Liam and I live in what the real estate world calls a “transitional” neighborhood. I’m often asked for a definition of “transitional” and find it hard to put into words. Essentially, it means the area was once pretty rough but is currently going through a renaissance of sorts. It’s still hard to make this clear to people, especially if they’re determined to see the scary parts and forget to focus on the beautiful. One day last week, I got my definition.

Our neighbor, Earl lives in the front portion of a duplex. Though a really great guy, he often has the cops at his front door checking for illegal activity or just to tell him to turn his music down. In the back half of the house, a man just moved back in with his girl after a short stint in jail. My mother would weep if she knew. But Mike is also a great guy who made some bad choices—none of those choices are enough to frighten Liam or me. In fact, we often yell across the fence to say hello and check on everyone. In return, they watch out for us.

Others may see our neighbors as dubious or scary. What we see is a couple of people who sometimes need the benefit of the doubt instead of a smack on the hand. Earl takes care of our yard work and trims the trees when birds poop on our cars. Mike stops by on occasion to see if we’d like to try some of the chocolate-covered strawberries his girlfriend makes. For the record, they’re delicious. Still, it doesn’t stop us from teasing them every once in a while. For instance, there was the day Earl walked out on his front porch and found several hanging baskets of flowers had appeared overnight. Because he likes to tend his yard and plant shrubs, someone obviously thought these would be a nice gift, but we sometimes suggest they fell off a truck somewhere. I also threaten to call the cops myself when he plays Nickelback, whether it’s too loud or not.

And when we headed out to our car one afternoon, Liam took one look at these guys who’d been down on their luck, and sometimes still are, and saw them making the best of their situation. He couldn’t help but get one more jab in. As Mike headed to another neighbor’s house with a new box of chocolate-covered strawberries and Earl hung a flower basket from his front porch, Liam rolled down the window and yelled, “Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta!”

Life is always a bit nuts in the Barry House. I’ve been working as a content writer/project manager for a marketing firm here in Nashville in addition to preparing quite a few books for publishing. I know it’s been a long time since The Kingdom first appeared, and people may wonder if the second will ever arrive. I promise it will. It’s in the last round of edits right now, as is another teen paranormal novel that should be polished and ready to present in the next couple of weeks. In and around these things, I do other fun stuff, like running off to Kentucky to sing with the Corbin High School Jazz Band. One of my very good friends from college is now the director, and he asked me to join them to sing Gerswhin’s The Man I Love and Adele’s Skyfall.

Check out the Corbin High School Jazz Band. They’re really pretty amazing. The Gershwin and Skyfall are at 5:44 and 14:41 respectively. Enjoy!

via On Writing: Write What You Know? Maybe Not..

via On Writing: Music as Inspiration.

Yesterday, Melissa Fox and I hosted Margaret Taylor on Fight for Your Write, and she was so funny and charming that I asked her to appear here on the site today. Because she’s amazing, she agreed. Margaret did something a little different and let her main character do the talking. So, I’ll shut up and let these ladies speak.

***

So, I wasn’t sure what I would do today on Jen’s blog.

I was going to do a character interview, then I thought about doing the standard “How-Do-I” post, but frankly those have been overdone.  I also considered doing a “Let’s-Get-To-Know-The-Author”, but again, those are becoming the norm I think.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the fact that you’d want to get to know me.  I do.  No, really, I wouldn’t kid about something like that.  But the truth is, I’m actually quite boring.  Really, I am.

I’m just your average girl, in an unusual situation.  A really, unusual situation.

Let me explain.

My name is Kathy, Kathy Granite.  Yes, like the stone.

And about six years ago, I had this weird dream.  I mean, really weird.  You know the kind I’m talking about?  The ones that are so vivid, you’ll swear on a stack of bibles six feet high, until your dying day that you were there.  In that other place and not just in the dream.  Yeah, I see you nodding over there, so you know what I’m talking about!

Anyway, the only thing I can remember about it was a Wolf.  A gorgeous Wolf too.  He was pitch black with sparkling blue eyes and he stole my heart from the moment I saw him.

Now, when I woke up, I didn’t remember anything else.  I still can’t, to this day!  And I want to.  I do.  Actually, I need too, because it’ll help solve the current crisis I’m in.  But, I can’t.  And big Wolf over there isn’t telling me either.

Oh, did I forget to introduce the hot hunk of man flesh glowering behind me?  Sorry.

Ladies, that’s Ronon Wulfdrak.  He’s the Sheriff of Jensen, South Dakota and a pain in my As…— Sorry, I don’t mean to curse, I really don’t.  But he just drives me…

Never mind.

Ronon, say Hi.

