Excerpt from A God of Gods

It seems like every time I share a snippet of my current work on A God of Gods: Dreams of Chaos #3, it's a scene with Ali and Andi Bentley. But I just can't help it - I love these girls and, darn it, they just made me cry.

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“Really, Mona? This is what had you so upset?” Ali said, stifling a yawn as she let the lace curtains fall back over the window. Her little sister Andi was stargazing in the walled garden just beyond. “Nothing bad can happen to her in Mom’s garden.”

Mona pursed her prim mouth even tighter, turning what little color that still remained in her lips to white. “She’s been out there for hours! I’ve told her repeatedly to come in before she catches her death out there and she’s ignored me completely. It’s not proper for a young lady to be out at night alone like this.”

“She isn’t alone,” Ali said, turning back to the window with a soft sigh. Andi looked pale and fragile in the moonlight, nothing like the rambunctious twelve year-old that had just tried to scale the massive baro tree that towered over the opposite end of the mayor’s mansion earlier that day. “I told Andi after Mom died that part of her would always be here in the garden she loved so much. Now she comes here anytime she really misses her. This has been hard on her, you know. She would have died yesterday if Eric hadn’t saved her, and even without that kind of terror, today was bound to be emotional for her.”

“Today? Oh, dear, your mother’s birthday. It must have slipped my mind,” Mona said, wringing her hands under her lace cuffs. Ali knew there had been no love lost between Mona and her mother so she was touched to see such a deep regret in her eyes, even if it was swallowed by her unyielding devotion to duty a moment later. “I am sorry for the both of you,” she continued, “but she can’t stay out there all night. If she won’t come in I’ll have to get your father.”

Ali tried to smile politely, but her patience with the uptight governess was wearing thin. Mona actually had a heart of gold, but sometimes it got lost beneath her tightly corseted sense of propriety. “It’s a lovely night, Mona. Besides, my father has a city to run. Go on to bed and I’ll take care of Andi. I promise I’ll get her to bed soon,” she added when Mona opened her mouth as if to protest again.

When Mona was out of sight Ali snatched the quilt off the settee by the door and slipped into the garden to where Andi sat perfectly still, her knees tucked up to her chest and her dimpled face turned up toward the sky. Fallen leaves crunched under her feet, but if Andi heard her approach she didn’t show it. Not even when Ali draped the blanket around her shoulders.

“Hey Spunkster. Playing statue again? Hey,” she said, wrapping her arm around Andi when she didn’t even respond to the nickname she normally hated. Ali sighed and fell into silence beside her. She’d spent the day putting on a strong face for her father because she was certain he’d been putting on a strong face just for her. With her father locked behind doors in a late-night meeting and her little sister lost in her own memories, she was finally able to let the mask slip away for the first time all day. It wasn’t long at all before her cheeks were wet with tears. It felt so good to let them fall.

“I miss her, too, kiddo,” Ali said eventually.

“What if they’re not that far away?” Andi said, her gaze still locked on the sky.

“What?” Ali asked. “Who are you talking about?”

“The stars. Master Earl said that the stars are all just dreams that didn’t get to be real like us. But does that mean they’re dead? Why would Chaos dream about dead things?”

Ali inhaled sharply and made a mental note to have a conversation with her sister’s school master. 

“Well, sweetie, I don’t think they were really ever alive – ”

“But if those dreams are dead,” Andi plowed on, “does that mean Mom could be up there, too? And if we can see them, that has to mean they aren’t that far away. I could see her again,” she said, her eyes, full of hope, finally falling on Ali.

Aha, Ali thought. I should have seen that coming. She felt like she was suddenly in way over her head. What could she possibly say that wouldn’t break Andi’s heart even more? “Do you remember what Sister Patricia told us after Mom died?”

Andi nodded glumly. “That all dreams return to the Dreamer eventually, and that one day we’ll be reunited with Mom in the final dream of Chaos. But the Book of Haela says that Chaos never sleeps. How can he be the Dreamer if he never sleeps?”

“Well, he’s just – he’s not like us. He wouldn’t need to sleep, or eat, or anything like we do. Remember the Book also says that everything you see is part of Chaos. You, me, this garden, even all of those stars up there.”

“Even all of those stars,” Andi echoed, looking back up to the sky again. “Then I just have to figure out which one of them is Mom.”

Ali’s heart wrenched at the determination in Andi’s voice, bringing a fresh crop of tears to her own eyes. “I hope you do, kiddo. I really hope you do.”

Meet the Bentley Girls!

After months of wedding planning and crafting to keep me away from writing, I finally have my first FULL weekend of nothing to do but immerse myself back into the world of Aevum. Getting back to work on God of Gods feels like finally scratching an itch I haven't been able to reach - a thoroughly pleasurable and satisfying relief.

