A NEW MASTER?

Greetings and Salutations loyal readers of the blog,

I have been remiss in fulfilling my obligation to blog once a week. This is not acceptable so I’m holding myself accountable here. I let my panties get in a bunch due to the overwhelming lack of a response I received from my last post. With that said I will do my utmost not to be absent again.

Now that I’ve fallen on my sword and exposed my sensitive nature to both readers of my blog lets move on.

I don’t normally do book reviews on my blog post, but we are shooting for the exceptions today. If you are not living under a rock you probably know that Joe Hill’s new novel NOS4A2 hit the book stores late last month. I read Joe’s most recent work over two days. An unusual feat for me.

No spoilers here! 
What I will tell you is Mr. Hill’s love of words comes through in the careful way he weaves them together to create characters, who took me by the hand and lead me into a world I didn’t always want to be a part of. Yet, I was unable to pull my eyes away from the page. Joe’s phrases raised a visceral response in me. I found myself pacing the house, the book resting in one hand, turning pages with the other. Sometimes agitated, other times nervous, but always responding to Mr. Hill’s flexing of my reality . The language throughout this novel is exactly what all authors would like to be able to deliver. Joe has broken down the wall between Literary and Genre Horror with a heavy hammer. He is not the first to do so, but it is encouraging to see another author pull another brick out of that wall. 

As a writer myself I was humbled when I set NOS4A2 down. If I could get to one of Joe’s book signings I would reenact the scene from Wayne’s World, kowtowing “I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy.”

When I first read A Heart Shaped Box I mentioned here, that I was clearing space on my bookshelves for all the Joe Hill novels to follow. I’m glad I left plenty of room.

Todays quote comes from Joe Hill’s first novel.

“He understood that the ghost existed first and foremost within his own head. That maybe ghosts always haunted minds, not places. If he wanted to take a shot at it, he’d have to turn the barrel against his own temple.”
― Joe Hill, Heart-Shaped Box

Plunging into your characters…

I follow a number of blogs, from everything for Zombie Preparedness, to writing techniques, to pure humor. One of my favorites is Kristen Lamb at warriorwriters.wordpress.com and this week she hit on something I’ve been chatting over with some other writerly friends for awhile–how do make your characters ‘real’?

As writers, we’ve been told many, many, many times (ad naseum) that there only so many archetypes for our characters, to differentiate them we have to make them ‘unique’.  Uh-huh, right then and how do we do that?  Well, I like what Kristen’s outline in her blog so I’m linking it right here:

 

http://warriorwriters.wordpress.com/2013/05/13/would-you-rather-an-exercise-in-creating-max-conflict-in-fiction/

Take the time to read this post. I’m a hugely character driven writer, so the more complex and intricate I can make my peeps, the more ‘real’ they come across to my readers.  No one wants to read the same stereotype character with a different hair color/eye color/warts/plaid/polka dots/height.  The more you can shade them, giving them corners no one wants to admit to having the more your readers will be inclined to follow along and invest themselves in your world.

 

It’s sharing time….feel free to add bits and pieces you’ve discovered in making your characters ‘real’.

Dreams

I’ve been trying to stay motivated with my writing lately, especially when everything I read basically tells me that “you’ll never have more time to write than now.”  But, I’m not sure if that’s true.  Life is so crazy right now that I have to believe I will eventually have more time to write than now.

Someday, I imagine, I’ll sit in a coffee shop all day and just write.  Instead of writing feeling like something I do in stolen moments, it will have an important place in my daily life.  Now, I’m sure a lot of people feel this way, which is probably where the above saying came from, but I honestly believe I’ll achieve this dream of mine.

Until then, however, I am going to continue striving to make writing a part of my life, even if it falls to the background sometimes.  I’ll take pride in the one or two pages I get written each day, because at least it means I haven’t given up.  Even if my writing isn’t always at the level I want it to be at, and even if I spend half the time I have for writing re-reading what I wrote the day before, I’ll try to be proud of myself.

The Next Big Thing…

I’ve been tagged by Sandy Wright for The Next Big Thing Blog Hop, where new releases and new authors get highlighted. Sandy’s SONG OF THE ANCIENTS, is a Paranormal Suspense currently making the rounds in finding a publishing home.  Feel free to check out her blog at www.writersandy.com for all the nifty details on her first book.

