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I have a treat for you guys tonight!

In lieu of Thursday Night Write (or as part of it, depending on how you look at it), I'm going to spend the next few Thursdays offering you sneak peeks of A TEMPTATION OF ANGELS. I'm also going to surprise you with character studies of Helen (what can't she forgive herself for?), Raum (who is he and what are his intentions?), Anna (the only chink in Darius' armor), the fabulous Channing Boys (what's with the dangerous scar? And which brother has a soft spot for strays?), and anything else in the book I think you might have fun with.

I started writing TEMPTATION in the Spring of 2010. The truth is, I didn't intend for it to be my next book. I had another book I'd been working on since 2006 (before Prophecy even sold) that I presented to my editor, but it turns out, THIS was the one she wanted. I'm so glad she did, because I've been utterly captivated with the world, the characters, the story, and the possibilities for other stories (wink, wink) ever since.

I hope you guys are are as excited to read it as I am to share it with you. And don't forget you can claim your free bookplate (signed and personalized) and bookmark by sending your preorder receipt (digital, taken with your phone, or however else you want to do it) to prophecy press@aol.com by the end of the month.

Most of the excerpts I'm going to post will be shorter than this one, but tonight you get the whole first chapter. Enjoy!

Though it was late, it was not the sound of arguing that

woke Helen in the dead of night.

She lay in bed for a long time after retiring, listening to the

rise and fall of voices coming from the library. It was a familiar

sound, comforting rather than worrisome. Her mother

and father often met with the others, though the meetings

had become more frequent and heated of late. Yet, there was

something about this night, the cadence of these voices—

however familiar—that made Helen's nerves tingle, as if they

were humming too close to the surface of her skin.

At first, she tried to decipher the words drifting through

the vents set into the floor of her chambers, especially when

they sounded in her father's familiar baritone or the strong,

clear voice of her mother. But after a while, Helen gave up,

opting instead to let her mind wander as she stared at the

canopy above her head.

Her thoughts settled on the morning's fencing exercises

and her argument with Father. It was not the first time she

had rebelled against the recent addition to her curriculum.

She still failed to see how fencing could contribute anything

to her schooling, but Father's word was law when it came to

her education. He knew well that Helen's prowess lay in the

strategy of chess, in the logic problems and cryptographs she

could solve faster than he, not in the agile movement required

of her on the ballroom floor where they practiced fencing.

Still, he pushed. Using the foil out of deference to her inexperience

was his only concession. Were Father working with one

of his usual sparring partners, he would, without question,

have used his saber. Now, in the muffled quiet of her bedchamber,

Helen vowed that in time Father would use a saber with

her as well.

She didn't remember slipping into the emptiness of sleep,

and she did not awaken gently. It was the sound of hurried

footsteps down the hall that caused her to sit up in bed, her

heart racing. She did not have time to contemplate the possibilities

before the door was thrown open, candlelight from the

sconces in the hall throwing strange shadows across the walls

and floor of her sleeping chamber.

Scooting to the headboard, she pulled the coverlet to her

chin, too frightened to be ashamed for her childish behavior.

"You must get out of bed, Helen. Now."

The voice was her mother's. She moved into the darkness

of the room, the strange shadows disappearing as she crossed

to the dressing table. She fumbled with something—the

glass jars and scent decanters atop the vanity clinking noisily

together.

"But . . . it's the middle of the night!"

Her mother turned then, and a shaft of light from the hall

illuminated the valise in her hand. The realization that her

mother was packing, packing Helen's things, blew like a hurricane

through the confusion of her mind. Her mother was

across the room in seconds, leaning over the bed and speaking

close to her face.

"You're in grave danger, Helen." Her mother pulled the

coverlet from Helen's shivering body. Her nightdress was

twisted around her thighs, and the cold air bit her skin as her

mother's hand encircled her arm, already pulling her from the

warmth of her bed. "Now, come."

The carpets were cool under Helen's bare feet as she was

led to the wall next to the wardrobe. Her mother reached into

the bodice of her gown, pulling from it a chain with something

dangling at its end. It caught the light spilling in from the hall,

glimmering faintly in the darkness as her mother removed it

from her neck. Fear coiled like a snake in Helen's stomach as

her mother pushed aside the large mirror in the corner, bending

to the paneled wall behind it. She continued speaking as

she worked something against the plaster.

"I know you won't understand. Not yet. But someday you

will, and until then you must trust me."

Helen was oddly speechless. It was not that she had nothing

to say. Nothing to ask. She simply had so many questions that

they washed over her like waves, one right after the other. She

had no time to formulate one before the next carried it away.

She could not make out what her mother was doing, bent forward

in the darkness, head tipped to the wall, but she listened

as something scratched against the wallpaper. A moment later,

her mother straightened, and a door swung outward, revealing

a hole in the plaster.

Even in the dark, Helen saw tenderness in her mother's eyes

as she reached out, pulling Helen roughly against her body. In

her mother's hair, Helen smelled roses from the garden, and

on the fine surface of her mother's skin, the books to which

her head was always bent. They were a memory all their own.

