Daemon Blood
Mary Maddox
(Daemon World, #3)
Publication date: March 8th 2022
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Horror

Our war will not unfold in your imaginary heaven. We will fight on Earth with human beings as pawns and weapons.

Lu Darlington is a seer, bound to the daemon Talion through ritual and blood. It’s not a role she enjoys, but she has little choice: daemons take what they want and destroy whoever stands in their way.

So Lu’s surprised when Talion doesn’t punish her for her newfound ability to keep him from possessing her whenever he likes. In fact he’s pleased. The stronger she is, he explains, the more powerful he becomes.

And he needs that power, because a war is brewing in the daemon world, a war that will be fought by—and through—humans.

Lu’s friend Lisa Duncan can’t see daemons but she’s seen what they can do and so has stayed far away from Lu for years. After a bizarre attack on Lisa leaves half a dozen people dead and she learns it’s just the first skirmish in the daemon war, Lisa realizes the safest place to be is with Lu.

Then Talion sends Lu away to teach her skills to another seer and Lisa must stay behind to look after Lu’s son Solly, conceived through a daemon ceremony with Talion. At four years old Solly’s seer abilities are already so strong Lisa is sometimes more afraid of Solly than for him.

As Talion’s enemies grow bolder, Lisa and Lu face attacks from every direction. There seems little hope any of them will survive—until Talion and his allies devise a plan.

The only problem is how much it will cost.

“With Daemon Blood, Mary Maddox has crafted a timeless tale of good against evil. With compelling characters and a keen sense of the darkness that lurks within us all, Daemon Blood will stay with you long after you turn the final thrilling page.”

— David Sodergren, Author of The Forgotten Island

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Author Bio:

Mary Maddox is a suspense, horror, and dark fantasy novelist with what The Charleston Times-Courier calls a “Ray Bradbury-like gift for deft, deep-shadowed description.” Born in Soldiers Summit, high in the mountains of Utah, Maddox graduated with honors in creative writing from Knox College, and went on to earn an MFA from the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop. She taught writing at Eastern Illinois University and has published stories in various journals, including Yellow Silk, Farmer’s Market, The Scream Online, and Huffington Post. The Illinois Arts Council has honored her fiction with a Literary Award and an Artist’s Grant.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter

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Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog post here.

Hi, readers! We have a real treat in store for you today, a spotlight on a book by Sophia Zaccaria, quite a talented author!    
    
We wish you lots of success on your young adult fantasy novel! 
   
Let's check out the details, shall we?

About the Book

Here is the book blurb for Fairest.  

Flirting with evil will be the ruination of her soul.

Goodness is much easier to corrupt than it is to hold on to. And for Natasha, a woman reeling from the pain of losing a loved one, evil is all the more tempting. Luck or misfortune spirits Natasha away to the foreign Court of Velaris in a quest for a suitor but instead secures her a place among Velarian royalty. Craving revenge, Natasha makes use of this opportunity to enact her plans as she navigates the lush court where aristocracy is a double-edged blade. But when she befriends her soon-to-be husband Mikhail, the Beloved Prince, Natasha makes a deadly mistake. She captures the attention of the debonair Darkling Prince; a villainous man meant to ascend the Velarian throne.

Enamored, the Darkling Prince charms Natasha, and soon the two feel a forbidden emotion captivate their stoic, scabrous hearts. But with the existence of a violent rebel group capable of cataclysmic damage, there is little time for love. With war brewing amidst the enigmatic kingdom, the royals must become all the more cunning and devious if they wish to triumph over their adversaries. What draws the insidious line between right and wrong when it comes to a battle of survival? For Natasha, nothing is too far, too light, too bloody, too evil.

Soon, the only reflection Natasha sees in her mirror's beveled glass is that of an Evil Queen. Often, the cost of survival is more frightening than the beasts of death. But that's what gives the Queen of Shadow's beauty an edge: she wears her darkness adorned about her throat like the grandest of all diamonds, ebony, and bloodred in shade.

Release Date:  July 18, 2021

Genre:  YA Fantasy, Some Romance Elements

 

Sounds like an intriguing read here!

 

Purchase Links:

Goodreads     Amazon

Universal Reader link:  https://books2read.com/u/4Xreo9

 

Sophia is also giving us a peek at this book today!

Readers, here’s an excerpt...

Danilo’s blood drips mockingly from his mouth, a terrifying scarlet smile. “I think you know just how this has to end, my scarlet queen.”

