A Chip on Her Shoulder
R.J. Blain
(Magical Romantic Comedies #11)
Publication date: September 1st 2020
Genres: Adult, Urban Fantasy
After a deal with loan sharks sours, Darlene’s brother is permanently transformed into a chipmunk. Not one to accept impossibility as a good excuse for failure, she’s determined to rescue her brother and secure revenge against those who’d poisoned him with grade-a transformatives.
If she wants to perform a miracle, she’ll need to join forces with a divine, but the man upstairs and his angels refuse to help.
None of the other so-called benevolent divines are willing to help her, either.
Running out of time and options, Darlene prepares to storm the gates of hell for her brother.
She never expected to fall in love with the Devil.
Warning: this novel contains a woman with a chip on her shoulder, humor, and one hell of a hero. Proceed with caution.
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Rather than
try to talk my brother out of the money he rightfully owed them, the local
mafia’s loan sharks opted for a more permanent solution to their problem. They
transformed my asshole brother, Jonas, into a chipmunk and saddled me with the
bill.
My brother
had lost his human life for five thousand dollars.
What a
waste.
Since that
wasn’t bad enough, the goons my brother had pissed off forced me to watch the
entire process, which involved forcing him to drink a vial of clear fluid. The
transformation took a matter of minutes, and he started screaming within
seconds of consuming their concoction.
It took
until he’d shrunk to half his true size to stop screaming, and he squealed
instead.
Shapeshifting
hurt like hell; I went through the gruesome process every few days, when my
thin, human skin drove me to the brink of madness. Some days, I took on my more
hybrid form, sporting a tail and my feline ears. Sometimes, I tossed in a light
coat of spotted fur to ease my discomfort. Sometimes, I kept the thin, human
skin to pretend I fit in with the rest of the neighborhood, hiding my tail and
ears beneath my clothes. One day I’d give up on hiding my true nature. Every
rare now and again, my hybrid transformation came with a full coat of fur, my
ears, and my beautiful tail, something I loved.
My light
coat was a mockery of my full glory, and one day, I’d master my magic so I
decided which parts of me had light fur, no fur, or a thick coat best suited
for wintry mountains.
My spots
were my best assets, and I loved each and every one of them. Life would be so
much better when I could wear my spots whenever I wanted.
When the
mood struck me, the night was young, and the weather was cool, I ran as a snow
leopard, displaying every one of my spots and hunting through suburbia for
prey, typically one of the more annoying squirrels or rabbits to menace my
garden.
I’d be
hunting for bigger prey soon enough, and I kept my expression cold and calm.
Warning my prey I would be coming for them wouldn’t do.
A wise
huntress gave no warning before the ambush, and I would use every opportunity
to crush the entire mafia. Unlike the local law enforcement, who played by
civilized rules, there would be nothing civilized about me.
They had
destroyed my family, so I would destroy their family. No, I would do far worse
than merely destroy their family. I would destroy their ambition while I was at
it. When I finished with them, ruin and suffering would be all I left in my
wake.
Sometimes, I
was not a very good person. Actually, no. Most of the time I was not a very
good person.
I’d learned
early on being good left me taken advantage of, alone, and miserable. When I
did good, I did it because I wanted to, expecting nothing in return, for I’d
learned that lesson well enough.
What went
around rarely came around, and I’d gained nothing from any of the good I’d done
in my life.
I kept my
breaths slow and even, waiting while doing my best to detach myself from the
reality of my situation. Panic would win me nothing, neither would fear.
Patience might win me a lot, depending on what I learned in the next few
minutes.
One of the
thugs, someone who’d gotten into a fight with a fire and lost, held a rather
nasty gun to my head to make sure I behaved.
I behaved,
but only because we had one rule in our household of two: survival came first.
Once I survived my current mess, I would add a new rule to our household of one
and a rodent: revenge would come eventually.
I couldn’t
win against eight men who’d cut their teeth on violence, not even if I
transformed and put my sharp claws to good use. Not yet. I’d keep my claws a
secret for a little while longer, and when I brought them out, I would shred
their entire outfit.
Revenge
would be mine, and I would enjoy obtaining it.
Revenge
wouldn’t save my brother. If I had fought against the mafia he’d tangoed with,
I couldn’t have saved him anyway. They likely would have killed us both. I’d
find some way to do the impossible and restore my brother somehow. The man my
brother had been was gone, replaced by a chipmunk with a rodent’s puny little
brain.