So since I’m it, let’s get to it!

• What’s the title/working title of your latest book?

For those that are following, we’ll do SHADOW’S MOON, because I’m keeping my current WIP under wraps for a bit.

• Where did the idea for the book come from?

This will be the third in the Kyn Kronicles, but this time I decided to leave Raine and Gavin alone to take advantage of some downtime.  Instead I got caught up in Xander and Warrick’s relationship. I’ve always loved the concept of magic and the supernatural existing alongside reality, so the world I created has some dark corners that you don’t want to face without a sharp, pointy object. For SHADOW’S MOON, I wanted to explore the relationship between the most dominant male wolf in the Northwest and his top female enforcer, Xander.  What happens when two strong personalities meet? Do they bend, break or create something new? SHADOW’S MOON continues the twists and turns of the Kyn universe, but also allows the readers a chance to see the world through the eyes of the Shifter House.  Plus the sparks from Xander and Warrick were a blast to maneuver through.

• What genre does your book fall under?

Paranormal Romance/Urban Fantasy

• What’s a one sentence synopsis for your book?

As the Northwest Alpha wolf, compromise isn’t in Warrick Vidis’s vocabulary, but when his reluctant mate, Xander Cade, refuses to leave off the hunt for the one threatening their pack, will he be able to bend before they both break?

•  How long did it take to write the first draft of the manuscript?

It took me about 4 1/2 to 5 months to get through the first draft.  Then another month or so to fine tune it.

• Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

         Currently it is under consideration by a handful of publishing houses/agencies, so fingers crossed one of them picks it up.

• What other books would you compare this book to in your genre?

Hmmm…think Ilona Andrew’s Kate Daniels series or Patricia Briggs’s Mercy Thompson or Alpha and Omega series. 

Since I like to share the spotlight, here are my “MUST READ” new authors! Swing on over and check them out!

Mona Karel

Liv Rancourt

Amber Kallyn

Lynn Rush

The Process

Sometimes I like to pretend my favorite authors are like superheroes, you know, somehow not quite human.  I go between wanting to know everything about them, and not wanting to know anything about them.  I sometimes even hesitate to look at their bio at the back of the book, worrying that knowing something about them might take away from their story.  It is an absolutely silly thing to think, I know it is, and yet, I feel like my favorite authors can only fall off the careful pedestal I’ve created for them.

This being said, I recently decided to research one of my beloved authors.  I was surprised to find how snarky she could be in her question and answer page, but I was also relieved to find that she seemed honest about herself and her experiences.  And most of all, I was shocked to find out that she only works with a rough outline for her books.  I thought with all the intricate details, she must map her books out entirely before writing them.  It seems though, she actually hates going into too much detail with her book outines in the beginning, because then she feels like she has already written her book.  She actually just spends a great deal of time editing and revising, I gathered.

This might not seem like a very significant bit of information, but it was a huge relief to me.  I write in a very similar style.  I create a character, and outline, and world information.  Then, I start writing.  Things often change as the story develops, but all of this actually leads to a need for a lot of editing and revising.  It is daunting to finish a book and still have so much work to do, but it eases my mind a great deal to know that a writer I admire so much also has such a daunting task, and creates such spectacular books through this process.

You think you know Hugo winner @seananmcguire – think again!

We’ve been trying to classy up the Swamp lately. This involves shanghai-ing…err..gently persuading some really cool peeps to stop by for a few and answer some truly insightful questions.  This week we were able to lure the one and only Seanan McGuire to our destination of mold, mildew, and spongy ground.  For those who haven’t met her before, let me introduce Seanan. She is the mad genius behind the Urban Fantasy October Daye series and the truly fun InCryptid series. Her podcast, The SF Squeecast just picked up a Hugo award. Born and raised on the West Coast of North America, she currently shares a crumbling farm house with her three improbably large cats, her large collection of horror movies, and enough books to qualify as a library under local zoning laws.  She has no qualms about cuddling rattlesnakes, but weather terrifies her.  When not writing, she enjoys visiting haunted cornfields, collecting creepy dolls, and watching too much television.  Sometimes she’s her own evil twin, Mira Grant. 

She really doesn’t sleep much.

