As this is in General Fiction, I will supply you all with some much needed info. I figure it might draw in more readers and get people who wouldn't like this at all to move along (no need to waste your time!).
Genre(s): Paranormal fiction, YA, and comedy (there is a wedding near the end).
Age of the main character: 21-ish.
What would be on the inside front flap of this literary work (if it were written by me and no one would allow that): Angela Kent would like to claim to be Pretty Normal. Being Pretty Normal sounds fun. It's like--Pretty Normal Pretty Boy grows wings out his back and everyone is accepting and awesome and he becomes the new Superman because he's not only super but he's also half-bird, so that one weird guy who yelled out, "It's a bird!" is also right, which makes the public happier. Unfortunately, Angela is probably not Pretty Normal as no one particularly likes her--enthusiasm--and no one is falling at her feet wanting to become her Eternal Romantic Partner. Otherwise, she's a New York-raised girl with family issues up the wazoo (for example: she's pretty sure only her and her brother Jeffrey have the same father--and she has two other sisters, excluding the two step-siblings). She is neither Girl Next Door Pretty or Megan Fox Hot. Actually, some call her 'butch' (they do not realize she has excellent hearing). Oh, yeah--otherwise, one of those half-sisters is getting married. So, she brings her side-kick Jae along as her fake-date. Side-kick? Yeah, side-kick. He helps her kill monsters. Just FYI. Oh, and by her real-brother's house, near where the rest of her family lives and the wedding is going to be? Yeah, there's something ripping out the hearts of young men while they're still alive. Spirits carrying the infectious disease known as 'bad luck'--they travel in frickin' packs. She sincerely hopes no one in the wedding party gets eaten. That could cause problems and then her secret identity would be discovered and then everyone would know she wasn't a fail-child-waitress. It would most certainly cause the apocalypse.
EDIT: Thanks to a lot of fawesome reviews by the people below and one IRL peep, I have made some revisions. You can see the revised product here.
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CHAPTER ONE
Angela looked at the papers laid before her, a horrifying spread. She sipped at the black coffee in her favorite mug--a stout think with reds and blues, an old fighter jet on it--as she glanced over. She didn’t feel much anymore when it came to stuff like this. The pictures of the two boys’ chests, delicately ripped open, just got a quick skim, enough to alert her their hearts were gone. She was just glad the shots didn’t show their heads. She didn’t mind the gore when it looked so fake, but seeing staring eyes--maybe blue like her own--would have been disturbing.
Her eyes flicked then to the newspaper stories, words in bold, dark ink popping out at her, exclamation points here and there. The names were easily remembered, same as any, and a picture of the two boys, arms slung around each other, stood in grainy black and white at the corner of one. One had a mop of light-colored, maybe caramel-colored, hair, it flipped at the tips. He seemed stoic. The boy with similar light hair, his razored short, smiled at the camera, dimples showing. Pretty boys, maybe around thirteen. She let her coffee mug’s bottom hit the wobbly table, teeth grinding.
Who would do something like that?
She sighed, gathering herself.
No. That was the wrong question. What would do something like that was the right question. She flipped some of the papers to the other side of the 70s fake wood table’s surface and the sharper, feral images came through--pictures of wolves, wolf-men, and muscled, hairy guys that some Internet people thought passed as werewolves.
She’d seen this before. She’d killed a person who’d done this before. No, not a person--a monster. A cold-blooded monster. If he’d been in human form and shown what he’d done, he might have even pleaded for her to kill him, though. They tended to--once they realized what sort of beasts they’d become.
Other times they just tried to bite her head off. The giant grizzle-colored wolf had done about that. He’d gone for her jugular, but still.
She put her hands on the table, palms down, her leather cuffs’ studs clinking against the faux-wood.
Werewolves. They were portrayed so often in movies, the misunderstood lover, the monster in the night, sometimes a nurse with a curse even. They never really showed them in their full glory, their full horror--manic slaughterers with an affinity for organs like livers, or hearts. Beasts with no control, a madness like rabies in their blood they could spread and spread.
It was just lucky there were exterminators like her that were there to end them.
However, with all the fluff romance novels floating around starring them, she had to wonder if she’d be in the gallows if what she did ever went public.
She checked her watch.
Still too hours until her meeting with Jae.
She shook her head, giving the pictures one last look. The shoe fit--two boys murdered in their home, hearts taken by those human-canine organ-snatchers.