*grunt*

*sighs* See what I mean? But, he’s really a decent sort.  No, truly, he is.  When he’s not growling, grunting or just being generally irritable, I’ve heard he can actually smile!  Not that I would know, mind you.

I smile quite frequently thank you.  When you’re not getting yourself shot, stabbed, or otherwise tortured by Demons!

Ignore him please.

Anyway, where was I?  Oh, yes, the dream.  Well, that night my life really began.  Because when I woke up, tall, dark, sexy and growling over there was sitting next to me on the bed.  In the flesh!  Human flesh even and not as the Wolf I’d met in my dream!

Talk about a shocker…

But, that night spun my world on its head and now, here I am, taking a moment from trying to save the world to make a guest appearance on Jen’s site.

So, that’s my story, sort of.  There’s a lot more to it, I promise you.  I’ve been working really hard – when we’re not running from Demons and all manner of things that goes bump in the night – to get it down on paper.  However, when most of the Underworld is trying to kill you, it’s kind of hard to take time and write it all out, ya know?

And, since I’ve got to run, I’ll add in just a bit more of it below.  Just to give you some sort of idea what I’m up against…

***

{Pasted from my personal files…}

Chapter One

“It’s my turn!”

“No, it’s mine!”

“Now, wait just a minute.  You both said I could have her today…”

My fingers stopped on the keys and I spun my chair around glaring death rays at the three men standing behind me.  “Enough!?!”  I sighed and dropped my chin to my chest.  “I mean seriously, didn’t we work this out yesterday?”

They actually had the nerve to look shocked.

The first to respond was Tonthor.  The tall Elf blinked his shockingly light-green eyes at me and sniffed haughtily, fisting his long-fingered hands on his hips.  “Now, see here.  There is no need to be snippy.  We were just discussing…”

I held up a finger.  “No, you were arguing.”  I looked at the other two, lifting an eyebrow.  “Weren’t you?”

Cale, the half-dragon I’d met the day before blew smoke out of his nostrils.

Unfazed, I waved to dissipate the cloud.  “Weren’t you?” I said again.

Niro, one of my more frequent visitors, tried to sound appeasing.  He gave me a dashing smile, pointed teeth glittering in the morning light streaming through my floor to ceiling windows.  “Now, now Kathy, we didn’t mean anything by it.  We, just…”

I crossed my arms.  “You were just about to come to blows over who would get to talk first!  Now, I told you all how this works, didn’t I?”

“You did,” They chorused.

I tapped my foot against the faded carpet under my chair.  “Good.  And, what are the rules again?”

They spoke in unison.  “Never interrupt, never badger and never, under any circumstances, raise your voice to gain attention.”

I smiled.  “Excellent!  Now, can I get back to work please?”

Again, the three excessively handsome men spoke in one voice.  “Yes.  We’re sorry.”

“Thank you.  Apology accepted.”  I felt the need though to soothe their egos a bit.  “Niro, why don’t you take Cale into the kitchen?  I think there might be some Venison left in the fridge.”

At the mention of food, Cale licked his lips and his onyx eyes twinkled.  There, that should help distract him from the fact I was going to work with Tonthor for a while…

Once they were gone, I smiled up at the Elf then spun back to my keyboard.  “Do you remember where we were?” I asked, pulling up the word document I needed.

His hot breath fanned across my cheek as he leaned over my shoulder.  “I think I was about to fight the Lord High-Elf for control of the Western Provence…” he said helpfully.

I snapped.  “Yes, yes, thank you.”  I curled my fingers over the keys and picked up where I’d left off.

Tonthar raised his sword, was as far as I got before he interrupted.

“You misspelled my name,” he said softly.

I ground my teeth together.  “The proofreader will catch it.”  He sniffed in my ear and I paused to glare at him again.  “Rule one.”

He shrank back a bit, grimacing.  “Sorry, sorry, please do continue.”

I backspaced, just to shut him up and retyped his name. 

Tonthor raised his sword and bent his head, ready to block the incoming…

“I would never open myself like that.”

I slammed my hands on the desk, rattling books, pencils, papers and various other things I kept handy when writing.  “That’s it, out!?!?”

He straightened and crossed his arms.  “What?  I’m just trying to help, Kathy.”

I pointed toward the kitchen, where I could hear the rather noisy sounds of Cale devouring what was left of the deer I’d bought a couple of days ago.  “Out?!?”

Tonthor sniffed that haughty, Elf like sniff again and arched a perfect eyebrow at me.  “Fine,” he bit out.  “But don’t blame me when the reviews come in and they stink.”  He spun and with a rattle of chain-mail, headed off to join the other two.

Sometimes, it really sucks to be me!

