Immortal Machinations - A Steampunk Novel

I revealed the title at Fandom Fest 2013.  I'm still writing it but I can tell you this much, the title is a double entendre.  Here I am referring to those with Dorian's immortality issues but the Immortals will make their own appearances.  I am very excited about my first Steampunk release and it is flowing fairly steadily in spite of the other stories rolling around inside my head right now (including a very dark novel, my YA epic fantasy sequel, the YA project I am co-authoring with my daughter, and so on).

Fun at Fandomfest 2013!!

I had a blast at FandomFest and met some AWESOME people.  I can't share all of my pics because I have this thing about not showing my kids on my blog so this is just a fraction of my footage!

Sadly missing Sample Saturday, BUT, only because.....

I'll be at FANDOM FEST in Louisville, KY this weekend!  We are REALLY excited for this, especially since we are debuting END OF THE NIGHT in paperback!

Also, for those who stop by the table, I plan to have some sneak previews of my pending release as yet untitled but fully Steampunk and featuring Dorian of Emerald Seer fame!

Sample Saturday - cool down with a good read!

This is the opening sequence of RYDER ON THE STORM ~ EMERALD SEER I.....just to try an oldie but goodie!

When you first realize you are different it can come as a shock.  It should come as a shock.  For Storm Sullivan it had been different.  She felt nothing, just took it in stride, staring blankly into the fireplace while her mother hyperventilated.  Storm was seven at the time.  Her first vision seemed as simple as a daydream.  It hadn’t hurt back then.  No headaches or blinding pain.  The most uncomfortable part of the experience was the rough fabric of the 70s style sofa chafing her legs.  Storm kept adjusting the blue gingham-checked romper while Aunt Trin stroked her auburn curls, from the nape of her neck to her waist and over again. 

Her mother wept as she explained the family curse.  Storm stared at her, stone-faced, replaying her vision and thinking about her mother’s fragility.   Aunt Trin kept stroking her hair, the gentle rhythm a soothing gesture in the wake of her mother’s emotions.  Storm felt annoyed.   The vision had been a simple one, her friend Sami stealing a pack of gum from the corner store and receiving a stern talking to after being caught.  It hadn’t even fazed her.  But her mother, well, Sophie Sullivan’s hopes of the curse passing over her only child were dashed in an instant. 

Storm looked at her mother, mascara dripping down her cheeks like a sad circus clown, wild desperation and sadness warring behind her eyes.  Aunt Trin had spoken up at just the right moment, “Sophie, luv, it will be fine.  You knew it was a better chance than not that our Storm would receive the Sight as well.  She is taking it better than you.  Why don’t you go put on some tea and I will figure out what she saw?”

Mother had nodded obligingly before disappearing into the kitchen.  Aunt Trin had turned to her, those lovely emerald eyes flashing with excitement, “She did not take that well did she, luv?” 

Storm suppressed an eye roll and forced herself to shake her head instead.  As always with her aunt, the words flowed easily.  Without emotion she relayed what had played out in the vision and Aunt Trin listened in earnest.  She reclined back against the arm of the sofa and folded her hands together, the enormous jeweled rings clicking like castanets.   Aunt Trin and her mother looked so much alike, from their creamy, clear complexions to their wide emerald eyes, but Storm marveled at how opposite their personalities ended up.    Storm sighed as her mother sobbed loudly in the kitchen - very loudly since the dining room and a hallway stood between them. 

Aunt Trin rolled her eyes, “I will take care of her.  Don’t fret about your mother, luv.  Tomorrow morning I will call Sami’s mother and give her a heads up.  I believe you have done your friend a service.  Why don’t you get ready for bed, huh?”  She passed her mother on the way out of the parlor and heard Aunt Trin begin recanting the vision.  Her mother cried harder.  Storm knew that Aunt Trin would be holding her, stroking her hair in that same soothing way.   She climbed the stairs to her room and readied for bed wondering what life had in store for her now that her mind had opened to the Sight.

Super Sample Saturday!

Just a bit from LIGHT MY FIRE this week as I prep to give my alter ego a little face time at a local event...

