Crapometer

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2009-07-08T15:52:00.001-07:00

Chapter One

Banging rattled the door. As Azarel sat up, tendrils of dreams swirled and escaped. The door shook again, banishing all thought of recapturing them.

"Anyone home?"

Azarel hopped down from her bed atop the cold brick fireplace. She reached the window in a few steps and pulled aside the rough curtains. A handful or so of men in Lasaral uniform were outside, mounted on rangifers that dug with antlers in the fallen leaves and dusting of snow, searching for lichen.

"In the name of the Qins, open this door!"

Azarel walked to the shelf with the pots and dishes. Barely visible behind them, she found the knife with its wooden handle painted red, the one laced with poison, and turned back to the door.

She took one step. Before she could take another, the bar on the door broke in half. The resounding crack made her jump. The door swung in, revealing a young man with thick dark brows and several-day stubble. Behind him was an older man, his small eyes drowning under puffy lids and bags. A scar bisected his face.

The young man's gaze landed on Azarel. His eyes widened slightly, as though surprised to see her. He tipped the leather visor of his fur hat.

Azarel tightened her grip on the knife she held behind her back.

"Are you Azarel?"

"I am." Her words sounded strange to her ears, and her throat felt raw, as though from long disuse.

"You are? But...," he trailed off. Then, smiling brightly, "Can we come in?"

"You already did."

The young man glanced at the door and then back at her, and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry about that. I thought no one was home when you didn't answer."

"I was sleeping. What is it you want?"

The young man walked into her hut and the older man followed.

"Wait for me outside," the young man said, turning around. He fingered the belt at his waist that kept the warmth in.

"Are you sure?" The other's voice was low and raspy.

"Go, I'm sure."

The older man inclined his head and glanced at Azarel.

The daylight dimmed for a moment. Dread overwhelmed her, making it hard to think. His gaze carried through the space between them and brought with it his malevolence. Not anger and not hatred. Nothing so passionate. Simply a quiet, calculating malice.

Azarel shuddered.

He broke their gaze and was gone out the door. The room brightened again, the pressure lifted from her chest, and she could breathe easier.

The young man pushed his sat on her one rough bench and glanced up at her. From him, she sensed only excitement and urgency. Her own blood picked up speed in response.

"You can't imagine how happy I am to find you. I wasn't even sure we'd be able to," he said, his words coming out as puffs of white in the cold room.

"You haven't answered my question."

"Of course. Why I'm here. Again, I apologize for the door. I'm Shaunn Diamonestesh, and I was sent here by Qin Yacoba, Co-Ruler of Lasaral, Lead Co-Ruler of Frosland, to summon you to Lasaral to cure her sister, Qin Daxia."

"I haven't heard of a Yacoba or Daxia," Azarel said.

"Really? They've been Qins for some time, after the death of their father and then their older brother."

"I suppose I don't get a lot of news here." Her fingers ached and she relaxed her grip around the knife. She sensed no malice from him and his relaxed pose suggested that he intended no harm.

"Why did you come to find me? You have doctors and priests closer by," she said.

"We've tried everything. Truthfully... you are our last resort. Don't take offense. It's simply that we weren't sure we would be able to find you. If you do come and succeed, there will be significant compensation, to make it worth your while." He smiled the kind of smile used to getting its way. Too confident, considering she had yet to give her answer.

The memory of the scarred man's ill will was still fresh. He would kill her, given the chance. Shaunn seemed oblivious to it, and thus would be poor protection.

And too, she wanted to go back to sleep. She wanted to close her eyes and dream again. She didn't remember what those dreams were, but she woke up content. She knew the forgotten dreams were more pleasant than this cold lonely hut.

Images flitted through her mind. Old people, young people, children, men, women, all coming to her with that same desperation, begging for her help. Azarel had helped them all, not for the compensation they offered. It pleased her to see the ripples of her actions spreading out, changing the world.

Herbs lined her shelves in stone and glass and clay containers. Dried branches of them hung on her walls. She did help those in need. If she left, those who came to help wouldn't find her.

"I can't come with you."

Shaunn's smile faltered but he forced it back in place. "If you don't come, Daxia will likely die. Her father and brother already died of the same ailment, and nothing had aided them. And we've found nothing to aid her, either."

Despite his smile, she sensed desperation underneath it, growing now in the face of her resistance.

"Bring her here, and I will see what I can do."

Shaunn stood. The tension in him overrode all other emotions.

"Do you jest? We can't bring her here. She's too ill." He sounded outraged. His cheeks were red under the stubble, as though she slapped him, and he gritted his teeth. "And she's the Qin!"

Azarel held his gaze. His entitlement strengthened her resolve to go nowhere with him. "I am not coming with you. You can bring her here, that's the best I can do for you."

"You leave me no choice but to arrest you. You are coming with us, and you will help Daxia, like it or no."

Azarel shook her head, and held the knife before her. "I am not going anywhere with you."

"I don't want to hurt you," he said and took a step toward her. His hand hovered on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

"And I don't want to hurt you," she said, standing still, knife ready. She meant it. He was young and impulsive, and he only acted this way because he wanted to help the ill Qin. But she didn't pity him enough to come with him.

At that moment, the silence was rent by the shouting of men and the lower tones of finxes. Azarel and Shaunn both glanced at the door. The panic, fear, and pain carried over the distance.

She ran outside, Shaunn following. The soldiers had their swords out, warding off the finxes that outnumbered them. The finxes flew above the humans, each several heads longer than a man, covered in wiry black fur, long clubbed tails writhing through the air. Their black leathery wings cast great shadows below them.

One of the men screamed and toppled from his rangifer.

The swords sliced through the air, reflecting the sunlight sharply. One caught a finx and the animal howled and rose higher. The men were banding together, slowly moving toward the trees. Once they were in the trees, it would be safer, for the finxes' wingspan was too great to allow them entrance. Then, they would put their bows to good use and the finxes would be at a disadvantage.

"Stop!" Azarel shouted.

The fighting continued. Inhaling deeply, Azarel raised her voice. She willed that word to cover the distance between her and the finxes, to reach them, to have her be understood.

"Stop!"

The word carried, spread. Its volume, and the force behind it surprised her. All in the clearing - man and animal - turned to her.

The finxes hovered just above reach, their wings beating the air with enough force to lift her hair. She concentrated on pushing the awareness of the men's fear out of her mind, and focused on an image of light, a sense of calm. She nurtured it and it spread within her, pushing its way through her limbs and out. She willed it to reach the finxes.

The finxes hungered to rip the men apart and watch the red flow, taste its salty goodness, let its heat warm their stomachs. Their fury at the men overrode that hunger. The finxes would keep her safe from these humans who came with threats and anger.

"Go now, all is well," she whispered. She willed the calm to convince them. Their tails cease their agitated writhing and the largest of the of the finxes called out hoarsely, a sound akin to speech. Then they all lifted into the air and flew west, toward the mountains there, where they made their lairs.

The men all stared at her. When she opened herself back up to it, their fear hit her at once.

A moan from the man on the ground broke through the silence. His hood had fallen back, revealing bright orange curls. He clutched at his shoulder and blood seeped through his fingers, staining the transparent layer of snow that covered the ground.

"Get him inside," Azarel said to Shaunn, who had come up beside her.

She went too, inhaling deeply, holding her breath, savoring the freshness of the forest on the brink of winter. The sky was grey and bright; tense, as though gathering itself before unleashing a torrent of snow.

Her chest grew tight and she thought of the dream that she no longer remembered. It had been a warm dream. Here, all was loneliness and solitude.

She tried to remember how long she had slept, but failed. The last thing she could remember was the music of ice melting from millions of frozen branches, heralding spring. There was no doubt that now it was fall. She didn't know what that meant and it was too unpleasant to think about. She hoped that after she patched orange-hair up, they would leave. Then, she could let oblivion reclaim her, taking the questions, and worries, and loneliness away.

