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SENSUALITY: Spicy Cover art (c) Dan Skinner and Jenny Dixon
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Friday Maxwell is a typical computer programmer by day, but at night she arms herself with silver daggers and crosses and heads into the night to fight the minions of evil - Demons. As a newly trained Demon Killer she's ill prepared for a sudden Demon attack. Blinded during the attack she's now at the mercy of a bystander who not only came to her aid, but is desperately trying to keep her alive and away from the evil that still hunts her. Can she keep herself alive long enough to figure out what's going on? And who is this mystery man now at her side who not only can see Demons, but seemingly kill them at will?
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Shadow Vision By Samantha Storm
© copyright June 2007, Samantha Storm Cover art by Jenny Dixon and Dan Skinner, © copyright June 2007 New Concepts Publishing Lake Park, GA 31636 www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Prologue
Who would blame you? And up until two months ago I would have joined you. I would have pointed and laughed at the tall redheaded woman dressed all in black who proclaimed herself a Demon Killer. I would have guffawed at the former atheist now decked out in crosses from head to toe. Screw it. I don’t care if anyone believes me. Honestly, most days I question my own sanity. But no sooner have I convinced myself it was all a bad dream than the phone rings. A masculine voice on the other end barks out a time and location and the line goes dead. The time--just after midnight. The location--a deserted warehouse or dark alley in a forgotten part of the city. Every night I pack up my gear and head out, driving into neighborhoods I would never have considered visiting under normal conditions. Enough with this cloak and dagger crap. So everyone thinks I’m a nut job--who cares. Dear Mom, I know it’s been a while since we talked, but I wanted to tell you about my new career. I’m now a member of an elite squad. After five months of intense training I’m a fully qualified DK. That’s right mom and dad, I now stalk the night looking for demons to destroy. Doesn’t that make you proud? Don’t you want to boast about me to all your friends? I can imagine the conversation that would shortly follow such a letter. For months I have successfully kept my night job hidden from friends, family, and associates. By day, I’m a mild-mannered computer programmer. By night I am action figure Barbie.
But not tonight. Not during a training session. From the sound of things meathead had gotten himself into trouble. I was stuck in the corner behind a wall of boxes. But the urgency in his voice set my body in motion. I started forward, staying low. The hairs on my neck stood up--a warning system I’d learned not to second-guess. I threw myself across the floor and slid into the wall as a fireball whizzed over my head. That was entirely too close for comfort. “Maxwell, how many times have I told you to make a quick scan as you’re working your away across the room?” Commander Olson demanded. I tried to ignore the throb in my elbow as I pushed myself slowly to my feet. I knew the Commander didn’t expect an answer. My mouth would stay firmly clamped shut until he repeated the question. He stood at the end of the room, buzzed blonde hair, all six feet nine-inches dressed entirely in black. Commander Olson looked every inch the ex-soldier he was. His foot was currently in the middle of the back of the muscle-brain I was stuck with for a training partner. Smoke rose from the rod the Commander held loosely in his hand and drifting ash filled the room. I glanced back to see the black circle his fire ball had made on one of the metal chairs that populated the training room. A close call like that one could still have left me badly burned. Not for the first time, I repressed a shudder at the thought of facing the full destructive power of a demon. When I turned back the Commander had stepped back to allow meathead to stand up. “Jennings, I’m beginning to doubt you’re ever going to get this. Not only did you walk into an obvious trap, you called your partner out of cover to share your fate.” When Jennings didn’t make a move, the Commander knelt down. “You’re a danger to yourself, son, and you’re going to get whoever works with your sorry ass killed.” The Commander poked him on the forehead a few times to emphasize his words, then shook his head in disgust and straightened up. Jennings finally got to his feet, but kept his mouth shut. And I didn’t blame him, smart ass is not a skill appreciated by those with military backgrounds. A lesson I was still trying to learn. The Commander began to move across the room, the wooden rod in his hand twirling fast in an intricate pattern, left, right, up and then down. He lunged back towards us, the black polished tip suddenly stopped inches from my head. Instead of reacting to the Commander’s movements, I had just watched like an idiot. It was the third time in an hour I had been tagged. In training you were just tagged. Demons, however, have never grasped the concept of ‘do-over’ so tags were taken very seriously here. The Commander lowered the fire stick and moved in front of us, the expression on his face now one of mild tolerance. “That’s enough for tonight. Get cleaned up and make damn sure you stop by the medics before you leave, Maxwell. I want that elbow checked out.” It meant I was dismissed and finally free. “Yes, Sir.” I limped out of the dingy training room toward the front entrance of the warehouse. The sound of other DK’s and trainees suffering their own humiliations echoed in the huge space. The smell of dust and ash clung to my clothes and even in the clean air every breath tasted like licking a piece of charcoal. Tonight, the medics were stationed in the building next to the live fire drills. “Hey, Friday!” “Go away, Harry.” Harry Smith, a man determined to get into my pants. My eyes scanned his muscle bound body. Short, curly, brown hair and a square chin covered in what, I suspected, was a well maintained five o’clock shadow, for that tough guy effect. Harry, like myself and everyone involved in the drills that night, was clad in black, but somehow Harry had managed to look expensive and tailored. I’d bet a month’s salary his t-shirt was pure cashmere. The man was more vain than most women I knew. Harry grabbed my arm and the pain shot straight up my shoulder. “Son of a bitch.” I turned without thinking and pushed, not physically, but mentally, and Harry flew across the floor and crashed into a row of chairs. It was a rookie mistake and one I would never hear the end of if witnessed by someone in Command. I quickly scanned the area. No witnesses. But one very pissed off Harry. “What the hell did you do that for?” He rubbed the back of his neck and shot me looks that were, for the first time in weeks, not full of lust. “Are you alright?” I walked over and offered him my good arm. “Yeah, I’ll live.” He took my hand and I pulled him to his feet. “Blame it on lack of sleep and too much training.” “No sweat. I shouldn’t have grabbed you.” He leaned in and addressed my chest. “On the other hand, you could make it up to me by going out with me this Saturday.” Controlling my inclination to throw him across the room again, I calmly took a step back. “Thanks for the offer Harry, but Saturdays I do my laundry.” Harry grabbed his chest over his heart. “Ouch! Okay, no date. I heard your car is in the shop. How about I give you a ride home?” “Thanks, but I can catch a cab.” “In this part of town at 2:30 am? Dream on, Friday. I promise I won’t try to molest you.” Harry wasn’t a bad guy, just verbally lecherous towards all women. I wasn’t scared he would try to jump my bones, honestly. I was more worried during a fight he would try to cop a feel. And if he did, quite unintentionally I might fry his ass. My arm throbbed and I was exhausted. It had been hours since I last ate. Home sounded like nirvana. “I’ve got to get my arm checked out. If you don’t mind waiting around, sure, I could use a ride.” The grin that spread across his face almost made me regret my decision. He suddenly looked entirely too pleased with himself. “Great. No problem waiting. Did I mention I own a Porsche?”
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