Dakota: “Don’t you think that would stretch the boundaries of credibility, Marty? I mean, if you grew four inches suddenly—”
Nina snorts—loud and dripping with derision. I know, I know, I keep saying this. She’s impossible, but you have to trust me and just wait to see her in action.
Nina: “Credibility? Listen, Gandhi, who do you think you are? You write stupid fluffy books about the supernatural—”
A loud knock on my office door interrupts us. Thank God. I hope it’s my husband bearing something in a bottle that reads one hundred proof. But it’s not. It’s my favorite demon, Darnell, whom I simply adore. I hope you will, too.
Dakota: “Darnell! I’m so glad to see you! How’s life?”
Darnell, a big, rap-loving, high-top-wearing gentle giant, hesitates by the door but it’s clear he has something on his mind.
Darnell: “I’m just wonderin’ if you got a minute to spare?”
I pat the edge of my desk and give Darnell the warmest smile I have.
Dakota: “You bet, buddy. I always have time for you. What’s on your mind?”
He sighs and looks me straight in the eye.
Darnell: “Why is it you didn’t feel I was important ’nuff to introduce me, too? I mean, I done a lotta savin’ in my time with y’all.”
I grab Darnell’s big hand and squeeze it, because if Darnell’s unhappy, I’m unhappy. He’s one of the most beloved characters in the series, and I never want to mess that up.
Dakota: “Of course you have, Darnell. You’ve gotten the girls out of some sticky situations. I just thought it might be too much at once, you know? I didn’t want to overwhelm people. I mean, you have to admit, the girls are a lot on their own. But you’re right. You deserve an introduction because you’re awesomeness.”
Darnell nods and smiles his infectious grin—a grin that can light up an entire room and make your heart glow.
Darnell: “Appreciated.”
Dakota: “Darnell is a demon rolled in teddy bear who was first featured in Accidentally Demonic, book four in the series. He was turned into a demon with trickery and deceit after trying to help his family financially. He flies low under the radar of Hell and consistently lives a life of redemption, despite knowing he’ll be a demon for eternity. He’s helped me out of more writing corners than I can count, too. He’s fond of high-top sneakers and wears thick gold chains around his neck, and his very southern drawl/slang was based on a friend of my son’s who really exists and really has this exact accent and cadence to his speech patterns.
“He loves children and animals and he helps Nina take care of Carl the zombie. He became so popular with readers of the series, he’s been with us ever since. Right, bud?”
I grin at Darnell and he tips an imaginary hat at me with a chuckle.
Darnell: “You bet, DC. That felt a little like bein’ on the Datin’ Game. But I think we all good now.”
A very British clearing of the throat sounds from just outside my door. Ah. Archibald. I look to Darnell in question.
Dakota: “Is that Arch outside, clearing his throat so he’s noticed while not visibly breaking the manservant code of always being available but not heard?”
Darnell grins and nods his head.
Darnell: “You know Arch, always puttin’ on the ritz. He didn’t want to be rude, but I think his feelin’s are all hurt that he wasn’t invited to the party.”
I lean over my desk and shout out to my favorite manservant.
Dakota: “Archibald, did I hurt your feelings, too?”
Archibald shuffles in; his gait is still spry, his suit and ascot pristine, his wrinkled face warm and kind.
Archibald: “Well, if you don’t mind my speaking out of turn, miss, yes. Yes, my feelings were ever so hurt. Certainly I’ve been of some value to all of you? I couldn’t go on if I didn’t think I was an asset to the team.”
Nina reaches out and rubs Archibald’s arm in sympathy.
See? Puppies and people in need. She really is nice on the inside.
Nina: “Look, Arch, my man, what’d I tell you about having all those girlie feelings? Keep them on the inside. Especially today, when all I want to do is get the hell away from this woman who won’t quit writing books about us.”
Okay, so she can be gruff when she’s attempting nice.
Archibald’s eyes go wide in disbelief at Nina’s forward words, but then he just chuckles.
Archibald: “I’ll attempt to make this as quick and painless as possible. Miss Dakota, please carry on before our out-of-sorts vampire takes exception. Oh, and a most respectful wave to new and returning readers alike!”
