Tara Maya
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Shark River
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Dindi is kidnapped to be the bride of a shark... To escape she must untangle a terrible curse caused by a love and magic gone wrong.
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This stand-alone novella is set in Faearth, the world of The Unfinished Song. Available here ONLY.
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The Unfinished Song - This Young Adult Epic Fantasy series has sold over 70,000 copies and has 1,072 Five Star Ratings on Goodreads.
Tara Maya
September 26, 2013
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Eden Forest by Aoife Marie Sheridan
Sarajane Anderson is your regular twenty-one year old with family, friends and a normal job. She also happens to be the only person who can save Saskia, a parallel world to earth. When Sarajane is taken to Saskia, she could never have imagined the reality of the world that she is stepping into — a world where magical abilities are in everyone’s possession. She must face a father she never knew, a world that is beyond her belief, a guardian who captures her heart; and a darkness that wants to take it. On her journey, Sarajane discovers her magical abilities, and realizes too that they come with a price. Sarajane is truly tested as her own loved ones are put at risk — the ultimate question she is forced to ask herself is, how do you choose who lives and who dies?
Download Eden Forest, Part One of The Saskia Trilogy, on Amazon and Synergebooks.
Find more from Aoife on her website, blog, Facebook and Twitter.
September 25, 2013
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25. Lunch With Cannibals
The Unfinished Song: Initiate
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| “Detail 2” by Junalik |
…on their backs, though they did not wear their mud and ashes, and he assumed had no compunction against carrying out more of the crimes which had won them expulsion.
To his surprise, the rovers didn’t attack. They invited him back to their campfire. Shrugging, he accepted—was he any better than they? He found their lack of either resentment or awe oddly refreshing.
“Do you know who I am?” Kavio couldn’t help but ask them.
The noseless, earless one grinned. “I don’t care, Exile. Don’t you understand? This is your chance to escape who you are, become who you want.”
In their camp, they had a captive, some toothless old man, whom they’d tied to a tree. Taking turns, each rover sliced a piece of flesh off the old man’s thigh, ignoring his piteous howls, then tossed the meat on a rock in the fire and ate it.
“We eat first,” the leader, the earless one said, “Then we dance and invite the fae to eat the rest. Who says you have to be a Tavaedi to dance? The fae don’t care who serves them, or how well you dance, only that you do.”
None of the three had magic in their auras, save for a few wild, random glimmers born of strong hates and brooding envies, but— and this was kept secret for this very reason—fierce emotion alone could do damage if combined with dancing, especially if the fae were involved, never mind blood sacrifice and dark bargains. When my Father looks at me, thought Kavio, is it these men he sees?
“So you’re hexers,” Kavio said, “as well as cannibals?”
The two exiles kept chewing. Their noseless, earless leader stopped.
“You’re not going to join us, are you?”
Kavio smiled apologetically. “No. I’m going to free the old man. You’re going to try to stop me. Then I’m going to kill you.”
The leader hefted his spear, which spurred his companions to do the same, but Kavio was already moving. Weaponless, it took him several minutes and cost him an ugly punch to the ear to kill all three rovers. He untied the old man and asked if his clanhold was far. The old man scrambled away, too terrified to answer. Pursuit seemed more likely to scare than help him.
He couldn’t desecrate the dead, even bandits, so he searched near the main path until he found a smaller path which paralleled it, a trail marked as Deathsworn by a black megalith capped by a skull.
To trod the path of the Deathsworn was to join them, or join the dead, and they in turn, were forbidden to taint the paths of ordinary men. The Deathsworn were neither fae nor exactly human, though they had once been human. The fae couldn’t see them. The Deathsworn recruited from all tribes and belonged to none. They were not allowed to involve themselves in tribal wars or clan politics. They performed a gruesome job, and most people loathed and…
September 25, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
Call of the Vampire by Gayla Twist
Aurora Keys has dreamed of the Vanderlind Castle ever since she was a little girl. But the fiercely private Vanderlinds keep the massive structure strictly off limits to visitors. Until one night, the wealthy family throws a party—not just a small soiree, but a huge black-tie affair. No one from the town of Tiburon, Ohio, is invited—not even the mayor. But Aurora’s best friend, Blossom, has a foolproof plan for the two of them to sneak in.
At first, everything goes smoothly: the girls enter the castle undetected, and there is free champagne. But then the handsome Jessie Vanderlind sweeps Aurora into his arms, crushing her to his chest and whispering, “I knew you’d come back to me.”
Aurora understands it is a case of mistaken identity, but she feels connected to him somehow. And the boy is so beautiful, she believes she would be happy if he never let her go.
Once Jessie realizes he is mistaken, his smile quickly changes to a scowl. “You must leave,” he tells her in a low, urgent voice. “Immediately. Come! I’ll find a way to get you out.”
Unbeknownst to Aurora and Blossom, they have snuck into the home of one of the most prestigious vampire families in the world, and it is doubtful the two young women will ever be allowed to leave. Aurora’s resemblance to Jessie Vanderlind’s lost love just may be the only thing keeping them alive.
Download Call of the Vampire on Amazon.
Excerpt
“As soon as we’re out of here, that’s it,” I hissed at my friend. “I’m never going along with one of your stupid ideas again.”
“You always say that, Aurora.” Blossom chuckled quietly as we inched along. “But I’m sure I can get you to go on another one. In fact, I bet you I can.”
