KZ's Halloweenies & Whorrors, 2

Another excerpt from Boolicious, my Changeling Halloween tale introduced in the previous post. Tomorrow, the fun and games end. On to some genuine creepiness!

* * * * *

They’d covered maybe three blocks, zigzagging from one side of the street to another, when they approached a small, red-brick bungalow. Emily charged up the porch steps with her usual enthusiasm, crying "Trick or treat!" all the way.

Hannah and the boys joined her…just as Hannah began to wonder why this place looked familiar. The door abruptly opened. But no smiling matron holding a candy basket appeared there. Instead, a large, dark mass flew out of the house like an attacking phantom. A clumsy attacking phantom. Emily squealed. Startled, they all scrambled backward down the steps and withdrew to the railings.

The dark form was a man. A man in an opera cape—black on the outside, red on the inside—with a deeply scalloped, upturned collar and a bat attached by a spring to one shoulder. The cape was skewed off to one side, the bat bobbing and weaving like Muhammad Ali.

Hannah’s breath seemed to snag on her ribcage. That was why the house looked familiar! Teetering before her was the man she’d seen earlier, the one getting out of the truck. As she’d tagged along with the kids, she’d unwittingly come down the same street. But what was going on?

When the man regained his footing, he straightened his garment, swiped both palms over his hair, and faced the four people on the porch steps. "Uh…boo."

Dumbfounded, the four trick-or-treaters gaped at him.

Emily looked up at her brother. "Can I keep ‘im?"

"He’s too big for your bag, dork." Jeremy pointed at Hannah, who stood at the opposite railing. "Better let her keep him."

What the hell?

Mouth open, she continued to stare. Beneath his cape the man wore only the skimpiest red briefs. A green glow came from his mouth.

What the hell?

"Were you s’posed to scare us?" Emily asked. "Do you live here?"

The man looked embarrassed. "No."

"What didja do?" Emily asked him. "Are you a robber? Didja get caught? Zat why they threw you out?"

The man cleared his throat. "That’s one way of putting it."

"So what are you hiding in your mouth? You better give it back."

"I’m not hiding anything. Those are my teeth." He bared his glow-in-the-dark, fanged plastic uppers. "I’m a vampire."

Jeremy chuffed. "Dracula didn’t walk around in his shorts."

"Yeah, well, I’m his poor brother, Zacula. Can’t afford formal wear, just underwear."

Hannah snorted a poorly suppressed laugh. She curled a hand over her mouth and looked down.

"Hey," Grif said, pointing at him, "your bat’s starting to droop."

"That’s not all." The man slid a glance at Hannah, who just at that moment happened to be sliding a glance at his—droop or no droop—well filled-out scarlet briefs. Self-consciously, he pulled the cape closed around his midsection.

Now that Hannah was gathering her wits, she couldn’t help but notice other things, as well. The man was extremely attractive, even more so than her first glimpse of him had suggested. She couldn’t see his face very clearly, but his tall frame sported a trim, hard-muscled physique. Although his thick, dark hair was trained to sweep neatly away from his face at the front and sides, the back was a riot of rebellious, clipped curls, some of which disappeared within his collar.

"Shoes or no shoes, I better get out of here," he murmured, and began descending the steps. When he was alongside Hannah, he paused. "I’m really sorry."

He wasn’t just attractive, he was breathtaking. "No harm done." The sight of him, and the fragrant nearness of him, rekindled the arousal that had tormented her at the party. She could feel the heat wavering from his body like a sexual lure.

The man suddenly broke their eye contact—a minor blessing, since it was making Hannah’s knees weak. Frowning, he looked down and patted his cape. He pulled it to one side and groped at the lining. "My keys," he whispered.

Turning abruptly, Zacula charged back toward the front door. Before he reached it, two shoes somersaulted through the air, nearly bonking him in the head. He managed to duck just in time. The shoes clattered against the porch railing and landed with twin thuds on the wood floor.

Glaring at the house, Zacula muttered, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," as he retrieved his shoes and hopped around to get them on. He stomped down the steps to the sidewalk, where the four trick-or-treaters now stood because they didn’t know what would next fly out of the house. Hand to forehead, Zacula looked indecisively at nothing.

