Hi friends! It’s WIP Wednesday—the first Wednesday of the month, when I share an excerpt of a work in progress and invite you to do the same in the comments section below.
If it’s rough, that’s fine. That’s the “in progress” part! We don’t critique anything, but encouraging words to fellow authors are good karma.
Please keep your excerpt under 500 words (or else I’ll trim it), and don’t share buy links to the story (if you have buy links, it’s not “in progress.”) However, if you want to share a link to a place where more of your story is posted, that’s totally fine. No graphic scenes, please, but some coarse language is no big deal.
I’m sharing another excerpt from The Equinox Stone. I may have said this once or more times before, but I’m embarrassed at how long it’s taken me to write this book. It’s a sequel to The Phoenix Codex, which came out over two years ago! I try to remind myself that since then, I published two other books, moved across the country, and launched a publishing house from the ground up. I mean, I haven’t been slacking.
And I’ve been working a lot on this story lately, and I’m getting it to my editor at the end of the month. Yay!
In this scene, Nic is preparing Michael (a warrior) and Val (an empath) for a mission in which they’ll be undercover as a teacher and a student at a Catholic high school.
[AdSense-B]
Val pulled out a white button-down shirt and a plaid skirt and grimaced. “What is this?”
Nic said, “That’s the school uniform you’re going to be wearing every day.”
“It’s hideous.” Michael wasn’t sure when he’d heard her speak so emphatically.
“There’s also a blazer to wear if it’s chilly,” Nic said. “See if it fits. The room next door’s empty.”
“And then come out and show us,” Michael said, in a supremely good mood.
“I don’t think so,” she shot back.
Nic said, “Uh, actually, you both need to get used to you being dressed like that. That way it’ll be less weird when you’re both at the school.”
She glared at Michael. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m not going to laugh,” he protested.
Five minutes later, she came back into the room in the getup, a morose expression on her face. Michael burst out laughing.
Her eyes widened. “You promised!”
“Christos, Michael,” Nic muttered.
She turned away. “Ugh, I look horrible.”
“You don’t!” Michael protested. “I was just laughing because you looked so cranky.”
“You look like a teenager,” Nic said, approving.
Michael disagreed. But then again, he was completely biased.
With his foot, Nic scooted the duffel bag on the floor toward Michael. “Your turn. Flavia and I packed for you.”
“Happy to.” He picked up the duffel bag. “Be right back.”
He returned a few minutes later in glasses, a red short-sleeved button-down shirt that was too big, and black pants. It was Val’s turn to burst out laughing. Fair enough.
He spread his arms wide. “I’ve never felt more attractive in my life.”
“Having a cover doesn’t usually mean you look better,” Nic said, scrutinizing Michael. “I think it works.”
“I look like I manage a Wendy’s.”
“Don’t be a snob.”
“I wasn’t. I couldn’t do that job.” He just didn’t think they were allowed to dress very well.
Val’s brow creased. “What’s Wendy’s?”
“A place that isn’t great for vegans,” Michael said, sitting down. “Tell me about this guy.”
“Your name is Mike McClure,” Nic said.
“I hate being called Mike.” He always had, just like Jonathan had always hated being called Jon—except, inexplicably, if it was Nic calling him that, which just as inexplicably, he always did.
“You were born in Tampa. Four brothers, two sisters. You went to a Catholic high school and then Ave Maria University.—Make sure to read up on the section about Catholicism. Both of you.”
“I’m already Catholic.” Not a good one, but still.
“You’re Manus Sancti Catholic,” Nic corrected him. “Anyway, you taught for three years at an overcrowded public high school. Now, you believe all public schools are garbage. You’d like to meet a nice girl, but you don’t think there are any left in this day and age.”
“I don’t know about this guy,” Michael said.
“Yeah, he’s kind of a dick. Val’s cover is nice. Super spoiled, but nice.”
“So she’s just playing herself?”
“Hey,” Val objected.
Share your own excerpt below, or just tell us about how your writing is going! If you’re making plans for NaNoWriMo, we’d love to hear about that, too. Thanks for reading, and happy writing!
It was the beautiful demi-season of late summer when the accident occurred. It was a day of luminesce daylight and velvet shadows, a day full of all the sinister innocence survivors of tragedy often recall.
Carole saw the two boys emerge from the dusky interior of the barn. Blue-jeaned and t-shirted, her son Donnie and his best friend Todd pushed a mini-bike out into the sunlight, their heads bent in conversation. Though Donnie’s and Todd’s words were indistinct their enthusiasm was unmistakable. Kneeling beside her flower bed, Carole smiled at their laughter.
Swinging astride the three-wheeler Donnie squeezed the clutch and flipped the kick-starter out with his foot. Todd took a step backward. Donnie stood and brought his weight down hard on the starter. He did this several times and after each attempt he reached down to adjust some switch or lever. His efforts were rewarded with a roar from the engine and a plume of grey-blue smoke from the exhaust. The acrid smell of burning fuel filled the air and the boys grinned at one another. Donnie continued revving the throttle while Todd ran back to the barn to retrieve a helmet.
Throwing Carole a quick glance Donnie fastened the helmet. Carole nodded and waved.
Adjusting his seat, Donnie eased the clutch out and the mini bike gave a little hop forward before moving around the yard. Carole watched, enjoying the sunshine and the boys’ joy.
Donnie drove slowly around the barnyard, working figure eights. Todd ran alongside, while they shouted in conversation . Having warmed the machine up, Donnie gave Todd a thumbs up and steered toward the dirt lane that led between the barn and the distant woods.
It was an old path, older than the farm. Local tradition held that Native Americans used it long before white settlers arrived in the area. The days when moccasin-clad feet trod the path had faded though, these days it was used by a farmer to drive his tractor to and from the fields. The path’s winding uneven surface was part of its charm. Navigating the track, Donnie opened the throttle.
Hidden in the deep shadows of a bush, a rabbit nibbled beside the path. The motorbike drew closer, its roar increasing. Ears sharply erect, the rabbit stopped nibbling, hesitated, then erupted from its hiding place. Crossing the path, the rabbit darted directly in front of the boy. Donnie braked and swerved.
A swell at the edge of the pathway caused the bike to flip, Donnie was pitched gracelessly into a fence post. The silence that followed was sudden and absolute. Both boy and machine were stilled in an instant, enveloped in a cloud of reddish dust mingled with the blue-grey exhaust.