The men entered the hut and Azarel stepped in behind them. She could feel the scarred man's malevolence fill the tiny space, pushing at her.

She turned to him and his gaze was already on her, small eyes narrowed.

"It's a bit...cold in here," Shaunn said, his eyes lingering on the fireplace.

The fire had gone out at least half a day ago, for the grey bricks held no hint of warmth in them.

Azarel shrugged. She had no explanation for how she had slept here with no fire. She didn't know herself. She wasn't cold, despite only wearing a shirt and pants, and she left it at that.

"Start the fire," she said.

Shaunn took out a lighter and turned to the stack of wood by the fireplace.

Azarel turned back to the scarred man, who still watched her. He never took his eyes off her and she felt his gaze even with her back to him. He seemed calm and composed, but she felt much more simmering there, where no one else could see it.

"What's your name?" she asked him.

"Gerth."

"And your friend, here?"

"Thom."

"If I cut the coat off him, do you have anything else for him to wear?" She had nothing she could offer him in the way of replacement clothes, and a man without a coat was a dead man.

"No."

"Then you better help him out of it, and his shirt too. Carefully." She slid the poisoned knife into her belt.

Azarel took the herbs needed, and a stone bowl and pestle. After the water had boiled, she washed the wound, and applied the poultice of dried herbs, tying the tourniquet tightly. Thom gritted his teeth throughout, her work punctuated with his escaped grunts.

Azarel rested her hand top the bandage and closed her eyes. The wound was hot. Her fingers began to tingle. She allowed the feeling to grow and it spread, the tingling becoming painful, the pain reaching into her, reverberating through her very bones. Azarel forced herself to breathe evenly and willed her body to absorb it all.

She heard Thom exhale and opened her eyes.

"Better?" Azarel asked.

"The pain is gone," he said. His words suggested gratitude, but she sensed his wariness that built as she worked.

"It's time for you to leave now," she said, turning to Shaunn. Thom's fear mingled with Gerth's simmering malice. It was too much for the small space, difficult to shut out. She wanted them gone, as soon as possible.

"You better pack, we're not leaving without you." Again, Shaunn's right arm hovered on the hilt of his sword. She thought it was more of a reflex; she knew he had no intention of harming her.

"I already gave my answer."

Shaunn gritted his teeth and she felt the anger in him rouse quickly. "Are you going to call those monsters down again?"

"They're not monsters. They're highly intelligent animals. And I didn't call them down, they were here of their own accord. And finally, to answer your question, no. I don't think they'll be back."

"Good. You're still under arrest."

His words grated on her, and she felt her hands clench into fists. She forced herself to relax them. "How do you plan to make me help you, once we're there?"

"Hopefully by the time we get there, you'll come to your senses. And if not, I'm sure Yacoba will think of something. My job is to get you there." When Azarel didn't respond, he added, "I didn't want to have to do it this way, but I'm not leaving here without you."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and squared his legs. His lips were pursed in determination. Azarel could see he meant it. He would tie her up and drag her out, if he had to.

"Will you gather what herbs you think you might need?" He asked.

“What are her symptoms?” Azarel resigned herself to going. If she pushed the issue, she risked having the finxes come back. She didn't want anyone else hurt.

Shaunn smiled, clearly relieved. “She is weak, sleeping a lot, lately especially. Similar to her father and brother, who both died of it.”

“How many others are affected?”

“No one else has been.”

"And you don't think that's strange?"

Shaunn shrugged. "I don't know." He held Azarel's gaze for a few moments. "If you're implying that they were poisoned -"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm simply asking questions to get more information. So far, you've told me very little."

"I didn't mean to offend you. I was just trying to say that we did consider this possibility and all of the Qins' food was tasted, and other precautions taken. Besides, the Quins are well-liked."

Azarel shrugged in response. That didn't mean very much.

"So...you will pack your things, whatever you need?" Shaunn asked.

"It seems I have little choice."

"Thank you," Shaunn said. "We will wait outside."

“Wait,” she said. The urgency to have at least some part of the puzzle resolved overtook her.

Shaunn paused and turned back.

"What's today's date?"

“Day She, first week of Meresht,” he replied.

First week of the month of fall. Where had spring and summer gone?

Azarel nodded and they left.

The small rectangle of space that was the entirety of her hut seemed to expand, again, once Gerth was gone.

When she'd packed, she glanced about the room. In part, she hoped she would heal the Qin and return soon. But a small part of her hoped she'd find a reason not to return. She'd been awakened from the comfort of dreaming oblivion to an-ever present loneliness and confusion. She didn't remember how long she had slept or or her past, and that frightened her. Perhaps out there, somewhere, there was something that could spark her memory.

She left, something in her sensing that she might never see her home again.

Query

2009-06-22T13:45:00.001-07:00

Whitney Davis finds herself in a place she never though existed; a place where she is loved, free of conditions. A place where she can change her destiny... even if she started out life as a poor Cinderella.

Whitney has left her neglectful mother and small southern town for new adventures as a freshman at Penn State. She is nervous and anxious all at the same time, but is determined to be happy, even if it means becoming a "yankee".

A few weeks into the first semester, it seems as though Whitney is changing her life for the better, she's gotten a job at the local deli and has made loyal friends on campus. ... But one evening right before Thanksgiving Break changed everything.
As her mangled body lies on the cold floor of a frat room, she looks around and wonders why the attack has stopped.
Before she looses consciousness, she is ever so gently cradled in the arms of her best friend Wes. He takes her to his home to care for her and show her the true meaning of family.

Over the next two months, Whitney finds herself falling in love with her knight, her forever friend, Wes. At last, she can let go of her broken childhood... Maybe she can change her fate.... Only time will tell.

My novel is 80,000 words and is complete.

Pages!

2009-06-17T13:10:00.000-07:00

Chapter 1: Transformation

Clara woke with a star t from a nightmare. All she remembered was the feeling of falling further and further down through the abyss, a putrid wind whipping at her face, the sound of her own screams as she plummeted into the unknown hell. For some reason she was cold all over and surrounded by darkness thick enough to cut with a knife. Had the power gone out? She couldn’t even see the paltry glow of her tiny nightlight. Then she realized that she was not in her bed as her hand brushed across cold hard stone. The basement? Had she been sleepwalking? She sat up and immediately regretted it as a sharp pain shocked through her skull like a lightning bolt. Clara gasped as she clutched at her head, eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted. Her fingers came in contact with something warm and half sticky. She pulled the hand away quickly, then slowly brought it to her lips and tasted it. Blood! She drew back in horror.
What the hell happened? She wondered as she felt for the source of the wound. She found it on the left side of her head, right at the temple. Clara couldn’t remember anything that might have caused the injury. The last thing she knew was that she was in her bed and didn’t remember anything after that. Did she start sleepwalking and then fall down the basement steps? It was the only plausible conclusion she could think of. Clara stood up, slowly, painfully, when she heard a metallic clinking. She froze, eyes widened to try to see through the darkness, body poised for flight. Was there someone else there?

“Mom?” she called softly, nervously, “Mom, is that you? Jazz?” No one answered, and Clara broke out into a cold sweat. “Is anyone there? Hello?” she called, louder this time. Still, there was only silence. Clara took a hesitant step forward and this time she realized that the clinking sound was coming from under her. She dropped down and felt around at her feet. Her shaking, searching fingers touched something cold. She grasped it and ran her fingers across it. It was a chain, she realized as she followed it up to a shackle latched around her ankle and then back down to an iron ring fixed to the ground.

Clara panicked. Where the hell was she? What was going on? Who had brought her here and why? Fear caused her thoughts to race around her head like startled cockroaches, clouding all reason, sending her into frenzy. She screamed for help as she wrenched at the heavy iron chain. No reply came, and even as she continued to shriek, she began to sob as well. She shouted for what felt like hours until she was too hoarse to even whisper, and she pulled at the chain far past the point of exhaustion, even until her palms blistered and bled. Clara finally collapsed, panting, to the ground. Her eyes and chest hurt from crying, her throat burned from screaming, the muscles in her arms cried for rest and the skin of her hands was peeled and raw. Her body, unable to handle any more, simply shut down and Clara passed out on the floor.

