Hey friends! It’s WIP Wednesday, the first Wednesday of the month, when I share a little bit of a work in progress and invite you to do the same.
The rules are pretty simple: post an excerpt in the comments section of 500 words or less, with no graphic content (some cursing is okay). No critiquing other people’s work—we’re often sharing really rough material that’s not ready for that yet—but sharing a few kind words will bring you good luck as a writer. No buy links, but you can link to your blog or another website where you share your writing.
I almost forgot to do this, which means Mr. Donovan is going to need to drive me into work this morning instead of me walking in. Why did I almost forget? Because The Equinox Stone goes to the editor on Monday, and I am neck-deep in preliminary edits.
I don’t want to share any more of that book, so I’m going to share something completely different: a M/M Regency romance I started a while back. Who knows if I’ll ever finish it, honestly, though it would be fun!
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As Davyn Lewis waited alone in the drawing room of Houghton Hall, he inspected his dark coat for any traces of dust or lint, although he had done so a dozen times already. He could not afford to make anything less than an impeccable first impression.
He had never thought to seek a new position again. For almost ten years, he had lived and worked in Plas Elisedd, and the fine estate had been more of a home to him than his own family’s house. Davyn might have gladly spent his whole life there, had he not been so wicked…or so stupid.
The door to the drawing room opened, and Davyn looked up at the man who entered: Charles Burke, the Viscount Raincliff.
Davyn’s last employer, Lord Grigsby, had been in his seventies. The viscount looked ten years older at the most than Davyn’s own age of twenty-five. His dark hair, cropped shorter than the current fashion, showed just a touch of gray at the temples. Under his straight brows, his hazel eyes regarded Davyn. Although his mouth did not curve into a smile, nor did it indicate severity.
“Good morning. I’m Viscount Raincliff,” the man said. “It’s Davyn Lewis, isn’t it?”
“Yes, my lord. Good morning.” Davyn sketched an automatic bow.
“So you are Lord Grigsby’s former valet. And Welsh, of course.”
“Yes, my lord.” Davyn knew the accent gave his baritone voice a slight singsong quality to English ears, but he had no talent for dampening it. “I grew up in Swansea.”
Before he’d gone into service, Davyn had spoken Welsh at home, English at the church school, and both in his father’s tailor shop. Of course, everyone at Plas Elisedd had spoken English, “like civilized folk.”
The viscount clasped his hands behind his back. His proud stance emphasized his height and broad shoulders, giving him more the air of a military captain than a spoiled nobleman.
“Grigsby told me in his letter you started out at his house as a footman.” He looked Davyn up and down. “You are not especially tall for a footman.”
“No, my lord. Perhaps that is why he made me a valet.”
Viscount Raincliffe chuckled. The man had dimples.
“According to him, you were an excellent one,” Raincliffe said. “But I wonder why he let you leave, then? He only said something about you wanting to see new places.”
The back of Davyn’s neck prickled hot. Not long ago, Lady Grigsby, looking in on a sick maid, had come to the servant’s quarters. She had caught him in a state of shameful undress with Thomas, the second footman. Later that afternoon, her chastisement and dismissal of him had crushed him like stone into sand.
Lord Grigsby had secretly written him the letter of recommendation, knowing the Viscount Raincliff’s valet had just gotten married and quit his service. Why Lord Grigsby had showed more forgiveness for his transgressions, Davyn didn’t know, but he was grateful.
Next month, I’ll be sharing the beginning of The Requiem Moon, book three of my trilogy. And I bet that a lot of you have exciting new things to share right now, since we’re in the midst of National Novel Writing Month. Go ahead and put something out there!
Or, if you prefer, you can just tell us how your writing is going, or what your writing goals are for the rest of 2019. We’d love to hear about it! Thanks for reading, and happy writing!
I was going to share a different scene, but then I wrote this one last night and it made me happy. So, I’m sharing this one instead.
***
The organist played a profoundly dramatic version of “Can You Feel The Love Tonight?”
Hildreth bit his lower lip and struggled to keep the laughter from escaping.
Focus on breathing. That’s important. Keep breathing.
Don’t laugh.
Keep calm.
He looked over at the organist just as she swooshed her head about. Her hair escaped its careful styling and whipped her face.
Wrong thing to look at.
He bit his lower lip even harder and quickly looked away.
Any minute now it’s going to explode.
My lip, not her head.
The laughter inside his throat was too much for him to keep bottled up. He fake coughed and that made it feel better.
“You okay?” Darius stage-whispered.
Hildreth nodded.
She’s taking so long. Does the bride usually take this long before coming on down the aisle?
His thoughts inexplicably turned to Ambrose.
Did he have to undergo such a brain-munching wait? How did he handle it? How did he keep himself from going eating raw spaghetti with raw acorns kind of nuts? How did he keep it all together?
He smirked.
Too bad I don’t have his phone number. I’d love to give him a call and pester him. Stupid vampire. He’s sleeping now. Probably snores like an old dog. Probably drools too.
Big drool puddles.
Lakes.
Lakes of drool.
He drool-drowns his pillow every day.
The doors opened.
Hildreth’s heart jumped pretty much straight up into his brain.
Elsie!
But no. It was a small group of Elsie’s relatives and a whole fleet of her mother’s friends. She had a tremendous amount of friends. It was an amazing thing.
The usher did his thing and led them to their pews – small group by small group.
Elsie.
Elsie.
How will the organist know that you’re all ready to come in? Telepathic communication? Text message? Courier? Maybe a pigeon will fly in through the belfry and…
He studied the arched ceiling.
Well. There’s a problem. I don’t see a way for the pigeon to fly in here. All the windows are closed. I guess they’ll have to open the doors for it. Huh. But how will they give it to the bird in the first place? Maybe they have caged pigeons. Courier pigeons.
Pigeons.
Pigeons?
Hmmm, maybe it should be doves. Doves seem more church appropriate. Ghost doves.
He nodded.
That sounds right. I just have no idea how that works. But it would definitely work. And it would solve the problem about how the bird will get in here. It’ll just be able to fly straight through the window. No problems.
Master Shinowa side-glanced at him. “Much lost in thoughts, Mayhew.” he said softly.
Before Hildreth could respond, the organist switched from a hymnized “You’ll Be In My Heart” to Pachabel’s “Canon in D”.
Hildreth straightened his posture and watched the doors.
Elsie.
Elsie…
ha! i love how every time his thoughts get sidetracked it leads down a different humorous avenue. my kind of humor!
Thank you so much! I had an absolute blast writing this whole part. It actually made me laugh out loud. 😆
I have to agree! The side-tracking was definitely humorous here. I can see why it made you laugh when you were writing it!
Thank you! 😀
Hildreth is easily one of my favorite characters to write. His brain can go in all sorts of random directions, which does get him into trouble sometimes.
The stream-of-consciousness thought flow cracked me up here. Especially the “drool-drowning” vampire!
