Stella May's Blog, page 22

PSYCHO WHAT?

Psychometry 101
by Sharon Ledwith
The second installment of Mysterious Tales from Fairy Falls, Blackflies and Blueberries, features Hart Stewart—a teenage psychometrist who has no problem reading the energy imprints from an object like a ring or watch, but struggles with the most basic reading skills. In world-renowned, late psychic Sylvia Browne’s book, Phenomenon, she explains—“Psychometry is the ability to sense and interpret the living energy that’s been absorbed by inanimate objects. Perceptions of that energy can come in the form of visions, smells, sounds, emotions and even specific empathic physical sensations like pain, heat and cold.”

So how does this psychic ability actually work? By handling objects, the psychic receives impressions through clairvoyance, telepathy, retrocognition (knowledge of a past event that could not be learned or inferred by normal means), and precognition (future sight). The act of reading an object in this manner is called ‘psychometrizing’. The term ‘psychometry’ comes from the Greek words psyche, ‘soul’, and metron, ‘measure’. It was coined in 1840 by Joseph R. Buchanan, an American professor of physiology who saw psychometry as a means to measure the ‘soul’ of objects.

Supposedly the best ‘psychically’ conductive materials are metals. So jewelry would be great picks for a psychometry reading. If an object has been owned by more than one person, such as an antique, a percipient may pick up information about different people. Psychics who specialize in psychometry when working with law enforcement, for example, can hold an article of a missing child’s clothing or piece of jewelry and, by reading the child’s energy contained in that clothing or jewelry, receive images or smells or sounds from where the child is, sense whether the child is feeling frightened or is with someone who makes them feel secure, and/or perceive any injuries the child might have. Cue The Twilight Zone music.

Believe it or not, you’ve used psychometry at one time or another. Think about when you’ve shopped for a purse or article of clothing—you pick up the desired item, and depending on whatever feeling it gives you, there might be something about it that makes you put it back and keep looking. An odd feeling. A weird thought. A shiver. That’s psychometry. Or you’ll be house-hunting or apartment-hunting and walk into a place that’s perfect and ideal in every way, with the one exception that for some reason you can’t wait to get out of there. That’s psychometry too.

You may think of psychometrists as modern-day time travelers. With one touch of an object in an antique shop or museum, they can be whisked away into another time period. Oh, think of the things we could learn about history and historical events. And think of the cold case crimes that could be solved. So the next time you pick up an object, remember that it always has something to say. Even if you don’t like it.

Ready to receive a little foresight into Blackflies and Blueberries, the second installment of Mysterious Tales from Fairy Falls teen psychic mystery series? Here’s a glimpse…

The only witness left to testify against an unsolved crime in Fairy Falls isn’t a person…

City born and bred, Hart Stewart possesses the gift of psychometry—the psychic ability to discover facts about an event or person by touching inanimate objects associated with them. Since his mother’s death, seventeen-year-old Hart has endured homelessness, and has learned ways to keep his illiteracy under wraps. He eventually learns of a great-aunt living in Fairy Falls, and decides to leave the only life he’s ever known for an uncertain future.

Diana MacGregor lives in Fairy Falls. Her mother was a victim of a senseless murder. Only Diana’s unanswered questions and her grief keeps her going, until Hart finds her mother’s lost ring and becomes a witness to her murder.

Through Hart’s psychic power, Diana gains hope for justice. Their investigation leads them into the corrupt world threatening Fairy Falls. To secure the town’s future, Hart and Diana must join forces to uncover the shocking truth, or they risk losing the true essence of Fairy Falls forever.

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Sharon Ledwith is the author of the middle-grade/YA time travel series, THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS, and the teen psychic mystery series, MYSTERIOUS TALES FROM FAIRY FALLS. When not writing, researching, or revising, she enjoys reading, exercising, anything arcane, and an occasional dram of scotch. Sharon lives a serene, yet busy life in a southern tourist region of Ontario, Canada, with her hubby, one spoiled yellow Labrador and a moody calico cat.

Learn more about Sharon Ledwith on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter, Google+, Goodreads, and Smashwords. Look up her Amazon Author page for a list of current books. Be sure to check out THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS TIME TRAVEL SERIES Facebook page.

The Importance of Trees

from Carol Browne

I’m a tree hugger and always have been. There’s something in my nature that draws me to them like old friends. How gratifying it is for me to see so many other people waking up to how important and precious trees are.

Photo by Studio Dekorasyon on Unsplash

Every oxygen-breathing organism on Earth benefits from the work done by these forest denizens. Their fallen leaves not only nourish the ground they stand in but also feed a network of fungi, plants and small critters essential to the circle of life. The trees hold the land in their roots, preventing soil erosion and landslides. They suck up water and protect the land from flooding. They provide shade, shelter and homes to countless animals, birds and insects. They give us fruit, nuts and medicine; wood for building and fuel. In the rainforests they even create their own weather.

Trees are amazing. And now we need them more than ever. Their ability to capture carbon from the air, to use and store it, while releasing life-affirming oxygen, is vital in the battle against climate change.

We must plant more trees. Anyone with a garden can do that. If you can’t, donate to an organization that will plant trees on your behalf and support campaigns to protect ancient woodland.

We have lost our connection with Nature, that fellowship experienced so profoundly by our ancestors. For far too long we have looked down upon primitive cultures that talked about nature spirits and the wisdom of trees. We dismissed the Druids for worshipping trees. It was all superstition. But we were wrong. The trees have been our allies all the time, even when we turned our backs on them. They remained the guardians of the planet and quietly went about the business of preserving its ecosystem. Now it is imperative we embrace them again as our friends and rediscover that lost connection, before it is too late.

There is a close relationship between trees and writers; don’t they provide us with the paper on which we write our stories? They can even give us the ink to write them with. Ink made from oak galls was favoured by scribes during the Middle Ages and Renaissance because of its permanence and resistance to water and it still enjoys a niche market today among artists.

It is fitting, then, that my fantasy novel The Exile of Elindel opens with the main character, Elgiva, asking an oak tree for advice. As an elf she is fortunate in being able to understand the language of trees and she knows that ancient oaks are steeped in wisdom. It is this encounter at the beginning of Chapter One that determines everything that follows.

Without the tree there would be no story. Here’s an a brief intro for you.

Elgiva, a young elf banished from Elvendom, must seek shelter among the Saxons as her only hope of surviving the coming winter.

Godwin, a Briton enslaved by the Saxons, is a man ignorant of his own inheritance and the secret of power he possesses.

