New Discord Channel

Hello and welcome, my friends! It’s hard to believe we’ve made it through all the holidays and it’s already the middle of January. I took a bit of a creative break over said holidays – well, almost. On New Year’s Eve, Aleister (from my Order of Crows series) decided we were going to work on book 3 revisions and it has been full steam ahead since then. I’m almost finished with this round and the third book is looking a bit different than its first version, which isn’t a bad thing. Not at all.

I’m still on track to release the sequel to The Nameless later this year. The twins have been in time out much longer than expected, but I think one more pass on the manuscript for revisions and that bad boy will be ready for the editor. The cover is already scheduled and, from there, it will be all the fun (read sarcasm) technical stuff that goes into a book release.

That’s not even my most exciting news. I’ve been side eying social media a lot lately. The landscape – should I say internet scape? – is changing once again. Social migrating seems like a lot of work, building a new following, learning new apps, etc. While it’s impossible to swear them off completely as an indie artist, I’ve decided a more personal community might be at hand. I’m not popular enough for places like Patreon, but I thought why not try something different? So I’ve created a Discord channel. Anyone interested in talking writing, other creative ventures, book news, or getting to know me better is welcome. I’m not sure how this new idea will pan out, and I won’t know until I try. So (drum roll) please join me on Discord!

https://discord.gg/xhN96vte

The Writing Process

Hello, my friends and first time visitors! The last few months have been something of a trip, some good and some not as much, but here we are still standing. Personally, I’ve been dwelling on the more technical side of writing and haven’t produced much actual writing. As always, I have multiple projects in varying stages and that got me thinking about process.

A writer’s process is wholly personal and unique. It’s something that develops and changes over time. I feel like it’s something new and aspiring writers struggle with, maybe feeling like they should already know what they’re doing. Trust me, none of us knew what we were doing when we started. I feel confident in saying we’ll never really know, but eventually we decide to run with it anyway.

Allow me to give some context and personal experience, especially for those who are not familiar with me and my writing. This is a glimpse of my writing world. I currently have five books available on Amazon, three separate series. This August, I released the fifth book, the second in my Order of Crows series. After that release, I found my way back to writing the sequel to The Nameless (Fae-Cursed series), which had been sitting at about 70% finished for months. The muse was cooperative and I managed to finish the first draft. That draft went in timeout for the requisite two weeks – which turned into quite a bit longer than two weeks – when I accepted an editing proposition, and also have been reading for a writer friend. Once those two things wrap up, I’ll be focusing on my Order of Crows Book 3, which has been abandoned as a first draft for years. Literal years.

Let’s talk about this Book 3. It’s what inspired this post in the first place. None of the books I’ve written and finished have given me as much of a fit as this particular book. I wrote and structured the beginning three times before I settled on it enough to write the rest of the story. Something the first two books taught me is that sometimes I had to go out of order. I had to push Aleister’s (my main character) story ahead of the narrative as a whole to advance the story. It was the first time I wrote chapters out of order instead following a linear process. Another first for me with the first draft of Book 3 was that I had to write the beginning and the end, then fill in the middle, something I’ve also done for the fourth book. I do think it’s worth a mention that with the second book, I ended up keeping some of the major plot points and completely rewriting all the words. Needless to say, this series has been a learning journey for me.

Back to Book 3. As I return to the writing cliff, I’m once again staring down the book that has given me all those fits. I recognize that the face of the manuscript will once again change. It’s just as challenging and intimidating as it has always been and I’m realizing I’m going to have to bend my process yet again to revise and rewrite this beast. The structure of this part of the story has always been the hardest part. It’s not like the first two books, not like anything I’ve ever written, and the scope of the narrative is … big. I’ve come to the realization and acceptance that I’m going to have to deconstruct the narrative.

What do I mean by deconstruct the narrative? Well, there are several smaller arcs within the story and, rather than trying to develop them alongside one another as I have done in the past, I need to separate them into their own stories so everyone gets the correct amount of attention and story development. That means I’ll have several narratives that are all the same story. That also means major scene surgery to integrate them once those stories are all written. That’s scary, isn’t it? It is to me. It’s different and it’s a huge task.

