Howdy all! It’s been a few weeks.
Got a collage for ya with Trisha the angel apprentice. I’m getting kinda irritated with Canva because it’s been buggy lately. Doesn’t like to remove backgrounds consistently and when you save the file, some images regain their background. So, I’m going to start using Photoshop exclusively because the images just come out better. I really need to do more videos too.
Anyway, I thought I’d mention that the first two books in Angels Dark and Dumb are now on Barnes & Noble. Follow the links to purchase Call for Obstruction and Warrant for Damnation. You can only get the paper version at the moment, but the eBook should be available soon.
I also finished the first chapter of Corner of Hell and Second Chances. I’m sure it will change a bit before the book is published, but I decided to include it here just for fun.
Corner of Hell and Second Chances
Chapter 1
I’d rather poke my eyes out than ride in another one of Satan’s transport vans, but here I am, sitting in the passenger seat beside my self-proclaimed babysitter. At least we’ve escaped southern Colorado and have made it halfway to Denver without being attacked by his evil forces.
My grip on the door handle tightens as Candy pushes the petal to the metal and weaves into the left lane to pass a semi-truck. The horn on the car she cut off speaks to what I already know—she’s an asshole. At least she is to me. While staring into the rearview mirror, she snarls and grunts. With short blond hair combed upward into a mohawk, camouflaged t-shirt and stretch pants, and spit-shined combat boots, she plays the role of psycho driver well.
Maybe she’s trying to wreck the van and take off my head, the easiest way to remove a Nephilim like me from Earth. But if she beheads herself, she’ll be in Hell’s refugee camp, guarding lost souls. My fate’s a million times worse than hers, considering the many warrants for damnation Satan has issued in my name, one of which is for accidentally helping my old demon boss plugging up one of the Gates of Hell that was nearly ready to open. Only one reason it’s insane for me to be in one of his vans.
Then again, after the last few days, the CEO of Hell should think twice before sucking me down to Hell. I’m half fallen angel and half Daughter of Light with the ability to absorb supernatural abilities from dark beings. Yesterday I stole half of my fallen angel father’s knowledge and otherworldly abilities, although I have no idea what sort of havoc I’m capable of reaping yet. I never know what I’ve poached from a demon until a circumstance calls its use, like when I spit fire in a guys face.
We reach the last exit to Monument, Colorado, marked by a blue sign covered with gas station and fast-food logos that tempt my hungry gut. “Get off at the next exit… Let’s pick up burgers.” I bounce in my seat and my head grazes against the ceiling. Sometimes it sucks to be nearly seven feet tall.
“Are you nuts? It’s bad enough Pete’s making us transport evil energy canisters to Denver. If Satan catches us with his property…” Candy shakes her head and wiggles in a seat too small for her massive ass. She’s right about not stopping, so I’m quick to let it go, but she’s not. “We will stay planted in this van until we reach the church drop off in Denver. Then I’m getting as far away as possible. Think about it. Evil energy that near a holy building and righteous humans could turn us into salt.”
“Yeah, fine,” I say snidely. “I didn’t want to do this anymore than you did. But with Margery buried up in the mountains, I agree with Pete. We couldn’t just leave five truckloads of evil energy at her Trinidad warehouse.”
“Pete may be in charge, but he hasn’t been making the best decisions since his demon reactivated.”
Last thing I want to do is trash Pete and his demon. He’s put up with a lot of my crap. And he and Boss have a long history, battling my father, Azael. “He’s doing the best he can under the circumstances. And think about what we were able the accomplish the last few days. Azael’s weakened, Margery’s out of the way, most of the skaks are dead or turned into white warriors—”
“Yeah, yeah, but you didn’t finish off Azael, did you? Now we have to search Denver for the Bastard, all because you couldn’t finish the job.”
Whatever, I think. But what else would I expect from a woman who thinks I’m the master of failure.
I lean over and unzip the gym bag near my feet to retrieve a box of Fruity Loopy cereal I snagged from the warehouse. Instead, my gut churns when I spy a cigar butt on the floorboard. I reach for it, careful to hold the ash end between the tip of my thumb and index finger, as if it might discharge poison. While dry heaving, I reflect on its owner, a conniving son of a bitch rightly condemned to guard Hell’s refugee camp. Slimeball helped set me up for closing the Gates of Hell.
I shove the chewed on mouth end between Candy’s lips.
“What the…? She slaps my hand. “Is that Vern’s?”
“Yeah.” Although I don’t know why she’d asking. We were assigned his old van and everything around us smells like a cross between cedar-scented cigars and old-man farts.
I jab her cheek, missing her mouth this time. “Is it like kissing him?”
This time she punches my arm. The van veers right and so do I, her freakish brute strength forcing my torso against the door and my head against the window. The cigar flies through the air and lands in her lap. She jumps in her seat, as if the cigar is still lit, mumbling every curse word in the book.
I laugh so hard, snot flies from my nose and hits the dashboard.
“Won’t think it’s so funny when I throw your ass out and make you walk to Denver.” Candy throws the butt back at me, then she points at the ninety-eight degrees, registering on the rear-view mirror. “See that temperature?”
“Damn, can’t you take a joke.” I brush my fingers through my mussy, curly hair.
She growls, jerks at the steering wheel, and focuses back on the road. “Take a nap.”
Instead, I reach in my bag and pull out the mini box of Fruity Loopy cereal. As I pull on the tab, Candy says, “Stop! Where’d you get that.” But she’s too late. I’ve already opened the box. A snake head’s peaks out, ready to strike. And he’s not alone.
