The third snippet for The Uncommon Rider is here!

Have you been waiting for the third snippet for The Uncommon Rider? Well, here it is! Dragons are awesome, aren’t they?

Chapter Three

The fountain pen scratched against the parchment, making one of Hiker Wallace’s favorite sounds in the world. He liked simple things: the smell of coffee, the sounds of the morning and a long ride over the Expanse.

He glanced up, his eyes finding the crackling flames in the fireplace, slightly mesmerizing him as he thought about what else to include in that day’s log.

Flipping to the page before, he read yesterday’s entry and frowned. It was pretty much identical to the one from this day. He turned back to the week prior, then the month before and finally last year. Almost all the submissions were the same. The Dragon Elite always did the same thing at the Gullington: ate, trained, studied, cared for the dragons and got plenty of rest. Still, Hiker always kept the log. Records were important, even if they didn’t differ from day to day.

He closed the log book and sat back in his chair, his gaze drifting out the window to where the Pond stretched for as far as he could see, even with his enhanced vision.  Lately the monotony of each day had made him restless, waking him up with dreams of the life he lived before mortals were blinded to magic. It wasn’t so bad though. Usually he could put himself back to sleep. He wasn’t like Adam, who was consumed with picking back up the dragon rider’s mission.

The world wasn’t ready yet though, Hiker thought, pushing up from his desk and striding back and forth in front of the fireplace.

The older dragon rider hungered for the fight again, the chase. He wanted to take back the mantle of the Elite, resuming the role as adjudicators for the mortal world.

They weren’t ready, Hiker told himself, although it was getting harder to convince himself of that since the mortal world could see magic again.

Long ago, Hiker, Adam and many more dragon riders had ruled the world, intervening in the affairs of mortals—keeping peace. And then one day, the dragons were all like ghosts, unseen by mortals.

That simply made the riders of the Dragon Elite appear like loons, professing that they had dragons. Overnight, mortals had forgotten about magic and worse, they couldn’t see it. What was the point in serving as the judge, jury and executioner to a world who didn’t believe they existed?

And so, the Dragon Elite had disappeared, many of them confining themselves inside the Gullington. Since the world couldn’t see them, they were soon lost.

Not all stayed in the confines of the Elite’s headquarters known as the Gullington. They were too restless to be confined. Some disappeared. Some mysteriously died. And the others—Hiker and Adam, simply learned how to exist.

Centuries passed.

The world outside the Gullington changed, but the Dragon Elite knew nothing of it. They stayed inside the Barrier for the most part, wondering if they’d die without a purpose.

And then, very recently, everything changed. Hiker wouldn’t have even known about it if not for their housekeeper, Ainsley. She’d been at the market, buying the food for the week. She ran all the way back, not shifting into her normal appearance when she stormed into Hiker’s office. He pulled his sword, wondering what the old strange man was doing there. Ainsley shifted back to her normal appearance, her auburn hair framing her pointy chin.

“Sir, I have news,” she stated, curtsying to him in her normal manner.

“Go on then,” Hiker had demanded, sheathing the sword he hadn’t used in quite some time.

“Mortals can see magic again,” she’d said in a hush.

Those five words should have changed everything for the Elite, but they didn’t.

Presently, Hiker strode back over to the log book and flipped it open again, reading the entry from that day when Ainsley brought the news from the village. There had been a celebration among the riders then. They had consumed more mead in a day than in a year. There had been much talk about the future. About mortals.

He flipped to the next day. It read the same as the day before. And then the day after that… until things went back to how they had been. The Dragon Elite woke, ate, trained, studied, cared for the dragons, and got plenty of rest.

Even after the news that mortals were finally awake again, nothing had changed for the riders and their leader was responsible for that. It hadn’t been an easy call for Hiker to make, but he still stood by it.

Mortals weren’t ready.

“Give them a few hundred years to adjust to magic before we startle them with dragons,” he’d told Adam.

His oldest friend and fellow rider, hadn’t been happy about this. The two had disputed it time and time again. But Adam knew Hiker was right. Mortals needed time to adjust. According to Ainsley, just the sight of a fairy flying around the market had sent many mortals running, locking themselves in their cottages. How would they react when a dragon flew down from the sky, and a rider slid off it, stating they were there to oversee all disputes among mortals?

They would panic.

And then it would be another few hundred years of solitude for the Elite. Hiker could handle that. He had.

Adam though. It would kill him, as it had many a rider before.

