Angeli – The Pirate, the Angel
& the Irishman
By Amy Vansant
Publication date: June 19th 2014
Genres: New Adult, Urban Fantasy
Publication date: June 19th 2014
Genres: New Adult, Urban Fantasy
Once a legendary pirate,
Anne Bonny is a Sentinel, a soldier for mankind’s mysterious guardians, the Angeli.
Anne will live 1000 years, but in return, she must hunt & neutralize
Perfidia, corrupted Angeli who drain human energy to survive.
Together with her fellow Sentinel, Con, and Arch Angeli Michael, Anne
must face an added threat; a new breed of Perfidia possessed of untold power.
Monsters are only half
Anne’s troubles; her stormy love life would make Blackbeard pack up ship and
move to Kansas. After losing his corporeal body in battle, Anne’s former lover,
Con Carey, visits her by possessing the bodies of humans, often with
embarrassing results. In the meantime, Anne’s complicated romance with the
aloof Arch Angeli Michael has intensified, but is their love spawned
by the magnetic attraction of their powers? Or something deeper?
Can this unusual love
triangle work together to protect the world from the cosmic horrors sworn to
destroy it?
Chapter One
Sea
Isle City, New Jersey. Present Day.
Anne Bonny sat at the outdoor café in Sea Isle City,
New Jersey, staring dreamily at the mimosa tree arching above her table. The
tree’s fuzzy pink flowers gave her the impression of a Dr. Seuss creation, as
if Horton himself had decorated it for a summer holiday.
Anne could hear the rhythmic crashing of the surf, the
soothing whoosh a soundtrack to the peaceful setting. Around the restaurant’s
wrought iron table, tiny sparrows hopped across the backyard eating area,
snatching up every spare crumb like little feathered vacuum cleaners. A block
away, a seagull cackled its wild, agitated laugh.
With only a young couple in love cooing to each other
nearby, Anne tried to enjoy her hard-earned tranquility. She had decided to
take a few days from her apartment in New York City and explore the Jersey,
Delaware and Maryland shores. She doodled on a folded map as she pondered her
route: Should she pause in Cape May? Or should she take the ferry to
Delaware? The last bit of French toast gone from her plate, Anne found
herself already wondering where she should stop for lunch.
The female half of the cooing couple stood, scraping
her metal chair across the stone pavers. Anne glanced over and watched the girl
in the form-fitting tank dress twitch her way into the main building. Anne made
brief eye contact with the young man still at the table, flashed him a polite
“whoops, we made eye-contact” smile, and then returned to her thoughts.
Anne had just reached for an overlooked crumble of
bacon on her plate, when her attention snapped to the sparrows. They flew away
in unison, and Anne’s sharp gaze swept the area to find the cause of their
unrest.
“Great little arse,” said a man’s voice in an Irish
accent.
Anne sat bolt upright and turned her eyes upon the
male half of the couple with whom she shared the patio.
The sandy-haired lovebird, still sitting where his
girl had left him, met Anne’s curious gaze with a wicked grin. He abruptly
stood and dragged his chair over to Anne’s table with a teeth-rattling screech
of metal on stone.
The boy released an overly dramatic sigh of
satisfaction, plopped back down into the chair now positioned beside Anne, and
beckoned the waitress as she exited the café and stepped onto the patio.
“Could I get four whiskeys here?” he asked, dangling
his finger over the table and swirling it as if mixing a drink.
The waitress head cocked to the side with surprise.
“Uh, sure, I guess…what kind?”
The man looked at Anne, his face beaming like a
child’s on Christmas morning.
“Something Irish and as expensive as possible,” he
said as he put his right elbow on the table and rested his head in that hand,
his gaze never leaving Anne. “Straight.”
“You can put it on her tab. Or mine. Doesn’t matter
really,” he said.
Anne looked at the waitress. “His tab,” she said. The
waitress offered them an awkward smile and left to fetch the whiskey.
“Ooh, Annie, you’re still a little evil,” said the
young man. “You’re going to stick this lad with my tab.”
Anne’s new table guest sat grinning, thin and pale as
an untoasted wafer, but with the fiery eyes of a rebellious imp eager to be
unleashed. She’d known the minute she heard the accent that the boy’s body had
been appropriated by a friend of hers, Con Carey, who had lost his own
corporeal body some years ago. Like a horror movie ghost, Con had a habit of
borrowing other people’s bodies in order to communicate with her. Unlike a
ghost, the only thing horrifying about Con was his otherworldly ability to
consume whiskey.
“Hello, Con,” Anne said. “Did you ask that poor boy if
you could borrow his body?”
“Hello, Annie, my love,” Con replied. “Absolutely not.
