Friday, August 7, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Excerpt from, "Haunting Beauty"
HAUNTING BEAUTY by Erin Quinn
The man came to her just before dawn.
Danni had awoken with a start a few moments earlier, tangled in her bedding, unsure of what had pulled her from sleep. The inky blackness outside pressed against her windows, a dark entity that wanted to creep in and take over. Uneasy, she crawled from bed and shuffled to the kitchen for coffee.
That’s when she felt the air turn.
It plunged in a silent, cold force that made her ears ring and her stomach sink. Like a latent memory, the sensation of it was suddenly there, filling her head—familiar and frightening, pressure and relief. She knew it; she feared it. She remembered it, though what the turning air heralded escaped her.
She spun to find the man waiting behind her. Tall, with broad shoulders and the layered muscles of a warrior, he leaned against her counter. As if it was perfectly natural for him to be there. As if he really was in her kitchen.
Dark brows and long black lashes emphasized the unusual color of his eyes—not quite green, not quite gray. Eyes like the sea, relentless and deep. A straight, blunt nose gave balance to his full lips and square jaw. There was a harsh and rugged edge to his features that flawed his beauty and made it something masculine, something more compelling than simple aesthetics. He wore a black leather coat over a crisp white shirt and jeans that tapered from lean hips to long legs. Not just tall. Not just broad. A big man.
He watched her, assessing and judging her with the same weighted concentration she gave him. She felt self-conscious in her faded Save the Children T-shirt and pink boxers, which was ridiculous. He wasn’t really here.
She knew it, but the knowledge didn’t stop her stomach from knotting with uncertainty and fear. Why was she seeing him? What did he want? There had to be a reason. She knew that, too.
Danni sloshed coffee over the edge of her mug as she set it down. She would drop it if she held it any longer. The man interpreted this as acquiescence and began. Sometimes it was like that, she remembered. Sometimes they seemed to take Danni with them, like tour guides on a ghostly journey. Other times they were completely unaware they’d unraveled the fibers of reality and forced Danni to peer in at them.
When she’d been a child, the visits—the visions—had been frequent and exciting. The plunging turn of the air had felt like flying to her. But the visions had stopped so long ago she’d forgotten they’d ever happened at all. No, she corrected herself. She hadn’t forgotten—she’d wiped the experiences from her memory with purposeful precision, because only the crazy saw people and things that weren’t real.
The man turned, gesturing for her to follow as the familiar kitchen walls behind his broad shoulders vanished and, like a painting created before her very eyes, a stark landscape appeared in their place. The image had fuzzy edges and a grainy texture, but it breathed in a lifelike way, just as the man did.
It seemed so real. Too real.
A patchwork quilt of vivid greens, earthy browns and heavy pewter spread out unending. Danni frowned, trying to put a name to the place. Did she know it? Had she seen it before? The man crossed from the pale kitchen tile to a spongy turf that should have left footprints, but of course, didn’t. His steps were as unreal as his presence. Reluctantly, Danni went with him.
It felt like they walked for some time, but she knew they’d never left her kitchen. Still the frosty cold of the earth against her feet, the wintry wind on her face and the damp mist clinging to her hair and scant clothing, chilled her to the bone. The sensations were crisp and visceral and frightening.
Barefoot, still wearing her pajamas, she followed the man across a valley to a destination she couldn’t fathom. The sky above them grumbled and rolled in bleak shades of slate and steel. It seeped down to lush emerald pastures and saturated the air with freezing dampness. The brisk wind carried the spice of sea salt as it tormented the many limbed alders and bandied with the stranger’s long leather coat and short cropped hair. She could hear waves crashing somewhere close.
Where are you taking me?
He paused and looked back at her, as if she’d spoken out loud. There was something in his eyes as he stared. A longing. A need. Her heart thumped painfully at the echo it dragged from inside her. Who was this man? Why did she feel as if she should know him?
They reached the edge of a precipice hanging out over the churning sea. A foot path cut a sharp trail down the side. Even as she prayed he’d turn away from it, the man started down the steep slope. His long legs covered the distance easily as he descended but Danni had to scramble to keep up—certain a deadly plunge was in her future—not so clear on what that might mean to her real self. If she died in a vision, would it be for real?
The sounds of the tide thundering relentlessly were louder now and she smelled the sharp scent of brine. She sensed something big looming high up to her left, but didn't know if it was real or imagined and couldn’t turn to look back.
Enormous rocks poked from the hillside, forcing them to weave as they descended. The exertion warmed her and now she could hear sounds rising from down below. A woman’s voice. Danni paused, listening to the agitated tone. Frantic, pleading. There were other voices too. A man, maybe two. And children. Frightened children.
Danni’s blood raced so fast she felt sick. The sound of their young, scared pleas propelled her back into her own history. To nights in the communal bedroom of the group home, where someone was always afraid, always crying.
Solemn and intent, the man continued down with effortless grace. Danni remained frozen where she was, listening to the troubled but unintelligible words. Whatever was happening down there, it wasn’t good and every instinct Danni possessed urged her not to continue.
There was a loud bang—a shot followed by screams. Danni trembled, her palms slick with clammy fear. Her shaking dislodged pebbles that rappelled down the hill. She didn’t want to follow the man anymore. She wanted out of this vision. She wanted to be back in her kitchen where it was safe. She clenched her fists tight, wanting to escape it. Reject it.
The man paused and looked back. It seemed he knew what she was thinking. His eyes darkened with compassion, but also with disappointment he couldn’t quite hide. She felt it as much she saw it. He gave her a small nod. Go ahead, he was saying. The gesture came without condemnation. He was giving her permission to turn away. To run away.