Try not to scare her away!

If you were to hold a dinner party for six, who would you invite and share at least one question you would have for each? Your guests don’t have to be alive and if you really want to make it fun, you can use favorite fictional characters.

I’m assuming my guests would be functionally alive for the duration of the party, at least, or we’re potentially sitting at the table with a bunch of corpses, and that would be…bad.  Very, very bad.

I don’t know, Seanan, Eerie’s Zombies tend to have some table manners.  We have managed to keep them from leaving pieces behind or leaking over the table.

So I would invite Stephen King and ask him about language; James Gunn and ask him about what he would have done in Slither II; Andrew Volpe and ask him about music; Walt Disney and ask him about imagination; and my friends Michelle “Vixy” Dockrey and Catherynne Valente, because seriously, if I had a dinner party with those people and didn’t invite Cat and Vixy, they would have a keep-away party with my internal organs.

 You might need to set a few extra spots, I think Eerie may crash your dinner party and I would be the plus one…

As children we tend to have an idea of what we want to be by the time we’re ten.  Before you decided to pursue the artistic dream of being a writer, what did you want to be and why?

I actually wanted to be a Broadway performer when I was younger!  I did years of voice and dance lessons, and appeared in quite a few productions here on the West Coast.  Sadly, a spinal injury took dancing off the table, and I was forced to refocus my ambitions.

That totally sucks, but on the positive side, we get to go on adventures with Toby and the Price family!

If your character(s) came with a warning label, what would it say?

Warning: Contents under pressure.  Contains language.  Some concepts may be too complicated for after-midnight reading.  Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.

                  *makes note to find out story behind Happy Fun Ball*

If you turned your laptop/computer/pen/typewriter (yes, some of still use these!) over to your character(s), how would they describe you?

…oh.  Oh, that would end poorly.  “Die die die die die die bitch die die die” is probably the more socially acceptable part of that little screed.

                                 *snort* I think a few of mine would jump all over that band wagon, complete with a burning effigy.

We all have favorite characters, either main or secondary, and there are always bits and pieces of them we don’t share with our readers, but keep close to our hearts.  Choose your favorite from your cast of characters and tell us a couple of things that you haven’t shared in your books/writing.

Since all my series are ongoing, I actually intend to share most things, given sufficient time.  It’s one of the nice parts of being a series author (although I very much envy people who can think in stand-alones).  Quentin, from the Toby Daye books, loves hockey.  He’s a good Canadian boy and he appreciates his nation’s favorite pastime.  He actually has fantasies about getting Toby to a hockey game and watching her expression when she realizes that blood will bounce on ice.

                                    That’s kind of cool, I hadn’t imagine Quentin into Hockey, basketball..not the nice one, but street style…very cool…

Personally, I tend to be a bit on the introverted side so the thought of being in the actual presence of one of my favorite writers makes my heart race, my knees shake and tangles my tongue (yes classic fan girl behavior).  Who could reduce you to such a level and how do you imagine your initial meeting?

Stephen King, definitely.  I fully expect to lose the power of coherent speech if I ever manage to meet him.  I think if we do meet, it will be through the efforts of a mutual friend, who will stand there and laugh as I stare and whimper.

                                   Maybe you can prepare pre written signs a la the Roadrunner?

Growing up, what was your favorite book, comic, game or movie and did you create a character/player that might resemble you?

You actually asked the self-insert character question!  I salute you.  I used to tell myself stories where I’d get to meet my favorite characters, but I never committed any of them to paper.  My favorite movie growing up was Little Shop of Horrors, and I actually never did a self-insert there, although I’ve been in the musical seven times, and have played every female character except for Audrey.

                                  Here I thought it was just me who was strange enough to do this, but I think it’s like training wheels for writers, playwrights, actors…

Many writers have that first novel which will never see the light of day. Out of curiosity, do you have one stashed somewhere?  Inquiring minds want to know: what was  your first attempt at writing and how old were you?

My first serious attempt at writing was a fourteen-page essay when I was nine, explaining to my mother why she had to let me read Stephen King.  It had footnotes and a bibliography.  I finished my first book when I was twelve.  It was called Dracula’s Castle, and if I knew where it was, I’d probably put it online.

