I am a panster by nature, discovering my characters as they reveal themselves. To date, my novel writing has involved the paranormal or magick within a more familiar setting, blending it with mysteries, police procedurals, or thrillers.
In search of Annalyse
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. In fact, until three weeks ago, they had been monsters elaborately depicted in bedtime stories written and told to scare little children. As the shadow of the air-borne menace passed overhead, Kassador peered out from behind his bedroom curtain. If the villagers ever found out he had wished the dragon into existence...
Of Mushrooms and Memories
I do not know why I have such a fancy for this little café. Tucked into the dingiest alley, hidden behind a dumpster overflowing with month-old trash, it was not well known beyond the locals. The rusted iron door was the least welcoming portal I had found in this foreign city and it intrigued me.
The Angel's Mark
Yesterday was fading from her memory. The joy—no—bliss, she had experienced was beyond description. Claire had tried to rationalize what she had seen. But since no one else had seen the angel fall to the ground, and she had been the only one to rush to his aid, she alone had felt the all-encompassing emotion that pasted a grin on her face and lightened her step. She had believed it would last forever, like the mark on her wrist where he had gripped her arm. That the sign she had been waiting for had arrived.
Welcome to Warmington Falls
“In 1972, hikers in Harriston Wood found a rusty gate standing alone in a copse of dead trees.” Karen read as they walked. “Exploration of the area found no other structures, but local rumours claim the gate was part of an estate which once stood only yards from the stream.”
The echo of my footsteps rang from the stonework supporting the halls. Fourteen years of dedication, and I was no longer welcome. An unnatural, eerie vibration encompassed me as I walked. Never had the air rippled with such anxiety, as though everyone within the building waited with bated breath. The tension grew as I stepped with purpose, each footfall resounding with anger.
One muffled scream escaped as the trunk, with him in it, fell into the sea. Struggling against the ropes restraining his hands, Ellison knew time was not on his side. With no room to twist, his last hope was to kick a hole in the bottom and pray he could squeeze out.
The last rays of the late summer sun lit upon the lonely pear, clinging to its perch high in the tree. Cassie stood watching bees flitting in and out of the leaves, the blossoms long gone, only the sweet smell of ripening fruit drawing them close. Beneath the gnarled branches, the remains of the harvest lay rotting. More bees, drunk on sun-cooked pears, crawled back to their ground nest, too laden with pulp to fly.
Cold. Warm. Cold.
Special Agent Catherine Anderson squatted beside Dr. Edwards as he zipped the black bag shut, the sound sending shivers through Catherine's already chilled body. Or maybe it was from the slush soaking into her boots. Suede does not repel snow. She clapped her hands together and rubbed them briskly.