"Helen . . . Helen," her mother murmured. "You must

remember one thing." She pulled back, looking into Helen's

eyes. "You know more than you think. Whatever else you discover,

remember that."

Voices erupted from downstairs, and though the words

themselves were indistinct, it was obvious they were spoken

in anger or fear. Her mother dared a glance at the door before

turning back to Helen with renewed fervor.

"Take this." She thrust a piece of crumpled paper into Helen's

hand. "Take it and sit very quietly, until you know they're

gone. There is a stair that will lead you beneath the house and

back up again farther down the road. Join with Darius and

Griffin. The address is here. They will take you to Galizur. You

have everything you need, but you must be silent as you make

your escape. If they hear you, they will find you." She paused,

forcing Helen's chin up so that she was looking straight into

her eyes. "And this is important, Helen: If they find you, they

will kill you."

"I won't leave you!" Helen cried.

"Listen to me." Her mother's voice became firmer, almost

angry as she grabbed hold of Helen's shoulders. "You will do

this, Helen. You will get out of here alive, whatever else happens.

Otherwise, it's all for nothing. Do you understand?"

Helen shook her head. "No! Mother, please tell me what's

happening!" But she already knew her mother would not.

Already knew, somehow, that they were out of time.

Her mother lifted the chain from around her neck, placing

it around Helen's. A key at the end of it fell to the front of her

nightdress.

Holding her daughter's face between her hands, Helen's

mother leaned in to kiss her forehead. "Lock the door from

the inside. Use the pendant to light your way—but don't

make a move until you are certain they won't hear you. And

be safe, my love."

Helen was shoved into the hole in the wall, the valise

pressed against her until she had no choice but to wrap her

arms around it. She ducked, stumbling through the small

doorway, trying not to smack her head. Her mother paused

one last time, as if reconsidering, and then, without another

word, she began to push the door closed. She became a smaller

and smaller sliver, disappearing bit by bit until she was gone

entirely in the small click of the door.

"Lock it, Helen. Now." Her mother's voice was a hiss from

the other side of the wall. Helen fought a surge of panic as she

heard the wallpaper smoothed over the keyhole, the mirror

dragged over the opening to her hiding place.

It was worse than dark inside the wall. It was as if she had

fallen into nothingness. She set the bag down, feeling for its

clasp in the darkness. She had no idea what was on the piece

of paper her mother had given her, but it was damp with the

sweat of her palm. She couldn't read it now if she wanted to,

and she pushed it inside the bag.

She reached for the chain around her neck until she found

the key at its end. Grasping it in one hand, she fumbled around

the edge of the wall in front of her with the other, trying to

locate the lock she knew must be there. Her hands shook with

rising panic. The door cut into the wall was almost seamless,

making it nearly impossible to find in the darkness. She was

on her third pass when she finally felt a slim line in the plaster.

Running her fingers slowly over it, she felt for the keyhole. It

seemed like far too long before she finally came upon it.

She was trying to fit the key in the lock when noise burst

from somewhere beyond the chamber. She could not fathom

its direction, for she was wrapped in the muffled cocoon of

wood and plaster that was her hiding place. Still, she strained

to decipher the sound. She thought she heard shouting . . .

weeping. And then a crash that caused her to startle. The key

dropped from her hand, falling with a clink to the floor. She

hesitated only a moment.

Whatever was happening was going to get worse before the

night was over.

Feeling along the floor for the key, Helen tried to ignore

the noise from the rest of the house. Her hiding place was not

large, and it only took a few moments for her fingers to close

around the chain attached to the key. She grasped it carefully

in one hand and felt again for the keyhole. This time, it didn't

take long.

Using both hands, she lined the key up with the hole in a

couple of tries, turning it quickly and scooting away from the

hidden door until her back stopped against a solid block of

wood. She had only a few moments, a few precious moments

of silence, before she heard the thud of boot steps.

At first the footfalls were distant. Helen thought they would

pass her chamber completely, but it wasn't long before they

grew louder and louder and she knew they were inside her

room. She had a flash of hope. Hope that it was Father coming

to get her. To tell her that whatever danger had been in the

house had gone. But she knew it wasn't him when the boot

steps slowed. There was no rush to the door of her tiny room

to free her from its darkness.

Instead, the footsteps made a slow pass of her chamber

before stopping suddenly in front of the hiding place.

Helen tried to slow her shallow breathing as she waited for

the footsteps to move away, but they didn't. Whoever had

entered her chamber was still there. She held as still as possible,

attempting to calm her mind with the knowledge that

she had spent many hours in the room, and there had never

been any hint of the secret door, even during times of bright

sunlight. Surely this stranger would not be able to see the

opening in the dark of night and with her great dressing mirror

pushed in front of it.

For a few seconds, it worked. She began to breathe a little

easier in the silence.

But that was before the room outside exploded into riotous

noise. Before she heard the dressing table cleared of its

bottles and jars, the glass thudding against the carpets and

shattering against the wood floorboards. Before she heard the

bureau overturned, the armoire pushed over. And yes, before

she heard the heavy carved mirror guarding her hiding place

tipped to the floor, the glass shattering into a million pieces.