Insta-Prophecy Hotline Chapter 2

Here’s Chapter 2 of my Urban Fantasy, Insta-Prophecy Hotline!

Chapter 2

Updates!

Well it’s week 3 of 47.

I would like to say Merry Belated Christmas and Happy New Year!

The yearly tradition I have is to write the annoying New Year’s resolutions list. Whether I actually achieve my resolutions is another topic for another day. But today I’m hopeful that I’ll start off 2017 with a fresh start.

My Resolutions:

  1. Get book 2 out in 2017 (I started off easy)
  2. Figure out what makes Benedict Cumberbatch so alluring and find out how to bottle and sell it. (I could retire young)
  3. Read more Terry Pratchett. (’nuff said)
  4. Follow, not stalk (there’s a fine line between the two) my favorite writers (and Benedict Cumberbatch) and get a review quote that I can print on the cover of my next book. My fav author list includes: Sherrilyn Kenyon, Kresley Cole, Kerrelyn Sparks, Gena Showalter, Lynsay Sands, Karen Marie Moning, and Christine Warren. There’s more but I’ve had, like, four glasses of wine and I have Christmas presents to fondle… so abbreviated list it is.
  5. Meet Steven Moffat.
  6. Workout more… Which by February I will probably change to: eat less cookies. I can live with less cookies. Maybe… Probably… Crap.

I hope that you achieve your New Year’s resolution lists.

Also, if you don’t like to read my ramblings and wait the 47 weeks to get the entire book, it is available for purchase. The links are below.

And the mature content warning: YOU ARE READING A ROMANCE. THERE’S SEX, EVENTUALLY. 18 and over please.

Chapter 2

Updates!

Well it’s week 3 of 47.

I would like to say Merry Belated Christmas and Happy New Year!

The yearly tradition I have is to write the annoying New Year’s resolutions list. Whether I actually achieve my resolutions is another topic for another day. But today I’m hopeful that I’ll start off 2017 with a fresh start.

My Resolutions:

  1. Get book 2 out in 2017 (I started off easy)
  2. Figure out what makes Benedict Cumberbatch so alluring and find out how to bottle and sell it. (I could retire young)
  3. Read more Terry Pratchett. (’nuff said)
  4. Follow, not stalk (there’s a fine line between the two) my favorite writers (and Benedict Cumberbatch) and get a review quote that I can print on the cover of my next book. My fav author list includes: Sherrilyn Kenyon, Kresley Cole, Kerrelyn Sparks, Gena Showalter, Lynsay Sands, Karen Marie Moning, and Christine Warren. There’s more but I’ve had, like, four glasses of wine and I have Christmas presents to fondle… so abbreviated list it is.
  5. Meet Steven Moffat.
  6. Workout more… Which by February I will probably change to: eat less cookies. I can live with less cookies. Maybe… Probably… Crap.

I hope that you achieve your New Year’s resolution lists.

Also, if you don’t like to read my ramblings and wait the 47 weeks to get the entire book, it is available for purchase. The links are below.

And the mature content warning: YOU ARE READING A ROMANCE. THERE’S SEX, EVENTUALLY. 18 and over please.

On Sale Now!

Paperback Available exclusively with Amazon:
Amazon
Amazon UK
IndieBound

Ebook available at:
Amazon
Amazon UK
Barnes & Noble
Smashwords
iTunes/iBooks
Kobo

On Sale Now!

Paperback Available exclusively with Amazon:
Amazon
Amazon UK
IndieBound

Ebook available at:
Amazon
Amazon UK
Barnes & Noble
Smashwords
iTunes/iBooks
Kobo

IT TAKES A KNIGHT TO SAVE THE DAMSEL

Darius, an immortal knight working for Insta-Prophecy Hotline, spent the last seven hundred years hunting down thirteen ancient obsidian skulls. A seemingly easy enough task, but one particular skull can possess hapless victims and has a penchant for ending civilizations. When he discovers that a Seer has kept him in the dark about an apocalyptic prophecy centered around the skulls, he nearly resigns. That is until the prophecy leads him straight to a fiery redhead who sparks a need in him that goes far beyond duty.

