Thea Harrison's Blog, page 24

Blog post: 2nd excerpt of RISING DARKNESS and 3 ARC giveaway

January through March, I’m posting an excerpt each month from my upcoming release RISING DARKNESS (Berkley, April 2).

*** Cliff hanger alert! ***

RISING DARKNESS is the first of two Game of Shadows novels.  The second one is entitled FALLING LIGHT, and it has a scheduled release date of February 2014.  These stories are very different from my Elder Races series.  They have a strong urban fantasy feeling to them.  (In fact RT Book Reviews will be posting their review in the Urban Fantasy section of their magazine.)  They are based on an alternative Earth, and they have four points of view, including the antagonist.  Also unlike the Elder Races series RISING DARKNESS does have a cliff hanger – the storyline will be concluded in the second novel FALLING LIGHT.

For February’s excerpt, here is a section with the heroine, Mary, who talks with a psychic.  In RISING DARKNESS, Mary goes through a journey of self discovery to discover her own identity and power.

I’m giving away 3 ARCS (Advanced Reader Copy) of RISING DARKNESS!  Be sure to check below for details of the contest and how to enter.

~~~

While she waited at a red light she noticed a wooden sign in front of a charming ramshackle Victorian house: Psychic Consultations. Tarot Readings. Walk-ins welcome. The sign looked hand-painted. The ghost of beautiful detail lurked in the curvature of the lettering, which matched the house’s deep pink gingerbread trim. Now the sign was old and battered.

The spring wind, still erratic, blew sharp and hard into her open window. It tugged an unruly lock of hair loose from her braid. Reaching up, she tucked the lock behind her ear.

A little voice whispered, Stop and see.

Her tongue came between her teeth as she considered. She’d never had a tarot reading before. Aside from any amusement factor, if science didn’t have an acceptable cure for her, what might superstition offer?

By the time the stoplight had changed she had made up her mind. She pulled into the small parking lot beside the house, walked up the narrow sidewalk to the front door, checked the hours posted and stepped inside to the sound of a tinkle from an old-fashioned bell.

The breeze gusted in with her, and she had to struggle to shut the door behind her. Then she turned and took in a shabby, spacious foyer and a large open front room decorated with an eclectic mix of modern and antique furniture. To her left a massive staircase curved up to a second floor. A dusty but otherwise magnificent antique chandelier hung from the high ceiling. She gawked at it.

At her entrance a woman rose from the couch in the front room and set aside a book. The woman smiled and walked toward Mary, who blinked and readjusted her expectations. She had expected something that was either exotic or tacky, or an unfortunate combination of both, but this woman was plump, comfortable-looking and middle-aged.

“Good afternoon,” the woman said, offering a freckled hand that sparkled with QVC bling.

Mary shook the other woman’s hand, with an instinctive liking for her direct friendly gaze. “Hi, I just saw your sign and decided to stop,” Mary said. “I was wondering if you had time for a consultation or a tarot reading or whatever it is you do, but of course I understand if you don’t since I don’t have an appointment. Really, this was just an impulse thing—”

Stupid, she meant to say. Off-the-wall, loose-cannon, embarrassing, about-to-do-something-you’ll-regret stupid.

Before she could talk herself out the door, the woman interrupted with a cheerful smile. “I certainly do have time. Business is slow today. This is the first nice afternoon we’ve had in weeks and everybody’s gone outside. My name’s Gretchen.”

Gretchen the psychic. A hiccup of laughter exploded in Mary’s nose.

She clapped a hand over her mouth and turned it into a barking cough. What the hell’s the matter with you, she thought. Be a grown-up.

She managed to say, “I’m Mary.”

“Please come in and have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.” Gretchen gestured to the living room area.

Mary chose an overstuffed armchair. The soft-cushioned chair tried to swallow her. Good thing it didn’t have teeth or it could have done some major damage. Nervousness kept her perched on the edge of the seat. She noted Gretchen’s quick glance at her erect posture, and she tried to relax.

She explained, “I’ve never done this before. I don’t know why I’m nervous.”

Gretchen grinned and shrugged. “Blind date jitters. I think it’s a typical reaction. We don’t know each other, and you have no idea how this is going to go. Would you like a drink? I’ve got Diet Coke, or I could make tea or coffee.”

Mary forced herself to smile back. The muscles in her face felt stiff, the smile false, and she rubbed the back of her neck. Apparently she had left her social skills in the hall closet along with her winter coat. Her headache wouldn’t budge no matter how she ODed on caffeine, but never call her a quitter. “A Diet Coke would be nice, thank you.”

“My pleasure. I’ll be right back.”

The older woman was as good as her word. She left Mary just enough time to shrug out of her jacket before returning with two cans of Diet Coke and glasses filled with ice. Gretchen didn’t want to lose her unexpected fee. Mary’s smile turned wry. She accepted the drink with a murmured thanks.

“So,” Gretchen said. “You have never done this before.” Mary shook her head, pouring soda into her glass. “Well, perhaps you can tell me what you’re looking for and we can figure out where to go from there.”

“I’m . . . not sure.” Mary sipped at her fizzy drink. She bet she knew what was coming in this next part. This was where Gretchen pumped her for information then regurgitated it back for money. She suggested, “Why don’t you tell me what your, er, specialty is. Perhaps we should try that. Is it tarot readings?”

The older woman frowned. Strong sunshine fell through the window on the back of her head and on one round shoulder, throwing most of Gretchen’s face into shadow. The unforgiving light showed a thin strip of gray- and mouse-colored hair at the roots of a vivacious butterscotch rinse from L’Oréal. “Actually, I tend to pick the medium from instinct depending on the client and what questions he or she might have.”

This was supposed to be for entertainment purposes only, but they hadn’t reached the entertaining part yet. Mary looked at the front door, already half regretting her impulse to stop. She was a fool.

“Usually,” Gretchen continued in a quiet voice, “people come in with some kind of question on their minds, even if they’re skeptics and it’s just a frivolous question. Do you have a question, or are you one of those rare people that doesn’t?”

