I was writing in the dim interior of the haunted jazz club, Meilori's.
I heard a mellow yet deep voice to my right. "Dear boy, don't tell me you're still persisting to write?"
I looked up. Gore Vidal. Or rather his ghost, looking rather dapper as young as me.
He sat down, leaned next to me, reading what I had just written on THREE SPIRIT KNIGHT, and shook his head.
"My boy, half of the American people have never read a newspaper. Half never voted for President."
I smiled. "Let's hope it's the same half."
He slapped my arm. "You're stealing from me!"
"Steal from the best Oscar Wilde always said."
He leaned and scanned my laptop screen again, nodding. "You have your own distinct sytle. Style is knowing who you are, what you want to say, and not giving a damn."
I made a face. "And it's gotten me so far."
Gore raised a long forefinger in admonition. "I’m not sentimental about anything. Life flows by, and you flow with it or you don’t. Move on or move out.”
I nodded and sighed, "It's just that sometimes I get depressed."
Gore smiled sadly. "As do I, my boy. As societies grow decadent, the language grows decadent, too.
Words are used to disguise, not to illuminate, action:
you liberate a city by destroying it. Words are to confuse, so that at election time people will solemnly vote against their own interests.”
He tapped my laptop screen. "But words like those of your friends and you give me hope. How marvelous good books are, crossing worlds and centuries, defeating ignorance and, finally, cruel time itself.”
I asked, "What would be your advice to my writing friends, sir?"
He smiled wickedly, “Write what you know will always be excellent advice for those who ought not to write at all. Write what you think, what you imagine, what you suspect!”
He winked at me. “You can't really succeed with a novel anyway; they're too big.
It's like city planning. You can't plan a perfect city because there's too much going on that you can't take into account.
You can, however, write a perfect sentence now and then. The trick is to write one after another.”
He looked off into the bronze mists of Meilori's. “The most interesting thing about writing is the way that it obliterates time.
Three hours seem like three minutes. Then there is the business of surprise.
I never know what is coming next. The phrase that sounds in the head changes when it appears on the page.
Then I start probing it with a pen, finding new meanings. Sometimes I burst out laughing at what is happening as I twist and turn sentences.
Strange business, all in all. One never gets to the end of it. That’s why I go on, I suppose. To see what the next sentences I write will be.”
A tall ghost sat down on the other side of me. Oscar Wilde. He laughed.
"Roland, as a young man in the South, you are in a splendid position to write great novels. Southerners make good novelists: they have so many stories because they have so much family.”
Gore's eyebrow rose. "I said that!"
Oscar smiled wide. "As I have been quoted: if you are going to steal, steal from the best. Go on. Admit it. I'm your hero, Gore."
Gore gave Oscar a look that would have curdled vinegar. " Don’t ever make the mistake with people like me, thinking we are looking for heroes. There aren’t any and if there were, they would be killed immediately. I’m never surprised by bad behaviour. I expect it."
Oscar pouted, "You think me nothing but a gossip."
Gore relented, "Everybody likes a bit of gossip to some point, as long as it’s gossip with some point to it. That’s why I like history. History is nothing but gossip about the past, with the hope that it might be true."
Oscar laughed deeply, "Oh, the gossip about me is definitely true ... if it is bad."
Gore looked sadly at my laptop screen again. "It is all a waste, you know."
"What, sir?"
"Your striving for quality, for uniqueness. In the case of the new writers, rather like priests who have forgotten the meaning of the prayers they chant,
we shall go on for quite a long time talking of books and writing books,
pretending all the while not to notice that the church is empty and the parishioners have gone elsewhere to attend other gods, perhaps in silence or with new words."
I said, "People still read, sir."
Gore nodded grimly, "The fad of the moment is what they read. Not to think, not to reflect, but to be aroused."
Oscar shook his head firmly. “The malady of civilized man is his knowledge of death.
The good artist, like the wise man, addresses himself to life and invests with his private vision the deeds and thoughts of men.
The creation of a work of art, like an act of love, is our one small yes at the center of a vast no.”
Gore grumbled, "You just stole my words again!"
Oscar nodded, "Because you seemed to have forgotten them. We writers exist to be the 300 Spartans in the tide of ignorance and hopelessness."
I raised an eyebrow. "I thought it was to be on the best seller list."
Oscar laughed, "That, too!"
*{As the restrictions on this collection expired in 1986, the Library of Congress believes this image is in the public domain. However, the Carl Van Vechten estate has asked that use of Van Vechten's photographs "preserve the integrity" of his work, i.e,
that photographs not be colorized or cropped, and that proper credit is given to the photographer. Such has been respectfully done.}
Being but a novice to Twitter, I have just discovered #SampleSunday.