😆 Thank you so much!
Very fun! And I LOVED, “She had a tremendous amount of friends. It was an amazing thing.” Thanks for posting! Hope you’re having a good week!
Thank you so much! I’m glad you enjoyed it! 😀
I’m a huge fan of Regency romances—I hope to see yours published someday because I’d love to read it! Here’s a section from a book I just put out, Finders Keepers. It was fun to write:
Mari gingerly stepped into the lake and grimaced. She looked over at the float line about forty feet out and estimated that the water might be chest-deep on the near side. She waded out a little way and stopped, flinching, when the icy water lapped her inner thighs.
“Is it really bad?” a voice said beside her, and she looked over to see that Don and Eloise had joined them. Tom was nowhere to be seen although his towel lay next to hers.
Suddenly they heard feet pounding along the dock and they looked over to see him racing hell-bent toward the end of the dock. He yelled, “Geronimoooo!” and sailed far out over the water, making an impressive splash when he cannonballed into the lake. When he surfaced, his muttered “Holy crap!” reached them quite clearly across the water. There was scattered applause from the parents nearby, who were laughing.
“That was brave,” one young mother said to her husband, who was lying next to her working on his tan. “Dave, why don’t you try it?”
“Honey, that’s not brave,” he said plaintively as he shaded his eyes to look over at her, “it’s stupid. Do I look stupid to you?” He replaced the hat that had been sitting on his face and lay back once again.
“I don’t know,” Eloise whispered to Mari, “I think it was pretty brave.”
Tom swam rapidly over to the float line and ducked under it to stand up in the shallower water.
“Happy now?” he asked Mari.
She smirked at him. “Yup.”
He looked her up and down. “You seem awfully dry for somebody who said she wanted to go swimming.”
“Well…I’m getting there.” She eyed him nervously as he edged closer. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Just coming to stand over by you. I like being by you.” He grinned an evil grin.
“You keep away, mister. I’m getting things wet at my own speed.”
“It’s easier if you do it fast,” he said.
“I can’t,” she said, adding in a whisper, “My lady-bits don’t like getting all cold.”
“Your what?” He roared with laughter. “Sweetheart, there’s only one answer for that.” He swooped one extremely cold hand under her knees and picked her up and he laughed down at her, shaking icy droplets onto her from his hair as she squealed and kicked her feet.
“Tom, seriously, put me down!”
“Nope. Just like ripping off a bandaid,” he assured her.
“Eloise, help!” Mari begged, but her friend shook her head.
“I’m staying out of this,” she said wisely, trying not to laugh.
“On three,” Tom said. “One—two—deep breath!” He took an exaggerated lungful of air and, holding onto Mari tightly so she couldn’t get away, he ducked them under the water and came back up.
“Oh my god!” Mari shrieked, shivering. “You big meanie!”
“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Now you just need to swim around some and you’ll be all warmed up,” Tom said, demonstrating.
Mari glared at him and at Don, who was standing knee-deep laughing his head off. “Oh, Don!” she called sweetly, and he looked over at her just in time to catch the tidal wave of cold water she sliced at him full in the face. He yelped like a little girl and then, good sport that he was, took a huge breath and fell sideways into the water like a toppled tree.
When he came back up he was laughing even as he exclaimed over how cold the water was…and then the three of them turned as one to look at Eloise, the only dry person in the group.
She’d been laughing at Don’s antics but when she realized she was the focus of their stares she knew her warm-and-dry moments were numbered.
“Oh, rats,” she said, bowing to the inevitable, and she did a shallow surface dive that took her out to where the rest of them were standing. When she came up she was gasping as she shook the water out of her eyes. “I can’t b-believe how c-cold that is!” she gasped, and Don laughed and rubbed her arms to warm her up. “Are my legs still there? Because I darn sure can’t feel them.”
Don peered down into the water. “Yup, still there,” he assured her.
“Holy cow! Don’t think I’m going to forget y’all went over to the dark side,” she warned him. “I’ll get you for that. When you least expect it, I’ll get you.”
Don gripped Tom’s arm in mock fear. “Geez, she’s scary when she gets like that, isn’t she?”
“Laugh all you want, sonny,” Eloise said. She indicated with her fingers in a V pointing between her eyes and his own that she was keeping her eye on him. “Well, if we’re gonna do this thing then let’s do it. Might as well make it worth our while. Come on, y’all. She ducked under the float line and took off swimming straight out from shore.
I could FEEL that cold water! 🙂
Such a wonderfully happy moment! 😀
I especially loved this small moment: “…just in time to catch the tidal wave of cold water she sliced at him full in the face. He yelped like a little girl…”
Hi, Su! Oh man, I hate cold water (I almost never go in the ocean here when we go to the beach…the water’s too cold) and this really evoked that feeling! Thanks for sharing!
Brrrr cold water! Reminds me when I used to jump into my parents pool in Florida during the winter and it was freezing lol. Now I don’t do that anymore and just use the hot tub during the “cold” season, much more relaxing than the frigid pool water. lol.
Trying to finish the Burrows Bay series by the end of the year!
When Moira got back, Gabbi handed her a mug of coffee. “Do you want a doughnut?”
“I think I will,” Moira said, checking her watch. “Emma should be here…” She stopped as the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it.” Gabbi came back in with Montgomery.
“You won’t believe what happened yesterday,” Montgomery said, pouring himself some coffee. “Any more doughnuts?”
Moira smiled and opened the box. “Did you like the house?”
“It was nice,” Montgomery replied. “We ended up looking at three houses, but none of them seemed to be a good fit.” He smiled. “Then, Lizzie suggested checking out a rental by the lake. I told them I wanted to do some fishing and she remembered a cabin that used to be rented in the summers.”
“What’s it like?” Gabbi asked.
“It’s a wreck,” Montgomery admitted, “but the location is perfect. It’s about half an acre on the north side of Lake Campbell, and it has a dock.” He smiled. “Marissa found out the people might want to sell but the house isn’t passing inspection, so they can’t get financing.”
“What does all that mean?” Gabbi asked.
“It means, I’m buying a house with some of the cash I got from the sale of the restaurant.” Montgomery picked Gabbi up and spun her around. “Want to help me design a cabin?”
“Dad, that’s great!” Gabbi hugged him. “You should ask Emma to do the remodeling. She’s not only a great contractor, but a talented designer.”
“That’s what Marissa said.” Montgomery sat down and took a sip of his coffee. “And that the deal could close by the beginning of November.”
“I’ll get it,” Moira said as the doorbell rang again. She came back with Emma, George, and Ted.
“Do you three have any openings in your schedule?” Montgomery asked. “I’d like to talk to you about renovating a cabin.”
Nice family vibes here!
