COPPER RAVENS teaser - Beltane Celebration!

I know, it's normally Teaser Tuesday, but since today is Beltane (don't know what Beltane is? Learn about it here.), I thought I'd share a portion of the Beltane scene from COPPER RAVENS. Enjoy!

Who knew that there were holidays in the Otherworld?

Well, I sure hadn’t known about any holidays, mainly because I had grown up in a place where one day was as banal as all the others. This was largely due to the fact that, once we Elementals had lost the Magic Wars, the new government had banned Every. Single. Holiday. Even the bank holidays! Although we did have one mandatory day off, each and every month—Tax Day. What did we do, you ask? Well, we hauled on down to our local government kiosk, and paid our taxes.

I know. Hogmanay, it was not.

Since I was still pretty young when the wars ended, I hardly remembered those special days devoted to large meals and recreational activities; the government was constantly reminding us that a good work ethic would do more for our health and happiness than any sort of observances, religious or otherwise, and that a hard day’s labor was better than any day spent lolling about. So we worked, and worked and worked until minor events like Happy Hour at The Room seemed like Christmas morning.

Therefore, Micah could hardly understand my elation when he informed me that he and I would be hosting the Whispering Dell’s Beltane celebration, right here at the manor. What’s more, we were going to play the parts of the May King and Queen.

“A real holiday?” I’d asked for the hundredth—maybe thousandth—time. “With cakes, and presents, and things?”

“There will be cakes, yes,” Micah answered, again. So far, my incessant questions hadn’t worn the bemused smile off his lips. “And those attending will bring offerings. As for these other things you desire…”

Instead of continuing, Micah grabbed me about the waist and pulled me against him. We were hiding out in the kitchens, seated on the bench beside the vast oven where the silverkin baked their breads and pies. If I could have spent every day surrounded by the aroma of baking desserts and wrapped in Micah’s arms, it would have been my version of heaven.

“Micah.” I swatted his shoulder, not that I wanted him to stop. Not that he had any intention of stopping, anyway. “By things I didn’t mean this.”

“Oh?” he murmured, while his lips caressed my neck. “I wonder if you truly understand the meaning of Beltane.”

After a bit more, um, education, we managed to get the manor outfitted for a Beltane celebration. Long tables had been erected in the field that stretched between the Clear Pool and the Great Wood, and a massive pile of wood, which would be the first of many bonfires, was neatly stacked in the center. Garlands of flowers decorated the tables and surrounding trees, along with swags of ribbon and streamers. Platters of oatcakes and jugs of sweet May wine filled every available flat surface. Besides all the decorations and a truly enormous amount of food, there would be dancing and games and, perhaps most importantly, Micah and me dressed up as the May King and Queen.

I’d had a hard time explaining to Micah why dressing up in a costume was way more fun than wearing dresses on a regular basis. It wasn’t his fault; since he was a boy, he saw a dress as a dress, no matter what day it was worn. Except for the time he’d worn a skirt, but he still didn’t want to talk about that.

In the end he just shook his head and pulled on his own costume. It consisted of buff-colored trousers topped by a white linen tunic, which was heavily edged with embroidered silver flowers. Over the tunic was a forest-green vest decorated with leaves just a shade or two lighter, cinched with a brown belt.

My costume wasn’t as heavily decorated as Micah’s, but it was still beautiful. It was a sleeveless white dress made up of many gauzy layers that floated and shimmered whenever I moved. The back was low, so low that a good portion of my mark was exposed, a first for me. Since I’d wanted to incorporate my metal in some way, now that I knew that that was what Metal Elementals did, swirling copper bands decorated my upper arms and ankles. Based on Micah’s expression, my first attempt had been a success.

The celebration began around noon, but Micah and I waited to make our grand entrance until shortly after the food had been laid out. As we stepped onto the field a hush rolled across the gathering, as the people of the Whispering Dell took in the sight of us, the May King and Queen.

Wow. That’s a lot of people. I looked down and distracted myself by wiggling my toes in the cool grass. I grabbed Micah’s hand, and murmured how glad I was that we had both chosen to go barefoot.

“Micah. Sara.”

I looked up, and saw my mother standing before us, bearing a silver tray with two flower crowns upon it, along with two wineglasses. “For the May King, and his Queen,” she intoned, her voice rolling across the field. As Micah and I solemnly crowned each other, a dull roar replaced the respectful hush, with those around us claiming that the Seelie Queen offering the May King and Queen their wine was most auspicious, indeed.

Well, we knew she’d be recognized eventually. I glanced at Micah, but he only shrugged and reached for a wineglass; if he had any qualms about the fact that the Seelie Queen was now known to be bunking in his guestroom, he was content to let them be until tomorrow. Then the crowd parted, and I realized that my queenly mother was far from the most interesting thing in the field that day.

In the center of the field was a maypole.

I vaguely remembered dancing around a maypole when I was very young, during the Beltane celebrations held at the Raven Compound. Back then, Mom and Dad had dressed up as the May Queen and King, overseeing the bonfires and collecting dew, ensuring that all were happy and content. I remember lying under the fairy tree, exhausted, and wondering how my parents could keep up with the endless revelry.

Now that Micah and I were filling the roles of the May King and Queen, I understood. The flower crown upon my head filled me with an elated energy, so much so that I wanted to dance and leap around the field. Micah had laughed, and we danced for a time, but he stayed me when I tried to grab one of the long ribbons dangling from the maypole.

“That dance is for those seeking to find a mate,” Micah murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “You, love, are well and truly attached.”