Yesterday, I advised you, my friends, to take advantage of it. So here I am leading by example.
Some of you have inquired about the next chapter in the legend of Victor Standish, THREE SPIRIT KNIGHT.
Here is the introduction by none other than the ghost of George Bernard Shaw:
INTRODUCTION By George Bernard Shaw, ghost.
I hasten to protest at the outset that I have only a modest personal knowledge of the incorrigible scamp who wrote this amazing book. I do know him well enough however to make the following statement.
If he is to be encouraged and approved, then British morality is a mockery, British respectability an imposture, and British industry a vice. Perhaps they are: I have always kept an open mind on the subject.
Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself, something young Standish excels at. So much so that he created his own last name in fact.
A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing. In this respect, Victor Standish is the most honorable gypsy I have ever met.
What was it he once told me? Oh, yes. “If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you might as well make it dance.”
Standish executes the dance between love and death better than any I have ever met. I admit to being somewhat of a cynic when it comes to love.
When two people are under the influence of the most violent, most insane, most delusive, and most transient of passions, they are required to swear that they will remain in that excited, abnormal, and exhausting condition continuously until death do them part.
A fact which might help explain it all. Though I fear the Pope would be scandalized at these words … for which I again quote young Standish:
“Why should we take advice on sex from the pope? If he knows anything about it, he shouldn't!”
You use a glass mirror to see your face; you use works of art to see your soul. I say that to warn you that this narrative is, indeed, a work of art, rough, but art, nonetheless.
What you find in it will reveal your soul not young Standish’s.
As for that scamp …
People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are. I don't believe in circumstances. The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and if they can't find them, make them.
Such was, and is, the case of the legend of Victor Standish.
CHAPTER ONE TIME TRAVEL ISN’T WHAT IT USED TO BE.
“After all, the wrong road always leads somewhere.” - Victor Standish. *** If any of you are curious about Victor Standish now, start with his first humble narration, THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH:
“After all, the wrong road always leads somewhere.” - Victor Standish.
Time travel.
I used to dream of it in the libraries of every mean city Mother dumped me in. To travel through time seemed to be the perfect escape from the street gangs who made my life miserable. No matter the library, I would find the copy of H. G. Wells’ THE TIME MACHINE, and I would read it from cover to cover in one sitting. I would fantasize about finding an abandoned Time Machine in the end of a little-used alley.
I had never seen Captain Sam so happy. Meilori was back in his arms though it meant a target on my back. Mardi Gras was a thing of laughter within his haunted jazz club once again.
I felt like baying like a happy hound myself. Alice was flowing towards me in a black sleek dress whose long skirt was slit for the tango.
Her porcelain shoulders bare, long blonde hair a living waterfall upon them, long black gloves up past her elbows.
She leaned against me to the tempo of Grace Jones singing “Strange, I’ve Seen That Face Before.”
“What is this tune?,” she whispered in my ear.
“The Libertango,” I smiled.
“I do feel liberated,” she husked, running her toe up, then down my right leg.
“Me, too,” spoke Meilori as she slipped between Alice and me, whipping the two of us away.
Jade eyes which had watched Aztec sacrifices scream for mercy that never came stabbed into me.
“So you are the son I could never give Samuel?”
“We don’t have to be enemies,” I whispered, seeing a concerned Captain Sam taking up a frantic Alice in his arms to continue the tango towards us.
Meilori laughed a thing from nightmares.
“Oh, do not worry, Standish. Once I kill you, I will forget all about you.”
She gazed mockingly at Alice as she rubbed her body against mine, and I sighed, “You can destroy me as an enemy in another way.”
“Really?”
“You can make a friend of me.”
A Harlequin spun me from Meilori’s arms, shaking off her belled hat, long silk black hair tumbling down on colorful shoulders.
Maija. I wondered when she’d show.
Meilori gasped, “But you are dead!”
“Your savage of a husband only managed to kill my followers. DayStar saved me.”
I shook my head as Maija spun me in the female’s role of the tango and snorted, “DayStar doesn’t save. He damns.”
“To revenge myself against my sister, McCord, and you, I welcome damnation.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sam sweep Meilori in his arms as she whispered hurriedly to him. Marshall Hickok took up Alice and danced the tango awkwardly towards us.
Maija swept me down in a sudden dip, wrenched me up against her breasts (Aw, jeez, she didn’t believe in underwear), and hissed into my ear.
“Tonight I will pay you back for that ‘Menage a Trois’ lie you spread about you, your ghoul, and myself in 1834!”
I snapped her out, then back into my arms as the tango heated up. “Hey, I happened to ruin my reputation while improving yours with that!”
“I will kill you slowly for those words.”
“Take a number. It’s a long line.”
