“I can’t believe she screwed us like that,” Roxelle lamented.
Mimick spoke in a cold-hearted tone, more suited for his mechanical appearance. “You should have plugged that bitch back at Panmay. Can’t trust anyone in this universe.”
Oswell said, “I knew from the beginning that they were trouble.”
Boggle jumped in. “Bullshit. You’re just saying that now because it sounds good.”
Roxelle said, “It doesn’t sound good. If you had any reservations, why didn’t you speak up?”
Oswell defended himself, “Like you would ever take a suggestion from me. You or Glint. Never have before, so I just stopped after a while.”
Roxelle lowered her head. She knew it was true and to fight it would be stubborn and futile. She would only be lying to herself. Exhaustion caused an audible yawn and her tight muscles begged her to sit down and relax.
She ignored them and continued to pace around the open room, expecting an idea to hit her with just one more magical step.
Harrins purred, “Do we have a plan B for this plan B? Meaning, how much supplies are on this craft if we can’t strike a deal?”
Mimick said, “We have enough for about sixty-one days, which should give us plenty of time to figure out this problem.”
She stared at her lover and relished the fact that he had always stood up for her, no matter the circumstance. She was at her lowest now, and he still stood right next to her. She wanted to reach out and touch him, feel his warmth and take solace in it. However, her hard-ass tendencies kicked in like a magic potion and her blood chilled.
Roxelle reflected on the past few weeks and it made her head spin. The deaths. The highs. The lows. The heist. The getaway. But it all came back to one person.
“I’m going to kill that little bitch,” Roxelle mumbled.
Boggle chuckled through obvious pain. “You’re never going to see her. She’s probably little bits of space dust by now.”
“No, she’s not. I’ve got this rotten feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know her and the pretty boy got away. I know they are going to get back to earth too. And I know, sure as shit, I’m going to pay her a visit one day.”
Oswell said, “I think we should focus on the current problem and stash that one away for another life.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I can do two things at once, unlike most of you.” Roxelle took a defensive tone. “So we will find a planet to buy some of our stash of diamonds and then we will make it to Earth 43 so I can kill that bitch. If it’s the last thing I do and I die in the process, I’ma kill Whitney Powers.”
The conversation died and everyone continued to move around the cabin, waiting for the damage assessment. After a long time, the automatic door to the cabin slid to the side, and the two technicians appeared.
The female with deep red skin started talking as she approached, “We will be fine for now, but we will need some body work soon.”
“How soon?”
The technician named Nenner, answered. “About seven days. There’s an area near the boosters that’s only going to get worse with the elements and eventually break.” She spoke in a soft voice as the other technician, a short male being with green flesh and wild platinum blond hair, nodded his head up and down, silently reinforcing her words for added veracity.
Roxelle grabbed the head of a chair, stared at the viewport and spun around in a circle. She came to a sudden stop realizing she needed to control her anger. “Thank you for the information and ratcheting up the intensity.”
The technicians left and a hush fell over the cabin, save for the steady hiss of the pressure regulators. Roxelle’s mind went blank and a helpless feeling conquered her shaky emotions. She had always been in control on Centimore. Even if she killed someone, she could pay a fine and walk free within a day.
Being vulnerable was an alien feeling for her and even opening up a bit with Mimick didn’t completely solve the problem. Roxelle was a typical control freak, and when she felt that slipping away, it scared the living hell out of her. She gave in and decided it was time to listen to her crew’s input.
She broke the tense silence. “If we could only find a planet that wants to buy some diamonds, we can get enough food and drink to last a long time until we figure out a better plan. Then we just have to dodge bounty hunters and reward seekers. Fucking StarDreamers.”
Mimick said, “Great. Do you have a host planet in mind? I think we can communicate with almost any planet from the ship.”
Roxelle lowered her head. “Does anyone know of any crooked supreme leaders?”
Oswell raised his hand slowly. “I might know of someone.”
