Samhain Publishing

“Why am I here?” Sheriff Stanton Reed stands in the middle of the Basement. Scowling, he rests his hands at his hips. Irritation radiates from his stiff posture.

Tick Calvert doesn’t look up from the game of solitaire he has laid out on the poker table. “Minor revisions. Her editor asked for them.”

Stanton doesn’t relax. He’s a little too familiar with Her idea of revisions. It usually involves amping up the character torture. What else could She possibly do to him?

He shudders at the possibilities.

A glance around the Basement reveals no other heroes in residence. Not good. And the Muse is gone, leaving only a few empty Cheetos bags on the battered couch.

Really not good.

Because if the Muse is gone, that means she’s upstairs and that means She’s writing.

Or revising his book. Torturing him. A chilly film of sweat breaks on Stanton’s brow.

He looks at Tick, who’s frowning at the cards and tapping one long finger on the table. “Why are you here?”

“I get to hang out while waiting on final line edits.” Tick shrugs. He pulls the cards back into a file and shuffles. “Would you sit down or something? You make me nervous when you start the pacing thing. And then I’ll want a smoke and . . .” A grin crosses over his face. “Wait. If she’s working on your book, I haven’t quit yet.”

Stanton shakes his head. “You’re not smoking down here. I don’t want your second-hand poison.”

Tick grunts. “Yeah, and I didn’t want you interfering in my relationship with Cait and we both know how that turned out, don’t we?”

“With your HEA.” Stanton glances toward the ceiling. “Wonder what She’s doing up there.”

“Working on a paper for grad school.”

“What? Are you kidding me?” She stuck him down here in the equivalent of hero hell while She wrote a graduate paper?

“She has a paper due Sunday.” Tick gives him the what’s-with-you look. “And I think there are some short stories that She has to grade from that freshman writing class She teaches, maybe some essays from Her American Lit class. Plus, She was mumbling about blogging . . . face it, man, you’re going to be here a while.”

“Yeah.” Stanton flings himself on the couch. A cloud of Cheetos dust rises. Something crinkles and he pulls a half-eaten bag of the cheesy snacks from beneath the cushion.

“Relax, Stan. Minor revisions. She’s making notes, trying to think through what She has to do. It’s not a major overhaul, you’re not going to turn into someone new. The key word is minor. Remember that.” A wicked grin crosses Tick’s face, devilment glowing in his dark eyes. “Until the Editor Goddess gets ahold of you, anyhow. Or She gets some wild ideas from reading all those Maya Banks menage stories…”

“Oh, God.” Stanton buries his head in his hands.

“Or those Amanda Young male-male books She was glomming on. I think She bought the new Ally Blue, too.” Tick’s dark chuckle grates on Stanton’s last ever-lovin’ nerve.

He lifts his head and glares at his chief investigator. “You realize we’re locked down here together, right?”

Nervous realization slides over Tick’s face and his gaze jerks toward the ceiling. “Oh, holy hell.”