“The Song of the Wandering Aengus” By WB Yeats Inspires Audrey

The Song of Wandering Aengus © Copyright William Butler Yeats, 1899. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the Creative Commons License.

The Song of Wandering Aengus © Copyright William Butler Yeats, 1899. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the Creative Commons License.

Maidens of the Sea

Summer break should be devoted to something big. Not like photographing every sunset, finding the perfect shade of nail polish, or seeing how many times you can watch The Fault in Our Stars and still cry big, but something really important. Like finding out what happened to Vanity Harrison.

I was two weeks into break and no closer to the truth, halfheartedly studying her house with my grandfather’s faded binoculars through a break in my curtains, my feet dangling off my bed, Fatty Fred happily purring on my back as he cut my lung capacity in half, when Mrs. Harrison drove up her circular driveway in the red convertible looking more like a Hollywood ingenue than a grieving mother had any right to. She parked in front of the elaborate Greek columns lining the exterior of the entryway and went inside. Just like normal. Just like she had everyday since she woke up and found Vanity gone.

“Gah! This is pointless, Fred.” I rested my chin on the edge of the bed, my arms hanging like weeping willow branches to the floor, and dropped the binoculars on the ground. I wanted to turn over and stare dejectedly at the ceiling, but I was at Fred’s mercy and he seemed pretty comfortable for the moment.

There was a soft knocking on my door before my dad pushed it open. I rolled my eyes. Luckily, he could only see my feet and Fatty Fred.

“Hey, honey.”

“Dad, you’re supposed to wait after you knock. What if I was naked?”

“It’s 10:30 in the morning. Why would you be naked?”

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Audrey’s No Rules Friday

cropped-pomegranate-seeds
The Rape of Persephone 

I focus on the cold, slick pole under my hands; I pretend it’s the only thing here. I refuse to accept that their eyes are watching me even if each pair stings me like a pinprick. I move faster and my golden glow brightens, lighting up my closed eyelids. I wish I could dance so hard that my glow would blind them all, filthy humans.

It is all Zeus’s fault that night after night I am here dancing at Demeter’s, my mother’s club. He was leaning hard on her, sending thugs by to rough her up. He said she was not pulling her weight and threatened to cut off her supply. I guess she believed him. I know there are guards pacing nearby without opening my eyes. They escort me everywhere – just in case I run for it. But where would I go?

There is jarring bass-heavy club music playing but I block it out and dance to my own heartbeat instead. I may be an immortal goddess, but I do still have a heart. If I have to dance, and I do – Mom’s orders – I am going to do it as much on my own terms as possible, even if the only one who knows I am rebelling is me. The doors crash loudly and my eyes blink open of their own accord. It’s him, Hades – Zeus’s brother and overseer of Netherworld – back again, not just inside the Wall but inside Mom’s club. It is the third time this week.

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Audrey’s Cimmerian Tales Book Club

Shards_Cover_small_2One of the perks of having a sister who is also a writer, is that she lets me read her books before their officially debut… Well, sometimes she does if I ask her over and over and over. I kept asking about Shards and finally she gave in…

The thing about this book is I kinda feel like its proud aunt. I had almost nothing to do with its creation (besides the prodding “Hey, Kit. When are you going to finish that angel book?”) and I’m not responsible for it at all, but I’m more than willing to show it off and take full credit for its awesomeness. Years ago when I read the first draft, I was blown away by how intrigued I was with the world Kit was creating. Truth is, I love a good romance like its nobody’s business (Don’t even get me started on Emma and Captain Hook) and my sister has occasionally teased me about this fact but she had me read Shards because she wanted my opinion on the romantic aspects of the book. Needless to say I gave her a big thumbs up and then anxiously waited for years for her to finish her novel.

Shards walks that line between Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance in a way that appeals to fans of either genre. It has action, it has romance, and it has an amazingly squished together Angel/Greek/Norse/Etc. fantasy element that weaves together so well that I can’t tell where the research stops and Kit’s ideas begin (in that good way that draws you into a world that you totally buy into). Eva Martinez is just trying to finish her religious studies degree before her mom guilts her into coming home, when Michael saves her life. There’s definitely a spark between them, but Eva needs to focus on her studies and upcoming trip to research her thesis. Turns out Michael knows a lot about her major, but there’s a lot he’s not telling her too. Will Eva discover the truth about herself before it’s too late? Guess you’ll have to read to find out…

Shards will be coming out December first and will be available from Turtleduck Press. I can’t wait to hear what you think!

“Loud Without the Wind was Roaring” by Emily Brontë Inspires Audrey

Nymphs and Satyrs

I shouldn’t have come out tonight.

The moment we enter Dionysus’s club, the music so loud it vibrates through you, I scan the crowd. It’s hard to focus on individual faces as everyone undulates and grinds to the beat, but I still find him. Shit.

“Hey, Echo,” I call out behind me.

I turn around, but she’s already halfway across the club trailing behind a ridiculously toned blond. At least she waited until we had drinks; Cynosura and Ida ditched “girl’s night” at the first sniff of satyr sweat.

I take a sip of my wine, trying to still the slight tremor of my hand. It’s fruity and strong and sends a delicious stream of warmth through me. I take another, deeper drink. I look over the crowd again. There must be someone else I know, but my eyes keep darting back to the same spot, a dampened-til-see-through linen chiton pressed tight against a muscled chest, a delicate hand caressing a horn peeking out of bronze curls. I take another drink.

At the rate I’m going, I’ll probably need a jug instead of a cup. I turn to head back toward the bar, but instead I meet a wall of red-haired haunch. The wine from my cup sloshes down my chiton and buries itself in the soft wool. I have to tilt my head back to see the smirk on the centaur’s face as he looks me over.

“Watch it, nymph,” he brays.

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