For a moment the steep sea wall, the glowering sky . . . the compelling man watching her . . . It all wavered and Danni could see her kitchen through the overlaid image. All she had to do was step through, step out.
Down below the children sobbed and the woman beseeched with frantic incoherent words. Danni felt her despair, her terror. Her desperate need . . . .
The man started down again, now with urgency. Danni clenched her eyes tight and breathed deeply. Knowing she couldn’t turn her back on such desperation, she mentally closed the passage to her kitchen, slamming the door on safety and sanity. She began to follow once more, hurrying to catch up as he disappeared into the deep gloom covering the bottom.
Broken shells and rocks crusted the shallow strip between massive boulders and angry surf. It crunched painfully beneath her feet as she followed the man to a door cut into the base of the wall rising up to the cliffs. Danni peered through the gathering shadows and thick fog that hugged the ground, obscuring her feet.
She couldn’t see anyone until she reached his side. And then, with the pop of her ears clearing and a surreal rush of color and texture, the source of the voices emerged from the blur into shocking focus.
Danni was suddenly inside a cavern of some sort that hunkered low over a tide pool. A stone floor circled it and on the far side she saw people standing in the glow of a lantern. The muted lightening turned their faces into masks, distorting their features with ghoulish hollows and shiny plateaus. They stood in a cluster—a woman with two children. A man knelt on the ground just at the edge of the lantern’s glow. He held something in his arms Danni couldn’t make out.
She wanted to move closer. She wanted to see their faces. But she stayed where she was, motionless beside the green-eyed stranger as the scene played out.
The children she’d heard crying clung to the woman’s legs, trying very hard to be a part of her. A boy and a girl, Danni thought. She guessed their ages at four or five, but she couldn’t be sure. The woman was speaking again, her voice high with fear. Someone cloaked in the concealing shadows, responded. The voice was deep and masculine, but Danni couldn’t see the speaker or understand what was said.
The green-eyed man Danni had followed from her kitchen approached the woman. Pausing to look back at Danni, he lifted the hem of her light jacket and blouse, revealing the bulge of an early pregnancy and . . . bruises. Huge discolorations that covered her ribs and abdomen in a mottled mixture of black, blue, neon yellow, and sickly green. Old and new, the marks layered one on top of the other.
The woman spun with a gasp, her eyes wide and frightened. She stared at the empty space where Danni stood for a long, breathless moment. Danni felt the contact of the woman’s gaze as it settled on her face.
She can see me . . .
But that wasn’t possible. Danni wasn’t really there. None of them were. This was a vision . . . a hallucination . . . wasn’t it?
The woman continued to stare right at Danni as she searched for the cause of her discomfort. Danni saw a shiver work its way through her body, shuddering down to the hands that held onto her children. Who was she? How could she . . . ? The thought died suddenly as recognition covered Danni in an icy sweat. She looked at the boy standing so quietly beside his mother then at the little girl holding her other hand. The child’s face was tear-stained, her eyes big and gray, hair golden brown. She blinked back at Danni with wide, knowing awareness.
It felt like a giant fist had punched through time and yanked Danni from her body. The little girl was no stranger, but neither was she an acquaintance or a friend. Like the vision itself, she was of the impossible.
She was Danni . . . Danni as a child. I’m looking at myself . . . .
Herself as she’d been twenty years ago. Danni’s eyes were hot with feelings she couldn’t process, couldn’t comprehend in this moment that had no place, no substance in the world she knew. Slowly she shifted her attention back to the woman, now seeing the familiar features, remembering how it felt to put her arms around her, to be held by her.
The woman was her mother.
The mysterious male voice said something in a vicious, sharp tone, jerking her mother’s attention abruptly away.
“No,” Danni shouted. She rushed forward and tried to turn her mother back around. Tried to touch her, hold her, beg her to see Danni again. But whatever connection had been made for that brief instant was gone. The little girl began weeping inconsolably and the man who knelt beside them rose unsteadily. Through the twilight, Danni saw a face wet with tears, swollen and red, ravaged by grief. She felt his pain pulsing off him like the lapping waves in the pool at her feet.
The tension in the air tightened around them, like a noose of thin wire that would soon cut through the skin. There was terror in her mother’s eyes. In the way she flicked her gaze back and forth between the disembodied voice and the man at her side. He lifted his hands, holding them away from his body, palms out—the universal sign for compliance.
The hostile words exchanged between the woman and her unseen antagonist grew louder until they echoed all around them. Why couldn’t Danni understand what was being said? Why did her mother’s answers come in as an indecipherable and discordant throb?
Suddenly another bang resounded in the cave and Danni’s screams joined those of her mother and the children. A gun, she thought. That was a gun. Even as her mind catalogued the sound, her body reacted to the bite of pain slicing through her. She felt it—felt it —as if a bullet had burrowed into her heart. She looked down, expecting to see blood. To see her life draining out of her. But there nothing, nothing to explain the bewildering agony. She looked around her in shock, in panic, seeing again the crumpled shape on the ground beside the cluster of frightened people. Only then did she grasp what it was—what the man had been holding when they’d first come in. It was a body.
She managed to turn to the stranger who’d brought her here. He only watched her, his face impassive. His presence neither comforting nor threatening. As she stared at him, she felt trapped by his gaze. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t turn back to the unfolding drama. The voices of her mother and the children waned, taking with it the searing pain. They were fading—all of it, vanishing.
Danni wanted to cling to her mother like the child she’d once been. But she couldn’t break the hold of his enigmatic green eyes, couldn’t make her legs support the weight of her need.
