As you all know, I fell in love with Gladys a long time ago and I've been working on her ever since. This is my free short story about my kickass troll. (Gave you a little excerpt here)
 Tell me what you think!


Manor of Sweet Souls


“Glad—?”
“Gladys, my name is Gladys.” I grit my teeth, knowing I shouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He knows I’m on the list.
“Gladys. Here you are.” He pulls back a little cord, lifting the wall of a very complicated circle, and frowns at me. Or, Kyo. 
“I’m afraid we don’t allow animals. No one who’s not on the list.” He drops the rope back down.
“Listen, Michael,” I say, reading the tag on his shirt. “If I was going to a party for fun, I’d leave my dog at home. Unfortunately, I’m on a hunt. Now, we could get into a whole jurisdictional issue, where I trump anyone you put against me, being I maintain the portals and you’re all on my turf. And I agree you’re well within your rights to make a big issue about my partner, but if you do I will be forced to come in there later with a different sort of weapon. Which do you find more threatening? A sword and bow, or my extremely well-behaved sidekick?” I manufacture a sticky sweet smile, not mentioning the throwing stars tucked at my belt, or Vanessa’s incredibly toxic vial of potion snuggled at my bosom. Not that I don’t have my charms, but those who sneak through the portals aren’t always easily persuaded to go back.
The bouncer is a human-looking guy, thin features pinching as he considers my request, but I can feel the power emanating from him. I knew security would be tight, with the prisoner on the premises, but it’s not often my authority is questioned. My orders come from Faerie and Earth itself—no one kingdom. Even the committees in Faerie who hand out the permits I enforce, would hesitate to question me. It’s not as if I can pick and choose which laws to enforce. Today, a brownie, tomorrow, the Seelie and Unseelie battles seeping through the portals—and that I won’t allow.
“Clock’s ticking. Either let us in, or I make a scene, and if there’s one thing trolls are known for, it’s our hospitable nature,” I say playing off of every story ever about man-eating trolls. I don’t know who the cannibal trolls were, but I prefer chicken, thank you. 
Another waiter passes with something green on the end of a silver toothpick. It’s like the place where yummy goes to die.
Michael pulls up the rope, letting me in, and I wave as I pass. Technically, I should curtsy, but I’m already stomach level to him and not really happy where curtsying would put my face. As it is, the fae are a tall people. Those who aren’t tend to add a little height to their glamour. 
I don’t like the view in crowds. It’s a pet peeve of mine. I ignore the tall people, while noting ones more my size. Most look as ill at ease as I feel, while others look positively lecherous. 
One bogart, a squat woman with short hair and an off the shoulder dress, pinches a man in the derriere and winks when he looks back. Bogarts are a demented version of brownies—hiding reading glasses and remotes and feeling people up with clammy hands at night. I can’t imagine she’ll be doing much of that tonight. She’s been hitting the punch a little too hard, and her wink is slow. Not exaggerated, but more like she can’t figure out how to open her eye back up.
I don’t see my quarry, Bob, but brownies are tricky. On one hand, I could be looking for a short middle-aged man. I could also be looking for the plate or spoon he’s turned into. The only thing I have for Kyo to scent is a small piece of clothing I’m not even certain Bob ever wore.
I know he’s here. Today’s celebration is in honor of the first portal to open on the east coast—in Madam Goudsey’s house. 
Madam Goudsey was a regular lovely with a crystal ball, selling candles and dire predictions to her customers. Only thing the gypsy was hiding other than being a fraud, was her dealings in the fae slave trade. An illegal activity, and well before my time, though not before Bob’s. Her personal housekeeper, Bob lived the hellish life of being trapped in her house. She wasn’t the true torturer, though—that would be Janelle.
Janelle’s a lovely troll, a turncoat in the truest sense of the word. Not only did she turn her back on her portals, she kept herself busy funneling illegal slaves to both sides—humans to Faerie and fae to Earth. She was truly vicious and it was ultimately the blood of humans, fae, and her witch partner that opened the entrance to Manor of Sweet Souls.
Amazon; http://amzn.to/1IyQPyI
B&N: http://bit.ly/1A17mJ7
Roane Publishing–for those outside the US and those who want more free reads: http://bit.ly/1K785eP