Hat-Tips, Links, and Shout-Outs, Publishing, Shifting Isles

Authoring: You’re Doing It Wrong (Or: Happy Birthday to Me!)

MatchmakersToday, I turn 33 (finally an adult! … in hobbit years, that is), and I’m celebrating by launching my first m/m romances. Seems a bit strange and backwards to be voluntarily working on my birthday. Then again, writing isn’t really work. At least, certainly not like the day job.

Even through the frustrations and hassles of editing, formatting, writer’s block, and the emotional ups and downs, writing ultimately is all love and no work. I love it. It’s my passion. It’s the only thing I want to do with my life.

And so, I’m celebrating. My birthday present to myself this year is the release of the Matchmakers Trilogy: three gay romances set in the world of the Shifting Isles.

Am I qualified to write m/m romance? Debatable. I read a lot in that genre (almost exclusively in that genre, truth be told), but that may or may not mean much. Will the books go over well? I have no idea. I’ve already sold more books this morning than I have over the entire last year, but that may change over time. I suck at marketing, and I know that. I know I could be selling a hell of a lot more books if I sat down and put in the time to properly promote them, but it’s not what I want to do. Would I like to sell more books? Of course. Who wouldn’t? But is that what I’m in it for? Yes, and no. I’d love to make a career out of writing, but I don’t do it for the money. I do it for the love. So I’m authoring wrong. I could be authoring much better. But marketing just hasn’t ever been a priority for me.

Will people like these books? I don’t know, and I honestly don’t care all that much.

Alright, yes, I do care, but not to the point that it will make or break my day. I do write for my readers, of course, but mostly I write for myself. I write because I have to. I write because I love it. I write because it’s the only thing that gets me truly excited every day. After spending all my school years wondering what the hells was wrong with me, since I had no goals in mind, while all my classmates were off pursuing their future career studies, I’m just grateful to have something about which I’m passionate. That’s all that matters. Instead of wondering what the hells I’m alive for, I’ve got my stories, and that means everything.

I still can’t believe these books didn’t even exist in concept until six months ago. Six months. Just six months from concept to completion. Three whole novels from start to finish in six months. Good gods, I must have been out of my mind to even consider such a thing, but the Muse commanded and I obeyed.

And I will readily admit I love these stories. I love these characters. Even if these books don’t go over well with an audience, I have never been so excited or so proud of something I’ve written. These even surpass my love of Return to Tanas (Shifting Isles, Book 3), and I thought there was no way anything was going to top that writing experience.

Releasing the Matchmakers books is also part of a simple matter of self-validation. After having spent so much of my life hiding and pretending and trying to be what I thought I was supposed to be, this year I’ve finally come to the conclusion that life is too damned short to be miserable. Life is too short to wear a mask. Just the simple matter of being able to say “I read nothing but gay romance” and of being able to write what I want regardless of the reception and to be true to myself in every small way I possibly can, to own my identity and to not be ashamed…what better gift could I possibly give myself than that? What better gift could anyone give himself than the freedom to be himself? Such a seemingly small mental switch, but it makes a world of difference.

To stand up and say, “I am.”

So, today I am 33. Today, I’m not ashamed to be trans. Today, I’m releasing three gay romance novels, just because I can. Just because it’s what I want to do. Just because it’s what I love.

And if even one reader enjoys them, even better.

The Matchmakers Trilogy is now live on CreateSpace and Amazon, in both print and Kindle formats. They are also listed on Goodreads, and I’ve got a small Pinterest board started for the trilogy. The books can be purchased separately, or in one combined volume at a discounted price.

Hat-Tips, Links, and Shout-Outs, News, Publishing, Shifting Isles

The Five-Hour Wife — Now available!

B05 - The Five-Hour WifeI’m sitting here, trying to think of what to say, and all I can seem to get my brain to focus on is how many tabs I have open on my browser right now.

Launching a book pretty much demands that. Checking the listings on Amazon, making sure the print and Kindle formats are linked, confirming the listing in the publisher’s storefront, adding the book versions to Goodreads, updating the Pinterest board (which in this case, admittedly, doesn’t have a whole lot on it), posting about it all on Facebook…

Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

Gods, I need more coffee for this.

*ahem* So, to The Five-Hour Wife. First, the title. I have no bloody clue where the title came from, but once I had it, I pretty much ran with it, and crafted most of the story around it. Granted, the story changed pretty significantly from the first version to what is now available to read, but the general idea was always still there: something incomplete, something aborted, something unfinished. This was a feeling I struggled with for a long time in my personal life. I distinctly remember my mother always telling me that the key to life was go to school, get a degree, get a job, get married, get the house and the car, have kids, etc.

You know? The whole ‘American dream’, blah blah blah.

Instead, I wound up a college dropout, single, childless, and still in the same dead-end job for going on 16 years. But, I do own my own home (yay!) and I’ve found passion in writing, which is something I completely lacked up until just a few years ago. Still, I had a really hard time adjusting to the idea that I could be happy and successful without having that rigid list of things my mother outlined for me — a hard time adjusting to the idea that I could feel complete without checking off every single item.

That can be a hard lesson to learn, as my heroine, Jani Shyford, discovers throughout the book.

While Jani is struggling with feeling incomplete, she runs into her celebrity crush, Kal Rydyn. Actually, it’s more accurate to say he runs into her. Literally. As they spend time together, they both think the other is the answer to all their respective problems, until a deadly scandal breaks, pulling up secrets from both their pasts and threatening to ruin both their careers.

And they’ll have to work against each other.

This story takes place basically between the last two chapters of Broken (Shifting Isles Series, Book 4). It does end with a happily-ever-after, but maybe not your typical one. You’ll just have to read it to see. 😉

Hat-Tips, Links, and Shout-Outs, Publishing, Shifting Isles

Broken — Now available!

41f+T193FWL._SX311_BO1,204,203,200_Finally! It’s done! Wow, you have no idea how glad I am to have this one behind me. After having Return to Tanas absolutely explode out of me in a matter of days, getting stuck over Broken for over a year was beyond frustrating.

But, it’s done. It’s published. It’s now out of my hair.

And it turned out a lot better than I originally thought it would. This story line went through so many changes along the way until it finally flowed well and everything tied together. It still amazes me how moving a key event from one plot point to another dramatically changes the pace and tone of the story.

With Broken, we take a slight change of course in the world of the Shifting Isles. From Benash’s story in The Prisoner to his daughter Saira’s story in S.P.I.R.I.T. Division to Saira’s son Graeden’s story in Return to Tanas, we now drop down one more generation, but the Crawfords are now just supporting characters, and the protagonist is Daivid Thaton, a grown orphan who crosses paths with the Crawfords, and not always in a good way.

Daivid has committed several thefts throughout his life, and gotten caught every time, so he pays the price over and over. On one hand, he doesn’t mind getting caught, because he hates being indebted to people, and he always intends to pay back his victims, but each time he gets caught, he accumulates a new mediation debt on top of the amount he stole, so he’s perpetually broke and quite often homeless.

I got to amuse myself a bit with this one in terms of free market justice. There are no police and courts like we have in the real world, so crimes are subject to a mediated agreement between criminal and victim. Because of his criminal record, no employer will hire Daivid, but he does have a job — only because it was offered to him by his victim as a means of paying off his debt with his own labor.

And Daivid hates the work, but he accepts it because he’s simply thankful to be employed at all, and thus able to not only work off his debt but also (mostly) keep a roof over his head. Why does he hate the work? Well, you’ll just have to read it and find out (keeping in mind that he agreed to the mediation terms, since the alternative meant no employment, certain homelessness, and an even greater mountain of debt that he would have more difficulty paying off — his choice based on his subjective scale of values).

(Thank you, Ludwig von Mises.)

And on top of his debts, Daivid is also trying to track down the parents that abandoned him, not to mention trying to get through the drama of his upcoming wedding.

But then an accident puts a stop to everything…

Broken is now available at CreateSpace.com, as well as on Amazon.com in both paperback and Kindle formats. I’ve also unlocked the Pinterest board for the book if anyone is interested in a few visuals for characters or settings (as well as a few interesting articles on up-and-coming technologies that are used or at least hinted at in the story). The book is also listed on Goodreads for those of you book junkies like me who like to keep track of what they read.

Happy reading!

Hat-Tips, Links, and Shout-Outs, Inspiration, JA Wood, Publishing, Shifting Isles

A Year of Excess

Wow. 2015. What a year! And I can’t believe it’s about to end already. Where has the time gone? I swear it was just yesterday I was packing up 2014 files at work to store away, and now I’m about to do it all again.

As for writing? That’s been a rollercoaster all on its own. It certainly didn’t help that life was seriously getting in the way all the while…


Excessive Anxiety

To people who have never experienced shyness or social anxiety, it’s difficult to explain just how debilitating it can be to try to be social. Add in any other layers to this anxiety, and it can be downright earth-shattering. Even something as simple as going to the grocery store requires an internal pep talk, deep breathing, and a whole lot of hurry.