They almost always say no.”
Anne noted how Con’s eyes lit up when she acknowledged
him and recalled how thrilled he’d been the first time he’d found a way to use
another person’s body. He’d pumped his fists and run around the room screaming
with joy until he crashed over a sofa, having momentarily lost control of his
borrowed legs.
“How are you? Did you miss me?” he asked.
Before she could answer, Con leapt to his feet and did
a few jumping jacks. Wrapped in the young man’s bony frame, he boxed an
invisible opponent for a few moments, and then clapped himself on either
shoulder, pleased with his performance.
“Featherweight,” he said, flopping back into his
chair.
“Featherbrain,” drawled Anne. She paused as the
waitress returned to set four whiskeys on the table. Unsure of the appropriate
way to dole out four Irish whiskeys between two people so early in the morning,
the girl lumped them in the middle of the table.
Con took the first shot and swallowed it down before
the waitress could fully release the last glass from her grasp.
“Slow down,” said Anne. “She could have lost a
finger.”
“Uhhhhmmmm…” Con groaned, ignoring Anne in his ecstasy
as he shot back the whiskey.
Anne watched with amusement as Con licked his lips,
tilted back his head and closed his eyes. As a disembodied spirit, not having
lips or a throat had cut into his quality drinking time. Anne snatched the
second whiskey from the table before Con could grab it, shot it back, and
slapped it back into his empty paw.
Con jerked his hand from the empty glass as if it had
burned his fingertips. His jaw clenched. He pushed away Anne’s empty shot glass
and deliberately clamped his fingers upon the next full shot. He trained his
eyes on Anne’s, daring her to make a move for it.
He raised the third shot to his mouth.
With lightning-fast reflexes, Anne snatched the glass
from Con’s paw. She put the glass against her lips, threatening to drink it.
“Harpy!” Con roared, slamming his fist to the table.
The glasses jumped and clattered on the wrought iron.
Anne froze, allowing Con to hang, and then slowly
handed the glass back, a smug grin on her face. Visibly relieved, Con downed
the shot.
“Surely, Annie, you know better than to break my heart
like that,” said Con, wiping his mouth. “You might have spilled it.”
Anne grinned, unable as always to be annoyed with Con
for very long. She was happy to see him again, even if he inhabited
the body of yet another innocent passerby. He hadn’t made one of his
appearances in months. Still, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do when
the blonde girl came back from the ladies’ room expecting to find her boyfriend
patiently waiting for her and not chatting up a busty strawberry
blonde at the next table. She hadn’t been in a cat fight in ages.
“Ireally wish you would time these visits a little
better,” she said. “His girlfriend will be back here any second.”
“I’ll be quick.”
Anne nodded and took some small solace in the fact
that Con had waited until the girl had left the table and that he had chosen
a boy to borrow. During a past impromptu visit, Con had possessed the
body of a young woman and proceeded to give Anne a sloppy kiss in front of a
crowd that included the woman’s grandmother. Anne felt lucky the waitress
wasn’t currently sitting in her lap.
Anne nodded to the empty whiskey glasses. “You
know what they say; Drinky, Drinky, Little Dinky,” she held up her pinky
and waggled it for effect.
Con stopped in mock horror, the last shot nearly to
his lips. He put the glass down, pulled out the waistband of his plaid shorts
and looked inside. With a shrug, he snapped them shut.
“Sorry, Luv, but it looks as though I might as well
drink.”
Anne sighed. “So why are you here, Con?”
“I’ve come to give you a warning,” said Con. “Your pal
is on the move.”
“My pal?”
“Michael.”
Con turned his head to feign spitting on the floor in
disgust as he said Michael’s name.
“There’s trouble. I haven’t been able to gather all
the details yet, but something is afoot.”
“Is that where you’ve been the last few months? Spying
on Michael?” asked Anne.
Con raised one of the empty shot glasses, smelled it,
and tried to reach his tongue to the bottom to sop up any last drops.
“I said: have you been spying on Michael,”
repeated Anne, taking the glass out of his hand and putting it back on the
table. Con scowled and pursed his lips with disappointment.
“Among other things.”
Anne played it cool, as if Con’s news meant nothing to
her, but her chest felt tight. She opened and closed her fist several
times before Con placed his hand on hers to soothe her jitters. She turned back
to him and smiled, realizing what a poor actress she had been.
“You’ll be fine, you always are,” he said in a gentle
tone. “I just wanted to let you know to prepare yourself.”
Without warning, Con leaned over and put his hand on
the back of Anne’s head, pulling her face to his. He ravished her with a kiss,
and Anne thought how strange it was that the kiss felt like Con and not like
the stranger whose lips actually pressed against her own.
