Character Art & Chapter Samples

Read a short sample below

Teaming rain hammered down from a cloud-filled sky, as the last notes of the Sing reverberated and drifted off on the wind. It conveyed the sombre mood of the mourners. The only non-human witness to this sad event, a keen-eyed crow, sat in a nearby tree and looked down at the assembled crowd.
A girl in her late teens turned towards a tall, black-haired, and smartly dressed woman standing beside her. She spoke in a low voice, “That crow’s here again.”
“Ignore it. It’s not doing any harm,” the woman whispered.

Shuddering, the girl spoke again, “He didn’t have to come, or her.” She motioned her head towards a sour-faced boy of a similar age, He stood next to his mother, a short and painfully thin woman, with long, frizzy curled hair. “There’s no sign of her husband.”

“He’s away. Hush,” The woman pressed a finger against her lips. The red lipstick she wore made a stark contrast to her long, dark hair.
Once the funeral service concluded, the mourners gathered at the home of the deceased. Again, they gave their condolences to the man, as the short, thin woman passed around a plate of sandwiches. The smartly dressed woman handed mismatched Corelle mugs of hot tea to the mourners. Apart from the low hum of conversation and the clinking of tea mugs, all was quiet. The girl sat tucked away in a corner of the compact living room. She fixed her dark, brown-eyed gaze on the wall, her expression devoid of any emotion. With any attempt made to speak to her, she replied in monosyllables.

The short, thin woman stared at the mug handed to her and then sat down on a threadbare couch, between the man and the sour-faced boy. She turned her mug of tea around to the edge without a chip and took a sip. Turning to the boy, she brushed breadcrumbs from his dark grey sweatshirt. “Stop fussing Mom,” he snapped.
“Iyódąga!” she hissed at him, between clenched teeth.

Ignoring his mother’s request to sit down, he stood up and marched over to the opposite side of the room. He caught sight of the girl in the corner and began to stare at her again, with a look filled with contempt.

The tall, black-haired woman held out a plate. It had one sandwich sitting in the middle. “Dear child, are you going to eat anything today, apart from chewing on your thumbnail? Are you feeling sick?”

The girl shook her head. “I’m fine Auntie. I’m not feeling hungry, that’s all.”

“You look pale to me. Well, pale for a native.”

Annoyed with the boy still staring at her, the girl scowled. With eyes burning with indignation, she leapt up from her seat and shouted, “Did you know about Mom’s problem? It made our life hell for years.” All those gathered in the room stopped talking and watched as the stoic girl, slowly fell apart before them.
“She had an affair… with whiskey and brandy! It took Dad and me a while to work out that the fruit in her juice breakfast was less fruit and more vodka…”

“Kąǧí, please don’t,” begged her father.

He attempted to stand, but the boy’s mother pushed him back down and said, “She’s upset. Leave her for now.” She took his hand in hers and patted it. “The tribe is here for you, Nat.”

He withdrew his hand. “Thank you. I’ll be fine.”

“Kąǧí tried to stem the flow of tears by pushing the palms of her hands against her tear ducts. Noticing that the sleeves of her sweater had moved upwards, she quickly tugged them down. After hesitating for a moment, she spoke again, “Sorry Dad. They need…needed to know the truth.” She glowered at the boy.

Anger flashed in his eyes as he headed towards her and grabbed her upper arm. “Why don’t you just shut up? You caused trouble for me with that big mouth of yours.” The boy flinched and released her arm from his vice-like grasp. He shook his hand, his nostrils flaring as he spat out the words, “Dad’s right, there’s something not right about you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. Maria found out what a jerk you are and dumped you. That was your fault, not mine.” The girl narrowed her eyes. If looks could kill, he would have died on the spot. “Kąǧí looked up at him and wrinkled her nose as the boy’s sickly-scented aftershave assaulted her senses. She set her teeth and said, “I have told you before.” Her voice lowered, “Don’t come near me…ever…”

Running from the room, she slammed the door behind her. After flinging open her bedroom door she sat down on the bed and pulled up the sleeves of the black sweater she wore. She rubbed her arm and looked at the large, purplish-brown bruises around both of her wrists. “Ever again,” she uttered, as she broke down weeping a flood of tears.