Keeping her gaze fixed on the front door, Mary asked, “What do you think dreams are?”

A pause. Then Gretchen said, “I believe dreams are our minds freed from the definitions placed upon us by our physical bodies.”

Mary’s gaze turned to the other woman. She leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

She heard a rustle of clothing as the other woman shifted. “I mean that when we dream, we are able to use our minds while being free of our bodies. We could dream of something we imagine, dream to relieve stress, or we could dream of our past. We could dream of our past lives and we could dream of our futures, or of other worlds, other realities. We can travel and speak to people we know who are alive, or those who are dead. Or maybe we can speak to people who were never alive in any sense that you and I understand that word. Maybe we can even sometimes speak to those creatures that aren’t people.”

The other woman fell silent, and Mary laughed. “That covers a lot of ground.”

Gretchen smiled. “Yes. That’s what the dream world allows us to do.”

“You believe we can dream of the future.”

“Absolutely.”

“How can that be when it hasn’t happened yet?”

“Well I’m no genius scientist, but I do think we perceive reality through the limitations of our human senses and brains. Our actual reality is a lot bigger than we are. In our dreams we aren’t subject to a linear existence, which is how we experience time in our physical bodies. Why not dream of the future, or of the past? All times are now.”

Mary looked into her dark bubbling drink and struggled with that concept. She had never been all that good at understanding quantum physics either. She muttered, “Sometimes I have dreams that come true.”

“Do you? I do too,” said the other woman. “I always wished I could turn it into something useful, but usually for me it’s nothing more than my hairdresser getting sick, or my cat running away. Once I did dream what my tax return was going to be. This was before all the fancy software programs that calculate what your return will be before you file. In my dream, my return was more than I thought it would be, so I kept rereading the check in disbelief. Turns out I was correct, right down to the penny, but of course you can’t gamble on things like that, in case you’re wrong and you just had a dream of imagination or wishful thinking.”

Mary stared and then chuckled. She had made one of the hardest confessions she’d ever made to another person, but it was clear Gretchen was not very impressed. “How mystical and yet pragmatic.”

“I think you just described my cultural heritage,” said Gretchen with a twinkle. “I am part German and part Yugoslavian.”

Mary was still processing what Gretchen had said earlier. She said, “You mentioned past lives, so you believe in reincarnation.”

“Yes, I do,” Gretchen replied, sipping her drink. “At least I believe that some form of it exists. A more Greek version of reincarnation is to ‘transmigrate,’ or to pass from one body at death, drink forgetfulness from the river Lethe and then pass into another body. Or something like that, anyway. My memory is a bit fuzzy on the details.”

Mary had heard of the river Lethe, but she had never heard of transmigration before. “You said something about spirits.”

“Yes, I believe in spirits. We are spirits inhabiting bodies, and everything alive has a spirit. And there are spirits who have never had a body that we could conceive of, or understand, like, for instance, the Wakean.”

“The Wakean?”

“The Wakean are the American Indian thunder beings. I always smile when a good thunderstorm rolls in, and I hear them crashing around up in the sky.”

Mary watched the older woman in fascination. Gretchen sat not fifteen feet away but lived in an entirely different world from hers. She said in a doubtful voice, “What it all boils down to is that you think your dreams can either be real or not.”

“Oh no,” Gretchen said. “I believe every dream is real. I just think it takes a dexterous and sophisticated mind to determine which level of reality a dream belongs in. That’s the difficult part.”

Mary sighed. Disappointment crept in. After this whole conversation, she didn’t have much more than what she had walked in with, aside from an odd thought or two that carried a bit of Gretchen’s QVC sparkle. She had been ridiculous to hope for more. “Well, thank you for your time. How much do I owe you?”

“That’s it?” Gretchen asked. “Are you sure you don’t want something else?”

“No, I think that’s it for today. You’ve given me a lot to think about,” she said, keeping her tone polite. She drew out her checkbook. “How much do you charge?”

“Nothing.” Gretchen smiled as she looked up and began to protest. “No, I’m serious, please forget it. I wasn’t busy, I enjoyed the visit and you didn’t ask hardly anything of me. I wouldn’t feel right taking your money. If you want to change your mind and come back sometime, though, I’ll sock you with a bill then.”

No matter what Mary said, the older woman wouldn’t be moved. After a few minutes she gave up. Gretchen saw her to the front door and pressed a card into her hand. “Call me,” she said.

Mary smiled at her. “Thank you.”

Gretchen gripped her hand. “You have blood on your hands.”

Ice slithered down Mary’s spine. “Excuse me?”

“You have blood on your hands. A lot of it. And I don’t know why the color red is so important to you, but it is. I didn’t want to say it earlier, because you were nervous enough, and I didn’t want to frighten you.” Gretchen looked at her searchingly. “Yesterday the blood was all down your front. Are you an EMT?”

“I’m a doctor,” she whispered. “I work in an ER.”

“Someone died yesterday.”

“Yes.” Her lips felt numb.

“I thought I felt someone hovering around you. Maybe even a couple of someones. I’m sure she’s grateful for everything you tried to do for her.” Gretchen smiled and squeezed her hand. “You’re a good healer. A lot of people are thankful for what you do.”

The Congo drums were back, playing an encore in Mary’s chest. Boy howdy. No more caffeine for her today. And this conversation had turned far too Ghost Whisperer for her. She swallowed, pulled her hand away and forced herself to say, “Thank you.”

After she walked to her car, she stood for a few moments, looking around and breathing hard. Okay, that last bit rattled her. Why was she so upset? She was a fool. For entertainment purposes only, remember? How could she have allowed herself to hope for something else—from a psychic consultant, of all people? She was tired, that’s all. She was strung out from feeling this pressure building up inside of her, and if she didn’t work hard to avoid it, she was going to . . .

What was she going to do? Explode? Crash?

