Maris (The Brotherhood Files Book 1) by Isaiyan Morrison Genre: Paranormal Urban Fantasy
She gave me her blood, and my life changed forever.
Anastasia. My sire. The only influential figure in my already-fragile life. She did this to me. She caused all the pain and suffering. There was a time I believed I owed her everything. After all, she gave me immortality and the never-ending thirst for the psychic energy contained in the blood of my victims.
But now vampires hunt me and the humans want to use me as their personal weapon. They believe I’m some apotropaic figurine that can damn all Deamhan and force us back into hell where we belong.
Me? I just want to live. I just want to be Maris. That way, the only one I can damn is myself.
In 1840s Paris, vampires aren’t just at the throats of humans. Split into two warring factions, Dorvo vampires wage war against the Deamhan, their paranormal cousins created by dark magic and who feed on the psychic energy of their human victims. In this strange new world, Remy, a bourgeoisie, is sired as a Deamhan by Julian. But the intoxicating rush of becoming a powerful psychic vampire is soon eclipsed by the presence of Ruby, a beautiful yet elusive Dorvo vampire.
Betrayed by his own, Ruby feeds his undesirable urge to have his revenge against Julian and the rest of the Deamhan. But he doesn’t know if he can trust Ruby. She may have given him his freedom, but she’s still the enemy who has vowed to vanquish the Deamhan, the very same Deamhan that betrayed him. Now it’s up to Remy to decide who to trust — and who to destroy.
In Remy, The Brotherhood Files, author Isaiyan Morrison presents a paranormal urban fantasy about fractured relationships, mistrust, and forgiveness. Here in the City of Love, it’s anything but, as Remy’s caught between two warring sides who both want him gone. Will his desire for revenge cloud his judgment? Or will he figure out who he can trust once and for all? In this wild journey from the graveyard and through the dark alleys and cobblestoned streets of Paris, Remy is both hunter…and prey.
I trusted my sire to show me where I could find the good meals. We continued to walk until we reached an area swarming with humans and taverns. She loved taverns and told me that she spent the majority of her nights seducing and feeding from humans in them. She moved easily from one drunk human to another without being seen. This could only happen if I trained my Deamhan body to get used to blood tainted with alcohol.
“In the past I didn’t have to worry about vampires or The Brotherhood,” she said. “But now they’ve grown bolder and smarter. We have to protect ourselves and each other, Maris, in whatever way we can.”
I stopped walking. “What did the vampires want with me?”
“To eat you, of course.” She placed her arm around my shoulder.
“No, not that.” I wanted to know more. “The Ancient who declared this Decretum on me. Why was it done? Who is this Deamhan?”
“You’ll find out soon. But now you need to eat.” Again she avoided the question. “There has to be a type of human you like. We’ll find that one for you.”
We took a sharp right and turned down a dimly lit alleyway. The cobblestones felt hard underneath my feet and the archway was low over my head. Anastasia stopped suddenly and she looked over her shoulder. I didn’t catch it at first but I could tell by the way her eyes narrowed and her body tensed that someone had followed us.
She pointed for me to stand against the stone wall and remain still and quiet. I didn’t want to disobey her, so I quickly followed her command.
The wind increased and I felt a blow on my cheek that stunned me almost into unconscious. I fell to the floor. As a human, I knew I couldn’t take a blow like that and come out unscathed. Thanks to the Ramanga blood in my veins, I found myself standing to my feet just in time to witness Anastasia place herself between me and a male wearing a standard red vest and white Victorian shirt underneath a brown frock coat. He didn’t resemble anyone who lived in the area. He didn’t smell like a human or a Deamhan.
They rushed toward one another and their movements blurred in the dim light, like two butterflies swarming around each other. This male, who stood a little taller than Anastasia, made use of the wall by running on it and launching his body at her. She ducked as he flew right by her. Anastasia stood up and struck him with her foot in his lower back. He tumbled forward and turned around. He pulled out a long wooden stake from the pocket of his frock coat, gripped it tightly, and turned to me. That’s when I instantly knew that he had come for me.