I looked longingly at the pole. “We don’t get to dance?”

“Ours will be later,” he promised.

I smiled at that, and leaned against Micah, his arms sliding around my waist as we oversaw the revelers. My eyes could hardly track all the multicolored ribbons as they were plaited together by the unattached, skipping in circles but somehow never knotting the ribbons. Sadie clutched a blue ribbon, and as the dance ended found herself blushing, face-to-face with an equally embarrassed faun. I watched as the two of them wandered off for refreshments. After they’d disappeared, I saw Max skulking around the edge of the festivities.

“Why didn’t he dance at the maypole?” I wondered. It was like he hadn’t even noticed that the area around the maypole was teeming with available females, most of whom were looking for mates, if only for the evening.

“Perhaps his heart lives elsewhere,” Micah offered. “I know that, when you are nearby, I see no other woman.”

Before I had time to blush at the compliment, Micah and I were called to take our places at the head table. We were seated in two enormous wooden chairs, reminiscent of thrones, bedecked with so many swags of flowers that you could hardly see the high backs. No sooner were we settled than the other revelers lined up before us, each of them bearing packages.

“What are they holding?” I whispered to Micah.

“They bring offerings for the May King and his Queen,” Micah replied.

“I like presents,” I murmured. “Will there be more copper gifts?”

Micah shrugged. “We shall soon learn.”

I watched, somewhat amused, as the revelers went about organizing themselves into an orderly mess; the fact that Micah's wine had flowed freely for the better part of the day made this look like an Otherworldly slapstick routine. In the midst of the semi-drunken chaos, a woman stepped forward.

She was tall, with flowering vines twisted throughout her long hair, their softness in stark contrast to her clothing of bark bound with straw. Her limbs were long and spindly, like dried-up twigs, as was her nose. She looked to be very old, yet her face and hands bore no wrinkles, and her hair was a vibrant blonde underneath the lush vines. Micah leaned toward me, probably to make an introduction, but I already knew who she was.

She was the Lady of the Great Wood.

“For the May King,” she said, her voice as clear as a bell. She reached forward, graceful despite her gawky limbs, and placed a single perfect lily before Micah. It was a deep orange, tipped with red, the perfect complement to his silvery hair. Micah affixed the lily to his shirt with a bit of silver, and murmured his thanks.

“And for his Queen,” the Lady continued, now placing a spray of yellow orchids before me. Following Micah's lead, I pinned the spray to my bodice, though my pins were copper.

“Your gifts are as lovely as your Wood,” I said, “Thank you for joining us today.”

With that, the Lady of the Wood gracefully bowed her head and melted away into the crowd. “I thought you two didn't get along,” I whispered to Micah.

“It seems that things have changed for the better,” Micah replied. He squeezed my fingers, and we looked toward the next person in line, who happened to be one of Micah’s magistrates from the village. He carried a crystal decanter filled with golden wine, a sprig of fresh woodruff poking out of it. It was a lovely gift, and Micah and I both said as much.

The next gift involved a basket containing a few bundles of herbs, namely ginseng, sarsaparilla, and something I didn’t recognize.

“What’s this?” I asked the giver, a youthful man who would pass as human if not for his glowing yellow eyes.

“Horny goat weed,” he replied, his knowing glance explaining exactly what the herbs were used for. Hot blood spilled up my neck as I murmured my thanks, and turned my attention to those behind him.

Thankfully, no one else was carrying a basket of weeds, horny goat or otherwise. The next few offerings were mostly benign, ranging from loaves of still-warm bread to a lovely tapestry that rivaled anything on the manor’s walls. Then there was a carved bone decanter of powdered rhino horn, then a basket of melons, which was followed by a platter of chocolate and the reddest strawberries I’d ever seen. When a bucket of raw oysters was presented to us, I finally asked Micah what the heck was going on.

“Like, half of these offerings are aphrodisiacs,” I explained, when he’d responded by peaking those silver brows of his. As if he was in any way innocent. “You can’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

“Of course I did,” he replied, reaching so his long fingers could graze my belly. “The purpose of Beltane is fertility.”

Babies. Do we really need to talk about babies during a holiday? I mean, come on. “That’s all?”

“Well,” Micah added, scooping me from my chair and settling me on his knee, “there is also the bit that comes before.”

Micah’s blatant affection for me was a hit with the crowd of onlookers, and a great whoop issued forth. I laughed, since a crowd of partiers cheering while Micah nibbled my neck was about as hilarious as you can get, and tried to wriggle free from his grasp. My May King was undeterred. Instead, he drew me tightly against him, his nibbling giving way to unabashed nuzzling.

“Silverstrand,” boomed a voice. I tore my eyes away from Micah, and found that Old Stoney was at the head of the offering line. Just when I thought baby talk was the true buzzkill, the rocky king of buzzkills stepped up.

“Greymalkin,” Micah returned, with a polite nod. “Have you come to join our celebration?”

“And further disturb the queen? Not I,” he said with a sneer.

“Pray tell, Farthing, how is this gathering disturbing Oriana?”

“Look.” Old Stoney spread his palms, gesturing to encompass the whole of the field. “You’ve set up a silver court, bright enough to cast hers in shadow.”

I followed Old Stoney’s gaze across the field. Was this a court? I suppose it was, what with the food and drink, and that gifts were being offered to the king and queen. But Micah and I were only ruling for this one day, and only in this one field. Besides that, didn’t the Lord of Silver deserve a court of his own?