Another woman, this time dressed as Marie Antoinette, tugged me out of Maija’s arms. Despite the white wig, I recognized the insane cobalt blue eyes. Empress Theodora, ruler of the European Revenant Empire.
“Royalty first, Ningyo swine!”
My dance card was getting too damn full. Theodora laughed throaty.
“Ah, my subjects are whispering that I am renewing our tawdry love affair. Another lie you have sown about your betters!”
Father Renfield and Sister Magda were twirling effortlessly towards us, their faces grim. So was Sam with Meilori and Alice with Hickok. I smiled grimly.
Lady Lovelace and Margaret Fuller were scandalizing the crowd by dancing together my way. They were too far away to get here in time.
Theodora’s steel fingers squeezed my upper arms tight. She was about to pull apart my arms and make a wish.
I smiled sad. “You’re all alone.”
“My subjects are mixed all through this crowd within Meilori’s.”
“And still alone.”
I dipped her suddenly. Jeez, didn’t any of my enemies believe in underwear? I got a terrible mental image of Major Strasser. If I survived this tango, I was going to have to take a bath in Listerine.
“You are surrounded by toadies who are too terrified to say anything but yes to you.”
Theodora snapped up, pressing me close to her, running her own toe up and down my right leg. “And that is bad?”
“One day, your worshipfulness, you’re going to be at a terrible crossroads, not knowing which way to take. And those toadies’ words won’t help worth shit.”
I smiled wide, taking precise quick, flowing steps between her fast moving high-heeled feet as we moved fluid over the dance floor.
“Then, you’ll think of me, too stupid to lie – even to an enemy.”
Theodora studied me. “You would save my life? Why?”
“Because we’re both street gypsies. You’re just a clever daughter of a bear trainer who slept her way to the top. Me? I’m gutter trash. We’re alike and both alone in ways no one but we will ever understand.”
Theodora flicked flat eyes to Alice, and I shook my head.
“She was raised to be a Victorian lady. Like you, I was raised to survive in a world that didn’t want me to.”
“Alike and alone,” Theodora husked.
Her cobalt eyes deepened, became wet. Before I could react Theodora crushed her cold lips into mine.
“Hey, no tongue on a first date!”
Alice was suddenly by my side. Theodora laughed oddly, linking her arm with an uneasy Hickok. “Standish, you live … for tonight. You have given me much to think over.”
Alice’s pale face became all eyes. “What was that kiss about? What did you do, Victor?”
Sam and Meilori danced to a halt in front of me. I looked into the disturbed eyes of Meilori, sighing, “Followed my own advise.”
{Excerpt from Victor's sixth book, DANSE MARDI GRAS. The 4th & 5th? THREE SPIRIT NIGHT and DEATH AT CHRISTMAS.}
It is a tragic secret that people in New Orleans are still hurting from Katrina.
Since THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH begins with Katrina, I am donating 10% of my profits from it to THE SALVATION ARMY. If you have already bought it, you may donate directly in the link in my sidebar beneath the book.
In honor of the Halloween season, here is a excerpt from
my 3rd Victor Standish novel, THE GYPSY AND THE GHOUL :
The throbbing cut on my temple oozed blood along my cheek and down my throat. The revenant, Abigail Adams, looked down with hungry eyes at the blood and my throat.
We were both hurt bad. Me less than her. Sometimes it paid to be a smaller target.
I was supporting her down St. Peter Street. We made a pretty strange pair -- even for Halloween.
"You bite me," I wheezed from the broken ribs that were screaming at me, "and I'll drop you on your elegant butt."
"Standish," she husked. "You are not as funny as you think."
"No. I'm funnier. I'm humble like that."
"Y-You are not even on the same continent as humble, whelp."
"You know why I don't drop you on your ..."
I coughed up a bit of blood, " ... manners?"
"Why?"
"Because no matter how rank you are, Empress Theodora is worse."
Theodora, Empress of The Unholy Roman Empire that had Europe squirming in its clawed fist. She hadn't always been a revenant.
In the year 500, she had been the daughter of a bearkeeper in the circus -- which explained her unique thoughts on life.
To her, life was a circus of blood where humans were trained to dance to her whims by the school of pain. Her sexual games were twisted ...
which gave me a world of reasons to help Abibail Adams.
Forget about finger sandwiches. There were other parts of my body she would make a snack of if she caught us. I shivered at the thought.
Abigail smiled sadly at me. "I will kill you myself before I allow that travesty to touch you."
"Ah, let's have a sign for that, all right? Like -- when pigs fly. Besides, we're almost to Meilori's."
Abigail sighed, "Theodora will never let us reach it."
"That's what I'm counting on, Abby."
"Do not be familiar, boy!"