Part of me wanted to join in the altercation but I didn’t dare go against her order. I also didn’t know if I was strong enough to fight him. Again Anastasia placed herself in his way and he jumped with the stake in his right hand. He took a stab at her but she quickly moved to the right. He stabbed again and she moved this time to the left. In his final attempt he aimed for her midsection and she caught him by his wrist. She took her other hand and pushed at his shoulder. I heard a loud crack and he dropped his stake, gripped his shoulder, and staggered back.
Anastasia kicked the stake off to the side and it glided across the stone floor, stopping in front of me. I knelt down to pick it up when my senses heightened and I looked to my right. He came toward me and I tensed up, not knowing what to do. But she pushed him and he flew back, hitting the wall. Anastasia snatched the stake from me and in a blink of an eye she now stood over him. I saw her raise the stake and she struck.
His body lurched forward and he tried to yank the stake from his body. The skin on his right cheek turned dark and it began to spread, moving over his face and down his neck. He opened his mouth and I saw fangs, longer than my own. His eyeballs sunk into the back of his skull and his body melted right before our eyes. The atrocious smell made me cover my nose. Anastasia stood up and straightened her clothing.
I approached her cautiously, still staring at our attacker’s remains. “He is a Deamhan, like us?”
“No. When Deamhan die we don’t die like that.” She used her right foot and began to poke at the remains. “This one was a vampire.”
If you enjoyed this excerpt from Maris, book 1 in The Brotherhood Files, make sure you order your copy today!
After the Sky (Spirits of the Earth Trilogy Book 1) by Milo James Fowler Genre: Post-Apocalyptic SciFi Fantasy
The world isn’t how they left it. When the bunker airlocks release them after twenty years in hibernation, the survivors find a silent, barren world outside. But they are not alone. There is a presence here, alive in the dust—spirits of the earth, benevolent and malicious as they interact with the human remnant.
Milton is haunted by a violent past he’s unable to escape, despite the superhuman speed the spirits give him.
Not interested in bearing the next generation, Daiyna is determined to destroy the flesh-eating mutants lurking in the dark, pierced by her night-vision.
Luther is a man of conviction who believes the Creator has offered humankind a second chance, yet he’s uncertain they deserve it—and he’s perplexed by the talons that flex out of his fingers.
Willard is a brilliant engineer-turned-soldier who refuses to leave his bunker, afraid of becoming infected and willing to destroy any obstacle in his way.
As their lives collide, the mysteries of this strange new world start unraveling, culminating in the ultimate life-or-death decision one survivor will make for them all.
Don’t miss this Post Apocalyptic Adventure with a Paranormal Fantasy twist! It’s perfect for fans of Stephen King, T.W. Piperbrook, and The Walking Dead.
Tomorrow’s Children (Spirits of the Sky Trilogy Book 2) by Milo James Fowler Genre: Post-Apocalyptic SciFi Fantasy
The future is in their hands.
The post-apocalyptic world is bigger than the remnant imagined. Across the ocean, the domed cities of Eurasia have survived the nuclear holocaust that ravaged the rest of the planet. But only the survivors from the North American Wastes can give the sterile Eurasians what they need most in order to continue existing as a society: children.
Sergeant James Bishop, United World Marine, leads his team across the desert wasteland in order to make first contact with survivors in Eden, who are rumored to have a lab full of viable embryos. Meanwhile Cain, a coastal warlord dedicated to repopulating the planet, follows the will of Gaia, a malicious spirit of the earth with no love for humankind. Margo, telepathic geneticist responsible for designing the next generation, struggles to balance the will of a selfish dictator with what’s best for humanity. Tucker, an invisible man on a mission, carries precious cargo across the Wastes in an effort to rally a group of survivors into action against Eden.
As their lives intersect, agendas collide and tensions reach a breaking point. Twenty unborn children in incubation chambers hang in the balance—along with the fate of the world.
