The Twelve Days of An Urban Fantasy Heroine

from Jaye Wells, author of Red-Headed Stepchild (I particularly like the last verse)

On the first day of my UF novel, my author gave to me a demon in my pantry.

On the second day of my UF novel, my author gave to me, two love interests–and a demon in my pantry.

On the third day of my UF novel, my author gave to me, three bullet wounds–two love interests and a demon in my pantry.

On the fourth day of my UF novel, my author gave to me four mauling hellhounds–three bullet wounds, two love interests, and a demon in my pantry.

On the fifth day of the story, my author gave to me five broken ribs–four mauling hellhounds, three bullet wounds, two love interests and a demon in my pantry.

On the sixth day of the story, that author gave to me six zombies a-shambling–five broken ribs, four mauling hell hounds, three bullet wounds, two love interests and a demon in my pantry.

On the seventh day of the effing story, what’s-her-name gave to me only seven bullets left–six zombies a-shambling, five broken ribs, four mauling hell hounds, three bullet wounds, two love interests and a demon in my pantry.

On the eighth day of the story that won’t end, my next victim (yes, you with the laptop) gave to me, eight mages a-hexing–seven bullets left, six zombies a-shambling, five broken ribs, four mauling hell hounds, three bullet wounds, two love interests and a demon in my pantry.

On the ninth day of perdition, that effing author gave to me, nine vampires exsanguinating–eight mages a-hexing, seven bullets left, six zombies a-shambling, five broken ribs, four mauling hell hounds, three bullet wounds, two bloody fangs and a demon in my pantry.

On the tenth day of this nightmare, that sadist gave to me ten werewolves attacking–nine vampires exsanguinating, eight mages a-hexing, seven bullets left, six zombies a-shambling, five broken ribs, four mauling hell hounds, three bullet wounds, two love interests and a demon in my pantry.

On the eleventh day of hell, the spiteful bitch gave to me, eleven ninja assassins assassining–ten werewolves attacking, nine vampires exsanguinating, eight mages a-hexing, seven bullets left, six zombies a-shambling, five broken ribs, four mauling hell hounds, three bullet wounds, two love interests and a demon in my pantry.

On the twelfth day of torture, the Satanic wordsmith gave to me, twelve minutes till apocalypse–eleven dead assassins, ten whooped werewolves, nine staked vampires, eight mages bleeding, crap I’m out of bullets, six brained zombies, damn it my ribs hurt, four neutered hell hounds, three festering bullet wounds, two hot guys (one of them’s a traitor), that demon drank all my beer, and–kill me now– the promise of a sequel.

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