I huffed a little but decided not to argue, given our precarious position. I didn’t want to fall just because I was annoyed with her. “Just keep moving,” I growled.
Vanderlind Castle was having a party. Not just a regular party, more like an old fashioned ball with men wearing tuxedos and ladies in gossamer evening gowns. No one I knew was invited. In fact, no one in the whole town of Tiburon, Ohio, seemed to be invited. Not even the mayor. We only knew about it because of the immense orders that had been placed at the local florist and the feast that had been requested from Blossom’s mother’s catering company, Belle Soiree. The food had been picked up by servants of the castle, so even Mrs. Coster hadn’t had so much as a peek through the front door of the massive mansion—something her daughter and I were both hoping for.
Most of the guests arrived by water. Blossom and I had been sitting alongside the Tiburon River when we saw the first boats drift past. The decks were filled with elegant ladies and gentlemen, twinkling in the twilight with their diamonds and finery, talking quietly, and sipping red wine from crystal goblets. It was like something out of a dream. More specifically, it was like something out of one of my dreams. I lived with my mom in a drab little house, but when I slept, my dreams were frequently filled with grandeur.
We walked along the river bank and out onto the public pier to watch the boats dock at the Vanderlind Castle. Servants wearing a deep purple livery and white gloves helped the guests disembark. That’s when Blossom said, “We should sneak in.”
“Yeah, right,” I replied. “We’d stand out like two zits on Gwyneth Paltrow’s forehead.”
Blossom laughed. “I mean, we’d dress up first.”
“And how are we supposed to sneak in? Run across the lawn in our heels while carrying a ladder?”
“No.” Blossom set her jaw. “We’ll wait until all the guests have arrived, then we’ll climb from boat to boat. If we keep low and inch along the outside, nobody will see us. And besides, they’ll expect party crashers to come through the front door, not from the dock.”
I had always wanted to see the inside of the castle. Literally, always. Ever since I could remember. I didn’t know what it was about that building, but it seemed so romantic to me even though, compared to some of the photos I’d seen of castles in Austria and Germany, it wasn’t very pretty. It was a huge fortress of gray stone, and there were four turrets, one at each corner. It didn’t have many windows, just those small chinks in the stone that were supposedly for archers to use when the castle was under siege. There was an enormous arched door in front, but the Vanderlinds never had it open. They’d had a normal-sized door installed within the large wood one.
“Do you really think we could get in?” I asked, laying the palm of my hand to my cheek.
Blossom mirrored the gesture to mimic me, laying her hand on her own cheek. She hated when I did that with my hand—said it was too goodie-goodie. She was doing her best to break me of the habit through mockery. “Yeah, Aurora, I really do.”
It wasn’t a bad plan. As the guests entered the castle, their boats were moored along the shore, forming a long chain. As more boats arrived, they were tied to the first. They began to stack up three or four boats deep, making a veritable flotilla. There were so many yachts, several of which were quite large, that a few of the boat chains reached the public pier. All we had to do was climb on one at the very edge then inch along the outside, clinging to the rail, transferring from boat to boat until we were able to just walk into the castle from the Vanderlinds’ dock.
I had been going along with Blossom’s harebrained schemes ever since Mrs. Lehman’s third grade class. Blossom had gotten me into more trouble than I cared to remember, but as my mother always said, “You’re the one that goes along with her ideas. If you’re going to be friends with her, you have to learn how to tell her no.” The thing was, I didn’t want to say no. Not usually. Or at least, I never thought to say no until it was too late. But this idea in particular appealed to me. Even if we got caught, we’d at least get a glimpse of the inside of the castle before they kicked us out. I knew I’d probably end up regretting it, but at that moment, I really wanted to give it a try. “Let’s do it,” I told her.
We hopped in my ancient gold VW bug and headed back to Blossom’s house to get dolled up. Because of her catering business, Mrs. Coster attended a lot of events where she had to look nice, so she had a bunch of fancy clothes. Blossom said, “I’m sure my mom won’t mind if we borrow a few things.”
I knew from experience that really meant, “My mom won’t mind as long as she doesn’t find out.”
“Where is your mom?” I asked as Blossom unlocked the front door to let us in.
“Who knows?” She rolled her eyes. “Probably out on a date with her new boyfriend. I’m sure I won’t see her until tomorrow morning, when she’ll try to sneak in the house like she’s actually been home all night.”
Mrs. Coster’s closet was almost as big as my room at home. There were enough shoes to keep a dozen debutants happy for months and gowns in every color. “She’s a bit of a shopaholic,” Blossom explained as she pawed through the dresses.
Blossom was the prettiest girl in our high school. Or at least, the prettiest by high-school-boy ratings. She was five foot four, blonde and blue eyed, with a cupid’s-bow mouth and a quick laugh for any joke, just as long as it was made by some jock or a guy that was viewed by the general female population of Tiburon High as being desirable. When she was around boys, she acted like a complete bubble head, and that behavior kept her in dates whenever she wanted them. But away from guys, she was daring, sarcastic, willing to laugh only if you made a very good joke or if she was mocking you. She had a split personality—part cheerleader and part Oscar Wilde.
I, on the other hand, was the kind of girl who boys probably wouldn’t appreciate until college. At least that’s what my mom always told me when I was sitting home, dateless and feeling like a loser, on a Friday night. I had black curly hair that tended to frizz, green eyes, and a bit of a pointed nose. My shape was what used to be called an hourglass figure: all boobs and buns, with very little tummy. If Marilyn Monroe’s figure were still in vogue, I’d probably have had more dates, but as it was, I had trouble finding a wardrobe that could accommodate my curves. My shape was not in style.