Fifteen floors above Clara‘s prison, Ciaran sat at the window in his room. He stared out gravely as he absently twisted the button on the cuff of his jacket. Below in the courtyard, ladies in brightly colored gowns mulled about with their slightly more conservatively dressed husbands, shielded from the bright summer sun by their wide-brimmed hats decorated with feathers and real flowers kept fresh by small water-filled vials tucked underneath bright silken ribbons. Their wings glimmered in the sun in tones of gold or red or caramel brown or raven black. The atmosphere was reminiscent of a festival, with the hum of excitement reaching all the way up to Ciaran’s window.

Ciaran knew that this was all about him and the event that was to come tonight, but he was considerably less cheerful than everyone else about it. He had only been out of his room once today, but was immediately bombarded with handshakes and praise by everyone he crossed. He shuddered. Monsters. Of course his discovery would give the Royal family an invaluable advantage in the war against the rebels, and he was dedicated to his duty to the King, but they still shouldn’t have been so eager about it. It was the most despicable act that he would commit and the entire court was treating him like he was a hero. Ciaran had made his terrible discovery mostly by accident, and had begged the King not to use it. But the rebels were gaining ground and the Royal family losing it, so the King insisted on going through with the experiments.

Tonight would be the first attempt at the creation of a Nightborn, a fusing of a demonic presence with an innocent mortal soul. And the event was to be attended by all the most important members of the Royal court, including the King. Even the Queen herself would make an appearance. The eternal mother of the nation, hers was the single most exalted name in the land. She was her people’s ruler and goddess, immortal and omnipotent. For her to personally attend the event was a testament to its importance to the Royal family. Ciaran could not deny the Queen’s wishes, nor could he question them. At this point, if he tried to back out of what was viewed as his duty, Ciaran would be considered a traitor to the nation and would be banished or worse. In a way, he felt as much a prisoner as that human girl down in the dungeon.

I shouldn’t even have been allowed in the presence of the court. Ciaran thought to himself as he stood up and stretched his wings, black as his hair, but the kind of raven black in which you could see nearly any color if the light hit it right. I couldn’t ever have hoped to even be a kitchen boy in the royal household. If it weren’t for Valkir and the King, I would have been killed like the murderous gutter wretch that I am. Ciaran knew that he owed the King and Diriage Valkir everything he had. He even owed the sneering, whispering court his gratitude. He was the bastard son of a prostitute, lower than low, the scum that even the peasants had walked over like a cockroach, and they, as they were quick to remind him, were so graciously allowing him into their presence. Not into their world, still not worthy of their full respect, but at least he was worth enough for them to look at him when they spoke.

Of course, now it was an entirely different tune. Every time he went out nowadays, Ciaran was bombarded with nobles, drowned in nobles, nobles swarmed about him like flies to carrion. Whether it was the overly curious Sir Marrenz barraging Ciaran with questions on “the process” as he called it, or Sir Liren the Warmonger hitting him roughly on the back and laughing boisterously, or the beautiful but notoriously sly Lady Nymphenia fawning over him like a new pet, all the while making subtle, snide comments about his “heritage”, Ciaran didn’t know, but something made him dislike these new, friendlier nobles even more than their old snobbish selves. They seemed greasier, more treacherous now, like ice in the spring. Serene on the surface, but if you took one false move, they would sink you in a heartbeat.

He looked at the clock ticking peacefully on the wall. “Scirztch”, he swore roughly to himself in Lirdish, a habit he picked up from his old “master”, a greasy Lirdish immigrant named Varg, and had never quite dropped. It was already past the 16th hyr. The ceremony was supposed to start at the 20th. Why is the day going so quickly? The sun is probably already setting, the moon getting ready to rise. Why can’t it just stop? Ciaran thought desperately. He felt submerged guilt rise up as the seconds ticked placidly away on the clock. It was eating at him more and more until he was practically driven mad by it. He paced around his room like a caged tiger. Yes, it was his duty to serve the Royal Family and his country, but was it right if it meant harming an innocent? I have to find the King! He thought as he burst out of his room. He didn’t know what else to do. He had to talk to the King, tell him about the girl. To try one last time to get him to call this whole thing off. To not make him go through with this. Please. Please make him listen to me. Ciaran prayed to some nondescript god as he rushed through the marble corridors. There was a tight knot in his stomach, a sickly urgency, as if he knew he wouldn’t make it in time, but he was trying anyways. He went straight to the King’s chambers, hoping against hope that he would be there. Truthfully, Ciaran knew that the King was probably off somewhere, chatting up the court ladies or drinking in celebration of the victory he was sure would come. But he asked the guard at the door anyways. There was always a guard at the door, whether the King was in there or not, and he was never very friendly. He looked Ciaran up and down and said curtly,

“Ee’s not to be disturbed.”

“So he is in there.”

The guard looked down on Ciaran like he was an idiot. “’Is Highness is resting before tha ceremony tonight. ’E’s ordered that I allow no one to disturb him.” he said in the thick accent typical of the city of Pertrast.

“Please.” Ciaran begged, “I must see him immediately. It’s an urgent matter pertaining to tonight’s ceremonies.”

The guard snorted, “Well, then it’s not ‘Is Highness that you need to see ‘tall. You’ll wanna be talkin’ to Lady Rubia, she’s tha one coordinatin’ everything.”

“Look. I’m the one performing the ceremony. I don’t need to speak to Lady Rubia; I need to talk to the King. It’s an urgent matter and could concern the safety of all the spectators! Now please let me through!”

Ciaran knew how to get a person’s attention, even if it was through a lie. The ceremony would be completely safe for the spectators. The only ones at risk were Ciaran himself and the girl. The guard, however, swallowed the lie whole, turning wide -eyed and pale faced. His wings fluttered nervously as he stepped aside to let Ciaran through.

The King was resting, wine glass in hand, on a huge cushioned divan, smiling contentedly. He looked up as Ciaran entered, cocked his head briefly in curiosity, and then beckoned him coolly with a pudgy white finger.

“Come in, come in, Ciaran.” he said cheerfully as Ciaran bowed ceremoniously. And then, “What brings you around here, Little Gutter Boy?” He asked warmly, almost like a father. Ciaran remembered blushing fiercely when the King had first called him that. Now, it was a term of endearment, rather than an insult, and it almost made Ciaran want to chuckle. But he was too absorbed in the graveness of his own situation to let the King’s warm, infectious personality get to him. Despite the war with the rebels, the King hadn’t changed a bit. He was a sort of enigma to the members of the court. Outwardly, he appeared to be little more than a cheerful oaf. He drank and sang and flirted with the young ladies. He ate like a beast and his voice seemed boisterous enough to lift the entire castle off the ground and levitate it there like a balloon. But underneath, there was a sharp intelligence, a cold methodic logic, and keen observation. He could spot treachery a mile away, smell fear on the skin of the guilty. He was a man to be both respected and feared.

“Well,” he said, smiling, “Have you brought me good news?”

It was a friendly enough comment, but the way the King said it gave Ciaran chills. Just a little too cheerful. It was like he was saying; it had better be good news. Ciaran wanted to just nod, smile, say everything was running smoothly and then get out of there as fast as he could. But he was frozen. All he could think about was the girl. He had seen her face as they brought her through the portal, limp in the arms of a guard, blood trickling from her head where they struck her. She was young, not much younger than Ciaran himself, but enough to make him feel like he had stolen a baby from the crib. Her expression seemed so calm, like she had just fallen asleep in the soldier’s arms. There was a bruise already forming above her left eye.

Suddenly, it came out in a torrent. Ciaran hadn’t meant it to, but it just slipped.

