Wednesday, March 31, 2010

What comes first, might be the last thing you write

Well as sad as it is, today is the last day of my tour here at Kayden's. But I'm sure she'll have me here again at some point or another. So, thank you Kayden for having me here at your blog. Hope I didn't leave too many things out of place.

The past two days I spoke of my last two horror releases at Moongypsy Press. But, as some of you know, there is a heart somewhere inside me (laughs) and it does get a chance to show itself. My latest release with Moongypsy Press, Ghosts of the Storm, is one of those stories where my muse and heart worked together, weaving a tale of love, loss and yes, some paranormal.

In some of my previous blogs I spoke of my muse messing with me in hot tubs and how some of my personal life had played an important role in creating Ghosts of the Storm. Small things like placing the setting just outside of my father's property he used to own in McDavid, the Piggly Wiggly that I called the County Pig, and the rabbit farm just a short distance from my dad's house. Oh and let's not forget that there really was (I haven't been to McDavid in years) only two to three gas stations on that long stretch of road.

But today I wanted to talk about another part of the story that I found to be fun and exciting. The finish line.

Once Bobby started telling me the his version of Ghosts of the Storm, I immediately began pecking at the keys. But one thing caught my eye from the begging of the story. Here, let me show you:

Now, if you met Joe on any given day, you'd have thought the sun shined out his asshole or something of the like. He smiled like he was the only man in on some joke on the world and never, and I mean never, gave you a cross look, even if you ran over his dog. I know. I did that one day and felt like shit for it. Anyone does something like that to Joe would bend over backwards to make it right, just 'cause Joe never did any harm. His wife on the other hand… well, we'll get to her soon enough. Right now, we're still talking about Joe sitting at the end of his driveway during the night of the storm.

"You'd have thought the sun shined out his asshole," still makes me laugh each time I read it. And I'd like to venture that we all know people like that. I'm sure some of us at times wish we were that person who seems to be perpetually happy no matter what. Well except for Joe, who the readers find out really isn't as happy has he's always made them to believe.

Well, I knew early on that this story would be a tragedy and that I wanted the readers to feel their hearts ache for my characters. Even a little for Bobby, my narrator. But that damn phrase kept sticking out in my mind. How can you make someone's heart ache with a visual of sun blasting out someone's backside? But it was simple. I just made the sun shine out someone else's ass! Crazy how that works, but if you read Ghosts of the Storm, you'll see what I mean.

So without any delay, I wrote the last paragraph of my story and I'd be damned if it didn't serve as my guide all the way through writing it. Each time I felt unsure about where I was going, or if I'd be able to finish, I'd read that paragraph and feel my heart ache for Bobby. Next thing I'd find is me typing hundreds of words again. As always, it's Bobby's story and without him I don't think it would have been nearly as interesting.

So dear readers, there you have it. I started my story at the finish line and then caught up to myself in the end. And speaking of finish lines, we have reached ours here both in this entry and at Kayden's for this tour. I do hope you all enjoyed what I had to say and hope to see you all soon, both here and at all the other places I've been stopping.

Take care in all you do,
Trent Kinsey

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Trent Kinsey: The book that inspired The Book of Absolute Truths

Dear Reader,

Welcome to day two! So far Kayden has yet to kick me off her blog so I must be behaving (chuckles). So while she's not looking I'll throw another tale of my muse running around with my imagination again. Today, I'll tell the story behind the story of The Book of Absolute Truths, my second release with Moongypsy Press.

Well I happened to be in a writing slump, which seems to happen more often than not so I picked up an eBook of short stories. Every now and then, when my muse ventures to Mexico, I end up reading romance and erotica—yeah, I know. A guy reading erotica, how surprising! But every now and then reading outside of my favorite genre helps spark that dark urge I need when writing horror. Some couple or however many (depends on the author) people are having sex and my muse comes by and says, "Wait! Hell no! You need to kill someone or wouldn't it be creepy if this happened?"

So I'm sitting on the smoke-deck at work, reading this one tale about a used book store owner who falls in love with a ghost haunting his store. And even though I enjoyed the story, as soon as my muse showed up, prodding me about my next tale of horror, I couldn't seem to focus enough to finish the story. My muse had me: hook, line and sinker.