Without thinking, Hannah walked up to him and touched his arm. Electricity seemed to shiver through her stomach. "Are you all right?"

Distractedly, the man nodded. "I don’t think anyone ever died of a bruised ego. So, yeah, I’m all right."

"What’s your name?"

It was a few seconds before he looked at her. He was obviously preoccupied. "Zack." He gave her a wan smile. "Yes, that really is my name." He extended his hand. "Zachary Evan Whitmore."

Once Hannah grasped it she was loath to let go. "I’m Hannah Blue. Can I help you in any way?" It was obvious he had some kind of mess on his hands.

"I don’t want to get anybody else involved in this."

"I don’t mind. Really." He was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. The more she studied his face, the more captivated she became. And his mouth…damn, it looked so inviting. Not a vampire’s mouth at all. At least, not based on the movies she’d seen. She still, however, couldn’t discern the color of his bright eyes.

Zack rubbed the back of his neck. "My biggest problem at the moment is that my truck keys are in there." He nodded toward the house. "And I’m out here."

"I assume it wouldn’t be wise for you to go to the door and ask for them."

Lifting his eyebrows, Zack gave her a look that said, What do you think? Nevertheless, he risked mounting three of the porch steps and shouting, "Give me my god— Give me my goldang keys!"

The door swung open, a bulky form appeared, and a set of keys went sailing into a dense tangle of surrounding shrubbery.

"Fuck!" Zack charged up the porch once more. He strode to the railing and peered over it. Groaning, he despondently came back down to the sidewalk.

Casting Hannah a glance, he mumbled, "Your wig’s slipping." He idly lifted a few fallen strands of hair, letting them drape over his fingers.

"It isn’t a wig." Hannah poked at her tumbling coiffure, dimly wondering how a touch to her hair could send frissons slithering through her limbs. "Your teeth are slipping, too."

Zack pulled them out and chucked them aside.

She didn’t know what was going on, but she had to help him. She wanted to help him. He didn’t seem like a creep, and it wasn’t often she had the opportunity to rescue an enticing man in distress. In fact, she’d never had the opportunity.

"Listen," she said, "let me try something. You stay here."

Before Zack could object, Hannah remounted the steps and rang the doorbell. It opened with such ferocity she took a couple of startled steps back. A very large, very pumped-up man with a pale flat-top glowered down at her.

"Sir," Hannah began, trying to be both polite and firm, "I need to borrow a flashlight. You threw the truck keys into the—"

He snarled out an answer and slammed the door.

Sighing, Hannah rejoined Zack on the sidewalk. She lowered her voice when she conveyed the message. "He isn’t being very cooperative. He said, ‘Let the prick bounce home on his pogo stick.’"

Zack’s handsome face twisted in anger. "Son of a bitch."

Emily piped up, "You really need to clean up your language." The kids, still clustered together a short distance away, had been observing these goings-on with interest.

Zack glanced at them. "I’ll work on that when I get home. After I drive there in my truck. Which I must start with my frickin’ key!"

"Uh, Emily, you and Jeremy and Grif should head home now, too," Hannah said. "It’s getting late and you have plenty of candy. Thanks so much for inviting me along." She waved to underscore the send-off. "Maybe I’ll see you around."

Taking his sister’s hand, Jeremy told her, "Come on. Grownup stuff is goin’ on. You know what that means."

A Really Naughty FREE Story

"A Cheeky Changeling" is Changeling Press's online magazine/newsletter. There you can find, among other things, free short fiction called Encounters. Mine, "Glories of the Blue Moon," is fourth from the top in the most recent issue. Click on the post title to find it.

But be forewarned: Encounters are short. Really short. And Changeling is an erotic e-pub. Really erotic. So what you're going to get is a jolt of sexual YEEHAH! Plot and character development? Go read The Scarlet Letter. My story, by the way, is about a man taking a risk to make himself, or part of himself, happy. The ending is ambiguous . . . the way I sometimes like my endings.

So don't complain. I warned you. Besides, the bugger is F-R-E-E.

The book nobody wants is now...WANTED.

Yeehah! Third time's a charm. InDescent apparently doesn't violate the editorial standards of Liquid Silver's "Molten Silver" GLBT line, so there it shall be published. Jackson Spey and Adin Swift will once again appear on the world's stage. (Well, at least the little ebook-world stage, which is plenty good enough for me!)

