Archivist 2: bad influence

T-minus 15 days!!! Are you ready for the next book in the Archivist series?

Sisu patted my cheek. “You’re always good, Dusk. That’s why I’m allowed to be … less than good.”

I snorted doubtfully. “That’s not how it works.”

“It totally is,” Neve chimed in from Kellan’s shoulders. She patted her uncle on the head, then added, “Just like Mom and Uncle Kellan.”

“Mom is the good one,” Lile added, just in case I couldn’t figure that out for myself.

Kellan growled. I stifled a smile.

“See?” Sisu said.

“Right …” I said, looking up at Kellan. “And I’m the bad influence.”

Sisu threw up his hands, then executed a flawless pirouette, somehow managing to slip out of Kellan’s grasp without damaging the backpack.

“Ta-da!” he cried, golden sparkles shooting from his fingertips. “Race you back!”

He took off toward the woods.

Neve and Lile cried out, wiggling and protesting until Kellan set both of them on their feet. They took off after Sisu.

Kellan tried to glower at me again. “I blame you.”

I shrugged, hiking up my dress to undo the sheath on my thigh.

“I’ll be right back,” Kellan said, eyeing me like maybe he wanted to wait around to see what else I was going to strip off. “Wait for me.”

“Nope,” I said, setting the sheathed bone blade to the side just for a moment.

He snarled under his breath — an interesting mixture of curse words in Irish and older Gaelic — but then he loped off after the kids.

– excerpt from Compelling Infinity (Archivist 2), Chapter 6

PREORDER NOW

AVAILABLE JAN 4, 2022

– AMAZON – APPLE BOOKS – BARNES AND NOBLE – KOBO – SMASHWORDS –


Are you new to the Archivist series? The first book is Awakening Infinity (Archivist 0). Or click here for the complete reading order of the Adept Universe.

Archivist 2 preview: chapter 1, part 1

I uploaded a preview of Archivist 2 (see below) in the back of Archivist 1 on all retailers today … so I thought it only fair to share it here for all of you who already own book one. Compelling Infinity (Archivist 2) is available for preorder on all retailers. T-minus 29 days!

The gallery hummed with energy. Magic generated by dozens of elaborately masked Adepts coated the marble floors and corniced walls as I wove my way through the tuxedo-and-ballgown-swathed crowd that lingered along the edges of the room. The guests all appeared thoroughly entertained, watching those dancing, nibbling on hors d’oeuvres, and discussing the artwork and artifacts on display.

The meticulously curated exhibit.

Even if I said so myself.

Witch lights twined around the smooth marble columns that supported the mosaic ceiling. More lights were strung along the casings and moldings. Every surface glinted and twinkled with pinpoints of magic. To my sight, at least.

Crystal insisted on referring to those tiny points of magic as fae lights or fairy lights, which was slightly too fanciful for my taste but perfectly on theme. And since it had taken the acting head librarian over three days to set all those pinpoints in place, each marked with an inked personal rune, she could call them whatever she wished. 

She had also used witch lights to frame the artwork, to curl like tendrils around the podiums, and to line the benches set within the niches. Pine witches accessed their power through the written word — or the scribed rune in the case of this particular casting. And Crystal had invested so much of her magic into the setting and the ambience of the gala that she’d been exhausted each night that week.

I’d been doubtful at first about all the extras the librarian had decreed necessities, thinking that the art and the artifacts on display were all that would be needed to make a fundraising gala a success. But the finished effect was stunning. Breathtaking.

With Crystal’s guidance, the gala was a fairy tale that had been brought to life, then filled with magic and music and laughter.

And the crab cakes were utterly delicious as well.

My silk chiffon dress brushed against my ankles as I passed a masked couple I didn’t know. Dressed almost identically in shimmering shades of deep green, the pair of witches crossed onto the small dance floor that Crystal had also insisted on.

The librarian had looked resplendent in blue silk herself when I arrived. Her blond hair was curled into tight swirls pinned to her head with more pinpoints of glistening magic. She’d replaced her typical wide-framed glasses with an intricate black-lace mask that covered most of her face, leaving her ears strikingly exposed. Then she’d deliberately emphasized that effect by lining each ear with tiny diamonds.