Just a simple thought...What if a used book store owner was given a book he couldn't get rid of?

I'm lucky in the fact that another author of Moongypsy Press, Imari Jade, is a good friend of mine. She works four floors above me at our day jobs and we go out on smoke breaks almost every work day, discussing all we are currently working on.

As my muse continued to tell me the story, so I did to Imari. And one day as I was walking toward our usual meeting spot, the thought hit me. The twist in the story became apparent. Ah, but I'm not going to tell you that!

I'll give you only one of the twists in the story. The Book of Absolute Truths lies.

With that said, I hope you all enjoyed my little insight into writing my second release with Moongypsy Press, and hope to see you tomorrow for my last day at Kayden's World of Paranormal where I'll be talking about Ghosts of the Storm.

Trent Kinsey

Monday, March 29, 2010

Trent Kinsey, Something Strange To Blame

Dear Reader,

Let me thank Kayden for letting me run rampant in her blog for the next three days. Not everyone is brave enough to let me play freely in their yard. But I'll be good and leave her the same way I found it, promise.

For the next three days I will be talking about my releases with Moongypsy Press, all of which have some paranormal aspect to them. But I wanted to do something different than just posting blurbs and excerpts...I wanted to give you all a little bit more about my tales of horror and romance.

With that said, I'd like to tell you about some of the weird occurrences that surrounded the writing of my first Moongypsy Press release, Who's to Blame.

I wrote Who's to Blame almost immediately after I sold 10:15 to Eternal Press around this time last year. I had become so excited about becoming a fiction author (I used to be a journalist). I wanted to jump right back into writing and the idea hit me, and my muse wouldn't let me stop until it was complete. I finished Who's to Blame over one weekend and began the edits before submission.

Who's to Blame is a story about a viral outbreak that leaves everyone in an aggressive, zombie-like state. Within five days of writing the story, H1N1 hit the news. The first occurrence. What's really strange about this occurrence is that there was a town mentioned in my story, outside of Twenty-nine Palms, California. I chose this town because I am a Marine and know of the town, and it seemed like a good opening setting. Not long after the outbreak of H1N1, a story aired about how the specific strain of flu made it to that same town.

It took close to 45 days for my first rejection of Who's to Blame. It was upsetting considering it was my first rejection as a fiction writer. But as with all of us in the game, I picked up the manuscript, looked it over and then revised it before submitting again.

This time I changed something small about how the President looked when giving the address to the nation about the outbreak. I had mentioned that he looked as if he were suffering from the same disease as Michael Jackson. I did it to emphasize how white he looked with dealing with such a catastrophic outbreak. Again, not long after submitting the manuscript to another press and while waiting for it to be rejected yet again, Michael Jackson died. The second occurrence. And I promise I'm not trying to poke fun of the late King of Pop.

I told my friend, Imari Jade, that if Who's to Blame got rejected again, I would not revise it because it seemed that each time I picked up the pen to this particular story, people got hurt. And to this day, I have yet to see the President bite a chunk out of the CDC director's neck! Yes that happens in the story too, but of all the things that could happen, is that too much to ask? For those of you that don't know me well, the previous statement is a joke.

So there you have it friends. A couple of strange occurrences that happened when writing a strange story. Hope you enjoyed and hope to see you tomorrow when I talk about The Book of Absolute Truths!

Trent Kinsey

Friday, March 26, 2010

D.M. Slate, My Mexican Honeymoon Horror

Dear Reader,

I’m often asked what inspires my writing. I was always told to ‘write about what you know’, and for me it’s things that I can touch, feel, smell and experience.

Hi – My name is Danyelle (aka D.M. Slate) and my first horror novella, Day 94, was released in December 2009 by Eternal Press. Today I’d like to talk about the random things that inspire my writing. For Day 94 the inspiration came from the skylight in my kitchen. One day as I was putting dishes away, I stared up through the skylight admiring the beauty and warmth of the bright Colorado sunlight shining through. Daydreaming, I tried to consider a scenario where the skylight would be the only link to the outside world. This is how the disease epidemic and underlying theme of Day 94 was created.

