Today is an important day for me.
Today is the day when I post about my book.
Most of you already know that I wrote a book and that it was under editing for a while, and most of you know that my book is an urban fantasy.
Today I’m going to talk about it and post a blurb and an excerpt.
So, without any further ado, let me tell you!
My book is about a young woman called Roxanne Fosch, a twenty-two fee hybrid who escaped a government research facility after spending nine years as a captive. As Roxanne is dodging mercenaries left and right, she discovers that her own clan had offered her to the human scientists as a scapegoat to keep the government away from them – because she’s a mixed breed, the offspring of a dhiultadh and a human.
Wanted neither by the Seelie or unseelie, the Dhiultadh are originally a mixed breed, part Seelie, part unseelie. They took refuge on earth where they thrived with their anonymity centuries ago, but those who knew them or knew about them considered the Dhiultadh one of the highest predators in the world.
Roxanne Whitmore Fosch had a perfectly normal life at the age of twelve. Cool, popular, pretty, smart. She had the perfect dreams of a successful and prosperous future. At the age of twenty two she was a commodity. A fugitive. She was being hunted.
As Roxanne embarks in the dangerous quest to search for half-truths about her past, she discovers she’s not just an abnormal human but a rarity even among her fee peers, and that scientists aren’t the only ones hunting her, but far more dangerous beings with other obscure plans for her.
When I was young I believed one couldn’t ask anything better from life. I had everything. I was pretty, smart, I ran with the popular crowd, I had a crush on the cutest boy in class and had the nicest best friend ever. In other words, I was the total show off. Then came the Paranormal Scientists Society (PSS) like the big bad wolf with a big metal baseball bat and shattered my world. That was about ten years ago. Now all I want is to be left alone to live my life peacefully, be the girl next door.
Things happen, and they have happened to me. You never believe them, or you believe things will only happen to the next person while you watch, maybe even sympathize; though you continue living your life to the fullest. But like I said, they happened to me. My life shattered and many pieces were just lost. I was no longer a show off. I was still pretty and smart, though they were no longer mere traits, but necessary tools for my survival. I had no friends, no home, no one I could talk to, no life. Things that centered my world while I was younger were so far now on the list of important things that I can scarcely see myself in that girl again. If a guy looks twice at me now-a-days, all I care about is the possibility that he might or might not be a danger to me. I know how sad that is and I’m willing to change a little, if I had enough time without having to run and hide and no fear for my life were included in the equation.
If I were younger, I’d pray for a miracle. Today, I just hope for the best.
–Roxanne Whitmore Fosch
I had just finished chopping onions for Paul when the sky broke.
It wasn’t really a ca-boom, but more like giant rocks tumbling down a hill. Like a giant avalanche.
On its heel followed the torrential downpour I’d been hearing about for the past few days. A sense of foreboding kept nagging at me, a feeling that I was missing something that I should know. Or see.
“Do you need anything else before I go?” I asked Paul as I hung my apron on a peg and tried to shake the sensation away. I could hear some of the crowd outside dispensing, going home to celebrate another weekend with family, friends or just be alone after a fulfilling meal; and the booming laughter of those who lingered for a drink and latest gossip in the diner.
“That’ll be all,” he said, sending me a distracted smile over his shoulder. Paul had prematurely thinning blonde hair with an already bald spot in the middle. His wife, Maggie, and her sister Michelle had been the first people to welcome me into town three months ago.
I went inside Paul’s office and grabbed my purse, a huge monstrosity Michelle had desperately tried to burn, but inside were things I couldn’t leave behind if I had to make a hasty exit. Dr. Maxwell’s journal was also inside. It had helped me sort a lot of things since I escaped, even if it wasn’t the one I wanted, and I never went anywhere without it.
I slung the purse on my left shoulder and let it dangle on my right side – the easier to run if I needed to – and let myself out from the back door of the diner. The downpour was like a water sheet in front of me, blocking anything farther than a few feet from view.
I bumped into Bridget, my replacement for the night shift and she glared me a greeting. I never found out the reason for the animosity, but hey, I never lost any sleep over her. I smiled cheerfully at her and let go of the door, the heavy wood almost smacking her on the face when it swung shut. I heard her mutter “bitch” under her breath loud enough to be heard above the pounding rain, but I didn’t mind it.
Already water was gathering on the street, herding the brown leaves that had gathered at the edges toward the drainage system.
It was unbelievably cold for October, but I’d only been here for three months so I wasn’t sure if this was the norm for early autumn.
I shivered involuntarily and tucked my gloveless hands inside my pockets. I loved autumn, when trees turned into that burnish gold color and animals scurried to gather supplies for the winter, but it seemed like here, in this small town winter had already arrived.
Another flash of light appeared, just a few yards to my left, followed immediately by a loud ca-boom! And the bucket of giant rocks down the mountain.
That sense of foreboding returned, and I glanced around, found nothing that felt out of place.
Paul’s diner was only two blocks away from Marian’s bed and breakfast, and on a clear day, the lack of tall buildings in between would have given me a clear view of both. I hurried to the small B & B where I rented a small room on the second floor, wondering if Rudolph – aka Rudy – the local trouble maker would be waiting for me by the door like he did most days despite of the downpour. I kept refusing his offers for a date, and it galled him that I was the only woman around he deemed worth taking to bed that he hadn’t yet marked his score with. I believe the only reason his bullying didn’t extend to outright harassment was because I refused all other offers from other men. That, and the fact that most of the town’s folk had become a little over protective of me, believing I was hiding from an abusive husband. Since I never denied or confirmed, I’d been the focus of a lot of pitying looks, especially from the older women, and it had prompted Michelle to dye my black hair red as a disguise.
As my long legs ate the small distance between the diner and the old brick house, I thought about calling Michelle and asking her over so we could do something fun. I had missed the excitement of going out with my friends during my teen years, locked up in a bedroom in the PSS headquarters in Washington. I had permission to watch the world from a TV and read about it from books whenever I wasn’t down in a lab. Sometimes I was sent to the small library where I received a rudimentary education, but it was nothing near what I’d have learned had I gone to school. No long conversations on the phone, no movies, no first dates. I didn’t really have a life prior to my twenty-first year.
I didn’t see Marian behind her desk in the foyer, but when I passed her office door I heard the low sound of a talk show and saw reflective lights coming from the TV. I’d stop by in the morning and pay my rent then; I knew how much she hated being interrupted from her talk shows. Plus, I was soaked to the bone and my appearance would only prompt her to pour one of those awful teas down my throat. So I took the back stairs on the corner and headed up to my room, the last one in the corridor, telling myself I’d grab some dry clothes than backtrack and dry off the water trail I left behind.
I stopped in front of my bedroom door, unzipped my purse and began to rummage inside for my key. I promised myself tomorrow I’d put the damned key in my bra if my pants lacked any pockets or my jeans were too dirty to wear.
The moment I unlocked the door and reached for the switch on the wall to my right, I knew.
Heir of Ashes will be published around March 2018. For more information, contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org