IT TAKES A DAMSEL TO REWRITE DESTINY

Mackenzie is a down-to-earth girl who has better things to deal with than to figure out why Insta-Prophecy Hotline sent her an obsidian skull. When a Seer tells her she’s destined to end the world, she thinks it’s a prank. When she winds up in Scotland with no memory of how she got there, she finds she’s in over her head. But as her destiny becomes tied to Darius, a knight in brooding armor, she gets on board and has to appreciate the irony that the world has to end for her to meet Mr. Right.

IT TAKES A KNIGHT TO SAVE THE DAMSEL

Darius, an immortal knight working for Insta-Prophecy Hotline, spent the last seven hundred years hunting down thirteen ancient obsidian skulls. A seemingly easy enough task, but one particular skull can possess hapless victims and has a penchant for ending civilizations. When he discovers that a Seer has kept him in the dark about an apocalyptic prophecy centered around the skulls, he nearly resigns. That is until the prophecy leads him straight to a fiery redhead who sparks a need in him that goes far beyond duty.

IT TAKES A DAMSEL TO REWRITE DESTINY

Mackenzie is a down-to-earth girl who has better things to deal with than to figure out why Insta-Prophecy Hotline sent her an obsidian skull. When a Seer tells her she’s destined to end the world, she thinks it’s a prank. When she winds up in Scotland with no memory of how she got there, she finds she’s in over her head. But as her destiny becomes tied to Darius, a knight in brooding armor, she gets on board and has to appreciate the irony that the world has to end for her to meet Mr. Right.

Chapter 2

I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” Mackenzie almost reached up to clean out her ear with her finger.

“Your services are no longer needed.” Mr. Reynard reclined in his throne of a desk chair, with its high-winged back and garish brass embellishments, and steepled his fingers in front of his protruding stomach.

The nickname she gave him behind his back was Mr. Rotund, which she thought of now as she tried to process his words. “You’re firing me?”

“That would be the layman’s term for it, yes.”

“But I’m your personal secretary.”

His leering gaze flicked to her crisp white, button-down blouse. Clearly, she wasn’t showing enough cleavage if the slight tightening of his lips was any indication. But the cretin was too smart to say it out loud.

“Economic downturn and all that, have to let a few people go. HR has your severance check and a letter of recommendation for your future endeavors.” Mr. Rotund motioned with his sausage fingers towards the door of his office. “Leave your security card at the front desk as you leave.”

Five years she had dealt with his subtle sexual harassment shtick, but without tangible proof and with everyone else in the building vying for her job, she put up with it. The pay was just too damn good.

Key word, was.

She pushed herself to her feet and peeled her lips back in what she hoped was a semblance of a smile. “Mr.” Rotund. “Reynard.”

His gaze once again flicked to the front of her blouse.

Yeah, you take one last look you perverted asshat… Her internal lambasting of her former boss continued as she left his office.

Her desk, situated just outside his door, now had the addition of a large, empty box sitting on top of the lacquered wood. It announced her fired status to the rest of the minions working there better than a flickering neon sign.

She could feel the curious gazes of her coworkers and hear their hushed murmurs. She moved the box to her chair and started the process of cleaning out her desk. It drove home the fact that her steady paycheck was now a thing of the past.

Oh, God, she would have to find another job. She wasn’t good at interviews. She tended to speak first and think second.

She brushed her copper-colored hair behind her ear and held back the tears that threatened to fall. The vultures wouldn’t get any further gossip from her, she had some dignity left.

It didn’t take long to pack her things, five long years and they barely filled the box. She stuffed a stapler, a three-hole puncher and a tape dispenser in for good measure. Not that she needed them, but it eased her indignation at being canned over some downsizing cock-and-bull story.

She flicked off the desk lamp and gave her space one last thorough look-over to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind. In reality, she was stalling.

She hoped some of her curious ex-coworkers would go back to their work. Unfortunately, the thirty seconds it took to check and double check her desk drawers didn’t do much to lessen their interest.

She heaved the box into her arms, raised her head high and started the walk of shame towards the front of the building.

“I’m sad to see you go,” mumbled a pensive coworker from the cubicle closest to her desk. He gave her a look of pity, but she knew all too well what he was thinking, ‘I’m glad it’s you and not me.’