For my next mystery/thriller, Isolated, which will be released soon by Moongypsy Press, the inspiration came from an experience in Mexico. My husband and I decided to get married on the beach in Mexico. We booked the trip and didn’t tell anyone our intent of getting married until a few days before we left. The ceremony was beautiful. The only people present were myself and my husband, the minister and our two paid Mexican witnesses. The day after getting married we were off on an ATV tour and snorkel, promoted by the hotel. Upon arrival we realized we were the only two people going on the tour, and I got a sinking feeling in my gut. But the tour was booked through our hotel – so it had to be reputable, right?

Our two tour guides seemed nice enough and we eagerly followed them into the dense Mexican jungle. As we raced along the worn path I noticed large black storage containers within the trees, whose tops were camouflaged with thick palm fronds. Minutes later we found ourselves in the center of some sort of encampment; the men in the camp were armed with machetes and automatic weapons strapped over their shoulders. My heart raced as I realized how we must appear. Young naïve Americans, age 21 and 22, who didn’t speak a word of Spanish – easy targets. Two of the men from the camp jumped on the 4-wheelers and accompanied us the beach where our snorkel began.

At this point they tried to convince me to leave my newly acquired wedding ring with the men from the camp; I adamantly refused. Dressed in only a swimming suit and shorts I felt very vulnerable as the men looked me up and down. Knowing my husband’s tendency to get into fisticuffs (when we were young - lol), I was terrified that a fight might break out right there. Luckily for us, the snorkel and return trip through the camp went off without a hitch. But that deep sinking feeling that created a knot in my stomach stayed with me for a long time. So many things could have gone wrong….
My newlywed characters, Anthony and Jazmine, aren’t so lucky on their Mexican ATV tour.



As Anthony and Jazmine embark on their honeymoon to southern Mexico, they have no idea the dark trail that’ll unfold before them. The couple signs up for an ATV tour and snorkel trip offered by their resort. Two days later Anthony stumbles out of the Mexican jungle bloodied, half dead and suffering from amnesia; he’s the prime suspect in Jazmine’s disappearance. Through his multiple interrogations, Anthony struggles to regain his memory in order clear his name and discover the whereabouts of his missing wife.

The international search for Jazmine reveals nothing and the F.B.I. are convinced that Anthony is involved, somehow. As bits and pieces of his memory return, he leads F.B.I. Special Agent Monroe on a trail of clues that implicate the couple’s ATV tour guides. Further investigation reveals that Jazmine has been sold to a drug-lord in Panama, and nothing will stop Anthony from trying to rescue her. As he enters the foreign country, the distraught husband only causes greater chaos.
With the F.B.I. in fast pursuit to Panama, the race against the clock begins. When the authorities close in on the suspect’s house hoping to recover Jazmine, a grueling discovery is made; Anthony is already at the house. As the case comes to a close, Anthony is shocked to discover that this wasn’t a random crime.


Wednesday, March 24, 2010


Dear Reader,

Actually I'm trying to finish the first book in my DARKNESS OF DRAGONS TRILOGY, which is DRAGONS'S PEARL. I don't know if I told you my New Year's Resolution was to finish the first book in all the series I've outlined. I thought I'd just zip along, doing one a month, plus my other necessary tasks.(Most do have the first 3 chapters written) Ha! Reality has struck hard. Here it is the end of March and I'm two or three chapters from finishing even the first book of the first series. This series supposes that ages ago, Merlin stole magic from the fearsome black dragon, who then came after him. But the wizard was able to seal this dragon in a mountan cave. But to keep him there, Merlin had to chose a female of his blood line to be the Keeper, and two males who carried dragon blood, one of whom would be the Guardian. Why two? Because a third person of dragon's blood was necessary to set the wards that would keep the black dragon imprisoned. But when those carrying both blood lines emigrated to America, the black dragon, greatly weakened, came, too. As the dragon regained strength it had to be shut away and wards set again. Now imprisoned in a huge stope of an abandoned copper mine, a Keeper and Guardian of the now diluted blood lines are necessary to keep the dragon from escaping. As the chant goes:

Dragon heart is dragon stone

Holds within all that is known.

Ancient as earth's molten core

Gleaming with forbidden lore.

Lest the Keeper not take care

Lest the Guardian fail to share

All mankind must then beware.


