Now that that's out of the way, I can go on with the most important thing right now: my birthday.
Ha! I bet you thought I was going to say writing!
Really, though, they're going hand in hand this year. Since I changed stories, I've been writing like a crazy person. Since Monday, I've written about 8,600 words (the word count widget on the side should tell you my exact number). I don't know what it was about this story, but it took off. Of course, it had about 16,000 words in it already, so now I'm just finishing it up.
I'm also ahead of schedule because I wanted plenty of time on Saturday to eat breakfast, get a macaron ice cream sandwich, buy a comic book, and open presents! Because I'm turning nine years old tomorrow, apparently.
Okay, but let's get to the real reason we're all here today: I think I made a promise last week. And I'm going to fulfill that promise! So, here's a little taste of the second book in the Guardian Trilogy. Little set up: Amory, Fintan, and Oskar are meeting with a leader in one of the many camps around North America. This one happens to be a changeling, with his own little army of changelings. (Please remember, this is unedited, so it most like will change in the final draft)
Enjoy! Have a happy weekend everyone!
Fintan and I take a seat across from
Donald, but Oskar remains standing behind us, his hand hovering near my
shoulder blades.
“You have such a loyal following, Amory,”
Donald remarks with a sly glance at my brother.
“Not a following,” I correct him gently. “Just
really good friends.”
“Hmmm.” Donald winks at me, letting me know
that he doesn’t truly believe that these people don’t want anything from me.
Fintan leans on the table, his arms crossed
in front of him. “Listen, Donald, Jane said that you would be most likely to
align with us. She said that the eastern part of this country is somewhat of a
mess.”
Donald nods gravely. “Yes. I’m not sure
what happened, but once the war hit, everyone went bananas. Some went west,
others went south, more went north, but the most walked right into the ocean.
They couldn’t handle it, you know. They knew that a new world order was coming
along and they didn’t want to think that they would be at the bottom. Not when
they had lived their entire lives at the top.”
“So, how did you come here?” I ask. “With
the...changelings?”
He smiles at the word. “Ah, yes, me and my
little darlings. We thought that we would throw our hat in this mess, so to
speak. But we didn’t want to bring attention to ourselves. We didn’t want to
pick the wrong side at the get go, of course. So we made a little camp, took in
the people who wanted to come with us, decide to bide our time. We knew that
once one side came up on top, we would be able to work our way in there.” His
face falls a bit. “Imagine my surprise when we heard that it wasn’t going to be
so easy.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Well, my dear, we thought that the two
sides would fight it out, a good old fashioned boxing match. But we never
thought that they would be fighting over a boy.”
“You’ve heard of Rick,” Oskar says.
Donald snorts. “Heard of him? Of course I
have, my boy! There’s not a supernatural creature on this planet that hasn’t
heard of him. But none of us thought that he would end up being the catalyst.”
“The catalyst?” Fintan repeats. “What do
you mean?”
The air around us changes, sparks into a
gaseous fire slamming into our backs. I’m not sure if everyone can feel it, but
the subtle movements Fintan makes, Oskar’s fingers pressing harder into my
shoulders, tells me all I need to know.
Donald’s shrewd eyes watch me. “You mean
your dear angel girl hasn’t told you about the prophecy?”
The voices of the Council swell in my ears.
It was only the prediction that saved you
from your true home in Hell!
The prediction did not say that you would unite the two realms. It only said that you would
help unite the two.
Truthfully, I had forgotten about those
silly words until now. I had bee far too preoccupied with falling from Heaven, fighting
for the world, and watching my best friend cut my wings off.
My plate was pretty full.
I swallow slowly, ignoring the question on
Fintan’s face. “I saw no reason to tell anyone. It has nothing to do with any
of us.”
“Nothing to do...?” Donald’s jaw slacks,
his expression aghast. Then he suddenly leans back, slams his hand on the
table, and lets out the loudest guffaw I’ve ever heard. When he straightens, he
points at Fintan, shaking his head. “My boy, the gall of this girl!
Nothing to do with any of you! Why, the prophecy only does everything but name
Amory as the uniter!”
A chilly silence follows the flaming air,
and yet I still don’t turn to my companions. Oskar’s fingers have danced slowly
away from me, and even Fintan beings to sway closer to Donald.