Grab the thrilling sequel to After the Sky! It’s perfect for fans of Stephen King, Tom Abrahams, and The Walking Dead.
City of Glass (Spirits of the Sky Trilogy Book 3) by Milo James Fowler Genre: Post-Apocalyptic SciFi Fantasy
The children of the remnant are adults living in the 10 Domes of Eurasia, self-sustaining biospheres along the Mediterranean Sea. Aerocars fly, clones work as security officers, and every citizen’s words and actions are monitored via their neural implants. Peace reigns over all—until a group of terrorists targets government buildings, and Chancellor Persephone Hawthorne is kidnapped.
Sera Chen, Dome 1 law enforcer, is drawn into the conflict after chasing a curfew violator capable of leaping from one skyscraper to another. When her augments go offline due to a localized EMP burst, she starts hearing voices. The band of survivors in North America is fractured. Daiyna roams the Wastes with a bounty on her head, refusing to confront her demons. Samson and Shechara target UW raiders who are pillaging ruins for resources the remnant needs to survive. James Bishop struggles against unexpected obstacles to be reunited with his family. And Luther is determined to find a way into Eurasia to meet the twenty children taken from Eden.
As their lives converge, unlikely alliances will form to combat an emergent enemy with plans to undermine the course of humanity’s future.
The Spirits of the Earth Trilogy concludes with this epic final installment. You won’t want to miss this!
Milo is a teacher by day and a speculative fictioneer by night. When he’s not grading papers, he’s imagining what the world might be like in a dozen alternate realities. http://www.milojamesfowler
Can you, for those who don’t know you already, tell something about yourself and how you became an author? I started writing when I was 12 years old. Having grown tired of The Hardy Boys and their predictable mishaps, I thought I could write better adventure stories myself. Not sure if I succeeded, but it started me on a path to becoming a writer. By the time I finished high school, I’d drafted a bunch of short stories and even a few novels. But I put my writing on pause during the college and early career years, figuring I’d pick it up again maybe when I retired or when I was old (like 40 or something). Then a wonderful young woman (who is now my wife) entered my life and encouraged me to start submitting my work for publication. Over the past ten years, 150+ of my short stories and poems have been published, and this year, six of my novels will be released by Aethon Books and Montag Press.
What is something unique/quirky about you? For some reason, I like to go against the flow and rebel against what’s popular. I liked Coldplay until they hit it big, and I refuse to get a smartphone. I still use my old flip-phone! I don’t need the latest gadget in order to feel relevant.
Tell us something really interesting that’s happened to you! I climbed the Great Wall of China in February ’05 without knowing how cold or icy it would be. But it was nice. Only two or three other people were around, not crowded at all.
What are some of your pet peeves? Entitlement is a big one. Hypocrisy is another.
Where were you born/grew up at? San Diego. We’ve got everything: beaches, mountains, lakes, deserts. You can mountain bike, snowboard, and surf all in the same day if you time it right.
If you knew you’d die tomorrow, how would you spend your last day? With my wife, doing more than a few of our favorite things. And I’d wear a T-shirt that says, “I’m dying tomorrow. Ask me where I’m going.”
Who is your hero and why? Franklin Graham. His organization Samaritan’s Purse does amazing work around the globe helping those in need.
What kind of world ruler would you be? I’d assume similar to how I manage my classroom: strict but fair with plenty of freedom within clearly defined boundaries. And I’d make sure cashews weren’t so expensive.
What are you passionate about these days? Writing the best stories I can tell with characters that resonate with readers, and teaching my students to be effective communicators for Christ (and not hate writing in general).
What do you do to unwind and relax? I like to read, play guitar, mountain bike, surf, eat Mexican food, and watch movies/series with my wife.
How to find time to write as a parent? Other than my 120 students, I don’t have kids.