Of course, getting to focus on playful characters is a huge help in re-establishing my long-ignored writing groove. For those of you who've read Tilt (and for those of you who haven't, get on it!), Mayor Bentley had two daughters who were 16 and 11 then and were referenced several times in the story but were sent to Ostano with their mother to escape before you ever got to meet them. In God of Gods, the girls play a much more integral role and, I have to admit, have absolutely won my heart. I keep finding myself giving them new reasons to appear in a scene simply because they have a youthful energy that propels the story along and sometimes makes it move in directions I didn't originally intend. Ali and Andi Bentley have somehow wound me around their fingers every bit as much as they have their father and I honestly cannot wait to see where these girls lead me next.

Want to meet them? Here's a quick snippet of a scene I'm working on now set during the festivities in Sarano celebrating one full year of recovery after the Tilt that nearly destroyed them:

“Stop fidgeting, Spunkster,” Ali admonished Andi, leaning over to whisper in her ear, “people will think you have fleas!”

“Will not!” Andi whispered back, rolling her eyes dramatically. She always pretended to hate it when her big sister called her by her nickname. “And it’s not my fault. This stupid dress itches too much.”

“Mine does, too,” Ali conceded. Mona had definitely been a little carefree with the tulle when she put these celebration gowns together for the girls. Granted, in the King Jared II box, the most elite private box named for the theater’s most historically renowned patron, their fidgeting was probably more than concealed from any prying eyes. But with this being the first formal event since before the Tilt – not to mention the first official event without their mother – Ali thought it would be best if both Bentley girls were the perfect models of office tonight. Especially if Ali was going to get away with that little side project she’d bribed Mona to finish for her…

“You know what, Spunkster? I’ll bet I can go way longer than you can without scratching,” Ali whispered conspiratorially to Andi. “In fact, I could probably go all the way through the show until we got home,” she added with a shrug, as if nothing could possibly be easier.

Andi eyed her suspiciously. “You couldn’t,” she challenged.

“Could. I’d even bet an entire tray of caramel fudge taffies that I could. If, you know, you like that sort of thing.”

Andi’s eyes lit up like two perfect green moons. “Those are my favorite!”

“Really?” Ali asked in mock surprise. “Well, if you can go all night without scratching, it sounds like I’m going to have to make you a tray as soon as we get home.”

“Before bedtime? Mona would have a fit,” Andi giggled.

“Then it’ll have to be our secret,” Ali winked. 

Next Novel Prologue - THE HOTTING

Here is the intro to my next novel set in the magical world of Aevum. Look for this one to continue the adventures of Trotter and Prowler while spoofing many modern political issues of the day. It will also include pirates, gypsies, dragons, magicians, head-strong royalty, and a token geek. Why? Because I can.

It had to start sometime. If by start you actually mean end, that is.

The northernmost point in the bowl of Aevum only sees the sun once every 2,000 years, and even then it only drifts near enough to spill a few hapless rays before remembering itself and backing away in embarrassment. Not that it does any good; the meager rays left behind freeze before they even reach the ground. Everything freezes instantly here, even the intangible. Dotting the borders of this land are small specks in the sky, their wings spread, frozen forever in the final arc of flight as they flew too near the edges of the Temporal Ice Plains.

These are the rimebirds, the only creature in the known universes to have developed a circulatory system with anti-freeze. For daring explorers out to see the famous northern lights, their ominous final flights marked the no-go zone, where the Ice Plains begin and even time itself freezes. Should anyone have been able to survive a trip across the plains they would have seen pockets of time holding humans and even strange creatures from the furthest reaches of time and imagination in terrifying statuesque scenes. They had been frozen in the early days when the temporal freeze was still expanding, laying unseen traps for those who hunted and lived near the once-habitable plains. It had been a storm that lasted millennia, one with all of the power of a hurricane and the haste of mountains. But the boundaries had been stable for centuries now, the birds on its fringe anywhere from dozens to hundreds of years old.

High above the blue expanse of the plains, facing south toward the sun were it not so far away, was the tiniest ruffling of white feathers. This was followed by a larger rustle as a wing caught wind for the first time in decades, and followed further by the squawking of a bird with some very confused memories and stiff wings as it fell away from the borders of the Temporal Ice Plains.  Further away, another white dot wheeled similarly away from its prison in the frozen pocket of time.

Unseen, a few strands of belated time uncurled from the fringe like lazy smoke and drifted out into the world.

Winter was ending. Something new was beginning. Something new, and also something very old.

Novel Excerpt - "Alice Will"

This is a section from my latest young adult fantasy - "Alice Will". In this scene, teenage demi-goddess Trotter is fighting a new foe: boredom. With Prowler, an enchanted cat that is both her friend and guardian, she roams the docks of Sarano.