Kingdom of Ice, book 1 of A Dark Faerie Tale, is a blended retelling of Snow White, the Snow Queen and other fairy tales, with action/adventure and a magical touch of romance.

Read a short sample below

It was mid-winter in Turia, and large flakes of snow had fallen to the ground, covering the earth with a glistening blanket of white. Queen Eleanor sat on a window seat looking out at the wintry scene before her. The well-thumbed book in her hand had remained on the same page for the last half hour. Bright orange flames of a roaring fire crackled in the fireplace. Eleanor’s cheeks flushed, as she felt far too warm and wished for a walk outside to take in some fresh air. She left the window seat and requested her lady-in-waiting to bring her cloak.

“Your Majesty, it is freezing outside, would it not be better to sit on the far side of the room away from the fire?” she suggested.
Eleanor did not agree. “Hurry and fetch it as the heat in this chamber stifles me. The cool air will revive me. My nausea has now passed, so you have no need to be concerned for me.” Her rose-pink lips curled into a warm smile and her grey eyes twinkled with humour. “Would you rather I fetch it myself?”

“Certainly not,” said her lady-in-waiting, who hurried to bring the cloak. The queen had a kind and compassionate nature. She proved this to her subjects with her charity to the poor and needy and treating her servants with respect. All loved and respected her in return. With her husband King Eldwin, she ruled the kingdom of Turia with wisdom and justice.

Her lady-in-waiting returned with a blue velvet cloak lined with black silk. She placed it around Eleanor’s shoulders and closed its silver fastener, and then both made their way along the stone-flagged corridors to the garden. Ruhan Castle had beautiful gardens, and Eleanor spent many hours there. Colourful shrubs and flowers of every kind adorned the garden’s borders. They walked along the snow-cleared path towards the scented herb garden, which served a culinary and medicinal purpose. Although many of the herbs lay dormant throughout the winter, a few herbs prevailed: rosemary, thyme and mint. Eleanor stooped down and picked a few green sprigs of each. Gently crushing them in the palm of her hand, she inhaled their sweet, earthy fragrance. Instructing her lady-in-waiting to leave her until she called for her, she headed towards her favourite part of the gardens: the rose garden.

A hardy bush of blood-red roses still bloomed within the bare garden. She brushed away the sprinkling of crystallised snow from the crimson petals with her fingers and inhaled the heady fragrance of the largest of the blooms. In doing so, she pricked her forefinger on a rose thorn. Three drops of ruby-red blood fell from her finger onto the white covered ground below. She gazed at the stark contrast of the red blood against the white of the snow. She then ran her hands along her swollen stomach and smiled as her thoughts turned to the infant she carried: I wish to have a daughter whose skin will be as fair as snow, lips as red as blood and hair as black as a raven’s wings

This child had been a long time in coming. Eleanor’s pregnancy had not been an easy one. The King worried about her health and surrounded her with physicians and servants. She loved her husband but felt overwhelmed by so much fuss and attention and often took refuge in her beloved rose garden.

The intensity of the breeze that wafted around the garden increased. Eleanor felt icy-cold and pulled the hood of her cloak over her ebony-black hair. Suddenly, the breeze turned into a fierce gust of wind and Eleanor started as she felt a sharp, stabbing sensation in her chest. She doubled over and cried out in pain. When she straightened, her blissful mood had vanished, only to be replaced with feelings of anger and hostility. The warmth in her eyes faded and an unfamiliar rage rose within her as she tore at the rose blooms. She plucked them from the bush and crushed them in her hands. As the petals crumbled, she threw the remains onto the ground. To her the roses were imperfect and their scent repulsed her.

A very different Queen Eleanor returned to the castle that day.

