Dark Spirits is my second book in my YA paranormal series. It’s going through edits right now and will be available at the beginning of 2013. I thought I’d give you a sneak peek to one of the scenes in this next book. There might be some changes before it gets published, so you're basically reading part of the ARC (advanced readers copy).
Anyway, in this scene, Paige and Nathan are at the Sunday Market, finishing up eating their corndogs . . . Enjoy!
I rose and stuck my hand out for him to give me his corndog stick. He handed it to me, and I went to the overflowing trash can a couple yards away. Then my ears began to ring. I looked at Nathan, and he hurried to me at a painfully human pace. We looked around, but the few people strolling by were immersed in conversation and paid no attention to us.
Nathan took my hand and steered me in the other direction. "C’mon, let’s get back to the truck." As we rushed off, Nathan kept glancing over his shoulder, his posture stiff and alert.
Our ears continued to ring, but still nothing out of the ordinary caught my eyes. When we reached the parking lot, there were people filing into their vehicles and exiting the premises. I wondered if one of them could be a dark spirit. I was just about to get inside the truck when a soft crying noise tore at my heart. It sounded heartbroken and lost. I followed the sound while Nathan stuck our bags in the backseat. I moved to the front of the truck and there sitting on the curb was the most angelic-looking little girl I’d ever seen. She had to be about five years old, and I wondered where her mommy was. My heart immediately went out to her. She was crying in her tiny hands, leaning forward on her knees, her blonde curls tumbling over her face. She scooted her elbows above her knees while she continued to cry, pushing her blue dress up,
revealing black patent leather shoes and white laced socks.
"What’s wrong, sweetie? Did you lose your mommy?" I asked, kneeling in front of her.
"Paige, no!" Nathan hollered at the same time she dropped her hands and grabbed my wrist, yanking me toward her. She was amazingly strong, completely throwing me off guard.
She slowly rolled her head around her neck, her baby face contorting into a ghastly mask, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Then her dark glowing eyes poured into mine. I was too stunned to do anything but stare, even though her grip was like a tourniquet around my wrist.
"Let. Her. Go," Nathan demanded, now by my side.
The girl jerked her head up, her glowing orbs on Nathan now. "You have no power over me," a man’s deep voice spewed forth from her pink, pouty lips, chilling me to the bone.
"No?" Nathan said, bending so his eyes were leveled with hers. "But I can break her neck, which will take you out of the equation."
"You can’t do that, Nathan," I gasped. "She’s a child!"
"She’s soulless, Paige," he said, keeping his eyes trained on her. "I’m going to tell you one more time. . . Let. Her. Go."
Nathan wasn’t playing around. He was serious, and his ears were red, signaling the rage boiling inside him. The dark spirit must have realized it because he released me. I stumbled sideways, falling into Nathan’s quick arms. The sheer force of it knocked us to a sitting position on the asphalt.
The little girl hopped to her feet and moved her head clockwise in little jerks, her mouth opened in a silent scream. She stepped forward and stopped in front of us. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, then focused on me, dark and glowing. She grimaced, then blinked, and her eyes turned blue. "Help me," she said in a sweet toddler voice.
I reached for her, but Nathan snatched my wrist, locking his arms around mine. The girl scowled, then blinked, and her eyes were dark and glowing again. I sucked in a sharp breath, and her mouth formed a circle. Her head fell back in deep laughter. It was dark, sinister, and male.
She stopped, looked at me, and pointed. "Vos ero pessum ire," she said in the same deep man’s voice as before. Then she turned and ran away.
When I was a child, I loved books, and fortunately my parents did too. I remember asking my sister to read to me (she’s four years older than I), but she was too busy at the time. So I went up to our room and sat on my bottom bunk bed with the book Hansel and Gretel in my lap, wishing I could read. I knew some words (hey, I was four), but not enough to read the whole book.
First grade was really when I’d learned how to read, and I was in the top of my reading class. But then I fell from a building, split my cranium straight down the middle, and was in a coma for three days. It was a miracle I’d survived, wasn’t paralyzed, a vegetable, or brain damaged, although, sometimes I wonder about the brain damaged part :). But during that time was when my class was learning how to read, and I was determined not to miss out. I had double vision for a while, but that didn’t stop me. I wanted the ability to read damn it, so I basically taught myself. My teacher was so impressed, that she gave me a T-shirt that said: "I’m a perfect reader."
This is a picture of my family, six years before my parents divorced. I’m the one sitting on my mom’s lap, and of course that’s my sister next to our dad. Dig the side burns Dad. Oh, and Dad, what's with the outfit? What were you thinking? Okay. Yeah, I know. It was the 70s. That’s okay, when I was in grade school, I had parachute pants, which I loved, and would still wear if they came back out again. But I didn’t wear the MC Hammer pants, so I did have some restraint. :)
The little girl on my mom’s lap didn’t think about the future, all she cared about was being loved, listening to stories, watching Wonder Women, playing with her Honey Bunch dolls, riding her big wheel (I LOVED my big wheel. I miss my big wheel), hanging out with her daddy, playing outside with her sissy and friends. Oh, and of course, sweets.
As she grew, she had many dreams, and although her life dramatically changed, she held onto those dreams. She wanted to be truly loved and to write books for a living. She started writing when she was seven, a poem about birds. As she got older, she had notebooks full of her thoughts, poems, and stories. In school, she loved to get up in front of the class and read her stories. One memorable time was in seventh grade, when she read a horror story she wrote about a monster living in the sewer (I wish I still had that story). Her story had captivated the class so much so that they all did a collective gasp during the scary scenes. After that, she was hooked on writing stories. She started writing a novel at fourteen. When she was sixteen, she graduated high school early, and started writing another novel about a haunted house. But then she ended up on her own, and had to make a living, so her writing dream withered away.
Years later, one of her dreams comes true–she finds true love. Or did it find her? What came first, the chicken or the egg? I guess we’ll never know, huh? But that doesn’t matter because YAY she now has true love with the most wonderful person in the world who loves her for her. They get married, and her writing dream begins to burn bright inside her again. She takes a writing course, but then once again, life happens. Tragedy strikes not once, not twice, but three times, and her dream is shoved aside.
Years go by, and finally one day it hits her. She rushes to grab a pen and notebook and a story evolves as she feverishly writes the words down that races through her mind. Almost two years later, she completes a novel, and her dream is reborn.
That novel now sits on my shelf, out of sight, but certainly not out of mind. One day I’ll rewrite it, but right now I’m focused on my Beyond the Eyes series.
So that dream of becoming a published author and making a living off of her books, continues on for the little girl sitting on her mommy’s lap–the little girl who lives inside me. The book (s) has been written and more will follow. That’s half the battle, a battle a lot of people never win, even though their intentions are good. And each day that I write, I become better, and my armor gets stronger. Now I’m up against another battle, and I wonder, how long will it take to fight this next one?
The little girl inside me squirms and sometimes reminds me of the hand I’ve been dealt with when I’d first opened my eyes into this world, and how beaten down I was. Those dreams don’t happen to people like you. There’s no luck for you. Remember what Dostoevsky had said: "The ruts had been laid out long before you were born. I then have the sudden urge to crawl in a dark hole and disappear. But then my stubbornness emerges, and I say to that little girl, "No. Screw that! We're not victims, and our dreams can come true. Luck isn’t reserved for certain people. We create our own path. And," I point out to myself, "you never thought you’d be truly loved, and look. LOOK! You have it, and it’s more than what you had ever imagined. So don’t give up. Don’t. Give. Up."
And so the little girl quiets down, and I go back to building my armor and learning tactics to use for the second half of the battle.
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