Excerpt from The Body Hunters: Paradise Denied-Eric's Murder

Enjoy a snippet from the second novel in our series The Body Hunters: Paradise Denied. This is the murder of Eric Winston our suspect's first husband.

Eric Winston expertly trekked soundlessly over the rugged Alaskan terrain of Denali State Park. Mount McKinley, the highest mountain summit in North America, was in the backdrop, its snowy peaks stretching into the early morning sky. With the plush clouds and fluffy snowcaps, the breathtaking skyline looked like it had been painted by the hand of God. Denali State Park's scenery varied from lushly populated green forests to seemingly untouched icy tundra. Year round frozen glaciers jutted from the landscape like jagged shards of glass feeding into the cool channels and streams. Denali State Park was a nature lover's paradise.

Opting not to employee a guide like some inexperienced novice, Eric left camp at daybreak to explore the park. Not satisfied with the nature trails that catered to the tourist population of the park, Eric decided to walk on the wild side, literally. The temperature was comfortable, in the mid 60's, his sweat cooling off his body before it could accumulate. Eric was six foot tall, his body composed of lean muscle mass acquired from his active outdoors lifestyle. A mutinous mop of black hair covered his head and his eyes were the color of flint. His female fans on the blogs called him a heart throb. One zealous devotee even commented that he was a pretty boy, but the tangible type, not one of those Hollywood guys that needed makeup before they left the house. Eric liked the critique very much.

Today he was traveling light, dressed in loose fitting camouflage pants, a black long-sleeved t- shirt that clung to his upper body, and a hunter's orange hoodie. His lucky, well-worn Timberland boots protected his feet from toothy rocks and the roughened topography. Over his back he lugged a backpack full of health bars, water, his digital camera, batteries, and other necessary equipment, while on his left shoulder was a quiver full of arrows. He held his newly purchased compound bow in his hand, ready for his quarry.

For the better part of the morning he had been tracking a large, bull caribou. Being mid-August, he was just in time for caribou hunting season, and he wasn't going home empty handed. Eric kneeled, observing the fresh caribou tracks running along the stream. He cursed, having just missed the beast by mere minutes. The creature had stopped to drink from the stream before heading right back into the wilderness. Consulting his compass, Eric noted that the beast was headed east. He had been on the caribou's trail for awhile and wasn't going to lose him now.

Shifting the weight of his backpack and quiver on his muscled back, Eric followed the hoof prints. A stark white snow hare darted out of his path. Songbirds anointed him with their serenades as he entered the wooded area. Solid thickets of plant life impeded his travel, low hanging limbs from young spruce trees slapped him in the face, but he would not be deterred. This is the life he loved.

Eric Winston was the Wildman, or so he was called on his internet viral videos. He had started off filming some of his outrageous outdoor adventures and daredevil stunts, and the videos had become so popular he was nearly a household name. Taking advantage of his Harvard Business degree, the twenty-eight-year-old turned his love of the outdoors and extreme sports into a lucrative multimillion dollar enterprise. His was the face that graced bottles of sports drinks, outdoor equipment, and sportswear. His agent was even working out a deal for an MTV reality show. He had literally become his own brand. He was living the American dream.

A year ago he had finally met the woman with whom he wanted to share that dream. Amanda McDuff, or Crystal Rose as she was called during her stripping days, was now his wife. He had first met Mandy when he was out partying in Boston and visited a topless bar with some of his randy friends. As soon as Crystal Rose took the stage, Eric was immediately mesmerized and had to have her. Model tall with coffee brown, shoulder length hair and topaz brown eyes, Crystal Rose seemed to be looking right into his soul. The woman knew how to captivate the room, leaving every male in the bar drooling and ready to leave their wallets and credit cards with her. With her stunningly perfect breasts and even more perfect backside, Crystal Rose was exactly what men's fantasies were made of. With her first twirl around the pole, Eric was ready to throw her over his shoulder and lock her away in his apartment.

Instead, he waited around for her until the club closed. Sitting on the hood of his Porsche he was biding his time for her. At first she turned him down when he asked her out. But after three consecutive weeks of him showing up at the club on the nights she performed, Mandy finally relented.

Amanda was a Boston Community College Student, a computer programming major, stripping to pay her way through school. When they got engaged, Eric insisted that she give up her college aspirations to help with his career. She’d remained hard headed about the subject, refusing to give up her schooling, but things were about to change.

Two days ago they made it official and finally tied the knot. After a lavish private ceremony, he had spirited them away on a private jet to Alaska. To say that she didn't appreciate their honeymoon destination was an understatement.

At first she complained that she didn't want to sleep in a cold tent, let alone spending their wedding night making love on an air bed. After having to rough her up a little, Mandy let him have his way. She woke up complaining about the cold, and he was forced to get her straight again. Now that they were married, he wasn't going to be putting up with her nagging. She was going to do things his way, or else.