Good. I have a new objective in life. We need to get plenty of supplies and either fix this craft or purchase a new one to take us to Earth 43 so I can kill Whitney, whatever her stupid middle name is, Powers.
22
Whitney kissed her son on the cheek as she leaned back on the leather couch at her sister’s house. “Who’s momma’s big boy? Who’s my big Lancelot? That’s right. Yes, you are. Yes, you are.”
The rest of the family including Darominius, Tara and Bo sat around the living room at the Castle, drinking egg nog and eating gingerbread cookies. The house smelled like fall was meeting winter as the cinnamon and fall spices blended with the smoky pine aroma coming from the steady fire.
The smiling baby gurgled and Whitney kissed him on the cheek. Her mother leaned in like a crane, and said, “Come on, now. It’s grandma time now.”
“Mom, I’ve barely seen my own son since I’ve been home and you’re going to tear him out of my hands like that?”
Her mother cradled the baby, showing years of experience with the way she supported the neck, and also rocked the baby with only one arm. She backed away, sticking her tongue out at her daughter.
Whitney took a drink of the nog and memories of holidays gone by flashed into her head. Eggnog was one of her father’s favorite drinks and he almost always had a glass-handled mug of it in his hands. Trent worked his fingers between hers and locked hands with his eternal lover.
Whitney felt secure again. On reflection, she wasn’t a big fan of undercover work. It was an out of control death ride without any seatbelts. Having no control over the situation at most times didn’t sit too well with her. She realized how recklessly she had acted during the mission. It made for a good movie or TV show, but it also made for a quick death in real life.
Whitney said, “Thank you so much for looking after the business for us while we were gone.” Her family didn’t have a clue about the space mission and they pretended they had gotten called in by the Bureau to help on a developing case, short-circuiting their honeymoon once more. It wasn’t all lies, but it wasn’t one hundred percent truth either.
Aaric said, “No problem. Everything is running great and we were in the black for the first three quarters of this calendar year and that makes two straight fiscal years. Congrats you guys.”
Trent said, “I never expected it to take off like this. To have everything almost paid off already is pretty amazing.”
Aaric chuckled, “You still have a few more payments to make, but I’ve never been paid back so fast on a loan before. It’s remarkable. And Barrett, that guy is a machine. He brings in case after case after case. The man is a walking goldmine for an intelligence company.”
Whitney bragged, “That was probably our best hire.” She directed the comment at her sister.
“Oh, little Whit. You’re lucky I held that office together while you two were gone. You should hear the way the other employees talk about me.”
Aaric said, “I’ll tell you what they really say when Vickie falls asleep.” Aaric was the only one that called her Vickie and Whitney was surprised her sister let him get away with it. She had always gone by her full name or simply Vic.
“All right. All right. Why don’t we talk about something other than stupid work? So what are you guys going to do about the honeymoon?”
Tre
nt and Whitney looked at each other and he shrugged his shoulders.
Whitney’s father, Robert, shouted out, “Just go on another freaking honeymoon. Keep going until you finally get it right.” He slurped down more of his creamy nutmeg spiced liquid, and his cheeks turned a deep red, almost purple color.
“I guess we could do that. I feel like we are cursed when we call it a honeymoon, so let’s just call it a getaway or vacation this time.”
Trent said, “That’s fine, but why are you getting all superstitious all the sudden?”
“I’m not. Maybe I am. I just don’t want it to get messed up if we do it again.”
Trent smiled, lips separating slowly, exposing his pearly whites. “Sounds good. Third time’s a charm I hear.”
Whitney’s mom bounced the baby up and down. “Where are you guys going to go?”
Whitney answered, “You’re lucky I’m talking to you right now, baby snatcher. Since it’s in the best interest for everyone else that I answer this question, I will.” She turned to Trent. “Where do you want to go this time?”