“Farthing.” Micah nudged me off his lap as he stood, but he kept his arm around my waist. “If you have come here only to make trouble for me and mine, I will remove you without a second thought.” Old Stoney opened his mouth, but Micah didn’t miss a beat. “You know as well as I that I harbor no desire for the throne,” Micah continued, stepping around to the front of the table. I followed him, taking my place at his side. “But don’t take my word for it. Stay, mingle amongst my people, and when you return to Oriana’s side you can tell her beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lord Silverstrand remains true to his queen.” With an ease that belied the tension crackling around him, Micah selected a loaf of bread from among the offerings. He tore off a generous portion, and held it out to Stoney. “What will it be, friend?”

The field had gone deathly quiet, and every set of eyes and ears were trained on Micah and the rock. Old Stoney was so incensed that it looked like lava would leak out his ears, but Micah had well and truly trapped him. The Otherworld didn’t have many enforceable rules, but hospitality was one of them. Once an invitation was given it must be accepted, or at the very least acknowledged. In short, as Micah stood there, smiling at Old Stoney, exuding nothing but good faith as he offered him a hunk of fresh bread, he had the rock over a barrel.

Gods, how I loved him.

Old Stoney grumbled as he accepted the bread, then he turned and stalked away. It seemed that he didn’t enjoy our company any more than we enjoyed his. Good.

Things settled down after that, and the offerings resumed; things settled down even further when a few attendees produced instruments. Nearly everyone was softly swaying to the music, but even though I’d been so eager to dance earlier, I made no move to join them. I’d resumed my place on Micah’s knee, and was perfectly content to watch the rest spin and twirl about the still-unlit bonfire. Micah was murmuring about how he couldn’t wait to see the flames against the night sky, when suddenly the crone from the apothecary was standing in front of us. I was so shocked I nearly fell off Micah’s lap, but he was as composed as ever.

“Good woman, why have you come before us?” Micah asked. His tone was respectful, but I saw a muscle twitch in his jaw.

“To present my offering, of course,” she replied, spreading her hands wide. “Is an old woman like me not welcome at your feast?”

“All of my people are welcome,” Micah said, in such a way that had me wondering if he counted her as his. “An offering, you say?”

“I regret, my lord, that I have only a gift for the May Queen.” With that, the crone reached into her colorless robes and set before me the reddest, shiniest apple I’d ever seen. It was beautiful, as tempting as the first fruit itself, and I coughed to hide my annoyance. What, did she think I was stupid? Like I would fall for that? My mother was the Seelie frickin’ Queen, and she’d warned me off of spelled fruit before she had taught me to read.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice hardly more than a whisper. “Your offering does much to ensure the land’s fecundity for the coming year,” I added, a bit more forcefully. Well, I was louder, anyway.

The crone said nothing, but bowed respectfully, her gray eyes never leaving mine. After she’d shuffled away, Micah grabbed my hands.

“You mustn’t touch it,” Micah warned.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” After staring at the apple for another heartbeat, I looked at his hands, his long fingers that were tightly wrapped around my wrists. “Is she dangerous?”

“She is powerful,” Micah replied, “and arrogant. She swears allegiance to no one. While she is not what I’d call evil, she certainly isn’t trustworthy.”

I shuddered, remembering the tiny blue vial that sat on my dressing table, and the dubious bargain I’d struck with her. Misinterpreting my quivering shoulders, Micah called for a silverkin to take the apple and toss it into the center of the firewood.

“Worry not, love,” he said, rubbing my arms as if he could rub away the crone’s visit.

“I’m—I know you wouldn’t let anything hurt me,” I amended, mid-speak. I would never outright lie to Micah, not even to tell him I wasn’t worried. My omissions about the birth control didn’t count; yeah, I was still trying to convince myself of that one.

Micah smiled at that, and leaned forward to kiss my hair. “The sun goes to rest,” he said, gently turning my chin toward the west. “Come, let us light the bonfire.”

We watched the sun paint the sky in oranges and purples for another moment, then we rose and wound our way around the tables and revelers toward the massive pyramid of wood. As we stood before the intimidatingly large heap, I suddenly found myself wishing for a pair of flip-flops. A splinter in the May Queen’s toe would certainly not bode well for the coming harvest. Micah had somehow obtained a candle, and we both held it as we guided its tiny flame toward the kindling.

“This won’t work,” I whispered. “The flame’s too small.”

“Is it?” Micah had no sooner said the words than the firewood caught, and the entire mound was ablaze. We stepped back as others stepped forward, lighting their own sticks so they could create their own fire.

While there had been no shortage of libations earlier in the evening, once the bonfire raged, Micah’s wine flowed like a river after the spring thaw. Revelers wandered off among the orchards, either to dance or sing, or maybe begin more private celebrations. Throughout it all Micah and I walked among his people, ensuring that all had eaten and drunk their fill. Eventually, we happened upon our least-liked guest.

“Farthing,” Micah said, with a polite nod. As Old Stoney turned to reply, the pixie he’d been talking to took the opportunity to flee. I was beginning to think that pixies were the smartest creatures in the Otherworld. “Enjoying yourself, I trust?”

“Always, Silverstrand.” He turned back to the pixie, found that she was gone, and settled his gaze on me instead. “I could ask the same of you. I’d have given the lady a green dress by now.”

I looked down at my dress, wondering what was wrong with white. Was I supposed to change after the bonfire was lit? Then, I heard a breathy moan from beyond the trees, and my toes twitched in the grass.

