Since I have a green light for the sequel to REACHING LILY (though am still *cough* waiting on paperwork *cough*), and since I’m 35 pages in, and if I dump a lot of creative energy into blogging I won’t want to get my word count up there…I’m going to be pretty quiet for awhile. Tomorrow night I’ll be doing some big promo push, because I’ve found –looking at amazon numbers– that most women buy my books after last call on Saturday night. (Huh. ‘Magine that!) So I will post some “Hi, I’m Dorian Holder and want to do dirty things to you” or “Hi, we are two well-hung angels and have come to ravish you, you nun-servant-girl-timetraveler” or what have you about once a week.
Also-also, I made an imaginary cover. I like doing that. It makes me feel all official.
But this will be my last long and chatty post until I have my actual first draft done, which is about 250-300 pages in the future, so I figured, “Hey, why not post the prologue?”
Here it is, from me to you, dear Readers. Since it isn’t totally dirty, I’ll probably post somethin’ nastier in a couple weeks ;)
EXCERPT FROM “FINDING LILY: BOOK II OF THE LILY CHRONICLES”
Prologue: Weathering the Storm
Ow. My head smacks hard against the cold window, jarring me back to the present. The one in which our plane is wobbling? Yes, that present. My eyes (which are apparently glasz, according to my once-upon-a-not-boyfriend), pop open, and I take it all in. The sky is gray, and Virgin Airline flight 169 is no longer just a big bird soaring above the clouds. We are in the thick of something dreadful. It so makes sense my plane’s going to crash when I finally almost escape from Dorian Holder’s enormous, far-reaching grasp.
Hey, what happened to Mr and Mrs Green, the lovey-dovey newlyweds who were annoying me so much with their joy and fondling when I first boarded? I would appreciate any company, right now. They must’ve gotten bumped up to first class, while I was busy ruminating. How’d I miss that? Hope their complimentary champagne just spilled all over their laps on this last lurch. Holy hell.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” The pilot’s voice is supposed to reassure us, I know, but there’s enough of a quaver in his tone to make me even more concerned, especially now that the plane has started to quake in earnest.
Also, the intercom is crackling more than it ought to be.
Like I know, though. This is, after all, my first plane ride.
Why am I so calm, then? Obviously, if we’re going down, I’m not going to heaven. Which would make Dorian right, as usual.
You can’t get away, Lily.
Also, I wasn’t paying close attention when the flight attendant went over the emergency procedures. Would they go through them again? That interpretive dance with the entrances, exits, et al? What if I couldn’t figure out how to put on my oxygen mask, or if I got the only flotation device that wouldn’t expand?
Que sera, sera.
Perhaps “disappearing” would be a relief, a blessing in disguise. Everything comes to an end.
Oh, well. It was a good run. Things got interesting in my final month of life. That’s what they’ll say at my eulogy. “She was generally a mousy little thing, never known to rock the boat. But things got interesting in Lily Dewitt’s final month of life…”
Our plane bucks in agreement with my grim fantasies. Rather than screams and panic, there is a stillness among us humble passengers as we await our collective fate.
You don’t fuck with the gods, and you sure as hell don’t distract the Virgin flight staff when they try to keep you soothed.
“We’re experiencing some turbulence,” Captain Peterson explains, stating the obvious. “Please do not panic. You’re in good hands, people.”
Never heard that one before.
My stomach drops, and I suck in my breath as we start losing altitude. No, I’m not trained in the comings-and-goings of all things airplane, but I’ve seen enough movies.
Time freezes when you look death in the eye.
Time also froze if you stared into Dorian Holder’s dangerous eyes. Dorian, like the jaws of death—or the gods with whom we should never argue—is also capable of freezing time.
How a night could last for days, how days could last for minutes, how waiting on him could last for years is still a concept I will never grasp. That first night with him lasted forever. Like the spider wrapping a fly, Dorian Holder was all winding circle after winding circle, his grip, his invisible thread wrapping, cocooning, squeezing the very life out of me. I squirmed and buzzed in his web, praying that he would not suck me dry.
How can one pray when one is the prey?
All I wanted was to fly away, I swear.
But I am still trapped.
The plane steadies itself, and once again my stomach drops while our altitude rises.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience,” says Captain Peterson, sounding more relieved than I feel. “We’re back on track. Please lean back and enjoy the rest of your trip. Our attendants are coming around with complimentary beverages and snacks.”
I lean back, awaiting sustenance.