It can be terrifying to go through the day feeling like you have a spotlight trained on you at all times, when all you want it to just curl up in a dark corner in the safety of your own house and hide away from the world. You don’t want to be seen. You don’t want to be acknowledged. You definitely don’t want to have to interact with anyone for any reason whatsoever.

That’s not to say I’ve been a complete hermit. I did get up and go to work every day, but it was robotic. Habit. Familiar. Fifteen years of going to the same office every day made it easier to stick to that routine without having to talk myself into it each morning. I did go to the grocery store, because it was necessary. Other than that, I pretty much stayed home. Home was safe. Home was comfortable. Home was my own familiar territory where I could be myself and not have to constantly put on a mask for other people and pretend to be something I wasn’t.

Through all that, I could turn to my stories for solace and escape, except for one problem:


Excessive Writer’s Block

Gah! How completely frustrating! After having written Return to Tanas (Shifting Isles, Book 3) in pretty much a matter of weeks, it then took me over a year to complete the next book, Broken (Shifting Isles, Book 4), which is due out at the end of this month. I struggled with this one to the point that I almost threw my hands up and quit. I just could not get the plot to come together. It was almost unbearable to reach the point at which I realized the story wasn’t working and demanded a complete rewrite.

So, I finally gave in and did a rewrite. Scrapped some 50,000 words (half a novel), and started over entirely from scratch.


Then, thank the gods, it finally started to come together. Move a few key scenes to different plot points, and what a difference! The character arcs and plot progression finally flowed the way they were supposed to. After battling this one for over a year, Broken is finally and blessedly finished and about ready to be released. Now, of course, I’m way behind on the writing schedule I had set for myself early in the year, and though I know it’s not true, there’s a part of me that’s inclined to blame that at least partially on…


Excessive Work Hours

For the last year and a half or so, I’ve been working 10 hours a day, 6 days a week at my day job. No lunch breaks. I pretty much park myself at the desk and I’m there until closing, eating like a Hobbit (every two hours) between answering phones and writing up invoices. I’ve done this schedule before, and I’ll probably do it again, whether I like it or not.

Alright, so, it’s not quite as bad as I make it sound. It does pay the mortgage. It does pay the bills. It does give me a definite sense of security and familiarity. I don’t take lunch breaks mostly by choice — it’s just easier to be there all day rather than leave my customers waiting, easier to be there rather than coming back from a break and trying to play catch-up. Still, it’s exhausting. For a person who thrives on solitude and silence, being in a noisy environment all day long, especially with the constant drone of conversations layering over one another, it leaves me at the end of the day with a bone-deep ache for peace and quiet.

It also leaves me with little time to take care of things for myself. Even just trying to get to the dentist or the chiropractor can be a challenge. And one thing I’d been wanting to do all year, but hadn’t managed, was to go visit my old high school so I could take my English teacher, Ms. Mayfield, a copy of one of my books. Though I was always the math wiz in school, and never thought I’d pursue a hobby or a career in writing, Ms. Mayfield helped foster a deep and long-lasting love for philosophy and the written word. Finally, just the other day, I had an opportunity to stop by the school. I didn’t get to visit long, but to see her again was so cool. She has such a passion for words, something I’ll never forget. And to see the smile on her face when she had my book in her hands — that made all the struggles worth it. Ms. Mayfield is one of those teachers who makes you love school, who makes you excited to learn, and she’s definitely a person I’ll treasure forever.

But, after a bunch of hugs, smiles, laughs, and shared memories, I had to get back to work. The office was a disaster when I got there, and a bit overwhelming, but I managed to get everything righted and caught up and then finally take a breather when I found a few minutes of quiet.

One of the perks of working for the family is that I’m allowed to write in my downtime. When the phone gets quite and the flow of invoices slows down, I can fire up the laptop and knock out a few thousand words, if I’m lucky. I’d never be able to get away with that working anywhere else. And for a while I really thought I was going to be stuck having to find another job until we started getting…


Excessive Good News

Thanks to the very nasty divorce my mother put my father through a few years ago, the family business wound up with an obscene amount of debt in order to buy her out. We’ve been teetering on the edge of collapse because of that for so long, there wasn’t even a tunnel, let alone a light at the end. Every day I woke up thinking this would be it, that we’d lose everything, that I’d lose my house, that I’d lose my writing (alright, so I’m a bit dramatic). Then, this year, everything turned around.

Debt still there? Yes, but suddenly it’s more manageable. The bills are all paid. I don’t have this terrifying stack sitting beside my computer anymore. I sit at my desk and look around helplessly because I have nothing to do. No budgeting to plan. No bills to decide which to pay and which to let go another month. No stressing over how to shift things around to make sure my employees get paid first. The To-Pay slot in my filing rack is empty. It’s so weird! And after having put myself on voluntary cut pay for almost two years, I finally got my regular wage back, so I’m saving money again. No more fretting about losing my house, my sanctuary, my safe space where I can be alone with my characters and forget the world for a while.

But not having to stress over work meant that there was suddenly all this new space in my brain to worry about other things, which meant my anxiety spiked. Until, one day, I finally got angry, put my foot down, and decided to make a change. First discovering and then attacking the root of my anxiety meant I could finally see a possibility of life — not just existence but life — in my future. Which led to…


Excessive Happiness

Now, if you had asked me, any time prior to a few months back, if it were possible to be excessively happy, I’d have laughed in your face. Excessively happy? No such thing, right? What could possibly be so bad about being too happy? Was it even possible to be too happy?

Oh, yes. It’s possible. It’s so incredibly possible.

Once I decided to do something for me and started moving forward, the happiness started out exquisite. I hadn’t felt true happiness in so long that it was such a relief! Finally, I was starting to feel alive!

The happiness was so intense that it was almost erotic. I would lie on the couch on a day off work, just staring out the window with a big smile on my face, almost (and I never in my life thought I’d use this word in a serious manner) writhing with pleasure just from being so damned happy.

After a few days of this, it got to be overwhelming. I couldn’t stop smiling, laughing, giggling. After two weeks, it became such a burden that I found myself wishing for sadness or anger or even numbness just to have an emotional break!

Eventually the happiness tapered off to a sense of contentment. Things moved forward, I took some necessary steps, and I had high hopes for the future.

Then I wound up with some time off work to recover from an operation, and I went into it thinking this would be exactly what I needed. A nice little break from work, some quiet time at home, a chance to get caught up on my writing and editing. Ah, yes, I was definitely looking forward to it. What I was not expecting, however…


Excessive Boredom

Yeah, so…being at home, post-op, sounds like a nice relaxing time in theory, but reality was a bit different. I wasn’t in much pain, but I was so damned exhausted while my body healed that I couldn’t seem to get my brain out of a fog. I had eleven straight days of not having to go into the office to look forward to, and suddenly I had nothing to fill them with.

I couldn’t write. I tried. Oh, believe me, I tried. And I knew I had so much to do in order to get back on schedule, but I just could not get my brain to properly engage. So, I took a break from trying, and tried to read instead.

Couldn’t do that, either. I couldn’t focus.

I did ultimately manage to put on a show and zone out while watching it, which provided a bit of a distraction, but even that didn’t hold my attention for long. So I wound up on the couch, staring at the wall, bored out of my gorram mind.

At any other time, I could easily spend a Sunday lying on the couch with nothing but my thoughts and characters to keep me company. I love that. It’s my favorite way to spend a weekend. But during post-op recovery, my brain couldn’t even handle that. So…I got nothing done. Ugh. All that productivity I was looking forward to, and none of it came to fruition.

Eventually, things stared to go back to normal. I went back to work — on restriction, which sucks (no hauling around cases of antifreeze for a while, dang it) — and got back to my stories. I finished the last of the editing and formatting of Broken that I’d been putting off, and the writing for The Five-Hour Wife (Shifting Isles, Book 5) is going well, so I should be just barely on schedule for the posted release dates I’d set for myself. That is, if I can keep on track while my imagination is bombarding me with…


Excessive Book Ideas

I was nice and focused on the Shifting Isles series, sticking to my schedule and looking forward to hitting my target release dates. Yet, in the meantime, I keep getting ideas for more books.

Sometime earlier this year, the J.A. Wood series popped into my head, and hit me with such intensity that I knew I’d have to ultimately write it (a series of books set in the world of the Shifting Isles, but taking place prior to the events in that series). Based on the ideas I currently have for it, this new series will probably fall somewhere in the 5-6 books range.

So far, anyway.

And then I got an idea for another new series, also taking place in the world of the Shifting Isles, but pulling in stories of some minor characters you’ll meet in the Shifting Isles books and delving deeper into their own stories. This will be the Matchmaker series, and is currently sitting at a total of three books.

