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Writing Battle Scenes

A guest post by Rayne Hall.

Here are some techniques for creating powerful, exciting, realistic battle scenes.

The biggest challenge in writing a battle scene is the point of view. To make the experience exciting and moving, it’s best to stick to the perspective of a single fighter. However, the individual soldier can’t see what goes on a few feet from him, let alone what’s happening at the other end of the battlefield or how the sun dyes the horizon bloody red.

Here’s a possible solution: Show the terrain before the fight begins, and have the general give a pep talk explaining the overall strategy. Once the fighting is over, show the battlefield and have your point of view character talk with his comrades about the implications.

Do you want to involve the reader’s emotions? Stack the odds against your heroes. The readers’ natural sympathies lie with the smaller army. The greater you can make the numerical difference, the better. The evil overlord’s army is bigger than the hero’s, and it is much better equipped, too.

Have you heard of the battle of Thermopylae (480 BC), when three hundred Spartans defended Greece against thousands of invading Persians? The Spartans knew they were going to die, and fought anyway, to gain time for their homeland to prepare further defences. Since then, thousands of battles have been fought – and forgotten. Thermopylae is remembered. The story has been retold in many novels, non-fiction books, and films. The incredible bravery against overwhelming odds still rouses audiences’ emotions. When writing your own battle scenes, use Thermopylae as your inspiration.

Battles don’t just happen: they are usually planned. At least one side seeks the battle and is prepared.

The generals plan a battle strategy in advance, and make sure that their officers know it. In the heat of the battle, it’s often impossible to change strategy or give orders. Sometimes, soldiers are still fighting when the battle has already been decided, because they don’t know that their king is dead or the enemy general has surrendered.

Often, the location decides the outcome of the battle. Generals choose the location carefully – and so should you, the author! If the battle takes place on a slope, the army uphill has a huge advantage, because it’s easier to fight downhill than uphill, and because missiles fly further. Each general tries to make the battle happen in terrain which favours his own army, and where the enemy can’t fully deploy his.

For example, chariots are fearsome on the plain, but useless in the mountains. Foot archers can fight on any terrain, especially in the mountains. The general who has many chariots will try to force a battle on the plain, while the general who has archers will try to lure them into mountainous terrain. If one general has a small army and his enemy has a large one, he’ll try to lure them into a gorge or other restricted space where they can’t move.

Armies are organised in units either by level of skill and experience (elite, veterans, novices, untrained peasants…) or by weapons and equipment (cavalry, infantry, archers, spearmen, chariots…) or both.

Before the battle, the general probably addresses the troops, firing their fighting spirit and courage. This pep talk may include depersonalising the enemy, because soldiers are more willing to kill monsters than to kill fellow human beings. It’s easy to kill a man whom you consider a menace to your children, and difficult to kill him if you think of him as a fellow human who loves his children as much as you love yours.

Noble thoughts and ideals have no room during battle. The thinker of noble thoughts and carrier of high ideals during battle won’t survive. If you want to show your hero’s nobility, do it when the fighting is over: perhaps he gives the fallen enemies a decent burial, or ensures that his captives get medical treatment and food.

Consider using interesting or extreme weather to make your battle scene unusual. Imagine pristine snow which gets trampled, becomes slippery, and stains red with blood. Or a strong wind which blows arrows off course. Or blistering heat and glaring sun. Or week-long rain turning the field into knee-deep mud, making it difficult for foot soldiers, let alone horses or chariots. Or fog blocking the view of the enemy.

At the beginning of the battle, both armies shoot missiles to take out as many of the enemy as possible before they get close. In a historical novel, clouds of arrows may darken the sky before the battle begins.

When the fighting is under way, describe only what the point of view character can see: this is probably only what is immediately before him, such as the enemy weapon stabbing at him.

To create excitement, mention sounds: the clanking of swords, the hissing of arrows, the pinging of bullets.

Once the fighting is over, the survivors count their dead, bandage their wounds and repair their weapons. In this section, you can inject realism..

Soon after the battle, there’ll be carrion birds (e.g. crows, vultures) feeding on the corpses. There’ll be humans (probably the victorious soldiers) gathering up re-usable weapons (because weapons are valuable) and looting the corpses. The battlefield is covered in blood, gore, and amputated limbs. The stench is awful, because in death, the bladder and bowels have opened. Plus, there’s the smell from injuries, not just blood (which starts to stink only after a while) but the content of stomachs and intestines from belly wounds. The stench gets worse after a few hours, especially if the weather is hot. After some hours, the corpses will be crawling with flies, and before long, there’ll be maggots.

If you’re aiming for great realism, you may want to spend several paragraphs describing the gruesome aftermath. If you want to create more light-hearted entertainment, it’s best to keep the aftermath section short and to skip the gory details.

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About Rayne Hall

Rayne Hall has published more than forty books under different pen names with different publishers in different genres, mostly fantasy, horror and non-fiction. Recent books include Storm Dancer (dark epic fantasy novel), 13 British Horror Stories, Six Scary Tales Vol 1, 2, 3, 4 (creepy horror stories), Six Historical Tales (short stories), Six Quirky Tales (humorous fantasy stories), Writing Fight Scenes, The World-Loss Diet, Writing About Villains, Writing About Magic and Writing Scary Scenes (instructions for authors).

She holds a college degree in publishing management and a masters degree in creative writing. Currently, she edits the Ten Tales series of multi-author short story anthologies: Bites: Ten Tales of Vampires, Haunted: Ten Tales of Ghosts, Scared: Ten Tales of Horror, Cutlass: Ten Tales of Pirates, Beltane: Ten Tales of Witchcraft, Spells: Ten Tales of Magic, Undead: Ten Tales of Zombies and more.

Rayne has lived in Germany, China, Mongolia and Nepal and has now settled in a small dilapidated town of former Victorian grandeur on the south coast of England.

Look Inside Alexia Purdy’s Ever Shade

I’m excited to join five other amazing fantasy authors in a new collection, Faery Worlds. For the rest of the week I’ll be featuring the other novels you can find in this ebook full of magic, love and fae.

Alexia Purdy’s Ever Shade (A Dark Faerie Tale #1)

A dark twist on faeries. For Shade, a chance meeting with a powerful Teleen Faery warrior who wields electrical currents and blue fires along his skin, has her joining him on a treacherous mission for the good Seelie Faerie Court across the land of Faerie. Magic and malice abound and nothing is what it appears to be.

“A fantastic read, full of magic and greed, love and loss, and stories to unfold. I highly recommend this to all lovers of the magical world of Fae.” — Review for Ever Shade, Anne Nelson, Angel Anne Reviews

Prologue

ONE LONG PAUSE and the man pondered the choice he had just made. The faery exile, Verenis, watched the woman and her new husband as they laughed and chatted away inside their house. Her long, honey-brown hair shone in shimmering waves down her back and swung around as her husband twirled her about the kitchen, dancing to the music from the radio, which sat on the windowsill. Verenis didn’t acknowledge the pangs of jealously that swirled in his stomach; he had made his decision, and now had to let it play out. She’d be safer this way.

The child would grow without knowing him, without knowing her powerful potential. He would not be there to teach her the ways of their magic and life. It had to be this way and he could not change it, no matter how much he longed to. For the safety of the child and the love of his life, he had erased the woman’s memory of him forever. He watched them as the happiness spread across their faces. He had handpicked the man for her, made sure he would be a great father, love the child like his own, and love the woman more than life itself.

The faery closed his eyes, feeling the breezes of the cool winds graze his face. He had never wished to leave her like this. He longed to hold her, and be the one to swing her around in a flowing dance. The tragedy of it all caused a fierce ache in his heart and arrested his breath in his throat. Glancing back to her one more time, he turned away and ran with the wind toward the embrace of the forest.

Chapter One

“YOU DIDN’T REALLY mean that, did you?” Shade said as she observed her friend Brisa, whose face reddened with frustration.

“Rachel had it coming; she’s the one who started it!”

Shade looked at her friend’s ruined shirt, streaked with the remains of a red strawberry smoothie. The substance was sticking to her, and it felt cold. Her top was no longer the vibrant yellow it’d once been.

“She’s a dumb idiot anyway,” Brisa muttered. “She shouldn’t be calling you those names. I only stated that she was a ‘dumb as a wall, self-diluted bitch’ in self-defense. I said it for you. Besides, it’s only the truth.”

Brisa frowned and gave up rubbing at the stain with a washcloth and soap. She pulled the shirt over her head and let it slip to the ground. Glaring at her locker, she realized her only other shirt was her gym T-shirt. It figures there’s nothing else to wear. She sighed. “She shouldn’t have thrown her smoothie at me. The next time I see her she’s going to pay,” Brisa hissed and looked at Shade. “You’re not a freak. Don’t ever believe anything she says. She’s wrong!”

Shade peered at her friend. Brisa rarely got along with anyone. Not a day went by that she wasn’t in the principal’s office cleaning chalkboards, wiping down desks or doing some other tedious job. Many times, she’d received these punishments for whatever trouble she’d gotten into, instead of hanging out with Shade.

Still, Shade had known Brisa since they were toddlers and would stand by her through anything. She was the only one who knew about Shade’s strange abilities−hearing voices in her head. Brisa was the only one Shade trusted.

“It’s all right, Brisa. I guess I would think I was a freak, too,” Shade gave her friend a shrug. “Besides, it’s my fault for blurting out what they told me about Rachel. Who would have known she was cheating on the final if I hadn’t said anything? She needs to wise up. Well, at least you didn’t smash her nose in; you only need one more fight to get that suspension they’ve threatened you with already. Your mom would hang you!”

Brisa grinned with a slight shudder at the thought of her mother. Brisa’s face was smooth and olive-toned with bright blue eyes. Her dark brown hair flowed lazily in waves to her mid back. She wasn’t gorgeous, but she wasn’t bad looking either. She rarely had makeup on and preferred to wear her hair in a low ponytail instead of letting it flow freely around her shoulders. She was as much of a tomboy as a girl could be−completely opposite of her friend’s more girly disposition. Shade’s dark, brown hair was similar but longer than her friend’s, and her complexion creamier. Otherwise, they looked a lot like sisters.

“Like I need help in that department,” Brisa groaned as she pulled her hair out from the collar of her gym shirt and smoothed the wrinkles down. Brisa and her mother rarely got along. She tended to spend more time at Shade’s house than at her own.

Shade pulled out her cell phone to peek at the time. It was getting late, and their afternoon class was starting in two minutes. Dropping the phone back into her bag, she scooped it up before shoving away her own long, brown locks. She tapped her friend’s shoulder, urging her to hurry. “Gotta go, do you want to be late? Ms. Temor is going to lock us out! Chop, chop!” Shade turned and sprinted toward the entrance to the locker room and shoved the heavy metal doors out of her way.

“Wait up!” Brisa called as she stuffed her ruined shirt into her backpack. She stumbled behind Shade and cleared the doors just before they slammed shut.

*****

SHADE SIGHED. SHE swung her legs down from the stone ledge she had propped herself on by the main entrance of the school. Might as well start walking, she thought. Her mom had forgotten to pick her up again, and it was a long walk home. Her backpack was heavy, but not as much as some days when her homework was piled high. Luckily, today was a light homework day.

The warm air rippled along Shade’s face. The final bell had rung ages ago, yet here she was, still waiting, again. Brisa rode the Portland, Oregon city bus home and was long gone. Shade wished she had hopped onto that bus with her friend. This had been happening too often lately. Mom has too much on her plate, Shade thought. Her full time job, two sons and Shade’s younger sister kept her so busy. Shade, being the oldest, was on her own.

The streets were quiet as she walked home. A slight breeze swept up some litter and floated it past her. She was feeling good, especially compared to how she’d felt a couple of weeks ago, when she had caught pneumonia, The illness had caused Shade to miss a lot of school, and her grades had taken a beating. She’d been feeling pretty out of it for the past month. Now, she wasn’t so sure she’d be able to get caught up enough to raise some of her D’s to B’s, much less A’s again. One class was still an F.

Squeezing her eyes together, she gritted her teeth and tried to not imagine having to endure getting an F for the first time in her life. She’d graduate either way, but the drop in GPA was not going to go over well with her. Shade sighed and looked ahead, hoping her luck would get better soon.

