Ravenseed: Excerpt 2

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Here’s another excerpt from my newly released fantasy novel Ravenseed, an epic tale of love, lust, betrayal, and vengeance. In this scene, Sir Peter meets Sir Matthew’s betrothed Elizabeth for the first time, and is captivated by her beauty.

I noticed a young barmaid crossing the room to where we stood. Her gaze was fixed on Matthew, but because I stood quite close to him, she could almost have been staring at me. Indeed, at one point her eyes flickered in my direction and gave a brief appraisal, before returning to their intended focus.

  The barmaid let out an exclamation of delight and embraced Matthew. She kissed his lips then drew back, regarding him with an expression of unadulterated joy.

  ‘Matthew! I didn’t expect you! After I heard about the King fighting in Cornwall, I thought I might never see you again.’

  Matthew appeared pleased with his welcome, but stiffened somewhat, perhaps due to my presence.

  ‘Elizabeth, this is Sir Peter and his squire Robin.’

  ‘A pleasure,’ said Robin, bowing slightly.

  Elizabeth ran a hand through her long auburn hair. ‘I’ve heard a great deal about you, Sir Peter.’

  To say that I understood in an instant why Elizabeth had so captivated Matthew would be an understatement. She was beautiful, yes, but hers wasn’t the mere beauty of a country girl. Something about her deep green eyes drew me into her face and held me transfixed. They were warm, kind, almost magical, as though they could perceive my very soul, locate my greatest desire, and grant it.

  ‘I’ve heard a great deal about you too, Elizabeth,’ I said eventually. ‘Sir Matthew is very fortunate.’

  Elizabeth laughed and gave Matthew a playful cuddle. ‘Fortunate? How can you be sure of that? How do you know I will not bring disaster upon him?’

  ‘No one seeing you could entertain such an absurd notion,’ I replied.

  Elizabeth stared at me, suppressing a grin. An expression of mild irritation crossed Matthew’s features.

  ‘I’m delighted to hear Elizbeth meets with your approval, Sir Peter.’

  He spoke as though jesting, yet I sensed a flicker of unease beneath Matthew’s remark. Had my reaction to Elizabeth’s immense beauty unsettled him? He had no reason to be concerned, though I could entirely understand his obsession with her.

‘I am likewise glad to meet with your approval, brave sir knight,’ said Elizabeth, with a hint of harmless mischief in her eyes.

You can pick up Ravenseed from Amazon on Kindle or paperback here (in the UK) and here (in the US). Downloads or paperbacks are also available from Draft2Digital, Smashwords, and associated outlets here.

Ravenseed: Excerpt 1

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Here’s an excerpt from my recently released fantasy novel Ravenseed, an epic tale of love, lust, betrayal, and vengeance. It is mostly set in the Dark Ages, with a parallel plot in the present. This scene is from Chapter 3, in which Sir Peter, Sir Matthew, and their squires Hugh and Robin encounter a mysterious monk as they ride to war. The monk warns against the detour they are about to take to the Raven Inn.

The path through the woods grew broader as we approached the fork in the road. To the left, the path went down into a valley, into thicker forest that I knew would eventually bring us to our destination, just outside Plymouth. To the right, the path climbed further, leading west towards the great river and the bridge that separated Cornwall from the rest of the land.

  As we approached, I noticed a man in a brown robe standing facing us at the fork in the road. His face was hidden by a hood, but he appeared to be a monk. In his hand, he held a staff. Something about his manner bothered me, and it seemed clear that he wished to speak with us. Everyone else sensed the same, as we came to a joint decision to halt our horses.

  ‘Greetings friend,’ I said. ‘Can we help you?’

  The Monk drew back his hood, revealing a youthful face with pale skin. His dark eyes were wide and intense. He looked us over, as though evaluating or assessing us. I didn’t care for his gaze, which felt uncomfortably shrewd and penetrating. It made me want to hide, though from what I did not know.

  ‘Are you lost?’ said Matthew.

  ‘I see my path better than you,’ said the Monk.

  His voice had a curious, deep tone that echoed more than I expected amid the dense woodland. Was this really a monk from a local monastery? I shivered. Everything about this young man unsettled me. He didn’t belong in this landscape.

  ‘You speak in riddles,’ I said. ‘Yet we cannot break our journey to indulge in such discourse, as we wish to reach the Raven Inn by nightfall.’

  ‘So, you will turn left,’ said the Monk.

  In his voice I sensed disappointment. I could not understand why our journey should be of interest to him, a complete stranger. What could he possibly know of our decision to take a detour to the inn, rather than continue west to Cornwall?

  ‘Who are you?’ I asked.

  The Monk shook his head. ‘Who I am is unimportant, but you may call me Brother Mordecai.’

  ‘Well, Brother Mordecai,’ said Matthew. ‘If you do not require our assistance, we will wish you well and continue our journey.’

  Mordecai addressed Matthew. ‘There is death ahead for you if you take the right path.’

  Matthew and I exchanged bemused glances. This young monk was eccentric, possibly even mad, but he didn’t seem dangerous. Why then did he fill me with such unease?

  ‘Why are you saying that?’ asked Matthew.

  ‘Because something worse than death lies in wait if you take the left path.’

  ‘What if we turn around and go back the way we came?’ Matthew asked, not caring to hide the mockery in his voice.

  The Monk did not answer. Matthew addressed him in exasperated tones. ‘Well, Brother Mordecai, we wish to avoid death, and I fail to see what could be worse than that, so if it’s all the same to you, I think we’ll continue on our journey to the Raven Inn.’