~~~

ARC CONTEST

Readers, do you read urban fantasy?  If so, who are your favorite authors?

Leave your answer in a comment below for a chance to win one of three signed ARCs of RISING DARKNESS!  Also, please show your interest in the new series by LIKEing the Amazon pages for RISING DARKNESS – kindle and paperback.

I’ll announce the winners on Wednesday February 13th at 12 noon Mountain Daylight Time (2 pm EST).  This contest is international!

Blog post: Digital release news on Retro Amanda Carpenter romances with Samhain

Fun news!  I now have the re-release dates for all the available Amanda Carpenter titles that I published with Harlequin Mills & Boon in the 1980s and 1990s!  Yay!

Starting in May, Samhain Publishing is re-releasing one a month over the next 15 months.

We will have a permanent, separate Amanda Carpenter webpage added to this website with all the release information, but here it is for now on the blog.

******

SYNOPSIS FOR THAT PAGE

Amanda Carpenter

Thea Harrison started writing when she was nineteen.  In the 1980s and 1990s,  she wrote for Harlequin Mills & Boon under the name Amanda Carpenter.  The Amanda Carpenter romances have been published in over ten languages, and sold over a million and a half copies worldwide.  Samhain Publishing will be re-releasing all available titles digitally in their Retro Romance line, starting in May, 2013.