The bright sun was glaring down, and it reflected off the white concrete sidewalk like a floodlight, blinding her. Shade’s little brother, James, had smashed her last pair of sunglasses just two days before while playing one of his infinitely, highly imaginative games. She wished she had replaced them already.

Shade passed the main streets of the city and continued walking down the sidewalk, skipping over cracks on the aged concrete. The roads turned into longer stretches of periodic houses and empty lots as the worn brick buildings of the city’s center faded behind her.

“Only a whole mile or so to go,” Shade mumbled to herself. Both her feet ached a little. She was thankful she’d worn tennis shoes today instead of her usual thin flats. Still, she wasn’t used to walking so much since it was only her third day back to school. Feeling one of her shoelaces loosen as it began to whip her calf and flop around, she stopped walking and bent down to retie it firmly.

Hesitating, she glanced up and scanned the street and the warehouses, which surrounded her. The cool autumn breeze whirled around her, causing the fallen leaves to float in the wind and sling dust into the air. She squeezed her eyes shut and let the dust and debris blow past her before getting back up.

Holding her breath, she could’ve sworn she’d heard something. Is it footsteps? It was like someone scurrying about, or running, but also trying to be quiet about it. Shade peered around her, surveying the area. Whatever it was, it seemed to have come from the abandoned warehouse to her right. She studied the dilapidated brick structure; it was the only tall building for miles, and it gave her the creeps. She listened hard for anything to betray itself but heard nothing. The windows were mostly boarded-up and weeds littered the ground all around it.

Go inside, now.

Shade paled. She hadn’t heard the voices sound so desperate in quite a while, and this was not good. It was not her inner voice or her conscience. It was very different, like someone else whispering into her ears, but she was the only one who could hear them. Shade had never been able to explain it to anyone, mostly because it would’ve just sounded so crazy.

They were more like some sort of entities who spoke to her inside her head and asked her to do their bidding. Shade never understood the reasons why. The voices would become clearer and stronger when they wanted her to do something specific. It wasn’t ever anything absolutely insane like killing someone. That comforted her, but nevertheless, she cringed at the sound of their voices tingling in her ears. No one knew of this ailment except Brisa.

Shade shuddered as she thought about telling someone else about them. No one would understand or even look at her like a normal person again if she told anyone. She’d become another institutionalized, psychotic, hormonal teenager.

They’d think I was another paranoid schizophrenic teenager if I told anyone, she thought. Can’t go to any loony house where they pump me up with drugs until I’m comatose. I can’t.

Hurry, said the voices.

Hurry to what? Shade inquired silently. There’s nothing here!

Quick, they told her with urgency.

Shade pressed her lips together. She had to obey. The voices wouldn’t leave her alone if she defied them, and she couldn’t handle that. She had tried to not listen to what they wanted once before, and there had been dire consequences. Three nights of relentless chatter inside the head was enough to drive anyone to a nuthouse. She couldn’t go through that again.

Okay already!

She bent over and slipped through a hole in the fence that was nearest to her. The building looked even scarier up close. The wind howled around her, whipping her long, brown hair up and caused it to smack her face. It was as if it was taunting her decision to inspect the building. The front door had been boarded-up with thick bolts and two by fours. Apparently, no one was meant to enter this place.

There’s no way in, where do I get in?

The basement, the voices said together.

Shade gulped. It would be dark in the basement, and whatever was in there would not be welcoming her. She didn’t even have a flashlight. Nothing good would come of this at all. Even so, she walked around the building toward the rear, searching for any openings.

And there it was: a small, dusty and rusted window near the ground. As she knelt down, the rocks crunched under her feet and dug into her knees. She lowered herself so that she was level with the window and frowned. The dust and moist earth stuck to her jeans and fingers.

Ewww, I hate getting filthy!

The window was tiny and probably just big enough for a small person to fit through. Shade groaned. Just like me. She cringed at the thought of crawling through it. It would be a tight fit, but she thought she could probably make it. She pushed on the pane but nothing happened. It’d been years since anyone had moved this frame, and now it was stuck.

Maybe I should give a good hard push….

Shade scooted onto her bottom and got closer to the window, pressing her feet against it. She gave it a good shove and heard a loud screech as the metal frame screamed in protest, opening to the world. The dust bellowed around her in a swirling cloud, causing her to go into a coughing fit.

She dusted her clothes as she muttered to herself. There was no doubt that she’d need another shower tonight. She peeked inside, but it was a deep void of darkness. Oh boy, this is gonna suck, she thought. Shimmying through the frame, she heaved herself into the darkness below.

Shade crashed onto the floor, tumbling to a stop. Ouch! That’s definitely going to leave a bruise, she thought. Shade rubbed the sore spots and scanned the room for signs of movement. There was nothing but dust and darkness to greet her. Standing, she dusted her jeans off again.

There was a dim light coming from the now-busted window, but her eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness of the room. The small room was empty except for a worktable at one end of the basement and the parts to an old bicycle at the other end. There were also a few pieces of junk strewn across the floor. Even in the poor light, she could see there was a staircase in the middle of the room. She walked to it and grabbed the thin metal banister. She started up slowly but froze, hearing a sound that made her stomach tighten.

Footsteps were fluttering above her, but they quickly faded. It seemed like they had stopped to listen for something or someone. Maybe they had heard her. She didn’t move for what felt like a millennium, her heart pumping quick and loudly in her ears. She stood still, holding her breath and fearing discovery.

The time ticked on, but Shade didn’t hear any more noises and decided to slowly ascend the stairs to the door at the top. Her hand gripped the old brass knob and she paused. As she gulped back her fear, she listened for anything that might be waiting for her beyond the door. Pray, just pray that no one is waiting on the other side.

Shade turned the knob as quietly as she could; the slow creaking moan of the door echoed in the silence. The wind was still howling outside the basement window, shaking it in its frame until the vibration loosened it and it slammed closed. Her stomach tightened at the sudden noise. Claustrophobia must feel like this, she thought.

Shade opened the door and looked around the gloomy building. Light streamed in through the boarded-up windows as she peered into the long hallway that was just beyond the door. The place was vibrating from the forces outside; everything creaked and sighed, like a ship tossed about in an angry sea. Shade wished more than anything to be home, snuggled in her room, safe. She stepped out into the hall and closed the basement door behind her as quietly as she could.

Now what? Which way do I go? She hated having to listen to the voices for an answer. At least she knew if she had to ask them anything, they’d answer her without fail. She just hoped it wasn’t an answer she didn’t want to hear.

Upstairs, follow the stairs to your right; take them now, the voices commanded in unison.

Shade turned toward her right; the hallway ended by a small banister near the wall. She could see another window frame at the end of it and light spilled through the streaked glass, illuminating the bottom of the staircase. Dust particles swam in the rays and danced all around.

Here we go, thought Shade. Please don’t let there be a crazy person up there! She swiftly walked to the stairs and looked up; she heard nothing but the wind making the walls moan. Moving slowly over the loose floorboards, whose creaking was driving her mad with fear, she reached the landing just as she heard a crash. Her eyes widened and she fought the urge to fly right back down the stairs.

Something big is up there! It’s moving, too! I don’t want to meet that! She couldn’t move from her spot and listened again, but nothing else banged around upstairs. Shade craned her neck so she could hear better. It must have stopped. After taking a breath, she continued up the stairs.

“Don’t ever ask me to do this again,” she muttered under her breath as she reached the landing and peered down to her left. There was another hall, and it opened into a big room that must have been the warehouse’s office area. There were cubicles and papers strewn about on the desks, and old chairs were turned over, as if they had been thrown across the room. Um, not pretty. She looked around; whatever had been up here might still be lurking and hiding from her. It wouldn’t be too hard with all the furniture upturned and scattered throughout the room.

Shade didn’t have to wait too long before she was diving for cover. A bolt of lightning shot across the room, and smashed into one of the bookshelves, which lined the walls. She ducked under a desk, which was still standing upright, and tried to take cover from the flying debris.

What was that? She tried to pace her rapid breathing for she felt like she was having a heart attack. What if she died and no one could ever find her? Her remains would be here in this desolate place for years, if ever discovered.

Shut up, she told herself, shooing the morbid thoughts away. Now, voices, come on, why am I here, to get killed? You better tell me soon, ’cause I am about to hightail it out of here!

Shade peaked above the desk to look around the room. A sonic boom knocked her onto her back, causing more debris to fly past her. The sound had come from a different direction than the lightning. Is there more than one person here? What the hell? She stayed down and prayed they wouldn’t notice her in the mess.

“You can’t hurt me, Jack. I know all your tricks, and they’re pointless against my magic. You can’t best me with your powers; mine will always endure against you.” The woman cackled with a spine-tingling voice. She sounded like the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Give it up, Evie. You don’t have it in you; we’re banging our heads against the walls. I can have reinforcements arrive in a heartbeat. Give it up before I’m forced to make you.” This was a man’s voice, and it echoed with strength in the large room.

Ok, this is getting complicated, thought Shade. I hope they don’t know I’m here.

“Not so fast, Jack. And the name is Vange now.” She spoke his name as though she was speaking of poison. “You’ve trespassed on my domain. I didn’t know you liked hanging out with ordinary folk now. You might frighten one of them as you speak. You should return to the forest and mountains you claim as your great domain. The cities are mine.” Another boom and crash shook the room.

Shade held her breath. Well, now I know she knows I’m here. Now he does, too! Great!

“The mortal is of no concern to me. You should stop right now before I hurt you. The Queen wants you alive, but I’m sure that if you were wounded, she’d understand it was a matter of life and death. Or, you could just give the talisman back and we’ll call it even.” Jack sent another lightning rod, or what looked like a lightning rod, toward the left corner of the room and jumped from his spot. Shade peered over at him as he ran forward and ducked behind a large wooden beam. He glanced at her for a moment, narrowing his gaze as he watched her. Now he knew just where she was.

What now? Shade turned and looked down the hall to the flight of stairs. If only I can get to the stairs and get the hell out of Dodge. She glanced back at the scene before her. Jack had hunched down behind the desks and stealthily crept toward the woman. He paused periodically to listen and search for her. The woman was hiding quite well behind an office divider, if she was still there.

Don’t run, the voices said.

What am I supposed to do, die? Shade’s heart raced and sweat beaded on her forehead and neck. She gulped and felt lightheaded as her chest burned from hyperventilation. What could she do? They would see her if she bolted. She hung her head down, wishing to be small and invisible. She heard Jack curse as another crash shattered a window on the north end of the building. Shade jerked her head up in time to see Vange flash a smile at Jack.

“I’m truly sorry, Jack, but this isn’t your day. My Queen will love this little artifact. Its powers will truly add to our array of weapons against your precious Queen.” The woman then sprinted toward the shattered remains of windowpane and jumped, no, flew out the window and disappeared.

“We will finish this some other time, Vange.” Jack stood at the windowsill and stared into the light of the day. The cool autumn breeze wafted in and stirred up the stale air inside. He shook his head while he groaned and cursed under his breath.

Shade stood and peered at Jack; he had yet to turn toward her. She decided to discretely sneak away when he suddenly caught her by the shoulder. She screamed, and quickly spun around and forced to face him. His eyes pierced hers as his hands gripped her upper arms. “Let me go!” She yelled as she wriggled around in his grip.

“Oh, quit it. Who are you? Why are you here?” Jack questioned as he stared at her with searing eyes. He squeezed on her arms just enough to make her cry out.

“I don’t know, I don’t know! Let me go!”

He sighed and released her as she pulled away, sending her crashing to the floor.

“Ow!” Shade grabbed her elbow, streaked with blood.

“You said ‘let me go.’” Jack turned and picked up some of his weapons from the floor. He took hold of the sheath hanging on his belt, putting his knife away before he began dusting off his clothes. He wore a tight black shirt with a leather belt tightened around his waist with multiple items strung onto it, including a sword.

His face was strong and well defined, portraying a radiance of youth. He appeared to be about twenty-five, but didn’t have a hint of stubble, making him not quite look like a teenager. Jack’s dark, black, wavy hair was long, gracing his neck, and his bangs covered some of his tanned face. His eyes had an ancient wisdom about them, making it obvious that he had seen too much for one lifetime.

He’s not bad looking though. Shade stood up and brushed off her clothes as well. She peered up at him, wondering if she should try to run.