Again a swirling mixture of grays and browns frosted the air, making Danni think of a giant God creating sand art on an unending pane of glass. The light changed from dark gloom to hazy murk and they were outside again. The wind joined the sensation of biting fresh air and bitter cold. It was just the two of them now. The crushing pain of the gunshot was gone but Danni’s heart filled with grief at the loss of her mother. Again. Again Danni had been abandoned by her.
The man moved, not giving her time to mourn. He had a mission. She’d forgotten that he was there for reasons of his own.They were back in the valley. Danni followed him as he strode away, a tall dark figure in a world painted with shades of obscurity. Their time was nearly at an end. She could sense it, feel it in the crackling air. It would turn again and the vision would be over.
Towed in his wake, Danni trailed the man to a mound of dirt amidst the lush pasture. Silently she waited by his side, once again aware of something huge casting a shadow on them, but unable to turn and face whatever it was.
They’d stopped beside a shallow grave, freshly dug and unmarked. The bitter scent of tilled earth mingled with the damp fishiness wafting from the sea. She could hear waves crashing furiously against the rocks below.
Her stranger wore an expression of inconsolable remorse as he looked upon the open hole gaping in the oasis of green. Danni swallowed painfully, more afraid than she’d ever been. The grave was an ominous symbol in this vision. Or was it real? The muddied ground at her feet seemed to call out to her. It coaxed her closer. It promised sweet and seductive rewards.
Danni slowly leaned forward and looked into the hole. There were two bodies sprawled at the bottom, as if they’d been carelessly tossed in. One was an adolescent boy and some shadowy part of her mind said his was the body she’d seen in the cavern. He was gangly-limbed and hollow-chested. His legs were twisted beneath him in an unnatural position and his face turned away. Crumpled beside him was a woman wearing leggings and an oversized t-shirt—an outfit reminiscent of the eighties. Her long golden-brown hair lay in a fall over her shoulders and against the boy’s chest. Half of her face was concealed, but the other half . . .
Danni gasped and stumbled back, her mind fighting what her eyes displayed as truth. Once again, she was face-to-face with herself. The woman in the grave was Danni.
The man beside her stared at the bodies for another introspective moment. Then he looked to the distance at the stark precipice that plunged down to the turbulent sea. Danni felt his grief and anger mix and grow until it burned like the whipping wind. She felt the power of it consume him, drive him to a point as perilous as the cliff’s edge.
Then suddenly he turned those desperate eyes on Danni. He reached out, as if realizing for the first time that he might touch her. She waited for the contact with a biting combination of terror and anticipation nipping at her insides.
Visions couldn’t touch, couldn’t feel . . . .
He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers and his warmth was electric against her cold skin. She stared at him, stunned, seeing her own astonishment mirrored in the glittering silver and green of his eyes.
He touched her again, settling his palm against her jaw, cupping face—both hands now. Both hands warm and rough and undeniably real. Transfixed, she stared at him, catching her breath when his gaze shifted to her mouth. He was going to kiss her.
Her hands came up to the muscled wall of his chest, feeling it rise with his deep breath, grappling with the feel of his heart beating beneath her palms. Her fear knotted with the rush of sensation and became a ball of heat in her belly, a longing that smoldered and sparked. She waited as his head bent, his lips moving closer to hers. But the air was turning—she could feel it coming. Even as his mouth hovered over her lips, his breath a hot whisper, a seductive secret she couldn’t quite hear, he began to fade.
She tried to stop him, tried to hold back the air even as it hissed away. In an instant, the man, the grave, the steel wool sky . . . all of it became a mist that floated just on the surface. Beneath, Danni’s kitchen waited for her to come home.
She felt a ripping sensation as it sucked her back to where she’d begun. She sagged against the counter, drawing in deep breaths of warm air. Her cup sat just where she’d left it, coffee not yet cooled, though it seemed hours should have passed. She couldn’t stop the shaking in her legs or slow the pounding of her heart. She sank to the cold tile and curled in on herself.
She didn’t understand what the vision meant, who the man was or why she’d seen the mother she remembered only from the single photograph she possessed. She knew one thing, though. The green-eyed stranger was looking for Danni and when he found her, she would have to make a choice. Go with him and answer the beckoning grave, or deny the call of her mother and everything she’d wished for her entire life.
Order Haunting Beauty: Amazon Barnes & Noble Borders
The man came to her just before dawn.
Danni had awoken with a start a few moments earlier, tangled in her bedding, unsure of what had pulled her from sleep. The inky blackness outside pressed against her windows, a dark entity that wanted to creep in and take over. Uneasy, she crawled from bed and shuffled to the kitchen for coffee.
That’s when she felt the air turn.
It plunged in a silent, cold force that made her ears ring and her stomach sink. Like a latent memory, the sensation of it was suddenly there, filling her head—familiar and frightening, pressure and relief. She knew it; she feared it. She remembered it, though what the turning air heralded escaped her.
She spun to find the man waiting behind her. Tall, with broad shoulders and the layered muscles of a warrior, he leaned against her counter. As if it was perfectly natural for him to be there. As if he really was in her kitchen.
Dark brows and long black lashes emphasized the unusual color of his eyes—not quite green, not quite gray. Eyes like the sea, relentless and deep. A straight, blunt nose gave balance to his full lips and square jaw. There was a harsh and rugged edge to his features that flawed his beauty and made it something masculine, something more compelling than simple aesthetics. He wore a black leather coat over a crisp white shirt and jeans that tapered from lean hips to long legs. Not just tall. Not just broad. A big man.
