Standalone Stories

Smoke

Wyatt Calder is trapped -- in a rundown neighborhood, in a dead-end job, by the endless string of trouble his brother drags to their door -- and it seems he’s destined to slowly fade away within the aging walls of Picket House, longing for his best friend's cousin. That is until his upstairs neighbor Abel Walters dies on the staircase just outside Wyatt’s door.

Saalik has spent most of his existence asleep and waiting for the next person to discover his bottle and claim their wishes. And the last four years playing prized possession to Abel Walters and spying on the downstairs neighbors. But he has a plan. And, like every plan worth planning, it has taken patience. But if life as a Jinn has taught Saalik nothing else, it’s taught him that.

When a break-in sends Wyatt out his second-story bedroom window and into his dead upstairs neighbor’s apartment, he finds more than a place to hide. He discovers a magical solution to all his troubles.

Or does he? Because really, when is life ever that simple?

Excerpt

Wyatt searched through the disaster of his bedroom, looking for a shirt for Saal.

His mattress was slit open, his drawers pulled from the dresser, and his closet searched, but it was nothing compared to what they had done to the living room.

He lifted an arm load of clothes from the floor, dropped them on the bed and started to hunt through them. He found a lime-green T-shirt, but discarded it, sure Saal would look sickly in that color. Not that it mattered. He just needed the guy to put on a shirt. Any shirt.

He found a dark blue tee and pressed it against his nose, happy when it still smelled of detergent and softener.

He could hear Saal poking around in the living room and wondered for the millionth time why he’d insisted on coming downstairs. It was embarrassing to have someone see the place like this.

“I suppose you’ll want me to fix everything?” Wyatt jumped, startled to find Saal in the doorway, watching him with those dark, serious eyes. “You’ll have to ask.”

“How do you do that?” Wyatt said instead, pointing to the tendril of blue smoke that curled from Saal’s nostril, slowly winding around his bare arms.

“Wha—” But he noticed the smoke before he finished the question, shook out his arm, and the mist evaporated. “Just happens. I’m out of practice being in public. Abel never let me leave the apartment.”

“Because you were his Jinn?” Wyatt would have preferred to have forgotten the guy was fucking crazy.

“Yes.” Saal walked into the room, stepping over where Wyatt’s penny jar had been smashed on the floor. “Is that shirt for me?”

“Yeah.” Wyatt held it out, uncomfortable to let Saal step any closer. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like he thought the guy was dangerous, just delusional.

Saal stared at him a long moment before Wyatt remembered. “I wish you to put this on, Saal.”

“You really don’t have to say wish.” But Saal yanked the shirt from his hands and pulled it over his head. When the smooth plane of his stomach disappeared under the soft fabric, Wyatt instantly relaxed.

“Did Mr. Walters have to ask you to get dressed?” Because maybe that was why Saal hadn’t been wearing clothing. Maybe the old man had grown tired of asking him to get dressed every morning, and eventually didn’t bother with it at all.

“No.” Saal turned to look in the cracked mirror that hung on the back of Wyatt’s door, admiring himself in the oversized clothes. “He told me not to. He caught me on the fire escape again and was punishing me. So, I needed you to undo his request.”

The beautiful ones are always crazy, Wyatt. Maybe Teddy had told the truth about something after all.

“Well, I wish you to wear clothes all the time, if you want. Anything you want.”

“Anything I want?” For the first time Saal gave Wyatt a smile, a subtle quirk of his mouth that made Wyatt’s stomach flutter, and he wondered if this was what it felt like to make a deal with the devil.

There was a loud pounding on the apartment door and Wyatt let out a tired sigh. For someone who’d slept for three days, he sure felt exhausted.

He slid past the preening Saal and out into the hall where he had to step over his broken and abandoned enlarger. It was all he could do not to cry.

He had hoped the sight of the main room wouldn’t be quite so shocking the second time, but it was, and when he peered through the peephole to find Mrs. Cain, his stomach sank. She’d be furious at the state of the place. Hell, he’d be lucky not to get booted out.

“Shit. Why now?” He could feel Saal right behind him, watching his world fall apart, playing out like some tragic event in one of his dramas. Maybe if they were both lucky, Wyatt could drop dead on the spot.

“Wyatt?”