“Who are you? Who was—what was—that woman?” Shade’s voice shook as she spoke. “And how do you throw lightning like that? How can she fly?” Shade couldn’t hold back the torrent of questions.

He stared at her quietly. It seemed as if he were trying to decide whether or not to answer. His piercing grey eyes examined her, making Shade flush as she stuttered. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” If he had been a teenager, he would have rolled his eyes, Shade thought. “I’m Jack, by the way. I have the power to throw lightning, because it’s part of what I am.” He grinned, watching her face drop in disbelief. “She can’t really fly, it’s more like, float gracefully.”

What the…?

“Okay then…” she chuckled nervously, more scared than ever. “How’d she make the room explode in a sonic boom? What do you mean you’re made of lightning? That’s insane.” Shade shook her head, squeezed her eyes closed before blinking nervously. This strange, young man just stared at her, a wry smile upturning the corners of his mouth. He seemed amused by her rant.

“That was Evangeline. Vange is what everyone calls her now, though I used to call her Evie.” He paused, looking lost in thought. “But, that was a long time ago. She’s an elemental fire witch, but not just any old witch. She’s a hybrid offspring of a witch and a faery. She’s a skilled fighter, and she has taken something from my Queen. I was sent to get it back.” Jack started to walk toward the staircase, leaving Shade stunned with her mouth hanging open in silence.

Okay, that was unexpected. She watched him begin down the stairs. Now what? What was the purpose of her being here? Why did she have to witness all that? Hello, voices?

Why, oh why, do I listen to the stupid voices? Why can’t they leave me alone! All they have ever done for me is get me into a lot of trouble.

“Wait! Why I brought here? Stop! Don’t walk away from me…I need answers here!” Shade scrambled after the strange man, nearly tripping down the stairs. “The voices told me to come here and I want to know why. What am I supposed to see or do here? Stop already!” She cried out again.

Jack was already at the front door. He studied the nailed-in boards, and began tearing them down. How did he get in? His muscles rippled as he held one plank and pulled. It crashed to the floor as he went for another one. She grabbed his arm to get his attention, but he spun around, grabbed her wrist instead and squeezed it tight. Shade whimpered, surprised by the pain.

“Don’t touch me, I might inadvertently electrocute you.”

Her eyes widened as she stared at his hand tightening on her wrist. He let her go and sighed, his lips tight with discontent.

“I don’t know why you were brought here. You say you hear voices? Only oracles can hear voices. Strange,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Anyway, I’m made of lightning and blue fire. I guess I have to show you, because if you happen to touch me when I am not properly shielded with this glamour, I can hurt you, and it could be fatal.” Jack stared at her with some concern in his eyes. He stepped back from her and seemed to shake a bit, as though dusting himself off. The air around him liquefied as his glamour melted away and the brightness of his skin illuminated the dark hallway.

Shade gasped. He still looked like Jack, but his skin glowed with a blue aura. Blue fire flickered all over him. Electricity crackled along his entire body, yet he didn’t burn. His eyes blinked at her, smiling at her awe.

No way!

“You see, I’m made of electricity, like lightning, and white-hot blue fire. One touch and I can zap you to heaven.” He closed his eyes as the air, like liquid, poured over him. His glamour reappeared on him, like a drizzle of honey. Jack opened his eyes and studied the shocked expression on her face.

Shade could hardly stand. She was confused, stunned and in sheer disbelief. “How do you do that? What the… no… can’t…how?” She leaned on the wall, her legs felt dangerously limp.

Jack straightened up and narrowed his eyes at her; the air was still shimmering around him. He seemed to pull it in tighter around him, solidifying whatever it was that formed his glamour. The glow was all but gone. His skin lay smooth, tanned and flawless.

Turning, he pulled the rest of the boards off the door and swung it open. It screeched on its hinges, letting the fading light illuminate the doorway. He stepped out onto the steps and turned to look at Shade. “I suggest that you come with me. I don’t know why your voices led you here, but the oracle where I live might be able to help you. You would have to follow me right now though. What do you say? Maybe she has the answers you seek.” He watched her slowly step outside.

Shade breathed in the cool autumn air and felt more grounded. Gazing up at him, she nodded. This seemed like the only solution to her predicament. Might as well.

Jack began walking and stopped before he reached the sidewalk. He waited for Shade with a look of concern. “You can’t tell anyone what you see or where we go. No one. Understand?”

She took in the seriousness of his face. “Of course,” she answered hesitantly.

He nodded, made his way onto the sidewalk and then headed off toward the forest.

Look Inside Jenna Elizabeth Johnson’s Faelorehn

I’m excited to join five other amazing fantasy authors in a new collection, Faery Worlds. For the rest of the week I’ll be featuring the other novels you can find in this ebook full of magic, love and fae.

Jenna Elizabeth Johnson’s Faelorehn

Meghan has been strange her entire life: her eyes change color and she sees and hears things no one else can. When the visions get worse, she is convinced she has finally gone crazy. That is, until the mysterious Cade shows up with an explanation of his own.

“The use of Celtic mythology is refreshing… Ms. Johnson uses her knowledge to weave a beautiful story of love, friendship, and legend. The atmosphere that the author created was eerie and haunting and the creatures were truly disturbing. The ending left me breathless!” – Review for Faelorehn, Krista Loya, Breathe in Books

Chapter One: Memories

The only reason I knew that I was awake was because of the pale green glow of neon stars staring back at me from my ceiling. I lay in my bed for a few moments, taking deep, steadying breaths while letting my eyes adjust to the darkness of my room. The remnants of a dream still danced in my mind, but as the approaching dawn light chased away the dark, it tried to slip away. Unfortunately, this particular dream was familiar to me, and it would take a lot more than my return to the conscious world to eject it from my mind.

I turned my head on my pillow and blinked my eyes several times at my alarm clock. Groaning at the early hour, I rolled over onto my stomach and buried my head into the pillow. I guess the darkness had some claim on the subconscious world, because instead of dispelling the dream, my actions only made it come racing back.

Huffing in frustration, I kicked off the covers and leaned over the side of my bed, scrabbling around stray pairs of shoes and forgotten socks as I searched out my current journal. Years ago the therapist I had been seeing thought it would be a good idea to keep track of these strange recurring dreams. Anytime I dreamt of anything that reminded me of my past before entering the foster system, I was supposed to write it down. That and anything strange that I saw or heard while I was awake. I hate to say it, but the visions happened more often than I would like to admit.

Although my collection of diaries held other frivolous information alongside the crazy stuff, at least once a year, on the same date, the exact same dream was described in near perfect detail.

I dusted off the cover of my latest journal, grabbed a pen from my bedside table, clicked on the lamp and opened up a brand new page. The dream was starting to slip away once again, but it wasn’t as if I wouldn’t be able to remember the details. I had written about this exact dream so many times before I could probably recite it in front of a crowded gymnasium without glancing at the page it was written on. Not that I would ever have the gumption to speak in front of a crowd. Nevertheless, I began writing:

I had the dream again; the one that always comes to me this time of year. The fog wasn’t as thick as usual in my dreamscape, but I could feel the grit and cold of the blacktop beneath my bare feet. I looked down. Of course I was naked, but at least I was a toddler in the dream.

I paused and thought about that. I had decided a long time ago that the dream was merely a subconscious illustration of the saga that was my beginning. According to my adoptive parents, I was found when I was two years old, wandering the dark streets of Los Angeles (on Halloween night of all times), completely nude and babbling some nonsense that no one could decipher. I know most toddlers babble nonsense, but according to the woman at the adoption agency, what I babbled was nothing like what normal human babies produced when trying to communicate with others. Oh well. Like the bizarre dream, I can’t explain that either. I was lucky, they told my parents, because the part of L.A. they found me in was notorious for gang wars.

Somehow, I survived that nocturnal stroll only to be reminded of that night exactly fifteen times, once a year for every year since I was found. And after fifteen years, I still don’t understand why this dream won’t leave me alone. I sighed and got back to my writing.

The dreamscape shifted and I noticed that my right hand was pressed up against a warm, solid shape, my fingers clinging to a wad of something rough and coarse. I could just see what it was out of the corner of my eye: a huge white dog, its bedraggled fur acting as an anchor for my small hand. The dog was massive, even from my child’s perspective. I wanted to turn and get a better look at it but something kept my eyes trained forward, as if some crazy hypnotist was twirling a black and white spiral wheel in front of me.

The city lamps glowed an eerie orange, the only color in this black and gray world, and I leaned closer to the dog next to me. It padded quietly along, not making a sound; almost guiding me to some distant point of interest. I wondered what it all meant, but before I could make anything of it, I woke up.

Just as I shut my journal and replaced my pen on the table, my alarm clock started screeching and I nearly had a heart attack. I had forgotten to shut it off when the dream woke me. I tossed the sheets back and hit the snooze button, not even bothering to turn off my lamp. I wished I could sleep in all day but if I remembered correctly it was Monday. I groaned. Mondays were the worst.

After fifteen minutes of snoozing, I finally got up and made an effort to get ready for the day. I ran my hands through my hair and cringed. It was a tangled mess, but that was normal. I flipped on my bedroom light and stepped in front of the mirror glued to my bathroom door. Ugh. Sometimes I hated my wavy hair. Not straight enough to be considered elegant and not curly enough to be truly beautiful. Tully was always telling me how much she wished her hair had some curl to it. She has the type of hair that is so straight that hair spray won’t even keep it in place after she takes a curling iron to it. She has no idea how lucky she is.

Taking a brush to the tangled mess did nothing but make it worse. Sighing, I made my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. For the only girl in a family consisting of five boys, I lucked out and got my own room and bathroom. Of course, the only reason was because my brothers were afraid of this particular part of the house, a converted basement that had served as a storage room to the previous owners. I think they somehow convinced themselves it was haunted, but that was only because it felt like the room was underground. It wasn’t completely sunken into the ground though; more like the foundation of the house was pressed into the side of a small hill. The one wall facing the backyard had a sliding glass door that displayed a forest of eucalyptus trees disappearing down into the small marsh that sat behind our neighborhood.

I threw my brush back into the drawer with all the hair bands and hair clips I’d collected over the years. Staring into the mirror, I tried in vain to wish away all my flaws. Unfortunately, no matter how thoroughly I washed my face, I couldn’t seem to make the freckles disappear. At least I didn’t have as many as Tully. Of course, mine were darker. I scrunched up my nose but that didn’t help either. Besides, I couldn’t go around looking like an angry rabbit all day and it only made my nose look smaller than it already was.

Eventually, I caught my own gaze in the mirror and cringed slightly when my eyes stared back at me. I sometimes tried to convince myself that it was my awkward height and scattering of freckles that made people turn away from me, but I knew deep down that it was my eyes. They were the windows to the soul, so the saying went. If that was the case then there must be something dreadfully wrong with my soul if people couldn’t even bring themselves to look me in the eye. I had trouble doing so myself.

On normal days my eyes were a light hazel color, too large for my face and slanted a little. People used to fuss over me when I was a little girl.

“Oh! What a darling little fairy, with that hair and those eyes!” they would say.

Then they would actually take a good look at my eyes and something would cross their face. A shadow or some subconscious instinct telling them something wasn’t quite right about me. They would continue smiling, of course, but I knew, even when I was too young to really understand, I knew they had withdrawn from me.

I crossed my arms and let out a huff of breath. It was foggy out this morning and that meant my eyes would take on a grayer tinge. Yes, they tended to change color from time to time. Something else that made people uneasy. Sometimes I tried to tell myself that that was the real reason why people turned away, because of the color and not what they sensed lying deeper within.

After brushing my teeth, I slipped into my favorite jeans and t-shirt. My Monday clothes, because Monday mornings were just too stressful to have to worry about putting together a cute outfit. Even though I attended a private high school, it conveniently didn’t have much of a dress code. Black Lake High, in the small rural city of Arroyo Grande, was actually quite laid back for a private school. In fact, our entire town was pretty easy going on the whole, but that wasn’t unusual in the Central Coast region of California where perfect weather was a year-round phenomenon. When my parents first moved here just after adopting me, the Five Cities area was still relatively small, but over time it grew into a bustling rural metropolis of sorts. Fortunately, there was still plenty of open space to spare. I don’t think my family could have handled living in a big city with me and all my brothers.