I turned back to my computer, backspaced and tried it again.

Tonthor raised his sword, brow furrowed in determination…

I kept going, typing as fast as my fingers would go.  Despite the interruptions of the last ten minutes or so, I was at a crucial moment in the book and wanted to get down what Tonthor and I had discussed the night before over coffee.

You have to understand, I have a defined love/hate relationship with my current life.  I’m a writer, I’ve always been a writer.  Practically from the first time I picked up a crayon, I’ve been telling stories.  I’ve spent many years honing my craft but what I didn’t know until I was in my late 20’s was that I’m a very special writer.

Ok, hold on, I’m getting ahead of myself a bit here.  Let me just finish this off…

With one swing, he landed the death blow, forever ending the tyrannical reign of the Lord High-Elf Allu Carne Lenovo.

Alright, there.  Now I can take a minute and catch you up on how this all got started.  As I said before, I’ve always been fascinated with the written word.  Early in life, I was making up fantastical things and telling them to my friends, my family, and anyone that would listen really.

What I never said though was I could see the places I was talking about, in my head at least.  And very vividly.  From my earliest memories, I was dreaming them too.  Every night when I went to sleep, I would travel to the places I’d told people about and sometimes even take part in what was going on.

So, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise when, just after my 29^th birthday, I woke one night – after a particularly vivid dream – to find the man I’d seen just moments before, sitting beside me on the bed.  At first, I thought I might still be dreaming, but then he spoke and that’s when my life got really crazy.

I’ve never known, or been able to figure out, what triggered this effect, but ever since when I start a book or see a character in my head, within a day or two, he or she is usually physically standing in my living room.  I can’t explain it and I don’t know how they do it, I really don’t.  But, there they are, as real as anything else in this world.

They eat, they sleep, they watch my TV – please, don’t try and explain feminine products to a Callithan Warrior, it won’t end well! – They complain, they demand and until I get their story on paper, they just won’t leave me alone.

I tried at first, to ignore them.  I really did.  I swear.  But, I quit that little experiment when a Malkian’s Rothound ate through my carpet and the hardwood floors underneath out of sheer boredom.  I’m sure you can imagine what lie I had to tell my landlord over that one, can’t you?

Sorry, I’m digressing here.

Anyway, my life is strange in the best of times and horribly inconvenient in the worst.

I noticed things had gone quiet in the kitchen.  Saving my work to the Cloud Server, I stretched out of my chair and went to see what my three latest visitors had gotten into.

An Elf, a Half-Dragon and a Quillen Smuggler being silent is never a good thing!  Trust me on this.  I’ve learned from experience.  Any one of them alone isn’t so bad, but you get all three together, in a strange world full of new things to kill, eat, destroy, steal, whatever and the likelihood for mischief ensuing is very high.

And I wasn’t wrong.

My kitchen was empty.  The backdoor stood open and I sighed.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I headed back into my living room, scooped up my keys, a wad of cash – I was probably going to need it – and my cellphone.  Locking up the house, I headed out to my street and turned right.

Niro loved his drink, he’s quite fond of Corona for some reason, so I headed for Ketchen’s Pub and Grill on the corner.  Knowing Half-Dragon’s as I do, I figured if Niro was thirsty and Cale was still hungry, the place would satisfy both their needs.  Tonthor probably just tagged along for the ride, or the fun of it.

Again, I wasn’t wrong.

I pulled open the door bare seconds before one of my neighbors came flying out of it.  I sidestepped calmly then entered to find all three standing back to back in the middle of the room.  Surrounding them were six of the men that frequented the place.  Joe, the owner/head cook/, well, he did it all, stood behind the bar, calmly wiping down a beer mug, seemingly unconcerned with the knock-down-drag-out-brawl about to consume his establishment.

Thankful I’d brought the cash along, I strode up to the long wooden monstrosity over which I’d consumed many an alcoholic beverage over the years and slipped up on a stool.  Tapping the oak, I asked the most logical question.  “So, who started it?”

Joe, an older man who threatened to sell and retire to Florida every chance he got, pulled a draft and slid it toward me.  “Oh, don’t worry.  Your boys are innocent for once.”

I sipped from the mug and smiled at him over the rim.  “That’s good to know.  The usual rate then?”

Joe laughed, surveyed the damage already done and I knew he was calculating what was to come in his head by the shrewd narrowing of his grey eyes.  “Yeah, that should cover it.”

I dug the wad out of my back pocket, counted out a grand, laid it on the bar then turned to watch the mayhem.

Cale, with his dark hair, darker eyes and classically angular face looked ready to kill.  He was new to my world and I had no idea if he would or not, so I kept careful watch on him more than the other two.