On his way out to hunt, she whined about bears and wolves in the woods, so he decided to leave her with his hunting rifle. The gun was probably too cumbersome for her, but it would stop her bellyaching. Besides, if any wolves or bears came around, she would probably be toast anyway.

Eric tried on a wry smile at the thought of her, the typical city girl, trying to survive an animal attack. He stopped short, spotting his prey in the next clearing. Like a ghost, Eric silently plucked an arrow from his quiver and pulled it back against the bow string, all in one fluid motion. He was envisioning having the caribou's head mounted on his office mantle as a wedding gift to himself.

A crack of thunder sent the startled caribou back into the woods. It was funny because the weather forecast hadn't predicted any rain at all. Eric started to look up and realized he couldn't move, but there was an agonizing pain in his back, like someone had ripped it open with a crowbar. Slowly he touched his fingers to his chest, to find them slick with blood.

There was another crack of thunder and he was face first on the forest floor, slowly slipping out of time and into eternity. The assailant stood over Eric and emptied two more bullets into the back of his skull for good measure. Stepping carefully around the body, the attacker headed back out of the forest.

Eric was dead, steam escaping from his body and dissipating into the cool, morning air. The scent of blood drew carrion crows who began feasting on the body. The crows scattered when a rogue grizzly bear approached. The bear nuzzled the body, before grabbing it by the leg and dragging it to its den.

Stop Reading Girly Books!

My co-author Von's brother, a grizzled ex-Detroit detective recently completed The Body Hunters Paradise Denied and gave his critique. Being a sixty something year old male with decades of police experience he had issues with the mystery aspect of the story and an issue with the way the romance between the main characters, Danielle and Aiden played out. He especially took issue with the pet names. Von called me one evening after work and told me what he had to say.

Being used to getting good feedback from our mostly female fanbase I went through the three stages of emotion after a critique. First I wanted to fix the problem. Maybe we did something wrong. Oh my God, I've gotta go back and fix the problem. How many copies are out there? How long will it take me to do another rewrite and submit it to Amazon?

The next stage was me being defensive. He doesn't know what he's talking about! How dare he tell us about our book! We read and reread our book dozens of times and it was perfect!

The last stage was anger. Who does he think he is? What makes him an expert? What's he doing reading girly books in the first place? You want a real police book go read a John Sandford novel and get outta my face!

I went to bed with his critique on my mind and it kept me up for a little while. The next day, I gave his opinion some more thought and picked it apart. Okay, for the next novel we'll pay more attention to the police aspect. Writing a book about two psychics who solve mysteries, we make every effort to follow the law and police protocol; Von was a paralegal in a former life and she's the expert on such matters. If she doesn't know the answer than that's what research is for. Since the book takes place in the real world, we're as close to the law as can be, but in the interest of the story we may bend a few rules, but its all plausible.

Now as far as the romance, I can't help him and he's outta luck. If you don't like Danielle being called 'Nani' and Danielle calling Aiden 'Big Daddy' then you need to be reading something else. Though its a paranormal mystery series, their relationship is the heart and soul of our books and that's what the readers love. Each book's mystery is what brings them together for them to have their relationship drama.

As if for vindication, that very same week, a couple of our readers told us how much they loved our sucker punch ending. The mystery, which kept them guessing until the very end was another reason their eyes were glued to the pages. We have another reader, who is half way through who keeps pestering us with questions and her hypothesis about how things are going to end and of course she's very wrong. To sum it up, our intended audience loves it, and is begging for more. While I appreciate Von's brother who has supported us with both novels, his opinion isn't the end all be all of our publishing career. As long as the people we write the book for enjoy it, I'm just fine with that. In the publishing business you can't cater to everyone. Besides, he shouldn't be reading girly books anyway.

Aiden Stone, Marine

Excerpt from The Body Hunters

The three Humvees spit up chunks of gravel and sand as they navigated the winding streets of Kabul, Afghanistan. The city was a combination of a modern metropolis mixed with post apocalyptic ruins straight out of a futuristic movie. The heat could only be described as pure unadulterated hell. It permeated the metal innards of the three military vehicles that made up the convoy. The elite US Marine unit had just provided assistance to the US Army in pushing back guerillas terrorizing civilians in the nearby area. The mission had been a success, resulting in multiple casualties for the insurgents. Nearly unscathed, the squad of Marines was headed back to base.

Sergeant Aiden Stone sat alongside the driver in the lead Humvee with sweat pouring down his face in streams. He ought to be used to the merciless rays of the sun by now. His roots were native Hawaiian. An alpha male to the core, during his senior year of college he decided to be one of the few, proud, Marines. Excelling at everything he put his mind and body to, Aiden quickly made sergeant in his company. Trying to keep the peace in Afghanistan, he was now in his third tour of duty. As usual, his squad mates were talking major trash, and he was stuck playing referee. He had been with this squad for the past six months, and they were definitely his band of brothers. Good or bad he could count on them, and they could depend on him.