Crimson blood slid down my alabaster skin as I innocently said, “With your heart on a platter for me to feast upon?” I tilted my head in consideration. “Or shall you prefer I maul your heart first, bathe in your blood, then feast upon your heart like the delicacy it is not?”

In a pique of rage, he snarls and lashes forward, his sword slicing into my left arm, reopening an old wound.

Attack. Attack!

In urgent, coaxing shouts like whispers and tears had become lovers and found their voices together, the alluring phantom’s voice said, Evil is to show mercy when death is inevitable. Instantly enraged with some ancient chaotic fervor, the adrenaline of the brawl masked my pain, and I lunged forward. Kill! Like before, I listened to the enigmatic voice. And now, I became a predator—lethality incarnate bent on only one goal: to kill.

I’d been depriving myself of revenge. I would do so no longer.

Ice exploded through my veins, heralding the darkness.

Drawing on a modicum of power, I summoned my darkness and turned the air around me to shadows of obsidian. Danilo deserves no mercy. At this thought, the shadows around me grew until I felt its edges touch the netherworld itself. My magic surged forward, and I twisted it into an imitation of the Velarian dungeons. Horrified, Danilo watched in morbid fascination as shadows reminiscent of a cell’s smothering walls surrounded him. “Don’t.” His voice was sharp with emotion, and a slow smile lifted my mouth.

“Don’t what? I mean you no harm.” No physical harm. The shadows merely created a mirage, a general impression of shades from dull greys to dried-out reds turned burgundy. Paired with chains and imposing spiked bars that seemed to asphyxiate its prisoner, my mirage was perfect. But not inescapable. If he had enough sense of mind, he could swipe his hand through the shadows, and the nightmare would disappear. But fear is the mind’s warden, and now it is Danilo’s prison. Danilo’s face contorted in a grave expression of pain. “S—stop.” I laughed caustically in the wake of his fear, remembering that a few hours ago, Danilo had stabbed me.

“Stop?” I parroted a moment later, stalking close enough to notice the tiny hairs on his neck standing straight while he trembled. “That word meant nothing to you then. It meant nothing when I begged. Nothing when I pleaded with you to show mercy.” I curled my fingers, analyzing his reaction to the prison encircling him. “Why should it matter to me now?” A mutinous smile of antipathy curled his mouth.

“I awoke you. Without me, you would still be the obedient Darkling Queen, nothing more than an antinome. I unleashed your darkness, and I will never leave you, even if I am gone.” No, it’s a lie, but . . . Danilo’s analysis is all the more poignant when I take into account the scene: Danilo, the victim, and me, the aggressor and villain. Embittered by this, I mocked, “Well, I want to know who we are without each other! I want to know if I’ll recover that broken piece of innocence you STOLE!” Collecting my magic for a finishing blow, I reared my arms back, aiming . . . Wait, whispered the feminine phantom. Against my better judgment, I did, reining in my power until it swirled in inky clouds and fulminated against the restraint. Keep him alive. Trust me, you’d rather make a wicked deal now than kill.

Intrigued by the suggestion, I scrutinized Danilo thoughtfully, my already opalescent complexion turning entirely statuesque as I stared down my enemy. Finally, I spoke, “I wish to have my curiosity satiated. To know what my temperament will be without you whispering evils in my ear.”

Intriguing!

So, what are other readers saying about this book?

☆☆☆☆☆

"Great dark fairytale!! I have a soft spot for villains. I always wonder what their backstories are and what caused them to become the bad guy. So, when I read the blurb for Fairest, I knew that I needed to read it. It is not very often where the origins of the Evil Queen from Snow White are explored!! I am glad that I did because this book had me glued to the pages.

Fairest tells the story of Alina (aka Natasha) and her rise/eventual metamorphosis to the Evil Queen. It was a sad but fascinating tale. A fantastic read." – Read with Me Blog, Amazon

Wow, it sounds like quite a read!

Get your copy of this YA fantasy novel today, readers! Or, add it to your Goodreads bookshelf or BookBub!

Thanks for letting us know all about this book, Sophia! :)

About the Author:

Sophia Zaccaria is the author of her debut novel, Fairest, a retelling of Snow White, and is a massive fan of the classic Grimm fairy tales. As a young Canadian writer, Sophia is always looking to weave mystical and magical things into her stories. Sophia enjoys kickboxing, jogging, and visiting eighteenth-century Gothic scenes to appease her muse's darker side when she is not writing. You can discover her linguistic adventures by following her on Instagram @thesophiazaccaria and Inkitt.

Author Links:

Inkitt     

Instagram

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age guest article here.