“Here, this’ll look great on you.” Blossom yanked an emerald green wrap gown off its hanger and tossed it to me. “It’ll bring out your eyes.” She selected a sky blue shift for herself with the same purpose in mind. Blossom might have been the same size six as her mother, but I was a good few dress sizes larger than that. The wrap dress barely hugged all my curves, and my boobs were practically popping out from the low-cut neckline.
“I can’t wear this,” I said, pulling at the material, trying to get more coverage.
Blossom cocked an eyebrow as she appraised my cleavage. “We’ll borrow one of my mom’s brooches to keep you in there,” she assured me.
By the time we applied makeup, shoes, and accessories, we looked pretty good. I’m not sure we were elegant-ball-at-a-castle good, though. Probably more like high-school-prom good. “Are we seriously going to do this?” I asked while experimenting walking in heels that were much higher than I was used to and a size too small.
“Why not?” Blossom tossed a blonde curl over her shoulder and gathered up another bunch of hair for its turn around the curling iron.
“What if we get caught?”
“We’ll just tell them my mom sent us over to make sure everything was satisfactory. I mean, who’s going to questions us? Maybe a couple of servants or something. I’ll just flash my mom’s business card, and I’m sure everything will be fine.”
And that was how it always went. Blossom’s schemes always seemed so plausible. They sounded so flawless when we were sitting in her bedroom or at a cafe somewhere hatching the plan, but things looked a lot different when you were barefoot, going hand-over-hand from yacht to yacht with a borrowed pair of strappy sandals dangling off your wrist.
The thing I learned about a bunch of yachts moored together was that even the gentlest ripple made them all bob and bump together. I seriously did not want to lose my grip and plunge between the boats. I was not that strong of a swimmer, and I didn’t want to get squashed. But as we got closer to the castle, I became more and more determined. This was probably the only chance I’d have in my life to see it. I was almost desperate to get inside.
Vanderlind Castle was actually a real European castle that some crazy rich ancestor had shipped to America stone by stone about a hundred years ago when the Vanderlinds first moved to Tiburon. There was no moat, but there was a traditional English rose garden and there were rumors of a dungeon. Whether there actually was a dungeon was left to speculation because the Vanderlinds weren’t very social. If they left their home at all, it was usually by an old fashioned stretch limousine with tinted windows. The castle had a huge iron gate around the property, and accessing it by the Tiburon River was discouraged by the lack of a dock. Unless the family was expecting company, then a portable one was affixed to the back of the building.
Once a year, the Vanderlinds had a garden party in the rose garden for the locals. Tea and finger sandwiches were served, and there was usually a string quartet playing something classical. What there usually wasn’t a lot of was Vanderlinds. And there was absolutely no access to the castle itself. Port-o-potties were rented for the occasion. Still, it was a friendly gesture from a wealthy family that apparently just wanted to be left alone.
That was why the ball being thrown at the castle was discussed in Tiburon so avidly. No one was invited, and everyone was dying to go. It also came as a surprise that the reclusive Vanderlinds had so many friends. Mrs. Coster took on extra staff to get the food ready for the event. There wasn’t to be a formal, sit-down dinner, but she estimated the guest list to be at least two hundred.
Finally, after what seemed like a good thirty minutes of clinging to bobbing boats by my fingernails, we gained footing on a yacht that was moored next to the back patio. We hastily slipped on our shoes, and then we were able to step onto solid land. Or more accurately, the castle’s back patio, which was so crowded with people that no one seemed to notice our arrival.
Quickly, I snatched two empty champagne cups off a table and handed one to Blossom. She made a face and tried to hand it back to me. “I don’t want someone’s used drink.”
I smiled at her through clenched teeth and said, “They’re our drinks, and we’ve just finished them.” For someone so scheming, she could sometimes be a little dense.
“That’s right.” She caught on immediately, lifting her chin to signal a waiter with a full tray of drinks. “Thank you,” she said, beaming at him as she picked up another coupe of champagne.
“You’re friends of?” the waiter asked with a slight bow. He was also dressed in the purple so dark it was almost black.
Blossom coughed a little as she sipped at the bubbly. “The Vanderlinds, of course,” she said, trying to cover.
“Madame Vanderlind?” he pressed. He had a weird accent I couldn’t place.
“No, the son,” I interjected before Blossom could reply.
“Very good.” The waiter clicked his heels together, bowing a bit lower and executing a sharp spin that had the tails of his uniform jacket flying before he continued to attend the beverage needs of the real guests.
“Where did that answer come from?” Blossom asked, slumping slightly with relief.
“Look.” I nodded toward the castle. Through a large wall of glass, we could view the interior of the room that was accessed from the patio. It was an obvious modification from the original castle, but it provided the family with an excellent view of the river. In the vast room, there was a receiving line with all sorts of swanks waiting to pay their respects to a dark-haired boy who looked to be about seventeen. To his right and left were a slightly older man and woman, who appeared to be in their early twenties. Probably all siblings, I figured. They were in front of a large gift table piled high with ornately wrapped presents. “I think it’s one of the Vanderlind’s birthdays,” I whispered.
Blossom squinted through the crowd. “Aurora, it’s him,” she gasped. “It’s my dreamboat.”