“Watch yourself, Farthing,” Micah said, pausing to take a sip from his wine. “And watch your mouth around my consort. You may be my guest, but I’ve no qualms about tipping you into the Clear Pool and leaving you there to be taken over by so much pond scum.” Old Stoney’s eyes flamed and his neck bulged, but Micah ignored him as he took my arm and led me away from him.

“I hate him,” I grumbled. “Why does he have to be here, today of all days? He’s going to ruin—”

Micah silenced me the best way he knew how, by grabbing my shoulders and kissing me hard. When he came up for air, he said, “Only if you let him.”

I opened my mouth to protest the many ways Old Stoney’s presence had me less than pleased, when I caught sight of a line of dancers. In the Mundane world they would have been called a conga line, but here they were just happy. Carefree. Enjoying themselves.

Micah was right. Who cared if that stupid rock wanted to be a jerk? I kissed Micah’s chin, and asked, “Are we done being the May King and Queen?”

“Almost,” he murmured, drawing me into the darkness beyond the firelight. “There is but one more matter to see to.” And see to it we did.

Want to win a copy of COPPER RAVENS? Click here.

Cover Teaser - COPPER RAVENS

Here's the news - COPPER RAVENS, the sequel to COPPER GIRL and second in THE COPPER LEGACY, is scheduled to release in May 2014. The full cover reveal (yes, it's another awesome Lisa Amowitz cover) will happen soon. If you'd like to participate, fill out this form.

In the meantime, how about a teaser? Here ya go:

Hey, I said it would be a teaser! However, that just might be a raven's wing in the corner...

Don't forget, for the month of November COPPER GIRL is on sale at Amazon for $2.99!

Teaser Tuesday - GALLOWGLASS

Today's teaser is rom my WIP, Gallowglass. Our heroine, Karina Stewart, is about to unleash something from the Otherworld. Read on...

“I can’t believe you’re dragging me to another old rock.”

I shot my older brother a glare; I was really starting to regret offering to bring him along on this trip. “It’s not an old rock. It’s a church. A kirk.” I would have said more, but I needed to concentrate. This driving on the wrong side of the road business was for the birds.

“Kirk,” he repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth. “And, what are ‘kirks’ made of?”

I scowled at him, almost went into a ditch, and jerked the car back onto the road. “Chris, do you have to be such a jerk all the time?”

“Rina, do you have to be such a bad driver?”

“Stop drinking all that complimentary Scotch, and you can do the driving.”

“When in Rome.”

He had a point there. Nearly every place we’d visited in Scotland either had few samples of the local whisky laid out for us, or a proprietor with a handy flask. Add this to all the pubs we’d visited in Britain, and my liver was starting to ache.

“Besides,” Chris continued, “if I was driving, you wouldn’t get to drag me to every known fairy sighting.”

“You liked Stirling.” My brother is a literature professor, with a doctorate in Shakespeare. He’d wandered the halls of the old castle, randomly quoting the Scottish play. Beyond Lady Macbeth’s demons, his feet were firmly grounded in reality. By contrast, I’d always been fascinated by stories about magic and fairies. I’d jumped at the chance to do some of my geology grad work in the UK, so I could tour the locations I’d read and imagined about since childhood.

“At least real people lived there,” he smirked as we pulled into the car park. “What kind of ghosts are in this kirk again?”

“No ghosts.” I pulled up the emergency brake, and jammed my water bottle into my daypack. “There was a reverend here in the seventeenth century who communed with fairies and elves.” Chris gave me a look over the roof of the car, raising a single eyebrow. That had always irritated me, since I’d never been able to do that. “He wrote a book telling everyone their secrets, and the fairies imprisoned him in a tree.”

“Anyone can write a book,” Chris grumbled. “I’ve written several.”

I bit my lip; Chris had just enough midgrade liquor in him to be itching for a fight, and anything I said about his crumbling career would just add fuel to the fire. After a few moments of silence, Chris wandered over to the Plexiglas encased signage, carefully positioned to catch a tourist's eye.

“Did you get a pamphlet about this place?” he called over his shoulder.

“Yeah.” I rooted around in my daypack, and pulled out the wad of information supplied by Spiritual Sites of the UK, the tour group I’d contacted. I was so glad I’d opted for the cheaper, self-guided package. I’d hate for any hapless tour guide to be saddled with by brother’s foul attitude for six days, seven nights.

I pulled out a slightly rumpled pamphlet and handed it over. Chris opened it, scanning the paragraph’s with an English professor’s ease. “This guy wasn’t taken by fairies!” Chris said. “He had a stroke while he was walking around the hill.”

“You know where the term stroke comes from?” Without waiting for his smart-ass reply, I continued, “It was thought that a fairy had stroked your cheek. That’s why only one side was paralyzed.”

“Thank god for modern medicine,” Chris muttered. We reached the remains of the kirk, and headed toward the graveyard. Chris might think I was a loon, but he admitted that gravestones were cool. “Look, he’s buried right here. Case closed.”

I walked over to where Chris was standing, and read the inscription. After a suitable moment of silence, I mentioned that we should climb the fairy hill.

“We’re here, so we might as well,” I said when he whined. “Besides, the walk will burn off some of that booze.” He grumbled, but followed anyway.

The tree at the top of the fairy hill was, in a word, magnificent. It was old and stately, like a Scottish version of Yggsdrasil, and prayers, printed on colored bits of cloth, were tied to the branches. More offerings surrounded the roots, and shiny coins were pounded into the bark.

“Some walk,” I grumbled, digging in my pack for my water bottle. The water was warm, but it was better than nothing.

