That about sums it up. When life hands you lemons you make lemonade, right? What about when it clobbers you with lemon-sized hail?

I'm sure some wise-guy will say, "melt it down and you've got water". Yeah--water and a concussion or three. So here I am trying to dodge the hail, and afraid to stand under a tree for cover. With my luck lately, lightning would be the next force of nature to strike.

July was supposed to be MY month. Finances were going to improve and that elusive agent was going to make themselves known to me. Instead, finances took a nosedive and all I've heard from agents is how the economy sucks and they're not taking on many new clients.

My supposed "new job" is not working out as planned--surprise, surprise. In fact it's not working at all--or rather I'm not. Turns out I'm losing money--in gas and such. You see, I only get paid if I have a client. The business is new, so there are no existing clients.

And if that's not bad enough, my muse has abandoned me. This is the most writing I've done in a month.

Good-bye, July. August, be kind.

Thank heaven June is over. The only good things about it: I went to Salem, MA., though technically I left for Salem in May. The second thing is my son came back from FL. Yay!

I'm grateful the weather held up while in Salem, but once I returned home it was rain, rain and more rain. I had too many cancellations in my "pay the bills" job, which has made paying the bills challenging. And, all the deaths in June.

So welcome, July. I hope you bring a lot more good things than June, but uhm, it's cloudy and crappy out. Just sayin'.

From my WIP The Hanging Tree. In this snippet the MC, Angelica, is experiencing a dream of a past life. This ties into a journal her daughter was given. In it is the writings of a woman who lived in a local Manor built in the late 1600's.

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I wasn’t particularly tired. I grabbed the journal to read a few more entries. Drifting off to sleep, I heard a voice.

“Who are you?” A redheaded woman asked. I assumed she was speaking to me.
“My name’s Angelica.”

I found myself in what seemed like a kitchen or dining room with a large hearth at its center. The woman was grinding herbs with a mortal and pestle.

“You’re not going to tell are you?” she asked.
“Tell? Tell who and what?” I looked around and saw in the reflection of a glass cabinet that my long hair was twisted up in a bun. It’s usual tawny color was brown, and I wore a woolen dress that reached the floor. The fabric irritated my skin. I held a long cloak in my left hand. The young woman wore almost an identical garment, but the fabric looked finer.

“I have to get these herbs ready, the lass down the road is going to have her baby any day. Are you the woman Abby told me about from the neighboring village?”
“I…uh…yes. Abby sent me. Jenny is going to have her baby?” I placed the coat down on a chair and walked toward the fire to warm up. My hands and feet were cold and I noticed melting snow on the floor near the front door. The winds howled outside, but the house was warm and smelled of dried herbs and blueberries.

“No. Jenny moved to South Carolina. I’m so glad you made it, especially in this storm. There’s already a few inches of snow on the ground. Poor Abby came down with a fever, she said you were the best healer in your village.”

My eyes widened as I looked over to the young woman. “I…I try, people tell me I do help them.”
“And you’re so young to be a mid-wife.”

I stood there staring at the fire. I had no outward response, but fear settled in my bones. My mind rushed in a million directions.

Was this a vision, or a dream?

I haven't done a teaser this week due to the fact that I have no clue what WIP I want to focus on. There are approximately four to chose from. The weather has been fantastic for writing--all gray and gloomy--yet I cannot get motivated. Probably when the sun comes out I will be flooded with inspiration. Go figure.

In a perfect world, an ass-whooping would be at the expense of your enemy. Nicholas’s lips sponsored tonight’s foray into “Fists Gone Wild”. The beating was courtesy of his pal, Dex.
“I’m warning you, Nick. Knock it off,” Dex uttered.
“Or what? You know what they say about you?”
“I’ll knock your pearly whites down your throat.”
“You and what…”
Dex slammed his fist and connected with Nicholas’s face. Had Nicholas not gotten into the bottle of ambrosia, his reflexes would have been better. If he’d stayed away from the booze, he wouldn’t have made such a stupid crack to his friend.
Nicholas was also too drunk to realize he should’ve stayed down. He had been a glutton for punishment since he was a little boy. A scrapper, his mother called him. Others just called him a masochist.
“You motherfu…”
Another connection between Dex’s fist and Nicholas’s face was made.
“You’re just pissed about Noelle. I had nothing to do with that,” Dex explained.
“Enough!”
Nicholas recognized that voice. It was Skyler.
“Nick. Get the fuck out of here before I kick your ass.”
He tried to grab the bottle of ambrosia, but Skyler was faster and sober. Nicholas mumbled a few obscenities, headed for his new car, and took off to the bar.
As soon as he walked into the club that night, Nicholas realized he should have taken a table in the secluded VIP section. Instead, he sat at the bar. He wasn’t feeling very social. His body ached to either beat the shit out of someone, or have the shit beaten out of him, again. Through his ambrosia haze, he wondered about these feelings. They were happening more frequently, along with a sudden rash, which would sometimes cover his whole body. A new and odd reaction he suffered from. It first happened when the Almighty forbade him to see Noelle. His skin turned lobster red, like humans after a day in the sun.
The Almighty was the queen bitch in charge. She oversaw all of the angels in the particular hierarchy known as the Brotherhood of Light. Her other job description included watching over the humans and fucking with Nicholas. And the best way to get at Nicholas was to take away his rights as Noelle Spencer’s guardian. In addition to making his skin turn red, that decision made his blood boil.