A simple question, but a complex answer.

First off, I’d like to thank Marie for allowing me to visit her blog today! My second novel is about to be released later this month, but you’ll learn all about that later.

Recently, a friend of mine asked a group of us to answer a question for her. Keep in mind, the group is a very talented gathering of people. And while most of us had had some success getting short stories published, I was the only one who’d made the leap to novels. She’d been mulling it over in her mind for a few months and couldn’t come up with an answer. Her question was this: 

“What does it take to be a writer?”

My initial response to her was to ask her if she wanted to know what it took to be a writer or an author. I asked her this because there’s a difference. Anyone can write. My kids write every day at school, you’ve probably sent a dozen emails this week alone. Writing is not hard. Being an author, though, that’s a different story. Every author is a writer, but not every writer is an author. This is what I told her. 

First, it takes courage. Tons of it. It's no easy thing to hit that send button. Confidence is good, but it comes with time. Courage is more important at the start.

Being willing to see errors when pointed out, and learn from them. There's a difference between an opinion and a valid crit. Sometimes, the opinions are understandable and you should change something. Other times, you're going to go with what you wrote originally. A crit, however, is different. That's a comment about something that really doesn't work (putting the wrong name of a city, for example), technical help (should be went to the store, not had to the store!), or helping you find the holes in your story. If you want to be an author, you have to get ready to have people tear your 'baby' to pieces. 

Perseverance. It takes time. Time to get the contract (shall we play rejection letter lotto today? I've got lots of cards!), time for it to go from signing to release, time put into marketing (even the big Houses are going to expect you to do some), and time for readers to discover your book. Unless you've somehow got the name recognition already (Amanda Knox, Michael Jackson, a former President, or Brad Pitt), you will not get stellar sales out of the gate. It can take months, even years of concentrated effort to gain a loyal enough following that the royalty payments are going to buy you more than something to eat off the dollar menu at McDonalds.

Seriously, don't sweat the small stuff like adverb usage, tell vs. show, active vs. passive, and any of the two dozen so-called rules of good writing. Spelling, grammar, punctuation - as long as they're not blatantly bad, most EICs will look past that as something that can be easily corrected in editing/proofreading. As my wonderful late Big Brother told me, "Did it sell? Then it's good." The other stuff, eh, it's just guidelines. The story has to be engaging and grab the attention of the reader. I've read stories that followed 'the rules' - and rejected them because they were dry pieces of cardboard without any depth. Or made my eyeballs want to bleed.

An author's going to write, revise, cry, revise some more, and polish it within a millimeter of its life. A writer's going to slap something onto a piece of paper and call it good.

In the end, it’s your decision if you’re an author or a writer. Do the rewards outweigh the risks? Do you want to invest the time and work to market yourself? No one can make that decision for you.

Guest Blogger Bio 

Born in the late 60's, KateMarie has lived most of her life in the Pacific NW. While she's always been creative, she didn't turn towards writing until 2008. She found a love for the craft. With the encouragement of her husband and two daughters, she started submitting her work to publishers. When she's not taking care of her family, KateMarie enjoys attending events for the Society for Creative Anachronism. The SCA has allowed her to combine both a creative nature and love of history. She currently resides with her family and three cats in what she likes to refer to as "Seattle Suburbia".

Links:

Twitter: @DaughterHauk

FB: http://www.facebook.com/pages/KateMarie-Collins/217255151699492

Blog: http://www.katemariecollins.wordpress.com

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

My guest today is Sarah Baethge.  Hello, Sarah!  Welcome to Writing in the Modern Age!  It’s such a pleasure to have you.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?


My latest book is a space fantasy called Panoptemitry that I began writing when the online store http://www.iwritereadrate.com asked that I write a book for them to sell. It came out last December, and you can get it at Iwritereadrate, Amazon, Barnes&Noble and Smashwords.

Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you? 

I wrote down a couple of strange ideas that came to me from watching TV Sci-fi and not long after I was asked for a book so I tried to use my half-baked non-sense. Molding what I had come up with into a story was really kind of fun.

Great! So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I really do like to write, but this is one of the few stories I've had the guts to publish.

Do you have any favorite authors?

I love Stephen King and Michael Crichton.

Do you write in a specific place? Time of day?

I have a desk in the corner of my bedroom, and all times of day or night- just whenever the ideas come to me.

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers. Any advice?

Write what you like to read; that way even if your book's a flop, it wasn't quite a waste to write!

Here is the blurb for Panoptemitry.

