Misfits, Gemstones, and Other Scattered Magic (Dowser 8) released a week ago! Normally I’d share a some of the lovely early reviews, and I will soon, but I thought it might be more fun (for me) to share a (mostly) spoiler free excerpt of Graveyards, Visions, and Other Things That Byte (Dowser 8.5).

And yes, if you haven’t already noticed the sneak peak of the book cover in the back of Dowser 8, Dowser 8.5 is available for preorder. It is, in fact, almost completely finished. I’m spending my afternoons working through the line/content edit and will then do my final smoothing pass before the book goes off to the proofreader.

I’m adding new scenes to Dowser 9 daily as well. It is currently sitting at about 30K. And, because someone might ask, I haven’t set a release date yet (late-fall is most likely).

🙂

Thank you for joining me on the rollercoaster ride that is the Adept Universe!

– WARNING FOR POSSIBLE SPOILERS –

“Why me? There are two more powerful necromancers in town. Why did Pearl Godfrey send you to me?”

“She didn’t. I just see you here … in this graveyard.”

I shrugged. “I come here often.”

Rochelle hesitated.

I hated it when people hesitated before talking. It usually meant they were considering lying, or telling a half-truth. And then I was usually forced to go along with the lie like it was an actual conversation we were having.

“No. That’s not what I mean.” Rochelle shoved her left hand in her army-green satchel. Her tone was soft, as if she were afraid of frightening me.

Me. The necromancer fueled by death magic, who’d been freaking the oracle out only moments before.

“No. I see you.” She tugged a thick fold of paper from her bag.

I knew what she was handing me even before she held it out.

A sketch.

Of me. Of my future.

I had never seen one of Rochelle’s visions — the final version, rendered on paper — but people talked. All right, Jade Godfrey talked. Everyone else was pretty mum about anything having to do with power around me.

I took the proffered paper, feeling myself hesitating suddenly.

“It’s not bad.” Rochelle fiddled with a ring on her left hand. A gold wedding band crusted with tiny diamonds. Her husband Beau wore a matching one, though his was thicker. And according to the rumor mill, aka Benjamin Garrick, it adjusted in size whenever he transformed. Both rings had been crafted by Jade, the same as my necklace. “It just … is …” she said.

I unfolded the sketch. And there I was, rendered in black, smudged charcoal. I was perched on my favorite gravestone — the one I was presently seated on.

I had developed a habit when I was young, even before my necromancy had manifested. I had demanded to visit the graves and interment places of young children whenever I traveled with my mother while she was working — and would occasionally throw a tantrum if that demand wasn’t indulged. I used to swear that the children would whisper secrets to me, though my mother always insisted that their essence had moved on.

That had been my version of imaginary friends, I had assumed long ago. Though the gravestone I most identified with at Mountain View was different. The sweet soul interred beneath my feet occasionally made an appearance, and I … I was hoping that one day I’d have the ability to help her. To release her from whatever held her in this dimension.

“Your hair is different.” Rochelle stepped up beside me and leaned closer, peering down at the sketch in my hands.

“Yeah,” I mumbled, taking in every stroke and smudge on the paper. I looked … different. Different than I saw myself in the mirror. Fiercer, bolder. Just … more. I wondered if that was how Rochelle saw my magic, as if it added an extra layer to me as a person. “I change my hair a lot.”

“No,” Rochelle said. “It’s different in the sketch … in the vision. Blue and purple, not the purple and red you have now. Were you planning on dyeing it again soon?”

I shook my head, unable to tear my gaze away from the drawing. “I just changed it from blue.”

“Ah …” Rochelle nodded thoughtfully.

“You, um … you see in color but sketch in black and white?”

She hesitated for long enough that I realized I’d overstepped, asking such a personal question. It was one thing to explain in general terms how something like necromancy worked, or to ask for specifics about the sketch I was holding. It was completely another thing to interrogate an Adept about their process. How their magic functioned, or even how it felt for them specifically. Magic was like sex that way. Not that I had much experience with either.

“Yes,” the oracle finally said. “Things … I didn’t know, you know, when the visions started, what was happening.”

“You didn’t have anyone to ask.”

“No, I didn’t. And when I was trying to make sense of it all, black and white felt more … grounded but less … real …” She trailed off, embarrassed.

“I understand. My mother works as a necromancer for the Convocation. And usually that means summoning ghosts to question them. Or, conversely, laying a ghost to rest who’s getting all poltergeisty. But … three times now, she’s had to go … examine, assess other necromancers. Adepts, but outside of any known bloodline, whose magic had manifested and made them think they were …”

“Crazy.”

“Yeah.”

Rochelle nodded, then looked back down at the sketch I was holding. “I get that.”

I spent another moment contemplating the version of me depicted in the drawing. Then I asked the question I had to ask but really didn’t want to. “So … there’s no way this is just, you know, a casual thing? Right?”

“Me having a vision of you? Rather than any of the other epically powerful beings that come and go from Vancouver?”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” And that in a nutshell was why hanging out with people way more powerful than me was a bad idea. Except that everyone in Vancouver was more powerful than me, it seemed.

– Mory, Graveyards, Visions, and Other Things That Byte (Dowser 8.5)