I’d done three circuits of the room in the first hour, greeting guests and not-so-subtly directing them to the silent auction set up at the back of the gallery, just off the hall to the kitchen. The tickets to the gala had been expensive, limited to seventy-five guests, and had sold out in under a week. Though the gallery connected the nonmagical National Museum of Ireland to the offices of the magical antiquities section of that museum, Brady had informed me that the space hadn’t been used or open to the public for as long as he’d worked at the archive. The Adept public specifically. The entrance was hidden from anyone nonmagical under multiple layers of masking and distraction spells. Crystal and James had reinforced all those spells over the last week. 

Crystal was still standing sentry by the collection of ancient journals and letters we’d put on display for the evening. Some of the more delicate tomes were sealed under glass, with the rest set on shelves crusted in glimmering crystals. I was surprised that the librarian was still on her feet, given the time and energy she’d put into setting up the displays and everything around them. 

I was more than capable of selecting and hanging the artwork or shuffling the display cases — Crystal had changed her mind three times about the ‘flow,’ as she called it. But delicate, precise witch magic wasn’t a talent of mine. I was the complete opposite when it came to casting, tending toward the destructive end of the scale even with something as simple as a cleaning spell.

My brother, Sisu, and I had called Dublin and Wilding Manor our home for nearly two and a half months. But when it came to pretending to be a witch when I was actually a dragon in disguise, practice apparently didn’t make perfect. As such, I leaned into my strengths, focusing on collecting and containing magical artifacts and creatures, while avoiding the more basic, exceedingly useful aspects of magic. So even though I might have been the head curator of magical antiquities at the National Museum of Ireland, and I might have proposed the idea of the holiday gala as a fundraiser, it was Crystal who’d put it all together and pulled it all off. 

Beautifully. I felt like I was gliding through magic with every step I took. 

My brown silk dress helped, cinched at the waist, then gradually flaring over my hips, with its subtle plaid patterning and sweeping boat neckline. Yes, I felt like a princess. Even if I’d had to practice walking in heeled gold sandals.

Crystal had also insisted on the event being masked and formal, because it suited her theme: Fated Mates.

I’d had no idea a gala needed a fanciful theme, other than selecting an era or a specific branch of the magical world as a focus for the artifacts and art we’d unearthed from the archive — in the most literal sense. Every magical item that had ever been collected in Ireland was housed underneath the gallery in a cavernous but completely inviting archive space — according to me, anyway — that stretched out under the offices and the entire footprint of the main museum.

“Seventeenth century, England,” Crystal murmured in a hushed, reverent tone to my right as I continued toward the back of the gallery. Her American accent stood out in a room full of Irish and British intonation.

I wanted to check on the silent-auction items. Okay, fine. I was looking for more crab cakes. I was fairly certain it was the red pepper and a touch of cayenne that made them so perfectly tasty, but I needed to test at least two or three more to know for absolute certain.

Crystal settled her hand gently on the display case she was showing to a brown-haired sorcerer in a black mask and a subtly brocaded tux. “Fated mates, yes. But doomed to never wed, never see each other beyond mere glimpses years apart. But their letters …” She sighed dramatically, splaying her fingers across her chest. “Oh, their letters. I’ve selected a few beautiful passages …”

Crystal was a self-proclaimed romantic, and had been insistent that the Adepts of Dublin would adore dressing up and being visually beguiled. Clearly, she was right.

I’d had to get my own dress made, not just because I didn’t actually own any formal wear, but because I needed pockets. Specifically, I needed a slitted pocket so I could reach the bone blade strapped to my right thigh. Not that I was planning to stab anyone — I would have hated to accidentally splatter blood on any of the collection. But we’d gone from severely tightening security for the archive after the incidents with Rook and Ayre Byrne not even two months ago, to opening fairly widely for this event. The entrances and exits were all heavily warded, of course, and each artifact, book, and piece of vellum was tagged. 

