Excerpt Monday The Wicked on the Run (Ch 1)

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Here is an early draft from my paranormal work-in-progress, The Wicked on the Run.

“What’s your problem, Keeley?” Honora toyed with her fingernails. She painted them red and then stared at each finger until it turned gold again. She was bored.

Keeley turned to look at Styx. The punk pixie was intently playing a video game. Bodies were flying and buildings blew up as her fingers flew over the controller. Keeley shook her head. At least Styx wasn’t bored. When Styx got bored, real things blew up.

“No problem, Hon.”

Her friend shook her golden curls. “Somethin’s up with you, babe. You’re never this moody. Well, not most of the time. Did somebody young die today?”

Yeah. Of course Honora wouldn’t ask her if somebody died today. It was always who died today.

“Not exactly.”

“So what’s up?” Honora put her hand over Keeley’s. It was a warm, sunlit caress, heating her icy fingers.

“Nothing. I just need a friggin’ vacation.”

Yeah, a vacation from her life. From Death. Dying. Remorse. More death. Why couldn’t she have been a nymph or a brownie or something? This banshee gig bit a like big shark with its teeth in her ass.

“Do banshees get vacations?” Styx asked, barely looking up from the 45 inch flat screen TV.

“I sure as hell have never heard of it.” Keeley’s job was to guard over a particular unit of the O’Neill clan. But, most of the time, guarding consisted of preventing death, warning about death, or helping the dead cross over. Only once in a while did she get to have any fun with it. Like last week, when she snapped a guy’s wrist who had gotten his knife a little too close to Katie Kilpatrick O’Neill’s heart.

Keeley generally didn’t kill, but she could maim. A smile crossed her face. But, even her revenge against stupid, strung-out theives and domestic violence abusers wasn’t fun anymore.

“Talk to Council.” This from Honora, the Golden One.

“No,” Keeley replied.

Unlike her best friend, Keeley didn’t have shimmery skin made of honey dipped in gold, didn’t have matching gold eyes that could turn a serial killer into a cherub, and she couldn’t even enthrall a gnome. Council listened to her about as much as Republicans listened to Democrats. Or, about as much as soldiers listened to ants.

“If you don’t ask, you don’t get, sugar,” Honora said.

She grimaced. “If I ask, I’d get a longer sentence.”

Styx yelled. “Alright! Wicked!!” She jumped up with her arms in the air. Then, as if she’d been talking to them all along, she said, “I thought yours was a life sentence.”

“Yeah, one thousand years and counting…”

She was going insane. Day by day.

“Geez, Keel.” Styx stood over the bed. At five feet and three inches, this was the only possible way she could tower over her. “You need to get laid.”

“What?”

“When was the last time you got a little some some?” Honora looked up from painting her toe nails. She looked closely at Keeley. “Wait. Don’t answer that.”

Styx looked over at Honora. “No.” She looked back at Keeley. “Seriously. You can’t have only been with Aramar.” Before Keeley could even try to lie, Styx continued. “Oh, my god. The last lay you had was Mr. Unseelie-Stick-Up-His-Ass?”

Keeley didn’t reply.

“Cocksucker.”

“Styx, you have the foulest mouth I’ve heard outside of Hades,” Honora reproached. “Can you even try to speak like a lady?”

“Can you like…try like…to not talk like you’re a valley girl?”

Honora threw a pillow at her. It turned gold and heavy in her hand. Styx held up her palm and flames shot from it.

“Stop!” Keeley called out. “Can you two cool it? I’d like to keep my house in one piece. The last time you two got going, I had to spend $5,000 on new furniture!”

“Well, little miss pants on fire has a point.” Honora stood up. “You’ve got to get a little release honey. All that death and disaster has got to take a toll.”

Great. Just great. The last thing she needed was for them to start fishing for blind dates. The last time Styx had tried to fix her up, she’d walked into the bar to find a tatted, snake-haired gorgon. No thanks.

“I just need a little excitement. You know, a challenge. Lately, the most danger my O’Neills get into is drunken bar fights. Other than that one stupid kid with the knife, I haven’t had any action in months.”

Thunder sounded.

They looked around. Lightening flashed in the center of the room. Two missives flew out of the brilliant white light. They were sealed with gold ribbon and red wax.

As if this night couldn’t get any friggin’ better. A summons.

Looks like she'd have to confront Council tonight, after all.

“Well, you two kiddies have fun!” Styx turned away. And plopped down on the floor in her little black mini skirt.

Honora smiled. “Well, Keeley. You said you wanted a challenge.”

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