No, he was
still my brother, but he possessed a rodent’s puny little brain. He might
remember me. He might even be able to understand English and allow me to keep
him outside of a cage.
Maybe.
That stung.
My brother
was an asshole. He probably deserved some form of punishment at the hands of
the mafia, but he was my asshole brother, and nobody beat him other than me.
I would make
that our third household rule, and I would adhere to it.
I took my
time memorizing the faces of those who’d pay for their crimes. Their scars
would make them easy to identify. I wouldn’t forget their scars, I wouldn’t
forget their faces, and I gave it a week for me to learn their names.
Then the fun
would truly begin.
They weren’t
the only ones who could get their hands on transformative drugs. It just cost a
little money or having the right ingredients available. I could get the money,
and I could go where the rare ingredients grew.
So hellbent
on revenge, I barely remembered the conversation leading up to my brother’s
transformation into a rather small rodent. I remembered the part about the
money, where they wanted me to bring it and when, but the rest remained a blur.
I needed to
memorize their scarred faces so I could do what an Esmaranda woman did when she
got mad.
I’d get
even, and I’d charge interest.
My mother,
may her soul rest in peace, had taught me that from the day I’d busted out of
maternal prison and escaped her womb.
Picking my
brother up by his furry little tail, the lead asshole, who had a rather ugly
scar over his nose where someone had failed to slice his skull in half, tossed
him my way. I forgot about the gun pointed at me, scrambling to catch my
brother so he wouldn’t escape. He squealed and squeaked protests before biting
the hell out of my hand.
What an
utter asshole. I prevented him from running away and losing all chance of
becoming human again, and he bit me? When I refused to let my brother go, he
took another chomp out of the fleshy part of my hand connecting my index finger
and thumb.
I bled.
The mafia
goons laughed, and then they left.
They’d pay
for that, too.
Come hell or
high water, they’d pay.
* * *
As there was
no way in hell I could afford my brother’s debts without selling off the shit
he’d spent borrowed money to buy, I stuffed the asshole into a shoebox until I
could get him into a chipmunk-proof cage. Earning the money back would take a
few days, and I’d have to play the game just right.
To get
revenge would require I play dumb and act like I didn’t have all the money, but
some of it; I’d need to give them enough of it for them to lure me into the
cycle. They’d then charge me extra interest to profit on the situation.
I’d gather
information, and once I was ready, I would destroy them.
Jonas
squeaked and scraped his tiny claws against the cardboard, which warned me I’d
have a limited amount of time to get a cage before I would need to find some
other container for him.
“You’re a
pain in my ass,” I complained, taping the box closed before I transformed my
hand enough I could stab holes into the lid with my claws. Jonas squeaked. “Oh,
shut up. I didn’t hurt you.”
While my
brother was a pain in the ass, I’d never hurt him. Well, permanently. If he
ever became human again, I’d be beating common sense into his thick skull so
he’d never cut a deal with the mafia ever again.
He deserved
a sound beating, one that’d teach him not to be so infernally stupid.
Spewing
curses that would’ve had my mother either beating the sin out of me or laughing
at my creativity, I grabbed my purse, which contained the spare keys to my
brother’s car. I marched for the street, where the source of my brother’s
misfortune waited. The mafia could’ve taken the sporty vehicle and gotten more
than they’d ordered me to give them without an issue, but no. That would’ve
been too easy.
That
wouldn’t have sent any messages to anyone. It wouldn’t have forced me to play
their game.
Thugs like
them, pasty white trash who thrived on suffering, never wanted the easy way
out. They liked the hunt.
Well, they
picked on the wrong woman. Not only did I get mad, I would get even, and I
would bring ruin to their empire in so violent a fashion even the Devil feared
me.
My brother
was damned lucky I loved him. “I swear, once you’re back to human, you’re going
to be licking my feet and begging for my forgiveness, you furry little shit.”
Jonas
squeaked a protest and pawed at the thin walls of his shoebox prison.
“Break out
of there, and I might just eat you. You’re dumber than a fucking stump. You’re
lucky I’m spending a single penny on you. Tonight, I’m spending at least an
hour tearing into you over this bullshit, and you will sit there and take it
like a man even though you’re a rodent-brained moron now.” I growled, and when
that didn’t satisfy my flaring temper, I hissed. “And the first thing I’m doing
is selling this piece of shit car of yours so I can play their game. That’ll
teach you, because yes, you asshole, you had to have my name on the title
because you’re so shit at money no sane dealership would sell you a car otherwise.
