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Sample From Skeletons in the Closet
One of these days the world will be invaded by aliens, and I’ll miss it. Since I average at least an hour to get dressed, the mother ship will enslave the human race while I’m struggling with pantyhose. Do other women have these problems?
I don’t know about the rest of my gender, but I average an hour, not due to my technique for applying makeup or picking out the perfect outfit. My hour consists of stupid hold-ups. For instance, one evening not so long ago, I climbed from my shower, did the eyeliner and mascara bit, and turned my attention to my hair. I’d pulled my semi-dry tresses into a bun while doing makeup, but one scraggly gray stood straight up in the air, a traitorous rebel surrendering to the onslaught of age. I didn’t want to pull the bugger because I’ve heard that three more will take its place. Who knows if this is actually true, but why take the risk? So I combed the gray, and that’s when I saw it.
Dandruff.
Shit.
Why didn’t I use the Head-n-Shoulders? So now the crisis: should I ignore the dry, flakey scalp and forgo the awesome black dress for something else or rewash my hair?
Neil pounded on the bathroom door. “Are you almost ready?”
I gazed in the mirror. The gray hair and dandruff had joined forces and were on a full-fledged campaign to ruin my appearance.
“I’ll be done when I’m done,” I announced through the door.
“Come on, Maggie, we’re gonna be late.”
I rolled my eyes. Big shocker. Neil and I were always late. As the parents of two young boys, we blamed our tardiness on the kids, but in truth, I’m usually at fault.
I poked my head around the corner. “Go check on the boys.”
“Yikes,” Neil said as he scanned the horror of his wife. “Take your time.”
Neil is a retired Navy SEAL. It takes some effort to scare him.
I turned back to the mirror.
“What I need is a game plan,” I told my reflection. I grabbed a pair of cuticle scissors from my vanity table and attempted to cut the gray. This was not as simple as it may sound. Trying to sever just the gray required both a steady hand and compensation for the backward motion in the mirror. A few of the dark brown strands were sacrificed for the greater good. Next up, the dandruff.
The pipes groaned as the ancient water heater worked overtime, and I tapped my foot for a few beats before climbing under the spray. I lathered my hair with the Head-n-Shoulders, rinsed and repeated. Next, I used the fruity shampoo and conditioner, because a woman can never smell too fruity. The hot water went AWOL during the final rinse, and I stepped shivering from the glassed-in shower. I used the towel to swipe the steam from the mirror and stifled the urge to scream. My waterproof mascara streamed down my face, giving me that Bride o’ Frankenstein effect.
I washed my face with cold water and scrubbed like crazy to remove the black streaks. After five minutes, my face had turned bright pink from scrubbing and exertion, but the hideous black lines appeared significantly lighter. I broke out the foundation and covered the mess as best I could, re-did my eyes, and blew my hair dry. One final check, to assure myself the gray hair and dandruff had been subdued, and I donned my bathrobe.
I marched out of the bathroom and found Neil spread-eagled on our queen-size bed while my sons, Josh and Kenny, bounced on the mattress around him. Neil’s eyes remained closed.
“It’s safe,” I informed him.
“Mommy, Josh didn’t brush his teeth,” Kenny told me mid-bounce.
“Kenny didn’t either,” Josh re-tattled on his brother.
Hands-on hips, I squared off like a drill sergeant. “What am I going to say?”
“Go brush our teeth,” Kenny and Josh chorused in a flat tone. They gave one final bounce and scurried off to their bathroom. Neil rolled to his side and looked up at me.
“Better?” I asked him.
“Except for the RuPaul make-up.”
“I had some issues.”
“Maggie, you always have issues.”
“But you love me?” I flashed him my hundred-watt smile.
“I love you, but I think I need a beer.”
****
Sample From Midlife Magic Mirror
Some days I had the adulting thing down. Then there were days I spit toothpaste in my own hair.
“What the shit?”
Shifting my binder, phone, shoulder bag, and umbrella to my left side, I fumbled with the keys, wondering if I had used the wrong one. Why else wouldn’t it fit in the lock? I’d color-coded each bow with different nail polish to keep exactly that from happening. Mysterious Purple for the garage, Crimson Skies for the office I never used for anything but storage, and Golden Sands for the storage locker that held my surplus projects. It had been a very long day and my mind was back at the college campus where I’d just left my son for the start of his freshman fall semester.