He didn’t answer, too busy trying to decide what to do.

“Wyatt?” This time Saal’s voice was a bark, and when he again didn’t answer, Saal touched his shoulder. The gentleness of it was a surprising contrast to the irritation in his voice, and it was a sad reminder of just how long it had been since he’d had anyone touch him. At least a touch that wasn’t Samuel’s rough examination or Teddy’s bruising grip. “Wyatt, you have to tell me to fix this. That’s how it works.”

“Please.” He was so fucking tired. “I wish you would fix it all. Every bit of it.” But there was no fixing this mess, so he took a deep breath and opened the door.

“You’re two days late on the rent.”

“The rent?” It took Wyatt a moment to realize what she was saying. “Oh. I’m…it’s been a crazy—”

“Don’t care.” She pushed inside before Wyatt thought to stop her. “I’m not running a charity.”

“Of course not—”

“What. The. Hell.”

Wyatt pushed the door closed and steeled himself to face Mrs. Cain’s wrath.

“Who gave you permission to paint?”

Paint?

When Wyatt turned, instead of seeing a room of broken furniture and complete devastation, he found the place immaculate. The floors, that only moments before had been covered with papers, shattered dishes, and the splintered wood from the coffee table, were now clean, the old carpet gone and replaced with pristine hardwood. There was a charcoal gray rug and a sapphire velvet sectional where the old floral couch had been. And leaning in the doorway was Saal, looking pleased with himself in a snug fitting suit.

The Twelve Coffins of Dr. Coffin

When Leo Wayland accepts a job as head of the new horror unit at Maiden Studios, he knows what is expected. Make cheap movies that earn their money back fast. It doesn't matter that he dislikes horror. He just needs to escape his assistant director's position at a rival studio.

But he didn't expect to be assigned a terrible title and a leading man, all before he even had a script, or that his leading man would be Everett Reid, the actor who rejected a very young Leo’s advances, only to disappear from movies altogether a few years later in a cloud of scandal.

Everett Reid will do anything for a chance to get back the career he lost and away from teaching at a theater camp for children. And if it means working with Leo Wayland again, he can do that too. Especially now that Leo is all grown up and not so untouchable.

With only three weeks, a flamboyant stage actor, twelve scantily clad women, and a sound stage full of coffins may not seem like the makings of something great. But really, that all depends on what you are hoping for.

Excerpt

Everett let himself into the house and tossed the mail on the entry table already cluttered with bills. They’d been piling up the last few weeks since the money had finally run out.

Besides his ‘55 Corvette, the small bungalow nestled at the base of the hills was all that was left of nearly twenty years of work. It was enough to crush him if he let it.

He stared at the decanter left on the table from the night before when he and Taylor had toasted his contract with Maiden. But his brother had always been more of a drinker than he had. He didn’t want a drink. He wanted to fall into bed for a night of dreamless sleep.

He flipped the switch to the back patio light and pressed his head against the glass, watching the first drops of rain disturb the mirror-like surface of the pool.

It didn’t rain much in LA, but whenever it did, it reminded him of the years growing up down south with his mother and Taylor.

He unlatched the door, slid it open, and kicked out of his loafers as he pulled his shirt over his head. By the time he stood at the edge of the pool, he’d stripped completely, and dove in without hesitation.

It had yet to cool down much from the exceedingly hot day, but as Everett swam laps, the rain pelted him, hard and cold.

He swam back and forth, gliding almost soundlessly through the water, letting go of the day and clearing his mind. He ignored the tug at his thoughts of Leo Wayland and the memories they tried to conjure up. Ignored the chirp of crickets, and the distant hint of laughter from the houses on either side of his. He ignored everything until streaks of lightning across the sky forced him to drag himself out of the water again and go searching for a towel.

He left a trail of wet footprints back into the house, like the ghost of a murdered fisherman, through the living room and finally into his bedroom and the attached bath, where he grabbed one the of the white fluffy towels Steven had picked out when they had first moved in together. Before Steven had broken up with him the first time, the second time, and the third. Before Steven had come back that last time, needing a friend and someone to care for him as he worked through whatever he had to work through.

Everett had never understood what that was. Not at the time, and no better now, all these years later. It was enough to know that Steven had been unhappy, that Everett couldn’t make him happy, no matter how hard he had tried, continued to try, even when all he wanted was to move on and find his own happiness.

