August 23, 2010 | "Whoa whoa I gotta go...back to schoooool...again",3rd Semester,A Royale Pain,Adv Children's Lit,Book One,Draven Atreides,Draven Atreides, Teenage Informant Series,Prescott College,Reading is FUNdamental,School Daze,Summer 2010,Your Two Cents

As part of my Creative Project in my ACL course, I’m posting the first five chapters of my work-in-progress A Royale Pain: Draven Atreides, Teenage Informant (Book One) during the month of August. Your opinion/critique is requested. Are you new to the blog? Ready why I’m doing this here.

Deets:
* New chapter posted every Monday
* Post your comment/critique/advice/suggestions in the Comment Section
* Comment section closes on Sunday
* ACL Project ends Aug 30th

CHAPTER FOUR

Sunday, I wake up at Poe’s house with Rader on the brain. Stretched out on one of her inflatable couches, I open my eyes to stare at the paper lanterns in different shades of blue dangling from the ceiling. His face is superimposed on a lantern and I have to blink to make it disappear. I lean up on one elbow to check the time. Ten-fifteen. It doesn’t feel like ten-fifteen. Sighing, I turn my head. Rico has fallen off his inflatable blue velvet lounger and is lying in sprawled oblivion on the floor. My gaze moves to Poe, who has shoved her covers to her feet and has somehow managed to end up crosswise on her bed. I shake my head and chuckle silently. I feel sorry for her future husband.

As I lie on my back, I cross my arms over my chest and take stock of yesterday’s events. Before I know it, it’s ten forty-five. I’ve spent thirty minutes thinking about Rader DeChanel. Which can only mean one thing: I’m going to have to track him down today and tell him that his secret job is safe with me. And it has to be a secret. Why else would he freak out like that? I brush my hands over my tangled braids and sigh again. You’re going to have to do it, Draven. It’s going to keep bothering you if you leave it to chance. I’m not a confrontational person by nature. Perfect informant material, if you ask me.

I throw off the covers, make my way to Poe’s bed and crawl up beside her. I poke and nudge her until one eye cracks open.

“This had better be good,” she croaks.

“It is. Tell me where Rader lives,” I say in a low tone.

She makes a smacking noise with her lips, like she’s trying to erase a bad taste in her mouth, and closes her eyes. I’m not about to let her go back to sleep. Not without getting the information I need.

“Poe.” I poke her harder in the arm. When I get no response, I shake her. “Poe,” I say again, louder this time.

“Did you try calling 911 first?” comes the sleepy reply.

“I did, but the guys are taking a break right now and can’t make it,” I say around a muffled laugh.

Her eyes pop open as she tries to focus on me. “That’s not funny,” she murmurs.

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for not listening. Tell me where Rader lives.”

“What makes you think I know that?” she whispers.

“Because you know people who know people. Tell me,” I demand.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I saw him yesterday at the spa.”

This brings her fully awake. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she turns on her side to face me. Curling her knees up to her chest, she shoves one hand under her cheek while the other plows through her choppy black hair.

“You saw him? Did he talk to you?” she asks, her voice still husky with sleep.

I glance away then back at her. “You could say that. Look, I think it’s supposed to be a secret. Him working there, I mean. He was pretty surprised to see me.” Major. Understatement. Of. The. Universe. “I just want to let him know that we won’t rat him out.”

She stares at me a moment longer, brown eyes unblinking, and I wonder if it’s because I have dried drool my on my chin or she’s deciding whether to talk me out of going.

“I can’t believe you’re going to waste a Sunday tracking this guy down,” she says after the long silence.

Must be dried drool. I wipe the corners of my mouth with an index finger. “Well, I can’t do that until you tell me where he lives,” I point out.

“Right. Okay, uh, don’t freak out but…” she pauses dramatically.

“But what?” I nudge her hard.

“He lives in the same complex you do.”

My jaw drops open and I’m pretty sure it’s dangling near the bed. I prop myself up on an elbow and look at her in disbelief.

“Shut. Up.” It’s the only thing I can get out.

“Well, if you insist,” she mumbles, closing her eyes and snuggling her head in the pillow.

I tweak the lone red strand of hair framing her face. “I was kidding. How is it possible that I’ve lived there all this time and I’ve never seen him? Or Taffy?”

She shrugs. “Mmm-mmm.”

“And all the times you and Rico have come over. How come you never said anything?”

She shrugs again. “You never asked.”

“It didn’t jog your memory until now? I mean, you guys were just over last week. You could’ve at least give me a ‘hey, by the way, Dray Rader lives on the—“ I stop abruptly and look at her expectantly, waiting.

Finally she glances up at me, eyebrows raised. “What?” she asks.

I roll my eyes and release a frustrated growl. “The floor. What floor does he live on?”

“Fourth,” she says.

“How long has he lived there? Who does he live with? You wouldn’t happen to know the apartment number, would you?” I bombard her with questions.

And how is it that, after four months, I don’t know the answers to these questions myself? I should know this stuff already. I should’ve been documenting everything Taffy said, meaningless or not. Some informant you are, Draven India Atreides, I scold mentally. You totally suck golf balls.

“Don’t know, a relative, apartment number 407C,” she rattles off in a bored tone.

Un. Freakin’. Believeable. Seriously, Draven. You need to get your shit together. Right now, your best friend makes a better informant than you.

“So, you’re really going?” Poe’s saying now.

I slide off the bed and start getting dressed. “Yeah.”

“Want me to come with? You know, in case he tries something funny?” she offers.

I laugh and shake my head. “Nah, that’s okay. I can take care of myself.” That’s the whole idea of Kung Fu Sundays with Ty.

* * *

The Portland Square apartment complex on Portland Avenue is the complex where Ty’s men live and lucky for him, I fell in love with the floor plan at first sight. He even managed to get me an apartment on the same floor as his guys. On the street level is the parking garage, a City of Phoenix police sub-station, a small gym, a reasonably priced restaurant, and a sandwich place. A dog park with wrought iron benches sits in the middle of the street, like a median, and spans the whole length of the street from Central Ave to 3rd Ave. It’s three miles from the Black Dragon Academy, the main headquarters for his agency, and it’s five miles from my favorite place, CoolBeans Café, which is on the way to school.

As I take the elevator to the fourth floor in building C, I can understand why we’ve never run into each other. The complex has over four hundred units, four levels each, and the three buildings take up three blocks. I live in building A, he’s in building C, and never the twain shall meet. The doors swoosh open and I easily find the apartment. I knock and then take a step back, glancing up and down the hallway. Seconds later I hear the locks disengage and the door opens to reveal a woman dressed in a sweatshirt, ratty jeans and slouchy socks. She looks young, maybe late twenties with hair and eye color exactly like Rader’s. Definitely a relative.