Paula M. Hunter © 2015
All rights Reserved

Queen of Thorns, book 2 of A Dark Faerie Tale, is a blended retelling of Snow White, the Snow Queen and other fairy tales, with action/adventure and a magical touch of romance.

Read a short sample below

When the sun rose to greet the sky, a small party of wood elves and humans, assembled outside the elves’ dwelling in the Forsaken Forest of Turia. The dwelling where Princess Khione had taken shelter after fleeing from the murderous Griff, her mother’s huntsman. Khione took a final glance at the little wooden house between two enormous oak trees, and at the wooden bridge spanning the length of the roof and onward to the tree houses in opposing directions. She had no recollection of the contented six months she had spent in the home of the elves. Those memories were blank for Khione, as the incident with Griff was the last memory she could recall.
Aya and Gifford, Khione’s faithful bird friends paid a visit and promised they would fly over to see her as soon as they could. Khione had the gift of understanding the languages of all animals and birds, and they, in turn, possessed the ability to understand her. Her feathered friends were a particular source of comfort to her as a child, for when her mother banished Gerda and her mother Agnes from Turia; she had not a friend in the world.

All those close to her had risen early to bid farewell to Khione and to her recently betrothed friends, Gerda and Kai. Soon they were to embark upon their journey to Bracan in Agraunia, the hometown of her friends. After resting for while in Bracan, Khione would continue to Tormain Palace, in Faremoor, the home of her mother’s cousin, Queen Katrina.

Garion volunteered to accompany the travellers as far as the Turia border with Agraunia. He saddled Arien and Ahern and brought the horses to the waiting party. As the travellers said their goodbyes, he filled the saddlebags. One by one, Khione bid the elves goodbye. However much she tried, she could not recollect any affection she had once felt for them. She thanked them for their extreme kindness, in sheltering her from her evil mother, Queen Eleanor, and shook them each by the hand.

“There will always be a welcome for you here,” said Alwin— the eldest of the elf brothers— to Gerda and Kai. Addressing Khione, he said, “This is still your home if at any time you wish to return.”

She nodded her head. “Thank you, Alwin.”

Avira, the wood elf physician, who before Khione’s memory loss had become her close friend, embraced her and wished her well. “Cameron and I, feel it is a pity that you will not be here to see our wedding. I truly hope all will go well for you from now on.”

Cameron shook Kai’s hand and slapped him on the back. “Good luck, I wish you both happiness and peace. Khione, I will miss your presence here, but do whatever you feel is best for you.” She had made the decision to leave the forest and seek shelter at Tormain Palace, even though the elves had assured her of her safety. However, she wished to protect them from Queen Eleanor and her guards. Griff, the Queen’s Guard and the queen herself had all tried to kill Khione.

Erlan was next to speak, “I too will be leaving here at the week’s end. I am returning to the wood elf village. You are welcome to visit Lenna and me anytime you wish. Farewell, I wish you all happiness and contentment.” Erlan was the second eldest brother. He recently reconciled with his wife Lenna, after separating from her for a number of years.

Virion, the youngest of the elf brothers and the most distraught at Khione’s departure, attempted to smile. He presented her with a new recurve bow he made as an especial gift. “I kept it to give you as a birthday gift, but you may as well have it now.” She could not recall how to use it but accepted it graciously. After giving a small wave to the farewell party, she turned to speak to Garion. “I am ready to leave now.”

Garion mounted Ahern and assisted Khione. He held out his hands. “Stand on my foot in the stirrups and hold on to my hands,” he instructed. She grasped his hands and did as she was asked, and once seated she hooked her leg around the saddle pommel. Placing herself in a side-saddle position, she then rearranged her gown. Garion placed his arms around her and took hold of the reins.
“Is this safe?” she asked.

“You are quite safe,” said Garion.
Ahern nodded his head. She patted his head, “Thank you, Ahern.”

“Lean against me if you wish,” suggested Garion.

