Just a tease…the big reveal is planned for mid July.
I can’t wait to show everyone this beautiful cover!
Design by Storm Owl Art
Just a tease…the big reveal is planned for mid July.
I can’t wait to show everyone this beautiful cover!
Design by Storm Owl Art
It’s almost May and my blog feels neglected. No more!
These past months have been a blur of work, school and snow, but we kicked stress to the curb with a wild, Billy Joel drink n’ dance party at Madison Square Garden. Special thanks to Brian!
The upcoming months will be busy…super busy. Fun busy! I’m putting the final touches on Monsters & Angels, approving the interior, setting up blogs tours and reviews, scheduling social media stuff… All this craziness is aimed at my release date of October 11, 2017. Sign up for the newsletter here !
There will be the saga of my Vampire Ball dress. This gown demands a blog series of its own. Its a monster.
The party will only grow wilder, all the way through Halloween and the Endless Night Vampire Ball in New Orleans. Because the truth is, all the roads I travel lead to New Orleans.
But before all that—the Monsters & Angels cover reveal! I can’t wait to show off the dazzling cover art designed by Storm Owl Art !
A fellow author Ramon Ballard recently published the heartfelt, historical tale , The Last Chance. Ramon asked himself this question > “Why did you write your book?” I’m going to answer that, with a new twist.
Author Dan Alatorre just released the hilarious Italian misadventure, Poggibonsi . On Dan’s blog, he interviews one of his characters, Sam , to showcase her incredible voice. I’m going to try that also, with one of my characters who hasn’t received enough spotlight yet.
Even though I was exhausted yesterday after Scott and I spring cleaned Glory Days, the spirit of our boat always gifts me a jolt of creativity. It felt like summer and reminded me of “Jazz Fest Syndrome”… where I leave 40 degrees and rain in New Jersey and nearly pass out at Jazz Fest in 85 degrees plus humidity<<not even that hot, but any event that coins a syndrome or a gets its own name like “The Gumbo Incident” is unforgettable.
I’m a little bummed about missing Jazz Fest this year, but the winding road to New Orleans glows brighter every night…
Our first day of spring.
By this date next year, Sorcha Alden’s story will out there.
That’s a scary thought—relaxing my control-freak grip enough to set this story free.
I know the time has come, to let go, to look forward, to share the magic of the Equinox Gala…
When the doors swung open, hundreds of candles adorned the walls like burning gemstones. Raimond grasped Sorcha’s hand and raised it to eye level. Stretching out at full arm’s length he presented her in the center of the dazzling ballroom. They turned in a circle, acknowledging the guests around the dance floor and many more ringing the upstairs gallery.
“May I have the honor of your first dance, Lady Sorcha?”
“Yes Duke, but the honor is all mine.”
“And the music?”
“The waltz, please.”
“The waltz it is.” Raimond turned toward the orchestra director. “S’il vous plait…”
“Quit stalling in there!” Steven pounded on the bathroom door while Rayna, Julia, and Penny paced the floor. When Sorcha emerged in her slip, she was pushed into a chair in front of her dressing mirror. More maids scampered through the door and went to work painting her nails and setting her hair in curlers.
Lily babbled as she applied false eyelashes, strand by strand. “I recommend the dark lip stain—less smudging.”
Penny spritzed sample perfume on linen strips.
Steven grabbed his nose and sneezed three times. “You know not to spray that near me.”
“The spicy jasmine, please.” Sorcha patted Steven’s back.
“It’s just allergies. That slip is beautiful enough to be the dress itself.”
“Your allergies are in your tiny mind.” Julia snorted.
“Oh, shut up.” Steven held a handkerchief over his face and collapsed in a coughing fit.
“Ok, stop,” Sorcha said, “I want a short break and Steven could use some air. You all need to get dressed, too.”
Julia stormed out.
The rest of Sorcha’s attendants hesitated until she gave each a sincere hug. “You’ve made me feel like a movie star. Steven, how in the world do you have allergies?”
“Never mind.” He dabbed the corners of his eyes with a sleeve. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
“Can someone send for Raimond? I need to have a word with him.” Digging in her nightstand, she found a smashed pack of cloves. Glad I don’t have allergies. Sorcha straightened the least damaged cigarette and lit it in the doorway of the balcony.
“I’ve been summoned?” The duke appeared out of the shadows, dressed in tuxedo pants and unbuttoned shirt, missing his tie and shoes.
“That’s a dashing look—you should attend the party as you are,” Sorcha said, “I especially like the slicked-back hair.” Sultry and dangerous.
“Touché.” Raimond scanned her outfit. “Is that underwear or your gown?”
“Ha-ha. There’s an important question I need answered. I want to know the procedure to change a human into a vampire.”
He shook his head and his finger in unison. “Way too soon.”
“I’m serious—I need to know.”
“Do you require my assistance?” The prince appeared on the balcony, like a phantom in a silk robe…
Can you feel it…the dawn of spring?
If you just got buried by Blizzard #Stella, you probably can’t see past mountains of snow.
