” Rika asked, his eyes bright and hopeful.
“Um, yeah!” Shelby laughed as William paled.
“But those are my babies,” Will nearly whimpered, thinking of his precious
electronic devices in the hands of those two.
“And they’re designed to do a specific job, babes.” Shelby chuckled. “I’m sure
these guys will take good care of them.”
“They’d better,” Will whined, resigned. “Because if they don’t, I’ll add
alcohol to their skin creams and piss in their hair tonics.”
They all blanched at that declaration.
“We’ll be good,” Delsin promised, eyes wide in horror. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout,” Rika snorted as he rose to his feet, smoothing his
dreads neatly back into his ponytail.
“Only because they wanted me to cut my hair.” He sniffed. “I don’t know why I
wanted to join. Those uniforms are so tacky.”
Then the conversation turned toward uniforms, men in uniforms, and how
terribly gay the new Marines’ uniforms were — in short, another beautiful day
in the basement.
“What have I gotten myself into?” Shelby sighed, then grinned as Will
presented her with a steaming hot mug of… Irish coffee.
She hadn’t even noticed him leave the room to fetch it. But she smiled as she
took a sip.
He was good, in more ways than one, she decided. She licked a bit of whipped
cream from her upper lip and smiled as he shot her an evil smirk. He was damn
good.
And he had trained the boys, so all would be well. What could possibly go
wrong?
Stephanie is a USA Today Best Selling, multi published, multi award-winning
author, Master Costumer, handicapped, wife and mother of two.
From sex-shifting, shape-shifting dragons to undersea worlds, sexually
confused elemental Fey and homo-erotic mysteries, all the way to
pastel-challenged urban sprites, Stephanie has done it all, and hopes to do
more.
Stephanie is an orator on her favorite subjects of writing and world-building,
a sometime teacher when you feed her enough tea and donuts, an anime nut, a
costumer, and a frequent guest of various sci-fi and writing cons where she
can be found leading panel discussions or researching varied legends and
theories to improve her writing skills.
Stephanie is known for her love of the outrageous, strong female characters,
believable worlds, male characters filled with depth, and multi-cultural
stories that make the reader sit up and take notice.
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