Not only had I not owned any formal wear before last week, I’d never even worn any. Not once in my twenty-five years. So I was a little … out of my comfort zone. Again. Ravine had done my hair and makeup, along with her sister River’s, over three hours ago back at the manor. Things were still a bit chilly with the scion of the Byrne coven, but River and I managed to be polite. When forced to do so. Mostly for the sake of her daughter, Rook, who was spending the night with Sisu and the twins at the manor.

Ravine had insisted that I borrow the simple gold mask I currently wore, a series of thread-thin strands of yellow gold that outlined my eyes and swept up over my brow. The metal mage had created it, along with the gold masks worn by her and River, which were even more intricate pieces of art. The product of years of work and additions, laced with Ravine’s unique magic.

Sisu, despite vehement protests, remained at home with Rook, and with the shapeshifter twins, Lile and Neve. Before I’d even left for the gala, the kids had already collected every pillow and cushion to be found in the manor and created a huge, comfy fort in the living room, with the TV in easy view and multiple movies queued. The twins’ father, Len Murphy, had chosen to supervise the younglings, apparently not interested in dressing up or mingling with the Adepts of Dublin. Though according to Ravine, that had more to do with the fact that Gitta, the twins’ mother, was currently dating someone else. At the same time she was seeing Len.

Apparently, Ravine knew who everyone with even a mote of magical power in the city was ‘riding’ at any particular time.

Her word, not mine.

Metal magic and that honed sense for people’s entanglements were the earth witch’s self-declared specialties. Since we’d met, she had continually teased me about who my first conquest among the Dublin Adept should be — and had practically pushed me into the arms of three witches and one sorcerer in the last hour.

Unfortunately, my interest was stuck on someone else. Someone entirely unsuitable. Someone who wasn’t actually available.

I’d been relieved when Kellan Conall had begun limiting his hours at the estate last month, leaving the overseeing of the ongoing renovation of the upstairs bedrooms and bathrooms to his sister Gitta, and simply dropping in to build and install woodwork and cabinets as needed. Mostly when I was at work myself.

Conall Construction had multiple projects on the go, but thankfully, they had prioritized getting me a kitchen and two working bathrooms when we’d first taken occupancy. Wilding Manor was so massive, though, that it would take years to revitalize the entire estate.

Shoving thoughts of ridiculously sexy, unexplainably powerful shapeshifters out of my mind, I distracted myself by glancing around for Ravine, finding her on the dance floor in the arms of a female werewolf I didn’t know. She was sheathed in layers of black chiffon — sleeveless and practically backless — with intricate Celtic-inspired bands of gold twined around her pale-skinned arms. The metal mage’s sleek, dark hair slipped and shimmered around her neck and shoulders as she moved, blunt ends barely brushing her collarbone. She winked at me, but appeared to be offishly ignoring her dance partner. Or perhaps she was just allowing herself to be admired in silence.

Gitta was also on the dance floor, wearing a green sheath that was so dark it was practically black. As she spun toward me, the fairy lights brought out hues of red from the dark-brown hair that cascaded in a shiny waterfall around her shoulders. Her spiked heels added to her already impressive height, and her lively shifter magic brushed across my upper arm as she passed. She was in the arms of an imposing Nordic-looking werewolf in his midthirties — Thurston, a newcomer to the Conall pack, and her current object of interest.

Again, all according to Ravine.

An enchanted grand piano, a cello, and a harp on loan from the Byrne coven for the evening all occupied the far corner near the hall to the kitchen and bathrooms. The silent-auction items were displayed along the same wall on the opposite side of the doorway, and I was pleased to see numerous Adepts slowly making their way along the table to bid on the items I’d collected from local Adept artisans, shops, and restaurants. Putting together the auction had given me an excuse to meet other magic users who worked and lived in the city.

The current song the magical trio was playing might have been some sort of waltz, but I honestly knew nothing about music. Or dancing. Hence my having kept to the edges of the gallery all night. 