No, it was better for everyone if the Dragon Elite stayed put, safe inside the Barrier. Then when mortals were ready, the riders would reign once more.

He went to check the log again, thinking there was something that he could add. Quiet, the gnome, had caught an extra fish that day. That was worth noting.

Picking up his fountain pen, Hiker, began to add to the log when the globe that sat next to the bank of windows displaying the Pond beeped.

He jerked up. Dropped his pen. Eyes widened.

It had been a century since he’s heard that noise.

The pen rolled across the desk and dropped onto the oak floor, landing with a crash. Hiker jumped, looking down at the still rolling pen. He pulled his eyes back to the globe. Five red dots were lit on the huge globe that was inlaid with gold from the giants.  The stone had made up the bulk of the sphere mined from the gnome’s caves. And the wood was the finest Polynesian given to the Dragon Elite by the elves. And the magic that tracked every dragon rider on Earth was gifted to them by the magicians, specifically the warriors of the House of Fourteen.

The globe was more than an incredible art piece made up by the major magical races. It was the way Hiker tracked the riders, which hadn’t been a problem in…a long, long time. Hiker had little reason to keep track of the riders since they’d stayed inside the Gullington, for the most part. But…

He strode over, hoping it was a glitch.

The magicians messed up long ago and the problem was only now becoming apparent, he told himself.

Or maybe the metals, wood and stones had made the magic malfunction and the gnomes, giants and elves were to blame.

He swiveled the globe around until he found the blinking red dot.

It had been a long time since Hiker had sucked in a gasp like the one that assaulted his chest.

It wasn’t a malfunction.

It was one of his.

It was Adam.

He was in trouble.

__________________________

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Do you love dragon shifters?

Here’s a special Steel Dragon snippet just for you! I can’t wait for this one to go live! It’s right up my alley! 😉

Kristen Hall stepped out of her car, careful to avoid a puddle slick with oil—no easy task, considering the parking lot was more cracks than concrete. Despite being surrounded by a chain-link fence and a guard seated near the back of the building with a shotgun resting across his lap, she didn’t feel like she was in any danger. On a day like today, her family wouldn’t go anywhere else. Buddy’s Pizza offered the best food in Detroit.

She opened the door to the diminutive building and the smells of perfectly crispy crust and melted cheese washed over her. Her smile was instinctive. She loved this place.

As she stepped inside and savored the aroma, her younger brother blocked her path. “I thought police were supposed to look tough. Shouldn’t you wear a scowl with your hair in a bun or something?” Brian enveloped her in a bear hug.

Although he was taller and wider than her, she still wrapped him up and leaned back to lift his feet off the floor. “I could still wrestle you to the ground and make you eat bugs, Brian,” she whispered sweetly.

Despite being treated like a big doll, he merely grinned as she placed him on his feet. “You always were a terrible bully, but bugs off the floor at Buddy’s would still be better than your cooking.”

“Ha-ha.” She laughed dryly. Everyone in her family seemed to be able to cook except her. Even Brian, as lazy as he was, could roast a chicken and vegetables. She was basically a master of the microwave and nothing more.

Her mom approached from the back of the restaurant and threaded her way through the narrow spaces between tables. “I think you look lovely, honey.” She kissed her daughter on the cheek. “But Brian’s right, if you let that red hair of yours run loose at your new job, you’ll distract the entire force. Now, come on. Let’s go find your father. He’s holding a table like he’s pinned down.”

Kristen followed her through the crowded pizza parlor. Smiling people crammed around tiny tables with red and white tablecloths, argued over the Tigers’ latest loss, or scarfed pizza. The walls were covered with photos of celebrities who’d come to Buddy’s to do the same. Eminem, the Temptations, and even Arethra Franklin had all eaten there, and those were only some of the more famous celebrities. She had been coming here since she was a little girl. It was her family’s go-to celebration venue when her mom didn’t want to cook.

She located Frank Hall at a table in a corner, pouring over the menu as if he hadn’t seen it a million times already.

Her grin wide, she shifted her posture so her feet would fall silently as she approached. “It looks like you need a spotter.” She poked her dad between the ribs with a finger.

He flinched but as soon as he heard her voice, he broke into a smile. “Aw, Kristen, now that you’re an honor grad, I can finally let my guard down.” He studied her affectionately. “You look beautiful, sweetie. The police don’t deserve you.”

Kristen pulled a chair out and sat down beside him. “They didn’t deserve you either.” This wasn’t the first time she’d had this conversation with him. He was proud of her for following in his footsteps—at least on the surface—but he was still an old cop. And he was a dad who didn’t want to see his little girl hurt, even if she was more athletic than he’d ever been.