I squinted at the key, already on the verge of panic. I lost things. Important things. More often than I wanted to admit. Nope, that was the key with Seafoam painted on the flat. The binder with all the fabric samples fell out of my hand and landed face-down in a puddle as I attempted to reinsert the key. Frustration made tears mingle with the rain.
Okay, self, deep breath. Focus. All I wanted was to get out of these wet clothes, pour a glass of wine, and sit in my oversized bathtub until I thawed out. Why, today of all days, did everything have to be so frigging difficult?
“Because you have ADHD,” I muttered the answer to my own question. “Because your frigging brain makes everything more frigging difficult, Donna.”
The brain I’d had for forty-four years was neurodivergent. The diagnosis was relatively new. I hadn’t been a disruptive child who bounced off the walls during class. I didn’t make scenes and didn’t disrupt the other students. Even if my mother would have listened to conventional advice, there had been no need to go to a doctor or try out a prescription. No, I just quietly read what I wanted to read instead of the things I was supposed to be reading. I quietly developed my ways to cope with hyperfocus, tuning out, and time blindness. I quietly slipped through the cracks.
In its own way, my wonky brain had done me a solid. It forced me to develop coping strategies to function. My key method hadn’t failed me before so clearly, something else was amiss.
Warm rain beat down on my umbrella and ran in rivulets around me as I crouched down to study the doorknob. The brass doorknob. I stared at it for a long moment, trying to reconcile what I was seeing. The knob was new. As in brand-spanking new. No gouges or scratches from fumbling with keys. It was also ugly and didn’t quite cover the unpainted section the previous oil-rubbed bronze had because it had been oval, not circular.
“What the hell is going on here?” Could there have been some sort of accident? A tree fell through the front door, smashing the old handle and lock set. Yeah, I could picture that. If so, why hadn’t Lewis called me to let me know what had happened?
After shifting a load of stuff to one hand, I tried my husband’s cell. Straight to voicemail. He’d left the campus early, stating he had things to do for work. I had wanted to lean on him on the day that had tied my insides into anxious knots, sending my lone chick out to fly the nest. But Lewis wasn’t the strong supportive type of husband. Most of the time I had to work around him. Better for everyone that he’d left.
A gust of wind almost ripped my umbrella from my hands. Ridiculous. I could just go in through the garage door. The mystery of the changed lock could wait until I had a big glass of sweet red coursing through my system. Glaring at the shitty door knob one last time, I slogged my way down the concrete steps and over the garden path to the garage door. All the fine hairs stood up on my neck when I saw the twin to the front door lock with an accompanying deadbolt barring my way.
I tried Lewis again. When his voicemail picked up right away, I left a terse message. “It’s Donna. I’m locked out of the house. Call me as soon as you get this.”
Thunder rumbled overhead and I shivered. Water had soaked through my sneakers and my socks were soggy. No one was out on our street so at least no one was witnessing my humiliation. Then again, it would be nice if one of my neighbors invited me out of the storm to wait.
I could sit in my car. The little silver Impala had heat. Or I could drive into town, maybe go to the coffee shop and wait for Lewis to turn on his damn phone. But my wine and bathtub were on the other side of those accursed locks. This was my home, damn it. My refuge from the world. Something I badly needed.
If I’d been younger, less stressed, or had less of a wonky brain, I might have made another decision. But I was cold and wet and sad and just done.
Fuck it, I would break into my own house.
The patio door that overlooked the backyard was a slider. The natural choice. It would be a pain in the ass to replace. But I’d spring for the double French doors I’d always wanted and Lewis would just have to suck up the cost.
Clutching my umbrella in one hand, I went to the paver walkway I’d started putting in a few months ago and hadn’t gotten around to finishing. The bricks were stacked in a heap and I snagged one off the top, knocking several others into a mud puddle. Because of the work that I did moving boxes and bins and furniture, I was stronger than I looked for a plus-sized middle-aged mom. A healthy shot of annoyance helped to fuel my throw. The brick sailed through the air like a missile and hit the sliding glass door dead center. Glass exploded inwards, pebbling the way it was supposed to do for the sake of safety instead of breaking into massive shards.
The alarm started blaring.