He watched her, assessing and judging her with the same weighted concentration she gave him. She felt self-conscious in her faded Save the Children T-shirt and pink boxers, which was ridiculous. He wasn’t really here.
She knew it, but the knowledge didn’t stop her stomach from knotting with uncertainty and fear. Why was she seeing him? What did he want? There had to be a reason. She knew that, too.
Danni sloshed coffee over the edge of her mug as she set it down. She would drop it if she held it any longer. The man interpreted this as acquiescence and began. Sometimes it was like that, she remembered. Sometimes they seemed to take Danni with them, like tour guides on a ghostly journey. Other times they were completely unaware they’d unraveled the fibers of reality and forced Danni to peer in at them.
When she’d been a child, the visits—the visions—had been frequent and exciting. The plunging turn of the air had felt like flying to her. But the visions had stopped so long ago she’d forgotten they’d ever happened at all. No, she corrected herself. She hadn’t forgotten—she’d wiped the experiences from her memory with purposeful precision, because only the crazy saw people and things that weren’t real.
The man turned, gesturing for her to follow as the familiar kitchen walls behind his broad shoulders vanished and, like a painting created before her very eyes, a stark landscape appeared in their place. The image had fuzzy edges and a grainy texture, but it breathed in a lifelike way, just as the man did.
It seemed so real. Too real.
A patchwork quilt of vivid greens, earthy browns and heavy pewter spread out unending. Danni frowned, trying to put a name to the place. Did she know it? Had she seen it before? The man crossed from the pale kitchen tile to a spongy turf that should have left footprints, but of course, didn’t. His steps were as unreal as his presence. Reluctantly, Danni went with him.
It felt like they walked for some time, but she knew they’d never left her kitchen. Still the frosty cold of the earth against her feet, the wintry wind on her face and the damp mist clinging to her hair and scant clothing, chilled her to the bone. The sensations were crisp and visceral and frightening.
Barefoot, still wearing her pajamas, she followed the man across a valley to a destination she couldn’t fathom. The sky above them grumbled and rolled in bleak shades of slate and steel. It seeped down to lush emerald pastures and saturated the air with freezing dampness. The brisk wind carried the spice of sea salt as it tormented the many limbed alders and bandied with the stranger’s long leather coat and short cropped hair. She could hear waves crashing somewhere close.
Where are you taking me?
He paused and looked back at her, as if she’d spoken out loud. There was something in his eyes as he stared. A longing. A need. Her heart thumped painfully at the echo it dragged from inside her. Who was this man? Why did she feel as if she should know him?
They reached the edge of a precipice hanging out over the churning sea. A foot path cut a sharp trail down the side. Even as she prayed he’d turn away from it, the man started down the steep slope. His long legs covered the distance easily as he descended but Danni had to scramble to keep up—certain a deadly plunge was in her future—not so clear on what that might mean to her real self. If she died in a vision, would it be for real?
The sounds of the tide thundering relentlessly were louder now and she smelled the sharp scent of brine. She sensed something big looming high up to her left, but didn't know if it was real or imagined and couldn’t turn to look back.
Enormous rocks poked from the hillside, forcing them to weave as they descended. The exertion warmed her and now she could hear sounds rising from down below. A woman’s voice. Danni paused, listening to the agitated tone. Frantic, pleading. There were other voices too. A man, maybe two. And children. Frightened children.
Danni’s blood raced so fast she felt sick. The sound of their young, scared pleas propelled her back into her own history. To nights in the communal bedroom of the group home, where someone was always afraid, always crying.
Solemn and intent, the man continued down with effortless grace. Danni remained frozen where she was, listening to the troubled but unintelligible words. Whatever was happening down there, it wasn’t good and every instinct Danni possessed urged her not to continue.
There was a loud bang—a shot followed by screams. Danni trembled, her palms slick with clammy fear. Her shaking dislodged pebbles that rappelled down the hill. She didn’t want to follow the man anymore. She wanted out of this vision. She wanted to be back in her kitchen where it was safe. She clenched her fists tight, wanting to escape it. Reject it.
The man paused and looked back. It seemed he knew what she was thinking. His eyes darkened with compassion, but also with disappointment he couldn’t quite hide. She felt it as much she saw it. He gave her a small nod. Go ahead, he was saying. The gesture came without condemnation. He was giving her permission to turn away. To run away.
For a moment the steep sea wall, the glowering sky . . . the compelling man watching her . . . It all wavered and Danni could see her kitchen through the overlaid image. All she had to do was step through, step out.
Down below the children sobbed and the woman beseeched with frantic incoherent words. Danni felt her despair, her terror. Her desperate need . . . .
The man started down again, now with urgency. Danni clenched her eyes tight and breathed deeply. Knowing she couldn’t turn her back on such desperation, she mentally closed the passage to her kitchen, slamming the door on safety and sanity. She began to follow once more, hurrying to catch up as he disappeared into the deep gloom covering the bottom.
Broken shells and rocks crusted the shallow strip between massive boulders and angry surf. It crunched painfully beneath her feet as she followed the man to a door cut into the base of the wall rising up to the cliffs. Danni peered through the gathering shadows and thick fog that hugged the ground, obscuring her feet.
She couldn’t see anyone until she reached his side. And then, with the pop of her ears clearing and a surreal rush of color and texture, the source of the voices emerged from the blur into shocking focus.
Danni was suddenly inside a cavern of some sort that hunkered low over a tide pool. A stone floor circled it and on the far side she saw people standing in the glow of a lantern. The muted lightening turned their faces into masks, distorting their features with ghoulish hollows and shiny plateaus. They stood in a cluster—a woman with two children. A man knelt on the ground just at the edge of the lantern’s glow. He held something in his arms Danni couldn’t make out.
