Stephanie Julian: The Bigger They Are…

“Are you seriously telling me that network is going to give you hundreds of thousands of dollars to chase after the Abominable Snowman and dinosaurs in Africa? And you signed an actual contract?”

“Yeah, can you believe it? This is my big break, Sis.”

Jenna Durham took a moment to consider that maybe the only break had been between her brother’s reality and the one everyone else lived in.

Sucking in a deep breath, Jenna made sure she hit the mute button on her cell phone before she blew out a ragged sigh.

She loved her twin dearly. Truly, she did. She’d gone to bat for him every time someone had called him crazy. If she played in the majors, she’d have a .350 batting average.

But Joss had never been what anyone besides his merry band of idiots in the Society of Paranormal Abnormalities would consider normal.

And if Jenna was just the teeniest bit jealous that Joss had the courage—or the foolishly blind determination—to jet all over the world in search of his dream, well, she’d just keep that to herself.

“Jenna?”

She clicked off the mute and forced enthusiasm into her voice. “Joss, that’s great. Really wonderful. Where are you going and when do you leave?”

“I’ve got a flight out in the morning to Scotland. But that’s not all I wanted to talk to you about.”

Shit. She knew it. He needed money. Joss always needed money.

Hey, Sis, I’m in New Jersey tracking El Chupacabra . Can I borrow a hundred bucks for raw meat?

I’m ghost-hunting in Montana. Can you wire me some money for batteries for my EVP?

Hey, Jenna, did you know you can accidentally electrocute yourself by falling into a river with your digital camera strapped to your head with duct tape?

“Joss, I don’t—”

“It’s not money,” he broke in immediately. “Actually this time, I’ve got a job for you. Just don’t say no until you’ve heard me out, okay?”

Since she’d only just started her fifteen-minute drive from the city of Reading, Pennsylvania, to her adorable little house in the suburbs of Spring Township, she figured what the hell.

Which immediately made her think of that song by Avril Lavigne.

She and ole Avril happened to be the same age, a ripe old twenty-seven. They both had brown hair and a previous predilection for bad boys who liked to skateboard. But that was where the similarities ended these days.

Avril was making a shitload of money while Jenna continued to work as a freelance accountant for small businesses, like Macy Williams, who made cakes in the shape of penises for bridal showers and Doug Millstock, who printed tabloids for such world-renowned groups as the Alternative Christians, People for the Kind Treatment of Llamas and the Association for the Growth of Brilliance.

Last week, Doug had dropped off a stack of “reading material” for her office.

Joss probably already had a subscription to the one on top. The Weekly News Journal had a double-issue expose about Bigfoot, complete with pictures.

She had to admit the story had put a smile on her face the entire day. The article had been witty and the pictures just blurry enough to be tantalizing.

She wondered how they’d—

“Wait one freaking minute, Joss.” While she’d been thinking, Joss had been talking and her brain had finally caught up. “You want me to do what ?”

“I want you to go to Tioga County and check out a bar for me. I think Bigfoot hangs out there.”

“I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me, Fry. It’s like I’m sick of sex with hot chicks. I don’t even want to pull out my fur coat and terrorize a few backwoods housewives. Dude, I must be dying.”

Anadi Lohani, known to everyone but his mother as Andy, knocked back his first shot of Jack and nodded to the bartender for another.

His best friend Fry rolled bright-green eyes and gave his blue-tinged wings a fluttery shake as he laughed. “The only thing you’re dying of, my friend, is boredom.”

Andy tipped the next shot of Jack down his throat, appreciating the burn and wishing he could actually get drunk. To do that, he’d need another two bottles because his metabolism was so high, it worked alcohol out of his system faster than moo shoo pork through a dog.

“Yeah, so what’s the cure, you smartass fae?”

Fry didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gave a little wave over his shoulder at the twin sylphs sitting in the booth across from the bar.

Andy followed Fry’s gaze and checked out the Irish water nymphs giving him and Fry matching smiles from beautiful mouths as they raised pale, thin hands to return Fry’s wave.

The women were gorgeous. Beautiful in the way only Fringe dwellers could be. They had that little something else that made them stand out in a crowd.

Even in the crowd here at the Mystyk Bar in Tioga County, Pennsylvania, where everyone was a Fringe dweller.

Hidden in a forgotten valley of the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon and known only to the Fringe, the Mystyk was a safe haven for people like Fry to be able to flap their wings in peace. For the Appalachian Mountain dwarves to cheat the Irish leprechaun out of his gold at their card game in the corner. And for the three Japanese tengu at the table by the door to giggle like schoolgirls as they stroked the scales of the Chinese dragon sitting on the floor next to them.

“The cure is sitting right over there at that table.” Fry gave the sylphs a devastating smile. “Or would you rather take a shot at the pretty lady in the corner?”

Yeah, the brown-skinned pixie was a beauty but he was afraid he might crush her.

Andy sighed and turned back to his drink. “You know what, Fry? I’m sick of meaningless one-night stands.”

Fry froze for a second before he blinked and his dark brows arched in crescents over his eyes. “Whoa, big guy. Now you’re starting to worry me. Maybe you better see the doctor. When the hell did you decide to become an adult?”

Andy gave Fry the finger though he didn’t bother to deny his friend’s accusation. Hell, just yesterday, he’d actually considered having a salad instead of fries with his burger because heart disease would really suck.

Of course, he had the fries because he wasn’t that far gone. Yet.

He couldn’t say the same for his cousin, Tim. Poor guy had probably bought life insurance and made an appointment to get his balls made into a purse for his girlfriend, Carrie.

“Oh, wait. I know what’s going on.” Fry’s smirk showed off his finely pointed incisors. “This is about Carrie.”

Shit, had he said that aloud? Or had Fry just read his mind?

No, Fry couldn’t know what he was thinking. He hadn’t told anyone about his foolish crush.

Not on Carrie. Well, not completely on Carrie. Sure, she was great, a redheaded Amazon built for loving. But Tim had seen her first and Andy didn’t poach.

Andy gave Fry his best “you’re an idiot” look.

“Oh, don’t even.” Fry snorted. “You’ve been moping since we saw them last week.”

Fucking Fry. Andy would give his wings a coat of pink glitter if he didn’t think Fry would rock the look like every teenage girl’s wet dream. Combined with the Scottish accent, the guy had women falling at his feet.

“I haven’t been moping, you fucked-up Tinkleberry. I’ve been thinking.”

About how miserably lonely he was and how Tim seemed to have beaten the blahs with the one woman he should’ve never fallen for.