"Hey, who has a hand snug in your corset here?"
I had rescued Abigail Adams out of Theodora's New Orleans' mansion. The bitch had her enemy stripped to her underclothes to humiliate her.
"Don't remind me, boy."
I saw the proud pain in her face and husked through my own pain, "She humilated herself, not you, by doing that to you."
Abigail's face softened, then went stiff and cold. St. Peter Street was changing in spurts and flashes all around us.
Street and store signs had changed to gothic script. Snarling gargoyles were the design of choice.
All right! About fragging time.
You couldn't walk into Meilori's in the daytime. Only at night.
By day, the corner of Royal and St. Peter housed the majestic Royal Cafe. At dusk, the corner mysteriously transformed into Royal and Rue La Mort. And Meilori's stood revealed to the night and its children.
But this wasn't just any night. This was Halloween.
It was Samhain, summer's end. It had nearly marked New Orleans' end as well. But its people were a hardy lot.
The Celtic New Year began this nightfall. When your adoptive father is named McCord, you learn these kinds of things.
In ancient Welsh tradition, this evening was called The Three Spirit Night, when all kinds of beings could roam between realities. And I was betting my and Abigail's life on that.
We turned the corner. There stood Royal Cafe.
Empress Theodora and Major Strasser stood tall in front of it.
Abigail groaned, "I told you, Victor."
Victor, huh? She really did think the game was up. I smiled like a wolf. It was only beginning.
Theodora was dressed in a black leather outfit that, if it were any tighter, would have split at the seams ... if it had had any seams.
Her lips curled. "And so the mighty Adams dies because she listened to a human boy."
I flicked mocking eyes to Strasser, then to Theodora. "Hey, I see you brought your trained bear."
Strasser growled, "Let me taste of him first."
Theodora smiled dreamily. "No, his delicasies are mine alone."
Night hungrily swallowed dusk, and the surroundings became full of nightmares.
I smiled coldly. "Lots of luck with that, Bitch Queen."
My vision blurred. My head became light. Reality stretched as if it were taffy being pulled by an insane demon-child. The world looked as if I were seeing it from the wrong end of a telescope.
Ghost demons murmured hollow promises to my ears. My legs went all weak. I felt as if I were about to topple off the street and fall into madness.
Meilori's stood towering over me. Torch-lit iron lacework balconies stretched up high into the foggy night. I couldn't make out the building's top.
Leathery wings sounded up high in the thick fog that masked the remaining balconies. I heard the thud of a heavy body, the ear-aching screech of talons against steel, and a husky laugh of hunger about to be fed.
I tore my eyes away before I saw something I'd have nightmares about.
Abigail yelped, but I held onto her with one hand and onto the still-forming surface of Meilori's with the other. I yelled at the top of my bruised lungs.
"Victims of Theodora! Hear me! She is here. Here!"
Despite the pain it cost me, I yelled louder, "And tonight she is helpless not you. Not you! Take her! Take her and her pet killer. Take them!"
Theodora stiffened as hundreds, then thousands of writhing figures of mist solidified around her. Strasser pulled his Lugar. It was snatched from his fingers and tossed at my feet.
The Empress and her killer struggled like escaped inmates from an asylum. No good. They were overwhelmed.
And in a blur of screams, blood, and writhing bodies, Theodora and Strasser were gone.
I looked up at the very pale Abigail Adams. "Sometimes it's Treat."
I smiled very, very cold. "And sometimes it's Trick." ***
ONLY 14 DAYS LEFT TO ENTER MY FANTABULOUS CONTEST TO WIN A FREE AUTOGRAPH OF
STEPHEN KING!
DEAN KOONTZ!
LAURELL K. HAMILTON!
WRITE A REVIEW OF ONE OF MY BOOKS ON AMAZON AND WIN 5 ENTRIES!!
WRITE A REVIEW OF THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH
AND YOU ALSO GET ENTERED INTO MY ...
MYSTERY MIRACLE CONTEST!
{more of that later -- but speaking of Victor Standish ...}
It is nearing October and many folks' favorite holiday ... HALLOWEEN!
This following excerpt is from the 3rd Victor novel, MYTH-TAKE (still in production as is his sequel, MORE THAN A NAME :
{Victor's plan to rescue Abigail Adams from the evil Theordora has succeeded. Kinda. Two of his ribs are broken. He's hurting all over. And he's in better shape than Abigail!}
The throbbing cut on my temple oozed blood along my cheek and down my throat. The revenant, Abigail Adams, looked down with hungry eyes at the blood and my throat.
We were both hurt bad. Me less than her. Sometimes it paid to be a smaller target.
I was supporting her down St. Peter Street. We made a pretty strange pair -- even for Halloween.