Tonthor and Niro had been visiting me for years, on and off, so I knew they’d never actually kill a human – we’d discussed this – so I wasn’t overly concerned about them.  They were both aware of my world’s laws and what could possibly happen if they did.  Oh, they’d give the rednecks around them a good ass-whoopin’, of that I had no doubt, but they’d never do permanent damage.

Cale, well, he was still an enigma.

I briefly worried he might shift into a dragon or something, but according to him he couldn’t, he was only Half after all, so I tabled that concern for another time.

Right now, I was just going to enjoy the show…and make some notes while I was at it.  One thing I’ve always prided myself on in my writing was the level of reality I’m able put into it.  Of course, having one or more of the main characters sitting next to me helps a great deal.  There’s nothing better than the first-hand account of a story, let me tell ya!  But, sometimes they aren’t as forthcoming as I might like.

It happens more often than not with the men if you must know.  Getting them to open up about their emotions is always difficult, at first anyway.  Once they trust I’m going to do them justice, or they visit me again and find their first story has done well in my world, they tend to be a little more talkative.  But, in the beginning, it’s like pulling teeth from a Florida Gator…a really big one!

So, I was going to use this time to watch, Cale especially, and get a handle on him.  I hoped…

Before things could get started this time, the door opened again.  I couldn’t tell who it was at first, with the sun streaming in from behind, but he was definitely male and wore a very big hat.  After a moment, I recognized the shape of his body and grumbled out a curse.

The Sheriff.  Well, crap!

He strode in and from his glower, I knew this was not going to be pretty.  At all.

Not for the first time this morning, I wasn’t wrong.

He walked across the room and right up to me, ignoring the other ten men in the room.  “Figured you’d be here.”

Sheriff Ronon Wulfdrak was the most handsome man I’ve ever met.  His blue eyes sparkled all the time, whether he’s happy, sad, angry or aroused.  His square jaw, high cheeks and rugged brow never flinched, unless he was dealing with me, of course.  His wide shoulders, thick, corded arms and barrel chest filled out the uniform oh so nicely and I had to cross my legs to stop the tingle his proximity always caused.

He was also the bastard that had started the mess that was my life, the one I’d looked up at that night six years ago.  I stared now into his narrowed and yes, glittering blue eyes and lifted the mug in salute, hoping the vibration his deep baritone had sent through my chest didn’t show.  “Sheriff.  There a problem?”

His eye twitched and I knew this wasn’t good.  “You bet your happy ass there’s a problem!” he growled.

Now, when I say growled, I mean that quite literally.  You see, Ronon is a wolf.  Not a werewolf, but an honest to Gods wolf.  Or, he was in his world, before I so rudely pulled him into mine and made him human.  His words, not mine, please understand that.  But, more on him later.  For now, I set the glass on the bar again and gave him my full attention.  Which wasn’t hard, at all, he’d had it since that night six years ago.  “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

He growled, again, and his lips pinched into a hard line.  “You can come down to the jail and collect your,” he paused and huffed out a derisive snort.  “Latest victim.”

Oh good grief.  More?  Ok, something was wrong.  I usually only had one, maybe two friends, as I’d come to think of them over the years, around at any given time.  Three was a stretch for sure, but four?  I slid off the stool and waved my hands at the boys.  “Come on, back to the house…”

Everyone, including the rednecks, groaned – I think Tonthor may have even whined a bit – but they complied.  At least mine did and a few minutes later, I handed my keys to Niro, shooing them down the street.

Ronon stood next to me on the sidewalk, tapping an impatient foot while I watched to make sure the trio followed my orders.  I let him wait.  Mainly because I enjoy getting him riled up, greatly enjoy it if you must know.  Ok, getting ahead of things again.  I am sorry about that, but where the big Wolf is concerned I just can’t help myself.

Only after I heard my front door slam did I turn and give Ronon my best smile.  “After you, Sheriff.”

He huffed out another of those derisive snorts and grabbed my upper arm to guide me to the cruiser he’d parked by the curb.  He opened the door on the passenger side and none too gently shoved me toward it.

I folded in and he slammed the door, almost catching my foot.  Like I said, he’s not happy with me, hasn’t been for a long time.  I know this and deftly pulled my poor appendage out of the way before he could get it.  After we’d gotten underway, I baited him for probably the hundredth time since we’d met.  “You know…if you’d just talk to me, you could probably go back.”

***

Hi everyone.  My name is Margaret Taylor and I’m really the Author.  Kathy up there is my Heroine from my upcoming release, Wolf’s Paradox.  It’s coming in June 2013 and will be available on Amazon, B&N and all the other wonderful places there is to buy eBooks.

