First Pages of HEIRLOOM, 

Book One of the Tales of the Urban Fae Series

by

Sandra S. Rice

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© Sandra S. Rice, 2012. Except as provided by the Copyright Act, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Chapter One / End of May, 1:42 a.m.

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            It’s the dead of night on Friday. Sneaking-out time.

Yeah, my conscience nagged me, but I ignored it and raised my bedroom window.

            Behind me, my friend hissed, “If your parents hear us, we’re toast, son.”

            “Hey, Logan, you gotta be optimistic. Being grounded isn’t so bad if you don’t get caught sneaking out. And I’ve never, ever gotten caught. Besides, people are counting on me.”

At CHHS, my high school, I’d become Cash Flaherty: taxi service to underage binge drinkers. I tried explaining this to my dad, but he couldn’t care less. The grounding stood.

            Course, I’m going out anyhow. Something in my character is faulty. When I think of the dumb things I’ve done…Sheesh, I have to stay positive.

            I glanced at the Irish blessing that’d hung over my bed like a shield since I was a kid.

Wherever you go and whatever you do,
May the luck of the Irish be there with you.

I smiled at the words. Staying positive is really key when doing something morally ambiguous.

            Then I swung my long legs out of the window onto the ledge outside.

A light rain made the brick slippery. I whisper-yelled to my buddy, “It’s wet, but we can make it down.” Good thing our Texas two-story was so massive. Using the crevices, I inched lower and got to the column. Climbing down the side of a house in the rain was hell on my new shirt, but when duty called, I answered. Especially for a party posted on Facebook with hot girls from two high schools, base thumping tunes, and a gigantic swimming pool. Everything seventeen-year-olds could ask for.

            “I’m not going down that way, Flaherty.” Logan stared at the patio fifteen feet below, shaking his head. “You forgot to mention the hurricane-level winds out here.”

            I wish I was an indulgent kind of guy, but I’m not. I flashed him a grin.

            “Are all you guys from Grapevine High such wusses? C’mon.” My rep as driver for the inebriated was at stake. And, I couldn’t leave Mr. Calamity in my room.

            He froze at the open window.
            "Logan! I'm hanging on the side of my house at 1:00-shitty in the morning. Seriously, if you don’t get down here, I’ll post those photos of you and Ashley Park on Tumblr.”

            My foot slipped.

I flailed and almost plunged to the flagstones. Hanging by my arms, I managed to find a toehold, and vowed to go to church on Sunday.

            Logan whispered loudly, “Geeze, Cash, your adrenaline addiction is gonna get you killed some day.”

            "Attending a ghetto high school could get you killed."
            He groaned. "It's not ghetto; it's just not pretty-fied like your school, rich boy. Besides, Grapevine High is the one sending us to Ireland, not Colleyville. Stop dissing GHS."         He had a point. When I saw the trip on our school website, I was hooked. An Irish summer program with hiking, surfing and kooky mythology? Nirvana for adventure fanatics like me. I couldn’t get it out of my mind.