Dakota: “So as I said earlier on, Archibald was introduced in book three as Heath’s manservant, who, along with Heath, was turned back into a human when their sire was killed. His manners are impeccable, as is his record for manservant-ing, and I love his warmth and his all-are-welcome attitude.
“He played an integral part in helping Wanda and Heath on their romantic journey, and he’s a whiz at legend and folklore because he’s been alive for ages, and he’s also helped me out of a pickle or two with his knowledge of such. He’s an amazing cook, and lovingly referred to as “Grammpa” by all of the Accidental children who have been born since the series began. A role he takes great pride in.”
Archibald beams at me. He loves being Grammpa, even though there’s no biology involved. The one thing you can count on with The Accidentals is their love of family. Once they’ve helped you out of a jam, you’re in their circle of friends forever, and if you’re ever in dire straits, all you have to do is call.
And now I’m going to wrap things up because I can see Nina’s antsy, and Marty’s filing her nails.
Dakota: “Okay so, is that everything, girls? Is everyone satisfied with their introductions?”
Nina all but knocks her chair over trying to get out of it, sets Milo and Pebbles in their beds and flicks my shoulder. This is a sign of affection in Nina-Land…
Nina: “I’m golden. Good seein’ ya, Boss. Can’t wait to see what you’ve cooked up in Aphrodite. I hope it’s another stupid girl who cries and whines about having some supernatural power she doesn’t know what to do with. Those are my fucking favorite.”
I sigh at Nina, but there’s no point in defending what’s going to happen in this next book—because she’s not going to like it. I decide to save myself the hassle of her angry, colorful protests.
Dakota: “Yep. We’re good, Vampire. Glad we had this chat. Off you go.”
Marty rises and leans in to give me a vanilla-scented hug.
Marty: “It was so lovely to see you again, Dakota. Unlike our Nina here, I can’t wait to see what crazy ideas you have for Aphrodite. I mean, the Goddess of Love? It’s so romantic!”
Nina gives Marty a nudge in the back, right between the shoulder blades.
Nina: “Hey, ass-kisser supremo—move it. I want out and you’re my damn ride.”
Wanda bats at Nina’s hands with her gloves.
Wanda: “Nina, by all that’s holy, knock it off! Now, you take your surly attitude right out of this office this instant, get in that car, and you will sit quietly the entire ride to that food truck with the deep-fried ribs or so help me, I’ll make you wear yellow for a week. Now march!”
Dakota: “Byyyye, Vampire! Give my Charlie hugs and kisses, meanie-butt!”
Nina makes a face at Wanda and me but stomps out of my office behind Marty, her work boots echoing her discontent on my hardwood floors.
Wanda turns to me and smiles, lovely and sweet, and gives my hand a quick squeeze.
Wanda: “Dakota, as always, it’s been lovely to see you. Oregon is gorgeous—all these mountains and the clean air. Love! It almost makes me want to leave New York. And I’m with Marty. I can’t wait for Aphrodite. I just know we’re going to have our hands full with this case, but you know me. I love a good adventure. So whatever you have in store for me, I’m ready.”
I smile at Wanda. Thank
God for Wanda.
Dakota: “It was great seeing you, too, Wanda. My love to Heath, okay? And thanks for your support. I can always count on you to keep everything together with a modicum of sanity.”
Wanda wiggles her fingers at me, heading out the door with Archibald and Darnell in tow.
So, darling readers, that’s everything you need to know about The Accidentals if you’re just now jumping in at book ten. I hope you’ll join me, Nina, Marty, Wanda, and my hero and heroine, Quinn and Khristos, on our next adventure in Accidentally Aphrodite—
“Dakotaaaaa!”
Aw hell. Nina’s back. I hear scuffling outside my office door and then my favorite vampire’s head appears. Her pale, beautiful face full of concern. “Have you seen Carl?”
Oh jeez. Carl. Did I also mention he’s sweet and kind and wants to be friends with everyone (and, ironically, a vegetarian? See The Accidental Werewolf 2: Something About Harry for an explanation) who has a penchant for giving Nina a nervous breakdown when he disappears because something shiny caught his eye? Nina adopted him after book eight, and if I didn’t say so before, he, too, is a big fan favorite.
