Constantly Revamping

So, several stories have been maturing within the confines of my mind. At the moment I have a couple of different stories I’m working on but…

The one that keeps dragging me back in the Duchess of the Dark series. That name is on the chopping block but since that is what you know it by I’ll call it by that name.

It is very hard to create a good book these days. There are a wealth of quality books available through various media formats and so trying to attract an audience to a book is difficult. I’ve been working on networking avenues and by and large the best way to gain an audience is to be in direct communication with potential readers.

It’s difficult to do that when you just want to write. Sometimes, a book stands out so much that your readers find you. That is a rare thing indeed. For those who write a good book that has a fully developed plot and multi-dimensional characters the key to getting an agent is marketing and sticking your neck out on the chopping block over and over again.

To reward my readers I’ve inserted the first two pages of the rough draft of the book. It has the same characters but new flavors. 

Enjoy. (if you like it please share it out.)

Serran Wallace looked at the note scrawled in the hand of his commanding officer. He reread it then looked at the decrepit mansion in the distance. His C.O. had an interesting definition of saving grace. His flyer hovered above a forest that stretched out in all directions like a worn out blanket.  The everdark was pierced by glistening stars that seemed to laugh at Serran. As far as he could see, bone trees reflected the pale crescent moon. Serran really didn’t want to know what type of magic resided in such a bleak place.  The note was clear that this would answer the multitude of questions racing around in his brain. Serran let out a slow breath, inhaled and chanted the landing sequence for the flyer. The small craft shuddered as it sunk down to the snow covered ground. The air brakes hissed as the craft nestled into the frozen snow. Serran rubbed his forehead and pulled on a parka. The everdark greeted him with silence as he stepped out of the warmth and into the bitter northern tundra.

Serran snapped snow shoes into place and began the slow shuffle to the mansion. It was as big as the Magical Advocacy Agency headquarters. Serran studied the building most of the front was veiled by frozen vines and only one light shone on the top most level. He passed through gates that were frozen open. The house seemed to straighten itself out and Serran heard whispers as he trudged forward. One minute the air was still, the next wind roared at him and sliced his skin. The cold air seemed to choke him. Serran gritted his teeth and spat out an incantation. A pale blue shield rippled around him and the wind screamed as he walked through its onslaught. Only a few more yards and then he’d be at the large double doors.  Frozen topiaries watched as he stumbled up the front steps and pounded on the door.

The sound of his pounding echoed throughout the house. He was about to give up when he heard a shrill scream come from somewhere deep within the house. It chilled his bones and he wondered if the shriek came from a siren or a harpy. Something that wasn’t happy about being woken. Serran tightened the shields and held his breath. His thoughts were fuzzy along the edges and if he had to let loose more magic he was liable to drift off into the empty landscape. He needed to stay sharp. The Magical Advocacy Agency entrusted him to get what was needed from this place. He would get it. The world was dying and he had the answer in front of him. Serran gritted his teeth and raised his hand to test the house’s defenses.

The door creaked open and Serran was looking down at a petite dark haired woman. She wore a thick wool shirt and dark pants favored by the elite forces. She stood at parade rest, her hand casually resting on what looked to be a military grade firearm.

“Who are you and what do you want? The everdark isn’t kind to those who trespass.” On the woman’s right cheek was the brand of the lost country of Baramen. She glared at him between furtive glances over her shoulder.

“My name is Serran Wallace, I am an agent for the MAA. My C.O. sent me here to retrieve Intel from a Charise Rudahain. Are you she?” The woman shifted from one foot to the other. The sound of soft footsteps on the stairs echoed and then there was that eerie shriek followed by footsteps drifting off deeper into the house.

“You’re too late. Charise died four years ago.” The woman turned and began to shut the large door.

“Wait, that can’t be. My C.O. said she lived here. Did you know her? Do you know for certain that she is dead?” He felt a darkness creep towards him. It nipped at him and swirled at his feet like a feral cat would. A loud crash roared through the house and another shriek.

“I cannot help you.” The petite woman turned and pushed the door closed. Serran pushed a bit of magic in the door jam and slipped into the house. He shut the door behind him and followed the woman up the stairs. He had to get his answers. So many lives depended on it.


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