Dead Earth: A Hexborn Excerpt

Shiloh again stayed behind at the end of tutorial. Master Jonn had been kind enough to set a workbench aside for her in his laboratory. A dozen tiny ceramic pots sat in a neat row, ready to be labeled with the date of treatment and the method to be used.

“I only brought one jar of dead earth with me,” she told the healing master.

“Not to worry. I’ve got barrels,” Jonn assured her. “I make the stewards haul some back from the Vine and the Wood when the summer progress heads that way. They think I’m mad.”

“They’ll eat their words if you ever figure it out,” Shiloh replied. “Edmun told me the Deadlands cover thousands of square miles. If they can be reclaimed . . .”

Jonn winked at her. “If they can be reclaimed, we’ll be heroes. But that is a mighty large ‘if.’”

“Your notes say you’ve already tried Jalar’s Poison Remedy?” she asked.

“Aye, both formulations. And I added fertilizer from the gardeners for good measure. I was able to get sprouts, but they would die within hours. They’d turn crimson and shrivel up black as pitch,” Jonn confirmed. “Now, last month I read that a man named Hadrian, who teaches at the University of Vert in Estany, claims to have invented an all-purpose countercurse. It’s well-described in the literature, but I haven’t been able to get it to work on so much as a child’s hex. Of course, I’m a much stronger potioner than I am a spell caster. Such is the mixed blessing of wielding a water wand.” Jonn eyed her appraisingly. “You, on the other hand, little miss steel wand . . . you should give it a go.”

“Do you have the paper?” she asked eagerly. An all-purpose countercurse could come in quite handy the next time she became ill. And if it really did work on people, who’s to say it might not work on soil, with a few adjustments?

“Sure,” he replied, looking over his messy desk with a touch of despair. “Somewhere. I’ll dig up the translation for you.”

“The original is in Estan?” she asked. Master Jonn nodded. “You can give me original,” she told him.

“You speak Estan?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Brother Edmun taught me. Gernish, too. He insisted it would come in handy. My accent is probably atrocious, but I can read it well enough,” she assured him.

“My, my. Remind me never to underestimate you. Old Edmun gave you the education of a princess,” Jonn replied.

He said it with a smile, but something in his eyes made Shiloh uneasy. It wasn’t until she’d left him, research paper clutched in her hot little hand, that she identified the healer’s look.

Fear. It was fear.

***

Intrigued? Download your copy of Hexborn here.

Don't Scream: An Excerpt from She Dies at the End

November slept fitfully, waking up again and again, tangled in her sheets, chased by bad dreams and visions all in a jumble. She felt trapped: trapped in the house whose grounds she hadn’t left once in nearly a month, trapped in her apparent future as a vampire, trapped in this spider web of centuries-old plots spun by cruel strangers. For a few weeks, her infatuation with William had provided enough distraction for her to put out of her mind the fact that someone in this house was working for the enemy and intended her harm.

No longer possessing that luxury, she found that she was afraid. She feared being taken, hurt, forced to help Luka do bad things. She feared failing in the use of her gift to help win this fight. She feared that when death changed her into a new creature, she would become a monster. She feared finding out the identity of the mole and the pain that discovery might cause, but she feared even more continuing to live with the viper in her nest.

It was afternoon before she finally fell asleep, so she was still dozing when dusk came. She was finally up and brushing her teeth, still in her nightgown, when Pine and Greg fairly flew into her room without so much as a knock on the door. That was the first indication that something was seriously wrong. The second sign came when Pine threw her over his shoulder as Greg moved faster than she could see, clearing her room in a whirl and hiding all obvious evidence of her existence. Previously unknown to her was a false wall in the back of her closet. It concealed a cubby into which Greg tossed all her personal belongings.

Pine rushed her out the door with Greg hot on his heels, moving so quickly that November closed her eyes tight with instinctive fear, her breath frozen in her throat. Her fairy bodyguard threw open the door to the linen closet down the hall and revealed a hidden trapdoor in the floor. He then murmured, “We’re going through the chase. Don’t scream,” and dropped dozens of feet straight down, landing lightly on his toes.

