Friday, November 28, 2014

Interview with Kylie Scott Lead, A Stage Dive Novel + review

Today I'm welcoming back the NY Times and USA Today bestselling author of The Stage Dive novels, Kylie Scott. I read her first in the series when her publicist from St. Martin's Press sent me an ARC and I've been hooked on the series ever since. You can click on our previous conversation HERE.
So in between those Black Friday trips enjoy a little hard rock lit from my favorite author from Down-Under who even on deadline stopped to chat with me.

  • ISBN-13: 9781250052384
  • Publisher: St. Martin's Press
  • Publication date: 11/25/2014
  • Series: A Stage Dive Novel Series , #3
  • Pages: 320


Stay up all night with the sexy rockers in Stage Dive, the epic New Adult series from New York Times bestselling author Kylie Scott, author of Lick and Play.
Can rock n’ roll’s most notorious bad boy be tamed by love?
As the lead singer of Stage Dive, Jimmy is used to getting whatever he wants, whenever he wants it—now he’s caught up in a life of hard partying and fast women. When a PR disaster serves as a wake-up call and lands him in rehab, he finds himself with Lena, a new assistant hired to keep him out of trouble.

Thursday, November 27, 2014

Interview with Santa Sal Lizard-Being Santa Claus + Review

Happy Thanksgiving America!

It's almost time for Black Friday but before you get out there to shop til you drop I've got the interview you'll need before you head out the door. Sal Lizard aka Santa and I sat down a few years ago when his new book Being Santa Claus came out and it's become tradition for me to re-post it every year.

  • ISBN-13: 9781592408368
  • Publisher: Gotham
  • Publication date: 10/29/2013
  • Pages: 208


A veteran Santa reveals heartwarming true stories and lessons from his twenty-year career spreading Christmas magic.
With the holiday shopping season beginning earlier each year, more than ever.  Americans are struggling to remember the true meaning of Christmas. And who better to deliver the gift of Christmas inspiration than a man who has spent the last two decades playing Santa?

 Sal, I mean Santa, I know you’re terribly busy this time of year so thank you so much for taking time to visit us at The Reading Frenzy.
My pleasure, Debbie.

Tell us a little about the book Being Santa Claus.
People frequently ask me what it's like to be Santa. I think that this book gives a glimpse of some of the things and people who happened to me as I matured into a professional Santa. It explains, to many, why I do what I do.

Is there a reason that you wrote the book now?
I'd like to say something like, "Because this is the time when such a book is needed" but it was really because I ran into Jonathan Lane and he talked me into "a collaboration" to tell my stories to a wider audience.

Can you give us one humorous example out of the book?
In one of the chapters, I tell of a little girl who asked me my name while standing in a checkout line. I asked who she thought I was and she said, "I think you're Santa Claus." I told her that she should be really good and she replied, "I am! I'm not even peeing in my underpants!"

Do you only portray the Americanized version of Santa?
Well, I do have a kilt and used to appear to in it for Scottish families that requested it.

What’s your favorite Christmas song?
"Santa Claus is Coming to Town," of course!

Will there be another book?
Gosh, I hope so! There are still stories to tell and I would love the opportunity to tell them. I guess it all depends on how this book sells.

Do you have any events or signings?
As a matter of fact, I do! My appearance list can be found
here- and you can book a visit with me there too!

Thank you so much for answering these few questions Sal. As you know I loved the book. I think it should be required reading for treating Grinch like symptoms around the holidays. It’s inspiring, touching, it was very heartfelt.
Thank you so much for your kind words and wonderful review! I have been hearing from many how my book is helping them through some difficulty. One reader told me that she was going to give her sister (who is going through a tough divorce) a copy to cheer her up!

Good luck with the book.
Thank you so much for helping me share info about the book, and helping with its success!

Merry Christmas.
Same to you! And to all of your readers, too!
Santa Sal

Please stop by Santa's website here for touching, heartfelt and funny pictures, stories and to find out where Santa will be.

My Review of Being Santa Claus
Sal Lizard knows what it means to be Santa Claus; he knows the heartfelt and heartbreaking realities it brings every time he donned the red suit. He spent two decades learning from his mistakes and making miracles. He learned valuable life lessons from the smallest individuals. He laughed and he cried but he never took for granted the responsibility that came with Being Santa Claus.