She didn’t answer him, the constriction in her throat prevented that.

“Good luck.” A soft-spoken encouragement came from a woman Mackenzie had nicknamed Mrs. Quiet, who barely ever spoke above a whisper and flinched whenever anyone talked too loud.

Mackenzie acknowledged the older woman and picked up her pace. There was one person she hoped to avoid, Queen B, a curvaceous harpy with a superiority complex that would make Napoleon Bonaparte jealous. She had been there for only three months and had managed to spend more time inside her boss’s office than out.

Mackenzie had just made it halfway out of the office when the bleach-blonde bombshell blocked her path.

“Such a shame you were fired.”

The ‘B’ in Queen B stood for ‘Bitch,’ and while that may sound spiteful and mean, the woman lived up to her nickname in spades.

Mackenzie tried to step around her, but the infuriating woman stepped with her.

“I’m not surprised though.” She leaned forward, showing an ample amount of cleavage no push-up bra could ever achieve on Mackenzie. “You were just dead weight around here. Now the job can be filled by someone more qualified.”

Mackenzie’s fingers curled around the cardboard box as she envisioned pegging the woman in the head with it. Instead, she shoved her way past. “I wonder how long it’ll take before you’re doing the job on your back.”

Two weeks tops.

Queen B sneered.

Scratch that, make it one week.

Mackenzie was a dozen steps away from the main reception area, and her escape, when one of her high-heel shoes decided this was a good time to become a flat and down she went.

The box flew out of her arms. She threw one hand out in front of her falling body and pawed at the water cooler next to her with the other. She grabbed the spigot, but her downward momentum was too much and she snapped it right off.

She swung her other foot out to catch herself and felt, more than heard, the seam at the back of her tight pencil skirt give way. Her epic fall ended with her on her hands and knees.

Mackenzie cringed when the quarter-full water cooler emptied out on top of her from the broken spigot with a glug, glug, glug. She heard a few gasps and one snicker at what she could only assume at this point was her soaking-wet, see-through blouse and exposed panty-clad backside. The only solace she could find in the mortifying event was at least she had worn her good underwear that day.

She hesitated one second, then two, her eyes closed, hoping the universe would take mercy on her and swallow her whole. When nothing happened, she let out a sigh of defeat. Blast her luck.

She grabbed her sweater from the box, wrapped it around her waist and stood. With her back end covered, she turned her attention to her top. There wasn’t anything she could do to make her blouse less see-through, but she was relieved by the fact her padded bra hadn’t gone transparent as well. With an indignant flip of her now soaked copper hair, she pulled off her traitorous shoes and did her best to make it seem as if none of this was a big deal.

Mrs. Quiet held out Mackenzie’s box to her with a faint smile.

What was her name? Mary. “Thank you, Mary.”

The woman smiled a little wider, maybe with a smidgen of surprise at the recognition. Mackenzie felt a pang of regret. Why hadn’t she ever gone out to lunch with this woman? She seemed nice enough. Mackenzie gave Mary a final nod, tossed her ruined pumps into the box and made a hasty exit, trying her best not to shiver in the air-conditioning.

The HR lady was waiting for her in the lobby reception area. She held out her hand. “Security card.”

Mackenzie unclipped the wet plastic card from the waist of her skirt and handed it over.

“Your severance package and letter of recommendation.”

Mackenzie took the offered manila envelope and the woman disappeared into the bowels of the building.

“What happened to you?” The dark-skinned, even darker-eyed receptionist gave her soggy appearance a once over.

“Got into a fight with the water cooler.”

“Huh.” The woman’s interest didn’t go much further than that. She shoved a clipboard with some papers on it at Mackenzie. “A package came for you. A personal package. Sign.”

Mackenzie took the clipboard and stared at the paper with her name on it.

“I didn’t order anything.”

“Clearly, you did.” She pulled out a plain brown box from underneath the counter.

It was a perfect cube, about a foot all around. Mackenzie’s name and work address were scrawled across the top in black felt pen. Other than that, there were no other markings showing where it came from or how it got there. Mackenzie signed the paper and placed the box on top of everything else.