Jerked from her knees by the suffocating silence, Carole started for the path at a run while overhead a hawk screamed against the crystalline blue sky.
Whoa. That went from sweet (with hints of foreboding) to… well, forebode. Nicely done.
I loved the opening sentences and the contrast between the peaceful setting and the accident. Thanks for sharing!
I love this whole line: “It was a day of luminesce daylight and velvet shadows, a day full of all the sinister innocence survivors of tragedy often recall.”
“sinister innocence” survivors often recall. gives us a heads up for the scene to follow. Love it – although it is very sad and final. Great writing.
Excellent.
Wow. This brings such a vivid picture (movie-like) into my head. Great job!
This is from my upcoming Miraculous Fan Fiction WIP ‘Until I Make You Mine’ It is a sequel to my previous story ‘Until I Heard You Sing’
********
About half way through the 11 hour flight most of the passengers had begun to perk up after naps and lunch. Adrien and Marinette were snuggled up sharing headphones watching a movie while Chloe started to browse through some of the gossip magazines Sabrina had given her.
“That’s ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!” She exclaimed, catching Adrien and Marinette’s attention. Chloe got up and took the magazine over to them. “I knew there was a reason I never bought any of this trashy garbage.”
Marinette took the book from Chloe and read the headline. “Agreste’s squeeze in torrent affair with rocks new bad boy Luka Couffaine”. Marinette felt all the blood drain from her face as Adrien took the magazine off her and looked at it. The article was only printed a few days ago and by the same ‘secret insider’ that wrote the article about Marinette and Luka after the charity auction. Chloe leaned on the chair in front putting a hand on Marinette’s shoulder.
“Hey, we know it’s just trash to sell magazines. Happens to all of us.” Marinette just shook her head.
“Doesn’t make it any better Chloe. There are people out there that will believe it. It’s not just hurting me and Adrien, but Luka and his family too.” Chloe took the magazine back off Adrien with a despondent look, returning to her own seat. Adrien wrapped his arms around his girlfriend trying to hold at bay the tears he could see in her eyes.
“Luka is going to be at the gala tomorrow with Jagged Stone.” Marinette looked up at him slightly panicked, but Adrien just calmly smoothed her hair, tucking a few strays behind her ear. He looked down at her hand taking it in his and the glint of the eternity bangle around her slender wrist before looking back at her. “Bug, we have to face one glaring fact. Luka is still in love with you and that’s just going to keep fueling these rumours. Whoever this ‘inside source’ is must know something about it, but the worst thing we could do is actively avoid him. It would only give more credence to the rumours.” Marinette’s mind was feeling overwhelmed. She knew Luka still had feelings for her at the charity auction, but that was months ago. Then she remembered that solo album he released and that cover of ‘It Must Have Been Love.” Was that about her? And those other rock ballads? It got him noticed by Jagged Stone and she knew he had been on tour with them for the last several weeks which made the magazine article seem even more ridiculous since Luka hadn’t even been in the country.
Adrien could see her mind racing and gently kissed her on the forehead. “Tell you what. When we get to the ground I’ll give Alya a ring. Maybe she can find out something about this secret source. Okay.” Marinette just nodded. She knew if anyone could get to the bottom of this Alya would.
HI Jackie! Great conflict in this scene. I love getting Marinette’s physical reaction to the headline. Thanks for posting!
Oh, man, I can’t wait to read the whole story! I don’t think you should be embarrassed by how long it’s taking to write it, it’s not like you haven’t been *slightly* busy. 🙂
Here’s my snip. My hero MC, small-town sheriff, is getting a tour of the carnival that’s arrived in town before it’s opened to the public, and figuring out there’s something strange about it.
***
Lizvette took a turn, and headed toward the two large circus-style tents, one with yellow and red stripes, the other with blue and white stripes.
“You don’t usually see these at a carnival,” Wyatt said.
“We’re no ordinary carnival. P.T. Barnum liked to say his was the Greatest Show on Earth,” she said, a clear note of pride in her voice. She smiled, and he thought she looked a bit predatory with her even white teeth showing. “But he was wrong.”
He automatically began calculating the problems a crowd would have safely exiting the tents in an emergency. He couldn’t help but think of old photos he’d seen of the Hartford Circus disaster.
“These tents are fireproof. You could take a blowtorch to the wall and it wouldn’t light,” Lizvette said, as if she’d read his mind.
Wyatt raised a brow. He sincerely doubted that was true.
“Come, I’ll show you where we’re camped,” she said.
He wasn’t sure what to expect, but it wasn’t the neat camp of travel campers and small motorhomes designed to look like Romani vardos. The way their style reflected the old-fashioned gypsy wagons was fantastic. Each one was painted a different deep jewel tone, with silver or gold trim. Shiny brass fittings added to the feeling of authenticity. Some roofs were bowed, others flat. Most had a tiny porch build on to the back.
“These are cool,” Wyatt said, charmed.
“Thank you. As I said, we are a very old entertainment company. We like to preserve as much of the feel of our history as we can.”
In the center of the camp was a large fire pit that was part of the fairgrounds, along with a couple of barbecue grills. There were a few covered ramadas with picnic tables.
There was no one around to be seen. Other than Lizvette, he hadn’t seen another soul. There should have been carnival workers swarming everywhere, preparing for their opening that evening.
“I understand you have animals in your shows. Where do you keep them?” he asked.
“This way,” she said, leading him further into the camp. As they passed by a vardo painted a deep blue with silver trim, Wyatt’s internal warning system suddenly redlined.
He stopped walking and stared at the small trailer as the power of the witch that was inside slammed against him, forcing him in to killer mode.
“Sheriff?” Lizvette asked.
Whoever was in there was formidable. If he hadn’t just seen Mary out on her morning run, he might think she was inside.
He looked at Lizvette, who was staring at him warily as he struggled to maintain outward calm even as he raged on the inside.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he said, forcing a smile, wrestling back with compulsion to murder whoever was inside the blue trailer. He needed to get away from it, and quickly. “Please, lead the way.”
She was looking at him differently, like a cat that realizes it’s stumbled across a junkyard dog. Still, she nodded and began to walk again.
Wyatt followed. With herculean self-control, he managed to only look back once, just in time to see one of the vardo’s curtains drop back into place.
