Tuesday, May 26, 2009

This is from Amber's Fire. A paranormal YA. Amber is the teenage daughter (18) of Every Witch Way's Angelica Kane. In this snippet, Ian is the man trying to get through to Amber psychically. He is in the hospital. The 'person' in the dream is the demon from the previous teaser of Amber's Fire.

Ian thought he was dreaming again. He heard the brown-eyed beauty’s voice so clearly. He struggled to reach her, his mind tried to slough off the cobwebs that trapped him in the dark. The warmth of her hand in his caused his heart to flutter a bit faster. He wondered why it didn’t register on one of the many monitors in his room. The blips remained steady.
What was this room? Why was he in here?

Her fragrance was like spiced vanilla with a hint of citrus. Ian wanted so badly to wake from his slumber and explain to her what had happened. Over and over he dreamed of her, trying desperately to get her attention, somehow. He was drawn to her with no explanation other than he had to be with her. Plain and simple.
He was so tired; his battered body needed the healing sleep the medicines provided. Eventually he succumbed to slumber.

“It’s very noble of you to want to protect her, but she's mine.” The man who spoke to Ian was taller than he by at least four inches. That fact didn’t intimidate him.
“I don’t know who or what you are, but you’re not going to hurt her.”
“Why do you care?”
Ian knew he should have an answer, but he didn’t.
The man’s ebony eyes were flat as he stared at Ian. “Love? You don’t even know her.”
“Obviously there’s a reason otherwise why have I found her?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
Ian lashed out. “Well, I care. And I sense the fear you evoke and you feed off it.”
“Very astute. Still, she was promised to me a long time ago. She's weakening. She wants me and soon I’ll have her, forever. One way or another. There is nothing you can do about it. She’s my little virgin.”
Ian tried to strike out at the powerful man, but he was rendered motionless. “I will protect her.”
“Like you have in the past?”
“What do you mean?” Ian asked.
“Ah, you don’t even know. I’ll let you two find out. Together.”

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

This is the first draft--rough--rough--of my latest WIP. Louise, Rowan's friend, just arrived at Rowan's home and finds her in the massively overgrown garden. They are talking about the bittersweet vines. Louise has asked if Rowan is pulling them out.
Rowan squirmed out from behind the plants and stood watching as her friend struggled with something in her vehicle.
“No. I’m keeping it. Just trimming it once the berries come out.” She walked down the path toward the driveway. “What are you doing?”
“Come here. I need help.” Louise was cutting some rope with a small knife, which was attached to her keychain. “Meet Marcello. I thought he’d be perfect for your front yard, by the overgrown pond.”
Rowan helped slide Marcello, a six-foot resin statue, out of the back and stood him up on the ground.
“Wow, he’s great. I love him. Where did you find him?” Rowan asked as she walked around the statue.
“A yard sale. He’s a Roman god. Oh and there’s one more.” Louise went to the front and grabbed a snarling gargoyle.
“Louise, they’re great. Thanks. What do I owe you?”
Louise handed Rowan the smaller statue. “Nothing, it’s part of your housewarming presents.”
“You’re the best.” Rowan led the way to the inner portion of her front yard. They placed Marcello down by the eight-foot wide pond.
“Yeah, so you say.”
“You are. You run the hair salon, you’re a wife, a great friend and teacher.”
Louise smiled and Rowan noticed her chest puff out a bit. “Yes, but hubby manages the salon. Go on.”
Rowan continued with her accolades. “You’re an excellent High Priestess, which reminds me, are we meeting at your place tonight. I forgot.”
“Yup. To discuss Samhain.”
“Right, it’s only two days from now,” Rowan answered as she stared at Marcello. “I want to perform the ritual, if that’s okay. Invoking the spirits. After all, I’m a third year initiate.”
“Cool, one less thing for me to do. I checked your schedule and you’re booked from Thursday through Saturday this week. You’re a magician with those scissors. Rowan Scissorhands.”
Rowan eyed her best friend. “You priming me for something. An extra day at the salon?”
“No, I told you that you can take as much time as you need until you get settled here. Of course everyone at Magie misses you, but we’ll get along.”
“It could take years before I get settled here.”
Louise shook her head of platinum hair, styled in the trendiest bob, and sighed. “The inside is nearly done. It’s just the outside.” She waved her hand to encompass the view of the Muentseresque house.
“Yeah, just the outside.” Rowan laughed.
“Where are you going to put Marvin?”
“This little ugly gargoyle?”
“He’s got a name, too?”
“I just named him. He feels like a Marvin.”
“Just plop him on the top of the steps.”
Louise placed the smaller statue on the top step and whirled around. “Well, Ro, I gotta jet. I have a four o’clock. I’ll see you later.”
The two hugged. Rowan’s insides warmed upon initial contact with Louise. Her friend had that calming effect on her. Rowan remained in the garden, kneeled, and began to weed the area around Marcello.
Welcome to my home. She gazed up toward the sky and could have sworn she saw a smile play upon the statue’s lips. Crazy. All this Halloween stuff is getting to me.
At that moment Rowan’s cat, Bast, rubbed against her. “Shit.” Rowan jerked forward, and fell face first into the murky pond.

