May 20, 2016

Teasers, Excerpt & Giveaway! Chimera by Stephie Walls


I couldn’t be anything other than a romantic at heart — it’s my nature, it’s who I am. But this isn’t a typical story of traditional love. It isn’t a fairy tale. No happily ever after neatly tied up with a shiny bow. It’s a memoir of the reality left behind in the wake of grief — the desolation, the resurrection, and final culmination life offers to the fallen. 

This is a journey through love…the love of self, love of a friend, and sometimes love is ugly, messy —destructive.

My name is Bastian Thames…and this is my story.





For Magoo…

chimera [ki-meer-uh] (n) – a thing that is hoped or wished for but in fact is illusory or impossible to achieve

Chapter One

When Sylvie died, it left a hole in my being that seemed prodigious. I adorn my face with the plastic appearance people anticipate from me, but internally, I weep. Continuing through the monotonous motion of my daily life, I increasingly find myself lost in what my friends—well, those who remain—refer to as a fictional world: novels, authors, artists, musicians, and the illusion of relationships on social media. The more time I spend on Facebook, the more entrenched I become in the fiction that exists on the screen. I believe these “friends” are truly concerned for me; they’re what relationships are in reality. Sadly, these seem to be the only things keeping me hanging on, but the thread threatens to break daily, frayed from top to bottom. The tightly woven fabric that was once my life has deteriorated beyond recognition.

That’s the crux of my juxtaposition. My life had value, it had meaning. It was everything I had ever imagined it could be. But without Sylvie, black clouds roll through my mind, hindering my ability to think, eliminating productivity, and stifling my creativity. My art is as dead as I am. But online…online I can be anything I want to be, whatever version of myself I decide to show to the world. I don’t have to be the pathetic artist who lost his muse. I don’t have to be the sweet, sensitive man Sylvie loved. I don’t know whom I want to reinvent myself as, but the idea of being whatever still exists in my soul doesn’t appeal to me. My craft has become recreating my persona, anything to escape the pain, the desolation, and the solitude. Surely there’s art in recreating an identity. 

Most days, I find it difficult to even get out of bed. The colder it gets outside, the shorter the days are, the deeper I sink—sometimes only escaping the protection of my covers to take a piss or get something to eat or drink. Although frequently, I let those things go in favor of marinating in my misery. My laptop calls to me from my nightstand when the loneliness becomes too much to bear, the darkness too black to see through.

That recognizable blue-and-white screen brings me comfort, the newsfeed seemingly a link to real conversation, touching base with the people I’ve known for years—but it always introduces the possibility of newcomers. The “friend recommendation” is the online equivalent to a friend introducing you to someone new; at least it is in my mind. I always check out the recommendations. They’re often other painters or singers that might have known Sylvie—or people I barely recognize from high school or college. But every once in a while, some totally random person surfaces with no tie to my past. 

Those are the connections I find most interesting, most appealing. 

They also seem to be the safest, having no knowledge of the person I once was, or how all that remains of me is a fragmented shell. I have made several “friends” this way, people I would say I’m close to—even though we’ve never met and likely never will. Herein lies my fictional world, the one my real friends don’t understand and believe to be emotionally damaging to me. I’m not processing my grief…blah, blah, blah. If I hear that shit one more time, I may scream.

As soon as I log in, the familiar recommendations bombard me as if the universe is playing some cruel joke. There she is, my Sylvie…only her name is Sera Martin. She’s a perfect duplicate with the same striking green eyes, long chestnut-colored hair, high cheekbones, and luscious, pouty lips. 

I realize I haven’t inhaled or exhaled. 

I gasp and hold my breath until my lungs burn. I haven’t seen her in years. The day she died, I came home and stripped our house of any reminder—every picture, every video, every stitch of clothing, anything she loved. It all had to leave. I couldn’t bear the weight of what the world took from me. I imagined if I discarded everything, she wouldn’t haunt me, and maybe, somehow, I would manage to learn to live again if reminders of her didn’t surround me.

Yet, her loss possesses me daily.

This girl. This Sera. Could this be Mother Nature returning my Sylvie to me in a strange twist of fate? The notion there’s a doppelganger roaming the world has always been a thought I believe in. It’s possible after years of suffering, dying inside, barely hanging on, that my savior has come. Without hesitation, I click “add friend.” 