"I'm telling you, that chick was all up on me." Private Owens said. He was also known as Huck. The squad had nicknamed the Kentucky native Huckleberry Finn or Huck because of his country bumpkin ways. He had spent the entire ride obsessing about a particularly curvy female Army mechanic back at base.

"You think every chick is after you." Private 1st class Mason Jones, or Jonesy, drawled sarcastically.

"What does she want with you anyway?" Sergeant James Carpenter the driver asked, adding his two cents to the conversation. "I heard she's hot for her old man back home."

"That's right: At home. She's probably got months before she gets to leave. Ain't nothing wrong with a little lovin' til then."

"Somebody is gonna kick your 90-pound ass, I swear," Jonesy who was married and had a thing against cheaters said. His wife back home was his heart and soul and the very thought of cheating deeply offended his sensibilities.

"Hey, Do I have to come back there and separate you two?" Aiden finally said, keeping his ocean blue eyes on the road and the unfriendly faces in the landscape around them. Even though the US military was there for the greater good, there were still some Afghanis that didn't appreciate their presence.

"Sorry Sergeant Spam." Huck apologized.

"I asked you not to call me that!" Stone looked at Huck with one raised eyebrow.

Aiden's subordinates had found out about his love for Spam, which was a favorite dish in Hawaii. He'd grown up loving the meat in the can, which his mother had used in alot of her soul food dishes. Since they they wouldn't leave him alone about it.

"Yeah sure Boss Spam!" Huck was elbowing Jonesy in the ribs while chuckling loudly.

"Shut it guys! Hold up! I don't like the looks of these civvies!" Aiden noticed that several civilians who had been milling about had quickly vacated the streets and gone into their homes. You could sometimes tell the mercurial moods of the Afghanistan atmosphere by the way the locals behaved. "I need you two to stay frosty. I've got a bad feeling and there's no telling when I might need one of you to man the .50-cal."

The .50-cal was the mean looking roof mounted machine gun positioned on top of the Humvee.

"Sir, yes sir." The two repeated in unison. Now they too were alert to everything that was going on around them.

"Carpenter, what is that?" Aiden squinted out the driver's side window, the glare from the windshield obscuring his vision.

Carpenter saw the hooded figure also, his eyes widening in horror. "What the f--"

His words were cut off as the Humvee was rocked by an explosion from a rocket propelled grenade. The explosive missile hit the vehicle dead center, sending deadly projectiles of shrapnel flying. Like miniature diamonds, shards of glass pelted the marines as the Humvee was knocked off its wheels. The Humvee was flipped on its right side, as it's highly vulnerable underside was peppered with heavy weapons fire. Ready to ignite a spark, highly combustible fuel dripped from the tank and flames danced along the side like demons.

Even though he was wearing his helmet, Aiden felt like he had been struck in the head with a boulder. His entire body was jolted by the impact. A vice grip of pain held Sergeant Stone's ribs as he coughed up blood. Momentarily deaf and disoriented, he didn't hear the other vehicles in the convoy open fire on the ambushing insurgents. Though his other senses were deadened, his nose worked just fine and he could smell diesel fuel. The cabin started to fill with tendrils of gray smoke. Things just went from bad to horribly worse. Clumsy, bloody fingers fumbled for his safety belt as he called to his squad mates.

"Carpenter, Jones, Owens, sound off!" He coughed, his tongue feeling like it weighed fifty pounds. He had to help them get out and fast! Otherwise this fuel leaking truck would become their coffin.

Finally freeing himself from the harness, he scrambled around the interior of the vehicle, desperate to save his fellow Marines. "Carpenter!" He shook the driver hoping to shake him into consciousness. The Sergeant's neck was moving loosely on his shoulders. The private's mangled face came into his view, and he could tell that the man was already dead. He cursed aloud. The outer skin incinerated, the entire left side of Carpenter's face was a bloody, gory, mangled mess!

"Get out." Carpenter's corpse uttered, his remaining eye open and focusing on Stone. "You gotta get out. It's not your time."

Even though his ears were ringing and he could hear nothing else, the clarity of Carpenter's words was crystal clear. Stone wondered what kind of hell he'd stumbled into. Shaking off the terrifying hallucination, Stone checked the other passengers. One look and he could tell they were also deceased. A ragged sliver of metal had buried itself in Huck's neck. Thick black blood oozed through the wound like oil. Jonesy's eyes were wide open and unseeing, a single bullet wound on the side of his head.

"Ya gotta get out, Boss." Huck gargled, ichor bubbling from his mouth. "Go, go. Get out.

Please tell my wife I love her. Please." Jonesy uttered, his dead eyes focused on Aiden.