  ‘It is not all the same to me,’ said the Monk. ‘If you take the path to the Raven Inn, I will regret it. I am sent to deliver warnings, and when they are not heeded, I am grieved.’

  ‘Sent by whom?’ I asked.

  The Monk did not answer. Robin and Hugh began to chuckle amongst themselves at this somewhat absurd figure. But there was a nervousness to their laughter, and however much we might have desired to ridicule Brother Mordecai, with hindsight I must admit that moment unsettled us all.

  ‘Brother Mordecai, you are not speaking reason,’ said Matthew. ‘You stand yonder, and make nebulous, mystical pronouncements, claiming we have a choice between death or something worse. That is no choice at all!’

  ‘If you do not understand that there are worse things than death, you have my pity.’ The Monk shook his head. ‘Perhaps I am destined to deliver warnings that are unheeded, so I better understand the perspective of God. But that is my burden to bear, not yours.’

  The Monk sat down at the fork in the path and cast his eyes to the ground. Matthew and I stared at one another in bewilderment. What could this man know of our journey? How could he possibly think appearing here before us with no explanation, urging us to ride to certain death would possibly result in us heeding his advice? It was preposterous. Brother Mordecai had to be mad.

  ‘You’re insane,’ said Matthew, voicing my thoughts. He indicated to Hugh. ‘Come!’

  We continued to ride, taking the left fork, onto the path that led down into the denser woodland. As we passed the Monk, he remained seated, staring down at the ground. Only as I turned my head from him did I catch, out of the corner of my eye, one final glance up at me. I couldn’t swear to it, but I sensed dismay, as though he had singled me out for special pity.

You can pick up Ravenseed from Amazon on Kindle or paperback here (in the UK) and here (in the US). Downloads or paperbacks are also available from Draft2Digital, Smashwords, and associated outlets here.

Death Nest: Chapter 7 Excerpt

Here’s another taster of my latest mystery thriller novel, Death Nest. This excerpt is taken from chapter 7; a flashback chapter in which the protagonist, Nick, meets the enigmatic Tanith, in his early teens. The excerpt begins as Nick is looking after his younger brother Jason, playing a game with him.

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For the best part of an hour, we rushed along the stream, following the dusty footpath away from the village green to the south, running a little way uphill, parallel to farmland and clusters of tall hedges and spinneys. Along the way, Jason and I selected our usual weapons of choice from the various sticks that lay around, all the better to shoot the marauding malevolent aliens on the strange planet where we had crash landed. I threw myself more vigorously than usual into the pew-pew of shooting, and we would often take cover together behind rocks, trees, and bushes, looking ahead into the distance and blasting alien threats from afar. Sometimes we would attack. Other times we would be on the run. For Jason, it was exhilarating and fun. I enjoyed it too.

  Ultimately, our game petered out, but we decided to keep walking. I knew eventually we’d reach a small cluster of cottages on our left that lay on the southern border of the Darkfire Forest. The stream continued south to its source somewhere in the woods, skewing right with the building site of Wally’s Wonderland in the distance, further up the hill. I decided this was where we would halt and head home for lunch.

  More than ever, reality seemed heightened. The stillness, sweaty heat, glimmering sunshine dancing through branches, bouncing off the stream… It all fused together, slowing time down into a kind of meandering trance. Jason and I had enjoyed a boisterous time together, but now we ambled along the stream path in silence, as the cottages at the foot of Darkfire Forest came into view. They lay on the opposite side of the path, their thatched roofs and well-tended vegetable gardens gradually revealed as the path wound to the right. Absorbed in the hazy tranquillity, I halted.

  That’s when I first heard the singing.

  The high, clear, beautiful voice of a girl rang out across the stream.

  At first, I couldn’t see her, but her song carried through the still air like a magic spell. I tried to locate the source of the music. My eyes wandered across the water, through a patch of reed and tussock, to the foot of a great oak tree. A young teenage girl emerged from behind the trunk, still singing. She wore a bright summer dress and held a marigold. I couldn’t see her face properly, as her long auburn hair hid her features. Almost ritualistically, she took the marigold to the edge of the stream and began to pluck at the petals, throwing them into the water one at a time. I watched in fascination, listening to catch the words of her song.

It’s over again, no longer together.

But dry your tears, they’re not forever.

Another comes, to take the rein.

The cycle begins again.

Earth, air, water, flame.

The cycle begins again.

  We watched for a while, before Jason got bored, wandered to a nearby willow tree, and started to climb. I remained transfixed, staring at the girl beneath the oak tree, plucking the petals and throwing them into the stream. After about a minute, she turned and caught my eye. Bright blue eyes shone across the water, captivating me in their gaze. For the briefest of seconds, she appeared startled, but the flicker of surprise passed from her face almost immediately. She smiled, as though she were expecting me. A strange dizziness came upon me, and I stumbled where I stood.

  The girl resumed her singing, continuing until she had finished plucking the petals. She discarded the stalk with the final note, staring across the water towards me. I remained arrested in the dreamlike stillness, sensing something had taken place between us, though I didn’t know what.

  ‘I’m Tanith,’ the girl said.

  ‘Nick,’ I replied. I indicated my brother, who was busy climbing the willow tree. ‘That’s Jason.’

  Tanith’s eyes made a brief dart in Jason’s direction, before snapping back to me.

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Fourteen. How old are you?’

  ‘Fifteen. Come over here a moment.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I want to ask you something, but I want to whisper.’