This brings up some interesting aspects of the writing biz. I believe I've mentioned them before, but they bear repeating. A relationship or even story arc can't always be carried to completion at a single company. There are a number of possible reasons for this.

Sometimes companies fold. Sometimes they're horribly mismanaged and/or their owners turn out to be turdwads; as a result, writers fall out of love with them and choose to go elsewhere. Sometimes, it's simply a case of "wrong fit."

Although Jackson and Adin had their first significant encounter at Ellora's Cave, they couldn't have subsequent encounters there. The HEA or HFN ending to any EC book cannot be compromised. So, I couldn't bring these two men together without dragging Adin's girlfriend into the mix -- something I staunchly refused to do. (Loony as it sounds, the characters resisted it, too.) It was at Changeling Press, in the novella Obsessed, that Jackson and Adin got together. Securely ... if you know what I mean. ;-)

BUT Changeling couldn't take InDescent. At nearly 70k words, the novel far exceeds their length limit. And because of its unconventional plot construction, it wasn't appropriate for Loose Id, either. (Understand that I have great respect for both companies and fully appreciate their rationale. EC's, too, for that matter. Their editors make decisions, as they should, in accordance with their companies' guidelines.)

So, I toddled along with my oddball book in tow. A speed bump here, a roadblock there. It's part of the business. Not every book is appropriate for every publisher, and no writer should blame a company for adhering to its business model. Writers can, however, throw blame at snotty, self-important editors who autonomously make decisions based on personal whim rather than professional standards. Those are the true villains in any given submission drama. Thank goodness they're few and far between.

OBSESSED doing well, thank you very much.

I'm enormously grateful for the reception Obsessed has gotten. Bitten by Books and Rainbow Reviews gave it high marks. Raine at Joyfully Reviewed really, really liked the sex scenes (I'll spare you the rave, although it tickled me). She concluded with, "Do not miss out on Obsessed. I loved it!" and went on to give it one of these big, pink, recommended-read rectangles.

I was particularly moved by the following words from a reviewer at Literary Nymphs:

Obsessed surprised me. I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, but by the end, I realized how deep a story it is. Adin is an admirable man -- very loving toward his [girlfriend], but unable to shake the growing love for his best friend. Jackson possesses more than just physical strength, especially at the end, but it’s Celia who shines, even if she doesn’t take center stage. As someone who understands Adin’s plight, I couldn’t help but adore Celia for her loving, trusting acceptance of who he is and what he feels.

The love scenes are amazingly hot, but it’s the ending that got me. The very last scene has a beautiful, tear-inspiring, sweet moment. You’ll just have to read it.

So, thank you one and all. That goes for ordinary readers, too. The saga of Adin Swift and Jackson Spey is far from over. The steam has not yet dissipated (well, hell, considering they only see each other for a three-day weekend every couple of months, small wonder their hormones go into overdrive when they're together!) And their unique arrangement is not getting easier as time goes on. The groove is getting rougher, not smoother, the longer they proceed on its track. Jackson, still the emotionally guarded one, is having more difficulty than he'd like to admit . . . to Adin or himself.

Once I finish my current contractual obligations, I'll be getting back to the big novel in which these men next appear together. Hope I'll be able to find a publisher for it. The story is the most emotionally intense and psychologically tangled one to date, and with some dark humor, as well. Celia will also be checking in at some point. Not sure when, though, or how.

A GHOST STORY

I wrote Gray Man, a ghost story, because I love ghost stories. And there are precious few of them in the realm of erotic romance. This one isn't scary--too much creepiness could easily have overshadowed or negated the romance factor--but it does have a touch of eerie. More important, it has a big serving of hope.

Coincidentally, there's a great guest-blog by Josh Lanyon, and follow-up comments, at Jeanne Barrack's spot, The Sweet Flag (http://thesweetflagmenlove.blogspot.com/).

Gray Man is coming out Friday, August 22, at Changeling Press. Here's the blurb, which is followed by an excerpt:

* * * * *

Emma Moore’s vacation along the lower New England seaboard had everything to do with bolstering her flagging relationship and nothing to do with finding ghosts. But when an eerie entry written in archaic script shows up in her diary, she suspects it might be related to the shadowy figure suddenly clinging to her boyfriend’s back.