Two weeks earlier, we had been at the library on a Thursday night, the one night a week it stays open past six. Blossom was desperately behind on her Grapes of Wrath paper and hoping against hope that the library’s copy hadn’t been checked out. We were trying to make heads or tails of the Dewey Decimal System when we stumbled across the world’s hottest guy browsing in the classics—ruffled dark hair, skin as pale as porcelain, full lips, and gray eyes as bottomless as the Loch Ness. We were both staring at him so hard as he flipped through The Great Gatsby that Blossom literally walked into the back of me. “Who the hell is that?” she whispered, although probably loud enough that he could hear.
There was something about his appearance that tugged at my memory. Something my great grandmother had said from her wheelchair at the old age home during one of her clearer visions into dementia. “Their eyes. So gray. So lost. They all have gray eyes,” she’d said, clutching my hand. “I tell you, Lettie. Every single one of them has eyes as gray as the North Sea.” Lettie was her younger sister, the beauty of the family, who ran away from home as a teenager and was never heard from again. I was supposed to look a bit like her, just without the beauty part. My great grandmother, along with her sister, had worked as a maid at the Vanderlind Castle for a short time when she was young. Of course, that was before the Vanderlind family cut themselves off from the world. Granny left the post abruptly right after Lettie ran away, and she would rarely talk about her time there until her senility set in. And then, for some reason, it became a source of fixation.
“I think he’s a Vanderlind,” I’d said quietly, tugging Blossom away by the arm.
“Really?” She whipped her head around to check him out in greater detail, but he was gone.
For the next couple of days, Blossom mentioned the handsome Vanderlind boy about every twenty minutes, calling him her “dreamboat” and wondering how she could run into him again. He was remarkably good looking in that chiseled statue sort of way. Fortunately, a few days later, one of the best players on the varsity football team started calling Blossom to chat. Football season had just started, but the team was doing reasonably well, so she refocused her energies and let the whole dreamboat thing drop.
“We should go say hi.” Blossom gripped my hand with the intent of dragging me over to the receiving line.
“Are you nuts?” I hissed at her. “That’s the last place we need to be. Forget about Dreamboat. We need to work on blending in.”
Even as the words left my mouth, I felt the handsome book-lover’s eyes tick in my direction. He stared at me. I stared back. I wanted to look away. I knew I was being indiscreet, but he was just so handsome. It was like gazing at an old photograph of a silent film star. The older brother noticed our connection. He leaned to one side and whispered something to the young woman on his left. Her eyes quickly found me in the crowd. “Not good,” I mumbled to myself. “Come on,” I said to Blossom. I didn’t have time to explain what was happening, so instead I said, “I need to find the ladies room.”
Say what you will about Blossom, she may have been boy crazy and as changeable as the weather in March, but she was a loyal friend. Announcing a need to use the ladies could not be ignored, no matter how many attractive men were floating around the room.
My heart was pounding in my chest like the beat of some rave song at a hip club in New York as we made our way across the large room in the direction of what I hoped was some sort of bathroom facility. I was alarmed, but getting caught wasn’t really the thing that had me in a panic. I hadn’t said anything to Blossom when we saw him in the library, but right as I was pulling her away, the gorgeous junior Vanderlind had looked up and made direct eye contact with me. I don’t know what it was about the guy, but when our eyes met, I felt something in my body twang like there was a harp string running through me and someone had plucked it.
Seeing him again, when his eyes met mine, I felt that same tingling vibration. It was exhilarating and painful and made me excessively nervous all at the same time. I was not the kind of girl who believed in soul mates or love at first sight or any of that kind of nonsense, but there was something about the boy that made me yearn in a way that I couldn’t explain. I took a large gulp of my champagne and tried to calm down.
The room we were standing in was probably called the great hall or something like that. It was enormous, after all. So big, in fact, it couldn’t be illuminated by just one giant crystal chandelier. There were actually two chandeliers, and they were both the size of a NASA reentry capsule returning a crew of astronauts to earth. I had always pictured the inside of Vanderlind Castle as dark and as gray as the stones that formed its exterior, but that was not the case. The interior walls were made of bricks that were a pale sand color with flecks of gold. I had to assume that wasn’t part of the original castle. Nor was the electricity or the large glass wall with sliding doors that led onto the patio and the river. But who could blame them for wanting to modernize?
Blossom finished her glass of champagne and signaled another waiter. “Slow down,” I told her in a low voice. “Don’t get too crazy.”
“Why not?” she shrugged. “I thought you said you had to use the ladies.”
“I do. I’m just not sure where it is,” I replied, which was a half truth.
A waiter approached us, his tray filled with goblets of red wine. When Blossom extended her empty coupe glass toward him, he took a half step backwards and said, “You don’t want this, I’m sure. Better stick to the champagne.”
“That was rude,” Blossom said as the waiter turned to serve other guests.
“He’s probably right. Does red wine even taste good after champagne?” I wondered, placing my hand to my cheek.
Blossom gave me an annoyed look, glancing meaningfully at my hand until I lowered it. “Let’s mingle,” she said, scoring a glass of bubbly off another waiter as he went by. I’d lost track of how many glasses she’d already drunk.
The party guests were all dressed very elegantly. Mrs. Coster’s gowns were nice, but mere rags compared to the elaborate finery most of the guests were wearing. The men were all in tuxedos, many of them cut in the old style. There were boutonnieres, pocket squares, several top hats, and a few men even carrying walking canes. The women were dripping with jewels and clad in gowns that seemed to move like rippling water. The whole scene reminded me of the song Puttin’ on the Ritz. It was like we’d snuck onto the set of a high budget movie.
