Hell Of An Unlife - Excerpt

The end. A scene, a story, or in this case, a series. Hell of an Unlife releases today, the fourth and final title in the Devil Made Me series!

Moira's as spicy as ever, even while she's dealing with a glitch in processing, ensuring Jared remains by her side, or facing her old enemy Douglas. Do you think she's ready to take over Hell?

You can purchase an ebook copy on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple Books, Kobo, or Google Play.

And a peek at the conclusion of Moira's story can be found below. Happy fiery reading!

❦

A buzz rattled my brain, indicating the beginning of my Welcomer shift. Time to escort unfortunate souls to the second floor of Hell. Joy.

I shimmied into my uniform – a skimpy, sexy devil number. Not my choice.

“Already?” Jared stretched out on my bed in all his naked glory. “We’re not done discussing our plan of attack, Moira.”

“You mean arguing about it.” I pointed my plastic pitchfork at him.

We disagreed on how to start our war with Pandora, the current devil. That wretched, amorphous cloud had tapped me to succeed her. And I was resolved to upend the status quo in Hell.

Each floor had its own aggravating and nonsensical rules. Like the innocents on the first, in limbo – trapped in an inky prison of darkness, alone, a sense of desolation filtered in to inspire terror and anguish. All because Pandora refused to babysit them. Oh, and because they had a greater potential to gain true emotions, like me.

Another matter that stuck in my craw was the whispering books in the libraries. Souls. People vanished into the pages when their existence became unbearable. A second death.

The rules, the nudging toward oblivion – it all stank. So I intended to transform this miserable unlife, and Jared insisted on riding shotgun.

I preferred to start the battle with a bang. Direct confrontation. Presenting my qualms to the devil, and declaring my intentions to subvert the damned policies. Screw calm and collected. I’d already drafted a script of accusations, peppered with plenty of curse words. Pandora pissed me off.

On the other hand, Jared thought we should act covertly. Slowly circumvent the rules, reshaping Hell floor by floor, right under the bitch’s nose. Then gauge her reaction.

My powers remained limited as a simple lackey, but I’d rescued a kid from limbo, delivering him to his psychic grandmother on the eighth. This had infuriated the typically amused devil, but she left Elliot with his Mami anyhow. Though she’d implied my actions would result in unforeseen consequences.

Yeah, yeah. A naive preschooler living among a bunch of scammers and swindlers made for an unpredictable situation. Elliot’s grandmother had a lot of pull on her floor, though.

But Pandora’s decision to leave the child alone had revealed her growing weakness. She likely declined to transport him back to the first because her abilities were waning. Her tenure was winding down, nearing its end.

Perfect timing for a direct attack. Of course Jared contended otherwise.

Thankfully our arguments lacked heat nowadays, unlike when we’d been alive. Death, gazing into mirrors that reflected our failings, and the constantly shifting lewd mural on the ceiling of the second-floor library had facilitated changes in both of us. A lengthy process, but his hands and lips no longer wandered, and I’d told my trust issues to take a hike.

The inexplicable surge of comfort I experienced often when near him helped. A lot. And he felt that same serenity, his first emotion when he’d awakened to his true senses.

See, most people in Hell had to wish to feel a specific way, albeit with a dulled edge, and they turned their emotions on and off like a light switch. Not us, though. We were unique. Just me initially.

And Pandora had no clue about his awakening. Well, as far as I knew.

Jared also got me going like no other. Our disagreements typically led to us tumbling into bed. Or when feeling spicy and daring, experimenting on the Harley in my office. And so we kept running in circles over the best way to approach the devil dilemma.

“Hey, I’d love to continue this conversation.” More like the pleasurable ending. “But I’m stuck with the stupid Welcomer shift.”

He slipped off the bed and dressed. “Your shift is only an excuse, and you know it.”

Well, shit, he’d just gotten serious. But he was right. I blamed the distraction of sex and my duties as a Welcomer. In truth, though, my stubbornness streak would have propelled me toward that head-on confrontation with Pandora, his discouragement be damned.

Yet I hesitated, unsure of my strategy. Working on a script, instead of simply voicing my indignation.

Maybe the devil would retire soon. And once promoted, I’d snap my fingers, creating a paradise.

