On the surface, Acantha Conti appears to be a run of the mill detective serving Miami-Dade, but like the criminals she hunts, she has her secrets. Being a black dragon is only the start of them, which makes living in mundane Miami interesting.
When the slightest whisper of magic caresses her senses before a dangerous and unnatural hurricane sweeps into town, change comes to Miami, swift, violent, and with zero care for who is hurt or killed.
With her new partner, a loggerhead shrike, at her side, Acantha must uncover who is targeting Miami and why before those behind the lethal storm have a chance to strike again.
Whispers is the first book of a urban fantasy and paranormal romance police procedural series. This series is intended for emotionally mature audiences.
There is no current release date for this series, but it is an active work in progress being shared with Spicy Ponies with Bite on my Patreon.
Note: this is an unedited sampler from the story.
From Chapter One…
Friday, March 1, 2058
South Beach
Miami, Florida
Storm clouds churned overhead, and the whispers warned of a hurricane brewing far away. For as long as I could remember, such a storm had never struck Florida in March, nor had any crashed into land in January. I supposed, if we dug back through thousands of years of draconic history, something might be found, but I tended to stick with the records, which covered enough time to provide a compelling argument against the formation of a cyclone during the month.
In April, I would begin eyeing the sky with wary regard. In May, I’d be preparing my condo for sour weather.
I leaned against the railing of my balcony overlooking the ocean, my gaze fixed on the horizon line and the clouds I feared were the first arms of the kind of storm capable of taking lives, destroying homes, and instilling terror within those wise enough to run long before the first drops of rain fell.
The whispers, satisfied I had heeded their call, quieted.
How unusual. On a typical day, once the whispers came for me, they refused to be silenced until I traced the magic to its source. Sometimes, I needed to resolve the problem entirely.
Those whispers belonged to the restless dead, who needed closure before they could go to the great beyond.
Sometimes, acknowledgment through arriving at the scene of the crime proved to be sufficient.
Those whispers were the dying gasps of those hoping for justice but aware they might never receive it. More often than not, they had been denied such things in life and thus expected the same in death.
Some whispers bothered me more than others.
In mundane Miami, nobody wanted to acknowledge the magical mysteries surrounding us all. Despite my understanding of that, I worked to balance the socially acceptable with the needs of those who had passed, leaving behind the echoes of their tragedies as haunting whispers I perceived with my ears as much as my heart.
For the whispers to warn me of the storm, magic played some role. But who would create a hurricane during March break? Why?
Well, I could understand the why.
The young and foolish from all across the nation swarmed Miami for a week of chaos and mayhem, a week I always took off to spare myself from the insanity. I also took the week before and the week after off. My schedule, which included Friday and Saturday off, gave me an excellent opportunity to escape for a while.
I could, if I wanted, evacuate.
Alternatively, I could pretend to evacuate, wait until the majority had run for higher ground, and transform and take to the skies, flitting through the blackened clouds before diving down to the wine dark sea to skim across the inky waters before soaring once more. Every hurricane, I allowed myself the luxury of flight, embracing everything I restrained during the rest of the year.
If I had my way, there would always be a black dragon safeguarding Miami-Dade. For now, that dragon was me. A decade ago, my parents and siblings had faked their deaths and headed overseas, taking up the mantle of Clan Barone and ruling over quiet mountain peaks and indulging in their base instincts to hoard gold, jewels, and treasure.
My grandparents had waited for three years before losing their lives to a boating accident, much as the rest of my parents had done, and winging their way overseas to join the rest of the Barones.
The Conti family had done its best to fade away into obscurity, becoming distant memories to all the other dragons, our fellow blacks included.
We lived to serve, and other black dragons struggled to understand our drive.
My family had just moved on to serve in a different way while also pursuing more traditional interests.
I waited, head tilted to the side for any whispers, but none came.
How unusual.
My curiosity roused, and I checked the weather forecast, and sure enough, the stations had picked up on the possibly brewing storm. Miami-Dade’s police force would go into overdrive should evacuation alerts be issued. If I judged from the encroaching clouds, we wouldn’t have much time.
Even with a few days of warning, traffic tended to become a beast, airports filled beyond capacity, and chaos reigned.
I doubted we’d have a few days, not with the clouds already stirring in the distance.
I thumbed through the various reports, determining we would have two to four days depending on what the storm did. As the first storm of the year, should he grow to be of sufficient strength, he would be dubbed Alexandro. The first projections indicated he had the capacity of growing into a fanged category four, the kind of storm the wise fled from.