My point? No matter how long you’ve been writing, whether you’re new or seasoned, sometimes you’ll have no clue what you’re doing. If I can drop a little advice right here, at the risk of sounding cheesy or preachy, do it anyway. I have twenty or so years of writing experience and yet I’m still facing something brand new that I’ve never tried before.

I used to feel like a failure when I’d write, say, 70% of a story and stall out. I’ve written narratives straight through to completion in less than a year. Some of them have hit that ominous 70% and I hit a wall so hard I got those little tweety birds around my head. It took me a long time to realize that’s just one of the ways my process works. It’s not a bad thing. It just means that occasionally I get to wander back to one of those stories and make that final push to have a finished book. That finished book is just as valid as the one I tore through in ten months.

I guess I’m writing this in hopes it will reach someone who needs to see it. Your process might seem strange to you. Maybe it doesn’t but it does seem strange to someone else. Who cares? Push on, let your process and your style grow. Be weird. If it works for you then own it.

If you’re not a writer, maybe this will help you understand that writers do not function on demand. There’s a lot that goes into creating stories, especially if the writer is indie. Patience and support are the best ways to get more of the books you love. This time of year is a great time to exercise such support. As we move into the holiday season, consider supporting artists and authors before you head to big retailers for gift ideas.

Thanks for stopping by!

The Home for Wayward Writers, New Blood

Quick preface for this post. When I started this blog I had very good and high intentions of regularly posting writing prompts. I have not stuck to that plan very well. However, I occasionally remember that goal and wander back to the idea. The Home for Wayward Writers is a fictional place I created to give a home to a couple characters who are probably some fifteen years old by now, the Genie and the Muse. The Genie and the Muse have been my vehicles for delivering said writing prompts, created way back when I was a moderator for a romance/erotica sub-group of a larger writing site community. If you are interested they have plenty of posts in my archives. Please enjoy.

I have no idea what to expect when I open the door to The Home for Wayward Writers. I created this place with good intentions but it has been so long since I was here. I step into the main hall with a steadying breath and a look around.

The space is still a library, the walls lined with shelves and volumes of countless writers. The second floor balcony is the same, rows and rows of writing. The long tables occupying the center of the room aren’t quite empty. There are no people at them, but there are books in varying degree of use on their surfaces.

At one table, there’s a neat stack of three books. At another table there are three books, all open and sitting haphazardly. At the table to closest to me there’s one book open but it’s blank.

I smile. Writers have been here. That’s enough affirmation to me that it was worth it to give this world life again after so many years.

My attention settles on the back wall. The huge fireplace is dark. That’s different. A shadow moves in my peripheral vision as I also realize that, even without the fire, it’s hot.

The Genie.

My eyes slide to the door in the right wall. The one the Genie installed to lead to his domain. It’s open.

Without the fire, the room is considerably darker than I’m used to. The only light is pouring through the huge windows in the right and left wall. Moonlight.

The Muse.

I look to the door in the left wall, the one that leads outside and eventually to the looming wizard tower that belongs to the Muse. That door is open, too.

The shadow moves again. I still myself. This is the first time I’ve seen signs of life here other than the Genie and the Muse.

A figure bounds over the balcony railing, lands deftly on one of the tables, and does some impressive parkour until it lands nimbly in front of me. He’s a young male, maybe twenty. He has short red curls and pale skin. He flashes a confident smile at me. He’s wearing partial flak armor and has a pair of high-tech goggles hanging around his neck.

“Welcome, traveler,” he says enthusiastically.

“Thank you,” I say. My smile goes deeper. I study him for a moment, then add, “Young Adult or Cyberpunk? It seems there’s a new resident here.”

He grins and says, “There are plenty of us here.”

“There are?”

He nods. Then he squints.

“You know about the Home?” he says.

“I do.”

“Weird. I’ve never seen you here before.”

A quiet laugh tumbles out of me.

“It has been a while since I came here. So you’re a mixed genre, right?”

His smile fades.

“How do you know that?”

I shrug.

“I’m a writer.”

“Right,” he says but now he seems wary of me.

“So what do they call you?” I ask.

“They?”

I glance at the two open doors and say, “Your … big brothers?”

His eyes round and he also looks at the doors.