Hopefully it’ll stay that way. For a while, at least. In the meantime, I’ve got a book to release and another to finish, so, I had better get to work. Which means, of course…


Excessive Coffee


Hat-Tips, Links, and Shout-Outs, Publishing, Shifting Isles

The Prisoner — Now available!

BookCoverImageThe Prisoner is now available on Amazon.com! Alright, so it’s a couple days earlier than I planned to release, but I was just so eager, I couldn’t make myself wait those few extra days to click “Approve” on the CreateSpace website.

Compared to the Lethean trilogy, I am so proud of the way this one turned out, in terms of everything from story content to text format. And the cover! Natalie Fawn Danelishen and Craig Lively did an amazing job putting this beauty together! I’m pretty sure I squealed when I got the proof in my hands, it was that wonderful.

More information is available about the book under the Books tab and the Shifting Isles Series tab. I’ve stored a PDF version of the entire book, available for download for FREE (yes, free! Download it, read it, enjoy it!). The book is also available to purchase in Kindle and Paperback formats on Amazon.com, or directly from the publisher at CreateSpace.com.

The book is also now listed on Goodreads, and I’ve moved the Pinterest board for the book out of the Secret category (although, fair warning: the Pinterest board might contain plot-spoiling images).

Alright. Phew! That’s enough excitement for me for one day. Now back to working on the next volume in the series (due out in June!).

Hat-Tips, Links, and Shout-Outs, Inspiration

Take pains; be perfect

ad5fd8beb858b65c90fdcb0882b69842I found this image on Pinterest this morning, and though it has an element of humor to it, it also really strikes home on something that really bothers me about the modern world.

Where are all the men of the mind? Where are the people who actually care about what they do, and how they do it? Where are the people who believe in doing something, and in doing it well?

It’s so frustrating, on a daily basis, having to deal with people who have no competence whatsoever. I find myself doing other people’s jobs for them more often than not because they simply aren’t capable (or, even worse, just don’t care). It is such a rare and precious thing these days to encounter someone who actually does something well, and I tend to be almost worshipful of that.

So many of us stop at “just good enough” or the bare minimum. So few go the extra mile. So many do just enough to get by. So few take pains to do something completely and well.

Should we be perfect? Of course not. We’re human. That’s impossible. But there is an enormous difference between doing just enough and doing something with competence.

I’m guilty myself when it comes to certain things. I know that. I’ll be the first to admit it. But as I look out at the world, I find it becoming so rampant and all-encompassing that it’s utterly depressing.

Perhaps that’s another reason why I disappear into my stories, and idolize certain people. There’s no true craftsmanship anymore, except in rare occasions — and when I see it, I feel almost brought back to life.

As an example: I was walking around my local neighborhood one day, a few years ago, and passed by a house with the most exquisite concrete work I’d ever seen.

I know, a rather silly example, is it not? But completely true. Concrete, as a rule, doesn’t exactly inspire, but I was so struck by how beautifully this path and stairway was constructed that I actually had to stop and stare. I’d never seen anything like it done with such care and precision.

And the same can be applied to just about anything else we encounter on a daily basis. The saying “They just don’t make things like they used to” is painfully accurate. The same could also be said, not just for things, but for services. Actions and behaviors are done with minimal effort, just as things are made with minimal care and quality. But on that rare occasion when one finds something well-made, or a service well-provided, ah! Now there is something to treasure — perhaps even to celebrate.

Yet it remains such a rare thing, and the lack so disappointing. After spending an entire day in the company of the general public, as well as those who work in related industries and can’t seem to do their jobs to save their lives, at the end of the day I simply crave escape.

Thus, my stories. True, my characters aren’t perfect (indeed, they can’t be, or there would be no stories to tell), but they allow me to take a step back from a disappointing world and delve into something a little bit better, where I can encounter a phenomenal musician, or a dedicated security officer, or a precise scientist. For a few hours, I can turn my back on the dull, the mundane, and the “just good enough”, and immerse myself in the lives of people who truly care about what they do, and in doing it well.

This isn’t even restricted to the realm of work, either. The same can be said of relationships or just about any other aspect of life. I was watching Miss Austen Regrets last night, and one line in particular stood out to me: “My darling girl, this is the real world. The only way to get a man like Mr Darcy is to make him up.”

Whether it be within families or romantic relationships, people just don’t seem to take the time and care they once did. Everything is a matter of taking people for granted, or making assumptions, or not communicating, rather than really trying to be present for the people we claim to love. Mr Darcy seems not to exist in the real world because no one strives to be him — and by this, I don’t mean just someone like the character, but the general idea behind that sentence, in terms of all people: We have all these ideas of how families and relationships ought to be, but few of us seem to take pains to be those people for others, so neither can we find those people for ourselves.

Hence, again, I find people disappointing, and disappear into the lives of my characters, or the characters of others. Fiction gives the relief of being able to live, just for a moment, in the lives and with the people we’d wish to encounter in the real world, yet find sorely lacking. We devour works on brave adventurers and romantic heroes and daring achievers because we find those grand, inspirational, competent people missing from the real world.

So, yes, funny as it is, I wouldn’t even mind finding someone in the real world who was competent at adultery. At least it would be a competence! Something done well, if one can be said to commit adultery well. I suppose it’s possible, morality aside…

Alright, we won’t go there. Perhaps we should stick to competence in zoology. Anyway, moving along…

So, please, for the love of all that is holy, whatever you do — in your work, your studies, your relationships, your hobbies — take pains, and do it well. It doesn’t have to be perfect, but at least go a step beyond.

And for those who show competence, go the extra mile, and do things well, you have my eternal thanks and adoration. I would actually love to meet you and shake your hand.

In the meantime, I suppose it’s back into my fictional world I go. I have a date with a man who is trying to escape from prison.



[Post title is from Act I, Scene 2 of William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream]

Hat-Tips, Links, and Shout-Outs, Lethean, Publishing, Teasers and Excerpts

Hale and … Pause

Hale and FarewellLook at this beauty! Another wonderful cover by my dear NFD. So dark, and grim, and dystopian — just right for the final installment of the Lethean Trilogy, Hale and Farewell, which takes place in a futuristic dystopian United States (or, at least, what’s left of it).

Right now, the proof is slowly making its way to my mailbox, and the book is scheduled to be released for sale on June 29th, the second anniversary of the day I started writing The Lethean.

Once again, I must extend my sincerest thanks to author Lisa Clark O’Neill for all her guidance and encouragement, but also her suggestion that I serialize The Lethean, which was originally intended to be a standalone novel. I find it amusing that, of all three books in the trilogy, Hale and Farewell wound up being my favorite by far, considering I — qua reader — absolutely devour all things Regency England (hence the setting of The Lethean) and actively avoid all things dystopian.

Took me by surprise, but I couldn’t be happier. I absolutely love Hale and Farewell.

Well, I suppose I could be happier. I realize now — too late, of course — that I made a mistake with Uncommonly Strong, the second book in the trilogy. I got overeager, wanting to plow through releasing these books, mostly because I was far too excited to get the third book out, that I rushed the second. It’s not perfect; it lacks a certain proper pacing; it has some unnecessary scenes; it’ll never get rave reviews…

Yet, in a way, that’s okay. It was a good learning experience, and now I know what not to do from now on. In the meantime, I’m studying story craft (something I obviously should have delved into much more deeply before I even thought about publishing in the first place) and using it to fine-tune my upcoming works.

Right now my computer is bursting with files in progress. I’ve got a 14-part fantasy series that will explore a variety of themes, people, and ideas: oppressive government (no surprise there), murder, the sanctity of the mind, economics, magic, addictions, rape, technology, travel, war, love and marriage, GLBT issues, philosophy, and much more. I’m hoping to have the first one ready to go by the end of the year, but we’ll see how that goes, considering there’s another standalone project I also have in the works: the one book that I really must write, a massive reworking of the book that got me started writing in the first place, five years ago now.

Goodness, how time flies! Seems like just yesterday…

That book, in particular, will probably be a while in coming. I’m doing some massive outlining and trying to make sure it all weaves together properly before I even think about tackling a single line of it, let alone a chapter. Thus, in the meantime, a pause in releasing new books.

But for now: Coming soon! Hale and Farewell.

Happy reading!

Here, have a teaser:

She took one step forward, putting herself one step closer to the Tower than to the Underground, and felt her chin come up, her spine straighten, and her shoulders square. That single step was the most difficult thing she’d ever done in her life, but she knew in the very depths of her soul that it was right.

Chances were great that she would lose everything she wanted, but it would be worth it. Better to die with honor and truth than to live with shame and a lie.

She clenched her hands into fists. The choice was made.

‘Sleep well, Marcus Thane. Tonight will be your last…’

Hat-Tips, Links, and Shout-Outs, Inspiration, Lethean, News, Publishing, Teasers and Excerpts

Round Two (Teaser Included!)