As she leaned against him, the aroma of sandalwood on his clothing brought about feelings of fondness and familiarity. For a short time, she allowed herself to indulge in those feelings, but when they had passed her thoughts frustrated her: Why do I feel so drawn to him and his touch feel so pleasurable. She gave out a long sigh.
“Is there something bothering you?” He asked.

“No I feel well, but tell me are we akin to one another or close friends?”

He hesitated before answering, “Yes— you could say that we are close friends.” Khione sighed again. “I see. It is so vexing not knowing.”

“Perhaps it is for the best. When you return to your world, consorting with elves will be frowned on.”

“I wish to consort with whom I please, besides your father was human, was he not. Surely there would be no objection?”

“That differs. He was not of royal birth, and although I may appear to be more human than elf, Virion and I are neither fully elf nor human. Elf folk accept us as we are. Humans always see that we are different, that we are part fae and they will object.”

“That should not account for anything,” she said, with an indignant tone in her voice. “I do not care where my friends come from. Gerda and I are like sisters and it shall always remain so.”

“Khione, all do not think as you do. One day the fate of Turia will rest on your shoulders and things will be much different than they are now.”

She racked her brain for something poignant to say and drew a blank. “I have much to think of,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone in particular. She then turned her attention to Gerda. Her friend wore trousers, a shirt and a broadcloth coat, given to her by her benevolent faerie friend Lucy. Gerda concluded that male clothing would be far comfortable for riding. She watched as Kai helped her onto Arien. Khione remembered Gerda’s dislike of horses after one threw her as a child. So it was no surprise, once seated behind Kai, she gripped onto him out of fear. Kai waved goodbye to the farewell party, and then they departed.

Reign of Fire, book 3 and the concluding part of A Dark Faerie Tale, is a blended retelling of Snow White, the Snow Queen and other fairy tales, with action/adventure and a magical touch of romance.

Read a short sample below

In the realm of Terra, there stood an old stone house. It looked rather odd as many modern houses and apartment blocks surrounded it. The small garden at the front of the property suffered from neglect and became overgrown. A developer wished to demolish the old house and replace it with three modern townhouses. He sought the owner, but could not find them. He only knew that the house had been in the same family for generations. Therefore, it came as a great surprise to find the house now looking good as new and the garden tidy with flowers in bloom. The sighting of two new inhabitants followed this transformation. Sisters in their twenties; both were small and had delicate features. One of their neighbours described them as fairy or pixie-like. The sisters did not socialise with their neighbours, they kept very much to themselves. When a neighbour asked about the speed of the house’s transformation, the answer they gave was: “It’s magic.”

Recently another female relative appeared. A girl of about sixteen or seventeen years old, tall and slim with long blonde hair reaching her waist. This girl looked nothing like her older sisters and she talked more. She told their nosey neighbour she was the younger of the sisters. From this girl they had gleaned the following information; she was Lexi-Jane Breen, otherwise known as Lexi, and her sisters’ names were Fay and Ella. Their parents were dead. Fay Breen seemed to be the only person that often left their house. She owned a high street florist. Her florist talents were incredible and she had an encyclopaedic knowledge of plants and flowers.

One dull and cloudy September evening Lexi helped Fay with the gardening. She cut blooms from a wild rose bush. “I much prefer wild roses,” she said, as she inhaled the sweet scent of one of the blossoms.

“You were named after those,” said Fay, absentmindedly

“How can I be named after a rose?”

“Oh yes, silly me. Dad liked the name Rose, that is what I thought of,” replied Fay. “Come on inside, Ella should have dinner ready by now.”

Clattering and banging started in the kitchen. Fay described Ella’s cooking as experimental. Some of her meals bordered on inedible. Fay rarely cooked all, nor did she have any inclination. Lexi lacked culinary skills and learned little from her older sister’s feeble attempts.

Fay and Lexi entered the kitchen. Ella quickly ushered them into the living room. “I want this to be a surprise, so don’t come into the kitchen until I tell you,” she ordered.

