TITLE: Null City
GENRE: NA Fantasy
Intro: Super powers suck. If you just want to live a normal life, Null City is only a Metro ride away. But when forces try to destroy Null City, Gaby, a (technically) dead accountant, teams up with the teenage daughter of the Prince of Hell to protect the City. It just would have been nice if someone told them the only one who can help is Gaby’s ex — the angel she killed.
Gaby glared at the double doors barring entrance to the Presidential Suite. Over the past hour, she'd knocked, called, tried the house phone, and automatically straightened the paintings lining the elegant hallway. Despite muffled voices inside, the brass-bound doors remained closed.
Her brand new employee handbook was clear: missing a client appointment was an excellent way to get fired. But it never mentioned breaking and entering. She'd checked.
Her foot tapped as she weighed options. She could go back and try to explain to the agency. Or give up and take the twins back to Null City. After twenty-four hours there, hellhounds become poodles, demons join the PTA, and a harmonia like Gaby would become... what? She'd promised Dad: no more B&E despite the advantage of her harmonia gifts. But that was before he and Mom died in a war nobody outside Null City ever heard of. Her foot slowed. Sorry, Dad. She pulled out her father's torque wrench and favorite hook pick. Moments later the lock's tumblers hit the shearline with a subtle click.
Didn't break a friggin thing, Dad: I'm just entering. She eased the door ajar a careful half-inch. “Hello?”
“Luic leMuir.” Leaning against the jamb with one arm blocking the doorway, he ignored her outstretched hand.
Don't say it, she admonished her squealing inner-Gaby. He doesn't need to know you have every song he's ever done. Or that you take your showers to the sound of that voice…
Her own voice was an octave higher than normal. “Gabrielle Parker, CPA."
Under her spellbound gaze, one of his eyebrows lifted. “Well, Gabrielle CPA, I wasn’t expecting you to be so …” He deliberately eyed her, from the pale hair pulled back into what she hoped was a sophisticated chignon but suspected was a lot closer to a granny-bun, down her mother's suit which her sister Carey insisted made her look much older, finishing up at her sensible low-heeled pumps.
Her brown eyes narrowed, starry-eyed adulation shriveling before the cooly amused glint in his blue eyes.
“You're an accountant? You look...” His beautiful voice trailed off.
Like someone dressed up in her dead mother's ten-year-old conservative librarian suit, she silently finished for him.
“Are you any good?” Another beat. “At accounting?”
Her chin came up. You think an angel's face and some gold records gives you a be-mean pass?
“Are you any good?” She tilted her head, taking in the long dark hair, mustache and beard, tie-dyed vest over a shirtless chest, and leather pants. “At singing? I couldn’t carry a tune in a paper bag, but I’m the best accountant you’ll ever find.” Shut up, Gaby! She mentally groaned at the vision of the $52.79 balance in her checking account. At this rate, breakfast and lunch weren't the only meals she'd be missing.