Uncommonly StrongUncommonly Strong (Lethean Trilogy, Book II) is finally here!

I know, I just put out Book I less than two months ago, so it’s odd to say finally in this case, but considering how much I had to fight the plot in this book, finally feels very apropos.

Whereas The Lethean (Book I) and Hale and Farewell (Book III) seemed to practically write themselves, Book II gave me a world of trouble. There were huge chunks that I tore out and rewrote several times before I became even just content with the story, and finally got it to a point where I was happy with it. It could still probably use some improvement — what couldn’t? — but as a reader, I quite enjoy it now, particularly for the characters.

Though I do rather adore Landon and Victoria from Book I, I had a little more fun with the personalities of the characters in Book II. Sati is always making lighthearted comments that no one finds funny (I don’t know anyone like that…*ahem*…); Joseph is all about the love of his family, even when they drive him crazy (cue plugging his ears when Thomas and Spencer start in on their openly intimate talk); Thomas is Joseph’s three-minute-older twin brother, the stylish, suave one who is the most open-minded and often the voice of reason, though he does have his dark side, too; and Thomas’s partner, Spencer, who is pretty much the adult kid in the family, always smiling and enjoying life.

As a bonus, Uncommonly Strong includes a short story at the end, partly inspired by the 2013 documentary Bridegroom. The overall theme of the Lethean trilogy is that love is love, despite what society or the law may have to say, and after watching that film, it triggered some inspiration to delve a little more deeply into the characters of Thomas and Spencer. In general, though, it’s not just about any particular minority rights, so much as general human rights. In The Lethean, Landon and Victoria come from vastly different social circles, and their relationship would have been at least frowned upon if not forbidden in Regency England. In Uncommonly Strong, Thomas and Spencer being a gay couple certainly has its related persecution — and even Sati and Joseph’s relationship is questioned by Sati’s very religious foster family. In Hale and Farewell…well, I won’t spoil it. That one is not as obvious a forbidden romance but the element does come into play.

I am so thankful that author Lisa Clark O’Neill suggested serializing The Lethean. It was originally meant to be a standalone novel, but after she mentioned the possibility of turning it into a series, I started looking more into certain aspects of the Lethean lifestyle and culture and wondered how those aspects would play into different situations. Thus, Books II and III came to life — and I’m so glad they did, because I absolutely love Book III and can’t wait to get to that one! It’s already written, just waiting for a few final rounds of editing, and should be available in July.

By the way, Lisa has a new novel out as of yesterday. Be sure to check it out here. And if you haven’t come across her Southern Comfort series, I highly recommend it.

And, of course, I must once again tip my hat to the beautiful and talented Natalie Fawn Danelishen for her work on the cover art.

So, without further ado, here is Chapter 1 from Uncommonly Strong. Enjoy!


Chapter 1

Are you ready?”

Joseph Hale put the question to his twin brother, Thomas, as they stood side-by-side at the mirror in the immaculate men’s bathroom on the twenty-third floor of Haven Marketing. Just down the hall was the conference room where they were scheduled to present a new ad campaign, and they had ducked into the bathroom to check their teeth and straighten their ties before meeting the new client.

The brothers were nearly indistinguishable. They had the same straight nose, the same diamond chin with the same short boxed beard, the same broad shoulders, and even the same steel grey eyes. Other than the fact that Joseph favored pinstripe grey suits, while his brother preferred his signature taupe, the only way to tell them apart was that Joseph’s hair was so dark it was almost black, while Thomas’s was closer to chestnut brown. Even then, people still mixed them up – and once, back in high school, when Thomas had dyed his hair to match that of his three-minute-younger brother, not even their own mother could tell them apart without reading them by touch.

I’m always ready.” Thomas grinned confidently, and pulled out a comb to run through his hair.

Joseph laughed. “You’re not ready.”

Thomas pocketed the comb with a sigh, rolled his eyes, and turned to face his brother, grabbing Joseph around the back of the neck and bringing their foreheads together.

Joseph’s laugh vanished as he and his twin turned serious – head-to-head, eyes closed – and he realized he was more anxious about the presentation than he wanted to admit. Without thinking about it, his hand copied that of his brother, and they stood there for a long moment, clasping one another’s necks while they shared encouraging thoughts through the touch of their foreheads.

It was a habit that had developed from childhood, an unspoken ritual that they never failed to perform, especially when something important was about to occur. They tried to do it where they wouldn’t be seen, strange as it must look for two men to stand so close and so silent for so long, and hoped that if anyone ever did witness it, they could chalk it up to nothing more than a twin bond.

Yet, it was so much more.

Thomas focused all his thought on the celebratory drinks they would share once they succeeded in their presentation; and Joseph, reading his brother’s thought, grinned.

* * *

Peter Jenkins, President and CEO of Haven Marketing, rarely had a chance to sit in on a campaign pitch – and seldom visited the San Francisco office – but when it came to a potential client the size of Carson Electronics, he certainly couldn’t afford not to be present.

Especially,” he muttered to himself, “not after two of my best teams have failed.”

He watched the Hale twins stroll down the hallway toward him, looking composed and confident. At least, he certainly hoped they were confident. Carson’s Board of Directors were being extremely gracious coming for a third presentation, and though circumstances weren’t exactly dire, Jenkins wanted the security of this contract in order to help Haven weather the shaky economy.

Jenkins stuffed his hands into his pockets and tried to swallow his nerves, wondering if the Hales’ presentation would be accepted where the others had not been.

The first two teams had taken radically different approaches to the sample television spots they’d made for the Carson Board. One was raucous and colorful, the other pale and muted. The only similarity between the two presentations had been the dull monotones of the team leaders’ voices.

Both presentations had been utter failures.

Jenkins had asked the Hale brothers to rehearse their pitch for him the day before. The ad itself took rather a middle ground between the two failed presentations, being neither too boisterous nor too quiet. It was a good, professional product, but what struck him most were the brothers themselves. Whereas the other two teams had been so businesslike as to be almost boring, the Hales had given an energetic, masculine introduction to their ad. Jenkins hoped this more impressive lead-in would be what it took to capture the attention of Daniel Carson – a man who looked like he belonged in a plaid shirt with a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder rather than in a business suit with a pen in his hand.

Good morning, Mr. Jenkins,” the twins said in their annoyingly perfect synchronicity.

Good morning, good morning,” he responded, a little too gruffly, shaking their hands in turn. “Are you boys ready for this?”

Yes, sir, Mr. Jenkins,” the light-haired one responded. Joseph? Or Thomas? He wasn’t quite sure and was too anxious to bother asking.

You both know how much we could use this contract,” he said sternly, and watched them both nod in reply. “I like your presentation, and I’ve heard good things about you from your department head, so if you can pull this off – if you can succeed where Edwards’s and Benson’s teams failed – it’ll mean tremendous promotions for you both.”

We’re ready, Mr. Jenkins.”

We won’t let you down, sir.”

Jenkins looked from one to the other, opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a secretary coming to an abrupt stop at his side, nervously clutching a binder to her chest.

Mr. Jenkins,” she said quietly, “the Carsons are here. I’ve just shown them into the conference room.”

Jenkins swallowed and forced on a smile. “Thank you, Tina. That’ll be all.”

The secretary nodded and hurried off, while Jenkins spun on his heel and led the way to the conference room, hearing the light footfalls of the twins behind him.

* * *

The first handshake was always the most stressful part of meeting a new client. Joseph knew that both he and Thomas were steeling themselves for the physical contact that would give them the competitive edge they needed – or would reveal their secret.

Upon Mr. Jenkins’s introduction, Joseph and his brother took turns shaking hands with Daniel Carson himself, and both twins inwardly sighed with relief when they realized their secret was safe. Then it was Mr. Carson’s turn to introduce his associates: a wiry assistant named Brian and a voluptuous blonde named Gertrude. Their handshakes with Gertrude lingered ever so slightly, and as the Carson team took their seats, Joseph and his twin shared a look of understanding.

* * *

Jenkins was already irritated. He didn’t think anyone else could tell, but he had seen the extended handshakes the Hale twins had shared with the woman, and his first thought was that his boys no longer had their focus on the task at hand. He had to admit, Gertrude was quite the distraction, and he realized he was already bracing himself for another utter failure.

Across the room, at the foot of the conference table, he saw the twins share a brief look, and the almost imperceptible nod one gave the other right before they both turned their attention to the Carson representatives.

Jenkins clenched his fists in his lap, waiting for the rugged, manly presentation he’d seen rehearsed the day before, and felt his jaw drop when he began to witness something entirely different.