I thank you for joining me.  Also, thank you J & M, the wonderful ladies of Fight For Your Write, for having me yesterday. Please, show them some love!  And I truly hope you enjoyed meeting Kathy.  It was fun to let her take center stage for this…so I appreciate your patience.

About the Author

Margaret Taylor’s debut release Wolf’s Paradox is coming in June 2013.  She also has Prophecy of Love with Lyrical Press (Coming in Feb, 2014). She has many current projects in the works and if you ask nicely, she might be persuaded to post some tasty excerpts! *Bring Cookies as payment please!*

Follow Margaret…Everywhere

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So, Liam won the battle and moved the bed. I didn’t get in his way. Sounded too much like work to me. For any doubters, he claims he’s much happier with the situation and now can’t wait to get rid of the old box fan that lulls me to sleep every night. I’m keeping that one. Marriage is about compromise. And everyone knows compromise means the woman picks her battles and lets the man win the rest.

As a music blogger, I often get samples for review. Sometimes, the music I receive doesn’t fit the blog for which I write, and I have to sadly forego the review. In almost every case, I enjoy the music on my own time and wish I could find another outlet to let people know about the beauty I’ve absorbed. The latest album from Lunasa is one such album, but I enjoyed it so much, I had to share somewhere.

As most of you know, my husband is Irish. (Nooooo, really?) St. Patrick’s Day is something like Christmas around my house. We usually pick a city and take a roadtrip to enjoy the Irish culture in faraway places that aren’t as far away as Ireland. In the past, we’ve enjoyed New York City, Boston, Chicago, Denver, and Louisville. The Highlands of Louisville turned out to be so fun, we went back again this year. And we took Lunasa with us.

What can I say about this inspired CD? We were in the mood for traditional Irish, though Liam probably expected a rousing drinking song. What we got was far better. Opening with the lilting Casu, Lunasa captured us immediately. The harp, fiddle, uilleann pipes wove a mystical setting, and we all shut our mouths to listen. The song received the highest of praise from Liam, which was “feels like home.”

We loved the next song, Leckan Mor, just as much but for different reasons. The reel is playful, featuring the Irish flute (or penny whistle), but not at all grating. It perked us right up before slipping into another dance tune named, appropriately, Spoil the Dance.

I’ll admit we talked over the album as it played, but that was okay. When it reached the end, we let it repeat. And then again. The haunting An Buachaillin Ban stopped our conversation (and my heart) more than once, calling to mind ancient Irish hills, chilling mist, and ghosts of legend. Morning Nightcap inspired the dance and chatter again, as well as the lively Breton Set and The Minor Bee. The final song, The Merry Sisters of Fate, was so lush and full, we all had to stop and just listen again.

We had every intention of rocking U2, The Cranberries, Van Morrison, and even some Dropkick Murphys. And we did get plenty of raucous Irish fun in. But the best part—the part where we all felt truly connected to Liam’s homeland—was when we played Lunasa with the RTE Orchestra.

If you love Irish music, this is a must. In fact, check out some of their other albums from past years. I intend to listen over and over while writing book three from The Kingdom series, because the images these songs evoke are powerful. You won’t regret giving it a listen.

via On Editing: You May Be Doing It Wrong.

As it often happens, I made a new friend by Twitter recently. Jack Croxall took a chance on an unknown kid and gave me a follow. After some “hello, how are you?” I couldn’t resist inviting him here so you could all meet him. He’s graciously answered the “usual questions,” including the ones I originally designed for ladies. What a trooper! So, read on. You’ll be charmed.

As my husband always says, “What’s your book about?”

Tethers tells the story of Victorian teenagers Karl Scheffer and Esther Emerson as they stumble upon a journal full of strange passages and bizarre scribblings. Karl and Esther are frustrated by their quiet lives and unfulfilled ambitions, so they find the allure of the mysterious journal impossible to resist, especially considering the final entry cites them both by name …

Do you remember the first thing you ever wrote?  Can you tell us about it?

Yes, I used to make dinosaur magazines! I’d draw the pictures myself and write a short sentence or two about each monster. My favourites were the ones that lived in the sea – for a while there I really was obsessed!

Do you prefer plaid or stripes?

I wear a lot of stripy shirts, but I do like the look of plaid (or tartan as we call it over here!)

Was choosing to publish independently something you always wanted, or an option you hadn’t considered before?