Deeply disturbed, he climbed over Carpenter's body, urgently pushing the driver's side door open. After several tries, the door opened on its own filling the interior with harsh sunlight. Strong, friendly arms lifted him out of the death trap and to safety. Hurriedly they hustled him onto a nearby sidewalk. As a field medic checked his vitals and tended to his wounds, his saviors started to go back for the others. The exploding Humvee knocked them all off their feet. The marines had killed the ambushers, but the price had been the lives of three marines

Danielle Labouleaux meets Aiden Stone

Excerpt from The Body Hunters


Who the hell could that be at this hour? She grumbled to herself. Surely Gerard would not have forgotten his key. She padded in bare feet to the big oak door letting the coolness of the ceramic tiles chill her feet. The bell chimed a third time.

"I'm coming!" She yelled with alot of attitude in her voice. If it was one of Gerard's reality show producers coming to kiss his ass some more, she was going to blow her top!

Danny swung the big oak door open and was startled by the sight. Two men stood in the doorway, one in a dark blue suit that looked like he had gotten it off the rack at some bargain bin. He was kind of pudgy and average height. His Hispanic features made him look like any number of men that lived in the area, but he also looked like he was right out of high school. The second man was totally different and exotic. He stood at the doorway, one large arm on the doorjamb, looking extremely casual. He was a mountain she noticed. He has to be at least 6'4, she thought to herself.

"I'm Agent Aiden Stone ma'am, and this is Agent Alejandro Ramirez. I believe we spoke the other night."

I didn't know mountains could talk. Danny mused to herself, "And I believe I told you I wasn't available, Agent Stone."

Stone had the gall to look amused. "And I believe I told you that I needed your help before you hung up on me."

"You're an agent you say?" Danny retorted, never letting the door handle go. "I can believe Agent Ramirez is an agent, but you Agent Stone, really? Jeans and a polo shirt? I was unaware of the new dress code policy at the bureau. OK boys out with the shields."

Danny was not one to mess around; she was a civilian now and for all intents and purposes was practically free of the Bureau. Whatever they wanted from her, they were not going to get it.

Alejandro fumbled with his wallet in his back pocket trying to look more experienced than he was. It was clear he was a rookie. Agent Stone stood straight, and all 6'4 of him made her realize how small she now felt. His skin tone was the color of a deep Hawaiian tan and he had a very island feel about him. She could almost smell the coconuts and ocean breeze about him. He stood before her looking very smug and confident. This irritated Danny as she watched him reach into the front pocket of his impossibly tight jeans, lifting his polo shirt slightly to show a little of his tight abs. She found herself staring a little and turned her head away feeling some heat on her cheeks. Both men now had their badges in front of her and she pretended to inspect them.

"Are you happy now?" Aiden asked, his tone sarcastic.

Danny folded her arms across her chest. "OK, fine, what do you guys want?" she inquired, growing more irritated by the moment.

"Can we come in?" Aiden asked. "As I said over the phone I need help on a cold case. We need to talk to you about it, just to pick your brain."

Figuring that the only way to get rid of the two G men would be to let them in and hear their story, Danny decided to let them in only for a few minutes. It would be kind of awkward explaining to Gerard why the Feds were standing on their doorstep.

Danny led the way to the great room with the big round chrome wall clock that now chimed 9:15 pm. Not wanting to keep them there any longer than she had to, she purposely failed to offer them anything to drink. Agent Ramirez was looking around the big room and was just grateful to be out of the heat.

Aiden Stones introduction

Excerpt from The Body Hunters

Aiden Stone's muscular calves begged for mercy as he pushed back against the leg press, but he gave no quarter. The sled-style leg press was killing him, sweat pouring down his brow and face soaking his gray-colored tee shirt and matching shorts. Fire burned from his solid calves all the way to his muscled thighs, but it didn't bother him. It was a good burn. After a few more reps, he decided that he'd had enough punishment for this workout. After mopping his sweaty brow with the end of his tee shirt, he realized he had an admirer.

A pretty blonde with a pixie cut had been watching him since he had entered the workout room. She had tried her best to look like she wasn't watching him, but being a former Marine turned FBI Special Agent, being watched was one of those things he couldn't miss. Matter of fact, he had seen her watching him for the past few weeks around FBI Headquarters.

"How you doing?" He asked while wearing a wicked smile across his mouth, as she moved up and down the elliptical machine. His hands were gripping the towel around his neck.

"Good. How about you?" She returned breathlessly, a coy smile working across her face.

"Not bad at all." he returned, eyeing the way her breasts in the tight fitting leotard bounced in time with the machine's rhythm.

They took a few minutes talking shop, and Aiden managed to charm the essential stats out of her which of course staring into his eyes she gave up freely. She had been an agent for two years investigating white collar crime at the New York FBI headquarters. She was in the midst of tearing down a massive ponzi scheme operation. She was headed down south to see if she could gain any mroe traction in her investigation. The Bureau shipped you where you needed. Such was the life of a special agent.

Aiden and the female agent made plans to go out to dinner if their schedules allowed, maybe even going back to her hotel room for a little bedroom aerobics he hoped. Neither of them was looking for anything serious and that was just the way he liked it. She would be leaving in a few weeks, and he wouldn't have to worry about the awkwardness of sleeping with a coworker, even if she did work in a completely different division. He wasn't about to let a woman get under his skin, and he wasn't looking for any kind of a steady girlfriend. He was having too much fun being on the loose.