Once he was dry, he pulled on a pair of briefs and studied his reflection in the mirror. There’d be no more wrangling children at theater camp, or being flirted with by their mothers. Not this summer anyway. This summer he’d be back in front of the camera, doing what he loved.

Everett Reid had done his penance and now he was going to grab some happiness for himself.

The Death of Digby Catch

It’s more than eighteen years since August Catch’s Uncle Digby disappeared to the Cape to mourn the death of his sister. So when August arrives at Arachne’s Loom to collect his late uncle’s things, he isn’t expecting to find stories of a man larger than life. Or the very real possibility that Digby’s death may not have been from natural causes.

Theo Webb has had few people in his life he loved, and fewer still he can trust. But the estate groundskeeper, Digby Catch, was one of them. Returning home for Digby’s funeral, Theo is thrown together with Digby’s nephew, and the attraction is instant. But so is Theo’s certainty that things surrounding Digby’s death don’t add up, and at least one person isn’t telling the truth.

Discovering a killer is difficult when someone is desperate to keep more than just their identity a secret. And when all the clues point in one direction, even Theo isn’t sure what to think. He and August must work together if they’re going to solve a murder, and not let the thing growing between them be a distraction.

But then, maybe a distraction is exactly what they need.

Excerpt

August had known he wasn’t alone in the woods. He’d been listening to the sound of Theo’s cursing and watching the bouncing of his flashlight for a solid five minutes. Still, the sight of him frozen, unmoving just beyond the trees was unsettling.

When he got closer and realized what Theo was looking at, he didn’t feel any better.

“Who’s that?”

“Jesus Christ.” Theo yelped, whipping around at the sound of his voice and only just catching himself from shoving him hard in the chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

August opened his mouth to say he hadn’t, but his eyes were drawn to the movement of the figure in the window, and instead he grabbed Theo and tugged him back into the line of the trees.

“I think they saw us.”

“Good.” Theo pulled out of his grip and started marching back towards the cottage. “I have a few fucking questions to ask.”

“We don’t even know who it is.” August ran to catch up. “For all we know they have a gun.”

“This isn’t Law and Order, August.” Theo didn’t slow down.

“It’s not Blue’s Clues, either.” But August was still right next to him, keeping pace when they hit the porch. “Just promise me you’ll let me handle it if it turns into a fight?”

“Hey, I can take a punch.”

“It would be more helpful if you can throw one.” Theo scowled but August was not going to back down. “Let me handle it.”

Theo let out a huff of breath and tried the knob, and when it didn’t open, held out his hand. “Got the key?”

August dropped the ring into his palm.

Theo unlocked the door and flipped on the living room light and August ran for the stairs. “You stay down here.”

He found the bedrooms on the second floor empty. The bathroom too. He checked the closets, and under the beds, and besides the same level of clutter that had overwhelmed him downstairs, there was little in the way of surprise outside of one of the bedrooms having been set up as a studio, with an easel and painted canvases propped against the walls.

Like his vast taste in books, it was something else August had not realized about his uncle.

Downstairs he found Theo checking the back deck.

“No one upstairs.”

“Goddamnit.” Theo turned around and leaned back against the railing. “I’ve checked down here. I’m surprised they were able to get away without at least one of us getting a glimpse of them.”

“There’s no basement?”

“Shit.” Theo bolted past him and headed to a short hall at the side of the kitchen. “Here, and there’s an outside cellar door too. Since both the front and back doors were locked, it’s probably the way they got in. Careful not to bump your head.”

They took the narrow cellar steps single file, one in front of the other. And at the bottom, Theo pulled a chain dangling from the low ceiling, and a dim light came on. It did little more than illuminate the hard pack dirt floor beneath it and darken the shadows in every corner.

The ceiling was only an inch or two above Theo’s head, and as they moved around the clutter of rickety-looking metal shelves full of dust and cobweb-covered mason jars and crates of old, rusted tools, August had to bend down so he didn’t crack his skull.

“The outside cellar door should be…dammit. It’s bolted.”

The door at the top of the stairs slammed, and August turned so fast he banged his head on one of the floor joists. “Fuck.”