With a goal as high and lofty as the unspecified pursuit of knowledge, there may not be a clear point at which to stop. Acting as one has been taught to can seem to hold just as much purpose as the actual reason for taking those actions. When the growth of technology begins to hold the same powers as religious doctrine has declared divine, does the simple recording of events become blasphemous? Who's to say we even understand that 'so-called' divinity?

On a research mission to provide information for a great galactic computer network (called S.Y.M.A.C.), Emilija Lithuan and her assistants run up against the higher ranks of the Caytalan Church. The punishment that these religious leaders try to stick them with, could possibly have a greater effect than was ever intended.

When their escape saddles them with a famous outlaw, a careful reassessment of what is right and wrong can't be avoided. How much of what is 'common knowledge' is even actually true?

And if it's not, just how much perceived reality is built upon a lie? 

Here's an excerpt from Panoptemitry.

Chapter 1

 

Am I dead? 

The thought in itself echoed as proof of the obvious fact that she couldn’t be. Surely death would leave less of a sensation in her body.

The painful fog that swam untouchably before her face made the researcher pull her hands back over her eyes to try and shield them, yet that action only caused a senseless retreat back into the pounding darkness that refused to give way to sleep inside her head.

Emilija realized that she wasn’t actually tired anyway. The grass on which she found herself was too crisp and damp to have made a comfortable bed in the first place, why was I sleeping there? Pulling herself to hands and knees brought the pain back to her mind.

Both pains... 

The hammering in her head and the ringing in her ears was causing a horribly sickening dizziness, a spinning that had formed itself into a nearly tangible smog in her vision, the pounding of her pulse seemed to quite loudly taunt the misconception that she could possibly have just awoken from some pleasant nap.

Her memories of that one prisoner creep’s left hand clamping upon her right shoulder, while the other inmate viciously tore at her pants as she was feebly unable to fight the two of them off slammed back into her mind. 

The disgust that came as she realized she could still easily feel that they had won the prize the two of them sought hit almost as hard as the rock that the man who had first grabbed her held in his right fist when he had deftly used it to stop her struggles.

As these men now fought each other on the edge of her vision, Emilija knew she couldn’t waste the chance to get away. It wasn’t clear why they now attacked one another, but that such disgusting human beings wouldn’t even trust or get along with so called ‘friends’ didn’t really surprise her.

Unconsciously pulling her torn clothes back together, Emilija wasn’t really sure if she was thankful that her first thoughts of being dead were wrong as she considered the how unlikely it was that she’d ever leave this stupid assignment alive.

From all she had ever read of this world, the prison planet Gilnar, no one could doubt it to be a terrible place. A supposed destination of no return for prisoners judged to deserve death.

Knowing she was probably the only female human among the countless male prisoners abandoned here over the last couple 100 standard years, didn’t exactly fit in with her hopes of not getting raped, again.

Unable to stand up and walk more than a few steps before she stumbled back to the ground, her head pulsing painfully as she tried to hold it still between her hands; she was left trying to neither pass out or throw up.

The only thing that let her keep those hopes of getting away from her attackers alive before they noticed that she was almost up and moving was the sight of another man who was projecting pure outrage towards those two she remembered from earlier. Emilija felt no guilt at the thankfulness that flooded her system as this new third probable inmate time and again picked up the other two forms so he could beat them down.

Although, the ‘good guy’ seemed unwilling to quit despite the fact that his two victims had given up trying to even get away.

Not knowing if this remorseless rescuer would improve or only worsen her present situation, Emilija tried to remain quiet, but couldn’t help herself, and started laughing with the thought that the first two had at least gotten what she was sure they deserved.

Later she decided that the laughter was probably just a form of hysteria as her mind tried to reject the situation, but it did have one effect on her audience- this new prisoner whoseemed to be highly upset with the other two looked over at her with slight confusion for a little bit as he lowered his newest victim’s head to the ground.

A chill of unease quickly silenced her as an eerie grin that didn’t actually touch his eyes, lit up his face.

The primal fear that was radiating from Emilija’s body with the new need to escape was suddenly picked up on by the man across the field. As she tried to stand up again, he started concernedly shaking his head.

Holding his hands up in front of his chest with a motion that clearly meant ‘stop;’ she heard for the first time the garbled nonsense that would spew from his mouth if he tried to speak.

Now the sound wasn’t just some sort of random grunts or a groans; quite clearly it was comprised of words. It’s just that his utterance was something like a high speed chipmunk tape or an audio file listened to at far too high of a rate.