For over 20 years, starting as a fluke and practical joke and ending as a career Sal Lizard takes us through the ups and downs, the laughter and tears and the true magic he found when he put on the red suit and became Santa Claus. He mentions his most poignant moments and his most trying. We’ll get to meet his family, the clients that called upon him year after year and some very creative ways to make all his stops and fulfill all the requests. He takes us through his time as a mall Santa to his special pajama visits on Christmas Eve. He’ll tell us stories about the youngest lap visit to the oldest. The naughty and nice lists that were always checked twice and the ever-present candy cane.

If you’re looking for a really great kickoff to get you in the Christmas Spirit this little, easy to read and emotional book should be first on your list. If you’ve lost the spirit or know someone who has just slip this little treasure into the stocking and those spirits will come back.
I only have one thing to say to Sal Lizard aka Santa. I still believe.

Connect with Santa –Website Facebook - Twitter

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while getting a wonderful tangible gift.
is the perfect solution. They provide wonderful gifts for readers
and 100% of after tax proceeds go directly to the reading charities
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Wednesday, November 26, 2014

**Giveaway** Showcase Moonlight Weeps by Vincent Zandri Partner In Crime Tours

Today is my stop on the Moonlight Weeps tour enjoy my showcase and enter to win a copy of Moonlight Weeps.


Moonlight Weeps

by Vincent Zandri

on Tour at Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours from October 21 - November 30, 2014

Book Details:

Genre: Hard-boiled Mystery
Published by: Down & Out Books
Publication Date: September 5, 2014
Number of Pages: 250
ISBN: 1937495744 (ISBN13: 9781937495749)
Purchase Links:


Dick Moonlight can’t help himself. Moonlight, the private detective known as the head case with a bullet lodged in his brain, should be grateful for his current job. But when it becomes clear the cash-starved brain surgeon he’s been hired to drive around is protecting his son from a rape conviction, Moonlight is disgusted. Worse, when the charges turn into a case of “reckless murder,” Moonlight’s the only one trying to keep the kid from the electric chair though the girl—a state senator’s daughter—clearly committed suicide. Then Moonlight and his unwilling assistant, a fat Elvis impersonator owing him money, stumble into a much bigger plot and are soon dodging Hollywood obsessed drug-running Russian thugs, corrupt government officials, and the specter of Moonlight’s recently diseased girlfriend. New York Times bestselling author Vincent Zandri delivers another fast-paced, grizzly thriller in the Dick Moonlight series, offering readers plenty of wry humor, bullets, car chases, and Scarface references.