A mysterious enemy, who will stop at nothing to wield absolute power over Elvendom, is about to make his move.

When destiny throws Elgiva and Godwin together, they embark upon the quest for the legendary Lorestone, the only thing that can save Elvendom from the evil that threatens to destroy it.

There is help to be found along the way from a petulant pony and a timid elf boy but, as the strength of their adversary grows, can Elgiva’s friends help her to find the Lorestone before it falls into the wrong hands?

EXCERPT
The night was waning when Elgiva woke, wondering where she was. The dark ceiling of Joskin’s cave hung above her, and everything had a reddish glow, cast by the embers of the fire. She slid from under the fur coverlet, her skin tightening at the loss of its warmth, and searched for her leather sandals.

Something had woken her, something that waited outside the cave. A runnel of dread ran down her spine.

She had an inexplicable sense of impending danger, but it was too insistent to ignore. An unnamed instinct stopped her from alerting her companions. She must face this menace alone.

She left the cave as quietly as she could. Her heart pounded in her throat as she peered between the rowan trees and searched the night. Whatever had awakened her, it beckoned. She held her breath and listened, but her ears detected nothing, save for a silence as dark and empty as an abandoned crypt.

It would soon be daybreak, but the sun had yet to rise, and the dark beyond the cave swarmed with potential horrors. She stepped out from among the rowans, relying on her acute senses to make out her surroundings. An unnatural calm gripped the night and as her sandals whispered against the cold grass, they sounded abnormally loud. She feared they would betray her presence.

After a while, she came to a stop and searched the trees. Thin strands of mist curled along the ground, cold and clammy, like an exhalation of sickness.

She hugged her shoulders, knotted her fingers in the cascade of her hair, and shivered in her ragged robe. All around her, the silence seemed to be drawing into focus.

“Who is it?” Her throat was too dry for her purpose. She swallowed and licked her lips. “Who’s there? I know you’re there. I can . . . I can feel you!”

Feel you.

A flash of silver sliced through the dark, and Elgiva gasped in fear. Her arms came up to shield her face as the beam struck a rock several yards ahead. It exploded with a whoosh and sent up thousands of splinters of light, which fell to the ground and sizzled in the mist.

A shape now stood upon the rock, its form concealed in a black, hooded cloak.

Elgiva clutched the amulet to her breast. Her hands were white with terror. “In the name of Faine, who are you? What sort of trick is this?”

A soft, sly voice spoke back to her. “Why should you fear magic?”

“What do you want?” she pleaded, her voice a croak of fear.

“To see for myself.”

“To see what?”

The dark shape sniggered, but made no answer. Instead, it swept its cloak aside, and a cloud of sparks flew out and covered the ground with beads of light.

Elgiva stepped back unsteadily, resolved to flee.

“Stay!” commanded the creature.

It raised a skeletal hand, and the forefinger swung towards Elgiva and pinned her against the darkness, holding her like a rivet of bone. No elf, no wilthkin, ever owned such a hand. Her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. This had to be a nightmare; she was still asleep in the cave. But no, it was all too real.

“Who are you? What do you want?” she cried. “I have . . . I have an amulet!”

The creature laughed derisively. “I am Death, and I have come for you.”

It began to radiate a sickly green light, enveloping itself in a caul of brilliance that pulsated with force. The light grew in size until the trees behind it were bathed in its angry glare. It reached for Elgiva, like a foul stench creeping along a breeze, and she was helpless. The creature’s power throbbed in the darkness.

Within the taut coils of her fear, her instincts screamed at her to run, but her limbs had turned to stone.

Siriol, Siriol, help me . . . help . . .

With a shriek of glee, the creature increased the throb of its power. Elgiva’s mind was suddenly invaded by an inexplicable force. She became divorced from herself and watched from a great distance, waiting for the horror to unfold.

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Born in Stafford in the UK, Carol Browne was raised in Crewe, Cheshire, which she thinks of as her home town. Interested in reading and writing at an early age, Carol pursued her passions at Nottingham University and was awarded an honours degree in English Language and Literature. Now living and working in the Cambridgeshire countryside, Carol usually writes fiction and is a contracted author at Burning Willow Press. Her non-fiction book is available at Dilliebooks.

Stay connected with Carol on her website and blog, Facebook, and Twitter.

My Love Affair with … Spiders

from Anne Montgomery

This little guy lives by my dog’s water bowl. We’re all good with that.

I faced the webs on my porch. You see, when it’s fall in the desert, it’s time to clean our yards and outside living areas. To those who’ve grown up understanding the concept of spring cleaning, note that we perform that chore in the fall. It makes sense, since we spend the summers cooped up with our air conditioning – hiding from blast-furnace temperatures – and the winters basking blissfully outdoors.

I gently moved the broom across the ceiling and into the corners, careful not to harm any of the arachnids who’ve made camp by my door. I admonish the tiny ones to run, since I don’t want to injure them.

And, now, you might think me strange, because I could never hurt a spider. Why this is the case, I’m not quite sure. Perhaps it was growing up with Charlotte’s Web. Or maybe it was watching my parents deposit spiders who had found their way inside outside, instead of crushing them into little blobs of spidery goo.

I never thought this behavior odd, until faced with folks who felt differently. There was the tough US Marine who hailed from Trinidad who was my housemate for a while. I had explained about Mathilda, the black widow who resided in a low corner of the kitchen who only came out at night.

“Just don’t walk barefoot by the sink after dark,” I explained.

Then, one day I heard him howling in the kitchen. “You need to come in here! Now!”

I complied and was delighted by gossamer silk threads floating in the air, each speckled with dozens of tiny golden babies holding on like wee surfers. I grabbed some newspapers and corralled the infants and released them outside.

The big brave Marine recoiled.

Then there was the evening stroll in the Costa Rican rain forest. My sweetie pie and I joined a small group searching for night creatures with a woman entomologist.

“Oh! Look at what we have here!” She reached into the leaf litter and produced a large long-legged spider. Eyes wide, she grinned like a grandma with a newborn babe. “These are the ones they use in horror movies. Who would like to hold it?”

No one moved. She frowned, disappointed in our little group, so I stepped up and held out my hand. Her eyes sparkled, one of those perhaps-she’s-not-quite-sane looks that made me reconsider our decision to follow her into the jungle in the dark. She placed the beast in my palm.

“So cute. Just like a kitten,” she cooed.