                                      Since my Prankster Duo would do something like this, I have to ask, did she let you read it?

Whether we’re plotters or pantsers (outlines not needed), creating our stories takes us on very memorable journeys.  Sometimes we may be part way through before we realize some major aspect of our story is just not working (plot, character, setting).  Have you ever hit this sharp, pointy snag and if so, how did you escape? We’re you battered and bruised or a bloody mess?

When in doubt, blow shit up.

                                      Niiiiceeee….

Share one uniquely strange experience you’ve had that remains crystal clear to this day.

I worked for the phone company for a while as a process engineer, and there was one summer where they sent me everywhere.  I had almost no time at home or with my cats, and I was exhausted.  I stopped enjoying travel, and I started having travel troubles for the first time in my life.  Then, when I arrived in Florida after a bad flight, I got picked up by a black van at the taxi stand, and the driver kept pointing out things that weren’t normal tourist things, like the gator farms and where the good movie theaters were.  Just as we reached my hotel, he looked at me in the rearview and said, “You’ve been having a bad time lately.  Some bad trips.  But don’t worry.  That’s all over now.”  And he was right.  Things got better after that.

                                            How cool is that?

What’s some of the funniest/sweetest/strangest things you’ve heard from your readers?

I have the best readers.  A lot of them have named cats after my characters, which I take as high praise.  And one reader’s seven-year-old memorized a song of mine, “Wicked Girls,” when she had to take a poem to her first grade class.  I consider that the sweetest thing ever.

                                          Wow! A poem? That is truly the best thing ever!

What’s the one genre you won’t ever try and why?

Probably military sci-fi.  I don’t have the background, and I would have real trouble with the details.

What is some of the best advice you were ever given?

Never measure yourself against anyone else.  Their stories aren’t yours to tell, and guess what?  Your stories aren’t theirs.

                                               I’ll have to remember this one…

What is the best advice you can share with others?

Read.  Write.  Revise.  Don’t read the comments, ever.  Play nicely with the other children, even if you don’t like them.  Nastiness never did any long-term good.  Support your peers; someday you may need them to support you.  Success is not a zero-sum game.  Your story is not done.

And now for the bullet questions you all love…are you ready?

Blades, guns, fists or feet?

Tank.

Favorite Fairy Tale of all time?

The Three Sisters, variant four, happy ending version, AT tale type 713-b.

Three titles and their authors sitting on your nightstand/bookcase/table/floor waiting to be read?

              Crops and Robbers, by Paige Shelton; Forbidden, by Kelley Armstrong; Virus X, by Frank Ryan.

Greatest one liner of all time?

“Bet you wish you’d gone to Hollywood with me now, don’t you, Bill?”

Sarcastic witticism, Southern sweetness or Geeky disdain?

Sarcasm, all the way.

Strangest item currently taking up space in your writing cave?

My 20+ pound blue classic tabby and white Maine Coon, Alice.

Favorite supernatural creature?

It varies from day to day.  Right now, the mermaid.

A big, huge thank you to Seanan for taking the time to be with us today. She’s definitely help add a little pizzaz to our place!  Want more Seanan McGuire? Don’t fret, her latest release is Midnight Blue-Light Special, the second book in her InCryptid series.  These urban fantasy cryptozoology adventures follow the Price family as they do their best not to get eaten by anything unpleasant.  The series began with Discount Armageddon, and there are several free short stories on Seanan’s website, at www.seananmcguire.com.

Where to Start

I’ve been trudging along, barely editing my book for the past few months.  Life, as always, seems to be getting in the way a lot, and when I finally have a chance to sit down and work on my book, it feels more like a job than it ever has before.  I know that’s what writing is, work, but it is also supposed to be work I enjoy.  Otherwise, why would I do it?  So, I have taken a bit of a break from my novel to play around with some other ideas and to read a little.

Reading is also usually a really pleasant way to pass my time, except that I’ve started reading some books written by an absolutely exceptional author who makes me feel motivated to write more.  The way she creates her world and her people is on a level that is awe-inspiring.  It makes me wonder how she created it all.  Did she spend months and months just mapping out her world and how it worked before ever putting pen to paper?  Or did she start writing a story and the world just came together for her?