Sunday, March 21, 2010

Winner of Witch's Fire

Dear Reader,

And the winner of the PDF copy of Witch's Fire is....Maggie Dove!!!! Woooohoooo, Congrats!!!

Cheers, and happy Sunday :)


Saturday, March 20, 2010

Tabitha Shay, and Witch's Fire

Dear Readers,

I hope you’ll enjoy the blurb from my latest release, Witch’s Fire, book five in the Winslow witches of Salem series. In this excerpt, Kirrah is just realizing the potential of her magical powers.



In a world where magic is dying―two people meet under unusual circumstances…

Realm of lightNew to this witchy stuff, Kirrah Walker crashes her broom into a stranger and knocks him unconscious. Feeling guilty, she takes him home with her and nurses him back to health. However, she soon discovers a terrible secret―the stranger is on a mission to assassinate a witch. Now Kirrah must decide if she’ll set him free or keep him tied to the headboard of her bed…

World of darknessPrince Stry, future King of Ru-Noc awakens to find he’s not only a captive, but captivated by the charming witch who flutters around him like a nervous butterfly. Her magick is wild and so out of control, he knows in his heart he should steal her soul, but kissing Kirrah is habit-forming.

Kirrah and Strymagical beings who must face the fear of their past, acknowledge their future and trust in destiny in a world gone mad…


Apparently her plain, ordinary, run-of-the-mill broom was in no hurry to cooperate with a landing.

Even if she knew the right words to bring it down, it had stopped listening to her commands the minute it soared away with her.


“Ahhhhhhh,” Kirrah screeched. She hadn’t known the broom had warp speed. “Ohh! Oh, shit, broom. Slow down!”

Of course, it totally ignored her.

In her mind, she heard its evil cackling. The broom was up to more tricks. It streaked across the sky faster than a speeding bullet.

Sure, it was exhilarating, a little on the chilly side, and every now and then she had to spit out some kind of attack bug, but it was fun, if a bit scary as hell soaring among the clouds.

She wasn’t used to flying, so it was even scarier when the broom rocked unsteadily, like now, and kicked in passing gear. Kirrah choked her fingers around the scrawny handle, which only seemed to make the broom even more unsteady.

Was that a gagging sound she heard?

“Release me.” Cough. Splutter. Cough.

Kirrah’s thought her eyes might bulge right out of their sockets. “You talk?” She stared at the handle. No mouth. “Nah, you can’t talk.”

“You’re choking me.”

“Oh, oh, shit-shit-shit! You can talk.”

“Re-lease…me,” the broom said in a strained voice.

Kirrah eased the choke-hold she had on the handle.

“Weeee,” the broom chortled excitedly, climbing even higher.

Kirrah controlled the urge to tighten her fingers again.

What a miserable night this had turned out to be. One minute she’d been standing in her kitchen doorway gazing up at the dark sky, intoxicated by the frigid night air and admiring the tiny sliver of moon playing peek-a-boo with the clouds.

She’d been talking to herself―a terrible flaw she’d recently developed―and wishing aloud for a closer view of the moon. The next moment―the mundane little broom swooshed beneath her butt and took off in the night with her perched precariously on top of it.

“Good heavens,” Kirrah shrieked, so startled, she barely had time to grip the broom handle before it soared off into the dark and zoomed over the treetops with her held captive. That was when she realized…she was a for-sure-and-certain witch.

Leave a comment and have your name entered in a drawing to win a free E-copy of Witch’s Fire…Winner’s name to be announced tomorrow…

Visit my website at

Don’t forget to scope out the wonderful art of some of my characters…


Books available in print at

E-format at Fictionwise and Barnes and Noble

Friday, March 19, 2010

WIP; Death Of Innocence

Dear Reader,

For about the past week or so, a friend and I have been running through another one of my back-burner, almost completed WIP’s. I love this book, as it was the first book I ever ‘completed’, but that was my views on writing then, and not now. So it just has to be brought up to speed a bit! This is an excerpt from the first novel in Foxworth Series, Death Of Innocence, Paranormal Romance. Hope you like it :)




“Am I different too. I am not even like you.” She thought about the fact that no matter what, she never blended in, never belonged.

I exploded with bitter laughter, reluctant to steal her very young views of the world.