Sera responds to my request with a private message.

Sera: Wow! Are you really Bastian Thames?

Me: Yes. Have we met before?

Sera: Once, but I doubt you’d remember. It was at a gallery down on the West End where your work was being featured a couple years ago. Is this the real Bastian? Not some lurker claiming to be the famous artist?

Me: Far cry from famous, but yes, one and the same. Are you certain we met that night? I remember the opening and can assure you I would have remembered you. 

Sera: Yes, you were with your wife. She’s quite lovely. I’m not sure which was more beautiful, her or the nudes you had in the collection. That showing was the talk of the art community for months around here.

Me: That was the last opening I did. Seems like a lifetime ago.

Sera: Are you not painting anymore? I hate to admit that I lost track of your work when I went off to college but for years, I was a huge fan.

Me: Life happened. I haven’t painted in some time.

Sera: I can’t imagine you quit painting. Surely you just quit putting them out for the public.

Me: No. I haven’t so much as held a brush in five years. 

Sera: That’s a shame. Hey look, Bastian, I have to run out but I accepted your request. I hope maybe we can talk some later. Maybe you’ll let me pick your brain about a project I’m working on?

Me: Certainly. I hope to hear from you soon.

Sera: Bye

Me: Later

My mind races with possibilities. I immediately go to her profile to see what information I can garner on her before our next conversation—assuming one comes. Jesus, she’s twenty-five, went to the Rhode Island School of Design, graduated with her Masters in Fine Arts, and holy hell, she’s a sculptor. If these pictures are of her work, then she has phenomenal talent. Scouring her profile provides only surface-level information. There’s almost nothing personal. The pictures all seem to be with other artists or at galleries or in a studio. Moving to her wall, I find tons of posts by other local artists, memes about artwork, jokes…the proverbial Facebook bullshit. 

I almost quit scrolling when I see a post that grabs my attention. There’s a picture of two beautiful women, scantily clad, one bent over, the other yielding a paddle, and the words, “Someone’s been a bad girl.” Jesus Christ. There are one hundred forty-seven comments and two hundred fifty-three likes on the thread posted by a Maria Martin. 

I click on Maria’s name first, assuming it will be a sister or cousin, not expecting it to be her mother. Holy shit, whose mother posts this kind of profanity on their daughter’s Facebook wall? Making my way back to the thread, I find myself enthralled by the dialogue. 

It’s cheeky and playful but talk about insight. This one picture, one conversation, tells me scads about who she is personally, not about her work, but seemingly what she enjoys—intimately. Reading her responses to the comments ignites a fire in an area of my anatomy I thought had died with Sylvie. As my cock starts to twitch, that old, familiar heat seeps through my crotch. 

I stop myself, realizing I’m staring at dialogue—about a woman who could be my dead wife’s twin—between people I don’t know. It’s morbid, really. Backing out of the comments and Sera’s profile, then I set the computer aside. I don’t close the laptop for fear of missing a message from her. Lying back, I stare at the all-too-familiar ceiling. I know every blemish on the drywall with aching familiarity. There have been hours of loneliness and isolation. The depth of pain is so fathomless, I often wonder how I made it to the next day without feeling the cold steel in my hand, without pulling the trigger.




I've lived all over the country but have made Greenville, South Carolina my home for the last 20 of my 37 years. I have a serious addiction to anything Coach and would live on Starbucks if I could get away with it. If you follow me on Facebook you'll also find that I'm slightly enamored with Charlie Hunnam. I'm an avid reader (literary whore to be more precise) averaging around 300 novels a year. I have a penchant for great love stories, sensual poetry and am a romantic at heart. 
I currently work full-time in the Greenville area and fill my "extra" time with writing contemporary romance novels with a hint of erotica. I couldn't do it without the support of my family and friends who push me to keep going when I don't have the confidence or patience.



Excerpt & Giveaway! Under Ground, Book One by Alice Rachel


Love is a taboo, a mere fantasy— foreign, unreachable, and dangerous.