  Too intrigued to refuse, I made my way down the bank to a rocky place in the stream. The crossing was easy enough, but I took more care than usual, not wanting to trip and fall in the water, thus embarrassing myself in front of Tanith.

  Whilst climbing the bank on the other side, I again became acutely aware of the bubbling stream, still air, hazy heat, distant birdsong… It all blended like a peculiar enchantment. I couldn’t take my eyes off Tanith and wondered at how she drew me in like a fish on a hook. Suddenly self-conscious, I turned away, staring determinedly at the grass, the reeds, and back across to Jason, busy having fun in the willow tree.

  ‘Look at me,’ Tanith said.

  Her tone was commanding, but beguiling. She appraised me, and I felt uncomfortable, as though I were standing before her naked.

  Presently, she nodded. ‘Scruffy, a bit smelly, but you’ve got kind eyes. I think you’re safe.’

  ‘Safe?’

  ‘I can tell straight away if people are safe. It’s a gift. My grandma taught me how to do it. Look into a person’s eyes and see inside their soul.’

  Tanith was certainly beautiful, but all this weirdness started to annoy me. ‘Look, what did you drag me across here for?’

  ‘I wanted to ask you a question.’

  ‘What question?’

  Tanith leaned closer. My heart began to speed up, and once again I felt dizzy. For one thrilling, terrifying second, I thought she was going to kiss me. But then she placed her mouth close to my ear and whispered.

Death nest, Simon dillon, 2023.

Want know what Tanith whispered to Nick? Check out Death Nest, which is out now in paperback or on Kindle from Amazon (click here for the UK, and here for the US). It’s also available from Smashwords and their various outlets.

Death Nest: Chapter 1 Excerpt

Here’s a taster of my new novel Death Nest, taken from the beginning of chapter 1.

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  This is the third time in as many weeks I’ve been called into school to speak to Ben’s teacher. Only last week, Mrs Trench complained of him swearing in class. The week before he got into a scuffle with another child. This time, the incident is serious enough to involve the head teacher, Mr Brown – a scrawny young man in his late twenties. From behind his desk, he addresses me in condescending tones.

‘Mr Unwin, we’re concerned about Ben. Deeply concerned. As you know, he’s been swearing at teachers, getting into fights…’

  ‘He got into one fight, and that was self-defence,’ I cut in.

  ‘He really ought to have found a teacher, and resolved the matter that way,’ says Mrs Trench, a thin, wraithlike figure sitting to my left.

  I shrug. ‘And that teaches him what, exactly? Do you think crying to HR is going to help him when he gets treated unfairly in the workplace? People have to fight their own battles. Ben didn’t start that fight, but he finished it fairly and proportionately. The fact that he’s learned that at his age is reason to be proud of him, not to punish him.’

  Mr Brown sighs. ‘We’re not here to discuss that, or the swearing.’

  ‘I really don’t see why you were so shocked by the swearing.’

  ‘We were concerned about what he might be watching on television,’ Mrs Trench says.

  I laugh. ‘Children pick up swear words at school and often don’t know what they mean. He’s seven, for God’s sake! He wasn’t trying to be aggressive.’

  Mr Brown passes me an open exercise book. ‘Ben wrote this, as part of an English exercise to write a story about taking a walk in the woods. We expected the children to write about trees, blackberry bushes, acorns, conkers, animals they might have glimpsed, and so on. However, Ben’s story is… somewhat different.’

  I scan the story. Ben’s handwriting is excellent, and his word usage articulate and vivid. I get that familiar surge of pride. He’s a very bright child.

  As the story progresses, my pride turns to unease.

  I took Sebastian into the woods to kill him. He didn’t know, and I didn’t want to tell him, because I knew how much killing him would hurt. Sebastian doesn’t understand, but there’s bad inside him, and the only way to get the bad out of him, is for him to die. So I took him deep into the trees, where we were all alone, and no one would hear him screaming. Then I stabbed him with a dagger I’d secretly brought with me. There was a lot of blood. He cried and kept asking me to stop. But I didn’t stop. I had to get rid of the bad inside him.

  At the end of the story is a gruesome illustration featuring a stick figure next to a tree with a dagger in his hand, standing over another stick figure on the ground, who appears to be bleeding out. Mr Brown and Mrs Trench scrutinise me as I look up from the picture. It is understandable why they found Ben’s story alarming. But I suppress my own creeping fears and shrug.

  ‘Yes, it’s a disturbing story, but lots of children write about dark things to express morbid fascination and macabre curiosity about violence and death. Typically, they grow out of this later in life, and don’t become killers.’

  ‘Do you know who this Sebastian might be?’ Mr Brown asks.

  I shake my head. ‘We don’t know a Sebastian, unless there’s someone called Sebastian that Ben knows in school. Is there?’

  ‘There are no Sebastians in the school,’ Mrs Trench says.

  ‘Look, obviously he’s just made him up, like the rest of the story. He doesn’t actually want to kill anyone.’

  ‘What do you make of this bit where he talks about killing Sebastian, to get rid of the bad inside him?’ Mr Brown asks.

  ‘I couldn’t say.’

  ‘We think it might be advisable to seek counselling for Ben. Between the fights, the swearing, and now this violent story, the opinion of a professional…’

  ‘The incidents are unrelated,’ I interrupt. ‘Yes, this is a peculiar story, but I really think it’s nothing to be concerned about. As I said, children often express themselves in unsettling ways that have a rawness, curiosity, and honesty to them, that perhaps…’

  ‘Mr Unwin, please remind me what it is that you do for a living?’