“Please. Please, Your Highness, you must call off the ceremony. Call off ALL the experiments. Please, I’m begging you, don’t go through with this!”

Ciaran was leaning forward, arms outstretched, his face a few dangerous inches away from the King. The King raised an eyebrow and gave Ciaran a look of simple curiosity that was worse than any contemptuous sneer or angry snarl.

“Why?”

Ciaran stood back, feeling nauseas. The King simply saw no reason for stopping. There wasn’t a scrap of guilt in his eyes or twinge in his voice. He couldn’t possibly understand the wrenching shame and guilt that gnawed at Ciaran like a pack of starved dogs. To him, the girl was nothing, not even a living creature. Just a tool. Just a lump of iron that would be forged into a fine sword. He had made sure that the quality of the iron was good, but didn’t give it a thought beyond that. After all, the blacksmith was to be praised for the making of a fine sword, not the lump of iron.

Ciaran straightened and calmed himself. “It’s nothing, Your Highness.” he said flatly, “Merely a passing madness. Tonight’s ceremonies will carry on as planned.” He bowed low and turned to leave.

“Wait, Ciaran, come here.” said the King. It sounded strange. More of a request than an order. Ciaran turned around and walked back towards the King.

“Sit with me.” he said, patting the cushion beside him. Ciaran obeyed. The King clicked his fingers and out of the darkness, a servant came, bearing another chalice. The King poured deep red wine into it and gave it to Ciaran. He put the cup to his lips and sipped delicately at it. It was rich, spicy and warm. He sighed involuntarily as it slipped down his throat.

“Good, isn’t it?” the King asked. Ciaran nodded wordlessly. It was good. Like wrapping yourself in furs on a cold winter day.

“Don’t think that I don’t realize how…”he paused as if searching for a more delicate word than he had in mind, “…personal these experiments are to you. I know it’s something that you feel regret for discovering. Something that you wished could have stayed locked away and eventually lost to time.” the King sighed; it was something he had never heard from His Highness before. It sounded weary, exhausted even, and weak. “But the fact of the matter is that we need it right now. The rebels are gaining surprising ground and other countries look at us and are thinking that we can’t even keep our own nation under control. They are seeing us as weakened, as an easy target, if you will. I fear that if we don’t quiet the uprising now, there will be an attempt at takeover of Altsterra. We are an old country, and small. We just don’t have the manpower to take on two enemies at once. This is why we must stop at nothing to end this war before it begins. This is why we need the Nightborn.”

Ciaran stood, set the chalice on a nearby table, and bowed deeply. “The ceremonies will continue as scheduled.” he said blankly, like it didn’t matter to him one way or the other. And then he left.

It was already halfway through the 18th hyr. Ciaran walked to through a maze of grand corridors and tiny service hallways. He had taken this way at least a hundred times before and could navigate it blindfolded. Eventually, he came out onto a tiny courtyard. It was always empty, an old kitchen garden that was abandoned after they rebuilt the kitchens in a new area of the palace. Scraggly, overgrown herbs had taken over everything and filled the air with a spicy aroma. Thrushes nested in the nooks and crannies of surrounding walls, their nests green from the dried up herb stalks they used. There was a cracked stone bench held up by what was once probably a stone lion but now had been washed away to a featureless monster by the rain. Ciaran sat on it, drawing his knees up to his chest. He knew what the King had said was true. As long as the rebel movement continued to exist, the whole country was vulnerable to attack. And if attacked, Altsterra would probably fall.

But still something ate at Ciaran, picking at him, making him feel guilty. Was it the girl? He hoped she was still asleep, even though she would have to be awake for the ceremony anyway, but at least she could be at peace until then. It was a childish, selfish wish, Ciaran knew, and he felt a pang of self-hatred for it. Or was it the rebels? “Commoners” fighting for a voice in government and the handful of nobles that sided with them. Personally, Ciaran could side with their plight. They often had to live with unfair laws because they had no power to protest them. But Ciaran couldn’t agree with their methods. They were trying to start a revolution, trying to overthrow the old government, the Royal Family, the Queen and put a new regime in its place. Like many, he didn’t see any good that could come out of such turmoil and destruction. But the rebels were Alsterra’s own people, too. Would Ciaran see them brutally murdered by the weapon he created? See their families broken, their children orphaned? He was sure that the rebels wouldn’t stand a chance against the Nightborn. In addition to being able to control a demon, the demon’s powers would be amplified through the fusing of it and a mortal soul. The Nightborn would be an unstoppable weapon, an Enabli Maascir, a Tool of Destruction.

Ciaran jerked his head up as he heard footsteps. Had someone followed him here? Captain Diriage Valkir emerged from the shadows. His hulking shoulders barely fit through the tiny doorway and he had to duck his head. Li Higante, the Giant, he was called by many.

“I thought I might find you here.” he said calmly, brushing the cobwebs from his jacket. He had a voice like approaching thunder, low and rumbling. Like most Alsterrans, he was fair skinned, but numerous battles in the hot sun and the fact that he just preferred to be outside had permanently turned his skin a nutty brown. He was extremely young for a Captain of the Royal Guard, maybe only six or seven years older than Ciaran, who was nineteen, but he had proven himself time and time again in battle.

He was covered in battle scars, a feature that somehow made him even more popular with the court ladies. Valkir was the closest thing Ciaran had to a friend, though he acted more like a big brother sometimes.

Updates

2009-06-15T13:38:00.000-07:00

In the next few days, I'm going to try to clear out the blog archives, and delete all but the most recent ten posts or so. If you'd like your submission to stay up, please E-mail me to let me know.

We also need some more fodder, so please feel free to send in anything you're polishing up!

Query!

2009-06-06T04:04:00.001-07:00

Dear Crapometer,

Mye thinks that she might be crazy when she starts hearing a cynical, man-crazed voice inside her head. She’s totally convinced she’s fallen off the wagon when the voice starts spouting nonsensical drivel about other Realms of Existence and the beings that inhabit them; wraith-like monsters called Shades. Every Elesran knows that magic is nothing more than myth; something that has fizzled away from the face of the Viridan hundreds of years ago, if it ever did exist in the first place. But when Mye finds herself debating the finer points of good and evil over a handful of olives with a Dark Shade named Melou, she’s forced to reconsider her views. Melou has been searching for a Carrier, a mortal whose body can be used by a Shade as a conduit to convert magical energy into the Mortal Realm from the Shadow Realm. He intends to use this Carrier to do what he does best: terrorize the puny mortals of the Viridan until every last one of them drops dead. Mye knows her luck can’t get any better when Melou tells her she’s just the Carrier he’s looking for.

But thanks to Melou, Mye finds out that she has about as much magical talent as a piece of driftwood; she is a magical cripple of sorts. This fact should have gotten her off the hook from future endeavors into ‘magical’ territory, but it turns out that the cynical voice she’s been hearing in her mind is actually a Shade named Toad, the ‘lesser of two evils’, who has vowed to stop Melou at all costs. Conveniently enough, Toad has also managed to blackmail an unwilling Mye into helping her find the true Carrier before Melou does, thereby saving the Viridan from complete desolation and destruction.

Realm of Shadows is a women’s fantasy novel of just over 100 000 words. It stands out from other books currently offered in the women’s fantasy genre because it has a female lead that doesn’t just kick butt ‘for a girl’, but who kicks butt in general. It is my first novel.

Thanks in advance for considering this novel.

Query!

2009-05-07T18:14:00.001-07:00

Dear Agent,

They say love hurts, but at least it doesn’t leave marks.

Love is the last thing bookish high school senior Evie Cowen wants when she finds herself thirteen centuries in the past; she needs to find her way home or else wind up stuck in a time without showers or sneakers. But she can’t stop thinking about Jude Dulac, the handsome young demon tracker who rescued her. Not only is he technically one hundred-thirty years older than her, because of a special gift he was born with, Jude cannot even touch Evie without burning her skin.