But he can be a little flighty. I mean, I had to work in the “Where’s Carl?” factor somehow, right?
I scurry out of my office chair and reluctantly leave the thought of an entire bottle of Jack behind. “I haven’t seen him, Nina.” Fear strikes deep in my heart. “Oh my God. Did you lose Carl? We can’t have him running around in broad daylight in my neighborhood, Nina! He’s a zombie, for crap’s sake!”
Nina gives me the finger. “Like I don’t know that, Wordsmith? You damn well wrote him. Wasn’t it you who thought it was a total LOL to have him up and disappear all the time so you could give a shout-out to your readers? You did giggle when you wrote it, didn’t you?”
I hang my head in shame. Yes, yes, yes! I admit I giggled.
I give Nina a sheepish look. “Okay, I giggled, all right? But c’mon, it’s funny, right? Vegetarian zombie who loves broccoli is saved by a crusty vampire from a witch doctor who screwed up bringing him back to life and has to have his hand duct-taped in place from time to time is kinda LOL. Right?”
Nina squints at me like I’m the one without marbles in my head just before she flicks my messy ponytail. “What the hell goes on in that big nest of fake blonde hair you got piled on that empty head of yours?”
Marty skids back into my office, her heels clacking on the floor as she grabs the doorframe, clearly winded. Her face is flushed and her perfect hair is mussed from the wind and rain. “Nina! Where’s Carl?”
Wanda runs smack into Marty’s back, jolting her forward before grabbing her shoulders and giving Nina the evil eye. “Have you seen Carl? Oh, good gravy. We’ve lost Carl!”
The stumbling, tripping over each other, and blame-game about who lost Carl as they curse their way out of my office in search of our wayward zombie before he gives my neighbors a heart attack makes me pause and smile—it’s like music to my ears.
Because this, my dear readers, is The Accidentals!
Accidentally Aphrodite
The long-awaited trip to Greece should have been the epitome of romance, where Quinn Morris had planned to propose to her boyfriend—before he turned out to be a cheating sac of ’nads. Now she’s in Greece with her friend/study partner Ingrid, a bunch of flowy clothes more suited to an eighteenth-century poet, and a bitter chip on her shoulder the size of the entire continent. Worst. Vacation. Ever.
Until she learns the story of a golden apple at the Parthenon…and finds it…and accidentally bites it…
In the blink of an eye, everything Quinn knows changes—literally. So what’s an ex-romantic to do when she suddenly becomes the goddess of love? With a walking, talking sex god shadowing her every move, Quinn’s sure she can come up with something.
The End
Accidentally Aphrodite
Chapter 1
“Jesus in a flippin’ mumu, Quinn! What the hell happened?”
Quinn Morris’s stunned eyes flew to her college study partner and much younger friend Ingrid Lawson’s face, crimson from the heat of the Grecian day.
Hysteria threatened to take over, forcing Quinn put a hand to her chest to catch her breath before mumbling, “Something?”
Quinn winced when Ingrid lifted a finger and pointed it directly at her. The digit trembled a little as it silently circled Quinn’s chest area. Her mouth opened then snapped shut, as though she couldn’t quite put into words what she was seeing.
Quinn nodded in agreement because, yeah. Holy, holy shit! Plucking at the front of her billowy white blouse, the one she’d specifically picked for this trip because it looked like it was straight from an Audrey Hepburn movie, she looked down into it again, gazed upon her nearly shredded bra, and gasped. The sound of her shock echoed off the Parthenon columns and reverberated in her ears.
Then she looked again and gulped.
Oh, dear.
Ingrid fisted her hands and brought them to her forehead, shaking her head as though she were trying to shake off some terrible memory.
Which was odd…
When she looked back up at Quinn, her eyes, hidden beneath the dark gothic makeup she favored, bulged from her head. Her words burst out of her mouth like a ball from a cannon. “OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod! Boobs! Big, big boobies!” she shrieked.
Quinn nodded numbly, a hot wind swishing her flirty skirt around her ankles. “So, so big…”
Ingrid clutched the straps on her backpack, her voice shaky. “How did this happen?”
