Dirty Deeds 2 Snippets #8

When the going gets tough, the tough get their hands dirty.

Join NY Times bestselling authors Faith Hunter and Jennifer Estep along with USA Today bestselling authors R.J. Blain, Diana Pharaoh Francis, and Devon Monk on a brand-new romp through magical worlds where the damsels bring the distress, what can go wrong will go wrong, and nothing is as it seems.

Adventure with Eli Younger, Liz Everhart, and Brute in the thrilling world of Jane Yellowrock. Face off against old gods and lost souls at a magical crossroads on Route 66. Become entangled in Ashland’s dark, deadly web with side characters from the Elemental Assassin series. Return to the irreverent world of Beck Wyatt, where disaster waits around every corner and cheesecake makes it all worthwhile. And finally, meet up with the Quinns and friends in the zany world of the Magical Romantic Comedy (with a body count) series.

In this collection of all-new urban fantasy and paranormal stories, the gloves are off and simply surviving might just be the dirtiest, most difficult deed of all.

The Crossroads wasn’t exactly a sentient building, but all the magic stored in it had somehow merged together to create a joined spirit. 

The old house was my friend, and I was its guardian and the keeper of its magic. 

Even if that magic was dangerous. 

Especially when it was dangerous. 

In return, the Crossroads did its best to help me. Lately, I’d been having the same dream on repeat, which I knew the Crossroads had something to do with. 

I was floating in tropical water, the taste of sugar on my lips. A handsome man, a familiar man, with green, green eyes placed a flower in my hair, his fingers drawing down the curve of my cheek. “I’ve missed you, Ricks.”

That’s where the dream always ended, because that’s always when I’d recognized the man.

Cardamom Oak. That dryad-wizard fink.

I’d dismissed the dream every day for a week, but the Crossroads just kept putting it in my brain. 

I knew it was an omen.

Trouble was coming. 

And that trouble was somehow connected to my jerk ex-lover.

Remembering how Gin had saved me all those years ago made another thought pop into my mind. “Wait a second. When exactly is this not-big-and-fancy party of yours?”

Mallory winced, as though she’d just been caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar. “This coming weekend.”

“This weekend? As in when Gin will still be out of town with Owen, Finn, and Bria?”

Gin was taking a much-needed vacation, along with Owen Grayson, her significant other; Finnegan Lane, her foster brother; and Detective Bria Coolidge, her biological sister. I applauded Gin for scheduling some time off. If anyone could use a break from all the crime and corruption in the city, it was the Spider.

Not only was she an assassin with a list of enemies a mile long, but now that Mason Mitchell was dead, Gin was also the official queen of the Ashland underworld, and thus responsible for settling disputes between the various crime bosses, most of whom were about as mature as two-year-old toddlers throwing temper tantrums.

“Well, the four of them were at the original reception,” Mallory replied in a defensive tone. “I didn’t think they would mind if we had a little party while they were gone.”

I snorted again. “You mean you didn’t want to risk another one of Gin’s enemies crashing this new party and ruining it like Emery Slater did the first one.”

Mallory winced again. “Okay, fine, pumpkin. You caught me. Yes, I decided to hold the party this weekend while Gin is gone. I thought her not being there might lessen the risk of something bad happening.”

It was a fair point. Trouble followed Gin Blanco around like a wolf stalking a deer through the forest.

“First things first; unless reporters are nearby, I’m Sam or Quinn. She’s Bailey.”

Chief Bailey Quinn glared at her husband and the box he held. “If you want to put him in his place, call me Gardener. It drives him crazy.” Placing her hands on her hips, she continued to glare at her husband. “I could have carried that.”

“You could have, but you won’t.” Chief Samuel Quinn grinned. “As I’m busy carrying this box, I won’t be able to defend your saddle, which I happened to bring with me today.”

The woman bolted down the hall, hit the stairwell door at full throttle, and bounced off it before yanking it open and plunging down the steps.

My mouth dropped open, and I struggled to come up with a single thing to say.

“The kids are at their grandparents’ place today, and she is enjoying her freedom. As she’s no longer nursing, she had her first cup of coffee today since month five of her first pregnancy. This time, she gets to have coffee until month eight. This will delight her until she realizes that she’s already working on her timer before she’s cut off again. She has not had coffee in months. She’s once again forgotten cindercorns don’t appreciate the cold, which should have been her first clue she’ll be losing her coffee rights again by the end of the year. Have you ridden a horse before?”

I grimaced at the memory of being stuck with one of the force’s worst assholes of a horse during my training period. “I have basic mounted patrol training, but I was passed over for duty,” I reported.

“That’ll do. You’ll ride Bailey to the station. Maybe that’ll calm her down. I’ve a pair of goggles for you to wear, and I had a vest made for her so she’s not cop bait. She is excitable today, and cindercorns have a habit of disregarding speed limits when excited. Hell, who am I kidding? Cindercorns hate speed limits.”