Pleased with the result, I hurried forward to shut it off. Once I punched in the code that let our security company know that all was well, I’d cover the hole. There should still be some plywood in the garage. I would just get it and drill it into the door frame….
My thoughts stopped dead in their tracks when I spotted them. Lewis, pants around his ankles, was staring at me. As was the whip cream-covered tart who had her bare ass perched on my granite countertops.
We all just looked at each other for a long moment.
“Are you crazy?” Lewis’s thick dark eyebrows drew together as he broke the silence.
“My key didn’t work.” It was a stupid thing to say. To shout actually since the alarm was still going off.
The woman smirked at me. “And you didn’t take the hint?”
The sound of her voice, so familiar even though I had never met her in person, burst the surreal bubble. “So, this is what was so important, Lewis? This is what you had to do instead of spending the day with your son. You had to bang your frigging secretary in my frigging kitchen? What’s the rush, Lewis? The Viagra gonna wear off?”
Lewis flushed to his receding hairline and struggled to fasten his trousers even as he jabbed a finger at me. “It’s over, Donna. You might as well just leave.”
“Leave?” I stared at him blankly. “Why should I leave? This is my house. I decorated it. I picked out every stick of furniture and painting. I hand-selected every rug and curtain and unlike some people, I make sure mine always match.” This last was directed at the bottle blonde with a pointed look at her crotch.
She huffed and crossed her arms, opened her mouth to retort. I wasn’t interested in anything Mindy had to say. Especially when someone started pounding on the front door.
“Shit,” Lewis muttered and then headed for the hallway, tucking in his shirt as he went. The whip cream-covered tart reached for a purple halter dress and slid it on. I stood there, dripping on the pebbled glass, glaring daggers at her and feeling….
Old. Tired. But not even a little bit surprised. I’d seen the signs for months. The late nights at the office, the sudden business trips. The not-so-subtle ways he’d shut the door to his home office to make phone calls. Maybe other men were better at hiding their affairs, but not Lewis. Or maybe it was my wonky brain making me more aware of his emotions. In retrospect, I wondered if he’d wanted to be caught. Deep down we both knew he was a coward. He avoided conflict. Hell, the passive-aggressive little stain had changed the locks to my freaking house instead of admitting he didn’t want to be married any longer. I was the hothead, the ballbuster. The one with the temper who threw bricks.
There was a steady sound of beeping and then finally, the alarm shut off. My pulse pounded in my ears.
“That’s her,” Lewis said.
Glancing up I saw that he was pointing his stubby index finger at me. “She’s the one who broke in.”
My jaw dropped. “This is my house!”
The cops, two young men who didn’t appear much older than my son, exchanged a look. One picked up the brick. “Did you break this door, ma’am?”
Ma’am. Insult to injury. “Yes, but—”
“You’re coming with us,” the taller of the two said as his partner moved behind me.
“You have the right to remain silent.”
I was being read my rights. Handcuffs closed shut around my wrists. Holy hell, this was actually happening.
“Lewis,” I begged. “Tell them who I am!”
He folded his arms over his chest and said nothing. The smug little toad.
The rain had stopped by the time I was perp-marched out of my beloved home. All my neighbors were by their windows, watching as I was loaded into the back of a squad car and taken downtown.
****
Sample from Savior’s Spell
“That’s disgusting.”
I glared down into the clogged toilet and decided that it was better to let my bladder explode than try to use the bus’s facilities. Of course, there was always the sink. I eyed it dubiously. Judging from the smell and the yellow stain around the chipped drain, I wasn’t the first passenger to have that bright idea.
The exploding bladder sounded better and better.
Breathing through my mouth, I turned away and wondered who had destroyed the bathroom. On my way back to my seat, I eyed the motley crew I’d been cooped up with for almost sixteen hours. I opened my fae senses to get a feel for them. I didn’t do it often. Too much emotion from mortals overloaded my circuits. The guy passed out on the seat in front of me had a yellowish stain on his pants. Probably not the sink pee-er.
No signs of guilt.
I sank back against the faded blue polyester seat and tried to hold my breath. The entire bus reeked of urine, BO, and desperation.
I’d been on the stupid vehicle so long that I’d gone nose blind to the worst of it, at least until the latest deposit in the can joined the cacophony of stank.
I closed my eyes. Think positive, Emma.