“Um, I don’t exactly know. But I can tell you one thing for sure. They’re no longer the size of crab apples. In fact, they’re a lot more like Shawna Sutter’s cantaloupes now, don’t you think?”
Even in her horror, Ingrid managed to scrunch her face up in distaste. “Don’t even mention that woman’s name at a time like this. No one, and I mean no one, wants to be like Shawna Sutter, even with her stupid cantaloupes!”
Quinn shrugged a little, because even in their shared horror, the truth was the truth. “But you have to admit, she has really nice cantaloupes. Igor seems to think so anyway.”
Igor—her cheating, lying, bottom-feeding almost-fiancé, and the very reason she was here on her dream trip to Greece with Ingrid instead of him—now belonged to Shawna “Cantaloupes” Sutter. Lock, stock, and brainless banter.
“Igor is a bag of dicks!” Ingrid yelped. “Forget about him and that stupid, vapid, silicone-sporting Shawna and explain why you’re literally sparkling like a bunch of rhinestones on some cheap, homemade beauty contestant’s dress?”
Quinn’s eyes flew to her hands and forearms, but she paused. “Do you think it looks cheap? As sparkling goes, I think it’s sort of glowy and ethereal.” Sort of.
Ingrid scoffed her impatience, letting her hands slap her thighs. “Is that really the point here, Quinn?”
She took another deep breath, inhaling the hot air and realizing, no, that wasn’t the point at all. She backtracked in her mind, trying to remember how this had all gone down. “Remember that little old lady on the tour bus on the way here?”
Ingrid nodded and wrinkled her nose. “The one who smelled like a goat?”
“Uh-huh. Did you hear the story she told me about there being a golden apple etched in one of the Parthenon’s columns?”
Ingrid’s breathing hitched, her lower lip, glossed to the max, curled inward. “Was that before or after the butthole called you to ask where his nostril clippers were? I can’t even believe the size of that dick’s clangers.”
Enormous. Igor’s clangers were enormous. “I know, right? Especially seeing as he was doing it from between the very sheets we used our Bed Bath and Beyond fifty-percent off coupon for.”
Ingrid’s eyes narrowed, the crinkle of her leather, spike-studded vest crackling when she threw her arms up in the air. “Did he actually tell you he was in bed with that cantalouped trollop?”
Quinn shook her head, letting her s
traw bag fall to the ground. Suddenly, everything felt very heavy. “Not exactly. I heard Shawna in the background, attempting to pronounce the color fuchsia from the package. I know the word was on the package of sheets because it’s hard to find sheets in fuchsia. Or fuck-see-a, as per Shawna’s interpretation. Igor, in all his kindly professor-ness, helped her sound it out.”
Ingrid’s eyes grew glittery with outrage. “Ohhh, I told you when you packed all the things you had in his apartment you should have taken the sheets, Quinn. I don’t care if the fifty-percent off coupon came from a sale circular addressed to him. He deserves sheets made out of burlap—not Egyptian cotton.”
Quinn’s arms sagged forward a little, but only a little, because it was hard to relax them with her huge new knockers in the way. “You’re absolutely right. I was just trying to be fair, but my regret is real.”
Ingrid peered at her, rolling her hand for her to continue. “So the old lady on the tour bus. Before or after Igor called?”
Grabbing the length of her long braid, Quinn wound it around a finger and tried to remember. “I think it was after. It had to be after because then she heard you give me hell for even answering the phone, knowing he was on the other end of the line. So of course, she heard my pathetic story about how I’d saved a lifetime for this trip and thought Igor should be the one to take it with me because…well, you know the rest…”
The rest being Quinn’s intention to propose to Igor in the place she considered one of the most romantic on earth.
Ingrid’s head fell back on her shoulders, her pale throat exposed to the glaring ball of buttery Grecian sun. “Oh, you did not fall for that story she fed you, did you? She must’ve heard you going on about how Igor was a total jerk, and how you’d had it with romance and love for good.”
“Well, I have,” she defended. She had, too. All her life she’d been told to knock off the daydreaming about her Prince Charming and find a man who was real.
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