Sending Out Query Letters

Before I start yapping about Faerietales Book 2, “To Err Is Faerie,” which is written, edited and scheduled to be published on March 24…

I’m going to take the next two blogposts to talk about two different topics. Today, it’s the fact that I did something I haven’t done in at least two years.

I sent out a query letter!

For anyone who doesn’t know, query letters are the bane of any novelist’s life. They’re the creative writing equivalent of a cover letter for that job you really, really, really want that about three thousand other people are applying to at the same exact time.

You’re basically supposed to summarize your entire 300-page story into three short paragraphs that manage to wow the socks off of whatever literary agent or publisher you’re soliciting. But much more often than not, you do nothing but waste your time and theirs.

I can’t say I’ve ever cried over the rejection responses my query letters have elicited. I haven’t even wanted to cry. Though I did consider sending a harsh response back to this inexcusably clueless agent who warned applicants that she might put something spiritual into her reply.

When I got it, all it said was “Not interested God bless.”

To me, that was the most insulting answer possible, mainly because she couldn’t be bothered to write a complete sentence and then had the gall to justify her lack of professionalism with some meaningless bit of fluff.

I have to say that most agents are nice enough with their mass “We’re not interested, but best of luck” rejections. (At least the ones that get back to you; a lot of them don’t.) But they get tiring nonetheless. So after sending out I-don’t-know-how-many query letters and receiving I-don’t-know-how-many dismissals over the last 10 years, I decided to go the self-publishing route.

That was until I spoke with one of my coworkers, Lia Mack, who recently signed a publishing contract for her upcoming book, “Waiting for Paint to Dry,” which I’m looking forward to reading! Our conversation on the topic inspired me to go ahead and submit a query letter of my own.

Who knows what’ll come of it. I’m not placing any bets. Though even if it gets me nowhere, I have to say that I’m really happy I went for it.

I can’t say it was a fun experience, per se, but something tells me that it was what I needed to do regardless.

Not So Human - Chapter Three - What You Don't Know Can Kill You

Everyone's heard the saying "what you don't know can kill you." And there's a lot of truth there, I'm sure.

But let's face it: It's just as possible to die by something you DO know. So basically, you're in trouble either way. At least you are if you're Sabrina.

And speaking of Sabrina, this is the last chapter I'm posting here. If you want to read the rest, this baby is being published in both print and Kindle copies tomorrow, February 24, on Amazon.com.

Until then, I hope you enjoy what's below!

CHAPTER 3 

A

 Familiar cheesy tune split the quiet morning air, blasting Sabrina into consciousness and leaving her little choice but to grope around for her cell phone, which doubled as an alarm clock. Generally, she loved her ringtone. Hence the reason why she chose it in the first place. But when it started playing at some wretched hour of the morning – also known as six o’clock sharp – she was less than pleased.

She set it to snooze and crankily collapsed back onto her pillows, rubbing at her eyes. It was with great difficulty that she coerced her inner toddler into submission, but she somehow did it in less time than it took for the alarm to go off again. And then she was up and stumbling headlong into the new day.

 By the time Sabrina was through her morning routine, it was somehow quarter to seven. She hastily ate a pack of instant oatmeal, prepared her lunch, gulped down her vitamins and got her teeth brushed all in time to head out the door a whole minute ahead of schedule. Before the clock had quite struck eight, she was at her desk in the big, bare, boring room she shared with five people she had nothing in common with.

She didn’t fit in there. At all. It was obvious while her coworkers went about their childish chatter like always. Sabrina tuned them out like she always did whenever they discussed immature topics, which meant that she ignored them most of the time. They were all a decent decade or more older than her, yet they acted as if they’d never left middle school.

Sabrina barely heard more than a hum while she checked her email, scanning the inbox for any sign that Alex might want to talk to her again. It had been months since they’d broken up, and she was down to just the tiniest strand of hope. Really, it was more of a bad habit than anything else at that point. But she couldn’t work up any lasting enthusiasm over anyone else. And she still wanted a better explanation than, “I just need time to think.”

Everything had been going so well for the thirteen months beforehand, so she’d been shocked and confused when, within a short week’s time, he’d gone from loving boyfriend, to brooding and distant, to gone altogether. Overall, she blamed Alex for his odd behavior and subsequent disappearance; but every once in a while, she couldn’t help but wonder if it had been her. Had she said something? Could she have done something different?

Sabrina didn’t cry at the thought. She barely blinked when the day’s email proved to be no different than usual, with the exception of a fawning correspondence from Eugene. She was pretty well past that hysterical first stage, rarely even tearing up over Alex anymore. It’s just that she wouldn’t have objected too much if he did decide to come waltzing back into her life.

She signed out of her email and set her mind to accomplishing the single task she’d been given for the entire day. It only lasted so long, of course; and as the minutes turned to hours with painstaking slowness, interspersed with three text messages from Eugene, Sabrina realized she was getting used to it all. Her coworkers’ ignorant comments and her own lack of inspiration were becoming as depressingly familiar as the commute to and from work.

That recognition stuck with her throughout the day, no matter how hard she tried to shake it. So it was with infinite relief that she exited the building beneath an obliviously cheerful, blue sky. Her engine started with a soothing rumble, and she turned on the radio as soon as she pulled out of the smallish parking lot.

Blasting her music as loud as her poor little car could manage, she did the speed limit only because of the traffic congesting the basic two-lane road. That changed as soon as she made the left turn onto Route 222, where she stepped on the gas, reveling in every second that took her further away from the dismal little office with its depressing realizations.

The scenery didn’t change much as the odometer on her dashboard ticked ever upwards. There was still plenty of farmland with scattered stands of trees every which way she looked. But the feel of it was somehow different, and she felt her shoulders relax with each passing mile. It was amazing how such a short distance could mean a world of change.