I never hid this from them, but now it
sounds like a secret.
“What’s a uniter?” Oskar asks quietly. He
sounds a thousand years away from me.
“Something of a diplomat,” Donald says,
leaning back, getting comfortable in the spotlight. “The uniter - Amory, in
this case - is supposed to help the realms of Heaven and Hell combine, but the
exact way was supposedly lost in the mumbo-jumbo of that ridiculous book humans
worship.”
I smile, confidence surging through my
veins. “If it was lost, then why does everyone think it’s me?”
Donald sighs heavily, his prize pupil
letting him down once more. “Oh, Amory. Most of it is written in the Book. Isn’t
that required reading for the angels?”
Shame burns my cheeks. “I suppose I never
got around to reading the whole thing. It’s like a piece of Russian literature,
that enormous thing.”
“Well, in section fourteen of chapter
eight, it states,” Donald says, clearing his throat with a flourish, “that the
burning soul that is neither quite of Heaven nor quite of Hell shall find the
savor of the world and assist him in the bringing together of the two realms.”
He ends by grinning wickedly at me, as if daring me to argue.
Fintan comes closer, but only by an inch. “That
sounds more like Rick than Amory. He’s the one that’s not quite of Heaven and
not quite of Hell, is he not?”
“That’s right!” I say, quick to agree with
anything that will end this ridiculous conversation. “Rick’s the hauflin. I’m
just a regular angel.”
“A fallen one, if I’m not mistaken,” Donald
replies.
The words taste like sludge in my mouth. “That’s
correct.”
“So...not quite of Heaven and not quite of
Hell...right?” The changeling’s sly tone makes me teeth clamp together. He
continues quickly, building on his steam. “You also missed the most important
part of the prophecy. It says the burning soul. Sometimes, when someone
writes about a burning person, they do not mean literally. That would can also
describe someone with passion or, perhaps, an incurable temper.”
As if being called, the edge of my vision
tinges red, the familiar roiling fire in my belly exploding until it fills me
with anger, and it takes every fiber of my being to rein it back. But Donald’s
already seen what his words have done to me, and his gaze widens in triumph.
I stand, almost shoving Oskar on the
ground. “We just need to know if you’re with us or against us, Mr. Grace. We
don’t need a history lesson.”
He chuckles quietly, suddenly reminding me
a little child. “Oh, I always pick the winning team, Amory. My group and I are
with you. We would be stupid not to choose you.”
It’s obvious that he wants me to ask what
he means by that, but I don’t grab the bait. Instead, I offer a tight smile and
turn on my heels, stalking away from this little man and his inane theories.
“Amory,” he calls, bringing my traitorous
legs to a stop.
I turn back to him. “Yes?”
Even with his short legs, he covers the
ground between us quickly. Oskar and Fintan move to keep up, but he leaves them
behind quickly.
Once he’s within a hand’s breadth of me, his
gaze moves to my shoulders. “I heard your wings were cut off.”
“Oh really?” My smile turns to a snarl. “Who’s
been talking about me?”
He shakes his head smoothly, not in the
least ruffled by my attitude. “My dear, who hasn't been talking about
you?”
I remain silent, my best option.
He leans closer, and Fintan’s at my side in
a second. Donald ignores him, as he’s been doing most of this meeting. “But
that’s not the hot gossip. No, it’s all about the mythical blade that creatures
are talking about.”
“Letalis,” I breath.
Just saying the name throws me back in
time, back to the beach where Drystan heaved the glowing green blade above his
head, preparing to cut Fintan’s head from his body. The name brings back the
memory of hot pain slicing through my wings, of the thud of massive feathers
hitting the ground, of Drystan’s final insult of flying away from the damage he
caused. It brings back the sensation of Fintan’s hand on the bloodied stumps,
of him trying his best to burn away what remained of my feathered friends, of
him leaving me with two awkward humps of flesh.
It brings back the anger that I had stored
away so well during this mission.
Donald’s eyes widen and his smile
disappears. “So it’s real. The fabled blade that can kill any immortal
creature.”
“It didn’t kill me.” The pride is evident
in my tone.
His gaze sparkles mischievously. “Yet.”
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