I usually anchor my novels in science fiction but find it fascinating and
almost impossible not to blend these other genres into the mix. You could
compare it to a meal. While there’s nothing wrong with eating a piece of fish
by itself day after day you might find it more tasty to add broccoli (horror),
rice (mystery), salad (romance), bread(fantasy) and dessert (suspense).

I’m sure we’ve all read great stories that brought some or all of these
elements together. They usually get boxed under one category for sales
purposes. Maybe someday a multiple-genre tag will be born. After all,
paranormal romance is still a fairly young genre and is ever growing.
Change does happen.

Demon Inhibitions is out now. Please stop by my FB page for updates! http://www.facebook.com/GaryStartaSci…

Demon Inhibitions Excerpt

When she found I had visited Manners, Briana began scurrying about her house,
scooping up a pair of scissors and a red candle. Before I could speak further,
she came at me. I backed away from her in fright. Her placid face revealed
nothing malevolent. But the shears were headed right for me. I tried to dive
away from the contradiction. Who was the real Briana? The sweet woman who made
cookies for me–or her shears wielding maniac counterpart now standing before
me? She screamed not to worry. I heard a snip. I felt a strange sensation. Not
pain. But something was no longer attached to me. It was a piece of my hair.
She caught the floating lock in her hands as if it were a runaway feather.

“It is very important we get to work, Caitlin.” Too stunned to process the
weird moment, I could barely utter a groan.

Then she explained how she must protect me. “He’ll surely make a visitation now
that he has met you.”

I tried to explain it was a good thing. I would probably get a vision of him
and then I could determine his part in the slayings.

She interrupted. “A visitation is what he’ll do to you. I don’t know how to
break this to you but the cat judge is an incubus. He’ll surely come to you in your
dreams. And in case he is our murderer, you’ll need a protection spell,
pronto.”

I reminded her I carried a firearm. I had worked in the FBI.

“No earthbound weapons can harm the judge once he joins with you. An incubus
enters your dream world.”

“How do you know this?” My tone grew edgy. She had obviously withheld knowledge
of Manners. Maybe the two were friends or even lovers. And she just admitted an
incubus could have committed these crimes without fear of being harmed or
caught.

“I know things because I’m a witch, Caitlin. That explanation will have to
suffice for now.”

“If you’re truly a witch, Briana, you must know he’s our best suspect.”

She had me there.

I settled in for the spell.

“I will create a mind shield for you, Caitlin Diggs.”

She began to chant, inviting me to join her.

“I call upon the helpful powers of my ancestors. Please protect and shield me
from harm. By the ancient ancestral power, blessed be!”

Briana played soft Celtic music for me as we waited for the spell to take
effect. I tried to distract myself with the lovely dulcet tones of harps and
violins. It almost worked until my stomach rumbled–again. We never had supper.
Briana was too intent on saving my ass. For what seemed hours we held hands
waiting for the candle to burn down. I had plenty of time to drink in the
ambience of the McFadden household. Floral print furniture and lacy doilies
surrounded me. But most disturbing, a poster of Cher is depicting the actress
as a witch in the film Witches of Eastwick, hung right before my eyes. When the
candle finally expired I yawned and thanked Briana.

“Don’t thank me yet. The night is now upon us. We must return to your house if
we hope to engage the judge.”

“Won’t your presence discourage Manners from coming?”

“No.” She paused to smile. “You could have twenty police armed to the hilt and
he’d still come. Nothing from the waking world can harm him.”

I muttered something unintelligible even to me.

“I’ll be in the next room to supervise so to speak. When he comes I’ll sense
it. I will then cast a binding spell so he can’t attack you – or worse, drain
you. Now the spell won’t last indefinitely so you won’t want to waste time with
small talk. Hopefully you’ll be able to determine his innocence or guilt in your
dream.”

I had once interrogated an evil man named Crowley in a dream state. It didn’t
go so well. But at least he didn’t threaten to harm me. Maybe he couldn’t. I
still don’t know; but I was sure of one thing if the judge threatened me in any
way I would defend myself. I didn’t care what Briana said about the dream and
waking worlds. I went to bed packing a handgun.

~ * ~

A full moon bathed my bedroom in bluish haze. It kept my eyes from closing.
Normally I would have drawn the curtains on the nocturnal intrusion, but
tonight I was hosting so to speak. I felt I was setting a better trap or
“invitation” to Manners if I left the light on. Briana would have probably
scolded me if she were capable of listening to my silent ranting. She had
explained to me several times Manners would not be traveling via car, plane or
broom for that matter. His appearance would be completely ethereal to all
waking humans. He would meet me via an altered state of mind, in a dream or
alpha state, where his thoughts and presence could transcend any physical traps
an overly anxious former FBI agent (me) might feel compelled to set. It
wouldn’t matter if I shined a lantern in my window or posted Rottweillers on
around-the-clock guard duty, Manners would be oblivious to it. Briana stated
this very emphatically, employing wild gyrating arm movements that nearly had
me fearing she would turn me into a rat if I didn’t give her my undivided
attention. So I sat and listened to her for an hour after we completed the
spell. When my eyelids began drooping, she ordered me to bed. She took up
residence in the adjoining guest room with Celeste. With a click of a doorknob,
Briana could be at my bedside in seconds. But when I finally began to absorb
the notion that Manners would not be using the front door to meet me, fear
began to take hold. How would her presence help me? She could monitor my dreams
all she wanted, but ultimately it would be up to me to break free of Manner’s
paranormal grip-provided one: he was an incubus and two: he would still deem an
appearance necessary to either protest his innocence or quiet my suspicions of
him once for and all. My mind finally began to drift into that sleepy state
where your thoughts start running into one another. How would I converse with
him in the dream world? And would my gun be at my bedside in this dream? My
brain felt like rubber. My eyelids finally shut. A faint hint of blue light
seeped through them and then the next thing I knew…

“Who, what…what do you want?” I sat straight up and stammered as a presence
took shape over my brass four-post bed. At least I determined I could talk,
albeit not very intelligently in my dream state. The shape continued to hover
over me, within arm’s reach. I twisted in my covers, attempting to lunge
towards my dresser drawer where I kept my gun. As my hand continued to fumble
for the dresser knob, coldness brushed against my backside. At that instant, I
gave up my hunt for the gun and reverted to my backside, hoping confrontation
might keep the invading demon at bay. I shouted. “Back off and identify
yourself.” I felt silly. I couldn’t very well command this thing to put its
hands behind its back–if it had hands–let alone expect it to adhere to laws
and protocols devised by those living in the real world.

The thing, best described as a floating transparent body of liquid, actually
started to comply. It reversed itself away from me, about a yard or so. Now it
hovered over my Victorian vanity chair. I seriously hoped its liquid makeup
wouldn’t drip all over my prized antique. It began to glow blue, probably
because it was in the direct path of a moonbeam.

“Now tell me who are you.” Hoarse and raspy, my voice no longer sounded like
mine. I tried to recall my vision where I had been speaking to the spirit of
Alastair Crowley. My voice had sounded like mine then. In fact, I’d felt no
different in that dream state whatsoever; I had classified that experience as a
vision. But now, as I sat cowering in my bed, I felt more as if in a dream. I
willed my legs to move, but like in a dream, they were uncooperative as if an
iron vise was keeping them in place. As I struggled to escape my covers, the
thing spoke to me in a whispered voice. Whatever it was, it was now inside my
head!

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