“Yeah, well, an old baldy who won’t ever shave his mustache is a far cry from the woman you’ve become.” He threw an arm around her shoulder. “I still say you could do anything you want.”

“Being a police officer is what I want.” She raised an eyebrow. “I want to protect people and help this city become even better than it has in the last ten years. Exactly like my old man did.”

His only response was a smile. Despite his misgivings, she could see that what he felt most of all for his daughter was pride.

“Come on, can’t we get a pitcher of beer before we get into all the mushy stuff?” Brian plopped into an empty seat and gestured toward a server.

“We’re proud of you, too,” his mom said to him.

“Yeah, those high scores don’t set themselves,” Kristen quipped, unable to help herself.

He laughed. “Oh, my God, do you have any idea how you two sound? High scores? No one’s cared about a high score since pinball machines were popular.” He scratched his hair and shook his head. Brian took after his mother with brown hair and plain features. Kristen was the only one in the family with red hair or a figure, despite her eating virtually as much pizza as the rest of them.

“From the rumors I’ve heard, Kristen knows more than enough about high scores. Honor grad, huh?” Her dad beamed. “You know I barely scraped through. You’ve already done well for the family name.” He finally put the menu down as the server approached.

“We’ll have two pizzas. One pepperoni mushroom, one ham and pineapple, plus an antipasto salad,” Kristen ordered before he could speak up. “Oh, and a pitcher of something hoppy from Founder’s.”

The server nodded and vanished into the noise and hubbub of the restaurant.

Brian grinned. “At least you know how to order food.”

“It’s not her fault she likes her meat raw on the inside and blackened to a crisp on the outside.”

“Mom!” she exclaimed, shocked that her mother would say that until she remembered it was exactly what had happened the last time she’d cooked chicken.

“Nice one, Mom. Get in on the action before her and dad start going at it.” Her brother chuckled.

“Now that you’re a member of the force, you won’t have to cook ever again if you don’t want to,” her dad stated matter of factly. “Christ knows I don’t.”

He was lying, of course, and could grill a mean burger. Even that was beyond his daughter’s skill in the kitchen.

“I’m not a member yet,” Kristen reminded them. “Only a graduate.”

“A graduate with honors, honey,” her mom added quickly.

“A graduate who was hand-picked by a dragon,” Brian said incredulously. “It’s not like you won’t actually get a job.”

“I was not handpicked,” she protested.

Her parents shared a look that said they thought that was exactly what happened.

“I still think it’s insane that you bumped into one at all. You’d think I’d have seen one by now. After all, enough come through Detroit to perform or whatever.”

“Honey, you have to leave the house if you want to meet people.” Their mother turned to Brian. “Or dragons,” she added after a moment.

Kristen laughed. “Nice one, Mom!”

“But that’s kind of how it happened, right, Krissy?” Her dad leaned closer over the already cramped table. She’d told him the story so many times and yet he always wanted to hear it again.

“No. I mean, yes, I bumped into a dragon at a concert—”

“What did it look like? How big are its wings? Did it buy you a drink?” Brian winked.

“It was in human form, duh, and he was…well, handsome, obviously. We talked for a few minutes at the end of the show and he gave me a card with an address.”

“So what you’re saying is he literally handed you a job.” He had skipped every recounting of the story and preferred to spend his time working his way up leaderboards.

She shook her head. “No, not at all. I arrived there and had to take a number of tests. I still don’t know the point of half of them. There were physical activities like running on a treadmill, an obstacle course, and things like that. I enjoyed that part of it.”

“Yeah, well, no surprises there,” her brother said.

“Brian!” their mom chided. “We should be proud someone in this family is athletic. I don’t know where you get it, honey, but whoever it came from, I’m happy they gave it to you.”

For a moment, she wanted to press her on what that had meant. She sometimes said things like that—like Kristen had history that was different than the rest of them. She certainly looked different. But before she could say anything, the server returned with the salad and a pitcher of beer which broke the moment. Not that she intended to complain. She was starving.

Everyone scooped piles of salad—and didn’t skimp on the cubes of salami or cheese—onto their plates and dug in. For a moment, they simply ate and let the sounds of the cozy little pizza place wash over them. As usual, though, Brian couldn’t stay quiet for long, “So, what parts did you not like?”

“Well, I still don’t really like olives,” Kristen mumbled around a mouthful of salad.