Whereas, the day before, the twins had been the very image of a boys’ night out – an approach that Jenkins was sure would work on rugged Mr. Carson – they had now slipped into entirely different mannerisms. Their movements were fluid instead of rigid, their voices soft instead of bold. The words were precisely the same as they’d been during their rehearsal, but what Jenkins saw now was something that bordered on sensual.

To further his dismay, he saw that, while certainly not ignoring Mr. Carson, the twins were directing their attention and presentation primarily toward the woman.

Carson Electronics,” Thomas wrapped up, giving the woman a look that could only be described as smoldering while he delivered the tag line: “One step ahead.”

Jenkins felt himself turning red with anger. He was going to throw both of these boys out on the street as soon as they received their certain rejection from the Carson team.

Very impressive, Mr. Hale, and Mr. Hale.” Daniel Carson nodded to each of the twins after a brief, whispered conversation with the woman at his side. “I just have one question for you. No one has ever seen through our farce before. How did you know that Gertrude has the final say?”

Jenkins choked on a “What?” as his jaw dropped again, and he saw the twins share a look, grinning with satisfaction.

* * *

Alright, explain to me what just happened in there!”

Joseph and his brother, along with Mr. Jenkins, had just said goodbye to the Carson team – after signing a six-figure advertising contract – and now the twins braced themselves as the boss was finally free to drop his forced calm and explode.

Just like they explained, sir,” Joseph said. “Gertrude is actually Gertrude Carson, who started the company, but no one has ever taken her seriously because she’s a woman, so on paper she’s only V.P. while she lets her cousin Daniel appear as acting President.”

Yes, yes, I heard all that.” Mr. Jenkins waved his hands in frustration. “What I want to know is how you two knew that! And you didn’t say a word about it yesterday! When you started changing your presentation, I thought I was going to have a heart attack!”

We didn’t know it yesterday, sir,” Thomas added respectfully. “We only just…realized it when we met them today.”

Yes, but…how?”

Joseph looked at his brother, who shrugged, so he simply turned a smile on his boss and said, “Call it a hunch.”

* * *

At their favorite downtown bar, Joseph and his twin squeezed through the crush of bodies and took a booth in a relatively quiet corner. In the heat of the room, and free from contact with other people, Thomas gladly divested himself of his jacket, lounging comfortably in a black polo shirt and khaki slacks, with an off-white fedora tilted low over his brow. Joseph unbuttoned the cuffs of his blue-and-white striped dress shirt and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows.

A waitress took their drink orders, and once the brothers were alone again, Thomas pulled a gold ring from his pocket and slid it onto his left ring finger. Though Joseph was used to the action by now, he still couldn’t fathom how his brother could stand not to wear his ring at all times. Joseph knew that, when he finally met his own partner someday, he would never want to see his own ring off his hand. At least Thomas’s partner was aware of the behavior and didn’t seem to mind one bit.

A few minutes later, the brothers were enjoying their respective bourbon and scotch, while a martini sat at Thomas’s elbow, waiting for its drinker.

They sipped in silence, watching the crowds around the pool tables and on the small dance floor, one brother occasionally resting a hand on the other’s arm to silently share a thought. Whereas the cacophony of thoughts that could be picked up from direct contact with such a crowd could be burdensome, silent contact with one another was a source of amusement. The brothers, being what they were, could watch people and make comments about them without uttering a single audible word.

Joseph rested his elbows on the table while Thomas slouched back, tugging the fedora down lower over his eyes. Joseph could see his older brother smiling to himself as he sipped his drink, quietly enjoying their accomplishment of the day.

Across the room, Joseph spotted a young man wearing skinny jeans, a pink plaid button-up T-shirt, and a grey scarf. Blond curls peeked out from beneath a black slouch beanie, and a broad smile lit up the man’s freshly shaved face as he squeezed through the crowd, walking with a slight limp.

Joseph set down his drink and rested a hand on Thomas’s arm, making him grin.

You don’t need to tell me he’s coming.” Thomas laughed, sitting up straight and pushing his hat back with an index finger to the underside of the brim. “I can feel him, you know.”

Joseph shrugged and laughed. “Force of habit.”

Hi boys!” The newcomer giggled, blowing Joseph a kiss before sitting down right beside Thomas. “Sorry I’m late–”

His words cut off as Thomas gathered him up in his arms and gave him a long, deep kiss.

Joseph rolled his eyes. “Tom, Spencer, really? Can’t you guys wait until you get home?”

The couple ignored him, kissing one another hungrily, so Joseph focused on his drink and tried not to laugh.

Mmmm, I missed you too,” Spencer managed to get out when Thomas stopped for a breath. “What was that for?”

We had a really good day,” Thomas murmured, and kissed him again.

Guys, come on!” Joseph laughed.

Thomas sighed and nodded toward his brother. “We really need to find him his partner.”

Spencer gave Joseph a pointed look, then made a show of kissing Thomas back before straightening himself on the bench and resting his head on his partner’s shoulder.

Really, Joseph,” Spencer said, “you just don’t understand.”

I just thought we were celebrating, that’s all.”

And what do you think we were just doing?” Spencer grinned childishly. “What are we celebrating, anyway?”

Spencer started sipping at the martini while the twins recounted their successful presentation, and he had to look back and forth between the two as they habitually finished one another’s sentences.

When they were finished, Spencer sat forward and held up his hands, saying, “Wait a minute, wait a minute! You guys read your clients? Again? Isn’t that cheating?”

How so?” Thomas asked.

Well…doesn’t that give you an unfair advantage, being able to read their thoughts?”

Not necessarily,” Thomas said. “An advantage, sure, but–”

“–it’s no different from any other ‘advantage’ a person could conceivably have–” Joseph continued.

“–like some people are naturally better at math–”

“–and some at making speeches–”

“–and some at engineering–”

“–or sports–”

“–or art–”

“–and they couldn’t help being born the way they were–”

“–and neither could we help being born Lethean–”

“–so we just use what we have to work with, that’s all.”

Spencer put a finger to his lips and loudly shushed them, then shook his head, dizzy from the conversation.

Thomas looked slightly chagrined at having said the word aloud, but as the trio glanced around, no one seemed to have taken any notice of their conversation, so they each heaved a sigh of relief. There were very few of their kind left in the world, but maintaining the secret of their Lethean heritage was still considered a cardinal virtue.

They knew perfectly well that, should their abilities ever be made public, they could be in for a world of trouble.

It’s not like we asked to be born this way,” Thomas continued, lowering his voice. “It just simply happened, so like Joseph said, we use what we’ve got.”

Right. It’s not like you’d see a world-famous athlete give up his ability just because of some supposed ‘unfair’ advantage over, say, someone who’s disabled,” Joseph added, to which Spencer had to nod in agreement.

Besides–” Thomas grinned, putting an arm around his partner. “I wouldn’t give it up for all the money in the world. I hear the sex isn’t as great for regular humans.”

Pfff, speak for yourself.” Spencer laughed. “I’d still be great in bed, even if I were only human.”

Thomas looked at his brother and shrugged. “He’s got a point there.”

Mmmm, you know it–”

Guys! Really?” Joseph interrupted, rolling his eyes.

Spencer laughed and jabbed his partner in the ribs. “You know what we should do? As soon as we get a chance for a vacation, we should take your brother traveling to find his partner. Get him all nice and paired up and then he’ll finally understand what he’s been missing, and stop pestering us about our pillow talk.”

You know, that’s not a bad idea.” Thomas grinned and turned to his twin. “How about it, Joe? Where is she, do you think?”

She?” Spencer raised an eyebrow, and laughed deviously. “What if it’s a he?”

Joseph looked down at the empty glass between his hands, and quietly responded, “No, she. I’m not sure how, but I can tell it’s a woman. And she’s very far away. Very faint. Somewhere east, but…”

He felt the other two watching him, but didn’t take his eyes off his glass. After a moment, Thomas reached over and rested a hand on his shoulder, asking seriously, “Joe, what’s wrong?”

Joseph glanced up at his twin and back down at his hands, sighing. “She’s in pain, and always so tired. It’s very faint but I can always feel it there. She’s very weak, and I can feel her fear. I wish I could understand it, but she’s too far away.”

Have you tried sending her positive feelings?” Spencer asked, serious for a change. “I know that helped when Tom did that for me. Remember? When we were in the hospital and–”

Thomas visibly shuddered. “Ugh, don’t remind me,” he said, automatically reaching down to massage Spencer’s bad leg.

Have you tried that, Joe?” Spencer asked again.

Joseph nodded. “Every day. I can’t tell if she feels it, though. She’s just…ugh, by Lethe, she’s just too far away.”

Well, I think–” Spencer began, but got interrupted when another man approached their table.

Tom! Joe!” the man called, and Joseph looked up to see their coworker, Brad Edwards. “I hear you got the Carson contract. Congratulations.”

Joseph shook his offered hand, surprised at the truth and sincerity in the man’s voice, considering Brad’s was one of the Carson pitches that had failed.