“So, he’s in here, huh?” Chris leaned close to the trunk, and picked at a coin. “Why hasn’t anyone tried to chop it down, set the poor guy loose?”

I shrugged. “To keep from angering the fairies?”

Chris barked a derisive laugh. “Yeah. Or, they don’t want to kill this golden goose of a tourist trap.” I glanced around; Disneyland, this was not. “This stuff is all so lame, Rina. I don’t know what you see in all these bedtime stories.”

I fingered one of the cloth prayers. “They remind us of where we came from, where we’re going. They’re comforting.”

Another bark. I think Chris had had more whisky than he’d let on. “Comforting? That’s your explanation for this crap—that it’s comforting?”

“Of course,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. The booze would wear off soon enough. I hoped. “Why would people keep doing all of this-” I gestured at the tree, all of the flapping bits of cloth prayers and offerings “-if no one ever got anything out of it?”

Chris looked from me to the tree. “If all this goddamn magic shit is real, why is my life over?” he ground out. “You think I didn’t pray for an answer? A solution? You know what I got? Nothing. Because there’s nothing to get.”

He turned and stalked down the hill, over toward where we’d left the car. I watched him until he disappeared around a curve, then I turned back to the tree.

“Don’t worry,” I said, patting the rough bark. “I believe in you, Reverend Kirk. I know what really happened. And, I’d rescue you if I could.”

Teaser Tuesday - Rescuing Max

As some of you may know, I was at Readercon this past Friday. I was lucky enough to read from Copper Girl, and following is the passage.

A little background: Sara's brother was arrested ten years ago for practicing magic, and his family hasn't seen him since. Having discovered where Max is being held, Sara and Micah decide to embark on a rescue mission.

 

###

Twilight came, and under cover of darkness, Micah and I left the relative safety of the Raven Compound and my fairy mother behind. I would definitely be asking her a few questions about that when we had the time. Now, we were hiding in the woods that encircled the stone prison that, in turn, encircled my brother.

As we crouched in the damp, decaying leaves, I considered how much my life had changed in such a short time. Only a week ago, I had been an office drone whose only indulgences had been caffeinated beverages and fast driving. I had pretended to know nothing of the ways of magic, had hidden my mark from anyone who might glimpse it; I had never hung out at a beach or even sunbathed in the park, never joined a gym, never worn any of the cute, fashionable shirts that might have ridden up and revealed my secret. I had been gifted with one of the strongest bloodlines in history, yet I’d spent much of my life wishing for the magic to just leave me alone.

No more would I hide. I was a Corbeau by birthright and the daughter of a fairy queen.

I am a force to be reckoned with.

I slid my hand into Micah’s, seeking a bit of warmth for my cold fingers. He squeezed reassuringly but didn’t look away from the prison. And well he shouldn’t, since we’d been waiting for the guards to change for the better part of an hour.

“Do you think it will work?” I’d asked back at the Compound. The Raven had given me one of its feathers, still glossy and black despite the many centuries since his death, along with the assurance that we would be able to leave the prison with Max in tow, unseen and unstopped by the guards. Of course, like all things magical, it had come with a hefty catch: our dreamselves could not carry the feather, thus making this rescue all the more dangerous.

“What does your heart tell you?” Micah countered.

“It’s rather silent on the matter,” I replied, though, in truth, it beat a quick tattoo  against my breastbone. “But I do know that The Raven has never failed my family, not once, when we needed him.”

Micah had smiled at that; in the Otherworld, the integrity of a long-dead bird was as good as gold.

Once we’d returned to the Otherworld, the rest of our preparations had been simple. First, we’d spent a good amount of time placing small pieces of metal in various pockets and pouches about our bodies, retrievable at a moment’s notice, in case we needed to wield it, either to strike a foe with added force or even build a wall. Well, in case Micah needed to wield it, since I was still limited to gently bending small portions of copper.

At first I didn’t understand why the metal we secreted in our clothing was mostly iron. Micah had a quantity of silver within his body to call upon, and I’d assumed he would stay true to his metal. When I asked, he explained that it was far more effective to strike someone with iron than silver.

“Is that why Ferra’s a queen?” I’d asked when he pointed that out. “Because iron is a stronger metal?”

“In a way. You don’t find her to be the picture of royalty?”

I made one of those unladylike sounds that Micah so disapproved of. Really, he was just going to have to accept the fact that I was not very refined. “I always imagined a queen as a kind woman, who cared for her people more than anything. Ferra is not that sort of woman.” An image of my mother appeared in my mind’s eye; while I hadn’t known she was a queen, Mom would move mountains for her family. I couldn’t imagine her behaving like the despicable Iron Queen, not one bit. “And shouldn’t the queen be a precious metal, like gold or platinum?”

He smiled ruefully. “Things are not always as they should be.” I caught the sadness in his tone, and remembered the gold gaudily displayed in Ferra’s palace, and the gold lined oubliette. I also remembered that silver is a precious metal too, surely worthier of the throne than ugly old iron. But Micah didn’t want to talk about it, and he turned his attention to the far more pressing task of breaking Max out of prison. As for me, I let him get away with his distraction technique. For now.

“It is getting inside that requires stealth,” Micah murmured as we watched the guards. “Leaving shall be simplicity itself.”

By simplicity, Micah meant that he intended to take Max and me along one of the metal pathways he used for traveling, much as he did in the Mundane World. In order to accomplish this, he’d tasked the silverkin with placing sufficient metal at short intervals between the prison and his home, almost like a trail of silvery breadcrumbs, to guide us to safety. Since the prison proper contained only a small amount of metal in the various electronic devices, and all metal had been removed from the soil underneath it, it was the best we could do.