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.”

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?”
“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.

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…

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 cliché 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 café 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.

Silver Phoenix Trailer


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ihJ1xy009bk

Silver Phoenix : Beyond the Kingdom of Xia

By Cindy Pon

Out today at your local book store.

Congratulations , Cindy!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I couldn’t put it down. Your heart will be racing, and you’ll be aching for more. An addictive gem.”
—Meg Cabot, author of The Princess Diaries and Airhead series

“Beautifully written, lush, exotic, and romantic, with a gutsy heroine who defies convention to fulfill her destiny—Silver Phoenix has it all!”
—Alyson Noel, New York Times bestselling author of Evermore

available APRIL 28, 2009

Tuesday Teaser rewrite:



For the third time this week, Amber Kane almost lit her little brother on fire and not on purpose. When she gets mad, well, fiery things tend to happen. Some people throw temper tantrums, she throws fireballs.
It wouldn’t be that bad if she had more control over her talent. It’s in her dreams she’s most helpless and the firepower is of no use to her.

He stood a few feet away from her; his lush black hair glistened in the moonlight. His voice, which spoke to her in a rhythmic cadence, eased her initial trepidation. She’d seen him before, in the night where her imagination ran free.
“You have grown up to be such a beauty. I’ve been watching you your whole life, little one.”
She smiled and shyly glanced away from his hypnotic stare, but the magnetic pull drew her back.
His head tilted, as he laughed, surely taken with her innocence.
“There’s no need to be shy with me.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
“To help you. As I’ve always helped the witches in your family.”
Amber stepped back. “My family has no other witches in it except for my mother and me. And my mother’s a Priestess of Oya and Isis. Not something out of Sleeping Beauty.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, little one. There have always been powerful stregas in your family dating back centuries. Your grandmother’s magick is in her cooking. Whatever she is feeling at the time is infused into her meals. Your mother is a great psychic. And you…” Amber detected hunger in his voice. “Wield the element of fire.” He began to move closer to her and she was powerless to leave. A part of her didn’t want to. He exuded sexuality and she wanted him to touch her, everywhere.
The warmth of his hands felt so right upon her skin as his fingers traced the lines of her cheek and neck. He muttered softly in her ear, “So lovely. Pure and virginal, mine to protect.”
Amber leaned into him, feeling the hard muscles of his chest and the warmth of his breath upon her flesh. Her arm wrapped around his waist and she felt his arousal as their bodies pressed closer together.
“Give me your heart, my sweet one.” His lips pressed against her cheek as hers sought to meet them.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
A growl emanated from deep within his throat. She wrapped her other arm around him, lifting her face to receive his kiss.
“I want you,” he said fiercely.
“Take me.”
“You will give me your heart, my love?”
“Oh, yes.”
That’s when she noticed the ice cold look behind his eyes. A vacant stare met hers as his arm raised and he thrust a long, thin blade into her back. Her body bucked forward into him and he moaned as if in ecstasy.
Amber felt the heat within her build, but she could not use it to heal herself or scorch the demon who held her. He glided the blade upward and his lips brushed hers.
“Thank you for your heart, my love. I will always have it with me. I will always have you with me.”
The only warmth Amber sensed was the blood flowing down her back. A new, raw pain radiated from behind. His gelid fingers entered her flesh and wrapped around her still-beating heart.
“Remember that I love you.” He sighed and yanked her heart from her body.