“Not the salad, stupid—the tests. You liked the physical stuff, obviously, so what were the parts you didn’t like? Did you have to play videogames? I told you that you should’ve practiced.”

“No videogames, Brian, sorry.” She shrugged. “I honestly didn’t understand much of it. There was some weird history stuff. Questions about dragons in America during colonialism and the Civil War. All kinds of other odd things too. What was strange is that they hooked me up to monitoring devices to measure my brain waves or whatever.”

“And they were able to find some? I’m impressed, Kristen.” He grinned like a fool.

She put an elbow on the table and flexed her bicep. “Do you want to arm wrestle, or what?”

“Pizza’s here.” He evaded her question neatly because obviously, he’d lose like he did every single time.

Their server put two rectangular pizzas on the table and the Halls wasted no time in digging in. It tasted exactly like it had for her entire life—perfect. Baked on a steel pan, the crust of each square piece of pizza was perfectly crispy. A lake of sauce covered the cheesy bread and toppings and more cheese were sprinkled on top of that. It was heaven on a plate.

“So uh…did they uh…tell you anything else?” her dad asked around bites of food. Kristen shot him a look. That wasn’t really like him. Frank Hall was a direct man and always had been. When he wanted something, he demanded it, whether it was the TV remote or a crook to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

She shrugged, swallowed another cheesy bite, and washed it down with cold beer. “Well, not really. The tests were kind of all over the place.”

“Did they let you ask questions, or did you have to fight your way out of there?” Brian had already wolfed down three slices of ham and pineapple and now reached for a fourth. She snatched it from him before he ate the whole pizza himself.

“That was the weirdest part, actually. They said I could ask anything I wanted to, so I did.”

Her brother lowered his voice. “Did you ask the big one?”

“The big one?” her dad whispered, concern in his voice.

“Yeah. Are they always smoking hot in their human form or can they choose how they look? If I could change shape, I know I wouldn’t keep this.” He slapped his round gut and laughed.

Kristen and her parents all shared a groan.

“No, I didn’t ask them about their glamor. I don’t like it when people ask why my hair’s red and curly instead of brown and straight like Mom’s, so I assumed they wouldn’t appreciate it either.”

Her dad straightened in his chair. “Did you ask to be a cop like your old man?”

“Because if you did, you’ll be in big trouble, Krissy,” her mother huffed. “I spent thirty years staying up late wondering if Frank would come home, and I don’t look forward to spending another thirty worrying about you.”

“No, I didn’t ask about joining the academy. I asked about the tests, mostly, and why they selected me. I…well, this will probably sound stupid, but I asked if they thought I was a mage or something.”

Brian spat out a bite of pizza. “You asked what?”

“Why else would they be so interested in me? Seriously, think about it. I barely bumped into this guy in a concert and suddenly, I’m doing all this crazy stuff and taking these tests. I thought there must be a reason I didn’t know about.”

“Maybe dragons like redheads.” Brian ran a finger through his brown hair and pouted his lips in a poor impersonation of her.

“Brian!” his mother snapped.

“It’s fine, Mom. They answered that question anyway. No. I’m not a mage. They almost laughed in my face when I asked it.”

Her parents shared another look.

“What?” she demanded.

“We worry about you is all, honey.” Her mother dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “I mean, two rebellions, both led by mages—”

“Marty’s right, Kris. One of those wars made Canada, for Christ’s sake. I hope you’re not a damn mage. You’d either have to serve them or… Is it true they can really breathe fire?” Her dad shook his head. Everyone had heard rumors, but dragons were rare and fairly secretive, especially about the extent of their powers, so most rumors remained exactly that—pure conjecture.

“I don’t know, Dad. Like I said, they didn’t answer most of my questions, and it’s not like the one at the concert transformed and took the time to show me his powers. They merely took more notes on what I asked. Honestly, I think that was one of the tests too.”

Brian—having devoured a fifth slice of pizza—rejoined the conversation. “Why would you be a mage, though? Doesn’t that run in families or whatever? Unless mom and dad are holding out on us, the Halls are basically normal.”

“You’re definitely not normal, Brian,” she retorted and drew a look of mock indignation from him.

“Halls aren’t magic,” their dad stated in a tone as frustratingly opaque as the dragons had been.

Kristen nodded. “That’s what the dragon said too.”

“So, then what happened? They popped you off the diodes and you felt compelled to join the police academy?” Brian gestured at the ridiculousness of his sister being selected instead of him. “They do that, right? I’ve read about it on the Internet. Compulsion or whatever.”