Describe yourself in 5 words or less! Creative, goal-oriented, persistent, sarcastic, skeptical
When did you first consider yourself a writer? Write1Sub1 back in 2011 made me feel like a writer because I was following in Ray Bradbury’s footsteps: writing and submitting a new short story every week for a year. It really helped me improve my craft, and within a couple years, I sold all 52 stories to various publications. So that was a win! I felt like a professional writer when I started selling my work to pro-paying markets. Writers write, but authors finish what they start — and can somehow manage to convince a publisher to share their work with the world.
Do you have a favorite movie? El Cid with Charlton Heston is one of my all-time favorites. Inception is another, along with the Dark Knight trilogy.
Which of your novels can you imagine made into a movie? Every single one. I see things cinematically as I write them; it’s just a matter of putting it all into words on the page. But I’m leery of the prospect of my work making its way to the big screen. I don’t know if I’d be okay with changes the studio would want to make; they always seem to enjoy branding projects, and more times than not, the source material is better than the film adaptation.
What literary pilgrimages have you gone on? I stood outside Stephen King’s house once…
As a writer, what would you choose as your mascot/avatar/spirit animal? The elusive panda.
Would you like a change to win a $25 Amazon Gift Card?Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!
I am excited to be one of the many tour hosts sharing information about the Spirits of the Earth Trilogy.
Scroll down until you see the first voting category (Vote for your Favorite Advice Book)
Vote, then click the right arrow (found at the top left of the voting category) to go from page 1/16 to page 4/16 (vote for other categories along the way).
Page 4/16 is where you will VOTE for your Favorite Fantasy Book!
Scroll down on the page until you see THE CHOSEN by NINA SODEN and click on the title.
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Set in a futuristic dystopian where society is governed by a council of vampires and lycanthropes, selection students are sheltered and raised in a deceptively utopian world. Strict rules are imposed to control population growth, education, and even personal interactions with other members of the Sector, all in the name of safety. When ‘A’ comes of age, she like all youth throughout Sector C and her selection classmates aren’t sent out into the world to find jobs, make money and lead happy carefree lives. They are forced to endure the rigorous physical and mental testing of Selection Week before choosing their destiny or being forced into a fate far worse. Those that make it out alive are announced as sector residence, given a position within the society, and allotted all the privileges of their chosen “culture.” However, when your only choices are vampirism, lycanthropy, breeder, blood donor, or banishment to the Wastelands, what choice do you really have? Suspenseful, intense, passionate, and awash in paranormal delights, Sector C captures the enchantment and mysteries of the supernatural world and the power of friendship.
Abby Normal (The Abby Normal Series Book 1) by Samuel Thomas Fraser Genre: Urban Fantasy, Horror
Abby Henderson has lived her whole life under a dark cloud. When she was born, a demon called the Deacon claimed her family as his property. When she turned 13, she was traumatized by an ominous psychic vision. When she turned 14, her dad had a psychotic breakdown and tried to kill her.
She’s just turned 25, and now people are dying all around her.
This is all according to the Deacon’s plan. He believes that Abby is the key to a ritual that will unleash an ancient evil on the world, and he will stop at nothing to make sure that ritual succeeds.
Now, Abby is in the fight of her life against an enemy that defies all reason. Together with her pious girlfriend, her magic-slinging ex-teacher, and a hotheaded Amazon with a machete, Abby will have to use every trick in the book to outlast the Deacon. Because if she can’t, her next birthday is going to be Hell.
Samuel Thomas Fraser is a writer and actor from the rainy mountains of Vancouver, BC, Canada. A lover of medieval literature and truly weird fiction, Sam holds a BA in English and a Certificate in Creative Writing from Simon Fraser University. His short fiction and poetry has appeared in outlets including The Macabre Museum and Unleashed: Monsters Vs. Zombies Vol. 1. As a performer, he has inhabited such memorable stage roles as Algernon Moncrieff in The Importance of Being Earnest and Charlie Cowell in The Music Man. Abby Normal is his first novel.
Want to win a $25 Amazon gift card? Follow the tour HERE for special content and details about the giveaway!
What made you want to be a writer?