Raised in a society where women have no rights, seventeen-year-old Thia Clay holds little hope for a bright future. When her parents sell her into marriage to elite member William Fox, Thia slowly gives in to despair. William is nothing but a cruel, selfish young man with no other interest than to serve his own.

Born illegally and forced to hide from the authorities his entire life, nineteen-year-old Chi Richards is an active member of the Underground—a rebellious group seeking to overthrow the government.

Chi only has one goal—to rescue his parents from the work camp they were forced into.

Meeting Thia was never part of the plan, and neither was falling in love with her.

If caught in their forbidden relationship, Thia and Chi could face a death sentence, and when devastating secrets surface from Chi’s past, Thia has to rely on her instincts to make a choice that could save her or destroy her forever.




“During the meeting, only speak when spoken to and don’t ask any questions,” Mother snaps at me coldly.

“Yes, Mother.” I roll my eyes. 

Why does she have to remind me to be quiet? I’m only allowed to talk when someone addresses me, and questions from me are never welcome. This situation will no different from any other circumstance in my life. I want to grunt something back at her, but I swallow the snide remark quickly and try my best to look obedient.

“Don’t look at William too insistently. Don’t say anything stupid that could make him or his family feel uncomfortable.” She keeps going on and on with her demands. Mother has been instructing me in proper manners for years; it’s hard to focus on her words. 

"Thia, I know the Foxes have accepted your engagement to William, but remember that nothing is formalized yet. Your father and I have gone through great lengths to prepare for this wedding. You have to be on your best behavior during the entire dinner."

In one week, William's family will come to our house for our official meeting—a crucial reunion that will finalize our engagement or break it apart. His parents will gauge whether I'm still worthy of their son or not. Mother is anxious, worried I might make a fool of myself. 

I rest my head against the windowpane and try to block out her words as they echo against the walls of our private compartment. The train is moving at full speed. My mind keeps drifting while the landscape passes me by like a blur, going too fast for me to stop or breathe.

There are just a few bullet trains in New York State, all of them reserved for the upper-class. They ride through the mountains, between the different towns, and into the metropolis, Eboracum City, where Mother is taking me to try on my bridal gown. 

"Your father spent a lot of money on your dowry, Thia. We offered the highest amount we could afford to make sure the Foxes wouldn't turn you down."

As if that family needs any more money. I grit my teeth and inhale deeply. I was promised to William exactly four years ago, on the day I turned thirteen. That's when I became a piece of merchandise sold in a trade to benefit my parents. My marriage to William was settled by our two families. I had no say in it; nobody cares how I feel about the whole arrangement anyway. 

"You will be standing until instructed otherwise," she continues, "so William and his parents can look at you while I introduce you. It is of the utmost importance for you to impress them and give your very best, Thia. Many girls would give everything they have to be matched with a young man like William. It is an honor for us that his family chose you." 

Mother sends me a quick glance. A lot remains to be done before the union is complete, and this upcoming ceremony has put her completely on edge, turning the past few months into a real nightmare. 

"Your father holds high hopes for this union, Thia. Once you are married to William, your father will get promoted to a higher paying job. Mr. Fox even mentioned the possibility of a whole new career. If we are lucky, he will hire your father to work in his company. 

"You know William has the right to refuse you at any given time. Don't give him any reason to do so. You are to obey him and his parents no matter what they may demand of you. Getting rejected would be a disgrace upon our entire family. I do not need to remind you what the consequences would be. This is your only chance. No one else will agree to marry you if William changes his mind." 

"Yes, Mother."


Alice Rachel is the author of the YA Dystopian ROMANCE SERIES “Under Ground.” Originally from France, Alice Rachel moved to the United States ten years ago to live with her husband, and she now also shares her home with two really old foster guinea pigs.
Alice enjoys books of all kinds and more specifically those introducing well-written antagonists and complex protagonists. Alice also loves to draw her own book characters.
The first book of her series “Under Ground” came out in October 2015, and the sequel will be out later this year.
Alice loves to interact with all readers, so feel free to send her a Tweet.