I nodded, deliberately not speaking, or even thinking, about our impending escape. Micah was confident, and that was all that mattered. Never mind that it was a foolish, risky plan that centered on a dead bird’s feather and a few pounds of iron filings. Never mind that it could very well end with Micah and me either dead or sharing Max’s cell. Nope, not thinking about that at all.

Micah lightly touched my arm and jerked his chin toward the prison. The guard had finally retreated to a small side building the size of a garden shed, and through the window, I could see him munching on a sandwich. Carefully, we rose and Micah wrapped his cloak around both of our shoulders.

“You’re sure this will work?” I asked.

“It worked the last time,” he replied. “They never saw who breached their puny wall.”

“I thought you were your dreamself.”

“I woke as soon as I sensed you in danger.” Huh. So Micah, in his wakeful body, had charged through a stone fortress full of enemies armed with terrible, terrible weapons, enemies with a special taste for Dreamwalkers at that, all for me.

I stood on my toes and stretched to kiss his jaw. He touched my hair but said nothing, not that I’d expected him to. He had to concentrate on blending in.

Micah referred to his cloak as his chameleon skin, but it wasn’t really a lizard’s hide. As near as I could tell, the fabric was woven from various plants with magical properties; close to the hem I could make out something like mandrake leaves, and the clasp was a curl of belladonna, complete with dark, shiny berries. The sum total of these plants meant that the cloak would keep Micah either warm or cool as needed, lend him speed if he were pursued, and hide him from his enemies. Not like a cloak of invisibility, he’d cautioned me. Some things were quite rare, even in the Otherworld. No, this cloak worked more like a pencil eraser, blurring itself along the edges, so it was hard to tell where the cloak ended and the surrounding landscape began. If one looked directly at Micah one would see him, clear as day, but who looked directly at something that isn’t there? This chameleon skin was a most useful garment indeed.

Gingerly, we made our way across the open space toward the imposing cinder block wall encircling the prison. Unlike Micah’s last visit, when he had rushed into an unknown environment hoping his illusion would hold, we were trying to be subtle. Conveniently, there was no door or fence, just an opening wide enough to drive a truck through, flanked by cameras and plastic spike strips, poised to be flung under any uninvited tires. I wondered how well plastic fared against rubber.

My heart pounded so loudly I thought the guard would surely hear it, but he didn’t look up from his lunch as we walked by the shed or as we stepped beyond the wall. A few steps later, Micah opened the door to the facility, and, as anticlimactic as it was, that was it.

We were in.

---

 

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Teaser Tuesday - COPPER GIRL, Chapter Two, Part Two

Two days until COPPER GIRL hits the shelves! Below, find the second half of Chapter Two, where Sara realizes that Micah knows a lot more about her than just where she works.

 

***

Of metal. There are two ways one can learn the workings of magic: years and years of rigorous study, or by simply being born to it. If you’re born into a magical bloodline, you’re said to be touched by an element, either earth, air, fire, water, or metal. The nature of your element is passed from father to child, just like a surname. Once in a while, someone is born touched by more than one element, but that’s awfully rare.

You also take on the characteristics of your chosen element, or rather, the element that’s chosen you. For instance, those touched by fire tend to be quick to anger, and those of earth are stubborn but loyal. I’ve never met anyone who admitted to being touched by water, but I’ve always imagined them as cowardly. And air? Who knows what they’re like? Flighty, perhaps?

I’ve always been glad that my family’s line is of metal. It means I’m strong, both physically and mentally, and courageous. I’m loyal, like those of earth, but not quite so stubborn. And… and that’s all I really know, because we haven’t been allowed to speak of magic since the wars ended, and magic was outlawed.

I was young when the wars began, but from what I remembered, the news reports all said that the wars had started when those who’d been born without magic became jealous of Elementals’ innate abilities. So, the learned magicians got together with the Mundane humans and started up their own civil rights movement, claiming that they  should be considered equal to the Elementals. The problem was, they weren’t equal. They never, ever would be, being that it took months, or years, for a Mundane to learn even simple spells like the casting of a fey stone. When the Elementals brought up this small but important fact, all hell had broken loose. Literally.

 

Still, there had been no war or outright rebellion at that point. The learned magicians may have been collectively outraged, but they grudgingly accepted their place, and the Mundane humans—those who did not study magic—were content with things as they were. Then, a Fire Elemental conceived of a way to sell fey stones to the masses; normally, a fey stone will only burn in the presence of its caster, but this enterprising individual spent decades studying the spell and determined which materials would cause the light to burn for years. It was a brilliant invention, one that could save the average family hundreds, or maybe thousands, in electricity. Just imagine, a never-ending light bulb.

The Mundane CEO of the power company had not been pleased by this development .

The wars had lasted almost three years, but we hadn’t been discouraged. We—the Elementals—knew that we were stronger, and we’d never had any doubt that we’d prevail. Then, the unthinkable happened. We lost.

To this day, no one knows how. Oh, there’s lots of speculation, but the real reasons remain somewhat elusive. The schoolbooks say that many of the war mages realized the error of their ways and immolated themselves. Yes, they used the word “immolate”, and that, right there, is a clue that it’s all propaganda. Other sources claim that Elementals don’t mesh well with those of opposing natures, and infighting was what did us in. That supposed infighting was also the impetus for creating the Peacekeepers, a squad of government goons specially outfitted to make Elemental lives miserable.

