Category: excerpts

Reconstructionist Series: Live Reading

I’m launching the Tangled Echoes release week festivities with a live reading on my Facebook Page of Catching Echoes, book one in the Reconstructionist Series this upcoming Thursday, April 27 at 6pm PDT/9pm EDT. YAY!

I’ll be giving away ebooks of Catching Echoes and eARCS of Tangled Echoes, as well as series postcards. And, everyone who asks me a question or participates in the live event will be entered into a giveaway for an autographed paperback of Catching Echoes. The winner will be drawn by random number generator after the reading.

So pop by my Facebook Page on Thursday and comment on the live feed if you have a moment.

Fun! Fun!

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Reconstructionist 2: first excerpt

*SPOILERS**SPOILERS**SPOILERS**SPOILERS**SPOILERS*

Do not read if you haven’t read Catching Echoes (Reconstructionist 1) yet.

Find the Adept Universe reading order here.

Tangled Echoes (Reconstructionist 2)

Chapter One

I was pacing. Again. Despite the early hour, my mind was already whirling with unarticulated thoughts and unanswered questions. The same as it had been for the past three months. That was why I was at the legal firm of Sherwood and Pine at eight in the morning on the eleventh of January. Seeking answers. For the seventh time.

Hence the pacing. And the ever-mounting frustration.

I strolled across the width of the brightly lit office for the umpteenth time, turning back at the front edge of the black leather sofa. Then, avoiding the matching set of chairs situated before the large oak desk inlaid with curly maple, I steadily wore the tightly woven beige carpet in the other direction.

I was aware that pacing made me appear weak, or worse, indecisive — though I was neither. Plus, the witch seated behind the desk wasn’t paying any attention to me.

As it had been for every single one of our previous visits, Ember Pine’s attention was riveted to the magical contract carefully laid out across her desk. I’d presented the magically imbued sheets of black-inked parchment to her three months before. Conveniently, her office was situated in a business tower a few blocks north of my apartment in downtown Seattle. Inconveniently, the only way she could read the document that had turned my entire life upside down was while I was in the room. The contract went blank if I was more than a few feet away.

Hence my perpetual pacing.

Ember’s straight-edged nose was so close to the page she was holding gingerly at the edges that her bluntly bobbed dark-auburn hair brushed against it. Wary of disturbing the magic embedded within the contract, she’d worn cotton gloves during my first three visits.

She was murmuring quietly, peering through her gold-rimmed glasses from the tiny black lettering of the contract to her notes as she worked through what had to be her third pass on the document this morning.

Seven visits. Thousands of dollars in legal fees. My life in the balance. And evidently, the application for membership into the vampire Conclave — signed by my uncle and presented to me by Kettil the executioner in my bathroom at the beginning of October — was unbreakable.

Unbreakable.

As in, on pain of death.

Ember unfortunately hadn’t been able to figure out yet whether that meant the demise of the signatories — aka Kett and my Uncle Jasper –- or if it also included the only other names remaining on the contract — Declan and me.

I was seriously hoping for the former, blaming the vampire for this predicament almost as much as I blamed my power-obsessed uncle for offering up the entire Fairchild coven ‘For Consideration.’ Presumably that was to cement the deal, though he wanted the immortality for himself.

Speaking of being obsessive, I’d prepared for each of these meetings with Ember almost as carefully as I would have if I’d been about to come face to face with my maker. Given the context of the contract, the dark humor of that sentiment wasn’t lost on me. But nevertheless, I had smoothed my blond hair into the simple French twist I favored, double-checking that my nails were perfectly French manicured and that my navy-blue tweed sheath dress was pristinely pressed.

I hadn’t seen the vampire since he’d given me the contract. And though I had no intention of reaching out to him myself, I kept expecting Kett to abruptly appear, demanding my acquiescence while I traversed the few blocks from my apartment to Ember’s building.

And when he didn’t, I ignored the nagging disappointment that lingered for the rest of the day.

To be continued …

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Reconstructionist 1: Meet Jasmine

“I found another dead teen,” Jasmine said, dragging her bag out through the international arrivals area at Vancouver International Airport. She was wearing a heathered brown merino-wool cardigan that fell around her knees, over a long-sleeved black V-neck T-shirt and skinny-legged black jeans. Her brown leather boots almost perfectly matched the laptop satchel slung across her shoulders.

“Where?” Kett asked, appearing out of the crowd of travelers and the swarm of family and friends currently greeting each other ecstatically.

My cousin flinched, whipping her head around and sending a rampant cascade of dark-blond curls across her shoulders. She hadn’t seen the vampire before he spoke. It was unnerving to have a vampire sneak up on you, even when you were expecting to meet one. I knew. He’d been doing it to me all day.