The new idea I’ve been working on, that’s supposed to be my fun break from editing, now makes me pause.  I wonder if I should be mapping this world out carefully before writing, or just enjoying writing.

It’s all just a complicated mess where all roads lead right back to me not writing.  But, at least, in talking to my fellow writers, I’m not alone in my struggles to stay focused on my work.

Tops and Bottoms

Someday I’m going to write a story with this as a central theme, but for now, I’ll settle with a simple post.

Humans are like animals… which is what everyone and your priest wants to tell you. What is really true is that humans are animals, and we’re all guilty of trying to think otherwise. Putting ourselves on the level of mere dogs is insulting. Just look at them. Rolling around in the mud, tongues lolling about, their blatant disregard for cleanliness. But when you scold them, and if they respect you, they all do the same thing. They lower their eyes.

What does a child do when his mother catches him with his hand in the cookie jar? Lower his eyes. What does a man do when the woman he loves catches him doing something she told him not to? Drop that gaze to the floor.

“Sorry sweetie, I didn’t mean it…”

Likely story.

But look at the similarities. Look how instinctive it is to show submission to another. As animals, we know when to act humbly and when to act strong. When that bad guy in a ski-mask comes snatching your special lady’s purse and you chase him down, that’s just you being dominant. And that’s great, especially if you were the same guy who just apologized to his wife for taking a huge scoop out of her freshly-made blueberry pie when she explicitly told you not to.

Humans can be both.

It’s just more interesting when you figure out which one you are more inclined toward.

And that my friends, is a whole other post.

Hellos and Goodbyes…

It’s been awhile since we’ve visited the Swamp and her inhabitants. Today I thought you might like to take a peek into our little farewell get together for Mighty, who shall remain with us via the technology gods until her return, and meet our newest member…

Wicked: *shoving Might’s duffle on to the back of the lopsided jackass*  Why the hell are you going to the Windy City? Between the Werewolf Monks and Eerie’s Free Range Zombies, I would’ve thought we had enough drama for you.

Mighty:*stashing her Staff of Bull Shark Repellent*  You know how it is, money’s a little tight and those Bull Sharks aren’t going to leave the lake any time soon. I’m just going to make sure they don’t pass beyond where they’re allowed.

Snarky: *lazily curling and uncurling her whip*  I can whip them into shape.

Mighty: *look of indulgent disdain*  Your whip is not going to reach.

*Overhead Mischievous calls out*:  Hey Mighty, you ready to lose a few fingers and toes?  The temps over there will keep you in deep freeze.  *He cackles at his lame attempt at humor*

Mighty: *rolling her eyes across the road. Picks them up and puts them back in*:  That bird would be great fried.

Wicked: *grinning in agreement, even as the Prankster Duo comment on Mighty’s gory trick*  Yeah, but I think Eerie might take exception to our meal plans.

Eerie: *taking his Free Range Zombies for a walk with chains and a pointy stick*  What meal plans? The Werewolf Monks have been promising me a new vintage, I could pester them for it.

*A cloud of smoke drifts over* Smokey: “Just took down a mastodon over by Swamp Thing’s place. It’s been smoking nicely for the last few days. I’ll have my Spicy Bit bring it over. We don’t want you heading off without a full belly, Mighty.

Quirky: *practicing knots with some newly purchased ropes*  The Muses headed out a few hours ago, so we could probably hang over at Filet Your Own Deli without worrying about another knock down drag out argument over the use of details or lack thereof.

Dreamer *arms full of colorful blooms and Angel Boy fluttering around her ankles*  What about your cabin, Mighty? Do you need someone to pop in and keep an eye on things for you?

Mighty: *the smirk we all know and love but have learned to be wary of appears* Nah, I forgot to mention I found someone to cabin sit while I’m gone.  That way it’ll still be standing, Zombie Free, when I get back.

Dreamer *beatific smile appears* It’s so nice to have new blood in the community.  So much to play with…*a small blush*  I mean, perhaps they’ll have new playmates for Angel Boy.  *Turns to Wicked and Snarky*  No offense girls, but I believe your progeny may be perhaps a bit too adventurous for mine right now.

Wicked & Snarky exchange high fives.  

Wicked: None taken…

Snarky:  So this new peep.  What’s the deal? Who are they? Where are they from? Most importantly, can they pass the Swamp Entry Exam?