Pamela, I want more!!
This is So good! You’ve got me hooked. Please keep me in mind for ARCs or even beta reading!!!
Great snippet! I would gladly read more to find out what happens next. 😀
I can’t wait to read YOUR whole story! Great excerpt. Love it!
Wow, I definitely wanted to read more and can’t wait to read it when complete! Your description of the wagons was great! Very intriguing. Thanks for posting.
I really liked Val from the first book – such a unique character. I’m excited to read more about her. In my WIP, Tony is on a downward spiral after a life changing injury. He’s lost his leg, his job, and his girlfriend. He’ll find redemption in a later story…
Tony hauled his drunken self up the stairs to his apartment door and fumbled for his keys. The neighbor’s door popped open as far as the flimsy security chain would allow and an irritated old woman with pink foam curlers in her hair gave him the stink eye.
“Sorry, Miz Peterson,” he mumbled as he reached to pick the keys off the ground. He toppled over.
“Drunken fool,” he heard her mutter just before she slammed her door.
“You got that right,” he said as he awkwardly stood and tried his key once again.
He finally gained entry and navigated his way to the kitchen in search of a snack or another beer. He wasn’t sure which, so held the refrigerator door open and stared. This was a dangerous time of day for him. It was when he was most vulnerable. That’s why he duck taped the note to the freezer door right at eye level. And put another one on the bathroom mirror. And another one on the television. And on his laptop. They all said the same thing. “DON’T CALL HER!”
He stared at the note. Don’t do it. You’ll only make it worse. He slowly reached up and plucked it off the freezer door, the residue leaving an ugly, gray, sticky mark. “You know you want to,” the note mocked. He tightened his fist and the note crumpled along with his resolve.
He pulled out his phone, dialed, and went straight to voice mail. “Lana? Hey Lana. How’s life treating you, huh?”
The smooth baritone of his voice didn’t reveal he was drunk out of his mind. Unlike most people, when Tony was drunk his words didn’t slur together or become incomprehensible. He just spoke his mind. Honesty tumbled out of him like a wave of bitterness.
“I just got back from Cosmo’s wedding. You would have liked all the flowers and junk. They tried to get me out on the dance floor. But you know me, I couldn’t even dance well when I had both legs.” He snorted at his self-deprecating joke.
“I would have figured out how to dance with you though. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I just…” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just miss you, alright?”
His body stilled at that phrase and he closed his eyes. “That was all I wanted to say I guess. I mean, I’m drunk. But you probably already knew that. I’ll probably regret this in the morning. Bye Lana.”
He disconnected and glared at his phone like it had somehow made the call on its own. He shouldn’t have told her he missed her. He knew better than to make drunk calls to a girl he used to love. He tacked the rumpled note back on the freezer.
He made his way to his bedroom and laid down to sleep. It hurt to think about her. It hurt to think about her face, her smile, and the way she used to kiss him. It hurt to think about the things that could have been, the people they could have become, and what they could have done together.
He sighed and tried not to think about all the things he never got to say to her. Instead, he slept alone in the dark, a wounded warrior with dismal bank account, and an uncertain future.
Diana! Thanks for the kind words. Oh man, I feel for Tony. The poor guy! The “you got that right” and the “don’t call her” notes just killed me.
Good stuff! Can’t wait to read more.
I love that you already have a cover though, you’re so close!
Here is an excerpt from my WIP, the working title is “Lucky Penny”. I’m ready to say goodbye to this hot dry summer so I’m transporting myself into March when its cold and wet. Knowing that there will be a gorgeous do-gooder hockey player to drool over helps, too…(Which, btw the STL Blues opening game is tonight! LGB!)
Gray clouds rolled across the afternoon sky like a vast tapestry. The hidden sun wove a thread of light swirling throughout, illuminating hues of blue, purple, green and yellow against the gray backdrop. It reminded Penny of her Grandma O’Brien’s painting of the Celtic Tree of Life, with the roots and branches woven together with no clear beginning or ending. Just thinking of the painting transported Penny to a place in her past where she could almost smell the shortbread cooling in her grandmother’s kitchen.
Although nearly two decades had passed since Penny had set foot in her grandparents’ home, certain memories were forever carved in the trunk her own tree of life. Like the luscious buttery fragrance of the shortbread, which could tempt the obedience of anyone, especially those whose eyes, and noses, were on the same level as the old wire cooling racks. The way Grandma O’Brien would say, “Let me cook for you,” to friends and neighbors, and serving them soup and crusty bread, and of course, her world-famous shortbread. At her funeral, when the guests were asked how many people she had cooked for during her life, every single person in the church raised their hand. And, of course, the way Grandma O’Brien would tell stories of their shared heritage whenever she would catch Penny staring up at the painting, tracing the roots and branches with her eyes, searching for a broken connection in interwoven branches and roots.
No two stories were the same, and each one revealed something different, much like different branches shooting off from the sturdy trunk; in one story, the tree represented harmony and balance. In another it represented longevity, wisdom and strength. In another, the connection between heaven and earth. Her stories were shapeshifters, just like the gloomy yet incandescent clouds moving overhead outside the window of her short-term condo rental. Penny never knew which story to believe. Maybe all of them. Or maybe none of them.
She signed as raindrops started to fall, pelting her window to the outside world. The cloud system had made a grand entrance and now was following through on the promise of rain. Rain, rain and more rain. They say March comes in like a lion and out like a lamb, but she doubted she would be around long enough to see the lamb. The lease agreement Penny had signed called it a vacation rental, but this was not a vacation. Far from it. Vacation, to her, meant someplace where the warm fingertips of the sun caressed her lightly freckled cheeks, while clear blue waves happily lapped at white sandy beaches. So far this supposedly cozy mid-western town was cold, dark and wet. Penny kicked the scuffed up white ice skates, which were resting next to her open suitcase, in frustration. The outdoor rink would be a giant puddle, more suitable for galoshes than figure skates. It was only the first day of March, but this lion had already sunk its teeth into her soul.
Hi, Katrina! What a nice, meditative passage. It got me in the mood for chilly spring weather, too (and made me miss my grandma a little.) Thanks for posting!
Loved this excerpt, Bryn. Poor Val and Michael! I can just picture how disgruntled they must be in those outfits.