“Can I help you?” she asks with a curious but polite smile.

I raise a hand in an awkward wave and flash a small grin. “Hi, can Rader come out to play?” I blurt unexpectedly.

A second of stunned silence and then we both bust out laughing.

“Just kidding,” I say around a final chuckle. “At least about the playing part. I’m Draven.” I hold out my hand.

“Ariel. Rader’s aunt,” she says, shaking my hand.

“We’re lab partners and I need to talk to him about an assignment. Is he around?”

“He’s down at the gym but you’re more than welcome to wait for him here, if you like,” she offers, taking a step back.

“No, no, that’s okay. I’ll meet him down at the gym. Thanks. Nice meeting you,” I say.

“You, too, Draven.”

At street-level again, I swipe my key fob across the security panel next to the gym door and open it. It’s no 24 Hour Fitness, but the equipment they do have is top-notch. I see him instantly, shirtless, doing arm curls in the corner. Rader does a comical doubletake when I catch his eye in the mirror. He stops mid-curl, his look of surprise prompting me to give him a cheeky wave and a cheesy grin. His gaze flicks around the room as he slowly drops the dumbbells and picks up a towel. It’s nearly noon and the gym is occupied by Rader and one other person. Apparently Sundays are his workout days, too. He quickly swipes the towel over his arms, chest and head before pulling on a sweatshirt.

Yowza. Now I can see why Taffy makes such a big deal about his abs. And his pecs. And his butt. They’re very nicely, ahem, defined. Prickles dance across the back of my neck as he saunters toward me, making me want to frantically scratch. Knowing that I’ll look like a rabid dog with fleas stops me from doing so.

“Um, hey, Draven,” he greets me warily.

I point a thumb over my shoulder and casually scratch my neck in the process. “Why don’t we talk outside?” I suggest.

“Sure. So, uh, how did you know I was here?” he asks, draping the towel around his neck and holding onto the ends.

“You’re aunt told me. Nice lady, by the way.”

His eyes widen and he glances up and down the street. “How do you even know where I live?”

I lean back and look at him like he’s crazy. “Chill out, Mr. Paranoia. I’m not stalking you. I live here, too.”

“You live here?”

“Yes, in this building.”

“This building?”

Now it’s my turn to look around. “Are we in a mountainous region? Because I’m getting an echo here. Or maybe I spoke too fast. I’ll say it again, slowly this time. Yes. I live here. In this building. Well, not this building specifically. I’m in The Simms, building A. On the fourth floor. Did you get all that?” Each of the three buildings has its own name and address. Building C, where Rader lives, is called The Sloan.

He shoves his tongue into his cheek as though to stop himself from laughing, then says, “Yeah. I got it. Guess I’m just surprised.”

“Join the club.”

“I didn’t realize you lived here.”

“Ditto.”

“But that still doesn’t answer my question.”

“What was the question?”

“How did you find out I lived here?”

“I heard it through the grapevine,” I say. Would I have sounded corny if I’d sung that line instead?

“Uh-huh. Sounds like gossip to me,” he says warily.

“Yes, well, that’s what the grapevine usually is. Gossip. So, how long have you lived here?”

“Eight months. You?”

“Six.”
He nods, but says nothing more.

“Yeah, so, I just wanted to talk to you about yesterday.”

His chin notches up and he glances over my shoulder. “What about it?”

“I just want you to know your secret about working at the spa is safe with me. I mean, if no one else knows, that is.”

“What makes you think it’s a secret?”

My eyebrows say hello to my hairline. “Well, gee. Maybe it was your not so subtle way pf booting me out. Call me crazy but that just screams secrecy to me.”

Legs apart, he crosses his arms over his chest and looks down at the ground. Finally, he raises his head. “Look, no one at school knows I work there and I’d like to keep it that way.”

I nod a few times. “Okay. That’s cool. Understood.”

He nods again, too. I’m sure we look like a couple of stupid bobbleheads out here on the sidewalk.

“So is that why you’re tardy sometimes?” I ask.

“Is what why I’m tardy?”

I roll my eyes. Hel-lo. What the hell have we been talking about here for the past twenty friggin’ minutes?

“Your job,” I say in a “duh” tone of voice. Do all guys have the attention span of a gnat or is it just a teenage guy thing?

Note to self: never talk to Rader after he works out.

“Oh. Right,” he laughs sheepishly and shakes his head. “The job. Yeah. Sometimes.”

Sometimes? What about all the other times? I take in the taut jaw and guarded gaze. He’s done talking.

“Okay, well, I’ll let you get back to your workout. Sorry to interrupt.”

“No problem. So, we’re good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” I start walking backwards. “See you later.”

“Later.”

Sitting at Ty’s dinner table that night, I listen to him and his wife, Shannon, talk about their day. My muscles are pleasantly loosened from my weekly one-hour kung fu session and the shower afterwards. I smile wistfully as Ty reaches out to tuck a strand of Shannon’s hair behind one ear. It’s a gesture he seems to do without thinking and it reminds me of John and Abby. It’s funny really, how perfect Ty and Shannon are together.

At six feet four and two hundred something pounds of solid muscle, Tykota Black Hawk is full-blood Apache. His black hair is military short and eyes just as dark peer from a face that appears carved from oak. As well as the hollowed out cheekbones that every male model pays to have surgically created, he has a lean, chiseled nose. He’s also a quiet, intense man who speaks in a low, deep baritone. He can be overprotective, bossy, and irritatingly persistent.

And he’s deeply in love with his wife.

Shannon O’Malley-Black Hawk looks like she stepped out of one of those old Irish Spring commercials. Long, wavy red hair, sky blue eyes, parcelein skin, and a slight brogue, she is the light to Ty’s darkness. She’s funny, sassy, energetic, has a laugh that sounds like tinkling bells, and she barely reaches Ty’s chin.

And she’s deeply in love with her husband.

I glance over at said great couple to find them both looking at me expectantly.

My gaze shifts from one to the other. “Did I miss something?”

“I just said that you’ve been pretty quiet since you arrived. Is there something on your mind?” he asks.

“Other than the assignment? No.”

“Do you have something to report?”

“Possibly.”

“Well, let’s go back to the office and talk.”