“Is it you?” a low voice said very close to my ear, practically making me leap out of my skin. “Colette?”
I gave a startled gasp and jumped back an inch, nearly spilling my champagne. It was him. The beautiful boy from the library. And he was peering into my face with such a serious, penetrating look that it made my heart skip a beat.
Find more from Gayla on her blog.
September 24, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
24. Little Girl Blue
The six with him were all Blue Tavaedies, and they could see her, not as Meira, but as an azure radiance too brilliant to bear. They knew he sometimes called her by his dead daughter’s name, and because of that and because her power frightened them, her pres- ence spooked them. They backed away now, shielding their eyes.
“Should we break camp?” asked Rthan’s second in command, Dorthamo. The man’s gaze slipped past the shimmering blue girl, back toward the lean-tos and campfire along the shore of the frozen tarn. “If we don’t leave now, we won’t have time to do the primary hex.”
“If we hex the Yellow Bear tribehold, but leave their allies unmo- lested, their allies will still be free to come to their aide during the attack,” Rthan said.
Dorthamo’s face sagged. “Yes…”
“But if we stay longer, the pass will freeze over and we won’t be able to return at all,” Rthan said. “We must break camp. We must cast the primary hex. Or call off the venture entirely.”
“I don’t think the War Chief would agree to canceling.”
“Neither do I,” said Rthan. He waved. “Go ahead. Break camp. I need a moment to speak to…”
“Her?” Dorthamo still wouldn’t look at Meira. Rthan nodded. Dorthamo swallowed hard. “Is she angry?” Afraid to hear the answer, he scuttled away before Rthan could reply. The others hastened after him, and began to disassemble the hide tents.
The little blue girl slipped her hand into Rthan’s, just as his daughter had so many times.
“I’m not mad at you, Daddy,” she said.
“Don’t call me that. I can’t…” He pulled his hand away. “You said Kavio the Rain Dancer did this. Then the Rainbow Labyrinth must know of our spell. They will try to retaliate.”
“No.” A breeze lifted strands of her hair to play in a chilly wind. Dark, inhuman power shone from her eyes, belying the innocence of her child’s face. “They are fools. As for Kavio….”
She smiled at him, but it wasn’t the smile of a mortal child. The coldness of glaciers and the ruthlessness of typhoons glinted in that cruel smile. He shivered. He loved her. She was all he had, since the murder of his family. He had to admit, though, she terrified him even more than she frightened the others. He knew her better.
Kavio
Three days out from the tribehold, Kavio found his first fight. Rovers, men who had left their birth clan, but not yet married into a new allegiance, often traveled together in packs, like wild dogs, and like dogs, they hunted. Sometimes for need, sometimes for pleasure.
Three dropped onto the path in front of Kavio. One was missing his nose and ears, which meant he was probably a mariah, a captive destined for human sacrifice, who had escaped in the middle of his torture. The other two were undoubtedly exiles like Kavio, judging by the whip marks…
TO BE CONTINUED
September 24, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
Jump When Ready by David Pandolfe
Since he drowned, Henry has remained with the same group of teenagers and he keeps wondering why. After all, what could he possibly have in common with a Mohawk-sporting punker from the 80s, a roller skater from the 70s with a thing for kimonos, and an English “rocker” from the 60s? Add to that, Henry can hear the other groups but he never sees them. Soon, Henry learns that his new friends all possess unique skills for making themselves noticed by the living. Is Henry’s group kept isolated because of their abilities? If so, are they considered gifted or seen only as a potential bad influence?
Before Henry can reach any conclusions, he witnesses his sister being kidnapped. He knows who did it, where she’s being held and what will happen if the kidnappers don’t get what they want. As the police chase false leads, Henry comes to realize that he’s his sister’s only hope. But for Henry to even have a chance, he has to convince a group of teenagers that dead doesn’t mean helpless.
Download Jump When Ready from Amazon.
“Whether you’re 14 or 24, this is a fun read with endearing characters and a quick-moving plot. Jump When Ready is not a book to miss.”- Portland Book Review
“There are few books out there that have characters that make you wish you had friends like them.”- Book Nerds
Find more about Jump When Ready on its blog, Facebook and Goodreads.
September 23, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
23. The Broken Spell
Mother’s nose wrinkled slightly in distaste. She’d never liked corn, something she’d only eaten after she married Father. “I must have concocted wild things to save you.”
Why had he thought otherwise? She would never change.
“This is the last time I’ll see you, Mother.” He was proud of his straight back. He would not let himself scratch the dried mud that caked his body, though it itched like crawling flies.
She ruined the solemn moment by crying. He let her hug him and weep into his chest. He patted her shoulder. He realized he had been looking forward to her quest, to give him purpose in his exile. In his mind, he tore up the idea of finding the Vaedi, and all the other crazy things his mother had urged him, all lies, all spider-silk and parrot feathers.
As he walked away, the mud didn’t itch as badly. Her fierce hug had rubbed away most of the dust cake, leaving behind only a stain.
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Rthan
Rthan surveyed the damage to his water spell. Weeks of fasting, planning, traveling and dancing, ruined. The careful crystalline lines he had built up around the mountain snows had been realigned, diverted. His original configuration would have unleashed a flood of snowmelt several months from now, with spring’s kiss. No longer. The new glowing blue lines of magic would sluice the melt water harmlessly down a dozen smaller arroyos, instead of toward the enemy settlement in the main valley below the mountain. Someone had protected the Rainbow Labyrinth tribehold.