I was in the middle of stuffing my books into my backpack when the door at the top of my spiral staircase swung open violently.

“Meghan, you up?” one of my brothers called from the stairs.

“Yeah Logan, be up in a minute,” I called back.

I quickly added a little foundation to my face (I’m not much for overdoing it with makeup), turned to give my unmade bed an accusing glare, then shrugged my backpack onto my shoulder and began climbing the stairs. I hardly ever made my bed, unless I was expecting company. That’s a joke. The only company I’m likely to have over is Tully or Robyn. Tully’s been my best friend since I moved in with the Elams and became their one and only daughter. Before that I was juggled between foster homes in southern California for the first two years after I was found.

I have to admit I was a strange child, still am, but I didn’t know how to hide my oddities when I was that young. People were disturbed by me. Thankfully, no one ever told me I was strange and I didn’t realize it at the time. In retrospect, however, the delicate way they handled me or the small glances they would cast my way as they moved further away should have been dead giveaways. I never did anything outwardly dangerous or disturbing, like starting fires or pulling the heads off my dolls, but I unnerved almost everyone I met and it took me a long time to get used to people.

The Elams finally took me in and were the first people to look at me as if I wasn’t an alien from some other planet. They were patient with my fits and claims of hearing voices in the trees or seeing monsters in my closet. After taking me to several specialists, they noticed my improvement. When I started spending time with Tully, I started talking about hearing voices again. They tried to separate us but that only resulted in more nightmares and visions of demons. After that, they let me see Tully again. Somewhere in the middle of it all it dawned upon me that perhaps I should keep my visions to myself. I never complained about strange voices speaking unknown languages, nor did I mention seeing odd creatures ever again. But they never quite went away; they were all well documented in the boxes of filled journals collecting dust under my bed.

“Me-ghan!” Logan called out once more. “You’ll be late again and Tulip won’t want to take you to school anymore!”

Furrowing my brow and pushing the dark thoughts from my past aside, I returned my focus to more normal, everyday problems. I tried to tell if my hair was staying put. I had wet it and combed it out while I was in the bathroom, but it hadn’t dried yet. Like I mentioned earlier, my hair was often at war with me. I liked to keep it long and if I treated it just right, I could get it to curl fetchingly and not frizz. Right now, I was happy with the waves that would form after it dried.

I climbed my spiral stairs and pushed the trapdoor open. I loved that the door to my room was set in the floor and opened up into a corner of our living room. A railing of sorts surrounded it so that my brothers couldn’t sit on top and keep me trapped beneath. That didn’t mean they’d given up trying, though.

I padded into the kitchen, carrying my shoes in one hand and my socks in another. I yawned, inhaling the smell of bacon, eggs and toast.

“Morning,” my mom said, tossing her head so she could look at me over her shoulder.

She kept her dark hair short and at the moment she had a dish towel draped over her shoulder. I grinned. I towered over my mother. I was only an inch or two away from six feet, and my mom was nearly a foot shorter than me. Where my features were exaggerated, hers were proportionate and well placed. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that we weren’t blood related.

My father sat at the table, reading the newspaper as my three year old twin brothers, Jack and Joey, sat in their high chairs, throwing scrambled eggs at each other.

“Peter, could you?” my mother said in exasperation, turning to gesture a spatula at the twins.

Folding the paper with a quick flick of his hands, my father sighed and began speaking to my younger brothers, who only giggled at his chastisement.

Logan was standing on the other side of the kitchen island, packing his own lunch. He was a picky eater, so he learned early on that having such high standards in this family was a curse. He fended for himself most of the time.

Bradley, who was two years younger than Logan and seven years older than the twins, looked most like my father with his sandy hair and blue eyes. At the moment he was tormenting Aiden, my fifth brother. I never let my brothers know I had a favorite among them, and in truth, I loved them all dearly. But Aiden held a special place in my heart. Maybe it was because, of all my brothers, he was the only one with dark hair like me. I know it was silly; after all, it’s not like we shared the same genes for it or anything, but it made me feel more like part of the family I guess. Or maybe it was because my seven year old little brother was autistic. We were both set apart from everyone else in our own way.

I dropped my backpack near the front door and walked over to scoop Aiden up in my arms. With me holding him, Bradley would have to make a real effort to get to him and that would only draw Mom’s attention. Scowling, Bradley made a face and skipped off to occupy his time elsewhere.

“Good morning Aiden,” I said quietly.

He glanced up at me with his big blue-green eyes. My heart ached for him. He hardly ever spoke, but sometimes I could get him to talk to me. My brothers teased him for speaking gibberish, but I always understood what he meant to say. Sometimes you didn’t need words in order to communicate with someone.

Setting Aiden down but keeping him close to me, I maneuvered my way around the kitchen and quickly packed a lunch. Somehow I managed to avoid Bradley and Logan as they played a game of keep away with a cinnamon roll before Dad diffused the situation by threatening to make them all stay home Friday night and watch some Halloween special on TV instead of going trick-or-treating.

Five minutes before seven, I was heading for the door, Aiden clinging to my leg the entire way. Mom rescued me and came to scoop him up, planting a kiss on my cheek before I escaped.

The autumn morning was cool and damp, a thick fog clinging to the treetops and making the world seem gray. I didn’t mind. I liked the fog. Taking a lungful of air, I traipsed down the driveway and started walking up the street, hoping that perhaps this day would be different than all the rest.

10 Things You Need To Know About Publishing FanFic on Amazon

Legolas Teg the Urban Elf and Snape Damon have an intense confrontation in this fan fic Kindle Worlds story

Amazon is rocking the publishing world once again with a brand new kind of publishing: legal fan fic. Okay, there have been licensed novels before… Star Trek novels, Star Wars novels, movie novelizations… but this is far more accessible.

It’s called Kindle Worlds. Right now, there are only about twelve Worlds available to write in. Some biggies, like Harry Potter and Twilight, are not on the list. A few are television worlds, a few are author’s own worlds (such as Wool).

However, before you break out dancing and toss your Snape and Legolas slash romance/adventure into the ring, there are a few things you need to know about publishing fan fiction with Amazon.

1. This is not self-publishing, as with KDP.

Amazon’s self-publishing platform, KDP, allows authors to keep all rights to their own works. Amazon takes a cut of the royalties as a distributor, but Amazon is not the publisher. With Kindle Worlds, “All works accepted for Kindle Worlds will be published by Amazon Publishing.”

That said, this doesn’t seem intended to be as exclusive as the Singles program. Amazon wants your content, as long as it’s not something they will be sued over.

2. The steps seem pretty easy.

1. Select a World and read the Content Guidelines, Content Agreement and Quality Guide.
2. Upload your guide-abiding manuscript.
3. Make a cover with their templates.
4. Sign the agreement.
5. Kindle Worlds will review your story to make sure it follows the rules. They accept or reject.
6. If they accepted, your story goes on sale online.
7. You collect monthly royalties.

3. The author gets 20% to 35% depending on length.

According to PaidContent: “Kindle Worlds pays fan fiction authors a royalty of 35 percent for works of at least 10,000 words, and a royalty of 20 percent on works between 5,000 and 10,000 words. The authors of the original properties also get royalties, but Amazon will not disclose how much those are.”

4. There are rules, people. Rules!

You can only write in a “World” which Amazon has licensed. Each “World Licensor” has provided “Content Guidelines” for each “World,” and all works must follow these Content Guidelines. For example, Obidiah Archer doesn’t insult other people’s religions, “despite his upbringing in a fundamentalist family.” And Aric, from X-O-Manowar doesn’t torture little kids “despite being a man from another time.”

5. No crossovers.

Sorry, the timeless love of Snape for Legolas will have to wait. There are strict rules for what kind of fan fic is allowed, and one of the biggies is that, in general, you’re not allowed to mix’n’match. No crossover. I know, I know, that’s half the fun of fan fic. Well, too bad. There are rules, people. Rules!

6. No smut.

Besides, your Snape/Legolas slash wouldn’t be allowed anyway. No pornography. I don’t care HOW popular Shades of Grey was, or if it started as a Twilight riff. It’s still on the no-no list.

7. No crap.

People, if you can’t spell, use proper grammar and consult the frickin’ dictionary when it comes to frequently confused homonyms, Amazon doesn’t even want to hear from you.

8.  Kindle Only

Sorry, Barnes and Noble and Kobo readers. This is a Kindle Party Only. Well, kindle and kindle-friendly. “Stories are available in digital format exclusively on Amazon.com, Kindle devices, iOS, Android, and PC/Mac via our Kindle Free Reading apps.” Amazon adds helpfully, “We hope to offer additional formats in the future.”

9. You may not re-use your own characters outside the Kindle Worlds.

Remember, Amazon is the publisher, not you, and they own the rights to the story, not you. So, any character, scene, invention, or cool plot idea — what they call “New Elements” that you use in your fan fic belongs to them after you’ve published it with them. So, let’s say that you do introduce a race of elves to the world of Vampire Diaries. As far as I know, that doesn’t violate their Content Guidelines. You have an elf hottie named Tegoloz. After writing several stories with Teg, Damon and Elena, you decide you want Teg to go on his own adventure in an urban fantasy novel set in your own world.

Oops! Nope. Amazon owns Teg now. He belongs to the Vampire Diaries world forever after.

10. Your characters can be used in stories by other authors.

However… and this is where it gets weird, although it makes perfect sense if you think about it… if some other fan fic author wants to publish a new Vampire Diaries for Kindle Worlds that features Teg the Hottie Urban Elf — yes, your Teg! — that author has Amazon’s blessing to do so. Whether you like it or not. According to Kindle Worlds, “You agree that the New Elements are available for unrestricted use by us without any additional compensation, notification or attribution, including that we may allow other Kindle Worlds authors, the World Licensor and other third parties to use the New Elements.”

If you’re familiar with the script-writing world, none of this will seem at all weird. In fact, it makes sense. Amazon is right about this, I think. They want to foster a world which builds upon itself, and it’s possible that a “New Element” could become really popular with readers … so popular other fan fic writers want to include that New Element in their own stories too. Fan fic of fan fic…. That’s what it’s all about, nu?

Look Inside Anthea Sharp’s Feyland: The Dark Realm

I’m excited to join five other amazing fantasy authors in a new collection, Faery Worlds. For the rest of the week I’ll be featuring the other novels you can find in this ebook full of magic, love and fae.

Anthea Sharp’s Feyland: The Dark Realm

Faeries. Computer games. When realms collide, a hero from the wrong side of the tracks and the rich girl he’s afraid to love must risk everything to defeat the dangerous fey.

What if a high-tech computer game was a gateway to the perilous Realm of Faerie…

PROLOGUE

Jennet faced the Dark Queen, her mage staff at the ready. Excitement fizzed through her blood like it was carbonated. This was it. She’d completed the quests, mastered each level of the game, and made it here. The final boss fight.

“Fair Jennet.” The queen’s voice was laced with stars and shadow. “You think to best me in battle?” A faint smile crossed her pitiless, beautiful face. Her dress swirled around her like tatters of midnight mist.

“I plan on it,” Jennet said. She tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear, then shook off the sudden anxiety that settled on her shoulders, cold as snow.

She had no idea what this particular fight held. Feyland was the hardest sim she’d ever played, full of weird twists and turns. She thought about it all the time. The game filtered into her dreams, shaded the edge of her days. Sometimes the computer-generated world felt more real than her ordinary life.

“Very well,” the queen said. “I accept your challenge.”

Jennet couldn’t see any weapons on her opponent, and that dress was no substitute for armor. Safe bet that this was going to be a magical duel, spell-caster against spell-caster. Jennet flexed her fingers around the smooth wood of her staff. Anticipation spiked through her, tightening her breath.

Fantastical creatures watched from the edges of the clearing: feral-faced women with gossamer wings, dark riders with red-eyed hounds at their heels. The sound of drums and pipes wove through the shadows. Overhead, a sliver of moon tangled in the black branches of the trees. Then, between one heartbeat and the next, silence fell.

A dark figure stepped forward, forbidding in midnight armor and a wicked helm, and Jennet’s stomach clenched. The Black Knight. She’d barely beaten him in an earlier quest. If he got involved in this fight, she was in severe trouble.