I pick my backpack up off the couch in the sunken living room and head down the hall to Ty’s office. The four bedroom, two bathroom house in Scottsdale seems almost too big for just two people. Even though one bedroom is an office and the other a gym, I think Shannon is still hoping I’ll occupy the remaining bedroom. They’ve both made it clear on more than one occasion that they want me to move in, but I don’t want to do the whole family unit thing. At least, not any time soon. If ever.

Right now, I enjoy living on my own and having my own space. Everything in it may have been paid for by the FBI, but I chose it: from the purple Pottery Barn dishes in the kitchen, right down to the vintage purple velvet chaise in the living room.

Mine. My space. My belongings.

I plop down on the comfy couch and set the backpack at my feet. Ty eases into his chair and turns it so he’s facing me.

“What have you got?”

I unzip the main portion and pull out the perfume vials. “These are samples of products they used on me yesterday. You may want to test them.”

His gaze sharpens and he’s no longer relaxed. “Are you feeling any adverse effects?”

“No.” At least, not yet. Let’s hope I never do.

“What about Poe?”

“I don’t think so, no. She would’ve said something by now. They’re using products from different companies. There’s a boutique on the property that carries the product, but I don’t think the new stuff is available yet,” I say.

“Did you get the names of the companies?”

“Yeah.” I dig in a side pocket and hand him a folded slip of paper. “I don’t think Jean-Pierre would pick any of these, though. They seem too, I dunno, American.”

“When in America, do as the Americans do,” he remarks absently, his eyes flicking over the list.

“But his M.O. seems to be foreign. I mean, according to his file, he sticks close to what’s familiar. He’s from France. All the previous companies he used are French. Why would he change his routine because he’s in America?”

“Why indeed? Maybe he thinks the stakes are higher here, so he’ll need to up his game. Try something different,” he shrugs. “It’s a different ball game.”

“I suppose. Have there been any updates?”

“No, nothing yet. You have the same intel as I.” He turns back to his desk and takes his computer out of sleep mode.

True, true. And the intel is usually pretty basic. Agent KAPOW weren’t kidding about that need-to-know rule.

“I’ll contact these companies to see what I can find out and have the samples tested. Were you able to look around at all?” His low voice brings my thoughts back to the present.

“No. I was escorted the whole time.” Well, except for that one time.

“And?”

“And short of getting a job there, it’s going to be a little difficult to snoop around. Think you can work another miracle and get me in?” I waggle my eyebrows.

He chuckles. “Possibly. I’ll talk with Special Agents Karr and Powers to see if they can open any doors.”

“If not, that’s okay. I might have an in.”

Rocking back and forth, he steeples his hands under his chin. “How so?”

“I bumped into someone there. Literally. I ran right into him when I turned a corner,” I begin to explain.

The rocking stops. “Him?”

“Yeah. Rader DeChanel. He goes to my school, we have a couple of classes together and apparently, he lives in my complex, too. He works there at the spa, but wants to keep it a secret.”

“He told you this?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“Today. This morning, actually. I tracked him down at the gym.”

Ty slowly leans forward, his eyes like lasers boring into my face. “You tracked him down. In a gym.”

I press my back into a corner of the couch, feeling his gaze like a physical touch.

“Yesss.” I draw the word out slowly, cautiously. “I wanted to tell him that I—we, me and Poe—wouldn’t blab his secret.”

He tilts his head to one side, his gaze never leaving my face.

“Quit with the unblinking puppet stare, would ya? You’re giving me the heebie jeebies.” I add a shiver for effect.

“I see. And how do you plan to enlist his help without revealing your own secret?”

I fidget, finding sudden interest in a loose thread.

“Ahem, well, I, uh… erm… have no idea.”
—————————-
COMMENTS FOR THIS POST ARE NOW CLOSED

Can’t figure out what’s going on? Read the Prologue and Chapters 1-3 HERE

August 17, 2010 | "Whoa whoa I gotta go...back to schoooool...again",3rd Semester,Life in General,Mentors,Prescott College,Reading is FUNdamental,School Daze,The 4-1-1 on Me

Romance author Carolyn Brown has a book coming out in October with this same title. I’ve been reading her books in between homework assignments and right about now, this feels appropriate.

I am so tired of school right now it’s not even funny.

Today, I busted out an assignment two hours before I had to meet my mentor. Didn’t give a damn if it sucked or not. She said I did good.

One–or both–of my mentors for my Fall semester may or may not be approved by my core faculty. I was worried about it for, like, a day.

Now, I don’t give a damn. I could probably use the break.

I have a 10-page research paper due on the 5th and I haven’t really started on it. Earlier this month, I had to change topics when I couldn’t find enough academic resources. I stressed about it.

But now, I don’t give a damn.

The summer semester ends Sept 6th. The fall semester starts 10 days after that.

Right now, that little window of Education Freedom is lookin’ like a slice of heaven.

I’ve got stack of 9 books in my TBR pile and I’m gonna spend that free time reading my ASS off.

Technorati Tags: Carolyn Brown

August 16, 2010 | "Whoa whoa I gotta go...back to schoooool...again",3rd Semester,A Royale Pain,Adv Children's Lit,Book One,Draven Atreides,Draven Atreides, Teenage Informant Series,Prescott College,Reading is FUNdamental,School Daze,Summer 2010,Your Two Cents

As part of my Creative Project in my ACL course, I’m posting the first five chapters of my work-in-progress A Royale Pain: Draven Atreides, Teenage Informant (Book One) during the month of August. Your opinion/critique is requested. Are you new to the blog? Ready why I’m doing this here.

Deets:
* New chapter posted every Monday
* Post your comment/critique/advice/suggestions in the Comment Section
* Comment section closes on Sunday
* ACL Project ends Aug 30th

CHAPTER THREE

“This should be fun,” I murmur to myself, glancing around the near empty parking lot of the Royale Treatment Day Spa. Situated a few yards inside the private road leading up to the Camelback Mountain Resort, the spa appears to be hidden in a forest.

While I wait for Poe, I decide to go through my bag of tricks to see what I can bring inside. I set my purse on the passenger seat and pull my backpack into my lap.

Lipstick knife? Check.

Lipstick mace? Double check.

Baggie of empty perfume vials? Triple check.

Mini audio/video recorder? I pause and stare into space. Hmm, too obvious. I might as well just hold up a sign that shouts, “Hello, look at me!”

The sound of a revved engine makes me look around and I hurriedly zip up my purse and backpack.
Poe zooms into the lot and comes to a whiplash stop in the space next to mine. She hops out, barely remembering to lock her car, and gives me a crushing bear hug.

“Exciting, isn’t it?” she says, skipping ahead to check out the empty tennis courts.