A shockingly orgasmic ride on a theme-park roller coaster and the mystifying utterances of a psychic stranger only strengthen Emma’s suspicion that something, or someone, is going bump—and hump—in the night. Getting to the bottom of this disturbing yet compelling phenomenon seems her only recourse.

Leaving her lawyer-boyfriend behind in Boston to pursue his work and possibly an affair, Emma returns to the historic Connecticut inn where the intensely passionate Gray Man first appeared. What she discovers and experiences there bring her the most wrenching sadness and exhilarating hope she’s ever known . . . and the realization that there are no bounds in time and space any more than there are in the ocean that lies beyond her window.

* * * * *

As soon as her eyes opened to the sharp sunlight of a late-September morning, Emma realized she’d neglected to do something very, very important last night. Not only had she forgotten to stash her diary, she’d—

Oh shit.

Shooting a quick glance at Alan, who seemed to be sleeping soundly, Emma slipped out of bed and into her bathrobe and pattered as quietly as possible to the sitting room. Easing open the door, hoping its thin squeak wouldn’t wake her companion, she rose up on the balls of her feet and took three long strides to the desk. Sure enough, the diary still lay there, wide open.

Emma reached out to snatch it and stuff it into her pocket. Her arm froze in midair.

Beneath the final line of her entry, a single word had been written in a jagged, archaic script.

Yes.

Emma’s breath stopped. A prickling sensation wound simultaneously from the back of her neck and her solar plexus to the middle of her spine. As her skin pinched into gooseflesh, she shot a look over her shoulder. Was this Alan’s way of reassuring her? Had he altered his handwriting to make it in keeping with a seventeenth-century town?

As unlikely as it seemed—the man was singularly devoid of both whimsy and imagination—it was the only explanation Emma could come up with. Either that or she’d turned into a sleepwalker with multiple-personality disorder. Cautiously lifting the diary as if it might shock or burn her, she tiptoed back to her suitcase and once again secreted the book.

But her surprises had just begun.

"Getting ready to leave?"

Emma spun around. Alan, his face peppered with a sandy growth of whiskers, was sitting up in bed, watching her. He ran both hands over his head and stretched backward. Emma’s shock gave way to curiosity. She squinted, peered at him. There was something—

He frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Why indeed. Was his body casting a shadow against the headboard? Emma’s gaze shifted to the windows and followed the course of the incoming light. Yes, it was possible. But… "I, uh, was just wondering how you’d look with a beard and mustache."

Alan’s right hand immediately went to the lower half of his face and rubbed it. "Don’t even go there," he said.

"Alan, did you happen to get up in the middle of the night and go into the sitting room?"

He gave her a puzzled look. "No. Why would I do that?" Sliding to the edge of the bed, he yawned, scratched the middle of his chest and got up. "I slept like a log last night." He shuffled toward the bathroom.