“That was disgusting,” Rowan said to her black cat as she sat in front of the roaring fire. “Don’t sneak up on me anymore. I think I actually swallowed some of that water. Gods only know what little creatures are brewing in there.” She gagged. “I think I’m going to puke.”
Her cat simply stared at her mistress. Rowan knew what Bast was thinking. I can’t help it of you’re a klutz.
Rowan was working on her incantation. It was a spell to help spirits cross into the light. She jotted down notes in her tattered leather-bound journal while waiting for her hair to dry and dinner to cook.
She lit her special Samhain incense to get the musty smell out of the living room and tossed a handful into the fire. She loved the fact that this house had a fireplace in the living room and her bedroom, which was right above her on the second floor.
“Spirits captured in the night, fear no more, I bring you light.
Loved ones wait to bring you home, go to them, no longer roam.
The veil between our worlds is thin, you’re new experience can now begin.” She paused. “So mote it be!”
The fire in the fireplace crackled, the flames leapt higher as she tossed another handful of incense. The scents of sandalwood, frankincense and myrrh filled the air. Normally she would love the compelling fragrance, but somehow mingling with her roasting chicken it lost its soothing nature.
She heard a crash from outside, and then a splash and a ribbet but paid no mind. There were a lot of noises coming from within and without of this old house on a daily basis. Rowan figured this was just another one. Perhaps it was the last croaking of the frog that lived in the muddy water.
She peeked out the window while heading into the kitchen. It was dark, too dark to see anything. The automatic timer on her lights clicked on and suddenly her windows glowed with amber and purple lights.
When she opened the oven and peeked inside, she realized dinner was not going to be ready in time so she shut the oven off and fed Bast. “Sorry, we’ll have some chicken later,” she informed her familiar. “I’m off to Lou’s house.” Closing the glass doors on the fireplace she breathed in deep the singular smell of the incense and let out a sigh.
She grabbed her big black bag and headed out the backdoor. “Later, Bast.”

Catching up with the Dark Crescent Coven members always gave Rowan a feeling of belonging. They were, in fact, her only family. The only family she connected to. Her mother and father moved to California ten years ago. Rowan was on the opposite coast in a little town on Long Island where she grew up.
She slammed her car door shut and headed to the safe haven of home. I really need to invest in some solar powered lights. The house was dark outside and looked especially creepy. Rowan loved it. It was like every haunted house she’d ever seen on Halloween decorations, including the nearly bare branches grasping up toward the night sky. Their skeletal fingers tried to pluck the few stars that peeked out between the clouds.
Home sweet home. She skipped up the steps, passing a pumpkin she’d purchased a week ago, not yet carved.
A brisk wind scattered dried leaves across her porch as she fumbled for her front door key. She cursed when she noticed her house key latched itself through wide opening of her car key. Damn. She shook the keys loose, finally able to unlock the door. The rusty hinges let out a mournful groan.
“Honey, I’m home,” she said to Bast.
“I’m up here, darling.” She heard a deep masculine voice answer.
She dropped her bag, grabbed her athame, and crept up the stairs.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Teaser: Every Witch Way but Dead