The girls sat on the sofa. Lexi noticed her mud-covered shoes had left a trail of muddy footprints on the carpet.

“Oops!” she said.

When Fay noticed the footprints, she started to giggle. She had a mischievous personality and found great pleasure in annoying the house proud and fastidious Ella. Fay placed a finger on her lips, and whispered, “Hush, don’t say anything.”

“She is going to notice, Fay.”

“Don’t spoil the fun, Lexi.”

“You are naughty, Fay.”

Fay shrugged her shoulders, giggled, and covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her sniggers.

“Dinner is ready,” shouted Ella.

The hungry sisters sat around the small dining table. They were astonished to find that the meal looked edible. A refreshing change from the usual burnt offerings.

“It is cottage pie,” said Ella

Lexi put a forkful into her mouth. “It is very nice. You have done well Ella.”

“There is no cottage in it though,” said Ella, with a serious expression.

Fay burst out laughing. “Ella, you can be dense sometimes. It is only a name, even I know that.”

Ella scowled at Fay and took a bite herself, she smiled and said, “Yes, it is nice.”

Fay agreed with the others it was indeed very tasty. After dinner, she went to the bin to scrape the plates. After opening the pedal bin and seeing three boxes and a packet stuffed into the bin, she lifted out one of the boxes and read aloud the name: Mrs Baker’s Home Made Cottage Pie. “Ella have you have been cheating?”

Ella’s face turned red with embarrassment, but she denied any wrongdoing. “It is not cheating, you still have to cook them in the oven and boil the frozen vegetables.”

“You told us that you cooked this meal yourself, therefore you are a cheat,” teased Fay

Ella became cross with Fay and declared she would not cook any of their meals from now on. Fay shook her head and said she did not have the time. The sisters’ disagreement carried on for some time that evening. When Ella saw the muddy footprints on the carpet, she exploded with anger.

“I don’t know why I bother. I didn’t want to come here. All I have done is try my best and it is not good enough for some people. I want to go back.”

Ella stared at Fay, who looked horrified and begged her to calm down and be reasonable. She would not be reasonable; she stomped up the creaky stairs of the house and banged her bedroom door. Ella’s outburst confused Lexi. “What did she mean by; I didn’t want to come here. I want to go back?”

“Oh, you know how she is. She talks nonsense when she is angry and probably meant the place we used to live when we were small children. That was long before you were born.”

“I see, so we lived here when I was born?”

Fay paused before she answered. “Yes, that is right. I will speak to her and try to calm her down. I wish she wasn’t so temperamental.” Fay went upstairs to speak to Ella. She came back half an hour later with a sheepish looking Ella.

“Sorry,” said Ella.

Before Lexi could answer, Fay suddenly remembered something she meant to tell her earlier that evening. “I forgot to tell you, we have a large order for wedding flowers this weekend. Would you care to help for a few days? I will pay you.”

“When can I start?”

“Tomorrow,” answered Fay.

Lexi went to work with Fay the following morning. Fay kept her sister very busy and she returned home hungry and tired. She went to bed early that evening and soon fell into a deep slumber.

The music blaring out from Lexi’s radio alarm gave her a rude awakening. Stretching out an arm from beneath the duvet, she slammed her hand on top of the offending electrical appliance, knocking over a glass of water on her nightstand. She swore as the cold water ran down the sleeve of her pyjama top. Flicking on her bedroom light switch, she grabbed a box of tissues and wiped away the water from the nightstand. Inside her head, she could almost hear her mother’s voice nagging her: Don’t put water near electrical appliances.

She grimaced and looked at the glowing numbers on the alarm clock: 7:02 am, time to get up and get ready for work. Shivering with cold, she went to the bedroom window and peered through the curtains. A blanket of snow covered the ground and dark clouds filled the sky.

Do I have to go out in that? she thought.

The radio station’s morning news headlines filled the room: “Murder victim still unidentified. Police are searching for a suspect…” She crossed the room to switch off the light switch and her radio alarm when she heard: “Freak snow storm….roads closed, public transport stopped, airports are closed, and schools remain shut.”