“No. No, not at all. They took a few minutes to look at the results, then told me I’d be a great fit for police work. It wasn’t like they forced me or whatever. Dragons aside, you guys know I’ve always wanted to be a cop like Dad.”

“Which is still not okay,” her mother said, but her voice lacked the fervor it had possessed when Kristen first applied to the academy. Marty Hall might not be happy her daughter was following her father into the force, but she’d accepted it.

Her dad reached for another slice of pizza. If they waited, Brian would eat it all. “It’ll be fine, honey. With a pretty face like that? They’ll put her on meter maid duty for a few years before they promote her to detective. Before long, she’ll run the force without so much as a scratch on her.”

As they usually did, her parents fell into their familiar patter about the job. Since she’d joined the police academy, dinner often devolved into the two of them debating her choice. She might have had second thoughts about her decision—she had always loved her parents and wanted to make them proud—but since they weren’t in agreement, she knew she couldn’t please them both. The choice was ultimately hers to make.

She’d always been athletic and wanted to help people, so being a police officer made sense. Still, she hoped her mom didn’t continue to stress eat.

Kristen’s phone buzzed in her purse and she glanced at it. Brian had already tuned out of reality and now played a game on his phone, so she knew her parents wouldn’t say anything.

“Oh, my God—Dad, it’s an email from the force. They’ve given me my first assignment,” she blurted before she’d even read the whole thing.

“That’s great, honey!” Her mom obviously tried to be enthusiastic but sounded like she didn’t think it was great at all.

“Now, Krissy, remember, the force is still a man’s world,” her dad began. She’d heard this speech before too, but beer often made him repeat himself. “I’m sure that once they see what you’re capable of, they’ll get you into more action, but there’s nothing wrong with starting out as a meter reader or a traffic cop. The force has to make money.”

She almost couldn’t hear him. Not because of the noise of the restaurant or because his words were slightly slurred, but because of the four capital letters that glared at her from the screen of her phone.

“I’ve been assigned to SWAT.”

___________________

Uh-oh! Kristen’s mom is going to have a heart attack! How in the world did a rookie cop get assigned to SWAT for her first assignment? This is going to be fantastic! Check out the FB page or our Home page to find out exactly when this one goes live!

The Uncommon Rider Snippet #2 Is Here!

Don’t hate me when you get to the end…

Chapter Two

On the edge of a giant’s yard, in a city that was never quiet, the first dragon’s egg in over a century began to hatch.

Sophia Beaufont sucked in a breath, watching as a large crack started at the top of the blue egg and split down the side.

The full moon was the only light in that area of the yard, showing the progress the dragon made as he worked his way out of the eggshell, making a strange noise that wasn’t music and wasn’t crying. It was the sound of birth. Of awakening. The echo of the soul of the dragons that lived deep in the consciousness of the creature taking his first glimpses of the moon rays in this lifetime.

Only a few months ago, Sophia had found herself in a strange magical shop, among mortal dwellings. That’s when she’d magnetized to the egg before her, sealing her fate.

A dragon hadn’t magnetized to a rider in a hundred years. Dragons were actually thought to be extinct. But the truth was, there had simply been little reason for them—until now. 

The time of the dragon riders was starting anew. And only a few knew that it was being reborn with the gentle cracking of the shimmering blue egg sitting on the soft patch of ground before this young girl now.

Sophia and the egg had both grown at alarming rates since magnetizing to one another. She had always been well ahead of her age, but now her body had caught up with her.

Losing her childhood hadn’t mattered. Having her fate chosen on a random trip to a shop, hadn’t bothered her. It all made sense from the beginning—because Sophia Beaufont always knew she wasn’t a normal magician.

Most don’t come into their magic until they’re older, in their teens at least. Honing those skills takes time. None of that had applied to Sophia. She might have been born to parents who she couldn’t remember—taken from the Earth when she was only three years old. She might have spent much of her childhood alone. But she was no victim. From the beginning, Sophia knew that her life wouldn’t take a predictable course. And at this point, there was absolutely no certainty in her future. But she knew something with true conviction—one day, she wanted to be like her big sister.

Without knowing why, Sophia was positive that the dragon quickly breaking out of the egg had chosen that night in particular to hatch for a specific reason. Over the last few months, Sophia had spoken telepathically to the dragon. Hearing him in her head had felt second nature. Right then though, all her attention was on the cracking that seemed to echo so loudly she thought everyone nearby could hear it.

