Work In Progress

Meet Carly Bright

Carly Bright
Human FBI Agent
Born: Sept. 9, 1984
Graduated: Summa Cum Laude
Quantico, Virginia
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Green
Sex: Occasionally
Fears: Commitments

(Unedited excerpt)

My throat was dry, not because I was scared. Nope, I was pissed. I swallowed hard and introduced myself to the same eight people who had known me for the past six weeks now.

“Bright. Carly Bright,” I said it with the same tenacity I had when first arriving at a new crime scene, but this lame ass group didn’t care. They all looked at me with the same expressionless faces I had come to expect.

I’m a WBPA agent. In plain English, that means that, I’m an investigator for the World’s Bureau of Paranormal Activity. I have an E security clearance. I know more than any president of any country does. I had trained with the most rigorous of mercenaries and learned how to perform minor battle surgery to save a fallen comrade, if needed. I had confronted the worst nightmares, and I’m not just talking about human nightmares, but the stuff that gave even the big bad nightmares - alone, and lived to tell about it.

I was a bad ass and yet, every damned Tuesday night, for the last six weeks, I sat in at this pathetic vampire awareness group whose motto was, Don’t get bit, know your vampires. Lame, I know. As if, anyone could tell a vampire just by first sight. I could, but I had been trained by the best. This group had no concept about what was really out there.

I was born into a very long line of witches, of which I really don’t care about. No, not my family, the whole witch thing. I’m twenty-three and haven’t even cracked open a spell book. My mother still threatens me that I will be the death of her. I’d heard it my entire life, whenever I refused to learn anything about our abilities. Her threats didn’t quite faze me the way they used to, but I thought she might have been on to something when I told her I’d joined the WBPA. She survived and that’s the only reason I’m here- my family.

At five foot six, one hundred and thirty five pounds, okay forty-two pounds, of pure muscle, I could easily overpower anyone of them, but they aren’t the type to get their hands dirty or Goddess forbid, get up close and violently physical with anyone. No, they preferred to throw their little witch spells around from a safe distance. Of which, I was helpless against. I am so different from my family that I actually believed I was the milk mans daughter, or I was adopted, or even better, switched at birth. I tried to talk to her about it, but she only had one thing to say. Yup. I’ll be the death of her, yet. So that’s where the conversation started and ended.