“You know them?” he says.

“Very well.”

He draws closer to me, peering at my face like I just said something fantastical. He’s hesitant suddenly. He lowers his voice when he says, “They’re kind of legends around here.”

I laugh again. I can’t help it. The news fills my heart with happiness. They should be legends at this point. They deserve it.

“So, does that mean you don’t have a name?” I ask.

He proudly straightens his posture.

“I’m the Rogue.”

“Beautiful,” I answer, brushing gently past him to the closest table, the one holding the blank book. I look down at it, run my fingers across the open pages. Then I look back at him watching me and I say, “Usually when I come here, one of them gives me a writing prompt. This time, why don’t you do it instead?”

He gasps softly and his expression goes slack with surprise. He says, “Really? They do that for you?”

“Oh, yes. It was their sole purpose. But it’s not just for me, it’s for other writers, too.”

The Rogue follows me to the table, but puts it between us. He’s studying me closely, ignoring the book. He puts his hand on the back of a chair and leans forward slightly.

“What does that mean?”

With my smile still firmly in place, I wave a hand over the open book. The pages flutter and come to rest on a page that isn’t empty. I look back to his face. His eyes have fallen to the words between us.

“What do you say, wanna give it a shot? Give our writers a little inspiration?”

His expression morphs into a rather more sly set and his grin becomes lopsided.

“Can’t be that hard,” he says with a one-shoulder shrug. “Yeah. I challenge you, writers, to craft an action scene that is both sneaky and swift. It could be a character escaping something, or a character rescuing something, stealing something, or gathering information. There should be movement, and care of detail for that movement. The action is the focus. Perhaps there’s no dialogue, only doing. How do your characters hide? How do they walk or crouch? You must become one with the moment and let the words shape the world. Feel the momentum.”

I cross my arms and give him a wink.

“Not bad. Welcome aboard.”

His eyes narrow.

“Wait a minute. You’re the Writer. I’ve heard about you.”

I nod.

“I am. You did well for your first go.”

I glance at the open doors again. On the right threshold is the silhouette of my fiery Genie, bare-chested, black bracers on his wrists. He’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. In the other doorway stands the Muse, his dark curls obscuring his face and his wizard robes holding his form. There’s the tiniest smile on his lips.

“You all did well,” I say.

Book Review: Salt by Liz Shipton

Today I’m veering off the normal promo posts path because I recently read a book (in one day) that just blew it out of the water. This is also proof that the social media grind does actually pay off sometimes so, dear indies, keep going even when it seems like it’s pointless. Anyway, I found Liz’s writing because she makes really hilarious reels about what it’s like being a writer and, in my ongoing attempt to build and support community, I decided to check her out. I was not disappointed in the least.

“Salt” is a fully immersive tale of a young MC who stumbles into a mess, who is a mess herself, and absolutely delivers at every turn. This book marches to the beat of a different drum. Without ever having spoken to Author Liz Shipton, I feel like she is my tribe. The main character, Bird Howsley, is a believable young adult navigating a messed-up post-apocalyptic world of big tech with a nautical theme that’s extremely refreshing. The supporting cast is great, inclusive, and, at times, hilarious. Humor is seamlessly woven into the narrative in a way that had me laughing as I couldn’t wait to turn the page. YA is not usually my cup of tea, but I’m glad I stepped outside my norm on this one. The spice level is age appropriate and not over done. The main supporting character, Sargo, is so well done and younger me would one-hundred percent be into him.

That’s the general review I left on the appropriate channels, but I’d like to elaborate just a little. First of all, this book is written in first person, present tense. If you know me at all, you know that is my absolute favorite format to write in myself, and to see it done well makes my black heart very happy. At no point does said writing throw you out of the narrative. It’s all quite smoothly done and, in my opinion, it actually makes the story more immersive.

Next, there is a moderate amount of spice in the story. Again, if you know me, you know I have zero qualms with sexy time in writing, but it can be overdone in my near-geriatric opinion. This book does it well. It makes sense for the age of the characters. It’s not overdone, trashy, or forced. It simply works.

Next. The world building is just fantastic. I went into it not knowing jack about sailing, but came out on the other side feeling like I had been in Sargo’s class. It’s obvious Liz used a bit of personal knowledge and it really shines through to round out the setting, which is a highly creative take on a dystopian story.