"You bite me," I wheezed from the broken ribs that were screaming at me, "and I'll drop you on your elegant butt."
"Standish," she husked. "You are not as funny as you think."
"No. I'm funnier. I'm humble like that."
"Y-You are not even in the same galaxy as humble, whelp."
"You know why I don't drop you on your ..."
I coughed up a bit of blood, " ... manners?"
"Why?"
"Because no matter how rank you are, Empress Theodora is worse."
Theodora, Empress of The Unholy Roman Empire that had Europe squirming in its clawed fist. She hadn't always been a revenant.
In the year 500, she had been the daughter of a bearkeeper in the circus -- which explained her unique thoughts on life.
To her, life was a circus of blood where humans were trained to dance to her whims by the school of pain. Her sexual games were twisted ...
which gave me a world of reasons to help Abibail Adams.
Forget about finger sandwiches. There were other parts of my body she would make a snack of if she caught us. I shivered at the thought.
Abigail smiled sadly at me. "I will kill you myself before I allow that travesty to touch you."
"Ah, let's have a sign for that, all right? Like -- when pigs fly. Besides, we're almost to Meilori's."
Abigail sighed, "Theodora will never let us reach it."
"That's what I'm counting on, Abby."
"Do not be familiar, boy!"
"Hey, who has a hand snug in your corset here?"
I had rescued Abigail Adams out of Theodora's New Orleans' mansion. The bitch had her enemy stripped to her underclothes to humiliate her.
"Don't remind me, boy."
I saw the proud pain in her face and husked through my own pain, "She humilated herself, not you, by doing that to you."
Abigail's face softened, then went stiff and cold. St. Peter Street was changing in spurts and flashes all around us.
Street and store signs had changed to gothic script. Snarling gargoyles were the design of choice.
All right! About fragging time.
You couldn't walk into Meilori's in the daytime. Only at night.
By day, the corner of Royal and St. Peter housed the majestic Royal Cafe. At dusk, the corner mysteriously transformed into Royal and Rue La Mort. And Meilori's stood revealed to the night and its children.
But this wasn't just any night. This was Halloween.
It was Samhain, summer's end. It had nearly marked New Orleans' end as well. But its people were a hardy lot.
The Celtic New Year began this nightfall. When your adoptive father is named McCord, you learn these kinds of things.
In ancient Welsh tradition, this evening was called The Three Spirit Night, when all kinds of beings could roam between realities. And I was betting my and Abigail's life on that.
We turned the corner. There stood Royal Cafe.
Empress Theodora and Major Strasser stood tall in front of it.
Abigail groaned, "I told you, Victor."
Victor, huh? She really did think the game was up. I smiled like a wolf. It was only beginning.
Theodora was dressed in a black leather outfit that, if it were any tighter, would have split at the seams ... if it had had any seams.
Her lips curled. "And so the mighty Adams dies because she listened to a human boy."
I flicked mocking eyes to Strasser, then to Theodora. "Hey, I see you brought your trained bear."
Strasser growled, "Let me taste of him first."
Theodora smiled dreamily. "No, his delicasies are mine alone."
Night hungrily swallowed dusk, and the surroundings became full of nightmares.
I smiled coldly. "Lots of luck with that, Bitch Queen."
My vision blurred. My head became light. Reality stretched as if it were taffy being pulled by an insane demon-child. The world looked as if I were seeing it from the wrong end of a telescope.
Ghost demons murmured hollow promises to my ears. My legs went all weak. I felt as if I were about to topple off the street and fall into madness.
Meilori's stood towering over me. Torch-lit iron lacework balconies stretched up high into the foggy night. I couldn't make out the building's top.
Leathery wings sounded up high in the thick fog that masked the remaining balconies. I heard the thud of a heavy body, the ear-aching screech of talons against steel, and a husky laugh of hunger about to be fed.
I tore my eyes away before I saw something I'd have nightmares about.
Abigail yelped, but I held onto her with one hand and onto the still-forming surface of Meilori's with the other. I yelled at the top of my bruised lungs.
"Victims of Theodora! Hear me! She is here. Here!"
Despite the pain it cost me, I yelled louder, "And tonight she is helpless not you. Not you! Take her! Take her and her pet killer. Take them!"
Theodora stiffened as hundreds, then thousands of writhing figures of mist solidified around her. Strasser pulled his Lugar. It was snatched from his fingers and tossed at my feet.
The Empress and her killer struggled like escaped inmates from an asylum. No good. They were overwhelmed.
And in a blur of screams, blood, and writhing bodies, Theodora and Strasser were gone.
I looked up at the very pale Abigail Adams. "Sometimes it's Treat."
