tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29724683354473242782024-03-12T22:17:29.689-04:00Author D. K. Gastonjazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-28099194300791050872014-06-15T20:18:00.000-04:002014-06-15T20:18:12.148-04:00Rain Fall (movie) featuring character John Rain
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EPaHjx9XMIM/U542wr2MwXI/AAAAAAAAAPs/KVuMJ66Kw9Y/s1600/Rain+Fall.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EPaHjx9XMIM/U542wr2MwXI/AAAAAAAAAPs/KVuMJ66Kw9Y/s1600/Rain+Fall.PNG" height="320" width="223" /></a></div>
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I recently watched Rain Fall (2009)
starring Kippei Shina, Gary Oldman, and Kyoko Hasegawa. The movie is
based off the book with the same title, written by Barry Eisler. John
Rain is the protagonist of the story, he's half-American,
half-Japanese, a former US soldier, and government agent. Now an
assassin, his current mission is to eliminate several Japanese politicians,
but make their deaths appear as the results of natural causes.
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I've read several books in the John
Rain series, including Rain Fall, the first written by Eisler. The
film was directed by Max Mannix, who directed one other film before
Rain Fall called Dance of the Dragon. Mannix also took on the duty as
screenwriter.
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Hard Rain was produced on a shoestring
budget and you could differently see that it suffered because of it.
The director/writer deviated from the book in an attempt to give the
film a Bourne Identity flavor. Gary Oldman plays CIA station chief
William Holzer, who suffers from a severe case of mood swings.
Oldman, of course, is the antagonist. He spends half the movie
screaming, “Jesus Christ,” and looks ready to pull out his hair,
every time things don't go his way. There's also a subplot with a
police detective investigating the death of a man, Rain killed on a
subway train. This of course goes nowhere and further the plot in any
conceivable way. In the book, the CIA Station Chief was someone who
betrayed Rain in the past, while the police detective was an old
friend. The movie completely ignores these details.
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Kyoko Hasgawa plays Midori Kawamura,
the love interest for John Rain. She is the daughter of one of Rain's
victims. Hasgawa is perhaps the best part of this movie, giving
dimensions to a character in a sea of cookie cut-out characters. The
director spent little time with the developing relationship between
Kawamura and Rain making it hard for me to swallow that these two
were falling so deeply in love.</div>
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The editing of Rain Fall was absolutely
horrible in what I think it was an attempt to cover up the weak fight
scenes. It did improve as the movie progressed, but that may have
only been because later fight scenes did not last more than a few
seconds. Come to think of it, the longest fight in the movie came
midway through when Rain encountered another assassin. If you
blinked, you would have missed the brawl between them.</div>
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The actors themselves did a great job
for the material they were working with. Kippei Shina's performance
of John Rain matched that of the character from the book. The
weakness of the film came from writer/director Max Mannix. If perhaps
the film had a bigger budget, Mannix could have made a better movie,
but as it stands now, I would say it's watchable if there's nothing
else on television.</div>
jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-84670371130120230942014-04-30T17:49:00.000-04:002014-04-30T17:49:33.239-04:00Butler Banks Book Tours today's feature author is Balogun Ojetade<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SUblFnjh3aY/U2Ft7E3gYeI/AAAAAAAAAPM/uqHmDSThL8g/s1600/Balogun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SUblFnjh3aY/U2Ft7E3gYeI/AAAAAAAAAPM/uqHmDSThL8g/s1600/Balogun.jpg" height="320" width="246" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">For
those who know me, I am a writer.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">For
those who<i> don’t</i> know me, I am a writer.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
write speculative fiction – mainly <a href="http://chroniclesofharriet.com/2013/04/28/primer/">Steamfunk</a>,
<a href="http://chroniclesofharriet.com/tag/dieselfunk/">Dieselfunk</a>,
<a href="http://chroniclesofharriet.com/2013/06/04/rococoa/">Rococoa</a>
and <a href="http://chroniclesofharriet.com/2012/04/13/sword-soul-much-needed-new-genre-or-simply-something-old-with-a-new-coat-of-paint/">Sword
& Soul</a>.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Recently,
I have expanded my writing into the <a href="http://chroniclesofharriet.com/2013/11/19/fight-fiction/">
Fight Fiction</a> – aka Action / Adventure, aka Pulp – genre,
which was pretty much inevitable because my novels contain lots of
exciting action and fight scenes.</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wOAUW-qlwc4/U2Fupch1k7I/AAAAAAAAAPc/McxAtWJONjs/s1600/Fightcard+Fist+of+Africa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wOAUW-qlwc4/U2Fupch1k7I/AAAAAAAAAPc/McxAtWJONjs/s1600/Fightcard+Fist+of+Africa.jpg" height="118" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">What,
exactly, <i>is</i> Fight Fiction. You ask?</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Fight
Fiction is comprised of tales in which the fighting – whether it
happens in a temple in Thailand, a boxing ring in Las Vegas, a cage
in Atlanta, or in a bar in New York City – is not merely in the
story to make it more exciting; or to add a different spin to it. The
fighting must be an integral part of both the story and its
resolution. Take the fighting out and you no longer have a story.
Think <i>Fight Club</i>; <i>Rocky</i>; <i>Blood and
Bone</i>; <i>Kung-Fu Hustle</i>; <i>Million Dollar Baby</i>;
and <i>Tai Chi Zero</i>.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Writing
fight scenes has always been something I enjoy and that I believe I
do fairly well. This is probably due to the fact that I have been a
student of indigenous African martial arts for over forty years and I
have been an instructor of those same martial arts for nearly thirty
years. I am also a lifelong fan of martial arts, boxing and <a href="http://chroniclesofharriet.com/2013/03/21/mask-power/">Luchador
films</a>.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Recently,
I joined a team of stellar authors, who all write under the pen name
Jack Tunney (for e-book versions only; paperback versions are in the
authors’ names), as part of the </span></span><a href="http://fightcardbooks.com/fight-card-mma-fist-of-africa"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Fight
Card Project</i></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
books in the </span></span><a href="http://fightcardbooks.com/"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Fight
Card</i></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"> series
are monthly 25,000 word novelettes, designed to be read in one or two
sittings, and are inspired by the fight pulps of the 1930s and 1940s,
such as </span></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Fight
Stories Magazine</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"> and
Robert E. Howard’s two-fisted boxing tales featuring Sailor Steve
Costigan.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">In
2013, the <i>Fight Card</i> series published twenty-four
incredible tales of pugilistic pandemonium from some of the best New
Pulp authors in the business. I am writing under the <i>Fight
Card MMA</i> brand with my book, <i>Fist of Africa</i>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Here’s
a brief synopsis: </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Nigeria
2004 … Nicholas ‘New Breed’ Steed, a tough teen from the mean
streets of Chicago, is sent to his mother’s homeland – a tiny
village in Nigeria – to avoid trouble with the law. Unknown to
Nick, the tiny village is actually a compound where some of the best
fighters in the world are trained. Nick is teased, bullied and
subjected to torturous training in a culture so very different from
the world where he grew up.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Atlanta
2014 … After a decade of training in Nigeria, a tragedy brings Nick
back to America. Believing the disaffected youth in his home town
sorely need the same self-discipline and strength of character
training in the African martial arts gave him, Nick opens an Academy.
While the kids are disinterested in the fighting style of the
cultural heritage Nick offers, they are enamored with mixed martial
arts. Nick decides to enter the world of mixed martial arts to make
the world aware of the effectiveness and efficiency of the martial
arts of Africa.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Pursuing
a professional career in MMA, Nick moves to Atlanta, Georgia, where
he runs into his old nemesis – Rico Stokes, the organized crime
boss who once employed Nick’s father, wants Nick to replace his
father in the Stokes’ protection racket. Will New Breed Steed claim
the Light Heavyweight title … Or will the streets of Atlanta claim
him?</i></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
really enjoyed writing this book because I have always wanted to
share with the world the fierceness, efficiency and effectiveness of
the indigenous African martial arts for self-defense, as well as
their transformative powers in the building of men and women with
self-discipline, courage and good character. <i>Fist of
Africa</i> is a perfect outlet for my unique brand of Fight
Fiction, which I am sure you will enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed
writing it.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">In <i>Fist
of Africa</i>, readers will experience jaw-dropping action on the
mean streets of Chicago, in the sand pits of Nigeria and in cages in
the “Dirty South” (Atlanta), as well as a bit of romance.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Please,
enjoy this excerpt, then hop on over to my <a href="https://www.roaringlionsproductions.com/">website</a>,
or to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fist-Africa-FIGHT-CARD-MMA/dp/149601829X/ref=sr_1_1_title_1_pap?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1398803477&sr=1-1&keywords=fist+of+africa">Amazon</a>
and purchase the book. You’ll thank me later.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rf6oGbovv0U/U2FuTC-zqcI/AAAAAAAAAPY/8kf37v6mnZ8/s1600/Fightcard+Fist+of.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rf6oGbovv0U/U2FuTC-zqcI/AAAAAAAAAPY/8kf37v6mnZ8/s1600/Fightcard+Fist+of.jpg" height="320" width="216" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>ROUND
SIX</b></span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Vee-Vee’s
was packed. The line of men and women spilled out of the Nigerian
restaurant and onto the hot sidewalk as the lunch crowd eagerly
awaited the mouth-watering, sweet fried plantains, egusi soup with
pounded yam and coconut rice.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Standing
in the line, Nick and Baba Yemi still had two customers ahead of them
before they were in the door. Nick rubbed his hands in excitement. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Baba
Yemi raised an eyebrow. “Is the food really that good, Nicholas?
You look … eager.”</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">You
just don’t know, grandfather,” Nick replied. “I haven’t had
Vee-Vee’s in over ten years.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">You’ve
had Nigerian food <i>in</i> Nigeria,” Baba Yemi said. “What’s
so special about Vee-Vee’s?”</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">It’s
<i>Vee-Vee’s</i>,” Nick responded with a shrug.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Baba
Yemi shook his head.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Excuse
me, you just jumped ahead of me,” a woman’s voice said.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Nick
peered over his shoulder. A rotund woman addressed three young men
who stood in front of her in the line.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Look,
lady, we just want to get some plantains up out of here,” one of
the young men – a lanky teen with jeans hanging halfway off his
butt – said. “You look like you’re about to order the whole
damned menu.”</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
young men laughed heartily and exchanged high fives.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Teens
today have no respect,” the woman said. “If you are the future,
we’re in <i>big</i> trouble.”</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Shut
up, <i>pendeja</i>!” Another young man spat. “That’s <i>moron</i>,
in case you don’t know … <i>pendeja</i>!”</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">More
laughter from the young men.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hold
my place in the queue,” Baba Yemi whispered.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Grandfather,
don’t …” Nick muttered.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Baba
Yemi approached the young men, stopping a few inches behind them.
“You are being very rude. This young woman deserves an apology.”</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
teens turned to face Baba Yemi. The largest of the trio, a tall,
athletically built young man, who had not yet spoken, looked Baba
Yemi up and down.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Push
on, old man, before you get yourself hurt,” he said.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Baba
Yemi smiled and tapped the young man on his muscular chest. “Hurt?
How?” </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
lanky young man with the sagging pants placed a firm hand on Baba
Yemi’s shoulder. “Get gone, old dude, before we kick your …”</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
young man hit the pavement with a dull thump. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">My
hand!” He screamed, clutching at his wrist and writhing in agony.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
Spanish-speaking young man launched an awkward-looking kick toward
Baba Yemi’s belly.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
old wrestler side-stepped to his left, bringing his right arm up to
scoop the young man’s leg. Baba Yemi shifted toward the trapped
leg, grabbing it with both arms in a tight grip. He ducked under the
leg, lifting his arms over his head at the same time. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
young man’s knee twisted at a sickening angle. He landed next to
his friend with the dislocated wrist, who joined him in a chorus of
cries, whimpers and yelps.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Baba
Yemi exploded toward the remaining member of the trio. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
young man stumbled backward, then whirled on his heels and sprinted
off.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
teen with the sagging pants and damaged wrist helped the young man
with the dislocated knee to his feet. “Sorry, ma’am,” they said
in unison.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Baba
Yemi laid a hand on the shoulder of the young man with the sagging
pants. The young man jerked in fear.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Relax,”
Baba Yemi said. “Let me fix it.”</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
young man cautiously gave Baba Yemi his damaged hand. The old man
grabbed the teen’s fingers and yanked hard. The teen winced at the
pain of his wrist sliding back into its correct position.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Thank
you,” the young man said. “And I … I’m sorry.”</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">What
about my knee, sir?” The Spanish-speaking young man inquired, still
gasping in pain. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">That
is going to require more treatment than I can do here,” Baba Yemi
answered. “Do either of you have a car?”</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yes,
sir, I do,” the Spanish-speaking youth said.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">What’s
your name, boy?” Baba Yemi asked.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hector,
sir,” the young man said.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">And
yours?” Baba Yemi asked the young man with the sagging trousers.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Miles,”
he answered.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Miles,
take Hector to the hospital,” Baba Yemi said. “They’ll put the
joint back in proper position, then you bring him to me and I’ll
really heal him. Talk to my grandson over there. He’ll give you the
address.”</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yes,
sir,” Miles said, approaching Nick.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Thank
you, sir,” Hector said.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Vee-Vee’s
waitress, who had come outside to see what the commotion was all
about, handed Nick an ink pen and an order slip. Nick wrote the
address to his parent’s house on the slip.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
two young men shambled off, Hector’s arm wrapped around Miles’
shoulder for support.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Thank
you!” The pudgy woman shouted. She wrapped her arms around Baba
Yemi’s torso and held him in a warm hug.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
people in line applauded as Baba Yemi returned to his place in line.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">We’re
running a compound for young thugs out of my parents’ house now?”
Nick said, shaking his head.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">You
weren’t so different when you first came to me, Nicholas,” Baba
Yemi said.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">True,”
Nick said. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“<span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">So,
I ask again,” Baba Yemi said. “What now?” </span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"><b>Available as paperback or ebook:</b> <a href="http://amzn.com/B00I9E5WIO">Amazon</a></span></span>
jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-35192504382932559982014-04-28T11:32:00.000-04:002014-04-28T11:32:09.159-04:00Butler Banks Book Tours today's feature author is Zig Zag Claybourne<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MIQEIWqiqSw/U15yxPUr9xI/AAAAAAAAAO0/Qkd1b3BRmbs/s1600/Claybourne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MIQEIWqiqSw/U15yxPUr9xI/AAAAAAAAAO0/Qkd1b3BRmbs/s1600/Claybourne.jpg" height="320" width="184" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I</span></b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> love fiction. Period. Worlds imagined, worlds altered,
whether simply reshaped or irrevocably twisted. Anything that fires the
imagination is a gift from the gods. I grew up on Star Trek, the Twilight Zone,
Sir Graves Ghastly’s Saturday Matinee Movies (for us Motown folks), and the
other-realm lives of a bunch of kids ganged up against one named Charlie Brown.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Peanuts</i> was “Village of the Damned”
minus the world domination, mixed with a psychic dog trying its best to be
human.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Which
is to say all fiction is speculative fiction. That’s what the spirit of the
Butler/Banks tour celebrates, because how else can you get away with writing
things like this (from <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Historical
Inaccuracies</b>): </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“The</span></b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> only evidence I need of Intelligent
Design,” said Senator Bloodaxe, unsheathing his crusted blade and laying it
before the security dogs for evidence of illegal killing, “is what I have seen
with my own eyes.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“But, Senator,” someone said from
the throng of pelt-clad reporters, “isn’t it true you were once a staunch
supporter of the scientific prin—”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Who said that!” Bloodaxe raged,
grabbing up the sword that had sent scores of unbelievers to undeserved glory
and swinging it round.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The news crews were used to his
rages and smoothly raised shields. The senator calmed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Senator, it’s been rumored,” came a
crisp, female voice from beneath the turtle’s back of shields, “that you
yourself have killed angels and that this conversion is purely political.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Bloodaxe grinned at their fear.
“Face Bloodaxe, wench,” he said, eyes scanning. “Taste congressional steel.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Movement issued from the rear.
Reporters parted until she stood before Bloodaxe (R) from Indiana. The huge man’s eyes narrowed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I am Kurok, daughter’s daughter of
Couric,” which sucked balls because politicians hated a reporter with something
to prove.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Bring it, wench.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Kurok approached. “Today is a good
day to cry…”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">HISTORICAL INACCURACIES</span></b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> contains several science/speculative
fiction selections, including the pile-driver “Revolver,” praised by Lois
Tilton of Locus Online as “harrowing” and one that delivers. These are stories
meant to disturb the dust, call forth the spirits, and sit with you a while.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
As Clarence Young, I write humor and drama. As Zig Zag Claybourne I wish I’d grown up with the powers of either Gary Mitchell or Charlie X but without the Kirk confrontations. My fiction and poetry, ranging from science fiction to street-lit satire to magic realism, have appeared in The Wayne Review, Flashshot, Reverie Journal, Stupendous Stories, and numerous online attractions. The books <a href="http://writeonrighton.com/books.html">Neon Lights</a>, <a href="http://writeonrighton.com/books.html">By All Our Violent Guides</a>, and <a href="http://writeonrighton.com/books.html">Historical Inaccuracies</a> are all independently-published. <br /><br /> You can find me scribbling like a mad man at my author site <a href="http://www.writeonrighton.com/">www.Writeonrighton.com</a>, Amazon author page <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00IXWUU52">Zig Zag Claybourne</a>, tweeting or squawking at: @zzclaybourne, while having silly fun at <a href="http://www.thingsididatworktoday.blogspot.com/">www.thingsididatworktoday.blogspot.com</a>. And look out for the sci fi adventure THE BROTHERS JETSTREAM: LEVIATHAN, coming to save the world summer 2014! <br /><br /> Show your credit card a good time at these links, and—by all the ancestors and ancients staring over our shoulders—find any and every way you can to reshape the world! <br /><br /> Paperback – <a href="http://www.createspace.com/4480587">Createspace</a> <br /><br />Paperback & Ebook – <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Historical-Inaccuracies-ebook/dp/B00GDY530Y/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1383497428&sr=1-1&keywords=historical+inaccuracies">Amazon</a> <br /><br /> (CREW NOTE: THESE ARE THE INDIVIDUAL LINKS IN CASE THE HYPERLINKS DON’T COPY OVER) <br /><br />Author site <a href="http://writeonrighton.com/">here</a>: <br /><br />Amazon author page <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00IXWUU52">here</a> <br /><br /> Site blog <a href="http://www.thingsididatworktoday.blogspot.com/">here</a> <br /><br />Createspace (paperback only) purchase <a href="https://www.createspace.com/4480587">here</a>:<br /><br /> <br />Amazon (paperback & ebook) purchase <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Historical-Inaccuracies-Zig-Zag-Claybourne/dp/0987703951/ref=la_B00IXWUU52_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1397850883&sr=1-1">here</a>: <br /><br />
<br />
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jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-58454044315892770472014-04-27T14:13:00.000-04:002014-04-27T14:13:00.961-04:00Butler Banks Book Tours today's feature author is Davaun Sanders<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I6c5TuM8NSs/U11GECNxnQI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/_bAUeMTSj5c/s1600/Davaun+Sanders.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I6c5TuM8NSs/U11GECNxnQI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/_bAUeMTSj5c/s1600/Davaun+Sanders.jpg" height="230" width="320" /></a></div>
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Thanks for checking out the work of all the authors
participating in <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The 2014 Butler/Banks
Book Tour.</b> This is a huge year for many of us, and we couldn’t do what we
love without the support of YOU, our readers! I hope you’ve been exposed to
your next favorite author and encourage you to leave <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">honest reviews</b> of our work wherever you purchased it! Your feedback
to other readers who share your interest is pure gold for indy authors.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please enjoy the excerpt from my first novel, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Seedbearing Prince: Part I<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></b>posted below. You can <a href="http://ow.ly/uHeNO"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">download it
for FREE</b></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b>on Amazon for a
limited time! <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Seedbearing Prince:
Part II</b> is also available—<a href="http://ow.ly/uGgtK"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">click here!</b></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dayn Ro’Halan’s adventures will continue in <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Course of Blades,</b> to be released
this summer—the third of six total books in the World Breach series. I’m really
excited about this novel, it’s going to be the best one yet.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That being said…let’s do a giveaway! </div>
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<br /></div>
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Rules are simple: send me a picture of yourself READING a
novel by ANY <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">AUTHOR on The Butler/Banks
Book Tour.</b> You use an e-reader? Great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Reading in costume, or upside down? Even better! Go crazy—just keep it
SFW please! Share with me on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/davaunsanders">Facebook,</a>
<a href="http://twitter.com/davaunwrites">Twitter,</a> or <a href="http://instagram.com/davaunwrites">Instagram</a>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll post your pictures to my Facebook and happily send you
a <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">FREE ebook</b> of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Seedbearing Prince: Part II</b> OR “The Course of Blades” when it
is released this summer. We’ll all pretty much be famous together. It’s all so
clear to me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let the photobomb commence, because this giveaway ends with
the last day of the Butler/Banks Book Tour, April 30<sup>th</sup>!</div>
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<br /></div>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Seedbearing Prince Part I: Prologue</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="FirstLetter"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">T</span></span>he
torrent shifted again, and a thousand shards of onyx flashed to fire as Corian
swept through a roiling field of ice and stone. The sheath on his worn black
armor held, but would not last much longer. The stream of rock in the space
between the worlds drifted slower here, and boasted several floating mountains
large enough to hold a layer of air. Green ferns covered the surface of the
nearest, providing plenty of cover. Corian was tempted to stop and rest, but
crater wolves likely roamed in such thick foliage. The entire World Belt hung
on the message he bore to the Ring, and he could rest after his task was done.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A field of red granite stretched in the space above him like
the bizarre clouds of some nightmare, the individual boulders careening off
each other by the hundreds. Only the hardest minerals and metals endured the
endless pounding of the rock flow, and only the most foolish men would brave
such a swath of torrent. They were moving the direction he needed to go, into
the flow where the rock moved fastest. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">In
the torrent, speed kills,</i> he reminded himself. He was the best courser
among the Ring’s Guardians, but the rock never cared.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Corian deftly attached a new talon to what remained of his
silver wingline, then heaved it. The metal hook took hold, his wingline snapped
taut, and the boulder yanked Corian into the flow. He repeated the process,
each time roping a boulder moving faster, until his last guide rock pulled him
along at hundreds of spans a second. A layer of white frost appeared on his
armor and mask in a blink. He reeled himself in and clung to the red surface,
like a flea riding a river bison in the middle of a stampeding herd. He watched
every direction at once from his perch, digging his gauntlets into the
crumbling surface. The boulder was actually some ancient rusted metal, not
granite as he first thought. The torrent here was so thick he could barely see
the stars, and it filled his ears with a distant roar.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="layout-grid-mode: line;">He sped along this way
for some time, until he spied a pockmarked mass of stone and iron, large as a
dwarf moon. A cleft right down the middle threatened to split the entire thing
in half. A tower in the northern axis had seen more than its fair share of rust,
but the light strobing from it pulsed regularly, illuminating the smaller rocks
orbiting around it. As a whole, the wayfinder was ugly and old, but the mass of
rock was the most blessed sight Corian could imagine after a week of surviving
the torrent’s attempts to grind him to powder.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="layout-grid-mode: line;">His next wingline took
him closer. If the wayfinder was powered as well as he suspected, he could use
the array inside it to find out where he was in the torrent, and see how close
the Ring lay. He might even find food and water, if peace favored him. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A fellow Guardian must stop here often for
such an old wayfinder to be this well preserved,</i> he thought.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Smaller debris pelted the wayfinder’s old crust,
disintegrating in flashes of light. The surface shone with hundreds of impacts,
large and small. Corian chose a crater near the old tower, perhaps seventy
spans deep with high walls that would offer good angles to slow himself as he
approached. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As he prepared to throw out another talon, dark shapes
poured from the wayfinder’s cleft. He stared for a moment, incredulous. There
could be no crater wolves on a wayfinder, with no game to hunt, unless they
were marooned after striking some other erratic in the torrent. No, those
shapes moved with a military precision, more lethal than the deadliest pack. He
could see them clearly now, massive men covered in black. “No. Not here!”