Aiden was a player, of course, but that didn't mean he hated women. Being the only male child in a family of three sisters, his parents had taught him how to cherish and respect the female gender. He loved women and enjoyed spending time with them, but he wasn't the fall in love and make an ass out of yourself type. Over the years he had made several friends with benefits, and they still remained friends. At nearly thirty-five years old, he was beyond the love thing with the buying flowers, romance and the unicorns farting rainbows shit.

With his looks, Aiden was never for want of female company. His ruggedly handsome visage was attributed to his mother, who was a combination of African American and Irish genes and his father, a native Hawaiian surfer dude from the big island of Hawaii. He was six foot four with the solid musculature typical of island natives. He looked like he should be twirling fire knives at a luau wearing nothing but a loin cloth. Frequent visits to the gym kept his physique in prime shape, giving him a rippled body. His eyes were as blue and intense as the waters that surrounded the island where he was born. Skin the color of damp Hawaiian sand covered his body, and he kept his naturally straight dark brown, bordering on black, hair cropped close to his head.

After tormenting his body at the FBI Headquarters fitness center, Aiden stood under the hot spray of the locker room shower. The water felt good against his slightly sore muscles as he thought of home being under the waterfall letting the droplets run down the full length of him head to toe. Emerging from the shower with his skin still steaming, he wrapped a towel around his waist and proceeded to get dressed in front of his locker.

His former Bureau mentor and ex-partner Steve Sims complained, "Damn it jackass, would you please put some clothes on!" He was changing out of his own workout gear. "You're making the rest of us look fat."

Aiden laughed heartily, pulling his black polo shirt over his head. Permanently cynical, Sims had been the one to show Stone the ropes when he joined the Bureau. The FBI veteran had been a special agent for ten years and like Stone had retired from the military.

"I told you, give me one month as your personal trainer and you'll need a bat to keep the women off you." Aiden said.

I need another woman like I need a hole in my head. I got a daughter in college draining my bank account, and I have a wife who can't stay the hell out of the mall. Yet for some strange reason I'm happy. Go figure! Fat and happy! Ha! You'll find out one day though."

"I don't think so, Sims. You know how I am." Aiden strapped on his holster and Bureau issued Glock 23 pistol. "I do my thing and I'm in the wind. It wouldn't be fair to the ladies to not share all of this!" He ran his hand down his body like he was showing off a new car at an auto show.

"Just wait kid. Someday some woman is gonna get your knickers so twisted you won't know which way to turn!" Sims zipped up his blue dress pants and tucked in his off the rack white collar button down shirt.

Aiden shot him a look saying he didn't believe a word he said. "Sure, Sims. I'll see you around. Alright old man?"

"Yeah OK ladykiller! Keep that nose of yours clean, kid."

www.amazon.com/Raven-Newcastle

Danielle's Mardi Gras

Here is another short story featuring our herione, Danielle Labouleaux, from The Body Hunters.  In this story she's sixteen again and she gets into a little trouble when she heads down to Mardi Gras.  Enjoy!

The Body Hunters by Raven Newcastle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009X971ME/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_N6xQrb13R6TGQ … …

The Body Hunters: Paradise Denied by Raven Newcastle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CODG81Q/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_r7xQrb0RWBN1N … … the fun continues in the sequel.

As usual the people who call themselves my mother and father are gone leaving me in this big empty house alone.  Of course they're off to save the world yet again, all the while forgetting about their only child.  Dad is an FBI agent and he's heading up a big investigation, so I expect him to be gone; it's just part of his job.  Mommy dearest on the other hand is off trying to impress her blue blood cronies by helping them with some charity dinner nonsense.

Those rich, high society bitches never did forgive my mom for marrying a black man, well Haitian Creole man to be exact.  Mom comes from a long line of New Orleans nobility, going all the way back to caveman times probably.  The snobs aren't exactly the most understanding and accepting group in the world.  Before the ink was dry on their marriage certificate they excommunicated mom from their little clique.  Over the years I've watched mom bust her ass trying to get back in the good graces of those good Christian women, for what I don't know.

She's even tried to use me in her ploy, expecting me to be a little brown copy of herself.  Other than my caramel complexion and my gold-brown eyes I got from Dad, we sorta do look alike.  I've got mom's straight black hair, which half the time I'm tempted to chop off just to piss her off and her facial features.  Except for my boobs and my butt, which I'm assuming I got from Dad's side of the family, me and mom share the same petite and thin body structure, though I do think I've got a couple inches on her.

She's always trying to get me to go to this ball and that extravaganza.  She forces me to wear these gaudy dresses showing me off to her so called friends like her personal life size Barbie.  I drew the line when she tried to force me into befriending their equally bitchy and uptight daughters.  That's definitely not gonna work.  Danielle Labouleaux is not going to be caught dead hanging around those backstabbing, stuck up, highfalutin', snotty heifers.  I've seen them in action and I need friends like that like I need a hole in the middle of my head.