I smiled very, very cold. "And like Theodora just found out : sometimes it's Trick." ***
The throbbing cut on my temple oozed blood along my cheek and down my throat. The revenant, Abigail Adams, looked down with hungry eyes at the blood and my throat.
We were both hurt bad. Me less than her. Sometimes it paid to be a smaller target.
I was supporting her down St. Peter Street. We made a pretty strange pair -- even for Halloween.
"You bite me," I wheezed from the broken ribs that were screaming at me, "and I'll drop you on your elegant butt."
"Standish," she husked. "You are not as funny as you think."
"No. I'm funnier. I'm humble like that."
"Y-You are not even in the same galaxy as humble, whelp."
"You know why I don't drop you on your ..."
I coughed up a bit of blood, " ... manners?"
"Why?"
"Because no matter how rank you are, Empress Theodora is worse."
Theodora, Empress of The Unholy Roman Empire that had Europe squirming in its clawed fist. She hadn't always been a revenant.
In the year 500, she had been the daughter of a bearkeeper in the circus -- which explained her unique thoughts on life.
To her, life was a circus of blood where humans were trained to dance to her whims by the school of pain. Her sexual games were twisted ...
which gave me a world of reasons to help Abibail Adams.
Forget about finger sandwiches. There were other parts of my body she would make a snack of if she caught us. I shivered at the thought.
Abigail smiled sadly at me. "I will kill you myself before I allow that travesty to touch you."
"Ah, let's have a sign for that, all right? Like -- when pigs fly. Besides, we're almost to Meilori's."
Abigail sighed, "Theodora will never let us reach it."
"That's what I'm counting on, Abby."
"Do not be familiar, boy!"
"Hey, who has a hand snug in your corset here?"
I had rescued Abigail Adams out of Theodora's New Orleans' mansion. The bitch had her enemy stripped to her underclothes to humiliate her.
"Don't remind me, boy."
I saw the proud pain in her face and husked through my own pain, "She humilated herself, not you, by doing that to you."
Abigail's face softened, then went stiff and cold. St. Peter Street was changing in spurts and flashes all around us.
Street and store signs had changed to gothic script. Snarling gargoyles were the design of choice.
All right! About fragging time.
You couldn't walk into Meilori's in the daytime. Only at night.
By day, the corner of Royal and St. Peter housed the majestic Royal Cafe. At dusk, the corner mysteriously transformed into Royal and Rue La Mort. And Meilori's stood revealed to the night and its children.
But this wasn't just any night. This was Halloween.
It was Samhain, summer's end. It had nearly marked New Orleans' end as well. But its people were a hardy lot.
The Celtic New Year began this nightfall. When your adoptive father is named McCord, you learn these kinds of things.
In ancient Welsh tradition, this evening was called The Three Spirit Night, when all kinds of beings could roam between realities. And I was betting my and Abigail's life on that.
We turned the corner. There stood Royal Cafe.
Empress Theodora and Major Strasser stood tall in front of it.
Abigail groaned, "I told you, Victor."
Victor, huh? She really did think the game was up. I smiled like a wolf. It was only beginning.
Theodora was dressed in a black leather outfit that, if it were any tighter, would have split at the seams ... if it had had any seams.
Her lips curled. "And so the mighty Adams dies because she listened to a human boy."
I flicked mocking eyes to Strasser, then to Theodora. "Hey, I see you brought your trained bear."
Strasser growled, "Let me taste of him first."
Theodora smiled dreamily. "No, his delicasies are mine alone."
Night hungrily swallowed dusk, and the surroundings became full of nightmares.
I smiled coldly. "Lots of luck with that, Bitch Queen."
My vision blurred. My head became light. Reality stretched as if it were taffy being pulled by an insane demon-child. The world looked as if I were seeing it from the wrong end of a telescope.
Ghost demons murmured hollow promises to my ears. My legs went all weak. I felt as if I were about to topple off the street and fall into madness.
Meilori's stood towering over me. Torch-lit iron lacework balconies stretched up high into the foggy night. I couldn't make out the building's top.
Leathery wings sounded up high in the thick fog that masked the remaining balconies. I heard the thud of a heavy body, the ear-aching screech of talons against steel, and a husky laugh of hunger about to be fed.
I tore my eyes away before I saw something I'd have nightmares about.
Abigail yelped, but I held onto her with one hand and onto the still-forming surface of Meilori's with the other. I yelled at the top of my bruised lungs.
"Victims of Theodora! Hear me! She is here. Here!"
Despite the pain it cost me, I yelled louder, "And tonight she is helpless not you. Not you! Take her! Take her and her pet killer. Take them!"
Theodora stiffened as hundreds, then thousands of writhing figures of mist solidified around her. Strasser pulled his Lugar. It was snatched from his fingers and tossed at my feet.