“Who could have done this?” he asked aloud.
The other six men and women with him only mirrored back to him his own bafflement and bemusement. They shivered and wheezed in the snow, not used to either the temperature or the altitude. He knew they were wondering if he would order them to stay the long weeks required to dance the entire spell again.
He wasn’t really speaking to the little girl at his side. Nonetheless, she looked up at him with large, grave eyes.
“Kavio the Rain Dancer,” she said. She had joined him almost unnoticed.
Meira. His daughter, his only child, was only eight, but already she promised to be a classic beauty. Her long, straight black hair was knotted by strings of pearls in twists that reached her ankles. Her tiny face was a perfect moon, her mouth an adorable pink shell, and her eyes deep tide pools reflecting the shades of the ocean and the sky. People said she looked like him, but miniaturized and refined. He was a bulky, tattooed tower of muscle, with his long hair dis- ciplined into a top tail of tiny braids to mark his kills. She was an adorable pixie doll.
Meira. His daughter, his only child, had died six years ago. He knew this, knew the person at his side wasn’t really Meira, and yet, he couldn’t stop the love and pain he felt every time he looked at her…
TO BE CONTINUED
September 23, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
Catch by Michelle D. Argyle
When eighteen-year-old Miranda chases a purse snatcher on the Las Vegas Strip, the last thing she expects is for the pursuit to turn into an extended game of hide-and-seek. All Miranda wants are the old black and white photographs buried at the bottom of her purse. They’re the only things she has left of the grandmother she never knew. But how much is she willing to put on the line to save them? And is it possible she’s falling in love with a thief?
Find out where you can download Catch here.
Excerpt
Miranda spent the rest of the day with her stomach in knots. Everywhere she walked, she kept darting her eyes all around. There was no way Ollie could find her with no clues. He didn’t even know she would be on the Strip today. A part of her wanted to know how good he really was at this hide-and-seek game. Would he find her inside M&M’s World? The arcade? One of the dozens of shops their mother was dragging them into? Needless to say, Miranda was not in the mood to shop. After lunch, they wandered into a shopping area at The Venetian, and she fought the urge to whine. She was eighteen. She could humor her mother for a few more hours.
“They have gondola rides here,” Gabriela said excitedly.
They took the escalators to the second floor. There were shops everywhere, all made to look like they were in Venice, and a ceiling painted and lit to look like a soft summer sky dotted with clouds. The smell of food and cigarettes drifted through the air. As she had done all day, Miranda looked around for Ollie, but she knew there was no way she was going to find him—especially if she was with her family.
“I think I’ll sit this one out,” she said as they neared the ticket booth in the main part of the center.
Gabriela looked over at the canal where they started the boat rides. A few gondolas floated by, filled with people who looked a little bored. “You sure?” she asked Miranda. “This looks kind of fun.”
Miranda waved her hand. “Give me the camera and I’ll take your picture so you don’t have to buy one of those overpriced ones they take.”
“Oh, good idea.” Gabriela handed over the new camera she had purchased that morning—a simple point-and-shoot instead of something fancy.
Miranda could tell Julia was having second thoughts about the ride, and gave her an evil glare she hoped would be interpreted as “Just let me be alone for a few freaking minutes.” Julia seemed to take the hint, and they went over to the ticket booth as Miranda started walking around to find a good spot for pictures. She crossed a bridge over the canal and walked around until she was on a little overpass overlooking the loading area for the rides.
Finally. Alone. She snapped a few pictures of them waiting in line then pulled out her phone. There was a new message she had missed. Her heart started to beat faster. It was Ollie.
Any hints for me today? It’s only fair since I gave you one yesterday. I don’t even know if you’re inside a building. Or on the Strip. Or what!
She smiled. She shouldn’t be enjoying this. She shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t. But she was. Thinking carefully, she typed one word.
Canal.
Was that too vague? She suspected if he knew Las Vegas as well as she guessed he did, he would know where she was right away. She was obviously a tourist, and he’d jump to the first touristy thing in Las Vegas that had to do with a canal.
Luckily, the line was pretty long, and the rides lasted about fifteen minutes apiece. That gave her maybe half an hour depending on how long that line lasted. She typed another message.
You’d better hurry because I won’t be alone much longer.
He didn’t answer, and as the minutes ticked by, she grew more and more impatient. Las Vegas was big. Maybe he was so far away it would take him hours to reach her. Finally, after about twenty minutes, her mom and sister boarded a boat with a few other people. She snapped as many pictures as she could, and they were soon gone down the canal and out of sight.
Well, it was now or never. Turning in circles, she desperately hoped he was somewhere. She’d settle for five minutes with him. One minute. Anything.
There were people everywhere. Constant chatter and occasional laughter reverberated all around her. She took her hands off the railing in front of her, remembering that thousands of people had touched it before her. Sometimes she hated public places more than anything else. She couldn’t think too much about it.
“Having fun?”
She spun around and there he was, standing right in front of her. He was in a suit again, like yesterday, but today his sneakers were black instead of white. Still, they were sneakers. Surprisingly, though, they looked great with the outfit. Relaxed and comfortable. When she looked into his eyes, she swallowed a lump in her throat and took a few steps back. He had light-colored eyes, but it was difficult to tell what color they really were under the artificial lighting. A little blue and a little gray, maybe some green. There was a faint hint of scruff on his jaw, barely noticeable. He really was as good-looking as she remembered. His nose was big, but the longer she looked at him the more it suited him. She tamped down her rising emotions, remembering all the pain other good-looking guys had brought her.