About as exciting as a root canal. I could’ve done without this little jaunt. Spa visits had been a weekly thing for me and Isabella, an outing I had grown to hate within a month’s time. She had seen it as a way to bond with her new daughter. Of course, that was hard to do when you’re getting treatments in separate rooms, gossiping with your friends in the waiting area, or getting drunk on mimosas.

“Hurry up, would ya? I don’t want to be late,” Poe calls over her shoulder as she runs up the ramp and disappears around the corner.

No bitter spa face today, Draven, I mentally coach myself. At least pretend you’re having a good time. For Poe’s sake. I wouldn’t be here if Plan A had worked: get close to Taffy and find out what I can. Needless to say, that avenue had dried up as quickly as a popped pimple.

Plastering a smile on my face, I quicken my step, round the corner and see Poe looking up at the canopy of trees and turning in a slow circle.

“God, isn’t this fantastic? It’s like being in a nursery,” she says.

“Yeah. It’s pretty cool,” I agree, catching a glimpse of the gym and a boutique hidden amongst the foliage. I make a mental note to check out the boutique when we’re done. “C’mon. Let’s go in.”

The building is modern with an Asian theme. The lobby is sparse. Just the front desk and two chairs in front of a large window partially covered by two huge brick slabs. A scented candle burns on the end of the check-in counter. To the left is a light-colored wood door with a frosted glass insert labeled MEN. The man and woman behind the counter smile as we approach.

“Hello, and welcome to the Grand Reopening of The Royale Treatment Day Spa. Did you receive an invitation?” the woman asks with a kind smile.

“Oh. Yeah,” I say, digging in my purse. I pull it out and hand it to her.

“And your names?” the man inquires, rolling his chair up to a computer monitor.

“Poe Danziger and Draven Atreides,” I say.

He rapidly taps on the keys. “Ah, yes, here we go. Okay, it appears you both signed up for the sixty minute Dragonfly Facial, a thirty-minute Bamboo-Lemongrass Scrub Body Treatment, a Royale Pedicure for Poe and a Royale Manicure for Draven. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Oooh, sounds good to me,” Poe says with a wide, excited smile.

“All right, ladies. You’re all set. Here are the keys to your lockers. Go on through the door marked Women and Marla will get you started. Enjoy your stay.”

Marla turns out to be a short Phillipino woman with a kind, motherly smile.

“Hello girls. Welcome. Are you ready to get started?”

Poe and I return her smile. “More than ready,” she responds fervently.

Clasping her hands, Marla smiles even wider. “Well, then let me take you back and show you around.”
She steps around the desk and immediately stops in front of a long vanity counter and turns to face us.
“When you are done for the day, you can get ready here. As you can see, we have supplied you with everything you need.”

She’s right. The counter is lined with hair dryers, curling irons, small magnifying mirrors, hair spray, hair gel, Kleenex and lotion dispensers; four modern and uncomfortable-looking wooden stools are tucked underneath the counter.

Marla lifts her hand to her left and says, “You will change here. We supply you with robes, slippers and towels.”

Three dressing rooms with slatted wooden doors are standing open to reveal a toilet, slippers on the floor and a robe hanging on a hook.

She raises her right arm and gestures down the hall. “Here’s the steam room and the showers. The Jacuzzi is at the end of the hall. You are more than welcome to use these as well.”

Poe and I peer down the hall and see four tiled shower stalls with frosted glass doors. The burbling sounds of water can be heard from the Jacuzzi, tucked away in a corner by a window.

“Please change now and I will show you where you can place your things,” Marla says.

Poe makes a sound of glee and heads for one of the dressing rooms. I laugh and close myself in the one next to her. I can feel her excitement and, for the first time in almost a year, I feel it, too. The ivory robe is baby soft with deep pockets and falls to mid-calf. The matching slippers are just as soft, making me curl my toes. Both items are embossed with a family crest. Whether real or only for show, I don’t know, but I have no doubt the robe and slippers are of good quality material. I roll up my clothes, tuck the lipstick mace and baggie of perfume vials in my pocket, and pick up my shoes. Opening the door, I step out just as Poe is doing the same.

“Oh my God, these are so soft,” she gushes, rubbing her hands up and down the sides of the robe. “What is this, like cashmere or something?”

“Couldn’t tell ya, but I have a serious love jones for the slippers,” I say, scrunching my toes again.

She laughs. “I know. Gosh, this is fantastic. I wish I could do this every week,” she says, sighing wistfully.

“It gets old pretty quick,” I say without thinking, then promptly wish I can take the words back.

“Like you would know,” she scoffs.

“Yeah, well, I can imagine. I mean, there’s only so many treatments you can get, right?” I joke.

“This place has a lot of stuff. It would probably take over a month to try it all.”

I nod. “Yeah, no kidding.” I almost faint in relief when Marla comes around the corner and smiles at us.

“Come this way, ladies, and I will show you the lockers,” she instructs.

We follow Marla past the steam showers and the Jacuzzi. Turning left, we see two rows of lockers fronted by comfy bright blue benches.

“Your belongings will be safe in these lockers. Did you get your keys from the front desk?”

We both nod, holding them out.

Marla glances at the tags then looks at me. “You are here. And you three doors down,” she says to Poe.

I unlock the door, shove my stuff inside, and slip the phone cord key ring around my wrist. We then follow Marla through the doorway.

“This is the waiting area. You will relax here between each of your treatments. Your estheticians will come get you when they are ready. Outside the double doors is the Zen Garden. Feel free to step outside and take a look. It’s quite peaceful. Would you like some water or tea?” Marla asks.

“I’m fine for now,” I say.

“Me too.”

“We encourage you to drink plenty of water in between treatments so you do not get dehydrated. Enjoy your time here,” Marla says, before leaving the room.

“Holy Mother of Saint Bubble Gum,” Poe whispers in awe. “This place is freakin’ amazing.”

“I’ll second that.” I pause near the door to take it all in.

The room is beautifully decorated in Asian accents with modern art on the wall. Three dark brown bamboo-type chaise lounges are situated in front of windows covered with sheer curtains. A little alcove sectioned off by short, stone walls houses an overstuffed couch with matching ottoman and chairs. To my left, in the corner, an oak cabinet, its doors open, reveals an assortment of juices, iced tea and bottled water. A teapot squats on a hot plate warmer, surrounded by teacups and saucers, packets of tea and a hot water dispenser. Poe’s gasp draws my attention across the room. She has unlocked the double doors and thrown them wide open.

“Check out this Zen Garden, Dray, it’s sweet,” she crows in delight.