I slipped, hopefully unnoticed, behind a murmured conversation between Mesa Byrne and her son, Ridge, who were discussing an oil painting by an eighteenth-century Irish sorcerer. Tiny fairies hid among the ruins of a stone tower in the expansive landscape, whose color palette was dominated by blues, greens, and golds. According to Crystal, the archive held three of the artist’s works, but the landscape was the most appropriate thematically.

Though it was rare that a piece of art appealed to me, I found myself itching to take the oil painting home and hang it in my library. Crystal had great taste. Or at least her taste apparently aligned with my own.

A ruddy-haired man stood slightly apart from Mesa and Ridge, his back to the wall and an untouched glass of champagne in his hand. Dillon Garvey, Ridge’s guest. According to Ravine, again and always, their relationship was new enough that the gala was the first social function they’d attended together, and the first Adept function that Dillon had ever set foot within.

Dillon, in his midthirties, was an investigator for the Garda Siochana, the national police service of Ireland. But despite his Adept heritage — his grandmother had been a necromancer affiliated with the Byrne coven — when I’d shaken his hand at the beginning of the evening, whatever magic might still simmer within Dillon Garvey’s blood had felt completely dormant.

I skirted along the silent-auction display, secretly coveting at least three items — a handblown glass vase that had been donated by a pack werewolf, a spellbook donated by Mesa Byrne, and a gift basket curated by Cove Byrne, who ran the cafe I frequented for lunch on Tuesdays, and who had also catered the gala.

I paused by my own donation — a tour of the archive and a two-hour chat with the head curator. Namely, me. Crystal had suggested it, with her, Brady, and James each offering something relevant to their own specialties as well. I’d been surprised that Crystal thought two hours of my time would be worth anything to regular Adepts. Then I’d been flummoxed when the bid had surpassed five hundred euros within thirty minutes. It was currently sitting at a bid of fifteen hundred euros.

Kellan Conall was the current top bidder.

My heart paused for a breath, then sped up for a few beats before leveling out.

I liked Kellan’s handwriting. Well formed, readable, but not fancy. The thick, steady strokes indicated a firm …

What was I doing?

Who got turned on by handwriting?

Other than me, obviously.

Kellan had been bidding against Mesa Byrne and someone named Brendan Prince for the last six bids. They’d had to flip the card over.

A small plate holding three tiny crab cakes appeared under my nose. He’d approached silently. Surrounded by the energy that teemed from every surface and every one of the eighty-plus people in the room, I hadn’t picked up his magic.

Kellan.

I took the plate without thinking, then actually steeled myself before turning my attention to him. I’d already caught sight of the imposing shapeshifter multiple times in the last hour, tearing my gaze away and altering my direction each time.

Kellan leaned in to read the silent-auction card. His voice was a soft purr next to my ear, his breath whispering across my exposed neck and collarbone. “Who,” he murmured, “is Brendan Prince?”

His deep, playful tone did all sorts of mushy things to my insides. I met his golden-green eyes, their color vibrant and pronounced next to his light-brown skin and darker-brown hair. He wasn’t wearing a mask. I forced myself to smile even though my heart had started hammering in my chest.

Because Kellan Conall might have been imposing in construction gear. Maybe even ruggedly handsome wearing a sweater and jeans. But in a tuxedo, he was devastation. Utter wanton devastation. 

According to my hormones.

Even though rationally and logically, I knew he was off-limits. For multiple reasons.

Grinning, Kellan straightened to his full height, still towering over me despite my heels.

I popped a crab cake in my mouth, making appreciative noises. Even though I’d been avoiding him all evening, he’d apparently noticed how much I liked them.

His grin widened, magic sparking in his eyes as his gaze fell to my lips. And suddenly I was the one who felt utterly wanton. And exposed. 

Compelling Infinity (Archivist 2)

PREORDER NOW – AVAILABLE JAN 4, 2022

– AMAZON – APPLE BOOKS – BARNES AND NOBLE – KOBO – SMASHWORDS –


Are you new to the Archivist series? The first book is Awakening Infinity (Archivist 0), Or click here for the complete reading order of the Adept Universe.