“You found me,” was all she could manage to force out of her mouth.
His lips curled into a smile. He kept his eyes on hers. “That was the easiest hint ever. Probably as easy as my Olives hint.”
Just like we’re finding excuses to meet, she thought to herself. Her mouth was getting drier by the second.
“So?” she said, gaining a little courage. “Where’s my prize?”
“Your prize?” he laughed. “Didn’t I find you?”
She looked at his tie. It was a pretty yellow color checkered with thin brown lines. It reminded her of sunflowers. “I thought the whole point of this was to get my stuff back,” she said boldly, and held out an open hand, waiting.
His smile stayed put as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out her small wallet. He placed it gently into her hand, and she tried not to think too much about how warm his skin was as it slid against hers. She noticed some thick, raised scars along his knuckles.
“Thought that was pretty valuable,” he said. “You might want it back.”
She opened it up. The money was still there. Her debit card, her and Julia’s monorail passes, her driver’s license. He hadn’t taken a thing. She looked up. “I don’t understand. I really just don’t get any of this.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, stepping closer. His feet were close to hers now, and she fought the urge to step back once more. “I like to play games, and you’re fun to play them with.”
“Is that why you stole my purse? To play a game?”
His smile fell and he shook his head. “No, that’s not why I took your purse. That had nothing to do with who you are, but this … whatever it is we’re doing … it has everything to do with you.”
She didn’t know what to make of that, but his words and the sincerity and sadness in his voice made her breath catch in her throat. She looked down at the canal, expecting her family to show up at any second. She looked back at Ollie. He had his hands in his pockets now.
“You’re keeping my purse so we can keep this up, aren’t you?” she asked. “You’re going to hold on to those pictures for a long time.”
He didn’t answer. He seemed excruciatingly young at that moment.
“If you return everything to me,” she said carefully, “I promise I’ll keep talking to you.”
He let out a soft laugh. “So, you’re laying down the terms now, even though I’m the one who has what you want?”
She supposed that was true. “You don’t want anything from me, then? I guess I’ll just get over my losses and move on. Keep it all, and if you want my wallet back, here you go.” She held it out to him, surprised at her response. It seemed the only way to try to read him at the moment.
He looked down at the wallet and frowned. “I don’t want that. It’s yours.”
“So is the rest of my stuff you stole.” It was frustrating how much she was starting to like him and hate him at the same time.
“The game is still on,” he said as he watched her lower the wallet. “It’s your turn next.”
Before she could answer, he turned and walked away. “I’m only here for three more days!” she yelled out as he disappeared into the crowd.
Turning, she saw that her mother’s gondola was unloading at the dock. Perfect timing.
For more from Michelle, visit her website.
September 22, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
22. The Journey Omen
The Unfinished Song: Initiate
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| “Cold Ground” by Jasvena |
Irrigation ditches and low stone walls divvied up the fields. The sparkle of willawisps blinked on and off against the night sky. He decided he would walk as far as he could by dawn before he stopped to consider camping. He had no sleeping roll, no pack, no water gourd, not even a weapon.
When the moon rose, he started to scan the valley for the journey omen. He admitted he was vain enough to hope for something noble, a nighthawk or a cougar, but no living creature crossed his path. All he found was the shed skin of a snow snake, luminous white, perfectly intact and as long as his arm. Snow snakes were rare creatures, which lived high in the mountains, but once a year they shed their white skins for jet black scales and descended by the hundreds to mate in the hot desert valleys. A poor omen, he decided. Even after he found the skin, he kept an eye out for a cougar.
He had walked most of the night when he heard footsteps paralleling his. He tensed.
Mother stepped out from the rows of maize. She seemed to glow white in the moonlight. He felt absurdly glad to see her, surprised yet not surprised to find her out here, just where the tilled fields gave way to wild forest. He quickened his step to join her, but when he saw her face, full of pain, he stopped short of embracing her.
She had not forgiven him. Aching inside, he mulled her painful words to him during their fight. You can’t even do this one thing for me.
He remembered reaching toddler-chubby arms up to her, commanding, “Fly with me!” She would sweep him up, as her wings spread behind her, until they rode the wind. Father hated those flights; Mother and Father always fought about it afterward. To stop the yelling, Kavio had learned to stop asking her to fly.
When he’d been seven years old, she’d sewn him his first dance costume, the most wonderous thing he’d ever seen, of spider silk and parrot feathers, cowrie shells and rainbow stitches. He’d ripped it up in front of her. She’d never sewn him another one.
Little by little, over the years, he had pushed her further from him. It was the price he’d paid to please his father.
He wanted to say: I’m sorry. To say: I love you. He wanted to say: Fly with me.
Instead, his words tumbled out like stones on a slippery moutain trail, hard and impatient. “Just before the trial, you said you wanted me to look for the Vaedi, that humankind would perish if I didn’t. I can go now.”
Mother’s chalcedony bracelets chimed when she shrugged. “I don’t remember saying that.”
“This quest was supposedly so important you told me it was worth dishonoring myself to flee in secret rather than attend my trial. You don’t remember?”
