Ralf Foster’s plane is ready to board. I make my way across the terminal toward the loading bridge, bag slung over my shoulder. The attendant scans my ticket and wishes me a good flight. I push a smile and head up the tunnel into the plane.
Some of my IDs show my real picture, and others do not. When flying, it’s a good idea to match. It’s also a good idea to act friendly. Airport security might get up close and intimate otherwise.
I glance at the seat number on my ticket and sigh. It’s always a crap shoot if I get to fly first class or not. Today, it’s coach.
After one particularly harrowing flight—stuck between a man who had never been introduced to a toothbrush and kept laughing his rancid breath over me, and a woman who invaded personal space so thoroughly I’m pretty sure a prostate exam was involved—I stormed into the accountant’s office to demand he always approve first class.
Unfortunately, the accountant could not help me. As it turned out, this jackassery with the ticket classes has nothing to do with making a pretty budget report for the boss. Karl himself was handling my arrangements. All of them.
I’m not sure why that surprised me. I guess, for a moment, I had thought of myself as a real person.
I can only conclude Karl likes to pull the choke collar every now and then.
The aisle seat is already occupied by a middle-age woman with a pleasant vibe. She’s flipping through a magazine. She glances up at me, startled, and then stares.
Sometimes I wonder if people can tell that I’m not like them. Chances are they are just unnerved by the black duster jacket and the fact I look like I’ve been awake for over twenty-four hours. Probably because I have been.
Kills always make me a little nervous.
“You can take the window, if you like,” I say in my best church-going personality.
Her shoulders relax. “I would be fine with that.”
She scoots over. I stuff my bag into the overhead and drop into the aisle seat.
“Going to Houston?” She’s staring at me again.
“No, just a layover to New Orleans.” I lean forward, grab the Sky Mall magazine, and page through it. “Does anyone buy this crap?”
She chuckles, holding up her magazine. Also a copy of Sky Mall. “After a few hours of staring at it, some of it will look pretty useful.” She turns the magazine around so the pages face me and points to an item. “Like this. An alarm clock that flings a little propeller across the room so you have to get it to turn the alarm off.”
“I think I’d just bash the thing until it stops making noise,” I say.
“No kidding.” She smiles and goes back to reading.
Ralf is good with people. I’m not sure if Dimitri is, though
Then again, I’m not even sure who Dimitri is.
Twenty-three year old Dimitri has to do what he is told—literally. Controlled by a paranormal bond, he is forced to use his wits to fulfill unlimited deadly wishes made by multimillionaire Karl Walker.
Dimitri has no idea how his family line became trapped in the genie bond. He just knows resisting has never ended well. When he meets Syd—assertive, sexy, intelligent Syd—he becomes determined to make her his own. Except Karl has ensured Dimitri can’t tell anyone about the bond, and Syd isn’t the type to tolerate secrets.
Then Karl starts sending him away on back-to-back wishes. Unable to balance love and lies, Dimitri sets out to uncover Karl’s ultimate plan and put it to an end. But doing so forces him to confront the one wish he never saw coming—the wish that will destroy him.
Summoned is represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA.
Find out more at http://www.summonedtheseries.com
Rainy Kaye is an aspiring overlord. In the mean time, she blogs at <a href=http://www.rainyofthedark.com>RainyoftheDark.com</a> and writes paranormal novels from her lair somewhere in Phoenix, Arizona. When not plotting world domination, she enjoys getting lost around the globe, studying music so she can sing along with symphonic metal bands, and becoming distracted by Twitter (<a href=http://www.twitter.com/rainyofthedark>@rainyofthedark</a>).She is represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA.
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