You start reading and find yourself in my talk show audience. Again. This time, you’re seated between a heavily pregnant Amber and her bear shifter mate, Wes.
It’s a great opportunity to ask them some questions—like what they plan to name the triplets—but it’s the third time you’re here, and you’ve learned that if you let me get distracted, we’ll never get to the actual debate.
You rush onto the stage, ignoring all the tempting book characters in the audience.
This time, I’ve given the studio a more festive look. A Christmas tree towers over the stage, decorated in green and red, with a few special ornaments mixed in. You spot a pumpkin spice latte from jewels cafe, a book, a skate, a little mouse, a pink donut, and a rubber duckie before you remember that you’re on a mission.
You’ve got an entire debate to get through before another dreaded commercial break.
You race toward the host’s chair, leaving footprints in the fake snow sprinkled across the stage. A Hanukkah menorah and a Kwanzaa kinara sit side by side on the coffee table, along with three steaming mugs of hot cocoa.
Eva and I are wearing the same thing we were last time. Aside from the decor, it almost feels like déjà vu. Or like you’re stuck in one of those loops, where you keep waking up on the exact same day, being forced to relive it until you get it right.
You snap your fingers, and our outfits change.
“Much better,” you say, turning to the teleprompter. Then, you start to read. “Eva Delaney claims to have an undoctored photo of Mia's husband's coffin. Mia says the coffin actually belongs to Eva. But I think we need to hear what both sides have to say.
"What's there to hear?" I shout. "It's Eva's coffin."
"No, it isn't," Eva shouts back. "I don't sleep in a coffin. I sleep in a bed. Like a normal human person."
"So does my husband. He's not a vampire. He's also not up until sunrise like you are. And he doesn’t sleep until noon." I turn to the audience. “Guess who does? Eva!”
The audience gasps… because the sign above the stage tells them to.
“That’s cheating,” Eva complains. “And I'm an author. I keep odd hours."
I turn to you. "If you ask me, if she talks like a vampire and walks like a vampire... or, in this case, sleeps like a vampire, then she is a vampire."
You nod, and turn to Eva. "She has you there."
“Mia and I have literally gone to the beach together in the middle of the day in full sunlight. But her husband? I’ve known him for ten years and have never seen him during the day!”
The audience gasps again—and I scowl at the sign telling them to. “He works a day job,” I point out. “Not all night, like some people.” I fake cough. “Who are vampires.”
“What about weekends?” Eva demands, ignoring my childish behavior. Though, to be fair, I spend a lot of time around a child, so I’m allowed.
I roll my eyes. “What about them?”
“I visit you—during the day—on Saturdays and he’s never there! Why? Because he’s sleeping in this coffin hidden away in a vampire lair.”
“He goes out during the day. With Mini Mortal. For Daddy-Daughter Day.” Which is a great alliteration, by the way. “You know, like a normal human.”
“Two vampires!” Eva shouts triumphantly.
The audience gasps for the third time.
For a split second, I consider lunging at the sign and tearing it out of the ceiling.
“Mia, what do you—” You start to ask, but Eva’s on a roll.
“I go out during the day. To visit you. But you stay indoors all day,” she says. “Wait… are you a vampire?”
Sapphire leaps to her feet. “J’accuse!”
The audience erupts into chaos. Everyone starts talking at once, though I catch a few snippets. “Vampire family,” is among them.
Panicking, I glance down at my notes—only to remember that I didn’t make any. In true ADHD fashion, I decided to wing it.
For a split second, I’m completely lost. Then, out of nowhere, a button appears in your hand. You press it, and a screech fills the air, like nails on a chalkboard amplified through concert speakers.
I scream, startled by the loud noise. So does Ash, the vampire, which really doesn’t help my case.
“And you’re sensitive to sounds,” Eva cries. “And smells, just like Ash,” Eva points at the vampire, who’s got his noise cancelling headphones on, his nose plug firmly in place, and a laptop open. He’s already forgotten about your Button of Doom, and is typing profusely. I don’t think he even remembers where he is.
“J’accuse again,” Sapphire shouts. “I mean, I don’t mind either of those things and I’m a vampire, but I like shouting.”
“You’re very good at it, Saph,” says Bob in the seat next to her.
“So there you have it, folks,” you say. “The evidence—”
“Bats!” I cry.
“What?” You frown.
“Bats,” I say desperately. “Eva loves bats.”
The audience is so quiet you could hear a pin drop if it weren’t drowned out by the sound of Ash’s typing.
“Look,” I cry, pointing at her arm.
A screen appears behind you, and a camera zooms in on Eva’s arm, and her BAT TATTOO.
I don’t wait to see how everyone reacts. I snap my fingers and disappear.
“Wait!” you shout, but everything around you starts to fade, and you find yourself staring at your screen. You pout. “We didn’t even get a commercial break.”
“Sorry.” I appear next to you, holding out a beautifully wrapped gift. “This is for you.”
“Thanks, Mia.” You forget all about the debate and carefully open it, finding a free ebook copy of Granny’s Christmas Shifters inside.
This Christmas, I'm unwrapping more than just presents. And if you're wondering whether I've still got it, the answer is a resounding yes.
I’m Gertrude Keene, a retired best-selling author with a dislike for all things Christmas. But life takes an unexpected turn when my dear friend invites me to Ravenwood, and I find myself unconscious in a snowy forest. Turns out that mall walks don't prepare you for outdoor hikes.
Lucky for me, a shifter comes along and decides to bring me home for Christmas. I wake up in a cozy cabin, complete with three handsome men—a dragon, a wolf, and a bear. And get this, they're young enough to be my grandkids!
But a little (or a lot of) supernatural romance never hurt anyone, and I’m about to learn that age is just a number. I never thought my golden years would include getting cozy with three supernatural hunks. But life has a funny way of surprising you, especially at Christmas.
“Thank you,” you say after grabbing your copy. “I can’t wait to read it.”
I can’t tell if you truly mean it, or if you’re just being polite. Impostor syndrome likes to rear her ugly head at most inconvenient times, and she always gets under my skin.
I scratch my arm, trying to get rid of her. It doesn’t work. It never does.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything,” you tell me.
“Oh, don’t even think about it. I just wanted to make your holiday a little brighter… or maybe a little weirder?” I shrug awkwardly, wondering why I decided to gift you a spicy romance with multiple men and a granny. Or why I wrote it in the first place—even if it is a masterpiece. “Feel free to share free copies with your friends.” I take a step back. “Happy holidays!”
And then I disappear, materialize back at my place, and go hide under a blanket like the awkward human that I am.
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