TITLE: Mermaid's Blood
GENRE: Young Adult fantasy
“Go ahead, kill me,” the small boy said, gripping his sword between fingers still rounded with baby fat. A thin circle of gold gleamed through his shock of dark hair. “The clan will never accept you as their leader.” Though only four, Prince Theo spoke clearly, his cherubic face glaring defiantly at the soldier who towered over him.
Theo’s mother put both hands on the boy’s shoulder as if to help steady his resolve. “This is not what my husband would have wanted, Belino,” Queen Jessamine said. Her wide green eyes shone bright against her pale olive skin. “He made you commander of his army. He trusted you to protect us!”
Belino laughed, amused by the boy’s heroics and the Queen’s sentimental naiveté. He shook his head at the Queen before turning his eyes back to the boy. The sword-wielding child looked enough like him to be his own son, Belino thought, their hair and eyes matching shades of black, their tails matching shades of green. His own tail flicked steadily back and forth like a metronome, the emerald scales flashing with each swish.
Finally he smiled, looking down at the boy staring up at him. “Your father’s accidental death was a shock to us all, Your Highness,” he told Prince Theo, sarcasm dripping from his every word. “But the Adluo clan needs more than a boy to lead us to victory in the coming war. You may bear the Mark, but it is I who should be King.”
Miss Snark's First Victim
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
19 Secret Agent
TITLE: A Gentleman of Ill Repute
GENRE: Historical Romance
Prologue
Oh, be careful, little eyes, what you see,
Oh, be careful, little eyes, what you see,
Other eyes are watching you
To learn from what you do,
So be careful, little eyes, what you see.
Livia’s soft voice echoed hollowly across the cold, cracked
floorboards and rebounded from the dingy walls enclosing the room. Huddled
below a rickety table, all but the dirty toes of her bared feet hidden
beneath the edge of the overhanging tablecloth, she
rocked her rag doll in her skinny arms. She imagined herself in a
safe, secret world of her own, one where she could not hear the
shrill angry voices of Mamma and Papa arguing in the next room. It was a
pretence she was daily growing better at.
On the other side of the thin wall the shouts escalated. The words
exchanged could not be made out but there was no mistaking the accusation
in Mamma’s high pitched tone nor the drunken outrage in Papa’s deeper,
slurred responses.
Livia’s arms tightened about her doll and she rocked harder, to and fro.
Oh, be careful, little feet, where you go,
Oh, be careful, little feet, where you go,
A sudden, pained shriek split the air, instantly followed by a sharp
crashing sound. There was a brief silence and then a clumsy scuffling
sound, as of someone crawling across the floor. The door separating this
room from the next was thrown open.
Livia’s heart leapt, thumping hard against her scrawny chest.
GENRE: Historical Romance
Prologue
Oh, be careful, little eyes, what you see,
Oh, be careful, little eyes, what you see,
Other eyes are watching you
To learn from what you do,
So be careful, little eyes, what you see.
Livia’s soft voice echoed hollowly across the cold, cracked
floorboards and rebounded from the dingy walls enclosing the room. Huddled
below a rickety table, all but the dirty toes of her bared feet hidden
beneath the edge of the overhanging tablecloth, she
rocked her rag doll in her skinny arms. She imagined herself in a
safe, secret world of her own, one where she could not hear the
shrill angry voices of Mamma and Papa arguing in the next room. It was a
pretence she was daily growing better at.
On the other side of the thin wall the shouts escalated. The words
exchanged could not be made out but there was no mistaking the accusation
in Mamma’s high pitched tone nor the drunken outrage in Papa’s deeper,
slurred responses.
Livia’s arms tightened about her doll and she rocked harder, to and fro.
Oh, be careful, little feet, where you go,
Oh, be careful, little feet, where you go,
A sudden, pained shriek split the air, instantly followed by a sharp
crashing sound. There was a brief silence and then a clumsy scuffling
sound, as of someone crawling across the floor. The door separating this
room from the next was thrown open.