But the snow is melting and the Spring Equinox is just days away.
Time for the story of a beautiful girl in her sapphire gown, waltzing into vampire royalty.
As soon as she drags herself out of the bathtub…
The evening of the party kicked off before sunset, the equivalent of early morning for a house full of vampires. Sorcha’s eyes fluttered open and settled on bustling around the armoire.
“Whoa, is that my dress?” She threw the blankets off and flipped on the chandelier. The blue fabric leapt to life in the soft glow. Her fingers caressed the subtle tone-on-tone pattern. Steven outdid himself. A silver slip lay on the nearby chair; its boning and fluffy layers would give the skirt perfect fullness.
“Breakfast is served!” Steven and Lily barged in, carrying coffee and chalices of blood. “You have to eat early today—you’ll need your strength for tonight. Hurry up. Hair and makeup take time.”
Sorcha fiddled with her food, spun her glass and left everything but her coffee on the tray before retreating to a tub full of bubbles.
“Quit stalling in there!” Steven pounded on the bathroom door…
In the muggy air of a cavern under the Old U.S. Mint, Sorcha’s long curls puffed with freedom as if held up by a devilish breeze.
“Let’s get started.” Ivori rubbed her palms together. Her eyes flashed orange as she mumbled peculiar lyrics in a foreign tongue. Smokeless fire erupted in a circle of rocks.
“What, exactly, are we summoning here?” Lock asked.
“Not what. Who,” Ivori answered, “All of us are searching for someone. Picture that person in your mind.”
Draven groaned and let blond wisps cover his face. “My Gwyenvere.”
Sorcha slipped back to a night in Nepal, the eve of a tragedy.
Lock flashed his brilliant violet eyes, but remained silent.
“I know it’s painful.” Ivori played an invisible piano with one hand while pouring the contents of a sachet in a perfect circle with the other. “No need to speak names aloud.”
“Is that—” Draven choked and held his nose. “Bone?”
“Teeth, actually.” Ivori emptied a vial of black syrup in the center of the circle. “From a shark who is still very much alive.”
“What a comfort.” Lock followed Ivori’s pointing finger to a metal box. “May I help?”
“Just with the latch.” She watched him spin the mechanism until the lid sprung open. A twisted, rusty arrow lay next to a perfectly polished dagger and a sapphire candle.
Sorcha rolled her eyes.
“Oh, it gets weirder even before I cut you…and myself.” Ivori deflected angry stares. “First, everyone needs to clear their minds and envision the moment when you were strongest.”
“My apologies—no.” Draven bolted up. “This sounds preposterous.”
“I want to hear her plan.” Sorcha yanked him back down. “We’ve had no luck doing this on our own.”
Ivori dipped the blue candle’s wick in the fire and set it on the altar. “If you can evoke your soul at its most powerful—the instant when you embodied the best of all your dreams—that force can summon anyone across all realms of the universe. I think.”
“You think?” Sorcha threw her hands in the air.
“So,” Lock said, “I just picture that occasion in my head?”
“Project the vision in front of you, like a personal widescreen. Once you’ve got it, raise your hand.” Ivori looked from face to face and waved the candle over the puddle of syrup, directing the liquid outward into the circle of bone. The mixture ignited flames that crawled until the ring was complete. Ivori looked up to see three raised hands.
“All ready.” Draven faked a smile.
“Perfect.” Ivori grabbed the dagger and raced around the fire pit. “This next part goes pretty quick. Don’t do anything until I tell you to, but keep concentrating.”
Draven and Lock each hissed when she sliced their palms. Sorcha didn’t flinch when Ivori cut both her hands at once.
“Now.” Ivori ran back behind the fire. “Men, squeeze a few drops into this circle.”
The moment Draven and Lock’s blood mingled, they were knocked back onto the benches.
Ivori sliced her own flesh over the flames and snapped her eyes to Sorcha. “Your turn.”
When Sorcha’s blood touched the ring, the ground began to quake.
“Men, be ready to join hands with her when this metal pierces wood.” Ivori raised the twisted arrow over her head and drove it toward the altar. “Now!”
The three slammed their hands together and the jolt started with the men. The blood of two ancient dynasties filled the air with black and gold sparks.
Sorcha looked to the weapon in Ivori’s hand and then into the girl’s inky black eyes. A low growl escaped her lips. Force leapt from her chest, rippled the air and plunged into the earth under their feet.
Each vampire’s perfect vision swirled overhead until their solid bodies flickered and finally distorted.
Draven’s shift solidified first. His modern suit became a classic, midnight tuxedo. His fingers gripped an open box. A ruby ring glittered in the velvet center.
Lock’s appearance dissolved next. Instead of the black t-shirt and jeans he arrived in, he now wore his full military uniform. Royal insignia lined his shoulders and medals covered his chest.
Sorcha dropped her gaze and changed last. Her eyes blazed with blue fire and her long hair became a chin-length, bob. Her porcelain skin melted away, replaced by the snarling face of a tiger.