There is a universal law which naturalists and scientists have yet to discover that supplies that anywhere people gather or pass through, someone will arrive to sell them food. It is due in large part to the tremendous attractive force between the street creature known as a vendor and the gold residing in the pockets of anyone who isn’t them. This is why within a fifty foot walk along the bay Trotter and Prowler were able to purchase and devour two fresh steamed cods, a sampling of shrimp, fried caramel snaps, banana pastries, and a very large syrupy fruit drink made with fizzy water. Trotter was just finishing off a deliciously sticky taffy dainty when they reached the foot of Poorbetters St. and a new sign caught her eye.

“Hey, look! The boys have a new store.”

“I heard about that. Apparently a child in the west side started asking too many questions about one of the gadgets and the parents got suspicious. So, they packed up shop, changed the name a little, and here they are. Good choice, too. People around here aren’t into asking questions.”

The store ahead of them had a sign that advertised “Pratt, Pratts, Potts, and Pot: Items of Technific Wonder.” Though the quartet had moved around quite a bit they were always simple to find by those who knew them. The store in the illustrious west end of Sarano had been called “Pat, Pratt, Pots, and Potter,” and the store before that had been of another similar variation. The reason for their constant moving was that after a while people would catch on to who they really were and chunks of brick would invariably be hurled through their window at best or, at worst, flaming bottles would be thrown in the night. Yet this didn’t deter the young men whose names were actually Pratt, Pratt, Pratt, and Pratt.

Pratt was, or Pratts were, if you will, a mage. Early in his life he discovered that he had a natural aptitude for magical inventions and also discovered that he had far too many ideas and inventions to create than he could do alone in one life time. His solution was as simple as it was impossibly insane. Rather than attempt to find another mage to work with he decided that he worked better by himself, so that is exactly what he chose to do. Using a little-known loophole in Scatcatter’s Infundibulum Dispersal he cast a small net in time and caught himself from one second in the future. With the help of his slightly future self, he repeated the process two more times until Pratt was certain he had enough help for his creations. The only drawback was that he tended to fall into a four second loop in his conversations with other people. Therefore, only two Pratts worked in the front of the store at any time while the other two worked feverishly in the workshop constructing toys that were part magical and part mechanical.

It was generally held among the public that yes, magic existed and yes, it’s quite handy to have around when someone gets ill or the dragons get frisky again, but it’s not really proper, is it? And so it was that they tended to become uncomfortable around practitioners of magic. When groups of uncomfortable people gather together they typically become a group of angry people quite quickly if for no other reason than that it seems to be fashionable at the time.

Magic was never fashionable in the trendy and modern city of Sarano. It signaled a time when people, chiefly people with money, were not in control and put them largely in mind of pitch forks and torches. It was tolerated, however, in the same way that mice are tolerated to exist so long as they did not appear in one’s kitchen.

The Pratts made beautiful toys and time-saving inventions that could practically prepare and cook an entire meal if the buyer had enough gold to spend. However, in order to entice an affluent citizen to purchase one of their magical goods they’d had to be creative, and even a little devious. Pratt, one or all of them, came up with the name technifical to describe the creations and called himself, themselves, an engineer. Since everyone knew that nobody could understand an engineer anyway they seldom asked them what technifical meant. If a brave or morbidly curious soul did ask then they would be ambushed with terms like reversible inverse momentum, floppy circuits, limited infinite quantities, and quantifiable unknowns until the listener gave up and went away pale, shaken, and confused.

Still, from time to time an enterprising mind would dissect one of their wonders and discover that where they’d expected to find clockwork was nothing but seemingly sparkly air or sometimes even a flapping butterfly. Then the Pratts would have to pack up their store and move yet again. It no longer bothered them, actually. It was a matter of pride to them that they were never in one place long enough for the property tax bill to arrive.

The newest incarnation of their store stood in front of Trotter with the promise of at least one thing: it would alleviate an entire morning’s worth of boredom in one stop.

“Let’s go in for a visit,” she said, swallowing the last of her taffy.

“Not this time. We need to get back and wait for Miro.”

“Oh, come on, it’s right on the way! It won’t take long.” She started heading toward the door.

“You promised!” Prowler called behind her indignantly.

“What? I can’t hear you. You should speak up when you’re so far away,” she taunted back as the door to the shop began to close behind her. Prowler darted through the door before it could shut on his tail.

“Five minutes. Then we really have to go. I’m getting bad feeling right down to my whiskers now.”

“Don’t be such a fraidy cat.” As soon as she stepped through the door the buzzing of toys and gizmos filled her ears. As she wandered down an aisle a small rodent sized toy zipped in front of her, pausing only long enough to squeak a tinny apology before hurrying along. In the corner a toy bird was flapping from wall to wall while a life-like toy frog hopped into her hands. It had a small key turning in its back, but she knew it was only for show. That key turned nothing at all and never needed winding. But it made it look less magical and therefore more acceptable to the parents of proper children with the pockets full of gold.

