Wednesday, July 24, 2013

M.L. Weaver #2: The Lightness of Dust: Chapter 8 Excerpt

Here is the second of three excerpts today from M.L. Weaver's Lightness of Dust! Come back at 1 p.m. for the third!

 If you'd like to read the excerpt from Chapter One, head there first!

 Chapter 8: Plato’s Rail Pass

“Not curious, Sam?”

“How did you get back in?”  Sam looked up sharply.  “What are you doing here?  I’m sorry, Ms. Ostendorf.  Ma’am.  What I mean is, the show was one-night-only.”  That made sense, he mocked himself.  The Persephone was nearly ready; floors glistened in the dim light, rubbish bins awaited the flotsam of the next crowd, and freshly scrubbed windows peered into the city.  Only repairs to the furnace, which had begun to blow cold halfway through the evening’s entertainment, remained undone.  And then Sam could go home.  He kept telling Mr. Craddock that the furnace needed replacing.  It wouldn’t even cost all that much, but Craddock always insisted that Sam could do anything he liked to effect repairs to the Persephone, except spend money.

“My point, exactly, Sam.  And if you call me that one more time I plan to have a little conversation with your Mr. Craddock about your manners.”

Sam backed up.  “Call you what, Ma’am?”

“That, Sam.  Ma’am.  My name is Lily.”

Lily smoothed the pale blue fabric of her simple cotton dress and pulled it tighter under the thin rope sash.  Her hair, he noticed, no longer trickled down her neck but instead was pushed up under a feathered hat.  Absence of jewelry magnified her strange beauty.  He thought she expended a great deal of care to appear little different from any other woman he might pass on the street but doubted she would succeed. No, he was absolutely certain that she would not.

“I ask you again, Sam.  Were you not curious?”

“I don’t follow, Ma’…  Lily.”  Though he tried, Sam couldn’t guess at the meaning of her question.

“Earlier I told you that I had to settle some of my things into the Persephone, Sam.  Did it not occur to you that a performer might not keep her things in a hall she only planned to play once?  One-night-only, as you yourself put it?”

Sam recalled her saying so, but hadn’t thought about it.  Now it was too late.  His embarrassment over his behavior prevented the admission.

“I have decided to stay a while longer.  This city warms something inside me.  Perhaps the scent of moisture risen from the Sound, or the sound of the tide-driven wavelets echoing across the water.”  A smile played at the edges of her lips.  “Perhaps it is simply that I have been traveling for so long, Sam, and I need a new place to call home, if only for a while.”

Lily turned and walked to the middle of the lobby.  Four small sofas, each large enough to hold two people (if they knew each other very well), bordered a small table.  Lily sank deep into worn leather and gestured at the seat opposite.  “Sit.  Please.”  Sam did, and held his back stiffly straight and pressed the palms of his hands over his knees.  His thumbs rubbed his index fingers.

“Do you know from where I came, Sam?”

“Europe?”

“Yes, Sam.  But can you guess where, specifically, in Europe?”

By his silence Sam indicated that he could not.

“Do you know why I came here, Sam?

When he again did not reply, she continued.  “Then I shall answer your questions with a story.”

Sam was sure, absolutely sure, that the questions had been hers, and not his, but said nothing.

“Before I sailed to America, Sam, I traveled, exploring Greece and its islands.  So many islands.”  Her gaze extended through him.  “Did you know that someone once described the Greeks as frogs around a pond?  An acquaintance of mine, when I was younger.  A most fascinating man, he was, with a command of language that I have never had the pleasure to find in another.”

Sam didn’t know that; he’d had little schooling.  The year his parents died was the year he left school to work for Mr. Craddock.

“At any rate, I was there.  Looking for something, or somewhere, you might say.  One night a young couple walked into the cafe where I was dining alone.  The young man was tall.  Taller than even you, Sam, and far taller than his wife.  Dark-haired, both of them, and both of them together beautiful in a way that only the young and in-love can achieve.  They walked, hands entwined, through the cafe as though all eyes sought them and time itself might wait.  An elderly local couple greeted them with relief.  The young man, as it turned out, was their son—the young lady his new American bride.  The purpose of their visit was to introduce the young wife to the parents.  One purpose, at any rate.  Can you guess the other purpose?”

Sam shook his head.

Lily removed the pins from her hat and shook her hair.  “Gods!  How can they stand it?”  She tossed the hat to Sam.  “Get rid of that, will you?  Not right now!”  Sam sat.  He balanced the hat carefully on his palms.

“To finish my tale, short as it is…the younger couple presented to the older a painting. “
What a coincidence…I painted a Greek man and his American wife.

Lily continued.  “The old woman wept; the old man embraced his son across the table.  Tears escaped his eyes, as well.”

Sam daydreamed about his own painting.  Her story barely registered.  He imagined his painting traveling all the way around the world to live in the place where art began.  He knew nothing of frogs, or of their ponds, nor why they should be compared with Greeks.  But art, he knew, sprang from Greece.  The wonder of it!  No sooner had the thought occurred to him than his joy was shattered against reality.  My painting is here, in Seattle.  And will always be.

Sam didn’t notice that Lily had stopped speaking.  She peered at him intently with her head cocked to the side as if listening to a far-away conversation.  Sam’s thoughts returned to the fantasy of his painting traveling the world.  Lily let him wander for a moment.

“They were so pleased by the painting, Sam, that the three of them lapsed into Greek, leaving the young woman quite left out of the conversation.”

Having been left out of quite a few conversations himself, Sam could imagine how the young woman might have felt.

“Now art was not born in Greece, Sam.  But nearby.  Somewhere nearby. Having seen a great deal of art in my travels, I just had to know what the fuss was about, so I joined them.  Quite bold of me, would you agree?”  She didn’t wait for his reply.  “And even though I speak Greek nearly fluently, I pretended that I spoke only English.  Just my little way of bringing the young woman back into the conversation.  What do you think of my story so far, Sam?”

Sam started.  “It’s wonderful.”  He wracked his memory for her words.

“The young man had moved to America to seek his destiny, or so he put it, as though destiny is a thing that one may seek.  Or should.  I thought at the time, and still do, that he left Greece because of the war.  A prescient young man, Sam.  Before it ends, this war will engulf the world.”  Lily trailed off.

On more familiar ground now, Sam spoke.  “Mr. Craddock says the war won’t get too big, though.  Some of the rich folks think it will, and the U.S. will end up fighting, too.  But others, those of a mind with Mr. Craddock, say it will peter out.  Won’t come to much, because people got most of the fighting out of ‘em in the last war.”

Lily’s glittering eyes pierced Sam, making him wish he’d had the sense to keep his mouth shut.  “Your Mr. Craddock is a damned fool.  A damned fool.”  The inferno behind her eyes died slowly.

Why does she always call him “my” Mr. Craddock?