He held his gauntleted fist high and grated out a single word. “Begin.”

It echoed eerily through the glade, and the fey-folk let out a rough cheer. There was no one to cheer for Jennet.

Without hesitation, she tipped her staff and shot a bolt of fiery white light at the queen. A sphere of shadow appeared, blocking her attack and swallowing the fire into its dark depths. More spheres materialized and began floating toward her, called by the Dark Queen. Jennet ducked and wove, avoiding their deadly touch.

Lightning crackled from her staff, illuminating the clearing with shocking white light, but the queen evaded her bolts. Still, Jennet kept pressing the attack. The dark spheres were multiplying now, bobbing in the air on all sides. A low, menacing hum surrounded her as she tried to find a clear shot.

She couldn’t afford any mistakes – but the fight was pushing her to her limits. Worry started to nibble at the edges of her concentration. She just had to watch for an opening… there. She took aim and sent another bolt crackling through the air.

White fire sizzled and Jennet heard the queen gasp. Yes! She could do it. She could beat this game. The first player ever to claim victory over Feyland.

A dark sphere brushed against her shoulder. Ice stabbed into her skin, sent numbness down her arm until she could barely hold onto her staff. She stumbled back, trying to regain the rhythm of the battle. Keep breathing. Keep fighting. But where was the queen? The place where her opponent had stood was now filled with twisting shadows.

Everything rippled, as though the clearing was made of cloth billowing in a sudden gust. Jennet heard high, chiming laughter as she fell backward…

And landed in an ornate chair set before a feasting table. What? She jumped up, heart racing, and knocked the edge of the table. A goblet sitting in front of her shook, sending a drop of deep red liquid to stain the white tablecloth.

“Sit down, Fair Jennet,” the queen said from her place across the table. “This is the next stage of our battle.”

Pale candles in thorny candelabra illuminated the feast. Their silver flames reflected in the queen’s fathomless eyes.

“You changed the rules! You can’t do that.” Jennet’s legs felt shaky as she edged back into her chair. She was so not prepared for this.

The queen laughed. It was the sound of ice shattering on a black lake. “Of course I can. This is my court. My realm. You are but a visitor. Please – drink.” She waved one delicate hand at the goblet.

“No thanks.”

Jennet’s mouth said the words, but her hand reached out anyway and lifted the heavy silver goblet. A sweet, thick smell drifted from the cup. Roses and burnt sugar. The edge of metal touched her lips.

No. She was not going to do this. The queen might try to control their battle, but she could still fight back. Fingers trembling from effort, Jennet forced the goblet away. The air around her was sticky and nearly solid, like dough. She pushed against it, her breath coming in gasps, until at last the cup touched the table.

“Very well.” The queen’s voice was edged with frost. “If you disdain my hospitality, then you must answer a riddle.”

That seemed safer than drinking whatever was in the goblet. And the game wasn’t giving her a lot of other options. “A riddle? All right.”

The candles flared and the queen’s eyes glowed. “Listen then, and listen well, the answer to this riddle tell, or forfeit of thyself will be, and never more wilt thou be free.”

Jennet shivered. The queen’s voice was ominous, her words intoned with deep meaning. Whatever happened, it was clear that failing to answer the riddle carried a price. Jennet curled her fingers tightly into her palms and tried not to show the fear flickering through her.

“Ask me your riddle,” she said.

“As soon as it begins, it is ending. Without form, still it moves. When it is gone, it yet remains.” The queen smiled, sharp as a blade. “You have three guesses.”

“Ah…” Jennet’s mouth was dry. Her mind beat against the riddle like a bird trapped behind glass. Without taste or form. Something powerful, but insubstantial. “Is it the wind?”

A low sighing went through the branches of the dark trees. The candle nearest her snuffed out, as though some invisible hand had abruptly doused the flame.

The queen shook her head. “One chance gone.”

A circle of watchers had formed around the table. Lithe women with gossamer wings gathered beside the queen. Gnarled brown creatures with sharp teeth and fingers that were too long for their hands swayed next to them. Red-capped goblins and capering sprites – they all watched her with avid, gleaming eyes.

Freaky. This whole battle had turned beyond strange. Jennet pulled in a deep breath, though her chest felt tight, and gave another answer. “Music?”

The second she said the word, she knew it was wrong. She shivered as a second candle flame went out. The watchers surrounding her tittered, and the low breeze rustled the branches.

Jennet squeezed her eyes closed, blocking out the shadowy glade, the fantastical figures, the wicked curve of the Dark Queen’s smile. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest, and she tasted the metal edge of fear on her tongue. Think. She had to figure this out.

“Your time has run, Fair Jennet. Speak your final answer.”

She opened her eyes, to see that the Dark Queen had risen to her feet. A single candle burned between them.

“I…”

Panic banged through her, like a hundred doors slamming shut. The watching creatures grew still and silent. Even the wind quieted, waiting. She had to answer.

“Is it … a dream?” The words floated from her mouth and hovered there, just beyond her lips.

In the silence that followed, Jennet felt shadows gathering closer. Dread crawled through her, carrying the awful sensation of failure.

The last candle died. A high, wailing music started up, the keening cry of pipes swirling through the air. Slowly, the queen shook her head. Diamonds sparkled like frost in her dark hair.

“No,” she said. “You have lost. Now, mortal girl, I take my due.”

The queen held up a hollow crystal sphere in one hand. With the other, she scribed strange gestures in the air. Her fingers left glowing streaks of silver against the darkness. Then she pointed straight at Jennet.

“Ahh!” A sharp pain speared through Jennet, as though the queen had stabbed her in the chest. She doubled over, gasping, while agony iced her blood. Oh god. It hurt.

“Behold, Fair Jennet,” the queen said. “The answer is Life. Your essence is captured here. It will serve us well.”

Jennet looked up, tears clouding her vision. The queen held the sphere aloft. It wasn’t empty any more. Inside was a bright swirl of color, like rainbow flames. They pulsed and danced, trapped inside their crystal prison. Wavering, calling to her.

“How,” Jennet forced the words out through lips tight with pain, “how do I get that back?”

Every game had a second chance, a third. You kept fighting the last battle until you finally won. Failure wasn’t permanent. Not like in real life.

The queen laughed, and the sound carried a bitter chill. “You cannot. Without a champion, you are lost. Now go. Go! I send thee, defeated, from the Dark Realm.”

Pain wrenched through Jennet and she screamed. Golden light blinded her senses and she swirled through a sickening vertigo. Blackness waited, merciful and dark, on the other side. She opened her arms to it, and fell.

Jennet woke, aching, in the sim chair. Her fingers were stiff inside the gaming gloves, and when she sat forward, fire exploded in her shoulder. She could barely lift her arm, but it was impossible to take off the helmet one-handed. Trying not to whimper, she gritted her teeth against the agony and pulled off her gear.

She had lost.

Feyland was more than just a sim game. The clues had been there all along, but she hadn’t paid enough attention until now. Now, when it was too late. And she’d done worse than lose the game.

There was an icy hollow in the middle of her chest. The Dark Queen had taken something from her – something she feared she couldn’t live without. Bright flames trapped inside a magical sphere. Her mortal essence, the queen had said.

She had to get it back.

Look Inside JL Bryan’s Fairy Metal Thunder

I’m excited to join five other amazing fantasy authors in a new collection, Faery Worlds. For the rest of the week I’ll be featuring the other novels you can find in this ebook full of magic, love and fae.

JL Bryan’s Fairy Metal Thunder

A teenage garage band steals instruments from the fairy world and begins enchanting crowds, but their shortcut to success soon turns them into enemies of the treacherous Queen Mab.

“Fairy Metal Thunder has the same feel that the movie Labyrinth has, this wondrous fantasy world that you’re desperate to have at least a small part of, even to the point of stealing.” — Review for Fairy Metal Thunder, Bending the Spine

Chapter One

After school, Jason rode his bicycle across town to Mitch’s house for band practice, with his guitar case strapped to his back. His palms coated the handlebars with nervous sweat. He’d spent the whole day ignoring his teachers while he furiously scribbled lines of the new song, crossed them out, and rewrote them. He’d accumulated three notebook pages’ worth of jumbled, blotchy words, plus ink stains all over his fingers.

During sixth period Social Studies, he had very carefully copied these bits of song onto a single page, using the most legible handwriting he could muster. He’d titled the song “Angel Sky” and then hesitated a minute before writing “For Erin” underneath the title. Then he’d folded it into neat squares and tucked it in his pocket, where it now burned like a handful of hot coals.

He paused at the top of Mitch’s street. He could see Mitch’s house, four doors down, the garage door open and waiting for him. He could hear Mitch warming up on the keyboard, the fake piano sound echoing through the tree-lined neighborhood.

Jason’s nerves were rattling. He’d never shown the group any of his songs. Erin was the singer and the songwriter of the group. Like Jason, she was a junior at Chippewa Falls High. Unlike Jason, she was actually talented at writing lyrics.

“Hey, little kid, need a ride?” a girl’s voice asked. He jumped in surprise and nearly fell from his bike. While he was lost in thought, Dred had pulled up alongside him in her beaten-up ’97 Chevy van. She snickered at Jason. Dred was a year older, close to graduation. She was a broad-shouldered girl who liked Doc Martins and ragged plaid shirts.

“You’re hilarious,” Jason said.

“Race you!” Dred stomped her gas pedal until she was halfway down the street, then slammed her brakes and twisted into Mitch’s driveway.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Jason muttered as he pedaled down the street. Dred—or “Mildred” if you wanted to get punched in the face—was the band’s drummer. She was a senior like Mitch, a year older than Jason and Erin. Her van was perfect for transporting the band to gigs. Hopefully, they would actually have a gig one day.

Jason turned into Mitch’s driveway and parked his bike just outside the open garage. Dred was already there, juggling her drumsticks as she sat down behind her drum kit.

“Yo, Jason!” Mitch said. He sat at the keyboard, his long hair unleashed from the plaid driving hat he usually wore, and he pushed his John Lennon-style glasses higher on his nose. His t-shirt depicted ghosts chasing Pac-Man through a maze. Pac-Man’s thought balloon read: “This is a stupid way to live.”

Behind Mitch hung a poster of pop star Claudia Lafayette, in concert, wearing a pink dress and a headset with a microphone, pointing straight out to the audience while she sang. Mitch claimed the poster of the cheesy singer, whose bubble-gum songs could stick in your ear and repeat themselves all day long, was supposed to be ironic. He said the same about his Claudia Lafayette T-shirt.

“What’s up?” Jason asked.

“Just stoking the flames.” Mitch resumed playing his keyboard, switching it to a deep electric organ sound. “Making the magic happen, man.”

Jason sat in a lawn chair and took his guitar out of the case. He plucked a few chords and tried to tune it, but couldn’t hear anything over the keyboard.

When he looked up, he realized Erin had arrived, and his heart skipped. He gave her an awkward smile and tried not to stare. He thought Erin was beautiful, with her intense green eyes and blond hair dyed with blue and green streaks. Her hair was long and usually hung down all over her face. Jason always wanted to brush her hair back behind her ear so he could see her better.

He waved to her, but she’d already turned away to hang her jacket on a hook over the workbench.

“About time!” Mitch yelled over the noise. Then he realized he was the source of the noise and stopped playing the keyboard. “Where have you been?”

“Zach had to drop off a couple other people first,” Erin said. “Chill out, Mitch.”

“It’s Mick,” Mitch said.

“You can’t be Mick. Mick isn’t short for Mitch,” Dred said. “It’s for Mickey, or maybe Michael—”

“Don’t tell me what nickname I can be…Mildred,” Mitch said. “It’s a free country.”

“Don’t call me Mildred!”

“Don’t tell me I can’t be Mick!”

“Okay, kids,” Erin said. “Do you want to fight, or do you want to play?”

“Fight,” Dred replied. She aimed a drumstick at Mitch’s head.

“I’ll be ready as soon as you admit that I can use ‘Mick’ for my stage name. It’s really not that far from Mitch—”

Dred interrupted him with a short, loud drum solo, ending with a cymbal crash. Mitch scowled.