Corian barely recognized his own weary voice.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The voidwalkers had seen him. A pinprick of light shone on
the wayfinder’s surface, brighter than the tower’s regular strobe. He eyed it
mistrustfully as he searched for a place to throw his next wingline and change
his momentum. He spotted a tumbling boulder half covered with ice, moving away
from the wayfinder too fast.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The light near the voidwalkers flashed. A beam of energy
rushed into Corian’s path, hot as molten steel. A lifetime of coursing
experience kicked in, and he curled his legs up until his knees touched his
ears, rolling forward. The strange fire passed underneath him by less than a
span. He could feel the heat of it through his protective layer of sheath. The
beam burned past, and slammed into a rock fifty spans away. The tumbling
boulder barely even slowed in its course, but the spot where the weapon
struck—for there was no question that is what it was—glowed red hot at the
edges. The glistening center had cooled quick as glass.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another pinprick of light. He twisted around in the
weightlessness of the void to point his feet back toward the wayfinder and make
himself a smaller target. It did no good. The beam rushed straight at him, and
his world turned red with pain.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An impact jarred him awake. Another. Corian opened his eyes.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m much too cold.</i> The voidwalker
weapon had burned away his sheath. Layers of his black armor were peeling away
from the metal plates like paper curled in a fire. He had been caught in a
tangle of purple-rooted vines intertwined in a mile long cluster of the
floating rock, what Jendini coursers called a knotted forest. The roots were
nearly hard as stone in places. Dusty old bones from animals Corian did not
even recognize littered the tangles. Debris from the torrent stretched around
the forest in every direction, and errant stones pelted the mass of vines,
which he immediately recognized. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Courser’s
nap, the whole forest is covered with it.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Corian reached into a compartment on his armored belt and
removed his last flask of sheath. He applied the clear liquid to his ruined
armor in quick, smooth motions, not leaving one inch exposed. The sheath locked
together in small patches of light, and his body’s heat immediately began to
warm the interior of the invisible, protective barrier. Once the sheath was
gone, his armor would not prevent the smallest pebble from killing him, if one
struck him moving fast enough. For the first time, Corian considered that he
may not survive. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was to be his last circuit as a Guardian for the Ring,
and he held the hope that he would look into his grandchildren’s eyes back on
Jendini now that his service was finished. Yet his duty hung over him, heavier
than ever. In the distance he could see the world of Shard, verdant and green
just beyond the torrent’s chaos. His resolve hardened. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He slipped a speechcaster into his mouth and began to speak
as he worked himself free of the tangled vines. The small wafer could hold his
words in secret for a few days, should things go badly here. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I am Corian Nightsong, a Guardian of the Ring. There are
Thar’Kuri warriors on the world of Nemoc. The voidwalkers have built a device
that allows them to…teleport themselves at will through the Belt. They are
gathering in numbers, preparing for an attack. There are captives from all over
the worlds imprisoned on Nemoc. The voidwalkers have weapons unlike anything
known from the Ring. They use energy and can attack over great distances. They
must have been made in the age before the Breach.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you knew where to
look for this message, you must deliver it with all haste to Force Lord Adazia
on the Ring. The worlds all depend on you, for I have failed them.” The
admission filled Corian with bitterness, but he forced a strength he no longer
felt into his words. “My sons and daughters live in Denkstone, on Jendini. Tell
them…their father served well.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the vines tangled around his torso began to quiver.
Corian looked down, fearing a leaf, but instead he saw a voidwalker, climbing
toward him. Corian was tall, but the hulking brute easily overtopped him by a
head. His glistening black armor looked as if it were melted to his frame, and
covered him from head to toe save two dark slits for his eyes. The vines broke
like dried mud in the voidwalker’s grasp.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Corian began to climb, scrambling further into the vines. He
did not bother to draw his sword, the voidwalker would overpower him in moments
if they were to fight.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So afraid of an old courser?” Corian shouted. He pulled at
every vine in his path as he fled, but most of them were stiff and gray. Living
vines of the courser’s nap were purple and sticky, but the true danger lay with
the leaves. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The voidwalker’s gravelly voice called to Corian, cold as an
orphan’s gravestone. “Come to me, degenerate.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Corian drew his sword, and began slashing his way through
the vines. They sparked as his blade struck, but gave way. He leapt through an
open space nearly ten spans across. The voidwalker followed without hesitation.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">So strong.</i> Corian knew the brute
meant to take him alive. He could not allow that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He landed on a solid gray swath, fleshy beneath his feet. He
rolled and lunged just as the leaf stirred. A row of spikes slipped out of the
edges, thick as Corian’s leg and sharp enough to cleave a horse in two. Corian
barely cleared them. The voidwalker was not so lucky. His momentum carried him
right into the center of the carnivorous plant, which enveloped him with a
twist of blue-veined leaf. Steam issued from the folds near the plant’s edges
as it fed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="layout-grid-mode: line;">More pods of the
courser’s nap were coming to life, enlivened by the voidwalker’s screams.
Corian avoided the leaves wherever they stirred. He climbed and lunged and
dived through the vines, soon pulling himself to the edge of the knotted
forest. Pure torrent lay before him, an endless landscape of chaotic rock.
There was no clear flow in any direction, the individual boulders in the
skyscape crashed into each other in a hundred shattering impacts. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’ll leap blind and pray that my sheath
holds.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another voidwalker tore himself out of the vines a few spans
away. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Peace, but look at the size of him!</i>
The voidwalker’s armor looked as chewed up as the oldest rocks of the torrent,
endless dents and scratches plastered the black surface.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“I’ve enjoyed hunting you, degenerate.” </div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="layout-grid-mode: line;">Another courser’s leaf
reared up behind the voidwalker as he lumbered toward Corian. The leaf lunged
and took the voidwalker up, curling round and round as the folds of leaf
tightened. Corian allowed himself a moment of elation, but it was short lived.
A pale hand appeared on the side of the courser’s nap, and bright green fluid
poured out. The leaf whipped back and forth, emitting a piercing shriek as the
voidwalker pulled it apart piece by piece from the inside. Corian needed to see
no more. He leaped, and prayed the torrent would show him mercy.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="layout-grid-mode: line;">Also available: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Seedbearing-Prince-Part-II/dp/098592523X/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1398622157&sr=1-1">The Seedbearing Prince Part II</a></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pb1jBCjYoS0/U11HZJ098nI/AAAAAAAAAOo/T1Kmn6mCEpE/s1600/The+Seedbearing+Prince+part+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pb1jBCjYoS0/U11HZJ098nI/AAAAAAAAAOo/T1Kmn6mCEpE/s1600/The+Seedbearing+Prince+part+2.jpg" height="320" width="220" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="layout-grid-mode: line;"> Visit author's Davaun Sanders blogsite <a href="http://davaunsanders.blogspot.com/">here</a></span></div>
jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-91181686268151513852014-04-25T08:55:00.000-04:002014-04-25T08:55:38.986-04:00Butler Banks Book Tours today's feature author is Milton Davis<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XACuPOAaZxQ/U1pYiPPyz5I/AAAAAAAAANw/lCtmtY9rT6Y/s1600/Griot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XACuPOAaZxQ/U1pYiPPyz5I/AAAAAAAAANw/lCtmtY9rT6Y/s1600/Griot.jpg" height="320" width="220" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Griots:
Sisters of the Spear Description</span></b></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Griots: Sisters of the Spear picks
up where the ground breaking Griots Anthology leaves off. Charles R. Saunders
and Milton J. Davis present seventeen original and exciting Sword and Soul
tales focusing on black women. Just as the Griots Anthology broke ground as the
first Sword and Soul Anthology, Griots: Sisters of the Spear pays homage to the
spirit, bravery and compassion of women of color. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seventeen authors and eight artists combine
their skills to tell stories of bravery, love, danger and hope. The griots have
returned to sing new songs, and what wonderful songs they are!</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dYLA6VCOxZM/U1pY6XLo_oI/AAAAAAAAAN4/PcNNhTxxM4M/s1600/Griot_action.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dYLA6VCOxZM/U1pY6XLo_oI/AAAAAAAAAN4/PcNNhTxxM4M/s1600/Griot_action.jpg" height="320" width="216" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Excerpt
for Griots: Sisters of the Spear</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">SPEARING
STEREOTYPES</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By Charles
R. Saunders</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The woman in Andrea Rushing’s evocative painting that graces the
cover of Griots: Sisters of the Spear symbolizes the essence of the anthology.
Although the painting is not a direct depiction of any of the characters in the
stories, the spirit of this woman imbues all of them. She is a teller of truth,
and a slayer of stereotypes.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As is the case with black men, black women have been subjected
to invidious stereotyping for centuries in real life and fiction alike. For the
most part, these characterizations have ranged from the condescending to the
downright hostile – from the faithful “Mammy” of Gone with the Wind to the
scornful “Sapphire” of Amos ‘n’ Andy to the degraded “Ho” made infamous in
all-too-many rap-music lyrics. The fantasy-fiction genre is no exception. Until
recently, black women have been either non-existent, or portrayed in ways that
made absence the preferable alternative.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Real life defies the stereotypes. Throughout history, there has
been no dearth of strong and courageous black women who have stood alongside –
and sometimes in front of – their men and children during the course of a
500-year-long struggle against oppression in Africa, and the places in the rest
of the world to which Africans were taken against their will to fuel economies
with their forced labor.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A few examples: The Candace, or queen, of Kush defied the
legions of ancient Rome. Queen Nzinga of Ndongo in central Africa fought to
protect her people from the depredations of European slavers. Harriet Tubman
risked her life to lead slaves to freedom in the years before the U.S. Civil
War. Fannie Lou Hamer endured vicious physical abuse from the authorities in
her non-violent quest to win basic civil rights for black Americans. Women such
as these – and many more like them – stand as living contradictions to the
misrepresentations that persist to this day.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So do the women in Sisters of the Spear. When Milton Davis came
up with the idea of a woman-themed sequel to our first anthology, Griots, I
co-signed immediately. Like Griots, Sisters of the Spear presents an
opportunity to bring more black representation to a genre that’s still in need
of more color. Thanks to Griots, we knew there were more than a few writers and
artists of all racial persuasions who would embrace our theme of powerful black
womanhood and create stories and illustrations that would be excellent by any
standard.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ImS-Ol50ABk/U1pZJZ4wcHI/AAAAAAAAAOA/9CGCVgmAY5I/s1600/Griot_action2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ImS-Ol50ABk/U1pZJZ4wcHI/AAAAAAAAAOA/9CGCVgmAY5I/s1600/Griot_action2.jpg" height="320" width="247" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our expectations have been more than fulfilled. Our modern-day
griots came through with – not to belabor the point – flying colors. The
fictional warrior-women and sorceresses you will meet in the following pages
can hold their own and then some against the barbarians and power-mad monarchs
and magic-users of both genders who swing swords and cast spells in the mostly
European-derived settings of modern fantasy and sword-and-sorcery. The reach of
sword-and soul has expanded greatly with Sisters of the Spear.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s time now to allow the woman on the cover serve as your
guide through the anthology. The light she carries will illuminate the truth
that is always inherent in the best of fiction. And her spear will slay the
stereotypes.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Purchase copies of Griot: Sisters of the Spear:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://amzn.com/B00H5FV8WC"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Amazon</span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/griots-milton-davis/1117710943?ean=2940148931737"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">B&N</span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.mvmediaatl.com/"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">MVmedia</span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://prod-www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Griots-Sisters-of-the-Spear/book-TI29tKkH-ECviKcT85eMpQ/page1.html"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Kobo</span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-87607328846460075242014-04-24T16:16:00.001-04:002014-04-24T16:16:41.530-04:00Butler Banks Book Tours today's feature author is K. Ceres Wright<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Next on the Butler/Banks Book Tour is K. Ceres Wright!</div>
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Ms. Wright has been watching science fiction (SF) since she
was three years old. As she grew, she became less and less satisfied with the
limited role minorities played in many SF books, shows, and movies, and decided
to write SF that better reflected the diversity of the real world. Her first
novel, <i>Cog,</i> was published by Raw Dog Screaming Press in July
2013. Her other work has appeared in <i>Genesis: An Anthology of Black
Science Fiction; Hazard Yet Forward; Many Genres, One Craft; The 2008 Rhysling
Anthology; Far Worlds Anthology;</i> and the upcoming <i>Diner
Stories Anthology.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Excerpt from Cog</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<center>
<a href="http://kcereswright.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/Cog20INCH1.jpg"><img alt="Cog" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-473" height="300" src="http://kcereswright.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/Cog20INCH1-212x300.jpg" width="212" /></a></center>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perim Nestor stood watch over Arlington from a curved window
office in the American Hologram building. A scrim of clouds obscured most of
the evening sky as commuters headed home, yet a roseate sunset tinged the
underside of the grey, offering hope of a sunny tomorrow. Reflections from the
streets below, clotted with the red of brake lights, danced merrily on nearby
buildings. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perim abandoned his watch and took up residence against a
credenza along the opposite wall, arms folded, jaw clenched, waiting for the
coming storm. He did not have to wait long.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re joking, right?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
William Ryder stretched the skin between his eyebrows with
his thumb and index finger, then formed a fist and slammed it on the table in
front of him. He stood up, hunching over the edge of his father’s cherry wood
desk. The owner sat on the opposite side, glaring. Light from a squat, burnished
pewter lamp threw up blurry shadows on the metal paneling.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Right?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Wills, sit down!” The stentorian voice of Geren Ryder
echoed in the large office. The bones of his face set like ice, holdovers of
the Last Glacial Maximum. Salt-and-pepper hair framed a mahogany canvas. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His son was a mirror image, only more muscular, with a
coloring of polished sepia.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perim Nestor remained silent. However spartan the office, it
reflected more than the green and brown décor. It reflected the
multi-trillion-dollar company that Geren Ryder had built from scratch. And he
was used to being listened to.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wills sat down, but the tenseness remained. He hovered on
the edge of the chair, ready to spring. Geren continued, his voice now measured
and calm. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I didn’t know Perim was my son until last week. After I
confirmed it, I’ve been...coming to grips with the implications.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Confirmed?” Wills said. “So it’s been confirmed that you
whored around on my mother. As if I hadn’t already known. And what do you
expect me to do? Jump up and say, ‘I’ve always wanted a brother’? Shed
heartfelt tears and give him a slap on the back?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Silence. The ether froze, like hanging mist on a December
morning. Perim drew up his lips and met the flinty stare Wills leveled at him.
He couldn’t blame the man. Heir apparent to a wireless hologram empire and
presto change-o…a long-lost older brother appears. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Does Nicholle know?” Wills said, eyes still riveted on
Perim. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No. She’s busy recreating the Prado in Anacostia. I didn’t
want to distract her. It’s her first full-scale exhibit,” Geren said. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wills relaxed somewhat, straightening and placing his arm on
the desk. Mrs. Arthur Knowles and her Two Sons looked on the proceedings from
the wall behind Geren. In the painting, Mrs. Knowles was sitting on a couch,
one son clinging to her as his hand rested on a book. The other son lay
wrong-way on the couch, barefoot, his hand on his chin, as if contemplating
some mischief. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t want anything material…no money, no stock. I just
want acknowledgment,” Perim said. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Acknowledgment!” Wills sprang from his seat. “And why do I
have a hard time believing that? On the eve of my father announcing his
retirement from American Hologram, you just happen to show up.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wills approached Perim, jabbing a finger in the air between
them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’ve dealt with drug dealers, pimps, and CEOs, and I know
bullshit when I hear it. It’s all the same. You want something. Something like
American Hologram.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perim straightened. “I head my own accounting firm. What
would I need with your company?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why settle for a little power, when you can have a lot?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Is that your life’s motto?” Perim stole a glance at Geren.
“In that case, you’d better watch your back, Father.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Too late Perim noticed the oncoming blur of flesh, the
carpet rising to meet the side of his face. His next view was of a sideways
Potomac River through the curve of the picture window. The reflection of neon
pinks and blues undulated in the invisible waves and careened like a
slow-motion merry-go-round. Wills’ feet left his field of vision. Wind chimes
whispered as he exited through the magfield. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I should have told you he boxed in college,” Geren said,
matter-of-factly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No shit,” Perim said, only it came out sounding like, “Oh
ih.” His head spun, mental function a whirlpool. He edged up on one elbow, then
leaned against the credenza and slid upright. The room slowed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You’ll come to work for me. I’ll make you a vice president,
but you’ll have to prove your mettle,” Geren said. “Especially to Wills. He can
be a hothead, but he respects skill.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I have my own—” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Company, yes. That has a quick ratio of point seven eight.
How long do you expect to stay in business running those numbers?” Geren arose
and began packing a briefcase that lay open on the desk. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perim pulled himself to standing, gripping the credenza. “We
just scored a large contract with the defense department.” He rubbed his jaw,
hoping there would be no bruise. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Geren guffawed. “If you call forty million a large contract.