I walk closer, crossing my arms over my chest to ward off the chill. Even with the sun out, it’s still a bit cool. I step up beside my friend and scan the Garden. This is like no garden I’ve ever seen. Not a flower in sight, but plenty of different types of bushes. On one side of the stone bridge is a large pond filled with rocks and a funky-looking iron sculpture. On the other side of the bridge is a hot tub-sized rock pond built into the stone deck, being fed a steady stream of water from a rock-filled chute connected to another hot tub-sized fountain.

“Do you think that chute has gold in it?” Poe wonders aloud.

I laugh and shake my head. “I don’t think so. Though it seems like it would, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty cool. Like we’re at a spa in China or something. Only without the wooden platform flip flops. Those things look uncomfortable.”

“That would be Japan, Poe. China’s where they wear the kung-fu slippers. Close the doors, will you? It’s getting chilly in here.”

We move to the lounge chairs and sit in silence, staring out at the garden. A few minutes later, a door to the right opens and a woman dressed in a black Asian-inspired shirt and pants appears.

“Poe?”

“That would be me.” She swings her legs to the floor and bounces up.

The woman laughs and holds out her hand. “I’m Luna and I’m going to be your esthetician today. Ready to go on back?”

“I’m ready. See you later, Dray,” she says with a wave.

“Have fun,” I reply, watching my friend practically skip out of the room.

Moments later, the door opens again. This female is in all black as well. “Are you Draven?” she asks.

I stand up. “Yes, I am.”

“That’s a pretty name. I’m Violet and I’m going to be your esthetician today. Are you ready?”

“Yep.”

“Great. Follow me.”

I follow her from the room to an outside corridor with four doors on either side; satchel bags are dangling on the doorknob.

“Here we are,” she says, opening a door in the middle on the right.

I glance around. “All the treatments are performed out here, in these rooms?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Both men and women?”

“Yes. Only the dressing rooms and waiting areas are separate.”

“And what do the little satchels on the door mean?”

“Those let us know which rooms are occupied. Sun means they’re open, Moon means they’re occupied.”

I step inside and it’s like being in my own bedroom. The room is warm and dimly lit, helped along by dark tiles and the heavy drapes framing frosted double doors; soothing music filters through hidden speakers. A turned down massage table sits in the middle and two pieces of equipment stand sentry to its right.

“Okay, Draven. I’m going to have you remove your robe and slippers and slip under the sheet on your back,” Violet says. “I’m going to step outside here and give you some privacy.”

I quickly remove my slippers, hang my robe on the hook behind the door, tuck my glasses in the side pocket, and climb onto the table. There’s a knock on the door and it opens a crack.

“Are you ready?” she inquires.

“Sure, c’mon in.”

I listen as Violet washes her hands at the sink, then takes a seat on the stool at the head of the table. She scoots it around until she comes into view on my right.

“Have you had a facial before, Draven?” she asks.

“Yeah, but it was a long time ago.”

Violet nods. “Great. Well, let me tell you what we’re going to be doing today. I’m going to do the facial first, the scrub second, then send you off to get your manicure. After the facial, I’m going to take you back to the waiting area and give you a chance to relax for about fifteen minutes before the next treatment. The Dragonfly Facial begins with an application of self-heating mud on your spine and feet. This will not only relax you during the facial, but also detoxifies and puts minerals back into your body. While that’s going on, I’m going to do a skin analysis, cleanse, steam, extract, exfoliate, moisturize then follow it up with a mud mask. How does that sound?”

“Great,” I say.

“I thought it would. I’m going to need you to sit up for me now, so I can apply the mud,” she says, standing up and placing a supportive hand underneath my shoulder.

Using Violet as leverage, I sit up and keep the sheet tucked under my armpits with my free hand.

“So, how’s the reopening been going? Are you pretty booked today?” I ask.

“All weekend, actually. Kinda crazy, but it’s good.”

“What’s the deal? Was the place remodeled or something?”

“A little bit. It’s more exclusive. For the longest time, the spa was open to the public. You didn’t have to be staying at the hotel to use it. Now it’s open only to hotel guests and exclusive members.”

“It’s not even open to employees?”

“Oh, well, yeah, but only certain treatments.”

“Sounds lame. Can’t you guys get in on that exclusive membership deal?”

Violet snorts. “We would, but the yearly fee is way out of our pay range. I think that’s the way the owner wanted it to be. A lot of celebrities come through here, so the more exclusive it is the more they’ll tell their friends and come back, I guess.”

“Huh. So, that’s it? That’s a stupid reason to have a Reopening,” I say, frowning. “Not to mention a little selfish.”

Violet laughs and waves a hand in the air. “No, no. That’s not the only reason. New staff has been hired and we’re trying new product lines.”

If my ears had been dog ears, they would’ve flicked back in interest. “New product lines? You mean the stuff you’re using right now?”

“Yep.”

I watch as she lays down a strip of foil, the kind used for mylar balloons. She spreads a strip of brown goo down the middle, then covers it up with a strip of gauze; she folds the top and bottom half. I sniff and wrinkle my nose.

“It stinks,” I say.

She laughs and nods. “Yeah, it doesn’t smell very nice. It’s not really mud but freeze-dried seaweed, so it’s going to smell like low tide. You’re going to feel it bubbling up on your back and feet, but it’ll feel like a massage. It’ll be worth it, I promise. Okay, go ahead and lie down and let me get your feet. Then we’ll get started on the facial.”

An hour later, I sit up with Violet’s help and practically melt off the table.

“Okay, we’re done for now. After that treatment I would normally apply lotion, but since you’re getting the body scrub in a little bit, it wouldn’t do you any good,” she says. “I’m going to step outside while you put your robe and slippers on and then I’ll take you back to the waiting area.”

She quickly washes her hands and dries them before stepping out of the room.

The minute the door closes, I hurriedly get dressed, then step over to the sink. I take three vials out of my pocket and place them on the counter. I didn’t get a chance to ask about the names of the companies during the facial, nor do I know which company Jean-Pierre has chosen to “consult” for. Getting samples of all the products that are used on me is the only thing I can do. For now.

The tentative knock at the door nearly makes me drop a vial. “Draven, are you ready?” comes Violet’s muffled voice.

“Yeah, uh, my glasses got smudged and I needed to clean them off. I’ll be right out,” I say around a frantically beating heart.

“Okay,” she replies.

Pushing said glasses back up my nose with a knuckle, I shove the vials in my pocket, make sure nothing looks out of place, and open the door.

* * *

Too soon, I find myself alone, pulling on my robe and slippers after the final body treatment. The body scrub has left my skin so slippery that this time I practically slide off the table.