She wanted to move closer. She wanted to see their faces. But she stayed where she was, motionless beside the green-eyed stranger as the scene played out.
The children she’d heard crying clung to the woman’s legs, trying very hard to be a part of her. A boy and a girl, Danni thought. She guessed their ages at four or five, but she couldn’t be sure. The woman was speaking again, her voice high with fear. Someone cloaked in the concealing shadows, responded. The voice was deep and masculine, but Danni couldn’t see the speaker or understand what was said.
The green-eyed man Danni had followed from her kitchen approached the woman. Pausing to look back at Danni, he lifted the hem of her light jacket and blouse, revealing the bulge of an early pregnancy and . . . bruises. Huge discolorations that covered her ribs and abdomen in a mottled mixture of black, blue, neon yellow, and sickly green. Old and new, the marks layered one on top of the other.
The woman spun with a gasp, her eyes wide and frightened. She stared at the empty space where Danni stood for a long, breathless moment. Danni felt the contact of the woman’s gaze as it settled on her face.
She can see me . . .
But that wasn’t possible. Danni wasn’t really there. None of them were. This was a vision . . . a hallucination . . . wasn’t it?
The woman continued to stare right at Danni as she searched for the cause of her discomfort. Danni saw a shiver work its way through her body, shuddering down to the hands that held onto her children. Who was she? How could she . . . ? The thought died suddenly as recognition covered Danni in an icy sweat. She looked at the boy standing so quietly beside his mother then at the little girl holding her other hand. The child’s face was tear-stained, her eyes big and gray, hair golden brown. She blinked back at Danni with wide, knowing awareness.
It felt like a giant fist had punched through time and yanked Danni from her body. The little girl was no stranger, but neither was she an acquaintance or a friend. Like the vision itself, she was of the impossible.
She was Danni . . . Danni as a child. I’m looking at myself . . . .
Herself as she’d been twenty years ago. Danni’s eyes were hot with feelings she couldn’t process, couldn’t comprehend in this moment that had no place, no substance in the world she knew. Slowly she shifted her attention back to the woman, now seeing the familiar features, remembering how it felt to put her arms around her, to be held by her.
The woman was her mother.
The mysterious male voice said something in a vicious, sharp tone, jerking her mother’s attention abruptly away.
“No,” Danni shouted. She rushed forward and tried to turn her mother back around. Tried to touch her, hold her, beg her to see Danni again. But whatever connection had been made for that brief instant was gone. The little girl began weeping inconsolably and the man who knelt beside them rose unsteadily. Through the twilight, Danni saw a face wet with tears, swollen and red, ravaged by grief. She felt his pain pulsing off him like the lapping waves in the pool at her feet.
The tension in the air tightened around them, like a noose of thin wire that would soon cut through the skin. There was terror in her mother’s eyes. In the way she flicked her gaze back and forth between the disembodied voice and the man at her side. He lifted his hands, holding them away from his body, palms out—the universal sign for compliance.
The hostile words exchanged between the woman and her unseen antagonist grew louder until they echoed all around them. Why couldn’t Danni understand what was being said? Why did her mother’s answers come in as an indecipherable and discordant throb?
Suddenly another bang resounded in the cave and Danni’s screams joined those of her mother and the children. A gun, she thought. That was a gun. Even as her mind catalogued the sound, her body reacted to the bite of pain slicing through her. She felt it—felt it —as if a bullet had burrowed into her heart. She looked down, expecting to see blood. To see her life draining out of her. But there nothing, nothing to explain the bewildering agony. She looked around her in shock, in panic, seeing again the crumpled shape on the ground beside the cluster of frightened people. Only then did she grasp what it was—what the man had been holding when they’d first come in. It was a body.
She managed to turn to the stranger who’d brought her here. He only watched her, his face impassive. His presence neither comforting nor threatening. As she stared at him, she felt trapped by his gaze. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t turn back to the unfolding drama. The voices of her mother and the children waned, taking with it the searing pain. They were fading—all of it, vanishing.
Danni wanted to cling to her mother like the child she’d once been. But she couldn’t break the hold of his enigmatic green eyes, couldn’t make her legs support the weight of her need.
Again a swirling mixture of grays and browns frosted the air, making Danni think of a giant God creating sand art on an unending pane of glass. The light changed from dark gloom to hazy murk and they were outside again. The wind joined the sensation of biting fresh air and bitter cold. It was just the two of them now. The crushing pain of the gunshot was gone but Danni’s heart filled with grief at the loss of her mother. Again. Again Danni had been abandoned by her.
The man moved, not giving her time to mourn. He had a mission. She’d forgotten that he was there for reasons of his own.They were back in the valley. Danni followed him as he strode away, a tall dark figure in a world painted with shades of obscurity. Their time was nearly at an end. She could sense it, feel it in the crackling air. It would turn again and the vision would be over.
Towed in his wake, Danni trailed the man to a mound of dirt amidst the lush pasture. Silently she waited by his side, once again aware of something huge casting a shadow on them, but unable to turn and face whatever it was.
They’d stopped beside a shallow grave, freshly dug and unmarked. The bitter scent of tilled earth mingled with the damp fishiness wafting from the sea. She could hear waves crashing furiously against the rocks below.
Her stranger wore an expression of inconsolable remorse as he looked upon the open hole gaping in the oasis of green. Danni swallowed painfully, more afraid than she’d ever been. The grave was an ominous symbol in this vision. Or was it real? The muddied ground at her feet seemed to call out to her. It coaxed her closer. It promised sweet and seductive rewards.