However, no one approached as the dragon poked his head up through the top of the shell, knocking a large piece out of the way. He swept his neck to the side, breaking out of the bonds that had held him for so many years. Had it been a decade? A century? A millennium? Sophia didn’t know. The dragon had simply said, he had been waiting for her to be born—to be ready.

She reached out, wanting to help with the arduous process, but pulled back her hand, sensing that wasn’t her job. The dragon, she knew so well and was meeting for the very first time, threw his head covered in small horns down and to the side, smashing the rest of the shell to bits. His tail whipped behind him, knocking the back of the egg to dust at once. He shook like a dog, shuddering off the rest of the shell. It was then that the moon light shined down, properly showing the entirety of the dragon.

She’d never seen a blue like what covered him. His scales were sapphire, dipped in crystals, radiating the light.

This girl didn’t know what it felt like to be in love… until that moment. She knew, at her core, that she loved the creature before her with her whole heart. He was good and brave and undeniably connected to her in every way for the rest of their lives.

This dragon would be her life force and she his. Neither could prosper without the other. His aches would be hers. Hers he’d feel intimately. A rider and its dragon signed on for more than a long life of sacrifices and challenges. They signed on to experience everything exponentiated.

The dragon stood, steady as if it wasn’t his first time. He took a step, no falters as he lowered his green eyes, blinking at the young girl before him. He only came up to Sophia’s shoulder, but he was growing moment by moment.

She took a step forward, not feeling steady, but hiding fumbles.

“And so we meet, like it’s the first time,” the dragon said.

“Isn’t it?” Sophia asked, running her eyes over the dragon as he tested his wings, with a sticky sound, unfolding them and then pressing them back beside his body.

He shook his head. “Oh, no, we’ve met many a times, Sophia Beaufont. Or so I believe.”

She nodded, turning her gaze to the moon. “Why tonight?”

A pleasant expression fell on the dragon’s face as he followed her gaze. “Each dragon is connected to an aspect of the Earth, whether it be night, day, the ocean, the winds—”

“The moon,” Sophia said, sudden realization dawning on her.

“Yes,” he affirmed. “For however long we have here, I’ll be strongest on the full moon. And so will you.”

Sophia took a step forward, kneeling down and looking up at the dragon before her. He was more beautiful than she could have ever imagined, full of timeless wisdom. It was impossible to think that the consciousness of the dragons lived in him. And yet, as she stared into his eyes, she could hardly doubt it.

“It’s time to name me, Sophia Beaufont. But do it with diligence.”

She lifted her hand, not hesitating before running her fingers over the top of his snout. Her hand sank to his scales at their first meeting, the union as natural as a baby’s first breath.

Sophia smiled, unafraid, as she stared into the eyes of the most ancient type of magical creature in the world—and the one that would live beside her from now until the end of her own life.

“I named you long ago,” she began, her eyes dimming from the bright moonlight. “Even before I met you. Before I became a dragon rider, I knew you. And I knew that you’d be <REDACTED>.”

The blue dragon bowed his head, a silent respect in the movement. “Yes, my name has always been <REDACTED>. But only my true rider would know that. Well done, Sophia.”

____________________________

Ok, Ok, I know. I want to know the dragon’s name as well. I have some ideas. What are yours?

If you pre-order the book, the moment it’s released you will have it in your e-reader and you can go to the end of chapter 2 and find out the name.

Here’s a Chuck Dixon double feature snippet! After you read the first chapter of Blooded, keep going for the first chapter of Gomers!

Blooded:

This wasn’t the first time I woke up in a cheap motel wondering how I got there. After three rough divorces, I know the turf. Only not a shack-up as cheap as the one I found myself in this time.

I opened my eyelids as far as I was able. Stained ceiling tiles. Never a good sign. Drop ceilings hide things like mold or bullet holes. I tried to raise my head for a better view. Bad move. Nausea. The room shimmied like I was seeing it in a home video. I caught a glimpse of the plastic alarm clock on the nightstand before my head dropped back on the pillow.

1:21.

AM or PM?

That’s how hungover I was.

Only this was like no hangover I’ve ever had. I’ve had the dry heaves hangovers. And the ones where your tongue feels like it’s been replaced with a dead slug. And the ones where your eyes can’t seem to look in the same direction. And the headaches. The epic, put-me-out-of-my-misery skullbangers that feel like they’re never going to go away.

This one was nothing like any of them.