After living in Lancaster for as long as she had, Sabrina knew most of the places cops liked to hide along the highway. She kept her eyes on the road and her fellow drivers for the most part; but every so often, when she was passing particular ramps, she would take particular notice of her surroundings. Such precautions were necessary when she was hitting eighty-five miles per hour in a sixty-five zone.

That’s why she first noticed the swanky sedan behind her. For one small but disconcerting instant, she thought it was a police vehicle.

Shiny black, its silver trim was clean enough to bounce the sun right at her when she glanced in the rearview mirror. After determining she wasn’t in any immediate risk of getting a ticket, Sabrina wouldn’t have thought twice about the car if it had just continued on its merry course. Cadillacs weren’t something she often did a double-take for.

Yet there was something off about it. It didn’t tail her, but when she switched lanes to get around the law-abiding semi up ahead, it followed.

No big deal really, or at least it wasn’t that first time. It was a popular enough road during peak hours. So while she took some note of the car’s movements, she didn’t find it over-the-top suspicious right away. Nonetheless, Sabrina noticed how it matched her speed when she revved up to ninety miles per hour. And it copied her again when she turned back into the right lane to head toward Route 30. Nor could she disregard the way it didn’t take any of the next three heavily traveled courses it could have, staying right behind her instead.

That’s when Sabrina felt the first pangs of real uncertainty. With the traffic packed much more closely, she snuck a suspicious glance in her rearview mirror. Tilting it to get a better perspective, she took in the details of the driver’s face and instantly didn’t like what she saw.

The man looked like he had just stepped out of some bad Mafia movie with his short, light brown hair, darker sunglasses, and black suit jacket and tie. The color stood out starkly against his crisp white oxford, and his expressionless mouth didn’t make him look any less foreboding. From what she could see, he looked a lot like the man she had seen the other night at the grocery store.

Shifting the mirror’s angle with a growing amount of concern, she could see his passengers, two of whom were wearing carbon-copy clothing. There was a fourth occupant as well, but what he looked like, she had no clue since he was largely out of her sight. All she could make out was one shoulder, and that was covered in what looked like a black jacket too.

Sabrina told herself she was being paranoid. That the driver couldn’t be the man from the other day, and even if he was, so what? But she couldn’t fight off the strange little shiver that ran down her spine twice in rapid succession, and she started really hoping the Cadillac would take any of the upcoming exits.

When it didn’t, and the roadway cleared up in front of her, she hit the gas pedal. Hard.

The other vehicle matched her speed perfectly, never getting too close but never allowing too much space between them either. So by the time Sabrina reached her off-ramp, she was on high alert.

As far as she could tell, there was no good reason for a car like that to be in her neighborhood. She didn’t live in the slums by any means, but her apartment was very close to one of the area’s larger universities. That meant the surrounding communities were mostly populated by college students with their Mustangs and assorted parental hand-me downs. Not Mafia cars.

Sabrina told herself the men behind her were just visiting someone. That she was being ridiculous freaking out.

They were rational words that did nothing for her nerves.

If it had been dark out, she wouldn’t have pulled into her parking lot at all. But since it was still sunny and bright, she forced herself to take the risk. Nobody attacked people in broad daylight anyway. Not on sleepy, central Pennsylvania back-roads lined with perfectly mundane rows of trees and houses like the ones around her.

Telling herself that and convincing herself of it were two very different tasks, however. And even after she parked and the other car drove right past her building, she still didn’t feel safe. Filled with a disturbing amount of unease, Sabrina stepped out of the car only to nearly lose her footing when her phone rang inside her purse. It took a mere second for her to realize what the sudden noise was, and then another to identify the caller. But she still felt jittery when she answered.

“Hey, Za.” Deanda’s voice was soothing in its normality. “I’m thinking we need a movie night.”

“Isn’t that what we did yesterday?” Sabrina balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear so she could unlock the front door.

“Yeah, well, someone at work was telling me about this one horror flick.”

Sabrina cut her off with a sheepish, self-deprecating laugh. “No thank you. I think I’ve already freaked myself out enough for one day.”

“What did your coworkers do now?” Deanda pressed with some disgust in her voice. She had heard too many stories about them already.

“Oh no, it wasn’t them,” Sabrina assured, finally disengaging the lock and pulling the door open. “I just got all paranoid and thought this car was following me. Completely stupid, I know, but I’d say I’m more than jumpy enough without watching stuff that goes bump in the night.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then Deanda asked in a rather odd voice, “Someone followed you?”

“No, it was just this Cadillac that was behind me all the way from 222 to the apartment.” Sabrina shut the door behind her, bolting it for good measure. “It freaked me out a little, but they went on to one of the back buildings, I think.

“Did you get a look at whoever was in the car?” Again that overly casual tone that implied too much interest while pretending to have none.

Making her way up into the living area, Sabrina’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “It was some guys in business suits.”

“How many?” Deanda pressed.

“Four.” Sabrina dumped her purse on the couch.

“Were they all wearing sunglasses?”

“Yeah.” Deanda was officially scaring her, a fact she didn’t bother to keep secret. “How’d you know that?”

“Just do me a favor, okay? Make sure the doors and windows are locked. Whatever you do, don’t go outside. I’ll be home in a few.” She sounded like a parent trying to keep a toddler still in the face of a rattlesnake.

Even without that tone, Deanda’s questions weren’t normal. Asking what her alleged tails looked like could have stemmed from mild curiosity, but there was no good reason to wonder whether they had sunglasses on or not. And the command to lock up was pushing the situation into uncomfortable territory. When Sabrina tried to point all that out, Deanda only repeated her warning to secure any entrances, then made her promise to call if anything else happened.

