She’d known the minute she heard the accent that the boy’s body had been appropriated by a friend of hers, Con Carey, who had lost his own corporeal body some years ago. Like a horror movie ghost, Con had a habit of borrowing other people’s bodies in order to communicate with her. Unlike a ghost, the only thing horrifying about Con was his otherworldly ability to consume whiskey.
Description:
Once a legendary pirate, Anne Bonny is a Sentinel, a soldier for mankind’s mysterious guardians, the Angeli. Anne will live 1000 years, but in return, she must hunt & neutralize Perfidia, corrupted Angeli who drain human energy to survive. Together with her fellow Sentinel, Con, and Arch Angeli Michael, Anne must face an added threat; a new breed of Perfidia possessed of untold power.
Monsters are only half Anne’s troubles; her stormy love life would make Blackbeard pack up ship and move to Kansas. After losing his corporeal body in battle, Anne’s former lover, Con Carey, visits her by possessing the bodies of humans, often with embarrassing results. In the meantime, Anne’s complicated romance with the aloof Arch Angeli Michael has intensified, but is their love spawned by the magnetic attraction of their powers? Or something deeper?
Can this unusual love triangle work together to protect the world from the cosmic horrors sworn to destroy it?
EXCERPT
Chapter One
Sea Isle City, New Jersey. Present Day.
Anne
Bonny sat at the outdoor café in Sea Isle City, New Jersey, staring dreamily at
the mimosa tree arching above her table. The tree’s fuzzy pink flowers gave her
the impression of a Dr. Seuss creation, as if Horton himself had decorated it
for a summer holiday.
Anne
could hear the rhythmic crashing of the surf, the soothing whoosh a soundtrack
to the peaceful setting. Around the restaurant’s wrought iron table, tiny
sparrows hopped across the backyard eating area, snatching up every spare crumb
like little feathered vacuum cleaners. A block away, a seagull cackled its
wild, agitated laugh.
With
only a young couple in love cooing to each other nearby, Anne tried to enjoy
her hard-earned tranquility. She had decided to take a few days from her
apartment in New York City and explore the Jersey, Delaware and Maryland
shores. She doodled on a folded map as she pondered her route: Should
she pause in Cape May? Or should she take the ferry to Delaware? The
last bit of French toast gone from her plate, Anne found herself already
wondering where she should stop for lunch.
The
female half of the cooing couple stood, scraping her metal chair across the
stone pavers. Anne glanced over and watched the girl in the form-fitting tank
dress twitch her way into the main building. Anne made brief eye contact with
the young man still at the table, flashed him a polite “whoops, we made
eye-contact” smile, and then returned to her thoughts.
Anne
had just reached for an overlooked crumble of bacon on her plate, when her
attention snapped to the sparrows. They flew away in unison, and Anne’s sharp
gaze swept the area to find the cause of their unrest.
“Great
little arse,” said a man’s voice in an Irish accent.
Anne
sat bolt upright and turned her eyes upon the male half of the couple with whom
she shared the patio.
The
sandy-haired lovebird, still sitting where his girl had left him, met Anne’s
curious gaze with a wicked grin. He abruptly stood and dragged his chair over
to Anne’s table with a teeth-rattling screech of metal on stone.
The
boy released an overly dramatic sigh of satisfaction, plopped back down into
the chair now positioned beside Anne, and beckoned the waitress as she exited
the café and stepped onto the patio.
“Could
I get four whiskeys here?” he asked, dangling his finger over the table and
swirling it as if mixing a drink.
The
waitress head cocked to the side with surprise. “Uh, sure, I guess…what kind?”
The
man looked at Anne, his face beaming like a child’s on Christmas morning.
“Something
Irish and as expensive as possible,” he said as he put his right elbow on the
table and rested his head in that hand, his gaze never leaving Anne.
“Straight.”
“You
can put it on her tab. Or mine. Doesn’t matter really,” he said.
Anne
looked at the waitress. “His tab,” she said. The waitress offered them an
awkward smile and left to fetch the whiskey.
“Ooh,
Annie, you’re still a little evil,” said the young man. “You’re going to stick
this lad with my tab.”