“Canya, no matter what race you are, where you come from, belonging is just a matter of opinion. You belong with me, with my family. We love and cherish you, and will always be at your side, no matter what. You are special, not different. A new breed, with a new power structure.” I could see my heartfelt words were not as believed as I wanted them to be.

She was resigned to always being different, an outcast. If anyone dared make her feel that way, I would take personal interest in him or her, make them see everything my way. I was persuasive, so much that many feared my…attentions. I’d chosen not to be a Hunter, but it didn’t make me incapable of it.

My family had enough connections, that when our name was breathed into the night, vampires second-guessed their own actions. No one came up against us, and won…

Until yesterday, but there wasn’t a winner until it was over. And this fight was far from completion.

Canya fought her creeping depression, telling herself that my words were true, but it didn’t help. Her raging mind would not give her rest, and I sought a way to relieve the terrible ache.

“Come on, let’s go.”

I pulled her to her feet, letting her fall forward against my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, ignoring the searing desire, the Curse that wanted its mate.

But she wasn’t quite ready for that yet. I pushed it back, and it settled into the depths. It seemed the longer I had Canya close, and didn’t bond with her, the more agitated the Curse became. It wasn’t done yet.

“Where are we going?”

“Outside,” I answered, dragging her through the back door that led to the garden before I did something I would regret. I tickled her ribcage, and she smacked my hands away playfully.

“And why are we outside?”

The sunlight shone over the light sprinkling of white snow. Her hair caught the surreal light, throwing blue highlights through the strands that stretched past her waist.

She’d always enjoyed the outdoors, everything about nature. It was one of the many things about her that had dragged my attention, and held it.

“I want you to realize just how important nature is to us. We draw our power from everything around us. We need blood to live, just as the land needs to be fertilized. But this is our world Canya, look around you.” I held my arms out to encompass everything from the trees, to the ground, to the sky.

I wiggled my fingers and the snowflakes on the ground rose into the air, dancing at my bidding. They swirled into a small tornado, moving over the flagstones to where she stood.

Her laughter flowed over the picturesque landscape when she plunged her hands into the snow, coming up with a lump that she’d packed hard with her hands. A wicked light entered her eyes as she strolled forward.

I was caught up in the swing of her hips, so sensually seductive. And then she threw her white orb at me, with deadly accuracy. It pelted me on the forehead while I had been staring at her body, like the haven it was meant to be.

Dancing away from me, and I gave chase when she caught up her skirts to take off into the middle of the yard.

“I am going to get you for that,” I called to her, knowing I could catch her at any time, but giving her the illusion of safety.

“I’m counting on it.”

Dark thoughts were forgotten as I flicked both hands and the snow fell from the evergreen branches above her head. White flakes rained down around her, creating a solid sheet in every direction. I watched her turn left and right, looking for me, amusement bright on her face.
“This isn’t fair, Greg! How can I compete with this?” Canya called into the snow. She moved forward, but never leaving the enclosure.
I stayed just far enough away, always behind her, that she never found me.

“You shouldn’t throw those orbs at me then,” I whispered in her ear, moving with inhuman speed when she whirled around, but I wasn’t there.

She giggled as she plopped down into the snow. I watched her curiously as she began to pack more snow.

“Snow-balls Greg, they are called snow balls. Get into this century.” I couldn’t contain my laughter at her snide comment.

Her head snapped up in to direction where I had been only a moment before. A snow ‘ball’ came flying, exactly where my head had been.

“I am in this century, here with you.” I moved behind her, quiet as a mouse. She sat there making a rather large pile of projectiles, completely oblivious.

“Actually you are not here with me. It would seem, for all intents and purposes, that you are hiding from your fiancé. I think you are scared of getting pelted again.” Her teeth flashed in the sunlight, the snow creating a safe cocoon for her.

I grabbed her around the middle and she shrieked in my ear, tossing her over my shoulder with snow still grasped in her hands.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Victoria Roder Presents: The Dream House Visions And Nightmares

Dear Reader,

I live in a hundred-forty year old house farm house, and if I thought every unusual sound was from the beyond, I would have moved out long ago. Interest in spirits has been around since the beginning of time, but it has been brought to the forefront by the fascination of ghost hunting reality shows. With my own interest in the paranormal, I have recently joined Foothill Paranormal Investigations of California:

I have been named an honorary member, since living in Wisconsin makes it difficult for me to attend meetings or the paranormal investigations. I am hoping that someday I will be able to join the group on an investigation. Although I can write spine tingling sequences of a ball bouncing down the street leaving blotches of blood, a decaying, maggot infested owl squishing under foot, and walking across decaying human bones─I’ll probably be shaking in my boots and wanting to hold someone’s hand through the investigation.