Since Jude, already suspicious of strangers, knows she’s hiding something, he doesn’t trust his new houseguest; especially when she grows closer to his mother, Colette. Can Evie overcome his suspicions, and the alarm that only increases with the disappearance of first one local serving girl and then another? Will Jude tell his mother the secret about Evie’s skin? And will Evie ever get home?

When a strange girl comes to her window claiming to be an ancestor, Evie thinks she’s found her purpose, the reason she was pulled out of her own time. And eventually she does discover who killed those girls, discovering a lot about herself in the process. After a few months in the nineteenth century, Evie isn’t even sure if she wants to go home. But she longs for her mother, for her own time. Little things about the past, like eight layers of clothing in New Orleans’ muggy summer, make her miss it desperately. Though she doesn’t want to leave Jude, she knows they can never be together. That doesn’t make leaving any easier when the time comes.

The modern life to which Evie returns is not the same boring one she left. Not only has she been missing for three months, she’s contracted malaria. How to explain that to her mother, who is a wreck? And that’s just the first few hours.

Whether Evie wants it or not, the past is about to catch up with her.

Evangeline, a young adult fantasy novel, is complete at 100,000 words. A partial or the full manuscript can be provided at your request.

Thank you in advance for your time. I hope to hear from you soon.

Sincerely,

Author

Pages!

2009-03-25T12:58:00.000-07:00

Chapter

Belle was impatient, and full of anxiety. As each second ticked by she felt more and more of herself give up. She was careful, but was she careful enough? She waited until Malakai was out of sight to venture out. She made her way to the castle and now found a good spot between two empty market stalls. The spot lended her view of the main exit from the castle, but hid her from the castle’s view.

After finding the perfect spot it was now a waiting game. She was seen by plenty of people, all of them perusing the markets for something to buy, but none of them paid her more attention than a glance in her direction and then, after a puzzled expression, they went on about their own business. She cared not about them; her only worry was the men that would be exiting the castle.

As she waited she kept checking to make sure her dagger was still with her, her hand frequently finding its way back to the weapons grip. She had stolen the dagger from Malakai; he kept lots of weapon stashed away at her bar and she of course knew all their locations. What attracted her to the dagger was its length, longer than most daggers but still short enough to easily be kept hidden on her person.

The waiting was now too much for her and every thought she had tried to convince her to go home. “This is crazy,” she told herself. “You would never be able to do such a thing. If you are caught you will be kil—“

Just then the doors to the castle opened. Her mind went silent as she watched the many noble men leak out. Near the front was Kennath, who seemed to be rushing. Belle did not think, she just acted. Her legs carried her out of her hiding spot and toward Kennath. She was terrified of herself, and of him, but for some reason could not stop herself.

As she approached him he turned away from her, toward a different path through the city. She followed him as inconspicuously as she could manage. The path he took looked barren, and much too narrow for any market stalls to be placed there. It was also still visible form the castle. Belle moved toward the path when a serpian almost bumped her on his way to it. Her heart felt as though it missed a beat and now was frantically trying to catch back up.

“Kennath,” She heard the serpian call as he slithered up to the brute. Belle ducked into one of the market stalls and started acting like a customer. She did not realize that it was a smithy, and it looked odd for a woman to be perusing the inventory of weapons and armor. But, she stayed, and as she looked at the weapons she kept Kennath in the corner of her eye.

After a moment of conversation they left each other, the serpian back toward the castle and kennath back down the narrow alleyway. As soon as Nerus was out of sight Belle inched toward the alley. She waited at the edge of the turn and peered out to watch Kennath. Since the alley was empty, if she followed him in the alley they would be the only two there, and he would most likely see her following him. So she waited and watched the path he took.

The alleyway came to a fork. Kennath went left, instead of back toward the markets. As soon as he turned out of sight Belle entered the alley and quickly made her way to the end. Her heart was racing and she felt herself breathing harder. As she approached the fork in the alley, she tried to calm her breathing and remain silent but couldn’t. She peered down the path at Kennath and saw him conintue on his route. He was almost a hundred yars ahead of her when she decided to sneak after him. This was the risky part, if he looked back he might see her, and even though she crept along the shadows that the buildings provided, it was the middle of the day, and those shadows would not hide all of her.

After carefully following his many turns through the back-alleys, he reached a deadend. The alley ended at a pile of rubble. Kennath looked all around when he reached the dead end; now he was deciding to be careful about being seen. Luckily, Belle had backed off when he reached the dead end and remained out of his sight.

She then realized that Kennath would turn around and come right past her on his way out of the dead end. This was her chance, coming out he would either see her against the wall, or he would walk past without noticing her, either way, she was going to act. She gripped her dagger and felt her whole body shaking with anticipation. She waited for him, but he did not come. What was taking so long, he should have come back this way by now. She dared not peer around the edge down the alley and risk being seen.

As the minutes passed her impatience wore on her, and she could no longer wait, it was a dead end, no where for Kennath to go but back the way he came, and yet still h had not come. She decided to risk taking a look. She slowly began to slide her head around the corner until her eye could get a view of him.

He was gone, the alley was empty. She walked out into the alley and made her way to the mound of rubble piled against the wall of the dead end. She could not figure it out, where had he gone?

She began to climb atop the rubble and see if perhaps he had taken to the rooftops. She reached the top of the pile and found she was unable to leap high enough to get to the top of any of the adjacent roofs. She had lost him. She felt somewhat relieved. She shook her head, how had she even made it this far. Her nerves relaxed a bit.

She began climbing back down the rocks. As she made her way down she slipped as a rock moved when she stepped on it and fell to the ground hard on her back. The fall shot a jolt of pain through her body. She regained her compusre and looked at the rock she slipped on. It had rolled slightly left, revealing a dark crevasse. As she took a closer look, she realized the rock was covering an entrance to a cave.

Belle struggled to move aside the large boulder but eventually moved it enough to allow her to slide past. She hesitated, unsure of herself, of her cause, but ultimately knew she could not not go through with this. Her hand unconsciously went to her blade again and felt its hilt, reassuring her of its prescence. She could not stop herself, she wanted vengeance and she would have it. She entered the cave.

As Belle shimmied down the long narrow tunnel she could not stop herself from shaking. She knew there was no hiding, if Kennath was at the end of this tunnel he would kill her and she might never be found. But she pressed on, as if it was not her decision to.

The tunnel let her out into a larger, open area. It still held the basic features of a cave; dark, damp, cool, and rocky, unrefined boundaries. There were torches that kept the place lit, but still plenty of areas where light was lost.

She began to slowly look around for Kennath. She found only one pathway out of the area so if he was not here, he must have taken it. Before taking it she took one final scan of the area and that is when she saw him, staring right at her.

Success!

2009-02-17T14:32:00.000-08:00

Dear Elektra,

I just wanted to say thank you to all at the COM for comments on my query which I submitted some time ago. In the last week I got confirmation of representation of the agent at the top of my list. That's partly down to you folks, so cheers. I wouldn't have made it out of the slush pile without you. :-)

[...]

Anyway, more power to the COM. You guys rock!

Thanks

Mike

Discussion!

2009-02-16T09:58:00.000-08:00

Someone sent me what I thought was a pretty interesting question, so I thought I'd post it and let everyone discuss their opinion on the matter.

Dear Elektra:

I've read that, due to the current economic climate, publishing houses are cutting costs and corners. As an aspiring writer, I am concerned that the trickle-down affect will reach agents, thus causing them to be even more selective and less inclined to accept submissions. I have my manuscript prepared and revised, and my query letter has been perfected: Should I proceed? Would it be smarter to wait until the economy takes a turn for the better and the publishing world feels less choked for cash? Or should writers go ahead and submit their stuff? What do you suggest??

Thank you!

