Recovering from betrayal is never an easy thing. It’s better that a creature such as herself take the high road and not follow her first instinct—which is to rip Rhonda’s heart from her chest. With Daniel at her side, she dives into the Society’s work.

But what does this broken heart decide when she has to choose between Dags’ missing memories of her, and finding the key to preventing the Cherubim from carrying out the Seraphim’s plan to re-establish itself as the ruler of the Inner Planes.

Cherubim
A Zoë Martinique Investigation
Book 6

The crack of the gunshot stopped me in mid-flight.

I looked down at my chest. I didn’t see blood or bone sticking out. I didn’t feel pain. So that meant I hadn’t been hit with a bullet, right? I put my hand to my front just to be sure.

Nope.

No holes.

I heard Daniel yell ahead of me. And after him came the clang of metal.

Shit.

I sped forward as fast as my wings could carry me. It was after midnight and the full moon overhead sparkled like diamonds off the snow-covered mounds of bushes and benches along the tree shrouded lane on the south end of Lafontaine Park in Montreal, Canada. I zipped down close to the trees and dove when I saw the flash of the park’s lights against steel.

Daniel had engaged a third Power. The first one had dropped down out of the trees, landing on top of me. Which of course, had made me do a face-plant into a snow bank. I still hoped I hadn’t hit yellow snow. Daniel had dispatched that one with a quick twist of the asshole’s head, snapping his neck.

Powers, though extensions of the Ethereal plane, servants to the Celestial Virtues, were still human. Even with their strength enhanced they were technically dead bodies reanimated to do the Virtues’ bidding. They could manifest weapons at will, which in a close fight had proven to be a bit touchy. But they had a multitude of weaknesses.

The second one had come at Daniel from a crop of snow-covered bushes and tackled him. The two had landed in a heap on the other side of the path. I’d shifted then and slid my long talons into its side. Female, bad breath, spitting French at me at the top of her lungs. I’d grabbed her belt and lifted her with me into the sky, taking her as high as I could, and then tossed her. She’d made a nasty crunch when she landed. I was sure she wasn’t going to get back up again.

I was on my way back when I’d heard the gunshot. When I arrived the snow was dotted in blood and Daniel was engaged in a sword fight with a third Power. Only this guy was much larger than the first, and his tell tale tattoo covered most the left side of his face.

When a Power is made by a Virtue, the magic of that Virtue leaves a mark on the Power’s face. At first glance these marks resembled tribal tattoos, but if you got close enough, they were actually made of even smaller symbols, all crowded together to make a larger one.

When I landed I realized they weren’t fighting with swords, but pipes. I assumed this third attacker had brought them and Daniel managed to grab one. The guy came at Daniel swinging, but Daniel jumped back and then ducked down in time to avoid being hit just as he spun and nailed the guy with a pipe strike to the ankles.

Zoë…

That was Inanna’s voice, the First Born inside of Daniel that made him a Revenant.

A vampire.

First Borns were the children of the first Phantasm, the ruler of the Abysmal plane. A lot of people assumed the Abysmal was Hell, and the Ethereal was Heaven. Me? They were simply places. And I’d started to not care who was right and who was wrong.

“What is it?” I called out. I moved to the right as the guy fell back. I’d heard his ankle crack. They might be reanimated corpses—but the symbionts inside of them still felt.

I’d also noticed a bit of distress in Inanna’s voice. Daniel’s welfare was her job. Without him she had nowhere on this plane to exist. If he died, and she had no new host ready…

You have to stop this. He’s losing blood.

That much I could see. Either this guy had landed a hit on Daniel, or the girl with the knife had. Could be the shot I heard—but who fired a gun?

The snow had turned a pink color and was getting dark. I bolted as the Power tried to stand on his cracked ankles. I grabbed his belt from the side and lifted him into the air as well. This time—as he struggled and cursed at me again in French—I dropped him on a line of fencing with pointy spoke accents.

When I got back to Daniel he was on the ground behind a bench and breathing irregularly. His leather all-weather coat was open and I could see the wound. It’d been the girl. She’d managed to get her weapon into his gut and then twist. He was losing blood really fast.

His beautiful blue eyes were wide and he was moving but looked as if he was unsure of where to go. I knelt beside him and shifted back to just me. Plain old Zoë. No longer a Wraith, Harbinger of Death, taker of souls—all that rot.

I put my hands to the sides of his face. Daniel Frazier had been my first big crush at the age of twenty-something. Love at first sight. A detective with the Atlanta Police Department, I’d first met him after a First Born touched my arm and changed me into this.