*A loud pop and a blue telephone booth appears and settles in the road. Red Dwarf steps out* 

Red: Good eve, all, I thought I’d pop in before tea to bid Mighty adieu.  

*A small blond races from behind Red and joins forces with the Prankster Duo, where upon a discussion of how Yoda took down Darth in this year’s Star Wars March Madness*

Red: Did I hear something about an entrance exam? I thought we’d straightened that out months ago.  Besides, I don’t see any dead bodies lying around. Everyone’s here–Snarky, Wicked, Smokey, Quirky, Eerie, Dreamer, Mighty, myself…doesn’t that put us one over?

Eerie *capturing a wondering single hand and wrestling it back in line*  Even though you’re over the Pond and Mighty will soon be in the Land of Winds and You-betchas, we’ve decided to allow one more individual into the group.

Quirky:  We did? When?

Wicked: It was during the brawl over at the Kilted Ferret pub when we had to hold off that damn Molly and her two henchboys from Eerie’s Three Misfiteers.  

Quirky: *flying fingers and rope pause before continuing their dizzy dance*  Oh yeah.  So, who is the new person?

Mighty: *tossing another package on top of the lopsided jackass* I’d introduce you all, but she’s been here the whole time, so I ‘ll let her do the honors.

*All seven dwarves start checking out their surroundings*

Eerie: Short? Tall? Gnome? Troll? What exactly are we looking for here? And a name would be good.

*Mighty smiles and continues to finish her packing*

*From behind him a shadow separates and forms into a petite, lithe form*  Names are not to be given lightly, small man.

Eerie: *huffs up to his full three foot one inch height* Who you calling small?

Wicked: *arms folded so knives are in easy reach* Nice move there, I need to introduce you to Raine.

Snarky: *lets her whip snap, crackle and pop*  And you would be…

*Shadow girl drops a very elegant bow* I am called Ninja Dwarf.

Quirky: *looking intrigues*  Wow! Totally cool, we get our very own ninja!

New Release ~ Woot! Magicstorm (HoaV #4) now available & Giveaway

Please welcome Magicstorm into the world, Heart of a Vampire, Book #4.

Buy Links:  Amazon     B&N     Smashwords    Kobo    (Coming soon to Apple/ITunes)

Blurb:

When a mortal cop must delve into the paranormal, only a Viking vampire can save her soul, and her heart.

Detective Celeste Wilder knows who she is, a damn fine cop. But when the recently dubbed ‘Cult Murders’ start back up, this time targeting city prostitutes she’s sworn to protect, she’s thrown into a world of paranormal creatures she never believed existed. And now, they’re out to keep her from uncovering even more secrets.

An immortal Viking vampire, Brandon Wulfgar knows something is strange the moment he sees Celeste valiantly fighting for her life against a group of rogue vampires. When he’s asked to work with her–solve the crime while keeping the mortal woman safe–he figures no problem.

But as the undeniable connection between them grows and danger appears from every side, they will have to trust one another not just for their lives, but for their very souls.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

 

Brandon Wulfgar sat stiffly on the icy metal chair. He took a hefty gulp of his drink–a mix of blood and whiskey–never glancing away from his twin brother. Eric lay in the bed, facing the stone wall of the dungeon room. He mumbled in his dreams, the quiet mutterings occasionally punctuated by short, guttural screams. Was he reliving the painful past they’d shared, or that of Eric’s own more recent tortures?

The room stank of cold sweat, permeated by fear and agony.

Brandon’s hands clenched and the mug cracked. It crashed to the floor, shattering.

He stared at the white shards of ceramic covered in crimson. The sight mirrored how he felt, unable to help his brother pick up the pieces and leave the darkness he’d descended into.

With a sigh, he stood and headed for the hall. His king’s new wife was going to be pissed he’d broken yet another cup. He snorted, the sound lacking any amusement. Dalia would just have to deal with it.

He opened the door, then stopped short.

Dalia stood in the hall, arms crossed, tapping her foot. Her short pink-streaked blonde hair settled around her pointed chin and her green eyes flared, vampire-red circling the irises. “Again?” she demanded.

