Dragon(e) Baby Gone
(Reports from the Department of Intangible Assets Book 1)
by Robert Gainey
GENRE: Mystery Fantasy
Diane Morris is part of the thin line separating a happy, mundane world from all of the horrors of the anomalous. Her federal agency is underfunded, understaffed, and misunderstood, and she’d rather transfer to the boring safety of Logistics than remain a field agent. When a troupe of international thieves make off with a pair of dragon eggs, Diane has no choice but to ally with a demon against the forces looking to leave her city a smoldering crater. Facing down rogue wizards, fiery elementals, and crazed gunmen, it’s a race against time to get the precious cargo back before the dragon wakes up and unleashes hell.
EXCERPTS (Please choose only ONE to use with your post):
Modern times gave way to a general idea that reason and logic were enough to stop something from dragging you into the sewers and wearing your skin to protect itself from daylight. It’s easy to see why: it doesn’t happen to a lot of people, therefore it must not happen. I see it all the time, people who say things like “I’ve never seen a ghost, so they must not exist.”
Oh yeah? Because if spirits did exist, they’d all be tripping over their ghost dicks to haunt you? Do you understand the preternatural forces that conspire, the circumstances that line up, to create any kind of ghost? Let alone one that shows up in your room at night and moans about revenge or betrayal or rattles some chains and teaches you a valuable lesson about being selfish?
“Well, there’s no such thing as Bigfoot. All those pictures are super blurry and grainy,” they say, their voices nasally and snobby, like all the knowledge of the world is pumped directly into their tiny brains through their tiny phones. Go stand out in a remote Colorado forest one night. Turn off your phone, open your eyes and ears, and wait. When you feel those eyes watching, and when you know, deep in that primitive monkey brain, way, way down inside, that there’s more than just the animals you have names for sharing that clearing with you, then you can call me to tell me that there’s no such thing as Bigfoot.
That is, if you live to turn your phone back on again.
“I have arrived!” Rubin intoned, loud and solemn as he strode into my office. He was every inch a wizard, so long as those inches were from the neck up. A long white beard met with long white hair, both flowing down over his chest and shoulders. White eyebrows heavy enough to act as speed bumps shaded his gray eyes, and the entire magnificently magical appearance was thrown off by the fact that he wore a tweed jacket, khakis, and loafers. He looked like a homeless man applying for a job in a suit donated by another homeless man.
“Rubin, thanks for coming so quickly,” I said, rising and offering a hand. He walked right past me and stood to look out the window.
“Why, woman, have you summoned me to your presence? Do you wish to consult with the power of earth and sky? Do I, and I alone, have the knowledge you require?” I’d almost forgotten what it was like to be this close to him. He smelled very strongly of horseradish and cloves. There was a large patch of fresh char on the elbow of his jacket.
“I certainly hope so,” I said, sitting back down and glaring at his back. This was why he wasn’t on my Christmas card list. That, and I didn’t know where he actually lived. Maybe he slept in the basement, where his little magical laboratory was housed.
When you think about how the FBI gets around by helicopter, you probably think of Black Hawks or at least heavy, coal-colored aircraft bristling with instruments and/or weapons. Something very spy movie, or at least crime drama. Hell, it’s what I imagine and, actually, what I was used to. So when we landed at a small airstrip a couple miles south of Las Vegas and the only helicopter in sight had a large yellow smiley face painted onto the side with a logo for “Big Bob’s Canyon Tours,” I figured I was in for a wait until my actual transport arrived. The stewardess thanked me for flying and closed up behind me as Tomas and I staggered down the stairs. I was rubbing sleep out of my eyes as two large men in khakis and flowered shirts came over from the chopper.
Now these were some violent men. The way they walked, the way they held themselves, and the way they carried very large pistols under those loose clothes made me immediately think they were professional, but still violent. I paused where I was, and they stood, arms clasped in front of them, easy expressions on their faces and an almost lazy posture. We all waited until the private jet taxied away toward the little fuel shack at the other end of the runway.
“What’s your name?” Oh boy, that’s not a polite first question.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Robert Gainey is a born and raised Floridian, despite his best efforts. While enrolled at Florida State University and studying English (a language spoken on a small island near Europe), Robert began volunteering for the campus medical response team, opening up a great new passion in his life. Following graduation, he pursued further training through paramedic and firefighting programs, going on to become a full time professional firefighter in the State of Florida. He currently lives and works in Northeast Florida with his wife and dogs, who make sure he gets walked regularly. Robert writes near-fetched fantasy novels inspired by the madness and courage found in everyday events.
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