Well, no matter which version they hand out in their propaganda, the end result was the same - the Council of Elementals disappeared. Without their leadership, we lost.

My dad was on that council.

Once the Mundanes claimed victory, we assumed that life would pretty much return to normal, but we were so, so wrong. Instead of just declaring themselves equal to the Elementals, the learned magicians were also outlawed, along with all other ‘unlicensed magic’. In essence, without a special dispensation from the government (which, I might add, tosses spells around like cheap confetti), you could be thrown in prison for something as innocuous as conjuring up a bit of heat to warm your coffee.

We never found out what happened to Dad.

I’d spent most of my life trying to pass for ordinary. I tried to act like a Mundane human, someone who didn’t understand magic. I never talked about it, never thought about it, and never, ever practiced it. So, how did Micah know?

 “Of metal?” I asked, tentatively.

“I was certain when I felt your mark.” Huh. No one mentioned marks, either. I usually kept mine covered; those who saw it either thought it was a tramp stamp or refused to let on that they recognized the signs of magic. “Copper, yes?”

“Copper,” I affirmed, my voice now hardly a whisper. “You could tell just by feeling it?”

“By your hair,” he replied. I protested that I dyed my hair, but he looked pointedly at my hips. Oh, right. “May I see it? Your mark, I mean.”

I didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t, since he’d pretty much seen the rest of me. I turned around and lifted my nightie, exposing the mark across my lower back that forever named me as a member of the Raven clan, one of the most powerful bloodlines in history. Well, before magic was outlawed; now we were just… regular. And watched. My mark was copper-colored, and took the shape of a raven with its wings outstretched, the tips of the feathers reaching my sides. My sister, Sadie, bore a nearly identical mark. I didn’t remember what Max’s mark had looked like.

Micah traced the edges of the raven, his light touch sending shivers through my body. I remembered how he’d massaged my back during our earlier encounter, how I’d instantly become a molten heap of need. “Is everyone’s mark so sensitive?” I asked.

“Some, but not all,” he replied, his fingers now stroking my spine, near the raven’s maw. “Fire marks may burn you if you touch them, and those of stone feel hardly anything at all.”

“Do you have a mark?” I asked, peeking over my shoulder. Again, Micah smiled at me.

“I do.” He pulled off his leather shirt, revealing wiry muscle sheathed in warm, caramel skin. Before I could truly appreciate the most attractive male chest I’d ever encountered, he turned his back and I saw his mark. It was shining, metallic silver, just as mine was copper. It swept across his back like filigree wings emanating from his spine, arching over his shoulder blades in a graceful fall that reached below his waist.

“You… you’re silver,” I murmured, my eyes flitting from his mark to his hair. “Just like I’m copper, you’re silver.” Micah murmured some sort of an agreement, but I barely heard him. Hesitantly, I touched his back, his mark glinting in the near-dark. His flesh was warm and inviting, almost hot where it was incised with silver. “Oh, Micah. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Many thanks, my Sara.” His muscles tensed, and I wondered if touching his mark was having the same effect on him as when he’d touched mine. I dropped my hands, and he turned to face me. “Forgive me, if I’ve misinterpreted your actions.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing, calling you,” I admitted. “But I am glad that you came back to me.” At that, he kissed me—hard—and pushed me onto my back. I didn’t resist. Far from it , I welcomed him.

“Wait,” I breathed. “Will I ever see you while we’re awake?”

“You wish to?”

I nodded. “More than anything.”

“Hold me tightly, my Sara.” I did, and the air thickened and rippled around us. Once again, I heard street noises and the radio blaring one floor up, and I could smell the alley. I’d been so thoroughly enchanted by Micah, I hadn’t noticed the lack of my usual annoyances. But now that I was awake, they had returned, and there was a half-naked man in my bed.

I screamed, my wakeful self having no idea who Micah was or why he was here. Ever practical, Micah kissed me, effectively smothering my cries and jogging my memory at the same time. He knew he’d succeeded when I stopped screaming and kissed him back.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, still trembling. “It was so sudden!”

“It is hard to pull yourself to wakefulness so quickly,” he murmured. “You behaved much better than I did my first time.”

“I did?” He nodded, and wiped away tears I hadn’t noticed. “Thank you.”

“For what, my Sara?”

I didn’t get to answer. My screams must have woken Juliana, and she was banging on my door. “I’m fine!” I yelled. “Just a nightmare.”

“Open up!” Now she was jiggling the handle. Luckily, I always locked my door, a habit left over from sleeping in the dorms, but she was insistent. Once she had decided on doing something, nothing could stop her.

“She can’t find you here,” I whispered. “They’ll kill you if they find you.” Micah nodded, and in the next moment, he was gone. I don’t mean he left by way of the window, which I assumed was how he had gotten in; he was here, and then he wasn’t. I blinked, but was quickly dragged out of my amazement by Juliana’s banging and yelling. I pulled on my robe and threw open the door.

“You’re gonna wake the neighbors,” I admonished her.

“The way you screamed, I thought one of them was murdering you,” she countered.

“Aw. My Juliana in shining armor.” She responded with an artful sneer, and we were back to normal.

“It’s almost six, anyway. I’ll make some coffee.”

I nodded and shut the door to dress. Not only did I not want to explain my silk nightie to Juliana, but I figured I might as well get ready now. There wouldn’t be any more sleep for me at the moment. After I picked out a pair of jeans and a shirt, I took off my robe and almost screamed again. He had taken my panties again!