Aw, this feels like the beginning of a holiday story 🙂
I really like how this small snippet feels like the story could go into any given direction. Good or bad. Romance, horror, or just plain family drama. It’s a very good beginning to whatever may happen next. 😀
Hi LL! Aw man, this made me jealous. I want to renovate a cabin! 🙂 Nice scene. I enjoyed it.
Ending the first arc of A Rattlesnake Loose, goodbyes and a new beginning.
Broken Arrow
With a month of recovery from childbirth and combat behind me, I’ve used up my share of Methuselah’s gracious hospitality. My family and I are ready to leave him, his wives, and an untold number of children. I give each child, old and young, a hug and an arrowhead, and to each of the fourteen wives, a dreamcatcher. I hug Bess, long and tight, kissing her on the cheek, and whisper, “Thank you, sister.”
Methuselah has shaved his beard and mustache, and I hug him goodbye. In answer to my unasked question, Methuselah says, “I cleaned up, just for you.”
“You are right, you have too much love in your heart,” I say.
Bess says, “Grace, you are a fearless knight and a clever woman, perhaps too clever. Hear me now, one of my children has asked to be your disciple, to learn what you will teach her. You are a good mother and we have agreed to let her travel with you.”
“Does she understand my teachings are hard and painful, she will suffer sleepless nights, cuts, bruises, stubbed toes, black eyes, and swim in freezing waters?”
“She has talked with your husband; she understands,” Bess answers.
“To show this is her will, let her step forward and pledge for herself.”
I look in the faces of the older girls and try to pick out the bravest. It is little Electa, my faithful nurse, these past weeks, since Abraham’s birth, who steps out from between the skirts of the older girls to stand in front of me. I study her, trying to decide if she has the fortitude to become a knight.
“Electa show me the arrow I gave you.” With pride, she holds the arrow out in her fist.
I likewise take hold of the arrow, near the feathers, and ask, “Do you, Electa, pledge, on your honor to follow, without question, your knight-master? Do you pledge to improve yourself, that you may do good for all who shall need your help? This pledge is not to impede your faith. To show your commitment and prove this is your choice, turn the arrow, point up.”
Electa turns the shaft and I resist. The point starts to rise as the arrow bends. Electa, eyes wide, relaxes.
I ask, “Which do you desire most, the arrow or your own spurs, the ancient symbol of a knight?”
With ridged jaws, she focuses on me, and gives a sharp turn, snapping the arrow. Electa holds her half, point up, for all to see and hands it to me. “Lady Knight, I pledge myself to you.”
I bind the parts with a bowstring, hand it back to her, and say, “Keep this token of your promise and faith. In ancient times a broken arrow symbolized peace. This has been your first test. When you can turn the arrow without breaking, you will begin your next test.”
With a smile, I say, “Mount up Page Electa, it’s time to depart.”
What interesting world-building!
Thank you. It is mostly our real world with a few tweaks. Fun Tweaks.
Hi, Donald! Great fantasy voice here. And a GREAT opening (“With a month of recovery from childbirth and combat behind me…”) Thanks for posting!
Thank you. Praise from you is like… Chocolate pudding with a raspberry on top.
I loved the bit about Davyn! It felt very much like a glimpse back into the world of Downton Abbey — with a Thomas in the mix, nonetheless! This would be a fun read.
I am super excited about NaNo this year because I have a plan for the first time (thanks to grad school). I’m hitting the same WIP on two sides: NaNoWriMo & MFA lol. This week we’re to write a microburst short fiction (350-500 words) for class, and I’ve been trying to just remember how to breathe because I’ve never been good at short works in my life. I’ve been making good use of your 5,000 Prompts Book this week, looking for something to kick my creative juices into gear, and I think I may have found something. I haven’t quite started it just yet, so here is more from my best friends-to-lovers contemporary romance:
*****
The silence lies like a pile of discarded cookie fortunes on the table between us. We’re seated inside by the front window, my request. The room is warm with the busyness of the kitchen and the dinner crowd, but the light is soft white and dimmed enough that the track lighting above the bar almost sparkles on the rows of shiny bottles and the mirrored backsplash as the bartenders mix and shake and pour. There are two of them, one male and one female, both neatly groomed and dressed in clean, crisp black from head to toe, but they work as if they’re one. It’s mesmerizing to watch, even if only because I’m stalling.
Wes clears his throat as the waitress drops our drinks at the cloth-covered table. “Thank you.” He tucks his dark brown hair back behind his ear where it belongs, offering her a polite smile. When she’s gone to the next table, he straightens his back and looks at me.
I can feel his gaze. It’s gentle and patient, and rests like a borrowed coat on my shoulders. “I’m sorry about your wife.” It comes out of my mouth far more gently than I hear it in my head. Sometimes the universe smiles on me.
His head dips for a moment as he contemplates the bourbon and ginger ale on the table in front of him. I don’t know when his taste became so much more grown up; when we were young we drank Zima with Jolly Ranchers at our little parties and ridiculous things like Sex on the Beach when we were legal enough to order at bars. “I know. Thank you.” He turns his glass a quarter circle before picking it up and inspecting the ice. He sips. “I’m not here to talk about Sylvie.”
They weren’t so much parties as they were small, intimate gatherings, mostly me, Wes, and Willa. “I know.” Every now and then we would bring in whoever was within our orbit at the time. That was how Willa Watch got started, back then. She holds her alcohol so much better now.
My apple mojito is right on the money. Some day I’ll learn how to make these on my own so I don’t have to spend six dollars a glass every time I want one.
“So, what school are you teaching at?” He folds his hands on the table and shifts his gaze back to me.
I quiet the inner snark demon and tell him. “John Kerr.” At the quizzical look he gives me, I continue. “It’s the new one. Just opened in 2016 and I got lucky, I guess.”
“I highly doubt it’s luck, knowing you.” His dimple shows when he smiles at me. “What grade? Elementary, right?”
“Third.”
“Where’s it at?” He’s trying to place it on the map he keeps in his brain, but the Winchester he knew has changed since he’s been gone.
Friends to lovers is always fun! Love the quiet interaction you have going on here. 🙂
Hey there! Good luck on the microburst fiction—that does sound like a challenge, but I bet you’d be great at that short form. So glad the 5,000 Writing Prompts book is helpful! I really enjoyed this scene. Great description and great interaction.
Congrats on the completed book and best wishes with your writing.
Hi, Cynthia! Thank you so much—I really appreciate it!
TWENTY-THREE YEARS LATER…
The chime of the doorbell shook Adele from her melancholy thoughts. With her thoughts in the clouds and her decision made to tell Luke the minute he arrived that she loved him, she danced to the door. She flung it open. Shear shock struck her when her eyes met the man standing before her. An exquisitely, handsome six foot four inch man with broad shoulders, muscular physique in khaki dress pants, a white long sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows that completely stole her breath away. For a split second, her eyes glanced to his tattooed forearms that snaked beneath his rolled up sleeves. She recalled how many times those arms and tattoos had engulfed her a lifetime ago. A flood of memories of him crashed through her mind. Gothenburg, Nebraska. Thrill Hill. Love. Gina. Anger. Tears. Loneliness. Survival. A chill skittered through her body.
