Joshua Bader's Blog: How I Learned to Love the Bomb - Posts Tagged "excerpt"

I've been dropping a few quotes on Twitter from the book and realized most of them are coming from the same scene. Since we're sitting at 2 weeks to the day until it comes out, I thought I would share that scene with everybody. Enjoy the excerpt and thanks for the support. I can't wait till everyone can read it on June 21.

“Mister Fisher. Sit, please.” His voice fit both the outfit and the aura. I thought I heard a slight Boston accent on the r’s, more “ah” than “er”. I did as he asked, taking up residence in the booth across from him.
With gloved hand, he produced an ivory white business card and slid it across to me. In silver letters, “Lucien Valente” had been embossed in the center of the card. No phone numbers, titles, or e-mail addresses cluttered it; only his name appeared. While I inspected it, he removed the glove before grabbing a piece of toast off his plate and holding it out to me. “Take, eat.”
“Do this in remembrance of me?” I added.
“Something like that. I know many of your kind regard guest right as important. It’s not… kosher to harm someone you’ve shared a meal with.”
I nodded. “Many Arab tribes believe it makes men family until the next sunrise. Refusing to eat is almost an act of war.” I accepted the bread and took a nibble. “I hope you don’t mind if I order my own plate for the rest.”
He smiled, but said nothing until after our waitress came and left. I ordered a coffee, a tall stack of pancakes, fried eggs, and hash browns. I was on his tab, I assumed, and I was never one to skimp on a free meal. It’s like the twelfth law of wizarding, I think.
“Colin Fisher.” He rolled my name around on his tongue. “Do you know who I am?”
“Lucien Valente?” I ventured.
He nodded.
“Never heard of you before… though I must say I’m impressed so far.”
“Are you familiar with Valente International?”
I racked my brain for a moment. “Big multi-national conglomerate. Owns that coffee chain and the dollar discount stores.”
“Among other things. I like to keep my interests diversified. I also don’t care for advertising my success. Bill Gates, I’m not.”
I let out a low whistle. I had friends in environmental movements who liked to go on long rants about the evils of multinationals. The more I thought about it, the more I recalled Valente International being spoken of in a tone of voice generally reserved for topics such as Nazis or terrorists. “That Lucien Valente, huh?”
“Yes, Mister Fisher.” He paused for a sip of his coffee. I noticed he drank it black, a trait I associated with strong character and honesty, probably because it matched my own preference. “Miss Deluce seems to think I should hire you on as my personal wizard. Was that her idea or yours?”
“Hers. I didn’t know who her boss was. And Duchess didn’t strike me as someone whose opinion could be pushed around or manipulated. If she says she thought of it, she must have.”
“No,” he conceded. “She is an exceptionally stubborn secretary.” I must have cocked an eyebrow in surprise, because he responded to my body language. “Yes, secretary, executive assistant, whatever the in-fashion term is. She provides external order to my life and activities, and acts in my stead when I am otherwise engaged. I believe the archaic term suits her better: she is my seneschal.”
We sat in silence after that. My breakfast arrived and I began to eat. I could tell Lucien was waiting for something, but I didn’t have a clue what. So I attended to what I did understand: blueberry syrup atop hot golden pancakes.
I was four or five bites in when Lucien started to laugh. “I give up, Mister Fisher. I’ve had twelve other personal wizards before you. Most were con artists or one-trick ponies. Near worthless. But I think I like you.”
I had enough etiquette to swallow before replying. “Why’s that?”
“You’re not trying to impress me. No dire prophecies of doom or demonstrations of power. You don’t need to. That’s the sign of real power, isn’t it? When you don’t feel the need to show it off, it means you really have it.”
“I know a little,” I confessed. “Enough to know that I’m not the biggest fish in the sea. But my luck and love spells pack a mean punch.” My last luck spell, in fact, had accidentally killed its recipient. He won a quarter million dollars on the roulette wheel before karma straightened itself out in the form of a speeding bus. After that, I was very careful to limit my scope when I tinkered with probability. None of that seemed particularly interview relevant, however. Scratch that. It probably was interview-relevant, but I suddenly wanted to get this job and thought that anecdote might sour the deal.
*Ooo, ooo, tell him about the couple on their honeymoon you put in the nuthouse. I love that story.*

Okay, ok, I know. The next book is really called Two Wizard Roulette. But in this world premiere sneak peek, it might as well be Two Demon Roulette, as the distantly demon blooded assassin Veruca and a very actively chaos demon succubus, Dizzy, square off in a Las Vegas hotel corridor.