“How do you feel?” Violet asks.

“Awake, clean and soft,” I say with a laugh.

“Well, good. I’m glad you enjoyed it. I’ll take you back to the waiting room now. One of the nail techs will come and get you,” she tells me, starting to close the door.

Outside the room, we only take a few steps when she suddenly stops. “I forgot to turn off the steamer machine. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, I know how to get back to the waiting room. It’s just around the corner there. You don’t have to take me,” I say.

She bites her lip in indecision. “Are you sure? It’s my job to escort you back.”

“I’m sure. I won’t tell anyone,” I assure her with a smile.

“Okay then. Thanks for coming in, Draven. Hope to see you again soon.”

“Thanks Violet. I had a great time.”

Hands in pockets, I head down the path, turn the corner…and plow into a hard chest.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you—”

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention—”

We both speak simultaneously as I reach up to rub the back of my neck. I glance up and immediately move my hand from the back of my neck to the lapels of my robe.

“Rader. What are you doing here?” I manage to squeak out.

Rader takes a step back, his eyes wide in surprise. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

“Hel-lo. It’s a spa.” I take in his clothes, the same black kung fu-type outfit Violet is wearing.

“You should know that. You work here.”

He takes a quick look around, shifts from foot to foot. “Look, you shouldn’t be here. You need to leave.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “Leave? I don’t think so. I’m getting my nails done next. What’s the matter with you? What’s goin—”

He slices a hand in the air, effectively cutting me off. “Just believe me when I say that you shouldn’t be here,” he says, then quickly walks away.

I stand there for a moment, stunned. O…kay. Who pissed in his Cheerios?

——————————-
COMMENTS ARE NOW CLOSED FOR THIS POST

Are you completely clueless as to what’s going on? Read the Prologue and Chapters 1-2 HERE

August 11, 2010 | Draven Atreides,Road Trip Wednesday

Road Trip Wednesday is a “Blog Carnival”, where YA Highway‘s contributors post a weekly writing or reading-related question and answer it in on our own blogs. You can hop from destination to destination and get everybody’s unique take on the topic.

You’re more than welcome to participate! Just answer the question on your own blog, and leave a link to it in their comments.

Topic #40: What does your character hide in their underwear drawer—or other secret location??

When I saw the title post for this week’s RTW, I nearly laughed aloud. At work. That wouldn’t have been good, but it did make me smile, though. And then I thought, “oh, yeah, this is gonna be fun.” And then I thought, “Oooh, Draven’s going to kill me for telling you.” But I figure, well, once you read the books, she’ll tell you anyway. If anything, she’ll be pissed because I told everyone first and not her.

That’s just how my girl is.

So, as you know, Draven leads a double life. By day, she’s a regular 16 yr old sophomore, by night she’s an informant for the FBI (and, well, sometimes during the day, too). Working for this agency, she’s got to keep a few things on the DL:

Digital Diary – A super-secret way to express herself via a customizable diary page. It helps keep Draven’s thoughts private (since she can’t tell her friends) and protects against online predators. A personalized PIN code and non-removable memory chip foil break-in attempts, while encryption software makes it virtually hack-proof. All in a little mini flash-drive. Secret Location: empty tampon box under the bathroom sink.

Audio/Visual Survelliance Detector – Draven’s a little anal about keeping her little place free of “bugs.” She works for the FBI, after all. One can never be too careful. Secret Location: hollowed out can of Canada Dry Ginger Ale.

Gadget Gear – Draven may not be a spy, but she still needs a few gadgets to assist her on assignments and she can’t exactly leave them out in the open: night vision goggles, long-range microphone, camera. Secret Location: empty laundry detergent box

So, what about your characters? Any secret hiding places or is the underwear drawer the “it” place?

August 9, 2010 | "Whoa whoa I gotta go...back to schoooool...again",3rd Semester,A Royale Pain,Adv Children's Lit,Book One,Draven Atreides,Draven Atreides, Teenage Informant Series,Prescott College,Reading is FUNdamental,School Daze,Summer 2010,Your Two Cents

As part of my Creative Project in my ACL course, I’m posting the first five chapters of my work-in-progress A Royale Pain: Draven Atreides, Teenage Informant (Book One) during the month of August. Your opinion/critique is requested. Are you new to the blog? Ready why I’m doing this here.

Deets:
* New chapter posted every Monday
* Post your comment/critique/advice/suggestions in the Comment Section
* Comment section closes on Sunday
* ACL Project ends Aug 30th

CHAPTER TWO

Six months later

The hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end again. Reaching up to smooth them down, I glance at the empty chair next to me. Rader DeChanel is tardy again, but he’s close. I can sense him. For real. The feeling goes no further than a prickle at the back of my neck, but it’s enough. I call it my EWS (Early Warning System). It came in handy when I discovered The Foster Couple From Hell (aka The FCFH) were involved in illegal activities and had been under investigation by the FBI. But that part of my life is over now. I have a new name, a new life, and a new gig. Attending this school. And dealing with a consistently tardy lab partner. A six-foot-two inch, brown-haired, blue-eyed guy named Rader DeChanel.

My EWS locked onto him during my first day here at Craycroft School of the Arts. He strolled into my biology class, making every girl’s breasts perk up. Except mine, of course. Although I’m not attracted to white guys, Rader is a pretty good-looking. His girlfriend is Taffy Royale, resident Drama Queen and owner of an irritatingly lively giggle. Yes, it’s true. She doesn’t laugh, she giggles. If she were a doll, she’d be Tickle Me Elmo’s kid sister. And what’s with the name Taffy? A person can get a cavity just from saying her name.
The slap of the closing door draws everyone’s attention to the front. I look up and watch Rader stroll to my side of the room.

“Nice of you to join us, Rader,” Mrs. Jericho comments, one eyebrow climbing up her forehead like a woolly caterpillar.

“Sorry. I couldn’t find a parking spot,” he replies, cracking a lazy smile.

Right. I roll my eyes while the rest of the class laughs.

“Try not to let it happen again. Open your book, please. We’re on chapter ten, page six.”
Slouching in his seat, legs nearly taking up all the space under our desk, it looks like he might keel over from boredom. Join the club, Blue Eyes.

“I forgot my book. Can we share?” he whispers to me out of the corner of his mouth.

“Why am I not surprised? God forbid you actually come prepared,” I say through clenched teeth, pushing my book to the center of the table.

“Dude, I can’t help it if I have better things to do than homework.”