Like a restless spirit roaming the landscape, fog drifted in, abandoning the dark waters behind. A buoy moaned in the distance, shattering the silence. The first slice of the new moon dangled in the inky sky. It was a time for magickal conjuring.
The only light in his dank apartment came from black candles as they cast peculiar shadows upon a collage of photos tacked to the otherwise dreary walls. All were of a striking woman with sparkling peridot eyes. For a moment, the man in the darkness seductively traced the outline of her face with his finger.
I loved you, but you chose the wrong man.
Like Narcissus mesmerized by his reflection in a pool of water, he stared at the manic blue eyes in the mirror. A day’s worth of stubble obscured his lightly tanned skin. Sandy curls softened the hard lines of his face. Classically handsome, some would say.
Candlelight flickered and fitfully divided the shadows in his sparse dwelling. The night revealed nothing and only the sliver of the crescent moon peered down.
As the flame lit the remaining candle, his mind played over the last time he’d seen her. He cursed as the fire licked his finger, snapping his attention back to the present. In his tortured psyche, the burnt skin was her fault.
“Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I stab at thee as if a thorn. Suffer now! I will not wait. With this pin, I seal your fate. Pins so sharp you can’t abate. I strike at thee with utmost hate. Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I curse you now, your pain is born.”
In the center of his room lay a small doll. A lock of her blonde hair twisted around the miniature toy, bound with a thick black ribbon. He breathed in her essence. Thoughts of her consumed him. He picked up the poppet and stroked its face.
You will never find anyone who loves you as much as I do.
Tiny crystals of perspiration framed his angelic face and glimmered in the candlelight. Silver metal caught the flames as they danced. He lifted his ritual knife higher in the air and continued his chant.
“Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I stab at thee as if a thorn. With this pin, your fate is sealed. Your deepest fears are now revealed. Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I curse you now, your pain is born!”
He brought the knife down and sliced the palm of his hand. He made a fist and squeezed. Blood dripped from his clenched hand onto the doll, staining its hair and face, streaking down like tears from its dead eyes.
Tenderly, he massaged the blood over the silken plastic, felt himself stiffen — not yet, not yet — took a deep breath and focused once more on his bloody task.
Her face looked back at him, if only in his mind, as he stroked the knotted hair.
Oh, how I loved you.
An image of her plump, moist lips and slender neck filled his mind. His gaze trailed down to a full bosom that strained against the fabric of her lacy top. She reached out for him. She wanted him. He knew that much, but she could not admit it to herself. He set her down and ran his hands over her most intimate places.
You will be mine.
No longer was it a doll.
In his fantasy, the poppet was her.
The woman who’d captivated him, woven her spell around him and who’d left without a word. The mere thought of her sent him reeling. He had to take her. His lust commanded it.
“Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I stab at thee as if a thorn. Suffer now I will not wait. With this pin, I seal your fate. Pins so sharp you can’t abate. I strike at thee with utmost hate.” The crazed thoughts that plagued his tormented soul caused his hands to tremble while he pierced the doll with thick pins aimed straight at its heart.
He clenched his jaw with fierce emotion, swaying back and forth. He raised his arms upward continuing, “Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. I curse you now. Your pain is born! Smitten, battered, haunted, torn. My love for you has turned to scorn. All those around that you hold dear, will know no peace, but only fear!”
His muscular arm slashed the knife across the throat of the poppet. Desire carried his craving to overflowing as he and the spell reached their climax. He shuddered. The night wind blew through his windows, leaving him in isolation and darkness.

In the predawn light after a night of fitful sleep, I’d finally succumbed to quiet slumber. Upon awakening, I grabbed my dream journal and jotted the images and feelings that were still clear in my memory. This had become a ritual of mine since my teenage years, writing in a daytime diary and nighttime journal. This was my latest entry.
In the distance, a sharp wedge of silver glittered before me, piercing the shadows. Was it the moon?
I struggled to catch my breath, but the air was thick and fetid. Stranded in a murky fog, I groped for anything to keep from free-falling. I reached forward, but my hands lashed out at empty space.
My throat tightened. It was so cold. Where was I and why couldn’t I breathe? I plunged into the deluge of darkness. My mouth opened to scream, but there was only silence. Waves of fear rolled over me. I was dragged down by the undercurrents and into the void.
Flashes appeared from out of the abyss, popping like a frenzied photographer’s camera. A creamy white specter materialized before me then evaporated in a cloud of crimson blood. The edge of a blade wavered in the mist then retreated.
My eyes adjusted to the dark, but I saw nothing. Nevertheless, I sensed a presence. I worked my way into the deepest recesses of my unconscious, hoping to find a clue, a key that would unlock this mysterious scenario. There was only darkness and a cold chasm. I had lost my way.
The last notation bothered me most of all. This is not a nightmare and I cannot wake up…

Tuesday, May 05, 2009

Teaser from Devil's Angel. Scene when female MC meets the angels of the hierarchy. Nicholas is her protector.