“Lucian, you are a good man.  What happened between you and Angeline?”  Everything about him screamed wild, unkempt and nomad, Storm understood that but she also wanted happiness for him, for the tenderness he showed her, for the years of friendship he’d given Ryder.  Lucian fought every day to contain the Phoenix, Storm could only guess at the strength it took, and to do so for more than five centuries.  He deserved some measure of happiness and relief.  She respected Lucian more every day and had been researching ways to ease the burden, absorbing every bit of information she could find on Phoenix.  As it turned out, they had arrived with the Tuatha De, or near about that time, and had once lived in peace among them.  That was the real reason for Damarra’s absence and why Storm refused to summon her.  Her grandmother would return when she was good and ready, not a moment sooner or later. 

“Do not let the Scots hear you say that.  I would never hear the end of it.”  He winked and took her arm.  “Angeline and I are not a match.  She served a purpose, we made an attempt, but we did not have much spark.  It was mutual, I assure you, precious Emerald.”  Lucian chuckled at his pet name for her, one of many, and Storm found herself charmed once more.  She almost missed the dark look that crossed her friend’s face – almost. 

“Lucian, be honest with me.  It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”  It seemed silly to ask when the answer was evident in his eyes but she’d misread so much lately, since the pregnancy really.  Besides, it would be good if Lucian just opened up to her for once the way everyone else seemed to.

Instead, Lucian turned her to face him, hands at her shoulders, and met her gaze evenly “Storm, do not worry about me, I have handled this for over five hundred years, I can handle it for five hundred more without batting an eye.”  Storm swore the fire flickered furiously for a second but when she blinked it was gone.  The sounds of Kell and Pollux arguing ended the moment. “Hell, I had better go check on the Scots to make sure your furniture turns out right.  Trust me, Storm, it will all work out and I am in complete control.”

Happy 4th of July!

This week I am opting for a small blurb featuring one of my favorite characters in the whole series - PacMan!


Pac Man snorted and sneezed. He lumbered over, plopped on her foot and rolled to his back exposing his pink underbelly. Some faint scars littered his left side, a reminder of the abuse he’d sustained as a pup. "You are such a big baby. I am not rubbing your belly now. Let’s go up to my room so I can shower before the guys get here." Storm looked up the massive double staircase, modeled after the one used in Gone with the Wind. Cherry wood railings usually wound with seasonal lights were now bare, odd in and of itself; Aunt Trin had always liked the twinkling lights year round. The carpet that ran the middle of the stairs seemed worn, threadbare in a few places where they had been tread one too many times. She would need to replace the lot of it.
Twenty steps to the landing and she found herself gazing out into the back yard, the orchard where she hid as a child, the storage shed where she received her first kiss, the white washed cottage where Aunt Trin kept an herb garden for potions. All looked a bit worse for the wear but essentially unchanged. Storm relished the picturesque quality of the blooming trees; she’d painted the orchard several dozen times and actually won an award for a photography study of the trees. It seemed like an eternity ago. She found herself wondering about the harvest this year. Storm wondered who had handled it last season. Perhaps there were receipts in the study, though she doubted Trin kept much by way of books. Dammit. Stop procrastinating.
Storm’s large boho purse weighed on her shoulder and the duffel bag straps dug into her palm as she climbed the next twenty steps. The room at the top of the stairs had belonged to her mother. Through the open door Storm could tell that Trin had not touched anything since Sophie’s passing. The four poster bed still covered by an heirloom quilt and pictures of Storm on the bedside table, all antique pieces of course, exactly as they had been ten years ago. She forced her feet forward remembering the need for a shower when the stench of sweat and body odor overwhelmed her reverie.
The next two doors opened into guest suites with private baths where Dan and Shane would most likely pass the night. Storm had the room at the end of the hall, opposite her old studio. Storm sighed and pushed open the door to her past. It did not escape her notice that it was the only closed door she’d come across.
Her bedroom looked exactly as she’d left it. The heavy violet velvet curtains were parted and hung over wrought iron tie backs. Sheers of various shades of purple still draped the matching wrought iron bed, the lilac satin bedspread half turned down to reveal silky silver sheets. Yes, she had been in a romantic Goth phase before she’d left. The walls were still plastered with her favorite posters, a shirtless Jim Morrison, Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, several John Hughes movie posters, and a tour poster for Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Her bookshelf still overflowed with Stephen King, Jane Austen, and Tolkien. A well-worn copy of Catcher in the Rye lay half open on her nightstand.