The prisoner’s sentences were so fast, that they nearly overlapped, until it took a moment of thought after his speaking before the shy greeting he had called out to her became clear. And like a recording played at far too fast of a speed, the pitch became unnaturally high until the sound, itself, irritated the ears of the listener.

It was this unusual ugly sour tone of his own speech that seemed to rapidly pull the prisoner’s attention away from Emilija. If even as far away as she was the voice hit her ears like a scratching on glass, the poor man’s ears that were connected to the very throat that had emitted the unnaturally high words couldn’t be able to find them any more pleasant.

Her savior’s eyes squinted with pain; his left hand quickly came up to cover the culprit mouth, as a wince pulled those squinted eyes to the right.

Emilija was certain that she was foolish to suddenly feel concerned for his health, but the man’s actions were clearly not those of a person who found himself to be in perfect condition.

For instance, after the absurdly short amount of time he had distractedly looked away, this prisoner seemed to have forgotten about the simple fact that anyone else was even nearby; and so, he began carefully to walk away, looking irritated and lost.

Not wanting to be left alone and vulnerable for a repeat of what had already happened when she had met the other two, and so caused his attack that she now felt may have saved her life, she decided she should stick with him and at least trust him enough to thank him, because it didn’t seem a risk regaining his attention.

“Hey, wait!” Emilija called to his back as the man appeared to seriously consider simply moving along. “Who are you? I need to thank you, somehow. Why did you save me from them?”

The man she was talking to, turned around with a strange mixture of recognition and surprise on his countenance; “NRITE,” he finally declared, although he looked startled at his own volume as his voice cracked.

Seeming to realize that the expression on her face indicated a general lack of understanding, he tried to elaborate, yet seemed unable to keep from either talking with such speed he would just about end up choking himself or losing his entire train of thought.

After maybe half an hour Emilija was pretty sure the man was trying to explain how he was stuck here on Gilnar too- just like her, and didn’t want to have to live with and accept the actions of those jerks that were so not right; not if he was able to do anything about it.

During that time, Emilija began trying to figure out how she had gotten where she was, and how she could change that fact. For one thing, she assumed the planet must contain some type of guard station. Her protector (not to mention those other two who had come after her) wore strange almost- jewelry consisting of skin-tight bands around the neck, something like dog collars. The purpose of such unstylish, unglamorous equipment, that was made of a very strong synthetic leather band fitted every inch or so with microchip-looking components, must be for keeping tabs on the prisoner whereabouts.

All three wore greenish-yellow camouflage wind-suits, meaning they couldn’t easily be kept under visual watch by the guards at their home station so whatever friendlies she could find, probably didn’t even have any idea of what had happened to her!

Although, the idea of getting to such habitation for help started to unravel almost more quickly than she could think about it. The reason for ‘building’ a prison here was just that; the moist haze that engulfed Gilnar, although may not be very toxic, was highly acidic.

Metallic pieces of any structure would be quickly worn away. Non-metal building materials, although they may withstand the mists a little longer, couldn’t withstand the fierce winds that plagued the endless plains of bitter grass. Taller, almost tree-like yellow bushes swaying in the wind like reeds with no wood to support them were the only breaks on the horizon.

And wildlife? She had heard tales of the endless swarms of biting, buzzing insect-like creatures that would swarm over unbelievably huge areas; some claimed miles in diameter! The creatures were boneless with exoskeleton/shell-skin and wings, like wasps the size of lobsters. 

If the acidic mist or howling wind didn’t conquer any structure quickly enough, these animals (called ‘skrifters’) would easily tear it down.

That difficulty in producing any permanent structure here was arguably why the planet was used as a prison. Those brought here had been sentenced to death, more or less. The only people who would call it a ‘life’ sentence were the council of politicians who ran that bizarre religion when they sometimes needed a way to be done with violent criminals without being forced to dirty their ‘holy’ hands with the stink of death.

The men (it was only men here) who were sentenced to come here (some claimed that the lack of female companionship was simply part of the sentence) were locked within pods that would only open after touchdown. (Emilija wondered if what had happened to her may not be the true reason women weren’t imprisoned here.)

Upon arrival these convicts could join into the tribes of other prisoners who hunted skrifters for food (they were apparently more tasty than the vegetation) or sit back and watch as the small craft they had been dropped in melted with the mist.

Although the man who had thankfully saved her seemed to have difficulty speaking normally; this prisoner reacted as if he understood all that she tried to tell him (as she slowly decoded what he was trying to say she found that this practice seemed to improve his speech). 