Look, it’s settled. I just sent in the approval. Let your second run the
company and you report here first thing in the morning. But…we will wait on the
acknowledgement until after I announce my retirement.” He closed the case and
hefted it off the desk. “Come prepared to learn. See you tomorrow.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wind chimes echoed again as Geren disappeared through the
doorway. Perim smiled to himself. <i>This is going better than
expected.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cog-K-Ceres-Wright/dp/1935738437/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1398301183&sr=8-1&keywords=cog+wright" title="Purchase Cog">Purchase Cog</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><a href="http://www.sfsignal.com/archives/2013/09/guest-interview-k-ceres-wright-on-her-new-cyberpunk-novel-cog/" title="Print Interview With K. Ceres Wright">Print Interview with
K. Ceres Wright</a></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=amvF-vnReOM" title="Reading at Bexley Public Library">Reading at Bexley Public
Library</a></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CZ04iCjJSq0" title="Video Interview With K. Ceres Wright">Video Interview With
K. Ceres Wright</a></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><a href="http://amazingstoriesmag.com/members/kceres/" title="Amazing Stories Blog Page">Amazing Stories Blog
Page</a></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><a href="http://rawdogscreaming.com/authors/k-ceres-wright/" title="Author Page at Raw Dog Screaming Press">Author Page at Raw
Dog Screaming Press</a></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><a href="http://kcereswright.com/blog/" title="Website">Website</a></b></div>
jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-80499993453273435032014-04-23T10:14:00.002-04:002014-04-23T10:14:39.856-04:00Butler Banks Book Tours today's feature author is Milton Davis<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JWEZBfiId40/U1fIBwJCp5I/AAAAAAAAANU/Iav4sGnHKlI/s1600/Milton-Davis-245x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JWEZBfiId40/U1fIBwJCp5I/AAAAAAAAANU/Iav4sGnHKlI/s1600/Milton-Davis-245x300.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Milton Davis is the author of more than a dozen books on Speculative Fiction. He's also a publisher, <a href="http://www.mvmediaatl.com/">MVmedia, LLC</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dZ-uSx7T-a4/U1fJPIQHh2I/AAAAAAAAANg/kPF6dQrLFYs/s1600/Woman-of-the-Woods.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dZ-uSx7T-a4/U1fJPIQHh2I/AAAAAAAAANg/kPF6dQrLFYs/s1600/Woman-of-the-Woods.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Woman of
the woods Synopsis</span></b></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The latest Sword and Soul novel by
Milton Davis returns to the land of Meji, the amazing world of Uhuru. It tells
the story of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadatina, a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>girl on the brink of becoming a woman living
with her family in Adamusola, the land beyond the Old Men Mountains. But tragic
events transpire that change her life forever, revealing a hidden past that
leads her into the midst of a war between her people and those that would see
them destroyed, the Mosele. Armed with a spiritual weapon and her feline
'sisters,' Sadatina becomes a Shosa, a warrior trained to fight the terrible
nyokas, demon-like creatures that aid the Mosele in their war against her
people.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Woman of the Woods is an action
filled, emotionally charged adventure that expands the scope of the world of
Uhuru and introduces another unforgettable character to its heroic legends.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Woman of
the Woods Excerpt</span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Shosa followed Teshome through
the village and out into the countryside. The journey was slow; Teshome walked
before the Shosa, refusing to mount a horse with them. From morning to noon
they traveled though farmland; after a brief rest they journeyed until they
reached the fallow fields beyond the farmland. They camped in the shadow of the
mounds, the Shosa posting guards to patrol the camp in shifts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They broke camp early next day and continued
their march, reaching the river that separated the hills from the fields by
late afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hazeeta and Teshome
strolled to the river’s edge, the two of them gazing at the verdant and ominous
knolls.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“How long have you
known the woman of the woods?” Hazeeta asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sadatina,” he said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What?” Hazeeta’s
heart jumped. It was her! Her daughter was alive! She looked at Asli and her
sister smiled.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Teshome looked at her
and smiled. “Her name is Sadatina. I knew her before she became a hunter. I saw
her one day when she and her mother came to Wubet. I met her when I worked on
her baba’s farm during the harvest season.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“How did she become a
hunter?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Teshome looked away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You will have to ask her. If she wants you
to know, she will tell you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His reply angered
her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Does our presence bother you? You
didn’t have to lead us here.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Teshome squatted and
pulled a blade of grass. “No, you are fine. I’m happy you have come. She needs
help. I…we cannot fight the nyokas. We try, but they always kill more of us
than we kill of them. If it weren’t for Sadatina, you would have found what you
expected.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Teshome stood and smiled at Hazeeta. “We will have to go slow,
though. Sadatina only trusts her sisters and me.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Since you won’t tell
me about Sadatina, can you at least tell of the other women?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Teshome looked
confused. “Other women?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hazeeta rolled her
eyes. “Her sisters!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Teshome smiled. “It is
hard to explain. You will see.” If Teshome knew anything else he was reluctant
to provide it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“When will she
arrive?” Hazeeta asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Teshome stuck the
grass blade between his teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Soon.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hazeeta and Teshome
spent most of the day beside the river, staring into the foliage. The sun began
its descent behind the hills when the silence was broken by the faint roar of a
shumba. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Teshome suddenly stood. “She is
coming,” he whispered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He waded into the
river, Hazeeta close behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Asli ran to
her side. Hazeeta turned and signaled for the other Shosa to stay back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Teshome halted a few
yards away from the forest edge. Hazeeta and Asli were approaching when he
waved them back. “Wait. I will tell you when to come,” he shouted. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hazeeta heard the
shumba roar again. It was coming closer. The foliage before Teshome jostled and
Sadatina emerged.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It took everything in
Hazeeta to keep from shouting for joy. There was no doubt in her mind that the
woman emerging from the woods was her daughter. She was her father’s daughter,
from the intense eyes to the confident walk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Wubetu nyoka hunter sauntered from the trees, a confident look on
her young face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was barely dressed,
a leather top covering her breasts and a kanga resting low on her swaying
hips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A sword hilt peeked over her
shoulder; she carried a lance punctuated by an ornate broad leaf blade in her
left hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what caught Hazeeta’s
attention was the ginanga head Sadatina held by its coarse hair in her right
hand.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Another sight stunned
the Shosa leader as well. Two female shumbas followed Sadatina, their snouts
stained with nyoka blood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They trotted
past her to Teshome, snuggling their heads against his legs and humming like
docile pets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sadatina’s tough
demeanor fell away as she neared Teshome. A childlike smile graced her face as
she dropped the lance and nyoka head carelessly and threw her arms around his
neck. They kissed long and Hazeeta smiled. She couldn’t remember the last time
a man had kissed her that way. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sadatina pulled away from
Teshome and peered over his shoulder. Her smile faded. The shumbas took notice
as well and their backs stiffened. Asli raised her lance.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No,” Hazeeta ordered.
“No threatening moves. We’ll let Teshome handle this.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Words passed between
Teshome and the huntress. Sadatina marched up to them, the shumbas beside her.
She stopped a lance thrust away. The shumbas kept their distance as they
circled the duo.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You are Shosa?”
Sadatina asked. Her voice sounded as young as she looked. “Why have you come?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hazeeta wanted to
reach out and hug Sadatina but she maintained her composure. Now was not the
time. “We came to survey this valley and protect it if needed,” Hazeeta
answered. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We need no
protection,” Sadatina replied. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I see,” Hazeeta
agreed. “But we are curious about you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Why?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The ability to kill
nyokas is not a common thing,” Hazeeta answered. “We Shosa train years to
acquire the skill and still we need talismans, gris-gris, Cha’s strength and
each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet you hunt alone…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sadatina looked to the
shumbas. “I have my sisters.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes you do, which is another mystery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is now obvious to me why Cha sent us here.
He sent us here to find you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You have found me.
Now you can go.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Wait!” Hazeeta
stepped toward Sadatina and the shumbas leaped between them. They crouched and
roared. Asli rushed to Hazeeta’s side, her lance leveled at the cats. The other
Shosas advanced toward them, bows loaded and aimed. Sadatina turned her head
and again Hazeeta was impressed. The young slayer was not intimidated by the
Shosas’ threat. If anything, she looked annoyed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Stand down!” Hazeeta
shouted. Asli lowered her lance and raised an open hand, her signal reinforcing
Hazeeta’s words. Their sisters lowered their bows.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Come, sisters,”
Sadatina said. The shumbas roared and trotted to Sadatina. She smirked at
Hazeeta and returned to Teshome's side.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“She’s fearless,” Asli
commented. “She is your daughter.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes she is,” Hazeeta
replied. She patted Asli’s shoulder. “Come, let’s leave those two alone. We’ll
set up camp a few yards away. I’ll try to talk to her again tomorrow.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The Shosa set up camp.
While her sisters tended to their needs, Hazeeta sat by her tent, watching
Sadatina, Teshome and the shumbas. The child she had left behind thirteen years
ago had followed in her footsteps despite not knowing anything about her. It
was surely Cha’s will she survived. Any lingering doubt of her decision to have
her was washed away by the sight before her. Her daughter was meant to live.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It fascinated her at
how completely the girl’s hard countenance melted away when she was with the
young man. The two of them cavorted as if the danger just across the river was
nonexistent. The shumbas joined in the carousing, batting at the two of them
like cubs rather than the fierce predators they were. It was a strange scene of
innocence that went on most of the afternoon until Sadatina and Teshome went to
the river. They stripped naked and plunged into the clear waters, no modesty
between them as they bathed. They began to play again, but this time the play
was more suggestive of things to come. As the sun settled behind the hills they
retired to their tent. The shumbas moved before the entrance, their eyes and
ears suddenly attentive.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hazeeta?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Asli’s voice startled
her. She held a plate of food out to her. “Here, eat something.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hazeeta accepted the
plate and ate absently. “Did you see them?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Asli rolled her eyes.
“Who couldn’t? Your child is not very modest.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We’re leaving her
here,” Hazeeta decided.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Asli stepped into Hazeeta’s
view, her shocked expression plain.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We can’t! She may be
the one Cha has summoned.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Then let Cha call
her,” Hazeeta retorted. “She is happy here, far happier than she would be if we
took her back to Wangara.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“How long can she
continue to fight the nyokas alone without Cha’s guidance? You know what is
coming. You know what Nana has seen.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I know, but I cannot
do this to her. If I were in her place I wouldn’t want to go, either. Here she
has companionship and love. In Wangara…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Asli frowned. “You let
your personal feelings get in the way of your duty.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hazeeta dropped her
plate. “Don’t lecture me! I am in command here and if I say we leave her be
then we leave her be. Do you understand?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Asli looked more hurt
than angry. “I understand.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She spun to walk away
but Hazeeta grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry, my friend.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Asli grasped her hand.
“I understand. I am your sister, remember? We will leave in the morning as you
ordered. I will talk to the others. No one will speak of this upon our return.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thank you, sister.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Asli looked away from
Hazeeta. “Nana will find out eventually.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hazeeta nodded. “I
know, but at least I’ll have no guilt when she finally comes to Wangara. At
least I can say it was not my doing.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hazeeta slept easy
that night, assured she’d made the right choice and happy that her sisters
agreed. She knew she would have to deal with her choice in the future, but that
was then. Her daughter was alive. Tonight she was at peace.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That peace was shattered with a familiar sick feeling in her
stomach. The ground shook beneath her as she clambered from her cot, a strange
rhythmic cadence that heralded a solitary approach. She donned her leather and
chain mail and draped her gris-gris about herself. When she exited her tent,
her sisters were in motion as well, mounting their horses and arming
themselves. Hazeeta didn’t look to them. Her attention went to the solitary
tent closest to the river’s edge. Sadatina stood with her sisters, their faces
turned toward the wooded hills. Teshome stood behind them. She looked so
vulnerable, her only protection her swords and her shumbas. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Asli brought her
horse. “What is this?” she asked. “This does not feel right.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We'll find out soon,”
Hazeeta said grimly. “Come, we must hurry.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A garbled cry burst
from the darkness, spooking the horses and sending a chill through Hazeeta.
This was something different, she was sure; the confidence forged by her
earlier experience against Karan’s creations diminished with the realization.
The Shosa gathered at the riverbank.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Start a fire,”
Hazeeta ordered. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The sisters hurried to
gather wood from the nearby forest and started a healthy blaze. Hazeeta did not
need to give the next command. Her best archers went to the flames with arrows
dipped in flammable oil, lighting the missiles in unison and loading their
bows.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Fire!” She commanded.
Her sisters responded seconds later, blazing bolts streaking overhead like
falling stars and peppering both sides of the bank. Another bellow shook the
night and their adversary emerged from the woods. It was huge, much larger that
the biggest washaka, a grotesque amalgamation of beasts built by malicious
hands. Its massive body suggested the mountain primates but its stance was more
human than beast. A jackal-like snout protruded from its face, its head crowned
by a pair of thick, curved horns. Hazeeta had no idea about the meaning behind
the beast’s demeanor, but its size alone signaled caution. A volley of poison
arrows followed by a gris lance charge would have been her command, but she had
no time to call out the orders. Sadatina and her shumbas leaped through the
flames no sooner than the arrows illuminated their way. The larger shumba
leaped onto the beast’s shoulder, digging in with teeth and claws. As the beast
cried out and reached for her, the other shumba lunged at its left leg, biting
into its hamstring. Sadatina ran at the beast and leaped into the air, her
sword raised over her head.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But the beast was
swifter that its size suggested. It grasped the shumba at its leg, ripped it
free and threw it away like debris. The shumba crashed into Sadatina and they
both tumbled into the river. It grasped the other feline with both hands and
pulled it away, but before it could fling it free the shumba gripped the hand
and bit into the wrist. A piercing howl caused Hazeeta and her sisters to
cringe as they reached the flaming perimeter. The Shosa raised their bows ready
to fire but Hazeeta stopped them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sadatina and the other
shumba emerged from the river and renewed their attack. As her companion
worried the beast’s arms, the other climbed its torso. Sadatina worked her way
behind it and hacked at its hamstrings like a woodsman, gritty determination
warping her face. Again the creature managed to free itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It twisted, throwing both shumbas from its
body. Sadatina barely dodged a swipe from its clawed hand, jumping away to join
her returning cohorts.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Now!” Hazeeta
shouted. A volley of bolts sprang from the Shosa bows. The beast crouched and
they sailed over it, peppering the trees across the river.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Reload!” she shouted.
“Lancers advance!” The sisters split into two groups. Half replenished their
bows and gathered behind Asli. The others slung their bows on their backs and
freed their gris lances, the double tipped spears laced with gris-gris. They
lined up behind Hazeeta. She raised her saber, preparing to signal the charge
when a horrifying sight stopped her. Sadatina leaped before the creature again.
She sliced at its neck but the creature ducked. It raised its head, slamming its
crown into her. The girl warrior sailed backwards through the flame barrier,
landing hard on her back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Teshome ran toward
her, a machete in his hand. “Sadatina!” he yelled as he approached the flame.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Teshome, no!”
Sadatina yelled back. “Get away!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Shossssa!” the
creature hissed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hazeeta jerked with
morbid shock. “It speaks?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The creature charged
through the fire on all fours. Teshome stood before it like a statue. Hazeeta
had seen this scenario too many times before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A warrior too terrified to flee bolted in place by indecision.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The creature turned
its head to the right and jerked it left. The left horn impaled Teshome’s
chest. For a brief moment he rode the horn until he slipped away and tumbled
from the nyoka’s path. Sadatina scrambled to her feet and ran to him. Hazeeta
followed her with her eyes until she was clear. It was time for her sisters to
act.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Fire!” she yelled.
Arrows swarmed the creature's face like bees, some penetrating into its head
while others caromed off its horns. The creature collapsed, grabbing at the
poison bolts protruding from its bleeding face. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Second volley, fire!”
Asli shouted. The second volley struck with such impact the nyoka staggered back,
its arms flung wide. The second volley was no random fusillade; each sister
aimed her shot at a point on the beast where the veins should be close, thus
speeding the entry of the poison into its blood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The creature continued to stagger, though
with the amount of poison coursing through its bulk it should have been dead.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hazeeta said nothing
to instigate the charge. She lifted her lance, spurred her horse and galloped
forward, lowering the weapon as she neared the wounded beast. Her sisters
spread out beside her, keeping pace as they neared the nyoka. It tottered,
absently pulling at the projectiles in its flesh. The Shosa could have waited
for the poison to take effect but Hazeeta would not let this thing die a
peaceful death. She raised her lance to her shoulder and flung it with all her
strength. The double edged projectile hit the nyoka full in its throat. It
grabbed the lance’s shaft and tugged at it weakly. Her sisters threw their
lances as well, peppering the beast’s body. The beast shuddered, falling onto
its back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hazeeta veered away
while her sisters drew their sabers and advanced on the dying beast. She
searched the darkness and found what she was looking for. Sadatina knelt beside
Teshome, cradling his head in her lap. She rocked back and forth, her sobbing
loud in Hazeeta’s ears. An old pain resurfaced in the Shosa’s heart and her own
eyes began to water. By the time she reined her horse and dismounted she was
crying as well.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Why, Teshome? Why?”