Ivori flung her arms out and threw back her head to a cacophony of drunken notes. “By the power of a lone trumpeter’s call, the roar of a warrior’s charge, and the murmurs of saints and phantoms that bow to our sovereign—I summon all the lost souls home!”
Read Part 1..
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The painting in the photo is by artist, Dorothy Collier. You can find her work at http://www.dorothycollier.com .
This was my favorite find on a recent New Orleans adventure…now beautifully framed and hanging on my wall.
The streets allowed a ghostly grey limousine to invade their labyrinth. The car swung wide around tight corners, slowing every time a pack of vibrant revelers crossed its path. Shiny tires crunched to a stop in a parking lot on the neighborhood’s edge.
“Are you sure this is the place?” Sorcha rapped on the smoked glass until it disappeared. “I said I missed the French Quarter, but actually being here makes me…”
“For years, not a soul on earth could pry you out of this district.” The blond man squinted at a handwritten note. “Ivori and Charmaine are waiting in the lobby.”
“Feels lonely.” Sorcha gazed down the tapered alley at snapshots of a stray parade. “Or empty? Might just be me.”
“It’s positively hollow.” He tossed the crinkled paper to the only other person in the car. “I’ve deciphered that scribble correctly, Lock?”
“Indeed you have, sir.” Lock kicked the car door open and grabbed for Sorcha’s hand. “Leave that dreadful device here.”
“It’s brand new.” Sorcha pulled her phone away from Lock, just to have it plucked away again. “Seriously, Draven?”
Draven flung Sorcha’s phone to the farthest corner of the car. “Doesn’t the incessant, social connection exhaust you?”
“Nothing feels like the old days, except the weather.” Sorcha peeled off her sweater and glared into the dark limousine before tossing the garment. “But, what if?”
“Anyone you’re looking for…” Lock pulled her away. “Has no need for that.”
The trio crossed the gravel lot, rounded a saltwater pool and stopped in the middle of a checkerboard floor. They found two girls drumming their fingers on a mahogany desk. Disguised in the realm of the concierge, a hidden door admitted them to tunnels below the building.
“It’s a sauna down here.” Sorcha swept the hair off her neck and twisted it into a loose knot.
“When you mentioned an Equinox reunion, Ivori, I assumed you meant something spectacular.” Draven touched the muddy wall and cringed. “Or at least, uplifting.”
“Nights of grand balls and original dresses are history.” Ivori walked into the pitch black. “Y’all took your sweet time getting here.”
“We were in opposite corners of the earth.” Lock’s frown was unveiled when Charmaine struck a match and lit her torch. “I was hoping for an enchanted courtyard.”
“Me.” Sorcha raised her hand. “The cathedral bell tower.”
“This will be better.” Ivori stopped so short, everyone crashed into her back. “None of your supernatural eyes saw the big door?”
Charmaine pulled chalk from her pocket and began to write. She waited for each letter to disappear before she scripted the next. When the jumble was finished, a steel barrier slid open. Ivori strutted past and snapped her fingers.
“Aren’t you coming with?” Sorcha tugged on Charmaine’s sleeve.
“I’m playing gatekeeper tonight.” Charmaine handed her the torch. “I need to be here when the spell is complete.”
“Just lovely.” Draven growled when Ivori disappeared into the maze of shadows.
“Let’s humor her.” Lock tucked dark hair behind his ear and urged them forward.
“Bar noise, coffee-shop racket.” Draven pointed to the corridor’s grimy ceiling. “Is that traffic?”
“We’re under Decatur Street,” Ivori said, “Clueless fool.”
“Your creepy friend has grown nastier over the years.”
“Draven, calling her my friend is a bit—” Sorcha howled and dropped to her knees.
“That would be the railroad tracks.” Ivori scampered back and yanked Sorcha to her feet. “Suck it up.”
Sorcha took a deep breath and slammed across the barrier. She turned back to see Lock and Draven stroll past the same spot, unaffected. “What the hell?”
“That steel is the boundary of your city, girl. Not theirs.” Ivori dragged her forward. “Now that we’re on the fringe, maybe we can send some messages.”
“Infernal drumming.” Sorcha clamped her hands over her ears.
“That, even I can hear.” Draven clenched his jaw. “Can we get to the bloody point before we all go deaf?”
“It’s the river,” Ivori said, “Just swallow to equalize the pressure—like in your private jet.”
The tunnel flared into chamber with solid walls and a tile floor. Crude benches surrounded a round fire pit.
“This is unexpected.” Draven ran his fingers over glittering gems set at regular intervals in cut stone.
“Sit down, it’s nearly midnight. The currents are whispering.” Ivori loomed over the fire pit and emptied her deep pockets. She arranged an array of sachets, vials and boxes onto a low altar. “Sorcha, center bench.”
Draven whispered in Sorcha’s ear. “Creepy enough?”
Sorcha choked back a giggle and Lock smacked her shoulder.
Ivori glared at them until the room was dead still. She tipped her head side to side in the heavy air and motioned to Sorcha’s hair. “Take it down, glamour girl. That’s where all your power hides.”
To be continued…
Where The Power Hides
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