Emma’s mouth fell open as she followed his progress. The shadow that was behind him in bed was still behind him, hovering at his back like some gauzy gray kite he was toting over his shoulder. It had a vaguely human form, but taller than Alan’s. Taller and unsettled, like a swath of fog.

~~~~~
From Gray Man, coming August 22 from Changeling Press
Copyright (c) 2008, K. Z. Snow

Obsessed

After nearly 660 years, Adin Swift is dreaming again.

As a vampire, he slept like the dead. Now that he’s reverted to mortality, vivid dreams surface every night to torment him. And the most disturbing ones involve his best friend, Jackson Spey.
It was their "otherness" that drew them together ten years earlier—two extraordinary men living outside the mainstream, one a bright and beautiful vampire, one a cynical and handsome wizard. Their unique bond took on more dimensions than either was willing to acknowledge . . . until now.

Realizing he can no longer ignore the desire that’s been simmering for a decade, Adin must face the heart-wrenching fact he’s in love with two people: the woman to whom he’s committed and the man he can’t seem to live without. Two confrontations ensue over the course of one explosive weekend, and they will forever alter three people’s lives.

Coming Friday, July 11, from Changeling Press.

Can YOU judge a book by its cover?

Another observation from my late-evening blog-hopping (and one that was confirmed by a little vid I saw featuring an editor from a NY publishing house): Covers can have a significant impact on book sales. Some readers might be resistant to this notion. I know I was. Hey, we're all about content, right?

Well, apparently not.

Packaging plays an extremely important role in the peddling of a product. Any product. Corporations and their advertising firms spend bundles of money researching the effect various visual elements have on consumers' psyches. Many of our reactions are "visceral" or subconscious, but that doesn't lessen the importance of those reactions in our decision-making processes.

So, back to books. One might assume covers only count when they're arrayed on the shelves of brick-and-mortar outlets. I've come to realize this isn't so. E-book covers also catch readers' attention, often in a distinctly positive or negative way, and thus influence their immediate impressions--of individual companies, authors, and any given book's literary worth. This initial impression then affects a reader's decision whether or not to take a chance on that publisher, author, or book.

Here's what I've noticed within the e-publishing community. Certain high-profile reviewers--those whose attention is most coveted--seem to gravitate toward certain publishers' output and avoid others'. It's a bit mystifying, since the same authors often have titles out with different companies. Mrs. Giggles, for example, seems to favor Samhain and Liquid Silver books. Dear Author seems to favor Samhain books. Ellora's Cave offerings don't show up with nearly the frequency one might expect, although they do occasionally appear. Loose Id, a highly regarded company, is beginning to make its presence known. However, I can't remember ever having seen a Changeling Press book reviewed at any of the more "influential" sites.

Hm. Why the seemingly preferential treatment? I think a lot of it has to do with covers . . . and the resulting perceptions of those companies' (not to mention others') products. This has to be it, because, quite frankly, quality and crap in terms of content are spread pretty evenly throughout all e-publishers. Print, too, for that matter.

Samhain, Liquid Silver, and Loose Id do have classy cover art. Whether subtle or stunning, their covers are well thought-out and artistically composed. They have both visual and emotional appeal. Such art speaks well for--and, at its best, reflects--whatever story lies behind it. Ellora's Cave covers are heavy on chests. (I guess a pun is lurking there, but just ignore it.) Bare chests here, bare chests there, chests chests everywhere. Or what the Smart Bitches, bless 'em, so aptly call "man titty". This seems to strengthen the oft-expressed opinion that all EC books are essentially the same: They're porny pap; they're sexual romps devoid of substance. (This is very much NOT the case, by the way, but try to convince some people of that!)

And then there's Changeling. I publish with this company. And I love it like crazy. Changeling is a standup operation run by wonderful people. Many EC, Samhain, LI, and LS authors also publish with ChP, so it isn't some damned waste dump. But, alas, Changeling's much maligned covers seem to have put it at a disadvantage in the first-impression race. Needless to say, this can be a worrisome situation to authors. A well crafted piece of fiction deserves to be fronted by a well crafted cover . . . and, when it isn't, can suffer in terms of both critical recognition and sales.

So, yes, something as superficial as the way a book looks is often viewed as an indication of how a book reads. There's absolutely no relation between the two. But you'll never convince all buyers of that.

Excerpt time ~ Tormented

My upcoming release (April 25) from Changeling Press, Tormented, is a follow-up tale to my Ellora's Cave novel Plagued but can be read as a stand-alone.

The heroine, a vampire named Rahenna, has a nasty infection she apparently received while feeding off a fisherman in the Azores. As it turns out, he was no ordinary man. Oops. (Can't tell you more without dishing up a spoiler.) Anyway, the primary manifestation of this condition is a vicious, amoral aggression unleashed by sexual hunger. So when Rahenna appears at the birthday party of one of her fledglings, a man who has recently reverted to mortality, her presence is hardly a welcome one.