May 17, 2016

Teasers, Excerpt & Giveaway! Reign Again by Ellie Keys


Sometimes I wish it would rain.
Sometimes I wish it would pour
But most times
I just wish I could learn to soar
Learning to soar


I’ve spent most of my life living for others, guided by another and shown what “is best” for me. One morning, I decided I’d reached the end of my rope with the life I was leading. That was the morning I became Reign again.~Reign Amethyst Jeffries

Amazon | B&N | Kobo | I-Tunes | Goodreads




“I was looking for my clothes so I could make my exit. You didn’t leave that information in your note.”

His smile faltered when he looked at what was left of my dress that I’d been wearing the night before. The look he was sporting had me giggling because he looked like a little kid that figured out he shouldn’t roll his toy car in the street with other cars. Very specific example there, might want to get out a bit more, Reign.

“What was that last bit there? What specific example?”

His look and words had me realizing that I hadn’t just thought that, I’d actually spoken that aloud.

“Ha. Yeah, that was in reference to something that I was thinking, which I believed I’d said only in my head. Okay. We’re going to move passed that one. I need to get something from you.”

At his quirked eyebrow and questioning glance, I quickly corrected my statement.

“I mean, I need some clothes or pants. I can’t leave here with just this shirt.”

He gave me an appreciative once over and muttered something to himself. Was he actually attracted to me or just the fact that there was a half-naked woman in front of him? Hold on, or was he recalling something we did last night?

“Did we … did you and I have sex last night?”

My face must’ve reflected the sheer terror that I felt at the possibility that I did something that stupid. I’m a mother. I cannot have idiotic moments like that. The man is “fuck me until I don’t know my own name” hot, but I don’t have time for getting caught up in a moment.

“Relax, Reign. We didn’t do anything.”

My face fell. I was scrutinizing his features as I relaxed about the fact that we hadn’t done anything, but I needed to be sure.

“You’re sure? Nothing, absolutely nothing, happened between the two of us?”

His chest moved up and down as he released a chuckle then an exasperated sigh. His hands moved to his pockets as he responded.

“Reign, I assure you, nothing happened between us last night.”

The way he adamantly spoke told me that he was telling the truth. Now, I felt like a fool because I wanted to know why nothing happened. We were obviously attracted to one another. I mean I was checking him out and he was doing the same. Chewing the inside of my jaw, I thought about last night and tried to remember the details. I really wanted to know why we hadn’t done anything. Since we hadn’t, how in the hell did I end up in his shirt?

“Reign, I can see the cogs of that brain of yours working. There are several reasons why we didn’t do anything. For one, I prefer conscious women when engaging in sexual activity. Call me old fashioned that way. Two, I don’t make it a habit to bring women to this place. It is where I lay my head when I have to work. I left the party last night with you and brought you here. On my way here, I called a doctor friend of mine and she came to check you out. She’s the one that changed your clothes from the ones you got sick all over. FYI, you got mine as well. She helped you clean up and put you in that shirt. Third, she could barely get you out of the clothes you were in. You fought Marlena the entire time. Call me crazy, but I don’t fight women to bed them. I prefer a willing participant.” He smiled then shook his head before adding, “In the spirit of full disclosure, I rifled through your bag to find your phone so I would have your number to call the famous woman who passed out on me last night.”




Ellie Keys is an author of contemporary romance, paranormal romance and mystery. She spends a great deal of her time lending her unrelenting pen to the voices that have taken over her mind. The characters that readers will find in her works have a demanding nature. Ellie is thrilled to be able to share the stories from the wealth of works that she has created. She lives in Georgia with her son. Her loves outside of writing are reading a good book and losing herself in a great movie. Inspiration comes from everything around her. There is a great deal in store for lovers of romance and suspense seekers. She invites you to follow her via social media.

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Teasers, Excerpt & Giveaway! The Spiral Down, The Fall Up #2 by Aly Martinez


I was afraid to fly.

He made me soar.

After years of climbing the ladder of success in the music industry, I finally had everything I could want. 

Yet I still found myself wandering through life alone.

Captain Evan Roth was the one man I never saw coming. 

Tall, dark, mysterious… Straight. 

We were both damaged beyond repair and searching for something so elusive we weren’t sure it even existed.

But, when two broken souls collide in midair, falling is a given.

I just never expected to crave the spiral down.






Henry


“How about you and one of your girls come out to my show in L.A. next week? My treat. Dinner, drinks, the whole deal. Evan and I would love to take you two beautiful ladies out for an evening.”

