First, the winners from two weeks ago . . . Shanae, Deb C. and Sabrina!!! If you’d like a copy of FEAR NO EVIL, email me (allison @ allisonbrennan.com) your mailing address. If you have a copy, and want to send one to a friend, send me their name and mailing address and I’ll send it to them and give you credit!
Okay, this is a quickie. Sorry! I’m off to New Jersey in the wee hours of Thursday morning to speak to the New Jersey Romance Writers conference. I’m very excited about this conference because I’ve heard fabulous things about it. I’m presenting two workshops, in addition to my speech–one on “Breaking Rules to Break In or Break Out” and the other with Mariah Stewart on the state of romantic suspense.
So because I’m rushing off and 1) wrote a speech (in which I called Rocki a bad angel, but she’ll have to hear about it from someone else because I don’t want her to hunt me down . . . ) and 2) I’m kind of wiped out; I thought I’d do two things.
First, a couple good blogs this week:
Kristin Nelson’s blogs on Royalty Statements (you need to scroll down to catch them all.)
Moira had told Lily to stay away from her cousin, to let Moira know if there was anything strange going on, if Abby confided in her. She’d damn well learned her lesson—rely on no one else—and she prayed Lily was alive.
“We’ll just look around the ruins for ten minutes,” she said. “I’ll know if the coven was here. Maybe we’re not too late.” She said it to give Jared hope; she didn’t believe it.
A reluctant Jared followed her into the night. He had his own flashlight and a cell phone, which he used now to call Lily for the twelfth time since they left Moira’s motel room twenty minutes ago. Once again, his girlfriend didn’t answer. Now her message box was full.
Almost as soon as she’d stepped from the truck, Moira smelled evil. A subtle aroma on the edge of the ruins, growing with each step she took. Incense. Poisoned incense. Strong herbs and odors to control spirits. But it was the sulphuric stench of Hell itself that raised the skin on her arms and made the scar on her neck burn. As Moira neared the midpoint of the spirit trap, she slowed her pace, her feet heavy as lead. Slower. Slower. She wanted to run back to the small, safe island off Sicily and lock herself inside St. Michael’s fortress. She didn’t need this, didn’t want it, but she could not shirk her responsibility.
All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men—and women—to do nothing.
As Moira approached the wide circle painted in white on the ground, it became clear that the ritual had been interrupted. There were signs of violence—overturned candles, disturbed earth, a feeling of unrest, of commotion. While no candles burned, the scent of extinguished flames hung in the low-lying fog.
There, in the middle of the circle, was a dead body.
Comment (even just hi, have a safe trip, break a leg, don’t choke at the podium) for a chance to win a copy of the novella that is the prequel to ORIGINAL SIN–and also has absolutely FABULOUS stories by our own Roxanne St. Claire and Karin Tabke. And if you have a question, go ahead and ask–I’ll check in when I land on the East Coast!