Vince Capella. Gina’s dad.
Turbulent shock whirled through her. Speechless, she couldn’t move. His rebel-like appearance was gone. In its place was an extremely distinguished, magnificent man with tattoos. He flashed his endearing smile which always dropped her to her knees. His infectious smile still affected her. He most definitely hadn’t lost his irresistible, undeniable swagger. Some things never change in time nor in one’s heart when you have loved. Vince brought to mind a love song that stopped playing halfway through. His coffee brown eyes held hers intently. She could forever get lost in his alluring brown orbs. Adele floated back to earth.
*****
Vince shifted on his feet.
“Hi there. It’s been a long time. You’re as beautiful as I remembered.”
Adele’s heart swayed in the direction of her first love.
“Oh my gosh, Vince. What a surprise. I can’t believe you’re here after all this time.”
Vince took a step forward.
“Do you have a minute to talk? May I come in?
Shaken, Adele couldn’t take her eyes off of him. She tried to calm the erratic beat of her heart.
“Of course, come in.”
Vince entered Adele’s condo following her to the living room. He sat on the couch his eyes taking in his surroundings.
“Nice place. It looks like you.”
Adele sat in a chair a few feet from him. She danced lightly on the edge of time. He still made her heart flutter and upset her equilibrium after so many years.
“You look great,Vince. I see you cut your hair. No more ponytail, huh?”
He chuckled.
“Yeah, I cut it a long time ago. Do you like it?”
“Yes. I do. You look quite distinguished.”
Adele’s eyes couldn’t get their fill of him. She gasped when she noticed a new tattoo on his forearm. Her name, Adele.
“Why is my name on your forearm. You didn’t have that when we first met.”
The corners of his mouth quirked up. He cocked his head to the side as his eyes delved into Adele’s.
“Because you’re the only woman I have ever loved.”
Great setup, Bryn. Interested to see where it goes from there.
Here’s a bit of action from my urban fantasy trilogy.
*******
he was doing what she had hoped he would do; treating her as a victim who wouldn’t be alive long enough to make trouble for him, telling her more than he ever would have had he known what she was planning. “There are no cameras, no security, no need for any of that. I own this building. There is no one here but the two of us.”
In some overwrought gesture of arrogance, he raised his arms over his head and gave Fia a twirl. With his back to her, she took her chance, unsheathing the knife at her thigh and dove at her target, aiming the blade at the base of his skull. She wasn’t even sure what to expect from pushing the knife into his spine this way.
And she wasn’t going to find out.
The body of Alan Chambers ducked her attack, throwing her off balance just enough he could drive her back against the wall again. This time, his grip on her throat was intended to crush and she coughed, hard, trying to fill her lungs with air, her throat burning against the pressure of his hand. She clawed at his hands, suddenly cursing the fingernails she kept cut to the quick, giving her nothing to break his skin. Luckily, he had lifted her from the floor, giving her the freedom to swing her legs and putting her at the perfect height to connect her foot to his pelvis.
He dropped her and she fell to her knees. She scrambled for her feet, reclaiming the knife, before he was able to recover and turn to face her again. His stance and the fury in his eyes made him look like a charging bull and he snarled at her. “Bitch!” He lunged forward, diving at her thighs, not realizing how far he was below his own center of gravity. She brought both fists down, sledgehammer style, between his shoulder blades, knocking him the last two feet to the floor. She didn’t hesitate to press a boot into his head, reaching once again for her knife. She pushed it, feeling it scrape against bone and slide gracefully through tissue, into the soft dimple where his neck met his head, in and up to its hilt.
She grabbed the tracking collar from her pack and snapped it over the wound, clicking it on, activating the alarm at the other end.
Ooooooh! This is a great action scene. Not everyone can write them and I thought it was really well done. Thanks for posting! I love urban fantasy trilogies. 🙂
OOPS…THIS IS FROM JAN BTW…
Ooops…the above WIP is from Jan…BTW…don’t know how this happened…I seem to do everything back forwards..Sorry..
I love that line: “She danced lightly on the edge of time.” <3
Hey there! I did have to trim this because it went over 500 words (and in doing so, I accidentally trimmed your intro, where you said it was the guts of a love story.) Intriguing setup…things aren’t looking so hopeful for Luke, I’d say! Thanks so much for sharing. I hope we see some more next month!
Hi Bryn, I enjoyed Davyn’s background and how rich and colorful his past made him.
I’ve waited all month for WIP Wednesday! Thanks for your post on disguises. I had fun with this one, but be warned. It’s a first draft. A note of explanation – When a woman is made into a slave, her head is shaved and her “master” takes her volition and power.
DuShain winced. “They want to take Granny as a slave?”
“They’re pretty desperate. Darko wants her power, but he also wants you dead. If I know anything about Darko, your granny’s the bait for the trap the boys are setting. And he’s probably promised some grand reward for the one who can kill you.”
DuShain laughed without mirth.
“So, what you need,” a Smile spread across Roan’s face, “is a disguise.”
DuShain swiped his hand through his sandy blonde hair. “Anything you can do about this?”
Roan shrugged. “We’ve got soot. Should take care of your curls and whiskers.”
DuShain cringed when he thought of the grime. He had always prided himself on his grooming.
Roan cleared his throat. “Your clothes are a bit fancy.”
“That’s an understatement.” He looked at his borrowed outfit. “I can wear an ironworker’s tunic and breeches.” DuShain unlaced his boots. “I’ve got to trade these in. They’re made for looks, not comfort. I have blisters on top of blisters.”
“I think we have boots your size and,” He rose, rummaged through a box and then held up a small packet. “For your feet.” He tossed it to DuShain who caught it.
“Thanks. Now, all I need is a horse.”
“As a matter of fact, two of my team can be saddled and ridden.”
DuShain shook his head. “I’ve heard about Raydor horses.”
“I don’t see what you’re worried about. Your horse is a demon. And you have no trouble with him. I doubt you would have trouble with mine, but you can see for yourself.”
“Sounds fair.”
***
The smell of soot plagued DuShain as he rode Roan’s horse toward the dragon’s cave. He had changed his mind after smearing the oily substance on his beard and hair, but no scrubbing, even with the strong soap Roan brought him, cut the smell or the black color. He was disguised, but he didn’t know if he would ever be DuShain again.
The Raydor horse didn’t turn out to be as hard to handle as DuShain had previously thought and several sprints proved his ability. He wasn’t Ky, but he was acceptable, better than some of the Clan horses he had ridden in military service.