With my issues with my parents, I'm so grateful for my grand mere.  My parents were always too busy for me, wrapped up in their own worlds, so my grandmother has been my one constant.  She lives just across the street which is totally convenient for those times when my 'birth units' piss me off or when I come home from school to an empty house.  No topic is off limits and I can always count on her to be my Yoda with the good advice.

The connection between me and grand mere also runs a bit deeper than most.  Unbeknownst to my parents and like my grand mere, I'm psychic.  I can communicate with the dead.  Yep, I see dead people! Grand mere says that it runs in the family through the female members of the Labouleaux family.  Due to a childhood illness that nearly killed me, Grand mere says I have a stronger connection to what she calls 'the spirit realm' and that one day my abilities will surpass even her own.

Even though I've had this ability since childhood, I've put off telling my parents.  I've seen the way they look at grand mere when she starts talking about spirits and the dead.  They treat her like a senile old lady with one foot in the nursing home, which I know is far from the truth.  Not wanting them to fit me for my own personal straight jacket, I decided long ago to keep my supernatural skills to myself.

Tonight is the Mardi Gras parade, and like my alien pods called parents, Grand mere is away, spending the evening at a church function. Without her to talk me out of any mischief, I'm left to my own devices.  Oh well, it serves Marcel and Juliana right for leaving me alone.  I surmise any trouble I get into is their fault.

Right now I'm in the garage, paying dear Lucille a visit.  Lucille is my dad's classic '70 Z28 Camaro.  He bought her before I was born from some old dude and he spent a nice chunk of change getting her in tip top shape over the years.  Last year he had a new engine and transmission put in and the year before that he went for the candy apple or as I like to say 'hooker red' paint job.  He refuses to let me drive her, but what dear old Dad doesn’t know won't hurt him.

Lucille and I have an understanding.  I take her out every now and then and she doesn’t tell Dad.  Seriously, it should be a sin to keep this car locked up the way he does like a giant paperweight.  It's like locking a lioness up in a cage without letting her go out and hunt.  Lucille is a bad ass ride and doesn’t deserve to be treated that way.  I smile to myself as I run a finger along the smooth lines of the hood.  Yeah, me and Lucille are gonna have a girl's night out.

With a plan in my head, I go up to my room and get dressed.  I pull on a black knit tunic that ends right above my knees, with a pair of skin tight denim leggings.  A black leather belt goes around my waist and I slip my feet into a pair of black biker boots that mom finds absolutely atrocious.  Just in case it’s a little chilly out, I grab a beat up leather jacket that I stole from Mom's closet a few months back.  I don't know what the hell she was doing with a leather jacket in the first place.  I check myself out at the mirror and like always my eyes gravitate toward the faint scar that runs between my breasts, a souvenir of my childhood illness.  Satisfied with my perfectly punk look, I go downstairs.  I reach into the cookie jar where dad thinks he keeps the keys hidden and head to the garage where Lucille is patiently waiting.

I'm sixteen years old and I can now drive without an adult being present.  When I'm allowed to drive, it's always the grandpa mobile my parents have designated as my car, you know the kind of car you don't back out of the drive way, you launch it, so driving Lucille is a treat.  I start her up and Lucille roars at me.  But any drive wouldn't be complete without driving music.  One of the upgrades dad made to the Camaro is a CD player, so I check the visor where he keeps his CD's stashed.  Sade, James Brown, Aretha Franklin, and Led Zeppelin are all waiting to be played like albums lined up in a juke box, but I grab Dad's AC/DC CD that mom refuses to let him play in the house.

With the bass cranked up way too loud, I head to my friend Amy's house, letting Lucille stretch her legs and pick up some speed.  I called Amy before leaving and she was up for hanging out tonight.  Maybe we could check out the Mardi Gras parade after all.

One of my pet peeves is people who like to mess over other people.  When I was in sixth grade, I came to Amy's defense when Tammy and her blue blood crew started picking on her at school.  I'd been watching from the sidelines as Amy, who joined the school in the middle of the year, was singled out by Tammy and her flunkies.  They'd call her names, talk about her mom, that sorta thing, and me rooting for the underdog, was waiting for Amy to tell them to take the express elevator straight to hell.  She never did and the bullying got worse and worse as Amy walked with her head down and never said a word in her own defense. 

The terrorizing escalated one day in the girl's locker room when one of the gang tripped Amy and Tammy shoved her to the ground.  Not able to mind my own business anymore, I intervened.  I helped Amy off the tile floor and told Tammy if I caught her or any of her friends messing with Amy again, I'd put my boot to her ass like she owed me money.  I could see the fear in Tammy's eyes.  You see me and that bitch went way back. 