“The Hand of Eris is made up nonsense. It’s a story made up by anarchists on the Internet so that they don’t have to pick anyone to be in charge of their made up religion. All it means is that anybody can be the leader of Discordianism at any given time.”
“Oh, really?” Dizzy let go of her fist. “Someone should really tell that to the boss. Boy, I can imagine that conversation now.” The redheaded valley girl proceeded to play both sides of it, bouncing between her left and right sides depending on who was talking.
“Dizzy: Boss, did you know you are the figment of the Internet’s imagination?”
“Eris: Dizzy, what have I told you about reading memes?”
“Dizzy: No, no, really, you’re high exalted chaos-ish-ness. I heard this one from Jacob Darien’s fiancé.”
“Eris: The one that dumped him and turned lesbian as soon as the going got tough?”
“Dizzy: Yeah, that one, though I’ve seen her and I think dyke is a bit of a stretch. In the right light, she looks okay”.
“Eris: I’ll take your word for it. Tell her she can have him back soon enough. I’m getting bored with this whole Vegas gambler routine. He was so much more interesting before you led him there.”
At this point in the conversation, Dizzy went from looking stern and solemn while in the Eris position, to panic stricken when she returned to her own stance. “Boss, no, please don’t, he needs you, he’ll be interesting again, but he needs to be The Hand just a little bit longer…”
She looked ready to switch stances, but the monologue was cut short by the toe of a boot to her jaw. Dizzy spun past Lily and landed crumpled on the carpet behind her. In front of Lily, stood the other girl from the elevator lobby. Lily noticed her this time: leather jacket, black steel toed boots, and long black hair with a lone scarlet bang dangling in front. She was so small, even compared to the skinny redhead. The girl locked eyes with Lily. “I take it you know her.”
Before Lily could respond, Dizzy dove past her, spearing the new girl in the stomach. Both toppled to the hallway floor, bouncing off both side walls as they landed. Black leggings wrapped around the throat of the redhead. The pair spun and Dizzy was on top, then the stranger, then Dizzy again. Even in heated combat, Dizzy rattled on. “Oh wow, you’re really good.”
The gothic assailant had Dizzy in an armbar.
Nothing seemed to shut Dizzy up. “Nice technique, but really…”
Dizzy reversed the grip and it all blurred into red hair versus black, a mist of violently flailing strands. “You’re really good, but I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Most people have to know me to want to hurt me.”
Their heads crashed together, jarring Dizzy’s words. “Okay, when I placed that craigslist ad for a new dominatrix this is totally not what I had in mind.”
The silent assailant finally silenced her with another solid kick to the head. The raven haired newcomer stopped to wipe a drop of blood from her lips before looking back at Lily. “You mind coming with me to talk to someone? We’ve got a few questions and this can be done the easy way or the hard way.”
“Umm, who are you? And…” Panic interrupted Lily’s reply. “She’s getting back up.”
Dizzy was on her feet, her head hung low, allowing the mess of hair to cover her face. “Oh, there’s a hard way, alright. You picked on the wrong consort.” As effortless as a flex, a pair of wings, wreathed in flame stretched out behind her. Lily noticed a tiny pair of red horns sprouting up from under Dizzy’s hair.
As impossible as the wings, Dizzy swung fast with newly clawed hands. Lily stumbled back as far as she could, collapsing to the floor in her haste. The other girl dodged and danced with a practiced ease. Dizzy was limited by the narrow hallway, her wings dragging on the walls, smoldering and smoking the paint off.
“Fine. You want to play?” The girl’s voice, and its lack of fear, stopped Dizzy. The girl whipped off her elastic, letting her black ponytail flow free. Her hair dangled to her waist. It should have dangled, by the laws of gravity. But the hair itself started moving. The strands twisted into groups, virtual tentacles, each snaking up the back of the girl’s jacket and pulling free a clutch of daggers. The silver metal, black hair, and fire red gleamed and blurred in front of Lily into an impossible mess.
“Demon’s blood? See, Goddess, I told you things would get interesting again.” Claws smacked against daggers in attack, counterattack, parry. The din and the smoke danced together.
“Call me Goddess all you want. I’m still going to kick your ass.”

And that, reader faithful, is all you're going to get out of me for today. Don't worry... I'll be back soon with more. The entire book is at the editor now. For those that need more Dizzy and Veruca sooner, both appear in Frostbite, available now at fine retailers (and probably some less the reputable ones) everywhere.