When I was 19, I was diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder. That’s a very broad term for a whole host of developmental disorders from low-functioning autism to Asperger’s syndrome (which is what I have). Day-to-day, having Asperger’s isn’t as much of a hindrance for me as it is for some people, but social interaction can be very difficult sometimes.
In conversation, I often fixate on one topic for too long, and if it’s a topic I’m passionate about, I’ll just start monologuing and I won’t stop. On the other hand, if I don’t have as much interest in a topic, I may not say anything for ages, because I’ll feel like I have nothing I can sensibly contribute. If I do try to contribute, I’ll trip over my words and ramble while my brain screams at me that I’m not making sense and the best time to shut up was about fifteen seconds ago. Sometimes I can be too blunt, and because I can’t pick up on nonverbal cues, I won’t realize it if I offend someone until they tell me they’re offended.
This is a long way of saying that writing gives me a sense of control. When I can dictate both sides of a conversation and steer it toward a conclusion of my choosing, I feel so much more relaxed than if I have to go to a job interview or (heaven forbid) on a date. As a kid, I was always making up stories and losing myself in imaginary worlds even at times when I really shouldn’t have been. I played soccer for a bit when I was about eight or nine, but when I was on the field, I always spent more time fighting imaginary pirates or secret agents than I did chasing the ball and paying attention to the game. When I reflect on that time now, I realize that I was always trying to escape into a world that was more predictable than my own. There’s a 50% shot at victory in a soccer game, but in a battle with imaginary pirates, I would always win. I write because it gives me a clear goal to work toward, and I always know how the beginning and the middle will beget the end. That’s the same reason I enjoy acting and building LEGO sets: I always know from the first page what will happen on the last page. As for real life? Yeah, not so much.
What made you want to write this book?
Abby Normal is what happens when you take a nerdy theatre kid, stick an English degree in his hands, and pump his brain full of Beowulf, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and HP Lovecraft. As a result of my education and my general geekery, I have a very wide range of literary and cultural interests that don’t always jibe with one another. The writing of Abby Normal was a process of taking all those interests and stuffing them into one box, then trying to craft a narrative that would at least make them all look like they belonged together. In this book, the astute reader may find bits and pieces of Buffy, The Dresden Files, Doctor Who, BioShock Infinite, Alice in Wonderland, Alan Wake, and much more besides. Ultimately, I wanted to write a story that would entertain me, and if that meant ripping off (or as we say in the business, “paying homage to”) other stories that have entertained me over the years, that was a price I was willing to pay.
Another match failed, and Don’s cigarette remained stubbornly unlit.
He cursed, insinuating that the match had had improper carnal knowledge of a family member. He threw a hard look at the matchbook, trying to intimidate it into cooperating with him. He promised the matchbook that this really was his last cigarette, honestly, and wasn’t a man’s last cigarette more than enough reason to give him a light?
And it was going to be his last one, too. For real this time. He had sworn to Karen he would quit when the baby arrived, and he’d already cut down to only two or three smokes a week.
But. But, but, but. He had said “when the baby arrives” and not a split second before. And Karen had been in labour nearly eleven hours now.
Jesus. Eleven hours in the worst storm to come up the coast of BC in 15 years. Don had heard of natural births before, but this was fucking ridiculous.
They’d all told him it had to be this way, Karen included. Something about ley lines and chaotic energies and ancient traditions. Something about imbalance in the mystic equilibrium, which would alter the electric potential in the atmosphere and wreak havoc on the complex mechanical systems in a hospital.
In Don’s opinion, the whole thing had a pretty pungent odour of bullshit.
He finally got his cigarette lit and took a walk around the beach. The island was a half-mile of rock and trees, with one log cabin stuck in the middle of a clearing on the nearby hill. It was what Don’s father-in-law would have called ‘a real strip-of-piss’. As lightning struck the next island over, Don told himself there wasn’t anything to worry about. Really, there wasn’t. That 200 pounds of rugby muscle wasn’t just for looks: he knew how to handle himself in a fight. So did Karen, if it came to it.