“Kettil, the executioner and elder of the Conclave,” I said formally and as per protocol, introducing them as I had tried to do when they’d spoken on the phone. “Jasmine Fairchild, tech witch and certified investigator. Also, gourmet cook.”

Jasmine laughed at the gourmet comment. But compared to me, she was a five-star chef. As long as her short attention span didn’t distract her.

“Yes,” Kett said, smiling pleasantly. “Wisteria’s cousin. Dahlia’s daughter. Half-sister of Declan Benoit.”

Jasmine thrust her hand toward him, smirking sexily. “Well, you’ve done your homework.”

Kett’s smile widened to reveal a hint of white teeth as he shook her hand.

Jasmine laughed again, enjoying the attention. Me, the vampire decided to keep in a heightened state of fear. Jasmine, he decided to flirt with. Perhaps he preferred effervescent, slightly sarcastic personalities. Or perhaps it was Jasmine’s curls and bright-blue eyes. My cousin’s eyes were a lighter blue than Jade Godfrey’s, but a lot of witches shared that coloring — including my entire family.

– Excerpt from Chapter Five of Catching Echoes (Reconstructionist 1)

Jasmine’s bio page from my notebook (I had to white out some potential spoilers!!)

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Reconstructionist 1: a view from a hotel window

I took these shots in the wrong season (Dec 31. 2016 and Jan 1, 2017 to be specific) and from a higher floor but I thought you might be interested in seeing the view from Wisteria’s hotel window in Catching Echoes, Reconstructionist 1.

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An excerpt from Catching Echoes, Reconstructionist 1, Chapter Two:

I lapsed back into gazing out at the gorgeous city and toying with my bracelet again. I brushed my fingers over one of the two tiny reconstructions hidden among the platinum house and tree charms.

Effortlessly, I pulled a glimpse of a darkly tanned boy with golden-hazel eyes out from within it.

A sudden gust of wind hammered rain against the lower pane of the window, drawing my attention. And for a moment, through the blurred wash on the glass, I thought I saw a blond, pale figure standing in the rain at the edge of the outdoor pool, four floors down.

A figure that I would have sworn in that instant was Kett, gazing up at my hotel room.

Heart thumping, I threw myself out of my chair, pressing my hands against the rain-spattered window and scanning the wide, adobe-tiled patio below.

The image I’d pulled from the reconstruction winked out.

The area around the well-lit pool and hot tub was empty. The lounge chairs were all folded and tucked away along the edges of the sundeck. A slight haze of steam rolled off the tranquil light-blue water of the pool, and what little I could see of inside the hotel from this angle was devoid of people.

I had just imagined it.

Kett.

I was allowing the tension of the day to make me feel vulnerable, even hunted. And that was a state I knew too much about already. I didn’t need to be randomly manifesting monsters stalking me in the dark.

Catching Echoes (Reconstructionist 1) is available on

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Reconstructionist 1: Wisteria meets Kett

I settled on the dungeness crab risotto to start, and had just reached for the wine list to find a Pinot Noir to pair it with, when I realized that someone was sitting across from me.

Not just a someone. A vampire.

A white-blond, blue-eyed, exceedingly pale, tremendously powerful vampire who I’d thought was dead. Well, more dead. I had reconstructed the moment of his destruction myself. In London, three years before, I’d seen him stabbed through the heart with a magical blade. I’d seen him fall.

Kettil, the executioner of the Conclave, was swathed in expensive green cashmere so dark it was practically black, sporting what appeared to be a solid gold Apple Watch and lounging back in the seat across from me as if he’d been sitting there the entire time. His eyes were so light blue, they could practically have been called silver. He quirked his lips in a shallow, pleased smile.

I hadn’t seen him sit down. I hadn’t even seen him cross the room.

My server, who’d been approaching the table from the back kitchen area, flinched. Her human reactions were even more delayed than mine. Startled, she exhaled, pressing her hand to her chest.

“Wisteria Fairchild,” the vampire said. His exceedingly straight teeth were even paler than his face. I couldn’t see any hint of his fangs.

“Yes.”

“Kettil.” He reached across the table.

I lifted my own hand from the linen tablecloth. Pleased that it wasn’t shaking, I grasped his outstretched hand as his gaze fell to my charm bracelet. He wasn’t as cold as I thought he’d be, but perhaps I was still chilled myself. His fingers closed completely over mine, firm but not crushing. Still, I could feel the terrible strength that lay just underneath his hold.

