The Shoes That Charlotte Wore

I’m excited to announce that the book is finally published! It is currently available in ebook format but will be available in print soon. The Shoes That Charlotte Wore is an adult urban fantasy novel.

Blurb:

Ballerina Jessica Lavigne is envious of Charlotte for all things Charlotte is, that Jessica is not. Hitting rock bottom is a new low for Jessica who becomes a witness-turned-suspect in a murder case with a sinking dance career. To make matters worse, her hometown is invaded by monsters and her secret crush continues to shun her. That is until a demigod named Nimai walks into her life and makes all her ballet dreams come true. But there’s a deadly connection between the murders, the monsters, and the benevolent demigod.

Want to read the first chapter? Here it is:

Prologue

A weary man shivered in his tattered sleeping bag in the pitch-black darkness of his tent. He’s had it for ten years now. In the morning, he planned to ask for a new one from the Salvation Army. If they had any to give. He tucked the edges under him so that it completely encased him like a burrito. Still, he shivered because the zipper broke last winter and his feet were sticking out the other end.

The man coughed and rubbed his double socked feet together to revive them. They remained icy despite his efforts. He crouched over his feet and rubbed them with his calloused hands, trying to create heat. The blood ran slowly through his toes, creating a needle prick sensation that traveled down to the ball of his feet.

He’s alone in his tent tonight. Sometimes he shares it with Page, other times with Larry. Page only comes around if he has crack to smoke. Like a hawk seeking prey, or a child who always knows where the candy is, Page always shows up when he has a fresh rock. He doesn’t need to call or look for her down on Holt where the other hookers stalk the streets. He attributes her keen sense to women's intuition, or maybe it's Page intuition?

He shivered again and wished she were there to press against for warmth. But then he’d have to hear her, “Todd, quit stealing the blankets,” in that raspy voice of hers all night. He can’t help the fact that he doesn’t sleep well with others- never has. Their relationship isn’t sexual, it’s a companionship. He hasn’t had sex in 10 years since his erectile disfunction diagnosis.

Todd’s tired bones ache most days. The joints of his fingers hurt as if he’d been sanding wood all day. He reminisced briefly of his youth, working in his father’s shop carving little wooden figures. Todd was excellent at it. Patient and meticulous, it sometimes took him days to finish a simple horse.

He rubbed his palms together and blew hot breath into them. They’re not as swollen as yesterday, but the cold air made the pain worse. Rheumatoid arthritis—that’s what the doctor at the Saint Bernardine Church free clinic day told him last year. The doctor made his ‘educated’ diagnosis based on symptoms since Todd could not afford medical testing.

What was the doctor’s solution? Stop smoking cigarettes, take supplements to help with inflammation like fish oil or turmeric. “You’re 52 years old. It’s not going to go away, but you can at least treat it.”

“Sure. I can do that,” Todd replied, “but can I get some of those dick pills, doc?”

The doctor wrote the prescription, handed it to him, and then Todd skipped out of the white tent clinic in the church parking lot. He didn’t need the dick pills but wanted to sell them to someone else who might need them—a quick way to get cash.

Todd knew better. No way he was going to stop smoking- his one daily satisfaction from life when he didn’t have crack to smoke with Page or marijuana to smoke with Larry. At least Larry didn’t kick him at night over blankets. Larry slept like a rock. Snored, but didn't wake, even if Todd took all the blankets.

He missed Page.

He smiled and blew into his stiff hands again. Larry was a good friend, even though he stole money from Todd a while back when they were both high. But now he had a great hiding spot for his money. A secret pocket in his favorite jacket which kept Larry honest and Todd’s money safe.

He shivered and pulled the sleeping bag aside. No longer able to sleep, he felt around in the darkness for his jacket. He knew where it was. He knew where everything was in his tent because Todd has always been meticulous about his things.

The thick jacket hung over one of his canvas, olive green duffle bags. He had two of them, completely full, but he was never in the military. Got those from a homeless shelter two years ago. Someone stenciled both with a sharpie, a soldier’s initials. He sometimes wondered who they were.

He put on the jacket and headed out of his tent. The zipper was the only noise in a dead, quiet freeway underpass. It was a small haven of concrete tucked under the 215 freeway and Fever street. He found this place a few weeks ago and so far, was the only person setting camp here. Sometimes he enjoyed the solitude of being alone.