But there is light at the end of this dark tunnel. Diagnosing and healing Rahenna's affliction requires the knowledge and services of an even older vamp. And what he does, he does extremely well . . .

By the way, reversion to mortality is indeed a very rare occurrence among vampires. It's explained both in Plagued and here, in Tormented.

In the following excerpt, Adin is the birthday boy and the third character is Adin's best friend. He ain't ordinary, either. Rahenna, much to her chagrin, is misbehaving.

* * * * *

Adin guided Rahenna around the corner of the house to a recessed doorway. He looked directly into her eyes. "Don’t touch that man," he said quietly but firmly. "And I mean, not so much as a handshake. Not so much as your knees brushing together beneath a table."

Half irked and half amused, she lifted her brows. "Why? He looks quite sturdy. I doubt he’ll break."

Adin lifted a cautionary forefinger in front of her face. "Don’t. Touch him. Not for a second." He lowered his hand. "You need to take me seriously, Raney. Steer clear of him." He looked around at the dimming sky. "Have any of them shown up yet?"

Rahenna knew what he meant, although she’d momentarily forgotten her reason for being here. Her beast had definitely grown restive. "No. It’s still a little too early. Now tell me why I’m not to touch your friend."

"I can’t get into that now."

"So I’m simply to let myself be ordered about, like a child?"

"Cut the petulant bullshit," Adin hissed. "Just trust me."

His anger excited her. Before Rahenna could think, her hand shot out and curled behind his head. She pulled him forward, crushing her mouth against his. Adin’s lips were a soft, humid pillow. She felt the delicate warm pumping of blood through their capillaries. Exquisite. Delicious. But he wasn’t returning the kiss. His mouth remained closed beneath hers; his lips, motionless. She pressed and rubbed her breasts against his chest, the tough mounds of muscle resistant to her soft flesh. The feel of his hard nipples sliding across hers drove her wild. But despite his quickened breathing, Adin was trying to push her away.

Rahenna wouldn’t allow it. Now far stronger than he, she easily had the upper hand.

"Get off me," he grated.

Her rape fantasy resurfaced with a vengeance. She felt the fangs emerge, their rapier points grazing the lining of her upper lip. Her fingers tightened in Adin’s silken hair, forcing his head back, exposing his throat. Simultaneously, her free hand slithered to his crotch. He had an incipient erection. Desire for him roared through her body.

And then her body was being forced away from his, as if a large wedge had been driven between them. Startled, gasping for air, Rahenna doubled over. Something was pushing forcefully at the anterior side of her body, something she could neither see nor touch. Suddenly, she was forced backward so abruptly that she tumbled to the ground.

Bewildered, she peered up at Adin through a thin veil of fallen hair. He was drooped forward, panting, staring at her with almost palpable scorn.

"I’m sorry," Rahenna whispered. "I couldn’t seem to stop myself." What else could she say?

"Save it," Adin snapped. He straightened, forking his hands through his hair. "That," he said, shooting a forefinger in her direction, "is precisely why you need to stay away from Jackson Spey. The two of you could really do some damage to each other."

A tall figure stepped out of the shadows. He extended a hand to help Rahenna up. As soon as she grasped it, something like an electric shock sizzled up her arm and along the length of her spine. When she tried to jerk her hand away, she couldn’t. She faltered to her feet and gaped at Adin’s friend.

"I would love like hell to fuck you to kingdom come," he said calmly, "but you seem to have a serious lack of impulse control."

Rahenna squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Her hands balled into fists. "God damn it, I have to find a cure for this!"

"Try killing one of the ‘uninvited’ guests," Spey suggested in the same wry tone. "It did the trick for Adin."

"That’s not what I’m talking about," Rahenna muttered. Forehead furrowing, she looked at him more pointedly. "You know?"

He answered with three languid nods.

"About Adin? About me?"

Two more nods. "Adin and I have been friends for a decade or so. And we talked on the phone last night." Spey leaned one shoulder against the edge of the doorway, casually crossing his arms and legs. He continued to watch her. The barest hint of a smile toyed with one corner of his mouth. "I’m beginning to wonder if there even will be party crashers. Or if you just sort of"—he pursed his lips for a second—"invented a big, fat vampire scare so Adin would invite you here. For protection, of course. You do seem to like him an awful lot."

"How dare you call me a liar!" Infuriated by Spey’s implication, Rahenna stepped toward him. Another invisible force pushed her back, but more gently this time.

She was about to ask, What the hell are you? when the answer came to her. "You’re a bloody wizard," she whispered.

Spey shrugged. "Everybody’s got to be something." He stood straight, cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders. "I just wish you wouldn’t use that adjective in conjunction with any reference to me."

Wearily, Adin chuckled in his pocket of darkness.

Darkness.

Rahenna tensed. They were coming.