Welpers, apparently, I’ve violated Facebooks so-called “Community Standards.” I’m locked out of my personal page AND my author page. I’m so sick of social media. I’d just retreat to my writer’s cave but then how could I keep up with my friends and readers and them with me? Oh, and because of Covid and being short of staff FB may or may NOT REVIEW MY APPEAL but they’re sure sorry for any inconvenience. 🤬

Angry? Who me? Damn straight I am!!! Anyway. It’s Wednesday. That means Words. Today’s THEME is **EGG**. Here’s a snippet from the WIP. Sade has one nerve left and folks are about to step on it. Not gonna say where in the timeline. That way, it’s not a spoiler. Though it isn’t much of one anyway.
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To say Interpol had egg on their face was an understatement. Jean-Louis was nowhere to be found and his bosses were staying mum on the situation. Sade didn’t want to bother the ancient vampire she’d grown up calling Aunt Polly. Dame Apolline was some high muckity muck in the Vampyre Conclave. Instead, she contacted Mathias. To say she wasn’t worried about the former Interpol agent rearing his handsome head again was an understatement. Too bad all her vampire problems weren’t so easily solved.

Nikos was back. He’d had no more luck tracking down the rogue dragon than she’d had finding Mr. Wizard. She wanted to go home. Not that there was anything waiting for her there. Not anymore. But it was familiar. And routine. Too bad this case was still a priority.

After a night of tossing and turning, therefore little sleep, she’d dragged out of bed to find the cat MIA, a note under her door from Caleb saying he’d be at Interpol at least until noon. She’d showered, dressed, and stopped in for coffee and croissants at the bakery on the corner.

Currently, she stood on the Pont au Double, one of bridges over the Seine leading to the island where Notre Dame Cathedral stood still encased in a steel skeleton. She noticed, for the first time, that the iconic steeple was lying where it had crashed. The fire, while devastating, hadn’t been catastrophic—at least not to the gargoyles. Roman stood on her right, Nikos, on her left. One gave off the chill of carved granite, the other the heat of a volcano.

“Magic is a fragile thing,” Roman said. “Like a human life.”

“But Magicks aren’t.” Bitterness shaded Sade’s voice.

Nikos glanced her way. “You are formed by the fires of your desires and longings, Sade.”

“Bullshit.”

“You aren’t exactly human.”

She opened her mouth to scald him, but Roman’s soft admonition stopped her, “He’s right, Lady Sade. Because you were marked by Fae and vampire both, you carry a touch of magic.” She scowled at him but he continued unfazed. “As to the rest, you are driven by your viewpoint, by perceived injustices. You ingest it, push it deep, and then, when nothing makes sense and you are going under, drowning in the swirling brew of emotions, you explode.”

“Do not,” she muttered, knowing damn good and well that Roman was right.

Excited shouting and laughter and what sounded like cannon fire captured their attention. A mob tumbled up the Qual de Montebello headed toward the Square René Viviani. They weren’t the first group to dance by headed ultimately to the Eiffel Tower. This was some sort of jubilant celebration or a crazy marathon. Sade didn’t know. As the crowd passed the green space of the squard, a cannon fired again, the shell exploding above the crowd, raining pink powder down on them.

“Yes.” Nikos pointed to the throng. “You look just like them when you detonate, all pretty in pink.”

“You take that back!”

Nikos never saw her fist. Through a busted lip, he said, “I rest my case.”
****
Don’t ever accuse Sade of being a girlie girl. 😉 Iffy and I keep creeping toward The End. I see a dim glow at the end of the tunnel and no sound of a train whistle. Writers, any egg words? Readers, how do you want your eggs cooked? I like mine sunny side up.