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1
According to my schedule, I’m to meet Roland Hills, aka Elvis Presley, at the coffee shop in North Albany at eight in the morning. I would have met him at seven but, like the great Hound Dog in the sky, he’s been hitting the booze a little too hard as of late. So, like a good employee, I let him sleep in.
That’s me—Moonlight the teddy bear.
Pulling into a parking lot overcrowded with pickup trucks and cars, and even an eighteen wheeler parked diagonally across the lot so people are forced to drive around it, I find Hill’s old Honda motorcycle and glide up beside it. I’m just about to get out and head inside to grab a coffee when I spot the big, black-haired, forty-something Elvis impersonator coming toward me, gripping two very large coffees. Electronically thumbing down the passenger side window on Dad’s old 1978 hearse, I lean over the empty seat, ask him to get in.
He stops, shoots me a bulging-eye look, like he’s seen his own ghost.
“Moonlight, I ain't gettin inside that thing.”
Like his 1977 Fat Elvis beer gut, his Oklahoma accent sticks out like a sore thumb in Albany, New York. It’s a cool May morning, but he’s only got on a T-shirt, the words “Your Momma Lied” in big black letters expanding and distorting over his bloated belly.
“What’s to be afraid of? It’s not like sitting inside a hearse is gonna kill you, Elvis. Kinda works the other way around.”
“You ain’t hung-over like I am.” His hands shake so badly the coffee is spilling out the little sippy holes punched into the plastic lids. “I’m already near death.”
“Just get in. The stuff I have to show you is better revealed in private.”
“What stuff?”
“The stuff you’re paying me to find out about your girlfriend.”
He just stands there, his thick black hair and pork chop sideburns looking pasted onto his round face, his big gut hanging off his belt, hands shaking, coffee spilling.
“It’s bad, ain’t it?” His south-of-the-border twang raises up an octave. Like he’s about to cry. “Think I’m gonna be sick.”
“If you’re about to be sick, Elvis, blow your chunks in the lot right now. But hand me my coffee first.”
“I’m okay.” A beat passes. “Just not used to the love of my life cheating on me is all.”
“Guess now you know how her husband and your wife must feel.”
He attempts to smile at that. But apparently he can’t work up the strength. Reaching across the seat, I open the door for him. He gets in, stinking of old booze.
I take my coffee in hand and at the same time, catch my reflection in the rearview mirror. I haven’t been sleeping so great lately, what with being single and therefore free to roam the gin mills of my choice at all hours of the night. Worse, I've got a bank account that is so below zero it brain freezes me even to think of it. Peering into my own brown eyes I spot a round face that needed a shave five days ago, and a head of hair so short you can see the scars crisscrossing my scalp like a road map—including the small dime-sized scar beside my right earlobe where, once upon a time, a piece of .22 caliber hollow-point bullet penetrated my skull. Standing up the collar on my leather coat with my free hand, I look away from the mirror, and begin to muse over my worn combat boots and dark, beatup Levis.
Suddenly, I smell something bad.
“Christ, Elvis, when was the last time you showered?”
“Been sleeping at the phone company.” Elvis’s day job consists of fixing broken computers at the local Verizon. “Ain’t got no where’s to go.” He tries to sip his coffee, but his hand is trembling too much and most of it lands on his chin. Reaching into his the side pocket on his baggy blue jeans, he withdraws a small fifth of Jack. Then, shooting me a look with his brown puppy dog eyes, “You mind?”
“It’s your liver, Elvis.”
I assist him with removing the coffee cup lid. Spilling some of the coffee out the window to make room, he then pours two or three shots into the cup, filling it back up. I help him once more with pressing the lid back down onto the paper cup.
“Go ahead. Drink. Those trembling hands are making me nervous.”
He steals a generous drink of the whiskey-laced coffee. After only a few seconds, you can feel him deflating. As for his hands, they stop shaking. Reaching around into the back seat, I grab a manila envelope and open it. I pull out the pictures I snapped yesterday afternoon across the river in Columbia County. The rural town of Kinderhook, to be precise. The town where Mr. Hill’s current illicit love is still living with her husband inside a doublewide trailer set on a two acre streamside parcel, while spending her mornings balling the mailman and her late afternoons getting it on with the present and accounted for facsimile of Elvis Presley. Fat Elvis.
“Read ’em and weep, Elvis. She ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog anyway.”
He sets his spiked coffee onto the dash, snatches the pics from my hand, slaps them face-down onto his lap. He lifts the first one, and with his right hand having resumed its trembling, turns it over. The photo reveals his girlfriend’s heart-shaped naked posterior. It’s pointed up in the air while she bends over in preparation for rear-entry by the mailman, whose blue uniformed pants and tighty-whitey BVDs are wrapped around his white tennis sock-covered ankles. I have to admit, it isn’t a bad live shot for an amateur photographer. The focus is perfect and I even snapped the pic as the blond bombshell is looking over her shoulder, no doubt saying something profound to the mailman. Something like, “Do me . . . Do me . . . I can’t wait any longer.”
The rest of the photos are simply different versions of the same shot. You seen one pic of an over-sexed thirty-something blond taking it doggy style in her backyard from the mailman, you’ve sort of seen them all. But that doesn’t prevent Roland Hills from studying each and every single one of them like he’s looking at the most recent issue of Penthouse Magazine. You know, holding them only inches from his face, turning them one way, then the other.