Thank you,” Joseph replied while Brad perched on the edge of the bench next to him.

No hard feelings?” Thomas joked while he reached across the table to shake Brad’s hand.

Nah.” Brad waved it off. “I knew our pitch was crap. But what could I do? The team insisted it was good enough, but it didn’t seem right to me, and I couldn’t very well go against four other people who agreed with each other, now, could I?”

Why not?” Thomas asked. “If you know in your gut that something isn’t right, why would you play along? Why would you let others decide for you?”

Brad shrugged. “Just easier that way.”

Joseph stifled a laugh, thinking of all the times he and his twin had bickered over certain ad concepts, neither one backing down without good reason. He could never understand how people like Brad would simply bow down to the opinions of others.

Looking over at his twin, he figured Thomas was probably thinking the same thing.

A low whistle distracted him out of his thoughts, and he heard Brad say, “Would you get a load of those legs! Look, Joe, I think they’re checking us out.”

Joseph felt his twin kick him under the table, and turned to follow Brad’s gaze. Leaning against the bar were two women who looked as though they’d just stepped off a magazine cover, complete with slender legs, short skirts, and overflowing low-cut tops.

Brad smacked him on the arm. “Come on, Joe.”

No, thank you.”

Brad swung around to face him with an incredulous look. “Are you crazy? They’re looking right at us and you’re going to pass that up?”

Joseph shrugged and spun his empty glass around on the table.

Dude, tell me you’re joking.”

In response, Joseph just shook his head.

What, are you gay or something?” Brad asked, then a horrified look came over his face. “Shit. Sorry, Tom. No offense.”

Thomas held up a hand like he was waving off the comment. “None taken.”

You’re really not interested?” Brad asked again, and Joseph shook his head. “Christ Almighty, man. Very well. Suit yourself.”

With that, Brad got up and approached the bar alone, and Thomas kicked his twin under the table again.


You’re supposed to at least pretend,” his twin hissed, and Spencer nodded along beside him. “You don’t want another Mike Callahan incident, do you?”

Joseph grimaced, remembering the fight with Mike all those years ago. “No,” he answered. “But do you have any idea how hard it is to fake interest in a human?”

Thomas grinned. “Oh, sure. It’s hysterical.” He shared a look with his partner and the two burst out laughing.

Did I miss something?” Joseph asked.

When Thomas finally got his laughter under control, he said, “Spencer dragged me to this gay bar one night, a couple months back, even though he knows I hate dancing.” He paused and shot his partner a look, but Spencer just grinned back at him. Thomas cleared his throat and continued, “As a joke, he asked me to try dancing with other men. I couldn’t keep a straight face for the life of me, and this one guy was absolutely furious that he couldn’t get me hard.”

Ha!” Spencer laughed. “I almost forgot about that. The guy with a tattoo on the back of his hand, right? Oh, the look on his face was priceless.”

Joseph cut through their laughter, asking, “So you couldn’t do it for one hour, yet you expect me to keep up the charade day after day?”

Well, until you find your partner, Joseph, I–”

I don’t like pretending to be something I’m not,” Joseph interrupted him, and the mirth across the table evaporated.

Thomas reached over and squeezed his hand. “You’re right, Joe. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to see you have to go through another incident like–”

He was cut off when Spencer grabbed his arm, gasping, “Ah! Tom, it’s our song. Come on, let’s dance!”

Spencer jumped up from the booth, tugging on Thomas’s hand, while his partner complained, “Did I not just remind you – again – that I hate dancing? And besides, you’re only going to aggravate your leg.”

Pfff, like you don’t enjoy helping me with my stretches.” He tugged on Thomas’s hand again. “Thomas, darling, dearest, mera pyaar, mon amour.” He pouted. “Please?”

Thomas turned to his brother and sighed. “The things I do for love.”

Spencer grinned and seemed to drag Thomas to the dance floor, but once there, Joseph could tell that his brother was happy right where he was, in the arms of the person he loved more than anyone else in the entire world.

In the arms of the person who carried the other half of his soul.

Hat-Tips, Links, and Shout-Outs, Lethean, News, Publishing

It’s here!

LetheanDreams really do come true.

There exists in the world a book with my name on it. I’m still rather in shock.

The UPS driver who delivered my final proof said he’d never seen someone react with such excitement to receiving a package.

And I’m still chair dancing. 🙂

The Lethean will be available on Amazon.com (in both print and Kindle formats) in a few days, as well as under expanded distribution, but it is immediately available in print on the CreateSpace store here.

Tremendous thanks to author Lisa Clark O’Neill for her guidance and suggestions, as well as to Natalie Fawn Danelishen for her hard work on the cover art.

Hat-Tips, Links, and Shout-Outs, Lethean, News, Teasers and Excerpts

Lethean Teaser: Prologue to Book 1

What can I say? Life happens.

The first novel in the Lethean trilogy has been sitting on the self-publishing platform for a couple months now, only waiting for the cover art to be complete and ready to launch. The big hold-up in the meantime is that my wonderfully-talented cover artist has been battling UPS over a damaged computer — a device she badly needs in order to create my cover art, not to mention dozens of other projects she has lined up for others. If you’re on Facebook, and have seen the page Unbound Quotes and Notes (among others), you’ve likely seen the beautiful work by NFD. She’s an amazingly awesome woman and graciously offered to do my artwork; and, considering her talent, I’m holding The Lethean until UPS finally releases her computer so she can work on the file.

By the way, if you’re feeling generous, and want to help out a fantastic woman who is trying to support two kids, you can join me in donating to NFD here. 🙂

In the meantime, while waiting to launch book 1, I’m engaged in an editing battle with book 2, while book 3 sits patiently in the wings, urging book 2 to cooperate and waiting its turn. I think book 2 might be the death of me, but I’m really excited to get around to publishing book 3, so the battle will be worth it.

And now, to the teaser. Hopefully book 1 will be ready to launch soon (please cooperate, UPS!), but for now, here is the prologue. Enjoy!

John Humphreys strode across his drawing room, puffing angrily at his cigar. His Hessian boots sank into the plush blue carpet as he paced from window to sofa and back, skirting around a high-backed chair in the process. Several times, he brushed past a delicate mahogany table, causing his cooling, untouched teacup to rattle on its saucer in the most irritating fashion. Through narrowed eyes, he glanced out the grand window, framed elegantly with gold-tone drapes that set off the gilt frames on the chairs and sofa, but still saw nothing other than the empty drive that stretched away into the distance between two perfect rows of stately oaks. With his unoccupied hand, Humphreys tugged free his watch, nearly tearing the pocket in his frustration, and noted the time.

Five minutes more,” he grumbled to himself, thrusting the silver timepiece back in place.

Jack, dearest,” his lady murmured, “I’m sure the inspector will arrive on schedule.”

Mrs. Humphreys sat alone on the sofa, a few of her grey-streaked light brown curls dangling from her cap as she bent her plump figure over her needlework. The sound of her voice grated on Humphreys’s nerves, and he whirled to face her, removing the cigar from his lips to better deliver a retort.

Well I damned wish he’d be early,” he spat as he tapped his cigar over the fire, then stepped closer to his wife. “It’s trial enough to be robbed, but then to be kept waiting–”

His complaint ceased as the sound of the front door being knocked upon and answered alerted him to the arrival of the inspector. Mr. Humphreys thrust aside his cigar and checked his reflection in a large, gilt mirror, ensuring his cravat was neatly tied and his patterned silk waistcoat showed to advantage beneath his new broadcloth tailcoat. He brushed his fingers over his smooth chin, turned his head to the right and the left to confirm his dark hair was tidy, poked idly at the large, ugly mole just below his right eye, then spun away from the mirror and came to a halt at the fireplace, resting an elbow on the pure white mantle while his chin gained a few inches of elevation.

A footman bustled into the room, holding the door open as he bowed an introduction. “Inspector Farnsworth, sir.”

Mr. Humphreys offered the footman a mere jerk of a nod in response, and the man quietly vanished while the inspector approached. Humphreys almost smirked with satisfaction, seeing the inspector had not wasted any time by allowing the servants to take his hat and overcoat from him, and instead entered the room still bundled against the chilly weather.

Mr. Humphreys.” The inspector bowed, sweeping his hat from his head, a businesslike alertness to his bright blue eyes. “I am at your service, sir.”

What have you found?” the gentleman barked.

Inspector Farnsworth’s eyes flicked a bit wider, clearly abashed at the discourteous beginning, but wisely did not comment, and immediately reported, “We have recovered the stolen jewel, sir. It will be along shortly. Your jeweler, Mr. Pritchett, offered his services to transport the item securely.”

Mr. Humphreys snorted with impatience. He didn’t care much for the jewel in question – beside the fact that his wife would have given all manner of bother about it had it not been recovered – though he was livid over the simple matter of having been stolen from. It was not the jewel he wanted, so much as its taker.