“The war will be unlike anything the world has known before, Samuel.  I know it.  I think the young man knew it.  I even think his parents knew, but they were too old, too frail, too resigned to escape the storm.  To continue, then…the young couple somehow made their way through war-torn Europe to deliver their gift.  A bold, foolish journey.  They presented a painting depicting the two of them on the day of their wedding.  I have no words with which to describe it, though I am confident that there is no need.  Somehow the artist, a man of innate talent and beautiful soul, captured the sheer joy these two felt to be wed.  Yet at the same time the man’s painted eyes shine with grief that the day could not be shared with his parents.  Joy and loss infused the very canvas.  I wept a little.”

A wide smile spread on Sam’s face.  “That was my painting…”  A thought tickled the edge of his mind—that he’d presented the painting less than a day before—but drifted away.

“I know.  The young couple planned to leave Greece for home soon, within days.  They promised that they would return, or would send for the old couple.  Everyone agreed that they would be together again; by the time each could to pretend to believe it, the meal was done.  Before I left, I inquired as to the name of the artist.  Samuel Freeman, they answered, of Seattle, Washington.  America.  In return, I advised the young couple, in my own way, to spend a few more days than they had planned.

“Your own way?”

“I liberated the rail passes from the young man.”

“Why did you do that?  If there’s war, shouldn’t they have gotten out as soon as possible?  Why trap them there without tickets?” Sam wondered.  “That’s an odd way to repay them.”  Her duplicity troubled him, but only for a moment.  Likewise, the matter of how the couple could have traveled to the other side of the world in less than a day was a short-lived thought.

Her eyes relaxed into the distance.  “It would not matter, Sam,” she said slowly.  “They will never see the old couple again.  Not in this life.  Or in any other.  Whether they stay a week, or a month, or leave on the day we meet, nothing will change.”

“How do you know?”

Lily shook her head as though to clear it.  “Shall we speak of the reason for my visit, instead?”

“Alright,” Sam agreed, wondering just what she was leaving out.  Why so secretive?

“I want that you paint my portrait.”

That was it? The reason she had traveled through a war-ravaged continent, across an ocean, and to the far side of another expanse?  To be painted?  By him?

Curiosity bested deference.  “Why a portrait of yourself?”

“To remember, Sam.  To mourn.  To celebrate.  Just…to.”

“I don’t understand…there must have been dozens of better artists in Europe.  Hundreds, even.  Why me?”  What’s the real reason?  Why are you toying with me?

“You, because it must be, has always been, you.”  She leaned to look intently through his eyes.  “I am not toying with you, Sam.  I want you to paint a portrait of me.  You will make me myself again, if only in oil and canvas, and for the me that you create, the world will again open like a portal to itself.  Free.  As I was in my youth.”

“You don’t seem so old to me,” he said.  It was the truth.  Though he couldn’t guess her age—she exuded both youth and great experience—he guessed she was only about as old as he.  “Why don’t I paint you as you are now?”

“Absolutely not.  As I was.”  She was adamant.

“How am I supposed to do that?  I need a model to work from.”  He was beginning to feel frustrated.  Why couldn’t she understand that he needed something to work from?  I’m a handyman, an artist…but not a magician.

“I have faith in you, Sam.  Shall we start tomorrow night?  Say around seven?”  She shaped the words as a question.  Sam knew they were not.

“I have to work tomorrow night.  Harry Owens and..”

She cut him off.  “..his Famous Royal Hawaiian Orchestra and Stage Revue are playing.  Do you truly enjoy vaudeville so much, Sam?”

“It’s not that.  I don’t like vaudeville much, really.   But Mr. Craddock…”

“Will see things my way, Sam.  I have a great deal of influence over him. Take tomorrow off.  Relax.  Take a nap.  I will see you at seven.”  She paused in the doorway, letting the shuush of rain echo in the lobby.  “And Sam?  I had the furnace seen to while you were sweeping.  Go home.  And throw the hat out with the rubbish.”

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M.L. Weaver #1: The Lightness of Dust: Chapter 1 Excerpt

Here is the first of three excerpts today from M.L. Weaver's Lightness of Dust! Come back at 10 a.m. and 1 p.m. for the second and third!

 Chapter 1: Ocean’s Children

“I will belong to the gods before you return!”  Kere’s voice rose as the weight of Telamon’s words bore down on her, blurring his face through tears.  “My father will see it done!  I expect him…”  Sobs choked her into silence.

“To wed his daughter to a fisherman?  A hired fisherman at that, with no vessel to claim as his own?”  Telamon spat the words.  Pain twisted his face, and with it, her heart.  “Even if the fleet were to sail without me…he would not allow us to marry!”

Telamon took a faltering breath and continued more softly.  “Forgive my harsh words, love, but wealth and power are the only the languages that your father recognizes.  And though he has little of either, I have even less.”  Kere knew he spoke the truth; she made no reply.

A spasm drove her fingertips into his flesh until pain forced Telamon to pry her hands away.  The man she had loved since before the dawn of her memory rubbed his arm.  Blood came away with his palm.

“My love, I’m sorry!”  Kere gestured for him to kneel at the waterline. With the sea lapping over their thighs and swirling her thin dress she poured foaming water from her cupped hand to wash the blood away.  Eyes half-closed and vaguely searching the horizon, Kere brushed her fingers over the wounds.  Once, twice, again, until the wound was closed; thin white lines traced the curved arcs of her fingernails against his dark skin.  Telamon examined his arm and looked at her expectantly.

“You left scars…are you feeling unwell?”

Her lips brushed the raised flesh where she had pierced him.  “I was put here to heal, my love.  The scars are to be my reminder that instead I hurt you.”  Her hand hovered over his arm.  “Do you wish that I remove them?”

Telamon gently lifted her hand away.  “No,” he replied.  “It will serve as a reminder for me, as well.  While I am away.”

“A reminder of what?” she asked.

Cradling her hand in his, he wrapped a bracelet around her wrist and tied it snugly.  “A reminder of my promise,” he answered.  Kere’s breath caught in her throat; the significance of his gift overwhelmed her.

“Telamon…” she began, but no further words came.  Around her wrist coiled a thin strap of fine leather.  Colorful polished shells, small and beautiful, hung evenly spaced along its length.  No scarce metal formed its construction; even so, her shallow breath quickened.  Perhaps mistaking her silence for disapproval, Telamon spoke quickly.

“It should have copper, and the strap is too narrow…” He was forced to abandon the thought, for Kere embraced him and put an end to his criticism of his own efforts with a deep kiss.  Every denigration of his gift was, to her, a denigration of their love.  When she released him, he continued.  “I thought this would be best, even if I had the means for a proper one.”  He put out his hand in a silencing gesture when she tried to speak.
“Luwos,” he spoke of her father, “will not notice this trinket.  A marriage band, though…that he would notice.  He sees only the values of things, and not their meanings; his blindness is our opportunity.  Let this mark you as my own with the first promise that when I return, no matter who might object, we shall be wed.”

Clever, she thought, clever and dear and perfect.  Kere kissed him again, and when she reluctantly pulled her lips from his it was she who spoke.  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, my love, but the first promise was mine.”
Telamon studied her through narrowed eyes.  Kere laughed at his bewilderment and only when the good nature of his expression slipped did she answer his unspoken question.  “On the day we met.  Don’t you remember?”