I’ll make those goons think they’ve won, and then I’ll show them the true
meaning of fear.”
Making the
Devil cringe in sympathy would be my gold standard.
As I
couldn’t sell his car if I damaged it, I took care with driving to the pet
store. Once there, I tucked the shoebox containing my brother under my arm and
strolled inside, heading for the rodent section to pick his new home. A bored
employee wandered over. “Need something?”
Any other
day, the country bumpkin accent might’ve amused me. The kid likely spent more
on gas than he earned getting to work if one of his parents didn’t work nearby.
A lot of folks with some money and little sense spent two or three hours out of
their day driving to jobs that barely paid their bills.
We had an
unofficial rule in our household; if we couldn’t make it to work by public
transit or within thirty minutes, we moved. If we couldn’t afford the rent, we
didn’t take the job.
Since we
owned our house, we never moved, and we took jobs close to home to pay the
property tax and keep the place from falling down around our ears.
Considering
the supplies, I sighed, bit the bullet, and replied, “Actually, yes. I have a
rescued pet chipmunk that can’t be released into the wild, and he needs a
house. It needs to be a nice house, and I need everything for him.”
“A
chipmunk?” He asked, and according to his expression, I’d said the best thing
he’d ever heard in his life.
“Yes, a
chipmunk.” I patted the box under my arm. “I’ll need a good travel container
for him, too. He’ll be coming places with me often.”
“That’s so
cool!”
Great. Not
only did he likely spend more on gas than he earned, he loved animals enough he
wouldn’t complain about the drive or the wasted money. Oh, well. I’d benefit
from his enthusiasm even if he tired me out. “Pick out the best stuff for him,
and I’ll need food, treats, and toys, too.”
The kid
started grabbing stuff off the shelf and adding them to my cart after asking if
I liked his choices. As arguing would only extend the pain, I approved
everything, expecting to wipe out most of my bank account caring for my idiot
brother.
After I got
his furry ass back to human, proving the impossible could be possible in the
process, I’d make him pay me back tenfold, and I’d make him quake in fear of my
wrath if he screwed around again.
In some
ways, I envied the kid and his carefree delight in helping me shop. I worked as
a slave at the neighborhood grocery store, stocking shelves because the boss
didn’t trust me with the customers. He’d caught me on the street with my ears
and tail, and he’d brought the CDC into it, but their fancy meters hadn’t
registered any diseases, barring me from being fired as I hadn’t done anything
wrong.
To keep my
job, the CDC sent a damned bureaucrat over to steal some of my blood to feed to
their demonic meter, confirming I wasn’t infected with lycanthropy or some
other nasty disease someone might catch from coming in contact with me.
Usually, they sent some doe-eyed girl to play to my nicer side, the one who
wouldn’t punch her in the face for annoying me.
The first
and last time they’d sent over some damned baby devil who owed someone a favor,
I’d socked him in the nose and told him to fuck off and tell his master hello.
The devil had stuck around long enough to steal a drop of my blood for the
meter, but I’d made him pay for it tit-for-tat with interest.
Devils
pissed me off.
They
reminded me of the mafia, and they worked for an even nastier boss.
“There are
better chews for rodents at the cash register, but if you can give me a few
minutes, I’ll ask my manager if I can use the office computer to check which
diet is best for a chipmunk.”
“I don’t
mind paying twice, but I’d like to get him into the carry case while you do
that. Help on what to feed him would be great.”
I lied in
more ways than one, as until I got a chance to vent out my anger over Jonas’s
stupidity, I couldn’t care less what the fucker ate, I did mind paying twice,
and I only wanted to put him in a better carry case so I wouldn’t have to hunt
for his ungrateful, selfish ass if he escaped me.
I did have
to give the kid credit; he was as efficient as he was enthusiastic, and while I
did have to ring up my order twice, it took him less than five minutes to get
the information on what my rodent brother needed to eat. Jonas squeaked his
protests and beat on the smooth plastic of his new carry cage, balling his
little paws into fists.
I lifted him
up, stared him in his beady little eyes, and whispered, “Well, it’s your own
damned fault you’re like that, so you just sit your furry ass down and be
grateful I didn’t toss you out on the lawn to fend for yourself.”