Anne’s
new table guest sat grinning, thin and pale as an untoasted wafer, but with the
fiery eyes of a rebellious imp eager to be unleashed. She’d known the minute
she heard the accent that the boy’s body had been appropriated by a friend of
hers, Con Carey, who had lost his own corporeal body some years ago. Like a
horror movie ghost, Con had a habit of borrowing other people’s bodies in order
to communicate with her. Unlike a ghost, the only thing horrifying about Con
was his otherworldly ability to consume whiskey.
“Hello,
Con,” Anne said. “Did you ask that poor boy if you could borrow his body?”
“Hello,
Annie, my love,” Con replied. “Absolutely not. They almost always say no.”
Anne
noted how Con’s eyes lit up when she acknowledged him and recalled how thrilled
he’d been the first time he’d found a way to use another person’s body. He’d
pumped his fists and run around the room screaming with joy until he crashed
over a sofa, having momentarily lost control of his borrowed legs.
“How
are you? Did you miss me?” he asked.
Before
she could answer, Con leapt to his feet and did a few jumping jacks. Wrapped in
the young man’s bony frame, he boxed an invisible opponent for a few moments,
and then clapped himself on either shoulder, pleased with his performance.
“Featherweight,”
he said, flopping back into his chair.
“Featherbrain,”
drawled Anne. She paused as the waitress returned to set four whiskeys on the
table. Unsure of the appropriate way to dole out four Irish whiskeys between
two people so early in the morning, the girl lumped them in the middle of the
table.
Con
took the first shot and swallowed it down before the waitress could fully
release the last glass from her grasp.
“Slow
down,” said Anne. “She could have lost a finger.”
“Uhhhhmmmm…”
Con groaned, ignoring Anne in his ecstasy as he shot back the whiskey.
Anne
watched with amusement as Con licked his lips, tilted back his head and closed
his eyes. As a disembodied spirit, not having lips or a throat had cut into his
quality drinking time. Anne snatched the second whiskey from the table before
Con could grab it, shot it back, and slapped it back into his empty paw.
Con
jerked his hand from the empty glass as if it had burned his fingertips. His
jaw clenched. He pushed away Anne’s empty shot glass and deliberately clamped
his fingers upon the next full shot. He trained his eyes on Anne’s, daring her
to make a move for it.
He
raised the third shot to his mouth.
With
lightning-fast reflexes, Anne snatched the glass from Con’s paw. She put the
glass against her lips, threatening to drink it.
“Harpy!”
Con roared, slamming his fist to the table. The glasses jumped and clattered on
the wrought iron.
Anne
froze, allowing Con to hang, and then slowly handed the glass back, a smug grin
on her face. Visibly relieved, Con downed the shot.
“Surely,
Annie, you know better than to break my heart like that,” said Con, wiping his
mouth. “You might have spilled it.”
Anne
grinned, unable as always to be annoyed with Con for very long. She was happy
to see him again, even if he inhabited the body of yet another innocent
passerby. He hadn’t made one of his appearances in months. Still, she wasn’t
sure what she was supposed to do when the blonde girl came back from the
ladies’ room expecting to find her boyfriend patiently waiting for her
and not chatting up a busty strawberry blonde at the next
table. She hadn’t been in a cat fight in ages.
“Ireally
wish you would time these visits a little better,” she said. “His girlfriend
will be back here any second.”
“I’ll
be quick.”
Anne
nodded and took some small solace in the fact that Con had waited until the
girl had left the table and that he had chosen a boy to
borrow. During a past impromptu visit, Con had possessed the body of a young
woman and proceeded to give Anne a sloppy kiss in front of a crowd that
included the woman’s grandmother. Anne felt lucky the waitress wasn’t currently
sitting in her lap.
Anne
nodded to the empty whiskey glasses. “You know what they say; Drinky,
Drinky, Little Dinky,” she held up her pinky and waggled it for effect.
Con
stopped in mock horror, the last shot nearly to his lips. He put the glass
down, pulled out the waistband of his plaid shorts and looked inside. With a
shrug, he snapped them shut.
“Sorry,
Luv, but it looks as though I might as well drink.”
Anne
sighed. “So why are you here, Con?”
“I’ve
come to give you a warning,” said Con. “Your pal is on the move.”
“My
pal?”
“Michael.”
Con
turned his head to feign spitting on the floor in disgust as he said Michael’s
name.
“There’s
trouble. I haven’t been able to gather all the details yet, but something is
afoot.”
“Is
that where you’ve been the last few months? Spying on Michael?” asked Anne.