I was anything other than wise. But then again, as a dragon, despite my youth, I weighed several tons and could handle just about anything thrown at me. I’d grown worse than any weed, surpassing the age norms of black dragons by decades. My grandmother believed my natural tendencies, which had driven me to become a detective in the first place, bore full responsibility for defying nature’s intent.
I needed every advantage possible to survive as a benevolent magical mystery in mundane Miami.
There were plenty of malevolent beings out there, determined to make a mess of life in the Miami-Dade area. A month ago, I’d ferreted out a gryphon who’d decided to become a vigilante, killing any who dared to breathe even a hint of a lie within his presence. His last victim had been a young woman who’d claimed she was all right when she wasn’t.
I’d been unable to save her, but I had done the world a favor, drawing his ire to me with the kind of falsehood my mother would have cleaned my mouth out with soap over. As I’d been on duty, my body cam had captured everything, including the woman’s death.
I’d already had my day in court over the incident, walking away with my regrets I hadn’t found the bastard twenty minutes faster. Had I, his last victim would have survived.
The whispers had forgiven me for my failure. In time, I would forgive myself for my shortcomings.
My phone rang, and a banner across the display indicated my boss, Captain Cortez, wished to have a word with me. Rather than fling my phone down the twenty stories to the sea below, I wiped my finger across the screen, held the wretched device to my ear, and said, “Conti speaking.”
It had taken me all of two days in the force to understand Acantha only existed when an uppity superior wanted something from me.
“Acantha, can I call in a favor? It’ll be paid overtime, obviously.”
Had the whispers known of the call to come, drawing my attention to the storm so I’d be ripe to accept extra work on my sacred time off? “I’m going to have to hold out for some tea and a new mug, sir. Milly got my last one, and I have overcome my grief.”
My captain snickered. “Milly got mine, too. I think I can handle buying you a box of Lipton and acquiring a new mug for you. Did it really take you three months to get over the loss of that neon atrocity?”
“Honestly, I was over it the next day, but I keep forgetting to go to the store to get a new one, so I resort to theft. I’m even generous and return the stolen mugs at the end of the day.”
The first day of my thieving, I’d stolen the mug of a fellow detective. The ceramic disaster, which featured kittens engaging in play, showed signs of its age, including a chipped rim. In my care, I’d sealed the rim to help preserve it for a while to come. I’d also made use of a little magic to restore it to a better state. On the surface, it still bore evidence of hairline cracks within. In reality, no more liquid would infiltrate the interior, and it would take a great deal of force to break Detective Polin’s prized possession.
Only magic could detect the working, and enough time had passed I doubted any magicker could sniff out the truth of who had done the restoration work.
One day, those living within Miami would realize they willfully blinded themselves to the reality of life, leaving themselves wide open to interloping magickers and species capable of bending reality using their wit and determination.
“Your victims don’t even mind your theft, as you usually wait until your target has selected one of their other mugs, clean it, use it, and return it to their desk along with a ransom note indicating their inappropriate abandonment of their ceramics resulted in their loss for a day.” Captain Cortez cleared his throat. “We have received a call about a body, possibly more than one, located north of West Lake. Someone decided to go exploring a new trail they spotted, and after a few miles, they came across a cabin and the corpse. They fled back to Main Park Road and called it in.”
“Does the someone have a name?”
“Nope. Anonymous tip. We think a male, but we’re not sure. By voice, it’s a little ambiguous. I can tell you that it isn’t one of the regular cranks.”
That was something; Miami-Dade had more than a few crank callers that liked to make a mess of our day, irritate the dispatchers, and otherwise make our lives miserable. “You want me to hike into the Everglades,” I accused.
“I do, and I already have the jurisdiction issues sorted out if you do happen to cross the county line. Monroe doesn’t want to deal with it, and the state police kindly asked me to only call them in if it was actually something serious, and suggested that we sort out our jurisdiction issues on our own for a rare change. You in?”
“All right. I’ll swing by the station for my kit and head out. I will absolutely be armed and ready to take out any alligator or other critter attempting to make me part of their meal plan.”
In reality, I’d transform, eat the culprit, and go about my day, grateful I’d mastered the art of translocating my clothing, willing everything to hover nearby until I needed it again, and dressing faster than the blink of any eye. Rapid shapeshifting might be the only thing to keep my secrets safe and sound, and I practiced at every opportunity.
My captain snickered. “That’s part of why I called you. You’re the only cop I have that isn’t terrified of going near the Everglades. I’ll be off shift in ten minutes, but I’ll wait for you to get here. Thanks for the assist, Acantha.”
“I’d say any time, but let’s not make a habit of turning March into madness for me.”
“No promises,” he quipped before hanging up.