I felt like my body had no weight to it. Something like a tingling chill over my whole body but not unpleasant. My head felt funny but there was no pain. No headache at all. I tried to remember what I’d been drinking. The taste in my mouth was tinny. Whatever I’d been abusing the night before, it wasn’t my usual.

It took a year and a half but I managed to turn on my side to face the front of the motel room. A sliver of yellow light under the drawn blinds. Afternoon then.

The room was grim. And it reeked. My nose took in every funky smell like they were in high definition. Spilled beer, cigarettes, sweat, and sex. And something else. A dense, organic smell that was sweet and musky all at the same time.

Walls covered in cheap paneling that shared the secrets concealed by the ceiling tiles. An old Samsung tv was secured to the wall with a bicycle lock. An ancient chest of drawers dotted with cigarette burns. Yard sale paintings of horses crooked on the walls.

And blood.

There were dried drops on my pillow. I lifted the once-white sheet to find a broad smear of blood fringed with red fingerprints. Some of it was still tacky. The bed was sticky under me. My naked ass came off the sheets with a ripping sound.

Something barreled up my throat from my stomach. I made it to the bathroom, sliding on my knees over the cracked tiles. I tore the shower curtain aside to empty my guts into the tub.

More blood.

I vomited up what looked like a gallon of blood. Bright red with black clots sliding down the walls of the tub toward the drain.

I was dying. Right?

I ran a shaking hand over my sides and back. No stiches there. No one had taken any vital organs from me. My fingers found a wound on the side of my throat. Two crossed slits about two inches long with the flesh at the edges puckered. Someone had cut my throat and left me for dead.

My hand came back without blood on it. Maybe I was all out of blood. Maybe I was bleeding out internally. I had no idea then how much blood an adult male holds. I do now. But then I figured I must have puked up most of my supply.

On shaking legs, I levered myself off of the side of the tub to get a better look at that cut on my neck.

I didn’t get that far.

Scrawled across the glass of the mirror were words spelled out in blood. My blood.

WELCOME TO THE CLUB

__________

Uh-oh! I think I know what just happened, do you? Find out Friday when the Chuck Dixon Paranormal Double Pack is published!

Now, on to the Gomers snipper!

Gomers:

The military vehicles passed them in the opposite lanes going hard and loud.

A long stream of deuce-and-a-halfs, Hummers and army semi-trailers, including a tank on a flatbed, all rolling tight and fast, northbound.

“That’s the third one this morning, right?” Mercy said from the suicide seat of the Coachman.

“Some kind of maneuvers or something,” Uncle Fuller said, watching the trucks flash by on the other side of the grass median.

“Maybe those riots that were on the radio?”

“I don’t know much about being a soldier but I don’t think they bring tanks to a riot.”

“Still, something’s going on,” she said.

“Nothing to do with us,” he said and lit another Camel.

Mercy turned on the dash radio and switched to AM. It was all talk radio, gospel, and Spanish language stations. Nothing more about the riots up north in Philadelphia and Camden. She moved the dial a little more to a country oldies station.

“Keep it there,” Uncle Fuller said.

Mercy sat back and watched the trees go by while some old-school redneck warbled about lost love and getting drunk. She liked riding up front in the RV, but Uncle Fuller’s taste in music had fossilized back in the ’70s. But she could deal with that.

The Coachman was better than riding in the minivan with Mom, Bill Tom, and Raquel. She didn’t miss Mom harping on her for every little thing. And she could do without the way Bill Tom, her mother’s latest boyfriend, watched her when he thought no one else was looking. And Raquel, her little sister, was only six months into puberty and having her time of the month, which turned her usual annoying self into the Bitch Queen of the Universe.

Her other ride option, which was no option at all, was in the crew cab of the pickup. Hard to tell which smelled worse: Doe at the wheel or the four hundred gallon tank of used motor oil sloshing around in the truck bed. Doe was a first cousin and named that for all the John Doe warrants out for him from Maine to Florida and as far west as Indiana. He smoked a lot and didn’t talk hardly at all.

Five miles before the next exit, a highway sign was flashing to tell drivers to be prepared to stop. State trooper cars, blue lights whirling and flashing, were parked behind barricades placed across both lanes. Troopers on the shoulder directed traffic onto the exit ramp. The staties wore surgical masks. Mercy saw that some of them had shotguns out and ready. One had a rifle cradled in his arms, an ugly black thing with a curved magazine. There were a few cars pulled onto the grass median with no drivers or passengers in sight.