It didn’t occur to DuShain that his disguise would be a disadvantage, but now as he opened the warding, he suddenly realized that he entered Clan territory with black hair and a full beard, not dressed in Blue Clan tabard and leggings, but in clothes more at home in the iron works, wearing work boots not his own, riding a Raydor horse and carrying a bald headed slave woman in his arms. His only advantage was that it was night, but that turned to a drawback as the full moon rose above the horizon. The only thing he could do was to get across the Valley of Thunder as quickly and quietly as possible.
Just as he urged Roan’s horse forward, a strong masculine voice called out, “Who goes there?”
Hi, Jessie! YES, I LOVE scenes with disguises! And this is a great one! I’m always so inspired to see what you’re working on and see the world-building that you’re doing.
Thank you, Bryn. I love your encouragement! You said at one point that what I write is Classic High Fantasy. I would like to claim that category. May I say that you are the one who said it? I certainly wouldn’t want to come across as having delusions of grandeur!
Oooh, I love M/M romance, and Regencies in particular! I adore the set up here. You have me wanting more!
I’m taking advantage of the spirit of NaNoWriMo to unofficially participate, which means the material I’m sharing here is rough, very rough. It’s a scene from the sequel to my paranormal romance, Bishop Takes Knight. The set up is that Peter Knight is in danger of being deported, and the agency he and Bishop work for, Redclaw Security, has proposed they marry in order to stabilize his status, but also because they need a married couple to go undercover to investigate some unusual events.
He pulled back, making him look like a startled horse. “Fake boyfriend, fake marriage. I fail to see the difference.”
“One lasts a weekend.” I spoke through clenched teeth. “The other three years. Or have you forgotten that in the eyes of the law, we’ll be legally married this time? Not to mention we’ll have to keep up appearances until such time you can apply for citizenship.”
“Oh.” His entire demeanor wilted. “I didn’t realize… I thought. I mean… Oh, never mind.” He flicked a hand up, waving me off though I’d said nothing.
“You thought what?” Tempting as it was to touch his arm for reassurance, I decided to bore a hole through the middle of his forehead with my eyes instead.
The glance he cut in my direction was decidedly wary. “I thought, you know. That you and I were, um, getting closer.” He dropped his voice on the last word, as though someone might overhear us in the middle of the empty lot.
I lifted my chin. “That has nothing to do with entering into a marriage of convenience for work-related reasons.”
He still didn’t get it. “Ryker came to me and said he wanted me for this assignment. Then he brought up the issues with my clearance and my visa. I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather work with—or be fake married to. You were the logical solution to both problems.”
That did it. “Ryker decided. You decided. Fake marriage or not, a girl likes to be asked!”
I got to my feet and stalked back to Redclaw.
“Wait up!” The sudden whirring of wings behind me signaled Knight had leapt to his feet as well, sending the pigeons in flight. I heard his footsteps on the gravel path as he hurried to catch up, but I ignored him and continued walking.
He drew abreast, stuffing his empty lunch sack into his pocket as he hurried along. “Does this mean you’re saying no?”
I pulled to an abrupt stop, forcing him to brake as well or risk running into me. “Still. Haven’t. Been. Asked.”
His eyes flew open wide before a sly grin—one I had a hard time resisting—curved his mouth. “Oh. I can’t exactly go down on one knee here, but Rhett Bishop, would you do me the honor of being my fake wife and partner in an undercover investigation?”
His impish expression said he *still* didn’t get it. “You can’t just jump in now with a belated request and expect all to be forgiven.”
He lifted one shoulder in a little shrug. “I suppose it is too little too late. That doesn’t change the facts: you’re still the best woman for the job.”
Very sneaky, playing on my desire to be treated as an equal field agent. Especially when I knew he was right. I narrowed my eyes as I contemplated his proposal. “I’ll think about it.”
With a toss of my head, I turned on my heel and walked away.
Awwwww! He thought they were getting closer! I love the proposal, hahaha. And love it that you’re channeling that NaNo energy! 🙂
I love the tension building in the scene you shared! I’m currently drafting a Fantasy novel for Nano this year, here’s a small snippet from the second chapter.
****
Aislin looked back at the camp and felt an overwhelming urge to go back. It made no sense…she was finally free, but she’d lived in that camp for nearly eight years. It was safe and familiar. She also knew that she’d never see Feris again. He’d looked after her since she’d been small, teaching her and keeping her safe. She squeezed her eyes closed and forced herself to start walking away. Neiran didn’t say anything, just kept in step with her as they moved through the woods.
It had rained overnight. The smell of the wet leaves and earth was heady as they headed deep into the trees. The dampness of the forest floor muffled the sounds of their passing. As they moved further away, the itch between Aislin’s shoulder blades grew more intense. The alarm would be sounded as soon as the bodies were discovered, it would carry far on the air. Looking at the terrain here, she could understand why Neiran was taking them this way. The brush was too thick and the footing too uneven for the Menians to risk riding their horses through here. They’d have to come on foot, and that would slow them a little.
There was something unsettling about the air in these trees, something that closed tightly around her throat as they pressed deeper. They weren’t welcome here. That much was very clear to her at least. She let her eyes wander to the others, and she could see that same uneasiness on their faces, in the slight narrowing of their eyes and frowning lips. At least it wasn’t just her.
****
Kristina, this was an awesome read! I’m curious to know what is going on in that part of the forest that Aislin is picking up on with her “6th sense.”
Hi, Kristina! Really nice details in this, and I loved her mixed feelings about leaving. Good luck with NaNo!!
“Okay, so street lesson one: look both ways when the light turns green. You never know if some idiot on a bike or a guy with headphones, or even a police car or other emergency vehicle is on it’s way though. So you look first, even if it’s green.”
“mm’kay.”
They turn onto Commonwealth Ave.
“Where are we?” asked Zoey.
“Commonwealth Ave, duh.”
“No, we are Westbound on Commonwealth passing Blandford. You always need to know your nearest cross street and direction. Same goes for when you’re on the highway, note the mile marker or at the very least know what exit you just passed.”
“But there’s google if anything goes wrong.”
“You can’t trust everything to your phone you know. What if the battery dies? Hmmm, that’s funny.”
Margo gave her a look. She’s known that look since the day they met. Zoey sensed trouble, but was doing her best to remain calm.
“It’s nothing. Just the license plate on that Ford Super Duty with the utility cap. I’ve seen it in a few places on our drive tonight.”
“You mean the one behind us?”
“Yeah. Don’t turn around.”
“How the hell can you read the plate when it’s backwards in the mirror?”
“Same way you get to Carnegie Hall: practice.”
Zoey pulled off to the side to double park for a moment. She put her hazard lights on. The pickup truck drove on by and took a left at the next intersection.
Calmly Zoey tells Margo, “Let’s just wait here a second.” Zoey’s watching her mirrors, then decided to continue driving.
“So, crosswalks are a bitch here. At night, if they’re not illuminated it’s almost too easy to hit someone. In the nice parts of town, like in Longwood, they have this flashy thing that lets you know people are gonna cross. Other places, at times you’re not sure whether the pedestrians have a signal or you need to yield to them. This city’s signage is a mess.”