Well, I quickly got frustrated by how slow traditional publishing was; agents and publishers would request scripts but then you don’t hear back for months at a time! Perhaps the biggest lure of self-publishing when I started to consider it was the retention of total control; you can write exactly what you want (there is a tendency for publishers to dislike fiction that doesn’t fall neatly into an exact genre), and you can release and market your work precisely how you feel is best. The biggest disadvantage by far is the lack of reach. Traditional publishers often have huge marketing departments – I could do with one of those at my disposal!

Are you working on anything new at the moment?

I’m working on the second Tethers book – it’s coming along well!

Do you have any rituals before writing?  Music or silence?  Coffee or tea?  Twizzlers or M&Ms?

For Tethers I had a playlist I liked to listen to beforehand. You can check it out here: http://bit.ly/Zr6l9U

Have you ever based a character on someone you know?

Yes, but I’m not telling you who!

What color is your umbrella?

I don’t have one actually. I should definitely rectify that inadequacy soon, though!

Who is your favorite author and why?

I have always greatly admired Philip Pullman. I first read His Dark Materials when I was a teenager and the story had a huge influence on my life and almost certainly on my work too. Pullman has also written a series of books following the heroine Sally Lockhart as she solves mysteries in Victorian London. I very much enjoyed those books but, with Victorian London being so widely written about, I thought it would be better to set Tethers in a different part of the country (Nottinghamshire and Lincolnshire).

What was the last book you read?

I just finished a wonderful ARC copy of Runners by Sharon Sant. It’s a dystopian story about a gang of English teenagers who discover something they really weren’t supposed to.

Do you write about locations you’ve visited, or do you rely on research?  Or do you make up entire settings in your head?

A bit of both really, Tethers is set roughly where I grew up so I know the lay of the land, but of course, things were a lot different in Victorian times. I spent hours upon hours researching Victorian life, and I must say it was fascinating, not a chore in the slightest! My favourite aspect was perhaps life on the waterways – a style of living that is non-existent in today’s society. Whole families would live in the single cramped cabin of a narrowboat as they transported supplies up and down the waterways. The life was incredibly tough, and children would work full days as soon as they could walk.

After the last word is written, then what?  Do you have pre-readers and editors who take over?  Do you begin query letters immediately?

Oh no, I need to read it again several times, then beta readers/editors – the last word is by no means the last step!

What song would be on the soundtrack for your book?

That’s tough. Maybe something by David Gray?

Where can people find your book?

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/12ozq7Q

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/WRf4vI

Can we read a little excerpt?

Of course! Below is the Prologue and some of Chapter One, I do hope you enjoy it!

Prologue: Locus Two

MARRIOTT SET HIS oil lamp down on top of the table beside him. ‘Who goes there?’ he said, reaching for the pistol tucked into the back of his belt.

The room’s iron door swung open and at once a bright light flooded into the gloom from behind it.

Marriott squinted. ‘Who goes there?’ he said again, louder this time.

‘Calm down, Marriott,’ answered a strident and familiar voice, ‘it’s only me, lad. I’m coming in now …’

As his eyes began to adjust, Marriott saw it was indeed the grey-haired Mr Lawford stepping in through the open door, and that he was holding a large lantern at arm’s length in front of him. Unexpectedly, Mr Lawford was followed into the room by a second man Marriott didn’t recognise. The second man wore a long winter cloak which licked across the floor as he walked, the glaring lantern in his hand throwing a lank shadow in his wake.

Marriott shuddered as he realised the second man was staring straight at him.

‘That won’t work in here, boy,’ the stranger snarled, apparently disgusted.

Marriott had forgotten to withdraw his pistol, he slipped it away immediately.

‘Ah, sorry, my fault,’ said Mr Lawford, walking over the soot-stained floor and towards Marriott’s table, ‘should have told you about that already, lad. This building isn’t like the others you see, it’s a tad – how should I put it – funny.’ His grey moustache parted as he smiled.

Marriott said nothing; he knew better than to ask his employer to explain himself.

‘Anyway,’ said Mr Lawford, ‘were there any problems whilst I was gone?’ He placed his lantern on top of the table as he spoke.

‘No, sir,’ Marriott reported. ‘All quiet since you left, sir.’

‘Excellent, good work, Marriott,’ said Mr Lawford routinely. ‘Now where on earth did I put that …’ He began fumbling around his jacket pockets for something.

Marriott took the opportunity to look back at the stranger. He was still standing near the open door, but now his lean and clean-shaven face was staring distantly into the darkness concealing the far end of the room, his right hand gently massaging the hilt of the sheathed sword protruding menacingly from within his cloak.

‘Right then, lad,’ said Mr Lawford, raising a handkerchief to his brow. ‘Be a good chap and hang my lantern up over there, would you?’ He pointed to a lantern fastening above a large coal scuttle not far from the table.

‘Yes, sir,’ answered Marriott, picking up the lantern.