When he’s done, he slaps the pics back down onto his lap. It’s then I see he’s crying like a baby. Tears streaming down his fat cheeks, he opens his mouth wide and begins to sing at the top of his lungs, “We’re caught in a trap . . . I can’t walk out . . . Because I love you too much baby!”
I’ll be dipped. He’s starting to make a scene. But I gotta give him credit. If I close my eyes, it really does like sound like I’m blaring the late king of rock ’n’ roll on the hearse’s old eight-track stereo system. Hills is so good, a group of blue-jeaned construction workers gather around the black hearse. They clap and cheer as soon as the crying, fake Elvis issues his last tearful note. One big guy with a brush cut even raises up his cigarette lighter, thumbing a flame.
“You’re building your fan base, Elvis.”
He wipes the tears from his eyes with the back of his meaty hand.
“I don’t want new fans. I want my Betty back.”
Betty Reddy. That’s his cheating girlfriend’s name and it’s no joke. ’Course, if you close your eyes and say it out loud, you get the full effect.
Betty Reddy . . . Bet all the guys called her Betty Reddy Beaver in high school. Or maybe Betty Reddy for cock . . . No wonder she’s addicted to sex.
“She wasn’t yours to begin with. Go back to your wife.”
“Lorraine won’t have me back. She filed for divorce three days ago.”
“Beg for forgiveness. Tell her you strayed if only to realize what you had right before your eyes. Works like a charm every time.”
He’s quiet for a minute while sad-faced workers stroll in and out of the coffee shop. Then, “You have a girlfriend, Mr. Moonlight? Someone special in your life?”
I shake my head, sip my coffee.
“No,” I say, the long brunette haired vision of my now dead ex, Lola, filling my head. “Not at present.”
“Funny you giving me advice. Man with a piece of fuckin’ bullet in his brain and no woman.” Slamming his barrel chest with his fist. “You could drop dead today. But I got my whole life to live. And I wanted to live it with Betty.”
My eyes lock on his.
“You have a real way with words, Elvis.” Leaning down, I gather up my pics, stuff them back into the envelope. “Don’t lose your day job.”
He opens the door, grabs his coffee, proceeds to step on out. But I take hold of his arm. It’s skinny, bony even. Totally out of synch with the rest of his body.
“I believe you owe me something, Elvis. An even grand, plus expenses. You can deduct the coffee if you want.”
He turns to me, his big brown eyes blinking.
“I’ve sort of run into a bit of problem.” His teary eyed frown turns upside down. “You see, Mr. Moonlight, since the telephone company found out about me and Betty, we both been handed our walking papers.”
“You telling me you can’t pay me?”
There it is again, the minus zero bank balance, the account getting colder and colder as it becomes emptier . . .
“Not now anyway.” Then, perking up. “But hey, I’ve got an idea. You got any party plans in the future? Elvis and the Teddy Bears does parties, weddings, and bar mitzvahs. You’d get yourself a half price off deal.”
“You kidding me, Elvis?”
“Half price is at least worth one thousand.”
And that’s when my entire blood supply spills out onto the hearse floor. I see her. Through the windshield. Walking into the coffee shop. I see her.
I. See. Her.
A tall woman. Her brunette hair is rich and long. Her body is taller and leaner than I remember. But not skinny. She’s wearing tight jeans, sandals, a long sleeved loose-fitting shirt with a deep V-neck, exposing the tan skin that covers her firm breasts. Two or three silver necklaces drape down from her neck, and further draw my attention to the exposed skin on her chest. Her lips are thick and red. They form a heart when she presses them together. Her nose is so perfect, it seems as though it were carved out of stone by a master artist. Covering her eyes, dark aviator sunglasses.
But how can it be Lola?
Lola died.
I left Lola lifeless, laying on highway cement between New York City and Albany. She had breathed her last and the spark had exited her body. I saw it happen. I was there. I walked away from her death, and I never looked back. Not even once.
Maybe I should have.
“You okay, Mr. Moonlight?”
Elvis talking, prodding me with his index finger. Like I’ve suddenly gone catatonic. And I have.
“No. I’m not alright.” I hold out my hand. “Whiskey.”
He hands me the bottle. I uncap it, take a deep drink, hand it back without capping it.
He takes it in hand, then grabs the cap, screwing it back on. “Jeez, that was supposed to last me all day.”
I want to get out of the hearse. I want to head into the store. I want to see if my eyes are deceiving me. But I can’t fucking move.
“You want me to get you a drink of water, Moonlight?”
I turn to Elvis.
“Take your pictures. We’re done here.”
“You okay with an I.O.U.?”
“Yeah. Just go. I’ll call you if I need something.”
The door opens and Elvis gets out. Several of the onlookers who heard him singing issue him a second round of applause. Elvis bends at the waist, bows to his new peeps. Then, straightening himself back up, he reaches into his jean pocket and proceeds to hand out business cards.
“The King is back in town,” he barks in his best trembling imitation of Elvis's voice. “Available for birthday parties, weddings, retirement parties, bar mitzvahs, and a whole lot more.”
The door to the store opens again. She walks out. My heart beats in my throat, adrenalin pumping through the veins in my head. I want to get out of the car, but I’m glued to the seat. Glued because I have to either be seeing things, or my judgment is entirely off. Like I said, I’ve got a piece of .22 caliber bullet lodged in my brain. It causes me problems from time to time. Brain problems. I’m not just a head-case. I’m Captain Head-Case.
But there she is. Lola. In the flesh.
She briefly holds the door open for an elderly man who limps on through. Then, turning her back to me, she walks away in the opposite direction.
My Lola walks away.