***

A DEEPER DIMENSION — May 21st, 2013

THE WALL — June 18th, 2013

A DAMAGED TRUST — July 16th, 2013

THE GREAT ESCAPE — August 20th, 2013

FLASHBACK — September 17th, 2013

RAGE — October 15th, 2013

WAKING UP — November 19th, 2013

ROSE-COLOURED LOVE — December 17th, 2013

RECKLESS — January 21st, 2014

THE GIFT OF HAPPINESS — February 18th, 2014

CAPRICE — March 18th, 2014

PASSAGE OF THE NIGHT — April 15th, 2014

CRY WOLF — May 20th, 2014

A SOLITARY HEART — June 17th, 2014

THE WINTER KING — July 15th 2014

Winner of the signed @VivianArend cover flat

The winner of the signed cover flat for Vivian Arend’s upcoming release HIGH RISK is Maria Ramirez Esquivel!

Congratulations, Maria!  Email me your address at:  thea@theaharrison.com, and I’ll be sure that Vivian gets it, so that she can mail your prize to you.

If I don’t hear from the winner by Wednesday, January 23rd, 5 PM MDT, the prize will be given to someone else.

Happy reading, everybody!

Thea

Blog post: Guest Vivian Arend, excerpt of her upcoming release High Risk and giveaway

From Thea:  I’m excited to have my friend and NYT Bestselling author, the lovely and talented Vivian Arend back on my blog this week….