A whirling mass of sea birds exploded into the air as his laughter boomed across the water.  “Gods witness the oaths of children!  We were five years old!”

Fixing an expression of feigned injury on her face, Kere pouted. “I knew you were the one I would marry that day.  Are you saying that you didn’t?”  She enjoyed the growing discomfort in his eyes.  Though his lips moved no sound emerged.  Kere lifted her wrist to his face and shook it with a musical rattle.  “Never call it a ‘trinket’ again.”  She spoke with fierce intensity.  “Of all the shining treasures hidden deep in the Sanctuary, I would love none more than this.”  She grasped his hand tightly and pulled him along.

They moved down the shore in silence for a time, listening to the fading sounds of the port behind.  Waves shattered into foam against the Keswiq, a great wall of rock that towered black and immovable above the city.  It was widely believed that if one prayed at its base, the stone itself would propel the message to the gods and even silent entreaties would be received; Kimber herself was said to sit atop the cliff and watch herself undulate across the world on nights when her sister lit the waves with her gentle glow.  Telamon gazed thoughtfully at its silent face as they approached.

“Did She keep me ashore that day?” he asked.  The words whispered; Kere did not know whether she spoke to her.  Or does he ask his father? Or Luna?

The shrieks of gulls overhead nearly drowned out her response.  “Why do you ask that?  What day?”  She knew, though, that there could be only one day he would speak of in that tone.

Telamon did not look at Kere, but spoke with his gaze fixed firmly on the Keswiq.  “The night before it happened, I promised the gods that I would do whatever they required of me, so long as they put a ship in my path one day.  A ship of my own.”  A deep breath filled his lungs.  “When Father woke me in the morning, I was ill.  My legs would not support me long enough to dress.  I insisted that I was strong enough to join him…he was a sturdy man who never let sickness or injury stand in his way, and I feared his disappointment most of all.  But Father put me back to my bed and pulled my blanket tight around me.  ‘I promise you will make the next trip with me,’ he whispered in my ear.  He kissed me goodbye and went to his ship.  And Mother and I were alone.”

The sea blurred in Kere’s eyes.  She wondered why he hadn’t shared this story before.  Her own memory of that day remained clear; it was the night, and the prayer, that were new.   Is the thought of his father coloring this voyage?  Is he afraid that he, too, might never return?

“When I asked for a ship of my own, did I send my own father beyond, Kere?  His ship would have been mine one day, and therefore not a ship of my own.  Did the gods answer my prayer after all, just not in the way that I’d expected?”

“The gods would never do such a thing!” she cried.
He looked at her with an expression she’d never seen him wear.  “Oh?  Have they never sent a man to his doom, then?”

The depth of his bitterness toward the gods shocked her.  “If the gods don’t witness the oaths of children,” she reminded him with a rattle of her bracelet, “then do you truly believe they would run through a man’s heart a spear wrought from the prayers of his own child?”  Kere embraced him tightly and ran her fingers through his long hair while he continued to look into the distance.  Does he see his father?  Or the ship broken in dark water with the bones of five men entombed within its pitch-smeared hull?   His next words answered her questions.  “Sometimes I dream about it, and in the dream I sleep, tucked into my warm bed by my father, as he sinks to the icy depths despite his struggles to reach the storm-churned surface.”

The loss of his father had been Telamon’s greatest tragedy.  The next-greatest loss was that with the ship had gone Telamon’s best future on the water.  In his family for generations, it was long paid-for and belonged outright to the family—a near-impossible feat when timber for ships was dear and the metals for payment even more so.  Now Telamon fished for a miserly old man as the least of the four-man crew.  He earned barely enough to care for himself; if insufferable mourning had not taken his mother a year after the waves claimed his father, responsibility for her care would be his now, as well.  The task would be impossible.

Her fingers twisted the bracelet around her wrist.  What price did he pay for this?  The shells, of course, could be had at no cost save the walk along the shore; the polishing might be done with sand and water for no more than one’s time.  The leather, though, spoke to the depths of his commitment.  Leather could, of course, be had cheaply enough if one was not too careful about the quality.  But she had seen fine leather before and recognized it wrapped against her skin; materials such as this, carefully prepared, darkened and sealed with oils, cost more.  She knew that a man on a small boat earned enough share of the catch for shelter and food.  But not a great deal of food, and not of great quality or variety.  Kere thought of the hunger he must have endured, how he must have strained to carry his share of the work at sea with too little food to sustain him, all so that he could afford to wrap a few bits of leather and shell around her arm.

She lifted a loaf of hard-crusted bread from her knapsack and tore away a small piece before offering the rest to him.  She noted how eagerly Telamon tore into this simple food.  Shame welled in her breast at the memory of feeding a similar loaf to the seabirds on a recent outing, and of how he hadn’t complained when she’d insisted they throw the entire loaf, piece by piece, into the air for the circling gulls to fight over.

“We could leave this place.” She watched the water whirl in the small pools among the rocks as the sea left them, not daring to see in his face the wounded pride that her words would cause.  His arm stiffened against her side; her hand now the one being crushed.  She whimpered reflexively and Telamon released her hand.  He turned, jaw tight, eyes cold.

“And go where? To some small village, where we could raise our children with too little food, thin and ragged clothing?  Or to another city, where I could find work as the lowest hand on a tiny ship?  Where I still would not have means to provide for you?  Tell me, where?”  Barely controlled frustration seethed from his tongue.

Though Kere knew that his anger was not directed at her, before she could control herself his anger was reflected back at him in her words.  “Anywhere!”  Defiance fueled by fear and driven by doubt welled inside her.  “I…I could charge for healing.  I would never take advantage of anyone in need, but I could earn enough.  Together we could provide enough to raise a family.”  To even think such a thing made her stomach clench.  To trade for material wealth what the gods had given freely was sacrilege.  Every child knew the story of Demir Anil, who had been blessed with the gift of foreknowledge, and whose end was still used by parents to caution their children.

At first Anil had shared the gift freely, telling any who asked whether they should sail on a certain day, or give a daughter in marriage to this family or that, or what outcome they might expect from a given course of action.  He always made certain to shade his answers so that the listener would choose the most advantageous option and still believe it had been his own idea.  Eventually, however, Anil had no time for his own family or his own life.  He began to require payment for his visions; with all of his time devoted to prophecy he had little time left each day to earn a living.  As his fee increased, so did demands for more straightforward prophecies.  Eventually Anil ceased directing the actions of the seekers, and instead told them exactly what he saw.  In many cases seekers misinterpreted his words and made disastrous choices.  In the end, Anil’s children were torn to pieces before his eyes by an angry mob, and he himself was fed alive to ravenous dogs.  Though Kere saw an entirely different moral to the tale, most ascribed Anil’s fate to his exploitation of the gods’ gifts, as apparently did Telamon.

He wheeled to face her.  “Never speak so again!  You shame the gods.  You shame yourself.”  The force in his voice softened.  “A man who relies on his wife to live?  You shame me.  And you would risk all for a few foolish hopes.”