Danni slowly leaned forward and looked into the hole. There were two bodies sprawled at the bottom, as if they’d been carelessly tossed in. One was an adolescent boy and some shadowy part of her mind said his was the body she’d seen in the cavern. He was gangly-limbed and hollow-chested. His legs were twisted beneath him in an unnatural position and his face turned away. Crumpled beside him was a woman wearing leggings and an oversized t-shirt—an outfit reminiscent of the eighties. Her long golden-brown hair lay in a fall over her shoulders and against the boy’s chest. Half of her face was concealed, but the other half . . .
Danni gasped and stumbled back, her mind fighting what her eyes displayed as truth. Once again, she was face-to-face with herself. The woman in the grave was Danni.
The man beside her stared at the bodies for another introspective moment. Then he looked to the distance at the stark precipice that plunged down to the turbulent sea. Danni felt his grief and anger mix and grow until it burned like the whipping wind. She felt the power of it consume him, drive him to a point as perilous as the cliff’s edge.
Then suddenly he turned those desperate eyes on Danni. He reached out, as if realizing for the first time that he might touch her. She waited for the contact with a biting combination of terror and anticipation nipping at her insides.
Visions couldn’t touch, couldn’t feel . . . .
He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers and his warmth was electric against her cold skin. She stared at him, stunned, seeing her own astonishment mirrored in the glittering silver and green of his eyes.
He touched her again, settling his palm against her jaw, cupping face—both hands now. Both hands warm and rough and undeniably real. Transfixed, she stared at him, catching her breath when his gaze shifted to her mouth. He was going to kiss her.
Her hands came up to the muscled wall of his chest, feeling it rise with his deep breath, grappling with the feel of his heart beating beneath her palms. Her fear knotted with the rush of sensation and became a ball of heat in her belly, a longing that smoldered and sparked. She waited as his head bent, his lips moving closer to hers. But the air was turning—she could feel it coming. Even as his mouth hovered over her lips, his breath a hot whisper, a seductive secret she couldn’t quite hear, he began to fade.
She tried to stop him, tried to hold back the air even as it hissed away. In an instant, the man, the grave, the steel wool sky . . . all of it became a mist that floated just on the surface. Beneath, Danni’s kitchen waited for her to come home.
She felt a ripping sensation as it sucked her back to where she’d begun. She sagged against the counter, drawing in deep breaths of warm air. Her cup sat just where she’d left it, coffee not yet cooled, though it seemed hours should have passed. She couldn’t stop the shaking in her legs or slow the pounding of her heart. She sank to the cold tile and curled in on herself.
She didn’t understand what the vision meant, who the man was or why she’d seen the mother she remembered only from the single photograph she possessed. She knew one thing, though. The green-eyed stranger was looking for Danni and when he found her, she would have to make a choice. Go with him and answer the beckoning grave, or deny the call of her mother and everything she’d wished for her entire life.
Order Haunting Beauty: Amazon Barnes & Noble Borders
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
The SPOTLIGHT is on, Erin Quinn!
Erin Quinn is just the average girl next door in Gilbert, Arizona where she lives with her husband, two daughters and three dogs (all of whom have made debuts in her stories--the dogs, that is, not the husband and kids.)
In HAUNTING BEAUTY, Danni Smith's little dog is based on Erin's devoted mutt who sleeps at her feet every morning when she writes.
Praise for HAUNTING BEAUTY:
"A complex, mysterious and very satisfying story!" ~ Diana Gabaldon, NYT Bestseller
"Haunting Beauty is an intriguing, highly absorbing book that sucked me in and didn't let me go until its amazing conclusion. I was completely swept away by the mystery surrounding Sean and Danni, the magical ambience, the vivid setting, and the chilling and original plot. A highly recommended must-read!" ~ Jennifer Ashley, USA Today Bestselling Author
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
The SPOTLIGHT is on, "Haunting Beauty," by Erin Quinn
HAUNTING BEAUTYFear of the unknown has never been so seductive ...
"A complex, mysterious and very satisfying story!” ~Diana Gabaldon, NYT Bestselling Author.
A mysterious stranger . . .
Danni Jones believed everything about her past—that she was an unwanted child abandoned by her mother. That she was an outcast set apart by her clairvoyance. That she was alone. Then came the stranger. Dangerously seductive Sean Ballagh appears out of nowhere with a startling story that will challenge everything Danni thought was true.
A lost woman . . .
He claims that Danni’s family has been searching for her ever since she disappeared twenty years ago. He’s come to bring her home to Ireland. But Danni fears there’s more to his story than he dares to reveal. And the only way to find out is by following Sean back in time, to a forgotten past, to a world where nothing is what it seems.
A terrifying legacy . . .
Now, in a land where the mystical and the occult are as vivid as the emerald fields, Danni must rewrite history to save her family, to fight a force more evil than she ever imagined, and to reunite with the one man she was destined for—or live forever in time as nothing more than an ethereal memory, a tragic and haunting beauty…
To learn more about Erin Quinn and Haunting Beauty- please visit her online at http://www.erinquinn.info/
Order your copy of HAUNTING BEAUTY today!
Click on any of the links below:Amazon Barnes & Noble Borders Indie Bound
Monday, August 3, 2009
Interview with Author, Nicole North ...
Today I have the pleasure of introducing you to the Author of Devil in a Kilt, Nicole North!Welcome Nicole, we are so happy to have you here. I know many readers are looking forward to getting to know you better! So lets jump right in.