She took one last look around at the place where she had spent the last five years of her life, from the whitewash walls to the soul-sucking gray cubical panels. The stark ambience killed the creative mind and dulled the senses into mindless complacency. Even so, it was hard not to feel a little sad at never seeing it again.

And she would sure miss that paycheck.

Chapter 2

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” Mackenzie almost reached up to clean out her ear with her finger.

“Your services are no longer needed.” Mr. Reynard reclined in his throne of a desk chair, with its high-winged back and garish brass embellishments, and steepled his fingers in front of his protruding stomach.

The nickname she gave him behind his back was Mr. Rotund, which she thought of now as she tried to process his words. “You’re firing me?”

“That would be the layman’s term for it, yes.”

“But I’m your personal secretary.”

His leering gaze flicked to her crisp white, button-down blouse. Clearly, she wasn’t showing enough cleavage if the slight tightening of his lips was any indication. But the cretin was too smart to say it out loud.

“Economic downturn and all that, have to let a few people go. HR has your severance check and a letter of recommendation for your future endeavors.” Mr. Rotund motioned with his sausage fingers towards the door of his office. “Leave your security card at the front desk as you leave.”

Five years she had dealt with his subtle sexual harassment shtick, but without tangible proof and with everyone else in the building vying for her job, she put up with it. The pay was just too damn good.

Key word, was.

She pushed herself to her feet and peeled her lips back in what she hoped was a semblance of a smile. “Mr.” Rotund. “Reynard.”

His gaze once again flicked to the front of her blouse.

Yeah, you take one last look you perverted asshat… Her internal lambasting of her former boss continued as she left his office.

Her desk, situated just outside his door, now had the addition of a large, empty box sitting on top of the lacquered wood. It announced her fired status to the rest of the minions working there better than a flickering neon sign.

She could feel the curious gazes of her coworkers and hear their hushed murmurs. She moved the box to her chair and started the process of cleaning out her desk. It drove home the fact that her steady paycheck was now a thing of the past.

Oh, God, she would have to find another job. She wasn’t good at interviews. She tended to speak first and think second.

She brushed her copper-colored hair behind her ear and held back the tears that threatened to fall. The vultures wouldn’t get any further gossip from her, she had some dignity left.

It didn’t take long to pack her things, five long years and they barely filled the box. She stuffed a stapler, a three-hole puncher and a tape dispenser in for good measure. Not that she needed them, but it eased her indignation at being canned over some downsizing cock-and-bull story.

She flicked off the desk lamp and gave her space one last thorough look-over to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind. In reality, she was stalling.

She hoped some of her curious ex-coworkers would go back to their work. Unfortunately, the thirty seconds it took to check and double check her desk drawers didn’t do much to lessen their interest.

She heaved the box into her arms, raised her head high and started the walk of shame towards the front of the building.

“I’m sad to see you go,” mumbled a pensive coworker from the cubicle closest to her desk. He gave her a look of pity, but she knew all too well what he was thinking, ‘I’m glad it’s you and not me.’

She didn’t answer him, the constriction in her throat prevented that.

“Good luck.” A soft-spoken encouragement came from a woman Mackenzie had nicknamed Mrs. Quiet, who barely ever spoke above a whisper and flinched whenever anyone talked too loud.

Mackenzie acknowledged the older woman and picked up her pace. There was one person she hoped to avoid, Queen B, a curvaceous harpy with a superiority complex that would make Napoleon Bonaparte jealous. She had been there for only three months and had managed to spend more time inside her boss’s office than out.

Mackenzie had just made it halfway out of the office when the bleach-blonde bombshell blocked her path.

“Such a shame you were fired.”

The ‘B’ in Queen B stood for ‘Bitch,’ and while that may sound spiteful and mean, the woman lived up to her nickname in spades.

Mackenzie tried to step around her, but the infuriating woman stepped with her.

“I’m not surprised though.” She leaned forward, showing an ample amount of cleavage no push-up bra could ever achieve on Mackenzie. “You were just dead weight around here. Now the job can be filled by someone more qualified.”

Mackenzie’s fingers curled around the cardboard box as she envisioned pegging the woman in the head with it. Instead, she shoved her way past. “I wonder how long it’ll take before you’re doing the job on your back.”