  ‘I help design computer games, but I don’t see how that’s relevant.’

  ‘My point is you are not medically qualified to make judgements about Ben’s mental wellbeing.’

  ‘As his father, I think I am exceptionally qualified. There is nothing wrong with my son.’ I glare at Mr Brown and Mrs Trench, trying to remain calm.

  Mrs Trench exchanges glances with Mr Brown and addresses me with a horrible expression of phoney pity. ‘Forgive me for asking Mr Unwin, but how long has it been since your wife passed?’   I stand, fuming inwardly. ‘I’m finished here. Thank you for your concern.’

Death nest, Simon dillon, 2023.

Death Nest is out now, in paperback or on Kindle from Amazon (click here for the UK, and here for the US). It’s also available from Smashwords and their various outlets.

Phantom Audition: The Opening

Here’s the first part of the first chapter of my recently re-released gothic mystery novel Phantom Audition:

What Mia noticed most was the silence.

She kept expecting to hear Steven’s voice, or the insistent thud of his feet, as he rehearsed his lines, pacing up and down. She expected to hear him on the phone to his agent, publicist, or to a director.

In the mornings, she no longer heard his absurd singing in the shower. His seat at the breakfast table stood empty. Mia would avert her eyes, unable to bear staring at the space he should occupy. He should be sipping his tea, scrolling through his phone, crunching his cereal… Silence chewed the room instead, like wind and rain gnawing an eroding landscape.

At nights, Mia would awaken and roll over, hoping to warm herself on his body. But Steven wasn’t there, and he wasn’t coming back. He had been replaced with the same terrible silence that screamed, clawed, and tore at her mind whenever she entered the rooms that still had his smell. The memory of her husband had stained the entire house.

Mia had always thought the mansion ludicrously big for the pair of them, but now more than ever she felt the size of the place. A curious unease lingered, as though the carpets, furniture, paintings, and ornaments had turned against her. She felt like a stranger in her own home, imagining everything around her glared in frowning disapproval. Perhaps her presence was a desecration.

One Monday morning a month after the funeral, the unpleasant sensation of feeling watched by the house became too much, and Mia yelled out into the silence.

‘It’s my bloody home too!’

The house responded without mercy, making every tiny tick of the clock an intolerable cacophony. Mia put her hands over her ears. She knew her behaviour was absurd, but the curious mixture of anger and fear that stirred within her had taken her by surprise. Sadness at Steven’s passing was to be expected, but she had not expected to feel so defensive or fearful. Perhaps bewilderment at the events leading up to his suicide by drug overdose still had her on edge.

Even though she still wore her dressing gown, Mia continued to sit in the morning room, on an ornate Elizabethan chair that matched other antique furniture in the room from the same period. Occupying this chair felt like a strangely defiant act, as though she were challenging the house itself. Steven’s ancestors glared down at her from portraits on the wall. His home was now hers, and sooner or later, the ancestors would just have to accept it.

‘It’s my bloody home,’ Mia muttered. ‘Deal with it.’

‘A-hem!’

Mia leapt out of the chair and spun towards the doorway. A middle-aged woman in a maid’s uniform stood there, her face unsmiling and severe.

‘Liza… Good God, you made me jump!’

‘Ma’am,’ said Liza. ‘I apologise for startling you. I know I’m a little early.’

‘Yes, yes, of course… Is it Monday already?’

Liza didn’t reply. Her eyes bored into Mia.

‘Of course it’s Monday.’

Mia looked down, avoiding Liza’s glare. Eventually the maid spoke again.

‘I can come back to this room later if you like, ma’am.’

‘No, no, that’s fine. I’ll get out of your way. I need to have a shower really.’

Mia scurried out of the morning room and headed back up the main staircase to the west wing. She locked herself in her bathroom, feeling very foolish. Her heart beat a little faster as she tried to get a grip on herself, staring into the mirror.

‘It’s my bloody home. Mine.’

But it didn’t feel like her home. Liza Richards, a hired cleaner who came in on most days, had been employed by the Yardley family for years, and her demeanour was more like that of a proud, old-school housekeeper. That Mia had leapt out of the Elizabethan chair when challenged by Liza, as though she were some disobedient child, underscored to Mia yet again that she felt threatened by Elm House, the ancestral home of her late husband, the renowned actor Steven Yardley.

Renowned actor.

Renowned.

Perhaps that was the problem. Steven had been renowned in many ways. Rich family. Successful acting career. What was she in comparison? Mia recalled the whispers when they had married three years previously, that she was little more than a gold-digging, hack bit-part actress. Such rumours never bothered her whilst Steven had been alive, for they were utterly false. She and Steven had loved one another with an enviable passion. Their marriage had been one made for the right reasons. What did it matter what anyone else thought?

However, since Steven’s death, after inheriting everything, it had been impossible not to feel this resentment amid icy stares at the funeral, and at the reading of the will.

‘My bloody home…’

Tears streamed down Mia’s face as she stared into the mirror. She felt utterly pathetic. A part of her wanted to return downstairs to the morning room. She wanted to place herself in that Elizabethan chair with her arms folded, reading the paper, and glaring at Liza as she went about her cleaning duties. But she felt so utterly defeated. Her stomach twisted, and she felt sick. She slumped to the floor, bent double, sobbing.