The Empress and her killer struggled like escaped inmates from an asylum. No good. They were overwhelmed.
And in a blur of screams, blood, and writhing bodies, Theodora and Strasser were gone.
I looked up at the very pale Abigail Adams. "Sometimes it's Treat."
I smiled very, very cold. "And sometimes it's Trick." ***
Dreamer. Writer. Believer in the worth of each soul I meet.
It is not so bad a thing to have been born with the gift of laughter and the knowledge that the world is mad.
Book 4: Victor Standish risks all reality to bring back from the dead those he loves.
WOLF HOWL HAS HIS OWN BLOG!
VISIT IF YOU DARE
THE LAST SHAMAN AUDIO BOOK!
Mankind's time is nearly up. Can the last Lakota shaman save the soul of the assassin he loves before the end?
McCorkle Creations!
Let Heather McCorkle design covers and promo materials for you. You will be amazed.
ONLY $4.86!
Sometimes it is death, not life, that brings us love
A GHOSTLY WRITING MANUAL
Twain, Hemingway, Lovecraft & More!
An Age Is Ending & Ancient Evil Returning
Like PENNY DREADFUL? This is for you.
A SUPERNATURAL LONGMIRE
In Egypt, the dead never rest easy
NO ONE HEARS THE SCREAMS IN SILENT FILMS
An isolated Hollywood film crew is hunted by Nightmare
A SAMPLER OF MY HEROES
Mysteries Explained, Secrets Exposed
The Origin of Toomey Starks!
Hellhounds were never this much fun! Only $4!
VOODOO & LOVE IN THE FRENCH QUARTER
Now available in PRINT!
FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE AUDIO BOOK!
The supernatural predators come out after Katrina. Can two undead legends stop them?
AFTER KATRINA, THERE IS NONE BUT TWO TO STOP THE UNDEAD
ONLY $1.99 WHEN YOU BUY THE KINDLE BOOK!
LISTEN to GHOST OF A CHANCE
Can an author be drawn into his own fictional world and killed by his own characters?
HIBBS HAS FOUND HIS VOICE!
A tale of enchantment
Souls At The Crossroads
Where do you need to be?
THE DEADLIEST ENEMY IS WITHIN
What if Stephen King wrote of the life of a blood courier?
Listen to this haunting tale of horror and love
It is 1853. An undead Texas Ranger is on board a cursed ship in search of a murderer who is wearing the face of her last victim as a mask.
Listen to the LAST FAE
When the world is mad, there is little else to do but show them what true insanity is!
Can a man marry both the moon and the sun?
In the eclipse of myth, he can
What Defense is an innocent soul against the Powers of Darkness?
Let Hibbs, the cub with no clue, show you
Before Indiana Jones or Allan Quartermain
There was Sam McCord and his doomed love for Meilori Shinseen
Alice and Victor in 1834 New Orleans
Do a review and have a 1 in 13 chance to win a Johnny Depp autograph!
Buy_FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE
Hurricane Katrina has cast New Orleans into darkness. Predators, living and undead, close in on the helpless survivors. Can Samuel McCord and a vampire priest keep the French Quarter from being drowned in blood?
Buy_LET THE WIND BLOW THROUGH YOU
Enter the dangerous world of a Native American Noir thriller where forbidden love clashes with the politics of crime
You will never see the end coming
In his beginning is his end
My 1st SERIAL TRILOGY continues
There are none so lost as those who refuse to see
The 1st SERIAL TRILOGY!
In the dark, we are all orphans
In Memoriam - Maukie my cyber friend
RITES OF PASSAGE link
The earliest Samuel McCord adventure: Dare to board a fantasy Titanic as it sails into the Bermuda Triangle
VICTOR'S HERE!
BOOK 1: No one talks openly of the misty figures seen walking along New Orleans' iron-laced terraces, casting no shadow. Of the shapes seen rising from sewer grates. And no one willingly visits the crypt of Marie Laveau at midnight. Into this strange world arrives the street orphan, Victor Standish, from Charon's Greyhound. Charon has to keep up with the times ... the End Times. And the teen destined to be called the "Ulysses of the French Quarter" has come just in time for Hurricane Katrina, the End of All Things ... and the deadly love of the Victorian ghoul, Alice Wentworth.
VICTOR AND ALICE ARE BACK!
BOOK 2: Victor's a street kid. Alice is a Victorian ghoul Their love breaks the chain of reason. Their new adventures bring the French Quarter back from the brink of nightmare.
THE RIVAL
BOOK 3: Victor & Alice are in the French Quarter of 1834. Voodoo. Demigods. Revenants. And the hilarious Menage a Trois of Death! Oh, and someone we love dies at the end.