That odd reaction seemed sufficient proof that the paranoia Sabrina had been feeling was actually justified. Recognizing that sent her into a panic, her mind racing to try to figure out what in the world could be going on.

Was Deanda mixed up in some kind of legal affair? Was the state representative she worked for in some kind of trouble? Were the guys outside assassins or something?

Once Sabrina let her mind loose, it picked up speed, going from understandable speculation to sheer insanity in a minute flat. Every improbable possibility from the mob to aliens made a guest appearance in her head.

With those thoughts to spur her on, Sabrina secured the two windows in the living room, checked the downstairs door again, and even stopped to eye the vents distrustfully. They weren’t very large, but could she rule out the possibility that someone or something could get through?

She tried to tell herself she was being absurd.

Considering how she had done that in the first place to no avail, it didn’t work very well the second time around.

Her cell rang again while she was pacing back and forth, back and forth, across the living room. Sabrina had already been standing ramrod straight, but if possible, her body stiffened even further when she checked to see who was calling.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” She asked into the phone, using a perfectly calm voice. Because really, she knew there was a good explanation for everything. There had to be.

“I’m outside,” Deanda replied instead. “Grab your purse and let’s go. We’re hitting up the mall.”

“I thought you wanted to watch a movie,” Sabrina pointed out even while she did as commanded. Anything was better than staying alone with her ridiculous imagination.

“Changed my mind,” was the terse reply. “Now come on.”

The phone clicked, effectively ending the call, and Sabrina glared at it in frustration before hurtling down the stairs. It wasn’t like Deanda to be so cryptic or bossy. She had always been a take-charge kind of girl, but as a general rule, she exuded that quality in a way that wasn’t the epitome of irritating.

Deanda had parked her red sedan practically in front of their door, so it took Sabrina just a few anxious steps to make it over to her. She slid into the passenger’s seat, taking in her friend’s apparel and appearance like either might provide some kind of clue as to what was going on. But the light grey suit Deanda wore was just as crisp as it had been that morning, and her hair was still captured in a perfect bun. The only telling sign was in her eyes. They kept flickering to the rearview mirror like she expected to be followed.

For the first five minutes, they seemed free of any tails. Sabrina knew because, incited by her friend’s unnerving behavior, she kept glancing backward too. Somehow, it wasn’t until they were out on the highway that she first caught sight of the shiny black Cadillac only three cars behind them.

“What is going on? Are you in some kind of trouble?” She didn’t turn away, almost afraid to not look in the mirror.

Shaking her head, Deanda let out an audible sigh of frustration through her nasal passage. “No. You are. But if you do what I say, we’re both going to get out of this alive, and then I’ll answer all the questions you have. You just have to do exactly what I say for now.”

“Alive?” Sabrina repeated somewhat stupidly. “Get out of what alive?”

“Questions later,” Deanda reminded.

She hadn’t asked for affirmation, but Sabrina gave a nod of acceptance anyway. The situation was getting stranger and stranger with each passing second, and her throat was getting tight.

There wasn’t much distance between their exit off the highway and the local mall, but there were three lights, two of which turned red on them. Stuck at the second one, Sabrina stared into her side-view mirror again, unable to keep her eyes elsewhere for very long. Each time she risked a glance at the car’s occupants, they looked increasingly more frightening.

Who wore full suits in Lancaster County anyway? Dress shirts and slacks, sure, but the men behind her looked like they’d fit much better in the secret service down in Washington D.C. than Central Pennsylvania. It was foreboding.

For that matter, she thought as Deanda pulled into the west side of the parking lot, so was the mall itself. Under normal circumstances, she’d barely take notice of the sprawled-out building, which was large enough to host five department stores and some ninety smaller shops. It was what it was: a familiar part of her surroundings.

But right then, despite the perfect blue sky above and the sunshine streaming down, it just looked dodgy. Like some structure in a movie that the audience knows the heroine shouldn’t enter, but which she foolishly does anyway. It made Sabrina’s insides cringe.

That impression solidified in her mind when the Cadillac stopped right at the curb, and two men – one expressionless blond and the other a brown-haired clone – got out from the back seat, opening and shutting their doors in practically perfect unison. The detail creeped her out even more. Though by that point, she felt like even a child laughing would sound ominous.

“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” she began.

But Deanda was already out of the car. “Let’s go. Stay close to me.”

There seemed little to do but buck up and go for it. Sabrina’s legs felt wobbly as the remaining two men drove the car right past them, the vehicle so close for a moment that she could almost reach out and touch her distorted reflection in the shiny side. Neither the driver nor the passenger turned to look at her directly, but she was sure they were staring behind the sunglasses anyway.

Deanda established a quick pace toward the triple set of double doors leading into one of the department stores, and she didn’t slow down once they were inside. Avoiding the various racks of juniors’ apparel, she grabbed Sabrina’s hand and snaked her way along the jean-laden back wall to the dressing room.

The two men who had gotten out of the Cadillac trailed them, and the darker haired one touched the side of his face briefly like he was trying to get better reception from an ear piece. Between that, their suits and their intimidating bulk, Sabrina was growing more and more certain they were from some type of government operation.

Bewildered, she could only wonder why the powers that be were after her.

Deanda pulled her into the bland and empty dressing room, setting off the censor, which binged with an eerie sound: another horror-movie noise. Sabrina jumped at it, but her friend didn’t even pause, dragging her around the corner and to the back instead. Just as they reached the last stall, two young women brushed by them on their way out, causing Sabrina to turn and gape.

Somehow, someway, the pair looked a whole lot like Deanda and herself. Not perfect replicas, she realized after several startled blinks, but close enough to confuse even her for a second or two.