And the thief?” he demanded.

Ah.” The inspector brightened, his eyes twinkling with the pleasure of success. “We have him in custody, though it was a bit of a trial to restrain him. With that accomplished, however, it was simplicity itself to wring a confession from the man. You see, he attempted to lie about the theft, but was unable to do so.”

Mr. Humphreys caught the inflection in the inspector’s words, but not understanding the meaning, he gave the inspector a puzzled look and asked, “Unable?”

Yes, he–” the inspector began, nodding vigorously, then checked himself. He looked around, clearly noting that Mrs. Humphreys was watching the exchange with rapt attention, then cleared his throat and stepped closer, lowering his voice. “He was not one of us, sir.”

I beg your pardon?”

The inspector motioned with his hand, and Mr. Humphreys, growling impatiently again, leaned closer. A single word of three syllables drifted into his ear, and at the sound of it, Humphreys reared back and roared, “Them! They are a menace! I do wish the Crown would do away with the lot of them!”

Whom, dear?” his wife gasped, her needlework slipping from her fingers as her attention fixed on the two men.

My dear!” he cried angrily, and gave his lady a look that she rightly understood to mean she was excused. The little woman rapidly gathered her things and bustled away, leaving the two men alone.

A menace, I tell you!” he repeated once the door clicked shut. He spun away from the fireplace and resumed pacing, the carpet now useless to quiet his thundering steps. “Can nothing be done about them?”

The inspector spread his hands and shrugged. “They exist all over the world, sir, from what I hear. Not that there are a great many of them, comparatively speaking – a minor and dwindling race, as I understand it. Still, you can hardly judge the lot of them by the actions of one–”

I may judge as I wish!” the gentleman spat, purpling with rage. “This one has used his abilities to his advantage, and against me! I would see the lot of them hanged!”

Sir, if I may, in all my years, this is only the second I’ve encountered in a criminal role. Surely–”

When Mr. Humphreys turned his angry glare upon the inspector, the latter quickly silenced himself and waited, clasping his hands before him while his hat still dangled from where it was pinched between a thumb and forefinger. After a tense moment, Mr. Humphreys huffed angrily, then gave a curt bow. “Thank you for your trouble, Inspector. Good afternoon.”

Inspector Farnsworth stared at his host for a moment, clearly astounded at the conversation, then bowed deeply, giving a polite but forced, “Sir,” before he swept from the room.

 * * *

That evening, facing her parents in the carriage as it rolled over the cobblestone streets, Agatha Humphreys sat as quietly as she could, knowing her father was still in a rather foul mood. She’d seen him brooding all afternoon, and he’d threatened to cancel their attendance at the ball that evening, until Agatha had begun to cry and he had given in.

When they arrived at the Caldwell’s townhouse, Agatha alighted from the carriage with the help of her father’s hand. She glanced down to make sure the skirt of her primrose gown was flowing just so, but straightened abruptly when she realized her father still maintained his clasp on her fingers. Startled, Agatha looked up and saw a hint of a smile on his face. He patted her cheek, being careful not to disturb the dark curls that graced her temples, then took Agatha and her mother on either arm as he led them inside. Agatha’s spirits soared, knowing she was her father’s dearest treasure as usual.

Once inside, servants helped them become divested of hats and cloaks, and Agatha followed her parents up a grand staircase and through to a large hall, emptied of furniture except for the chairs that lined the paneled walls. All earlier tension was forgotten as Agatha glanced over the sea of guests, looking for one face in particular amidst the swirling mass of ribbons, lace, monocles, tailcoats, gloves, and fans.

Mr. Humphreys!”

Agatha fought to keep her eager grin restrained as she turned with her parents at the sound of the voice. It belonged to a handsome young gentleman who was approaching them with a welcoming smile.

Good evening, sir!” the young man exclaimed as he shook hands with Agatha’s father. “Please excuse my tardiness. I ought to have met you in the receiving line.” Then he turned to Mrs. Humphreys, repeating his apology while politely pressing her fingers, and finally bowed gallantly at Agatha herself. “Miss Humphreys. Might I have the honor of the first dance?”

Certain that she was blushing to the roots of her hair, Agatha dropped a curtsy and murmured, “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Caldwell.”

Young Mr. Caldwell bowed to them all again, his dark brown hair sweeping into his equally dark eyes as he did so, and Agatha longed to reach out and brush those locks aside, though the change in gravity did it for her as he straightened. With the flash of a perfect smile, he disappeared to greet other guests, and Agatha sighed to herself, resigned to wait. She followed her parents through the rooms, only stopping occasionally to chat gaily with her friends, but always keeping an eye on the young man who had captured her heart.

When it was finally time to dance, Mr. Caldwell escorted her to the dance floor, making up the set, and she hardly noticed the movements, so enraptured as she was by his presence. He continued a lively stream of conversation, in which she participated she knew not how, and marveled at how effortless it was to dance with such an accomplished partner. The music came to an end long before she imagined possible.

For the next set, Agatha danced with another fine young gentleman, one whom she also considered a desirable match, though no one quite attained Mr. Caldwell’s amiability. Throughout the dance, she tried to be attentive to her partner, but also kept an eye on the other gentleman, secretly jealous of seeing him dancing with another girl, particularly as he was equally lively and gentlemanly with her.

The third set found Agatha resting on a chair near the wall, sipping a glass of lemonade while she watched the dancers and caught her breath. Going down the dance, Mr. Caldwell was easy to find: his confident, upright frame easily stood out amongst the crowd.

There was something different about him at that moment, though, and Agatha felt her spirits begin to sink. Instead of his usual smiling conversation, Mr. Caldwell was utterly silent as he danced with Miss Jane Parrish. The pair gazed intently at one another without saying a word, and something about the look in Mr. Caldwell’s eyes made Agatha want to cry.

Miss Parrish did not qualify as a great beauty, though Agatha knew the girl was quite an accomplished young lady – indeed, Agatha could not even begin to compete with Jane’s skill at the pianoforte, let alone in such matters as painting and a mastery of multiple languages. Nevertheless, despite the unremarkable face and average figure, Mr. Caldwell was clearly intoxicated by Jane Parrish, his gaze full of restrained longing as he led his partner down the dance.

There was a striking sense of intimacy in the way the pair danced. Despite the timing of the movements, Mr. Caldwell and Miss Parrish clasped hands as soon as they could reach, and released hands again only at the last possible moment before the steps took them away from one another. As Agatha watched, it struck her that both partners had removed their gloves, and she realized that she had never seen either of them without that article of dress – except for when they danced together.

Heart thudding with envy, Agatha saw the pair come together again, their hands meeting smoothly without either of them breaking their shared gaze. Agatha knew them for accomplished dancers, but their hands were certainly beyond the range of peripheral vision, as Agatha knew perfectly well from having participated in this dance herself several times in the past. She shut her mouth with a snap, realizing her jaw had dropped while she’d been lost in wonder of how their coordination and spacial awareness could be so precise.

An amused smile tugged at Mr. Caldwell’s lips, and a moment later Miss Parrish was showing every symptom of trying not to laugh aloud. Studying their features, Agatha saw their expressions change from amused to inquisitive to desiring, yet they said not a word to one another. She got the distinct impression that they were somehow reading one another’s minds.

But that’s impossible! Agatha thought, but another invitation to dance interrupted any further pursuit of her curiosity, and she found she had to force on a smile while she temporarily banished her musings.

The evening wore on, and when Agatha found herself paired with Mr. Caldwell again, all her jealousies were quickly forgotten as she lost herself in his presence and his utterly contagious joy. Surely this was the man of her dreams, and she would simply have to capture his heart.

When the dance ended, Mr. Caldwell retrieved two glasses of lemonade and escorted Agatha to the side of the room, helping her to a chair and taking one beside her as they watched the crowd. Conversation turned to various matters of couples and dress, each of them remarking how Mr. Hunter was a dreadfully clumsy dancer, and how elderly Mrs. Eastwood had simply refused to keep up with the latest fashions, her gowns all made with a cut that belonged to a prior decade. They maintained a steady stream of commentary until Mr. Caldwell made a passing remark about a couple newly engaged, and his tone seemed rather wistful to Agatha’s ears.

Mr. Caldwell,” Agatha began, encouraged by the look on his face, though she knew she was performing a gross impropriety by saying: “You know, I come of age this year.”

He turned to her, eyes wide in a startled expression as he asked, “Pardon me, Miss Humphreys?”

Agatha blushed, realizing she’d made a mistake, and cast her eyes downward. “Charles– I mean, Mr. Caldwell…please forgive me. Forget what I said. I simply–”

She broke off, embarrassed, and an awkward silence ensued. When she looked up again, she found Mr. Caldwell giving her a strange, searching look, and then he sighed, seemingly resigned to something.