Jason tried to work up the nerve to tell Erin he’d written a song for her, but he couldn’t seem to get his mouth working. Though he’d gone to school with Erin since her parents moved to Chippewa Falls back in ninth grade, he hadn’t spoken with her very much at all. The sight of her always seemed to lock up his mouth, and his brain along with it. He’d been thrilled when Mitch asked Jason to join their band a couple of months earlier. According to Mitch, their previous guitarist had been “a total spaz who never showed up for practice.”

Instead of talking, Jason strummed his guitar to warm up his fingers.

“Good,” Erin said. “At least somebody takes this seriously.”

“Let’s go,” Mitch said. He played his fingers across the keys, and an electrically synthesized piano buzzed over the speakers.

Erin blew a short tune on her harmonica, then spoke into an imaginary microphone.

“Hello, Wisconsin!” she shouted. Mitch played the sound of an audience applauding from his synthesizer. “We are the Assorted Zebras! Who’s ready to rock?”

“Don’t say that,” Dred said. “It’s cheesy.”

“Just count us off, Dred,” Mitch said.

“What are we playing?” Dred asked.

“This is a song I wrote for my boyfriend Zach,” Erin told the imaginary audience. “It’s called ‘The First Road Out of Here.’”

Dred tapped out a beat, and then Mitch and Jason joined in with the keyboard and guitar. The song started slow, with long, sad sounds from Erin’s harmonica. Then she sang:

We’ve been in this town so long,

I forgot the world outside…

So let’s escape tonight,

It’s time to take a ride…

Then the song became loud and fast.

Let’s run together

To that place where there’s no fear,

The place we want to go,

The first road out of here!

Jason’s fingers flew across his strings as the tempo accelerated. A few little kids from the neighborhood, three boys and a girl, showed up on bikes and scooters and sat in the driveway to listen, as they sometimes did. Erin smiled and waved, clearly delighted to have an audience, even if they were in elementary school and one boy was more interested in picking his nose than watching the show. Two of the kids were even nice enough to applaud when the song ended.

“Can you play some Weird Al?” the nose-picking boy requested.

“Yeah, do a Weird Al polka!” another boy said.

“We’re just practicing our own songs right now,” Erin told them. “Want to hear those?”

“Who cares?” the biggest boy asked. He rode away on his scooter, and the two other boys followed. The little girl remained, but rested her chin in her hand and looked bored.

“I’ve got something fun,” Erin said. “It’s called ‘Cinderella Night.’ Want to hear it?”

“I guess,” the little girl sighed.

Dred tapped out four beats, then Jason and Mitch joined in. Erin sang the upbeat song about a girl sneaking out and meeting a boy in a nightclub.

The little girl smiled, entertained at last.

They played two more of Erin’s songs. Jason tried not to pay attention to Erin’s hips swaying as she danced, or the pale stretch of her belly that sometimes peeked out over her low-slung jeans. He tried to focus on making the music.

Erin stopped halfway through the third song.

“We need to mix it up,” Erin said. “It’s all fast, dancey stuff.”

“What we really need is a killer love song,” Mitch said. “One of those everybody-get-out-your-lighter things.”

“I don’t have anything like that,” Erin said.

“Maybe I’ll write one,” Mitch said.

“You? Writing a love song?” Dred snorted.

“Like you could do better,” Mitch said. “Yours would probably end with the girl killing her boyfriend and burying him in the back yard.”

“I think your songs are good, Erin,” Jason said.

“Thanks, Jason, but Mitch is right. We need a good, slow love song. I just don’t know how to write something like that.”

Jason’s hand dropped to his jeans pocket. The song was folded up there, “Angel Sky,” all about falling in love. He hesitated, wishing he hadn’t written “For Erin” underneath the song title. Everybody would laugh at him if they saw that. Erin would probably think he was a weirdo for writing a song for her.

“I’ll be right back,” Jason said. He put his guitar aside and walked toward the door into the house.

“Whoa, hold it,” Mitch said. He stopped Jason with a hand on his elbow. “Where are you going?”

“The bathroom.” Jason planned to find a pen inside the house and scratch out the dedication. Then he could show everyone the song without getting ragged on. Or at least, they’d pick on him a little less. And Erin wouldn’t decide he was an obsessive stalker freak to be avoided.

“No way. My mom says nobody’s allowed in the house when she’s not home,” Mitch told him.

“Since when?” Dred asked.

“She says some of her jewelry’s gone missing or something.”

“And she thinks we stole it?” Dred asked.

“Well, my mom didn’t accuse any of you of stealing, exactly,” Mitch said, but he glanced at Dred. “She just says nobody’s allowed in the house if she’s not home. She’s doing the night shift at the hospital, so that’s a long time. Jason, why don’t you go whizz in the back yard?”

“Oh,” Jason said. That wouldn’t help. Jason doubted he would find a pen or marker out back.

“What’s wrong?” Mitch asked. “Were you going to drop a number two?”

Jason felt his face turn red. Why did Mitch have to say something like that right in front of Erin?

“He was!” Dred said. “Look at him blush.”

“I wasn’t!” Jason said.

“Yeah, right,” Mitch said. “Just hold it, man.”

“I’m…” Jason realized he couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would make this conversation less humiliating. He wished he could escape into a hole in the earth somewhere, and maybe never come back.

He was saved by an even worse turn of events. A red Mitsubishi Spyder pulled into the driveway with its top down. This was Zach Wagner, a senior over at the Catholic high school, who was best known for modeling in the “Plaidwear” section of the Fleet Farm catalog since he was thirteen. He had flawless skin, a haircut that probably cost a hundred dollars, and dark blue eyes. Erin’s boyfriend.

Zach stood up inside his car and drummed his hands on the top of the windshield. He pushed his sunglasses on top of his forehead. “Let’s go, Erin! Those orphans aren’t going to entertain themselves.”

“What’s up, Zach?” Mitch waved, falling into suck-up mode at the sight of Chippewa’s most famous male model.

“Yo, Mick! Dred! New guitar guy!” Zach gave a mocking little salute. “Sorry to take your singer away, but we’ve got a busy night of important stuff.”

“You’re leaving already?” Dred asked Erin.

“I have to. We’re going to a benefit for Stuffed Animals for Orphans, over in Minneapolis. Zach says everyone else in the Minneapolis acting community is helping out.” Erin gathered up her purse.

“He’s not an actor,” Jason said. “He’s a male model.”

“You can’t go now,” Dred said. “We have the audition next week.”

“Erin! Yo! Orphans! Stuffed animals!” Zach shouted.

“I’m coming!” Erin grabbed her backpack.

“You guys want us to play at the benefit?” Mitch shouted to Zach. “Cause we could do that. We can just pack it up into Dred’s van and follow you to the Cities.”

“Um…thanks anyway, Mick!” Zach said, with a wink and a thumbs up. “Stuffed Animals for Orphans appreciates your support. In fact, if you guys want to make a donation, I’ll pass it along. There are lots of orphans out there who don’t have stuffed animals.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Erin said. “Does anybody want to donate?”

Mitch grumbled something under his breath as he took out his wallet and gave Erin a couple of dollars. Dred donated a five-dollar bill from her money clip.

Erin smiled at Jason as she walked toward him, holding out her hand.

Jason searched all his pockets. He came up with twelve cents.

“Sorry, I don’t have more on me,” Jason said sheepishly. That’s me, he thought, no money and no car.

“That’s okay. Thanks.” Erin gave him a quick half of a hug. “I’ll be back here for rehearsal tomorrow.”

Jason watched her climb into the car with Zach, kiss him, and drop into the passenger seat. He felt a little despair as they pulled out of the driveway and drove away.

“You know, I like that guy,” Mitch said.

Jason nodded. Everybody liked Zach, of course. Perfect Zach.

Look Inside Elle Casey’s War of the Fae: Book 1 (The Changelings)

I’m excited to join five other amazing fantasy authors in a new collection, Faery Worlds. For the rest of the week I’ll be featuring the other novels you can find in this ebook full of magic, love and fae.

Elle Casey’s War of the Fae: Book 1 (The Changelings)

Jayne Sparks, a potty-mouthed, rebellious seventeen-year-old, and her best friend, shy and bookish Tony Green, have a typical high school existence – until, along with a group of runaway teens, they are hijacked and sent into a forest where nothing is as it seems. Who will emerge triumphant? And what will they be when they do?

“A brilliantly original YA fantasy. This was an extremely fun, exciting, and original book. I couldn’t put it down. The pacing and suspense in this book are perfect.” — Review for War of the Fae, Ally Arendt, Word Vagabond book blog

Chapter One

I can’t take much more of this high school nonsense. I feel like I’m not supposed to be here. Where would I be if I weren’t here? … I don’t know. All I do know is I’m in the middle of all this crap, going to class, taking tests – but I’m on autopilot, going through the motions, waiting for life to start happening.

I’m sitting in World History, and there’s a girl one row over who’s the polar opposite of me. She’s staring attentively at the teacher, her pen poised above an already nearly full page of notes, eager to write down every nugget of educational wisdom he’s throwing our way. She loves it here, and she has big plans for moving on to college next year. She has cheer practice after school and a boyfriend named Mike who plays wide receiver on the football team. Ugh.

I own a pen. I probably have some paper somewhere in my backpack too. Today, however, I’m using my pen to draw symbols all over my right hand – temporary tattoos. I write and eat with my left hand but do just about everything else with my right. My own body is confused with what it’s supposed to do.

I’m in the minority in this school. It seems like just about everyone else knows exactly what they’re doing now and what they’re going to be doing until the day they die. Me? I don’t have a clue. All I know is, this isn’t it. Today the bathroom scale said I’d lost another two pounds. I was literally wasting away with boredom. Maybe I was going to just disappear altogether. I wondered if anyone would miss me.

“Jayne? May I ask what you’re doing?”

Uh-oh. I’d been spotted by the droner. I tucked my hand under my desk, hiding my artwork.

“Um, nothin’ … just taking some notes.” My face was the picture of innocence. Or so I thought.

He walked over and stopped at my desk, looking down at its empty surface. “Where are these so-called notes?”

I reached up with my non-tattooed hand to tap my temple, looking up at him. “Right here, Mr. Parks; it’s all riiiight here.” I gave him a saucy wink just because I knew how much he’d hate it. Sometimes I do that kind of stuff – my mom calls it cutting off my nose to spite my face. I’m not sure why I do it; maybe to make life more interesting, give myself more of a challenge … or maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment.

I looked over at the girl sitting next to me, noticing her scowl out of the corner of my eye. I stuck my tongue out at her because I’m not all that mature and I still enjoy doing the things that cracked me up when I was ten.

She doesn’t get me at all. I’d heard girls like her call me a waste before. I couldn’t say that I disagree with that comment – I am definitely wasted on this school.

“Cute … I wonder if the assistant principal would agree.” Mr. Parks went back to his desk, bending down to write out a referral slip. “Take this up to the office and see what he thinks about your mental note-taking program.”

I slid out of my chair, standing to walk to the front of the classroom with a loose grip on my nearly empty backpack. Bringing books to class was something I didn’t normally bother with. My locker is better equipped than my shoulder to manage twenty pounds of blah, blah, and blah.

“Thanks ever so much,” I said sweetly, taking the slip from him and turning my head to look at my classmates. There would be no leaving with eyes cast down and a heart full of shame for this girl.

I caught the eye of my best friend, the biggest dork on the entire planet, Tony Green. I blew him a kiss with the referral slip held between my middle finger and thumb so he and the rest of the class could enjoy my one-finger salute. His face turned bright pink and he sunk low in his chair, shaking his head and refusing to meet my eyes. He was probably worried I was going to get him a one-way ticket to the principal’s office too. They don’t know him there like they know me.

Tony has been my friend, not necessarily willingly, since he ended up having the extraordinarily good luck to sit in front of me in Analytic Geometry, two years ago. He was so pitiful – still is really. Skinny as a sack of bones with crazy, unkempt and un-styled brown hair, wearing clothes I know for a fact his mother bought for him in the little boys’ section at Wal-Mart, and shoes with weird, thick rubber soles. The bright pink pimples he always had on his pale white skin did nothing to help this package. It’s not like I’m miss beauty queen or anything, but I know bad fashion choices when I see them. The first day I saw him, I couldn’t help latching myself right on. He was like a scraggly little puppy who’d had its ass kicked.