If only it were that simple. No omniscience, omnipotence, or endless power. I also needed to learn the full scope of my future limitations from her before she disappeared.

“At least I’ve been visiting the floors and learning the different whacko rules.” Necessary, but another form of procrastination nonetheless.

Mastering teleporting from floor to floor had been a trial, but required since the elevator only traveled to and from the lobby. As far as I knew, I was the only person who’d mastered that trick, aside from Dick. I’d met with the Welcomers on all but the seventh.

That last I’d avoid as long as Pandora allowed. Another confrontation with Douglas, the psycho who’d accidentally been assigned to the second when I first arrived, was best left until never.

Jared stared at me, his eyebrows creeping toward his hairline. Better that than him rolling his eyes – I hated that habit of his.

Cornered. Time to stop sitting on my hands. I sighed. “Fine. We’ll try your way. After my shift, we can decide on what floor to target first.”

“Really?” His eyes widened, mouth parting. I rarely conceded, to anyone, even him. “Now you have me worried.”

“Enough.” I playfully whacked him in the arm with my pitchfork.

And then a yellow sticky note appeared on my nose. Huh.

“What the hell?” Jared had acquired my amusement for the fiery puns. We both snickered.

I plucked the note off my face and read it out loud. “Backup in processing. Escorting souls on hold until situation resolved. Remain on call for entire shift.”

“Weird.” He plopped on the edge of the bed. “Though you mentioned how slow it’s been lately.”

“Slow, yes. A complete stop, no.” I’d never met anyone in processing. What kind of people had the devil tasked to undertake that monumental assignment?

❦

Ready to inherit the devil’s throne? Hell, no.

In Hell, the flow of new souls from the lobby to their designated floors screeches to a grinding halt. And Pandora, the incorporeal cloud of a devil, tasks Moira to fix the glitch in processing.

Foraying into the bowels of blinking lights with her boyfriend Jared, the issue materializes into Adam, the lone person in charge of minding the servers. His sanity sliding into oblivion, he eyes Jared as his replacement. Turns out, Pandora has the same plan.

Now Moira faces a new problem -- freeing Jared from the confines of processing. Before she even attempts to break him out, though, the devil boots her to the seventh floor. The realm of psychopaths, including her creepy adversary Douglas, who eagerly awaits her arrival.

Well of Solitude (Fortunes of Fate, 7) - Excerpt

Finally, a new release! It feels great to be on schedule (actually, I'm a bit ahead for the year). Well of Solitude (Fortunes of Fate, 7) is now available as an ebook at all major online retailers!

Please remember, as with most of my Fortunes of Fate series, you can jump into whichever story you'd like to first - no need to have read the previous titles. Well of Solitude ended up in the novella range, so at around 70 pages you may want to consider diving into this one since it's over twice as long as my second longest Fate title (that would be Edge of Sorrow).

If you'd like to grab a copy after reading the excerpt below, here are a few links for you: Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Apple Books, Google Play, Smashwords, and Books2Read (this last one will give you the option of your preferred online retailer).

As always, if you read Well, please consider leaving a review at one of the retailers or on Goodreads. Thank you, and happy reading!

Note: In the excerpt below you'll see Solis referring to Resz as Rez - this is intentional, not a misspelling!

❦

She brushed her fingers along the door. It creaked open, stale air gusting out.

Only the touch of the dead opened this door.

An ache throbbed inside her – the desire to be whole, normal, not suspended between two worlds. She felt it every time she entered the Well.

Solis glanced up the stairs one last time. Rez peered down, but didn’t move to follow.

Right. Into the depths. After she slipped in, the door sealed behind her with a thud.

A tomb, indeed. One with endless labyrinthine passages and an underlying musty odor of death. Home of the souls of Fate, tasked to wander their unlives away in the darkness. Knowledge that saddened her.

She hoped those who believed some spirits chose to be reborn were correct, though she only bore witness to the ones rambling this maze. If there was another way out aside from the door behind her, or a portal to a different world like the cat had claimed, she’d never found it. Hard to search every passage when they were truly endless and she feared getting lost.