Across the street on the other side of the underpass, he saw a vine creeping along the concrete wall. Normally, Todd wouldn’t look twice at a vine. He wasn't a botanist and knew little about plants other than they're green. But this vine glowed with a dim white light. He wiped his eyes and thought maybe it's a trick of the light, a reflection from the full moon or the streetlamp at the corner.

He dug out his cigarettes and lighter. Curious, he wanted to investigate the vine further but first­— a smoke. His swollen fingers struggled to pry a single cigarette from the carton. He put one to his lips. Anticipating the sweet release of nicotine, he struggled to light it. One flick, two flicks, three.

The lighter sparked, but no flame. He shook it. His fingers ached as he tried again. He knew he should have swiped matches from Larry last week. Larry swore by matches, claimed they were easier to use, but Todd thought he just liked the way they smell when you blow out the flame—pungent like a cheap burning cigar.

“Need help with that?”

Todd didn’t see the stranger arrive or hear his footsteps. His heart quickened. Surprised by the stranger’s sudden appearance, he nearly dropped the cigarette. A kind face, and innocent looking blue eyes. The youth held out his hand to receive the lighter.

“Yeah, I could use some help,” Todd said with a chuckle at his own misfortune. He handed the boy the lighter.

With a single flick, the flame came to life in the boy’s hand. He cupped the flame and Todd leaned in, puffing on the cigarette. He pulled away and took a long drag. The smoke filled his lungs, the last luxury he had left in the world.

“Here you go,” the boy said, handing him back his lighter. His voice was soothing, and sweet—free of dejection and fatigue. It sent a wave of delight through Todd, like hearing Bach for the first time, played by a master pianist.

“Thanks a lot,” Todd replied.

He looked the kid over. The boy stood a few inches taller with the fitness of youth and a face of an angel. But there was something peculiar about someone his age being under the overpass in the dead of night. There was something strange about a kid running the streets without a jacket, just a plain, clean, white t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He didn't have the intimidated and lost look in his sapphire eyes of a runaway or the red-rimmed gaze of a junkie.

“Whatcha doing out here, kid? Run away from home?” Todd asked, taking another drag. “There’s a shelter a few blocks away.” He pointed in the teen shelter’s direction. “They’ll take you in if you need a place to stay. I don’t recommend you stay out here though. This isn’t a place for kids like you.”

Kids like you. Todd remembered a time when he was a kid like that. Naïve, young, and full of life. A time when his bones didn’t hurt, he had a warm bed, and a family. Yes, he had a family, but they were all the way in Iowa, and he was in Southern California. Todd would never go back to Iowa. He made peace with his past a long time ago.

The kid kicked a pebble. The small stone skipped away, bounced off the side of the underpass, and rolled down to the street below. Todd spotted the glowing vine again. He almost forgot it was there. He squinted at it, noticed that it somehow seemed to have grown longer in the matter of minutes.

“I’m waiting for the monsters to come out of the wall,” The kid spoke candidly, as if monsters were normal. Todd could think of a few monsters, like his old drug dealer in Pomona. That guy was a douchebag, always pinching Todd’s dime bags.

Todd squinted his eyes at the boy. “Monsters?” He snickered. A low groan behind him cut his skepticism short.

“Ah. Right on time,” The boy declared with a grin. His face lit up with delight.

The cigarette dropped from Todd’s mouth. He spun to see what was shuffling behind him. The source of the moan, the growl coming from the pit of a monster’s stomach. His eyes went wide, and Todd stumbled back past the kid in fear.

“What the fuck?” The words tumbled out of his mouth.

A tall creature stood before him with sharp claws and fangs like a wolf, but not a wolf. A whitish ooze dripped slowly out of its red eyes. It had wrinkled, dark skin. Sparse strands of long black hair hung from its head and long fingers came shooting out towards him, clawing at his clothes. The monster snarled.

Todd screamed and fell backwards.

“Help me,” he cried out to the boy, who looked down at him with a blank expression.

The monster clawed at Todd, tearing at his jacket until it found his flesh underneath. It struck his stomach, cutting through him like butter. He screamed. The pain shot through him like fire, sharp and wet as blood poured out of the wounds. Then the monster took hold of his intestines between sharp teeth and tugged. It ripped chunks of his innards out with its mouth. The last thing Todd saw before the world went black was his own entrails hanging out the side of the monster’s mouth.

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