Happiest of Wednesdays to you, friends! I’m sliding in today with an excerpt of my approaching release of The Stolen, the sequel to The Nameless in my Fae-Cursed Series. As the series name suggests, the story follows two brothers who are cursed by a Fae. I will admit that I’m not well-read or up-to-date on current popular Fae stories, side-eyeing you Booktok, but I’ve heard enough to say this is probably not the Fae story folks are used to. It is full to the brim with intrigue and fine-folk trickery, and peppered with my spin on some Celtic mythology.
I promise you, readers, I tried to write this story in one book. As characters do, mine said, “No, you won’t.” Hence why I will be releasing the sequel very soon. Not only that, but they did it to me again at the end of the second book, so—looks to the horizon—book three has already begun to take some shape. But, for now, let’s take a look at the second book.
For me as the writer, one of my favorite aspects of this story is the dynamic among the characters, specifically the twins, Chance and Lucky, and their drummer, Johnny. Johnny has become a bit of a fan favorite from the readers who have given me feedback. Something about his quiet and reserved way really caught him attention, not to mention the way he’ll tell it like it is to the twins, even though he’s a hundred or so years younger than they are. Johnny is really a bit of glue that keeps Chance from diving off the deep end of his despair and keeps Lucky from going supernova at the wrong times. I think the following excerpt really perfectly catches the vibe among the three of them.
This chapter is from Chance’s POV. Please enjoy!
Cable’s friend showed up with his girl. They immediately bought us a round. By now we’re mostly set up. I push a tuner toward Lucky.
He takes it from my hand by reflex but when he looks down at it his expression sours. He turns an unamused look on me. I return a sternly flat sentiment. I know him. He’s excited and he won’t take the time for all the steps that happen before we get to the actual songs if I don’t force him to.
“We haven’t touched the gear in a while. Tune, then we’ll warm up.”
Several other people have filed into the room. There’s some keyed-up chatter over by the bar. Lucky is practically buzzing already.
“You want to start with the slow shit?” Lucky says in a tone that perfectly matches the annoyed brat he’s being.
“Yes. This isn’t a show,” I say, tapping my tom to check the tone.
“Yet we have actual fans here,” he says with a moderate level of sass.
“The presence of actual fans does not magically tune your guitar or make us instantly in our groove. So why don’t you do your frontman thing and make our actual fans feel like they’re included in an actual practice session.”
Lucky’s expression shades into a glare. I tweak my drum key a tiny bit then test the tom again. Lucky simply can’t resist being a diva, especially now that there’s an audience. I pause and nail him with a serious look.
I say, “Just this once, let it build. We’re not here for them. We need this.”
I can see his smart-assed reply forming in his head. He wants to say some shit. To my complete amazement, he doesn’t. He looks at Johnny.
“There’s no way you’re in tune,” Johnny says without looking away from his own tuner. He’s sitting on the edge of the stage, his bass cradled against him, his tuner plugged in and resting on his knee. There’s a peace in him that hasn’t been present lately.
Lucky stares back for a moment, his last hurrah of rebellion, before he rolls his eyes. He sits down beside Johnny and plugs the tuner into his Strat. A tiny grin tugs at my lips as I give my drum set a pass with my sticks.
I side-eye our modest crowd. This feels like a situation that will escalate quickly. My eyes find Becka as she talks to Cable and his friends. There has been so much going on that I haven’t fully processed her saying she chooses me even after all the ways she has questioned it up until now. Now isn’t the time for it but the train of thought warms my insides.
Lucky strums. He’s not plugged into the amp but I can hear enough to know it’s a mess. Both Johnny and I pin expectant looks on him. His eyes slide away from us in an obstinate way. It’s as much of an admittance that I was right as I’ll get. It’s enough.
“The socials are blowing up. My phone hasn’t stopped buzzing in my pocket since I posted about being here,” Johnny says. He looks at his headstock as he twists one of his pegs. The statement feels offhand but I don’t think it is. I think he’s feeling the energy ramp the same as Lucky and me.
“I’m presuming you followed this bar and tagged it,” Lucky says.
“Of course.”
Lucky strums again. This time it sounds like it should. Someone yells, “Woo!”
Lucky grins as he stands. He unplugs the tuner and plugs into his amp instead. He sets the Strat on its stand. Then he peels his hoodie off.
“It’s almost too easy,” he says, his eyes tracking to the bar door as two more people walk in.
“It’s almost like you’ve had a lot of practice,” I say with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
“It’s a good thing, isn’t it? Otherwise we’d be unplugged at the beach again,” he snaps back.
That’s true. I don’t need to say it. He’s only giving me attitude because I’m making him wait for his moment to shine. He pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses both shirts onto his amp. He gives me a shitty look but then he visibly shudders. The haughty expression fades. Johnny pauses, looking at Lucky.
“You good?” Johnny says quietly.
“Yeah,” Lucky says, looking away from both of us. “Sometimes it’s like the crown wants to come out.”
Don’t I know what he means? There’s a momentary distance in his eyes. This is such a bad time for it. Time to call him back.
“You ready? I say we warm up with ‘Red Rising.’”
Lucky’s attention comes back to me and he says, “About fucking time.”
“Shut up and play.”
“Fuck you, count it off,” Lucky says, picking up the Strat and hoisting the strap over his head.
There’s the smallest trace of a smile on Johnny’s lips as he stands. It’s so faint and so brief I wonder if I imagined it. Then he looks at me expectantly and I set the tempo.
Aj Elmore, Author 