Since I have blogger’s block–teehee–I’m going to post some short excerpts from three of my main works-in-progress. I hope you enjoy!
Keep your pen on the page,
Beth
Excerpt 1 (The Goblets Immortal) –
“And yet here you are, in my parlor, no exits but the window and the door.” Tristram laughed. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you making escape plans. Just in case, of course.”
Aidan managed to crack a slight smile as his friend opened his billfold. “Of course.” The deed and money exchanged hands, and they shook on the deal.
“You won’t regret this.” It needed repeating, but it did no good.
Aidan regretted it already. But it was signed in his blood. No amount of regret could wash that magic away. He sucked on his hand, which still oozed, and reached for the inkwell. “You keep a lot of iron in here,” he noted, Dismissing his lifeblood from the well and getting to his feet.
Tristram laughed. “I’ll never get over how you do that.” He waved his hand with a flourish. “Just simply willing objects away. Wish I was so able.”
“No, you don’t,” Aidan said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Thank you, Tristram. This means a lot to me.”
Excerpt 2 (Doomsday) –
He ran a block. He ran two. His lungs were punishing him, fit to burst as he panted. That was the first thing that convinced him that being free from the asylum wasn’t part of any hallucination. He was really pumping his legs, pushing himself to get away from that horrid place.
When he reached the bus stop, he was forced to pause to dry heave again, his muscles seizing. It was getting dark out, the sky promising rain. He laughed. A month ago, his biggest problem had been numbers and hand-washing and the meaninglessness of existence. Now he was running from a daydream–nightmare? Daymere?—waking nightmare. He was running from a waking nightmare, a product of his over-active imagination, and he had no power in his phone.
Ari swore. “This is just fabulous.” He wiped spit from his mouth and moved into the bus shelter, where a pair of tourists eyed him nervously.
Excerpt 3 (Untitled) –
Merlyn bit his lower lip, and looked deep into my eyes. “I don’t want to frighten you.”
“Now, that is exactly how to frighten a girl, tell them you don’t want them to be frightened.” I studied him. He seemed sincerely upset over something. “Maybe you should just tell me what’s on your mind, and I can decide from there if I’m in any real danger.”
He turned that over in his mind for a minute, his gaze darting about the now-empty gym. A pained expression darkened his features and he shook his head. “Please, Kate. The dream was very clear that—”
I may have snorted. “You dreamt that something bad was going to happen to me?”
Merlyn nodded. “Yes.” He glared at me when I laughed. “Please, take this seriously. My dreams are never wrong.”
Beth Overmyer 