It didn’t matter he dwarfed her with his six-foot-four height, nor that he was ten times stronger. All she had to do was shoot that look of hers and even the strongest of the vampire warriors living in the castle crumbled as if facing a disappointed mother.

Brandon merely shrugged. “I’ll clean it up.”

“Yeah, right.” Her gaze softened as she looked past him to Eric. “No change?”

“None.”

She straightened, rubbing her hands together. “Jordan wants to talk to you. I’ll sit with your brother. And I’ll clean up the poor cup. Again.” Shooting him an ironic look, she added, “We’re almost out of dishes.”

It wasn’t true, but she had a point. He’d gone through an awful lot of mugs lately. But it wasn’t on purpose.

As the older twin, albeit only by five minutes, he’d been raised to protect his brother. To fight the world, side-by-side. Yet he was failing miserably, unable to draw Eric from the cocoon of sleep where he’d escaped.

Dalia entered the dungeon room, and leaving the thick metal door open a bit, sat in the chair Brandon had vacated. She leaned back, hands folded in her lap and started humming. Her voice was soft and airy, a sound guaranteed to get soul-deep inside anyone listening and make them feel better.

As an Omega, she could calm people’s ragged emotions. More recently, with her magic growing, she no longer needed to look into their eyes to gain that connection. Her voice could suck anyone in when she tried.

Brandon’s shoulders tightened when her voice brought no reaction from Eric. It took most of his will to leave, but he forced himself to walk down the icy hallway, and upstairs to his king’s chamber.

Inside, Jordan reclined in a chair, facing the fireplace. The man held a glass of amber-colored liquid. A second full glass sat on the table beside him.

“Sit for a while,” Jordan stated, his Scottish brogue thicker than normal.

Brandon twitched at the tension in Jordan’s voice, and crossed the room to the waiting chair on the other side of the table.

“Any change with Eric?” Jordan lifted his drink and sipped, trying to act casual as he ran a hand through his short blond hair.

Taking his own glass, Brandon gulped it down. The smooth whiskey burned his throat, then settled warmly in his gut. “No.”

Jordan sighed, shifting to face Brandon fully.

Trepidation filled him. The man was normally direct.

“The ‘cult killings’ have started once more in the city,” Jordan said, his gaze dark with anger and confusion.

“But Connor killed the demon behind them just a few weeks ago,” Brandon protested.

“Aye. Yet, here we are.”

Brandon set his empty glass back on the table before he broke that one too. “So is Connor returning?”

“He’s busy with something else.”

“What? His refound family?”

“Nay. Something for the Magic Council.”

Considering the man was a Judge for the council, it shouldn’t be surprising. “So they’re not sending him back?”

“Not now.”

A sinking suspicion crawled into his gut. “Then who are you sending to investigate?”

Jordan just stared at him.

Jumping to his feet, Brandon paced to the fireplace. “I can’t go. Eric needs me–”

Jordan’s voice broke through his agitation. “Needs you? He hasn’t said two words in the last month. He doesn’t respond to anything we try.” He stood, arms behind his back, as Brandon paced. “Someone has to take care of the problem. If it’s another demon, you’re the only one I can send.”

Anger turned his stomach, bile burned up his chest. “I can’t leave my brother.”

Jordan’s voice cracked like steel. “You’ll tell me no?”

Stopping short, Brandon slowly swung around and met his king’s blazing red gaze. He’d never told Jordan “no,” since the man had rescued both him and Eric from living agony. But to leave his brother…

The tension in his shoulders ached. His chest tightened and he gave his king the only answer he could. “When do I leave?”

 ***

 In the lingering heat of the evening, Celeste Wilder strode from her unmarked car towards the flashing lights shining from the alley. Near the yellow police tape, cameras flashed as bystanders tried to capture anything interesting they could put online or sell to the news.

Whipping back her long black hair, she muttered under her breath, “Mierda! Gotta start keeping a damn hair tie in the car.”

One of these days, she was actually going to remember, so when she was called into a crime scene unexpectedly, she didn’t have to deal with the looks she was getting now. It was difficult enough being a female detective without flaunting her femininity. More importantly, it got in the way.

Like usual in Arizona, the weather had bypassed spring entirely. Sweat dampened her neck, making her loose curls cling uncomfortably to her skin.

“Daily, let me in,” she growled at the nearest officer blocking the alley.

