See, I never think of myself as writing all that scary. James is the horror writer. KAK delves into the twisted psyche. Usually I see my books as being occasionally dark, but not all that creepy. Readers may disagree. But in general I'm kind of a fragile flower. I don't like being scared. I don't watch or read horror. I'm the one who leaves the room during the scary scenes in a movie, or - far worse! - the gory ones. You guys know me - I'll write all the sex scenes and I advocate for closed-door violence.
Why can't that be a thing?
But this New Thing I've written, the Sekrit Project, is pretty scary. It's tense and twisted and... I already told you I can't share it yet!
Yeah, I hate violence, but I love a tease.
So, though it's not all that scary, and because I couldn't resist using this creepy image with DARK WIZARD, I'll share an unsettling scene from that book. Enjoy!
***
Having to deal
with the inn, the askance stares at his appearance, the averted gazes when they
took in his wizard-black eyes, the shocked ones at his white hair—all of it
broke him out of his circular thoughts. He tipped the stable girl well to walk
Vale cool, rub the gelding down thoroughly, and give him an extra portion of
feed. And he tipped the boy in the pub well to bring himself an extra portion
of feed, also. Gabriel sat alone in a shadowy corner, using a simple moon
spell to reflect curiosity away from himself.
He was more tired
than he’d realized, feeling sleepier by the moment as warm food settled into
his stomach. He wasn’t used to winter’s bite. And he’d pushed hard to reach
House Elal, thinking he’d have days of rest after the wedding. Sopping up the
last of the rich mushroom gravy with the excellent fresh bread, Gabriel settled
back to savor the rest of his wine—an excellent, robust Elal red, though not as
good as Veronica’s special reserve—and watch the room.
Thus, he was in
the perfect position to see the hunters arrive.
He knew them for
inhuman even before they fully entered the busy tavern. The air seemed to bend
before their passage, adjusting to the presence of that which should not exist
in this world. There were six of them, slinking into the room like an amalgam
of a jackal and a weasel in vaguely human shape, arching like hounds to sniff
the surfaces they passed. Nobody else seemed aware of them, so Gabriel made
sure to look past the hunters also, focusing on the minstrel blithely singing a
song nearby, exhorting the crowd for coins.
He needn’t have
bothered, for one of the hunters lifted its snout in the air as if scenting
something interesting and fastened one eye on Gabriel. It slunk in his
direction, pausing to steal a handful of coin from the oblivious minstrel’s tip
basket. It tossed one on the table before Gabriel, an insolent sneer on its
distorted face.
“Wissard,” it
hissed, revealing inhumanly sharp teeth—several rows of them.
“Hunter,” Gabriel
returned. He readied himself, though his water and moon magic seemed unequal to
dealing with a creature like this. The books in the House Phel library, at
least the legible ones, were short on spells for martial application. Under the
table, he loosened his sword in its scabbard, a far more reliable defense.
“You know what I
am. Good. I ssseek a familiar, on behalf of the Convocation. Have you ssscented
one?” It pushed the coin toward him with a sharp, curving claw.
“This place reeks
of sweat and ale,” Gabriel replied. “I’m sure any good familiar would turn tail
and hide in their room.”
The hunter sniffed
the air all the while Gabriel spoke, barely listening. “You have no familiar.”
“Unfortunately,
no. I am but a minor wizard.” Gabriel drew more moon reflections around
himself, just in case any of his power leaked through. On the advantage side of
being a moon-based water wizard, it was a quiet magic, and often overlooked.
The hunter fixed
one ochre eye on him—the length of its snout making looking forward with both
eyes at once impossible—and made an unpleasant choking sound. Laughter? “Why
are you here, wissard?”
Gabriel gestured
at his cleaned plate. “Best mushroom gravy in all of Elal.”
The hunter eyed
him for another excruciatingly long few moments. Without another word, it slunk
out again, its cohorts streaming to join it, pouring out the door again like
smoke. Gabriel blew out a breath, quaffed his wine, and went to his room for
the night—dropping the coin, plus a few more, back in the minstrel’s basket.