END OF DAYS is here!
St. Marrok's. The most eerie high school in which you will ever die. Its curriculum? The End of Days. Alice Wentworth plans to get an A+.
ADRIFT IN THE TIME STREAM link
SEQUEL to RITES OF PASSAGE: Come aboard the doomed DEMETER with undead Texas Ranger, Sam McCord, and sail with her into the depths of madness in ADRIFT IN THE TIME STREAM.
Buy_CREOLE KNIGHTS
SEQUEL to FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE: The dead rise. Elder Beings strain to enter our world through Katrina devastated New Orleans. And the Angel of Death is kidnapped to clear their way. Can Sam McCord stem the tide of madness in time?
Buy_THE LAST FAE
Once there was an age undreamed where legends walked this earth … and nightmares, too. Terrible were the battles, tragic the outcome of the wars. Until finally there were only two survivors : the nightmare and one bruised legend. These are the legend’s stories, each one a different facet of the same priceless gem – a jewel that has come to believe herself worthless. So come. Listen to her. Listen to THE LAST FAE.
GHOST OF A CHANCE
What if what you wrote became real?
BURNT OFFERINGS
When dreams are sacrificed, it is the soul that burns.
CHECK OUT THE FUN!
Explore if you dare
Buy_THE LAST SHAMAN
Journey with the last Lakota shaman, Wolf Howl. The white govenments call him Drew August. Those who hunt him call him Death. The last day of Man has dawned. Watch as Wolf Howl turns to meet his human hunters. Shadow, the love of his life, returns to aid his hunters. Then, Mankind's death descends. Can he save Shadow before the world's time runs out?
BRING ME THE HEAD OF McCORD!
Only 99 cents. C'mon. Take a chance.
GHOST WRITERS IN THE SKY
LEARN TO WRITE BETTER AND LAUGH ALONG THE WAY
LAST EXIT TO BABYLON
At the dawn of the End of All Things, the Last Fae finds there is no hope ... but love.
IT'S HERE TO BUY!!
The trilogy concludes. Not even the eclipse of myth is forever. But love is. And eclipses return. Listen. The voice of Blake, son of Man, is calling across the night skies.
Buy THE PATH BACK TO DAWN
Only in the eclipse of myth can a young man find himself with both the Moon and the Sun as his brides. Can he survive what follows?
Buy_LOVE LIKE DEATH
From the pages of THE LAST FAE springs this paranormal romance/thriller. Fallen, the last fae, discovers the name of the young teenager to whom she lost her heart : Blake Adamson.But she also discovers what happens when you believe your fears over your love : heartache and loss. And so Blake Adamson finds himself torn between two loves : one fae, the other an alien drinker of souls. Their love is deadly, but love, like death, will have its way.
THE BEAR WITH 2 SHAD0WS link
Based on the stories my Lakota mother told me as a child when I was deathly ill in a freezing Detroit basement apartment. Think a Native American LORD OF THE RINGS.
FROM THE GREAT BEYOND HOP!
You dare not miss it!!
ZOMBIE PREPAREDNESS!
LISTEN TO THE CDC
Thanks, Alex!
THE WORLDS OF ROLAND YEOMANS
Donna Hole astonishes with her insights on my linked worlds
FANTASTIC REVIEW OF THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH
Michael Di Gesu does a masterful review. I am honored by his friendship
LIFE LESSONS taught me by GYPSY
Dedicated to GYPSY
PAPYRUS PRODUCTIONS
Have Wendy make your book into a trailer that wows the reader!
HELP THE HURTING
100% of the profits for ALL my books this FEBRUARY are going to THE SALVATION ARMY. My Valentine's gift to the hurting.
Buy_BLOOD WILL TELL
One lone telepath finds himself a helpless spectator as the race of Man is subjugated into mindless drones by the very blood within their bodies.When the war is over, and he finds himself totally alone ... How can he go on and why?
CALL ME TOMBS
The last Lakota Heyoka faces voodoo and ultimate evil in the Carpathian Mountains of Transylvania with his Hellhound, Puppy
CATCH FIRE!
BLOG TOUR FOR ALEX J, CAVANAUGH'S NEWEST NOVEL
SIV'S BLOGFEST!
The Norse Gods Are Watching You!
NERDY IS THE NEW SEXY!
BECOME A JEDI KNIGHT FOR TEENS
THE SECRET OF SPRUCE KNOLL
Help save the endangered species of Earth by buying THE SECRET OF SPRUCE KNOLL!
AMAZON KEEPS SELLING OUT!
Written by the author who could very well turn out to be the new William Faulkner, Elliot Grace
FABULOSITY GALORE bookstore
Visit an online bookstore and help a blogging friend!!
Posts
*