‘Steven… Steven…’

She allowed herself a moment to cry. But after a couple of minutes of anguish, Mia took a deep breath, wiped her face, and stood up again. She couldn’t allow Liza to see her like this. She had to be strong.

Mia took a shower then headed to her bedroom to get dressed. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of lurking upstairs until Liza had finished, but part of her despised such a cowardly notion. Why should she want to avoid Liza? She was an employee. Besides, the gardener was due to arrive soon, and she had to give him instructions.

Mia returned downstairs to the kitchen. She made herself a cup of tea and sat at the kitchen table for a few minutes. Still the silence taunted, but Mia ignored it.

Outside, the mid-February drizzle threatened to become a downpour. Staring out of the window towards the driveway, her eyes came to rest on a large horse chestnut tree amid the extensive gardens. The branches were stark and bare right now, but Mia recalled Steven’s fondness for that particular tree, and the significance it had held for him throughout his entire life. Mia briefly closed her eyes, remembering a summer’s day when they had sat beneath the horse chestnut tree in the warm afternoon sun, with the lingering scent of freshly cut grass and white roses. She could still taste the honey on her lips and his. She recalled the wasp sting that had rudely interrupted their passionate kiss. Placing her hand to her arm, she rubbed the place where the wasp had struck. Was it her imagination or was there still a scar?

For more, pick up your copy of Phantom Audition in paperback or ebook here (in the UK), and here (in the US). Or you can click here, to download the book from Smashwords.

The Irresistible Summons: Prologue

My horror/supernatural thriller novel The Irresistible Summons has recently been re-released with a new cover. It’s probably the scariest of my ghostly gothic mysteries, particularly in the final section of the book. However, here’s the prologue, which I promise it’s safe to read even if your nerves aren’t up to reading the rest of the novel.

FIRE INVESTIGATION CONCLUDES: TRAGIC ACCIDENT

A tragic electrical accident started the fire that consumed 22 Bainbridge Close, fire brigade investigators have ruled. The inferno, which killed all members of the Lane family, shocked the local community to its core, on the 17th September 2001. In their concluding remarks, investigators once again reiterated the importance of fitting smoke alarms and urged for campaigns to raise awareness.

Naomi stood at Toby Lane’s grave, clutching the same tattered local newspaper article she had read again and again over the past year. Murky skies blocked out the sun and a chill wind blew in from the east. St Mary’s church – a medieval granite building with a pointed bell tower – loomed behind her. Tree branches creaked and blew in the wind, amid a light drizzle. Naomi’s eyes fell on the article again.

‘I know there were smoke alarms. I remember seeing them just before we…’

Her voice faltered. The memories were overpowering. She had been sixteen, Toby seventeen. Out of the corner of her eye, she had glimpsed said smoke alarms during a moment when she had been greatly distracted by other matters. But the alarms had been there, even if she had only seen them for a second before her eyes closed.

Naomi had been too overwhelmed with shock and grief to tell anyone about the smoke alarms. Nor did she have reason to think there was anything suspicious about the way the fire brigade had arrived at an incorrect conclusion.

For many months, Toby’s memory tormented the utterly broken-hearted Naomi. She half-expected to see him in the streets, on the beach, in the woods, or the other secret places they had visited together. When she was alone, Naomi imagined Toby’s spirit in the room with her. She would hold imaginary conversations with him, anticipating responses and acting as though he were really present.

Often these conversations were later followed by dreams. In these dreams, Naomi conversed with Toby, clinging to every moment they had together, willing herself not to wake up.

During one such dream, Toby spoke a single sentence that haunted her throughout the years that followed.

We can be together again.

For a long time Naomi wondered if this was a subconscious, suicidal urge to join Toby in death. But as months went by, she became less convinced, and eventually dismissed the dream as little more than a small, desperate part of her burning love that refused to be entirely snuffed out by the passage of time.

‘I miss you,’ she whispered.

Naomi welled up as she placed a handful of crocuses next to the gravestone, knowing Toby would have understood the significance.

A tall figure in dark robes ambled along the nearby path. Reverend Patrick Mortimer had presided over the Lane family funeral. His bony, severe cheekbones had frightened her as a child, but now she observed a comforting warmth in his hazel eyes.

‘A year to the day,’ said Reverend Mortimer. ‘Still hard to take in, isn’t it? Thousands of people die in New York. Then six days later, our community experiences a tragedy just as devastating, in its own way.’

Naomi nodded. ‘I feel like part of me is still missing.’

‘Part of you always will be. People talk about getting over the loss of a loved one, but that isn’t how it works.’

‘So what can I do?’ Fresh tears filled Naomi’s eyes. She didn’t know the vicar well, and she knew her parents would much prefer she had a conversation such as this with one of their own congregation rabbis. Yet she felt drawn to the Reverend, perhaps on account of his refreshing bluntness.

‘The distance of time will enable you to come to terms with it,’ said Reverend Mortimer. ‘Then you will see the life of the person as someone who entered your life for a season, and was important. But they will always be missing, so a part of you will be too.’

‘It hurts so much,’ said Naomi.

‘Of course it hurts. If I cut off your finger, that would hurt too. In time the skin and flesh would heal, and you would no longer feel pain. But you would still be missing a finger.’

The words Toby had spoken in the dream returned to her mind.

We can be together again.

‘Do you believe in life after death?’

The Reverend smiled. ‘I’d be pretty bad at my job if I said no.’

‘What about ghosts?’

‘I don’t believe the dead return to watch over the living. Yet there are spirits in this world of an altogether different origin.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean be careful what you wish for, Naomi Levinson.’