Character development and interaction is another high point. Bird is not your average hero. She’s a hot mess and that’s something I think we can all appreciate. We’ve all been there at some point. She’s believable and I feel like that’s important. Her budding relationship with Sargo is well done. They have their moments of butting heads and they work through them. While Sargo is a bit young for real me, young me is a sucker for a brown boy with dark curls. So, there’s that.

The best part? The story doesn’t end with book one. While I haven’t picked up the next installment yet, I will be doing so. I 10/10 recommend this book and author. Check her out!

https://lizshipton.com

https://www.facebook.com/lizshiptonauthor

The Song of the Sparrow Release Day!

It’s time! The Song of the Sparrow, Order of Crows Book Two is LIVE!

Huge thanks to everyone who helped me get to this point. Notably Eugenie Rayner of Magic Lamp Editing Services, and Melissa Stevens of The Illustrated Author Design Services for yet another stunning cover. There are a ton of folks out there who consistently like, share, and in general support me and a million thanks to them, as well. Just a reminder, The Murder Meets at Dusk is free for Kindle for a limited time, so if you’re not caught up on the first book, now is a good time for it. Read on for an excerpt from The Song of the Sparrow!

Aleister draws in a deep breath that’s shakier than he’d like. He quickly scans the circle without actually making eye contact with anyone and gives them a tamely confident smile, arrogant in its modesty. Then he nonchalantly slips the watch from his pocket and clicks it open. The big hand is on the five. Four minutes is plenty of time to piss off some enemies.

“Remember that if the unseelie show up, they’ll just as likely be throwing spells as using their weapons,” he says. “Be ready.” He glances at Cait, who nods, then he walks away. He hopes she can shield them from fey magic, anyway. It’s one of a million unknowns in what’s to come.

He saunters across the field, where he can feel the shield magic begin to tickle the hairs on his skin. The watch chain hangs from his fingers. The thing itself makes his blood rush, gives him a comforting ratification of his abilities.

As he walks, memories of the afternoon replay. Aleister groggily and grumpily insisting that if the others drop the shield he can hold the curse and take out several waves of enemies. The rest of the Murder arguing that the trap he’s trying to set would leave his back open to any moderately-paced attack. Aleister refusing to give them details on how exactly he plans to hold the curse in place for multiple enemies, and also refusing to back down until the rest of them agreed. The enemy would underestimate him, he had said, because his own Murder did.

“Your time must be in very high demand, Aleister Corigan, to have a need to check that watch so often.”  

The smooth voice comes from just on the other side of the shield, as close to it as he is. The air grows hazy and hot for a moment, then the scenery blurs as a prim shape follows the words. It’s Shihab wearing the face of a young man, chest bare, loose-fitting pants fading to nothing where a man would have feet. The jinn is smirking.  

Aleister answers the sentiment with a smile that fully embraces his darkness. It’s long and thin and dry. He gently closes the lid of the watch, eyes rising like the silver moon. On the surface he’s all calm control, but the presence of this being is much different from the first time they met, before Aleister’s perception kicked into hyperactivity.  

Now he can feel the heat of the smokeless fire. It’s an altogether different kind of burn. It hurts to be close to Shihab, like his skeleton has grown too hot for the muscles and organs it supports. Good, he thinks, a little pain might do him well, might keep him grounded.

“The night is still young,” he says in a flirtatious drawl.

He might as well let the dark side out to play. The metal in his hands begins to heat. His movement is anticipation in motion as he slides the watch back into his pocket and says, “My schedule is wide open.”

The jinn’s eyebrows lift in amusement. He watches Aleister’s hand produce a simple cigarette case.  

“You are every bit as haughty as I have been told,” Shihab answers. “But we shall break that assurance soon enough. It seems you have already found the first wave of my forces, and surely you think you have done much harm, but that was a small taste of the nightmares that shall be visited upon you this night.” 

The Countdown Begins!

Well, folks, this is really happening. I’m inside a week from release of The Song of the Sparrow. I’m so incredibly excited and nervous and a barrage of other emotions. There have been plenty of times over the course of the last fourteen years when I believed the second installment of the Crows’ story would never see a real page. Now I’m looking at those pages, granted it’s a proof copy, but it’s a lot more real than staring at my computer screen.