Confident that he had consciously tried to save her, Emilija decided that if she was getting out of this hell-hole, there was no way she could leave her new hero behind.

“Look, when my friends get here; you need to come along with us. If you can stay with me and keep me safe, I would be happy to try staging the first successful jailbreak from planet Gilnar.” She held out her hand, “Seriously, even that won’t be thanks enough. I am Emilija Lithuan; now, always, and forever in your debt.”

Looking a little embarrassed; the prisoner blushed, rubbing the left of his face as his right shot out to meet hers with an audible clap. “IMTHDRDWR TSNTHG!” came out of his mouth so fast with his new joy and excitement that she was unsure how he kept from biting his own tongue off.

Her new friend looked alarmed by the quick lack of his own clarity and the revved up pitch of his voice; he pulled back, shame filling his face.

Unsure what he had meant by this outburst, Emilija decided to ignore it rather that possibly offend the man she was truly grateful to.

She figured that it might be easiest just to continue and pretend she hadn’t noticed.

“Ryan Mead and that Max thing will probably have found a diplomatic way out by now and The Church of Caytal will trip over itself as their priests try to avoid the shame surely will be pasted on them for sending one of what they deem ‘the weaker sex’ to an unmerited sentence in this primitive prison.”

Her rescuer, who looked timidly for a moment, took a deep breath and almost questioningly slowed himself down enough to ask, “Caytal?”

Emilija figured things would probably go better if she could just start telling this story from back where it all began; anyway, if this man who might be calling himself ‘THDRDWR’ was a prisoner here, he had had his own unlucky dealings with the Caytalan Church. His statement had probably been more of a friendly lamentation than a question of what Caytal was.

It didn’t really matter. Ryan Mead had been hired to provide her with some safety and transport for this mission; her own actions may have led to their imprisonment, but that robotman, android or whatever, ∞ was, would probably be close enough to get Mead loose to come rescue her.

Emilija could see the doubt in her new companion’s eyes when she spoke of escape. She wasn’t quite sure of how she could ask if he had the brainpower to help her in the escape or if his trouble talking was a sign of serious mental incapacity; if he was simply repeating words she said without understanding, and only reacting through base instinctual impulses. Although his face showed clear irritation as he seemed to recognize her attitude towards him; he reached out with his left hand and pointed at her chest.

“Yoo Emlja,” pulling the hand back to lie flat on his chest, he attempted his introduction once again; “Mh.. Thdr.” Eyes brightening warily with hope, he resisted looking away in shame. 

He almost gave up as she initially pulled back in fear, yet was relieved to watch the slight confusion on her face as she considered his words. The desperate hope that Emilija felt radiate from his eyes, made her wonder how long it had been since he had an encounter with another person that didn’t end in a fight.

“Are you saying your name is Thdr... Theodore..?” Her cautiously understanding expression was mixed with a pity and confusion that he tried to ignore as he nodded.

Looking away, he ran his right hand back across the top of his head. Countless hours had been spent considering himself and his situation, anyway. Emilija was still relatively new to him; not to mention that she had said that she was planning to get him out of here.

In Theodore’s former life, before getting dumped upon this planet (not to mention the whole S.Y.M.A.C.* business), information could be a near-form of currency. Before she got into asking too much of him he might as well get at least the same in return.

And hey, why not use what had happened to his advantage? If he could find out all she knew while she saw him as a fool that could hardly speak, it may come in handy at some time if she was really trusting enough to rescue him. With any luck he could be back at his pad in Vern within a couple weeks.

“S’wy Yoohr?” Theodore tried asking split-seconds after Emilija’s translation of his name. Getting somewhat used to the high-speed talk she really didn’t have to think about what he meant- ‘So,why you here?’  She clearly wanted to ask what was wrong with him, yet if Theodore conveniently didn’t pick up on her unspoken question, he considered it more likely that she’d answer what he had asked. It’s so easy to manipulate those who worry about being seen as rude! Theo nearly chuckled to himself.

Theodore, who wasn’t worried about looking rude, decided he should probably listen enough to whatever she was saying to respond intelligently, so he picked up what she was saying in the middle; “Yes, I realize those annoying Caytalan priests usually don’t consider any action from a woman to be the fault of anything more than bad teaching; normally I would have just been whipped, with the imprisonment/exile reserved for the male who had misled me.

“I was ‘lucky’ enough to avoid that now because they are preparing for some ‘sacred’ ritual. Apparently some prisoner here is to be sacrificed towards the grand prosperity of the universe. Whatever that means, they won’t suffer a woman’s presence during the preparations.

