Jeanie Writes Genre

CHAPTER ONE

The silver blade sliced the air as Simon Caufield swung his axe. It connected with the demon's chest. Black, scaly skin split and fissured as the body tore itself apart. The creature unleashed an unholy shriek, and then was silenced in an explosion of blood and goo.



Simon bent to pick up his axe. He wiped the blade on the grass, then rested it against his shoulder. He spat out a glob of slime that had gotten in his mouth. "One down," he said, his gaze scanning the cemetery. "Twenty to go."



"Cut!"



Michael Chambers spat again, and wiped more goo off his face. "This stuff is nasty," he complained, then reconsidered and licked his finger. "Tastes all right, though."



"It's mostly corn syrup," said an effects supervisor as he handed Michael a towel.



"That looked really cool," said Michael.



"Thanks!" He launched into an overly technical explanation of how he'd rigged the dummy to explode, but before Michael had to feign understanding the director interrupted.



"All right, let's get the stunt guys in here and do it again! Chambers, great job. You're done. Go clean up."



Michael shrugged out of Simon Caufield's trademark leather coat and handed it and the axe over to his stunt double. "Try not to get that stuff in your eyes," he warned him. "It stings." He draped the towel over his shoulder and headed to the craft service table to grab some coffee before he hit the showers.



"I need to stay with you for a while."



Michael paused, taking in the sight of Claire standing beside the table, holding out coffee and hope. A large suitcase sat next to a cat carrier at her feet. Michael's heart did a little dance, but he told himself it was for the coffee. "Why?"



"Plague. Pestilence. The usual."



He took the coffee and drank half of it before encouraging her to elaborate. He'd had a long day shooting action scenes and stunt pickups. He was tired and sore and he had a feeling he was about to need all the strength he could get. "Come again?"



"Bugs," she clarified, picking at the deli tray. "Not just a couple of cockroaches. That I could handle. We're talking many varieties of big, black, hairy creatures. Biblical stuff. It's the End Times in my apartment." She nibbled a slice of cheese, and then looked at it thoughtfully. "And there were rats."



"Rats?"



"Well, a rat. But isn't that enough? It was huge, bigger than my cat. Who, by the way, needs to come with me to your house while my landlord has the place fumigated. I hope that's okay."



Michael slowly sipped the rest of his coffee, buying himself a minute to think. Saying no would make him a bastard, and it wasn't like he didn't have the room. She still had an office in his house, even. But he still slept on one side of the bed and kept his toothbrush on one side of the bathroom drawer, even though it had been a year since she'd moved out. Having her back full-time, even for a few days... he didn't know if he could handle that.



Of course, she didn't seem to have a problem with it. Man up, Michael, he told himself. The bitterness he swallowed didn't all come from the coffee. He smiled. "Of course."



She smiled back. "Knew I could count on you." She knelt to open the cat carrier. "Hear that, Sam?" she said, pulling out twenty pounds of black fur. "We're not homeless." She stood up and cradled the fat bastard like an infant. It turned its yellow-eyed glare on Michael.



"You named him Sam?"



"Yeah. Don't you think he looks like a Sam?"



"I guess. Hey, kitty." Michael held a finger up to the cat, who gave it a perfunctory sniff before turning his haughty little nose up. That was gratitude for you. The cat had been a stray hanging around the set a few weeks ago. Somehow it found its way inside Michael's trailer, where he allowed it to stay while Claire tried to find it a home. He was ready to take it to a shelter himself when she finally decided to give it her home. He definitely wasn't a cat person.



Claire held the cat out to him. "Wanna hold him a minute?"



Michael took a step back and put up his hands. "Yeah, probably not, what with the slime."



"Oh." Claire looked him up and down, noticing his appearance for the first time. She wrinkled her nose. "Ew."



"Michael?"



Michael turned to see a woman approaching. She was an older woman, plainly dressed, with stringy, gray hair that hung past her shoulders. As she reached him, she smiled. "It's you!"



The cat let out a low growl, and then hissed for no apparent reason. Cats. Go figure. Claire stooped to stuff him back in his cage, but the woman seemed oblivious. She reached a hand toward Michael's face. "It's really you!"



He intercepted her hand and shook it. "Yeah, it's me. Do you belong with a tour group?"