Miss Humphreys, you must understand, I–”

He paused, and glanced across the room, gazing at something for a long moment, then turned back to her again, saying very quietly, “Miss Humphreys, I’ve no wish to cause you pain, but I realize now that it is important for me to tell you something. You are a darling girl and should make any man quite happy, but please do not waste your hopes on me. I am not at liberty–”

A deep, cheerful, masculine voice interrupted him, booming out, “Charles!”

Agatha saw Mr. Caldwell turn, a smile lighting up his face as he greeted the other gentleman, and as Agatha fought to hold back her tears of rejection, she barely noticed when the men bowed and took their leave of her. She turned her face from the crowd, trying with all her might to school her features, and only when she had forced herself to a sufficient calm did she slowly rise from her seat and make her way through the room to find her parents.

Forced gaiety wore on her as the evening continued, and just when she thought she couldn’t bear anything more, she caught sight of Mr. Caldwell once again. He was standing with a group of men who were deep in conversation, though he was looking past them and not really contributing much in the way of words. Agatha followed his gaze across the room and saw that Jane Parrish was gazing directly back at him, a hint of a smile on her face. As Agatha watched, she saw Mr. Caldwell give the subtlest of nods, which Jane returned, and after a few moments, though no one else appeared to have noticed, she saw Jane disappear through a side door, followed a few minutes later by Charles.

Before the tears could burst from her eyes again, Agatha’s father came to her side and took her arm, announcing that they were going home. Agatha nodded absently and followed him.

 * * *

Mr. Humphreys looked at his daughter, a woman grown and the pride of his life, sitting demurely in the carriage across from himself and his wife. He could tell something had upset Agatha, but decided to wait until they were home and he could have a moment alone with her to discuss it, not wanting his wife present to complicate matters the way she always managed.

Once home, Mr. Humphreys called his daughter into his study and helped her to a seat. The room was dim and quiet, the light of a few candles pushing the shadows back against the dark wood panels and bookshelves that encircled a patterned red carpet and a capacious writing desk. Humphreys leaned back against the desk as he looked down at his daughter, sitting there quietly with her hands neatly folded in her lap.

Now, my pet,” he murmured, crossing his arms over his chest. “What troubles you? You look quite distressed.”

Agatha shook her head, her ringlet curls dancing sweetly as she did so. “Nothing is the matter, Papa. I’m quite well.”

Agatha,” he insisted, reaching out and putting a finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

She instantly burst into tears. “Oh, Papa! It’s so unfair! I’m sure I shall break my heart!”

Tell me, child,” he soothed, dropping to one knee and clasping her hands between his.

Charles– Forgive me, Mr. Caldwell,” she sobbed. “I had such hopes, but…he said–”

His daughter put her face in her hands, shaking as she cried, and Mr. Humphreys swallowed down his anger at the gentleman mentioned, trying to keep his tone light as he asked, “What has he done to hurt you, my sweet?”

Oh, Papa, you said he would make such a good match, and I love him so! But he told me to put the idea right out of my head! He said he wasn’t at liberty, but he’s never announced an engagement to anyone else! Oh, it’s not fair!”

Shhh, child, shhh,” he soothed, rocking her. “We’ll just see about this, alright? Don’t you fret. Your dear papa will get to the bottom of this, I promise.”

After a good deal more crying, he finally got his treasure to calm herself enough to go to bed, and once she was out of the study, Mr. Humphreys took himself to his desk, wrote a brief note, and handed it to a servant to deliver first thing in the morning.

 * * *

The next day dawned bright and clear, finding Mr. Humphreys already dressed and pacing about while he awaited the breakfast hour. He attended to business throughout the morning while also watching the clock, counting down the hours until he would likely receive a reply to his note.

It arrived sooner than expected, and in Charles Caldwell’s elegant hand. Proper and polite, the note informed him that the young man had agreed to Mr. Humphreys’s summons, and that he would attend him promptly at the requested hour of two o’clock. Mr. Humphreys threw himself back into his work, helping the hours pass with productive activity.

Five minutes before the clock chimed two, Mr. Charles Caldwell entered Mr. Humphreys’s study.

Thank you for coming, Mr. Caldwell,” his host greeted, shaking hands, and offered the young gentleman a seat.

My pleasure, sir,” the young man replied with a smile. “However I might be of assistance to you–”

Mr. Humphreys held up a hand to silence him. “I’ll come right to the point, sir. My daughter was quite distressed after last night’s party, and she claims it was due to something you said. I would like an explanation, sir.”

The handsome young man sighed. “I must beg your forgiveness, sir. It was never my intention to hurt Miss Humphreys, though I’m afraid I did so inadvertently. It became apparent to me, last night while she and I were conversing, that I was considered an acceptable match. I had to inform her – indeed, I did not know any other way to do so – that I was not one upon whom she ought to set her ambitions.”

And is my daughter not good enough for you, sir?!” Mr. Humphreys growled. “She has had the finest education; she’s well thought of in the highest circles; she–”

The young man nodded. “She will make an ideal wife to any man, sir. However, not to me.”

And why is that, sir?!”

That handsome face looked at him steadily, one of the very few which had never cowered under his angry glare. After a long moment, Charles Caldwell sighed with resignation, reached into a pocket of his coat, and pulled out a simple gold ring which he slipped onto his left ring finger, holding the hand up for inspection. Humphreys’s jaw dropped at the sight.

I’m already joined,” the young man explained. “My partner and I are bound for life, and it is only a matter of Jane and myself to come of age – thanks to the confounded norms and legalities in this country – before our union is considered ‘legitimate’ and fit to be recognized. For now, it is a secret.”

How is it you are married, sir?!” Mr. Humphreys almost bellowed, shocked by the break with tradition. “You are far too young!”

Charles Caldwell laughed. “Jane and I have been ‘married’ these three years, at least. I can assure you, our parents are fully aware of the fact. Though, more to the point, we are not yet married by law, but simply and naturally joined by soul.”

Mr. Humphreys started at that, his eyes widening as he stared at the young man across from him. His mind reeled, his anger from the day before rising up once more and joining the new anger he was feeling at that moment.

You–” he began, fuming. “You are not human, are you?”

With a perfectly serious expression, the young man answered, “No, sir. I am not.”

Then you are–”


One of them!”

Mr. Caldwell seemed a bit startled by the angry outburst, but offered neither excuse nor apology. The young man sat perfectly still under Humphreys’s angry glare, the expression on his face showing clearly that he felt his revelation was the most natural thing in the world, despite law and tradition. The shocking disregard for social norms was more than Humphreys could bear.

Out!” Mr. Humphreys roared.

But sir–”

I said, out! I will not tolerate your kind in my house!”

Mr. Caldwell rose smoothly to his feet, bowed politely, and took himself from the room. Mr. Humphreys watched him go, his eyes wide with anger, and once the door shut between them, he slammed his fist down on his desk, sending his pens and ink pots rattling.

I’ll see the lot of them hanged, I will!”

* * *

A few days later, long after the sun had set, Mr. Humphreys ordered his carriage and traveled across town, arriving just at the border of the least reputable part of the city. Making sure he was well-cloaked, Mr. Humphreys got out and continued on foot, leaving his driver and footmen – all armed – to stay with the carriage until he returned.

He slunk through the shadows, weaving his way through cramped, filthy alleyways until he reached the building to which he’d been directed. It was by no means prepossessing: the windows were so thick with grime that one could hardly even discern the flicker of candlelight within, and the garbage strewn about made Humphreys pick his steps very carefully. Bracing himself, he knocked upon the rotting door.

It was promptly answered by a middle-aged man – slightly stooped, with greasy, lank hair, and a vile grin that lacked a few teeth. Without a word, the man welcomed him inside, and Mr. Humphreys took care not to touch anything as he followed the man through the crowded opium den to an empty back room.

Once shut inside and away from prying eyes, Mr. Humphreys uncloaked himself and took an offered chair, sitting gingerly on its edge, while the other man sank lazily onto a bench across from him, saying, “I hear tell you need information.”

Yes,” Mr. Humphreys answered shortly, trying to swallow his disgust at the sight of yellowed, rotten teeth when the man had spoken. “And I have a little…problem…I would like to have addressed.”

Oh, aye, I’m good at problems.” The man grinned, rubbing his dirty hands together, his rags swaying loosely on his unwashed arms as he did so.

Mr. Humphreys extracted a purse from his coat and tossed it to the man, who caught it from the air and whisked a coin from within all in one fluid motion. He tested the coin between his teeth, savored the rattle of the purse in his hand, then sneered, “How can I help you, Mr. Smith?”

Mr. Humphreys leaned forward conspiratorially and narrowed his eyes, growling, “Tell me everything you know about the Lethean.”

The man across from him leaned back against the wall, leisurely stretched out his legs, and grinned.