Read Online Giving Him Hell: A Saturn's Daughter Novel (Saturn's Daughters Book 3) by Jamie Quaid - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jamie Quaid
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full-scale riot. Given that Bill was unlocking the door to let in a mob, that was a very real, very explosive possibility with all the guns in here and outside.
Whatever. In full blown Saturn mode, I never operated lucidly. Instead, my warped imagination visualized Smug and Company as garden gnomes with pointy red hats and ugly grins.
Startled, Cora was suddenly shaking off a concrete garden ornament, while the Do-Gooders screeched in appalled horror. Bill swung around to study the dozen foot-high gun-toting gnomes where uniformed guards had been, and re-locked the door.
Andre stared down at a miniature silver-haired statue with raised fist—and started to chortle.
It was no laughing matter. I’d just converted live people into garden statuary in front of an audience.
Admittedly, the gnome’s shocked expression was priceless.
Eight
“Out,” I yelled at my startled audience, in the same urgent tone as one would shout “fire.” I pointed at the back door.
Not stupid, the student protesters fled the office, leaving scattered garden gnomes rolling about the filthy floor. My handiwork seldom resembled my creative imagination. These were damned mean looking elves. I wondered what was happening to the half dozen or so guards outside.
Stifling his laughter, Andre studied the fallen statues, crossed the room, and locked the back door after the last fleeing student. Then he turned and regarded me. “Now what?”
“Umm, we take them to Acme and set them on the conference table while we discuss the eminent domain suit that we were never told about?” I suggested. “Tim, are you still here?”
Invisible Boy popped into view, managing to look sheepish and shocked at the same time. He’d grown a few inches since I’d last taken him Goodwill hunting. His jeans barely covered his ankles, and his suede boots had holes in the sides. He needed a haircut. He looked like a shaggy character in a Scooby-Doo cartoon.
“I was just hanging out to see if you needed me,” he said.
“Impolite to hang out when no one knows you’re around,” I corrected in big sister mode. “It’s like eavesdropping. Find some newspapers and wrap up the statues and let’s box them up. We’ll let Paddy deal with them.”
Andre was chuckling again as he toed one of the little monsters. “Can we keep them? What if we built shelves for them on the walls at Chesty’s?”
“Seriously, Andre? You’ve just learned the EPA is in the process of condemning everything you own, and you want to dance with garden ornaments?” I had my phone out, punching numbers again.
“Would anyone care to explain what just happened here?” Cora asked in righteous bewilderment. “Am I losing my mind or is this a mass hallucination?”
Cora knew I was peculiar but hadn’t actually witnessed my earlier weirdnesses. Neither had Bill, but he remained a stoic observer. Andre just left me to explain, as usual.
“We’re fine,” I said curtly, “The Zone is just fucked. Let me speak to Padraig Vanderventer, please,” I said to the receptionist answering my call.
I had a lot of experience in bad vibes, and I was quaking with them now. Andre had to unlock the back door for Tim to slip out in search of newspapers. I followed on his heels. We still had a situation back at my office and cops would be hauling me into jail if I didn’t put in an appearance soon.
I didn’t bother checking the mob out front to see if the guards still held them at bay or if the tourists were taking home garden gnome souvenirs.
“ Mr . Vanderventer,” I said in my snottiest voice when Paddy answered. He used to wander the Zone like a homeless bum, scrounging meals from Chesty’s kitchen, until I’d got him to start talking to his nephew/son, Max/Dane. Now he was a trustee on Acme’s board and had a real lab to play in.
“To what do I owe the honor, Miss Clancy?” he asked warily.
“To the visit of one Graham Young, CEO of MSI and apparently new owner of the Zone. Know
Whatever. In full blown Saturn mode, I never operated lucidly. Instead, my warped imagination visualized Smug and Company as garden gnomes with pointy red hats and ugly grins.
Startled, Cora was suddenly shaking off a concrete garden ornament, while the Do-Gooders screeched in appalled horror. Bill swung around to study the dozen foot-high gun-toting gnomes where uniformed guards had been, and re-locked the door.
Andre stared down at a miniature silver-haired statue with raised fist—and started to chortle.
It was no laughing matter. I’d just converted live people into garden statuary in front of an audience.
Admittedly, the gnome’s shocked expression was priceless.
Eight
“Out,” I yelled at my startled audience, in the same urgent tone as one would shout “fire.” I pointed at the back door.
Not stupid, the student protesters fled the office, leaving scattered garden gnomes rolling about the filthy floor. My handiwork seldom resembled my creative imagination. These were damned mean looking elves. I wondered what was happening to the half dozen or so guards outside.
Stifling his laughter, Andre studied the fallen statues, crossed the room, and locked the back door after the last fleeing student. Then he turned and regarded me. “Now what?”
“Umm, we take them to Acme and set them on the conference table while we discuss the eminent domain suit that we were never told about?” I suggested. “Tim, are you still here?”
Invisible Boy popped into view, managing to look sheepish and shocked at the same time. He’d grown a few inches since I’d last taken him Goodwill hunting. His jeans barely covered his ankles, and his suede boots had holes in the sides. He needed a haircut. He looked like a shaggy character in a Scooby-Doo cartoon.
“I was just hanging out to see if you needed me,” he said.
“Impolite to hang out when no one knows you’re around,” I corrected in big sister mode. “It’s like eavesdropping. Find some newspapers and wrap up the statues and let’s box them up. We’ll let Paddy deal with them.”
Andre was chuckling again as he toed one of the little monsters. “Can we keep them? What if we built shelves for them on the walls at Chesty’s?”
“Seriously, Andre? You’ve just learned the EPA is in the process of condemning everything you own, and you want to dance with garden ornaments?” I had my phone out, punching numbers again.
“Would anyone care to explain what just happened here?” Cora asked in righteous bewilderment. “Am I losing my mind or is this a mass hallucination?”
Cora knew I was peculiar but hadn’t actually witnessed my earlier weirdnesses. Neither had Bill, but he remained a stoic observer. Andre just left me to explain, as usual.
“We’re fine,” I said curtly, “The Zone is just fucked. Let me speak to Padraig Vanderventer, please,” I said to the receptionist answering my call.
I had a lot of experience in bad vibes, and I was quaking with them now. Andre had to unlock the back door for Tim to slip out in search of newspapers. I followed on his heels. We still had a situation back at my office and cops would be hauling me into jail if I didn’t put in an appearance soon.
I didn’t bother checking the mob out front to see if the guards still held them at bay or if the tourists were taking home garden gnome souvenirs.
“ Mr . Vanderventer,” I said in my snottiest voice when Paddy answered. He used to wander the Zone like a homeless bum, scrounging meals from Chesty’s kitchen, until I’d got him to start talking to his nephew/son, Max/Dane. Now he was a trustee on Acme’s board and had a real lab to play in.
“To what do I owe the honor, Miss Clancy?” he asked warily.
“To the visit of one Graham Young, CEO of MSI and apparently new owner of the Zone. Know
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