“I don’t get exactly what they are trying to do here- the details are in one of their high-level books that they refused to let us read. Refused, and sent me here for trying!

“They said they’d take me back after the ritual; but truthfully, after what happened to me here today, I’m not sure I want to find out what else they’re willing to let happen to me just to make sure I don’t get in the way.

“Although, I suppose I should be thankful that they wanted to give me the chance to live. I heard them planning to use Ryan as sprite-fodder.

“I’m not sure where Max slipped off to, but I guess it’s no fool. I’d never call it a person (Max is some sort of robot-android-thing) but it has the intelligence to realize that if they feel like they can get away with using Ryan’s body to breed those microscopic insects within, their plans for a non-human couldn’t be expected to be all that considerate.”

Theodore fully understood what she was saying. In fact, the ritual she spoke of was exactly the type of action Mardot was sure they be able to eliminate the need of with the new information, back before Theo was imprisoned here.

That they would still bother with such a ritual made it likely that the attack he had been punished for hadn’t even been completely successful! If that was the case: talk about adding insult to injury. No one had even thought him worth taunting about the failure.

“... because I’m an expert on old books.” Theodore suddenly realized that Emilija had continued speaking while he was thinking. “Because S.Y.M.A.C. command likes my combination of youth and experience I was commissioned to fly around the Galaxy with, Ryan Mead as my pilot, collecting texts for inclusion in the S.Y.M.A.C. system.

“Max (our pet name for our android ∞ or ‘Nitty’) is along for translation of the books we find and the actual job of uploading the data. We are being punished for trying to gain access to some sort of secret, sacred texts.”

Emilija made it clear to Theodore that she was part of some galactic data collating expedition for S.Y.M.A.C. People who were ready to go through the wilds to get hold of unusual artifacts should be able to help the two of them escape this the prison-planet place, especially if at least one of her two supposed co-workers had remained free.

That thought is why when Emilija’s tale ended Theodore simply nodded happily. He had no questions for her. By keeping silent he wouldn’t risk offending her and possibly changing her mind to take him along when she got off the planet.

Purchase Link:  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/267204

 

Author Bio
 

Sarah Baethge was born in Texas, was going to UT at Dallas on a full Scholarship for computer science (with the summer job as a high school student as an intern for Lockheed Martin maintaining computers at NASA Houston.) She got in a car wreck driving from Houston to Dallas after Thanksgiving in 2000 and was in a coma for 6 months.

After waking up, she decided there was no point at anything that wasn’t likeable most of the time. Now she writes science fiction and fantasy because it entertains her, and tries to read for and write book reviews when she isn’t too busy storytelling.

The story Panoptemitry was a fun effort at trying to make imaginary nonsense into something almost scientifically sound.

LinkedIn:   http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=137322285&locale=en_US&trk=tyah

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/SarahBaethge?fref=ts

http://www.facebook.com/Panoptemitry

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/22niel

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17160042-panoptemitry

Universal Reader link:  https://books2read.com/u/4NxxRx

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

My guest today is KateMarie Collins. Hello, KateMarie! Welcome to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you here today.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it? 

My new book is titled Mark of the Successor. It's about a young woman, Lily, who finds out her entire life was a lie. She has to find her inner strength to break free of how she was raised and be who she wants to be, over what others demand of her. It hasn't released yet, but we're hoping for sometime in May or June of 2013. Once it's out, you can get it via Solstice Publishing's website (www.solsticepublishing.com), and it should also be available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble's websites.

Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you? 

I belonged to an online writing group where we did challenges every week. Someone would put a topic out, and we'd write whatever our take on it was. This particular week, the challenge was a known unknown. I wrote a small story about a small child seeing a school bus for the first time. But then Lily would not shut up! I had to keep writing about her until the story was complete. The challenge part is actually the prologue in the book.

Great! So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I've always been creative, even though I can't draw a straight stick figure without a ruler. Where I grew up, though, things like being published were reserved for 'other people', not me. By the time I finished high school, I saw my talent as little more than being able to bs my way through the essay portion of a test. Five years ago, something inside me unlocked the muse I'd kept caged for all those years. I started to write, and it scared me. For the first time I could recall, I liked what I wrote. Once the muse was out, though, she refused to go back inside. 

Do you have any favorite authors? 

Nick Pollotta, Stephen Boyett, David Eddings, and Patricia Kennelly-Morrison are people I will always read. Mr. Pollotta is the only author that'll make me laugh aloud while I'm reading. The others have this sense of realness to their writing. 

Do you write in a specific place? Time of day?