OK, I admit I had a sudden urge to flee, an impulse that had nothing to do with the spider. In fact, the little guy was rather sweet. I silently said goodbye as he scampered off into the undergrowth.

Then there was the football spider and that rascal cemented my love affair with spiders.

Late in the first half of a high school game, Phil, my line judge, ran toward me, blowing his whistle, and waving his arms overhead, killing the clock.

“Tarantula!” He stared wide-eyed and pointed downfield.

My first thought was that the home team had a spider mascot, but that idea was quickly dispelled when I saw a fuzzy creature moving in a strangely robotic motion near the 20-yard-line.

The barrel-chested coach, who’d been on me the whole game, grinned and crossed thick arms. “What are you going to do about it?” he yelled.

As we crouched over the beast, I envisioned some hapless kid with a fist-size spider wriggling from his facemask. I bit my lip and glanced at the players who eyed me from midfield.

Phil and I stared at one another. He raised both palms up.

“What are we going to do?” I asked.

“What are you going to do?” he mimicked the coach.

I took a deep breath and watched the hairy beast inch forward, moving all eight legs in a silent ballet. Did I hear the coach laughing?

I shot my arm into the tarantula’s path. And, without pause, the spider crawled onto the back of my hand and up my wrist, fuzzy feet tickling my skin.

Phil stood and backed away.

“Please don’t bite me,” I silently pleaded over and over, as visions of old horror movies played in my head. While the tarantula traveled up my arm, I walked slowly toward the end of the field. When I reached the outer edge of the track, I bent over and gently dropped the creature near a patch of rocky desert. The tarantula landed upright and marched on.

I swallowed several times, then turned and ran back up field past the coach. I herded the players to the line of scrimmage and took my position behind the quarterback. I blew my whistle, putting the ball into play.

But no one moved.

Then Phil’s whistle sounded and he signaled time-out. He doubled over and I thought he might be ill, but then I saw he was laughing.

“What?” I stared as he ran toward me.

Phil leaned in, then looked around to make sure no players were nearby. The coach said, “She has a pair hangin’ and they ain’t tits.”

I eyed the coach. He nodded toward me, deferential, all remnants of his previously condescending attitude having disappeared with the spider.

For the rest of the game, no matter the situation – whether a flag went for or against his team, whether he agreed or disagreed with a ruling – the coach only addressed me with two words.

“Yes, ma’am,” was all he said.

Perhaps now you can understand my love affair with spiders.

Here’s a little from my suspense novel based on a true incident. I hope it intrigues you.

As a Vietnam veteran and former Special Forces sniper descends into the throes of mental illness, he latches onto a lonely pregnant teenager and a group of Pentecostal zealots – the Children of Light – who have been waiting over thirty years in the Arizona desert for Armageddon.

When the Amtrak Sunset Limited, a passenger train en route to Los Angeles, is derailed in their midst in a deadly act of sabotage, their lives are thrown into turmoil. As the search for the saboteurs heats up, the authorities uncover more questions than answers.

And then the girl vanishes.

While the sniper struggles to maintain his sanity, a child is about to be born deep in the wilderness.

BUY LINKS Amazon Paperback – Kindle – Midpoint Books

Anne Montgomery has worked as a television sportscaster, newspaper and magazine writer, teacher, amateur baseball umpire, and high school football referee. She worked at WRBL‐TV in Columbus, Georgia, WROC‐TV in Rochester, New York, KTSP‐TV in Phoenix, Arizona, ESPN in Bristol, Connecticut, where she anchored the Emmy and ACE award‐winning SportsCenter, and ASPN-TV as the studio host for the NBA’s Phoenix Suns. Montgomery has been a freelance and staff writer for six publications, writing sports, features, movie reviews, and archeological pieces.

When she can, Anne indulges in her passions: rock collecting, scuba diving, football refereeing, and playing her guitar.

Learn more about Anne Montgomery on her website and Wikipedia. Stay connected on Facebook, Linkedin, and Twitter.

GARDENING TIPS

by Emma Lane

Gardens grow of their own volition. You labor with the lay out and lovingly place the plants. By the third year, your garden has selected what it will and will not accept. But it’s gorgeous, healthy and you wouldn’t change a single thing. (Okay, maybe you’ll move that fragrant dianthus in front of that balloon flower which is taller.) Some of it is your fault because you couldn’t resist that church sale and your neighbor shared several perennials. Status normal. Allow your garden nostalgia. You show it off by saying, “I got that one for next to nothing on sale, Susan Smith gave me that one when she moved to Florida, I miss her so! My mother-in-law finally broke down and shared that rose. Would you believe how she can make cuttings and root them?” This iris came from … and that one came from…

SEASONAL: Do plan spring shrubs/bulbs which are so welcome. Fall red/yellow leaves.

INVASIVE: When someone mentions the plant is invasive, believe it! I love the golden blooms of Rudbeckia Goldstrum, but it will take over if given the chance. Plant it way over there where you can mow it if need be; same with any sort of mint.

PARTNERSHIPS: Delphenium back up to fences almost poetically, a partnership. Peonies are almost small bushes. I love to make a back ground hedge row from them. Yellow coreopsis and red yarrow are made in heaven for hot colors.

FRIENDSHIP: The deer, rabbits, groundhog, the neighbor’s pets, etc have destroyed some of your hard work? This is your opportunity to share and discover new friends. What better way to become acquainted? You’ll learn to laugh and maybe learn new gardening secrets while you commiserate.

Now that your garden is all you want it to be, take a good book and relax in all that beauty. May I suggest one of my Regency releases?

Can an arrogant duke overcome his prejudice against a beautiful but managing female in time to find true love and happiness?

Miss Amabel Hawkins acknowledges her unusual upbringing, but she thinks James Langley, the Duke of Westerton, might be a tad unbalanced when he protests her efforts to right his badly managed properties. The duke, who has been away on the king’s business, demonstrates no respect for the beautiful but managing Miss Hawkins. Amabel has taken refuge at Westerton, fleeing from a forced marriage to a man who claims to be her relative in order to gain control of her young brother’s estate.

The Duke arrives home to find his estate under the firm control of a beautiful but managing female. His suspicions are fueled by his recent task of spy-hunting and he wonders if Amabel Hawkins is just who she seems. While a dastardly spy lurks, a wicked man poses as her cousin threatening to take over the guardianship of her young brother. Amabel might be falling in love, but she knows for certain the duke would never approve of a meddlesome woman, and she decides to flee his estate. Will the duke finally realize the true value of the woman he loves or will his prejudice ruin his chances forever?