It’s such a long story, and for the first time since I began this journey, I had no time to retell it.

“Daniel,” I said and tried to push my thoughts into his. “Look at me. Just look at me okay? You’ve got to stop moving.”

“I-—Oh Zoë—” he blinked and focused on me. He took several deep breaths before he said, “You’ve got to run. Now. Please.”

“I’m not leaving you here—”

He’s only thinking of your well-being.

“I’ll be fine.” I bit my lower lip. “I know what he needs.”

There was a vast silence in my mind, and then Inanna’s voice. No.

“There’s no other choice. He’s got to heal and that’ll happen if he drinks. There aren’t any other candidates around and he can’t drink from the Powers.”

I won’t allow it. We don’t know what it will do.

I sighed as Daniel’s eyelids fluttered and then closed. I tapped his face. “Daniel—”

Find a deer or something.

“No time, and if they’re smart they’re all tucked away in bed.” I moved down his body, just visible under the moonlight. My fingers were freezing as I stuck them into his jeans pockets and found his army knife. I fished it out and pulled the blade free.

No! Zoë you’re a Wraith! We do not know what your blood will do!

“Inanna,” I said as I scooted up close to his shoulders. “I can’t let him die here, and I can’t get him to a hospital.”

Call someone. Just fly him away.

“I’m doing this—”

No! You are a Wraith!

“I’m a human too.” I held my breath as I pressed the sharp tip of the knife into my wrist then pushed and pulled the blade down along the forearm. It hurt at first, and my body felt a little numb, like it wasn’t sure what to do with this sensation. And as I watched the blood well up black and then bright red, the burning feeling started.

I moved my wrist to Daniel’s lips and held it there, feeling like some heroine in one of those new vampire movies. All sacrificey and stuff.

It looked all-nice on the screen and shit—but they don’t tell you that it hurts like hell. I heard a whoosh past my ears as I shifted my position and had to lower my arm when I moved.

Daniel sprang to life. Faster than anything I’d ever seen. He latched his teeth onto my arm and started to drink.

I’d only seen Daniel like this once. A few months ago I’d had to wound him to kill an attacker, and Daniel had lost a great deal of blood because of me. That blood loss had caused him to frenzy and he’d attacked an innocent human. Killed him.

He was frenzying now and I was fully aware of it.

I also didn’t know what I thought this would feel like. I’d given blood once and passed out. So I knew I was anemic. Was that gonna be a problem for him? Did that make me like decaffeinated coffee?

Blood light?

Speaking of light, my head was getting that way and a buzzing had started in my ears. I tried to pull away…but he’d grabbed onto me. In fact….I realized I was leaning away and he was sitting up. He finally released me and looked at my face. There was very little blood on his lips, and he was no longer pale but warm looking. His cheeks were flushed.

And then he was on top of me, his face buried into my neck. I tried to push him off of me but couldn’t get good leverage. He was strong. Stronger than I remembered.

I cried out when I felt his fangs snap through flesh. His hand came over my mouth and pressed my lips against my teeth.

Oh no Daniel…

No! I told you! I can’t stop him!

Fuck! I fought him. I tried to shift but couldn’t—not completely. My wings moved against my back as I reached over and grabbed hunks of his hair. I yanked and pulled, trying desperately to get him off of me.

Warmth relaxed my muscles and I lost strength in my arms. I relaxed back as if I’d submerged myself into comforting hot tub. He took his hand from my mouth and I felt the cold night air on my lips. I wasn’t on the ground anymore, but in his arms, his face pressed into my neck.

My own arms lay out to my sides. I couldn’t move them. I couldn’t move anything. This was different than simple blood loss. The rushing past my ears wasn’t normal, and I could hear Geist from far away and I knew Azrael was close.

“Daniel…” I heard a soft voice say on the wind. “Please…you’re killing me…” And if you don’t run…they’re going to kill you.

Free Fiction is available for one week after posting.

It’s an age old question, plaguing mankind since the dawn of time. And yet when asked by the mysterious evil aliens called The Grays, accused of abducting humans from their homes for centuries, the answer takes on a whole new meaning.

“Crossing The Road” first appeared in the DAW anthology Cosmic Cocktails, edited by Denise Little.

Free Fiction is available for one week after posting. If you would like to read this story, please purchase at Kindle or Nook. 

Mental Note: Will Rhonda get her just reward? This book? Or the next? Just wait and see… *giggles*

From that morning on, blech. Constant headache, nausea, low grade fever… just.. blech. Lasted a few days. Then around Tuesday…much better.