I just turned in another draft of my oracle story to my agent, hopefully my last before I go on submission (crosses fingers). In the meantime, I am planning out my next project, a villain origin story for the fairy queen in the ballad of Tam Lin. Here’s a taste:
My mother always cried that I was not her child. This wounded me far less than knowing she was right.
Oh, how I longed to say to her: On your Bess too, this birthmark blooms like a rose on the side of her throat. This is her dust brown hair, her eyes the color of marshland. There is nothing in me, of me, that has not come from her. Or perhaps: Bess lives. She is safe in a world where there is no hunger or cold and hardly any time. They will keep her and love her, as well as they are able, until you are long gone and your grandchildren’s grandchildren lie mouldering in the ground.
But as a proper changeling I held my tongue.
Instead I did what I could. I tended the beasts as would be Bess’s job, and never was there a hen that would not lay or cow dry of milk. I fed the brownies well, so that this hovel, filled as it was with eight sloppy brats, shone like the palace of a fastidious king. And when she fell ill, I never left her bedside, though she denied who I was to her last dying breath.
“I am all the Bess you have,” I whispered while she slept, and stroked her sparse brown hair. “And I did not take her away. Can we not make do?”
But we could not, and she would not, though I alone stayed by her sickbed, and when she died and was buried, only I came.
I loved her like a mother despite her madness, for I knew myself to be its cause.
Hi, Kimberly! Good luck with your submitting! Really lyrical prose here. I really enjoyed it. Great last line.
You have most definitely NOT been slacking!
Hahaha. Thanks!
Love your scene, Bryn. Your descriptions are great. I can completely picture Val, all disgruntled in her Catholic School uniform, and Michael in his “Wendy’s Manager”–er–school teacher attire. I can’t wait to read more!
I’ve been slacking and haven’t shared in a while. I always think about it–usually when I’m in the middle of something else–and don’t get back around to it until Wednesday is long gone. I promise myself, “Next month I’ll share,” and then the same thing happens again. This month I was determined to participate, though.
This is an excerpt from my WIP, Book 1 of The Millicent Chronicles. Book 1 is based on a flash fiction piece I wrote called “This Little Piggy & a Market.” In this scene, Millicent, a witch whose current assignment is as an consultant to a movie studio, has walked in on Efraim, a casting director who has been attempting to woo her, assaulting a starlet in the audition room. The starlet runs away to safety, and without pausing to consider the consequences, Millicent casts a spell to shrink Efraim. Millicent retrieves the shrunken Efraim–now a tiny pink piglet figurine–from the floor and flees the scene.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Millicent fished her cellphone from her purse and typed out a text.
9-1-1
She left the building and rushed to the privacy of her car. Her phone rang as she slid into the driver’s seat. She jabbed the answer button without checking the display.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.”
“Jorah? Thank the goddess.” She rested her head on the headrest.
“Millie? What’s wrong?”
“Bloody toadstools, Jorah! It was awful. I didn’t even think. I just did it. The Council has to understand. They have to.”
“Understand what? What did you do?”
So Millicent told her, starting with the wedding reception and ending with the tiny pink piglet in her messenger bag. Then, she took a breath and waited. And waited.
Finally, she asked, “Are you still there?”
Jorah sighed. “I’m here. Lizard pox, Mil. Did you have to shrink him? You were so close!”
“I know. But he was assaulting that girl.”
“But she got away.”
“Because I interrupted him.”
“But Mil-”
“But nothing. He’d done it before. In the bushes at the reception. He’d have done it again.”
“You don’t know that.” Jorah’s voice lacked much conviction.
“We both know he would have. We both sensed something off about him.”
“I didn’t sense that he was a predator.”
“Well, he is—or was. Now, he’s just a tiny pink piglet to add to my display case when I get home.”
“Bet you won’t try too hard to keep Storme from eating that one.”
“Very funny.” Millicent closed her eyes. “Seriously, Jor. What am I going to do?”
“You have to call Calloway and tell him.”
“Do I have to?” Millicent sounded like a teenager who didn’t want to tell her dad she’d wrecked the family car.
“They’ll find out either way. It will be best if it comes from you.”
“Do you think they’ll understand? This won’t cost me my promotion, will it? Surely they won’t punish me for one indiscretion. Not after I’ve been on good behavior for so long. I didn’t shrink him for me; I shrank him to an innocent. He needed it.”
Jorah scoffed. “I sincerely doubt that young woman was, as you put it, an innocent. However, innocent or not, I agree he didn’t have the right to assault her.”
“Exactly!” Millicent was indignant.
Jorah groaned. “That said, do you have any idea how many men I’ve cooked for whom I should’ve poisoned? That he ‘needed it’ doesn’t mean you should’ve done it. How many times have we covered this over the centuries?”
“I only did what I needed to do to prevent it happening again.”
“Normal people would’ve simply called the police.”
Millicent brought a hand to her forehead and rubbed her temples. “I suppose. But that’s because normal people can’t handle things themselves. It never occurred to me to call the police—until now. The spell just sprang to my lips. Like magic knew what needed to be done and just did it.”
“Can’t argue with magic,” Jorah concurred resignedly.
“Exactly!”
Hi, Jenni! Thanks for the kind words. Oh, my goodness. She turned him into a little pig figurine! That’s amazing! I enjoyed this; thanks for posting.
Love your excerpt, Brynn! Especially the line about Wendy’s being a bad place for vegans. That line cracked me up! 😆
As for my excerpt…It took me a while to decide on what to share. I didn’t want to pick a scene that was too spoilery. So, I decided to go with a quick and sweet Dave and Hank scene. Just because. 😀
Just for clarification’s sake, this scene is taking place shortly after Isellta wakes up from his near death experience. Dave and Hank had come into Isellta’s room so they could be at Isellta’s side when he died. They’re both very glad that he didn’t die.
****
Dave snuggled against Hank’s arm.
Hank smiled lovingly at him. “You look tired, babe.”
“I am, but it’s a happy kind of tired.”
“So, we’re gonna go right to sleep when we get back in our own rightful room?”
Dave snapped his head up. “What? You mean…You don’t want to…Oh.” He released Hank’s arm and sat back. “I’m sorry. I. I didn’t think you would mind if we—”
“Babe, hey. Don’t get yourself into a downbeat attack.” He kissed the side of Dave’s face. “I was just teasing. You know how I am. You know how hard it is for me to resist you.”
Dave beamed.