EXCERPT
Fatigue and the effects of the brandy on top of the ale now gave his gait a distinct wobble. He chuckled, amused at his condition.

As he reached for the portrait of great Uncle Barney, he lurched into the back of the red leather sofa in front of the cosy fire. “Deuce take it,” he exclaimed when a rounded arm rolled into view. He spotted the gentle curve of a hip and walked around to the front, where he spied a tumbled haze of dark curls hiding a face. It is indeed a female—a sleeping female.

Who was she? The gown was too rich for his household staff. Curious, he knelt beside the sofa.
“Only one way to find out,” he whispered and moved one dark curl. He sat back, satisfied when a handsome face swam into view. She sighed and rolled over, revealing a generous figure and a pair of rosy lips. She might be Sleeping Beauty—but not one of my relatives. He leaned over and kissed those tempting lips.

As he lingered there, she sighed and came partially awake. He could not resist. He deepened the kiss and sounds of satisfaction like yum and umm came from those delicious lips. Her hand stroked his face, then reached around his head to pull him closer. Delighted with this turn of events, the Duke of Westerton complied enthusiastically and extended an arm around a slender waist. How much of the ale and brandy had he imbibed? Dizziness overcame his senses as he slid down on the floor and knew no more.

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Emma Lane is a gifted author who writes under several pen-names. She lives with her patient husband on several acres outside a typical American village in Western New York. Her day job is working with flowers at her son’s plant nursery. Look for information about writing and plants on her new website. Leave a comment or a gardening question and put a smile on Emma’s face.

Stay connected to Emma on Facebook and Twitter.

My interview with Stacey Horan

Last month I was interviewed by the author Stacey Horan for her podcast The Bookshop at the End of the Internet. I was really humbled and happy to be invited. It was my very first live interview, and I was sweating bullets. To say that I was a nervous wreck is an understatement of the century.

Today it went live. Here is the link. Please let me know what you think.

https://bookshopwithstaceyhoran.libsyn.com/bookshop-interview-with-author-stella-may-episode-118

Rhapsody in Dreams

Excerpt

Prelude

1992

Kira Wagner died when she was six.

The house where she lived with her parents and her baby brother collapsed,

burying them alive. They were discovered the next day.

By then, Kira’s parents and the baby were long gone; she was breathing, but

just barely. In the ambulance, during the mad dash to the hospital, her heart

suddenly stopped. In medical terminology—she flat-lined. For the next six

impossibly long minutes, her heart stood still, refusing to pump blood and depriving her brain of oxygen. Two paramedics, who were grim, dirty, and exhausted, immediately started CPR and delivered her to the Emergency Center in record time, all things considered.

Then the doctors took over the fight for saving the little girl, one of the

thousands of victims of the deadliest hurricane in the history of Florida that had

such a ridiculously poetic name—Andrew.

Kira’s heart stubbornly refused to re-start even after a high-voltage shock was applied to her chest for the third time. It made her little body arch and bounce, and it burned her skin, leaving ugly marks. And then, when the doctor was about to pronounce her dead and turned his head to read the time of death off the ER wall clock, her heart suddenly began to beat again, and Kira took a shallow breath.

Her eyes opened, and she asked in her clear, high-pitched voice, “Where is Albert?”

Movement One. Allegro Moderato

Chapter One

Adelina Wagner was sitting in a hospital waiting room, stiff and chilled to the bone. Her mind still refused to get in sync with reality, reeling from the shock.

Her son was dead, and so were her daughter-in-law and her grandson, baby JJ. The horror of this news was so enormously overwhelming that she couldn’t accept it yet. Her brain knew, but it refused to deal with it.

The five-hour drive to the hospital went by in a blur. She didn’t even remember how she got there. After the morning call from Miami, she ran to the door of her shop, jumped into the car, and peeled out of the parking lot, heading south. She didn’t remember if she closed the shop.

Oh, Emma was there too, Adelina realized, still dazed. Emma was already chatting with the first customers when the phone near the cash register started to ring, so Adelina took the call that changed her life forever. Before and after.

Her whole family, she’d been told, had perished in a hurricane.

“All of them?!”

“Please accept our deepest condolences, Mrs. Wagner…Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am, my mistake—your granddaughter is listed as critical.”

Her little Kira was found alive but in bad shape, she was told. Multiple bruises and lacerations, moderate to severe concussion, one dislocated shoulder; she had also suffered a cardiac arrest.

My God,Adelina thought, how much more could the fragile six-year-old body withstand?!

Until she arrived at the Humana Hospital in Pembroke Pines, where all the victims of Hurricane Andrew were taken, Adelina didn’t know if Kira had survived.

Even now, sitting in a crowded waiting room, surrounded by so much pain and grief she could almost touch it, she didn’t know if her little girl was alive.

Finally, the doctor stepped into the room and called her name. Adelina sprung to her feet. She beseechingly searched the harried face of the doctor, who seemed to be too young to shave until you looked into his ancient eyes.

“Kira…?”

“Alive. We managed to bring her back.”

Adelina sagged against the wall, clamping her mouth with her hand to muffle the cry. Thank God, oh, thank you, God! she screamed on the inside. Her little girl was alive. Kira has survived.

“She was asking about Albert. Her father?”

Adelina looked at the doctor, too shell-shocked to process his question. After a moment, she shook her head. “No. No, her father’s name is…was Richard.” Her voice shook. Was. Her son, her dear boy was dead! The pain was enormous, debilitating and sharp; it was tearing her to a million tiny pieces, threatening to swallow her alive.

Can’t give up, Adelina kept repeating like a mantra. Need to be strong. For Kira, for my baby girl. Must be strong.

Kira was alive, thank God, and she was her responsibility now.

“Do you know who this Albert person might be?” the doctor asked again.

“No…I don’t know. Maybe her friend? I don’t know, doctor. Why?”

“Just curious. It was the first thing she said.” The first and only, the doctor thought.

“Has she asked about her parents? Her brother?”

“No. Just about this Albert.”

My God, Adelina realized that she would be the one to tell the little girl about her family. She briefly closed her eyes, then shook her head. It wasn’t the time to feel sorry for herself. There would be time for that later. For now, she must think only about Kira.

Adelina took a deep breath. “What exactly did she say?”
“She said, ‘Where is Albert?’”

“‘Where is Albert?’ What…what could that mean?”