Sadatina said between sobs. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hazeeta approached
slowly, wary of the shumbas which paced nervously, occasionally looking at
Sadatina and the lifeless Teshome. When she reached Sadatina’s side, she knelt
beside her but said nothing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You always wanted to
protect me,” Sadatina said. “I didn’t need your protection. All I needed was
your love.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hazeeta reached out
and gingerly touched Sadatina’s shoulder. When she was sure Sadatina wouldn’t
reject her she moved closer, holding her within her arms. This was not a time
for words.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hazeeta?” Asli came up
beside her, her face grim.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Harvest the body for
gris-gris and burn the rest,” Hazeeta said automatically.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Asli lingered,
glancing at Hazeeta and back to her sisters. Hazeeta looked at her again, her
face stern. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Go. I’ll be here with
Sadatina.”</span></div>
<br />
<br />
Link to Amazon where you find many of his books: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&field-author=Milton%20Davis&search-alias=books">Milton Davis</a>jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-24054115176618266452014-04-22T11:55:00.000-04:002014-04-22T11:56:27.901-04:00Butler Banks Book Tours today's feature author is Kai Leakes<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Author Bio:</i></div>
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<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8cwXZAj0bYc/U1aNjoErvxI/AAAAAAAAAMk/gdR6lOicav4/s1600/10268303_551540094957282_1234479524_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8cwXZAj0bYc/U1aNjoErvxI/AAAAAAAAAMk/gdR6lOicav4/s1600/10268303_551540094957282_1234479524_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
From Iowa, but later relocating to Alton, IL and St. Louis, MO, Kai Leakes was a multifaceted Midwestern child, who gained an addiction to books at an early age. Sharing stories with her cousins as a teen, writing books didn’t seem like something she would pursue until one day in college. Storytelling continues to be a major part of her very DNA, with the goal of sharing tales that entertain and add color to a gray literary world. <br />
<br />
In her spare time, she likes to cook, dabble in photography, and assists with an internet/social networking group online. Loving to feed her book addiction, romance, fantasy and fiction novels are her world. Reading those particular genres help guide her as she finds the time to write and study for school. <br />
<br />
Kai is the author of Sineaters: Devotion book one and the soon-to-be-released Sin Eaters: Retribution: Devotion book two, coming in June. <br />
<br />
You can find her at her website: kwhp5f.wix.com/kai-leakes.<br />
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<i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“The Light Will Always
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are at war, sometimes the Grey can only be your salvation.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>~ Kai Leakes</span></span></i></div>
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Eaters: Devotion Book One Synopsis:</b><br />
<br />
Khamun Cross was born to do one thing and that was to watch Sanna Steele, a woman so unique and special he would risk his all to have her. So what, that in his job of watching her, he happens to prowl the streets, hunting the very things that go bump in the night. Even monsters or everyday looking people that steal humans' souls become Khamun's victims, and he brings with him a power, a vampirism, that would send one straight to the dark.<br />
<br />
Khamun craves the darkness in his victims as if it were his own personal dinner, but not as much as he craves the very woman he has been ordained to watch over as her Guardian Angel. Sanna Steele is just your average twenty-seven year old, with your everyday hopes, dreams and insecurities. She is clueless about the war that is secretly raging around her in the streets of St. Louis. A war she will soon become a part of. But what is so special about Sanna that the very things that go bump in the night, seeks to snatch her from her very existence in life? <br />
<br />
Get your copy of Kai Leakes Sin Eaters: Devotion Book One now at Amazon! <a href="http://goo.gl/xrSEkn">http://goo.gl/xrSEkn</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E5bRFRqeKeE/U1aNkjLD-8I/AAAAAAAAAMo/a0aLaU8Lcb0/s1600/10287095_551539911623967_2067872007_n.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E5bRFRqeKeE/U1aNkjLD-8I/AAAAAAAAAMo/a0aLaU8Lcb0/s1600/10287095_551539911623967_2067872007_n.jpg" /></a> <br />
<br />
buy SE at Barnes and Noble: <a href="http://goo.gl/K9OvLg">http://goo.gl/K9OvLg</a> <br />
<br />
<b> Sin Eaters 2: Retribution (Devotion Book Two) Synopsis:</b><br />
<br />
Darkness is swallowing the streets of Chicago, and a key may have been found. Khamun and Sanna's epic journey together has led them to this, their mission to save Nephilim Society from themselves. Still trying to open the secrets of the first book, Khamun and Sanna's fight has resulted in a travesty that may change their lives. Now with Khamun at the cusp of a life and death decision, it's up to his team to close ranks and protect their Oracle.<br />
<br />
Calvin Freeman is surrounded by death. Not only has his cousin fallen in battle, but he's now being stalked by ghosts from his past lives and a familiar lethal foe, The Medusa. What is deathly has become alluring, and what is toxic has become bittersweet. His dreams are betraying him, and war is coming as society turns a blind eye. It's up to him and his family to bring their retribution, and it's up to him to find out why the woman known for bringing nightmares has suddenly knocked at his door. <br />
<br />
<b>Take a final walk in the chilling world of Kai Leakes in Sin Eaters 2: Retribution Devotion Book Two. <br /><br />And if you're already <a href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/teamsineaters">#Teamsineaters</a> keep a look out for the action pact continuation coming soon June 24, 2014. <br /><br />Sin Eaters 2: Retribution Pre-order now on Amazon! <a href="http://goo.gl/YtqkOu">http://goo.gl/YtqkOu</a><br /> Or Pre-order SE2 at BN: <a href="http://goo.gl/MEKt6H">http://goo.gl/MEKt6H</a> </b><br />
<br />
<b>Sin Eaters – Devotion Book One Excerpt: </b><br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eSEHSUBFAPE/U1aNjp7QgLI/AAAAAAAAAMc/H3ajYnL3G0k/s1600/10264875_551539904957301_211704623_n.jpg"></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VhZXu8SfXEM/U1aNlN6mcdI/AAAAAAAAAM0/jGPZMJPcDH4/s1600/10299240_551539901623968_1085993360_n.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VhZXu8SfXEM/U1aNlN6mcdI/AAAAAAAAAM0/jGPZMJPcDH4/s1600/10299240_551539901623968_1085993360_n.jpg" /></a>Today…<br />
<br />
Metallic, sweet and mind intense flavor filled the air. The quiet that floated around made the hairs on passerby’s in the night to stand up as if the already chill filled wind wasn’t enough to have them shivering. Rich, black ebon swallowed the alleyway keeping the individuals who occupied it secured and sequestered away from all who dared peek down the tight tunnel. Water idly sliding down the asphalted street, mixed with oil and idle trash skating against the cracked surface, cushioned midnight colored Timberland’s as the flash of twinkling light cascaded in a flash like a pulse near the booted body.<br />
<br />
Inhaling even shallow breaths, the individual listened as all sound seemed to be absorbed away as if in a tornado. This silence triggered the timed attack, which had the anticipation in the individual’s body expand with power, velocity, speed and well checked strength.<br />
<br />
If one was to be one of the many idle flies which hovered in the nearby dumpster, they would be amazed at the sight of the super human individual running in an almost flying position and landing on the second hulking form in the alley.<br />
The rise of a scent that had cats meowing and arched in defense on the railings of a window and under a parked car filled the air again as the crisp white flash of light slashed in the night air, landing against the second balked individual as the attacker hissed.<br />
<br />
In a fraction of a blink, claws the size of an oversized lion slashed in the air as tentacles dipped out near the blind spot of the attacker, making the being jump in the air. Bringing down a flashing light of metal unto the second balked former human looking being but now entity of horrendous looks, the precise slash against the entities flesh caused the now familiar smell to fill the air once more. <br />
<br />
The attacker crouched low in a resting battle position, taking in shallow calm breaths as the thing turn to attack again, running full speed. Its Italian leather wing tipped shoes creating a rhythm of tapping song on the alleyway floor, causing the attacker to hum, throwing the entity off its thoughts.<br />
Light sheen of perspiration kissed the attacker’s forehead with each calm inhale. The attacker lived for this, loved it and desired the hunt of creatures such as this.<br />
<br />
Strategizing the next move, the attacker thought back to how this prey was hunted. A quiet smile flashed across the attackers lips. It wasn’t hard to get to the sick bastard, the attacker posed as the entities preferred targets, an angry teenager, who wanted nothing but to get away from their parent. It made the attacker clutch the blade that nestled comfortably against his palm, in anger at the obscene and pornographic discussions that would occur with the demon.<br />
It made it even easier to identify that this monster wasn’t the shrewd Italian entrepreneur he portrayed to be, but was in fact a succubae level soul polluter demon. These breed of evil were the most degenerate of demons, they enjoyed feasting off the pain of the victims through lewd sexual means, physical decapitating torture and flesh eating.<br />
Knowing this, it silently pleased the attacker to stalk and mentally threaten the demon’s territory by baiting it, since these demons were known for their territorial nature.<br />
<br />
Allowing the demon to believe they were to meet up outside of a popular artist’s concert, the attacker led the demon to the alleyway through simple mind manipulation and the rest is history. Shuddering with a lethal dose of pleasure and battle tactics, the attacker’s body tightened with the wait as the breeze in the alley lightly brushed against skin.<br />
Side stepping within the low crouch, the attacker pivoted and flipped forward with the lithe agility of a panther producing a silver gun. Suddenly as if time stopped, bullets exploded in the air as the glimmering and glowing objects penetrated the thrown back body of the beast, causing it to howl in pain.<br />
<br />
The attacker ran full speed, watching the bullets hit each expertly calculated point on the beast’s body. Landing a blow to the entities ribcage; the muscles in the attacker’s bicep tightening with the impact of breaking bones and tearing flesh.<br />
Seething in anger, contempt, disbelief and hate, the monster attempted to slash at the attacker with its claws, its teeth dripping with a mixture of its own blood and a liquid miasma. The beast successfully slammed the attacker into the side of a building, breaking bricks and creating a crater in the wall, rushing like a bull to launch another attack of teeth and claws. Pivoting out of the way with a deep guttural grunt, the attacker let another round of bullets to release and absorb into the slashing and bleeding beast, watching him fall.<br />
<br />
High pitched human screams burst from the beast as it lay on the cold glistening wet pavement, its twisted and contorted body writhing as the attacker casually walked over it kneeling down and grabbing it by its neck. <br />
Watching slowly as the entity howled, hissing and fighting back, its eyes begged to be left alone as its tentacles and claws melted away into a very human hand. As the once beastly thing revealed itself during its cries, a disheveled looking handsome muscular man, dressed in an Italian designed straight from the runway suit, coughed up spewing blood and wheezed in agony. The clawing man, murmured in unintelligible sentences, his sun kissed olive skin, slowly fading into a murky grey.<br />
<br />
Wrinkles of decay and diseases, emitting from his once handsome frame, seemed to slosh away with every scream of pain and anger. Flowing oak colored hair, drifted away as if it was dust in the wind. The man reached out attempting to tear at the attacker’s throat as flashes of the demon’s past life of darkness flowed into his vision through the eyes and briefly flashed smile of the attacker’s photogenic face.<br />
<br />
Hunching over in a swift movement that would rival and shame a snake, if a snake could be shamed, the attacker hissed, claw palmed the man in the chest clutching at his engorged heart to pull it to its surface, beating against rapidly thinning skin, as the man screamed in garbled terror.<br />
<br />
“Ashes to ashes…”, was whispered in the air as the attacker pulled the heart from the man’s cavity and ferociously bit into the side of the screaming man’s neck tearing and cavernously biting until the attacker’s mouth seemed to fuse with the writhing man’s jugular, as rivers of blood fluidly glided everywhere.<br />
<br />
<b> Sin Eaters 2 - Retribution (Book Two) Excerpt:</b><br />
<br />
Prelude <br />
<br />
The past . . . <br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eSEHSUBFAPE/U1aNjp7QgLI/AAAAAAAAAMc/H3ajYnL3G0k/s1600/10264875_551539904957301_211704623_n.jpg"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eSEHSUBFAPE/U1aNjp7QgLI/AAAAAAAAAMc/H3ajYnL3G0k/s1600/10264875_551539904957301_211704623_n.jpg" width="263" /></a> </div>
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<br /></div>
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“Where are you going to go, boy? You’re surrounded!” Like hell, woulda ever let ya take me down, boss, rushed into his mind as he ran. More like sprinted through the thick, grasping trees that surrounded him. Rigged branches reached out to him as if they had a mind of their own. Their thick almost-black rooted stems twisted in their uprooting from the bowels of the earth to make him trip, but he was smarter than the trees. He leaped and veered out of their menacing way and his arms jolted outward to part through bushes. <br />
<br />
With all of the trees that surrounded him, he would not have believed that he was back in Harlem, had he known any better; but for those who don’t know it by that name, New York was where he was. The bustling city lights covered the sky like fireflies splashed across the sky’s black canvas. The noisy zipping of various buckets and hacks driving carelessly pass tourists and city folk gave him a sense of how close he exactly was to civilization. It also gave him a sense of purpose. <br />
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Twigs snapped suddenly and the rustling of leaves tussling against each other let him know they were still hot on his trail. His mind was racing as he looked for an out. All of this was too familiar to him. Beady red eyes flickered at him in the darkness of the wilderness—no, of the park. He was in Central Park. He should have realized that. Those piercing eyes stared at him in delight, ready to seize the opportunity to hogtie him so that he could be their little plaything but he would not give them that satisfaction. Not yet. <br />
<br />
Beads of midnight dew kissed his face the moment he stepped through the thicket. His wingtip shoes abruptly skidded as they made contact with wet, slick grass. He jumped. Then he lifted in the air, almost floating for a mere second. Both of his large feet clacked against pebbled stone the moment they met the ground. <br />
<br />
He could hear the enemy. He could feel them breathing against the back of his neck. Each hair on his body stood in salute, coming alive in electric awareness. In this life at least, he knew he could die on his terms and die giving them a fight. In seven minutes, his time would be up soon anyway, so what could he really do about not being bumped off? <br />
<br />
Seven . . . <br />
</div>
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A whizzing sound sizzled past his ear and he felt the hot trickle of blood mixing with his sweat and the quick pop of the gun after the fact. They wanted to play dirty. They wanted to make him appear to be a patsy and a hood. He had to laugh; he was better than a hood. Sure, at one time, he had to fill that slot but now he was his own man, a bruno to a well-known trouble boy who protected the meek of Harlem. They worked together with his gang to find those who were kidnapped or were bumping gums to the wrong people. They worked to regain money lost in predatory loans and schemes and wrongful repositions. They worked to build up their people and to protect all who walked the streets of Harlem from the highbinders that made it their mission to tear down the community. But these men who were after him, the very scum and thugs themselves, were no normal men. <br />
<br />
Corrupted monsters in the flesh of coppers more like it. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to go out between the gams of a looker for a change. <br />
<br />
Six . . . <br />
<br />
The menacing snarl of dogs in the distance made him grimly chuckle before closing his eyes with the feel of his body vibrating with his gift. His gift allowed him to use the sound waves around him to channel it into music. With a slight part of his lips, he let out a low hum. Whistling he changed the pitched and dropped into a low crouch. Both hands extended outward and he observed his skin lighting up in swirling patterns against its burnished surface. That was his clue to project that vibrating power out in waves toward the hunting dogs. A change in his vision instantly allowed him to see through their glittering eyes. He then knew where to run next. With a quick shift of the pitch of his song, he caused the dogs to halt their barks, whimper, and then stopped in their tracks to turn. Attack, was his simple mental command and he watched the dogs attack their owners before sprinting away in retreat. <br />
<br />
His sweat dripped down his face like rain on the ground before him. His ragged breath came out in sharp bursts and he pushed up to start his run again. They wouldn’t get what he had been given a vision to find. That he was sure he had hidden well; he had taken something priceless, something rare, and something they wanted destroyed but couldn’t. Something they had to hide from his people because he had learned it could kill the leader of their kind. <br />
<br />
Five . . .<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eAKLHbC1xAo/U1aNm8JoqwI/AAAAAAAAANE/wmNMxGOhaIA/s1600/10269995_551539908290634_729937671_n.jpg"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eAKLHbC1xAo/U1aNm8JoqwI/AAAAAAAAANE/wmNMxGOhaIA/s1600/10269995_551539908290634_729937671_n.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>(Find out what the countdown is about when Sin Eaters 2: Retribution drops June 24th 2014) </b><br />
<br />
Additional places to follow Kai Leakes:<br />
<br />
FB – <a href="https://www.facebook.com/kaileakesbooks">Kai Leakes on Facebook</a><br />
<br />
Twitter – <a href="https://twitter.com/KaiLeakes">Kai Leakes on Twitter</a><br />
<br />
Tumblr – <a href="http://kaileakes.tumblr.com/">Kai Leakes on Tumblr </a><br />
<br />
<br />
Sin Eaters Devotion Book One is out now! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sin Eaters 2: Devotion Book Two will be released June 24, 2014! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Contest also coming soon!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QFP4kkIeEJg/U1VKdbRFIII/AAAAAAAAAME/BxWO1rPt0MY/s1600/Wind+Follower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QFP4kkIeEJg/U1VKdbRFIII/AAAAAAAAAME/BxWO1rPt0MY/s1600/Wind+Follower.jpg" height="320" width="224" /></a></div>
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<br />
<br />
<b>CAROLE MCDONNELL INTERVIEW ON FANTASY DEBUT ABOUT WIND FOLLOWER </b><br />
<br />
<a href="http://fantasydebut.blogspot.com/2007/10/interview-with-carole-mcdonnell.html">An</a><a href="http://fantasydebut.blogspot.com/2007/10/interview-with-carole-mcdonnell.html"> </a><a href="http://fantasydebut.blogspot.com/2007/10/interview-with-carole-mcdonnell.html">Interview</a><a href="http://fantasydebut.blogspot.com/2007/10/interview-with-carole-mcdonnell.html"> </a><a href="http://fantasydebut.blogspot.com/2007/10/interview-with-carole-mcdonnell.html">With</a><a href="http://fantasydebut.blogspot.com/2007/10/interview-with-carole-mcdonnell.html"> </a><a href="http://fantasydebut.blogspot.com/2007/10/interview-with-carole-mcdonnell.html">Carole</a><a href="http://fantasydebut.blogspot.com/2007/10/interview-with-carole-mcdonnell.html"> </a><a href="http://fantasydebut.blogspot.com/2007/10/interview-with-carole-mcdonnell.html">McDonnell</a> <br />
<br />
Carole was kind enough to answer some questions for Fantasy Debut. As you will surmise, Carole and I have been swapping lots of emails and it has been a lot of fun, at least for me and hopefully for her! <br />
<br />
<b>Please tell us what inspired you to write WIND FOLLOWER. </b><br />
<br />
So many things. Books come from so many parts of a writer. The spiritual part, the social-racial part, the psycho-emotional part, the intellectual-creative part, etc. I can say that creatively I wanted to challenge myself to write a book which contained high fantasy, honored folklore, and primeval Christianity and that was a kind of emotionally-healing romance. <br />
<br />
<b>You call WIND FOLLOWER a Christian fantasy, yet the writer's guidelines at Juno Books specifies that they don't publish Christian fantasy. Was it difficult to find a home for WIND FOLLOWER? </b><br />
<br />
The Christian publishing world is pretty rigid and I knew Wind Follower wouldn't fall easily into their world. I wanted to deal with sexuality, racial issues, interracial-intercultural romances, imperialism, and "pagan" cultures. And I knew they wouldn't want to touch any of those things because the CBA publishers didn't consider those issues "safe" for their audience. I got rejected by CBA gatekeepers with interesting lines like: "I like this book but I would be fired if I published it." Or "It was going along well but then you delved into certain areas..." Or "this is the best speculative christian book I have ever read but our readers would not like it." <br />
<br />
On the other hand, I wanted the book to be Biblical in some places and I figured that would be a problem with secular publishers. It turned out not to be. Juno really doesn't publish Christian fantasy but my friend, Nick Woods, a white South African writer, says I "walk the borderlands." And that is true. I'm black and I can easily talk to white folks about race. I'm Christian and I have close friends who are non-religious or who belong to many different religions. I'm staunchly myself, yet I seem to have a kind of ambassadorial quality and ease with talking to folks who would not like any of my "labels." Black, Christian, whatever. In a conversation with a white gay writer friend the topic came up in which we wondered who our audiences would be. She figured her readers would probably be straight. Well, I tend to think my primary audience will be non-Christians. I'll have black readers and Christian fans, of course. So it wasn't hard for Juno to accept me. I'm not preachy, and the story's world is like any other fantasy world...except it comes from a Black American pentecostal worldview. But my readers will probably be pretty much anyone who likes speculative fiction. <br />
<br />
During our correspondence, you specified that your novel should appear in the Fantasy section, not the African-American section. Recently, I featured David Anthony Durham's Acacia, and he had the same sort of battle. How difficult is it for a Black author to avoid being pigeonholed in the African-American sections of American bookstores? <br />
<br />
I don't know much about the publishing world, really. I know that many Black folks have bookstore sections they tend to visit. But white folks also do that. My black online writing groups tend to question: "Do blacks read speculative fiction? How do we get more black folks to read black speculative fiction?" Honestly, I don't know the answer to those questions. Many of my black friends only go to the religious sections of bookstores. Many only go to the romance sections. Many read anything. One can't really judge what the black reading audience is going to do. The thing is to make the black and minority audience know that there are books out there that speak to their experience. <br />
<br />
For instance, I really do not read much fantasy or science fiction. I don't read Christian novels. I don't read romances. Yet I love all these genres...and will waste a couple of hours watching genre movies. But films are different from books. A book is a large commitment of time and I groan whenever I have to deal with high fantasy, or Christian romance, or any kind of literature that doesn't connect to me. There's a high fantasy book I'm supposed to be reviewing. I still can't get past the first seven pages. As a black person who loves speculative literature, there are just so many high-born lords and ladies one can endure....no matter how magical the world. As a black Christian, one can endure just so many white pioneer or country types taming the frontier. For me, European-based high fantasy literature is often as offensive as Anglo-based Christian romance. I want to shout, "There are other ethnic groups in the world and why should I always have to be awashed with Euro-culture?" Christianity, for instance, is not a white religion. Most of the world's Christians are non-white. Yet, most of the world's Christian religious books are written by white people. <br />
<br />
If a black person wants to read any kind of book -- religious, romance, speculative fiction -- he/she has to accept the fact that the white culture is the one he/she will be immersed in. Some black readers are tired of that and they know that if they go to the African-American section of the bookstore, they won't have to deal with the stories of the larger culture. The same can be said of the Christian population. Christians don't want to deal with books in which their faith is slammed, or which there is something they consider offensive or "unsafe." (Unfortunately, in this country, the definition of unsafe has gotten a bit out of hand...as I mentioned before.) But, clearly, the white culture doesn't have to deal with the minority cultures' stories. They have a choice. The non-religious segment of the population doesn't have to deal with the literature of the religious segment. They have a choice. The result is that there is all this segmentation and segregation. Unfortunately, I've never really been able to be solidly one thing or primarily one aspect of myself. There is no solid Christian minority culture in this country. The Christian culture in the United States is primarily a white one. I hope to be a multicultural Christian writer...and I hope to be "found" by those who would be interested in reading my books. <br />
<br />
<b>Did you have any historical sources for WIND FOLLOWER or did you make up this fantastically detailed world on your own? </b><br />
<br />
Totally made up. When I first thought of it, I wanted to create an alternate Africa that had been invaded by Native Americans or by folks from Asia. There would also be a sojourning peoples who would be a third tribe. But I knew zip about African history, nada about Asian history, zilch about Native American history. Not really zip, nada, or zilch, but you know what I mean. Not enough to actually create a full-fledged respectable alternate Africa. So I decided to just make it some unknown continent on some unspecifiec planet in some unnamed universe. Most reviewers have been assuming Wind Follower's setting is in Africa. It seems that my original thought -- and my lack of specific description regarding the setting-- worked its way into the zeitgeist of the novel anyway. <br />
<br />
<b>What is your favorite scene in WIND FOLLOWER?</b> <br />
<br />
As a writer, I'm pretty proud of the fall into Gebelda. I like descriptions of hell in novels. It's part of the oldest high fantasy tradition --Parzival, Gawain and the Green Knicht-- to have the hero get into a spiritual eye-opening experiences. Hell or some semblance of the dark place of the soul. And it's part of folklore to have some descent into hell. Plus hell is such an important part of Christian doctrine. Actually, most religions and folklore have some kind of hell, even Tibetan Buddhism...but Christianity focuses on it. <br />
<br />
As a person of faith, I like the scene where Loic wakes from sleep and aims his shuwa into the sky....and later Satha's response to the shuwa. Faith is such an odd little thing. One does a thing because one feels it is the right thing to do, and one doesn't question an impression placed in one's soul by the Creator. The fact that Loic would wake from a dream and do something simply because in a dream he was told to do it! And to not question the Creator about the action he is called to do! That's an act of faith. And Satha's reaction to the shuwa is also an act of interpretation of that faith. <br />
<br />
As a woman, I liked the scene when Loic first meets Satha. To have someone want me like that. I've been married for 23 years. My husband loves me dearly and I adore him. But we're laid-back folks. Even when we first met there wasn't that passionate overwhelming desire. We're not ultra-passionate folks. But hey, it's the stuff of romance...and I like romance. <br />
<br />
I also like certain chapters where "scenes" per se don't happen but where Satha tells about her heart and the existential grief she endures. My soul is in those scenes. I wrote those sections from the depth of my heart. <br />