Archivist Series: Cream Cheese Cutouts

Compelling Infinity (Archivist 2) releases in just over a month, but I was fairly certain you needed Len Murphy’s family recipe – Cream Cheese Cutouts – before the holidays (though they are tasty year-round). I’ve included an excerpt below for extra fun.

I will add this recipe to the Adept Universe cookbook and put a download link in the new release email that will go out on Jan 4, 2021. Make sure you’re subscribed to my mailing list if you want a full and/or new PDF copy of the cookbook.

CLICK TO DOWNLOAD PDF FILE


I found Sisu, Neve, and Lile in the kitchen with Len. Flour and other ingredients appeared to have exploded all over the kitchen island and the surrounding floor.

Len was standing sentry over the oven, with the trio all lined up at the island. All had been assigned different tasks and were wearing smocks that I was fairly certain were just large T-shirts with the arms and necks cut off. Sisu, Neve, and Lile looked up at me as I entered, grinning in perfect synchrony. And for the first time in my life, I pulled out my phone and used it to take a picture.

“We’re making cookies!” Sisu said. Icing sugar dusted his cheek. 

“I’m in charge of the sprinkles!” Neve cried gleefully. Her lips, teeth, and tongue were oddly bright pink.

“No,” Len said, barely containing his amusement. “You were in charge of sprinkles.”

Neve snickered. The red tin of sprinkles looked suspiciously emptier than the other colors, which made sense given the state of the six-year-old.

The island was divided into two sections — a space to roll out the cookie dough, cut it, and place it on a baking sheet. Then a space to decorate the cooled cookies. Len had an uncooked sheet of cookies waiting to the left of the oven, and about two dozen cookies cooling on wire racks to the right.

Lile and Sisu were currently cutting out dough while Neve frosted a cooled batch of cookies with white icing. As she finished each one, she set it onto parchment paper laid down across the far end of the counter.

“What are you making?” I asked.

“Cream-cheese cutouts,” Lile said, her tone and expression serious as she focused on cutting out a cookie in the shape of an evergreen tree.

When she was satisfied, she nodded at Sisu. My brother carefully peeled the raw tree from the heavily floured marble counter and placed it on a waiting cookie sheet, already half full.

“Two inches apart,” Sisu said. “Len says that’s the best spacing.”

I glanced over the trio’s heads at Len.

He grimaced. “Sorry about the mess. Bethany left early to help with the setup at the Conall house. It’s a family recipe. My family. From California.” 

“We’re making gifts,” Neve said brightly, gesturing toward a half-dozen Christmas-themed boxes on a side counter that I hadn’t noticed in all the chaos. 

The timer on the oven went off. “I’ll check,” Sisu announced, jumping back off his stool.

Len opened the oven as he and Sisu both peered into its depths. Sisu cocked his head to one side. “Just starting to brown on the edges. Two more minutes?”

“I concur,” Len said, closing the oven and setting the timer. My chest constricted. With happiness, I thought — but I wasn’t certain I’d ever felt that specific sensation before.

– excerpt from Compelling Infinity (Archivist 2)

Amplifier 5: coven witches , sharks, and surfing

It’s happening!!! #AmWriting #AmplifierSeries #AdeptUniverse

Another exclamation erupted from the backseat of the convertible, drawing our attention to the left again. For the briefest of moments a view of a gray sand beach broke through the trees. If not for the roar of the wind already buffeting my ears, the sound of the pounding surf would no doubt be impressive.

“Surfers!” Opal exclaimed, picking out black dots among waves that had to be at least four meters high. Even in June the water was cold enough that surfers wore wet suits if they wanted to be in the ocean for an extended period of time.

“But no sharks, right?” Ocean howled over the wind.

“You know there is!” Opal huffed, exacerbated. “We looked it up!”

“But not near shore.” Ocean muttered, reassuring herself. “Not man eaters.”

“Don’t worry,” Opal crowed gleefully. “The orcas will eat you before the sharks.”

I glanced at Ocean in the rearview mirror. The eighteen-year-old potions specialist looked utterly aghast. Aiden’s youngest sister had returned from the Academy with Opal last night. She was a member of the Myers coven but interested in apprenticing with one of the Godfrey witches for the summer. Hence, joining us for the retreat. 