He could tear me limb from limb, slaughter every human in the restaurant, bathe in our blood, and I wouldn’t have been able to do a single thing about it.

I was panicking.

I never panicked.

But I could feel the adrenaline rushing through me as the vampire held my hand.

He lifted his gaze to mine, widening his grin. And without so much as a blink or a breath, he ensnared me. Idiotically, I’d been staring directly into his eyes.

He held his other hand up toward the server. She froze.

His presence flooded my mind in a warm, calming, and almost euphoric pulse.

“Steady,” he murmured.

My heart rate settled. I felt as though my arm was suspended, stretched across the table, lightly cradled in his hand … cushioned by the awesome presence of his mind.

I could have stayed there forever. At peace … protected … cherished …

I could have been his forever.

No Fairchild is weak enough to be ensnared by a vampire.

I wasn’t totally sure whether that was an original thought or a remembered edict of my mother’s, but it was enough to wake me up to the situation.

I gathered my mental shields, imagining a barrier of magic between the vampire and myself. Evoking layers upon layers of magic, similar to the sides of my oyster-shell cubes. I blinked my eyes, then shook my head slightly.

I lifted my hand away from Kettil’s.

He let me go.

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Reconstructionist Series: Introducing Wisteria

Wisteria Fairchild narrates my newest novel, Catching Echoes (Reconstructionist 1) aka the first book in the Reconstructionist trilogy. But I first introduced Wisteria in Dowser 3, then again in Dowser 4.

A carefully curated (to block out any potential spoilers) page from my Catching Echoes notebook.

From Treasures, Demons, and Other Black Magic (Dowser 3)

Just before dawn, a knock at the suite door pulled me away from watching Mory sleep. I’d been worrying that she hadn’t woken yet, but was also fretting about waking her to feed her if she needed the sleep to heal.

I’d ordered food the second the kitchen had opened, so I thought the knock was room service. Instead, I opened the door to find a dark-blond woman around twenty-five standing in the hall. She was a couple of inches shorter than my five feet nine inches. Her hair was pulled back and up in a French twist that wouldn’t last an hour on me, and every well-tailored piece of clothing on her dripped money — all without my recognizing a single label, because there weren’t any.

“Jade Godfrey?” she asked politely, already knowing the answer. Her slight accent identified her as American.

I met her gaze and flinched. Her blue witch magic curled and coiled behind her eyes so tightly that I couldn’t distinguish their actual color.

She furrowed her brow at my flinch. I transferred my gaze to her hands where her magic also pooled, though not as intensely as behind her eyes.

“I know you,” I said, and I met her gaze without flinching a second time. Her magic was heavily doused in nutmeg — which wasn’t a scent I associated with witch magic — along with the sweet floral tones I would have expected. Sweet nutmeg was an odd combination.

“Yes,” she answered. “I’m Wisteria Fairchild. The reconstructionist.”

From Shadows, Maps, and Other Ancient Magic (Dowser 4):

I could see Wisteria settling into a table at the farthest corner of the cafe and ordering something from the server. A tea, I guessed. Oddly, the chairs closest to her had been lifted and flipped onto their tables as if the floor was about to be scrubbed.

Wisteria’s dark blond hair was pulled back into the perfectly smooth French twist she had worn the last time I saw her. Her cornflower-blue, pristinely pressed cotton dress was belted in white to create an empire waist. She looked as if she were about to attend a wedding, but this was everyday attire for the witch. The blue of the dress was a couple of shades lighter than the magic I could see pooled in the palms of her folded hands.

Kett was somewhere in the shadows of one of the storefront stoops just ahead of me. I could taste his magic rather than see him. “Why are you hunting the reconstructionist?” I whispered into the dark night.

“Why do you assume I’m hunting anyone?” Kett murmured back without revealing himself.

“Well, you aren’t working together. Are you? Or dating? Do vampires even date?”

“Your words indicate jealousy, warrior’s daughter.”

“But my tone sounds concerned.”

“Indeed.” Kett laughed. “I would not be hunting a Fairchild witch without permission.”

“Whose permission? And do you have it?”

Kett didn’t answer.

“Have you even met her?” I asked.

“Not officially.”

“And this isn’t any of my business.”

“Not even remotely.”

I sighed. I had my own reasons for being in Seattle, for meeting with the reconstructionist. I wasn’t here to police Kett or Wisteria, if she’d done something to get on the Conclave’s radar.

“She saw you die in London,” I said.

“Yes,” Kett answered. “Perhaps it is best left at that.”

 

Find out why Wisteria holds her magic so tightly and why Kett was in Seattle – or at least the beginning of their story – in Catching Echoes (Reconstructionist 1).

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