Trent pondered for a few moments and then looked around the room. Everyone waited for his answer. “I don’t know. Why don’t we go somewhere with a lot of history this time? Visit some castles and battlefields and things like that.” He looked at his bride. “Or is that too much, nerdy guy kind of stuff?”
Whitney smiled and said, “I think that sounds perfect.”
SPECIAL THANKS: Nandita, Ljilja, Rebecca, Inger, Bob, Mark, Alyssa.
To keep up with Jason Paul Rice’s new releases and author news, please sign up for his reader group here: http://wix.us12.list-manage1.com/subscribe?u=665dc0f022fe051e64658f2a5&id=fe264a44d3
Don’t forget to visit the Official Whitney Powers Page to keep up with all the new releases in the series: http://jasonpaulricebooks.com/official-whitney-powers-page/
My next release is going to be the first book in an urban fantasy series about a young wizard. Here is a sneak peek of Shifting Problems, Book 1 in the Bloodline Awakened Supernatural Thriller Series.
Shifting Problems
Bloodline Awakened Supernatural Thriller Series, Book 1 By Jason Paul Rice
I walked into the meeting room and guilt attacked me as I said hello to the other members. I had sworn an oath in front of the Celtic Gods to protect Pittsburgh from dark forces. In exchange for my oath, the Druidic physicians and healing witches had cured my lung cancer. The Gods had also promised to turn me into a powerful wizard, but I was only twenty-three, beginning a lifelong journey of magic.
As I sat down, my guilty feelings increased, knowing I had an underworld advantage in my battle, while the rest of the group was at the mercy of their insurance providers to stay alive. I was a regular at the Cancer Support Group on Locust Street in Oakland.
We sat on folding chairs set up in a horseshoe configuration. The early morning sun crept through a set of cracked blinds, casting long shadows across the burgundy carpeting. A small table in the corner had a pot of coffee and pumpkin-spiced rice crispy treats on it. The heat kicked on, creating a competing aromatic swirl of java, perfume and cologne.
A woman with a gaunt face and red handkerchief covering her bald head stood up. “I’m Stacy and I’m a cancer fighter.”
We all rang out, “Hi, Stacy.”
Stacy scratched one of the moles on her pale cheek with a trembling thumb and sniffled through her flared nostrils. “I’m doing better, but not out of the woods yet. I’ve been given a forty-percent chance at survival.” Tears formed in her reddened eyes and she produced a used tissue from her pocket. She blew her nose and everyone waited patiently. Her soft voice cracked as she continued, “I know that’s not the greatest odds, but I’m going to beat it.” She barely got the last few words out.
The rest of the support group started clapping and I jumped up from my chair. I took four steps forward and wrapped my arms around Stacy. Her forehead hit my clavicle and her tears meshed into the fabric of my hoodie with the cursive writing, Merlino Detective Service, across the chest.
I hadn’t known her before she had walked through that entrance door about an hour ago, but when you’re fighting cancer, we all fight under the same flag.
I felt the warmth of her body, but it wasn’t complete warmth, almost an artificial heat. The outer shell of her body carried the heat and hid the icy glacier just beneath the surface. Fighting cancer could do that to a person. You could lie to everyone else about it, but deep down, you could never fool yourself.
It didn’t take a wizard to sense her pain. The group leader, Sharon, cleared her throat for several seconds. The stubborn phlegm didn’t want to come up. It was like years and years of collected cobwebs that she wildly swatted away with a broom, only to create a tangled mess on the bristles and tire herself out in the process.
She finally wrestled the obstruction loose, chewed it up, took a swig of her Diet Dr. Pepper, and swallowed it. I wanted to gag. Sharon said, “Thank you for sharing, Stacy. I know it’s difficult right now, but you have this group behind you. If you ever need anything, we have a master list of everyone’s phone numbers that you can take with you.”
It’s hard to explain what it had been like to hear the diagnosis, once the words finally seeped through the thick layers of shock and denial. Everything had changed. I’d heard almost all those words during the diagnosis a million times before, but not in that particular order. And not that one particular word. Cancer.