Yet, having gone through the stories, some stuff didn’t fit. The fact that the house hadn’t been broken into; the alarm had still been set. The fact there were no footprints.
Of course, she’d seen that before. One of the family, maybe. Maybe the father, or even mother--an infected that killed their own son and the friend he’d had over, right there beside their sleepover guests while they slept.
Things like that didn’t deserve to live.
She looked for a long moment at the only picture of the family she had--a smiling, brown-and-gray-haired father, a plump blond woman tucked under his arm wearing a black turtleneck, and two children--the short-haired boy and a younger girl with ratty blond hair she knew was the Irish Twin of the boy.
She bit into her lower lip and her chin fell onto the soft skin of her wrist. The photo became minutely clearer--its green and black-and-blue trampoline background popping more into focus.
It made her wonder why horrible things happened to people like that rather than people like her. Of course, she knew how to fight them off, but in the general no-one-cares way. The only person who really kept tabs on her was one of her neighbors. Her family might feel the general effect, but she’d been alone for a while now. Maybe her brother Jeffrey would be upset. She could hope.
No one lasted long in her profession, after all. But she had to do it because who else would?
She shuffled the papers and put them in her computer bag before turning to her laptop, something shut and humming softly. She opened it and looked at the first page--her email where her half-sister Michele had sent her a picture of her wedding gown.
That wedding gown was the reason she got this case, why she’d honed in on it--and thank all good and holy for that.
She might have never known that her sort-of-sister’s wedding was sixteen blocks from a murder investigations. Strange for the uppity neighborhood that whole side of her family lived in.
She wondered what would happen when the police force turned up nada.
***
Angela tapped her foot--a steady tattoo against the bar under the pub table. This place was a dung-heap. Smoke in the air, walls yellowed from nicotine. A bartender in a wife-beater (tank top--guys, call a spade a spade) with some wonky, hopeless buzzcut that kept leering at any women who, well, looked like the average midlife-crisis teenybopper--all rhinestones and glitter and mini-skirts. Creep.
Then there was Jae, leaning up against one of the walls. He was shoved between a dartboard and a television with a grainy horse race going on. Many men, near a dozen, crowded around that television, them mostly sweaty, fat, balding, plus yelling and freaking out over losses. Then there were three guys--two muscled with tattoos and a lanky, dark-haired kid. The kid was winning. She had to wonder how that’d go. The skinheads probably wouldn’t be too happy.
But that was none of her business. Jae was her business. She looked him over as he watched one of the horses on the television fall; probably to be put to sleep later. Jae was a tall guy, all legs and arms. He took up too much space and he caught attention, even though he always dressed like some broke-down divorcee. Sweats or worn-out jeans, ratty sweatshirts, and old band shirts that had seen better days. Maybe it was the dishwater blond spiked hair held up by sweat alone that seemed to change colors depending on the day and the brilliant emerald eyes that kept checking everyone out. Everyone but her. He knew where she was, that she wasn’t a threat.
Angela watched as one of the teenyboppers moved closer, wobbling on what would appear to be six-inch heels. She wondered what was up with that. The lady had apparently never heard of sewer grates or the idea of running, or maybe she had but didn’t care. It would be nice not to care.
She noted the gold-and-purple eyeshadow, the shine of fake diamonds on a bracelet, the fake tan--totally out of place in this bad-land northern offshoot of the city. Okay. Maybe this woman was forced to care, only she wanted attention, while Angela was well-aware the shadows were the safest place for her.
Speaking of, that woman even in so-called dangerous clothes was probably better off--less likely to be attacked, killed. She probably had daddy issues and no boyfriend; even better chances of safety. Yet, everyone would assume this girl, the girl stalking towards Jae--who’d never give her the attention he’d give a fly, poor girl--was more likely to end up in trouble than the mousy-haired, sweater-and-dark trouser-jeans-wearing girl in the back.
The public perception was funny.
“George!” Angela called finally, using the specified name.
Jae turned his head slowly to her, cat-like annoyance gracing his features. She wasn’t sure what he had to be annoyed about--this was a job that needed doing and the only way for that to happen was for them to have a conversation. Sure, they hated each others guts but they worked best together. He reminded her of the Beagle puppy she had as a kid, to use another animal reference--total love/hate relationship--but she’d need his talents same as she’d need her own. So she got to watch as lean Jae Stoddard walked towards her, slipping around the razzle-dazzle teenybopper and heading straight for her.