Not to mention the retinue of freaks, said a voice in his head. Then, Holy shit, there’s a Word of the Day for you.
“Lovely night for it, eh?”
Don turned and saw a man approaching him from the cabin. Enter Freak Number One, said the voice.
The man shouted at Don over the howl of the wind, and his long Inverness coat billowed behind him. “I said, ‘lovely night for it, eh?’”
Don didn’t answer as the man in the Inverness coat drew close to him. He was shorter than Don’s six-three, and much thinner, with goofy oversized ears and a square chin, but there was something about him—some presence in his bright green eyes—that was naturally, effortlessly commanding.
One of the green eyes winked, and the man in the Inverness coat whispered, “Oh, to be in Canada now that autumn’s here.” He spoke with a soft English accent and a cheeky, joking note in his voice.
Don wasn’t in much of a joking mood, and he looked straight past the Englishman to the log cabin. “How is everything in there? I mean… is she here yet?”
The Englishman shook his head. “Not quite yet, but I’d say she’s very near, going by the state of things.” He glanced at the sky as he said this, as if the ‘things’ in question would suddenly blow down from one of the dark clouds above.
Don turned back toward the water, and the Englishman closed his eyes like he was meditating. It was several minutes before the Englishman gripped Don’s shoulder and whispered, “She’s here.” As the wind died away, Don heard an infant crying in the distance. He threw his cigarette into the waves and charged toward the cabin, excited and terrified in equal measures. He could hear the calm, measured footsteps of the Englishman jogging after him.
Inside the cabin, Karen Henderson was lying on a creaky twin bed in one corner, trying to soothe what looked like a very noisy pile of old dishrags. She was a small, round-faced woman, like a child’s doll come to life. Not at all, then, like the two women flanking the bed, who could both have passed for angry villagers in a Universal monster movie.
The woman on the right was a tall, muscular Haitian with a lot of dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Natalie Arnaud wore a bulky, dirty trench coat over an equally dirty tank top, khaki pants, and heavy steel-toed boots. The whole ensemble suggested that she’d been working nights in either a munitions factory or a slaughterhouse.
The woman on the left looked like an older version of Karen. Stout of frame and straight of back, ‘Grandma’ Meg McAllister had a glass of single malt scotch in her hand. It was not her first one of the night.
Don stood with his back to the door for a moment, staring at the squirming, noisy bundle in Karen’s hands, until the Englishman gave him a nudge. “I think some introductions are in order, Donald.”
Karen looked up and nodded, beckoning Don over to her. As he approached the bed, she glanced at the Englishman and said, “You too, Simon.” The two men huddled around the bedside as Karen gave the child a gentle pat on the back and said, “Don… say hi to your daughter.”
Grandma Meg put down her Scotch and gently placed the child in Don’s arms. His whole body froze as the baby’s weight settled against him, and he imagined that the slightest tremor would offend her. Only his mouth moved as he whispered, “She’s gorgeous…”
This was, of course, a clever lie. She was a newborn baby, and all newborn babies look like flesh-shaped balloons filled with prune juice and raspberry jam, but as far as Don was willing to admit, the child was perfect.
“So, what do we call her?” Simon asked. “Only I feel like ‘Small Human-in-Progress’ is a tad wordy.”
Karen smiled and shook her head. “We call her ‘Abigail’.”
Grandma Meg nodded and took a sip of her scotch. “Aye,” she said, in a broad Yorkshire accent, “Abigail Margaret ‘enderson.” Then she smirked and added, “My suggestion, of course.”
Don nodded and rocked the child in his arms. “Abigail. Abby, for short.” He leaned in close to his daughter and whispered, “Do you like that? Do you like ‘Abby’?”
Abby made a gurgling noise of assent and reached for Don’s nose with a fat, sausagey arm. As her eyes opened and she took a first look at the room around her, the party went quiet and just watched her, forgetting that there was a world beyond their log cabin.