Livia’s heart leapt, thumping hard against her scrawny chest.
18 Secret Agent
TITLE: Heirchild
GENRE: Fantasy
The sicknesses started the day after he left.
Taira supposed that there were plenty of reasonable explanations for being ill -- the bitter cold raging outside, her restless sleep the previous night, the anxieties that had been building ever since Laishek decided to leave. The loneliness, most of all. But the obvious explanation, the one she should have thought of immediately, was the one thing she could not consider.
She was forced to confront it when her mother bustled into her home for a visit, listened to her complaints, and gave her pronouncement without a moment’s hesitation. "A child. You're bearing Laishek's heirchild."
Taira's already-unsettled belly seemed to writhe inside of her. She sank into her chair. "Are you – are you quite sure?"
Nara laughed. "I've been a matril half my life, not to mention carried eight of my own children. I know the signs. Aches and pains, no appetite, missed your time the last three months. You’re already starting to grow, even. Yes, I'm quite sure. Why so surprised?" She stoked the fire, sending up a spray of sparks, and muttered the curse against the demons. The flickering yellow light softened the lines in her face but contrasted all the more against her sleek dark hair. “You’re not a child. You know how babies come to be; I've taught you better than that."
"Yes, of course I know," Taira said in high embarrassment. "It's not that. It's just a terrible mess. The very day after he left!"
"It's bad fortune, that's true."
"Demon-spawned," Taira retorted.
GENRE: Fantasy
The sicknesses started the day after he left.
Taira supposed that there were plenty of reasonable explanations for being ill -- the bitter cold raging outside, her restless sleep the previous night, the anxieties that had been building ever since Laishek decided to leave. The loneliness, most of all. But the obvious explanation, the one she should have thought of immediately, was the one thing she could not consider.
She was forced to confront it when her mother bustled into her home for a visit, listened to her complaints, and gave her pronouncement without a moment’s hesitation. "A child. You're bearing Laishek's heirchild."
Taira's already-unsettled belly seemed to writhe inside of her. She sank into her chair. "Are you – are you quite sure?"
Nara laughed. "I've been a matril half my life, not to mention carried eight of my own children. I know the signs. Aches and pains, no appetite, missed your time the last three months. You’re already starting to grow, even. Yes, I'm quite sure. Why so surprised?" She stoked the fire, sending up a spray of sparks, and muttered the curse against the demons. The flickering yellow light softened the lines in her face but contrasted all the more against her sleek dark hair. “You’re not a child. You know how babies come to be; I've taught you better than that."
"Yes, of course I know," Taira said in high embarrassment. "It's not that. It's just a terrible mess. The very day after he left!"
"It's bad fortune, that's true."
"Demon-spawned," Taira retorted.
17 Secret Agent
TITLE: The Seeker's Charm
GENRE: Fantasy/paranormal romance
Master Miller stood dumbstruck gaping at Farmer Thistleton.
The old farmer chuckled, “My wife behaved the same way, when she heard the news. Can you imagine that? Berthe...silent. It’s something I never thought I’d see. I tell you, that Woodman girl can do things she doesn’t even know she’s doing!”
He set his payment on the miller’s table. “And that’s why I best be getting back across the river. I can’t even imagine how it is for you, having them as neighbors. And your boy so lovestruck.”
Master Miller managed to shut his mouth in order to frown at the farmer’s retreating back. All right, so he had to believe the old badger, but he simply couldn’t believe his neighbor.
Oh, he knew why John Woodman had done it. The man had doted on his niece since the day of her disastrous birth. The entire Woodman family seemed to think, somehow, the little hellcat could make up for the loss of her sweet mother.
Master Miller’s scowl softened momentarily at the memory of Lillie Woodman. There was a lovely girl. Ah, but she was gone. Long gone. And they were all dealing with the consequences. A bow and arrow!
With any other girl, he’d worry she’d not know which end was up, and someone might get hurt. With Rose Woodman, he was absolutely sure she knew exactly what to do with a weapon.