I preferred the casual look for myself – usually jeans, purple Converse sneaks, and cute t-shirts … hoodies in the winter. It never gets too cold in south Florida where we live, so my fashion choices are somewhat limited. I keep my brown hair long because it’s so thick; the few times I got it cut short, I ended up having a big, puffy hair triangle on my head. Not cool. But sporting a thick, long, wavy mane in Florida is crazy hot, so my hair is usually up in a rubber band, out of the way. I’ve been told that I’m pretty or, more often, cute. I don’t wear a lot of makeup, mostly eyeliner and mascara, occasionally lip gloss. Adults always comment on my big green eyes and heart-shaped lips, whatever that means. I’m shorter than about half the girls I know, so I guess that makes me average height.

Every day I went into Geometry that semester, I’d ask Tony when we were going to start hanging out together. I don’t know why I did it; he just seemed so shy and cute, scared to death of everything around him. I wanted to toughen him up or something, maybe break him out of his lonely shell.

As the school’s winter dance got closer, I took to leaning forward and whispering all kinds of stuff in his ear. First it was things like, ‘When are you going to ask me to the dance?’ And then it kind of devolved into, ‘Hey, Tony, whaddya say you and I go hang out after school and smoke some dope or something?’ I don’t do drugs, but I liked shocking the crap out of Tony – who I was calling Tony Baloney by this time. Or Tones. Or Tone-Tone.

Tony had other friends, but they were all computer geeks, and none of them were girls. I know a bit about computers, but I mostly use them to research places I’d rather be than school. I have no idea how to program anything other than the alarm on my cell phone. I had other friends – girls – but they were always busy doing homework and making their parents proud. We didn’t have a lot in common, and their parents tended to discourage friendships with me. I’m apparently what some might consider a ‘bad influence’. As far as I was concerned, they were the fun police.

Tony’s ability to blush on command was unrivaled. All I had to do was say ‘boobs’ or ‘dick’ and instantly his face would be scarlet. I made the mistake of telling my mom about my antics with him one day, and she went off, telling me I was bullying the poor boy. She made it a point to remind me that I sometimes don’t realize how persistent I can be. I think when she said ‘persistent’ she really meant ‘annoying’ or ‘pain-in-the-ass-ish’. My mom’s asshat boyfriend was more than happy to chime in on that conversation. He practically lives with us now, which is why I avoid going home as much as possible.

After my mom said that about Tony, I felt a little bit bad. I looked back on everything I’d said to him and thought that maybe people could see it as bullying if they didn’t realize that I was actually quite fond of the guy.

Over the weeks and months of my ‘persistence’, Tony kinda warmed up a bit. We talked about things. He learned to brush off my inappropriate comments, even laughing at them on occasion when they were particularly crass. We walked between classes together sometimes. We hadn’t started hanging out after school, but I had a feeling it was going to happen some day soon.

After the talk with my mom, I decided I needed to clear the air with old Tony Baloney. I didn’t want to think about him going home and crying because some mean girl at school was making his life a living hell. Lord knows my father, long gone from the household but still haunting me via court-ordered visitation, had given me that credit enough times over the years.

Before History class the next day, as we were waiting for our teacher Mr. Banks to arrive, I asked Tony if I was bothering him. The conversation went something like this:

“Hey, Tony. Am I bothering you?”

“Yes.”

“No, I mean really, Tone-Tone. Am I really bothering you?”

“Yes, you really are.”

“Okay, thanks, I feel better now. I thought I was really bothering you.”

Sigh. “You ARE bothering me, are you deaf?”

“No, but I know what you really mean when you say ‘yes’.”

“Ah, so this is one of those ‘no means yes’ things we learned about in health class?”

“Uh … kind of. Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“Okay, whatever. Just stop bothering me.”

Even though this verbal sparring was fun, it was getting me nowhere. I decided to get down to business. I had to let him know I wasn’t a bully – just a socially inept girl trying to make friends with a nerdy dude in rubber-soled shoes.

“Hey, Tony, when you saying ‘bothering’ do you mean ‘bothering’ or ‘bullying’?” I could see he was going to turn around so I put on the most innocent face I knew how to make. I tied it up with as sheepish a grin as I could manage too, just in case my innocent look wasn’t as awesomely powerful as I thought it was.

He didn’t say anything at first; he just looked at me. For the first time in our relationship, I felt uncomfortable, which for me is saying a lot. I squirmed in my seat a little bit and felt my smile faltering. I realized as he stared at me that I really, really didn’t want to be bullying him. Tony was a cool dude, and it was possible I was the only one in the whole world who knew it. And it was also possible that he was the only person in the world who knew I did give a shit about some things. He was a perceptive guy.

“You’re not bullying me, and you’re not really bothering me, either … Jayne.”

It was the first time I’d heard him say my name. I guess I was a little surprised that he even knew it, though I shouldn’t have been. We’d been in this class for almost the whole semester. It was the look on his face, though, that blew me away. He looked so friggin serious, staring me right in the eyes. I felt like he was seeing into my head. My smile came back, but it was totally real this time.

I grabbed my pen and twirled it in my hand. “Well that sucks, ’cause I was kind of enjoying bothering you.” Being a total smartass when in tight situations is one of my best skills.

“I could tell. So now that you know you’re not bothering me, you can stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop bothering me,” he said as he turned back around in his seat.

“Okay, that makes perfect sense. So when are we going to hang out?” I expected him to do his usual – turn bright red and refuse to answer me. But he surprised me this time.

“How about today?” He still had the red face and neck, flaming with embarrassment, but only a little bit of the shoulder hunching that always gave him the appearance of a turtle going into its shell.

“Don’t you have chess club or computer club or calculus club or build-a-robot club or some other rule-the-world-someday club to go to?”

While I waited for his answer, the teacher arrived in class to start the show.

Tony turned sideways, pretending he was getting a book out of his backpack. “Chess club, but I’ll skip it.” He pushed his oversized glasses back up on his nose as he sat up, turning to face the front of the class again.

Did I mention Tony has the butt-ugliest, brown tortoise-shell glasses you’ve ever seen? They are not cool or fashionable, even in a statement-making sort of way. I swear he must have gotten them from the dumpster outside of Goodwill.

“Wow, living on the edge … sure you can handle it, Tones?”

He sat up straighter than I was used to seeing him sit. “I can if you can,” he whispered.

“Fine. I’ll meet you at the front of the school after seventh period. Oh, and by the way, I saw that.”

“Saw what?”

“You smiled … I think you like me.” I was staring at his back, but I swear I saw his scalp move.

“No I didn’t, and no I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

Sigh. “Jayne, shut up before you get me in trouble.”

I smiled and stage-whispered, “Boooooring.” But I left him alone for the rest of the period, sure he was anxious to bust out his notebook and take some awesome notes. I had tattoos to draw anyway.

And so, The Year I Adopted Tony Baloney As My New Best Friend commenced. Every day since, we have hung out after school and I’ve harassed him in every class I could. The following semesters we even tried to arrange our schedules so we’d have a lot of classes together. Apparently he’d grown quite fond of my harassment and persistent nature, not that I’d given him much choice. I’d found him, and he was mine – cute little bugger that he was, messed up glasses, funky shoes and all.

***

As I arrived at the assistant principal’s office and took my seat in the waiting area, I thought about all the time Tony and I had spent together these past two years. We hung out after school and got to know each other’s screwed up families pretty well – my mother who couldn’t think for herself and her asshat boyfriend, and Tony’s parents who were almost never around.

Most of our time was spent walking around town and hanging out at the library where Tony tried to study while I found new ways to make him crazy by not studying and making noise. Every once in a while we went to the movies, but usually we couldn’t afford it. Tony wouldn’t even consider sneaking in or trying to see more than a single movie on one ticket. He was a spoilsport that way, but he kept me out of trouble so I didn’t complain.

Some people say it’s impossible for a guy and a girl to be best friends, but I completely disagree. Tony and I are friends and that’s it. I didn’t like him in a romantic way – I preferred the bad boy type, and Tony was as far from being a bad boy as I was from being a good girl. I mean, what girl doesn’t go for the bad boy really? Actually, most of the guys I knew around school were idiots with their heads so far up their butts I couldn’t stand to be around them for very long. They had a lot to learn about how to treat a girl, and I didn’t have the patience to train any of them. Case in point, Brad Powers, who was also sitting in the principal’s waiting area; only he was probably there to kiss the principal’s ass, not to be chastised by him. I barely spared him a glance. He had a rep for being a total douche to girls – using them and then throwing them to the curb. He was a kiss-and-tell kind of guy, if you know what I mean.

That’s another good thing I can say about Tony – the guy is an absolute prince. He always holds doors for girls, pulls out chairs, offers them drinks and stuff. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him burp. All this time hanging out with me has somehow not trained the manners out of him. I’m not sure how that’s managed to happen, really. You’d think my powers of persuasion would be stronger than that.

Tony has his crushes, but he would rather walk over hot coals than actually ask a girl out. He prefers to crush from afar. I offered to help hook him up a few times, but the thought of me being involved in his love life nearly sent him into apoplectic spasms that were frightening to watch.

I did try once to get a girl I knew he liked to warm up to him. It was a disaster from the word go. As soon as I mentioned his name she got a disgusted expression on her face. “Tony? Tony Green?! Are you kidding me?” She just stood there looking like she’d smelled something bad.

“Um, yeah, okay, never mind.” I realized it wasn’t going well, so I bolted. I saw Tony later and confessed, although I left out the hairy details.

“You did WHAT?!” His face turned an interesting shade of reddish-purple and got all blotchy; even the whites of his eyes went a little red.

“Dude, chill. I didn’t tell her you like her or wanted to get into her panties or anything.”

“Wha … ? Panti … ? Wha … ? ARRRRrrrgggg!” The strangled noises coming out of his throat didn’t sound good. He bent over slightly, grabbing the door of his open locker, probably to keep himself from falling on the floor.

“Dude, holy shit, what is your problem? Breathe already, she’s just a girl for chrissakes.”

I started beating him on the back, hoping to get him breathing right again. His reaction struck me as over-the-top, especially for Tony. It crossed my mind that I could possibly be witnessing some psychological scarring happening right before my eyes. I did feel a measure of guilt over the fact that it was me who had caused it, but I assuaged this guilt by telling myself I was only trying to help the poor guy.

He was breathing deeply, trying to get a grip on himself. He elbowed my whacking hand off his back and stood, running his fingers through his hair until it stood on end. This was nothing new for Tony, as his hair was usually in a state of disarray.

“Do I even want to know what she said?” he asked, the look of hope in his eyes too pitiful to bear.

I sighed. “Not really, dude. She is too stuck up to even see you. I’m actually thinking about going back there and punching her in the face.”

He looked stricken, his face now going white. “That bad, huh?”

I was afraid he was going to do that crazy breathing thing again. I put a serious look on my face. “No, actually. She just said your name; like, repeated it. She didn’t say anything else. I just took off – I started thinking about the spasms you’d have if you found out I’d done it, and I got scared.”

Tony knew my serious look was a load of crap. “You? Scared? That’ll be the day.” He closed his locker quietly, because Tony never slams his locker shut. “Let’s go, we’re gonna be late for class.” He sounded really, really tired. Or bummed.

I felt like crap. Now I really wanted to punch that chick in the head, and I’m generally not a violent person. I talk tough, but I’m all talk and no action usually. I had to do something, though, to get him out of this mood.

“Oh boy, biology, hold me back. Tony, I’m so excited, I feel like skipping to class!” I grabbed his elbow and started skipping, dragging him along a few feet before he was able to wrestle himself away from me.

“Suit yourself!” I yelled, as I skipped my way through the crowds, annoying a few people on my way, no doubt.

“Skipping in a crowded hallway is antisocial, Jayne!” he yelled out after me.

“Perfect!” I yelled back.

Poor kid – thought he was gonna shame the maniac out of me. He should have known that was never going to work.

Just then the assistant principal opened his door, interrupting my reverie. He smiled at Brad who returned the smile and gave him a knowing look. Then he turned his head and saw me, scowling in recognition.

Perfect. I tried to duplicate the look Brad had given him, just for fun, but I’m sure my humor was totally wasted on this guy.

“Jayne Sparks, what a surprise. Come into my office and sit.”