Author Bio:

Vincent Zandri is the NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY bestselling author of more than 16 novels including THE INNOCENT, GODCHILD, THE REMAINS, MOONLIGHT RISES, and the forthcoming, EVERYTHING BURNS. He is also the author of numerous Amazon bestselling digital shorts, PATHOLOGICAL, TRUE STORIES and MOONLIGHT MAFIA among them. Harlan Coben has described THE INNOCENT (formerly As Catch Can) as "...gritty, fast-paced, lyrical and haunting," while the New York Post called it "Sensational...Masterful...Brilliant!" Zandri's list of domestic publishers include Delacorte, Dell, Down & Out Books, and Thomas & Mercer, while his foreign publisher is Meme Publishers of Milan and Paris. An MFA in Writing graduate of Vermont College, Zandri's work is translated in the Dutch, Russian, French, Italian, and Japanese. Recently, Zandri was featured in a major article about his books and his thoughts on the state of modern publishing by the New York Times. He has also made appearances on Bloomberg TV and FOX news. A freelance photo-journalist for Living Ready Magazine, RT, and many more, Zandri lives in New York and Florence, Italy. For more go to WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM

Catch Up:

*Author Photo Credit is Jessica Painter.

Tour Participants:

Enter Here to Win a Copy of Moonlight Weeps by Vincent Zandri:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Today's Gonreading item is:
A collection of book themed
dishes, a great gift idea
Click HERE for the buy page

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

**Giveaway** Interview with Mike Pace One To Go

My frequent guests will know by now how much I LOVE Oceanview Publishing. They are an independent mystery/thriller house located in Florida whose notoriety has grown and are now recognized as one of the preeminent independent publishers of mystery, thriller, and suspense. They put out some fantastic novels and I'm proud to bring yet another one.
Welcome Mike Pace to the blog who is here today to talk about his latest thriller, One To Go.

Mike the floor is yours!!

  • ISBN-13: 9781608091355
  • Publisher: Oceanview Publishing
  • Publication date: 12/2/2014
  • Pages: 365


Tom Booker is a new attorney at a powerful Washington law firm. Texting while driving across Memorial Bridge, he loses control and crashes into an oncoming minivan carrying his own daughter and three of her friends. The minivan tips up on two wheels, about to flip over into the Potomac. Time freezes, he’s alone on the bridge. A young couple approaches and offers him a re-wind. The crash would be averted, the children saved. All he must do is kill someone every two weeks—anyone—a “soul exchange.”

Oceanview has generously sponsored this giveaway
of One Print copy of
One To Go
Thanks Oceanview!
Good Luck!

Monday, November 24, 2014

**GIVEAWAY** Karma- Interview/Review Donna Augustine-Blog Tour

I'm so psyched today to welcome a relatively new to me author who I e-met through social media (isn't it great), read her novel Karma and fell in love with her characters, her storytelling and her generosity.
So welcome to my stop on the Karma by Donna Augustine blog tour. Enjoy our interview, my review of Karma and Donna has graciously offered one lucky entrant an e-copy of Karma and a needle felted critter she made, US ONLY! exclusively for my blog.

There is also a tour wide giveaway that I'll post too!
I know that you'll be excited to read this amazing new urban fantasy series when you get to the end of the post.
Giveaway details below.
Take it away Donna!!!

  • BN ID: 2940149703852
  • Publisher: Strong Hold Publishing
  • Publication date: 7/8/2014
  • Series: Karma , #1
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 344


People say karma's a...well, you know. Personally, I don't think I'm that bad. It's not like I wanted this job. I wasn't even in my right mind when I accepted the position.

Now, I'm surrounded by crazy coworkers like Lady Luck, who's a bit of a tramp, and Murphy's Law, who's a bumbling oaf. But the worst is Fate. He's got a problem with transfers like myself and I have to see him constantly. It's unavoidable, since we're hunting the same man, my murderer.