The girl gave her a shocked look and Angela had to think it again. Poor girl.
***
“I thought we’d agreed coffee shops were more my thing,” Angela said, mentally thinking of a nice cup of black coffee--light brown bubble rings and a pink pack of fake-sugar about to be dumped in, held above the cup by roughly an inch and three-quarters. Coffee would be so lovely.
“I hate coffee-people,” Jae responded, staring pointedly.
“Play nice,” she muttered, looking around. “Arguments get noticed and your friend might try to make a move if she thinks we’re not totally in love .”
Jae’s jaw twitched.
She had the feeling he didn’t like that idea.
“So, anyway, you got any information for me?” she asked, even as she pasted a nice smile and dug a pen out of her pocket. There was a nice heap of napkins, though, on the middle of the table. She could use them; write down what she needed to. Luckily, she had a rather good memory so there wouldn’t be too much evidence to get rid of eventually. There was a reason this worked for her.
Jae let out a breath and leaned forward. His chair rocked forward, too--and its seat squeaked. She tried not to wince. “Not particularly.”
“George,” she said.
He rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to use code names with me when I’m right here,” he said. “Plus, everyone’s too frickin’ drunk to even recall if I was here or not. I think even the friggin’ bouncer is drunk off his nut. I mean, he let me in.” He smiled devilishly. “I look like obvious trouble.”
“And like a sixteen-year-old,” Angela supplied helpfully. He had a face of all sharp angles, a straight-edge nose, and a more-or-less permanent five o’clock shadow--but no one ever guessed he’d hit his twenty-first birthday a while back. Well, unless he was in costume.
Her mind went back to that dream of a perfect cup of coffee. There had to be some place around here. No. She pinched the bridge of her nose. She had to keep at Jae, even if she wished she could just abandon him here and never drive to this bald-dog-ugly part of town ever again. “Jae, two kids are dead. We have to do something.”
“Like what? Find some creep who’d break into a slumber party on a slash-happy murder spree? That’s not our job, Angelica.”
“Angela. An-gel-a.”
“Whatever. You look like a friggin’ Angelica.” Jae smirked.
She looked skyward, only to notice dead bugs stuck in the lighting. How was this place still open?
“Also, I thought we were using code names,” Jae prompted.
“Mine was Martie.”
“You look nothing like a--”
That was it. She slammed her hand onto the table, a slap that couldn’t quite be heard over the Samoan rap blasting from the speakers. She leaned forward until those green cat eyes of his were blurred. “Serial killers do not manage to take a heart out of someone without killing them first,” she hissed. “This is our job because our job is to deal with weird shiz. Also, my sister-in-law and my brother live on that block. She’s scared, George, and so help me if you don’t--”
“Fine,” Jae snapped, and he pushed her back, right into her seat. She’d get him for that later. She wasn’t manhandled. “I’ll go to freakin’ Hickville, Alabama with you and help you Google things because you think you can’t even manage to do that.”
“You’re a better actor. What if we need files, or have to talk to--”
“Whatever. I’m getting a beer now. You pay for it.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m doing you a huge favor here. I haven’t been south of D.C. in years, Martie.”
“So you have been to the south,” she said with just a bit of zeal.
Jae didn’t look pleased by that statement. His eyes narrowed to slits. She tried to reign in her laughter. In some circles, it might be considered rude, since he was supposedly doing her a favor; but she’d saved his life sixteen times and counting. He owed her.
“Yes,” Jae said through clenched teeth.
“Explains that accent.”
“I have no accent.”
“River in Egypt much?”
“No one says that anymore.”
“You’re just upset because I’m a born and bred Yankee.”
He took on a look of confusion. “But your family--”
“I was born in New York. Then my mother left my father and fled back home--leaving me, but taking my three other siblings.”
Jae cleared his throat. “Oh.”
“Yep.” She paused. “After I get you a beer, can we walk to a coffee shop?”
///
If anyone's interested in seeing the original version, here it is:
Spoiler! :
You're also really good at dialoguing and making it sound real. The only thing I'd be careful of is to note that when your characters are angry, they might speak differently than when they're calm. Anyways, I really liked your introduction and beginning to the novel. /DEFINITELY INTERESTED/ 
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