“What the –”

Her friend clapped a hand over her mouth. “Shhh.”

With that warning, Deanda let her go, though just to yank her into the furthest stall, where there just happened to be two large shopping bags. Sabrina was sure she looked stupid gawking while her roommate began stripping out of her grey suit, but she was also equally sure that she didn’t care.

Looking stupid was far from her worst fear at the moment.

“Change into whatever you find in the bag on the right, and do it fast.” Deanda sounded steady, yet the sense of urgency in what she said and how she said it was unmistakable.

Sabrina didn’t question. She was far and away beyond questioning, so she shimmied out of her work clothes and reached for the pair of jeans at the top of the pile. Survival mode had officially kicked in, because she found herself ready to do whatever it took to get out of the situation she’d found herself in, whatever it was. She was so wound up that, when the censor went off again, she spun around quickly enough to nearly trip herself.

Someone knocked on the stall door, giving Sabrina a new appreciation for the notion of hearts jumping into throats. Her fists clenched at her sides, and she changed her stance as much as she could in the crowded space. But Deanda put a hand on her arm.

“It’s me,” a female voice called out cheerfully, as if the whole entire world hadn’t shifted into an alternate universe. “I’m coming in.”

“Put on your shirt,” Deanda instructed, reaching forward to let in the new arrival.

Obediently, Sabrina slipped the white tank-top on over her head. As a result, she felt the new woman’s presence before she could see her.

“This is Ellie.” Deanda introduced the leggy brunette. She seemed to take great pains to look Sabrina in the eyes once again, like she was trying to ensure that everyone remained calm. “She’s going to put on your makeup, okay? I’ll be in the next stall.”

With that, she grabbed her own bag and sidled out.

Ellie didn’t waste any time on pleasantries, though she didn’t seem unpleasant per se. Contrary to her chirpy demeanor a moment ago, she was now a woman on a mission. That mission seemed to be securing Sabrina’s hair into a long, brown wig and then coating her face with enough cosmetics to satisfy a prostitute.

Sabrina obediently looked down for Ellie to run a mascara wand over her eyelashes. The new direction of her gaze afforded her a less than decent view of her own breasts, which were smashed together to create a sizable amount of cleavage for someone who was only average-sized in that department.

She didn’t need to see past her pushup bra to know that her new pants were a snug fit as well.

Next came the eyeliner, cool, wet and unfamiliar on her skin, since she was normally too cheap and lazy to wear any serious makeup. Her lashes felt far too heavy, and her lips seemed just as weighted after Ellie ran a tube of very pink lipstick over them.

The brunette stepped back to regard her handiwork, then grabbed up a stylish, light pink jacket. “Put this on.”

The cut and oversized logo identified it as something silly girls wore to over-accentuate their sexuality. But Sabrina slipped it on without a peep of protest, just as she did with the black ballet flats and the large silver hoops Ellie passed her once the jacket was on.

Turning toward the mirror to put the earrings in, Sabrina stopped in dumbfounded fascination. Gone was the young professional who had walked into the changing room five minutes ago. In her place stood an immature teenager looking for all the world like she belonged to a completely different line of work.

It was a shocking image and one Sabrina wasn’t given any time to process. With one final fluff at the wig, Ellie prompted her out into the little corridor.

Deanda was already standing there, also converted into something ridiculously different. Her lips flat-out sparkled, and Sabrina was quite sure she’d put on lash extenders along with colored contacts, which turned her violet eyes brown. Somehow, she’d also tucked her long locks into a dark blond bob; and she wore formfitting jeans that were slid into a pair of brown boots. A t-shirt was stretched taut over her chest, drawing even more attention to that area of her anatomy with the words “Fight Global Warming: Let’s Go Green” emblazoned in large block letters.

All in all, Deanda looked like Deanda about as much as Sabrina resembled Sabrina.

She tried not to stare too much as both women escorted her out of the department store, into the greater shopping center and down the opposite wing from where they had parked. Outside the east entrance, Ellie left them as abruptly as she’d appeared. One second she was there and the next she was walking away like they’d never seen each other before, leaving Sabrina in a continuous pool of clueless anxiety. She desperately wanted to know what was going on, and had a dozen or more questions crowding her brain and blocking up her throat.

Still, safety came first, so she kept them all at bay a little longer. Following Deanda out into the parking lot, she looked every which way for black Cadillacs and scary men in suits.

She would have walked right by the unfamiliar grey Honda if Deanda hadn’t pulled out a set of keys like she owned it. For all Sabrina knew, she did. Life had taken enough confusing turns already that she could believe almost anything.

The engine hummed to life under Deanda’s guidance. Yet even as she pulled it out of the space, Sabrina kept her mouth shut, still overwhelmingly concerned that the four men might somehow appear out of nowhere. Fortunately, that didn’t happen, and the girls made it out of the parking lot and onto Route 30 without further trouble. Just to be on the safe side though, it wasn’t until they had left the developments and strip malls of that highway for the trees and open farmland of 222, that Sabrina spoke up.

“What happened to your car?” Now that she had the freedom to ask questions, she found herself focusing on the most trivial of them all.

“This is a loaner. We’ll drop it off when we get to where we’re going.”

“Where are we going?”

“Away.”

Frustrated, Sabrina shook her head. “No. I want answers, and I want answers now. I’m dressed like a baby prostitute driving ‘away’ in a rented car after four creepy guys just followed me all over Lancaster. Now what was that all about?”

She steeled herself for the answer. Drug deals gone bad. International spy rings. FBI conspiracies. She could take the news, whatever it was. While any mention of aliens would be disconcerting, Sabrina tried to mentally prepare for that as well.

