EXCERPT:

Let’s face it. It’s not exactly the kind of statement anyone thinks they’ll ever make. In fact, “I married a dragon” would fly high on the list of the World’s Most Incredible Statements, along with such implausible declarations as “I bit the nose off a grizzly bear” or “I use the Hope diamond for a doorstop”.

If you can’t believe that an intelligent thirty-five-year-old woman can find herself married to a fire-breathing dragon without knowing who, or rather what, she married, then you aren’t alone. I still find it difficult to believe and I’m the woman. It’s even more unbelievable when you consider how I make my living.

You see, I expose the paranormal hocus-pocus of our world.

Yep, you got it. I’m a real-life paranormal investigator and debunker of all things scary that go bump in the night. Do you hear strange noises in your house? Call me. I’ll find bats—the non-vampire type—in your attic. Are Grammy’s favorite knickknacks moving from the curio cabinet and to the kitchen counter when nobody’s at home? I’ll nab the neighbor’s teen while he’s doing a little B&E, playing his not-so-funny poltergeist joke again. Got a psychic charging you big bucks to contact Uncle Marty and get him to spill his ghostly guts on where he hid his lottery winnings? Better keep your job. You’ll need it once I show you Madame Sheneeka’s arrest record for running a not-so-supernatural scam.

Yeah, I know. Some people do believe in werewolves, demons and other creatures of folklore and mythology. Shoot, even my best friend from college is a believer. We used to get embroiled in heated discussions about the possible existence of supernatural beings Jenn called Otherworlders. At the time, I thought she was eccentric and, yes, maybe skirting the fringes of wacko.

Now I guess I owe her an apology.

Ah, yes. I can almost see your bemused smile. Dragons don’t exist. Therefore, I must be telling one whopper of a story. But don’t break out the laugh track too fast. Sure, I understand your reluctance to accept what I’m saying. But trust me, when my hubby morphs to full fire-breathing size, it’s hard to miss the guy.

I bet you’re wondering how I couldn’t see my future husband for what he was. Well, let’s just say when in his human form, the man could give a movie star a run for the ladies. Women and men stop and give him a double take. So how does someone find a dragon, much less marry one? The truth of the matter is that I didn’t find him. In fact, he’d been searching for me. That’s right. My handsome draggy-poo found me.

Before I knew it, I became Christina Taylor-Delcaluca. Delcaluca is an ancient name running through several generations of—wait for it—dragons. But who knew? I’d assumed (and you know what happens when you assume) Delcaluca was an old Italian name. Not a name associated with the Dragon Dynasty. (I’ll get into the dynasty part later on in my story.)

I grew up in Atlanta, with two loving parents who believed that every mystery had a logical explanation and they passed their practical attitudes on to me. After spending a whole lot of time in endless low-paying jobs, I decided to put my drilled-in skepticism to good use by disproving the stories of poltergeists, malevolent spirits, boogie monsters and whatever other creatures poor delusional people believed in. I started a struggling business called Debunkers, Inc. Hey, the money still sucks, but at least I’m doing what I enjoy: dragging the frights of the night out into the light of the day. So you can understand why I didn’t realize what my lover was when we first met, can’t you? My mind simply wouldn’t accept the fact that dragons and other supernatural beings existed.

I met my smokin’-hot (pun intended) hubby at my friend Thad Pittman’s over-the-top birthday bash on Lake Lanier. Thad—pronounced Tad for reasons known only to him—Pittman is one of my best friends. Too bad he’s gay or I’d have considered hauling his handsome bod into bed. Anyway, I was at his party when I decided I needed a breather from the wild antics of his less inhibited friends.

I stood on a boat dock a few yards away from another dock where a group of partiers were toasting Thad with Dom Perignon champagne. Although he didn’t make much money as an actor or a playwright, he always had cash in hand. In fact, he often joked about the pot of gold hidden away in his basement.

In typical Thad style, he’d decided the best way to break the drought in Atlanta was to offer a sacrifice to the Rain Gods. The sacrifice, of course, wasn’t the champagne. I mean, the man’s not stupid, just sometimes certifiable. No, the sacrifice consisted of Thad and the others pouring bottled water onto the dry edges of the lake. They did this while imploring the Water Witch and other imagined deities to bring in the clouds, which, of course, was sung to the tune of “Bring In the Clowns”. Fortunately for me and anyone else within hearing distance, the singing transitioned from off-key harmonics to overly dramatic prayers aimed at the cloudless sky.

“Rain, baby, rain!” Thad raised his arm in the air, then turned the water bottle over, letting the liquid pour into the parched ground surrounding the dock. Several years of drought conditions had left many of the boat docks high and dry. Thad’s friends did the same, echoing him by adding their own pleas.

“Let it rain, Cloud King!”

“Shake, rumble and roll, Oh, Great Thunder Lord!”

“Powerful Lightning Wizard, we call on you to make it rain!”

“Flood me, Downpour Diva!”

“Oh, brother.” I forced myself to stay on my dock and not rush over to stop them. All I saw was a group of intoxicated people wasting perfectly good bottled water. (Yeah, I know. Sometimes I can be a real killjoy.) But after finishing my latest assignment—debunking yet another supposedly haunted house—Thad had ordered me, with a firm and not-so-subtle command, to not mix my business with his pleasure. Since it was his birthday, I did my best to honor his wishes, although a big part of me wanted nothing more than to go home to my tiny overpriced studio apartment, curl up with a good autobiography and scarf down a pint of Ben and Jerry’s newest flavor.

Thad waved to me, calling me over to join the fun, but I shook my head. I took another sip of my champagne and moved farther out on the dock, going almost all the way to the edge before I could see any water through the gaps between the boards. I took off my shoes, settled down on the edge and let my feet dangle in the water. With a heavy sigh, I took another drink and looked up at the moon. In a rare fanciful mood, I let my mind wander and tried to imagine a real man staring back at me. I sighed again. My love life was as dry as the Georgia ground. Sheesh, when I start fantasizing about the man up there, it’s time to get laid. Waay past time.

I gulped down the last drops of my drink and closed my eyes, listening to Thad and his buddies stumbling up the sloped hillside to his rented lake house. I should rejoin the party. Instead of hopping up and rushing off to do my BFF duty, I rested my back against the wood and searched the clear skies for any sign that Thad’s sacrifices had worked. Yeah, like that’ll happen.

A splashing sound interrupted my contemplation and I turned my head to gaze over the smooth surface of the lake. Another splash, sounding closer, brought me to a sitting position to scan the glassy water closer. My mind was already working on the most logical explanation.

Probably just a fish. I frowned at the water. Then why didn’t I see any ripples? Unless it had been a very small fish. But then the sound wouldn’t have been so loud. Giving the lake another look, I decided to let it pass. I was supposed to be off duty, anyway. Telling myself to follow Thad’s order to relax, I leaned back down on the dock and tried to chill.

A dark form, shrieking loud enough to pop my eardrums, flew over the corner piling and aimed straight for me. One red eye glared at me from the middle of a grotesquely-formed head, and razor-sharp fangs flashed in the moonlight. All of this happened so quickly, I didn’t have time to react. Fortunately for me, I didn’t have to.

A figure dressed in black jumped between the thing and me. I gasped, frozen to the spot as my hero reached out a large hand covered in some kind of golden leathery material and grabbed the watery beast. Stunned, I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, hoping that when I opened them again, I’d realize my eyes had been playing tricks on me. Did I drink that much?

Another shriek filled the air, only this time terror mixed with ferociousness in the sound. A crack had me opening my eyes to see my hero, his back turned toward me, flinging a limp and obviously dead thing away from us.