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Necromance by Armand Rosamilia

 

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Necromance

by Armand Rosamilia

Genre: Supernatural Horror

My name is Cheri Rose Thorne. 

I spend my life hunting Vamps and Fiends and killing them, but my main goal has always been to destroy my evil father while keeping my sisters at bay.

Sex, drugs and rock and roll keep me going. Oh, and killing things.

This supernatural horror thriller will keep you turning the pages. I promise.

Goodreads * Amazon

 

Armand Rosamilia is a New Jersey boy currently living in sunny Florida, where he writes when he’s not sleeping. He’s happily married to a woman who helps his career and is supportive, which is all he ever wanted in life… 

He’s written over 150 stories that are currently available, including horror, zombies, contemporary fiction, thrillers and more. His goal is to write a good story and not worry about genre labels. 

He not only runs two successful podcasts…

Arm Cast: Dead Sexy Horror Podcast – interviewing fellow authors as well as filmmakers, musicians, etc. 

The Mando Method Podcast with co-host Chuck Buda – talking about writing and publishing.

But he owns the network they’re on, too! Project Entertainment Network.

He also loves to talk in third person… because he’s really that cool.

Website * Facebook * Facebook Fan Page * Twitter * Amazon * Goodreads

 

Necromance: Picking The Settings

I’m a firm believer that locations in stories are vitally important. Where the characters interact is as important as how they interact.

In Necromance, my supernatural thriller novel, the main character Cheri Rose Thorne spends a lot of time traveling between stories.

One chapter she might be sitting in a diner in Newark New Jersey enjoying a pork roll, egg and cheese sandwich. If you don’t know what that is you need to get your butt to NJ and order one now.

Cheri spends a lot of time in Florida in the Jacksonville area. In and out of clubs, bars and hospitals.

It’s no coincidence I chose these two settings for the story since I was born in New Jersey. Actually in Newark. I currently live in… yep, you guessed it… Jacksonville Florida.

But it’s more than just namedropping cities and places. It’s about the particular feel of the area, whether you’re writing about the city or the area or the street or the single building focused on. I’m not a huge fan of describing every bar a character walks in. Three pages of description takes a reader out of the story but a simple line or two lets them know if it’s a ritzy place or a dive bar.

Two characters sitting in a boring restaurant chatting about their past is, well, boring. Add in the element of it being a known Mob hangout or an easy place to score drugs, which one of the characters is addicted to. Suddenly the boring conversation about their past isn’t what is pushing the scene. The sickly waiter who keeps eyeing the kitchen door like he’s waiting for backup or the bartender who looks too familiar… it’s the setting of the place that drives the scene at times.

Don’t get me wrong, a good straight plot and strong main characters are still the focus. But that added flavor is what counts. I’ve had over 150 stories and novels published in my career. I’ve had the luxury of having traveled quite a bit in my life and been to some far-off parts of this country. I’m also a people-watcher.

My wife and I love being out in a restaurant or at a baseball game and paying more attention to the people around us than the food or the game. As a writer I’m always writing and I make up stories about these people. Quite a few of them end up in a story, too.

I also notice the setting I’m in, too. I’ve been in my fair share of sketchy bars in SoHo or the Bowery, the bowels of Atlanta and in unmarked buildings in Chicago where you have to know the night’s password to get inside to see the band.

I’ve also been in some rather nice places, but they’re usually not much for storytelling. At least, not in my case.

Give me a strip club in Brooklyn that also launders money out the back door or a flophouse in Queens crooked cops pay informants to stay at so they can be found.

The characters and the plot is what drives the story but the setting is was keeps some readers wanting more.

 

Necromance:
Bad Omen

I knew why I’d been drawn here the moment I saw him across the dance floor, his eyes trying to keep pace with the sweaty women surrounding him. I hoped he wouldn’t know who or what I was until it was too late.

My name is Cheri Rose Thorne, and that is my real name. Long story short: my father is a necromancer and my mother was a stripper. Combine the magic and the body and you get moi.