“I’m sorry, Telamon, I wish I hadn’t said it.”  She reclaimed his hand, but she was not sorry.  Their only option was to leave together.  If they stayed her father would never allow the marriage.  If Telamon left with this year’s copper fleet her father would force her into the priesthood.  Sell me to it, she corrected herself.  Luwos’ grasping heart would never let a talent like hers go to waste, and for a man like her father, wasting her gift meant sharing it without profit.  If he could not force her to bleed the wounds of the aged and infirm he would squeeze the priests, who would gladly trade treasure for the legitimacy her ability would bring to their order.  But to allow his only daughter to marry without advantage would be to bring the other fishermen closer to his own level, even if his station was exalted only in his own eyes.

The sea receded.  When they arrived at the tide pools Kere and Telamon walked together through the microcosms of sea-life that lay scattered like droplets across the earth.  One droplet harbored an exotic round shell; flattened in profile, its wide red-mottled segments overlapped to form a flexible armor that protected the soft body beneath.  In another droplet, wisping away under the assault of wind and sun, three tiny fish swam an endless circle searching for an escape that would not exist for hours to come.  If they survived the predations of sea birds until then.  Seven-armed stars, called Lunafish by superstitious sailors, dotted watery depressions in a universe of colors and textures.  Only through the mercies of scavengers and the setting sun did the helpless creatures, trapped in abandoned moments, survive.  Shattered crab shells, remnants of a morning feast, lay hollow on the rocks.

Neither Kere nor Telamon spoke as the ocean crept away.  They didn’t want to acknowledge the heartbreak that lay ahead.  Kere flitted from pool to pool and soon the towering rock echoed with squeals of delight at each new creature she discovered.  Playing as they had long before, Kere and Telamon released for the moment the dread lurking in their hearts and became children again.  A cloak of seaweed, a mass of tangled leaves and spongy floats draped across the back and arms, transformed the boy into a fearsome, dripping sea monster.  Imaginary ships succumbed to the mighty onslaught of its grasping tentacles and gnashing beak.  The girl, cupping small creatures in her water-filled hands as she carried them back to the ocean, was reborn as Kimber, the gentle goddess of healing and the sea.  A blue-speckled crab left its perilous refuge in the care of the young goddess; it returned to the sea with its beak-riven carapace whole once more.

The fading sun invited the ocean to reclaim the broken territory so recently abandoned.  Pushed by the advancing moon, the water returned; as it did, so too did the worries of the young man and woman to displace the joys of the boy and girl.  Perched on a stone ledge above the high-water mark, they clasped their hands together and listened to the renewed roar of the water.  Cool mist wet their faces with each surge.

Hating herself, but no longer able to delay, Kere broke the silence.  “When must you leave?”

“On the third day from this.”

They would have less time together than she had hoped, but more than she’d feared.  “And the lands you’ll sail past?  Are they friendly?  Are their waters safe?”  Kere dreaded that grasping kings and preying pirates would beset the ships.

Telamon stroked her dark hair.  “For the first few weeks we can travel near enough to shore to be under the protection of local navies, such as they are.  At a cost, of course, but we will carry enough extra cargo to part with in such cases.”

Had Telamon not used the phrase ‘the first few weeks,’ Kere might have been reassured by his answer.  “And after the first few weeks?”  She immediately saw that he hadn’t intended to draw attention to what he must tell her next.

“After the first few weeks,” he said, drawing her closer, “we will enter another sea.  You’ve heard stories from the last voyage of the fleet?”  Kere nodded but they had been much younger when the fleet had last sailed.  The tales seemed impossible now.

“I’ve spoken with traders who come from across our own sea,” he continued.  “They speak of water seemingly without shores to hold it together.  If the sun were hidden by clouds for long enough, a ship might wander, lost, until long after its crew consumes the last of its clean water and food.”

This is why he thinks of his father today, she realized.  I must not make it worse for him.  “Surely that can’t happen.  The sun always reveals itself, eventually.  And the city will make the proper offerings at the Sanctuary, I’m sure.”  She hoped that more certainty filled her voice than resided in her heart.

“Of course,” he assured her.

The looming reality of his departure settled on her.  “How long will I wait until your return?”

Telamon nodded, acknowledging her acceptance.  “Two months at sea should see us to the land of copper.  If the gods are generous, the goods we take for trade will not spoil or be otherwise found wanting, and we can offer them in exchange for the metals.  If the people there accept our offers we could be pointed home after a week.  Perhaps sooner.”  He tapped a pebble against the ledge for a few moments.  “If the gods withhold their favor, or our cargo is not highly desired, then we will have to trade for the raw stone and work the copper from it ourselves.  Another two months, then, to crush the rock by hand and burn out the metal hidden within.”

“Why not just bring the stone back whole and burn the metal out here?” she asked.

“I wish it were so easy, love.  There is very little of the metals we seek in the stone itself.”  He chose a rock larger than his fist from those scattered about their perch.  Offering it to her, he said, “Imagine that this represents all of the stone that we could fit into the ships.”  Kere took the stone and nodded.  Telamon held out a pebble smaller than the tip of her finger.  “This represents the amount of metals hidden within the other.
If we were to return with all of that worthless stone filling our holds, there would be no profit in the voyage.  Do you understand?”

Kere did.  “Then two months, or four, before you turn for home.  Another two months to return?”  Up to half a year gone.  It was a dismal thought.  But it must be done.

Telamon hesitated.  “Actually, it will take at least three months to get home.”

So long?  She forced an uncertain smile through her disappointment.  “Why three months to return, when two are enough to get there?  Does it not take the same time to leave as to return when you fish off the shore?  Surely the breadth of the sea doesn’t depend on which direction you cross?”

The kindness of his reply, free of criticism of her lack of knowledge, comforted but did not reassure.  “The winds will be with us when we depart; we can sail a straighter course,” he answered.  “When we turn back, the winds will oppose us, forcing us to take a longer path.”  Kere was not certain that she understood completely, but as long as Telamon understood she would be satisfied.  “And there is the matter of returning with more than the ships’ own weights in cargo.  They’ll wallow lower in the water.  Move more slowly because of it.”

He pulled her tighter against his body and wrapped his light cloak over her shoulders to shield her from the cooling breeze now gusting from the water.  “But if my will were an oar or a sail, the return would be shorter.”

Kere gently kissed him.  Their lips lingered, both wanting more than this but neither wanting to taint their future together by appearing before a priestess having already known each other.  When the moon dipped beyond the Keswiq they returned to the city.

Links Galore! Go crazy!





Publisher Website:  http://www.lunarisen.com/

Book page at publisher website:  http://www.lunarisen.com/the-meronymy/





Publisher/Author Pinterest boards: http://pinterest.com/lunarisen/

Author Twitter: @ML_Weaver https://twitter.com/ML_Weaver

Publisher Twitter: @LunaRisen https://twitter.com/LunaRisen

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Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Liz Long #2: Witch Hearts Excerpt

Here is the second excerpt from Liz Long! This one is from Witch Hearts. If you'd also like to read the excerpt posted earlier today from Gifted go to this link.