“But not near shore, right?” Ocean repeated, brushing the dark brown, blond tipped hair that had worked free from her loose bun away from her light blue eyes.

Lani laughed. “You don’t have to surf, Ocean.”

The Myers witch huffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t know witches. Show any weakness, and they’ll freeze me out.”

– Instincts and Imposters (Amplifier 5), chapter one, scene one, first draft


New to the Amplifier Series? Start reading with The Amplifier Protocol (Amplifier 0). Or click here for the reading order of the entire Adept Universe (so far).

Moments of the Adept Universe: Audrey 0.5

Anchored in the Moment (Moments of the Adept Unvierse 0.7) aka Audrey 0.5 – First draft. Done. 🙂

Set after Dowser 1, and featuring Desmond, this ‘moment’ turned into a fun and sexy short. I was just going to share it on my blog, but I might also put out a random newsletter next week. [subscribe or check your subscription here] October is usually my fav month – Thanksgiving, my birthday, harvest, and halloween – but things are really rough around here right now – we think we’re losing Leo all of a sudden, because he won’t eat – and I needed something short and sweet to focus on. A distraction that would also help me feel productive.

Snippet below:

A handwritten page from MCD’s notebook

“You have a position open, in your pack,” I said without further preamble.

“The beta position is Kandy’s,” Desmond said, pointedly looking out the side window. It was a beautiful day, sunny but not hot. “It has always been Kandy’s.”

“Yet Kandy is in Vancouver.”

He glanced at me then, narrowing his eyes. “Fulfilling a temporary need.”

I eyed him for a moment, trying to figure out how much Desmond Llewelyn liked to be pushed. “She won’t take it,” I said evenly. “Just like she’ll let her inheritance rot, just like she won’t step up and take the Assembly seat.”

“Those are her choices.” Desmond frowned — I was getting to him, finally.

“Exactly. And you have a hole in your pack. An imbalance.”

He half grimaced, half snarled. “And you will be alpha when your father steps aside.”

“He’ll never step aside. He’ll wait for someone to take the pack from the Rothchilds. And you know —” I laughed bitterly. “You know, he hopes that’s going to be Kandy. A Tate.”

Desmond looked at me then. Really looked.

Finally.

I’d thought about how to approach the cat, already knowing that seducing him wouldn’t get me what I wanted. Though many alphas preferred to fill the position of beta with a lover or a family member. I had no doubt that the sex would be vigorous and as rough as I wanted it to be, but Desmond would never fuck his beta.

“He’s broken,” I whispered, though my voice was still harsh, hard-edged. “Justin’s death broke him. Like it broke Kandy. And me.”

“Kandy isn’t broken,” Desmond snarled, automatically defending his wolf. Like a true alpha.

I smirked. “I’m not saying that she isn’t strong. Fierce. And loyal. But she’s not your beta. She’s not the beta you need.”

“It’s not a post for a princess,” he snapped, shards of green magic flickering in his eyes.

“Test me,” I purred. “I can take anything you throw at me.”

He shook his head. “The answer is no.”

– Anchored in the Moment. First draft.

Archivist 1.5 update and an excerpt

Writing update: Compelling Infinity (Archivist 2) is off to the editor (aka SFG) for story editing. Finally! With the increase of pain (tried hormone therapy from Feb to July which helped with a ton of my other symptoms but unfortunately worsened the constant headache), my writing capacity was really slowed down. Thankfully, while I’m still in constant pain, the level has decreased enough that I’m managing to write most days again for at least a couple of hours.

Which leads me to the excerpt from Archivist 1.5 below. I need to get it sent off to SFG as well, since he’d probably like to read it sooner than later for story purposes.

I’m still not certain if I will simply give this short away to everyone who wants it or make it a preorder giveaway. And then I’m not certain if I should tuck it at the back of Archivist 2 (which technically would be out of order) or tuck it in with the Adept Universe shorts when I get them all bundled together. A preorder giveaway is certainly super fun, but it is a lot of extra work on my part.