What do you think makes Devil in a Kilt different? What will draw readers to it?
Well, it's sort of a fun, quirky story and it has a little of everything: humor, suspense, sexiness, emotions... not to mention about four subgenres of romance all in one story (paranormal, contemporary, historical, erotic) mixed and blended like haggis... no wait... more like delicious clootie dumpling. A lot of romance readers love a hot, sword-wielding Highlander in a kilt, and this story has that. Gavin is devilish, as you might imagine. He knows what he wants and he goes after it. So hopefully readers will be drawn to him. The heroine, Shauna, is the quirky part of the story. Her modern snark plays well off Gavin's more serious (historical) nature. Most of all I hope it will entertain readers!
It sounds wonderful!
Are you a Plotter or a Pantser?
I call myself a hybrid (hey, hybrids are in vogue, right?) I started out my first book pantsing all the way, but I ran into plot problems and unsnarling them was near impossible. Now I like to have a three-act-play-structure type roadmap so I don't get lost. Basically, I just plan out my character's GMC (goal, motivation, conflict), figure out the midpoint and other turning points (important scenes that do certain things for the story,) climax and resolution. The pantsing part comes in again as I'm writing within this loose framework.
That's a great idea! You always need a road map of sorts, to keep you from getting lost! and yes, Hybrids are in vogue, right now!
How would you describe your voice?
My voice is versatile or so I've been told. I used to write only dark or serious things. Then I discovered by accident that I can write humor. Or at least people told me it was funny. Humor is difficult to write because not everyone has the same sense of humor. What one person thinks is funny, another won't, and vice versa. I enjoy writing humor because... well, it's fun! So to answer your question, sometimes my voice is funny and snarky. But at other times, I have a historical voice. Since I write paranormal, historical and contemporary this is helpful to me.
Interesting!
How do you come up with your ideas/plots?
Usually I'll get the germ of an idea, an unusual situation or event a character is involved in. Sometimes this is the opening scene, sometimes a later scene. For instance, with Devil in a Kilt, the idea came from the Highland Games, which I like to attend whenever possible. I challenged myself to come up with a story idea there. One clan tent had a huge two-handed Highland sword on display. What would happen if the sword had some magic in it and the woman who picked it up was transported back in time 400 years to the man who originally owned it?
Ah, so cool! I love the highland games too! And I can't wait to get my hands on a copy of your book!
Do you research your story before you write it? Or as you go?
I have a confession to make. I don't enjoy research. I know some people live for that but not me. I live to write about relationships and falling in love and sexual tension and... you get the idea. At the same time, I feel historical accuracy is vital. So, I've researched the time period I chose to set my novels and novellas in, 1618 or 1621 Scotland and England (thus far.) I tried to establish my basic groundwork knowledge of the time, clothing, what had been invented, weapons, housing, food, words in use, political climate, etc. so I would consider that "before I write" research which has already been done. But once I get into the story and decide what is going to happen where, I'll find other areas I have to research in depth. For instance on my last novel, I had to research ships of the time and how Highland inaugurations of new chiefs were done. I like to ask the experts to be sure everything is accurate. The interesting thing about historical research is how little of it actually shows up in the story. It's just the backdrop or the "stage." I don't like to show my research information in a teaching or textbook kind of way. I try to show these historical details in subtle ways that allows the reader to feel they are there.
Now I would never have guessed that you didn't like research! Very interesting!
Do you feel a draw to the people and the time periods you write about?
Interesting question! I do feel a draw to Scotland and I never realized how much until I went there. It's simply an amazing, breathtaking, gorgeous place. I could just stand staring (wide-eyed, mouth hanging open) at someplace like Sango Bay or Kyle of Tongue for a good long time. Especially the drive from Thurso to Isle of Skye along the northern coast and even down through the western Highlands and Glencoe. I would be thinking, omigosh look at that, the whole time. I'm not sure if anyone else has a clue what I'm talking about. LOL But I felt some sort of comfortable warm exciting connection to the places but was also blown away by the mystical beauty.
Oh, I know exactly what your talking about! Its as if SCOTLAND has a mystical power that sucks you in and won't let you go!!!! I love it there!
Do you find love scenes difficult to write?
Not too difficult. I enjoy them, which is why I got into writing erotic romance. I always enjoyed reading and writing sensual romance. The erotic romance I write is just a step or two further on the heat scale. I also teach writing workshops about how to write sexual tension and love scenes. Sexual tension is my favorite element of a romance novel, and if the sexual tension is really strong then chances are the love scenes that follow are going to seem hotter than they actually are.
I on the other hand have a harder time with these, I definitely need to take your workshop!!!
Is it necessary to have a critique/writing partner?
Maybe not necessary but certainly my critique partners and critique groups have helped me lots by picking out my errors and weaknesses and in general cracking the whip. LOL I would advise new writers to find critique partners or groups, but these should be a good fit. A bad critique group or partner can do more harm than good.
I couldn't agree more! A great group of Critique partners is definitely worth their weight in gold!
Authors make writing look easy? Is it harder than most people imagine it to be?
At times it's much more difficult than other times. Sometimes the muse is kind and the words flow like lava. Other times, I find myself struggling to get a sentence down. But eventually it all gets done and smoothed out. Then it's time for a sigh of relief.
I know what your saying, believe me! People who think you just put pen to paper and Viola, its done couldn't be MORE wrong!
Do you have more than one book out now?