WITCH HEARTS BLURB: 
How does a witch stay safe if a killer can get through her protection spells?

Witches like Ruby and Courtney can take care of themselves. So when Courtney is murdered, Ruby’s world crashes to a halt. The only thing keeping her grounded is the return of Courtney’s brother, Cooper. He seeks revenge, but Ruby wants to help other witches stay alive. To do that, she’ll have to reunite with her old coven’s High Priest, who also happens to be her cheating ex-boyfriend.

If that wasn’t awkward enough, when the killer gets too close, Cooper temporarily moves into Ruby’s place while a police officer tails her every move. Cooper’s presence distracts Ruby as they fight their desire against their need to stay safe. Then Courtney begins to haunt Ruby’s dreams and secrets are spilled, things from Cooper’s past that could get them both killed. The killer continues to stalk Ruby and the more she discovers, the more she fears she won’t be able to keep her heart in her chest.

Witch Hearts Special Excerpt:

Cooper and Ruby hopped on his bike and drove back to her place. She even managed to peek out from beneath her helmet to see the city whip past her in a blur. When they finally came to a stop, she untangled herself from him – albeit a tad regretful about it – and handed him back the helmet.

“Thanks again for everything tonight. I know it wasn’t the most fun you could have, but I want everyone to be safe,” she said.

“I understand. I’m glad I went, too. I don’t want anyone else in danger. Plus, you’re good company.” He stood up as he said it, hooking the helmets on his bike.

“You don’t have walk me in or anything. I don’t want to keep you any longer than you need.”
He snorted. “You’re not keeping me from anything. I want to do it, but especially because I want to make sure you’re safe.”

Ruby bit her bottom lip. Her nerves fluttered a bit at the thought of a possible goodnight kiss. She could hardly believe how immature she sounded in her head.

It’s your best friend’s brother. This is Cooper we’re talking about, a voice in her head screamed at her.
Another voice spoke up. Yeah. It’s Cooper. And your thoughts about him have never been exactly brotherly. 

Shaking both voices away, she swiped her key fob by the entrance door and Cooper held it open for her. They took the stairs up to the second floor and walked around the corner to her apartment. Ruby stopped as soon as she saw her door.

“Something’s wrong,” she said.

“What? How can you tell?” He looked up and down the hallway.

“There was a barrier when I left. Remember I checked, put my hand on the door when we left? My spell was in place.”

“There was a soft glow on the door,” he said absentmindedly, as though remembering. His eyes narrowed and Ruby could see his veins throb in his neck as his jaw tightened.

“Only witches would be able to see it, but it’s not there.” Ruby took a few steps forward, placing her hand on the door, which was now simply cool and wooden. She retrieved her key and turned the lock, but Cooper stopped her.

“I’ll go in first.”

He swung the door wide open; he held his hands up in case of a fight or a spell, but silence greeted them. Cooper did a quick sweep of the apartment while Ruby waited in the entryway. He returned with Aziza in one arm and a letter in his hand.

“This was on your coffee table,” he said grimly. “Aziza was hiding behind the couch. She hissed until she realized it was me.”

Ruby took the note from him. As she opened it, Cooper stood beside her to read over her shoulder.

“Not all witches are equal. Some are born with extraordinary gifts; anyone can practice, but few are truly powerful. You are one of the lucky ones, Ruby. I apologize about your friend Courtney. She was powerful, but nowhere near your capabilities. I’m afraid that in order for my powers to thrive, yours must come to an end. I’ll be seeing you very soon. –X”

About the Author:
Liz Long is lucky enough to have a dream career in magazine publishing as an editor and writer, yet still have time to create adventures on the side. If you catch her staring off into space or talking to herself, don’t worry – it’s just her imagination at work. 

Liz graduated from Longwood University with a BA in English, though her professors might be disappointed to hear she reads more fantasy fiction than literary novels. She also loves action and thriller genres. Her books probably won’t change your life, but she hopes they steal you away from reality for a while.  

Her newest release, Witch Hearts, will be for sale on Amazon on April 30th. Her first book, Gifted, a Donovan Circus Novel, is also available for paperback and Kindle on Amazon. 

To learn more about Liz, visit her website: http://lizclong.com

Author Links:
Twitter: (Handle: @LizCLong) https://twitter.com/#!/LizCLong

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Liz Long #1: Gifted Excerpt

Today I am featuring the two excerpts from Liz Long's books. One from Gifted, which is below, and the other from Witch Hearts, which will be posted at noon!

 GIFTED BLURB:
Even in a world of freaks, being a Firestarter is considered a dangerous Gift.

Lucy was born with the ability to create and control fire. She longs to leave the human world for one filled with Earthshakers, Transporters, and Chameleons, to name a few. When she rejoins the circus, it’s everything she hoped it could be—new friends, a potential love interest or two, and a place where she can be herself.

When troupe members begin turning up dead, however, Lucy is suspected of foul play. She must not only prove her innocence but also realize the full extent of her power. To find the real murderer, she must uncover the truth behind her father’s fiery legacy while figuring out whom to trust within her new circle. Little does she know the history of the Donovan Circus and its enemies might actually destroy the entire gifted world.

Gifted Excerpt:
We followed the already worn walkway around a corner, where a sea of activity blinded me. Whereas the campers were quiet, the actual circus grounds thrived with members preparing for the day. 

My senses hit overdrive—colors, smells, and sounds assaulted me. Costumes covered in sequins and feathers were traded off between artists; my nose detected popcorn machines, sawdust with hay, and sweat, both human and animal. And the sounds! It was so loud between the people yelling, animals’ screeches, and equipment in use to set up stands and booths. I would have to shout at Delia to be heard. 

I suddenly became very aware of why Sheffield and Delia warned me against being surprised. People made no secret of their gifts in safe company. I saw another Runner dart in and out of the crowd while Levitators floated seamlessly between the bodies. Birds flew all over, carried messages or small objects such as tools or costume props. The air filled with sounds of conversation, animals protested their displeasure of cages, and men barked orders on the best way to get tents up fast.

My heart jumped when I saw two other male Firestarters walking together. One was dressed in half a clown costume. The other one flicked a lighter and began to juggle fireballs with the clown; they walked simultaneously as they tossed them back and forth to one another, gradually creating greater space between them. Walking five feet apart, they continued juggling and while most troupe members simply walked around them and rolled their eyes, a few walked through, seemingly oblivious to the fire whizzing past their heads. 

A girl walking by bumped into me. Her eyes met mine and narrowed in question but she continued walking. I saw someone whisper to his friend while he looked at me. I could’ve sworn another girl pointed discreetly in my direction. Some of the looks weren’t entirely welcoming. 

My stomach clenched and my hands went into a hot sweat. The scene slowed down as I looked at Delia—her mouth moved, she talked to me about something, but I had no idea what. All I could hear was white noise. Completely overwhelmed, my body felt like it was seizing up. Flames would escape my palms and engulf me if I didn’t calm down. 