“Looks like I won’t be going anywhere today,” she muttered.

As she passed her dressing table, the antique hand mirror her sisters gave her for her eighteenth birthday, caught her eye. She picked it up and admired its ornate gilt frame. Turning it over she looked at the symbol engraved on the back; a snake forming a circle by holding its tail inside its mouth. She turned the mirror back over and touched the smooth surface of the glass. Lexi had a love for history and antiques.

A knock came on the door and Fay entered the room. “Are you getting ready then?”

Lexi looked at her sister in surprise. “Are we really going to go out in this weather? It will take an eternity to get there.” Suddenly the hand mirror began to glow bright green and the light filled the room. Taken by surprise, she threw the mirror on the bed. “What the…,” she stammered.

“Ella come here. Now!” shouted Fay.

Read a Short Sample Below

They say that having a child changes your life, or in my mother’s case, her life— and those around her— changed long before I drew my first breath. I heard it said that Queen Eleanor’s kind and compassionate nature altered so abruptly, her subjects thought illness or madness had overcome her. The respect she had for the people of Turia and her servants vanished, along with her love for my father King Eldwin.

Just like lambs and calves, I was born in springtime, but unlike the love and protection ewes and cows show to their offspring, my mother rejected me like the runt of a litter. Her heart had grown cold. She no longer knew how to love, nor wished for that “sentiment” in return. My father loved me dearly and I him, he more than compensated for the lack of affection shown to me by my mother, we had an unbreakable bond. I rarely saw Mother. She spent her days in her rooms avoiding Father and me. Yet in my innocence, I still loved her unconditionally and I wished she would return my embrace and kisses, even though she relished it no more than a lick on the face from her hunting dogs.

I have a vivid recollection of one day when I was five years old. She entered her bedchamber and I followed behind her. I longed for Mother to show me some affection and asked her, “Do you love me?”

She paused for a time before giving her answer, “All mothers love their child.”

I searched her face long and hard in the hope of seeing a softening of her features and a sign of affection in her eyes, but I found nothing but her cold, hard grey-eyed gaze. “You do not love me, Mother. Father loves me and says I should love both my parents. I wish you would love me, I will try to make you.” I slid my hand into hers and gave her my best smile.

The queen looked down and stared at my face for a moment, before pushing my hand away. She made for the bedchamber door and left without speaking a word. I am certain that was the day I knew in my heart that she would never return my love and tears fell from my eyes that day, but none so bitter as those I would shed in the two years that followed.

I would often hear my parents raising their voices to one another or arguing. After a particularly vicious argument I witnessed Father leaving Mother’s chambers, as he crossed the threshold, he leaned against the door and gripped the door latch. His face looked ashen as the colour drained from his face. I will never forget the look of pain on his face when he fell to the floor, one hand clutching at his chest. I let out a yell. My stomach lurched as I ran towards him. I sobbed with fear as I clutched at his hands. “Father! Father! Stand up,” I screamed.

Warning: This short story could seriously damage your sense of humour.

Read a short sample below

It was a moist night in the City of London. The rain hammered against the windows of Rent-a-Ghost. Cain Crocker wiped the condensation from the glass and stared out into the darkness. By now, most offices had closed for the festive holiday, but Cain remained working late into the night. He leaned his furrowed forehead against the icy-cold pane and sighed.

Cain’s world had been perfect, a self-made billionaire with the world at his size thirteen feet. He had built his turkey stuffing empire from scratch and his latest enterprise, Stuffing by Numbers— not the turkey kind— had begun to take off. He had recently moved into a Mayfair townhouse and met the trophy fiancé of his dreams. Cain Crocker had big plans for their future. He was ready to own the world and then… his world came crashing down.

Three weeks previously, the first blow came. Tiffany Gates, the love of his life, dumped him. He returned home to find all her belongings gone, apart from her three-carat diamond engagement ring and the following note: We R finished. It’s not me, it’s U. Don’t ring me. I’ve blocked your numbers.