“All you gotta do is look at me and I’m lost.”
“Eeee!” Dave tackled him down to the bed, pretty much right on top of Isellta.
Hank burst out laughing. “Babe, this is not the right place.”
“Then, you shouldn’t say such darned romantic things.”
He kissed Dave’s face again. “You’re so darned cute.”
Dave kissed him – a full on the lips experience that left them momentarily breathless.
“I love you, Dave. I’d kill Mark Caten without a thought if he ever hurt you.”
“Eeeeee! Why do you have to be so romantic in all of the wrong places?”
Hank laughed. “Force of habit, babe. Absolute force of habit.”
Hi, friend! Aww, these two are so cute. Thanks for posting! I hope everything’s going great with you. 🙂
Thank you so much! Everything’s going great with me. I’ve been busy trying to balance my time between writing two separate stories, but I’m having a lot of fun working on them both. So, it’s all good. 😀
I absolutely love writing Hank and Dave’s scenes. They both have had their fair share of drama in their individual pasts. So, it makes me glad to show how happy they make each other.
Good job. Isn’t it funny, how our characters seem to come to live and we get attached to them. Write about characters you love…good or bad 🙂
Thank you! It is amazing how that happens. 😀
I love the banter between Michael and Val. (I just finished The Phoenix Codex, BTW!!! I don’t know if that will help give you the motivation to speed up The Equinox Stone lol) Are we going to see more of Jonathan and Cassie in the sequel, too?? I hope we get a bit more of Nic’s origin story tooooooo!! And that scene with the spiders…. [shudder] O_o
I finally have something to contribute this month. It’s for my MFA thesis project and it’s definitely rough but the spark of excitement has been reinforced for this story. It’s still the beginning of the novel (brand new rewrite) and Wes has just interrupted Ellie’s daily life by showing up unexpectedly back in their hometown of Winchester, VA thirteen years after he moved to Texas with his college sweetheart, Sylvie. Earlier that day, they had an awkward encounter a a bar with two other people, one of which was Ellie’s boyfriend, Michael, who made it very clear in his passive-aggressive way that Wes was not welcome and that Ellie was his. Wes and Ellie had never been intimate, but there had always been chemistry. Anyway, here goes:
*** *** *** ***
Wes takes a slow, precursory inhale, and I know he’s teetering on the verge of the conversation neither of us is ready for.
“I was wondering,” he starts, shifting his feet and running his hand through his hair. He presses his breath through his nose. “Can I walk you to your car?”
Part of me is relieved he’s changed his mind on the subject; the cracks I tried to bury seep with that old heartache. I can’t believe this still gets to me. “I didn’t drive.”
He blinks and looks up, then down the outdoor mall dotted with couples and friends enjoying a stroll or maybe drinks with a bite. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize he was here.”
“He’s not. I meant, I walked. We live in town.”
His eyebrows raise; I can tell without looking at him by the breathy chuckle that escapes him. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
The ice hardens in my chest and I finally look up. “Funny, I didn’t think you thought much about me at all.”
The defeat is heavy in his eyes, but he doesn’t look away. “Ellie, I’m trying to apologize, here.”
I force a sharp huff. “Well, you’re doing a helluva job, aren’t ya?” It pinches in my chest and under my sternum, the festering wound that it is, as I turn to head back toward the main walk. All this time I thought I was past this. I know I’m going the wrong direction, but I don’t want to deal with Michael’s questions or brutish masculinity right now.
“Ell, wait,” he says, and soon falls into step beside me. I don’t stop. For a few awkward moments, he just walks with me, neither of us knowing where we’re headed but going nonetheless.
It’s strange; I can still read him. And when he slips in front of me to stop me, I know he’s ready to say whatever it is he’s wrestling with. “Hey.” His eyes are soft and his eyebrows arch at the bridge of his nose–not in surprise. I saw this face only one time before. We were young, just turned fifteen, and he was teaching me how to ride a horse. His horse, actually–Sammy. He had just let go of the lead and let me have the reins for the first time, and I wanted to show off, so off Sammy and I went. It was fun until something in the brush spooked Sammy. He reared up on his hind legs and dropped me like a sack of bricks. The next thing I knew, Wes was crouched on the ground in front of me, reaching for me, looking at me like this.
I smear rogue tears from the corners of my eyes.
“Please, Ellie, I’m sorry. I really am. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about how I screwed up.” The breath that escapes from Wes is long and filled with relief, and something else I can’t quite pinpoint. “I miss my best friend.”
Oh, thank you so much for reading The Phoenix Codex! Jonathan and Cassie are in the sequel a little bit (Jonathan more than Cassie, but they’re both in there.)
How exciting that you’re working on your MFA thesis. I loved this: “I know he’s teetering on the verge of the conversation neither of us is ready for.” Really well-written scene. I enjoyed it!
thank you 🙂
Today is my favorite day of the month, WIP Wednesday. I’m short on time at the moment but I will be back to read all the stories. Thanks for letting us share our work, Bryn.
Here is a part of a scene from Ralph and the Prince.
“Uzair… Uzair, come quickly. I need you,” D’ArtAnna called, sprinting under the pergola. Gnarled, twining wisteria vines encased the path.
Ralph ran after her. The dense stems, thicker than his thigh, created an impenetrable wall forcing them to follow the flagstones laid in intricate patterns on the path’s floor. A hundred yards further, the tunnel ended in a circular courtyard bathed in sunlight. Ralph slowed, blinking, surprised by the size and the light. The fortress was larger than he had expected. Overhead a cheerful, cloudless blue sky greeted them. Along the perimeter were stone structures that towered four stories up the side of the constricting mountain. They appeared as if carved from the black granite cliff, crafted by a brilliant stonemason.
D’ArtAnna’s pace didn’t slow. She let them left, crossing the yard toward a shorter structure that seemed separated from the rest of the buildings.
“Uzair, help me,” she called.
To Ralph’s right, a door opened, and an immense, bulking figure crouched under a low lintel.
“I’m coming. What’s the…” his booming voice trailed off as he straightened, scanning the scene unfolding in front of him. Without hesitating, he pivoted and rushed Ralph.
Standing tall, Uzair reached his full height. He was a giant. Ralph froze in his tracks, facing him head-on. Uzair’s eyes burned with rage, his long, coal-black hair fanning out behind him as he raced directly at Ralph. He stretched his arms wide revealing a broad well-muscled chest with strange tattoos. Ralph guessed this guy could squash his skull with a single massive blow.