Though Solis had ventured further in on many occasions, attempting to memorize and map out routes in her mind, today she refused to. The necromancer had her on edge. She’d lied to him – she was mostly safe, but not completely. Down here, the madness of the spirits knew no bounds. She was less of a target because of her state, and many had accepted her presence as ordinary. Yet there was still an inherent risk, the chance an insane enough shade would attack her, even attack another of its kind.

The Well was a place for spirits to rest... and lose their incorporeal minds.

Except Neggie. He’d remained sane for the seemingly endless years Solis had known him, and he’d implied he’d been a resident of the Well for much longer before that. Tracking time proved difficult in the garden, though, so no telling how long she’d been here – it all felt eternal. And her unique makeup ceased her aging, a type of immortality, so she couldn’t track the years that way.

Solis sighed, not wanting to dwell on her enduring predicament. At least she was able to offer a touch of light to the darkness, for her and the spirits.

She tossed the lily into the air, and it exploded, sundering itself. Five of the glowing petals zipped into the maze, quickly disappearing into the depths to wander through the winding passages. The remaining orb of light bobbed above her, then landed on her shoulder.

It amazed her how deliberate and sentient the petals acted once they disconnected. As if they transformed from flowers to fairies.

Solis lightly patted the petal. It flitted off her shoulder and hovered high above.

“I sense the living in the garden.” Neggie’s voice broke the deathly silence, and he swirled into existence, a hulking brute of a spirit. She’d always been tempted to ask who he’d been in life, but he likely didn’t remember. Memories melted away the longer one was dead. Currently, his form shaped itself into one resembling a human, his typical appearance when he addressed her, though he’d mastered the ability to shift into whatever he wished, like a cloud of smoke with a will.

“Ah, Neggie, I was just about to call for you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s a necromancer.”

He bent over, his translucent face inches from hers. “Truly?”

“The spirits drew him, and he broke through the enchantments around the island. A determined and stubborn man.” Rude, too, but she figured he wouldn’t care about that.

Neggie billowed upright, his form growing taller. He towered over her – even without a solid form, he was intimidating. “What does he want?”

“To enter the Well.” Odd, he never asked silly questions. Everyone seemed to be doing so today.

“And?” The shadows of eyebrows rose, shimmery in the petal fairy’s glow.

Solis hesitated. Normally, Neggie was more forthcoming, chattier than the other spirits, sometimes more than she cared for. “I thought it best to speak to you.” Her voice cracked, throat suddenly dry.

“Without discovering his intentions? Foolish girl.” His usual patience and kindness had evaporated.

Never. He’d never called her such things before. Girl. She’d left that designation behind years upon years ago.

The kind, yet imposing soul, had transformed into the commanding leader of the spirits he claimed to be. And Solis didn’t like it, not one bit. “He’s a necromancer. You know, someone who can control the dead.” She waved her arms around. “Including me.”

Neggie hummed. “I know what a necromancer is.” He drew closer again, though she wished he hadn’t. She didn’t think it possible for a spirit’s gaze to appear so menacing, so unhinged. “Keep him from entering the Well at any cost. Including your own life.”

Solis stepped back and gasped. “Or?”

“I’ll banish you from the garden forever.” His bulky form swirled into a cyclone and zipped down the nearest passageway, the darkness swallowing him. Booming laughter trailed behind him, and several other spirits cackled in response.

Perhaps Neggie had finally gone mad.

And Solis was left alone to turn Rez away from the island. A necromancer who could manipulate her own soul.

That or risk losing the comfort of her garden – the only place she belonged.

All of a sudden the glowing petal dashed away, and the spirits hushed, returning the maze to stark silence. The Well suddenly felt darker and more threatening than it ever had before.

❦

Solitude. Ward or woe? The answer lies buried in the minds of the mad shades.

Solis embraces her task as Gardener of the Well. Who better to tend to the flora edged in perpetual sunlight – surrounding the tomb of spirits – than someone who is half-dead herself? But when a necromancer arrives on the island, demanding entrance to the Well, her solitude shatters.

Spirits are the only good company, in Resz’s opinion. So when he senses the glut of souls in the Well, compulsion drives him to find them. Unfortunately, a strange woman denies him access. And worse, he’s inexplicably drawn to her, as he’s never been to another living being.

Solis risks control of her own soul to keep Resz out of the Well. Can she convince the necromancer to abandon his quest, or will he pull her strings like a puppet master?