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” the doctor answered, a bit brusquely. “What matters is that your granddaughter is alive and breathing on her own again.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Adelina dismissed the subject of this Albert, asking the most important question. “What is her prognosis, doctor? Please be honest with me. Did she suffer any serious trauma?”

“Luckily, no, which is a miracle in itself. Her brain shows no after-effects of oxygen deprivation; her heart is beating strongly. She is one extremely lucky girl.”

“Miracle, indeed,” Adelina whispered.

“She has some lacerations, some bruises, but nothing life-threatening. We’ll keep her overnight and monitor her concussion closely, but if everything goes uneventfully, she’ll be ready to leave in the morning. Are you the one who’ll be taking care of her?”

“Yes.”

She and Kira’s maternal grandparents, who were living on a small farm in Ohio, were the only family Kira had left.

God, Adelina thought, closing her eyes, I have to call Magda and Paul and shatter their world with the horrible news.

Listed as an emergency contact for both her son and her daughter-in-law, Adelina had been easily located by the authorities the very next day after the tragedy. Plus, she lived in the Sunshine State too, just a few hours north of Miami by car in the quaint, historical St. Augustine.

“Yes,” she repeated. “I’ll be taking care of her now.”

Kira was released the next day. She was unnaturally quiet. As a matter of fact, she didn’t speak a single word except “Oma,” acknowledging Adelina’s presence when she first saw her. She didn’t smile, just looked at her with huge, clear eyes that somehow had changed color from the quiet grey she was born with to deep aquamarine blue. The change was eerie, to say the least. Adelina was chilled to the bone every time she looked into those bottomless, questioning eyes.

Kira’s black hair was now sporting a snow-white streak above her right temple, another dramatic change that the tragedy had brought to her little girl.

Her doctor was the first who’d noticed it, thinking that it was residue from the ashes of the burned home she was rescued from. But after the shower the nurse gave Kira, the white lock was still there, even more dramatic against her raven-black hair.

And of course, there were the burns from the defibrillator paddles on her chest where the doctors were shocking her heart. Otherwise, she was absolutely healthy, although a bit on the skinny side.

She was a six-year-old girl who now officially had two birthdays: one in March, when she was born, and another on August 25th, 1992, the day she was rescued and brought back to life after her clinical death—the day the whole country associated now with Hurricane Andrew.

Adelina signed a gazillion discharge papers for Kira’s release, collected her little girl, dressed now in brand new white shorts and a pink t-shirt she had bought in the hospital’s gift shop (all Kira’s clothes and belongings had become ashes and were scattered somewhere under the pile of debris that used to be her home), and left the Pembroke Pine Hospital, holding onto Kira’s little hand like her life depended on it. And on some level, it did; her little girl was now the whole point of Adelina’s life, the whole reason for her existence.

Just before getting into the car, Kira stopped and looked at Adelina, her eerie aquamarine eyes solemn under her long bangs. That horrible white streak above her right temple gave Adelina goosebumps.

“Don’t worry, Oma,” she said in a quiet, serious voice, clear and fragile like a silver bell. “I will take care of you now.”

“Oh, my precious,” Adelina’s eyes misted as she kneeled in front of Kira. “We will be okay; we’ll take care of each other. How about that?” Her heart broke when Kira nodded and lifted her little pinkie.

“Pinkie swear.” That was their special game, the one Adelina herself had taught Kira when she was just a little tyke. But now, seeing Kira’s serious, determined face, it looked and sounded more like a solemn oath.

“Pinkie swear.” Adelina hooked her own little finger around Kira’s. “And now,” she resolutely stood up and gave herself a mental shake before she had a complete meltdown, “off we go, sweetheart.” She helped Kira get into the back of her old Mercedes.

“Where are we going, Oma?” Kira asked, looking at her questioningly.

“Home, baby. We are going home.”

On the way back to St. Augustine, they stopped twice to use the restroom and buy some sandwiches, so it took Adelina almost six hours to get them back home. Kira was subdued and quiet when she was awake, but mostly, she slept in the back seat, tucking Adelina’s jacket under her head for a makeshift pillow. She slept fretfully, waking up with a start, then looking at Adelina and realizing where she was, going back to sleep only to be reawakened by whatever horrors invaded her dreams. Adelina watched her in the rearview mirror, her heart breaking anew every time Kira jerked up from her sleep and looked searchingly around herself.

Poor little one, Adelina thought, whipping tears from her face that refused to stop leaking from her already scratchy, puffy eyes. She was afraid to know what Kira was dreaming about. She herself was trying to put up a brave front for Kira’s sake, but apparently she had failed if the little girl’s first words to her were, “I’ll take care of you.”

Oh, Richard, she choked on a broken breath, I will do my best by your girl, I swear. I’ll take good care of her for as long as I’m alive, I promise you, son.

At that moment, Kira bolted upright.

“Where is Albert?”

****

5 Star Review for "Before & After"

Reviewed by K.C. Finn for Readers' Favorite

Before & After is a work of fiction in the fantasy romance, time travel, and historical sub-genres, and was penned by author Stella May. Written as the opening book to the Upon A Time series, this read is accessible and suitable for readers of all sensitivity levels. We find ourselves in the present day with protagonist Nika Morris, who intends to renovate a historic house on Amelia Island, Florida, which was once the property of one Elijah Coleman. So when Nika finds herself transported back to 1909 and in the company of the former owner himself, she learns a lot more about herself and the original Coleman House than she could ever have bargained for.

Author Stella May has crafted a beautiful and surprisingly realistic romantic story that seamlessly weaves its time travel elements into the historical and contemporary plot threads. I really enjoyed Nika (or indeed Daisy, as she becomes known) for her inquisitive spirit, but also for the vulnerability which she learns and is able to show when she finds herself lost in the past. She and Eli are solidly developed characters to lead the story, but I was also impressed by the realism and level of detail in the surrounding cast, from Eli’s past family to Nika’s present loved ones. The dialogue too was appropriately moderated to give a sense of the past clashing with the present. Overall, Before & After offers a very promising start to a sweeping, lovely story that fans of time travel, romance, and interpersonal family dramas will adore. Before & After