“This monster means to kill me.” The thought screeched through his mind. He swallowed and felt the familiar sense of dread churn through his stomach. He wanted to run but Jean-Christophe’s voice whispered in his ear.
“Then who will protect the prince?”
Ralph glanced after the prince. Protecting him was his sworn duty. The earth shook with Uzair’s approach, his intention to safeguard D’ArtAnna was clear. The space between them was closing fast. Ralph squared his shoulders, determined to hold his ground, and honor his obligation. He quelled his instinct to flee and instead charged his opponent, screaming as he ran towards certain death.
A moment before they collided, Ralph stumbled, tripping over a cobble, he pitched sideways, falling under the giant’s outstretched arms. His flailing feet snagged the man’s ankle in mid-stride. The palms of Ralph’s hands slammed into the stones, he kicked hard, trying to untangle himself, as he tumbled past Uzair.
Off-balance, grasping at thin air, Uzair’s momentum carried him forward while his legs sailed skyward. He landed with a solid thud, his face smashing against the slates, and he howled. The noise echoed through the complex.
Ralph scrambled, stumbling to his feet. His gaze never leaving Uzair. He shuffled, peddling backward, as he fought to remain upright while attempting to place himself between the giant and the prince.
“Hey. Can you call off your dog?” Ralph pleaded as the big man began to rise from the pavement.
I really enjoyed the action in this snippet. Poor Ralph sounds like he is seriously outmatched.
Jo, it’s one of my favorite days, too! I’m so glad you like it. I loved the sense of place in this scene. And I think I’ve said this before, but great action!
Love that one is a student and one a teacher. Undercover should bring many surprises I assume. Can’t wait.
I’m in Mexico on vacation so will not be submitting this time around. But love all the great excerpts.
Hi, Bryan! Aww, thank you. I hope you’re having a wonderful vacation!
Fun scene, Brynn! I think it helps to balance this kind of contextual humor against the dark seriousness of what these characters will be up against. (I’m smelling a major confrontation at the Catholic school, of course.)
This chunk is part of a simple bar scene from ‘Warfare’ after heroine June Vereeth (a sniper) has received bad news.
*
The name of ‘Scarpetti Starport’s’ officer bar, Mother’s Fury, carried a joke which felt all too real and sarcastic. A play on the title of our side’s most reliable ship-to-ship weapon, the mother-fury missile, it undoubtedly encouraged many an officer to come and get hit hard. The cantina’s top drink Burst, by description, was a fruity mix that would put me on my ass.
I wasn’t sure I needed that in my life–short-lived delirium after which I’d have to stagger, hopefully solo, back to quarters. I also wasn’t sure I didn’t want that, given this latest thorn of tragic news. Another colleague was dead. Killed in action. Another handsome face I’d miss. Another owner of laughter which, I’d long ago hoped, could help populate my post-war life.
After a moment to take in the empty tables under various pools of myriad light, I selected a corner spot near a pink glow. Pink like the Triestarra Nebula–the brilliant celestial spread seen from most of the known worlds. Pink like the Triestarra flower, that gorgeous weed whose medicinal properties could cure the ‘gorrahtz’ plague afflicting Mitasteros, if the Mitties hadn’t wiped them out. Blame the war or my rank or my age, but I was seeing irony in more places than I used to.
A child-sized Pashunderran woman came up to my table bearing a data pad and a grin. Her hair was dark and frosted, rather than garish red, and her bulbous nose hinted at her not being purely of my friend Prubius’ people. One of her parents must’ve been Heloppikan, based on her features. Caught up in these meaningless details, it took me a second to register that this person was here to serve me.
“What will you have, Major?”
“Um, I’ve heard the Seven Thousand is good.”
“Right you are. Something to munch on?”
I scanned the posted menu and landed on blue-shark fritters.
“With some garlic onion rings, please.”
“Excellent choice,” she said. “We call those the Kiss-Me-Severely special! Have those for ya in a second.”
‘Kiss me severely? Well, that’s not anything I need to worry about. The men I like all perish.’
As if summoned by one of the nebula’s trickster goddesses, I thought of smiley Andis, my tour guide on Ringerra. Was he smiling the last time I saw him?
I don’t guess he was when he got in the cockpit to pilot that shuttle, right into the nose of the Mitasterite Lander ship.
The resulting explosion had turned night into day.
Soon, my 7,000 arrived. My first sip of the fruity, two-liquor beverage was better than I expected. As the bar was named for a weapon, it seemed natural that one of its signature drinks bore this well-known figure. Within seconds of launch, the mother-fury missile reached a top speed of 7,000 feet per second. My friend Layla thought there wasn’t a gunner in all the Mitasterite Armed Services who could shoot down something that fast.
Considering that our fleet numbers were inferior to the Mitties, I hoped she was correct.
I listened to the fizz of my drink, rolling the carbonation around my tongue. Beyond this soft foreground noise, I realized, was a voice muttering in repetition. It came from an older Pashunderran man two tables over. Alone, he seemed to be whispering to his own half-finished beverage.
“Sometimes the reactor goes up, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes the reactor goes up, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes the reactor goes up, sometimes it doesn’t…”
Unless my sniper’s eye was failing me in the dim light, the silver pin on his lapel was that of an Executive Officer. The drink probably wasn’t his first, or second, as his fixed eyes seemed to be gazing at an apparition beyond this existence. His continual muttering became a thing I couldn’t ignore.
After a few minutes, my spritely server was back with two baskets of fried food. She told me to enjoy them and was soon at the XO’s side.
“Charles, you are muttering again.”
As if a switch was flipped, he blinked and smiled up at her with sudden lucidity. “Helps me process, my love. Those reactors can be cheeky buggers.”
This was such a good read! I really like the sci-fi aspect to it. And you do a great job weaving in the backstory info we need to know without info-dumping. 🙂
Thank you! (2 months late, of course!) This kind of stuff is always a challenge for me, because it would be so easy to inundate people with info that isn’t critical to this snippet. What do people need vs. what do they REALLY need? 🙂
Hi, Justin! Aw, thanks. Yeah, things are going to be terrible at that school. 🙂 I love the Mother’s Fury name. Poor June. And I love it that she hones in on details even when she’s off-duty. Such great world-building, as always!