My reply:

I've wondered about this myself. Note that I have no credentials at all; however, I have done a lot of research for a few years on publishing (I hope to work in the industry), and my verdict is: querying can't hurt. Waiting for the economy to turn around could take years, and that's a long time to wait to query. Keep in mind that, even if you query now and don't receive any bites, there's nothing that says you can't query again with a new letter a year or two down the line. Also--and again, this is just my unprofessional opinion--I suspect that a number of people may use the time they have now that they've been laid off to write the book they've always been planning to write, which means that in a year or two, agents may be even more inundated than they are now. But keep in mind that this is just the opinion of an (unpublished) writer, and should by no means be taken as anything more.

At your service,
Elektra

So what are your thoughts?

Pages!

2009-02-08T16:54:00.001-08:00

Sophie Kavanagh snaked her way through the maze of hallways at the Wiltern Theatre, nervously fingering the forged backstage pass around her neck. The “credentials” she wore had been crafted by a friend who once worked at the Wiltern and had a vague memory of what they should look like. He had convinced her that no one ever did more than glance at the pass and that all she had to do was look like she belonged.

That part was taken care of – she had no doubt about whether she belonged there. Her single-minded purpose was to engineer a reunion with her ex-boyfriend, the lead singer of that evening’s featured band. Sure, it had been three years since they had last seen each other. And yes, it had been a high school romance during her year in Ireland as a foreign exchange student. But the lack of communication over the years had done nothing to make her think that Gavin McManus wouldn’t be thrilled to see her again.

Rogue’s performance that night had showcased their debut album and demonstrated why they were gathering such a dedicated following among the American college scene. Not only were they a great live band, but their brand of soulful rock and themes of social angst, partying, and love lost were a natural fit for this generation. The fact that the lead singer was wildly charismatic and the guitar player was drop-dead gorgeous didn’t hurt either.

It was pure luck that Sophie rounded a corner to find a large bouncer in front of a door marked “Talent.” Though his back was to her, the bouncer’s hulking shoulders and the flap of skin where his bald head and neck met was an altogether imposing sight.

But she quickly realized that the bouncer was captivated by a gaggle of girls who were promising to flash their breasts in return for him allowing them into the band’s dressing room. As they teasingly began a countdown, Sophie slipped behind him and through the unlocked door.

Sophie took a moment to take in the activity of the room. It was crowded with a mix of the roadies and techs that make the nightly show function, obvious groupies, and the self-consciously hip that make up the Hollywood scene – most of whom still wore their inanely expensive sunglasses and rose their voices above the sound system to make sure that they were heard by as many people as possible.

At the sound of a sharp burst of laughter, Sophie instinctively looked for Gavin as the source of the entertainment. He had always been one to command the center of attention. But before she could locate him, she noticed two scantily clad girls dancing provocatively, kissing each other with an elaborate show of tongue.

It wasn’t the girls that interested her, but rather who they were performing for. Their current audience of one was Conor Quinn, the band’s guitar player and Gavin’s best friend. He was sitting by himself on a sofa, clad only in Levis and with a bottle of Heineken in his hand. His short black hair was askew and a striking contrast with his deep blue eyes. He had always been the most conventionally handsome of the group and now that he had grown into his looks, he wouldn’t have been out of place on a catwalk, modeling the latest fashions.

As Sophie took in the sight of him, a flood of memories rushed through her head and heart. He had been the most overtly sexual of the group, casually sleeping with girls whenever possible and never tied down. And so it did not surprise her to now find him in this clichéd rock star position. She smiled and realized she felt the same affection for him as ever.

Just then, he glanced up and locked eyes with her. The recognition was instantaneous. Conor quickly stood up, his face spreading into a broad smile. He stepped past the girls without hesitation and their faces fell in disappointment.

“Sophie Kavanagh, I don’t believe it!” Conor said and surprised her with a quick kiss on the lips and a long, tight hug. “I adore that you’re here,” he murmured into her ear as he pulled away.

“I was so excited when I saw that you guys were in LA,” she replied. “I had to come, to see…”

“Good that you did. God, you look gorgeous!” He eyed her up and down unabashedly.

Sophie smiled and actually felt her cheeks burn as she blushed. She had agonized over what to wear, finally settling on form fitting jeans and a snug black vest over bare, tanned skin. She saw his eyes linger on the hint of cleavage beneath the backstage pass she still wore. A quick scan of the room told her the pass looked nothing like the real thing and she hastily pulled it off of her neck and slid it into her back pocket.

“Thanks,” she said, running her hand through her long honey-blond hair. “Oh, and sorry to break up your little show there.”

Conor laughed and made a dismissive wave of his hand. “So, you saw us play? What’d you think?”

“You guys were amazing. Really, you sound great! And the album is so good.”

“Thanks. It’s grand to hear you say so.”

They fell silent, taking each other in for a moment.

Finally, Sophie reached out and touched Conor’s hand, breaking the reverie. He leaned forward expectantly.

“Conor, I so want to catch up with you, but I need to find Gavin. I have to just…see.”

“Oh.” He took a step backward and rested his hands on his hips. “Well, listen, before you run off, just what sort of reunion were you expecting?”

But Sophie had already tuned him out, having spotted Gavin across the room. With a half-wave to Conor, she gravitated to Gavin. She felt no trepidation or doubt, only impatience to reconnect with the man who had possessed the whole of her heart since they had met four years ago.

Gavin was seated on another sofa, his attention focused on the platinum blond girl by his side. Oddly enough, jealously did not occur to Sophie. She immediately sensed that this girl did not have the kind of connection she and Gavin had once had, that whatever was between them was purely superficial.

Gavin, too, had filled out his frame in the past few years. His wavy brown hair was pushed away from his face, exposing his expressive blue eyes. The sensual shape of his mouth was just as she remembered and it brought to mind all the hours she had spent when they were together watching his lips as he spoke or sang to her.

“Gavin…” Sophie held her breath as she waited for him to look up at her.

After a prolonged moment, Gavin did look up and the hardness in his eyes let her know immediately that he had already seen her and chosen to ignore her.

A flash of confusion and regret ran through her entire body before she decided not to be deterred.

“Hi,” she said brightly. “I saw the show. You guys were great!”

“Thanks,” he said shortly and put his arm around the blond, who in turn smiled triumphantly at Sophie.

“It’s so amazing that you’re here…that you did this. You got what you always wanted.”

“So it would seem.”

Gavin’s detached response to seeing her again was the exact opposite of what she had expected.

“Are you in town long?” she forced herself to ask.

“Few days, then we’re off to the next city, next show, next girl,” he said and squeezed the blond. She accommodated him with a high-pitched giggle.

Sophie was frozen silent for a moment, her heart aching at his coldness. It didn’t seem possible that this was the same guy who had spent a year loving her.

“Well, good for you,” she finally said, ignoring the taunt of his response. “Do you want to take my number in case…you get some free time?”

“Sure, Sophie,” he replied mildly.
At least he remembers my name, she thought. She pulled a pen out of her Coach bag and jotted her phone number down on a cocktail napkin, her hand trembling.

Gavin lazily took the napkin from her without meeting her eyes. “Well, thanks for stopping by,” he said.

“Are you kidding me?” Sophie asked, unable to hide her disbelief.

The naked hurt in her voice caused him to sit up and away from the blond. “What’s that, darlin’?” he asked softly, looking her in the eyes now.

“This is what you’ve become?”

He regarded her for a moment, a half-smile forming on his face. “Have you come to judge me, is that it?”

But Sophie lost her nerve, suddenly feeling foolish for imposing on an old high school boyfriend who had clearly moved on.

“Forget it. Nevermind, it was my mistake,” she mumbled before turning and heading for the door.

She wasn’t halfway down the hallway when she heard a man call her name. For the briefest second, she imagined it to be Gavin running after her with apologies.

Instead, as would become the case in the years to come, it was Conor who was by her side. He offered her his own cloth handkerchief for the tears that were welling in her eyes. In addition to donning a long-sleeve shirt, he had obviously also witnessed her disastrous encounter with Gavin.