Con
raised one of the empty shot glasses, smelled it, and tried to reach his tongue
to the bottom to sop up any last drops.
“I
said: have you been spying on Michael,” repeated Anne, taking the
glass out of his hand and putting it back on the table. Con scowled and pursed
his lips with disappointment.
“Among
other things.”
Anne
played it cool, as if Con’s news meant nothing to her, but her chest felt
tight. She opened and closed her fist several times before Con placed his
hand on hers to soothe her jitters. She turned back to him and smiled,
realizing what a poor actress she had been.
“You’ll
be fine, you always are,” he said in a gentle tone. “I just wanted to let you
know to prepare yourself.”
Without
warning, Con leaned over and put his hand on the back of Anne’s head, pulling
her face to his. He ravished her with a kiss, and Anne thought how strange it
was that the kiss felt like Con and not like the stranger whose lips actually
pressed against her own.
The
smell of whiskey helped.
Anne
felt herself giving in to the kiss. It was at that moment that Con left his
host and she found herself lip-locked with a very confused young man.
“What
are you doing?!” came a screech from across the patio.
Anne’s
eyes popped open wide, her lips still pressed against the young man’s. His
girlfriend had returned, and now stood, mouth agape, pointing at Anne.
The
boy pulled back from Anne’s kiss, holding his arms wide, as if declaring
himself safe.
“Wha…?”
The boy stood up and put his fingers on the table to steady himself as the full
effect of three whiskies and a recent possession took its toll on his 135
pounds of human flesh.
“Whoa,”
he said.
The
boy glanced down at Anne and then back at his girlfriend, hoping someone or
something could explain his disorientation. He looked back at Anne’s memorable
cleavage and tried to squelch the involuntary grin creeping to his lips.
He burped, putting his hand to his mouth in surprise when he tasted whiskey.
“I
said what are you doing?” said the girl, her tone
still a glass-breaking screech.
Anne
stood.
“He
agreed to test our new line of lipsticks,” she said, gathering her things and
beginning to move towards the restaurant’s backdoor. “In order to get you a
free sampler kit from us, which I’ll go get from the car now.”
The
girl glowered with anger and confusion, torn between free makeup and an
implausible explanation for what she had just witnessed. She took a step toward
her equally confused boyfriend, tossing her locks with pique.
“Why
do you smell like booze?”
“Whiskey
flavored lipstick!” Anne called back, attempting to throw the boy a bone. “Irish
Rose.”
Anne
paid her tab at the register and headed out.
On
the street, Anne made her way back to her car and considered what Con had said.
Anytime Con noticed Michael acting suspiciously, bad things followed.
In
addition, Michael and Anne were involved in a complicated romance that only
added stress to every exchange between them.
If
what Con said was true, Anne was in danger once more. She wished she could fly
away from the whole mess, but today, disappearing would be especially
difficult.
Her
car was missing.
The
parking spot she’d been so happy to find had a new tenant and her Jaguar was
nowhere to be seen.
“Blast,”
Anne swore as she scanned the area.
Across
the street, between two beach duplexes, she spotted her car parked on the next
block.
Anne
scowled. There was no way she could have parked one block over
from the restaurant. Perhaps Con had moved the car as a joke before he visited
her at the café. That would be like him. Or, perhaps she was going senile.
She was slightly over 300 years old. A long life was one of
the perks of being a Sentinel, assuming you could stay alive with Perfidia
constantly trying to kill you.
Anne
cut between the beach houses towards her vehicle, ducking and slipping through
a small fence to enter a secluded backyard. Before she could stand upright, the
figure of a man appeared directly in front of her.
Anne
lacked even a moment to react.
The
man raised a small pistol, and shot her directly between the eyes.
About the author:
Amy has been writing and finding other creative ways to make no money since high school.
She is the author of the urban fantasy series "Angeli - The Pirate, the Angel & the Irishman," romantic comedy "Slightly Stalky" (Jan 2015) and the editor and one of the 26 authors of the humor anthology "Moms are Nuts," which has been on Amazon's best-sellers lists since its publication in April 2014.
Amy the former East Coast Editor of SURFER Magazine and freelance writer. Long ago she wrote "The Surfer's Guide to Florida," which is currently out of print because the urge to drive up and down the coast interviewing surfers has long since left her.
Amy is a nerd and Labradoodle mommy.
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