I’d only been in Florida for twelve hours before I sensed him. They can’t help it or even know they’re doing it. Unfortunately, I can’t stop myself from getting what I call ‘The Itch’; it starts behind my ears and runs up into my head and down my spine, as if I had stepped in a field of poison ivy, and the closer they are the more intense it becomes. The good thing is I always know I’m close because it suddenly stops and calm washes over me and then it’s just a matter of time to figure out who it is and how close I am.

This guy would have been easy to spot, even if I didn’t have senses; he was dressed like he was an extra in Scarface, with slicked-back hair and sun-kissed skin. His eyes were the real giveaway, the color of the ocean a hundred feet from the club and darting furiously around him for his next victim. He was tall and built and, despite his tired wardrobe of beige suit with matching Capezio shoes and white tie, he was good-looking.

Yeah, he was hot and he knew it. Most of the time these guys are average at best, but they use their powers to deceive women into thinking they are amazing. This one wasn’t using anything but his natural charm on the dance floor and that made him dangerous. Who knew what trick he had up his sleeve? It didn’t matter to me. Good-looking or not, I had to take care of him.

The fact that this one was hot was just a perk of the job, because, before it was all over, I’d probably sleep with him. I knew it and he was about to know it.

I took my time getting near him, preferring to lazily circle around him, ignoring the men who offered to buy me drinks or wanted to chit-chat while staring at my nice and natural boobs. I knew I was dressed to kill and that sometimes becomes a distraction. I remember this one time in Baltimore… well, that’s a story for another time.

I moved from the bar to his left to the one directly behind him, casually watching him the entire time out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t know how long he’d been here and if he’d chosen someone yet. I didn’t want to turn around, after ordering a Jaeger-Bomb, and find out he’d left in a hurry.

“Hi, can I buy you a drink,” some random jerk asks me, blocking my view.

I looked him over quickly and then pushed him to my left. “I’m a lesbian.”

“Cool.” That seemed to get him even more excited.

I looked him in the eye. At six foot, I’m a tall drink of water and this guy was at least three inches shorter than me. I looked down into his eyes, I should say. “I’m not interested. Please go away.”

“One drink won’t hurt,” he smiled hopefully.

“Last chance to get lost,” I sneered. I don’t like to be mean and don’t like to draw attention to myself, but that’s exactly what I’d done. I moved away from him but it was already too late. My mark had seen me and was staring as I went to the bar and ordered that Jaeger-Bomb.

“My name is Michael.”

I looked to my side to see that the jerk trying to buy me a drink was still there. Just my luck, I can’t shake this idiot. “What part of get lost are you not getting?”

He actually laughed at that. “I get it. You’re a tough chick who dresses provocatively and gets off on shooting guys down. I’m cool with that. I’m guessing your mother never hugged you?”

“What?” I had to ask. This jerk was asking for a beating.

“Women fall into two categories for me, those that hate their mother and take great pride in shooting guys down, and those that hate their father and take great pride in finding jerks to sabotage any relationship they have. I’m thinking you’re the former?”

“I’m thinking you’re a douche-bag.” I grabbed his junk and squeezed, smiling as his eyes bulged and he strained to get away from me. “Last warning and I am not kidding.”

“All you had to say was no thank you,” he managed in a whisper.

I released his paltry manhood and grinned. “No, thank you.”

He tried not to rub himself or cry, which I respected, as he walked quickly away toward the bathrooms.

I turned and, sure enough, my target was gone. The group of women dancing around him had dispersed and a new group was shaking it to a lame techno beat.
Two minutes later and I was outside and scanning the streets. In the movies, this would be the cue for his car to peel out in front of me and speed down the block; instead there was a line of people waiting to get in and another crowd across the street at a strip club.

I didn’t think he’d had that much of a head start on me so I walked across the street, past the line of drooling men so I could see if he’d been lame enough to try to get in like a commoner. When I was satisfied he wasn’t waiting around at the back and hadn’t cut the line, I went right up to the bouncer at the door.

