Hi everyone! This week I’m participating in Valentine’s Blog hop so I will be skipping my Friday post. But don’t forget to visit me on Friday, 2/10/12 at the 7 Scribes. I’m giving away a crocheted candy dot scarf!
For one week only – 2/6/12 – 2/13/13, leave me a comment and you will be entered in a random drawing to win an e-book of my new release Mystic Ink.
The winner will be announced on Valentine’s Day – 2/14!
The last thing Nix, a Sea Nymph, wants to see behind the dumpster near her tattoo shop is another dead mortal. She also doesn’t want to hear Hades piss and moan about how the souls of the dead aren’t making it to the Underworld. And Nix certainly doesn’t want to be attracted to supernatural police agent, Calder Quinne when he comes to investigate. All Nix really wants is to run her tattoo shop in peace and quiet. Hey, we don’t always get what we want, now do we?
Here’s a sneak peek at Mystic Ink:
Nix, thoughts still swirling in her mind, headed toward the side door. After she unlocked the deadbolt, her eyes automatically went to the dumpster. Nothing. Thank the Gods. Her sigh of relief was quickly sucked back in. A dark shape further down the alley caught her eye. Maybe it was a heap of clothes or a bag of garbage. Whatever it was, it was lying near the entrance of the Underworld Gate. The Gate was invisible to all eyes, except Guardians—like her, Hades, and Charon. Whoever or whatever was back there couldn’t have known how close they were to the Underworld.
“Hell. Now what?” Please, be trash that some rude asshole left in my alley.
Rather than kick it with her foot, she decided to be more prudent and find something long to use as a poker. While grabbing a shop broom inside, she registered how quiet the place was. Of course, Basil wasn’t there. He was still with Jason.
Back in the alley, Nix slowly approached, straining for a better look. The pile was inside the building’s shadow. The closer she got, the more the lump resembled a body. She cursed. “Oh, come on! Why does this keep happening?”
Broom at the ready, she gave it jab. The mass was solid and there was no crinkle of plastic. So much for the garbage bag theory. Man, she did not want to have to call the police. At the rate she was going, they would probably arrest her just on principle.
She lifted the broom, ready to strike. An arm sprouted from the pile and shot up, stopping the handle from falling.
Nix barked, “What the hell?”
A dark figure rose up. The set of the shoulders, the short black hair . . . it was awfully familiar. “Cal?”
“Nix,” he said, his voice strained and tired. His arm extended, propping his body against the brick wall.
“If this is your idea of a joke, it’s not funny.” When he didn’t respond, Nix came up behind him and placed her hand on his back. “Are you—”
The words choked off. There was something wrong. Really wrong. His energy, the essence of his life, was out of whack. Like he was missing . . .
She put her hand up to her mouth, swallowing dread as he turned to face her. “Cal, where’s your soul?”
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