Two weeks tops.

Queen B sneered.

Scratch that, make it one week.

Mackenzie was a dozen steps away from the main reception area, and her escape, when one of her high-heel shoes decided this was a good time to become a flat and down she went.

The box flew out of her arms. She threw one hand out in front of her falling body and pawed at the water cooler next to her with the other. She grabbed the spigot, but her downward momentum was too much and she snapped it right off.

She swung her other foot out to catch herself and felt, more than heard, the seam at the back of her tight pencil skirt give way. Her epic fall ended with her on her hands and knees.

Mackenzie cringed when the quarter-full water cooler emptied out on top of her from the broken spigot with a glug, glug, glug. She heard a few gasps and one snicker at what she could only assume at this point was her soaking-wet, see-through blouse and exposed panty-clad backside. The only solace she could find in the mortifying event was at least she had worn her good underwear that day.

She hesitated one second, then two, her eyes closed, hoping the universe would take mercy on her and swallow her whole. When nothing happened, she let out a sigh of defeat. Blast her luck.

She grabbed her sweater from the box, wrapped it around her waist and stood. With her back end covered, she turned her attention to her top. There wasn’t anything she could do to make her blouse less see-through, but she was relieved by the fact her padded bra hadn’t gone transparent as well. With an indignant flip of her now soaked copper hair, she pulled off her traitorous shoes and did her best to make it seem as if none of this was a big deal.

Mrs. Quiet held out Mackenzie’s box to her with a faint smile.

What was her name? Mary. “Thank you, Mary.”

The woman smiled a little wider, maybe with a smidgen of surprise at the recognition. Mackenzie felt a pang of regret. Why hadn’t she ever gone out to lunch with this woman? She seemed nice enough. Mackenzie gave Mary a final nod, tossed her ruined pumps into the box and made a hasty exit, trying her best not to shiver in the air-conditioning.

The HR lady was waiting for her in the lobby reception area. She held out her hand. “Security card.”

Mackenzie unclipped the wet plastic card from the waist of her skirt and handed it over.

“Your severance package and letter of recommendation.”

Mackenzie took the offered manila envelope and the woman disappeared into the bowels of the building.

“What happened to you?” The dark-skinned, even darker-eyed receptionist gave her soggy appearance a once over.

“Got into a fight with the water cooler.”

“Huh.” The woman’s interest didn’t go much further than that. She shoved a clipboard with some papers on it at Mackenzie. “A package came for you. A personal package. Sign.”

Mackenzie took the clipboard and stared at the paper with her name on it.

“I didn’t order anything.”

“Clearly, you did.” She pulled out a plain brown box from underneath the counter.

It was a perfect cube, about a foot all around. Mackenzie’s name and work address were scrawled across the top in black felt pen. Other than that, there were no other markings showing where it came from or how it got there. Mackenzie signed the paper and placed the box on top of everything else.

She took one last look around at the place where she had spent the last five years of her life, from the whitewash walls to the soul-sucking gray cubical panels. The stark ambience killed the creative mind and dulled the senses into mindless complacency. Even so, it was hard not to feel a little sad at never seeing it again.

And she would sure miss that paycheck.

Recent Releases

Book 2 of the Insta-Prophecy Hotline Series is now available in eBook and Print.

Paperback Available exclusively with:
Amazon
Amazon UK

Ebook available at:
Amazon
Amazon UK
Barnes & Noble
Smashwords
iTunes/iBooks
Kobo

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Recent Releases

Book 2 of the Insta-Prophecy Hotline Series is now available in eBook and Print.

Paperback Available exclusively with:
Amazon
Amazon UK

Ebook available at:
Amazon
Amazon UK
Barnes & Noble
Smashwords
iTunes/iBooks
Kobo

Recent Releases

Edinburgh Castle

A castle built on top of a stone plug of an extinct volcano. A perfect defensive for the home of the Scottish Royal family.

Read More »

D.B. Cooper

The man who hijacked a plane and escaped with a parachute and 200,000 dollars of the FBI’s money… Who was this man and did he live to tell the tale?

Read More »