<br />
<b>What scene gave you the most trouble? </b><br />
<br />
The rape scene. Technically it had to be done in such a way that Satha didn't seem stupid. It had to be foreshadowed to the cynical readers who know enough not to trust anyone. But it also had to come as a surprise to the innocent readers who believed in the goodness of people. So it had to be predictable to those who are thinkers and unpredictable to those readers who feel. <br />
<br />
In addition, I had to figure out what kind of person the rapist was. This was one of the few times where Paula almost lost her patience with me. (Okay, she really did lose her patience!) She kept telling me: stop being in love with your villain. He's a villain for heaven's sake! So I had to really find evil in him...really really really stop excusing his behavior. That was hard 'cause I was kinda in love with him. I suspect that I will only see how evil he is in about twenty years when I re-read the book from a distance. Paula kept telling me that the character I thought I had written was not the one I had actually written. So I had to trust her on that. <br />
<br />
Emotionally, it was a tough scene also because when I was in college about twenty seven years ago, a white guy -- a friend who was very troubled-- attacked me and beat me up because he wanted to sleep with me and I didn't want to sleep with him. He was very handsome, very troubled, and had issues up the wazoo. So it was hard to hate him although he had left me beaten up on the floor with a face and ribs that ached for a whole month. I tend to be one of those people who belittles her own pain because she understands those who are wounding her. Not a sane way to be in life. So it was hard to fully hate the villain. <br />
<br />
<b>Did you finish any other novels before you wrote WIND FOLLOWER, or is this your first novel? If so, can we expect to see them in print? </b><br />
<br />
I finished Daughters of Men. That was the one I sent to Paula at fist, cause it was finished. She said, very kindly, "It needs a lot of work." It does. I'm revising it now. And I really mean revising. Not just rewriting. It was originally third person narration, now it's first person. I've also changed the main character. And, best thing of all, I've finally learned how to write a novel. So I am busily cutting off tentacles from this 20-legged octopi and cutting off episodic suction cups that threaten to suck me into some stupid sub-plot that doesn't matter to the greater, larger story. <br />
<br />
<b>Can you give us a teaser about your next novel?</b> <br />
<br />
I have yet to know if it'll be a religious novel. My faith is in everything I write but some stories aren't so blatantly about religion. It's been said (I forgot by who) that a novel is a conversation between the soul and the spirit. The question in Wind Follower was: Which would you choose faith or family? Faith-committment versus Race-commitment. The question in Daughters of Men is What would you do to become a queen? Friendship versus Personal Expedience. <br />
<br />
The main character is the Chimeran Queen. Her name is Medusa. She is a mutant...biologically created like all the human chimeras....worms coming from all her orifices and through her skin. She is a telepath and a mind-reader. She is being raised by an Overseer Prince. The Overseers are also biological creations but they are the height of perfection and beauty. They are also telepaths and mindreaders. She hasn't told them that she is a telepath, however. Instinctively, she knows not to do this. When the story begins she is living in a house on the prince's compound and she gets news of the outside world through conversations with the Overseers. She also sees what they aren't telling her. While they don't lie to her, they do avoid telling her a few important things...like the fact that the other Chimeric people who have been exiled to the terraformed asteroid Otaura, don't want her to reign over them. She also sees their love troubles....specifically the triangle between the prince, a scarred woman whom the prince loves, and the prince's best friend a rebel who helps the standard-issue humans (although he, like all the other Overseers, doesn't really like human men.) She's in love with the prince but she has a special bond with the prince's best friend and so she helps to "cover his mind" and protect the guilty lovers in their love affair.... Well, until.... <br />
<br />
Right now it begins like this: <br />
<br />
I don't quite remember when I fully understood that I could hide my mind from the probing of the Young Men. Nor do I remember when I first understood the extent of my loneliness. But these –memory, comprehension, the passing from youth to adulthood– are small matters and should not make you doubt my narrative. I am the Chimeran Queen, after all, your queen, one of the daughters of men...and I would not lie to you. <br />
<br />
<b>Many of my readers are writers. Do you have any advice for them? </b><br />
<br />
Be honest. You never know who might accept your honesty. And what is the use of writing -- of getting published and expecting folks to spend their hard-earned $12.95 on your book-- if you aren't going to tell them about the world as you see it? Editors can be brave and accept some odd stuff. At least, in my case, I found an editor who didn't mind the religious stuff in Wind Follower. Write from your pain and write from your joy. Join critique circles. Learn to take criticism. Even if it's from someone who doesn't seem too bright or too kind. Don't be arrogant, but don't be too hard on yourself either. Try to write everyday. Keep healthy. <br />
<br />
<b>And finally, is there anything else you'd like to share? </b><br />
<br />
Just how grateful and happy I am that you chose to read Wind Follower. And that I'm happy to be a published author. Just how happy I am to be loved by God and Jesus, my Lord and Savior. Hey, I had to put that in. I owe God more than I can ever say or describe. <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Further email conversations led to another question: I understand that your husband is an artist. What's it like having an artist and writer together in the same house?</b> <br />
<br />
Yes, the beloved is an artist. Luke McDonnell <a href="http://www.lukemcdonnell.com/">www</a><a href="http://www.lukemcdonnell.com/">.</a><a href="http://www.lukemcdonnell.com/">lukemcdonnell</a><a href="http://www.lukemcdonnell.com/">.</a><a href="http://www.lukemcdonnell.com/">com</a> He's a graphic artist, cartoonist, illustrator, and comic book artist. His paintings and drawings hang all over the house. He works for Yoe studios <a href="http://www.yoe.com/">www</a><a href="http://www.yoe.com/">.</a><a href="http://www.yoe.com/">yoe</a><a href="http://www.yoe.com/">.</a><a href="http://www.yoe.com/">com</a>He also used to work for DC and Marvel. He did Iron Man, Spiderman, Suicide Squad, a whole bunch of stuff. If you do a google search for him, you'll see he's pretty respected. And it's quite good being married to an artist. Artists understand each other. He doesn't expect me to be a perfect housewife for instance. If I totally forget to cook dinner for a week or so because I'm in the throes of creativity, the world won't end. And if we starve for a couple of years, that's okay by me also. As I said, we understand each other. If I had married a regular person who expected a typical wife, I'd have been in super-trouble, i think. We've been pretty happy together. However, when we first married he was an atheist, a son of Irish Roman-Catholic atheists. It was tough being married to an "unbeliever" for fifteen years. But he finally came on over to the side of light. <br />
<br />
Blog: <a href="http://www.carolemcdonnell.blogspot.com/">www</a><a href="http://www.carolemcdonnell.blogspot.com/">.</a><a href="http://www.carolemcdonnell.blogspot.com/">carolemcdonnell</a><a href="http://www.carolemcdonnell.blogspot.com/">.</a><a href="http://www.carolemcdonnell.blogspot.com/">blogspot</a><a href="http://www.carolemcdonnell.blogspot.com/">.</a><a href="http://www.carolemcdonnell.blogspot.com/">com</a> <br />
<br />
Author page at Amazon: <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">http</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">://</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">www</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">.</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">amazon</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">.</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">com</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">/</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">Carole</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">-</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">McDonnell</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">/</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">e</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">/</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">B</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">0034</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">Q</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">3</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">BWG</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">/</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">ref</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">=</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">ntt</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">_</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">athr</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">_</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">dp</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">_</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">pel</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carole-McDonnell/e/B0034Q3BWG/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">_1</a> <br />
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Page at Barnes and Noble online: <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/carole-mcdonnell">http</a><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/carole-mcdonnell">://</a><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/carole-mcdonnell">www</a><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/carole-mcdonnell">.</a><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/carole-mcdonnell">barnesandnoble</a><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/carole-mcdonnell">.</a><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/carole-mcdonnell">com</a><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/carole-mcdonnell">/</a><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/carole-mcdonnell">c</a><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/carole-mcdonnell">/</a><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/carole-mcdonnell">carole</a><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/carole-mcdonnell">-</a><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/carole-mcdonnell">mcdonnell</a> <br />
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Examiner Bible studies: <br />
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<a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">http</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">://</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">www</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">.</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">examiner</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">.</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">com</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">/</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">bible</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">-</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">verse</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">-</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">of</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">-</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">the</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">-</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">day</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">-</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">in</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">-</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">new</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">-</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">york</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">/</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">carole</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">-</a><a href="http://www.examiner.com/bible-verse-of-the-day-in-new-york/carole-mcdonnell">mcdonnell</a> <br />
<br />
Wattpad: <br />
<br />
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<![endif]-->jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-61468329680313980792014-04-20T15:29:00.000-04:002014-04-20T15:38:39.332-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GZ3dqCSCUQM/U1Qfe5-ncpI/AAAAAAAAALs/izJc7P0A7tA/s1600/Octavia+Butler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GZ3dqCSCUQM/U1Qfe5-ncpI/AAAAAAAAALs/izJc7P0A7tA/s1600/Octavia+Butler.jpg" height="320" width="310" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RdIo2fCvt8E/U1QfhzwS5II/AAAAAAAAAL0/HWlsMQIdTL4/s1600/L+A+Banks.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RdIo2fCvt8E/U1QfhzwS5II/AAAAAAAAAL0/HWlsMQIdTL4/s1600/L+A+Banks.JPG" height="320" width="221" /></a></div>
<h2 class="western" style="font-style: normal;">
<span style="color: #232a3a;"><span style="font-family: Arial Black, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #38761d;">I'M
LATE IN POSTING THIS INFORMATION. THE TOUR HAS BEEN GOING ON FOR
SEVERAL DAYS NOW SO HERE'S A INTRODUCTION TO EXACTLY WHAT THE
BUTLER-BANKS BLOG TOUR
IS:<br />*******************************************************<br />IN
HONOR OF OCTAVIA BUTLER AND L.A. BANKS, TWO GIANTS IN THE WORLD OF
SCIENCE FICTION, FANTASY AND HORROR AND, INDEED, THE ENTIRE WORLD OF
LITERATURE, WE ARE LAUNCHING THE BUTLER / BANKS BOOK TOUR.<br /><br />WHAT
IS IT, EXACTLY, YOU ASK?<br /><br />THE TOUR IS 30 (OR MORE) DAYS OF
SPECULATIVE FICTION (SCIENCE FICTION, FANTASY AND HORROR /
PARANORMAL) WRITTEN BY AND ABOUT BLACK PEOPLE.<br /><br />EACH DAY, A
DIFFERENT AUTHOR WILL TAKE THE STAGE AND BRING US INTO THEIR WORLD –
OR WORLDS – THROUGH EXCITING BOOK EXCERPTS, REVIEWS OF THEIR BOOKS,
COOL BOOK TRAILERS, AUDIO RECORDINGS OF A CHAPTER OR TWO AND ANYTHING
ELSE FUN AND EXCITING Y’ALL WOULD LIKE TO SHARE.<br /><br /><br />HERE'S
THE LINE UP:<br /><br /><u>APRIL 2014</u></span><br /><br />14 <a href="http://www.colbyrrice.com/">COLBY R. RICE</a><br />15
<a href="http://alandjones.com/">ALAN JONES</a><br />16 <a href="http://chroniclesofharriet.com/2012/01/18/steampunk-author-balogun-ojetade-writes-harriet-tubman-as-an-extraordinary-gentlewoman/">BALOGUN OJETADE</a><br />17 <a href="http://www.mvmediaatl.com/">MILTON DAVIS</a><br />18 <a href="http://valjeanne.wordpress.com/2014/04/19/the-butler-banks-book-tour-2014/">VALJEANNEJEFFERS</a><br />19 <a href="http://hhcnf.blogspot.com/">JEFF CARROLL</a><br /><span style="color: #38761d;">20 D K GASTON<br />21 CAROLE MCDONNELL<br />22
KAI LEAKES<br />23 MILTON DAVIS<br />24 K. CERES WRIGHT<br />25 MILTON
DAVIS<br />26 VALJEANNE JEFFERS<br />27 DAVAUN SANDERS<br />28
CLARENCE (“ZIG ZAG”) YOUNG<br />29 CRYSTAL CONNOR<br />30
BALOGUN OJETADE<br /><br />HOLD ON TO YOUR SEATS BOYS AND GIRLS AND ENJOY
THE EVENT.</span></span></span></span></h2>
jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-59033682087576796392014-04-19T22:52:00.000-04:002014-04-19T23:09:54.816-04:00<div class="western" lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;"><u><b>Who
is D K Gaston?</b></u></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" lang="en-US" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: yellow;">Darin
is the author of more than a dozen books ranging from Speculative
Fiction to Crime novels. His first book was published in 2007. After
serving five years in the military, he began college, earning a
degree in Computer Science. Since earning his degree he's gone on to
earn two Masters degree in Technology Management and Business
Administration. His experience in the military and computer sciences
has shaped many of his stories and characters over the years. He also
writes under the name Keith Gaston.</span></span></div>
<div class="western" lang="en-US" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y1KyodDyUiY/U1M1tbIry9I/AAAAAAAAALA/NFe9mcbC84Y/s1600/Magic+&+Mayhem.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y1KyodDyUiY/U1M1tbIry9I/AAAAAAAAALA/NFe9mcbC84Y/s1600/Magic+&+Mayhem.jpg" height="320" width="242" /></a></div>
<div class="western" lang="en-US" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="western" lang="en-US" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><u><b>Taurus
Moon</b></u></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" lang="en-US" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.48in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">My most
reason speculative fiction novel is Taurus Moon: Magic & Mayhem,
which is the follow-up to Taurus Moon: Relic Hunter. Taurus makes his
living by searching for supernatural artifacts for anyone willing to
pay his price. These two novels are among my favorite because it
allows me to express my humor as much as the fast-paced actions
throughout the books.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" lang="en-US" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" lang="en-US" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><u><b>Book
Description</b></u></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" lang="en-US" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">Taurus
Moon: Magic & Mayhem is a fast-paced action and fantasy novel,
sprinkled with humor. After saving the lives of a family about to be
slaughtered by Lycans, Taurus and Gully are pulled into a realm where
magic is supreme and technology is nonexistent. They must travel
through harsh lands to find their way home.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" lang="en-US" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">The uneasy
alliance between an evil sorceress queen, Morgana le Fay, and Grimes,
a Lycan king, is threatened because of the relic hunter's and mage's
presence. Taurus and Gully will have to use every trick they've every
learned to survive the looming battle, but will it be enough?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;"><u><b>Excerpt</b></u></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Chapter
One</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Gully’s
lungs burned, and cold sweat dripped down his face, but he couldn’t
stop running, because stopping meant death.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Shadowing
them on all fours, their stalkers were urged on with an inhuman need
to slaughter. The heavy pounding of their massive paws against the
frozen landscape grew ever closer. He pictured his pursuers’
tongues lolling from their mouths, salivating with anticipation.
Wails filled the night; their terrifying howls alerting others of
their pack that the chase was nearly over.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Gully
had hoped the thick trees would offer him and the people he’d
rescued, places to conceal themselves, but it wasn’t to be. The
predators’ night vision could penetrate the dark with ease and
their sense of smell could detect the four of them wherever they may
hide.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Desperation
begged that he plunge deeper into the woods. More than once, he’d
seen what the claws and teeth of the predators could do to human
flesh—saw the terror frozen in the eyes of their dead victims.
Gully saw that same fear in the eyes of the family he was trying to
protect. A hard knot had gotten trapped in his throat when the small
girl glanced in his direction. Her gaze became saucers and she
mouthed a silent scream.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Gully
forced himself to twist his neck around to glance over his shoulder
toward whatever she saw. He spotted the blood red glow of their
ominous eyes first, then saw three of the beasts leap out from the
darkness, their maws snapping open and close with enthusiasm as they
anticipated flesh being trapped between their razor-sharp teeth.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
girl finally gave voice to her scream. It was time to stop running.
Gully turned on his heels and faced the rampaging creatures.
Exhausted and out of breath, he struggled to control his panic. Every
fiber of his being shouted for him to continue running, but deep
inside he knew that running would only get them killed. Gully shoved
his fear aside, not for himself, but for the small girl and her
parents.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
werewolves hastened their charge.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div align="CENTER" class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">***</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
sliced a jagged line across Darla’s neck with the silver blade from
my wrist-mount to let her father know, I was serious about killing
her. A thin line of warm blood trickled down her throat to her naked
body. Grimes snarled, but stopped his advance toward me. His long
abnormal fingernails and fangs retracted. Red menacing eyes reverted
back to lifeless gray ones. As the dark brown fur slowly withdrew
back into his skin, he grew smaller by several feet as he returned to
his natural six-four height. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Grimes,
naked and fully human, did not bother to hide his manhood, and he
stared at me as if I was the one wrongly dressed for the occasion.
“You are bluffing, Moon. You would not kill my daughter in cold
blood,” he said not sounding entirely convinced of his words.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Under
my grasp, Darla snarled like a wild animal and said, “He’s weak,
father! Kill him now!”</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">“<span style="font-size: small;">Take
it easy, princess. No one has to be hurt here tonight,” I
whispered. I spoke to her father in a louder voice with as much
confidence as I could. “Make one move, Grimes, and I’ll take off
her head. Trust me, I don’t bluff.”</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">“<span style="font-size: small;">That’s
not exactly true, sir. Since my association with you, you have,
indeed, deceived your way out of five precarious situations,”
Mosley said deadpan while in his holographic Idris Elba form. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Grimes,
Darla and I slowly turned our gaze to the hologram. “You’re not
supposed to let the bad guys know you might be bluffing, Mosley. Sort
of defeats the purpose, don’t you think?” I scolded. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
hologram winced in apology then his image disappeared. Sometimes, I
wondered if Mosley was with me or against me. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Grimes
smiled, his teeth elongating once again. “My daughter and I shall
have white wine as we dine on your flesh tonight, Moon.” </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
gritted my teeth and narrowed my eyes at him. “Despite what my
blabbermouth friend said, I will cut her throat!” Something in my
expression or body language told him I spoke the truth, because his
teeth became human-like again. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">“<span style="font-size: small;">You
dare call my daughter and me bad guys, when it was you and your
conjurer friend that broke into my castle in a pitiful attempt to rob
me!”</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Can
you believe this guy? “You’re just going to skate over the fact
that, in the midst of our pitiful attempt at robbery, Gully and I
saved the lives of a family you and your darling princess here, were
about to make a meal of. Here’s a tidbit of information for you.
Eating innocent folks definitely places you and Darla on the wrong
side of righteousness.”</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Darla
squirmed in my grip perhaps to break my hold, but I wasn’t having
that. I pressed the silver blade tighter against her neck, drawing
more blood from her. “Play nice,” I whispered into her ear. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">“<span style="font-size: small;">We
have to eat,” she said defensively, as if that justified
everything. “How else do you expect us to live?”</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
shook my head, bowled over by the question. “That’s why the world
has frozen meat sections in supermarkets, princess. You and I both
know it’s not a prerequisite for werewolves to feed on human flesh.
Raw meat is all you need to survive.”</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">“<span style="font-size: small;">We
are predators. We hunt for our food,” Grimes huffed. “You have no
right to be here--no right to take our prey!”</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">“<span style="font-size: small;">You’re
only half right, buddy,” I retorted. “I don’t have any legal
right to invade your home, but I do have a noble one. I need
something from you. Not to keep… only to borrow,” I said, trying
to gain some sort of control over the situation. I needed to nullify
them before things got worse.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Grimes
stood ramrod straight and folded his arms together. “You are
joking, correct? My daughter is your prisoner, and you expect me to
let you borrow something from my castle?”</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">“<span style="font-size: small;">Kill
him, father,” Darla yelled, as she shifted slightly, readying
herself to make a move.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
lifted the flat of the blade, scratched off a thin layer of skin from
her neck, and then gave her a solid tap underneath the chin. “Will
you shut the hell up? Grown folks are talking here.” </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">She
didn’t like that at all.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Too
late, I realized, I’d gone too far with my belittling of her.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">In
an instant, Darla went into full animal state, growing two feet in
height with hair covering her entire body. Two inch fangs and long
fingernails as sharp and strong as the finest steel knives were only
seconds away from ripping into me. I stood at a crossroads in a split
second of indecision—if I cut off her head, Grimes would be on top
of me with a father’s fury like no other—if I did nothing, Darla
would eventually get the upper hand in her stronger animal state. I
hesitated a moment too long with my conundrum. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">In
a flash, she batted my arm away from her neck and heaved her head
rearward, slamming the back of her skull hard against my forehead. In
pain, I reeled backwards several steps, my vision an explosion of
colors. I swung my blade wide and wild to make sure they couldn’t
get close while I tried to regain focus. I could have used Gully
right then and there, but he was busy getting that family Grimes and
Darla had planned to eat to safety.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">By
the time my vision cleared, I saw that they had moved away to a safe
distance. Both father and daughter were now full werewolves, and they
both drooled at me with hunger in their eyes. Standing side-by-side,
they looked at each other, then spoke in a series of grunts and
growls, apparently debating who would get the first chunk of my
flesh. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Grimes
took a step back, letting Darla take the lead, an indication that
they’d made their choice. I glanced over my shoulder, weighing what
my chances would be if I sprinted down the corridor. There were no
doors or turns, at least not until I’d ran down the long stretch
for about thirty yards. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
would never make it. If I turned away to run, Darla would be on top
of me before I took three steps, biting and clawing into my back. My
pistols were already emptied from an earlier encounter. Though I had
spare magazines, I’d never have time to reload. Left with the
choice to fight, I planted my feet into a defensive posture and
readied myself. One thing was in my favor—they’d decided to come
at me one at a time. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Darla
let out what I guessed was a laugh as she advanced toward me. She
leapt to her left. Her paws pounded heavily against the left wall, as
she launched herself to the wall on the opposite side. She bounded
back and forth across the walls in a zigzag fashion so fast that she
was almost a blur, in what I assumed was an attempt to disorientate
me. I didn’t focus on her movements; it would have been impossible
to track her that way. Instead, I listened to the timing of her paws
as they made contact on the hard surface. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">In
my head, I counted down, three-two-one. Quickly dropping to one knee,
I sliced my blade across the air above me. A dark shadow passed
overhead at the same time. A gush of warm air and the smell of foul
breath brushed against my face. An incredible weight fell on top of
me. Darla and I went barrel rolling down the corridor. Her body
stopped its momentum before mine. I continued rolling another few
feet and landed on my back. Dizzy and aching, I lifted my head and
tried to gain my bearings.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Darla
was sprawled on the floor, and blood and spit overflowed from the
severed jaw she worked desperately to put back together. My strike
wasn’t a killing blow, but I’d nearly sliced her head in two.