“Excuse me?” he exclaimed, cocking his head to catch my gaze.

I leaned back into my seat and lifted a hand to massage his shoulder. I was barely able to suppress a moan when the angle of his firm trap muscle met my palm.

Fuck, this guy was built like a brick wall. And I was going to love every second of watching him crumble for me.

“Oh, come on, Evan. It’s the least we can do. Double date.” I winked at Jessica. “You can fly them out! My plane should be ready by then.”

Jessica’s eyes jumped to Evan’s. “You’re a pilot?” Her smile spread irritatingly wide.

Back off, Ginger Spice.

Snapping my fingers in her direction, I corrected, “He’s my pilot.”

Subtlety was not a virtue I possessed. Was subtlety a virtue at all?

“Your temporary pilot,” he amended before shaking his head and then tipping his beer to his lips for a long pull.

“Anyway. Do we have a date?” And, by date, I meant feeding her dinner while I attempted to work my way into Evan’s pants.

She pressed one finger to her lips and then nervously flashed her eyes around the cabin.

“Oops. Sorry.” I shrugged sheepishly. Lifting my drink to my mouth, I discreetly passed her my cocktail napkin and then not-so-discreetly brushed my forearm against Evan’s chest as I pulled away.

He offered her a tight smile just before she disappeared.

I grinned proudly.

“What the fucking hell was that?” he whisper-yelled at me.

“That was me getting a woman’s number.”

He arched an eyebrow. “A woman. Really?”

“What? Is that not allowed?” I feigned innocence.

He clenched his fist in his lap, and it made me suddenly aware that my own hands had stopped trembling—and in record time, I should note. Evan seemed to be quite useful in the art of distraction.

He leaned closer. “Don’t bullshit me. I looked you up. You’re…” He stopped, unwilling to say the big, bad “G” word.

“I’m what?” I taunted.

He rolled his eyes and chugged the rest of his beer.

We went back to silence until Jessica came back by with another drink, complete with her phone number written on the napkin.

“I’m not going on a double date,” Evan said as I tucked the napkin into my pocket. “You want me to fly them out? Not a problem. Schedule it with Jackson. But that’s the extent of my professional responsibilities. And, since I’m off the clock right now, I’d also like to mention that I think whatever play you’re planning to run on that woman is fucked up.”

My head snapped to his. “I’m sorry. Play?” I asked with more attitude than I had originally planned.

“Yes. Play,” he sneered.

I stirred my drink. “Let me get this straight. I’m offering to fly her out in a private jet, feed her dinner at one of the best restaurants in the city, and put her front row at a concert that has been sold out for over a year. That doesn’t seem like a play to me. It sounds like I’m trying to do something nice for a woman I was rude to earlier.” I casually leaned back in my seat. “My conscience doesn’t ‘play’ when it comes to apologies.”

“Right. Well, maybe you should have a chat with your conscience, because she looks like she just won the date of a lifetime. Meanwhile, you don’t even like women.” He stalled, no doubt looking for just the right word to express his disgust without sounding like a bigot. Judging by his gentleness when we’d taken off, he wasn’t the type of guy to go for the fag bomb.

I watched him intently, excited to see how he was going to handle this.

“You’re gay.”

I frowned at his lack of creativity. “Not that it’s any of your damn business. But I’ll have you know I love women.”

It wasn’t a lie. I adored women. Especially Levee and Robin.

I just didn’t like pussy. Meh. Semantics.

He gaped. “You’re bi?”

“And I’ll repeat: None of your damn business. But yeah. Do you have a problem with that?”

Again, it wasn’t necessarily a lie.

Was I bisexual? Fuck no. My cock was in no way an equal opportunity employer.

I was somewhat bilingual though. I knew how to ask for a blow job in English and Spanish. I pretended that was what he meant.

Chupame la verga.





Born and raised in Savannah, Georgia, Aly Martinez is a stay-at-home mom to four crazy kids under the age of five, including a set of twins. Currently living in South Carolina, she passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a glass of wine at her side.