“Was I really so wrong to have come?” she asked.

“Things are just different now, Sophie. I tried to warn you,” he said gently.

“I feel like such a fool. I just thought that what we had would still mean something.” She took a breath and blinked back further tears. “I have to go.” She stood on her toes and kissed Conor on the cheek. “Thanks for being so sweet to me.”

“Sure,” he replied and watched helplessly as she quickly walked away.

Synopsis!

2009-02-05T07:40:00.001-08:00

FREDERICA AND THE HEIR TO THE UNDERWORLD

FREDERICA (Freddy) used to think pop quizzes were the worst blight that could trouble her young life, but the day before her sweet sixteen she’s nearly trampled by a hottie on a horse- in the middle of a sidewalk in Southern California.

The horse’s rider, POLYDEGMON (Deg), is so handsome it makes her teeth hurt, and with charisma to spare. Being near him is enough to make excited tingles surge from the tips of Freddy’s fingers down to the toes of her sneakers, but Deg’s no ordinary cute boy: he is the eldest son of Hades and Persephone and Heir to the Greco-Roman Underworld. His sister, KORE, has been kidnapped, and he’s in SoCal to catch up with her kidnapper: CERNUNNOS, Leader of the Wild Hunt. Freddy’s sleepy town is the next stop for the Wild Hunt on their ride of mischief and mayhem, and Deg intends to make Cernunnos return his sister no matter what.

The night of the Hunt’s arrival, Deg infiltrates their camp and looks in every corner for his sister, even eying the banquet food with gut-twisting apprehension. He finds no sign of Kore, though. On his way out, the Hunt’s hideous hell dogs reveal him as an intruder, and the Wild Hunt enthusiastically gives chase. Deg is wounded and, in desperation, he does what he swore not to, and runs to Freddy for help.

Freddy sees two impossibly ugly dogs dragging Deg into the trees around her house. She wants to run to his rescue, but she isn’t Xena, just a terrified teenager who’s never had to fight anyone for real before, let alone a pair of freaky zombie dogs. Freddy mentally shakes herself, bottles up her terror, and runs to Deg’s rescue, driving the dogs off. She brings him to the safety of her house, but Deg stops her from calling 911. Freddy wakes up her dad, COLIN, who’s an EMT, instead to tend Deg’s injuries.

Colin sends Freddy to bed then confronts Deg. He knows who Deg is, and he wants the Olympian to stay away from his daughter. He patches Deg up and throws him out. The next day Colin forbids Freddy from ever seeing Deg again. Freddy wants to know how her dad knows Deg, and why he’s so sure the guy isn’t up to any good. Colin and Freddy’s mom agree Freddy wouldn’t understand if they did tell her, which they can’t.

Which is great, just great.

Freddy is sick of her parents lying to her, sick of everyone she cares for deciding over and over again not to answer her questions or tell her the truth. She’s scared too, though: What could be so awful they would rather lie than tell her about it? Freddy wants answers, and she knows the place to get them: Deg. That night she sneaks out to find him.

On the nighttime streets of her small town Freddy finds more than she wanted. She’s nearly caught by two members of the Wild Hunt, a large creature with the face of fox, and a tiny man who looks like he’s made of sticks. Freddy panics as shock and revulsion war for dominance. She wishes she’d never gotten out of bed, never met Deg, and all the time she’s hoping these nightmare creatures out of hell won’t see her huddled in the brush by the road. The two huntsmen pass on without finding her and she continues on, more determined than ever to make Deg tell her what the heck is happening.

Deg catches up to her near the Wild Hunt’s camp and tries to bodily carry her back home. While they argue, the Huntsmen surround and capture them. Cernunnos lets Deg go free to carry a message back to Hades. Freddy the Lord of the Hunt keeps. Instead of heading straight home to Hades, Deg sidetracks to Freddy’s house. He and Colin return to the lair of the Wild Hunt to try and get Freddy back. Colin is captured, and Cernunnos forces Freddy to trade her life for Deg and Colin’s safety. Cernunnos takes Freddy back to his home, the Otherworld, while Deg and Colin limp home to lick their wounds.

In the Otherworld, Freddy finds Deg’s stolen sister. Kore, though, likes her captivity just fine, and, as for her alleged kidnapper, Cernunnos, it’s clear to Freddy that Kore and Cernunnos are lovers. In her chamber, a rather lovely apartment for someone who’s supposed to be a prisoner, Cernunnos informs Freddy that he needs her to marry Hades’ son, and thereby seal a peace between Cernunnos’ people and the Olympian gods. Freddy, confused, asks Cernunnos who he really is.

He tells her, “I am your father,” then leaves.

First, Freddy can’t breathe. Then, she can’t think.

Well, she can think, but all of her thoughts are swirling too fast to make sense of them. She tries to slow the hamster wheel of her mind enough to make coherent thought possible around the blind panic. The one thing she can’t stop wondering is: why didn’t anyone ever tell her? Her mom? Her da- Colin? Before too long it’s time to go meet her future father-in-law: Hades. Cernunnos threatens to harm Freddy’s parents if she doesn’t behave, so she puts on her company manners.

Just when Freddy thinks she can’t wrap her brain around anymore weirdness, though, the crazy keeps on coming when she sees Deg. Deg Deg, her Deg coming to dinner at Cernunnos’ lair just as if the Lord of the Hunt wasn’t a murdering evil kidnapper nut job. Cernunnos’ big peace plan to make up to Hades for kidnapping Kore is to play Swap-the-Daughters. Cernunnos gets to keep Kore, and Freddy has to go off and marry one of Hades’ sons.

Dinner just gets better from there when Cernunnos introduces Freddy to his wife, MORRIGAN. Cernunnos and Morrígan haven’t gotten along since he saved Cúchulainn from her wrath, and made the hero a member of the Hunt. Morrígan’s not fond of her husband, true, but she’s even less fond of Freddy, his “half-blooded, bastard spawn.” After the desert course she tries to strangle Freddy. Cernunnos decides it’s best to separate his irate wife and his defenseless daughter. After a ceremony officially betrothing Freddy to Deg’s brother, CLYMENUS, she’s sent home to the Underworld with Hades. With Deg.

After her arrival Below, Freddy contemplates escape. If she tries, though, Cernunnos will kill her parents. All supernatural protection will be denied Freddy. Even Deg’s. Then Morrígan will find Freddy and torture her beyond her worst imaginings. The truce will be violated and the pantheons will go to war. If Freddy tries to wriggle free the whole house of gods goes down. Deg offers to intervene with Hades on her behalf, but Freddy has come to realize she’s better off wed than dead, and better off wed than starting a war that could destroy two pantheons.

Deg pleads Freddy’s case to his father anyway, but Hades refuses to listen. He threatens to cripple Deg if he brings it up again. Deg relents, but still simmers with frustrated outrage and anger. He tells himself the consequences of angering his father are too great to pursue this, but he can’t make himself forget the life debt he owes Freddy- or the tender feelings she stirs inside him.

In the days leading up to her wedding, Freddy does her best to make her new life in the Land of the Dead work. Clymenus is handsome, and nice enough, but her feelings for Deg linger on. The night before the wedding Deg comes to check on her. No one’s told her what the ceremony will be like, so in a bit of play-acting he shows her. With the feelings between them, though, the vows become more real than a mere recital. Deg cares for Freddy, wants so much for her to be happy: with him, without him. They end up in each other’s arms; her fingers nestled in his hair, every nerve he has straining towards her touch. “Does the wedding ceremony end with a kiss?” she asks.

“Not usually.” They kiss.

Clymenus walks in and catches them. He slaps Freddy and calls her a whore. Deg moves to beat his brother up, but Freddy comes between them. Unless a miracle happens she still has to marry Clymenus the next day, and she’d rather not get into a fistfight the night before her wedding- with her groom. Clymenus says the wedding’s still on, but he makes Freddy promise to stay away from Deg.