‘Oh, and Marriott,’ said Mr Lawford, before Marriott could walk away with it, ‘this gentleman is Mr Dufor. You won’t have met him yet, will you? Mr Dufor is our principal investor – very important you know who Mr Dufor is, lad.’

Marriott turned politely to face Mr Dufor. ‘Sir,’ he said, nodding respectfully.

Mr Dufor ran an uncomfortably long and calculating gaze over him but said nothing.

Determined not to show any unease, Marriott turned calmly before walking over to the coal scuttle and attaching Mr Lawford’s lantern to the rusty fastening above it.

Once it was properly mounted and casting its light across the ceiling, Marriott could finally see the entirety of the room he had been dutifully guarding since nightfall. He instantly realised two things. Firstly, the room was huge. It was much larger than he had previously thought, and was perhaps even larger than the stone storehouse above ground he had been tasked with guarding the night before. And secondly, what he had supposed in the darkness to be the room’s central supporting pillar was, in fact, not a pillar at all. It instead appeared to be some kind of mechanical bronze column.

The column’s reflective surface was segmented into elongated panels, with the topmost row connected by thick black cables to several metallic struts arranged in formation throughout the room. Marriott couldn’t tell what the struts were in turn connected to because the lower portion of his view was obscured by stacks of splintered crates and by piles of seared metallic equipment.

Wide-eyed, Marriott turned back to look at Mr Lawford and Mr Dufor. Mr Lawford had taken the second lantern from Mr Dufor, and was now guiding him along a crate-lined passageway leading towards the reflective column. Marriott strained hard to listen in on their conversation.

‘… can see we’ve managed to repair the damage caused by the last test,’ said Mr Lawford assuringly. ‘All that’s left to do now is to remove the crates and redundant equipment and we’ll be ready for the next phase. I’m pleased to report that the situation is the same at Locus One as well as at Locus Three.’

‘And you’re certain you’ve corrected the malfunction?’ asked Mr Dufor.

‘Oh yes, Julian is quite sure his modifications will prevent –’

‘And what of the girl?’

‘Ah, yes … our young Scot,’ replied Mr Lawford solemnly. ‘She did briefly regain consciousness this morning, but she wouldn’t stop spouting the same hysterical nonsense so in the end we had to sedate –’

‘What exactly did she say?’ asked Mr Dufor.

‘Oh, nothing really, it was just a result of the head trauma I should –’

‘What did she say?’

‘Really, I’m quite sure it was just a delusional –’

Mr Dufor raised his voice. ‘When I ask you a question Mr Lawford, I expect an immediate and appropriate response.’ His aggravated words carried the faintest tinge of a French accent.

‘Of course,’ replied Mr Lawford at once, ‘my apologies.’

‘Now tell me,’ said Mr Dufor, relaxing his tone, ‘what did the girl say?’

‘It’s preposterous of course,’ said Mr Lawford nervously, ‘but the silly girl was quite adamant that tonight you’re going to –’ He paused momentarily. ‘– that tonight you’re going to murder her.’

They disappeared behind a particularly high stack of crates and Marriott could hear no more.

Chapter One: Karl and Esther

‘AND STAY AWAY from Mr Stratham’s house!’ yelled Karl’s mother down the stairs.

Karl pulled a flat cap over his messy brown hair and slipped eagerly out of the front door. He had spent much of the day wandering about the town with nowhere in particular to go, but now, as the afternoon drew to a close, his mother’s stark words had finally enthused him. Gaining pace, he passed through his front gate and began recalling the moments just before he’d been caught trespassing in Mr Stratham’s back garden a fortnight ago.

Seconds ahead of being spotted from a third floor window, he remembered stealing a brief but clear view into one of the rooms on Mr Stratham’s ground floor. Everything had seemed normal at first; papers strewn lazily about the top of old tables, gnarled furniture facing a well-used fireplace. Normal at least, until he had spied a single peculiar object. Atop a bulky drinking cabinet and beside a near-emptied crystal decanter, a small and ornately engraved silver box had sat staring proudly at him as it basked in the morning sunlight. With one of its sides covered in a mosaic of intricate components, the box, as Karl was now assuring himself, had no business in sitting atop a fusty old man’s drinking cabinet and definitely deserved further investigation.

‘Karl! Oy, Rum-eyes!’

Karl was torn away from his thoughts.

‘What are you up to?’ shouted the voice.

He span around. A short, thinly framed girl wearing a plain dress was bounding up the street towards him, her scorched-black hair bouncing freely beside her rosy-cheeked face as she ran.

