Faeries, Shifters, Angels, Oh My!

This blog post is a part of the Paranormal Love Wednesdays Blog Hop. Be sure to visit the awesomeness of the others! (:

An  excerpt from my current work in progress: Woe for a Faerie – Coming Spring 2016

(With a follow-up novella scheduled for Summer of 2016)

New York at Night - Romance-XL“I found her on the pavement.” Jason’s hands were clasped on the table in front of him. One light illuminated the metal surface. Uncomfortable, he glanced at the darkened corners of the room.

“Just lying on the pavement?”


“Hard to believe.” The officer scrubbed a hand across his stubble.

“I don’t make this stuff up.”

“Where’d she go?”

“I told you I don’t know. Did you find the last one?” Silence met his question. Jason bowed his head, expressing a sigh before murmuring quietly to himself.

When Jason looked up, the officer had raised eyebrows. “Finished?” The word held no irritation.

Jason nodded. “Yes, I need to get back.” The chair scraped loudly across the floor.

“You sure you have nothing to add?”

Jason’s hand was already on the door knob, his black cassock belted in the middle, his clerical collar digging into the neck thickening with middle age. He looked over his shoulder. “I have a long history of cooperation. I want to find her as much as you do.” He pulled the door open, his robes swirling about his booted feet.

The officer nodded. “Alright. Well, let us know if you find another one.”

Jason did not answer, already striding down the corridor, his right boot squeaked with each stride.

Must’ve stepped in something.

rsz_cars_under_streetlights_in_nyc_1958His pace did not slow, and he burst into the night, nearly knocking into a rough-looking man.

“Hey, watch it!”

Jason tilted his head to the side, knowing the street lamp would catch the thin line of white circling his neck.

“Oh, sorry, padre, have a nice night.”

Still means something… sometimes. He turned toward the parish, the gothic cross just visible over the roof lines. A train whistle sounded from far away.

His heart tripped in his chest when he heard an unexpected voice close behind, low, almost purring. “Hello, Father, I have sinned.”

He whirled, an image of a spinning dervish flashed in his mind. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Woe leaned against the building, a cigarette hanging from her mouth, the cherry glowing as she inhaled. When she stepped forward, Jason’s eyes tripped down her body. A leather jacket over a mini dress, black leather boots laced up to her thighs. Bare legs, no makeup. Something stirred in him. “You look like a teenager.”

“I’m twice as old as Westminster.” She coughed.

Woe“Angels shouldn’t smoke.”

Fallen angel, Father.” She took another drag. “I’ll leave this life behind. At least, I can die now.”

“After our talk, I had hoped you wanted to be the last one standing. We need you.”

She flicked the cigarette across the sidewalk. “Maybe. Maybe not. I hear the last one didn’t fare so well, isn’t he locked up somewhere?”

Jason sighed, and his shoulders drooped. She waited as he let the silence stretch. Finally, he nodded. “The last time I saw him, he was screaming, ‘These iron bars can’t hold my soul.’”

“I’m not sure I even have a soul, Jason.”


This blog post is a part of the Paranormal Love Wednesdays Blog Hop. Be sure to visit the awesomeness of the others! (:

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Come in for some coffee and homemade plum jelly. My husband, Farmer Bill, made it. It’s the best in our part of Texas. I promise, between incubating peafowl eggs and bottle-feeding farm babies, I’m currently stuck in elsewhere worlds out the wahzoo. So, if you stick around a little while, you’ll get to join me on some of my adventures… plus chickens. Official Bio: Bokerah Brumley lives on ten permaculture acres, complete with sheep, goats, peacocks, turkeys, geese, guineas, ducks, chickens, five home-educated children, and one husband. For more information and a complete list of published works, please visit: www.bokerah.com

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