GIFTED LINKS:


WITCH HEARTS LINKS:


About the Author:
Liz Long is lucky enough to have a dream career in magazine publishing as an editor and writer, yet still have time to create adventures on the side. If you catch her staring off into space or talking to herself, don’t worry – it’s just her imagination at work. 

Liz graduated from Longwood University with a BA in English, though her professors might be disappointed to hear she reads more fantasy fiction than literary novels. She also loves action and thriller genres. Her books probably won’t change your life, but she hopes they steal you away from reality for a while.  

Her newest release, Witch Hearts, will be for sale on Amazon on April 30th. Her first book, Gifted, a Donovan Circus Novel, is also available for paperback and Kindle on Amazon. 

To learn more about Liz, visit her website: http://lizclong.com

Author Links:
Twitter: (Handle: @LizCLong) https://twitter.com/#!/LizCLong

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Monday, July 22, 2013

Lauren Grimley #2: Unveiled Excerpt

The second excerpt from Lauren Grimley today is from Unveiled, the second book in the Alex Crocker Series. Also, don't miss the giveaway at the bottom!

To see the first excerpt from Unforeseen posted earlier today go here: http://paranormallounge.blogspot.com/2013/07/lauren-grimley-1-unforeseen-excerpt.html

 Book Information:
Genres/tags: urban fantasy, paranormal romance, vampire series
Available formats: ebook and paperback
Publisher: Paramance
Website page: http://www.laurengrimley.com/Unveiled__book_2.html
Trailer link: http://youtu.be/hfz5KLrVC9k
Goodreads - http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17969407-unveiled

Blurb: 
With strength comes vulnerabilities. With love comes loss. With power comes pain. The world Alex now belongs to hinges on such balance. Her every step seems to be lurching her precariously closer to one wrong side or another.

Alex had known her life as a Seer wouldn’t be easy. She knew her gift would be difficult to control and constantly sensing others’ emotions would be overwhelming. She even knew she’d be hunted for the power it would provide whichever coven of vampires controlled her. What she didn’t foresee were the difficulties she’d have with the parts of her life she ought to be able to control: her decisions, her actions, and her relationships.

It isn’t until she’s botched every facet of her new life that the opportunity arises to make things right. Rocky’s lover has been abducted, and Alex’s gift is the best shot at bringing her home alive. But even that will require tipping the scales in a direction no one but Alex can understand.

This sequel to Unforeseen is a darker tale of the battles Alex continues to fight against her enemies, her gift, and even herself. This time victory might cost her sanity, her lover, or her life.

Purchase links for Unveiled, book 2: 
Amazon - http://www.amazon.com/Unveiled-Alex-Crocker-Series-ebook/dp/B00CXGQGPC/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1369217456&sr=1-3&keywords=lauren+grimley

Barnes & Noble - http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/unveiled-lauren-grimley/1115393815?ean=2940016588780

Excerpt from Chapter 1, Unveiled:
Two hours later Alex was dressed and sitting cross-legged in the center of the bed debating her next move. And there had to be a next move, because status quo since she’d made her transformation from freakishly intuitive human to full-blown Seer involved spending her nights on the brink of insanity. She’d kept up the act as long as she could. It was time to do something or admit defeat. Alex didn’t give up that easy.

She opened the small wooden jewelry box that lay before her on the center of the bedspread. Stacked on top of the tangled mess of costume jewelry she’d accumulated during high school and college were the array of bracelets she had worn on her right wrist for years. She had taken them off and stashed them away last summer without a second thought. Now she fingered a studded leather cuff, two of frayed woven cotton in muted earth tones, and one of pewter maille made by a classmate in college.

Disgusted, she slammed the lid closed. The force of it sent a folded scrap of paper fluttering onto the thick comforter. She didn’t need to unfold it to see what it said. The words in Darian’s neat cursive were etched into her memory.

The last of three,
Where essence is strong, marred And before the turn, battle-worn From which will then be born to us A unique warrior
’Tis she who Sees a way
To victory.

This was the prophecy supposedly foretelling Alex’s future as a Seer. While her first impression had been that it read like poorly written mumbo-jumbo, she had eventually accepted there might be something to it. Boiled down it predicted that her two brothers would die, she’d be gravely injured, carried to the safety of the coven, and be the first ever female to fight alongside the warriors. So far every charming line had turned out true, except the last two, which implied she’d be the one to end the centuries-long feud between two covens of creatures who could crush her in a heartbeat. Since most Seers suffered early painful deaths, Darian likely hoped she’d get a move on and wrap it all up before she turned thirty, to boot. But no pressure or anything.

Alex angrily tore the paper to bits and flung the pieces into the air where they scattered among the mess surrounding her. She tapped her front teeth together as she examined the room she’d lived in ever since she had been brought to the Regan’s farmhouse and told about the existence of vampires, Seers, and prophecies, all things most people in the small city of Bristol, Mass., believed to exist only in books—or horror movies. The once neatly kept guest room now teemed with distractions: a set of Shakespeare paperbacks, well-worn and marked from her college literature classes; an old Latin textbook she’d borrowed from Sarah, in hopes of being able to understand a few words of hers and Markus’s upcoming mating ceremony; two equally worn and dirty pairs of running shoes; and a new silver iPod with matching speakers.

Sage had given her these last two items for her twenty-sixth birthday after an embarrassing incident the week before. Listening to her old iPod had been a source of refuge from her sense. The tirade of swears that had spewed from her mouth the night it died after a rainy run had been epic. As a Knower, who was constantly inundated with his friends’ thoughts, the way Alex was bombarded with their emotions, Sage understood her need to block out her sense at times. Still, the present had come with a warning.

“Don’t make us regret the speakers,” he’d said. “If I have to be subjected to that chick rock you listen to, no music is going to drown out my irritation.”

In the weeks since, she had regularly ignored this instruction, blasting her playlists packed with the anthems of emos everywhere, in a vain attempt to numb her growing sense. None of her housemates said anything to stop her. They were ever-supportive as she tried to adjust to her gift. Their ignoring the signs that she was slowly falling apart and her pretending she was holding it all together was just part of the dance they shared on a nightly basis now. Sarah’s turning to Darian with her concern over her weight loss had been the first sign that the dance was coming to an end. Looking across the bedroom to the mirror that hung above the cherry dresser, Alex admitted it was a miracle it had lasted this long. She flinched at her own reflection. Her face was as pale as it would be mid-January, despite being only a few weeks into September. The red- violet under-eye circles stood out sharply against the pallid complexion. She looked away.

She needed to learn control, but what she really wanted was release. Books and music were merely diversions, which lasted only as long as her attention span. These days that wasn’t nearly long enough. Running had always been her go-to, but even that comfort only lasted as long as her body could hold out. Although that was far longer than she was allowed on the fields surrounding the property most nights. One of Darian’s many new safety precautions—or power plays, depending on who was asked.