When I came back to school after my heart surgery when I was six, Tammy was the ringleader of my torment, calling me Frankenstein because of my scar.  After not being able to take the teasing anymore, I beat the dog shit out of her.  She cried running home to mama and I was put on punishment.  She never so much as farted around me even after all those years.  She knew I wasn’t bluffing.

Since the moment I came to her rescue, Amy and I have been best friends.  She skips to the car as I pull up to her house, in her jeans, black tank top and sneakers, her blonde curls bouncing along the way.

"Sweet ride, Danny."  She said as she hops into the car.

I turn around the corner a little too fast probably, because I immediately see the blue and red lights flashing in my rear view mirror.

Oh shit.  I mutter as the cop slow walks to my door, my hands shaking like a leaf.  Dad is gonna skin me alive if he finds out!  I hand him my license and registration and he gives me that fatherly look.  As easily as he wields that look, I can tell that he has kids at home.  He lets me off with a ticket and a stern warning not to get into trouble.

Crisis averted, I head to the Mardi Gras parade and because of the crowd gathered on Bourbon Street, I am forced to park the car over a few blocks.

Amy and I are engrossed in the sights and sounds of Mardi Gras.  Even though I grew up in New Orleans, I was never allowed to visit the festivities because as my parents said 'Mardi Gras is not for kids'.  I immediately know exactly what they meant and as I'm quickly learning,  It's like a place for adults to behave badly, nothing and I mean nothing is too taboo.

As the parade floats pass, young women lift up their tops and show off their boobs for a handful of cheap plastic beads.  The smell of liquor and puke hangs in the air and I roughly grab Amy's arm as she's about to step into a suspicious puddle on the sidewalk.  Drunks stagger up and down the block while couples engage in PDA not caring who's watching.  Drag queens make their way through the street, flirting with the men in the crowd.  With all the adult activity going on around me, I start to feel a little uncomfortable and know exactly why I was forbidden from attending Mardi Gras in the first place.  Gee go figure the dynamic duo of Marcel and Juliana got it right for once!

After getting more than an eyeful of the festivities, I tell Amy that I'm ready to go.  We take our time as we head down Bourbon Street, window shopping the various store fronts.  Amy Oohs and Aahs over the display of a voodoo shop and I am reluctantly pulled inside. 

"Oh, this is so cool!"  Amy says as inside my head all my supernatural warning bells are going off like a car alarm.

This shop is obviously a tourist trap, filled with all the stereotypical things you'd expect in a voodoo shop, from voodoo dolls, incantation books, and a smoking cauldron.  It's to sucker the visitors in so they can buy 'authentic' voodoo paraphernalia.

"What you doin' here children?"  An old woman startles us as she emerges from the beaded doorway at the back of the shop.  Her voice heavily accented like someone from the Islands.

She's wearing a floor length caftan, small clouds of curly white hair peeking from under her turban, crowning her dark face.  Her eyes are locked on me and I can see that one of her eyes is grey and the other hazel.

"Ah, you have the sight child?"  She says to me and I know exactly what she's talking about.  She knows about my abilities.

She turns to Amy and dismisses her with a wave of her hand.  "You wait outside."

Like she's watching a tennis match, Amy looks between me and the woman for a few seconds before finally obeying.

Now alone the woman reaches for me.  The first thing I think of when I see her hand is the gnarled roots of a tree.  Her skin is baby smooth though, her hands warm as she takes mine.

"You are strong, child."  She says to me.  "Your grand mere teach you?  Yes?"

With my grand mere's training, I'm not at all skeptical about this woman knowing about me.  It just goes with the territory.  I feebly shake my head yes.

"You will suffer a great loss of something you never knew you had."  She predicts, her voice is raspy like she needs to clear her throat.  "Three loves you will have."

Okay, she is really freaking me out with these predictions!  She must have read my mind because she releases my hand, but not before pointing her knobby finger into my chest.

"Beware of a wolf in sheep's clothing."  She says as I just nod my head like an idiot.  She smiles and waves her hand at me to leave.

I'm practically running back out to Bourbon Street where Amy is waiting wide eyed.  "What happened?"

"Um..She just wanted to tell my fortune."  I say.  Amy doesn't know I'm psychic and I have no plans to share it with her either.

I am totally rattled by the old woman's predictions, so I'm not in a talkative mood as I drop Amy back at home.  I know it's harsh since she's my best friend, but I need some time to think to myself.  I pull Lucille back into the garage without incident, remembering to leave things as I found them.  I'm pacing in front of our big picture window, until I see grand mere pull up into her driveway.

Before she's out of the car, I'm across the street rambling on about what happened at Mardi Gras.  Calm as ever she wraps her arm around me and sits me at her kitchen table, asking me to go over what I said slowly.  With a freshly brewed cup of her special tea in front of me, I tell her the whole story between sips. 