---

 

---

 

 

 

Teaser Tuesday - COPPER GIRL, Chapter Two Part One

Only one week until COPPER GIRL hits the shelves! Below, find the first half of Chapter Two. It seems that the dream Sara had was more realistic that she'd realized...

***

Happy hour turned into last call, and Juliana gladly accepted my offer of crashing on my couch. We were forever staying over at one another’s apartments, since we lived on opposite sides of town. Not to mention that Juliana didn’t own a car and public transportation was both expensive and unreliable. If you counted on the bus schedule, you might get caught out after curfew, and the Peacekeepers, our friendly neighborhood government goons, weren’t known for their understanding natures. Since neither Juliana nor I wanted to pay the late penalty, whoever’s place was closer to the side of town we ended up on invariably became our resting place for the evening. Since I lived closest to The Room, I played hostess more often.

While Juliana settled herself on the couch, I grabbed a quick shower, only to end up standing before my closet, dripping wet, overthinking what I would wear to bed. Like it mattered, right? Normally, I’m a tank top and shorts girl, but there was this cute, just sexy enough nightie that hung out in the back of my closet. Pale lavender silk, I’d bought it almost a year ago for a boyfriend who hadn’t lasted long enough to see it. His loss, really.

I unceremoniously dropped my robe and slipped the nightie over my head. The lace bodice was so revealing I was practically topless, and the short skirt floated over my hips. As I pulled on the matching panties, I deliberately did not question why I’d decided on this outfit. Then I flipped off the air conditioner (whenever it runs while I sleep, I get a headache), opened the window, and climbed into bed. In no time, I was asleep.

I felt him before I saw him, his firm body pressed against mine , his lips caressing the back of my neck. Micah. I rolled over to face him; even in the darkness of my room I could see he was still in that weird brown getup, boots and all, but I didn’t care. Hopefully, it would be gone soon.

“Micah,” I murmured, savoring his name on my tongue. “You’re here.”

“I heard your call, my Sara,” he murmured. “You’re wearing more here,” he continued, tracing the edge of my panties, “but less here.” His deft fingers danced across my lacy bodice.

“Do you like it?”

“I do.” Micah hooked a finger inside my panties and drew them lower. “I most certainly do.” We remained wrapped up in each other for long, blissful moments, until he spoke again. “I am so glad you called me again, my Sara.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” I asked. Yes, I argued with a dream. I am a psychology student’s dream case study . Ha ha. Dream. “You’re not even real.”

At that, Micah raised his head.“I am as real as you are,” he replied, somewhat indignantly. “Twice now, you have called me to your dream.”

What? No, no, no, no, that’s not good. Not good, not good at all. “That’s not possible,” I whispered.

“It is more than possible, my Sara. It has come to pass.” Serious now, Micah sat up and took my hands. “I have watched you often, gazing toward the entrance to my lands. I’ve always felt your power. Still, until earlier today, I had no idea that you were a Dreamwalker, as I am.”

He said it. He just had to say it.“Don’t say that!” Micah looked hurt and confused, so I amended, “If anyone hears you, there’ll be questions .”I glanced toward the open window, but I neither saw nor heard a dronewhizzing by.

Micah nodded, but his brow remained furrowed. “As you wish.”

“I still don’t understand,” I continued, moving to sit up. “You say I was looking toward your lands, but I don’t even know where you’re from.”

“Where you put your mechanical for the day,” he replied as he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “The trees you favor mark the entrance to my domain.”

Once I figured out that “mechanical”meant “car”, I considered where I parked in the office lot. I’d always chosen to leave my convertible in the back of the lot, mainly because it was a nice car and most of my coworkers, like most everyone else these days, were dirt poor. I didn’t want to answer any questions about how I could afford such a nice vehicle if I didn’t have to.

But Micah was right in that I’d always favored one particular spot. It was situated in front of two pine trees, their massive trunks wound together like a lovers’ embrace. I’d never seen anything like it, certainly not in such big trees, and they’d captivated me from the moment I saw them. And yes, I gazed at them often.

“The pine trees?” I asked. Micah smiled when he nodded. But that didn’t answer my questions, since they weren’t in front of a door or path. There wasn’t even anything behind them, except the electric fence separating REES from the property next door.

Suddenly, my eyes widened in shock and recognition, and I grabbed a handful of his silvery hair, exposing a set of pointed ears. “You’re an elf!”

“Micah Silverstrand, Lord of the Whispering Dell,” he replied, with a polite nod. Rubbing my temples, I considered my situation. I was in a dream that wasn’t a dream, sitting in bed with a man whom I’d thought was a mere figment of my imagination, but who happened to be some sort of royal elf. And a Dreamwalker. Like me. Maybe—hopefully—I was just really drunk.

But…I can’t explain it, but as I looked at this elf, with his silver eyes and fluffy hair, he was more real to me than anyone else I’d ever known.

“I’m sorry, Micah,” I said at length. “I didn’t know I could call anyone this way. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”

At that, his pale brows nearly touched. “When you offered a token and lay nearly bare before me, I assumed you wanted me.” Token? Oh, right, my panties. “And tonight, you have bathed for me, attired yourself as a queen, and have allowed me ingress to your chamber. What else was I to think?” I stared from the open window to my silk nightie. Why had I put this on? Had I been calling him, subconsciously? Could I even do that? I didn’t know. But I couldn’t do it again. Not unless I wanted to end up like Max.

Micah was still speaking, so I met his gaze. “When I learned that you are of metal, as I am, our attraction became clear.” Crap. He knows I’m an Elemental, too?