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Before & After. Excerpt

Prologue

Eight Years Ago

“Nika, wake up.”
When she refused to budge, Alex administered an elbow jab to the ribs, a sure way to get his sleeping cousin out of her slumber.
“What? Why?”
Nika sprang up, like a cork out of a champagne bottle, banging her forehead against the dashboard in the process. She sat, bolt upright, looking owlishly around the car.
“Ouch!” she yelped, massaging her abused head.
Alex gave her one of his lopsided, pirate’s grins.
“Poor baby. Have a boo-boo?”
“Shut up, cuz. Where are we? And why did we stop?”
“Well, my girl, according to the sign, we are in the fine old town of Fernandina Beach, Florida. As to why we stopped,” he said, grimacing, “the car has finally given up. She couldn’t take it any longer, poor thing. So, here we are.”
“I told you we should take my car instead of this heap. But did you listen?”
“What, take a red, brand-spanking new Ferrari to make our secret escape from Manhattan? Yeah, that would’ve been a very covert operation indeed!”
Nika shrugged off his remark, especially since he was absolutely right. In her car they would’ve been located and stopped in a matter of minutes.
“And why are we in Florida? I thought we were stopping in Georgia for a few days.”
“Well, we reached the Peach State last night, while you were in a deep slumber, but I didn’t feel like stopping. Why? Did you want to see something in particular in there?”
“No, but we are supposed to talk and agree on things, both of us! What if I didn’t want to go to Fernandina Beach?”
“Well, if you don’t, we’ll go somewhere else. As soon as we figure out how.”
Alex patted the dashboard of the now dead car with his hand, and drew a deep breath. Then he grinned at Nika mischievously.
“You wanted an adventure, my girl. I’d say, your wish came true!”
“Yeah, I’d say,” Nika grumbled, pretending to be mad. Secretly she was as pleased as her cousin. But since taking the second-hand heap camouflaging for a car was Alex’s idea, and especially since he passed through Georgia without consulting her first, she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook so easily. She didn’t want to stop anywhere in particular, or see anything in that state, truth be told. It was just a matter of principle. If they were true partners, they should make all the decisions together. Period. On that Nika was firm. When she first presented Alex with her idea of the Grand Adventure (or, more accurately, running away from their fathers), she made sure they both agreed on the most important basic terms. And they were: to share everything, to tell the truth no matter what, and—the cardinal rule— to make all the decisions mutually. Alex took an oath, and violated it in a matter of days by passing Georgia without waking her up, simply because he didn’t feel like stopping. The moron! Nika frowned and looked at her cousin whom she had simply adored since childhood. The idiot was grinning ear-to-ear, happy as can be, sitting in a dead car smack in the middle of a street, in some tiny picturesque town at five in the morning! No wonder she was crazy about him.
“What do you say, my girl?”
“I say, our Grand Adventure came to a screeching halt. What do you propose we should do, partner?” She made an accent on the last word.
“Let’s see, partner.” He fluffed her hair in a familiar manner that had driven her nuts since they both were in diapers. Her crazy mane of curls probably resembled a crow’s nest by now. “How much money do we have?”
Nika, who was their financial manager, replied without a pause, “Ninety-seven dollars, thirty-three cents in cash.”
“Credit cards?”
“Two thousand, give or take. If the fathers didn’t block them yet.”
Their fathers, the identical twins Joseph and Jacob, the heads of the international Manhattan investment bank and financial services Morris & Morris, were a formidable force to be reckoned with. By running away from home Alex and Nika had violated the Two Golden Rules of the Morris’: #1—The Twins (as they were called by friend and foe alike) are always right; #2—if you think otherwise, look for rule #1 or get out of the way. And that is precisely what they did, since both of them disagreed with the rule #1, especially where their life-choices were concerned.
“Let’s hope for the best,” Alex replied, always the optimist. “Or we could always call one or the other?” He looked at Nika questioningly.
“What, call Dad? For money?! Are you out of your mind?”
“Well, you could call my Dad, and I could call yours.”
“And tell them what? That they were right, and we cannot survive without them constantly supervising our every step, or dictating our every move? And prove them right? Out of the question. I’d rather starve.” Nika banged her small fist against the dashboard with a surprising force, wincing afterwards. “Never,”
she repeated with vehemence.
“Yeah, bad idea,” Alex agreed. “Well, there is always Verochka. She supported our cause and even bought this heap, as you call it, for us.”
“Grandmother might support our decision to stand on our own and rule our own lives, but even she wouldn’t go so far as to lend us money secretly from The Twins. She would inevitably let them know about our location, and then all the cops would be after us, trying to capture the fugitive children.”
“They won’t go that far! Would they?” Alex turned his troubled eyes to her face. Looking into those eyes was like looking in the mirror. Only two out of the six children The Twins produced, had inherited the unusual violet-blue shade of eyes of their Grandmother Vera, or Verochka as she was called by everybody.
“You never know, and I don’t want to find out for sure,” Nika replied.
She dragged both hands through the mess of tangled curls the color of rich caramel. Then she shook her mane in a defiant manner and smiled recklessly at her cousin and partner in crime.
“Hell, our luck has held up so far, cuz. I say, let’s stick to the plan and make it a true Grand Adventure! Let’s stop here, in this town, and start building our lives from scratch!”
“Here? In Fernandina Beach?”
Alex looked at her incredulously, then peered out of the window at the tiny sleepy town, quaint and picturesque, and somehow unreal, shimmering mysteriously in the first rays of the rising sun.
“Why not? The weather is always warm in the Sunshine State, or so they claim. A big plus. The ocean is right here, so the seafood and shrimp galore, a huge plus.” Nika, warming up on the subject, leaned forward and started to gesticulate with both arms, a sure sign that she was excited. “The history is all around us, I can feel it! The houses, the streets, the atmosphere—it’s where we are supposed to be, cuz. I can see us here in three, five, even eight years from now! We’ll start a business. Yes! A company we always wanted to start, just the two of us!”
“And what would that company of ours do?” Alex asked with a chuckle. His own misgivings on the subject evaporated shortly after his younger cousin (she was younger by a mere month, but still) started to speak. It was impossible to stay in a bleak mood longer than a few minutes in her presence. Her exuberance and enthusiasm were simply overwhelming, her thirst for adventure and her stubborn belief that life is beautiful were highly contagious. At least, it was always to him. Even as a boy, Alex always shadowing his miniature tornado of a cousin, getting constantly in one trouble after another, but unable to resist the temptation. The most miserable period of his life Alex considered to be the four years of Harvard, when he lived away from Nika—who unlike him, didn’t have an almost genius IQ, and stayed home to attend a local university. Now, they were both the graduates with the freshly minted diplomas they didn’t want or need, and two sets of irate parents they managed to piss off by running away on the Grand Adventure (Nika’s brilliant idea). Their secret escape took place right after the graduation party The Twins had thrown for them two weeks ago, and was designed as a demonstration and proof that both Nika and Alex were responsible adults, able to make their own way. It was a desperate and daring move and yes, a rebellion against the dictatorial regime of the Morris’ households, where Jacob and Joseph reigned supreme.
For anyone who didn’t know their fathers or their methods, this escape might’ve seemed too extreme a measure. But to the members of the family who lived by the Two Golden Rules, the staff of the Morris & Morris bank, and all the children (there were six of them altogether, with Nika and Alex in the middle of each triumvirate set), such wasn’t the case. Even The Twins’ mother, Alex and Nika’s favorite grandmother, Verochka, was in a state of a constant awe (not to mention bafflement) of her own offsprings. It didn’t stop her, however, from aiding and abetting Nika and Alex: Verochka had a very strong independent streak and a firm and unshakable believe in freedom, which included the right of every person to shape his or her own destiny, and the right to be happy. And, of course, because she absolutely adored the pair of them.
“We can do anything we want to! We can try many different things before we find our own milieu. Well, what do you say, partner?”
“Heck, why not? Let’s do it, partner!”
Nika laughed and, launching at him, threw her arms around his neck.
“I’m so happy! I’m happy you decided to drive past Georgia, I’m happy our car has died on us, I’m happy to be here! I just know it’s where we are supposed to be! We’ll make it happen, cuz. Just wait and see. We’ll make it fine on our own. And we will show to the whole wide world what Morris & Morris, Jrs. are capable of.”
“Please,” Alex grimaced, “not Morris & Morris! Whatever we’ll call our future company, I want your solemn promise we absolutely will not mix The Twins’ name into it!”
“You got it, darling.” Nika placed her palm onto his face and gave it a soft caressing pat. She knew the whole ordeal was much harder on him than he let on— her almost-genius, soft-hearted and serious cousin, who would never hurt a fly, Let alone defy their overbearing duo of fathers. He would probably enter Harvard Law School and finish it with flying colors, then join the family firm and be miserable for the rest of his life, if it wasn’t for her and her ingenious escape plan. Well, what was a younger cousin for, Nika thought, delighted for them both and the world in general.
“Let’s name it Before and After, then. Before we came here—and after we settle here, get it? And we make sure that whatever it is we’ll do, it will make a lasting impact on this town and its people! How about that, darling?”
“Before and After. Goddammit, I like it!” Alex grinned, and reminded her once again of a little boy, happy, kind and joyous, who followed her every step and got her out of mischief more than she cared to remember. Or, when he couldn’t talk her out of it, joined her on said mischief. Like right now. Was it any wonder, Nika thought, she loved him more than her own brothers (more than anyone in the world, really), and couldn’t imagine her life without him?
“Fate, you fickle bitch, here we are, and here we stay, for better or worse!”
Alex shouted through the open window of the derelict broken-down car, delirious and carefree.
“Here we are,” Nika joined in, poking her head out through the passenger window, her own voice clear and sonorous like a silver bell, “and here we stay! And let’s see how that fickle bitch Fate will dare to defy us now!”
