After some encouragement from her friends, Aly decided to add “Author” to her ever-growing list of job titles. Five books later, she shows no signs of slowing. So grab a glass of Chardonnay, or a bottle if you’re hanging out with Aly, and join her aboard the crazy train she calls life.



In The Spotlight! Resurrecting Her, Revive #2 by A.M. Wilson


Marlena Aldrich

Travis is still out there. I don’t think I’ll ever be free. He’s not going to stop until I’m his. Elias and Sin may be protecting me, but I’ll never be safe. Not with all the secrecy and lies I’ve been told. But I have a secret of my own this time, and it’s destroying me slowly from the inside.

Elias Brooks

I made a mistake by exposing Marlee to my world, but I won’t stop until I make it right. It’s too late to go back now. She’s mine. I’ll let her unravel every thread. Disclose every single half-truth until I can breathe life back into her. What’s done is done. I put her in danger before but never again.

We made ourselves vulnerable with our carelessness. We’re both to blame. When the threat comes to our doorstep, will we fight through it together? Or let it tear us apart?




Redesigning Fate




A.M. Wilson fell in love with writing in second grade when she won a young writers' contest. She spent the years following carrying around a spiral notebook, which she filled with poetry and short stories detailing the dramatics of being a young girl. When she hit her college years, she set the notebooks down and fell in love with reading romance novels. She may have attended college four separate times, in four different fields, but always knew in her heart writing was her true passion. She grew up in Duluth, Minnesota and spent her summers in the cold waters of Lake Superior, but relocated to the Twin Cities with the love of her life and has two spirited children who make her world go round.



Coming Soon! Characters Interview & Excerpt: Welcome To Sortilege Falls by Libby Heily


Sixteen-year-old Grape Merriweather has just moved to Sortilege Falls and already she knows something isn't right. A small pack of teenage models, too beautiful for words, holds the town in their sway. The models have no plans on making Grape's life easy. But no matter how cruel they are to Grape and the other “Normals”, no one can stay angry with them for long.

Grape's life changes for the better, or so she thinks, when Mandy, the only “nice” model, befriends her. But that’s when the trouble truly begins. Mandy's friendship places Grape smack in the middle of a medical mystery that has the entire town on edge. One by one, the models fall ill from an incurable disease. Grape quickly realizes that the models' parents are hiding a secret, even as they watch their children die. To save her only friend, Grape will have to find the truth–and that means putting her life in danger.

Release Date: May 31st


Today, I'll be interviewing two characters from my book, “Welcome to Sortilege Falls.” This feels a little weird for me. It's not everyday your creations come to life and answer your questions. I'm so nervous. What if they don't behave? Better get this over with.

Grape, Liam, would you like to introduce yourselves?

Grape: Hi! My name's Grape. I wish I had a nickname but it's pretty hard to shorten Grape. My family just moved to what I thought was going to be a cute little town in Missouri, but it totally isn't. Not at all.

Liam: Hello, Miss Heily. It is a pleasure to meet you.

Wow, Liam! Your accent is so much crisper in real life. Were you born in Eastern Europe?

Liam: I was born far away, that is most accurate.

That didn't really answer my question but I guess that's okay. Moving on. I want to let Mikky's readers get to know you guys. What are some of your hobbies?

Grape: I love watching movies. Acting's kind of my thing and I really like to watch others perform so I can pick up techniques. Especially anything with Lance Irving. He plays my favorite character, Stone Huntington, Teen PI. I want to be cast on that show so bad!

Liam: Well, my busy schedule does not leave much time for hobbies. I am a nurse and a club owner. The club is more of a coffee house really. I also have a community to watch over.

Grape: Yeah, a community of creepers.

Now, now, we promised no fighting.

Liam: Who is fighting? Grape is, as usual, just a bit sour.

Grape: I never heard that one before.

Try not to strain a muscle rolling your eyes, Grape. Let's move on. How old are you?

Grape: Sixteen. Finally! Getting my license was huge for me. Not that my mom lets me drive that often. She's a doctor and she sees a lot of car wreck victims. So...not much driving for me.

Liam: I am far older than I look.

Grape: Can you give it a rest with the Dracula thing for a bit? It's embarrassing.

Dracula?

Grape: Can't you tell by the way he's dressed that he wants to be a vampire?

I just thought he came from a funeral.

