Curse Me Wicked

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“So you think you can handle this one, huh, newbie?”

I glanced at Paxton Terragon, the arrogant, senior field agent I’d been training with for the past three months. He was in his mid-thirties, wore white spiked hair and looked like Billy Idol. I narrowed my gaze, sick to death of being called newbie. “Hell yeah.”

Pax laughed, grabbed the keys from the ignition, jumped out and slammed the door. I did the same and Pax peered at me over the top of the car. “Fearless Ginger Slater, WUP’s most notorious risk-taking newbie field agent is ready for a little action, huh?”

The agency we worked for, WUP – Worldwide Unexplained Phenomena – had partnered me with an idiot. A biting wind whipped across the car park and sank clear to my bones, and I pulled the edges of my leather jacket closer. I frowned at Pax. “I was a shape-shifters/curses specialist for two years prior to joining WUP so lay off and let’s go.” As I rounded the back of the Rover, my eyes searched the grey, bleak village of Dunmorag.

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