Amber bolted out of bed, her eyes wild with fear. She searched the room while grabbing at her chest. Relieved to feel her heart beating, she began to settle down.
“Another nightmare?”
Amber jumped back and fell over her handbag, landing on her rump.
“Damn you Cliff!”
“I’m sorry, did I frighten you?”
“You prick, you know you did.”
He smiled. “I swear I didn’t mean to. Really. I give you my ghostly honor.”
“You have no honor.” Amber climbed back into bed.
“You really should let me help with those nightmares.”
“Ha! That would mean allowing you to enter my body. No way.”
“Still mad about the whole kidnapping thing?” he asked.
“Yeah and the whole, ‘I’m going to kill you thing.’”
“Dude, you really hold a grudge.”
“Dude?”
“Sorry, dudette.”
“Yeah Cliff, it’s taken a lot just to talk to you and acknowledge your existence.”
“I know. My bad.”
“Bad doesn’t even come close.”
“Good-night, Amber.”
“Good-night, Cliff.”

Life is like a box of chocolates. I was thinking about that famous movie, and my son. I hope he gets only the sweet with a touch of dark chocolate, so he'll appreciate the sweetness. I wish that for all my boys.

Tuesday Teaser: This is bare bones--unedited--WIP



For the third time this week, I almost lit my little brother on fire and not on purpose. When I get mad, well, fiery things tend to happen. Some people throw temper tantrums, I throw fireballs.
My mother’s a witch. A real --spell-casting, ghost whispering, High Priestess-- witch. She’s famous too. She’s been in the papers and on TV. So, as you can imagine, it’s not easy being her daughter. Especially since I’ve somehow inherited powers far beyond hers and I’m only eighteen-years old. It started about two years ago. Fire is my element and my mom and her coven sister, Ouida, decided it’s time to help me harness this ability. Before I really hurt someone like my brother, Jake.
“I want to you to focus. Concentrate on your power center and raise the energy. Send it to that pile of leaves,” Ouida instructed, pointing to the leaves.
My mom was standing next to me, coaxing me like I was six years old and learning how to ride a bike. I focused on the anger I still had concerning my father. He’d cheated on my mom and they got divorced this past winter. It’s a long story.
“You can do it, Pookie,” my mom whispered.
My stomach churned, the heat emanated from that center and I pushed it out. I had a new respect for women going through menopause. This had to be worse than any hot flash Ouida described.
Smoke rose from last autumn’s pile of dried up maple leaves. Soon, I saw flames leap up and consume the dead leaves.
“Excellent,” Cliff applauded.
“Thanks,” I answered him aloud. Cliff’s handsome ghostly features formed out of the ethers as he gave me a thumbs up.
“Ah, I’m glad to see you’re talkin’ to the spirit,” Ouida said with a wide smile.
I shook off the residual energy and wiped the sweat from my brow. “Yeah, well, he doesn’t understand the word no.”
My mom laughed. I looked over at her. She’d been through so much these past few years. Including going up against this uber-evil murderer, Cliff, who was now dead and helping us work out some karma. Not to mention he’s working out a lot of his own debts.
You’d never know it to look my mom. In love and pregnant with—I believe—the love of her life’s baby. This will be the fifth and final installment of the Kane/Bennette clan. Or so I’m told.
“I think that’s enough training for today,” Ouida added.
“You did great, Amber,” my mom said.
“I’m my mother’s daughter.” I smiled.
I could tell Ouida was concerned for my mother. I watched as she walked over to her and the two walked inside. My mom had a miscarriage a few months back and Ouida and all my mom’s friends were extra cautious with her.
“So you did good, kiddo.”
“It seems to come easier.”
“It will.”
“What is it, Cliff? I can tell you want to talk about something.”
“Nah, it can wait.”
Then he was gone.
I walked toward the water. Our backyard was the Long Island Sound and I sat on a lounge chair. The weather was finally getting warm and before long I’d be performing my first Solstice ritual.
From the darkened corner of my mind, a sound emerged, slowly forming words. They sounded hollow, almost tinny. “I’m here, can you hear me?”
“Cliff? Is that you trying to play one of your semi-scary ghost tricks on me?”
“Please help me.”
I turned and saw there was no one around, not even my little twerp of a brother. I leaned back and closed my eyes. I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew I was in a park setting. I noticed a young man sitting alone on a bench. His hair was the color of ripened wheat and had the most beautiful eyes. They were a pale hazel-green color with flecks of burnished gold. Immediately, I realized this must be a spirit. I walked over to him.
“Hi, my name’s Amber,” I said, introducing myself.
“I know. I tried to get to talk to you before, but your friend wouldn’t let me get through.” His voice sounded intensely masculine, with a husky quality to it. I thought I detected a slight accent.
I watched his expressions as I spoke to him. He seemed lonely, and somehow scared. Maybe he’s newly crossed. “That’s his job, among other things. He’s sort of like the gatekeeper, or a spiritual bouncer. Spirits have to get his okay before they can communicate with me. I’m somewhat new to this.”
“I got that impression. I just wasn’t able to…get through to him the way I would’ve wanted to, but I knew I would be able to talk to you—directly.” His head bowed down as he stared at the ground.
He looked extremely sad as he tried to explain himself.
“You are really beautiful. I—I mean inside and out. You radiate a calm energy. I like being around you,” he shyly admitted. “Not to mention the fact I find it oddly disturbing that I can even see your energy.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“I can’t remember,” he said. “Another oddity.”
“How did you die?” I tried to read his energy, but he was scattered and unable to ground his energies.
“I—I don’t know,” he said with a sigh. “Am I dead?”