GENRE: Fantasy/paranormal romance
Master Miller stood dumbstruck gaping at Farmer Thistleton.
The old farmer chuckled, “My wife behaved the same way, when she heard the news. Can you imagine that? Berthe...silent. It’s something I never thought I’d see. I tell you, that Woodman girl can do things she doesn’t even know she’s doing!”
He set his payment on the miller’s table. “And that’s why I best be getting back across the river. I can’t even imagine how it is for you, having them as neighbors. And your boy so lovestruck.”
Master Miller managed to shut his mouth in order to frown at the farmer’s retreating back. All right, so he had to believe the old badger, but he simply couldn’t believe his neighbor.
Oh, he knew why John Woodman had done it. The man had doted on his niece since the day of her disastrous birth. The entire Woodman family seemed to think, somehow, the little hellcat could make up for the loss of her sweet mother.
Master Miller’s scowl softened momentarily at the memory of Lillie Woodman. There was a lovely girl. Ah, but she was gone. Long gone. And they were all dealing with the consequences. A bow and arrow!
With any other girl, he’d worry she’d not know which end was up, and someone might get hurt. With Rose Woodman, he was absolutely sure she knew exactly what to do with a weapon.
16 Secret Agent
TITLE: A MURDER OF CROWS
GENRE: Fantasy
The closing of another season was upon them.
It was the death of summer…what the People called the Mother’s Dance. A time of cold, blustery days and the occasional coastal storm, heralds of the coming Dance of the Crone: winter. One such behemoth had roared through the prosperous town of Sisafer the night before Festival, leaving in its wake a tangle of twisted trees and smashed fishing boats. Nets were found strewn across neighbors’ rooftops, livestock had to be searched out from the scrubby inland cliffs and caves. What should have been a day of preparation for the coming festivities was spent instead in repairs, cleaning, and the whispered suggestions of omens.
Out on the storm-littered beach, a strange bit of flotsam bobbed gently against the outgoing tide. Cold currents swirled and nudged, tucking the limp body into the boulders as neatly as a doting parent before retreating for deeper ocean. A scavenger crab, questing for tidbits, investigated closer. There was no resistance from the still form, yet something made the tiny creature scuttle away as if stung.
***
A day later, the currents were still fierce. They swirled over the jagged rocks and sucked at the bare legs of the two walkers as if determined to wrest them by force into the tidal pools. Even the sky seemed certain that the Goddess’ anger had yet to abate with the rain and winds; it settled instead into a lowering brood.
‘Foul time for a stroll,’ one of the walkers complained. The gusting breezes muffled his normally jolly baritone. ‘Wouldn’t you rather be inside with a hot cup of passo?’
GENRE: Fantasy
The closing of another season was upon them.
It was the death of summer…what the People called the Mother’s Dance. A time of cold, blustery days and the occasional coastal storm, heralds of the coming Dance of the Crone: winter. One such behemoth had roared through the prosperous town of Sisafer the night before Festival, leaving in its wake a tangle of twisted trees and smashed fishing boats. Nets were found strewn across neighbors’ rooftops, livestock had to be searched out from the scrubby inland cliffs and caves. What should have been a day of preparation for the coming festivities was spent instead in repairs, cleaning, and the whispered suggestions of omens.
Out on the storm-littered beach, a strange bit of flotsam bobbed gently against the outgoing tide. Cold currents swirled and nudged, tucking the limp body into the boulders as neatly as a doting parent before retreating for deeper ocean. A scavenger crab, questing for tidbits, investigated closer. There was no resistance from the still form, yet something made the tiny creature scuttle away as if stung.
***
A day later, the currents were still fierce. They swirled over the jagged rocks and sucked at the bare legs of the two walkers as if determined to wrest them by force into the tidal pools. Even the sky seemed certain that the Goddess’ anger had yet to abate with the rain and winds; it settled instead into a lowering brood.
‘Foul time for a stroll,’ one of the walkers complained. The gusting breezes muffled his normally jolly baritone. ‘Wouldn’t you rather be inside with a hot cup of passo?’
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