Here it is! Greater Treasures is now available on Kindle! (Print copy coming in a couple of weeks!
Being a private detective in the border town of the
Faerie and Mundane worlds isn’t easy, even for a dragon like Vern. Still, finding the wayward brother of a teary
damsel in distress shouldn’t have gotten so dangerous. When his partner, Sister Grace, gets poisoned by a dart meant for him, Vern offers
to find an artifact in exchange for a cure.
However, this is no ordinary trinket—with a little magic power, it could
control all of mankind. Can Vern find
the artifact, and will he sacrifice the fate of two worlds for the life of his
best friend?
This is my first adventure into the self-publishing world. No, I'm not discouraged by traditional publishing, but novellas and novelettes are harder to find homes for, and so I thought I'd put them out myself. It's another arrow in my publishing quiver. I've learned a lot about publishing and have an even greater appreciation for my traditional publishers!
I'm looking at this as an investment in the DragonEye, PI, world, so it's only 99 cents on Kindle and I've also got it on the Kindle Select program, which means you can borrow it for free. If you enjoy it, I hope you'll move on to the novels and tell your friends. And write a review! Vern LOVES compliments.
In the meantime, enjoy this excerpt:
Given
the day I was having, it came as no surprise that when I got home, I found the
dogs sprawled in a drugged sleep and the sounds of things being overturned from
within the warehouse. I decided not to bother with subtlety, but I did resist
the urge to burst in with flames going full-blast. I had questions first.
Naturally,
I walked straight in to find an automatic weapon—yep, a bona fide black-market
AK-47—and I thought only Faerie lived their clichés—and six other weapons of
various types pointed at me. I didn't stop, just closed the door with my tail
while I strolled in slow and placid-like. My visitors had shaved heads, faces
painted white with clown paint, and black t-shirts with swastikas in white
circles.
"If
you're the housekeeping service, you're fired."
"You
stay right there, or we gonna fire you!" said one guy from the sidelines
as he held his nunchucks at the ready.
What'd
he think he would do—whack me on the nose? I turned to the one holding the
assault rifle. "Scraping the bottom of the barrel with that one, weren't
you?"
"He's
right. You just stay still while we search the place."
"The
place" was a ten-thousand square foot warehouse with offices on the upper
floor. Boxes I still hadn't opened line the walls and made a maze in the second
warehouse room. I settled myself on the floor and rested my head on my crossed
arms. "Go ahead. I get half of anything you find."
They
stared at me, unbelieving. I smiled back. Mr. Cooperation, that's me. Finally,
Big Gun snarled for the others to get to work. As he turned his back on me,
Nunchucks muttered, "I got your half. Don't think I don't." Guess he
learned such witty repartee in Hitler Youth Summer Camp.
I
watched and listened and waited. With eight teenage skinheads trashing my
place, it was only a matter of time.
"I
wouldn't go in there if I were you," I suggested as Nunchucks made a grab
for the doorknob to Grace's workshop.
"You
gonna stop me?" He turned the knob.
"Nope,"
I said as I closed my ears and my eyes. Even so, I saw the otherworldly light
and heard the harmonious roar of Divine Vengeance followed by Mundane screams.
"The
Heavenly Host on the other hand…"
I
waited until the screams died down to whimpers before opening my eyes and
rising.
Four
of the skinheads were unconscious. Three may as well have been; they were
curled up in the fetal position, whimpering. Nunchucks was actually crying for
his mommy. Big Guns had collapsed to the floor as well, the gun thrown away
from him. He was sitting and rocking and making high-pitched keening through
the roof of his mouth.
I'd
tell Grace to tone down her wards some, except that the effect is directly
proportional to the evilness of the intent. Suddenly, I was feeling a little
shaky about my earlier entrance.
Knights
out of the armor now. I went around, collecting weapons in the office trash can
and poking through pockets. I found the usual stuff—driver's licenses, credit
cards, petty cash… One kid had a condom; wishful thinking on his part, I knew.
Another had a report card. MLK High. Wonder if he was the one beating up Faerie
kids? Honor roll grades, too. Of all the years I've battled evil, there were
still some things I didn't understand.
As I
was returning Big Guns' (aka Rick Matherston's) wallet back into his jacket
pocket, he blinked and focused on me.
"What
was that?"
"Angels,
kid." Actually a kind of magical shadow of the real thing, but close
enough.
"But I thought angels
were—"
"There's
a reason why their first words are usually 'Fear not!' whenever they meet a
human."
His
eyes returned to their unfocused stare. I almost felt sorry for him. Then I
noticed the letters FARISLAR tattooed on his knuckles. Faerie slayer.