I throw him a glare that would’ve blown him to ashes if he’d been paying attention. My jaw clenches even tighter and I actually feel my hands curling into fists. Insufferable, arrogant ass.

“My name is not dude, it’s—”

“Draven Atreides, is there a problem?” Mrs. Jericho intercepts what I’m sure would’ve been a scathing remark.

“Yes. And his name is Rader,” I say, giving him a snarky look.

He frowns at me before looking at the teacher, hands held out in innocent supplication. “I forgot my book, Mrs. J. Sorry.”

She shakes a scolding finger at him. “That’s been happening a lot lately, Rader. This is my final warning. But just for today, Draven, please share your book.”

Rader gives me a triumphant smile and pulls the book closer to himself.

I growl under my breath and stop myself from sticking my tongue out at him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Taffy blowing him a kiss. I may have to poke a stick in my eye if she does that again. I snort softly and shake my head. What does he see in her? Other than her knack for gossiping, expensive gift-giving skills, and trendy clothes, she’s a waste of air.

“All I asked was why she was wearing that stupid baggy T-shirt on the beach,” she’s saying in a loud whisper. “She had the nerve to get all mommy dearest on me and say ‘Well, unlike you, I won’t have skin cancer by the time I’m thirty’ and I’m all, ‘I don’t smoke, so I have nothing to worry about’.”

My mouth hangs open as I stare at Taffy in disbelief. Are you kidding me? Out of the whole school, small as it is, he ends up with her? She’s an embarrassment to the female species. Rader can do so much better. Like me. Or someone like me, that is. Someone needs to slap this guy with a Stupidity Citation.

Granted, I’m five feet six, with a full mouth, small button nose, and a few extra curves that won’t bring cars to a screeching halt. I keep my thick, sandy brown hair in braids the majority of the time because if I don’t it becomes a freakin’ nightmare to comb. And despite the light green eyes hidden behind purple-framed glasses and the three-shades-lighter-than-Beyoncè skin tone, the Chevalier’s liked that I could pass as white. Even though the high, apple-shaped appendage—aka my butt—is a dead giveaway for something else. No white girl could get a perky butt like mine without a Butt Master or implants.

“What is this, social hour? I’m trying to teach class here, Taffy, so can you save your Summer of Skin Cancer story for later?” Mrs. Jericho requests, then pauses in the act of writing a word on the board. She holds a chalky finger up in the air and turns around. “Although, now that you mention it, skin cancer is a serious thing. Back when I was going for my degree in biology….”

I muffle a groan as she goes off on another tangent. I’ve learned to tune her out. I must’ve been stark raving mad to schedule a science class first thing in the morning. Even if it does start at nine fifteen and ends—I drag my gaze to the clock above the chalkboard—in five minutes. I sigh in relief. Praise the Lord, hallelujah, pass the biscuits.

The theme from Saved by the Bell suddenly blares through the speakers and everyone practically runs for the door.

“Draven, I have a note from the office for you.” Mrs. Jericho stops me at her desk and hands me a folded piece of paper.

“Thanks.” I glance at it as I walk toward the door.

Package being held for Draven Atreides has been hastily scrawled on a message pad. Frowning in confusion, I shove the note into my hoodie pocket and wince as the cold air hits my face. Craycroft is located in a former office building, so there are no hallways or lockers.

Arizona doesn’t get as cold as New York, but it’s nippy enough in late November to put a little sting in my cheeks. After being homeschooled, I have yet to get used to walking outside to go from class to class. Going to school with other kids is still a novelty, too. Especially a school like Craycroft where the focus is more on creative achievement.

I open the door to the office and pause just inside to bask in the warmth, then step up to the desk.
“I received a note about a package being held for me? I’m Draven Atreides,” I tell the secretary, a woman who eerily resembles my former caseworker. Definitely not a good memory for me.

“Oh yes, your father dropped it off for you,” she says, pointing at a small manila envelope on the corner of her desk.

I freeze in the act of reaching for it and my eyes feel as big as quarters behind my glasses.
“My father? I don’t have a fa—oh. Right. Tall Native-American guy, military hair cut?” The woman looks at me like I’m crazy and I don’t blame her. “Of course. My father. I hardly see him, you know.”

I snatch up the envelope and get the hell out of there before I say something even more stupid. For an instant—millisecond really—I actually thought she had been talking about my real father, John Asher. He and his wife, Abby, adopted me as a baby and raised me until I was seven. Apple Valley, Ohio. The best childhood of my life until a freeway pileup took it all away. And I ended up in the foster care system.
Then, for a nanosecond, I thought she had meant Derek Chevalier. He and his wife, Isabella, are The FCFH. I inwardly shudder, glad to be free of that part of my life. I flip the envelope over and see BHPA and a black bird in the upper left hand corner.

Black Hawk Protection Agency. Tykota Black Hawk isn’t my father, but he plays one in the soap opera that is currently my life. I stuff the envelope in my backpack and remind myself to look at it after class.

An hour later, I stand against a railing out of the flow of traffic and pull out the envelope. I rip open the flap and dump out the contents. It’s an invitation, on thick paper stock and with raised gold letters.

Oh. Snap.

Finally! A break in the case! Praise the Lord, hallelujah, cue the choir. I want to fall to my knees and bawl like a baby in relief. But I stop myself just in time. Concrete is kind of hard on the knees.

SIX WEEKS, PEOPLE! SIX. FREAKIN’. WEEKS. OF. PURE. TORTURE. Listening to a girl named after a sticky piece of candy talk about meaningless nonsense: wild-life safari in Africa (“Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!”), an audition for a feminine douche commercial (because, you know, being fresh “down there” is very important), Rader’s tight butt (apparently you can bounce a quarter, two dimes and a nickel off of it), a pair of real diamond-studded jeans worn once by J. Lo (I bet they were knock-offs), Rader’s twelve-pack abs (I hear he can crush a can while doing a stomache crunch. Clever), contemplating a career as an actress/singer while dabbling in fashion and archaeology (say what?), Rader’s muscular pecs…. Yeah, the fun never stopped with that girl. If I heard one more swoony factoid about Rader’s body parts, I was going to take her out with a karate chop to the neck.

But now, a reprieve. Divine intervention in the form of—

“An invitation to the Grand Re-opening of the Royale Treatment Day Spa? How’d you get this?”

The familiar voice over my shoulder makes me jump and turn in surprise. My friend, Rico Casiano, snatches the invitation from my hands.

“Hey,” I protest.

“Hey, nothing. Where’d you get this from, girlfrien’?” he demands in a low tone.

“Get what?” My other friend, Poe Danziger, asks. “And why are we whispering?”