Deanda first glanced in the rearview mirror and then at her. “We’re moving at eighty miles an hour, right?”

Sabrina didn’t bother glancing at the speedometer. “Sure.”

“So you can’t throw yourself out of the car when I tell you what I’m about to tell you. Your brother would kill me if anything happened to you.”

Sabrina got very quiet then, her insides doing their familiar little drop. Unlike Eugene the other night, Deanda was very well aware she didn’t have a brother. So unless she was suffering from some sudden and inexplicable memory loss, she was pulling a very inappropriate joke.

Sabrina stared at her friend for a few seconds.

“That isn’t funny.” The three words were all she could manage.

“I didn’t intend it to be.”

Sabrina didn’t know how to respond to that, so she waited for Deanda to continue. Maybe it was how her eyes were still discolored by the contacts, but they looked very, very serious. And her glossy lips were set in a way that didn’t seem to bode well.

“I’ll tell you everything, but first you have to promise me you won’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Sabrina nodded, and Deanda took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

“You’re going to think I’m insane, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Looking very nervous, she glanced over and then straight ahead again, her hands digging into the steering wheel.

Sabrina took a deep breath.

“You’re not quite who you think you are,” she continued slowly, like she was pondering every syllable before she spoke it.

In no mood for the elongated version of whatever story Deanda was about to give her, Sabrina interrupted. “Just tell me. Spit it out. Please.”

So Deanda did, uttering the last four words Sabrina ever would have expected.

“You’re a faerie princess.”

Not So Human - Chapter Two - Be Careful What You Wish For

And here's "Not So Human" Chapter Two, where I savage whoever came up with ice cream serving sizes!

Oh yeah, and some important characters are introduced too...

CHAPTER 2

S

till clad in her flirty dress and black heels, Sabrina clacked her way through the grocery store with one thing on her mind: junk food.

It was the only reasonable consolation to the painful dinner she’d just concluded. So she refused to feel guilty about grabbing a carton of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. The same held for the maraschino cherries, whipped cream, hot fudge and caramel sauce she added to her shopping basket.

It was just one of those nights.

And it wasn’t getting any easier, Sabrina realized as she neared the registers, both hands clutched around the handles of her purple basket filled with sugary support. She actually let out a little whimper when she took in the scene in front of her.

Not at all in the mood to meet any more new people that evening, she had counted on the self-checkout lines for a quick exit. But she must have done something very, very bad in a past life; there was no other explanation she could think of why the fates were aligned against her so badly.

None of the registers she’d planned to use were open. None of them, that was, except for the one tied up by a husky businessman in a full black suit and tie. Maybe it was the sunglasses he wore that obscured his ability to see the screen, but he obviously had no idea what he was doing. The flashing light above his head made that very well known.

Letting out a grudging breath, Sabrina walked to the closest cashier and forced herself to smile at the middle-aged clerk, whose hair was far too blond and whose face featured multiple stress lines. It was a set of decisions she instantly regretted.

“Do you know who you look like?” The woman asked before the ice cream could make it down the conveyor belt.

Sabrina fought the urge to turn around and bash her head into the candy display behind her. She already knew what the woman was going to say. It was a comment she’d heard no less than a million times before. In fact, Eugene had pointed out the resemblance just a few painful hours ago. Over and over again, and in great detail.

Trying to maintain what she hoped was a relatively pleasant face, Sabrina struggled to express politeness and distance at the same time. It would be just her luck if the cashier was in a chatty mood.

“I swear you look like Tinker Bell all grown up! You know, from Peter Pan?”

Sabrina could feel her smile stiffen further. It was just not meant to be her day.

The computer monitor above the register tallied up the whipped cream with the hot fudge as the cashier bent a little to bag them. Sabrina took a steadying breath and told herself to be nice. “Nice” was the keyword for the evening.

She’d managed to be nice so far. She could last a few more minutes.

“Technically, I think Tinker Bell was all grown up,” she laughed lightly, hoping it didn’t sound too forced. “And yeah, everyone tells me that. It’s because of the hair. And being short.”

At two and a half inches over five feet, with bright blond hair and a well-shaped set of hips, the impression was understandable. Even if it did get annoying. 

As if she hadn’t heard Sabrina at all, the cashier shook her head in amazement. “No, you really do. You should try applying at Disney. Have you ever thought of doing that?”

These were the moments when Sabrina wished she was, in fact, the cartoon character everyone likened her too. There was no way the real pint-sized pixie would let herself be dragged into yet another conversation she had no interest in. She wouldn’t have tolerated the first one to begin with, possibly using her special dust to make Eugene fly away. Or she’d just flit off herself with a sniff of contempt.

But as much as she sometimes might wish otherwise, Sabrina wasn’t even close to being that rude, so she shook her head politely. “I’m not a big fan of Florida, so I don’t think that’s the job for me. The mosquitoes would eat me alive.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have to work there. I’m sure they need actresses in California as well,” the cashier pressed while she swiped the maraschino cherries over the scanner.

Sabrina studied her a little closer in an attempt to determine just how long the conversation was going to take. The woman was probably in her forties or early fifties, though the wear and tear of life made her blue eyes look much older. Her makeup had been applied way too heavily, and her overarching demeanor was haggard. She was an object to be pitied for some untold story.

All of that was compelling, but not enough to keep Sabrina from trying again to shorten their interlude. It wasn’t like she was having a great day either.

Handing over her credit card to pay for her purchases, she resorted to flat-out lies. “I’m not a big fan of California either.”

The truth was she’d choose the Golden State over Pennsylvania any day. But she wasn’t going to bring that up and prolong her grocery detour even longer.