Darla’s supernatural restoration ability would eventually heal the
wound. For the meantime, she would be out of the fight. Scrambling to
my feet, I noticed my tumble with the princess had shortened the
distance to the end of the corridor. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">An
anguished howl came from her father, who charged down the hallway.
Leaping over Darla, Grimes made a beeline for me. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Already
in mid-turn, I ran. Unlike Darla, her father wouldn’t be nearly as
easy to subdue. He had a thousand years of fighting in armies
throughout history under his belt. He also wasn’t as headstrong as
her and had a habit of never underestimating his enemies. Lucky for
me, Grimes wasn’t as agile or fast as his daughter. Immortal or
not, he still suffered from the slow downs of aging. </span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
made it to the end of the hall and took a sharp left. Antique tables,
vases and artwork adorned the walls. I retracted my blade, and pushed
over anything I could get my hands on to slow him down. It didn’t
work out as I’d hoped. Rather than duck and weave through the
mayhem, he barreled through it as if there were no obstructions.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
groped in my pocket for a magazine and inserted the clip into my
pistol. All the rounds were laced with silver. Stopping my run, I
whirled around and raised my weapon to shoot. There was nothing
behind me but smashed furniture and artwork. Grimes had disappeared.
Cursing under my breath, I muttered, “This is not good.” I knew
he could attack from any direction. Grimes’ castle probably had a
network of secret passages running from every room and corridor. No
matter which way I proceeded, I was likely to run into an ambush.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
best maneuver would be to stay where I was and try to find a way out
of his little mousetrap. “Mosley, I need you,” I whispered,
though I might as well have spoke with a bullhorn, knowing Grimes’
enhanced hearing in his wolf state could detect a pin drop a mile
away.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">“<span style="font-size: small;">Is
that absolutely necessary, sir? I mean, can’t you do this alone?”
Mosley answered.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">“<span style="font-size: small;">Do
we really need to have this conversation, you crazy computer? Of
course it’s necessary, otherwise I wouldn’t be calling out to you
for help,” I said frantically as I watched for an attack.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">He
let out a synthesized exhaustive breath. “Very well, sir.” Mosley
appeared beside me clutching a chimney poker like a baseball bat.
“How may I be of service?”</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">“<span style="font-size: small;">Give
me an overlay of the castle’s interior and then point out any heat
signatures other than my own.”</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mosley’s
form changed from Idris Elba to a three dimensional map. Red blips
indicated Grimes and his daughter. Darla remained where I had left
her, but her father was quickly circling around to get ahead of me if
I continued down the hallway. I was about to turn in the opposite
direction, heading back toward Darla when more red blips appeared on
the first level of the castle.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
pointed to the new blips. “Are there any cameras on that level you
can tap into for a visual?” I asked, knowing he’d already
bypassed Grimes’ security systems. Before Gully and I entered the
castle, I had Mosley program in a loop into all the cameras to mask
our illegal entry.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">“<span style="font-size: small;">Wait
one moment, sir.” The overlay faded for several seconds and then
was replaced with a visual of the first floor.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: small;">My
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jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-29207389485270521172013-01-28T11:43:00.001-05:002013-01-28T11:43:33.196-05:00HARMONY - Chapter Five<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Harmony </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
Chapter
Five</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Marcus Davis drove down a patch a
road that seemed too long. Audrey had told him that Harmony County was a small
place and yet since passing through the strange fog it appeared as if they been
driving forever. His junior partner had sat quietly in the passenger seat ever
since they’d ran with their tails between their legs. Marcus still couldn’t
figure out what the hell was in that fog. The howl the creature had made would
haunt him for a long time. For the first time, he started to regret helping his
partner.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Audrey,” he said,
“We how long before we the town?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Staring straight
ahead, she said nothing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Audrey, you
okay?” When she didn’t respond the second time, he touched her on the shoulder.
“Hey partner.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
She shrunk away
from his touch, still silent. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He pulled the
Saturn to the side of the road. The car’s headlights revealed an old tilted
mailbox not far from where he’d parked. A red lever on the side of the box was
tilted up in the outgoing selection forever waiting for the postal service to
make a pickup. Growing up the side of the rotting wood post, overgrown weeds
and vines grabbled for domination of the mailbox. Marcus just barely made out
the name written on the side of the box, MILLER.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He looked at
Audrey and regarded her with concern. He forgot sometime just how young she
was. Only twenty-two, she has yet to see much of the violence and misery the
world had to offer. Marcus himself had seen much and until tonight, he thought
he had seen it all. Still, just because he could not explain what happened, it
wasn’t enough to have him question his own sanity. But he couldn’t say the same
about his partner. Her youth and inexperience couldn’t protect her mind from
all the places her mind could take him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He gently grabbed
her shoulder. When she tried to pull away, he held her in place. “It’s time for
a reality pill, Audrey.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Her lost
expression fell on his strong gaze. “What?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“I don’t know
what’s going on in that head of yours right now, but what I do know is that I
don’t like it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
She gave him a
questioning glance.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“There’s no such
thing as monsters. Whatever was in that fog was an animal. I grant you it was a
big one, but it was only an animal.” Some of the fear left her face. He felt
her body relax under his touch. “You get that, right?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“An animal,” she
whispered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“That’s right. I
know it’s Halloween, but this ain’t the dark ages,” he said then laughed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Her head started
bobbing up and down. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry, I’m not asking
much like a Special Agent am I?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“You’re doing
fine. Believe it or not, I was spooked too,” he said smiling, then he added,
“If you tell anyone I was scare, I’ll make sure you’re transferred to Alaska.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
She laughed.
“It’ll be our secret.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He pointed to the
mailbox. “That says Miller over there. Does that tell you how far we are from
town?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Her grin faded
away and her eyes began dancing in their sockets. “That’s just it, Marcus. We
should have been town a long time ago.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Maybe I made a
wrong turn somewhere.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“You didn’t.
There’s only one road leading into Harmony
County,” she explained. “I can’t
wrap my mind around what is happening tonight.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He squeezed her
shoulder. “There’s nothing happening,” he said softly. “We just got turned
around, okay?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
She didn’t look
convinced but at least she lost the thousand-yard stare. He looked at the
mailbox again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“You think the
Miller’s will let us use their phone?” Neither his nor her cell phones had been
functioning right since they landed in Michigan.
He figured there might be some weird weather phenomenon causing the problem.
The fog at the edge of town only supported his thinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“No one has lived
on that farm in years.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“What happened to
the Millers?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“No one really knows.
Well, no one that’s willing to talk about it. There are plenty of rumors, of
course but nothing that can be proven. One day they were just gone.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Don’t tell me,
the Millers were witches?” he joked. When she didn’t laugh, he flinched. “Oh
come on, really? Witches?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Wiccans
actually.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Is there a
difference?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
She frowned,
embarrassed. “Witches are those who practice magic but are not connection to
any form of religion or spiritual rights. Wicca is a religion that many follow
around the world.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You seem pretty knowledgeable on the
subject.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“I took an online
course on the subject.” Audrey had taken all her college courses online, never
taking a step inside the halls of a physical university. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“And what do you
believe really happened to the Millers?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“They probably
retired and moved to Florida,”
she said grinning again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Though but agents
were trying to keep things light between them, both were harboring some
deep-seated worries. Though, Marcus had a feeling his were grounded in reality.
Before taking Audrey on as a partner, he went over her file, though highly
intelligent, her introverted personality tended to keep from opening up to
others. He known that but still took her on, figuring that she’d one day open
up to him. Still, after months of working together, the only real thing he knew
about his partner was that her mother was dead and her father was the sheriff
of Harmony County.
Now to find out, she took classes on witchcraft, he started to worry he made a
mistake in taking her on.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ready to go home, Audrey?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
She nodded
solemnly. “I think so,” she said staring off toward the darkness horizon in the
direction of the farmhouse. “It’s just this place holds so many memories. Some
that I’ve tried to forget.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“You and your
father get along?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Honestly, I haven’t
spoke to him since I left for the academy. He’s been leaving messages and
sending me letters, but I haven’t responded to any of them.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Marcus decided not
to ask any more questions, he was trending on family troubles. When she was
ready to talk about it without his nudging, he’ll ask more questions then. The
car pulled away from the side of the road and the tilted mailbox was swallowed
away by darkness. They drove in silence for another five minutes when caught in
the headlights, the same mailbox appeared just ahead.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“What the hell?”
The car had been driving in a straight line. What Marcus was seeing was
impossible. “Are there more than one Millers farms in town?” It had to be any
other explanation would border on insanity.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Audrey’s head
shook side-to-side. “No.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Marcus pressed his
foot down on the pedal accelerating past the mailbox. Five minutes later, the
Millers box came up again in the headlights. He and Audrey exchanged
questioning glances but said nothing. His foot was all the way down on the pedal
now. The car rocketed down the road, twice more they passed the same mailbox,
but on the third time around something darted in front of the box and out into
the road directly in the path of the Saturn.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Marcus slammed bot
feet on the brakes. The car fishtailed, the smell of burnt rubbed filled his
nostrils. Audrey screamed and perhaps he did to, but he wasn’t sure. The Saturn
stopped feet away from a naked man doubled over in the middle of the road. The
scene reminder Marcus of when the Terminator first appeared in present day from
his time travel, except this man wasn’t muscle bounded, he was flabby with age,
had gray hair and had red blotches all over his body.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Audrey jumped out
of the car and raced to the man before Marcus could stop her. She knelt beside
the man and started talking to him as if she knew him. It dawned on Marcus that
perhaps she did, she probably knew everyone in town. Before joining the pair,
he went to the back of the car, opened one of his luggage bags. He pulled out a
wool blanket. Marcus brought it expecting a cold Michigan
winter but was surprised by the heat. Taking the blanket to the man, he covered
him up. Audrey helped him stand upright.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“You know who he
is?” Marcus asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“I do,” she said
offering nothing more.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Marcus stared into
the man’s brown eyes and for a brief moment, he thought he seen something
swimming behind them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Who is he?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The man weakly
answered himself, “My name… is Dr. Milburn.”</div>
jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-28086841759453794162013-01-21T20:57:00.000-05:002013-01-21T20:57:22.226-05:00Harmony - Chapter Four<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
Harmony </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
Chapter
Four</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Sheriff Buckley squeezed the water
bottle hard sending its top rocketing into the air. The bottle cap bounced
several times on a desk and then rolled off to the floor. Water drained out
pouring over Buckley’s hand.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Ah, sheriff…’ was
all his deputy could think to say.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“I’m okay,”
Buckley answered, “I need to figure this out.” He willed his legs to move and
headed toward his office.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Womack drew his
pistol and kept in step. Though perplexed by the men’s fear and hesitance, Dr.
Milburn curiosity got the better of him, he too followed. All three entered the
office. The pieces of the cell phone remained where they had fallen. The ring
tone seemed to come from every component all at once.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Buckley searched
until he found the phone’s LCD and picked it up. The cracked display flashed on
then off but there was no message.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“What the hell?”
Milburn asked, and then snatched the LCD from the sheriff’s hand. The doctor
twisted the device to its backside. Loose wires hung from one side. “I thought
it might be getting a residual charge from the battery, but there’s nothing to
draw power from. How’s this possible?” He scratched his head, confused.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“It’s not,” Buckley answered. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Milburn gasped in
horror. His cheeks bloated suddenly as if holding back vomit and then tossed
the LCD to the floor with the urgency of a man with his hand on fire. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
The sheriff
grabbed his arm. “What’s wrong?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
The doctor pointed
a shaking finger to the floor. “Keep that thing away from me!” The ringing
stopped as abruptly as it started, sending the office into startled silence.
Milburn continued pointing toward the cracked display. His mouth opened and
closed several times, but whatever he had to say stayed trapped inside his
throat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Womack must have
drawn strength from his raised pistol, because he was the only one with nerve
enough to approach the object of everyone’s concern. He knelt down and gave the
display a slow, appraising glance. Words were scrolling across the powerless
screen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
I WILL EAT
YOUR SOUL MILBURN</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Womack stood upright, stared over his shoulder
at the doctor with a pitying look and then turned his attention back to the
LCD. He brought the heel of his shoe down on the screen, shattering it into
several dozen pieces.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Look fellows, this has got to be some kind of
trick. In this day and age, we can’t let ourselves believe in any mumbo jumbo,”
Womack said, though not sounding confident of his words. “I mean hell, sheriff,
it is Halloween. This has got to be a trick. Maybe even doc here is a part of
it. We both know Jeremiah walked into the station himself.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Buckley considered
his deputy’s comments. He was right of course. There were no such things of
zombies, that was only in the movies. Milburn could be part of a joke being
played, the doctor was well known for his sense of humor. Buckley studied
Milburn for a long time trying to determine if the man had played him and his
deputy for fools.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Is this a joke,
doctor?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Womack placed his
sidearm back in its holster. “Oh it’s a joke all right, sheriff! Jeremiah is
probably in the other room having himself a good laugh right now!” All three
turned to look at the young man. He still sat motionless in his chair. “Come
on, Jeremiah, jokes over!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“He’s dead. I told
you that before,” Milburn said and then looked at the sheriff, “I wouldn’t play
games like this. Whatever is happening, I’m certainly not involved.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Buckley didn’t
think he was lying. Still, someone obviously was playing games, if not the
doctor, then who? The mysterious ring tone could be explained away by hidden
electronics in the office and perhaps Jeremiah did indeed come into the station
in a drug filled haze that eventually led to an overdose. Milburn did do a
hasty examination of the young man, the timeline of his death was more than
likely a mistake. If this was a trick, it wasn’t funny and the sheriff planned
to damn sure find out who was behind it all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Do me a favor,
doctor and checked out Jeremiah again,” Buckley finally said. He glanced around
the room. “And if whoever is playing this stupid game is listening, you can
expect a night or two in the cell when I figure all of this out!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Everyone relaxed
realizing how foolish they looked believing that any of the night’s strangeness
was real.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Milburn smiled. “When
you find the delinquents behind this, please ask them how they did the trick
with the display. That scared the crap out of me.” He and Womack laughed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Buckley didn’t see the humor, there was
still a dead man in the station. “Doctor, if you please, Jeremiah remember?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“Oh yes, of
course.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
When they turned
to leave the office, all three froze in their tracks. Jeremiah was standing,
looking in their direction. His arm was outstretched pointed toward the front
door. The lights flickered on and off. All the phones in the building suddenly
started ringing. Jeremiah’s mouth opened and thousands of blood red maggots
started pouring out, piling at his feet.</div>
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Milburn stumbled
back and fell to the floor. Both Buckley and Womack had their pistols out and
aimed at Jeremiah. Between the flashes of light and dark, Jeremiah seemed to
have been replaced by another man, Deacon Grimes. Grimes’ eyes burned with fire
and an ethereal voice that was as loud as thunder came from everywhere at once.</div>
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“I will have my
revenge!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
The entire
building went dark in blackness so thick it seemed to have weight. The darkness
held the men in place as if time had stopped.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
The lights came
back on. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
The phones stopped
its ringing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Jeremiah was gone.</div>
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Everyone might
have thought it a nightmare, but writhing in huge piles on the floor and in the
chair where the young man had sat blood red maggots remained. Hundreds had
slithered away from the larger mass and moved in the men’s direction.</div>
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Buckley fired
three times. Red misty plumes of scattered pieces and blood rose where the
bullet had impacted. Still they advanced and even more descended from the
larger piles and made toward them. Buckley determined that being on the
offensive was a losing battle and switched tactics to defensive. He grabbed Milburn
and dragged him out of the way of the door and then kicked it shut with a foot.</div>
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The maggots were
much faster than they should be and already they started to edge into the room
through the spaces beneath the door. Buckley cursed under his breath straining
to pull the doctor away. </div>
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In a panic,
Milburn tore himself away from the sheriff’s grasp, got to his feet and charged
toward the door. Maggots crawled up his shoes and eventually got onto his legs,
stopping the doctor in his tracks. He screamed and scratched at his legs. “Oh
God, help me!”</div>
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The maggots seemed
to focus their attention on Milburn, slithering further up his body, some were
already on his neck still climbing further. They crawled into his mouth, nose
and ears. The doctor’s body crumbled to the floor in a heap. There were so many
maggots on him that his body you couldn’t tell where he started and where they
ended. Milburn’s screaming stopped but beneath the thousands of tiny red
insects, his body quivered and jerked.</div>
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Buckley and Womack
could do nothing but watch in horror as the doctor’s body mass deflated like a
tire losing air. In less than a minute the maggots had moved away from their
prey, swarming back beneath the door and into the other room. </div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">There was no sign of Milburn--no skin, no bones and no
blood. Just the farmer’s costume he had worn </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"> when he came into the station. </span>jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-53964479766516797732013-01-14T09:11:00.001-05:002013-01-14T10:30:45.052-05:00Harmony - chapter three<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Chapter
Three</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sheriff’s
station – 9:15 p.m.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Jeremiah had been deadly still and
silent since uttering his warnings. Womack made several attempts to bring the
young man back from wherever his fragile mind had taken him but to no avail. In
his office, on the phone, Sheriff Buckley tried desperately to contact his
daughter, but wasn’t successful. In an age of fiber optics and satellite
communication, when NASA can contact a probe on Mars, he couldn’t fathom why he
was having so much trouble. The line was nothing but static. Yet, not long ago,
his deputy had successfully called Dr. Milburn.</div>
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Buckley dialed his
home. The line rang four times before going to voicemail. The problem it seemed
was only with long distance calls. Picking up his cell phone from the top of his
desk, he punched the speed dial for his daughter hoping the cell towers weren’t
affected like the landlines. When the call was answered, it wasn’t what he had
expected. Strange wailing moans, what sounded like chattering teeth and a great
pounding that grew with intensity with each thump filled the line.</div>
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Worry drained all
the color from his face. “What the hell?” He pulled the phone away from his
ear. Disconnecting, he tried calling her again. Once more he received the same
bizarre noises, but this time he said, “Audrey, are you there? Can you hear
me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
In the midst of
the sounds, a deep voice that sounded far away said, “She is mine. She is mine.
She is mine. She is mine…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Who the hell is
this? Why are you on Audrey’s phone?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“She is mine. She
is mine. She is mine…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Buckley
disconnected the call and stared at the cell phone as if it held answers to
whom the voice belonged to. When the phone played a musical ring tone with his
daughter’s name and number on the display, he answered right away. “Audrey?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
It was the wailing
noise again, but no one spoke in the background. Buckley looked at the display,
Audrey’s info had been replaced with--SHE IS MINE.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He flung the phone
angrily against a far wall. It disintegrated into a hundred pieces near his
door. If he wanted answers it would have to find them himself. He circled his
desk and stumped to his door, pulling it open so hard he almost wrenched the
screws from its hinges.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Womack looked at
him in surprise. “Something wrong, sheriff?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Buckley ignored
him, focusing all his attention on the motionless young man in the chair.
Somewhere trapped in Jeremiah’s muddled up brain may be the some answers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Have you been
able to get him to communicate again,” Buckley asked, switching his gaze to his
deputy.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Nah, he’s been
off to la-la land the whole time and I don’t think he’s coming back.” He
scratched his head baffled. “Well, at least not anytime soon.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The sheriff
crossed the room and picked up the bottle water he had offered Jeremiah earlier
from a table. He twisted off the cap and splashed some of contents into the
young man’s vacant face. Jeremiah did not react, didn’t so much as even blink.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“What the hell was
that, sheriff?” his deputy asked, launching up from his chair. “I thought you
didn’t approve of treatment like that.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Buckley studied
Jeremiah face. His nostrils were stock-still. The young man didn’t seem to be
breathing. “It’s just water,” he finally answered. “It didn’t hurt him.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Buckley wondered
what Audrey had to do with Deacon Grimes. He hoped nothing. Everything Jeremiah
had said could have been a drug induced delusion. Yes, drugs, that was it,
maybe cocaine or something just as bad. Buckley hated to think that such hard
substances were in his town, but he wasn’t naïve. Even though Harmony County
was far away from any major cities, obtaining drugs wasn’t impossible to get a
hold of for those who wanted it bad enough.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He would have the
doctor run some blood work later to confirm his suspicions. Staring into the
young man’s eyes, he searched for signs of his being high. Not long afterwards,
Buckley thought he saw movement as if something was swimming behind the whites of
the Jeremiah’s eyeballs. “What the hell?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“What is it,
sheriff?” Womack had taken up a position right behind him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“I thought I saw…”
The door to the station opened. Both men stared over their shoulders to see who
entered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Dr. Milburn wiped
sweat from his forehead. He was dressed in blue jean coveralls, a checkered red,
white and blue shirt and work boots, looking more like a farmer than his true profession.