My paranormal romance, The Dream House Visions and Nightmares received the highest rating of BEST BOOK on The Long and Short of it Reviews. It is a murder mystery wrapped in a paranormal ghost story. Recurring dreams of a house Hope Graham's family rented when she was a child, taunt her nights with images of a woman in a bloody nightgown pleading for help. Dream sequences of children metamorphosing into rats, blood spewing out of windows, and walking across decaying bones, foretell of sins of the past and forewarn of danger in the present. In an attempt to end the agony of her sleep deprivation, Hope travels to her hometown...only to discover that the truth can be more frightening than a nightmare.

The Dream House Visions and Nightmares, by Victoria Roder, Asylett Press 2009.



I looked up and down the dimly lit street. There was no evidence of life. Nor were there any sounds. No dogs barking. No horns honking. No children playing. Nothing. I focused on the house-on its paneless windows, weathered boards and dilapidated porch sinking into a sea of overgrown grass and weeds-and nausea overcame me as an overwhelming moldy odor permeated the air. The look of the house didn’t make my skin crawl; it was the essence of it.

I watched the dilapidated house-it moved closer. Perhaps it lured me to it. I began to shiver. I looked down at the white cotton nightgown that I wore. Silk embossed flowers decorated the bodice. I was still straining to hear a sound when I realized, blood had saturated my gown until it had become a second skin.

I felt a tug on my gown. I looked down-Rae’s hair cascaded over her face as she clasped my hem through the fence. She pleaded, “Please, help me, please. Can’t you hear my children screaming?”

I struggled to get away…


To read an excerpt from my Champagne Books April 2010 Action Thriller release, Bolt Action. visit me at:

The Dream House Visions and Nightmares is available at:

And Amazon:

Saturday, March 13, 2010

WIP Excerpt: Taigh O'Sullivan; A Gothic Romance

Hey Readers!!!

This is a Gothic Romance with a paranormal twist. It is entitled Taigh O'Sullivan; A Gothic Romance, about a girl named Siobhan who is forced to travel to a castle to complete the job of her recently past uncle who was archiving Lord O'Sullivan's impressive collection of books. If she does not, her aunt and herself will be out of a home, without money or anything to call their own. She was raised in willing seclusion, and once out of the comfort and safety of home, away from her protective aunt, Siobhan learns that she is not only an empath, but she can see ghosts.

Happy Reading...

Kayden McLeod


I thought the Lord would go to them, but instead he veered off for the library.

When I moved to follow him, he whirled towards me with a snarl playing on his full lips. He looked irrational, wild even. I couldn’t understand the mood swings that were affecting my thought process, my ability to react with any common sense.

What had I done to inspire such vivid differences in him?

Tomorrow you will work,” he said coldly. Even with the distance between us, I stepped back from him. I was stunned by it. “I work at night, alone. Always.”

There was weight to those words, a meaning behind them that would take me time to really decipher. If I hadn’t been so caught up with what was happening, perhaps I would have better assessed what was really going on, and not just how it appeared.

He wanted, no needed to get away from me, and I knew he would flee to his library. The villagers had mentioned the Lord’s obsession with books several times, closeting himself away from the world with them alone. He’d been very rarely seen anywhere for a long time, and even though I had asked the locals, they hadn’t told me the reason for it. Only that he did. Then I’d thought they hadn’t known, but now I had to wonder.

When I had asked about the semi-infamous brother, Cullen O’Sullivan, I was met with several mixed opinions. While he was seen in the surrounding villages far more often, they didn’t know what to think of him. Some thought he was nice, others, as arrogant as the Lord. The younger women were soaked with obvious infatuation and longing, and the older were caught between wariness and his charm. Men both of youth and age flatly refused to comment, though I didn’t miss the leery emotion hidden behind gruff, short words.