Devil in a Kilt in Secrets Volume 27 Untamed Pleasures anthology is the only one out now. But I have an upcoming novella called Kilted Lover being released this fall. It's a contemporary with a modern day kilted hottie who acts very much like his Scots and Norse ancestors. Throws the heroine over his shoulder to rescue her, knows how to handle a weapon and toss cabers, and when that kilt comes off he can burn up the sheets. What more could you ask for? LOL
Hmmm, what more could I ask for?? Let me see- How about two Hotties, just for me!!! Wow, Nicole you've been one busy lady! Kitled Lover sounds yummy as well!!!!!
Nicole its been a pleasure spotlighting you and Devil in a Kilt, we wish you many sales and all the best in your future endevours!!!!!
Thanks for being here with us today!!!
Thanks again for having me here!!!:)
It was our pleasure!
Don't forget to check Nicole out on the web!
Nicole's links
http://www.nicolenorth.com/
http://fierceromance.blogspot.com/
book video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X1oOOvTomv4
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Trailer for, "Devil in a Kilt"
DEVIL IN A KILT
Amazon buy link: http://www.amazon.com/Secrets-27-Pleasures-Leigh-Court/dp/1603100075/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1241557838&sr=8-1
B&N buy link: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Secrets-Volume-27/Leigh-Court/e/9781603100076/?itm=1
Also available from http://www.eredsage.com/
And don't forget to check back with us tomorrow for my interview with Author Nicole North!
And remember if you comment you can win!
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Excerpt from, "Devil in a Kilt"
Excerpt from Devil in a Kilt, Secrets Volume 27 Untamed Pleasures
Copyright © Nicole North, 2009
All Rights Reserved, Red Sage Publishing
Gavin glanced out the window at the Highlands and the first faint trace of dawn peeking over the eastern mountains.
It won’t be long.
A yell echoed from down the corridor, the ravings of a madman.
His father.
One day that would be Gavin, talking to ghosts and shadows. But likely when he sank to that level, he would have no roof over his head. Or else his sparse clan would lock him in the dungeon to die alone. Since he had no heir, his greedy, grasping cousin would become laird. His clan would rejoice when their devil laird was dead.
"Damnation! Alpin willna unseat me. The craven whoreson."
Draping his plaid around his waist and holding it in place, Gavin strode from the bedchamber and down the corridor toward his father’s room."There ye are, lad," Crocker said, his sparse gray hair sticking out in all directions. "Thanks be to God. He’s a right lunatic this morn. Asking for ye, he is."
"What the devil is wrong with him?" Gavin stepped inside the chamber."I dinna ken."
"Gavin! Gavin!" his father screeched from the four-poster bed as his body writhed, his long gray hair tangled. "The lass. Ye must look for the lass. Ye must marry. For the sake of the clan. For the sake of yer very soul."
"What lass?" No lass for miles around would so much as glance in his direction. He used to have to drag them from his bed and send them on their way. Now, he couldn’t pay one to give him an hour’s pleasure.
He would like as not turn them to stone, or they would end up possessed by the devil, as he was thought to be.
Gavin waited for his father to tell him which lass he referred to, but the older man now lay still with his eyes closed, apparently asleep. Mayhap he’d meant the lass from Gavin’s arousing dreams. But she wasn’t real, and he’d never seen her face.
Fingers of dawn light gleamed over the mountains and Gavin’s animal nature surged forth, beyond his control."Damnation! When will it end?"
He moved toward the open window, helpless to resist the call. Just as he reached it, a moment of pain sliced through him. His body transformed, and great glossy-black wings appeared where once he had arms, and talons on his feet. Taking flight from the window, he became one with the wind, the Highlands and the bright colors of dawn.
Copyright © Nicole North, 2009
All Rights Reserved, Red Sage Publishing
Gavin glanced out the window at the Highlands and the first faint trace of dawn peeking over the eastern mountains.
It won’t be long.
A yell echoed from down the corridor, the ravings of a madman.
His father.
One day that would be Gavin, talking to ghosts and shadows. But likely when he sank to that level, he would have no roof over his head. Or else his sparse clan would lock him in the dungeon to die alone. Since he had no heir, his greedy, grasping cousin would become laird. His clan would rejoice when their devil laird was dead.
"Damnation! Alpin willna unseat me. The craven whoreson."
Draping his plaid around his waist and holding it in place, Gavin strode from the bedchamber and down the corridor toward his father’s room."There ye are, lad," Crocker said, his sparse gray hair sticking out in all directions. "Thanks be to God. He’s a right lunatic this morn. Asking for ye, he is."
"What the devil is wrong with him?" Gavin stepped inside the chamber."I dinna ken."
"Gavin! Gavin!" his father screeched from the four-poster bed as his body writhed, his long gray hair tangled. "The lass. Ye must look for the lass. Ye must marry. For the sake of the clan. For the sake of yer very soul."
"What lass?" No lass for miles around would so much as glance in his direction. He used to have to drag them from his bed and send them on their way. Now, he couldn’t pay one to give him an hour’s pleasure.
He would like as not turn them to stone, or they would end up possessed by the devil, as he was thought to be.
Gavin waited for his father to tell him which lass he referred to, but the older man now lay still with his eyes closed, apparently asleep. Mayhap he’d meant the lass from Gavin’s arousing dreams. But she wasn’t real, and he’d never seen her face.
Fingers of dawn light gleamed over the mountains and Gavin’s animal nature surged forth, beyond his control."Damnation! When will it end?"
He moved toward the open window, helpless to resist the call. Just as he reached it, a moment of pain sliced through him. His body transformed, and great glossy-black wings appeared where once he had arms, and talons on his feet. Taking flight from the window, he became one with the wind, the Highlands and the bright colors of dawn.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