My brother
sat his furry ass down, which offered some hope Jonas was still in his chipmunk
body somewhere—or at least understood some English.
Almost two
hundred dollars later but with enough toys, treats, and chews to keep my
brother fed for six months, I left the pet store, loaded my brother’s car with
his new habitat, and returned home.
One of the
mafia goons waited for me on my doorstep, and I considered digging out the
pistol hidden in my brother’s glove box. Narrowing my eyes, I leaned over,
popped it open, and grabbed the weapon, checking the magazine that it had been
properly loaded with bullets and making sure a round was in the chamber and
ready for duty
I got out
with my purse slung over my shoulder, my brother’s gun in one hand and my
brother’s cage in the other. “You sent your invitation already, so you get the
fuck off my lawn, or I’ll send you back to your family with a new hole. If
you’re lucky, I’ll patch it before tossing you into the street so you don’t
make a mess on my grass.”
As I’d
expected my brother to get me into shit one way or another, I stepped so I
presented as small a target as possible, extended the firearm, and waited.
The shock on
his face amused me.
Revenge
would be far more fun if they offered me a little challenge while I destroyed
them. After all, I needed to achieve my gold standard and make the Devil
cringe.
I smiled for
my unwanted guest. “Did you really expect me to go unarmed after I had a gun
held to my head once already today? Obviously, since you’re on my doorstep
probably trying to deliver some new threat. Deliver it, then you get your ass
the fuck off my property. You’ve finished your business with my brother, you’ve
issued your threats, and while my brother may have broken the law, I haven’t,
this is my house, and I will call the cops.”
“You’ll call
the cops?”
“A bunch of
men broke into my house, turned my brother into a chipmunk, and threatened me.
Unlike my idiot brother here, I have a clean record and no association with you
cockwombles. So, yes. I fully intend to call the cops, and if I have to shoot
you first for being on my lawn and trespassing, well, that’s a pity, isn’t it?”
“How did an
ass like him have a sister like you?”
“I’d say ask
our ma, but she abandoned ship.” That was better than saying she’d died and
left me the house since she hadn’t trusted my brother. The way I figured it,
she’d been one hell of a smart woman, and I hoped she was taking over heaven
along with our pa.
Nobody
believed our pa had been a well-respected pastor.
He hadn’t
taken the emergence well, growing up with his religious beliefs challenged by
the strange and stranger. Some days, I wished the angel hadn’t come calling. My
pa might’ve lived a little longer that way.
Then again,
maybe not. His heart would’ve given out on him eventually.
While I
usually practiced good trigger discipline, I eased my finger onto the trigger
to make it clear I’d shoot if given a single excuse. “Well, what’ll it be? You
going to leave peacefully, or will I be shooting you before I call the cops?”
“We don’t
need to bring the cops into this.”
“You’re a
lot dumber than you look. You used a transformative on him. That’s permanent.
Law says I’ve gotta report his new status as a chipmunk. If you braindead
morons wanted to keep the cops out of it, you should’ve done something else.”
“You’re one
of those law-abiding goody-goodies?”
“I get a
paycheck for becoming my brother’s caretaker, and they might be able to help me
restore him back to human. If you didn’t want me calling the cops, you should
have picked a different plan. Now get the fuck off my property. The safety is
off, a round is chambered, and what’s one less one of you thugs out to bother
people?”
“I have a
message for you.”
“Deliver it
by mail, then, and don’t you even think about making me pay postage.”
“But—”
“I’m about
three seconds from shooting you, and I really don’t give a fuck if I put the
round through your forehead. You got me? If you haven’t figured out I mean
business, look really carefully where my finger is resting.”
He checked,
and he had enough sense to blanch. “I’ll be telling the boss about this, little
girl.”
“Tell him if
he wants any money out of my brother, well, you idiots should’ve left him in a
form he’s capable of paying in. Leave. Now.”
He did, and
he got into a black car. I made a show of clearing the chamber, popping out the
magazine, replacing the round, and restoring the firearm to working order
before gesturing with the weapon for him to leave.
While shooting
out one of his tires would’ve appeased my temper, I let him go.
I had enough
troubles without doing more than informing the assholes I wouldn’t go down
without a fight.
Author Bio:
RJ Blain suffers from a Moleskine journal obsession, a pen fixation, and a terrible tendency to pun without warning.
In her spare time, she daydreams about being a spy. Her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels and quoting James Bond villains until satisfied.
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