When prodded further, they told me there was a time when this castle was filled with life, people running around going about their daily lives. There was peace and happiness, but not any longer.

Something had changed for all concerned, and the details were sketchy at best, but I felt there was something vital they didn’t divulge to me. A part that was lost between the words. It didn’t matter how I phrased my polite questions, they were no more forthcoming, other than to warn me off.

They’d mentioned the mischief and mayhem happening around the castle at the last leg of their employment, though not what had caused it. Unexplainable things that had come to pass with growing frequency, and it wasn’t long before they’d been spooked enough to leave in all haste, and seek other employment. Not that I could blame them this.

Lord O'Sullivan growled under his breath. I assumed at my silence as we regarded each other.

“Your room is up there.”

“You will not show me where it is then?” I asked softly, panic trying to set in at the thought of going up there alone. It damned near closed my throat.

It wasn’t that I was warm yet per-say, but it had been a definite improvement from the storm. It enabled me to notice the difference when the temperature dropped dramatically, with no reasonable source to explain it.

My breath floated on the air in tiny puffs, much like it would outside in the dead of winter.
“Are you incapable of choosing a room?” He muttered more to himself, walking towards the library. “They are all…available.”

Didn’t he sleep up there? And what of his brother? My mouth opened to respond, but nothing came out other than a soft squeak.

He continued on unheeded, without so much as another glance, disappearing into what I was sure is an impressive space devoted solely to books. The one thing in this world I loved above all others, the only thing in my world that was consistently reliable.

I was tempted to find a place to sleep down here, where I knew someone else would be close. But the call of dry clothing was too much for my somnolent body. My belongings had arrived before me, or so I’d been promised. It remained to be seen whether they were or not, and if so, their location was beyond me. I wanted to follow him, to ask, but I shortly lost my nerve.

I would look first, just in case I found them on my own. It was better than risking another confrontation with him for nothing. There was something happening with the Lord, and my arrival had somehow triggered it. I couldn’t afford to take the risk such a simple question presented. Not when the previous ones had been taken so badly.

Taking a deep breath, I began walking forward, and it unease rose. It became harder and harder for me to get closer to the steps, like I were wading through waist deep water. No, that wasn’t right. It was more like quicksand. The more I tried, the less I moved.

There was pressure on my shoulder-blades, and I knew something was keeping me back. I refused to feel panic, permitting my mind to work through this rationally. Something the other never would’ve allowed me.

A breeze trailed across my cheek, but there wasn’t anywhere for it to have come from. Did a door open again, and I had not heard it? There was nothing out of the ordinary as I examined every crevice of the sprawling space.

When I attempted to move again, the breeze shrieked in protest. There wasn’t doubt any longer from where it came, when it swept down the curving staircase with a terrifying velocity.

The sound of a woman shrieking came along with the blast that pushed me backwards. It took everything for me to stay on my feet, and not fall. The noise was deafening, but it didn’t bring the Lord out to see what was going on.

Surely I wasn’t imagining this too?

“You do not understand. I must stay here, or my aunt dies!” I called back. I felt it hesitate just as I hit the back wall by the front entrance, unable to be pushed any further. Or I was sure the force would have tried.

It receded around me as if in shock, but the presence didn’t leave. The tapestries stopped whipping around, falling back to the walls, though now quite wrinkled. Proof I was not as mad as I needed to believe I was.

A vase on a nearby table violently rocked in the aftermath, and I launched forward the moment it tipped to one side, but missed by a long shot. But it never hit the ground, stopping mere inches from the stone floor. As I watched, it righted itself midair and set back down on the table without a sound.

When the murmuring continued, I struggled to understand even a word of it. There was so much desperation to it. And I had a feeling that whoever spoke, was actually screaming at me from wherever they were. For it definitely wasn’t here.

“What do you want from me?” I asked finally, hoped to jar loose something, to make this thing be straight with me.

The mumbling slowly turned to soft words, growing stronger with the presence solidifying around me. Much like it had before when I was outside.

The impression was that the words hadn’t been for me, but for someone or something else. Was there more than one voice? Yes, on closer inspection there was, not that I could understand any of them. But I knew they were talking about me.

Then the words surged with confidence, one strong united front. The final statement came through loud and clear, vibrating through me;

Since you decided to stay; absolution and retribution.