With emotions rather than reason in charge, her promise to Markus was soon forgotten. She grabbed the remote to her speakers. Maybe a good fight was just what she needed. She pressed play and then held her thumb over the volume button until the angry alternative beats shook the entire upstairs. She couldn’t hear the growl or the stomping that accompanied the aggravation she sensed from the approaching Regan. Her door swung open seconds into the first song and Darian yanked the cord from the wall.

“Do you mind? I’m trying to prepare for a meeting.” He stood glaring at her, entirely filling the doorframe. This used to intimidate her. If she were being smart and not being overrun by her sense, it might still.

“And I’m trying to drown out how you’re feeling about that meeting.” Fresh and invasive, it was a nice touch.
“Are you adding listening to music to my proscribed list of activities? What does that leave me, Regan, knitting?”

Darian’s fists clenched and unclenched by his side.

Go ahead. Give in to it. Hit me. I’ve wanted to project someone onto his ass ever since my gift matured.

His hands dropped to his sides. Apparently she was the only one giving into her moods tonight. Darian had done what she had been unable to do for nearly two months: control his emotions.

“Use headphones. Or at least turn it down.” He spun around, closing her door as he exited.

Before it had even shut, she hurled her copy of King Lear at the wall beside it. “Every inch a king, my ass.”

His footsteps paused; his anger blazed. Alex’s hope rekindled. Then his sympathy seeped in, dissipating his fury. Heavy tread could be heard again heading down the hall to his office.

“Damn it.” She thought of all the times she had wanted Darian’s indulgence and was denied. Tonight when she craved confrontation, he yielded.

She slammed her fists into the pillows until, too exhausted to continue, she collapsed onto them. Eventually her breathing eased. In a calmer state, she realized what she had just done. Her stomach flipped. Picking a fight with a vampire, a Regan, might have sounded braver than her newest plan. She doubted, though, if anything could be more foolish. Still, she sighed.


Turning her head she gazed into the adjoining bathroom as one hand drifted back to the jewelry box. There had to be a way to keep them safe without doing this. There had to be a way to keep herself sane without doing this. She wished desperately she knew what that way was.

Author Information:
Twitter @legrimley: https://twitter.com/legrimley

Bio: 
Lauren Grimley lives in central Massachusetts where she grew up, but her heart is on the beaches of Cape Cod where she spends as much of her time as possible. After graduating from Boston University she became a middle school English teacher. She now balances writing, reading, and correcting, all with a cat on her lap and a glass of red wine close by.

Also by Lauren Grimley:










“Unknown” a short story from the Alex Crocker series:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1623750210/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1623750210&linkCode=as2&tag=laurgrim-20

Blurb:
Middle school is supposed to bite. Middle schoolers aren't.

Alex simply wanted to do a favor for a friend while taking a much-needed reprieve from her far-from-average life and returning temporarily to her teaching position. Torie was just trying to trudge through another day of middle school surrounded by naïve peers who had no idea what she was to become. Neither teacher nor student expected to glance across a classroom of normal human teenagers and into the face of their enemy. Neither Seer nor Knower could have understood how their gifts would leave them second-guessing everything they'd been taught to believe about the other side.









“Apply Liberally” a short romantic comedy/chick lit piece:
http://www.amazon.com/Apply-Liberally-ebook/dp/B00DP3YLK4/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1372778578&sr=1-3

Blurb:
Lissa had decided when she left the stale air of her classroom that afternoon that she was not going to wallow. She would not give Tom, Mr. I'm-just-not-ready-to-commit-right-now, the satisfaction of devastating her summer the way he had destroyed her confidence and sanity the previous four months. No, she decided she would bask in the freedom of her single status. Or at least drown her sorrows in a pitcher of Margaritas, a torrid romance novel, and a package or two of Oreos enjoyed on the nearest vacant stretch of beach.

That's when it started raining.

Still, a single woman on a mission can not be deterred. And who doesn’t need a little sunscreen even in a thunderstorm?
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Lauren Grimley #1: Unforeseen Excerpt

The first excerpt today from Lauren Grimley comes from Unforeseen. Also, don't miss the giveaway at the bottom of the post!

 Unforeseen, the first novel in the Alex Crocker Seer series, was Lauren’s debut novel, and she’s thrilled to be continuing the series with Unveiled. To learn more about her or her writing or to connect with her online visit her website at www.laurengrimley.com

 Book Information:
Unforeseen (Alex Crocker series, book 1)
Genres/tags: urban fantasy, paranormal romance, vampire series
Available formats: ebook and paperback
Publisher: Malachite Quills
Website page: http://www.laurengrimley.com/Unforeseen.html
Trailer link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4jIAt-U1iQ

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13624479-unforeseen


 Blurb:
Alex was quite sure gifted was a term delusional parents applied to their strictly average children, vampires were gorgeous dead guys in her eighth-grade girls' novels, and Seers was a middle schooler's misspelling of a department store known for power tools.  Teachers, however, don't know everything–it’s Alex’s turn to be educated.

Running alone the night before school ends, Alex is violently attacked.  Regaining consciousness, she finds herself in the home of the Rectinatti Regan, the leader of one of two covens of vampires battling nightly on the streets of her city.  If that discovery wasn't enough to make her think she'd gone insane, she realizes she's sensing the emotions of another of the vampires as strongly as she feels her own.  Discovering these creatures have the answers to what she is and why she was attacked, she decides she wants to stay, despite knowing it is a dangerous, possibly deadly desire.

Purchase links for Unforeseen, Book 1: 
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Unforeseen-Lauren-Grimley/dp/1623750210/ref=tmm_pap_title_0

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/unforeseen-lauren-grimley/1110436184?ean=2940014543286

Excerpt from Unforeseen:
She knew he was out there. She hadn’t heard him approach over the music she’d been playing. And she couldn’t see clearly through the windows of the two double doors due to the reflection cast by the soft yellow light of the small desk lamp. But Alex would have bet her summer paycheck he was right outside, standing silently in the dark corridor.

That afternoon she had been out the door of the middle school where she taught before the dismissal bell had ceased ringing. The heat and charged end-of-year atmosphere had left her spent and desperate for escape. Unfortunately there was no escaping her uncompleted work. So as soon as she was sure the final after-school activity had ended, she had returned and retreated to the comfort and quiet of the air-conditioned library with her stack of ungraded essays. It had seemed like a pretty smart plan at the time.

As she tapped her front teeth together repeatedly, she was second-guessing her wisdom. She supposed it was too late to flick off the light, mute the music, and hide under the librarian’s desk. He knew she was in there, alone.

But why should she be the one hiding anyway? She had dumped him.

“Come on in, Peter.” Alex stood up and gave a quick tug to the bottoms of her skimpy running shorts. They were probably not appropriate attire to be wearing in the workplace, even after the students had all gone home. She supposed she had little to worry about, though. Peter, as vice-principal, was her boss, and he had seen pretty much all of her. That was more than three years ago, when she had been fresh out of college and easily won over. She’d grown past that stage. Peter had missed the memo.

“Sorry. I, ah, didn’t want to startle you.” He flashed her a guilty grin as he entered the room rubbing his hand over what remained of his buzzed hair.