I spent the day doing readings yesterday. It always amazes me when the spirits come through and the strength of their personalities. No matter what your agenda may be, spirit has its own. You may want to know when your true love will arrive, but Grandma may feel it's more important you get yourself to the doctor and get regular check-ups. She wants you to know she remembers it's your birthday at the end of the month. And it's all validation for you to realize she's still around and knows what's going on in your life.

If you insist, she might give a vague timeline as to when Mr. or Ms. Right will come along. Time and time again I've seen--and heard--spirits give the messages necessary for their loved one to hear. So listen.

A wonderful review for Blood Pool:
http://www.joyfullyreviewed.com/reviews/Mar09/bloodpool.BD.html

In an attempt to keep up blogging, I thought I'd post a bit of a teaser from Devils' Angel. Let me know what you think.

Claire watched as the heavily muscled angel sat, drinking his Tanqueray. His pale blue eyes seemed to be in a permanent squint, as if he already nursed a massive hangover. His hand completely covered his tumbler, making it impossible to see when he’d finished his drink. Judging from his earlier ones, he was downing them within five minutes, tops.

Claire hadn’t realized how tall he was until he rolled off the stool and stood. Most of the angels she met were etheric beauties. They were the inspiration for such artists as Michelangelo, DaVinci and many other renaissance artists.

This one had a hard quality about him that simply made him mean-looking. He had the same features as most others of his race, but the stubble on his face hid the smooth skin. A scar by his right eye marred the perfection prized by the angelic realm. He didn’t seem to care. Yeah, he dressed all right, in a Ralph Lauren way. He wore a clean, expensive shirt and equally pricey jeans, purposely made to look old. Or perhaps they really were.

He plunged a hand in his jeans pocket, pulling out some cash. The other hand dug through his dark blond hair, which fell just above his shoulders.

“Fuck it.” She heard him mutter, his voice thick with an Aussie accent.

She watched as he swayed, looking around. He turned and headed toward her. He threw down a few twenty-dollar bills.

“That should cover me, eh?”

His expression masked whatever thoughts consumed him at that particular moment. The frown on his face turned into a grimace. But Claire could sense his mind was racing at light speed.
She reached for the money and their fingers touched. For a moment, she thought he made the earth move.

Until she realized it was an explosion that rocked the back of the building.

B. Ella Donna

Okay, so, the Twitter bug hit. I'm Elladonna over on Twitter. It's a lot of fun.
Celebrated my birthday at the end of February, waiting on spring to arrive. Not much going on, waiting to see what happens with the book Devil's Angel. I love it, of course. If you're a fan of J.R.Ward you'd like it.

In the meantime, I'm doing more ghost whispering. I've done a few psychic readings parties. It's a blast. To see the expression on peoples' faces when you tell them something from their relative or friend who's passed on that you couldn't possibly know--priceless. It's nice to be able to offer comfort.

Someone is impersonating agent Deidre Knight. Promising book deals, ect.

Beware.

Website: www.knightagency.net

As usual, I've neglected my blog. With the holidays, birthdays, anniversaries and kids getting sick, life's kept me busy. Also, I have Blood Pool coming out Feb. 9, '09 and I am querying my heart out on two other books.

Querying is like sending a resume out when you're trying to get an agent. You tell them about your book, writing experience and pray they'll be interested to ask to see more. Sometimes they do and sometimes they don't even answer.

I came so close to getting an agent...and I'm still holding out hope. We talked...which is a 'big' thing, but I never received the ms back to make the changes that were requested.

I've written a new book since the above mentioned close call. It's a cross between urban fantasy and paranormal romance, called Angel's Fury. I'm really happy with it. I just hope an agent will love it as much as I do.

Stay warm.