Liam: No, I do usually wear a lot of black. It goes well with my pale skin.

Grape: So would a tan. Maybe you should try a tan.

Getting a little heated in here. Let's keep rolling, huh? If you could spend the day with any one person, who would it be?

Liam: I had to leave someone behind when I moved to Sortilege Falls, someone very close to me. I would spend the day with her, and every day after if I could.

Weird how you answered that and didn't really answer at the same time.

Liam: Details are for friends, my dear. Generalities are for everyone else.

What about you, Grape?

Grape: My dad. Definitely my dad. He passed away a few years ago. I think that's why Mom wanted to move, to be somewhere new. My dad and I were really close. He gave me my name. I miss him. A lot. My mom and brother do, too. It would be nice to see him again.

I'm sorry to hear about your father.

Grape: Thanks.

I tell you what, let's lighten the mood. What is your favorite thing about living in Sortilege Falls?

Liam: The safety, of course. Where I come from, there is much violence. War is constant and unforgiving. Here is peace.

Grape: Wow, I was going to say the mall is okay. I feel a little silly now. We didn't have much war in Virginia. I mean, I've only lived here a few days and I don't have much to go on. There are a lot of gnomes, though. I mean, why does everyone have garden gnomes on their front lawn, and back lawn, and side lawn? They're practically everywhere you look.

Kind of a gnome infestation, huh?

Grape: I don't know. Sometimes I could swear I've seen them breathing. That's crazy, I know. I guess there are just so many of them that you start seeing things.

I'm just going to pretend like that didn't happen. Describe your first meeting.

Grape: Ugh. Well, originally, I saw him talking to a kid outside of my high school during lunch. I thought that was weird because this guy is way too old to hang out with high school kids. I mean waaaaaaaaay too old. But we didn't really meet then.

Liam: No, but I do remember seeing you.

Grape: I know, you practically stared me down.

Liam: I was sizing you up.

Grape: Whatever. Mr. Undead here and I met when I went to his “club” which is not really in town, by the way. It's more on the outskirts, in the woods, near nothing. This is the weirdest thing about Liam, and trust me, everything about this guy is weird, he has a throne in the club. Like an honest-to-goodness throne. Who owns a throne?

Liam: I bought it at a yard sale.

Grape: What?

Liam: People have expectations. I do not wish to disappoint. It is an image thing. Silly really. I feel much more comfortable on the floor but comfort does not a business make.

Grape: Yeah, well, when I went to his club we had a bit of a discussion but Liam shot down my questions pretty quickly.

Liam: You were asking me questions I could not answer in front of people, much like this interview. Secrecy is a must.

So, I take it sparks didn't fly?

Grape: Ewwww. Gross. He's like a million years old. I'm in high school, you do know that, right?

Of course I do.

Liam: Grape Merriweather is right. Love between us would be inappropriate, for many reasons. I also prefer older women. Her mother, on the other hand, is quite stunning.

Grape: Hey!

Liam: I am just stating the obvious.

Okay, let's try to cool this off before an actual fight breaks out. Favorite color? That seems tame enough.

Grape: I hate to admit it but it's purple. In no way should it be, but it is. Purple. Crap. I really wish my name wasn't Grape.

Liam: I know you expect me to say black, everyone does. But it's actually yellow. I look quite handsome in yellow. It is a shame that I rarely get to wear it.

How do you feel about the Models getting sick?

Grape: It's awful. Mandy, she's the only one who's been really friendly, is starting to get stomach aches. That means that she might only be days from dying. We've hung out a few times and I've been over to her house to watch movies. Her life isn't as easy as you would think. I mean, her mom decorated their entire house in pictures of Mandy. How weird is that? And the kids at school follow her around like puppy dogs. They've broken into the stall in the bathroom when she's, you know, peeing just to get a look at her. But despite that, she's a really good person. She stopped a group of Models from picking on me. It's just awful to watch anyone suffer, especially people you care about.

Liam: It is unfortunate, as is all suffering. The Models are paying for the mistakes of others.

Grape: There, see that? Right there? That's the most helpful he gets. You can tell he knows something, but he won't say it.

Liam: We do not reveal our secrets in public. That is how we ensure they remain secrets.