“Skulking in the hallway was a good idea, then,” Alex said with just a shadow of a smile. Peter chuckled. “Do you use that kind of sarcasm in your classroom, Ms. Crocker?”

She groaned at his form of address. Ms. rang of wizened old spinsters who reeked of
chalk dust and sour coffee breath. At twenty-five, Miss Crocker was more of a laptop-and-sports- drink kind of gal.

“Are you here to kick me out, Peter?” She caught a glimpse of the clock over his shoulder. It was quarter of ten. She knew asking the night custodians to stay sixty seconds past their contracted hours could potentially lead to a union riot.

“Sorry, I know your place is a sauna on nights like this,” he answered, as if she needed reminding he had spent more than a few hot—make that lukewarm—nights at her small one- bedroom apartment.

Alex took a deep breath. He was a good guy, a good friend. But the puppy-who-refused- to-give-up-his-favorite-chew-toy routine was getting old. Not that the chew toy had found a new dog, unfortunately.

Ugh, she thought. Did he really have her equating herself with something plastic and squeaky?

She must not have been successful at hiding her aggravation, though Peter misread the reason for her mood. “You know, if you needed some money to buy an air conditioner—”

“I don’t need money.” Alex knew she snapped a little too fiercely at his generosity. One of her many flaws was a proud independent streak that often bordered on pigheadedness. She had her father to thank for that. Alex sighed and continued in what she hoped was a softer tone. “Thank you, though, for offering.”

“Right. Well, how about a ride home? At least allow me one act of chivalry.” He looked down at her with his deep brown eyes. For a fleeting instant, as she met them, his emotions waxed into hers. She had a bad habit of falling for guys simply because they fell for her. She knew it was how they had become a couple to begin with, but she just couldn’t help it. Some days everyone’s emotions felt as contagious as the flu germs her students passed around each January. She mentally pinched herself, hard.

“Thanks, Prince Charming, but you’ll need to find another damsel in distress. If I don’t run, I’ll never sleep.”
Peter furrowed his brows. “You and your late-night runs.”

“Yes, I’m such a wild child,” Alex laughed. She hadn’t been up past midnight more than twice in the last year. In fact, the most exciting thing she’d done since college had been with Peter—here at school, in a janitor’s closet. She blushed remembering. She peeked up to see he was rosy, as well. “I’ve gone cold-turkey on the Grey’s Anatomy marathons,” she assured him. Though it still seemed unfair that young doctors had all the fun. “Perhaps you should lay off the Law & Order reruns—I’ll be fine.” Alex slung her school bag over her shoulder, scooped her beat-up iPod from the desk and started to the door, patting her pocket to double check she had her key to her apartment.

After dropping her bag in her classroom, she walked with Peter as far as the faculty parking lot. He stopped before crossing the dimly lit pavement to his car. Jingling his keys in his hand, he turned to her one last time.

“Are you—”

“Yes. I’m sure.” Alex held up her right hand so he could see the bracelets that covered her wrist. She pointed to her runner’s ID tag and flashed him a grin. “Don’t worry, if some idiot kills me at a crosswalk, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Not funny, Alex.”

She was already heading to the sidewalk, slipping the headphones blasting her alternative rock mix into each ear. She raised a hand to him to say goodnight.

Once on the main road, Alex’s route home was practically a straight shot through the center of Bristol. The former mill city in Eastern Mass had its shabby sections, and it lacked the culture and sophistication of a bigger city like Boston, but it was her home and always had been. She had never felt afraid running the familiar four-and-a-half-mile trek between school and her place. Besides, what she told Peter was true: she needed to run. Handling her students’ hormone- enhanced emotions could be draining. She needed an outlet. Since she could no longer afford karate in addition to her student loans and grad classes, she’d turned to running.

As she closed in on the final street before she’d be on her own block, she watched her shadow grow and shrink in the peaks and valleys of light cast by the evenly spaced streetlamps. She turned around, jogging backwards a few paces. The street behind her, like that ahead of her, was empty. The usual light traffic and occasional dog walker had been kept home by the oppressive humidity and the evening’s earlier thunderstorms. It normally wouldn’t have unnerved her. As a city girl, Alex usually relished the rare opportunity to be truly alone, especially on a night when the rain-washed pavement left the city streets smelling clean for once. So, feeling the unmistakable nervous twinge that turned her stomach and tightened her chest, she cursed the power of suggestion.

“Damn you, Peter.”

Hoping to shake the ridiculous feeling of being followed and not wanting to squander the adrenaline, she took off at full speed. Her sneakers tore into the wet pavement, sending spray up her muscled calves. Halfway to the corner her lungs were burning. At just over five feet short, as her brothers used to say, speed had never been her thing.

Just to the next alley, she promised her aching chest. As soon as she reached the gap between the two commercial buildings, she let up. Her feet slapped the sidewalk as she tried to slow her momentum. She would walk the last block and a half home. It would allow her time to catch her breath, cool off, and calm down. She tried to focus on something mundane.

As she wiped the sweat from her brow, she thought about what Peter had offered. She’d never accept the charity, but she really could use a small air conditioner for her bedroom. She was sick of fighting with the landlord over the ancient hunk of metal that was supposed to cool her whole apartment. Midway through cursing the useless beer-gutted moron under her breath, she was overwhelmed with what might have felt like a wave of nausea to anyone else.

Alex was not anyone else. Part of being sensitive to others’ emotions was having a killer sense of intuition, and hers was suddenly on high alert. This was not the vague undefined fear of moments before—this was real and immediate.

Author Information:
Twitter @legrimley: https://twitter.com/legrimley

Bio: 
Lauren Grimley lives in central Massachusetts where she grew up, but her heart is on the beaches of Cape Cod where she spends as much of her time as possible. After graduating from Boston University she became a middle school English teacher. She now balances writing, reading, and correcting, all with a cat on her lap and a glass of red wine close by.
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Sunday, July 21, 2013

BBF Kick Off Post!

Hey guys! Sorry it's been so quiet around here lately. I've been hard at work on the BBF and I haven't had much time for anything else. As some of you know, BBF is an event where authors and bloggers come together to showcase tons of books from various genres. The event officially starts tomorrow, but I'm here to tell you what to expect on Paranormal Lounge this week.

Each day of the BBF I will be featuring excerpts from a different author's work. The thing you will love about this is that all of these excerpts are from books that feature paranormal themes!

Monday: Excerpts from Lauren Grimley!
Tuesday: Excerpts from Liz Long!
Wednesday: Excerpts from M.L. Weaver!
Thursday: Excerpts from Nathan Squiers!
Friday: Excerpts from M. Pepper Langlinais!

Along with this, I have some news. I have made Ruby, the short story companion to Obsidian, permanently FREE on Smashwords. Some more great news? Obsidian is HALF PRICE on Kindle starting on Monday for the duration of the fair! Only $3.50!

Also, I have a giveaway going. It's a grab bag of my short stories. Winners can pick any story they want. Use the rafflecopter below to enter!

a Rafflecopter giveaway
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