Milburn’s wife annually hosted a Halloween party for the kids and their
parents. His attire was evidently this year’s costume. In his right hand he
carried a black medical bag. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The doctor wiped
more sweat from his brow and then said, “Damn heat. It’s just not right being
this hot in October.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Buckley and Womack
backed away from Jeremiah making room for the doctor. Milburn’s brown eyes
immediately fell upon the young man’s spaced out blue ones. He approached
slowly taking long sidesteps to his left and then to his right as if to see if
Jeremiah’s frozen gaze would follow. Once he was directly in front of Jeremiah,
he touched his face. “Why is he all wet?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Buckley, still
holding the water bottle, shrugged his shoulders. “I tried to get a response from
him.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Milburn nodded,
still studying the young man. He checked him for responses and then checked for
a pulse. “Well it’s no surprise he didn’t respond.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Why’s that?”
Womack asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“This man is
dead,” the doctor answered matter-of-factly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both Buckley and Womack approached.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“He was just
talking to us a few minutes ago. What the hell happen, did he overdose on drugs
while sitting there?” Buckley asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Milburn twisted
his head around to look at the sheriff. “What’s that you said?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Did he overdose?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Not that part.
You said something about him talking. Is this some type of sick Halloween joke,
sheriff?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“What the hell are
you talking about, doc?” Womack asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Best guess, poor
Jeremiah here has been dead for nearly two hours now. If he’s been talking,
he’s been communicating from the other side. And I don’t see any crystal balls,
Ouija board or a psychic channeling the dead. Why in God’s good earth did you
think this would be funny?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Womack took a few
steps back, fear on his face. “This wasn’t a joke, doc. He was talking minutes
ago. He walked in here himself no more than half an hour.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Are you sure he’s
dead?” Buckley asked, mustering calm he knew he shouldn’t have. “Could you be
mistaken about the time?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The doctor lifted
one of Jeremiah’s hands and wiggled a couple of with his fingers. “No on both
counts, sheriff. There are signs of rigor mortis, even his skin is discolored
in some places. Two clear indicators,” Milburn answered, now showing signs of
worry. “You guys really think he walked in here on his own?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sheriff was about to answer when music
came from his office. All the men turned toward the sound.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“What’s that?”
Milburn asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Buckley’s skin was
several shades lighter. “That’s impossible.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“What’s
impossible, sheriff?” Womack asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Buckley slowly
turned his frightened gaze to his deputy. “It’s my cell phone. I busted it into
more than a dozen pieces. It can’t be ringing. It can’t be the cell phone.” The
familiar ring tone was something he couldn’t deny and deep in his heart, he
knew it was true, someone or something was trying to make contact.</div>
jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-17689620959187742682013-01-07T14:08:00.001-05:002013-01-07T14:14:36.732-05:00Harmony - Chapter Two<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Harmony </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Chapter Two</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">On
a Michigan highway, thirty minutes away from Harmony County - 8:30 p.m. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
FBI Special Agent Audrey Buckley
was driving forty miles over the speed limit despite the disapproval of her
senior partner, Marcus Davis. He had done nothing but complain for the past two
days since she received the mysterious call. Audrey had urged Marcus not to
come but he would not hear of it. In truth, she was happy to have the backup.
If what the caller had told her were true, she would need it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Marcus
glanced out the window as the green city limit sign for Harmony County came
into view. Audrey had no need to look up at the sign. Despite the lack of
visibility of the highway, she knew exactly where she was. Audrey had been
traveling these roads most of her life. It was only eleven months since she
left Harmony County for the first time to join the FBI. A field agent less than
four months, Audrey never imagined she would return home so soon—and not quite
for the reason she had.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
caller had ordered Audrey to return to Harmony County to face her punishment or
her father would take her place. She had not placed much stock in the warning
at first. Audrey’s dad was the Sheriff after all. He knew how to take care of
himself. No, it was when she tried to call her father that Audrey began to
panic. Each time she phoned Harmony County, she would receive strange static
and behind that in the background an eerie laugh. Even her emails were bouncing
back to her stating that the recipient could not be reached.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
she told Marcus about the situation, he’d called in a few favors owed to him.
The next thing Audrey knew, she and Marcus received official orders to
investigate. Since then, they had taken two planes starting from California and
arriving in Michigan, rented a car and been on the road for the past four
hours. Harmony County was in the middle of nowhere. There was no easy access
from airports, trains or bus stations. If this turned out to be no more than a
prank, this could prove to be embarrassing for both her and Marcus. Deep
inside, Audrey had a gut feeling that something was wrong.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
As soon as the rented Saturn L200
drove into the city limits a thick mist formed. It was as though a blanket had
suddenly been thrown down on top of them. Marcus had never seen the likes. He
craned his head around to view the fog through the rear windshield. The
nighttime scenic backdrop slowly began to be shallow into a gray smoke as they
drove further inside. He was struck with the thought of a ravenous mouth of an
animal closing its jaws down on its prey. Turning back, he glanced at the
digital temperature gauge mounted on the dashboard. When he began rolling down
the side window, Audrey threw him a confused look. The air conditioner was
running full blast.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
are you doing?” she finally asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s
strange. I’m no meteorologist but I know enough to know that conditions aren’t
right for a fog. Especially not as thick as this one,” he answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He stuck a hand
out the window and watched it disappear. It looked like his hand had been cut
off leaving only a headless stump at the end of his wrist. It unnerved him and
he started to reel it back inside when his palm slowly began to come visible.
At first he thought the fog was dissipating but as he looked up and peered
through the front windshield he realized the car had only driven through. A
thick gray wall of mist remained at their rear.</div>
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***</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Audrey had to agree with him. In
the entire twenty-two years she spent in the small town, she never remembered a
fog forming quite that way. She stopped the car in the middle of the road. By
the time Marcus had turned to look at his partner, she was already on her way
out of the Saturn.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
gazed at the thick gray mist behind them. It did not seem to be progressing forward
or backward. The fog seemed to form into a solid unmoving wall of smoke. Marcus
exited the car. He too, stared at the strange phenomenon. She could tell by her
partner’s expression, he didn’t like what he was seeing. He held up a hand
telling Audrey not to move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He started
toward the fog. While she waited for him satisfy to his curiosity, she grabbed
the cell phone from her purse. Surely, she would be able to reach the Sheriff’s
station from here.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Up
the road, she saw two bright lights moving fast in her direction. She heard the
roar of a powerful engine. It was some type of vehicle. She looked in Marcus’
direction to see if he had seen the same. She could tell he had not. He was too
focused on the strange mist. The headlights to the Saturn were on and she hoped
the looming vehicle would slow as it approached. But it had done the opposite.
It sped up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Marcus
had started back for the car and was still oblivious to the danger. Audrey
called out to him. When his gaze came to hers and then seconds later beyond
it--it was already too late. The vehicle was almost on top of her. She whirled
back around and faced the danger. The glow of heavy headlights suddenly
appeared out of the darkness. The lights seemed to be staggered somehow,
disjointed, as though whatever was coming her way was splitting apart.</div>
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Two motorcycles
rocketed past the Saturn just missing it and her by inches. She spun in Marcus
direction. He stopped moving and stood there calm like a deer caught in
someone’s headlight. She could see he was unafraid as though he encountered
this type of danger everyday. He remained motionless between the two
motorcycles as they swerved at the last second and shot by him.</div>
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Audrey instantly
knew who the drivers were; the Dahlmann brothers. Those two were the only ones
foolhardy enough to drive their cycles so crazily giving little concern for the
safety of themselves and others.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Marcus
was shaking his head as he watched the motorcyclists drive directly into the
thick fog. Audrey was about to join her partner when she heard the sounds of
metal scraping against a hard surface, followed soon afterward by horrendous
screams. They were coming from the inside the fog. On instinct both federal
agents drew their weapons running as fast as they could toward the cries. Marcus
reached the fog first but when he tried to run through it, he bounced off the
mist as though he ran into a wall. He made a whompf sound as the rush of forced
air escaped his body.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Audrey
figured there must be some type of unseen obstacle hidden behind the haze. She
reached her partner lying dazed on the road. Bending over him, she did not see
any visible bruising. Marcus was only stunned. The Dahlmann brothers’ screams
were still being carried across the wind. She never really cared for either
them; both bullied her and many others when they were children. Still, her
heart ached for them and she couldn’t even imagine what would cause them to so
much pain. </div>
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She stood and
headed for the fog. Stretching her hand out ahead of her, she felt for anything
inside the thick vapors that might block her passage. When her fingers touched
the mist, Audrey instantly realized that it was not something behind the fog
that knocked her partner senseless. It was the fog itself that was the barrier.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
uncanny as it was the Dahlmann brothers’ needed her help. She would not let the
strangeness of the situation stop her from doing her job. Audrey walked the
perimeter of the fog trying to feel for an opening in the mist. When she heard
an animal like howl come from within the fog, she stepped back. The Dalhmann
brothers’ screams became even louder. She heard the sound of clawing—gnawing
teeth tearing into flesh and then silence.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Marcus
got to his feet, staggering over to Audrey. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
She gave him a
once over with her eyes ensuring he was all right. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He had one hand
pressed against his left temple. “What happened? Why haven’t you gone in to
help them?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
can’t, the fog won’t let me,” she answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Won’t let you?
What do you…?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
howl came again—this time moving toward the FBI agents. They held the weapons
up pointing into the fog. Heavy footsteps lumbered loudly, getting closer.
Instinctively, Audrey and Marcus backed away. Whatever was in the mist was
big--maybe too big for their guns to take down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She wondered if the animal would even be able to breach the mist.
Perhaps the fog kept things in as much as it did out.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Marcus
did not wait for an answer. He tugged at her shoulder. In a whisper, he said,
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
about the two trapped inside?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Audrey,
we both know they’re already dead. Do you want us to end up the same way?” he
explained.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
was right of course and she knew it. She nodded and they moved further away
from the fog keeping their guns trained in its direction. They could hear that
the animal within the mist was moving slower, heading in their direction. A cat
stalking her prey just before the kill flashed through her thoughts. Audrey did
not think they would make it to the car. Marcus must have thought the same
thing because he fired a shot into the mist. An ear piecing guttural shriek
emitted from the thick cloud.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
scream sounded like nothing either of them had ever heard. They bolted for the
Saturn. At the car’s door Audrey froze and stared out at the fog. The animal
had stopped its scream and the sounds of heavy footfalls began to recede.
Whatever was inside was backing away. The bullets may not have been enough to
kill it but obviously enough to do some damage. Jumping inside, she put the car
into drive. Marcus had his arm hanging out of his window, his gun trained
toward the fog. He did not retract his arm until the Saturn was at least a mile
later.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Do
you think that was some type of bear?” he asked.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Audrey
did not answer. Her thoughts were on the Dahlmann brothers. Yes, their family
had always been troublemakers in town but they did not deserve to be torn apart
by some vicious animal. She also wondered if it was really Marcus’ bullets that
chased the beast away. Harmony County was within a valley and there was only
one road that led in or out. Had the animal retreated only because they moved
away from the road leading out? Was the animal some type of sentry? If so, they
were trapped along with everyone else in Harmony County. Audrey’s hometown just
became their prison.</div>
jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-21484228577682684622013-01-04T15:58:00.000-05:002013-01-04T15:58:09.304-05:00Harmony<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
Chapter
One</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Harmony
County, Michigan – 8:15 p.m.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Covered in dirt and dry blood,
Jeremiah Butler staggered into the sheriff’s station. His eyes were wide as two
full moons and his skin had lost all of its color. Barely able to stand upright
he stared at the two astonished officers. Eventually, Jeremiah’s weight became
too much for him to support. He collapsed to his knees. His face contorted in
agony. Sheriff Dean Buckley and Deputy Stephen Womack ran over to the man.
Jeremiah fought their efforts as they tried to pick him up from the floor. Too
weak to resist, he finally relented.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>While
helping the injured young man to a chair, Sheriff Buckley’s hand brushed
against exposed skin on Jeremiah’s arm. The sensation sent the sheriff an eerie
chill. He felt as though he touched a leather pouch filled with hundreds of
live squirming worms. He looked at his deputy. Womack also seemed to notice the
strange feeling. After getting Jeremiah to a chair, Buckley rushed to the
refrigerator and retrieved a bottle of water. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Deputy Womack kept
the man upright in the chair. “What the hell happened to you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jeremiah
did not seem to hear the question. His eyes were blank and he appeared to be
staring into space. Womack was threatening to give Jeremiah a slap across the
face if he did not snap out of it. Buckley knew his deputy would restrain
himself from such an unsympathetic action. Womack was well aware he would
object to him giving anyone that type of treatment. When Buckley returned, he
placed the plastic container of water into Jeremiah’s shivering hands.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
their hands touched, he no longer felt the wiggling worm sensation. This time
Jeremiah’s hands were ice cold. Much colder than he thought was humanly
possible.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That’s odd</i>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He couldn’t possibly be suffering from hypothermia?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The weather had
been uncommonly hot for this time of year. For the past two weeks of October,
the temperature had been in the lower eighties. Unless Jeremiah was stuck in a
deep freezer for a couple of hours it was unlikely the lack of heat searing
from his skin was the result of the weather.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Womack began
snapping his fingers in front of Jeremiah’s face to see if he could get a
reaction. The young man did not so much as blink. After Womack realized his
efforts were in vain, he began shaking his head from side to side. “What do you
suppose happened to him, Sheriff?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Buckley rubbed at
his chin like he had since he was a boy when puzzled. “I don’t know but we
better call Doctor Milburn. Jeremiah might be in shock. That would probably
explain his current mental condition.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
As Womack headed
toward the front desk, Jeremiah’s lips began to part. Buckley tapped his deputy
on the arm to get his attention. A glimpse of recognition returned to the young
man’s blue eyes. He finally spoke, “We killed him but he’s not dead. Now he’s
killing us…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The two officers
stared at one another in bewilderment saying nothing, giving Jeremiah time to
explain his bizarre statement. Jeremiah leapt from his seat dropping the
bottled water. He grabbed hold of the sheriff’s shirt--his eyes transfixed with
horror.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“You have to help
me, Sheriff Buckley! He’s going to kill me--just like he did the others!”
Jeremiah shouted.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“What others?”
Womack inquired as he pulled the young man’s grip from his superior’s shirt.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Jeremiah turned to
Womack. “It’s Deacon, he’s trying to kill me!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The very mention
of his name caused the sheriff to recoil. He hoped never to hear it again.