You’re too kind, Bryn!
I did some mad crazy trimming to get this one around 500 words. I considered posting a different scene, but I really wanted to share this one.
Some quick background information: Zahn is Lord Eina’s servant. She’s been secretly pining for him, but she never thought he’d notice her due to the gap in their social status. Glorna, Eina’s brother, has just told her that Eina does have feelings for her. She is about to find out the truth….
*****
Zahn strode to Lord Eina’s bedroom, still reeling from Lord Glorna’s revelation. “I will talk to him. And if I am wrong. If he doesn’t care for me, it will be okay. I’ll be okay.” She stopped at Eina’s door and knocked on it.
“Come in.” Eina sounded muffled and tired.
Zahn opened the door and entered the room. She approached the bed.
Eina sat up and rubbed his eyes. His fringed ears were limp and rumpled from sleep.
Zahn felt a strong desire to smooth his fur down, but she kept her hands under control.
He lowered his hands. “Zahn? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, my Lord. I just wanted to tell you that I enjoyed our moment together in the library.”
“So did I.” The short fur along the wide bridge of his nose stood up in small spikes.
Zahn tucked her hands behind her back to keep them out of trouble. “Lord Glorna is deeply concerned about Asree’s fate, but he will not leave you alone. I have offered to go in his place.”
He pulled his blankets off to the side and got out of bed. “You’re leaving?”
He’s so close. I shouldn’t stand so close to him. I should move back.
“Yes, my Lord. I hope you…don’t mind?”
“I don’t…I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say that much, my Lord. Just yes or no.”
“You make that sound easy.”
“It is.”
“If I say no, you’ll go. You’ll leave. You’ll go to Deama and who knows what will happen then.”
“Does that matter, my Lord?”
“Yes, it matters. What happens if I say yes? What if I say that I do mind? What will you do?”
“I will do as you wish, my Lord.”
“What if I tell you to stay?”
‘Lord Glorna will have to find a different way to rescue her. My Lord, do you want me to stay? If you do, just say it. You don’t have to say why. I won’t ask why. Just tell me. Do you want me to stay or go?”
“Is it really my choice to make, though? Glorna is my older brother. Asree means so much to him.”
“And what of me, my Lord? Do I mean anything to you?” The words escaped before she even knew it. There was no way for her to unsay them, no way to take them back. They hung in the air, suspended in time and space between him and her.
“Zahn.”
“I’m sorry, my Lord. It was a rash thing to ask. I shouldn’t have—-”
He held out his hand, palm-side up.
Her ears shot up in surprise.
“Zahn. Can I be anything to you besides your Lord?”
She raised her hand and held it palm-side down above his hand. “Yes, my Lord Eina.” Her ears relaxed. “My Eina.”
“My Zahn.” He touched his forehead against hers. “Please don’t leave me.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll stay.”
Haha, I had to trim my own, too! The romantic dynamic here is great. Thanks for sharing!
Thank you so much! I’m glad you enjoyed it!
I think this whole part started at around 700 words. I was like, “Okay. What do I need to keep the feel and the flow of this whole part and what can I safely get rid of?” 😆
I love the reluctant undercover operative! I guess you don’t get to choose your cover in that line of work. I would like to share with excerpt from my WIP when the protagonist if forced to face a moment of truth. Warning: Spoiler Arert!
Out in the sprawling, overgrown yard, the wind whipped around the barren trees and the edges of the bright blue tarpaulin flapped against the rocks that pinned them to the ground. Helen drew her coat around her as she walked to the site marked out with small stakes in the ground, the string that had once connected them now sagging and broken.
Crouching down, Helen rolled back the rocks and lifted the tarpaulin. Her heart dropped in her chest as she looked down at the lumpy, potholed ground beneath. And so it was true: he really hadn’t done anything at all.
Cathy came and stood beside Helen. “See what I mean?”
With an effort, Helen got to her feet. The sour, noxious smoke from Cathy’s cigarette blew into her face.
“Yes,” she said. “Now I see.”
Hi Naomi! Haha, I love spoilers, so I perked right up when you said that. I’m so intrigued! Thanks for sharing!
So sorry about the late post. Computer problems.
Great piece, Bryn. I love getting my characters into situations where they are uncomfortable. Looks like you have done a bang-up job with this one. Did she expect a beautiful uniform?
Here is my WIP selection.
Yadira – protagonist who (back in her home world) learned survival skills from her brother and his friends.
Loddi – a boy from Yadira’s world.
Clay and Darish – boys from a world where Yadira and Loddi are trapped.
Yadira tried to teach the boys how to lay a snare, but the boys brought rope too large to snare a rabbit, so they adjusted the wooden pieces to accommodate the larger rope.
***
The whole episode of trap building was a fiasco. Yadira turned her back on it and headed toward the cave.
“Look!” Loddi’s voice cut into her adding to her irritation.
She turned grudgingly to see, and halted as a rush of adrenaline surged through her veins. Their trap had snared the rack of a moose!
That’s impossible, her mind screamed. It’s too big. It would never stoop low enough to get caught. Even though larger than any snare Yadira had ever laid, it was just a little snare. But there it was, a moose, and for the moment caught. “No! Darish get out of there!”
The moose barked and huffed. He now began to bellow and jerk to free himself, and Darish stood right in his path.
“Hide behind a tree!” she shouted, but he just stood there, transfixed it seemed.
Loddi pulled Yadira’s sword out of her scabbard. She yelped in surprise, too distracted to anticipate the act. He raced toward Darish with it.
“This is crazy! He’ll kill you both!” She sprang to put herself between the boys and certain death, but Clay tackled her sending her sprawling to the ground. “Get out of my way! I’ve got to …”
“No.” Clay growled. “We set the trap. The moose is ours.”
Stunned, she watched as Loddi handed the sword to Darish who crept toward the heaving animal. The moose lowered his head. Any moment he could pull free and charge. His breath billowed out in great streams of air as he prepared for his next burst of action. Darish narrowed the gap. He moved into place beside the great head. The raw power of the beast erupted as he snapped the ropes and focused on the boy who held the sword.
The moose raised his head and roared his anger. Darish sliced one side of the great neck and then the other. Spewing blood, the moose charged. Darish ducked behind a tree.