Bad smells were better than being dead.
Nothing stinks more than death.
Was I good at thinking positive or what?
A car backfired and the people around me gasped. Wussies. Don’t they know they were on their way to New York?
My eyes popped open and I pressed my head against the grimy window and stared out at the buildings as the bus crossed the bridge into Manhattan. It was a good place to get lost in a crowd. A good place to hunt for a killer.
Not that I knew what I’d do with him if I actually found him. Malcolm’s Swiss Army knife was tucked into my boot. Knives were shitty weapons for women. I’d have to get close in order to use it and the idea of stabbing someone….
A shudder rolled through me and I looked around for a distraction. The guy across the way was watching something on his tablet. My keener than average eyes picked out the headline on his digital tabloid. Fae Invasion! They Hide in Plain Sight!
Old news, pal. The fae had been around for at least two decades.
I was living proof of that.
The article went on to detail the fae pocket realms and the grisly things that happened beyond the borders. Human experimentation, weapons of mass destruction, dogs and cats living together. In other words, pandemonium.
The writer was full of shit. No human had gone into a pocket realm and come out again. No wonder people were jumpy.
They were still wussies, though.
The bus lumbered up to a red light. My leg bounced in impatience as I tried to think of anything beyond the impending UTI I was sure to get from holding it so long. From the seat behind me, I picked up the threads of emotion from an octogenarian. Her feelings were dark, a swirling vortex of grief. I noted the black dress she wore, the fabric old and fussy. In town for a funeral perhaps.
The boy and his father two rows in front of the drunk had their noses pressed to the glass. Their energy was light and excited. Tourists most likely on some sort of trip. Come to New York, see the sights, smell the local color of our public transportation!
The drunk man was a black pit of grief. Tabloid guy emanated boredom.
The driver was weary and anxious to get home. His energy was a cloud of been there done that.
My own emotions were locked down tight. Cold, I had trained myself to be stone cold. I would either live or I would die trying to kill the ones I hunted.
I didn’t much care which as long as I got to pee first.
The brakes squealed as the large conveyance ground to a halt. I waited for the rest of the passengers—other than Mr. Unconscious, who’d drunk himself into a coma—to disembark before standing to retrieve my guitar case.
The guitar it’d housed was long gone.
A woman with a pinched face greeted the mourner. Tabloid guy received a searing kiss from his boyfriend. Tourist and son hailed a cab, their map already out.
No one waited for me.
Story of my life.
I rushed past them all and made a beeline for the bus station bathroom. It was hardly any better than the bus but at least it was clear. I sighed in relief.
“You play?” The toothless woman standing at the sink giving herself a sponge bath nodded at my guitar.
“Not well.” I washed my hands and made a hasty exit back out onto the street.
As was my habit when entering a new territory, I closed my eyes and silently recited my own version of the Serenity prayer. Grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, the courage to change the things I can. And the ability to make a difference. Then I opened my eyes and took my first hit of New York air.
It was way too hot for my leather jacket, but I needed to wear it until I secured shelter. My arms, along with my ears, would draw notice.
I did a quick scan of the passersby. No sign of any fae. Good.
Only a few months had passed since the Unseelie queen had announced the fae’s presence to the humans. Informed them that the fair folk were real and asked for asylum while their own land, Underhill, was being restored to its former glory. The ultimate renovation project.
At first, a sense of wonder and awe had taken over the humans. Fae attractions sprang up at every crossroads. Come meet a real live fairy! Signs proclaimed in neon from LA to Tampa. For the most part, the “fae” at said attractions were just humans doing cosplay. Most of the fae hadn’t budged from the pocket realms.
The sticky July air hit me like a wet dishcloth to the face. Even with the sun about to set, heat radiated up from the concrete through my combat boots. New York was a transitional city for the fae. They learned how to eat, drink, talk, dress, work and generally blend in with the humans. The gateway to the pocket realm where the transitioning fae were kept in a sort of halfway house sat alongside the Hudson River.
I headed in the opposite direction.
I walked for several blocks, beneath the metal grates and past closed storefronts that were under construction.
I kept a tight rein on my feelers as I wound my way through the bustling crowd, careful to avoid touching or being touched. Physical contact always heightened my sensitivity to other’s emotions. Their feelings still crept past my carefully constructed shields without it, but it was a trickle compared to a tsunami. Part of the reason why my mother had dragged Malcolm and me out west, to keep my ability under wraps. Less dense population meant less risk of exposure.
