#tall woman with a trench coat - wadda gal

[incompleteninny]

The sixty-fifth free, unedited chapter of my upcoming book, “The Heist at Cordia Aquarium” is now available on its website (or click here to read from the beginning).

Crawling along unseen wires, strings of holiday lights curl away from street lamps. They trace images of snowflakes, bells, and candy canes that twinkle in mismatched sequence from red to green to gold. An unnecessary display albeit eye-catching and festive.

Scrypher's comfortable again — her face is covered up, free to look how it does. And she's on the move. Patrolling along the route outlined by their nightly dispatch. Rather, she would be, if Barclay didn't find a new excuse to drive them off course every few blocks.

Like the overexcited dog of a man that he is.

First, a bottle shop: he drapes himself over their glass display. "Evening! Oh no, no drinks for me: just wanted to check in. How are you folks doing tonight?"

Next, a trumpet player: Barclay claps and stomps in tandem with the surrounding crowd. Scrypher pulls him away, but not before the struggling strongman drops a handful of bills into the waiting instrument case.

The final time — not counting the dozen that follow — he steps into line behind some drunks playing hopscotch on a faded board. Scrypher's eyes glaze over. She barrels past, set to leave him behind. Irritating. An endlessly annoying, unfocused, lazy—

[...]

I’m sharing the book’s art insert featuring Scrypher and Barclay again. I’ll never stop thinking about this piece. I’ve got a plan for another featuring her, but solo. It’ll be placed in the book after next weeks chapter and the patience I need to muster until it’s time to send the references for it to Stella is unholy. Why must time be so linear...

(She’s the one standing prim and proper under that helmet, since the small excerpt above doesn’t mention her appearance. Barclay’s got the tights)