He hurried to pull back one of the sawhorses. “Yes, ma’am.”

She pushed past him, taking in the scene. Phoenix PD officers guarded the sight from the lookie-loos, while the coroner hunched over a body only partly hidden behind a rusty dumpster. Overlaying the scent of rotting garbage, she caught the distinct coppery odor of fresh blood.

“Who was first on scene?” she demanded from an obvious rookie as he nervously flicked his notepad open and shut.

“Um, I was, detective, um, ma’am.”

She read his name-tag. “All right, Portensky. Details.”

He fumbled open the notebook, nearly dropping it. “The call came in at 8:02 p.m. I was dispatched, and arrived at 8:09. I didn’t see anything at first.” The kid paled, swallowed hard, then continued. “Then I smelled it.”

“Any information on the caller?” She studied how the dumpster had been pulled away from the wall. Black and red lines of wax snaked from the brick to the center of the alley.

“No, ma’am. Distorted voice, barely clear. Dispatcher said she wasn’t sure she’d even heard the address right.”

“Make sure your report is on my desk by morning.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He hustled toward the street, as if trying to put as much distance between himself and the body.

Unfazed, Celeste headed right for it.

Hovering over the body, the coroner, Frankie, glanced up. Weariness dulled her dark eyes. “Hey, girl. Rough night?”

“About to get worse.”

Frankie sighed, pushing her long bangs from her eyes with the back of her hand, then waved at the body. “No name, no ID.”

“I assume that’s why I was called in. These are my streets,” she replied.

“Sad state this last month, with all these killings.”

Shrugging, Celeste stepped closer. The woman lay mostly exposed, tattered remains of her clothing spread back from her chest. A small piece of red cloth had been draped over her face. Bleach-blonde hair spread around her head, the tips soaked with blood. The killer had taken a knife to her throat and chest.

“Time of death?”

“Her temp is still high. I’d say in the last hour.”

Considering Portensky had been dispatched less than a half-hour ago, it was possible the rumors were true. This cabrón was calling it in before his victim was dead.

Frankie pulled off her gloves. “What kind of sicko mutilates young girls? That’s what I’d like to know.”

“Aren’t they all sickos?” Celeste replied, forcing her emotions away. The victim’s wounds were ragged, as if caused by a serrated weapon. They still hadn’t figured out what the killer was using.

“We’re ready,” Frankie said.

Nodding, she replied, “Go ahead.”

Frankie lifted the red cloth from the body to seal it in an evidence bag.

Celeste’s breath caught, hitching in her tightening throat. “La madre que te parió!” she cursed.

No woman, just a girl.

Baby had been fifteen, max. She’d worked the streets, saying it was better there than at home.

Trying to get these girls into shelters was a trial. Every time Celeste got one off the streets, five more took her place. But Baby had been sweet, mostly clean, not the hardened type Celeste was used to dealing with.

And next week, there was an opening at one of the shelters Celeste worked with that Baby had agreed to enter.

Three damn days.

Swallowing hard against the dark, useless emotions trying to choke her, Celeste forced herself to move, to get on with the job. She noted the wounds and the bruises covering the girl’s face and upper arms. A broken necklace of cheap, brightly colored glass lay discarded near her left hand.

A dark smudge against Baby’s pale skin caught her eye. “What’s that?”

Frankie bent closer, snapping some photos, then gently turned the girl’s hand over.

A black mark had been drawn on her wrist. A question mark with a bar crossing the center of the straight line. Celeste drew a replica in her notebook.

“Didn’t see anything like this on the other bodies,” Frankie said as she took more pictures.

“I didn’t either. They were only left on the walls.” She continued to note the details of the crime scene as the morgue techs wheeled away the body, along with the scattered trash on the ground. They took it all. Anything could hold a clue.

As the other officers dispersed, Celeste stood back and watched. Waited for the scene to clear so she could search for clues. See if she could find more of the strange markings, some sort of runes, like at the other scenes.

As she waited, tapping her foot impatiently, her anger burned hotter.

These “Cult Murders” as the press called them, were supposed to have been solved weeks ago. They had disbanded the taskforce on her captain’s orders.

The city began to breathe easier.

Until a few nights ago, when they’d started up again.

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