The smell of whiskey helped.
Anne felt herself giving in to the kiss. It was at
that moment that Con left his host and she found herself lip-locked with a very
confused young man.
“What are you doing?!” came a screech from across
the patio.
Anne’s eyes popped open wide, her lips still pressed
against the young man’s. His girlfriend had returned, and now stood, mouth
agape, pointing at Anne.
The boy pulled back from Anne’s kiss, holding his arms
wide, as if declaring himself safe.
“Wha…?” The boy stood up and put his fingers on the
table to steady himself as the full effect of three whiskies and a recent
possession took its toll on his 135 pounds of human flesh.
“Whoa,” he said.
The boy glanced down at Anne and then back at his
girlfriend, hoping someone or something could explain his disorientation. He
looked back at Anne’s memorable cleavage and tried to squelch the involuntary
grin creeping to his lips. He burped, putting his hand to his mouth in
surprise when he tasted whiskey.
“I said what are you doing?” said the
girl, her tone still a glass-breaking screech.
Anne stood.
“He agreed to test our new line of lipsticks,” she
said, gathering her things and beginning to move towards the restaurant’s
backdoor. “In order to get you a free sampler kit from us, which I’ll
go get from the car now.”
The girl glowered with anger and confusion, torn
between free makeup and an implausible explanation for what she had just
witnessed. She took a step toward her equally confused boyfriend, tossing her
locks with pique.
“Why do you smell like booze?”
“Whiskey flavored lipstick!” Anne called back,
attempting to throw the boy a bone. “Irish Rose.”
Anne paid her tab at the register and headed out.
On the street, Anne made her way back to her car and
considered what Con had said. Anytime Con noticed Michael acting suspiciously,
bad things followed.
Michael was an Angelus, a race of extraordinary
creatures whose sole duty was to watch over the welfare of humans. Anne was a
Sentinel. She worked for the Angeli as a sort of bounty hunter, helping to
track and kill Perfidia, Angeli who preyed on humans instead of protecting
them. Anytime Michael called her, she knew a battle lay ahead, and while she
had once relished these challenges, since a Perfidian had nearly killed her
fellow Sentinel, Con, she’d felt death had become her constant companion.
In addition, Michael and Anne were involved in a
complicated romance that only added stress to every exchange between them.
If what Con said was true, Anne was in danger once
more. She wished she could fly away from the whole mess, but today, disappearing
would be especially difficult.
Her car was missing.
The parking spot she’d been so happy to find had a new
tenant and her Jaguar was nowhere to be seen.
“Blast,” Anne swore as she scanned the area.
Across the street, between two beach duplexes, she spotted
her car parked on the next block.
Anne scowled. There was no way she could
have parked one block over from the restaurant. Perhaps Con had moved the car
as a joke before he visited her at the café. That would be like him. Or,
perhaps she was going senile. She was slightly over 300 years old. A
long life was one of the perks of being a Sentinel, assuming you could stay
alive with Perfidia constantly trying to kill you.
Anne cut between the beach houses towards her vehicle,
ducking and slipping through a small fence to enter a secluded backyard. Before
she could stand upright, the figure of a man appeared directly in front of her.
Anne lacked even a moment to react.
The man raised a small pistol, and shot her directly
between the eyes.
Amy has been writing and
finding other creative ways to make no money since high school.
She is the author of the urban fantasy series "Angeli - The Pirate, the Angel & the Irishman," romantic comedy "Slightly Stalky" (Jan 2015) and the editor and one of the 26 authors of the humor anthology "Moms are Nuts," which has been on Amazon's best-sellers lists since its publication in April 2014.
Amy the former East Coast Editor of SURFER Magazine and freelance writer. Long ago she wrote "The Surfer's Guide to Florida," which is currently out of print because the urge to drive up and down the coast interviewing surfers has long since left her.
Amy is a nerd and Labradoodle mommy.
She is the author of the urban fantasy series "Angeli - The Pirate, the Angel & the Irishman," romantic comedy "Slightly Stalky" (Jan 2015) and the editor and one of the 26 authors of the humor anthology "Moms are Nuts," which has been on Amazon's best-sellers lists since its publication in April 2014.
Amy the former East Coast Editor of SURFER Magazine and freelance writer. Long ago she wrote "The Surfer's Guide to Florida," which is currently out of print because the urge to drive up and down the coast interviewing surfers has long since left her.
Amy is a nerd and Labradoodle mommy.
Winner will receive 1 ebook copy of Angeli
To enter, simply comment below. The winner will be chosen Monday, December 22, 2014
Thank you for having the giveaway and the chance. The book sounds great :)
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