“There’s a line,” he said with a smirk on his face. He was taller than I was – even with my five-inch heeled boots – and had to be pushing a solid two hundred fifty pounds. Shaved head, big brown eyes, he looked to be Hispanic. He was damn hot.

“That line,” I asked and grinned. “That line isn’t for me.”

“Oh, then you’re a dancer. The strippers use the back entrance in the alley.”

I laughed. He was clearly amused and having fun with me now. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Look no further,” he said and put his hands up. “I’ve been standing right here all along.”

“Maybe later.”

“Just a maybe,” he asked and winked.

“Did you just let some dude cut the line and go inside,” I asked. I described who I was looking for, trying to act like I was interested in this good-looking guy without sounding like I was stalking him.

“Yeah, maybe,” the bouncer said and grinned.

“How about you let me in then when I’m done finding who I’m looking for I give you a definitely?”

“I don’t believe a word of that, but I’m a sucker for a pretty lady.” He moved out of the way. When the two dummies in line started to protest, he shot them a menacing look. “I’m Dwayne, by the way.”

“Cheri.” I blew him a kiss and went inside.

I don’t think I need to describe the place, do I? It was packed with horny guys and gorgeous women making money hand over fist. I smiled at a shot-girl as she walked past and caught her eye. Yes, I play for both teams.

I began weaving in and out of the crowd but didn’t see him right away. Of course, even being in a strip club, I was still the center of attention for plenty of men and quite a few of the women. I stared back, smiled, and sauntered to the bar.
With men competing to buy me drinks, I tried to stay focused. I still felt his presence so I knew he was here, in this room, somewhere, but where?

A sleek dancer came off the stage wearing a hot pink thong, on her delicious ass, and matching bra. She glanced at me before taking a seat next to me and turning her back so that I had a great view of her butt.

I scanned the crowd again but there were too many bodies crushed into too small a place. A tune from Godsmack was blasting over the PA, much better than the techno garbage across the street. “Great song,” I yelled to no one in particular, seeing if I could strike up a conversation with someone while I continued my search.

There was a dancer seated at the bar a few inches from me and I couldn’t help but check out her ass.

The dancer turned slightly in her chair and stared at me with such a sexy look that I nearly blushed. “I usually dance to this song. It has such a driving beat to it.”

“Excellent choice.” She was part Asian and her long, flowing black hair fanned across a single rose tattoo on her left shoulder. “I like your rose.” I traced it with my fingertip and smiled when she shuddered. “My middle name is Rose.”

“My stage name is Rose. Small world,” she said and put her thin fingers on my hand.

I knew she was bullshitting, but I didn’t care. What really mattered to me, all that mattered, was getting to know her… but first I had a job to do.

“Are you with someone,” she asked, looking me over. I looked hot, if I do say so myself. My curly red hair flew past my bare shoulders. My black top was skin-tight and accentuated the aforementioned boobs. My black leather boots came up just under my kneecaps and fishnet stockings disappeared under my black micro-mini skirt.

Some people call my look ‘Goth’ but I call it ‘Heavy Metal Hot’. I don’t go wild with my makeup but I love to accentuate my eyes with lashings of black mascara and a gloss of crimson lipstick on my full lips.

“I’m here with someone, but he seems to have wandered off.”

“He might be in the V.I.P. rooms,” she said and pointed.

“Maybe.” I looked around for him again and tried to focus, but she was beautiful and distracting. I’m generally not into Asian women, especially skinny ones, but there was something sexy about her.

“Shall we go back there and have a look,” she asked and stood, still holding my hand. She was maybe five foot six, even in heels, and she looked so delicate, yet, when she grinned at me and then dropped her gaze to my chest, I knew she was anything but.

She led me through the crowd. I tried to look at as many faces as I could but still no dice. Then she waved away the bouncer standing guard at the VIP area, pushing past him and leading me behind a purple curtain.

“Sit,” she said. I plopped onto a velvet couch covered in small throw pillows and leaned back.

“I really should find my friend,” I said but, when a classic song by Motley Crue played, I decided he could wait. He wouldn’t get far without me sensing him leaving and, besides, that’s when she started to dance for me, slowly gyrating her hips and never breaking eye contact.