The windowpane vibrated as Cain’s fist rammed against the glass. “Screw you”, he spat, the spit running down his chin. “I’m Cain Crocker, nobody and no frickin stock market is gonna keep me down for long.” Wiping the saliva off his face with his manly fingers, he glanced at them for a moment. “These fingers were made for stuffing,” he muttered.

The recent crash of Stuffo PLC shares was bad news for him. The marketing company his personal assistant hired blamed it on too many people turning vegetarian or vegan. Sure, vegans and vegetarians could eat his stuffing, but they had the marketing all wrong by only targeting turkey gobblers. When the share prices started to fall, Cain went from billionaire to not quite a millionaire.

If that wasn’t bad enough, his trademark application for the word virgin had recently been rejected. He vowed from now on never to use their trains. His reflection stared back at him in the glass. Running his hand through his short cropped ginger hair. He prided himself on his full head of hair. Many of his peers had started to bald or showed signs of greying. After examining his perfect chiselled features and the way past five ‘o’clock shadow on his chin, he blew himself a kiss. He turned his back on the bright lights of the city, picked up his jacket from the back of his chair and flicked off the light switch. The fluorescent lights spluttered and then turned the room to darkness. Cain usually hated the dark and even slept with a night light on. He blamed his fear on his older sister, Candy. When they were kids, she had locked him in a wardrobe, to ‘cure’ him of his obsession with finding Narnia. However, this fear of darkness never stopped him from wearing shades, even in winter.

As he fumbled his way to the door, he realised that he’d left his keys on his ex PA’s desk. He’d just fired her, even though it was Christmas Eve. Slamming his hand against the light switch, the fluorescent ceiling lights flickered. As made his way back, he tripped over his untied left shoelace, fell forwards, and crushed his nuts on the edge of his mahogany-style, Ekea desk. Thrusting a hand into his jeans pocket, he pulled out a paper bag. He peered inside the bag of chestnuts. He shouted aloud, “Shit, they’re no good for roasting now.” After tossing them in the waste paper basket, Cain snatched his keys from the desk, banged the Rent-a-Ghost door shut, locked it, and ran down the stairs. Once outside, he braved the downpour and headed towards a nearby Costalot Coffee. A taxi drove by at speed, spraying the pooled water in the roadside up and outward, soaking Cain’s jeans from the knees down. He spun around and caught a glimpse of the passenger in the backseat of the taxi. He couldn’t be certain, but she looked very much like Alexa Siri, his ex PA. Cursing, he yanked open the door of the deserted coffee shop.

Cain ordered a large cappuccino. The barista ran her eyes over his sodden clothing and hair. “Is it raining outside?” she asked, with a grin.

However, he wasn’t in the mood for flirting. “No,” he snapped. Taking his coffee from the counter, he seated himself in the farthest corner, facing the wall. The girl scowled, lifted her middle finger aloft, and muttered under her breath, “I bet his carpet matches his curtains.”

Cain scanned the free newspapers for customers. He pushed aside his usual, The Grimes and picked up The Daily Stir. As he flicked through the pages of the tabloid scandal sheet, the sixteen-point, double-spaced paragraphs played havoc on his weary eyes. His gaze eventually came to rest on the gossip column. The reporter droned on about #Cackygate and the recent scandal of publishing millionaire and Z list celebrity, Lance Parker, a former Rent-a-Ghost client who recently had his imprints banned from every retailer for stuffing misdemeanours. Cain took a deep intake of breath and speed-read the column. Nobody at Rent-a-Ghost knew what Lance Parker looked like, as he conducted all his business by email or phone. His photograph surprised Cain, as he imagined him to be so much younger. The guy in the picture would never see sixty again, despite attempting to look younger by dressing like a gangster rapper. On reaching the end of the gossip article, Cain sighed with relief, no mention of his name or him helping Parker with his stuffing. Tossing the paper aside, he took a sip of his cooled coffee.