“Okay I get it. I want to drive now.”
“Don’t be so impatient.” Zoey felt a duty to show her safe driving. She had always been like a sister to her. They even, coincidentally, shared the same last name.
“Oh, come on, I’ll go slowly.”
As they approach Granby Street, Zoey sees something else she doesn’t like: another familiar plate.
“This guy was paralleling us from Bay State Road. We’re being tailed.”
“What?” Margo exclaimed with confusion.
“I remember the plate on the car up here from when we were cruising down Newbury street. The blue Ford Fusion up here, I think it’s a Special Service Edition. It’s a cop car. I’m gonna run a route.”
“A what?”
“I’m going to run my surveillance detection route; I’m going left at St. Mary’s and I’ll head towards Coolidge Corner.
“You gonna lose ‘em.”
“No, I’m going to bore them to death. You don’t lose people. Otherwise the next time they’ll double the surveillance.”
Heh! That’s a good tip. I’ll have to remember that if I ever end up finding myself followed again.
Hi, Chris! I trimmed your excerpt because it was over 500 words. I like the tip about being followed, too! Thanks for sharing!
Thanks a bunch nstarleighwries and Bryn. I’m doing the NaNoWriMo and getting it done seems daunting, but I’ll keep at it. You have a great site with a lot of great tips. Thanks again!
Whoops forgot to log in. That comment was mine.
Great shares, everyone! Thanks, Bryn, for allowing us to share. I’m so glad I found your blog! And I love Regency. My share is from a military romance I’ve had idling for a while, currently untitled. And this is from line one, chapter one.
“I want a baby.”
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” Gunny Devan Caldwell asked, staring at his cubicle-mate with his still browned from the desert sun brow line wrinkled.
“You asked, and I quote, what do you want?” Staff Sergeant Roberta O’Brien reminded, her heart speeding up, her mouth running dry, and her stomach doing a flip. “And I answered…I” She attempted to swallow the wad of cotton clogging up her throat and took a shallow breath. “I want a baby?” Every ounce of her own desert tan must have been Casper white as the sudden recognition of such a desire sent her color plummeting to her toes along with all her oxygen.
“Do you now?” Dev held up a handful of well-worn takeout menus and waved them back and forth a couple of times with his eyebrows raised in what Bobbi was sure must be surprise. Why wouldn’t he be surprised? She’d sure as shit surprised herself by the admission. “Great! What about lunch? You cut me short, Bobbi.”
“Right. Sorry. That.” Her desert tan and what she thought must be a healthy shade of red decided right then to erase the chalky complexion she knew she’d taken on. Heat swamped her throat and jawline, running rampant up her cheeks and singeing the edge of her hairline. Bobbi ran a palm around the back of her neck and cleared her throat. She forced a smile. “Right. Lunch.”
“Right. Lunch.” Dev whistled, shook his head, and chuckled. “Too much time in the desert has been known to induce hallucinations. Delayed reaction maybe? So what’ll it be? Chinese, subs, pizza? A husband perhaps?”
“J.J.’s,” Bobbi said, quirking up a half-smile at Dev’s joke even though she was the furthest thing from amused. She and Dev were the best of friends, but to admit her mommy instincts to nest had recently kicked in, to him of all people, was just mortifying. Did warriors even come programmed with a nesting instinct? Was she faulty? Did she need a tune up? Maybe some extra hours sending rounds downrange over the weekend would help right her. “The Country Club, add avocado. And a pickle. Please. Hold the husband.”
“Noted. Chips? Anything to drink?” he asked, plucking his cell off his waistband, preparing to press four. Bobbi knew he had J.J.’s on speed dial. She knew they were number four. Even with the dozen or so take-out menus laying around the office, subs won out most days, so he’d programmed the sandwich shop’s number into his phone. She also knew only three other numbers topped the sandwich shop in the line-up: his momma’s, his brother’s, and Bobbi’s. They weren’t necessarily in the order, however. “How about a cookie?”
“Is bourbon an option?” Humiliation still hung like a bloated cloud ready to burst over her head.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere. But not here,” Dev said, winking. “Six hours and counting. First round’s on me. Until then, a cookie and a Coke will have to do.”
Thank you again!
This was a fun conversation to read! I sense a best friends to lovers blooming romance? Also, your depiction of the meal run felt very authentic–having spent some years in the military myself, I fondly remember that meal runs were always a group order, but it typically took us longer to decide where we were going to eat because there were always at least twenty of us lol.
You’d be correct! A budding friends to lovers romance in the works. 🙂 My hubby recently retired after 30 years in the Corps so I had a huge research lab at my fingertips for a long time. Thank you for the compliment! I’m always hoping the authenticity comes through. And thank you for your service!
I love the natural feel and flow of their conversation. They feel like people who have known each other for years. Very well done! 🙂
Thank you so much! 🙂
You’re very welcome! 🙂
Hi, Dixie! Ooh, this was interesting. I’m proud of Roberta for saying what she really wanted. 🙂 Thanks for posting!
Thank you, Bryn!
Since I started using WordPress site, my creative motor is charged. Working on contacting publisher and printer companys with works completed. I have two children age books, a teen level and three autobiography drafts…one of mine and two, paternal and maternal heritage drafts. I hold back from more cause I can write as easy as I breathe.
Hi, CJ! Wow, you have so much in the works! That’s fantastic. Wishing you good luck on all of them!
This is from my NaNoWriMo WIP. May Rose is the daughter of the Farlington family. James is the son of their butler. They’re kids right now. So, there’s no romantic angst. Not yet. That’s going to change as they grow up. 😉
****
May Rose sighed. “Of course, there is a perfectly good reason why I ran out here after you.”
He gave her a questioning look.
She picked a burr off her hem and inspected it. “We will be leaving soon.”
“Leaving?”
“To go to America.”
“I am afraid I do not understand.”
“Neither do I.” She threw the burr as hard as she could.
A dizzy giddiness came over James as if she had thrown him instead. “Why leave this place? It is home. It is family.”
“Oh, Father explained it all, but, to be perfectly honest, I barely even listened. All I do know is we are leaving and he thinks it is a capital idea. I, however, do not.”
“Neither do I. I like it here. It is familiar. It is where all of our relatives have lived, died, and been buried. How can we leave that behind?”
She sighed. “I don’t know.”
He sat up straighter. “Perhaps we could run away.”
“What?” She looked at him askance as if he had suddenly gone mad.
“We could do it, May Rose. This land is vast with a great many trees and hiding places. You and I know all of the best hiding places. They would never find us. Not ever.”
“What a perfectly savage idea!” But she grinned. “We could live on nuts and berries. We could live in a cave somewhere and wear naught but animal skins.”
James looked alarmed. “Animal skins? Where would get those from?”