I opened my legs slowly as she watched, revealing my own thong, black, of course. She leaned forward, kissed my cheek softly and lingered there. I stared into her eyes and didn’t flinch when her hand feathered against my breast.

I put my hand on the small of her back. She closed her eyes, leaned forward, and softly kissed my lips. I guided her down onto my lap as she wrapped her legs around me. Pushing her chest against mine, she reached up and ran her fingers through my hair. I responded by reaching down and squeezing her tight ass with both hands. She moaned and pushed against me.

She kissed me again, and then I hugged her and nipped at her ear. “I want to touch you,” I whispered. I could feel her shiver. I took that as a yes, and moved one hand from her ass to the front. She sat up slightly and I slipped inside her thong in one easy move.

The curtain parted a moment later and a very confused, very surprised, male entered. It was my mark, and I could see the excitement growing in his beige pants.

“Join us,” she moaned to him.

I didn’t say a word; I continued to enjoy myself as she continued to play with me without missing a beat and, although I never wavered in my touch, I was enthralled by him.

This was very dangerous ground, but I didn’t care. I’d gotten out of harder positions than this. Yes, pun intended.

He didn’t speak; he simply took his time stripping out of his suit while watching us.

She pulled her hand away from me and motioned for him to sit between us, but instead he knelt before me and glanced at her. She took that as her cue, and slid her hands under my ass and pulled off my thong.

He kept eye contact with me even when she began to kiss his chest and shoulders.
I’d been in a few threesomes in my life but this guy was dangerous, even distracted with two beautiful women wrapped around him.

I slipped off to the side of the couch and let the two of them go at it. I needed a moment and needed to focus on what needed to be done.

She stood next to us and put her hands on his arm, smiling. I wondered if he had anything left in him to pleasure her. I almost felt bad but I was feeling so good right now that I didn’t care.

The sudden change in her expression put me back on guard. She stiffened her hands on his body, keeping him in place before me with my legs still draped over him.

When the curtain parted and someone stepped inside, I knew I’d been tricked. The jerk from the bar, Michael, who wanted to buy me a drink and wouldn’t go away, stepped in, his hands glowing orange.

I pulled the guy, who I thought was the mark, closer with my legs and slid two concealed blades from my boots.

“You should’ve let me buy you a drink,” the real mark said. He was now cocky, unlike the jerk he’d acted like at the bar. He’d suckered me in by acting like a loser to get me to drop my guard. I had. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again, and I was done chatting. I opened my mouth to respond and he smiled.

Before Michael could dodge I’d planted both knives in his chest. He fell back and pulled the curtain down as he collapsed in a heap.

I unceremoniously pushed the spent guy away from me, gave the stripper a withering stare, which told her not to move, and stepped quickly to the prone man on the downed curtain.

I slid the blades, bloody, from his chest and tossed them aside.

His hands began to glow again. “I knew what you were the second you entered the club.” He glanced behind me as he stood. “It was easy to fool you into thinking that he was the one you were looking for.”

“And easy to lure him here, where you hoped I’d be in a compromising position to keep me busy. You should have shown up sooner, because I was already done.”
He laughed at that and raised his pulsing, glowing hands. He’s what we call a Fiend, and a fairly advanced one.

He also wasn’t a match for me or my speed. I knew the two blades wouldn’t affect him but I’d wanted to give myself some room.

Right before he decided to blast me, I dropped to the floor and yanked another, slimmer blade from my boot. This weapon, blessed eons ago, passed down from necromancer to necromancer and given to me by my father, had always served me well.

The blade pulsed in my hand and shot forth of its own volition, impaling him in the throat. I watched as his look went from triumph to shock and then pain. He dropped to the floor, but this time I knew it was over, his hands extinguished.
I turned back to the stripper and the guy and smiled. “Help me get rid of the body and I’ll pay for the hotel room.” I turned to her. “Do a good job and I’ll let you play extra hard.”

She smiled. “I fully intend to.”

 

 

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