With those words, the Reverend turned and walked away. Naomi stared after him for a second and then returned her gaze to Toby’s headstone. 1984 – 2001. A short life for someone with such promise. What had God been thinking, allowing him to die in a house fire? Naomi’s parents had brought her up to believe in God, but right now she found it difficult to believe he cared about humans, especially someone as lonely as her. Toby Lane had understood her, and she had trusted him completely. Now that he was gone, the isolation felt all but unbearable.

Yet over time, Reverend Mortimer was proven correct. Although Naomi felt as though she had a spiritual missing limb, the pain eased. When she eventually came to terms with the loss of Toby, she no longer gave the Lane family smoke alarms a second thought. Only years later did the tragic events of the 17th of September 2001 cast their sinister shadow over the present.

Intrigued? Here’s the blurb from the back of the novel:

How far would you go to bring the one you love back from the dead?

Television producer Naomi Levinson makes documentaries debunking the supernatural. When asked to film a promotional video for computer game company Persephone, she considers the task beneath her talents. But as production gets underway at the Persephone office block on London’s Canary Wharf, a mysterious disappearance, ghostly sightings, and lingering tragedy from Naomi’s past lead her to believe she might have stumbled into a genuine haunting.

As Naomi continues to investigate, past and present collide in a horrifying conspiracy. Cutting edge technology and ancient evil meet, leading to the discovery of a shocking and terrifying secret that could change the nature of life and death as we know it.

To pick up your copy of The Irresistible Summons in paperback or ebook click here (in the UK), and here (in the US). Or you can click here, to download the book from Smashwords.

Peaceful Quiet Lives: Second Excerpt

My latest novel, Peaceful Quiet Lives, is out now. Last year, this post revealed the opening of the novel. Here’s a taster from early in the second half.

‘You will be expected here, at the Department of Tolerance, to begin your Enlightenment Conditioning classes tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp.’

‘Thank you. What about Eve?’

‘As I said, we are not quite finished with her.’

‘But how will I reach her?’

‘She will be told where you are staying in due course, and obviously we will rehouse her as well. For the time being, you cannot have any contact with her.’

I stare at Adams and Lucas. Something isn’t right.

‘What aren’t you telling me about Eve?’

‘We have told you everything. She simply needs further time for processing. Remember, she has been the victim of patriarchal oppression in a society that hates women. She has suffered a lot more than you, and we need further time to ensure she is not a political threat.’

‘A political threat? You just said she was a victim!’

‘It is precisely because she was a victim that she could be a political threat. Women who are oppressed the way Eve has been oppressed will often fall back on expected behaviour patterns, even unconsciously. We need to be sure that she will not display or even encourage such behaviour in the DEAR.’

I can scarcely believe my ears. ‘You’re telling me you’re worried Eve will go around telling women in the DEAR that they need to be subservient to men?’

‘I don’t think she would do so intentionally,’ Lucas says. ‘But we have to be sure, nonetheless.’

I slump back in my chair, unable to believe my ears. ‘This is farcical. Just spend some time with Eve. Have a conversation with her. She is one of the strongest, boldest, most independent people you will ever meet. She has such a great sense of humour, and she is…’

‘Ah yes, humour… Another area where you and Eve will doubtless require Enlightenment Conditioning.’

‘Humour?’

‘Given the situations you were in, I expect you and Eve used dark, offensive, and insensitive humour as a means of coming to terms with your predicament. Here we cannot allow such things. There is no need for it, and such jokes will only cause distress.’

‘You want to make sure we don’t make the wrong jokes?’

‘The Department of Tolerance has many sub-divisions, including an Office of Humour, which regularly advises citizens on what is and isn’t funny.’

I burst out laughing. ‘You can’t legislate humour!’

‘Humour isn’t a laughing matter, Sam. It can be perverted into a terrible weapon of oppressive propaganda.’

‘Eve and I are hardly Goebbels! We’re just two people who love each other and want to live together in peace. I can assure you we will not make offensive jokes to anyone else.’

‘That is good Sam. But we must also make sure you don’t make them to each other. As I said, you will both require Enlightenment Conditioning, if you wish to live as successful citizens in the DEAR.’

Intrigued? Here’s the blurb from the back of the book.

Two Nations Under God. Can their love survive in either nation?

Life, love, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are a distant dream for Sam and Eve. Their forbidden love falls foul of laws in both nations born from the ashes of the Second American Civil War.

A satire of political and religious fears, Peaceful Quiet Lives is a thought-provoking and powerful dystopian future shock.

Peaceful Quiet Lives is available as a download or paperback from Amazon. Order your copy here (in the UK) or here (in the US). It is also available at Smashwords here.

Peaceful Quiet Lives: The First 400 Words

My latest novel, Peaceful Quiet Lives, is out now.

Here’s the first 400ish words, as a taster.

The morality inspectors are late.

  I glance at my watch. 7:37am. They were supposed to be here seven minutes ago. Typically a morality inspection of a premises the size of my apartment takes a good twenty minutes, not allowing for nervous small talk, or, if you know the inspectors well, salacious tales of impounded illegal political materials, banned books, films, drugs, alcohol, pornography, and so forth.

  Morality inspectors are usually punctual to a fault, but if they don’t turn up soon, I’ll have to re-book my bi-annual inspection, or I’ll end up missing the train and be late for work.