“Tsk! Off animals, of course. Animals like sheep and wolves—“
“May Rose, you are speaking of wild, nonsensical things. How would we remove their skins? I sincerely doubt that they would kindly remove them for us.”
“Oh, don’t be so daft. You would kill them and skin them.”
“What?”
“Why not? You’re a boy. That is what boys do. Honestly, you cannot expect me to do it!”
“And pray, why not?”
“Because I’m a girl!”
He shook his head. “That hardly seems all that fair.”
She shrugged.
“Furthermore, I have never killed a creature before. Contrary to what you may believe, killing animals and skinning them does not come second nature to me.”
“Well, then how are we to survive in the wild if you refuse to cooperate?”
“I hardly know.” He looked up at the sky. “It is getting late. We ought to head back before we get in trouble.”
Aww, the daughter and the butler’s son…so sweet! This sounds like a really fun project. Thanks for sharing! Hope you’re enjoying NaNoWriMo!
Thank you!
I’m having a lot of fun writing this story. James and May Rose are actually side characters in my current non-NaNo WIP. So, I have a good grasp on who they are and where they’re going to wind up, which makes this story very easy to write.
Here is one of my favorite parts of my autumn theme WIP…
Mother and daughter duo walked a bit more through the festival passing by the numerous booths of handmade arts and crafts, beautiful pottery, knitted wool scarves and beanie hats that looked so warm and cozy, paintings and much more.
Natalie took a sip of her spiced cider and briefly closed her eyes, thoroughly enjoying the warmth and flavor of the beverage as they walked, while admiring the beauty of the fiery autumn leaves on the trees and breathing in the cool crisp air that the season brung, thoroughly feeling relaxed and elated, “life can’t get any better than this moment in time.”
The two sat at a bench and pulled out the warm sticky maple glazed donuts from the paper bag, handing one to her daughter, they took a bite in unison. “Mmm, this is heavenly! Guess I was wrong, now life can’t get any better than this!” Isabelle licked her frosting coated lips and smiled in agreement, as she inhaled the rest of her confectionery in seconds.
Hi, Eniko! Well, this really gave me feelings of nostalgia. I have such similar memories of autumn and my own mom. Very evocative. Thanks for sharing it!
Thanks 🙂 I love writing the cozy autumn scenes in this story. Makes me want to drink hot chocolate and wear warm fuzzy clothing, but I live in GA so right now it’s not that cold yet so would boil from being too warm lol. A big part of me misses living back up in New England, maybe one day can move back (story takes place in New England too).
Hi Bryn! I’m intrigued by your excerpt, and hope you do finish this story. I think an M/M Regency Romance sounds like a lot of fun!
I am in the middle of NaNoWriMo, writing a prequel to the ballad of Tam Lin, from the Faery Queen’s point of view. Here’s an excerpt from the prologue:
The eyes are what nearly undo me.
I see his eyes clearly, even in the shadowy forest, with the trees thick as walls around us and the sun dipping low behind the hills. I have lived in the twilight world too long now to be troubled by the limitations of human vision. Even in the darkness his grey eyes catch and nearly ensnare me, clouded with mystery yet fair and full of life.
Like his great-great, so many times great grandfather. My shepherd king.
The only man I have ever loved.
I do not let it stay my hand. I cannot, not anymore. I have other responsibilities now.
He approaches in a party of rowdy youths, too noisy, too foppish, too careless to be hunting for any reason other than sport. I know this sort all too well, though I have not lived in these lands for a century or more. Young ne’er-do-wells with nothing better to do with their time than cause a ruckus, seduce young women, game or fight. These young nobles hunt not to feed themselves, nor for any purposeful reason. Yet they keep their hold on Carterhaugh, and if others dare to hunt there name them poachers. They believe the forest is theirs, but it is not.
It is ours.
I will scruple no longer.
I pull up the hood of my cloak grey as shadow, and tuck inside my red hair like a rose in bloom. The air around me thickens, mist like dust stirred up by pounding feet. I shrink back behind a willow, bare and silver, and wrap the shadows around me, vanishing completely to the naked eye.
And the boys clatter through the forest, a pack of fine hounds proceeding before them, the cart bearing the dead stag behind.
My nose twitches with distaste, and I turn my attention to my own quarry. Lean and tall, Roxburgh’s grandson sits as proud upon his steed as though he took the stag himself, though I’d wager that honor went to Roxburgh. The boy’s dark hair tumbles across his shoulders, and he wears green, of all shades, that color of ours, in a forest that is ours as well.
He’d have done well to turn his coat inside out, if his vanity would allow it. Befuddle the eyes of the fey. But the old ways are forgotten, and these mortals never learn.
The boy is not so like his ancestor, my shepherd king, after all.
That makes this so much easier.
Hi, Kimberly! Thanks for the kind words! I’m not familiar with the source material here, but I love the faery tale/fantasy tone. It’s fun reading from the POV of an immortal. Good luck on NaNo. Seems like it must be going great!
I’m so mad I missed this yesterday, I’m going to be a rebel and post late. 🙂 I didn’t know you were writing a Regency! I only recently got in to them, since I met a crit partner who writes them. They seem like they would be really hard to write!
Here’s my ultra-late snip. Mary’s getting ready for her first date with Wyatt, and talking with her teenaged cousin who is living with her.
“How do I look?” Mary asked. She turned in place for Lila’s inspection. It was only the fifth outfit she’d tried on. Black shorts, and a red halter-neck top with tiny white polka dots. She’d sewn the garments herself from a vintage 1950’s pattern she’d found at a garage sale. “Do I look like a slutty Minnie Mouse? Be honest.”
Lila snorted out a laugh. “No, dummy, you look gorgeous. Like a pinup girl.”
“Maybe I should wear something more conservative?”
“Stop, you look great,” Lila said. “I still can’t believe you’re going on a date with Wyatt. I never in a million years would have thought you’d have any interest in him.”
“Why not? I mean, have you *seen* him? A girl could cut herself on that jawline.”
“Because he’s a nice guy. Really, really nice. Like, genuinely.”
Mary smirked at her. “Very funny.”
“Well, it’s true, though. You’ve always been attracted to asshats. Even Gran said so.”
Mary gaped at her. “Gran did not say ‘asshats.’”
“Mare, the last guy you dated got a felony.”
That was true. Multiple felonies, actually. He’d been a cat burglar the whole time they were together and she never knew he was a criminal until he got caught.
“He was nice! When he wasn’t robbing people.”
Lila rolled her eyes.
The sound of a vehicle coming up the driveway announced Wyatt’s arrival.
“He’s here. Oh, gods, I’m nervous,” Mary admitted.
“But you look happy. I’ll go get the door. Finish getting ready,” Lila said, hopping up.
Mary realized Lila was right. She was happy for the first time in longer than she cared to admit.