Her efforts at escape didn’t seem to matter much. The woman only turned the conversation to how she knew someone whose pet was named Tinker Bell. And then she segued into her own animals back home: three cats.

Sabrina had little choice but to listen. It was either that or risk hurting the cashier’s feelings, which wasn’t her style. It was much more like her to play polite, feigning interest while really thinking about her ice cream sitting in its bag so close and yet so very far away. She was all but salivating by the time another late evening shopper showed up behind her with his half-dozen frozen meals.

Sabrina smiled at the woman, a much more sincere expression now than it had been a moment before. “Well, I don’t want to hold up the line or anything, but you have a great night.”

For her part, the cashier didn’t seem all that fazed. A little sad maybe, but she took it all in stride, responding in kind before focusing all her attention on her next customer. There was no longer anything keeping Sabrina from her escape.

As she made for the exit, she couldn’t help but notice how Mr. Jacket-and-Sunglasses walked away without a bag, which was a little weird. It tugged on some part of her memory, and she kept a wary eye on him while they both exited the store. However, he set off for a different row than where she had parked.

Out of sight, out of mind, especially with the chilly evening air caressing her bare arms. The beginning of May, it hadn’t been cold at all when she left for her date. But with the sun long since gone, she found herself once again regretting her choice of dress, this time for the short walk to her beaten-up, blue car.

The heater went on as soon as the car started, and then she stepped on the gas. Sabrina knew she was going too fast as she headed home, but there was nothing in her that felt like easing off the pedal. The strip malls and restaurants gave way to more open spaces much faster than they should have. And she picked up a little more speed still when, for two crazy minutes, she was sure a swanky black car was following her. But the paranoia passed when it turned left while she continued straight into the residential area that led to where she lived.

The familiar, tidy brick of her apartment complex was a welcome sight. So was the close parking spot she managed to snag. Tromping up the stairs to her living room, the grocery bag weighing down her right arm, she inhaled deeply of the vanilla-spice air freshener her roommate must have just sprayed.

A bit of the evening’s tension eased off her shoulders, and she took in a deep breath that was almost a yawn.

“So how’d it go?” Deanda drawled, looking gorgeous as usual despite her indecorous sprawl on their navy blue couch.

She had donned an old pair of grey running pants and a baggy white t-shirt. Neither detracted from her long dark curls or her unusual, violet eyes. Without glancing at the remote, she picked it up to mute the TV.

Sabrina didn’t even glance at whatever was on. She just grimaced in Deanda’s general direction and dumped her grocery bags down on the small kitchen table neither of them ever used. Then she marched down their short hallway into her darkened bedroom. Not bothering to shut the door, Sabrina unzipped her dress and kicked off her heels, discarding them in a careless pile beside the closet. Right then, she just wanted to be comfortable, which was why she pulled on her favorite night shirt.

She had to force herself not to think about Alex when the soft cotton hem brushed against her mid-thighs. It was the last present he’d gotten her: an oversized monstrosity he had accidentally ordered and she had fallen in love with for some reason or another. There was nothing inherently special about the deep purple material with the words “Sweet Dreams” scrawled on it. But it was her go-to nonetheless.

Alex. Yet another reason to eat ice cream.

Whatever team of nutritionists had decided a serving was half a cup did not understand women. Or maybe they did and were all misogynists. Either way, Sabrina ignored the fine print, dishing a third of the container into her sizable bowl, followed by equally unhealthy amounts of toppings. Regarding the resulting creation with grim satisfaction, she trotted back into the white-walled living room, taking a second to glare at one of their wall hangings.

The elongated plaque featured seven different stripes of paint, each of which contained a letter to spell out “inspire.” The dark blue background the E rested on matched the apartment’s drawn curtains and hand-me down couch set quite nicely, but it offended Sabrina nonetheless in that moment. There had been nothing inspiring about the night, and with tomorrow being Monday, she didn’t expect the morning to bring anything better.

To give Deanda credit, she didn’t so much as say, “That ice cream looks really good.” It was nonetheless obvious the amount of self-control she was using to not ask permission.

Sabrina gave her a single nod while she settled her petite frame into the loveseat, holding the heaping bowl carefully to squirm into a comfortable position. It didn’t even cross her mind to be polite and wait for her roommate to return before digging in. She knew Deanda wouldn’t have done anything different if positions were reversed. So she shoved a large spoonful into her mouth, closing her eyes in momentary contentment.

“Alright then, girl.” Her best friend reemerged with her own heaping dish. “Spill it. I want all the dirty details.”

Sabrina swallowed mournfully. “It is so difficult being me.”

“I know,” Deanda sympathized with a straight face. “But you bear the burden with such grace.”

“I really do, don’t I?” Getting  caught up in the light moment, Sabrina couldn’t help but grin a little.

“Oh my word, yeah. You’re the essence of ladylike poise and presence.”

“Better recognize,” Sabrina pointed out.

“Oh, I’m recognizing alright.” With an amused snort, Deanda turned the word back on her.

“If I weren’t happily engaged with my ice cream right now, you’d be in trouble.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” was the wicked reply.

“Shut up.”

Deanda obeyed, but they both knew it was because she was more interested in eating than coming up with amusing replies. Her lashes drooped dreamily at her first bite, and she made a little noise of happiness.

Sabrina’s eyes flickered to the TV, where some sappy film was playing. Most days, it wasn’t anything she’d have a problem with. But with the night she was having, she didn’t trust herself to stay dry-eyed throughout the whole unrealistic love story.

She sighed and redirected the conversation. “It was bad.”

“I kind-of figured,” Deanda remarked with raised eyebrows. “Do I get any specifics?”

Sabrina briefly considered which she wanted more: to vent or to continue demolishing her dessert. Making her decision, she set her bowl down on the rug in front of her, though not before taking one more substantial bite.

