Friday, July 12, 2013
Excerpt from Book 1:
That's the part about being a vampire that I've always hated.
The perks are great, but lunch can kill you... and I'm not talking 'I can't believe I ate the whole thing' kind of kill you, either. I mean, pull a wooden stake out of their back pocket and murder you. Honestly, who would like that?
Let's be clear about my present situation. I wasn't trying to eat anybody when the blonde psycho decided to do precisely that: stab me with a stake. Here I am, just trying to make an honest living when some whack job with a slayer complex comes darting out of the shadows and decides that I'm the one responsible for all the crimes my kind and those like me or pretending to be like me have committed over the past several centuries in reality and in fiction. I'm being assaulted over Dracula. Thanks, Stoker.
Now, I am very grateful to the public school system. In their lovely statement of patriotism, the Pledge of Allegiance, their having all children put their hands over the far left sides of their chests under the mistaken impression that's where the heart is (rather than more centralized) has repeatedly saved my undead ass. It still sucks (no pun intended) to get stabbed, but at least I'm not dead, or any deader than I was before.
This turn of events was bad enough, but I could handle it. What I couldn't handle quite so easily were the hysterics.
No, I'm not talking about my hysterics. I wasn't hysterical. In fact, given the circumstances, I was really quite calm. I'm talking about my clients. While I'm sure that having their Preternatural Expert Advisor type person skewered wasn't in their original plan, I was walking and talking, so was it really necessary to carry on like that?
"Mrs. White, please, really, I'm okay. Calm down," I said through grit teeth. My hand pressed against the wound, holding back the oozing tide for a few moments.
If it hadn't been for the screamers to my left, I probably would have gone after the bitch and said shoulder be damned, but my tearing off probably would only make the situation worse and besides, I was a little impaired. I wouldn't forget the face. I was sure I'd find her again later and we'd have a real fight, a fair fight.
"But then... she just... out of nowhere... blood..." Mrs. Regina White sputtered, as if she'd been the one stabbed, before she promptly passed out.
Ernest White, who I assumed was her husband although no one had actually clarified it to me, knelt down beside her in a panic and then glared at me. Like this was my fault! What am I supposed to say? 'Gee, sorry for getting stabbed. I'll try not to leave a mess on your grave yard...'
I hate mortals sometimes.
Running after the stake-wielding psychopath was looking better all the time.
Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on the hood of my car. I had little patience for theatrics, but didn't quite feel free to leave, so this seemed like a good compromise. My hyper-physical body had healed the wound, although the blood drying on my skin and shirt was kind of gross. Still, I could handle it.
My bigger concern at the moment was Ernest, who was walking towards me. Don't get me wrong, I was positive I could take him in any sort of fight, fair or otherwise, but it was more the stress factor I was worried about. On a scale of one to ten, my night was already crawling into the negatives.
"Miss Stanton," he began, dry-washing his hands.
I wanted to correct him and tell him to call me something else, but the truth was that I didn't really have a title. For some reason, 'Miss' Stanton just sounded wrong to me.
He continued, "I'm terribly sorry about Regina. She just doesn't handle surprises very well."
Proudly, I was able to stave off the smirk and comment along the lines of, 'yeah, this was such a trauma... for her.' I gave myself a gold star for that little piece of self control.
"I'm sure," I replied in my best impression of sympathy.
Really, I'm not normally so crabby, but it was a pretty bad night for me. It wasn't even like this was a high paying job.
Perhaps this would be a good time to clarify a few things.
My name is Sadie Stanton. I'm the owner of the Stanton Agency. We serve the community in all matters preternatural and we specialize in helping the preternatural community, and we had been doing it for... if we were lucky, we'd be looking at a whole year. I started the business not long after the institution of Cameron's Law, which made all supernatural beings legal citizens. I felt that we needed a place where people could come for paranormal services, and where the supernatural could come for help.
Mia Darien is an indie author of speculative fiction, and a New England Yankee transplanted into Alabama clay. No matter her geography, she continues to stubbornly and rebelliously live the life of her choosing along with her family and pets. She doesn't miss the snow.
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