I remembered what it was like at first. Everything faded, became dull, vapid, pallid. Like there was nothing there. Everything was stupid. Everything sucked. I was simply waiting to die. A skeleton of bones waiting for the flesh to waste away.
It was important to have people invest emotionally in you when your head was in that state. For me, it was Alayna, the wingless faerie, my savior, and my mentor. I loved her more than my limited vocabulary could properly express. She had taken me to the Druidic underworld known as the Deep Burrow and introduced me to the Celtic Gods.
Some of these survivors didn’t have anyone to turn to, nobody to give a shit about them. You needed somebody, and I wanted to be that somebody that everyone could lean on.
I had an amazing advantage fighting my cancer, and even then it was a great struggle. I wanted to be there for the fighters who didn’t have a strong support system. I let go of Stacy, looked encouragingly into her crying green eyes, and we both returned to our seats.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I slid it out just enough to see who it was. Lieutenant Gretchen Meyer of the newly formed Pittsburgh Police Department of the Occult. I checked the message and it said she needed to talk to me. Strange. She never wanted to talk to me unless she desperately needed help.
I had been providing detective work, even though I didn’t fully understand the craft, for the past year to pay rent and bills. Alayna hadn’t told me the whole truth when she had promised that I wouldn’t have to worry about money. I thought I would get a rich benefactor to put me up in a mansion and give me a new car every week. Wrong. Wrong to the tenth.
I texted Lieutenant Meyer back and let her know that I was in a meeting. My phone immediately buzzed again with one word in all caps. URGENT. Gretchen, who hated it when I called her by her first name, was never one for one-word messages so I had a good idea something big might have happened. Finally.
I had taken on several cases over the last year, only to have them turn out to be paranormal hoaxes and the alien attack had turned out to be nothing more than a rabid barn owl, so I hoped I would finally have the chance to take on a real case.
I texted her back to pick me up at the meeting. I had left a few meetings before they ended, but I always felt terrible about it. These survivors were now my battle brothers and sisters and I wanted to be there for them, as they had for me, for the entire meetings. Unfortunately, the meetings weren’t going to ward off my mentor/angry landlord, Alayna.
Ten minutes later, another text came through. Gretchen was waiting outside,
so I apologized and slipped out the gray door with a square slab of glass at about head level for most people. I stepped out into the chilly autumn day and secured the middle button on my leather jacket.
I opened the passenger door of the ’98 Jeep Cherokee. Gretchen had never picked me up in a squad car. I hopped in and was met by a stiff face and pursed lips. G.M., another nickname I had given her that she hated, scratched her firm chin. I assumed she was in her mid-forties, short and stout, filling out the black police uniform. Her German roots had given her amber eyes, short, sandy-blond hair, bronze skin and a tough-as-nails attitude.
She barked, “You’re not carrying anything wet this time, are you?”
I turned away from her and looked at the sky. A cerulean setting streaked with ivory clouds. No gray ones to be found. “What are you talking about?”
She spoke in a German accent and a deep voice for a woman, “Look, it only takes one time. I don’t know what to expect out of you.”
One time. One time, I had been experimenting with potions and the process went a little haywire. The tiny vial exploded in her car, soaking most of her vehicle and me. In my defense, I did pay for her to have the entire SUV professionally shampooed. I had hoped she would turn down the offer from a broke young man struggling to make his way. I overestimated her. She had told me I needed to learn responsibility someway.
“We’re all good this time. What is so important?”
She pulled out onto the main road and jammed down the gas pedal. “What do you know about animal shifting?”
Okay, this party just got kicked into overdrive. “What is your real question, G.M.?”
She turned and stared at me as she flew down 5th Avenue. “What did I tell you about that? We’re not in some fraternity together, dude, so show me respect and call me Lieutenant.”
Cosmic Diamonds (Whitney Powers Paranormal Adventures Book 4) Page 15