I've got an office space in our house. I've got to get the right music in the stereo first. Normally, I do a lot of my writing when my kids are at school and the hubby's at work. I can crank the stereo, ignore the telemarketers (yeah for caller i.d.!), and let things flow. 

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers. Any advice?

Don't give up. Yes, you're going to get rejections. We all do. It's part of the business. If you get any feedback from a publisher or agent, take it to heart. It's not a good feeling to be told no, but be open to analyzing the story if something's brought to your attention. None of us ever start with the perfect manuscript after one draft.  

Here is the blurb for Mark of the Successor.

Dominated and controlled by an abusive mother, Lily does what she can to enjoy fleeting moments of normality. When a break from school only provides the opportunity for more abuse at home, the sudden appearance of a stranger turns her world even bleaker. Disappearing without a trace, he has left a lingering fear in Lily. His parting words to her mother, “Have her ready to travel tomorrow,” is something her mind refuses to accept.

Running away is the only answer. But before Lily can execute her plan, a shimmering portal appears in her room. Along with two strangers who promise to help keep her safe. With time running out, she accepts their offer for escape and accompanies them into a brand new world. A world in which she is the kidnapped daughter of a Queen, and the heir to the throne of Tanisal.

Can she find her own strength to overcome both an abusive past and avoid those who would use her as a means to power?

Here's an excerpt from Mark of the Succesor. 

PROLOGUE

 

"But why do I have ta go, Mama?" Tears streamed down Lily's cheeks.

Mama bent down, enfolding her in a tight embrace. "It not my choice, Lily. Them folk down the road, the ones that keep tryin’ to talk us into going to church with them, they did call important folk. Them think they knows more than I do."

"No one knows more than you do, Mama!" Lily pulled back a little, wiping at the tears.

"You just remember that, Lily, when them teachers tell you something different!" Mama straightened up. "Now, you go down to the end of the driveway. There goin’ to be someone come pick you up. You be brave, now. I be here when you come back."

Lily knew better than to try and kick up rocks or dirt on the walk to the main road. Mama didn’t like that. She got mad at the delivery man one day, even got the shotgun down when he drove too fast. Told him to go slow and stop making the dust kick up or she'd shoot him.

The end of the drive loomed ahead. A small wooden shed with a bench, open on one side, shone bright in the morning sun. It was newly built, the yellow pine still had the fresh cut look to it.

Lily waited next to it, not knowing what it was for.

A low rumble reached her ears, slowly growing in volume. Lily quickly checked her

raven black hair, making sure it was arranged in the way Mama liked. Mama didn't like the back of her neck showing for some reason. If anyone else saw it, Lily would go to hell, Mama told her.

A strange thing came rolling down the road. It was huge! Lily's green eyes bulged in

terror as it lumbered toward her. It was yellow, with bright glowing eyes below a dark forehead. Or was that a mouth? Black smoke bellowed from behind, reeking like sulfur and coal. She swallowed hard as the great beast pulled up, screeching to a halt in front of her.

A door opened at the side. Lily glanced up, and saw a long row of windows revealing other young folk trapped inside. A set of black stairs led up. A man sat at the top of them. He was looking at her, expectantly. One huge hand rested on a large black wheel. The other held the handle of some shiny device. Mama said the reason men had such big hands was so they could hit girls harder when they didn't obey their Mamas.

"C'mon, sweetheart. I haven't got all morning. Got more kids to pick up." 

Lily took a deep breath and slowly mounted the steps. The creature was full of seats. Lots of other kids stared at her like she was a freak. She stopped, panic rising in her.

"Find a seat, sweetheart. I can't move until you do." The voice made her jump.

Remembering what Mama had said about making men happy or they beat you, she slid into the closest empty seat. The black material felt hot.

The creature lurched as it moved forward, making her slam into the back of the seat.

Author Bio

Born in the late 60's, KateMarie has lived most of her life in the Pacific NW. While she's always been creative, she didn't turn towards writing until 2008. She found a love for the craft. With the encouragement of her husband and two daughters, she started submitting her work to publishers. When she's not taking care of her family, KateMarie enjoys attending events for the Society for Creative Anachronism. The SCA has allowed her to combine both a creative nature and love of history. She currently resides with her family and three cats in what she likes to refer to as "Seattle Suburbia".

Website: http://katemariecollins.wordpress.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/KateMarie-Collins/217255151699492?ref=ts&fref=ts
Twitter: https://twitter.com/DaughterHauk
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/KateMarie-Collins/e/B008I67BBE/

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.