So what did I do writing-wise all that time? Nada. Zippo. What I did manage to do was read. A lot. I finished Michael J Sullivan’s Riyria series (I LOVE THESE BOOKS), Konrath’s The List (AWESOME), and Marked by PC Cast (This series looks really interesting). I’m still reading Discovery of Witches and I wanna read just that for now. Though yesterday I downloaded a bunch of mystery/thriller books through Konrath’s Big Kindle Boogie. Now I have a ton of ebooks on my Kindle. Yay!

Ooh. I need to update my GoodReads!

Upcoming:
• Continue building the Newsletter list and updating the Zoë website.
• Starting Cherubim Sunday (outlined and Cover is nearly complete. I’ll send that to the newsletter list before I post it up)
• Should be starting the free fiction back up next Friday (Feb 10th)

There’s a lot more in there, but as I need to get cracking on getting some words done for the day (on Sekret pen name stuffs), I’ll leave it at that.

If you haven’t already joined the newsletter, click here. This list will only be used for sharing information on upcoming fiction relating to Zoë Martinique and the Abysmal Plane.

Chibbie art by Threshie, Deviant Art. Click on image to see full size chibbie. 100% Chibbie Lover!

Some travellers come to a village, carrying nothing more than an empty cooking pot. The villagers are unwilling to share any of their food stores with the hungry travellers. The travelers fill the pot with water, drop a large stone in it, and place it over a fire. “What are you doing?” a villager asks. The travellers answer that they are making “stone soup”, which tastes wonderful, but it still needs a little bit of garnish to improve the flavour. The villager does not mind parting with a few carrots to help them out, so that gets added to the soup. Another villager walks by, inquiring about the pot, and the travellers again mention their stone soup which has not reached its full potential yet. The villager hands them a little bit of seasoning to help them out. More and more villagers walk by, each adding another ingredient. Finally, a delicious and nourishing pot of soup is enjoyed by all.

Basically, by the time the soup’s made, the stone is forgotten. I remember when I first heard it, my thought was “I hope no one tried to eat that rock.”

I’ve been writing since I was 9 or 10, having been bashed with ideas in a continual flood since then. And since about the age of 19 or 20, I’ve been jotting those ideas down in notebooks. In fact, the daughter found my stash of those and brought it to my attention that  she recognized a few of the hastily scratched off sentences, paragraphs, and sometimes glue-sticked (glue-stuck?) images from magazines and newspapers, then later computer print outs.

“Hey mom…this sounds a little like your gaming story…only it’s different. And this one’s so close to that elf and vampire thing…but it’s a little different.”

Yep, I told her. A lot of those entries will sound a lot like, or kinda like this one, or a little like that one. But they’ll never be exactly like any of them. Because to me, those are my stones.

Stories for writers, come from a phrase, or a picture, or an idea while watching television, or reading a book or scanning the newspaper. And I learned early on to write those suckers down. My BF always sends me ideas he gets, whether in an email or a voice mail. I save them, put them in my books, and then go back to them when I need something fast.

These are my stones. And the stories are my soup.

By themselves, there’s not much you can do with them. But if you take that idea, that stone, and you start adding in some things, like a setting, a new character her, and one there, now put in the seasoning—is it winter, spring, summer or fall—is it storming, is it too cold, or is it sweltering. Location of the stone is good too. And once these things are all stirred together, woven to each other with care and attention, I find that a lot of the time, the stone becomes a part of the soup. It still sits alone in my books, but its now blossomed into a what I hope will be a pretty cool story.

Zoë’s stone? A woman that could go out of body but couldn’t speak. Those of you that’ve read the books know this is the basis. But like that, though the idea is unique, it needed a heck of a lot more. And now, five books later, my Zoë soup doesn’t really resemble what my original stone was, but that’s okay.

A pitfall in this thinking happens when it’s harder to change the soup. When you hold on to the stone and refuse to add in the other ingredients, the soup might come out a little bland. Let it grow and weave and thrive. And when it’s done, take that stone and treat it with care.

Who knows, you might need it for a different soup later on.

I am sooo happy with the cut. I recommend in the Atlanta area, Timothy Hays, SalonRed. Dekalb Avenue Location. Awesome!

Really…this is a kick ass cut. And thanks Alden! That’s actually a compliment!

I think I’ll go take a shower first.

And how come my comments are closed? Where do I open those back up again? Argh…

Blech….