So it came as a huge shock when somebody knocked on the door.
Knock-knock-knock. For a second, nobody moved. Then Natalie pushed aside her trench coat, letting her hand rest over the hilt of the long machete she had strapped to her leg.
Knock-knock-knock. Grandma Meg reached for the Webley revolver she’d holstered at her hip and thumbed the hammer nervously.
Knock-knock-knock. Simon closed his eyes and nodded once. “It’s him.”
The door crashed against the wall as a rush of freezing wind howled through the cabin. Don held Abby close to his chest and turned his back to the chill, while Natalie and Grandma Meg trained their weapons on the figure in the doorway.
The newcomer was not quite a man, nor was it quite a monster. It was human in shape, but it was cloaked in a set of white floor-length robes, with gold at the sleeves and collar, and a purple hood that hid its eyes.
The thing in the robes glided into the cabin, hands folded in front of it, heedless of the venomous looks it received. Behind it, the door slammed shut and locked itself. The thing whispered, “The weather is… pleasant, is it not?” Its voice was like the crunch of dead leaves underfoot, and the way the corners of its mouth twitched upward suggested that it was attempting irony.
Natalie stepped forward and touched the point of her blade to the creature’s throat. “What the hell do you want, you son of a bitch?”
The robed figure raised its hands submissively. “Such language,” it wheezed, “and in the presence of a child…”
Natalie leaned in and pressed the blade harder. The robed figure winced as the tip of the blade bit into its neck, and a thin track of blood seeped into the collar of its robes. “I’m warning you, Deacon,” she hissed.
The Deacon flicked one of his raised hands and the machete sank to the floor like a lead weight, taking Natalie with it. He moved his hand again, and the weapon leaped out of Natalie’s grip and flew toward Grandma Meg. The Deacon made a fist and the machete screeched to a halt, its tip inches from Grandma Meg’s heart.
“Do not test me, woman,” the Deacon hissed at Natalie. “I do not come here to quarrel with any of you. But, if I am met in the spirit of war, I will take steps to… defend myself!” He opened his fist, and the machete jumped forward another inch. Grandma Meg retreated back against the wall.
Simon raised his hands. “All right! Everyone just take a deep breath. This is not a fight we wish to have.” Then, pointedly, to Natalie, “Any of us.”
With a curt nod to Simon, Natalie backed away from the Deacon and raised her hands. Behind her, Grandma Meg dropped the Webley and kicked it across the floor. The Deacon flicked his hand again, and the machete veered right, sinking into the far wall.
“Cooler heads prevail…” the Deacon whispered, glancing at Simon. “And the wisdom of the ages shines bright.” He turned and glided toward Don, extending a hand. Abby whined and kicked as the Deacon’s slender fingers brushed against her swaddling clothes. “Please. I wish to consider my… investment.”
Don shook his head. He didn’t realize it, but every muscle in his body was vibrating with fear and fury. “She’s a baby…” he whispered. “She’s just a baby…”
The Deacon’s thin lips stretched into a grin. His teeth were like piano keys: shining white and perfectly straight. “Soon,” he vowed, “she will be much, MUCH more.”
Before Don could respond, the Deacon tore Abby from her father’s arms and rearranged her swaddling clothes, smiling the whole time. Don looked back at Karen, who was struggling to rise from the bed. But the labour had left her exhausted, and she sank back into the pillows.
The Deacon bowed his head over Abby and opened his mouth. Don and Karen both gagged as the Deacon pressed his tongue to Abby’s pink flesh, right over her heart, then tracked it up her chest, her throat, all the way to the top of her head. Abby began to sob and Don’s hand curled into a tight fist. But he dared not move. Not against the being that had saved his life.