‘I’m not up to anything, Esther,’ Karl yelled back at her. ‘And don’t call me Rum-eyes.’ He turned abruptly and carried on walking.

He hated the name Rum-eyes. It was a nickname he had unwillingly acquired at school because he had one blue eye and one green.

‘Wherever you’re going,’ said Esther, catching up and slowing to keep pace by his side, ‘I’m coming with you – I’m bored you see.’

Karl sighed; he knew if they got into an argument he would inevitably lose it. ‘Well, alright,’ he relented, ‘but I’m going to Mr Stratham’s house – nowhere else.’

A wide grin spread across Esther’s face. ‘Me mam told me you got caught sneaking about at Mr Stratham’s a couple of weeks ago.’

‘How did she know about that?’

‘She runs the pub, stupid,’ teased Esther, ‘she hears about everything that happens in Shraye. Ey, that reminds me, did you hear about the man who’s moved into the Judds’ old cottage, Mr Cauldwell?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘He knows Mr Stratham, Mam says he’s a polymath – did important work for the government when he lived down south in London. Do you know what a polymath is?’

‘Er – not really,’ said Karl, struggling to follow.

‘It’s some sort of expert in lots of difficult things, or is it just one thing? I can’t really remember. Anyway, I –’

Failing to keep up with Esther’s cheerful ramblings, Karl peered towards the market square at the end of the road they were walking along: the crooked silver birch framing the vacant stall spaces still wasn’t in bud, but the daffodils around its trunk were finally in full bloom.

Smiling, Karl looked away from the square and eyed the cobbled street coming up on his left-hand side: the road there was still catching the last of the delicate afternoon sunlight.

‘Let’s go this way,’ he said, interrupting Esther, who had somehow arrived at the topic of Lincolnshire’s toad population, ‘it’ll be warmer I bet.’

Esther nodded and then, after a brief moment, began questioning him again. ‘So what are we going to Mr Stratham’s for, then?’

‘I’m not sure, really,’ answered Karl. ‘When I was there before, I saw summat strange in one of his rooms. I dunno, I just want see if it’s still there.’

‘What did you see?’

‘It was – it’s hard to explain,’ said Karl, a precise description of the box eluding him. ‘I guess I’ll just have to show it to you when we get there.’

Esther drew a sharp and excited breath as if she intended to press him further, but seemingly thought better of it and restrained herself. ‘Fair enough,’ she uttered, as they both turned onto the sunlit road.

Karl kicked a pebble across the smooth cobbles as they ambled past a sack-filled cart there. ‘Was it Mr Stratham himself that told your mam about my trespassing?’ he asked, watching the pebble fall short of the gutter he’d been aiming for.

‘Probably,’ answered Esther, ‘I’ve seen him in the pub a fair bit lately.’

Karl found himself wondering if living above a rowdy pub was the reason Esther had learned to be such a skilled arguer; the trait of hers he secretly admired and envied the most. ‘Do you get to stay in the pub, then?’ he asked. ‘You know, in the evenings?’

Esther casually flicked a stray lock of hair away from her bright green eyes. ‘Course,’ she answered. ‘Although Mam usually sends me upstairs if it starts to get too late – she can be a bit of a pain really.’

Karl laughed. ‘Maybe she’ll let you stop up when you’re a bit older.’

‘Oy!’ snapped Esther, evidently taking offence. ‘I’m only a couple of months younger than you remember.’

Karl grimaced at his mistake; unlike Esther he was tall for his age and so he sometimes forgot that she was thirteen, just as he was.

‘Sorry,’ said Karl, attempting to defuse the situation. ‘I think my memory must be starting to go.’ He smiled apologetically.

Esther flashed a smile back at him. ‘Nah, it’s nowt new,’ she said jokingly, ‘you’ve always had a memory like a sieve.’

They both laughed and walked on, soon trading the small and tightly-packed buildings near the square for the larger and more lonesome ones towards the outskirts of town.

About Tethers by Jack Croxall

In the wake of a cold Victorian winter, Karl Scheffer and Esther Emerson discover an anonymous journal filled with strange passages and bizarre scribblings.

The journal soon draws them into a covert and sinister conspiracy, a conspiracy centred around an otherworldly artefact with the power to change everything …

Karl and Esther have spent almost every day of their thirteen years in the quiet market town of Shraye. Stifled by their rural surroundings and frustrated by their unfulfilled ambitions, they find the allure of the journal’s mysterious pages impossible to ignore. The book seems to be beckoning them away from Shraye, away from their homes and towards the coast where an unsolved disappearance has set in motion a dark chain of events.

The voyage the teenagers soon find themselves undertaking is one of desperate importance and true peril; it will change the way they see the world, and each other, forever.

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