***

Intrigued? Download your copy of She Dies at the End here.

We Must Exchange Blood: An Excerpt from She Dies at the End

“We must exchange blood.”

“I beg your pardon?” she blurted, sliding away from him. “Why would we need to do that?” she asked with alarm, turning to Savita to look for aid.

“So that other vampires and fairies know that he has a claim on you, that you are not prey available to them,” Savita explained gently. “You only need to swallow a drop of his blood, and he will need a sip or two of yours. It will not harm you. Then our people will be able to tell when they meet you that you are bound to William. He is Lord of California, so none of his vassals would dare molest you.”

“They’ll think I’m his pet human?” she asked with some distaste, wrinkling her nose.

“Essentially,” William admitted. “That will make them curious about you, as I have not had a favorite human in many years. They will be even more curious if they find out that you’re living in my home. That simply isn’t done unless a vampire plans to turn his human in short order, and you are too young yet to turn legally. You will be meeting dangerous people who will want your blood and your body and, once they find out about it, your gift. This blood bond will make them at least think twice about trying to take you, as it would be an act of aggression against me. It is well known that I am not a good man to have for an enemy, and I have a powerful family. The blood will also help us to find you if you are ever stolen.”

William leaned in to look into her alarm-widened eyes. “I know it must be horrifying, the thought that people will think of you as property. But it will help protect you. It must be done.”

November nodded. The idea of being seen as someone’s pet was horrifying; the idea of being seen as “free prey” was rather more horrifying. “Will it hurt?”

“A little, as the fangs pierce the skin. Like a needle. After that, no,” Savita assured her.

“Okay,” November said softly after a brief pause. She swallowed. “I’m ready.”

“You really are a brave girl,” William said with a touch of regret. Fangs appeared in his mouth, transforming his features in a rather terrifying fashion and quickening November’s heartbeat. He pricked his finger with one fang and held out his hand. November took a drop of blood on the tip of her finger, braced herself, and licked the crimson liquid from her hand, grimacing with anticipatory disgust.

Her mind was filled to bursting with image upon image, too fast to process or appreciate, one bitten victim after another, a millennium's worth of hunting and feeding and fighting and sex compressed into thirty seconds of whirlwind. She heard someone cry out in pain or pleasure; she couldn’t tell which. It took her a moment to realize the voice was hers. When she opened her eyes, she was on the floor, William, Zinnia, and Savita hovering over her with worried faces.

“That was rather intense,” she said, placing her hand upon her forehead as the struggled to sit up.

“You looked like you were having a seizure of some sort,” Savita said, helping her back onto the couch. “That is not the typical reaction to consuming our blood. What did you see?”

November hesitated. “A lot of feeding. A lot.” She colored again as she remembered what else she'd seen. “I’m alright. It wasn’t painful, just really, ah, vivid.”

William looked like he would blush if he could.

***

Intrigued? Download your copy of She Dies at the End here.

The Hatchet's Obsession: A Hexborn Excerpt

“Were there other marks?” Silas demanded of his sister. The hour was late. Lill already wore her nightcap, but Silas was still hard at work, candles ablaze.

“Aye, poor child,” Lill confirmed. “All over, poor child. Old ones, newer ones that were still red and purple. Bruises, pretty fresh.”

“Could you draw them for me?” he asked, eyes greedy. “The scars, not the bruises.”

“Heavens, no! I wasn’t making a study of them, for the Gods’ sakes! It was all I could do not to burst into tears!”

“Never mind,” he replied, waving a hand. “I can get her maid to do it for me in a few days.”

“Already picked a girl out to spy on her, have you?” Lill asked, arms crossed.

“Of course, I have,” Silas confirmed, as though it were self-evident.

“I know it’s your job, brother, to do such things to protect the king. But that is a good girl. I can tell,” Lill clucked. “You had best be kind to her.”

“I don’t tell you how to do your job, Lill. Pray do not tell me how to do mine,” came his stern reply.

***

Intrigued? Download your copy of Hexborn here.