  I peer at the cloudy skies above the city. My apartment lies within a tall grey high-rise building, on the ninth floor, and I have a good view to the south. The streets are already busy, filled with rushing commuters getting on buses, entering metro stations, or driving their vehicles. The crowds are bad enough as it is in the morning, but they’ll be even worse if I end up leaving later due to tardy morality inspectors.

  Tardy. That’s a word I never used back in England before the Catastrophe. I’ve picked up many words living the last twenty years in the New Puritan American Republic. Other words I’ve had to stop using. Not unless I want an on-the-spot fine for contravening the Profanity Act.

  A knock at the door indicates the morality inspectors have finally arrived. 7:39am. A full nine minutes late. Shaking my head and tutting, I open the door to find Inspector Chuck Willis red faced and quite flustered, alongside two younger men in their early twenties.

  ‘I’m so sorry Sam,’ Chuck says. ‘I know we’re running late. Contraband incident in the apartment we inspected before yours. Do you still want to do this now? Or do you want to reschedule?’

  ‘No, best to get it over with,’ I say, indicating for Chuck to come in.

  Chuck and the two younger men enter my apartment. They are dressed in the austere manner of all morality inspectors, as though attending a funeral: black trousers, ties, shoes, and jackets, embossed with a lapel depicting a black crucifix on a white background surrounded by the black outline of a five pointed star; the NPAR flag. The only difference is like all government officials, they are required to carry handguns.

Intrigued? Here’s the blurb from the back of the book.

Two Nations Under God. Can their love survive in either nation?

Life, love, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are a distant dream for Sam and Eve. Their forbidden love falls foul of laws in both nations born from the ashes of the Second American Civil War.

A satire of political and religious fears, Peaceful Quiet Lives is a thought-provoking and powerful dystopian future shock.

Peaceful Quiet Lives is available as a download or paperback from Amazon. Order your copy here (in the UK) or here (in the US). Alternatively, it can be ordered from Smashwords here.

An excerpt from Echo and the White Howl

Here’s an excerpt from my latest novel, Echo and the White Howl. An animal fiction adventure for all ages, this segment is from chapter 1, just after Echo and the other wolves in his pack successfully hunt an elk amid the snowy Alaskan landscape.

(NOTE: click here for an introduction to some of the characters in the story.)

Echo and the White Howl Cover 10 (FINAL)

The wolf pack howled in triumph for a few seconds. Then Imalik hovered next to the dead beast, his great fangs drooling as though he were about to begin feeding. Aatag immediately approached, and the two wolves stared at one another. Echo watched the scene, and for a moment felt anxious as the two great wolves sized one another up. Aatag was a large grey wolf, with a great bushy tail and deep eyes filled with the experience of many hunts and many winters. His wisdom and cunning over the years meant he bore few scars, and yet there could be no doubt he appeared old. Perhaps as Puyak claimed, he wasn’t quite as sharp and swift in his instincts as he used to be.

Imalik by contrast seemed in his prime. He looked more scarred, but no less cunning. His black furry coat was matted and bloody as a result of the death blow he had inflicted on the bull elk, and one of his dark, steel eyes had an oddly milky texture, as though he were blind. Yet Echo knew Imalik’s eyesight was legendary. He could often see at a longer range than many wolves, seemingly through trees, rocks and beyond.

Copper trotted up to Aatag’s side, and Echo watched as the red wolf stared at Imalik, perhaps silently warning him. As Aatag’s Beta, Imalik would always feast second after Aatag and Kiana, but on more than one occasion he had grumbled about this. For a moment Echo wondered if another argument might ensue, but presently Imalik cocked his ears and head into a submissive pose.

As Alpha, Aatag ate first. He gnawed and chewed at the freshly slain elk whilst the rest of the pack looked on. Echo stood nearby, knowing he would have to wait his turn and that the best and most nourishing parts – the heart, the liver and so forth – would have almost certainly been consumed by then.

Once Aatag had eaten his fill, Kiana ate too. Echo could not fail to notice the resentful glare in Imalik’s eyes as he watched, growling quietly under his breath. But a quelling look from Copper rendered Imalik silent once more.

Puyak trotted up to Echo, planting his paw firmly in the snow with his ears alert, ready to feast on the carcass once permission had been given. He was next in line, then Echo, then Malakai. Finally Imalik and lastly Copper would be allowed to feast. Despite their hunting prowess Imalik and Copper were not cubs of Aatag and Kiana, and as such always came last during feeding. Both had previously been lone wolves; wanderers from other packs that had been allowed to join Aatag’s pack some years ago.

For a moment Echo glanced at Copper. He had less fur than the rest of the pack, and the rusty colouring of the red wolves was not seen as often in their region. Copper had a reputation almost as fierce as that of Aatag, and rival wolf packs for miles around had always kept well clear of their land. However, recently there had been more challenges than usual. With Aatag undertaking fewer patrols in person around the perimeters of their territory, much of the security work had been left to Copper and Imalik. Together they had marked the ground and ruthlessly intimidated any wolves that dared to stray too close to the border.

In the south, near the River Aga where they had caught the elk, there had been a number of recent skirmishes. Copper and Imalik had seen off scouts from at least two different packs over the last month. There had been rumours of aggressive stand-offs, and Imalik had said that challenges to territories further north had left a number of packs wandering, wanting to incur on their ground. Such news had been reported to Aatag, but the Alpha had so far not seemed overly concerned.

As Aatag and Kiana finished feeding, Puyak moved in to eat, but Aatag blocked his path.

‘You broke cover too soon,’ said Aatag. ‘You were impulsive. Because of you the elk could have escaped. Next time be patient, and await my signal.’