Read an excerpt:

“No. Just you. Everyone has their own department. You are Karma.” He pointed toward me dramatically, the way someone would try and accent a meaning to a person who didn't know the language.

“I'm not sure I'm adequately suited for this position. Even for a month. I'm more of a “bygones be bygones” kind of person. Don't you need someone a bit more vengeful?”

He looked down at the file spread on his desk. “I would disagree. Your file said you would be an excellent candidate.”

“May I see that?” I asked, eying up said file on his desk. How much did Harold know about me? Everything? That was an uneasy feeling. Even the best of us had our secrets and even though I considered myself a decent human being, I didn't think I fell into the saintly category.

The file didn't look big enough for my entire life to be in it. It didn't even look thick enough for a short story. Maybe just a highly edited Wiki version?

“No, absolutely not.” He shut the Manila folder quickly, as if I were going to jump up and try to peek. The guy took neurotic to a whole other level.

Okay, the file wasn't that important. I needed to keep the peace and simply explain in better detail how I'd made an error in judgment. Be nice. My southern mother had always said you caught more bees with honey than vinegar. She had tried to drill it into my head since I was a small child. It wasn't something I'd come naturally to, that was for sure, but it was a valid tactic, even if that wasn't the lesson my mother had meant to instill.

“Harold, when I agreed to work for you, I was under the duress of seeing my dead body. You can understand how jarring that can be, right? I wasn't thinking clearly at all.” It sounded logical enough to me, but I wasn't sure if he'd ever had the pleasure of dying and his manner didn't scream naturally empathetic.

He cleared his throat and I could tell by the set of his mouth that I wouldn't like the next words. “I'm sorry, but that's not how things work here. Like I told you, there’s a mandatory one-month trial period. An active one-month.”

He leaned back in his chair and pushed his glasses up closer to his face. His almost black eyes, artificially enlarged from the lens, stared at me in a bit of an awkward way. I wasn't sure if there was a bite to follow up his bark but his magnified beady gaze sure made the situation less than desirable.

Still, beady gaze and all, I had to try one last time. Perhaps a different angle. Regardless of my record, he clearly thought I was an idiot; maybe that was the way to go. I had no problem playing a stooge if it got me out of here quickly.

“As you stated, I'm a transfer. You really don't want me. I'm a horribly slow learner. The mistakes I've made in my life, geesh, you'd squirm if you knew.” I twirled a finger in my hair for effect and wished I had some chewing gum to smack.

“Yes, I'm well aware.”

He was? Hey, wait a minute; I didn't think I'd done too badly for myself. What were these jerks writing about me in that file?

“Fate will help you with that.”

And just like that, I had bigger problems. I wasn't just stuck here; I was stuck with him. “The guy who helped me so far?”



“It has to be him.” Harold threw his hands in the air, as if why am I bothering him? Not his orders.

“Then I'll work alone.”

I'd be clueless but peaceful. There was something wrong about that guy. There was something too bossy or too intense. I couldn't even describe exactly what it was about him that was too much, but it was.

Even the brief moment I'd actually been in my right mind around him, it was as if his presence exerted some sort of gravitational pull, stronger than a normal person’s. As if his intensity could throw me out of orbit. And I didn't want to go out of orbit. I had enough things to handle besides ping ponging around.

“Non-negotiable. I've got orders.” Harold folded his hands and rested them atop his desk, littered with paper.

“From who exactly?”

“The universe.” His chin notched up a hair.

“Would it be possible to speak to this universe person? I'm sure they'll understand that there is a personality conflict.” It was time to bump my complaint to upper management.

“No one speaks to the universe.”

“Then how do you know what to do?” I leaned in a little.

“Simple. Through my orders.” His eyes started to twitch.

“Which you get how?”

“My memos.”

“Then you can send a memo to the universe. I won't work with him.”

“I'll file your complaint but it won't matter. And don't forget, as I've already explained, it has to be an active month.”

Twenty-five days. I've dealt with worse for longer. One case in particular came to mind. The guy actually tried to bite me when we lost. Harold didn't seem inclined to bite and he didn't get into my personal space. I could deal with him.

On the other hand, Fate looked like he might be the biting sort.

“Do the last five days count toward the thirty? Time served and all?”


“These first days were highly unpleasant. Do you think I could get extra credit for those? Maybe, I don't know, you could knock off a day or two? Like they do in jail for good behavior?”He squinted his eyes and tilted his head. I was going to take that for a no.