Grand mere doesn't seem the least bit troubled.  She takes my hands and tells me that my future is what I make it.  No one can know my future except for me.  Feeling a little better, I nod and she wraps me in a hug and kisses my cheek.  She points her finger at me and lightly scolds me about taking Lucille out without permission.  It's funny how just a little chastising from her feels worse than any hollering my parents do when they're mad at me.  I tell her I'll try and do better, but I'm careful not to make any promises.

Two weeks later the old woman's premonitions are just a faded memory.  I walk into our house, slinging my backpack onto the loveseat.  For some strange reason Dad is home, sitting in his favorite living room chair.  There's a small stack of mail on the wooden coffee table. 

I look at him and he looks at me.  I know something is wrong but I don't know what.

"Hey."  I said, putting my toe in to test the waters.

"Hey."  He answers back.

"What's going on?"  I ask.

"Oh, nothing."  He says, flipping through the envelopes.  "Just sorting through mail, you know: catalogues, bills, traffic tickets."

I am so busted.  I'd planned on paying that ticket, but I'd forgotten all about it.  My mouth opens to speak, but I can't make anything come out.

"You mind telling me what you were doing out in Lucille?"  He growls, holding up the ticket reminder postcard.

"Uh, yeah, uh.  See what had happened was….."

Here's another one of those character interviews that was so much fun!  I hope you enjoy it.  This time we're interviewing our hero, Aiden Stone, featured in our novel, The Body Hunters.

 Maurella Stevens interviews FBI Special Agent Aiden Stone

MS: Aiden Stone, I've been so looking forward to interviewing you!

AS: No problem, Maurella.   You can call me Aiden:

MS: Thank you Aiden.  I noticed in the book you took to calling  Danielle , Nani.

AS: Yes, she hated it at first but it grew on her!

MS: Didn’t she think you were being very forward at first calling her beautiful in Hawaiian?

AS: Yeah but she likes it!

MS: Speaking of what were you thinking when you blurted out “the” statement to her.

AS: Honestly, I don’t know, my mouth took over my brain, I had no other good reason to keep her in Dallas, I panicked and I said what I said.

MS: But you know what they say about stressful utterances, in the heat of the moment comments?

AS: No Maurella, please educate me!

MS: That when you utter something out of fear, passion, or stress it tends to be the truth. Was it Aiden?

AS: Um, well you may have got me there!  Of course by that point I felt something strong for Danny, and I know she  felt it for me!  She was walking back into a hornet's nest and I just didn’t want to see her hurt. I knew it could be explosive.

MS: And it was wasn’t it?

AS: Well, yeah! I was right! But I certainly couldn’t take any pleasure in being right; I had to face the fact that I had also with held information and that put her in danger in the first place.

MS: Was it a case of too little to late?

AS: Yes and of course Lucius getting in the way.

MS: Ah, yes Lucius, let’s talk about him a bit.

AS: Forget about the King of the Vampires.   I’d rather talk about you!

MS: Aiden! I see you never quite stop flirting!

AS: Just one of the things the ladies love about me!

MS: Back to Lucius if you don’t mind! He never really quite believed you . You had a major fight with him about Danny’s safety why do you think he reacted the way he did.

AS: He has his own agenda, and unfortunately no one is clear what that is! He acts like her father sometimes. Just because he was her dad's old partner, he’s really not that much older than her. Or me for that matter.

MS: Not a Braddah huh!

AS: Nope not a Brah! Look at you speaking my language! I see I'm leaving an impression on you!

MS: Ok Aiden, let’s not get carried away!

AS: Well you’re the one with the ticket to the gun show! (Aiden flexes his arm muscles)

MS: You are incorrigible!

AS: I believe Danny called me a jackass!

MS: I don’t know if I’d go that far just yet! But you also have your soft side too, you held real emotion for the women being killed and for Danny's feelings when things got heavy

AS: Well of course, there's a time and place for everything.  I may joke around but I know when its time  to be serious.

MS:  Do you feel it brought you two closer?

AS: Look what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and a shared harrowing experience is going to bring any two people closer. I would like to think that it did anyway

MS. Now we know you are psychic, that’s not a secret. Do you feel its hindered you any or have you come to accept who you are now?

AS: With Danny’s help I have been able to not only accept my gift, but expand on it and control it. At first I didn’t want it.  I thought I was nuts you know? Now I understand there are things that cant be explained and to use the gift for the betterment of others.

MS: Good philosophy!

AS: Now don’t get me wrong .  You've got to have great investigative skills and do a lot of leg work.   Cases just don’t solve themselves because I've got this gift so to speak. It doesn't work that way. There are still a lot of  forensics involved and putting all the pieces of the puzzle together.

MS: Yes I can imagine!

AS: But I always make room for play! Can’t be work all the time! 

MS: That brings me to your reputation as a ladies’ man, you are quite the player!  Has that changed now?

AS: Let me take you to dinner and you tell me!

MS: Sure, can my husband come too?
AS: Husband? Ugh! Look of course I have feelings for Danielle, more than I want to admit. But you’ll have to stay tuned.