‘But you were too slow,’ said Puyak. ‘If we’d waited much longer…’

‘When we hunt in this pack you follow my orders, or you don’t hunt at all,’ said Aatag. ‘Is that clear?’

‘Yes Father.’

‘Good. Now you may eat.’

Aatag’s admonishment of Puyak was not unusual. Puyak was the biggest and bravest of the litter which Malakai and Echo had been born into, but he was also the most reckless and had frequently been warned that his actions could get him killed if he wasn’t careful. Malakai, Puyak and Echo had not been on many hunts, but on virtually every single one they had attended so far, Puyak had been singled out for criticism by his father.

‘He really doesn’t seem to learn,’ Echo said to Malakai.

‘His time will come,’ said Malakai. ‘One day, Puyak will balance wisdom with bravery, just as Father does.’

‘So you always say,’ said Echo.

‘I have faith in all my brothers,’ said Malakai. ‘Some learn quicker, some slower, but the important thing is to learn.’

Echo stared at Malakai, again thinking over what an enigma he was. His brother often seemed distant, elsewhere, and yet he seemed wiser than many wolves that were far older than him.

After Puyak finished eating, Echo finally took his turn. He sank his teeth into the tender flesh, tearing at the skin and gorging himself on the meat of the elk’s hind quarters. He ate until he was completely full, feeling refreshed and nourished following the long and tiring hunt.

Once Echo had finished, he moved away from the elk, knowing that Malakai would feast next. But Malakai didn’t move. His ears were cocked, his eyes wide, and he stared in the direction of the rushing river at their southern border, sniffing the air curiously.

‘What is it?’ asked Echo, barely able to sniff anything beyond their recently caught food.

Malakai didn’t reply. He kept staring fixedly to the south, unmoving and alert. Echo trotted to his side and looked in the same direction but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

‘What do you see?’ Echo repeated. But Malakai didn’t answer. He seemed to be in some kind of trance.

‘Oi, Malakai! You eating or what?’ said Copper.

Still Malakai didn’t move. He continued to gaze into the distance. Echo wondered what could possibly have so captivated his younger brother that he would delay feasting on their newly slain kill.

‘Malakai, go and eat or we go ahead of you,’ said Imalik.

‘That’s not the order we eat in,’ said Echo. ‘You know my father’s rules.’

Imalik growled softly. ‘Only too well… The cubs eat before the older, stronger, more experienced hunters…’

‘It is his law,’ said Puyak. ‘Are you going to stand in the way of it?’

‘The only one standing in the way of anything is Malakai,’ said Imalik. ‘He isn’t feeding, and in the meantime, we are getting hungrier.’

‘We do it Father’s way,’ said Puyak. ‘Malakai eats first.’

‘Malakai, get going,’ said Copper. ‘Snap out of it.’

But Malakai didn’t move. Copper trotted up next to him. ‘What does he see out there?’

For a moment Echo, Puyak, Imalik and Copper all looked towards the River Aga. Aatag and Kiana had curled up nearby, and were snoozing after eating. Echo stared towards the water and the trees beyond, but still could not understand what had so caught Malakai’s attention. The wind had dropped, and every twig and leaf froze. Even the sound of the rushing river seemed to vanish.

Eventually Imalik broke the silence. ‘Enough of this foolishness. I’m feeding now.’

Echo blocked the path between Imalik and the slain elk. ‘No Imalik. We obey the rules of the Alpha.’

‘Your father is asleep,’ said Imalik. ‘Should we wake him and ask whether he thinks it’s reasonable to wait for your dazed brother? Or are you going to do the sensible thing, move out of the way, and let me eat?’

‘We should wait for Malakai,’ said Copper.

‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Imalik. ‘I’m not waiting around for him to snap out of whatever trance he is in.’

‘Nonetheless, that is Aatag’s law, and that is what we will do,’ said Copper.

Imalik began to growl, and for a moment it appeared he and Copper were about to have a stand-off, but at that moment Malakai seemed to come to. He turned and trotted towards the elk and began gnawing at the meat. The others stared at him, bemused. Presently he frowned and addressed them.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘What were you staring at out there?’ asked Echo.

Malakai looked puzzled. ‘I don’t remember.’

But Echo had seen that look on Malakai’s face before. Whatever he had seen, he didn’t want to discuss – at least, not yet. Echo watched as Malakai continued to bite and chew at the elk. Imalik glared darkly at Copper and Echo.

‘Looks like you’ll be waiting your turn after all, Imalik,’ said Echo.

‘One day Echo, I will be first,’ said Imalik.

Aatag and Kiana continued to snooze. Puyak lay down and joined them. Echo also began to feel dozy. Tucking his paws in under his thick coat of fur, he looked out in the direction that Malakai had been staring, again wondering just what it was that had so distracted him from the business of feeding.

When it finally came to his turn to feed, Imalik glared at Malakai as he moved away from the elk. Copper joined Imalik and they both gnawed at opposite ends of the animal. Echo could feel Imalik’s angry stare but chose to ignore it, and instead began to question Malakai.

‘What did you see out there?’ Echo asked. ‘You really did seem absent for a moment.’

‘Not here,’ said Malakai. ‘I’ll tell you later, back at the Crown.’

Echo was intrigued, but said nothing further. Whilst the other wolves rested he kept staring down at the southern territory border, his mind idly wondering what lay beyond.

Echo and the White Howl is out now as a download or paperback from Amazon. Order your copy here.