“He wasn’t as good-looking as his picture?” Deanda’s violet eyes narrowed in speculation.

Sabrina grimaced. “They never are. It wasn’t that though. He still wasn’t bad looking. And even if he was, I can handle quirky looks if there’s some spark.” She trailed off.

“But there wasn’t,” Deanda finished.

“I’m cute. I’ve got a good personality. I’m fun, and I’m smart. So why in the world do I have to resort to internet dating sites anyway?” Sabrina threw her hands up in exaggeration.

“Because we live in Amish Country, and you don’t want to be Amish?”

“Oh yeah,” she replied glumly. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“Anytime,” Deanda replied, her heaping spoon poised close to her mouth. “You could never fit in with them anyway. I think most of them have brown or blue eyes, not green like yours. And they probably wouldn’t be too happy with your neon hair.”

“My hair is not neon. It’s just very yellowish.”

Regretting her previous decision, Sabrina reached for her bowl again. The combination of sugary sweet flavors helped soothe her irritation. Somewhat.

“It’s like you soaked it in a few gallons of lemonade,” Deanda pressed on. “You know that’s part of the reason why everyone says you look like Tinker Bell, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she conceded grudgingly before turning on some serious sarcasm. “That and my cute pixie face, and my pert little nose, and the fact that I go around wearing miniscule green dresses with jagged hems all the time.”

“Scoff all you want, babe, but you pretty much pegged it.” Deanda gave a casual little shrug. “And you do have a certain I-go-around-wearing-miniscule-green-dresses-with-jagged-hems look about you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” was the cleverest retort Sabrina could think up, repetitive though it was. Worse yet, she had nothing else to add this time.

“You know what you should go as for Halloween this year?”

“Shut up.” Sabrina finally gave in to her friend’s teasing and laughed. “If you say it, I swear I will hit you.”

“No you won’t.” Her tone was far too smug. “That would mean stepping away from your trough.”

Sabrina snorted in easy acquiescence. It was a valid point, which wasn’t surprising since Deanda had made it. Her friend was very well put together, both in the brains and the looks departments, to the point where Sabrina sometimes wondered how much different life would be if she looked like Deanda instead of herself.

They had similar curvy figures and pale skin, but that’s where the similarities pretty much ended. If it came down to choosing a word or two to describe each of them, they would be drastically different.

While most people depicted her as adorable, the terms they used for Deanda were always along much more exotic lines. If Sabrina was Tinker Bell, her roommate was one of those untouchably beautiful faeries featured in gothic-themed storefronts.

If she looked like that, people would take her more seriously, Sabrina thought, not for the first time. She wouldn’t be stuck working as a temp with a claims agency that had her doing next to nothing all day. She wanted a real job. After all, she’d gone to college for that reason, writing paper after paper and slogging through one boring piece of literature after another to get her degree. And she certainly put out enough applications every week. So why she didn’t have something more fulfilling was beyond her.

Twenty-four, boyfriend-less, jobless per se, and stuck looking like a pixie instead of a goddess. Life just wasn’t fair sometimes.

“What are you moping about now?” Deanda broke into her thoughts.

“That I don’t have your life,” Sabrina sighed. “Mine bites.”

“Hey, all I’ve got on you is a job, so don’t get so down, Zazi.”

Even in her gloomy mood, Sabrina had to smile at the nickname. It had come about years ago, back in their first few days as freshmen in college. Deanda had easily accepted “Dee,” but attempts at simplifying “Sabrina” just made her sound like an abbreviated insult. So to rectify that dilemma, the ever-resourceful Deanda just added a posh accent to the pronunciation and threw away all but the first two letters. The title of Ms. Za still stuck sometimes, but typically it came out as plain Za, Zazi, Zaz or something else along those lines.

The nickname didn’t change Sabrina’s overall opinion though. She knew Deanda loved her job. It was therefore difficult for her not to be envious to a certain extent, especially on her down days. So she continued to concentrate on sulking, determined not to be brought out of her funk quite so fast.

Still clutching her big bowl of ice cream, she drew her knees up to her chest. “Yeah, but you really like what you do, and that makes a big difference. You went to school to get into politics, and now you’re working for a state representative. Sure, it’s an entry-level position, but you know there’s plenty of room to move up the ladder.”

“True,” Deanda admitted without even the slightest hint of gloating. “But just wait. Things will turn around soon enough. You’ll see.”

She looked so very confident that Sabrina found it difficult to continue arguing. Yes, it had been over a year since she graduated without so much as a prayer of a full-time position in her field. And yes, the near future didn’t seem any more hopeful. Even so, throwing those facts out in the face of Deanda’s seeming certainty looked like it would be a pointless exercise.

“I know,” she acquiesced. “It isn’t that I don’t think I’ll ever get anywhere. I’m just tired, I guess, so it’s hard to think too far beyond tomorrow.”

“I know, Zaz. Just give it a little more time.”

Despite how she knew Deanda was doubtlessly right, Sabrina still felt like jumping into her bed, crying herself to sleep and never getting up again. It seemed like an easier way of dealing with things than actually dealing with them.

Opting for something a bit more mature, she instead agreed to watch something light and fluffy. Laughing at someone else’s imperfect life was a lot less difficult than focusing on her own. But even though the evening ended a lot better than it had started, Sabrina couldn’t completely shrug off her general dissatisfaction with her present reality.

There had to be something else out there. It was too depressing to think otherwise.

Not So Human - Chapter One - Sitting Across From a Sociopath

I'm officially publishing "Not So Human" on Amazon.com on February 24, which just so happens to be my birthday. (Not that anyone cares, but I felt like sharing anyway. lol.) But in the meantime, I'm putting the first three chapters out...