She stared down at his hand a moment before clasping it in both of hers. "Don't you know me?"



"Um." He looked to Claire for a little help, but she had stepped away and was speaking quietly into her cell phone. "Did I meet you last year at ComiCon?"



"Michael." She gazed up at him, her eyes filling up with tears. "Sweetheart, I'm your mother."



Michael just stood there a moment, his mouth hanging open like it hoped to trap some appropriate words. "Right," he said, finally, and smiled. He hoped it was a compassionate smile. He leaned closer to the woman and said, gently, "Ma'am, my mother lives in Tulsa."



"No." The mystery woman shook her head furiously. "No. She doesn't know what you are. She can't help you. I'm the only one who can protect you. I kept you safe! But they didn't get you, so it's all right. I can be with you now, Michael. We can finally be together!" Her nails started digging into his hands.



"Okay," he said, prying himself out of her grip. "It's okay. Just calm down."



Behind him, Claire snapped her phone shut. She stepped forward. "Ma'am, we're going to have to ask you to leave." As she spoke a couple of security guards came running up.



"Sorry," one of them was saying. "We don't know how she got in here."



"No!" the woman screamed as they grabbed her by the arms.



"Hey, don't be so rough," Michael told them, but they were already dragging her away. She screamed his name the entire time. Michael watched helplessly, feeling nothing but pity for the woman.



"Hey." Claire took hold of his arm and squeezed. "You okay?"



"Yeah." Michael shook his head. "Wow."



"Yeah. That's a whole butt-load of crazy right there."



Michael nodded. "My mother. That's a new one. Still, not as scary as that lady who goes around to conventions claiming she's my wife."



Claire chuckled. "That time in Chicago I thought she was going to tear my hair out. You've got some rabid admirers there, Fangirl-bait."



He shrugged. "Goes with the territory, I guess."



"Yeah. Anyway, that reminds me. Your actual mother keeps calling. She left about five messages on your machine this morning."



"Is she okay?"



"She said it wasn't an emergency and you shouldn't worry about her."



Michael rolled his eyes. "She always says that."



"I know. I called her back and she said she's fine. She just wants to talk to you."



Michael sighed. "She probably has a question about her car or something. She calls me for all that kind of stuff now."



Claire nodded and gave him a sympathetic smile. "It's tough for her. Your dad really took care of her."



"Yeah."



A moment passed in silence, then Claire spoke up and changed the subject before it could turn awkward. "Your agent also called. He's sending over a couple of screenplays he wants you to consider. Said they'll build your indie cred."



Michael smirked. "Translation: the pay's crap."



Claire shrugged. "What else are you going to do with your summer?"



"Good point."



"Anyway, I've got to run." She picked up the cat carrier with a grunt and pulled up the handle on her suitcase. "I've got a ton of errands to get done, but I'll drop my stuff off first. Do you have dinner plans?"



"You tell me. You keep my schedule."



Claire grinned. "You do have dinner plans. I'll pick up some groceries and cook us something."



"Stroganoff?" he asked hopefully.



"I'll see what I can arrange."



"Excellent. Tell me again why I didn't marry you?"



It was out before he could stop it, and now it was too late to take it back. He managed not to cringe, even as Claire's artfully plucked eyebrow lifted in a "Don't go there " arch. "It's the least I can do," she said, mercifully ignoring his idiocy. She picked up the pet carrier, but studied him before going. "Are you really okay?"


"I'm fine. I mean, that wasn't exactly normal," he said, indicating the direction in which security had taken the woman, "but I'm fine. Really."


Claire nodded, but she didn't look convinced. "Do me a favor and get security to walk to your car, okay?"


"Claire--"


"Okay?" She wasn't going to let it go.


Michael sighed. "Okay."


She nodded again, and this time she seemed satisfied. "See you later."



"Right. Later." He held up his hand in a lazy wave as she walked away. At least she still cares, he thought as he watched her go. Of course, that's kind of her job now. Once she was gone, he closed his eyes and sighed. Dumb-ass. Dredging up ancient history wasn't going to make her stay at his place comfortable for either of them. Or their working relationship, for that matter, and he couldn't afford to lose her as a personal assistant. She was just too damn good.


It was shaping up to be one hell of a week.

***

©2007-2008 by JM Bauhaus

Labels: excerpts, Hero+Factor