Saturday, October 24, 2009
Lindsay Townsend hosts Joaquin as we talk about our co authored project, The Fall of the Black Phoenix and some of our own experiences with all things paranormal, November 1st, 2009.
Please feel free to stop by and leave a comment!
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Tara Nichols and Keta Diablo, writing as JOAQUIN, finaled in Stella Cameron’s prestigious Scarlet Boa contest with their PARANORMAL entry.
Read excerpt below ENTRY NUMBER 90:
If you like it, PLEASE VOTE HERE FOR No. 90
Tara and I are thrilled to have placed in the final ten among over 148 entries. Follow the progress of the contest. The voting will continue through October 31st and the winning entry will be read by an editor from MIRA publishing.
Caveat: We don’t want to win based on popularity but on MERIT. But you can read the entry before you vote!
Heartfelt thanks to all who voted for Fall of the Black Phoenix in the first round. We so appreciate it.
Namaste, Keta Diablo and Tara Nichols
Follow JOAQUIN'S REALM and our progress on the Angel/Demon series
ENTRY NO. 90:
Fall of the Black Phoenix (tentative title)
Ayr stepped into the winter night as another clap of thunder split the air. Strange, he thought, looking up at star-filled sky. Deep in the heart of winter, a thin layer of frost clung to the hardwoods and pines, and rain-laden clouds loomed overhead, poised on the brink of unleashing a torrent upon his head.
Lifting his face to the sky, Ayr closed his eyes and willed his body to leave the ground. He rose up, his wings a transparent shimmer, a latent memory of what they were when he graced the heavens. In spite of his earthly presence, the celestial extensions never failed him. They had always served as a pseudo-conduit, opening his mind to the evil forces at work. From out of the dark came a roll of thunder, so loud it shook the stars.
A far-off shriek shattered his concentration, startling him. His powerful body careened left and for a moment threatened his symmetrical balance. Gathering his wits, he focused on the direction of the blood-curdling scream. The malevolent energy he'd sensed earlier seeped into his pores. He struggled to block out the interference and allowed his mind to lead him toward the ill-fated source.
Banking south, he cupped his wings, lowered his head and prepared to land. A barrier rose before him—an invisible barricade with the strength and force of impregnable armor. With steeled determination, he pushed onward and landed at the mouth of a wide, litter-riddled back alley.
The stench of refuse and blood spiraled up his nose and, something else― an intoxicating mixture of red patchouli and bold, pale musk.
The scent of a woman surely made in heaven.
Shadows shifted in the alley; one, a stunning beauty, the woman whose fragrance he'd devoured moments ago, and oh, God, the other, Lazarus, his young protégé. The warrior-woman held his limp body by the lapels of his jacket, her emerald eyes fixed on his bloodless face. His friend's eyes were open, the pupils rolled back in his head. The image reminded him of a scene from Night of the Living Dead. Laz' chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, so miniscule a human would have thought him deceased.
Ayr knew he should do something . . . like kill the bitch, but why did his feet feel nailed to the cold ground? Transfixed by some unknown force he watched as the woman covered Lazarus' mouth with hers. Ayr knew the act was not that of a wanton lover, nor did her actions spawn from a personal vendetta against Laz. Her cold eyes lacked lust or desire, discounting necrophilia. This was the work of a professional, a cold-hearted, highly skilled killer.
She lowered her mouth, covered his lips with hers and sucked in her cheeks. The magnificent green eyes closed and her chest heaved inward. A cold chill snaked down Ayr's spine, and not from the frosty air. With a sudden jerk of her neck, her head arched back and a trail of pale blue smoke spewed from her lips. Another shudder shook Ayr as he drew his gaze to Lazarus. The man's body convulsed and a garbled choke slipped from his throat. Like a sunflower caught up in an ice-storm his flaccid body sagged.
The woman released her hold on his jacket and Ayr waited for the sound of his body to hit the hard ground. He hadn't counted on what happened next. Laz' physical being turned to dust before his eyes; a handful of gray soot that blew away in a cold, bitter wind. The red-haired beauty watched the matter take flight then made the sign of the cross.
A jolt of lightning jerked Ayr from his trance-like state. “Soul Thief,” he whispered and prepared for battle.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Our story is up on the Scarlet Boa site. We have a 1 in 148 chance but we could really use your help!
Here is the link to the entries, and the voting form is listed Here.
This project has been tons of fun to brainstorm and we love feedback, so please, feel free to drop us a line, leave a comment, tell us what you think!
Labels: scarlet boa