“Because of this,” he hisses, shoving the invitation under her nose.

Her eyes quickly scan it, then her jaw drops open and her brown eyes widen. “Taffy’s aunt owns that place.”

“I know,” I say.

“You have to be a member to get in there,” Rico says, leaning in close.

“I know.”

“You have to be a rich member to get in there,” she adds.

“I know.”

Back to Rico. “You have to be a famous, rich member to get in there.”

“I know.”

“This place was featured on VH-1,” she says, sidling closer and still staring at me with wide eyes.

“I saw that segment,” I say with a grin.

“Did you see the one they did on the Travel Channel?” he asks.

“Sure did.”

“How did you get this?” she hisses, standing practically toe to toe with me.

“Ty’s got great connections,” I say, casually stuffing the envelope in my back pocket. I was lucky Rico hadn’t whipped that out of my hands, too.

Rico and Poe share skeptical glances. “Then he must have some pretty high-up connections,” she murmurs, eyeing the invitation again.

Bingo. “He knows people who know people.”

“It says here you can bring a guest. Did you already RSVP?” she asks, bouncing on her toes.

I smile at her barely contained excitement. “Yep. The two of us are in like Flynn tomorrow morning.”

“Well, where’s my invitation because I’m hitchin’ a ride wit ya’ll,” he says, snatching the card back from Poe and fingering the raised lettering.

She makes a buzzing sound and puts her hand up as if to stop traffic.

“Sorry, wrong answer, thank you for playing, chico,” she teases. “You’re working, remember? Besides, you don’t do spas. It’s too girly or something.”

“But I’m more feminine than both of you,” he declares. “Doesn’t that count for―”

I smack him on the arm. “How dare you!”

She snorts. “First of all, you’re male, chico. Second, you may be gay but you didn’t fling yourself out of the closet until later in life. The Bush of Life always overrules the Twig and Berries—”

“Poe,” I protest, glancing around as I crack up laughing.

“—therefore, we will always be more feminine than you,” she finishes with a smug grin.

Rico’s laughing so hard he has to lean against the railing. Straightening up, he sniffs and carefully dabs the undersides of his eyes.

“Damn. I should’ve worn the waterproof today,” he murmurs. “Either way, girl, metrosexuals, homosexuals . . . whatever, we still like to be pampered. What’s the big deal, anyway?”

“The big deal is that there’s only one invite and only two people can go. Even if you could go, it wouldn’t be any fun because we wouldn’t be able to spend time with you. I’m pretty sure males and females have their own areas,” I explain.

Rico releases a dramatic sigh and leans back, taking a sudden interest in his nails. “Sure. Fine. Whatever.”
“Geez, don’t pout, chico. We probably won’t see anyone famous anyway,” Poe tries to reassure him.

The Saved by the Bell theme filters through the speakers again and everyone scatters. Gotta love a school that uses music instead of bells.

“Well, just be sure to give me all the details,” he says, giving me a one-armed shoulder hug.

“Will do.”

“Meet you at the place tomorrow?” she asks.

“Sounds good. See you later.”

She wraps her arms around my neck in a hard squeeze.

“See ya.”

* * *

I pull into the parking garage of my apartment complex after eight that night, having successfully endured a last minute shopping trip with Poe. Closing the door to my fourth floor abode, I deactivate the alarm and hang my keys on a hook.

“Home sweet home,” I murmur with a contented sigh.

I head up the stairs leading to my bedroom loft, kick off my sneakers, toss my backpack on a corner chair and throw my purchases on the bed. I twist the bottom off a hollowed-out can of Canada Dry Ginger Ale and a small black box slides into my hand. Slowly make my way around the apartment, waving the wireless camera/bug detector back and forth.

I’d bought the device—and a couple of hidden safes—with my first paycheck from my part time job at Old Navy; the guy down at the Spy Headquarters store is getting to know me by name now. I’m still amazed a store like that even exists. Thus far, my privacy is still intact, but that could change. And I’m not going to take any chances. Even though I’m kinda on the bureau’s payroll—which they would totally deny—I don’t really trust them and I’m sure they feel the same about me.

Sweeping my place for surveillance devices has become a habit for me: dump backpack, kick off shoes, sweep apartment. The black box declares my home bug and camera free and I return the handy device to its hiding place. In the kitchen, I make my nightly cup of chamomile tea before I shuffle up to my desk, boot up my laptop (a secure-as-Fort-Knox gift from Agent KAPOW) and access the file folder saved there:

Jean-Pierre Du’Lac
mad French chemist, dabbles in drugs

Date of Birth: May 23, 1969
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Dark brown
Place of Birth: Leon, France
Height: 5’10″
Weight: 175 pounds
Sex: Male
Build: Slight
Race: White
Occupation: suspected chemist for The Inner Circle
Nationality: French-American
Scars and Marks: none
Aliases: Gaston Lucienne, Francois Devereau, Alain Gruner, Christophe Thibaut

He’s here in Phoenix, trying to get Taffy’s aunt to carry his homemade Product of Death at The Royale Treatment Day Spa. My attempts to get close to Taffy had worked well in the beginning. Bringing up the spa or anything to do with fashion had been relatively easy; my experience with The FCFH and helping them run an upscale boutique had come in handy.

But it had soon become clear Taffy didn’t have as much knowledge of the inner workings of her aunt’s business as I’d had with The FCFH’s. My cell phone rings and I hit the Talk button, knowing only three people call me on it. And they’re all adults.

“Hey,” I say.

“And how is little Miss Informer tonight?” Ty’s low smooth voice teases my ears.

“I’m fine. The door’s locked and the alarm’s been activated,” I recite with a smile.

“Good. Did you get my package today?”

“I did. How’d you manage to swing that sweet prize?”

“I know people who know people.”

I burst out laughing. “Funny. I told Poe and Rico the same thing. She probably wants to kiss your feet right about now, by the way.”

He chuckles. “I can imagine. This came at a very opportune time. We weren’t expecting the reopening for another three months.”

“My Mercury must be in retrograde this week to get a break like this. I don’t think I can handle any more of Taffy’s meaningless babble. As much as she goes on about about that place, you’d think she’d be more interested in how it works.”

“Everyone isn’t as curious as you.”

Ain’t that the truth? After chatting for a moment with Shannon, Ty’s wife, and another promise to report back, I flip the phone closed.

Seriously. If nothing comes from this little trek, put a fork in me. I’m done.
——————————
COMMENTS ARE NOW CLOSED FOR THIS POST

Need to catch up? Read the Prologue and Chapter One HERE.