Cernunnos and Morrígan show up for the wedding, with Morrígan taking on the duties of Freddy’s absent mother. The wedding ceremony goes off almost perfectly, and the newlyweds retire to their bedroom to consummate while the party continues without them. Clymenus is willing to let bygones be bygones if only Freddy will sleep with him. Freddy knows she isn’t ready, though, and she tells him she can’t. Clymenus insists. Freddy says she won’t. Clymenus slaps her and ties her to the bed with his wedding tunic. Freddy gets a hand free and disables Clymenus. She’s busy pummeling him to pulp in anger when Deg comes charging in to rescue her. Freddy, emotionally drained and frightened, goes to Deg.

They escape that night. Deg refuses to leave Freddy in the Underworld to live with his brother. Morrígan catches them leaving the party, but says nothing, thereby allowing them to get free. After a trek across the Elysian Fields, a face-off with Cerberus, and a trip in Charon’s ferry, Freddy finds herself being driven home in Deg’s ’69 Mustang. When they get to her house, though, they discover Morrígan came during the night and tricked Colin into leaving with her to “save” Freddy. Freddy can’t understand why the Morrígan is so crazy obsessed with her dad until a chance comment of her mom’s makes Freddy realize her stepdad is Cúchulainn, and Morrígan has been trying to get her hands on him for centuries.

Deg, nonplussed at rescuing Freddy only to have run right back into danger, attempts to dissuade her. Ultimately, though, he decides to go with Freddy and her mother to get Colin back. They infiltrate the Otherworld and set a fire as distraction to cover their escape. Deg seizes this opportunity to multitask and kidnaps his sister Kore away from the Otherworld.

With Morrígan, Cernunnos and their respective minions giving chase, Freddy’s group makes it back to the real world, but, during a moment of inattention, Freddy’s mother wrecks the Mustang. Hiking through the night they discover a country club, large enough to hide in and already empty for the night. Freddy’s group sneaks in, hoping to hide long enough to figure out some way to save themselves, but ideas are scarce and the apparent chances are slim. With Morrígan’s party tearing the country club apart and Cernunnos’ people camped across the golf course, Deg decides to see if he can at least get Freddy away to safety. He persuades her to run to Cernunnos and attempt to coax her sire into returning to help them. Freddy sneaks out and successfully makes contact with Cernunnos who, it turns out, is only there to get Kore back.

Meanwhile, Morrígan’s minions attempt to capture Deg and the others. Colin, though, becomes angered and slips into the famous battle frenzy of Cúchulainn. He gains the strength of ten men and becomes impervious to all but the most grievous of wounds. He also loses the ability to tell friend from foe. Just as Freddy and Cernunnos are about to catch up with them, Colin goes after Deg and chases him through the country club. As Freddy gives chase to stop her dad from killing Deg, her mom calls after her that water should snap Colin out of his battle frenzy. Freddy catches up with her men just as Colin is choking the life out of Deg in the club’s gym. Without pausing for thought, Freddy barrels in to Colin and knocks all of them through the window and into the pool below.

The water succeeds in curing Colin’s battle frenzy, but only just as Morrígan catches up with them. Morrígan attempts to reclaim Colin, and Cernunnos refuses to interfere. When Morrígan gets too close, Colin rears up and chokes her. Morrígan attempts to stab him. Freddy, Deg and even Kore jump in to help. In the ensuing chaos, Kore ends up knifing Morrígan in the back. Then they both topple together into the pool. The temperature in the room drops with such speed it feels like a slap. A sudden, strange storm, whips up the pool water into a swirling vortex.

Just when Freddy and Deg are about to dive in after Kore, she emerges. Her hair has gone white, and as she climbs out of the pool, all of Morrígan’s people, including her two sisters, bow and swear allegiance to Kore. Even Cernunnos, “All honor to you, my love, my consort. My queen.”

Kore, Cernunnos’ new queen, releases Colin from his ties to the Wild Hunt. Deg goes to his sister, but there’s not much they can say to one another. Kore, as the new queen, has other obligations, and now she cannot return home to the Underworld, even if she wished it. The siblings part with a poignant goodbye.

Before he leaves, Cernunnos tells Freddy that, despite what she may think, everything he has done was with her best interests at heart. He loves her very much, and if she should ever need anything, she has only to call his name and he will come to her aide. Freddy thanks him very nicely then hustles him out.

Later, after the dust has settled, Freddy and Deg discuss their relationship. Deg tells her, “Frederica, I have crossed the rivers of the Underworld, battled the three-headed hound of Hades, bribed the ferryman of the Underworld, faced off against a war goddess and her entire unwholesome host, wrestled the mighty Cúchulainn to see you safe and happy. You have come to mean very much to me.” And then he apologizes for forgetting her birthday present.

“Deg, you and me together, that’s present enough for anybody.” They kiss and ride off into the sunset together on his horse for their second date.

Query

2009-01-27T07:25:00.000-08:00

Dear [AGENT’S NAME]:

When sixteen year old Cora overhears the leaders of her religious sect talking about a very unusual Gift, she decides to steal it.

Cora considers herself a collector, but so far her collection is limited to the shoes, wigs, and other odds and ends she took from those who offended her over the years. The mysterious Gift would be the pinnacle of her collection. It would also be her revenge. She hates religious life and those who drew her into it.

To Cora’s surprise, Melantha, the most important woman in Cora’s sect, not only discovers her plans but asks Cora to make a promise. If the worst happens, Melantha wants Cora to take the Gift and, more importantly, to safeguard it with her life. Astonished to realize that Melantha doesn’t hate her – and might even respect her – Cora agrees.

As Melantha had feared, a cruel betrayal allows their empire’s ancient enemy to invade – and not only to take slaves and seek vengeance. Their enemy is now in league with a tyrant known as the Imperator. A collector himself, the Imperator wants two new treasures: Cora’s best friend, Lena, and the Gift. Cora fights to save both Lena and the Gift from the invaders, but she cannot: although she escapes with the Gift, the Imperator’s allies kidnap Lena. Cora swears to rescue her best friend and protect the Gift, even if that means binding her own life to the Gift – and to the eerie, fragile goddess that rules it.

THE GATES OF HORN AND IVORY is a 90,000-word young adult epic fantasy novel. It is the first book of a trilogy. The next two books are currently in outline form.

I was attracted to your agency because of your representation of [AUTHORS’ NAMES], two of my favorite authors. [AUTHOR’S SERIES] in particular embodies the epic storyline but three-dimensional characters that I have tried to create in my own writing. I appreciate your consideration.

Sincerely yours,

Query!

2009-01-08T09:14:00.001-08:00

I am seeking representation for Time After Time, a recently completed 100,200-word paranormal romance novel set in 1898 England.

Simon Grenville is a Victorian gentleman: educated, refined, and elegant, with an interest in the occult. Until very recently, he shared this interest with his closest friend, Alex Reynell. Now Reynell has taken a darker path, but Simon doesn't know how dark it is until he meets a mysterious woman and hears a frightening tale of things to come.

Joan is a hardened warrior, raised and trained in a shattered world two hundred years in the future. She's spent her whole life fighting a losing war against unspeakable horrors: horrors someone let into the world with a book Reynell writes. In a last, desperate act, she's come back through time to destroy the book and deal with its author.

To reach Reynell, Joan will have to become part of his world. Simon can get her there: he can teach her how to speak, how to act, and how to be the kind of woman that Reynell will find alluring. As the lessons progress, though, Simon finds that Joan is as enticing as she is alien—and she's more drawn to him with every day that passes.

As they fight to save the future of the world, they discover that their future may lie with each other.

Short stories of mine have appeared in Dawnsky, Allegory Magazine, and Spacesuits and Sixguns. I have a B.A. in English literature and currently live in [CITY], where I work as an assistant editor for [TECH PUBLISHING GROUP].

I would be glad to send additional material or answer any questions.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,