“Hold still.” Clay told Loddi who had also found a tree. The moose rammed Darish’s tree three times splintering noises split the air, then the animal dropped to his knees and finally collapsed. The tree toppled. Darish barely escaped.
Yadira sobbed. Her legs felt shaky and weak as she rose from the ground where Clay had tackled her. Pain in her shoulder that had hidden somewhere during the excitement ambushed her now.
They field-dressed the beast, but left the skin on to keep the meat clean. Then the four of them worked together to drag it down the mountain to Darish’s family.
Jessie, hi! Great action scene. It felt real! Thanks for posting.
Just so you know. In my Challenge books, the people are vegetarian. In my dragon books, they do eat meat. Darish providing meat for the winter for his family is his step from childhood to adulthood. Later when Clay’s adulthood is questioned, he says his defining act is, “I stood up to Yadira.”
I can’t wait to find out what this mission is if “those” are the covers they have. The manage a Wendy’s line cracked me up.
I’m not sharing anything this month. I just finished another round of revisions on “Batter Days” and am taking a short break before heading back to the salt mines.
Erin, congratulations on the revisions! Enjoy the break, refill the well. 🙂 Thanks for reading!
Awesome as ever, Bryn. Looking forward to the book with great anticipation…I loved Val from the first book, and I think I’ll like Michael as much as I loved Jonathan. 🙂
Also nothing from me…still going through and making “enhancements” to “One Thousand Candles” before I start submitting again. Nearly at the end again…have a revised synopsis…and am slacking a little getting around to the query letter. Oh well, when the kids go back to school on the 14th (we’ve got 2 weeks of school holidays here in Australia at the moment), I’ll get back into querying agents.
On the non-writing side of things, we’ve joined the local gym…so I’m still working on the New Year’s resolution to get in shape. I’m now doing about 5kms every other day, lifting some weights, and playing squash intermittently with my husband or son. Feels pretty darn good. 🙂
Aww, thank you, Lisa! Jonathan’s in book two quite a bit, too. Revising and submitting is such a big job!
Wow, congrats on joining the gym. You are inspiring me! I know I’d feel great if I got back into exercising.
Great scene, Bryn! The glasses are a nice touch. “I look like I manage a Wendy’s.” LOL, the Catholic banter. I totally get the self-consciousness about taking longer on a project than you’d hoped, but you’re doing great!
Back in October 2016, I shared about Curran’s Heart, which I set aside for a while and now I’m combining with Warrior Dove (his sister’s story) again under the title “The Theirin Legacy.” Except for the eight-year occupation, every monarch of Ferelden has been a Theirin, and here the prince speaks with his boyfriend about a mutual friend who is also his betrothed (335 words):
The lock turned and Curran came in, distracted.
His hair shone gold in the firelight, like the heroic paintings of his grandfather fighting the Blight.
“Evening, gorgeous.”
“Hey,” Curran said absentmindedly. He took a stack of parchment from his tabard and locked it in the bottom desk drawer.
So that was tonight’s mood.
“Trouble?” Mic nodded toward the drawer.
“Only if I make it so.” Curran’s wan smile was worrisome.
“Fergus is sending Arianne in his stead. She should be here by mid-day tomorrow.” Curran sat at Mic’s feet, rested an arm on his legs. “It’s not troop negotiations this year.”
“Oh.” Mic let the worried silence stretch before he asked, “Is it not what you want?”
“It’s not unexpected. I’d hoped to know what to do by now. But how does one prepare for such a thing? To become someone you’re not?”
Curran looked into the fire. His voice took on a heated edge.
“Culver can run around wherever she wants with Theo—”
Not strictly true, as, like Mic, they were the queen’s agents; but they did enjoy a less public life.
“–Uncle Duncan can shack up with a surgeon who doesn’t have a surname. And I—I’m stuck with a crown and a wife!”
“Not tonight, you’re not.”
Mic tossed the novel on the other chair and brought Curran’s hand to his lips for a soft kiss.
“Heh,” Curran chuckled. “Your moustache tickles.” He squeezed Mic’s knee. “Please don’t tell Arianne I said I’d be stuck with her.”
“She’d forgive you.”
“Yeah.”
. . .
There was a polite double-rap on the door.
“It’s open,” Curran called out and the door opened slowly.
“Curran?” Arianne’s bold voice wrapped around the door and filled the room. “Are you okay? Your grandfather said you could use some company.” She stopped and smiled. “Hello, Mic. Glad to see you home.”
“My Lady Cousland.” Mic tipped his head in greeting. “Are those the same breeches I saw you discard on a river bank last summer?”
Hi Bryn. I’m enjoying the progress on the new book with this new excerpt. Glad to hear things are coming together.
Here is a just a portion of something I’ve been working on and hoping to perfect and submit somewhere before the Christmas season. Just a short story. I shared a version of it with my friends, but still haven’t perfected enough to send anywhere. I hope you enjoy.
I stalked him silently, on tiptoe, across the hardwood floor. He moved quickly and I caught a glimpse of him exiting the dining room—a flash of red and white darting across the area rug. Where does he go every night I wondered? With my money!
He had appeared out of nowhere on the first day of December—lounging on the counter; resting against the Santa cookie jar with that glazed-over stare and silly grin. I think he was mocking me. One time, I thought I noticed him averting his eyes as I turned quickly, trying to catch him in action. I couldn’t be sure.
Every morning Sarah and Molly searched the house, eventually finding him in a different spot each time: perched on the top of the refrigerator or hanging from the curtain rod; lounging on my breakfast plate or sitting in a pile of flour, surrounded by chocolate chips and egg shells. You know, I never got any of those cookies. One morning he was in my shoe—my right shoe. I’m sure he did that on purpose. They were my work shoes! So, on that day, I had to wear sneakers to work with my suit!
Earlier this month, during my morning cappuccino indulgence, I noticed my wallet was short on cash. At first, I questioned my wife Donna about it and let me tell you, I’ll never do that again! Every day since, there’s been at least five dollars missing. Could it be him? I wondered.
By the time Christmas was only four days away, we are all wound as tight as fiddle strings—ready to snap at the next pluck. Tired of wondering where my money was going and certainly not considering asking my wife about it, that night I decided to catch him in the act. Unfortunately, typical of my evening habits, I dozed off only to wake and find my wallet on the floor next to the recliner. I quickly glanced at the mantle—the spot where I’d last seen the scoundrel. He was gone!