The book itself has come a long way, too. When I say the innards are a completely overhauled version of the original manuscript, I’m not kidding. I rewrote almost every word of it, and I’m very proud of the outcome. Of course, I’m already in the process of doing the same for Book 3, and hopefully it won’t take another two years before that one is ready for release. Alas, I’m looking to the future, but don’t think I’m not celebrating in the now. I think it’s important to celebrate ourselves and our accomplishments as much as it’s important to acknowledge our failures.

With that in mind, I’d like to announce that in celebration of this release, The Murder Meets at Dusk, Order of Crows Book 1 will be free for Kindle starting August 10 (the day before Sparrow releases) and lasting until August 13. That means if you haven’t read the first book, that will be your chance to catch up. If you have read the first book, maybe you know someone who would be interested. Spread the word, my friends. You are my unofficial street team, and every like, share, and word of mouth means the world to me.

So, mark your calendars! The Song of the Sparrow releases August 11th!

Cover Reveal! The Song of the Sparrow

It’s time, my friends! Share with me a moment I, at times over the years, had thought would never come. The Song of the Sparrow, Order of Crows Book Two will release August 11, but today … the world gets to see the cover! Celebrate with me!

As usual, huge thanks goes to The Illustrated Author Design Services for this magnificent piece of art, time, and dedication.

And without any more delay …

Aleister Corigan watches the last rays of daylight sink out of sight from the rocking chair on his back porch. The clouds are painted in brilliant orange and pink, but soon it will fall to darkness. Usually he wouldn’t mourn a dying day, but this night brings with it a vast unknown of enemies and violence.

Four full nights have passed since the attack that led him to a series of discoveries, an army in the shadows waiting to crash through the magical protection over the city. Those four nights have changed everything. Now war is imminent. A battle of unthinkable magnitude has come to the Order of Crows’ doorstep and they have no choice but to fight.

Aleister slept after the Murder parted ways earlier in the day. He had no choice. As much as he would rather have focused some time on preparation, his physiology put him under as soon as he got home. Still, he’s already exhausted, and a strange, ebbing magic is in the air that makes his skin prickle. He had thought at first that it was a lingering effect of Casper’s alarm sigils, but he realized later it was something else, the evacuation order Legba sought from the city council.

Now Aleister has showered and dressed, casually for him in a black v-neck shirt with long sleeves and grey t-shirt beneath. A glass of red wine sits unheeded on the table beside him. The enchanted pocket watch that will boost his magic by the number on its face is in his hand. The fabled grimoire, the Key of Solomon, rests on his lap. He’s smoking slowly as he stares at the book.

It’s not open but he can hear quiet rasping whispers from it, words in a dark tongue that he doesn’t really understand but recognizes as infernal. This is a dangerous book, one that stirs fear in his inner sanctum. He won’t open it again unless he absolutely has to. The power to summon the Princes of Hell could just as easily be disastrous as it could be useful. Never mind the question of why it came to him.

The sky is fading now to true night. He can feel the pull of the full moon as it makes its ascent. He has to go face the Murder and the impending mayhem. He has to go start a war.

The Song of the Sparrow Excerpt/Character Spotlight: Nichi

Y’all! We are getting ever closer to release, and I am so excited! Cover reveal is coming very soon. Look for it probably this weekend. Today, though, let’s talk about Nichi. She is the Murder’s healer, but she’s no damsel. She hails from Japanese heritage, wields a sword, and manipulates Ki as her form of magic. That gives her unique communion with the body and spirit of others. If you’ve read The Murder Meets at Dusk, you know she plays an important role. If you haven’t, let’s just say she plays an important role.

Personally, I love Nichi as a character. She’s a strong female, but not removed from her femininity. She won’t take shit from anyone but she’s still empathetic to the suffering of others. She’s not overprotective, but she’ll stand up for her Murder. Mostly, she knows what she’s capable of.