She could hear Lila greeting Wyatt downstairs and his baritone reply. After checking her hair and makeup one last time, she headed down, a cloud of butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She tried to remember the last time she went a date that she felt this excited about.
Wyatt looked up as she came down the stairs, not even trying to hide the fact that he was checking her out.
“Awww. You guys are just like those cheesy eighties movies where the girl comes down the stairs in her prom dress,” Lila said.
“Don’t you have a video game to play or something?” Mary said.
Lila laughed, said goodbye to Wyatt, and left the two of them alone.
“You look amazing,” he said as she reached the bottom of the staircase.
“Thanks. So do you, though I miss your Smokey the Bear hat.”
“That joke never gets old. You ready?”
He opened the passenger door of his truck for her and she climbed in. As soon as she got settled and buckled, she felt the soft tingle of old magic. She froze, looking around. Immediately her eyes landed on something hanging from the rearview mirror.
It was a charm on a black leather cord. A small metal disk with symbols and inscriptions etched into it. The artwork on it was too small to read from her seat without being obvious, so she left it hanging there. Where had he gotten it? Who had given it to him? And what purpose did it serve?
Most of all, did he know it was magick?
Hi Bryn! Goodness gracious how many projects do you have underway? I’m so excited for you that you have book two *almost* ready for your editor (best of luck to you!), book 3 started AND another fascinating WIP with this one! Way to go!
I’ve been re-writing my Valentine’s romance before I get it to my editor for the works…here’s a snippet:
“Why are you still here?” Jess furrowed her brow at her friend and partner in crime. Well, partner in the coffee and cookie business, anyway. To anyone walking through the doors of Heart & Soul Coffee & Treats, who was trying to stick to a diet, they were one and the same.
Callie looked up from the journal she was doodling in as Jess breezed past her with a tray of freshly baked chocolate-drizzled strawberry muffins. The soft notes of warm chocolate and buttery sugar hung in the air, making it difficult to focus on anything else. Abandoning her journal, Callie snuck up behind Jess and swiped a muffin off the tray.
“Hey! These are for paying customers,” Jess frowned, shooing Callie away.
“And they’re worth every penny,” Callie confirmed as she retreated to her stool sunk her teeth into the chocolaty goodness.
“That’s your third one today,” Jess protested.
“Who’s counting?” Callie shrugged. A few crumbs fell in her lap. She was always dropping food. She needed one of those robotic vacuum cleaners to follow her around all day long, especially during mealtimes.
“Me. I’m counting. Because I’m the one back their baking,” Jess jerked her head towards the small kitchen in the back of the coffee shop. Her tone hinted of annoyance, but her face was forgiving.
“And I’ve been brewing coffee up here. It takes a village,” Callie countered.
“I think you mean, ‘It takes a village to raise a child’. This isn’t a child,” Jess rolled her eyes.
“It isn’t? It feels like one. A needy child, who keeps me up at night,” Callie yawned between nibbles on her third muffin of the day to prove a point.
“That would be the caffeine keeping you up at night. Have you switched to decaf yet?” Jess asked surveying the half-full coffee mug next to the opened journal.
“Why would I want to do a thing like that? You know, I think I might be in love with this recipe. These are simply irresistible,” she pulled off a piece with a strawberry and popped it in her mouth.
Jess sighed emphatically.
“What?” Callie could tell her friend had more to say on the matter.
“This muffin isn’t going to love you tomorrow, you know. Why don’t you try loving something, or someone, who can love you back for once?” Jess anchored her hand on her hip for more emphasis.
Callie gulped. Not this conversation again.
“I love you,” she offered hoping that was enough. She knew it wouldn’t be.
Hey Bryn, congrats on Book 2 coming out! The first one was lots of fun. And new material of an entirely different flavor, here. Very interesting.
I’m late this month, but here’s a chunk I just drafted from ‘Warfare’ with June Vereeth showing her human side.
*
A peculiar guilt had come over me during the shuttle ride back to ‘Scarpetti’ Starport, and it wasn’t about the birthday colonel’s amputated foot or damaged left ear. Those had happened in combat an hour before Tango Branch and I had arrived.
It was about the Mitasterite private who’d pulled him to safety, and then stood off by himself during the colonel’s birthday celebration in the hangar. Moolahk was his name (a fairly common one among Mittie males). He couldn’t have any cupcakes with the ridiculous pink frosting because, he told me, he was allergic to monotose sugar. Monotose was often the primary ingredient in any pastry across the Trieste Union.
By the time we glided into hangar D2’s docking clamps, I’d made up my mind to find for him some monotose-free treats. The charitable, egalitarian side of me was doing front flips, as if this simple act of kindness might undo some of the tension in this Us-vs.-Them war.
Locating him (in Spectra Branch, going by his lapel) would be easy enough for someone with a major’s rank. But ordering up a special box of baked goods for him might require pulling strings. As I’d once pointed out to Prubius, I didn’t even know the procedure to fill out a standard equipment requisition order.
Hangar D2 was located in the lower part of the station’s Command star. Call it luck or fate, but I found myself down the hall from Admiral Tohk-Mahsda’s personal quarters. She’d informed me she was on Vega to assess the Mittie’s latest flank assault, there. Still, I strolled up to her door and placed my undersized hand on the scanner anyway.
“You will open for me because I’m beautiful,” I joked.
The doors beeped and parted.
‘What?’
There they were, two open doors, with her personal living room beyond. A gut feeling that the magic would disappear pushed me through. The doors closed at my back, and I was standing in the room I recognized from the time she called me on Ringerra. Same art on the wall, same red robe she’d worn slung over the arm of a couch. (She had called me during the night on the vid-phone, while she was entertaining a guest. I never saw the guest. Nevertheless, this was an image I didn’t want in my head.)
After a moment of feeling a thief caught red-handed on the museum’ carpet, I crept over to her desk and terminal. Sure enough, there was an officer’s requisition data pad. They all had the same thick orange frame. It turned on and welcomed the admiral.
‘Might as well break all the rules, now,’ I thought.
It took me only a few minutes to order up the specialty cookies for Moolahk, Spectra Branch of Third Army. Before I set it down, a cook replied that they would be complete and sent out in the evening. I responded with gratitude and, feeling smugly satisfied, set the pad back in its place.
Turning to leave, a bright silver thing caught my eye. It was centered on the coffee table, where anyone sitting on the couch would be looking right at it. Curiosity got the best of me, and I went for a look.
Resting in an apple-sized glass case, on black velvet cusion, was a jagged shard of silvery metal. The slightly-bluish hue gave it away, a material colored like no other in the Galaxy. Diamondized steel, the hardest of all known metals. The Mitasterites wanted it for something, badly.
If the Triestarra flower could be ‘blamed’ for starting the war, this metal was what kept the Mitties so recklessly invested. The rumors said diamondized steel was their key to conquest.
And my Mitasterite boss had a pretty fragment of it sitting on her coffee table.