When she stepped out of the shower stall, Nicholas was there. He stood lazily resting his hip against the countertop, watching her as she wrapped the towel around her slender body. He wanted to kiss those plump breasts before she tucked them away behind the cotton towel.
This sensation was odd for him; he wanted to make love to her. Before, the act of sex was more to unwind—a release—the feeling he was experiencing now was a…yearning. What a sap I am.

She smiled. His heart melted. “You’re back,” she said.
“Yeah. I had a meeting with my friend, Luc. We need to talk, Noelle.”

He noted her face lost all its color. Apparently, those words struck fear in everyone’s heart, angel and human alike. She nodded, grabbing a robe from the back of the door and swung it around her shoulders. She cinched it at the waist and headed back to the bedroom.

He kept walking. “In here, peanut.”

Lucifer stood as did Michael, Dex and Skyler, in the hotel room.
She stopped in her tracks as she stared at the enormous men in her room. All radiated an aura of power, yet kindness. Every one except the redhead.
Menace oozed from him; he looked like an ancient Celtic warrior. He stood, leaning against the arch between her bedroom and the living room area. Nicholas led her to what appeared to be a normal man. Normal except for the fact he wore a cowboy hat, silk shirt and leather pants.

“Noelle, this is Luc…Lucifer.”
The Devil extended his hand and removed his hat with the other. Noelle simply stared at him, her eyes unblinking. He retracted his hand. “I get that a lot. No biggie.” His irises shone like two obsidian orbs, intense.
Her hands trembled at her sides. “Y-you’re t-the L-Lucifer?” she sputtered. “You’re so…tan.”
He laughed good-naturedly. “What did you expect? Red skin and scales? I can do the whole horns and a pointed tail thing, but it’s clichĂ© and old. Am I right?”
“I-I suppose so. You’ve got a British accent, too?” She thought a moment. “Wait, I remember seeing you at the restaurant, right?”
“Yes. I was there,” Lucifer confirmed.
Nicholas jumped in. “He’s a good guy, love. Let’s make the intros first then I can try to explain.”
She nodded vigorously. “Yes, please do.”
“The mean-looking dude is Michael, the archangel.”
Michael grunted a greeting.
“The white-haired, freaky looking guy is Dex and that’s Skyler.”
“Freaky?” Dex balked.

Noelle took a step back, as if she wanted to put as much distance between herself and…them.
“Freaky, in a good way, bro,” Skyler added, patting his buddy reassuringly on the back.
“Easy for you to say, both your eyes are the same color,” Dex complained.
Nicholas took Noelle by the arm and led her shaking body over to a wing chair. “Relax. They don’t bite…Well, Michael, maybe Luc.” He watched the rest of the color drain from her face. “Kidding. I’m kidding.”

Not exactly. Nicholas knew as good as these angels were the majority were bad boys with wings. Their main priority was protecting humanity.
He gently nudged her down on the cushion. “It’s all right, eh?”
“My sincerest apologies. It’s obvious we’ve frightened you,” Lucifer said with a warm, comforting smile.
Noelle simply nodded.

“I’m sorry to say you’re in for a crash course on the behind the scenes running of the universe,” Michael said.
“Oh, is that all?” she said in a small voice.
Nicholas monitored her reactions. She’d stopped shaking, but she clutched at her robe with white knuckled tension.
“The Hierarchy of the Angelic Realms, or as we’re lovingly referred to, the Brotherhood of Light, is run by, as far as we’ve been told, the Almighty. A female Deity. Her counterpart is the demon Arcane, her brother.”

She held up her hand in a sweeping motion. “You’re telling me the one in charge of you…all… is a female Deity and she has a brother who’s a demon?”
“Exactly,” Michael said.
“You met him at the cafĂ© last night,” Nicholas explained. “The one who offered you a job.” His voice was flat.
“I thought when you said the Almighty, you meant…ya know. God,” she said to Nicholas.
He patted her back and began rubbing it in a circular motion. “Just listen,” he whispered.

“There’s a lot of chatter going on, but I won’t bore you with it right now,” Michael interjected.
“An angel with a demon brother,” she muttered.
Nicholas stepped up in front of Noelle. “She’s not taking the job. Tell her Mikey. It’s a ploy.”
“Noelle, you’re not taking the job,” Michael answered matter-of-fact.
“She’s not taking the job,” Nicholas repeated.
“I heard you the first time,” Noelle said in a huff.
“Nicholas. Let Noelle hear the rest.” Calm Lucifer spoke, soothing everyones frazzled nerves.