Just another day of lame-ass high school. All I could think about as he blathered on and on about responsibility and respect was: When am I finally going to get the hell out of this place?

***

I met Tony in front of the school after seventh period so we could walk home together. He lives two streets over from me, less than two minutes on foot.

“How’d your meeting with VP Matthews go today?” he asked.

“Why fine, thank you so much for asking,” I answered brightly as I kept walking. Fast.

Tony struggled to keep up with me, carrying his normal hundred pounds of books and wearing his ugly-ass Frankenstein shoes. “Stop screwing around, Jayne; did you get suspended or not?”

“Nope. Just lectured until I wanted to stab myself in the eye with my pen. I actually prefer a suspension – otherwise known as a mini-vacation.”

“Well, you’re lucky. Anyway, I have news … big news.”

I immediately stopped, since Tony never said he had big news … it must be really big, I thought. My unexpected stop caused him to bump into me.

Next thing I knew, his stupid backpack had swung off his shoulder and hit me in the arm, knocking me off the sidewalk to land in the grass on my butt under a big tree. Leaves cascaded down from its branches, landing all around and on me. I hadn’t even touched the tree at all. Sad to think it was the percussion of my ass hitting the ground that had caused the tree to shed its clothing like that.

“Aaarghh!” I yelled out as I went down, “Tony what the hell is your problem?!”

“Oh crap, sorry!” He stopped struggling with his bag and rushed over to help me up. “Are you hurt?”

We both froze when we heard the next sound.

“Yo! Look at the two lovebirds under the tree. Whaddya doin’ over there, dorks? Having a picnic?”

Brad Powers strikes again. He not only spends his time wooing the hearts of assistant principals and teachers everywhere, he also likes long walks on the beach, reading poetry, and making students who don’t look like Barbie dolls feel like complete a-holes.

I stood up, brushing myself off. “Yes, Mr. Flowers! We are having a picnic! Why don’t you come over here and join us? I have something special for you to EAT!”

Tony was sweating, the droplets of water beading up on his forehead as he pleaded with me. “Jayne, don’t do it. Just shut up; he’s going to pound us.”

“Pound us? I highly doubt that. I’m pretty sure I can take him.”

“What’d you say, bitch?” Brad was crossing the street, obviously planning to come join our picnic.

Tony went into full breakdown mode. “Jaaayyne, he’s coming over heeere!”

“Shut up, Baloney, I can see that. Let me handle this.”

Tony stood up straight, suddenly resolute, and no longer messing with his bag. “No way, Jayne, you’ll get your butt kicked. Step aside.”

I was in shock for a split second. My little boy was growing up before my eyes, but there was no time to ponder and sigh. First I had to save my life and the life of my best friend.

Before shit-for-brains could get too close, I stepped out to meet him partway. That was at the curb, where luckily I gained about five inches of height, making me only a few inches shorter than him instead of, like, eight.

He launched the first volley. “You got somethin’ to say, Freak?” He stopped about two inches from me and engaged me in the high school fighter’s stare down. I kick ass at that, so I gave him my best stuff. I can look crazy cool with my stare down. At least I think so, but Tony says it just stops at ‘crazy’ and leaves out the ‘cool’.

“Yeah, I got somethin’ to say, Flower Boy. Go fuck yourself … how ’bout that?”

The next thing I knew, I was back on the ground under the tree with what felt like the aftershocks of a run-in with a bull, echoing across my chest. Did he just touch my boobs? Crap, my butt is gonna be sore later. More leaves sprinkled down around me. It was starting to look like Fall in that one small space next to the sidewalk, except the leaves were green.

Before I could think anything else even more ridiculous, I heard Brad say, “Whoa, hey little dude, just chill.”

This is me now: head tilted to the side, confused look of the family dog on my face … Do I hear fear in the voice of my worstest enemy, aimed at my bestest friend?

Yes, I did. I looked over to see my beloved Tone-Tone, pointing what was definitely a real, live nine-millimeter handgun, at Brad Powers. And he did all this standing on the sidewalk. In public. Not twenty yards from the front of the school.

A New Collection of Faery Fantasies!

I’m honored to be a part of this new collection of novels about the fae! I hope you’ll check it out and discover some new favorite series.

A stunning collection of the first books in six fan-favorite series by bestselling, award-winning fantasy authors! Discover the many worlds of Faerie in these novels filled with adventure, love, and – of course – Fae Magic.

Amazon     Amazon UK

Barnes and Noble

Including…

The Unfinished Song (Book 1): Initiate by Tara Maya
Dindi can’t do anything right, maybe because she spends more time dancing with pixies than doing her chores. Her clan hopes to marry her off and settle her down, but she dreams of becoming a Tavaedi, one of the powerful warrior-dancers whose secret magics are revealed only to those who pass a mysterious Test during the Initiation ceremony. The problem? No-one in Dindi’s clan has ever passed the Test. Her grandmother died trying. But Dindi has a plan.
AN EXILED WARRIOR…
Kavio is the most powerful warrior-dancer in Faearth, but when he is exiled from the tribehold for a crime he didn’t commit, he decides to shed his old life. If roving cannibals and hexers don’t kill him first, this is his chance to escape the shadow of his father’s wars and his mother’s curse. But when he rescues a young Initiate girl, he finds himself drawn into as deadly a plot as any he left behind. He must decide whether to walk away or fight for her… assuming she would even accept the help of an exile.

The Changelings (War of the Fae Book 1) by Elle CaseyJayne Sparks, a potty-mouthed, rebellious seventeen-year-old and her best friend, shy and bookish Tony Green, have a pretty typical high school existence, until several seemingly unrelated incidents converge, causing a cascade of events that change their lives forever. Jayne and Tony, together with a group of runaway teens, are hijacked and sent into a forest, where nothing and no one are as they seem. Who will emerge triumphant? And what will they be when they do?

Fairy Metal Thunder (Songs of Magic, #1) by JL Bryan
A rock & roll fairy tale.
Jason Becker plays guitar in a small-town garage band called the Assorted Zebras, along with a few other kids from his school. Unfortunately, they have no fans, no gigs, and they’re going nowhere. Then Jason catches a goblin robbing his house, and he chases the little green thief to creepy old Mrs. Dullahan’s overgrown back yard, where he discovers that the miniature doors in her trees lead deep into the fairy world.
Jason returns with fairy instruments that transform the band’s sound into powerful, enchanting music. Soon, the Zebras are drawing huge crowds, but they discover their new gear is brimming with destructive magic they can’t control.
Their shortcut to success turns Jason and his friends into enemies of the treacherous Queen Mab, who wants to keep the fairy world secret from humans. She sends magical hunters to track them down, including one of the most dangerous horned creatures in Faerie…a small unicorn named Buttercake.

Feyland – The Dark Realm (Book 1) by Anthea Sharp
Faeries. Computer games. When realms collide, a hero from the wrong side of the tracks and the rich girl he’s afraid to love must risk everything to fight the treacherous fey.
What if a high-tech computer game was a gateway to the dangerous Realm of Faerie?
WHEN A GAME…
Feyland is the most immersive computer game ever designed, and Jennet Carter is the first to play the prototype. But she doesn’t suspect the virtual world is close enough to touch — or that she’ll be battling for her life against the Dark Queen of the faeries.
TURNS REAL…
Tam Linn is the perfect hero — in-game. Too bad the rest of his life is seriously flawed. The last thing he needs is rich-girl Jennet prying into his secrets, insisting he’s the only one who can help her.
WINNING IS EVERYTHING…
Together, Jennet and Tam enter the Dark Realm of Feyland, only to discover that the entire human world is in danger. Pushed to the limit of their abilities, they must defeat the Dark Queen… before it’s too late.

Faelorehn – Book One of the Otherworld Trilogy by Jenna Elizabeth JohnsonI never heard him come after me and even as I climbed the slope and stumbled onto our shaded back lawn, I didn’t look back. It was like the day the gnomes chased me all over again, but this time I was not escaping some horrible little creatures, I was fleeing from an incredibly good-looking guy who could very well understand me completely. I was either saving myself from that serial killer I always imagined lived down in the swamp, or I had finally gone over the deep end . . .
Meghan Elam has been strange her entire life: her eyes have this odd habit of changing color and she sees and hears things no one else does. When the visions and voices in her head start to get worse, she is convinced that her parents will want to drag her off to another psychiatrist. That is, until the mysterious Cade MacRoich shows up out of nowhere with an explanation of his own.
Cade brings her news of another realm where goblins and gnomes are the norm, a place where whispering spirits exist in the very earth, and a world where Meghan just might find the answers she has always sought.

Ever Shade (A Dark Faerie Tale #1) by Alexia Purdy
A dark twist on faeries. For Shade, a chance meeting with a powerful Teleen Faery warrior who wields electrical currents and blue fires along his skin, has her joining him on a treacherous mission for the good Seelie Faerie Court across the land of Faerie. Magic and malice abound and nothing is what it really seems to be.
The evil Unseelie Queen and her treacherous allies are around every corner as Shade makes her way across the breathtaking landscapes of the world of Faerie, which exists alongside the mundane human world. Shade discovers her own uncharted magic and meets some of the most powerful warriors in Faerie while battling evil dryads, conniving Teleen guards and challenges on her life with every step in a world where nothing can be taken for granted.

After you’ve finished reading, be sure to leave a review where you purchased it or on Goodreads/Shelfari to help other readers find Faery Worlds.

Ebook Formatter Uses My Book as Example

You’ve heard it before… the difference between an indie book which reads like a trad pubbed book and an indie book which reads like a vanity press heap of toad dung is all in how much effort you invest in doing the details.

The biggest priority is to have a good editor. I’ve found that having a team of Beta Readers as a follow-up is even better.

The next most important thing is to have a gorgeous cover which clearly communicates your book’s genre and subgenre.

Finally, there is the issue of internal formatting. I admit, I gave no thought to this for the first couple of years. I couldn’t afford to hire help, and I wasn’t able to do it myself.

However, as eReaders have proliferated, screen quality has increased, and the tablet market has exploded, internally attractive books–with features like hyperlinked Tables of Contents–have become more important.

My formatting is now done by “Tech Guy.” (He charges $50 an hour, if you’re in need of a formatter.) He now has a blog, Unclogged, for those among you who are suitably nerdy. 🙂 This dude has every eReader ever built, I swear, even those weird cheap brands that are so cheap, you’ve not only never heard of the brand, you’ve never even heard of the country where the brand is made. He recently posted about how to take screenshots of eReaders, and he used The Unfinished Song: Initiate, as his example. Check it out.

What is Amazon Author Rank?

You may have noticed that Amazon is Beta Testing a new form of ranking, which ranks the author, rather than the individual book. The logic, I presume, is that individual books may be relatively unimpressive in ranking, but if the author has many of them, the author is still selling well overall. At least, I think that the reasoning.

Here’s what Amazon has to say about it:

What is Amazon Author Rank?

Amazon Author Rank is based on sales of all your books relative to the sales of other authors. Amazon Author Rank shows how an author’s books sell relative to other authors. Like the Billboard charts, lower numbers are better. An author with the Amazon Author Rank of #1 in Mystery & Thrillers is the bestselling author in Mystery & Thrillers on Amazon. Amazon author rank is updated hourly.

What’s Included in Amazon Author Rank?

It’s the same approach we use with the book bestseller list we’ve had for many years – we look at paid sales of all of an author’s books on Amazon.com. It includes books in Kindle, physical and audio formats.

Where will Amazon Author Rank be seen on Amazon.com?

An Amazon Author Rank will only appear for authors in the top 100 overall or in the top 100 in a browse category. Amazon Author Rank will appear on book detail pages in the More About the Author widget, on an author’s Author Page and, on the Amazon Author Rank page.

Reading an Amazon Author Rank in Author Central

In Author Central, you’ll see your Amazon Author Rank over time. The chart will show multiple blue points and an orange point. The blue points show your best author rank of the day, recorded around midnight, Pacific time. They show only that one point in time, and don’t represent an average of your Amazon Author Rank throughout the day, but your best rank during the day. The orange point is a snapshot of your Amazon Author Rank right now. It’s taken at the beginning of the current hour, and is updated throughout the day.

My current rank in Science Fiction and Fantasy is about #2000-#2500. Alas, not good enough to show up on any page….