Uncle Fuller slowed down for the exit. The crucifix swung from the rear view on its beaded chain as he tapped the brakes enough to holler out to a trooper, asking what was going on. The trooper only waved on with more emphasis, stabbing his hand ahead, eyes hard over the top of the paper mask.

“Still think this is nothing to do with us?” Mercy said. Uncle Fuller grunted and powered up the exit ramp.

Mercy’s smartphone lit up playing “Fallout Boy.” It was Mom in the minivan following behind.

“Mercy? What’s going on?”

“We don’t know, Mom.”

“What’d that police say to your uncle?”

“He didn’t say nothing, Mom. Just waved us on.”

“What’d Fuller ask him?”

“Same thing you’re asking me, Mom.”

“Tell her I’m pulling off into that K-Mart up ahead,” Uncle Fuller said.

“You hear that?” Mercy said into the cell.

The phone went dead. Mercy sighed heavily and tossed the cell phone to the dash hard enough to bounce it off the windshield.

“You know, you don’t need to be a bitch alla the time,” Uncle Fuller said.

She looked at him, brows furrowed, eyes mean.

“Like that.” He laughed and turned his eyes back to the road.

“I don’t like how she treats me,” Mercy said.

“That ain’t it and you know it.”

“Then why don’t you tell me what it is, Dr. Phil?” she said with a crooked smile, eyes still mean.

“She told me you want to go to school. College. And I’ve seen you reading that GED book.”

“And why can’t I go to school? Learn something?”

“You’ve learned plenty of knowledge out here on the road. You knew more about human nature at ten years old than most girls learn their whole lives,” he said, slowing as he came to the rear of the stopped column of cars.

“Maybe I’m tired of always moving. Spending half the year on the road. Maybe I’d like to stick in one place. Learn something different. Talk to someone who isn’t a cousin of mine for once,” she said, gazing ahead to where a group of men were pushing a stalled pickup off the road. Horns hooted encouragement.

“Well, that’s between you and your mother,” he said, pulling up as the traffic ahead began to inch forward.

“And there it’ll stay,” she said with a bitter smile.

They gathered in the K-Mart lot. The lot was close to full so they had to park in a row of far spaces near the road. Cars were pulling in and pulling out. Some parked on the walk in front of the store. People were pushing loaded carts from the store. More people crowded the entrances.

Mom and Bill Tom were busy talking to Uncle Fuller. Mercy took the opportunity to bum a beer from the cooler Doe kept in his truck bed by the oil tank. Doe made a chirping sound and she tossed him a cold Miller.

“Is there a hurricane coming or something? Looks like a hurricane,” Doe said, leaning back in the open door of his cab after his first pull on the can. His usual Marlboro burned between his yellowed fingers like a natural appendage.

“Nothing on the radio but bullshit,” Mercy said.

“Sure looks something like a hurricane. Everybody shopping like Jesus was on his way.”

“Look at the sky. Not a cloud.”

“I mean the people. They’re stocking up on shit like there’s no more shit left. At a K-Mart, for Christ’s sake. You know what that means, right?” Doe said, nodding toward the crowded storefront.

“What?” Mercy said.

“Means the Walmart ran out of shit.” He grinned, showing the silver tooth in the middle of his uppers.

“Is that a beer?” Mom said, leaving the conference by the RV to charge back toward the pickup.

Before Mercy could answer her mother swatted the can from her hand. Foam went everywhere.

“What’d I tell you, Doe?” her mother said, voice rising, her own Marlboro waggling where it was pressed in the corner of her mouth.

“What? She ain’t driving.” Doe shrugged.

“You’re riding with us, Mercy. Get in the car with your sister,” Mom said, taking Mercy by the arm.

“Where are we going?” Mercy asked.

“This county road takes us to Harrow. There were new developments going up last time we were through here.”

“That was only last year,” Doe said, crushing his empty in his fist.

“Fuller says two years. We passed it by last year,” Mom said and turned to follow Mercy to the minivan.

“Could be right,” Doe said and climbed behind the wheel of the pickup.

Mercy got in the rear seat of the minivan beside her little sister. Raquel never left the minivan and her eyes never left the monitor set in the back of the driver’s headrest. The movie on the screen was something with cheerleaders. Tinny music escaped from her earbuds. Her full attention fixed on the movie.

“Nice to see you too, sis,” Mercy said and strapped in.

___________________

Keep your eyes peeled to the LMBPN Facebook page on Friday to see when the ‘Zon releases this double pack! You know when you get a Chuck Dixon book you’re going to get one hell of a ride!