Stella May

Before & After. Excerpt

Prologue

Eight Years Ago

“Nika, wake up.”
When she refused to budge, Alex administered an elbow jab to the ribs, a sure way to get his sleeping cousin out of her slumber.
“What? Why?”
Nika sprang up, like a cork out of a champagne bottle, banging her forehead against the dashboard in the process. She sat, bolt upright, looking owlishly around the car.
“Ouch!” she yelped, massaging her abused head.
Alex gave her one of his lopsided, pirate’s grins.
“Poor baby. Have a boo-boo?”
“Shut up, cuz. Where are we? And why did we stop?”
“Well, my girl, according to the sign, we are in the fine old town of Fernandina Beach, Florida. As to why we stopped,” he said, grimacing, “the car has finally given up. She couldn’t take it any longer, poor thing. So, here we are.”
“I told you we should take my car instead of this heap. But did you listen?”
“What, take a red, brand-spanking new Ferrari to make our secret escape from Manhattan? Yeah, that would’ve been a very covert operation indeed!”
Nika shrugged off his remark, especially since he was absolutely right. In her car they would’ve been located and stopped in a matter of minutes.
“And why are we in Florida? I thought we were stopping in Georgia for a few days.”
“Well, we reached the Peach State last night, while you were in a deep slumber, but I didn’t feel like stopping. Why? Did you want to see something in particular in there?”
“No, but we are supposed to talk and agree on things, both of us! What if I didn’t want to go to Fernandina Beach?”
“Well, if you don’t, we’ll go somewhere else. As soon as we figure out how.”
Alex patted the dashboard of the now dead car with his hand, and drew a deep breath. Then he grinned at Nika mischievously.
“You wanted an adventure, my girl. I’d say, your wish came true!”
“Yeah, I’d say,” Nika grumbled, pretending to be mad. Secretly she was as pleased as her cousin. But since taking the second-hand heap camouflaging for a car was Alex’s idea, and especially since he passed through Georgia without consulting her first, she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook so easily. She didn’t want to stop anywhere in particular, or see anything in that state, truth be told. It was just a matter of principle. If they were true partners, they should make all the decisions together. Period. On that Nika was firm. When she first presented Alex with her idea of the Grand Adventure (or, more accurately, running away from their fathers), she made sure they both agreed on the most important basic terms. And they were: to share everything, to tell the truth no matter what, and—the cardinal rule— to make all the decisions mutually. Alex took an oath, and violated it in a matter of days by passing Georgia without waking her up, simply because he didn’t feel like stopping. The moron! Nika frowned and looked at her cousin whom she had simply adored since childhood. The idiot was grinning ear-to-ear, happy as can be, sitting in a dead car smack in the middle of a street, in some tiny picturesque town at five in the morning! No wonder she was crazy about him.
“What do you say, my girl?”
“I say, our Grand Adventure came to a screeching halt. What do you propose we should do, partner?” She made an accent on the last word.
“Let’s see, partner.” He fluffed her hair in a familiar manner that had driven her nuts since they both were in diapers. Her crazy mane of curls probably resembled a crow’s nest by now. “How much money do we have?”
Nika, who was their financial manager, replied without a pause, “Ninety-seven dollars, thirty-three cents in cash.”
“Credit cards?”
“Two thousand, give or take. If the fathers didn’t block them yet.”
Their fathers, the identical twins Joseph and Jacob, the heads of the international Manhattan investment bank and financial services Morris & Morris, were a formidable force to be reckoned with. By running away from home Alex and Nika had violated the Two Golden Rules of the Morris’: #1—The Twins (as they were called by friend and foe alike) are always right; #2—if you think otherwise, look for rule #1 or get out of the way. And that is precisely what they did, since both of them disagreed with the rule #1, especially where their life-choices were concerned.
“Let’s hope for the best,” Alex replied, always the optimist. “Or we could always call one or the other?” He looked at Nika questioningly.
“What, call Dad? For money?! Are you out of your mind?”
“Well, you could call my Dad, and I could call yours.”
“And tell them what? That they were right, and we cannot survive without them constantly supervising our every step, or dictating our every move? And prove them right? Out of the question. I’d rather starve.” Nika banged her small fist against the dashboard with a surprising force, wincing afterwards. “Never,”
she repeated with vehemence.
“Yeah, bad idea,” Alex agreed. “Well, there is always Verochka. She supported our cause and even bought this heap, as you call it, for us.”
“Grandmother might support our decision to stand on our own and rule our own lives, but even she wouldn’t go so far as to lend us money secretly from The Twins. She would inevitably let them know about our location, and then all the cops would be after us, trying to capture the fugitive children.”
“They won’t go that far! Would they?” Alex turned his troubled eyes to her face. Looking into those eyes was like looking in the mirror. Only two out of the six children The Twins produced, had inherited the unusual violet-blue shade of eyes of their Grandmother Vera, or Verochka as she was called by everybody.
“You never know, and I don’t want to find out for sure,” Nika replied.