Novel Excerpt - "Of War and Taters"

This excerpt is from my second novel, "Of War and Taters." It is a satire for young adults or the young at heart. Think of this town as Mayberry with a little bit of South Park thrown in for giggles. In this scene, Isabelle - Sheriff Stanley's slightly homicidal wife - is extending her reign of terror over the stray that wandered into her yard that morning.  

Not terribly far across town was a dog that was having second thoughts, or would be, if dogs could have second thoughts. They would have been big ones, too. Just this morning he’d been the king of his domain; he knew where the best trash could be found, he knew he could find cold water at the fountain in the park anytime he was thirsty, and he had the whole world to play in if he wanted it. All of that withstanding, it was a very good thing dogs have such a short memory because now Mr. Cuddle Face’s only concern in the world was with getting his new blue collar off before someone saw him wearing rhinestones.

“Oh, look at oo, Mr. Cuddle Face! What did ums do?” A new concern was firmly etched into the animal’s short term memory as the big loud face showed up again with, he was certain, some new horror for him. As it was, he’d managed to slip his back paw up underneath the collar and was now struggling to both extract his paw and push off his collar at the same time while rotating on his free legs. The result was something that resembled a dog losing a ferret fight on top of a tripod.

Isabelle leaned over the pup, pulled his paw from the offending collar and brought him up nose to nose with her. This, small dog owners everywhere should know, is far more terrifying for the average dog than one would imagine. Another positive deficiency here for Mr. Cuddle Face is the fact that he could not see color; if he could he’d have been rather more alarmed by the bright red lipstick puckered up at the end of his snout which matched the curly mass of red hair that kept tickling his ears.

Already today he’d been tossed into a bathtub and scrubbed no less than three times with a tropical bubble bath despite his howls and hopeless growls. The end product was that he now smelled less like a sewer and more like a trash bin behind a daiquiri bar. It was a marked improvement as far as Isabelle was concerned, but the only response it provoked from the dog was that his tail now smelled far more interesting than it used to when he chased it. After the baths he had been left in the bathroom floor a wet soppy mess while she ran out to find him the perfect leash and collar. On her return, Isabelle also had the unkind idea to use the blow-dryer and a comb to hurry things along in the drying department. That caused no small amount of uncustomary fluffiness to his coat. Then, as if the humiliation hadn’t been laid on thickly enough already, he’d been paraded around the street at the end of his shiny new leash and collar. He’d spent the entire time being mostly dragged as he was too busy gnawing at the leash attached to him to pay attention to unfamiliar commands like stay, heel, and don’t poo there.

Isabelle carried the cowed creature with her into the kitchen where she’d begun preparing Stanley’s dinner. She couldn’t stand meatloaf, but she knew he was expecting to come home and find his traditional Tuesday meatloaf with his favorite dish of green bean casserole next to it. She set Mr. Cuddle Face down in the corner of the kitchen nearest the door where she’d already placed his food dishes. Fortunately for him, the speed with which Isabelle had managed to get personalized dishes with his new name on them was a miracle that was lost to Mr. Cuddle Face. At any rate, he was certainly not grateful for the brown lumps of high fiber diet dog food he found therein. He turned his nose up at the dishes and sauntered over to her side at the stove where he could smell the signs of some certainly non-high fiber activity going on. He affected his best hungry puppy whine to get her attention.

“No, Mr. Cuddle Face, this is people food. You go back over to your bowl and eat your yummy beef and gravy.”  His look as he walked back to the bowl said that he was certainly not willing to concede that the gray gelatinous matter in the bowl was indeed gravy.

“That’s a good baby boy, yes you are!” Isabelle turned back to the meatloaf which she was heavily salting, as was her habit. A second look at the white canister she’d been shaking liberally over the meatloaf had a picture of a smiling puppy, which she didn’t remember seeing on the salt shaker before. She turned it over in her hands and read the words “Mr. Scratchy’s Flea Powder, For Contented Canines!” Another turn revealed a skull and cross bones design indicating that it should under no circumstances be consumed. A small smile danced across her lips.

“Silly me! I must have set it right next to the salt and didn’t realize it.” She accidentally knocked a little more into the mixture with a minor exclamation of “Oops!” and set the flea powder down and picked up the similar salt canister next to it. “Well, Mr. Cuddle Face, I’ll bet if we put enough salt in here he’ll never notice it. You won’t tell on me, will you sweetums?” Her smile swirled with a mixture of innocent sweetness and slightly homicidal intent as she hummed happily to herself.

Somewhere in the vicinity of her feet Mr. Cuddle Face was busy expressing his feelings about the beef lumps and gravy paste in his bowl by piddling on the kitchen rug.