We’d threaded the needle, trying to find less populated places that wouldn’t trigger my empathic powers but large enough where we could blend. No small towns where everyone knew everyone else. A single mom and her two teenagers stuck out like a pimple on a supermodels’ ass in those places.
I turned streets at random, not paying much attention to where I was going, just sifting through what I was feeling. Only sheer desperation or madness would have brought them to New York, so close to the fae’s top-flight security. Yet the last one I had found told me there was to be a convergence in the city.
Right before he’d walked in front of a truck.
With luck, I would find the gathering place before any of the dark fae knew I was there. It was harder to catch wind of any wonky fae abilities in a city where the forever young slipped up all the time. I’d had enough practice not drawing attention to myself that I’d become almost invisible. Lying low I could do.
All the hair stood up on the back of my neck. I paused and scanned the crowd. Searched for the source of my unease.
My lips parted as I saw a tall man with the same sandy blond hair as me turn away. My throat went dry and I’d taken two steps after him before he disappeared amidst the throng.
Not him. Just a guy who looks like him. Malcolm is dead. I’d seen the body myself.
I moved to join a crowd waiting to cross an intersection. A fae wearing a purple dress and a glamour so thick I could barely penetrate it, stood beside me.
The only way I knew she was fae was because I couldn’t feel her emotions the way I could the impatient mortals around us.
“Shit day,” she murmured. “The weather is total balls.”
Standard transitioning fae line. I imagined it was the first thing they were taught in the pocket realm social training. Engage with the mortals. Talk about the weather. I’m not sure why they were taught to curse but they all did, like sailors on leave.

She didn’t recognize me as one of her own kind. And I wasn’t about to enlighten her.
“Yup,” I responded. I knew the fae couldn’t hurt humans, but I didn’t know if the same held true for me. What if her seemingly banal conversation was meant to entice me to follow her? Was she a dark fae? No telling beneath the glamour. I could follow her.
And do what, Emma? Wait for another truck to take her out?
The light changed and we surged with the group across the street without saying another word. The fae headed up the street, probably going to the nearest Starbucks where she would test her new mad conversational skills on the barista and other patrons before heading back to the pocket realm, aka the PR.
Unless she was a twisted one. And I’d just missed a golden opportunity.
Damn, I sucked at this.
I’d made it another two blocks when I heard her scream.
Every cell in my body froze. No one else turned a hair, so I knew it was her, crying out on a psychic thread that only supes could hear. The second thing I’d bet they been taught in the PR? Don’t disturb gen-pop. It’s worse than kicking an anthill.
The cry came again.
I hurried back in the direction I’d seen the woman turn. A thrill coursed through me at the thought of finding another of those monsters so soon. I had my knife and a few other surprises.
Emma’s motto on urban survival? Do whatever it takes.
But it wasn’t the twisted ones. The emotions that pulled me forward were fully human and full of hate. The fae woman I’d seen had been backed into a corner. Her pretty purple dress was ripped down the front.
Three mortal males surrounded her. All somewhere in their mid-twenties, one Hispanic, the other two Caucasian. All three had the tattoo I’d learned to spot a mile off. A pair of silver wings with a bloody red x slashed through them. Fae haters.
The fae woman’s glamour had faded, revealing the creature within.
She was delicate, willowy, her skin shimmering even in the filthy alley. A nymph or perhaps a dryad from the looks of her. How had the mortals spotted her?
Gen-pop assholes I could take. Maybe even pluck a better weapon off them. I hid my guitar case behind a dumpster and crept closer to the group. The larger of the two white males had his hands wrapped around the fae’s thin neck. Choking her.
Because of the Oath, she couldn’t fight back. Not even to defend herself against the scum.
“Hey,” I called to the trio of bottom feeders. “What’s your problem, dickheads?”
Too late, I noticed the switchblade in the white guy’s hand. His head was shaped like a bullet, coming to a hollow point at the crown of his bald dome.
“We’re just teaching this fairy trash that she don’t belong in our neighborhood.” The other white guy, who had a jaw like a bulldog, grunted.