When the Deacon was finished, he licked his lips and hissed, “I can taste it on her already. I can feel the energy crackling and burning within her. She will have great power before long…” The Deacon passed Abby back to her father, and he tried to calm her down. “You see? I have no ill intentions toward you, Hendersons.” He bowed low in an exaggerated gesture of mock-respect. “I will, of course, honour our arrangement, so long as you do me the same courtesy.” He straightened up again and pointed a thin, bony finger toward the wall behind Karen. “Use your time wisely, for it is short.”
Scritch-scratch-scritch. Wood chips sprinkled onto the bedspread as an invisible knife carved a number into the wall, right above Karen’s head. “Render unto Caesar,” the Deacon rasped, “that which is Caesar’s… and render unto God…” He pointed at Abby and loosed a short, devious laugh. “The things that are… God’s…”
Nobody heard him. They were too fixated on the number above Karen’s head, which glowed bright red like a fireplace ember. In the howling storm outside, a bolt of lightning struck the shore opposite the tiny strip-of-piss island.
The following thunderclap made Abby cry again and snapped everyone back to reality. Don looked back and saw the Deacon had vanished. The door of the cabin was still locked tight, and the only sign that he had ever been there was the mark carved into the wall.
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AMAZON DESCRIPTION: This first book in Veronica Roth’s #1 New York Times bestselling Divergent trilogy is the novel the inspired the major motion picture starring Shailene Woodley, Theo James, and Kate Winslet. This dystopian series set in a futuristic Chicago has captured the hearts of millions of teen and adult readers.
Perfect for fans of the Hunger Games and Maze Runner series, Divergent and its sequels, Insurgent and Allegiant, are the gripping story of a dystopian world transformed by courage, self-sacrifice, and love. Fans of the Divergent movie will find the book packed with just as much emotional depth and exhilarating action as the film, all told in beautiful, rich language.
One choice can transform you. Beatrice Prior’s society is divided into five factions—Candor (the honest), Abnegation (the selfless), Dauntless (the brave), Amity (the peaceful), and Erudite (the intelligent). Beatrice must choose between staying with her Abnegation family and transferring factions. Her choice will shock her community and herself. But the newly christened Tris also has a secret, one she’s determined to keep hidden, because in this world, what makes you different makes you dangerous.
WRITING: Veronica Roth’s writing style reminds me of Suzanne Collins. She is a fast-paced story-teller who uses a lot of great descriptive language. She paints a picture in your mind without forcing the details down your throat over and over again.
STORY: Let me start by saying, I had never heard of the Divergent series when I first picked it up. I had seen a movie trailer for the first film in the series and quickly decided I needed to read the book before the movie hit the theatres. I’M GLAD I DID!
If you liked the Hunger Games or The Maze Runner, then you’ll love Divergent. Divergent is the first book in the series, and is sure to keep you on the edge of your seat page after page. This YA novel is full of characters every YA reader can either relate to fall in love with. Our heroine starts out as a young, quiet, innocent girl in the Abnegation faction but quickly claims her spot as a fearless Dauntless initiate.
Roth is an excellent character builder. The reader gets to know Beatrice, and the others, as if they are our friends and family. They struggle and you struggle along with them, they get excited and as a reader you get excited too. Roth brings these characters to life.
Have you seen the movie? Me too! I have to say; the first movie did a pretty good job keeping up with the book. However, they missed some key character-building moments and friendship building moments that were prominent in the book. The effects weren’t terrible in the first movie, but because of what was missed, the later movies suffered – In my opinion.
APPEARANCE: The cover is eye-catching. The blaze of fire in a ring of fire caught my attention right away when I passed it in the bookstore. I didn’t know anything about the story at the time, but the cover drew me in!
MY FAVORITE QUOTES: “We believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another.” “Becoming fearless isn’t the point. That’s impossible. It’s learning how to control your fear, and how to be free from it.”
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NOT YET RECORDED
Check out the official movie trailers here:
Movie Information:
In a world divided by factions based on virtues, Tris learns she’s Divergent and won’t fit in. When she discovers a plot to destroy Divergents, Tris and the mysterious Four must find out what makes Divergents dangerous before it’s too late.
TITLE: Divergent