• Chapter One - Today (i.e. Monday, February 16)
• Chapter Two - Wednesday, February 18
• Chapter Three - Monday, February 2

So without further ado, here's the first installment. Hope you enjoy!

CHAPTER 1

S

abrina Johnson was sitting across from a sociopath who was out for her blood. Or at least he belonged to a sociopathic organization with that particular goal.

Not that she had any clue about his evil intentions. She just thought it was a bad date.

A really, really bad date.

It had been a mere hour since she first said hello to her internet-matched suitor, but Sabrina’s smile already felt chafed and she was more than ready to go home despite the picturesque setting she found herself in. The tablecloth beneath her folded hands was a crisp white, the chandelier dangling from the center of the room was romantically dim, and she herself looked “beautiful.” Eugene had told her as much no less than half a dozen times already.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like compliments. She did. It was just the way they came pouring out of his mouth in a nervous rush that she objected to. She really wished she hadn’t taken so much time planning out the perfect outfit for the evening when it was proving to be such a waste. Sabrina felt like she could have worn a burlap bag and Eugene would still be awestruck.

That meant the dress she was wearing was overkill: an absolute waste from its black and white checks to its printed green flowers and accommodating skirt that flared out just above her knees. She also shouldn’t have splurged on the pearl-shaped earrings, or the matching necklace that flattered both the green in her dress and of her eyes. The same went for the strappy black heels on her feet.

That last purchase had been at Deanda’s insistence. Her roommate had basically bullied her into buying the pair, though Sabrina hadn’t minded at the time when they were so perfect.

Nearly fairytale perfect. That’s what she had thought when she signed her name on the electronic line.

Seventy-two hours later, she was beginning to regret it all.

“So tell me what your parents are like?” Eugene asked the question out of the blue in a nervous rush, his eyes oddly bright, his smile even stranger.

With his short brown hair and trim figure, he wasn’t a bad looking guy per se. He was just a weirdo. And he was making Sabrina uncomfortable.

Then again, she told herself, she wouldn’t have appreciated the question regardless. She never did. That part wasn’t his fault, so she answered as reasonably as she always did when the subject came up.

“I never knew my parents. I’m an orphan.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, sounding more curious than sympathetic. There was even a twinge of something like excitement in his voice. “Have you ever done any searches for them?”

“Of course I did.” Sabrina tried hard to keep any bite out of the response. “I just never got any leads worth pursuing. Actually, I never got any leads at all. All I know is that I was literally left on a doorstep as a baby.”

After spending her entire adolescence obsessing over her origins, it had taken her until the last few years to come to terms with reality. Growing up was difficult enough without the additional identity crisis of living in one foster home after another, but she had somehow managed.

Anyway, it hadn’t all been dreadful. Confusing and lonesome, yes. But not dreadful. Somehow, Sabrina had always ended up in decent areas under the care of good people. That might have been why she’d never gotten into the kind of trouble so many other orphans did. Drugs, sex, crazy party scenes: She hadn’t experimented with any of them as an adolescent. Not when she had one set after another of nurturing and old-fashioned foster parents.

As a preteen and teenager with a lifetime supply of instability, Sabrina had been particularly susceptible to their honest affection. So when they gave parental lectures about proper behavior, Sabrina listened more often than not. And after a while, avoiding certain kinds of troubles had become something of a habit, she supposed.

That admittedly unusual upbringing had helped her stay safe, and safe is how she still stayed.

Safe and boring: two words that never lasted long in a fairytale.

Despite the occasional weak moment, like the one she’d had three days ago, Sabrina didn’t often buy into stories of slippers and magical mice. She did, however, believe in bad dates. Especially when Eugene didn’t let the subject of her parentage go like a polite person should. He kept pushing for details she quite simply didn’t have.

It made her regret her shoe choice that much more, not because the slingbacks themselves were at fault. She knew she was the one who had screwed up. Her and her stupid imagination, making ridiculous analogies about Cinderella.

The shoes were black, for heaven’s sake.  Not glass.

Nor was that the only detail off about the scene in front of her versus the scene she’d prefer. Like it or not, she was in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, one of the least romantic place on earth. Out in the more rural areas, it was still home to the Amish, cornfields and courting. In the city, it was all knife fights and gang violence. Hardly the place to find a happily-ever-after.

Then there was the fact that she was twenty-four, not sixteen. And fairytales always centered around a girl’s sixteenth birthday. Maybe her eighteenth if the writer had a less creepy fascination with underage hotties.

Sabrina tried to console herself with the reminder that fairytales were overrated anyway. Yes, they involved long-lost relatives showing up at her door, bearing titles and tiaras. And she couldn’t find much to fault with the idea of a knight in shining armor riding in to rescue her from unwanted suitors. Like Eugene.

But with that privilege came a whole list of negatives: evil witches, fire-breathing dragons and angry sorcerers determined to lock her away somewhere. That kind of drama Sabrina could do without, even if it did come part and parcel with true love’s kiss. So really, she shouldn’t be complaining about her safe and boring existence.

She shouldn’t. But right about then, she was.

Sabrina snuck a covert glance at her phone, which she had slipped out of her handbag and into her lap some time ago. If she hadn’t, she might have lost her cool in the first fifteen minutes of fending off his over-the-top compliments and intrusive inquiries.

If someone had just bothered to tell her why he was so eager to know everything about her, she wouldn’t have stuck around for any length of time, much less the polite two hours that she did.

But no one breathed a word to Sabrina about fairytales being true. And without that vital piece of information, she couldn’t be blamed for believing she was merely having a bad date.

It would have been nice, however, to get some kind of a heads-up as to just how bad it was going to get.