Please enjoy this excerpt from The Song of the Sparrow:

Aleister is quietly watching the others move in chairs and other furniture to sit on and arrange it all in a circle in the middle room of the office. He feels absolutely wretched, like a bigger pile of shit than he previously thought humanly possible. The little bit of food he forced himself to swallow and the coffee aren’t helping.

His body is distinctly feeling the several beatings it has taken over the course of the last few days. Even his soul hurts. It’s a strange feeling, one he didn’t know was possible and, while it’s an interesting discovery, it’s not that interesting. When he tests his magic’s gate a stinging sensation runs through him. In retrospect, he knows he pushed pretty damn close to the line. He knows he nearly destroyed that gate with his own power. He almost lost everything.

Nichi offered to heal him. She had insisted on it but he told her to save it for when they really need her. He’s half-seriously considering changing his mind. He’s mildly surprised no one has said anything about him sitting on his ass while they’re doing the work. It’s a very mild surprise that doesn’t really break the surface. Probably because of the massive headache that has his skull in a vice.

A sudden hand on his shoulder makes him tense. He goes on the defensive by reflex. His gate starts to open. Then an undeniable calm seeps through him from the physical contact, followed by an involuntary relaxation. He looks up at Nichi standing beside him.

“I’m not asking again,” she says in a tone that begs him to argue. He might if she didn’t have him completely under her spell already.

“Thanks,” he answers softly.

He can feel a reluctance in her, maybe because of the contact, but he thinks he’d feel it even if she wasn’t touching him. He breaks the eye contact and happens to notice Cait watching the exchange. He doesn’t make true eye contact, though, and is less worried about being noticed than he thought he would be.

“You might as well say it.”

A quiet sigh precedes Nichi’s next words.

“You almost burned yourself out.”

He hesitates.

“I know.”

There’s something else coming across their connection, something that stirs surprise in the midst of the rest of his whirling emotions.

“I just … be careful,” she says.

“You’re worried about me.”

He’s sure he meant for that to be a question. It came out of his mouth as much more of a realization, albeit one laced with disbelief. He hasn’t really taken the time to let himself consider the ways the two of them broke the Order’s rules, but he can at least say he definitely didn’t expect it to change everything so much.

“Yes, I guess I am,” she answers. She lets a few beats pass then adds, “Why are you so surprised?”

He shrugs the shoulder her hand is on. He’s not really sure what to say so he doesn’t answer. Moments later her touch disappears. He really does feel much better. He looks back up at her.

“Better?”

“Much.”

She glances down at him, nods, then walks away. He watches her go, forgetting for a moment that he shouldn’t be watching the way she moves like water around rocks. When she kneels in front of Casper and they start talking, he looks away. He realizes the others are starting to sit down.

The Song of the Sparrow Excerpt/Character Spotlight: Santino

Hello, all! Today I’d like to share another character spotlight with you. Today we’re going to talk about Santino di Veneto. Santino is the oldest among the Murder, significantly so for some of them. He hails from Italian roots, is typically a portrait of calm, and wields an emotional mask much of the time. He’s an ordained member of the Church, which sometimes causes conflict and friction.

When I first wrote Santino those many moons ago, I thought he was going to be another antagonistic force within in the Order. Turns out, he’s really important. He sometimes comes across as smug and maybe a little condescending, but beneath the mask he’s incredibly reasonable and, his defining characteristic, patient. He knows when to push and pull, so to speak, and when to just listen. He also stands as a bit of an opposite force to Aleister, who wields black magic. So there’s a fun dynamic between them that’s not as hostile as one might expect.

Please enjoy this excerpt from The Song of the Sparrow, which will release August 11, and (shh) be on the lookout for the cover reveal very soon:

He too looks to Aleister in time to see his hands ball into fists. He turns unsteadily and pins a manic look on Johnny, who has stepped up beside Santino. Johnny’s surprise brings the air to life around them as he lifts his hands in defense.

“What did you see?” Aleister demands.

He’s like a walking firecracker, his magic still visible in traces on his skin. His eyes glitter like quicksilver. His hands shake visibly as he raises an accusatory finger.  

“What,” he says again, much lower and more menacing, “did you see?”

Johnny’s hesitation is apparently enough to stir Aleister’s impatience, because he turns on Lochlann, who had been in front of him but who stepped aside when Aleister addressed the elf. Lochlann doesn’t exactly go on the defensive. He just returns a steady gaze from his good eye.