“I thought they would execute you.” The scent of ripening corn…
TO BE CONTINUED
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September 21, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
21. Zumo’s Offer
The Unfinished Song: Initiate
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| “Moon Dancer” by RoxRio |
Kavio
…took Kavio several blinks to realize who had saved him.
“Zumo,” he said hoarsely. His mouth tasted of blood and dust.
“I’ll escort you out of the tribehold, cousin,” Zumo said evenly. He snapped his fingers. Several other Tavaedis, all Zumo’s hangers- on, formed a defensive square around Kavio and Zumo.
The crowd jeered at Kavio as they passed, and a few of the braver ones hurled rocks or mud at him. He felt the shame of his nakedness strongly, not because of the attire itself, but because of the ashes smeared over his chest and thighs. He tried to hold his head up proudly rather than hunch over and shield himself from the taunting mob. He wondered which was worse, to need the protection of his enemy to walk the streets of the tribehold, or to wonder at its price.
“I thought you cast your stone on the black mat. Why are you suddenly so eager to keep me alive now when you wanted me dead this afternoon?”
“Ah, the stone. Mother suggested it would look more believable. But the fact is, I’ve got what I wanted,” Zumo said.
Kavio pressed his lips together.
“This doesn’t have to be forever, Kavio.”
“What?”
Zumo gestured to Kavio’s bloody, ash-smeared body.
“This. Your exile.”
“That’s not the judgment I heard.”
“There is a way that an exile may be allowed to return—if he is pardoned by a War Chief or a Vaedi. Your father can never pardon you, because his impartiality would be called into question. But I could.”
“You?”
“After your father steps down, a new War Chief will have to be appointed,” Zumo went on. “It would have been you before. Now it will be me.”
Kavio felt sick. “Congratulations.”
They had arrived at the large wooden gates at the entrance of the tribehold. There were too many warriors on guard at the gate for the mob to follow. Muttering, the crowd dispersed.
“If you would agree to serve me loyally, I would let you back into the Labyrinth as a Zavaedi again,” Zumo said. He sounded as though he thought he was truly doing Kavio a favor. “I mean it.”
Kavio laughed. He looked his cousin up and down in contempt. “Never forget, I know what you really are, Zumo.”
Hatred boiled in Zumo’s face. And fear. “No one would believe you.”
“Don’t worry.” Kavio’s lips twitched in a self-mocking smile. “I know that. That’s not the point. The point is, I know what you are. And I would rather live in exile the rest of my days than serve a man who lives a lie every day of his life.”
“Be careful, Kavio. Death might still find you.”
“It finds us all in the end, doesn’t it? Goodbye Zumo.”
Outside the Rainbow Labyrinth tribehold, no mobs harassed him and no enemies taunted him. Fields that smelled of sweet maize surrounded him. The tribehold stood on a mesa in a large box canyon cut by a river…
TO BE CONTINUED
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Art by RoxRio.
September 20, 2013
- in Uncategorized by Tara Maya
20. Attack of the Mob
The Unfinished Song: Initiate
“Of course the mighty Imorvae War Chief spares his own son!” someone else shouted.
Father’s knuckles whitened on the ledge of the balcony, but his pride would not let him stoop to correct the accusation.
“Let Kavio begin his exile, here, now!” cried another voice. “We’ll see how long it lasts!”
Ugly laughter rippled through the crowd.
“Lower the ladder,” Father said to the Tavaedi warriors who still guarded Kavio.
Even the guards looked dubious. “The crowd will rip him apart as soon as he’s down the ladder.”
“Lower the ladder,” repeated Father.
Kavio might have expected Mother to object to this, but she had not accompanied Kavio and Father back to their house from the kiva. In her typical way, she had disappeared without a word of goodbye. I guess she hasn’t forgiven me for turning down her offer.
The warriors lowered the ladder to the street. The crowd began to cheer. Someone took up the chant again.
“Death to Kavio! Death to Kavio!”
He knew his cue when he heard it, Kavio thought sardonically. He stepped forward into the torchlight and the sight of the mob.
Another roar went up in the mob, and so many people tried to press close to the ladder that it almost fell into the street. One of the men pushed back the others, shouting, “Let him come down first, if he dares!”
“That’s my invitation, I believe,” he said to Father, grasping the ladder.
“If new evidence or new witnesses step forward to exonerate you,” Father said, “You could resume all your duties as a Zavaedi in the Labyrinth. Is there anything you want to tell me, Kavio, which you didn’t want to say at the trial?”
Kavio thought of Zumo, and what he might have said, did his cousin not share Auntie Ugly’s unreasoning hatred of everything Kavio was. The chances that Zumo would change his testimony seemed slight. To say the least.
“Goodbye, Father.”
He swung his legs around and descended the ladder into the waiting crowd.
They didn’t even let him climb down the ladder, but shook it and pushed it over. He flipped in the air as he fell and landed on his feet, but at once, enraged men and women assaulted him from all sides, some with their hands and feet, some with rocks and sticks. The sheer volume of kicks, sticks, punches, pinches and pummels drove him to the dust in a heap of bruised flesh.
And he thought he had been ready to die. He fought for every last breath, made them pay for every blow with two blows back of his own, but still they were winning, they were going to beat him to death right under his own balcony, as Father watched impassively from above.
A strong arm clasped and dragged Kavio back to his feet. He could breathe again.
“The judgment was exile!” his helper shouted at the crowd. “You will not commit murder tonight!”
Blood dribbled into his eyes, so it…
TO BE CONTINUED
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