She dragged both hands through the mess of tangled curls the color of rich caramel. Then she shook her mane in a defiant manner and smiled recklessly at her cousin and partner in crime.
“Hell, our luck has held up so far, cuz. I say, let’s stick to the plan and make it a true Grand Adventure! Let’s stop here, in this town, and start building our lives from scratch!”
“Here? In Fernandina Beach?”
Alex looked at her incredulously, then peered out of the window at the tiny sleepy town, quaint and picturesque, and somehow unreal, shimmering mysteriously in the first rays of the rising sun.
“Why not? The weather is always warm in the Sunshine State, or so they claim. A big plus. The ocean is right here, so the seafood and shrimp galore, a huge plus.” Nika, warming up on the subject, leaned forward and started to gesticulate with both arms, a sure sign that she was excited. “The history is all around us, I can feel it! The houses, the streets, the atmosphere—it’s where we are supposed to be, cuz. I can see us here in three, five, even eight years from now! We’ll start a business. Yes! A company we always wanted to start, just the two of us!”
“And what would that company of ours do?” Alex asked with a chuckle. His own misgivings on the subject evaporated shortly after his younger cousin (she was younger by a mere month, but still) started to speak. It was impossible to stay in a bleak mood longer than a few minutes in her presence. Her exuberance and enthusiasm were simply overwhelming, her thirst for adventure and her stubborn belief that life is beautiful were highly contagious. At least, it was always to him. Even as a boy, Alex always shadowing his miniature tornado of a cousin, getting constantly in one trouble after another, but unable to resist the temptation. The most miserable period of his life Alex considered to be the four years of Harvard, when he lived away from Nika—who unlike him, didn’t have an almost genius IQ, and stayed home to attend a local university. Now, they were both the graduates with the freshly minted diplomas they didn’t want or need, and two sets of irate parents they managed to piss off by running away on the Grand Adventure (Nika’s brilliant idea). Their secret escape took place right after the graduation party The Twins had thrown for them two weeks ago, and was designed as a demonstration and proof that both Nika and Alex were responsible adults, able to make their own way. It was a desperate and daring move and yes, a rebellion against the dictatorial regime of the Morris’ households, where Jacob and Joseph reigned supreme.
For anyone who didn’t know their fathers or their methods, this escape might’ve seemed too extreme a measure. But to the members of the family who lived by the Two Golden Rules, the staff of the Morris & Morris bank, and all the children (there were six of them altogether, with Nika and Alex in the middle of each triumvirate set), such wasn’t the case. Even The Twins’ mother, Alex and Nika’s favorite grandmother, Verochka, was in a state of a constant awe (not to mention bafflement) of her own offsprings. It didn’t stop her, however, from aiding and abetting Nika and Alex: Verochka had a very strong independent streak and a firm and unshakable believe in freedom, which included the right of every person to shape his or her own destiny, and the right to be happy. And, of course, because she absolutely adored the pair of them.
“We can do anything we want to! We can try many different things before we find our own milieu. Well, what do you say, partner?”
“Heck, why not? Let’s do it, partner!”
Nika laughed and, launching at him, threw her arms around his neck.
“I’m so happy! I’m happy you decided to drive past Georgia, I’m happy our car has died on us, I’m happy to be here! I just know it’s where we are supposed to be! We’ll make it happen, cuz. Just wait and see. We’ll make it fine on our own. And we will show to the whole wide world what Morris & Morris, Jrs. are capable of.”
“Please,” Alex grimaced, “not Morris & Morris! Whatever we’ll call our future company, I want your solemn promise we absolutely will not mix The Twins’ name into it!”
“You got it, darling.” Nika placed her palm onto his face and gave it a soft caressing pat. She knew the whole ordeal was much harder on him than he let on— her almost-genius, soft-hearted and serious cousin, who would never hurt a fly, Let alone defy their overbearing duo of fathers. He would probably enter Harvard Law School and finish it with flying colors, then join the family firm and be miserable for the rest of his life, if it wasn’t for her and her ingenious escape plan. Well, what was a younger cousin for, Nika thought, delighted for them both and the world in general.
“Let’s name it Before and After, then. Before we came here—and after we settle here, get it? And we make sure that whatever it is we’ll do, it will make a lasting impact on this town and its people! How about that, darling?”
“Before and After. Goddammit, I like it!” Alex grinned, and reminded her once again of a little boy, happy, kind and joyous, who followed her every step and got her out of mischief more than she cared to remember. Or, when he couldn’t talk her out of it, joined her on said mischief. Like right now. Was it any wonder, Nika thought, she loved him more than her own brothers (more than anyone in the world, really), and couldn’t imagine her life without him?
“Fate, you fickle bitch, here we are, and here we stay, for better or worse!”
Alex shouted through the open window of the derelict broken-down car, delirious and carefree.
“Here we are,” Nika joined in, poking her head out through the passenger window, her own voice clear and sonorous like a silver bell, “and here we stay! And let’s see how that fickle bitch Fate will dare to defy us now!”