“Tell me what you saw that made the vampire cross the line!” Aleister cries.

Santino searches his memory for a time he has seen Aleister lose his composure this way. There isn’t one. This is entirely new.

“What are you talking about?” Lochlann says softly.

“The trap shouldn’t have worked. The vampires were onto me. Something forced Benjamin just as it forced the first vampire through the curse. I know you saw it appear!” Aleister says shakily.

Lochlann takes a step toward Aleister and clamps a hand on his shoulder. Aleister’s expression goes sour, like he suddenly feels sick. He sways again.

“I can’t say for sure,” Lochlann answers.

“I know you saw it!” Aleister snaps, jaw grinding visibly.   

Lochlann says, “I don’t know. It had no shape. There was no face, but it had eyes of all colors,” says Lochlann, his one good eye holding Aleister’s furious gaze captive.

“What madness are you speaking?” the planar crow asks, an incredulous whisper that makes Santino shudder.

“It’s not madness,” Johnny speaks, stepping up beside Aleister and gently putting one hand on his back.

Aleister sags and the crunch in his features smooths. There’s indignation in his eyes, but it doesn’t come out of his mouth. His eyelids visibly weight down like he can’t keep them open.

“The elementals screamed when it appeared then fell completely silent. I couldn’t see anything, like it was obscured by its own power,” Johnny says.

Santino watches the exchange with a thinly veiled fascination. Something about the combined forces of Johnny and Lochlann have taken Aleister’s roar to a hum. Still, he can see the Corigan’s rage struggle back to the surface. A suspicion Santino had earlier in the day resurfaces.

“Your magic is too hot. Whatever it was has gone,” Lochlann says. “We can’t chase it across the planes.”  

Aleister’s eyes flatten, beg to differ, but he still doesn’t speak.

“We have much more important obligations here,” Johnny says.

What a team Lochlann and Johnny make to quell the temper of the fire gate. By the looks of Aleister, it’s not an attribute he appreciates just now. He looks like he’s going to argue, but maybe like he can’t find the words.

“What did you feel, Aleister?” Santino cuts in. He watches the Corigan peel his eyes from Johnny then blink questioningly, as though the words are slow to make sense.

“On the front line, when the presence appeared. What did you feel?”

Aleister’s verging panic seems to have calmed, but his steel eyes are now full of suspicion as he stares at Santino for a long time. The priest doesn’t necessarily want to spread the cards of history out now, not this way, and he hopes that Aleister will catch the implications in the question. Santino knew their parents’ Murder much better than most of the others. He also knew Aleister’s mother.

Finally Aleister says, “It felt like we’re in fucking trouble. Whatever it is, it’s stronger than we are, stronger than the jinn. And it will be back.”

His gaze drifts to the ground and the fire goes out completely. He has drained himself to a dangerous level, and so soon when they hardly know what’s to come. Santino releases a quiet sigh and looks around at the rest of the Murder, waiting to see if anyone will question what he means or why he would ask Aleister that particular question. No one seems poised to speak, but Nichi’s eyes are on Santino and there’s a knowing light in them. Strange that she would be in on Aleister’s newly developed secret.

“How did you touch me without taking the curse, and how did you stop me?” Aleister asks quietly without lifting his eyes.

Santino glances at Miller and finds the priest also watching him closely. Santino clears his throat and says, “God’s light protects me. Good thing, too.”

Aleister’s eyes narrow again but he doesn’t say anything snotty. He just sniffs indignantly. Lochlann and Johnny remove their hands from him and he nearly falls. He manages to catch his own weight. He pushes his chin into the air.

“We should split up now,” he says, glancing sideways at Santino, who steps forward and reaches Solomon’s Key into the space between them. When Aleister moves to take it, Santino doesn’t let it go, which solicits a hard look and a moment of actual eye contact from the Corigan.

Santino holds the moment long enough for Aleister to realize there won’t be a deeper connection. He won’t say as much. He shouldn’t need to. Aleister’s eyes widen. Santino releases the book. It looks so big in Aleister’s hands.

“Agreed. We meet at the Square,” Santino says.