Anyway!

This made me laugh out loud this morning:

“Some new playthings will please you,” Brady said.

“Artifacts and books aren’t playthings,” I retorted, then broke into a grin. “But maybe something hidden among the witch’s things will try to kill us. That’s always fun.”

The werewolf enforcer chuckled. Gleefully wicked.

At least we had that in common.

No lying necessary.

– untitled, Archivist 1.5, second draft

Archivist Series: without regrets

I didn’t risk glancing back a third time.

I knew what I had to do. And I needed to move quickly, without regrets.

Because I was a dragon, not a witch.

And dragons protected the world and all the magic within it.

– Compelling Infinity (Archivist 2), Chapter Nine, Second Draft


In other news, all the Dowser Series recipe cards have been mailed (Thank you, Michael!). Canada Post’s delivery standard is supposedly nine business days, even internationally. But I have serious doubts. 😂

Archivist 2: exposing those … forearms.

A drive-by excerpt of my current work in progress (Archivist 2), just because it made me laugh.

Ravine pushed a plate into my hands. “Kellan is manning the barbecue. Literally.” She grinned suggestively. “Cooking steak perfectly, wearing an apron, and exposing those … forearms. You might want to take a picture.”

I blinked. Once again rendered mute by her teasing. Okay, fine, my brain had just gone blank, then thrust the image she’d just described to the forefront.

Would taking a picture be rude? Or … I mean, people did take pictures to commemorate celebrations, right?

Ravine giggled gleefully, grabbing the salad tongs. “Eat, Dusk. You’ll need the energy.”

– Compelling Infinity (Archivist 2), Chapter Six, Second Draft

Reading order of the Archivist Series:

Archivist 2: The Monster Within

I promised a Dusk/Kellan teaser from Archivist 2 last Friday, but got hit hard by a headache that actually took me down for the entire weekend, so I’m making good with some fresh-off-the-page (just written today) slow, slow burn … squee!!!

“You’re not afraid of me, are you, Dusk?” he asked quietly.

“Afraid?” I frowned. Was that what he was picking up from me? Fear?

“Of the monster within.”

Monster? Not wolf?

“You think of yourself as a monster, Kellan?”

He shrugged as if he didn’t care one way or the other, but his hand was fisted on his knee, his shoulders tight. “You watch me.”

“You watch me.”

“I most certainly do. Yet you never close the space between us, you never take the last step. Or any step for that matter.”

I didn’t have an answer for him, not without just lamely repeating what I’d already said.

“Do you wait for everything to be handed to you, Dusk?” His tone was suddenly edged in frustration.

“I can fight for what I want,” I said stiffly, realizing as I said it that it was possible I’d never actually ever fought for anything in my life. Not for myself. I wasn’t certain I’d ever wanted something that it was necessary to fight for. I’d fight to preserve what I already had, of course …

Kellan was smirking at me again, sprawled out against the log, firelight dancing across his skin, defining every muscle. “Me, Dusk. You want me. Your heart rate increases, your breathing slows, your pupils dilate just a bit. I know you want me. I can smell it on you, under all that honey that you use to mask your scent.”

I had no idea what he meant – though I most definitely smelled right now, of seaweed, saltwater, and damp cotton – but a flush of anger rose at the ridiculousness of his statement.

– Archivist 2, chapter eight, first draft

Reading order of the Archivist Series:


I hope you have a fantastic weekend! We’re freaking sweltering here, and the air quality is a bit nasty (from the forest fires), but I’m hoping to write, get in a hike, and make some ice cream.

Archivist Series: magical … math?

Words, magical creatures, and items of power might be my thing, but math most certainly wasn’t.

– Archivist 2, chapter 3, first draft


I’m rewriting chapter three of Archivist 2 today, and this line (above) made me laugh. ‘Know thyself,’ Dusk. And … in case you ever wondered, math is definitely not my thing either. LOL

Michael is picking up sushi for lunch! So I’ll have to finished up the rest of chapter this afternoon.

Have a lovely weekend!