“And why’s that?” I eased my jacket down off my shoulders. My magic was pathetic, a shadow of what my brother’s had been, but at least I could freaking use it. “Afraid she’ll class up the joint?”
“Bitch,” Bullethead sneered. “We can teach you a lesson, too.”
“Doubtful,” I said. “In fact, I don’t think you have enough sense not to piss on your own feet.”
His anger fluctuated from a sickly orange-yellow to a full-on red rage, driven higher by my disrespect. Fae haters were easy targets, mostly because they never took their blinders off long enough to see what was right in front of them.
Bullethead’s anger rippled as he lunged for me, switchblade out.
I slapped my newly freed leather coat down on his hands with all my might. The blade got tangled in the heavy fabric and I jerked it back. The switchblade clattered to the ground.
He lunged forward, either to retrieve it or to grab me. I kicked him in the face hard enough that his nose broke with a meaty crunch. Blood splattered the brick wall of the nearby bakery.
The Hispanic guy got one look at the swirling gold glyphs on my arms and took off in the opposite direction.
Bulldog wasn’t so smart. He barreled toward me with the force of a freight train. Large, but slow, he was easy to dodge. I crouched low and spun out a foot, sweeping his legs out from underneath him as he stumbled past me.
“The larger they are,” Malcolm had taught me. “The more satisfying the thud when they hit the ground.”
When he was down, I pressed my combat boot to his neck. “Do yourself a favor and let it go. Hunting stray fae won’t end well. For any of you.”
I kicked him in the head, knocking him unconscious. The one with the broken nose had scrambled up.
“What are you?” He sneered at my glowing purple and gold glyphs.
“Your worst fucking nightmare.” Okay, it was corny as hell, but I had always wanted to say that. “Better slither back into your hole before I decide this is boring.”
The guy eyed the fallen bastard and, with a final glare in my direction, abandoned his friend and sprinted down the alley.
I turned to face the fae female. “You okay?”
“You can hurt them?” she breathed. “You can fight back?”
“Lucky for you, yes.” I retrieved my jacket, wincing when I saw the cut in it. After pocketing the switchblade, I picked up my guitar case and turned to go.
“Wait. What’s your name?” The fae woman called as I was about to turn out of the alley.
I paused. A rumble of thunder growled in the distance. It was going to rain soon. I’d have to find a doorway to shelter in, or maybe beneath a bridge.
“Please,” she begged. “They were going to…you stopped them from…I just want to know who to thank.”
The fae can’t lie. Part of me wanted to tell her. I wanted to scream my name is Emma Slade. My mother and brother were siphoned by the dark fae. It was a foolish impulse. The equivalent of a mortal swerving their car into oncoming traffic.
“Just a girl passing through.” I said and then moved on before the storm broke.
***

Silver Sisters
1. Prequel Witch Way or the Highway
2. Witch Way After Forty
3. Witch Way Did She Go
4. Witch Way is Up
5. Witch Way to Alaska
6. Jingle All the Witch Way
7. Witch Way Today
8. Witch Way Tomorrow
9. Witch Way Ever After

Misadventures of the Laundry Hag
1. Prequel Who Needs A Hero
2. Skeletons in the Closet
3. Swept Under the Rug
4. All Washed Up
5. Hung Out to Dry
6. The Laundry Hag’s Christmas Rental
7. Bun in the Oven
8. The Laundry Hag’s New Year’s Clean-Up

The Unseelie Court
1. The Goodnight Kiss
2. The Immortal Queen
3. Wolf’s Mate
4. Into the Fire

Damaged Goods
1. Final Notice
2. Lease on the Beach
3. Cure or Die
4. Maintenance is Murder

Magical Midlife Misadventures
1. Over the Faery Hill
2. The Fae Side of Forty
3. Faery Wine

Spellcaster
1. PrequelThe In-Between
2. Savior’s Spell
3. Savior’s Hex
4. Savior’s Curse

Legacy Witches of Shadow Cove
1. Midlife Magic Mirror
2. Midlife Magic Monster
3. Midlife Magic Malady

Cougars and Cauldrons
1. Midlife Bed and Broomstick
2. Midlife Hexes and Familiar Exes
3. Midlife Shift and Shenanigans
4. Midlife Passions and Predators
5. Midlife Magic and Malarkey
6. Midlife Healing and Hijinx

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