Blame it on the Moon is book 4 in the continuing saga of the Destiny Paramortals. While the other series based around the communities of Storm Lake can be read as stand alones, the Destiny Paramortals should be read in order, beginning with Storm Crazy.
It’s the height of the Para-moon and Sheriff Jack Lang is up to his ‘6’ in alligators. Defending those weaker than himself is in his DNA which is what drove him to become a Navy pilot. But who is he kidding? Alligators he could handle! Supernatural bad guys, well…
With Tempe and the other Paramortals ill or incapacitated and the sudden appearance of beings he’s never heard of, will Jack be able to keep Destiny out of the hands of their enemies for the rest of the power down? After all, it’s only twenty-four hours.
If worse comes to worse, he has a dragon on his side and a few surprises up his sleeve. “Yippe, ki, yi…” But a lot can happen in twenty-four hours and things don’t always go as planned.
You can’t scare me. I have a teenage daughter.
The idea had come to me as soon as I found out Jordie was a Paramortal. Would the medical examiner see anything weird about her blood? Maybe not since it was during the power down. I knew I had bigger priorities than to satisfy my curiosity about Georgeanne’s family tree, but this… was like a sign. The means to have her checked out had fallen into my lap, or under my fingernails. I called the ME, grabbed the evidence kit from my vehicle and went back inside to find Jordie. She and Tempe were having a tête-à-tête, sharing some secret. Probably talking about me. My heart lurched at her easy laughter with Tempe.
“Jordie,” I called. She looked up and like flipping the switch to off, the attitude returned. Still irritated with me. I could see it in the set of her shoulders, and in her squinty eyed gaze so like my own.
God, I hoped I wasn’t seeing what I wanted to see. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
She glared for another few seconds letting Tempe see she was miffed with me, which got me a quizzical look from Tempe. “Family business,” I explained, and mouthed later when Jordie leaned down to kiss her cheek.
“Be right back,” Jordie said not looking at me when she passed. With more “tude” then our dragon, she stomped to the front porch. If I needed any further proof of the moons’ influence I had only to look at Jordie’s actions. My normally even-tempered, easy-going, and easy to reason with daughter had turned into a stereotypical problem teen with terrible judgment. All she needed was Goth-wear to complete the rebel persona. Hurry, sundown.
While I closed the door to the porch, she leaned against one of the columns, her jaw clenched, arms crossed, ears closed. At least that’s what it felt like.
I took a deep breath and dove in. “Jordie, there’s no fun way to put this. I need you to give me a blood sample. I promise I won’t hurt you.”
Her arms went around her sides as her eyes widened. She looked like a trapped animal, which didn’t do great things for my heart. The gum chewing took on furious levels. “What the—”
“Don’t you dare say it,” I gritted and she backed off. But then it got worse. Tears sprang into her eyes and dropped down those pretty pink cheeks. I reached for her but she batted me away with her hands. It hurt, even more than I’d expected, knowing as I did that she wasn’t herself. Because of Georgeanne’s bizarre actions during her life, we’d bonded more than most father-daughter relationships, which made the contrast in her attitude today even more pronounced. Just yesterday she feared her mother’s presence in Destiny would “ruin her life”, or repel Tempe. So how was I supposed to explain this to her?
I did what any man does when faced with the tears of a female he loves. I lied. “I… want to make sure you don’t have some weird infection. You seem a little warm.” I exacerbated the lie by placing the back of my hand against her forehead.
The look she gave me and her posture cried, Puleeze, you can come up with something better than that. But I put on my cop face and waited her out. Finally she relaxed. I said, “Please, baby. Humor me. You can’t tell me you’re not curious.”
The chewing stopped and she heaved out a sigh. “Okay, but not you. That would be just too weird.”
I laughed, without humor. “Okay. I’ll ask Montana.” Maybe this would lead to a way to break the whole truth to her, another day. Whatever her Paramortal identity was going to be she wouldn’t have it today anyway.
“Give me a hug?” She crossed her arms once again and glared at me. “Right, pushing my luck. All right, I’ll send Montana up.”
She pushed past me to go inside, but turning back at the last minute Jordie’s mournful eyes bored into mine, “Daddy—”
Her sad eyes nearly broke my heart. I swallowed, “Yes, hon.”
“I never had a tattoo.”
She turned to stomp away, but turned back again when I said, “And Jordie?”
Her expression was so young and vulnerable, I ached at what was in store for her. “I love you.”
With a shrug of her shoulders she walked into the house and closed the door.
Author Central http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00KPDXXE2
Livia Quinn is a D.C. native living on the bayou in Louisiana. She began pursuing her dream of publication just before a little known event called Katrina. With several interruptions in her career, all involving weather, it’s only natural that storms would be at the center of many of her stories.
She has written eight books based in the communities surrounding Storm Lake—an infamous, though fictional lake in Southern Louisiana. She’s been a business owner and professional entertainer, salesperson, plant manager, computer trainer, and mail lady. In her stories, as in life, there should always be at least a little magic.
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