Deacon had mysteriously disappeared a year ago. Freed of Jeremiah’s iron grip,
Buckley asked in a firm voice, “Deacon? Deacon’s back in town?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The young man
cuffed his face with both his hands. He fell back to the chair. “He never left,
sheriff,” he said sobbing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Buckley’s eyebrows
shot up in surprise. “You want to explain to us exactly what you’re talking
about, son?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Jeremiah looked up
from his hands. His eyes darted to both officers. “He never left because we
killed him, Sheriff. Now he’s killing us.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That doesn’t make a bit of sense. If he’s
dead, how could he be killing anyone?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Sheriff Buckley
pointed toward the phone over on the front desk. “Go ahead and call the
doctor,” he said speaking to his deputy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Buckley was
worried Jeremiah’s apparent wounds were causing him to be delusional. Womack
nodded and sauntered over to the front desk. Buckley scratched his head trying
to assess the information. He pulled up another chair and sat beside Jeremiah,
facing him. “I think you need to start from the beginning, son.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Wiping the tears
from his eyes, he straightened in the chair. “Last year this time…” Jeremiah
paused and scanned the room nervously as though worrying that someone might be
eavesdropping on the conversation. “Do you remember finding the body of the
girl in the pumpkin field on the old Miller’s farm?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Buckley nodded. It
was the first case of murder in Harmony County since he began serving as
sheriff twelve years ago. “I remember. The young lady was found naked, raped
and beaten to death by her fiancé, Deacon Grimes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The sheriff
recalled the incident. “They were supposed to be eloping two days before
Halloween night. They agreed to meet and run off to Shelbyville to get married
there. According to Deacon, when he got to their rendezvous, he found Melody
dead in the plot of land.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Jeremiah’s head
was bobbing up and down wildly in agreement. His face was a mask of terror. “I
thought he had killed her. We all did. Even after you were convince he was
innocent. We all thought he had killed that poor girl.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“You’re not making
sense. What does this have to do with anything?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“We all got
together, Bobby, Jake, Gloria… We thought he was guilty. We were so sure.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Buckley’s gaze
turned hard. “What did you do, Jeremiah?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“We went to
Deacon’s house. Pulled him from his bed on Halloween night… In his home, we
beat him as badly as we thought he had Melody. We took him back to the Miller’s
farm and tossed him into a grave we dug earlier that day. We filled the grave
in with rotted pumpkins and dirt.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The sheriff gasped
in disbelief. An unexplained field of huge, pitiful looking and foul odor
pumpkins had grown and flourished on a portion of that farm the past summer. It
was strangest sight to behold because the pumpkins weren’t orange like they
should be, but blood red. It’s become quite a tourist attraction. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Womack returned,
catching the tail end of the young man’s confession. “My God. How long did you
leave him there before you dug him out of the hole?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
What little color
he had drained from Jeremiah’s face. “We didn’t let him go, Deputy. We buried
him alive. A tooth for a tooth.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Shooting from his
seat, Sheriff Buckley was shouting, “Damn it, Jeremiah. Damn it to hell!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He paced around
the office stroking his hand through his graying hair in frustration. Jeremiah,
Bobby Jerkewitz, Gloria Straub, and Jake Higgins were all children of prominent
people in town. If what Jeremiah was saying was true, all kinds of hell would
be breaking loose once word was out. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How many more people were involved in
Deacon’s murder?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The next words
Jeremiah uttered shocked the two officers. “Deacon’s come back. He’s killing
everybody that was involved that night! And he’s going to come after Audrey,
too.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
A sickening wave
of terror welled up from Buckley’s belly. His mouth was motioning as though he
were speaking words but nothing was exiting except for his breath. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What does my daughter have to do with Jeremiah’s
bizarre confession?</i></div>
jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-89242409394629244172012-06-06T20:23:00.001-04:002012-06-06T20:23:55.455-04:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong>The Promise</strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bGUGMt_iehc/T8_0BcrRlHI/AAAAAAAAAJs/Xie1SjLPY0w/s1600/The+promise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bGUGMt_iehc/T8_0BcrRlHI/AAAAAAAAAJs/Xie1SjLPY0w/s1600/The+promise.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
Before getting his next case, Detective Sergeant Roman
Stefan made a promise to his ailing father to clean up his act. After taking
over a homicide case, Stefan is stunned at how easily he discovers evidence
missed by the previous investigators. Plunging deeper into the murder, his old
self comes into conflict with his new as bribes are offered to him. Taking the money
would mean dishonoring his father. Not taking it would lead to a scandal,
endangering not only himself, but his family. <br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Paperback: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Promise-D-K-Gaston/dp/1453869859/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1319900211&sr=8-2"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.amazon.com/Promise-D-K-Gaston/dp/1453869859/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1319900211&sr=8-2</span></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p>Kindle: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Promise-ebook/dp/B0045U9QQA/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1319900211&sr=8-1"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.amazon.com/The-Promise-ebook/dp/B0045U9QQA/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1319900211&sr=8-1</span></a></div>jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-24899537831694570262011-11-16T19:56:00.004-05:002011-11-16T20:25:33.987-05:00Darkest HoursI released a second edition of Darkest Hours. It is available in paperback and electronic formats on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. Darkest Hours is the exciting sequel to Lost Hours featuring PI's Joe Hooks and his ex-partner and best friend Kool-Aid.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7tZkiohT0ZU/TsRdEeVCVxI/AAAAAAAAAJk/coJyd4Mnfsw/s1600/Darkest%2BHours.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 209px; height: 320px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675763761835824914" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7tZkiohT0ZU/TsRdEeVCVxI/AAAAAAAAAJk/coJyd4Mnfsw/s320/Darkest%2BHours.jpg" /></a>The electronic editions are on sale for $1.00, while the paperback is $11.00 on Amazon. Get your copy today.<br /><br />And remember, books make perfect Christmas gifts.jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-64233967244863828902011-08-10T14:04:00.002-04:002011-08-10T14:08:38.897-04:00<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kiu8kbPQ7HA/TkLIvhqA1DI/AAAAAAAAAJc/Tix_D9bENCs/s1600/Taurus%2BMoon%2BFINAL.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639290402235274290" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kiu8kbPQ7HA/TkLIvhqA1DI/AAAAAAAAAJc/Tix_D9bENCs/s320/Taurus%2BMoon%2BFINAL.jpg" /></a>
<br />
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<br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#ffff00;">Taurus Moon is a relic hunter, but the artifacts he searches for aren’t found in the jungles of the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Yucatan</st1:place></st1:state> or the deserts of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Egypt</st1:place></st1:country-region>. His quests often take him through the grittier parts of urbanized cities where even the toughest of thugs fear to tread. Forgotten relics once thought of as only myths and legends can be found, if you know where to look, and have the guts to go searching into dark and deadly places.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
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<br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#ffff00;">Taurus Moon is hired by a vampire crimelord to locate ancient artifacts that would make the criminal a god. Even though Taurus is no fan of vampires, especially one aspiring to become a deity, he does love money and despite his misgivings, he begins the treacherous hunt for the artifacts. Things become more complicated when a rival crimelord hires a ruthless relic hunter who has no qualms about killing the competition.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p></div>
<br />jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-15683136636044644442010-09-19T19:29:00.002-04:002010-09-19T19:34:01.198-04:00The PromiseComing soon for the Kindle, The Promise<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hKNylo9eGO8/TJadIeTotbI/AAAAAAAAAIw/TgNXBEVSLxM/s1600/The+Promise+Kindle+cover.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518771162289059250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hKNylo9eGO8/TJadIeTotbI/AAAAAAAAAIw/TgNXBEVSLxM/s320/The+Promise+Kindle+cover.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Detroit Police Homicide Detective, Sergeant Roman Stefan has one of the best arrest records on the force—he’s also a dirty cop. Roman promises his ailing father that he will clean up his life and go straight. The problem is, Roman likes being dirty. As he deals with his promise, he is assigned to a 4-month old homicide investigation of a prostitute that no one seems interested in. Compounding his trouble is the dead hooker's sister, Channel 3 News anchor Hallie Warner, who has placed pressure on the mayor’s office to provide answers.<br /></div><div>As Roman and Hallie uncover clues of Ebony Warner’s murder, they soon become targets of two ruthless killers who don't want the truth to be uncovered. In mortal danger and being unable to rely on his old dirty way of life; will Roman Stefan be able to keep the promise he made to his father?<br /></div><div></div>jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-40665258899207573372010-08-11T15:35:00.004-04:002010-08-11T15:40:00.050-04:0013: An Avery Hudson Adventure (Kindle) $1.50<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hKNylo9eGO8/TGL8E1I9gxI/AAAAAAAAAIg/Rhi1WWB6xio/s1600/13+An+Avery+Hudson+Adventure+%28book+1%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 160px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hKNylo9eGO8/TGL8E1I9gxI/AAAAAAAAAIg/Rhi1WWB6xio/s320/13+An+Avery+Hudson+Adventure+%28book+1%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504238854514508562" border="0" /></a><br />Bound by a pact made to the devil 13 years ago, actor Jason Peters’ contract has finally expired. With desperation born of fear, Peters tries to escape his fate.<br /><br />But the devil wants his due.<br /><br />When bounty hunter Avery Hudson unwittingly takes on the task of tracking Peters, he gets more than he bargained for. In his pursuit of the actor, Hudson encounters supernatural beings and is ravaged by hellish nightmares foretelling a future that may be predicting his death. Hudson has no choice but to follow the clues of his ill-fated dreams and pray he doesn’t take any missteps that might cause those nightmares to become his reality.<br /><br />Click link to view or purchase at Amazon: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/13-Avery-Hudson-Adventure-ebook/dp/B003O2SF0I/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1">13: An Avery Hudson Adventure</a>jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-52936416928347503322010-07-10T14:35:00.003-04:002010-07-10T14:42:41.040-04:00<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492348300140439506" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hKNylo9eGO8/TDi9reSXZ9I/AAAAAAAAAIQ/Ub3_Dyx79YE/s320/Lost+Hours+and+Darkest+Hours.jpg" /><br /><div>Amazon has reduced the price to the Kindle edition of Lost Hours to $2.13. Now you can enjoy <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lost-Hours-ebook/dp/B001GH6Z0K/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1278787280&sr=1-3">Lost Hours</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Darkest-Hours-Joseph-Hooks-ebook/dp/B003JBHOPQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1278786257&sr=1-1">Darkest Hours</a> for the low, low price of $4.12.</div><div> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 160px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492349152566336002" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hKNylo9eGO8/TDi-dF0iWgI/AAAAAAAAAIY/TRJzLtAtjOA/s320/13+An+Avery+Hudson+Adventure+(book+1).jpg" /><br /><div></div><div>Also, you can find the Kindle edition to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/13-Avery-Hudson-Adventure-ebook/dp/B003O2SF0I/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1278787314&sr=1-4">13: An Avery Hudson Adventure</a> for the low price of .99 cents.<br /></div><div></div></div>jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-57792144088901884092010-06-03T10:24:00.003-04:002010-06-03T11:04:00.265-04:00Getting to know me<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hKNylo9eGO8/TAe8wSeYJtI/AAAAAAAAAHw/8p3nkYcozyE/s1600/100_1068.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478555009498490578" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hKNylo9eGO8/TAe8wSeYJtI/AAAAAAAAAHw/8p3nkYcozyE/s320/100_1068.JPG" /></a> <p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">The year 2010 is a very inspirational year for me as well as to many other authors. With the various versions of electronic readers appearing on the market, little known authors, like myself, are finally getting some recognition. Thanks to Amazon’s Kindle line, I have the opportunity of originally releasing Darkest Hours at the low price of $2.99.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But later I thought, I can do better for the readers, and lowered the price even more to $1.99.</span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span> </p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span> </p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">I intend to follow this trend for my future novels. Writing for me has never been about making money, it’s about entertainment. I love receiving emails from readers, about how my novels have stirred emotions in them and how they can’t wait for my next book.</span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span> </p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span> </p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">If you’re curious to know if you would like any of my books, hey, it’s only $1.99. Hopefully, I’ll get an email from you telling me how much you enjoyed it.</span></p>jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-79416027847953267342010-05-24T23:02:00.001-04:002010-05-24T23:02:41.148-04:00Taurus Moon: Relic Hunter - Chapter TwoChapter Two<br /><br />Uno gripped my arm with the retractable blade and held it in place. I punched him hard in the face with my free hand. Little good it did. It hurt me more then it did him. He laughed before I felt his hot breath on my neck. I wondered if my corpse would share a space on his front lawn with the rival clan leader. His fangs pricked at my skin.<br />“Killing him would be a grave mistake,” a woman said nonchalantly.<br /> Uno stopped and turned toward the intruder. “Sekhmet?”<br />I recognized the name immediately. Sekhmet was a Thaloc, more plainly known as a shape-shifter. Perched at the edge of the large oak desk like a great bird, she had taken the form of a small girl. Huge wings extended from her back as black as her raven colored hair and eyes. Her sudden appearance had surprised everyone. Hammer had drawn back his Khopesh ready to take Sekhmet’s head from her neck.<br />“Stay your hand,” Uno yelled, “She is an ally.”<br /> She glanced over at Hammer and smiled. “Oh don’t worry about me dear. His sword would never have touched my delicate skin.”<br />Sigma stood and grimaced like a wounded animal, but I knew it wasn’t because of pain. The rapid healing abilities granted to all vampires had already mended his shattered bones. I suspected his beef at the moment was the fact I had injured him in the first place. Assassin, as well as vampire pride obligated him seek retribution. He grabbed my leg and yanked me out of Uno’s grasp. My back thudded against the floor, knocking air out of my lungs again. Elevating me into the air, I dangled upside down in his one hand like a fish on a hook. I jabbed my blade into Sigma’s leg, the same one that I injured earlier.<br />Sigma screamed, dropping me at the same instant. I rolled away until I was stopped by Uno’s desk. Sigma’s wound was too much for him to bear and he finally buckled to the ground staring at me, his face a twisted jumble of hatred and pain. His fingernails became long and pointed, and as sharp as talons. He struck at me, thinking I was defensively braced against the desk with nowhere to go. He was wrong. I countered with my own attack and severed his forearm from the rest of his body.<br />Panicked I would strike again with a killing blow, Sigma drew himself quickly away, screaming and cursing in an ancient language. Since his heart hadn’t pumped with true life in hundreds of years, no blood sprayed from his stump of an arm. The detached limb on the floor squirmed for a short while like a fish pulled out of the sea. When it eventually stopped, the hand curled into a fist and then extended its middle finger defiantly in my direction.<br />“Enough,” Uno said directing all of his attention at the one armed assassin. “If Moon is to die it will be by my hands.”<br />Propped against the door, Sigma hauled himself up on his one good leg. “He dishonors me! He should be my kill!”<br />A silence fell in the room that was almost palpable. Hammer’s concentration stayed focused on Sekhmet like she was the only person in the office. The shape-shifter smiled down at me. She remained unmoving, balanced on the far end of the desk waiting patiently for something to happen.<br />I picked up Sigma’s Khopesh off the floor and got to my feet. Standing between the two men that wanted me dead, I pointed my retractable blade at the assassin and stretched out the sword at Uno. “Who dies first?”<br /> Like the small child that Sekhmet pretended to be, she laughed gleefully, clapping her hands together in appreciation. In my voice, she said, “Who dies first?” And then she laughed some more. “Humans are so much fun.”<br />Her amusement brought the tension in the room to a manageable level. Uno looked at me. “Lower your weapons, Moon. Your blood will not be spilled this night.” He turned his attention to Sigma. “Collect your arm and get out until I call for you.”<br />Sigma glowered at me. “And what of my honor? Am I to let the insect live?”<br />“For now,” Uno answered. “You two can settle matters later.”<br />That seemed to calm the assassin.<br />I tossed him his Khopesh.<br />In a voice that sent chills up my spine, he said, “I will send you to Osiris to past judgment on your soul.”<br />I gave his severed arm a hard kick and sent the limb rolling across the floor until it stopped short at his feet. “You’ll have a better chance of doing the job with both your hands, though I wouldn’t place any bets on it.” Then I turned my back to him, which equated to a slap in the face.<br />There was an animal growl and then the door opened and closed.<br />Uno stared at Sekhmet. “Were you in my office spying the entire time pretending to be a cockroach?”<br />“A fly actually. Cockroaches are so filthy. I would never think of becoming one of them,” she answered. “And a good thing I was here. If you’ve killed the human, you would have lost any chance of ascension.”<br />I retracted my blade and took a few steps backwards. “I’ll be on my way then.” In the corner of my eye, I saw that Hammer kept pace. He wasn’t about to let me reach the door.<br />“I think not,” the shape-shifter said, “You have work to do.”<br />“I don’t work for vampires.”<br />She stood to her full four feet height balanced at the edge of the desk by her toes. “Then I shall hire you.”<br />I laughed. “That’s worse than working for Uno.” Shape-shifters are as dishonest as imps. The only real difference, an imp won’t try to kill you after the deal was struck.<br />“Uno isn’t the only person I’ve been spying on of late,” she commented, “I’ve been keeping an eye on you as well, Moon. You need money in a hurry.”<br />Her words stopped me in my tracks. I did need cash, lots of it. I lost count of how many debt collection agencies called my home and office number. The only thing that had comforted me was the fact the phone company would soon be disconnecting my service. I hadn’t had a customer in over three months and was down to my last twenty dollars and that would be gone after I hailed a cab to get home.<br />Uno must have noticed my hesitation. He reached inside his suit jacket and withdrew a sheaf of money. He tossed the bundle and it landed at my feet. “Take it. Consider it a commission just for listening.”<br />I looked down at the cash. Benjamin Franklin’s face stared back up at me and it looked like he brought at least thirty of his identical family members with him. My empty stomach growled as if to say in a Mr. T voice, “Fool, pick up the damn money!” What the hell, if they he wanted to paid me just to listen, why shouldn’t I take the money?<br />Both Uno and Sekhmet smiled as I scooped up the bundle. Never could resist Benjamin Franklin. “What’s the job?” I asked.<br />Uno sat in his blood red leather chair. “We need you to find two items for us.”<br />I gave him my best annoyed expression. “Finding things is what I do, so I already knew that much big guy.”<br />The sign on my office door and business cards listed me as a relic hunter. I search for ancient artifacts in the most unusual places. You won’t find me exploring the jungles of the Yucatan or the deserts of Egypt. The objects I recover shall never find its way into museums or in a billionaire’s private collection. The people who employed me are only interested in relics filled with supernatural properties, located in places where anyone with half a sense would never dare to tread.<br />“We need you to find the Sceptre and Ankh of Life,” Sekhmet explained.<br />I cringed and then stared first at the shape-shifter and then at vampire clan leader with disbelief. I understood then why Uno didn’t want the members of Set Amentet to know what he was up to. I knew exactly why he wanted the ancient Egyptian relic.<br />Uno wanted to become a god.jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2972468335447324278.post-57826750152529152942010-05-23T15:51:00.002-04:002010-05-23T15:52:53.467-04:00Taurus Moon: Relic Hunter - Chapter One (unedited)Chapter One<br /><br />With his eyes closed, Uno sat behind his large oak desk lost in thoughts older than I could imagine. His thick hands formed a massive pyramid beneath his meaty jowls. Every finger was bejeweled with two rings on them but they weren’t worn for style. Uno never allow himself to indulge in anything as mundane as fashion sense. The rings were a symbol of his power and authority in the Set Amentet. Loosely translated it meant ‘The Mountain of the Underworld’. Why one of the oldest, most secret and powerful organizations in the world wanted to call themselves Set Amentet was beyond me. It didn’t exactly roll off the tongue.<br />Uno had been chanting in an ancient language before I was even forced into his spacious office. I didn’t have a clue what he was saying, but whatever it was, it certainly couldn’t be good for me. The last time I’d seen him chant was after his crew got their hands on a rival clan leader that tried to muscle his way into Uno’s territory. Big mistake. Uno displayed his skills in taxidermy. Until the end of time the rival clan leader will have glass eyes instead of his real ones. He was being prominently displayed in front of Uno’s house as his garden gnome.<br />Glancing around, I took the time to see if escape was actually possible. Two big men stood at the door brandishing swords shaped like sickles called Khopesh. Both men were shirtless and had matching tattoos of Egytian hieroglyphs that started at the top of their muscular shoulders and all the way down passed their belly buttons. It could have gone much lower and covered other parts of their anatomy, but I really didn’t want to consider that thought. The one on the right was called, Sigma, the other Hammer. They weren’t bodyguards. Uno didn’t need protection because he was a force by himself. They were assassins. One was formable enough to eliminate a room filled with seasoned killers by himself. To have both assassins together at one place was overkill for any situation.<br />I didn’t know whether I should be flattered that Uno felt he needed to have both standing guard or terrified to the point of wetting my pants. Going through the door wasn’t an option. Maybe I could take on one, but not all three. I scanned the rest of the office. All the windows had been sealed by bricks and there didn’t seem to be any ventilation shafts leading into the room. I shifted uncomfortably in the large chair. Though it was large enough for two and soft as pillows, at the moment it felt as stiff and confining as an electric chair on execution day.<br />There was no way out of the room except cleaving through flesh and bone. And even if by some miracle I did survive fighting the most skilled assassins in the world and the one man that could go toe-to-toe with the Hulk, I would still have an army to face on the other side of the door. But on the bright side, at least I wouldn’t have to worry about anymore calls from collection agencies.<br />Uno stopped his chanting and slowly opened his eyelids. Two points of black inhuman irises stared across the desk and fixed on me. He pulled his hands apart and laid his palms flat on the large oak table. I could have sworn smoke rose from beneath his fingers. It was as if something unnatural touched upon something in the natural world and was being rejected. But it might have been my imagination. Fear does that to the mind sometimes; it makes you see things that are not really there. But, the unmistakable smell of brimstone wafted up my nostrils at almost the same instant.<br />“Taurus Moon,” Uno said my name with amusement. His lips curled into what he probably considered a smile.<br />Since both my parents were African-American, weren’t peace loving-drug tripping-sixties flower child’s, and swear I wasn’t adopted, my name tended to have that effect on folks. Being that I wasn’t born in April and to my recollection my family never owned a bull, I never understood their reasoning for giving me such an odd name. They died tragically before I could ask them.<br />“Uno,” I said with a calm that betrayed the pounding of my heart. My nostrils started to sting from the brimstone. It took all my concentration not to wiggle my nose. “I was a little surprised to get your unexpected invitation to your office.”<br />“I didn’t have time to ask nice, Moon, and I knew yo’ ass wouldn’t come without help,” he answered.<br />“Uno, it’s a good thing your people caught me while I was preoccupied or right about now you would be receiving their bodies at your front door.”<br />I was attacked while I was in the bed of a lady-friend, doing what comes naturally when a man and woman share that close a space. I would have heard his people entering the apartment if my normally keen hearing weren’t being bombarded by her cries of passion. His men literally caught me with my pants down. Still, I put up quite a fight, broke a few of their bones and punched out some teeth before they eventually thought to use my lady-friend as a bargaining chip. I let them inject me with something to save her life. Before I passed out, I told Uno’s men that if they killed my friend out of spite, I swore I would hunt every single person involved and skin them alive. I always keep my promises.<br />Thankfully Uno lifted his palms up from the desk, ending the offending stench as suddenly as it had begun. He leaned back settling in his thick leather chair. The padding was the color of blood, and the chair’s frame carried a sickening semblance to human bone. Pulled back out of the dim light, the dark spaces where Uno’s inhuman eyes should have been merged in with the shadows disappeared completely.<br />I was relieved not to see those dark pinpoints staring back. The thudding in my chest actually slowed. If Uno wanted me dead, he would have finished me already. I dared to turn my gaze away from him to look over my shoulder at his two assassins.<br />Sigma’s long black dreadlocks seemed to move with his eyes like a nest of snakes seeking prey. The man smiled without mirth, inviting me to take a chance and see if I could get past him.<br />Hammer didn’t appear interested in anyone in the room except himself. He admired his reflection through the shiny silver blade of his Khopesh. Faint light glinted off both the smooth surfaces of his bald head and the sword metal.<br />“Are they here for me?” I asked.<br />“Hell nah, man. You’re good Moon, but not thad good,” Uno replied. “Now don’t you worry yo’ ass about why they here.”<br />I turned my attention back to the large man. “So what is this about?”<br />Uno bent forward somewhat again revealing those damn black pits he called eyes. “I want ta hire you fo’ yo’ special services.”<br />“The Set Amentet and I never saw eye-to-eye. Why would they want me working for them?”<br />“You don’t get it, bruh. This has nothin’ ta do with the clan. This is my personal business. The Set Amentet know nothin’ about this.”<br />That got my attention. Uno seeking help outside the clan and without their knowledge was punishable by death. Whatever he wanted had to be important—damn important. “Doesn’t change the fact that I don’t like the Set Amentet and anyone involved with the clan. I won’t work for you.”<br />Lightning fast, Uno jumped out of his chair and stood at his full six-four stature. His knuckles slammed hard on top of the oak desk and actually shattered the wood underneath creating two huge fissures. “I’m not asking you, Moon! Deny me and drown in your own blood!”<br />All the slang had faded from his verbiage and he spoke with the elegance of an English college professor—an angry, crazed, powerfully built, menacing, giant of a college professor, mind you. He lifted one arm and reached across too fast for me to avoid. He had me by the throat and effortlessly hauled my ass up and into the air. My feet dangled inches from the ground.<br />I acted instinctively. A retractable blade made of silver flicked out of my sleeve. I jammed it up into the arm that held me suspended and twisted as hard as I could. If it had been the arm of a smaller person, the limb would be lying severed on the floor.<br />But Uno was unlike any other man. He screamed as his grip involuntarily released me. The second my feet touched earth, I whirled around with my weapon up in a defensive posture and blocked the downward thrust of Sigma’s Khopesh with my own meager blade. Unfortunately, my opponent had all the advantages with his longer, more deadly weapon. He also possessed far greater speed and strength.<br />The synapses in my brain worked to figure out the best course of action. Then I thought the hell with that, I was most likely going to die anyway. Despite the fact that Sigma stood over me while applying a significant amount of force to push me down to my knees. I risked losing any leverage I had and put all my strength behind a kick, striking his tibia just below the right knee. There was an audible crunch as bone gave way. Sigma crumbled to the floor; he didn’t scream. Had to give him points for that. I expected Hammer to join the attack, but he hadn’t moved from the door, automatically taking on the responsibility of the door’s guardian and assuring I didn’t make it out of the office alive.<br />From behind me, a great hand gripped the collar of my jacket. Once again my feet left the floor. Uno’s other bloodied hand took hold of my thigh. I was lifted higher into the air and for a brief moment all I saw was the ceiling. Uno jerked me back earthward and on top of his oak desk face down, knocking all the air from my lungs. An explosion of pain erupted inside my head. Red, white and yellow spots danced before my eyes and I almost expected to hear some little boy say, “Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids.”<br />But the demented voice I eventually heard came from no child. “You fight well, Moon.”<br />With brute force he spun me over onto my back. The spots faded and were replaced by a grisly nightmare as I stared into the true face of death. Uno’s fangs extended and the black in his irises were no longer small specks. The black encompassed the entire sockets of both his eyes.<br />I hate vampires.jazzsoldierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169737791680285624noreply@blogger.com0