Here’s your Monday Snippet!
FLIGHT FROM DEATH — Book 1 of the Fly By Night Series (a spinoff of Otherworld)Release date: July 7th, 2015. Available for Preorder! If you want an autographed copy, preorder from Seattle Mystery Bookshop. Preorders help authors out SO much!
You can also preorder Autumn Thorns, book one of the Whisper Hollow Series, now!
We were about to head over when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I whirled around to see Chai looming over me. He was dressed, at least—and fully, in a T-shirt that stretched across those broad shoulders of his, and jeans. His hair pulled back into a high ponytail and the massive ring in one ear weren’t the only things that made him stand out. Dressed to fit in or not, the fact remained that Chai was still seven feet tall, with eyes that could never quite pass for human.
“Chai, what are you doing here?” I glanced around, but there was no way he could vanish now without attracting attention.
Ralph gaped up at him. “Hello? I don’t . . . think . . . Shimmer, who is this?”
I rubbed my forehead, suddenly tired. “Chai, meet Ralph. Ralph, meet Chai. Chai is a friend of mine—he’s a djinn. He was supposed to be staying at my house watching after my fish.”
“Chai. Like the tea?”
“Yes. I have no idea where he got the name, but you can ask him later.” I pulled Chai to one side. “What are you doing here?”
“I got worried about you. I had the feeling something was wrong and decided to trace you down and check on you. Are you all right, Little Sister?” Chai reached under my chin and chucked it.
I batted his hand away. “So far, but I need you to leave. Through the door. Wait outside for us, okay?” As I pushed him toward the door, he just shrugged and sauntered off. After he left the building, I turned back to Ralph. “Sorry . . . he means well. He’s a good sort—djinn or not. And he’s exuberant. Kind of like a very smart, very large puppy.”
Ralph was trying not to laugh. I could see it in his face. “Okay, then. I’ll remember that. Puppies can bite, you know.” He nodded at Toby, who had—for the moment—given up on whatever he was trying to do and now was cupping a mug of coffee, leaning back in his chair. “I think we should go talk to him now, while he’s taking a break.”
“Makes sense to me.” I led the way over to the man. He was about thirty-five, maybe forty by the looks of him. “Toby Buckland?”
He jumped a little as I spoke. “What?” Apparently he’d been deep in thought. “I mean, yes . . . I’m Toby. What can I do for you? Are you being helped?” He glanced around, but the garage was so busy that nobody else seemed to have really noticed our presence, which could be a good thing, in our case.
“We’re not customers, thank you. We wanted to know if you had a few minutes to speak to us? It’s about your family and the house on W Street.” As I spoke, a veiled look came over his eyes and he frowned. “I promise, we won’t take up too much of your time. Please, it’s important.”
“Follow me.” He nodded toward what looked like a conference room. Once we were inside, he shut the door. The half window allowed us to see what was going on out in the main garage. He motioned for us to sit at the table. “Okay, who are you and what do you want?”