Theo ran for the stairs, bumping into August, and toppling over one of the shelves that crashed to the ground in a cacophony of pounding feet, screeching metal, and shattering glass.

“Sonofabitch. We’re locked in.”

“Let me try.” August took the steps, squeezing past Theo, grabbed the knob, and rattled the door. “Is it a problem if—”

“Please. Break the fucking thing down.”

It only took one firm slam of his shoulder for the wood of the jam to splinter, but no amount of pushing could open the door. “Something’s blocking it.”

They both fell silent and listened to the slow retreating footsteps and the eventual slam of the front door.

“Well.” August reach out to pull free a cobweb that had gotten tangled in Theo’s hair. “Now what?”

“Tell me you have a phone? I left mine at the cottage.”

He fished it out of his pocket, unlocked it with his thumb, and handed it over. “Calling the police?”

“No.” Theo was frowning. “It’s probably just kids.”

August wanted to argue, but he didn’t. “Your moth—”

“Absolutely not.” Theo stared down at the screen a moment before dialing. “Simon. Hey, yeah it’s me. I have a huge favor to ask.”

How to Cheat at Dirty Santa

Some things are worth risking the naughty list.

Jonah Newfeld is not someone men fall for at a glance. They have to get to know him first. So when he meets the perfect man, he knows he needs to play the long game.

Nathan Sharp is the newest guy on the customer service floor. He’s clever, kind, blessedly single, and volunteers weekends at a local animal shelter. Jonah wants to raise babies with him. But when Nathan’s sister starts trying to fix him up with her veterinarian, Jonah’s dream is put into jeopardy.

Jonah needs the perfect plan if he wants to win over the man of his dreams. But a terrible plan will have to do, and more than a little help from his friends. If Jonah can pull it off and manage to get the boy, it’ll be more than worth being put on Santa’s naughty list for good.

Publisher • Amazon • Universal

Add to: Goodreads • Bookbub • QRI

*** Available on Kindle Unlimited ***

Excerpt

As promised, I ordered pizza for lunch. I made it a large -- enough for Reed, Lydia, and myself -- and we agreed to meet at our normal table. Lydia brought the drinks, and, as it turned out, Reed brought Kim and Becca.

“Hi?” I said when the three of them arrived.

"Don't worry," Reed assured me as they took chairs across from Lydia and me. "The girls want to help."

Kim and Becca were also on our team. They dressed alike, spoke alike, and spent their lunch hours hiding in one or the other’s car reading yaoi comics featuring incredibly slender men in dress shirts, ties, and wire-rimmed glasses.

“Of course we want to help.”

They spoke in unison. Their voices a hotel twins echo of one another as if they practiced being unnerving on the weekends.

"That means we only have fifteen people to worry about." Lydia had pulled out a notebook and was busy crossing their names off the list. "That’s only three people a piece if we split them up.”

She said it like it was a good thing. While I, on the other hand, was horrified that two more people knew about my infatuation.

As if she could read my mind, Lydia patted my leg. “It takes a village, hon.”

I squinted at her. It was one thing to say it took a village to raise a kid, it was something else completely to say it took a village to get me a boyfriend. Different, and sad.

“Thanks for the assist, ladies.” Lydia gave them a conspiratorial smile, and the girls clapped, each mirroring the other’s excitement at being brought in on the mission, and I swear to God I could feel the hair on my neck stand up on end.

“Firstly, is it best to have Nathan pick his gift first? Or last?” Team leads always ran the games, and since Lydia was ours, we could give ourselves the advantage from the start. “Or does it even matter?”

“First. Definitely first.” That way, if he didn’t pick my gift, it gave the five of us a chance to take his present, and force him to pick another.

“Next, any suggestion that might keep the others away from Jonah’s gift.

“Sal is allergic to peanuts.” This came from Kim and Becca, and I instantly rethought my hesitation at bringing them on board.

“Perfect.” Lydia pointed at Becca with a pen. “It will be your job to tell Sal the purple polka dot wrapped present is a box of ... peanut clusters?”

“Got it.” The girls clapped again.

In the end, everyone had their jobs. Spreading rumors, and telling flat-out lies, and just as important, listening. But not, despite Reed's insistence that it was fail-proof, no bribery. Paying out cash would take the whole thing from a possibly cute story we’d tell our kids, to a cautionary tale, he’d tell his.