Grape: Really? How am I supposed to find a cure when this is what I run into?

Liam: Perhaps there is no cure. Perhaps there is no help.

Grape: You are such a downer.

Liam: Hmmm? Most people seem to like me.

Grape: Well, I guess I'm not most people.

Liam: You are very correct.

Well, I'd love to say this was a pleasure but, yeah, you guys have made it kind of awkward. I was hoping we could build a bridge here but I guess that won't be happening.

Grape: Sure, we can build a bridge. And then we can push Liam off of it.

Liam: So much hostility in someone so young. I do not understand it.

Grape: I don't even think his accent's real.

Okay, time to get these guys safely back in their book. We don't need a war on your blog. Thanks Mikky for having us over! I promise next time, I'll bring some characters who behave.


Stale air filled the club. The smell was so old, so ancient, that it distracted her for a few moments from the man sitting on a throne in the middle of the room. Even in the dim light, she recognized Graeson’s vampire-wannabe friend. It seemed as if he recognized Grape as well, judging by the pointy-toothed grin he gave her. His tailored black suit and red tie made him look even more like a member of the bloodthirsty undead. Stretched out in front of the throne lay a woman wearing a green bikini beneath a sheer body stocking. Her silky red hair lay splayed out around her. The woman glanced at Graeson and then sealed her gaze on Grape.

“Graeson, you brought a friend,” the vampire said in his clipped accent.

The door shut behind them, sealing out the sunshine. Dull yellow and blue light bathed the room. Candles and strings of Christmas lights provided most of the illumination in the club—that, and the faint glow of the vamp’s skin.

The few patrons in the room looked up from their board game to inspect the newcomers. They sat tucked away in a booth in the far corner. Mugs of steaming coffee were the only things on the table that Grape recognized. She wasn’t sure what their costumes were about, but she noticed that none of them were dressed like vampires, though one did seem to be wearing a werewolf mask.

“Role playing,” the vamp said, catching the direction of Grape’s gaze. “It is a specialty here, no?”

“I can see that,” Grape said, glancing from him to Graeson, the only two people in the room dressed in costumes that were suitable for real life as well. The woman on the floor could have worn hers to the beach, she guessed, but it didn’t look appropriate for an afternoon out.

“Would you like something to drink?" the vamp asked. “Or to eat? This one, I’m sure has a great appetite.” He nodded his head to Grape as he spoke.

“I’m not hungry. What do you mean about my appetite?” How the hell could he know she ate all the time?

“I meant no harm. You are a teenager. Teenagers eat constantly.”

“I’ll have some wine," Graeson said, not looking up from the woman at the vamp’s feet.

“Dear, get our guests some wine.”

The woman stretched out her lanky body. She stood in one elegant motion. Her red hair trailed down her back to the tops of her buttocks. There was no sign of the white cream that Graeson wore, but her skin was deadly pale nonetheless.

“That’s my ex-girlfriend,” Graeson whispered to Grape as the woman walked away.

“No way.” She couldn’t imagine a world where that woman and Graeson dated.

“So, Grape Merriweather has decided to speak to me again,” the vamp said, his eyes twinkling. 

“Not on purpose,” Grape said, her voice flat. She didn’t feel nearly as nervous as she had the day before in the hospital, but that was mostly because it was hard to be intimidated by a man when just behind him sat a boy in troll makeup arguing that the spell he’d used should have vanquished the wood nymph to his right.

“You know her?” Graeson asked his friend.

“We have been acquainted,” the vamp said. “Grape is such an unusual name.”

“My name isn’t the most unusual thing in this room.”

Graeson glanced quizzically from the man on the throne to Grape. “Liam, when did you meet Grape?”

“Liam?” Grape tried hard to keep herself from chuckling. “Like the actor?”

“I was Liam first,” the vamp said. “Many, many years before this so-called actor.



Libby Heily began writing after spending years as an obsessive reader. Nothing was safe from her eyes – she tore through books, magazines, cereal boxes, and shampoo bottles with equal enthusiasm. Libby's written plays, screenplays, flash fiction, short stories, and novels. When not spending time in made up places with invisible friends, she enjoys running, hiking and performing improv in Raleigh, NC. 
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