and she has a big treat in store for you!  Not only is the cover art for HIGH RISK absolutely fantastic, but so is the excerpt below.  Be sure to pay attention to contest details at the end of the post!

~~~

My writing career began in paranormal romance, slid sideways a little to include contemporary, and now? I’m very excited to be branching out into something new again. My upcoming release is a Berkley Sensation—and while it’s labeled Romantic Suspense, I like to call it High Adventure.

Take a peek at HIGH RISK, the first book in the Adrenaline series, coming March 5.

Vivian Arend

High Risk

Adrenaline, Book 1

LIFELINE: an elite search-and-rescue squad based out of Banff, Alberta. Specializing in high-risk rescue missions, this team goes wherever the job takes them…


Rebecca James was once revered for her devil-may-care attitude and backcountry survival skills. But ever since she lost her partner in a fatal accident, patches of her memory have been missing. And until she can recall those final, tragic moments before the accident, she can’t move on.

Since Marcus Landers was permanently injured during a mission, all his energies have been focused on his Lifeline team. When Becki—whom he had an intense affair with seven years ago—arrives in Banff, he’s inspired to reignite the spark they once had. Their mutual ardor slowly awakens Becki’s dormant, haunting memories.

New truths surface until Becki must at last confront her greatest fear. Remembering the past might mean a future without the man she loves…

Enjoy an excerpt from HIGH RISK:

Becki undid the climbing belt connections, letting the heavy harness fall to the floor with a sudden crash. “No. No, and no. Damn you, Marcus, you’re turning this into another training session, and I was supposed to be all grown up and doing the teaching this time.”

“Can I help it if you forgot a few of the lessons I taught you? I’m offering a refresher.”

He shouldn’t have taken it there. Not now, not when she was still freshly terrified. But hell if he was going to let her run away. Or even walk—this was too important.

Something about seeing her freeze had changed everything. It was no longer just sexual interest he felt, the lingering desire to get physical. Her panic had triggered an emotion he hadn’t experienced in what seemed to be forever.

The need to get emotionally involved—to make a difference. This time on a personal level, not something worthwhile but generic like the distraction of his rescue squad.

It was as if embers had been stirred under him, cracking the icy core inside him. The desire to focus on something other than the misery he spent so much energy hiding from the team. His personal ghosts had haunted him for far too long, and by now he never expected them to go away. He’d accepted his occasional nightmares as unavoidable, but allowing her to suffer if there was any way to help was unacceptable.

Making sure that Becki didn’t have to deal with unanswered questions for the next four years of her life—it was a good goal to which to turn his considerable attention. If he had to smack her with the one common denominator they’d had all those years ago—sex—he’d damn well take advantage of it.

Her expression changed from indignation to passion before she snapped a lid on her control.

Marcus didn’t let up. “Together we’ll train the team. Outside of that time, you will train me and help me figure out how to use this arm as well as I used to. In exchange, I will train you, and we’ll get to the bottom of whatever the hell happened to you.”

“What if it never comes? What if everything stays a mystery?” she demanded.

“Then we concentrate on getting you back to climbing.” He broke eye contact, focusing instead on freeing his own rope. “The mind is a curious thing, Becki. Maybe you won’t ever know exactly what happened during the accident. Doesn’t mean you can’t learn to climb and not have to worry about freezing.”

She blew out a long, unsteady breath. “So that’s what happened?”

“Yeah.” He was finally loose, straightening the rope and allowing it to fall smoothly into place against the wall. “Wait. That’s another thing on the list.”

“There’s a list?”

He glanced up, pleased to see she was smiling a little. “There’s always a list with me.”

Oh yeah. Her eyes heated. “What did I miss this time?”

“You will not apologize if—and that’s if, not when—you need to be saved again.”

Becki stared at the wall. “Bloody sadist.”

“Not at all. I won’t enjoy a minute of it if you don’t want me to.”

She snorted, then gathered her things. “Why do I feel as if I signed up for something way worse than what you put your team through? And by the way, even if you’re not a sadist, you’re a mean son of a bitch. You called them out of bed after taking them for wings and drinks last night?”

“Also made them do repeats while we had breakfast. Don’t forget that part.”

An aura of sadness and fear still clung to her, but she seemed far more willing to keep moving forward with him than a few minutes before. Becki lifted her gym bag straps over her shoulder, settling the bag against her hip. She glanced around at the gym and shook her head. “Never thought this place would end up breaking me.”

“It’s not going to. You’re going to come out on top.”

She raised a brow and nodded curtly. “I am. I will.”

The determined line of her jaw said it louder than her words.

***~~***

Digital

Amazon | Barnes & Noble

Mass Market Paperback

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | 
Book Depository  | Booksamillion | 
Powells

Vivian Arend: Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads

***~~***

COVER FLAT CONTEST

Comment below for a chance to win a signed cover flat of HIGH RISK. Contest closes: Friday January 18th, 3:00 pm MDT / 5:00 pm EST.

International.

Blog Post: the two winners of the signed cover flat contest

Hi folks!

The two winners of the signed cover flat contest are:

DRAGON BOUND – Teresa Savolainen

RISING DARKNESS – Nicole Nobles

Congratulations, Teresa and Nicole!  Please email your mailing address to:  thea@theaharrison.com.  If you are unable to respond by next week on Wednesday the 16th, I will pick other winners.

I’ll be posting a second excerpt of RISING DARKNESS the first week in March.

Happy reading!

Thea

First excerpt from RISING DARKNESS and cover flat contest!

Hi, folks!  January through March, I’ll be posting an excerpt each month from my upcoming release RISING DARKNESS (Berkley, April 2).

RISING DARKNESS is the first of two Game of Shadows novels.  The second one is entitled FALLING LIGHT, and it has a scheduled release date of February 2014.  These stories are very different from my Elder Races series.  They have a strong urban fantasy feeling to them.  (In fact RT Book Reviews will be posting their review in the Urban Fantasy section of their magazine.)  They are based on an alternative Earth, and they have four points of view, including the antagonist.  Also unlike the Elder Races series RISING DARKNESS does have a cliff hanger–the storyline will be concluded in the second novel FALLING LIGHT.

For January’s excerpt, I want to introduce you to the hero Michael.

Be sure to check below the excerpt for details of the cover flat contest!

*    *    *

Chapter Two

Michael had been in a rage for as long as he could remember, long before he understood the reasons for it.

As a small boy, over thirty years ago, he had been prone to screaming fits and spells of inconsolable sobbing that had lasted hours. Once it had lasted days. In his memory of that time, his parents were vague, ineffectual shadows, pantomiming concern and alarm. That one time had involved doctors, along with a hypodermic needle.

He hadn’t liked shots. Five adults had been needed to hold him pinned down. After that he had gone through a period of medication and therapy. The medicine taught him a valuable lesson. It made him feel odd and fuzzy. He realized he would have to curb his behavior if he wanted to be free of it, so he learned how to be cunning.

He colored a lot of pictures and studied the therapist as much as she studied him. As soon as he figured her out, he told her everything she wanted to hear. Eventually the sessions stopped, and so did the medication.

Still, he remained a stormy, headstrong, brilliant child. Despite all of their early literacy efforts, his parents could not interest him in reading until he saw an evening news segment on the First Persian Gulf War. Rapt, he watched unblinking until the news program was over, and then he demanded that his father read every article in the newspaper on the subject. Within a few years, his reading comprehension approached the college level.

School was pastel. It didn’t make much of an impression on him. The other children were pastel too. He didn’t have friends. He had followers. By observation and raw gut instinct he knew what the teachers thought of him, that they were both intrigued by him and also worried about his future.

He didn’t care. They were pastel. Nothing external was ever quite as real as what shouted inside of him.

He was well on his way to developing into an adult sociopath. His dreams of release from pastel rules were as yet unformed but increasingly dangerous. He had already been in several fights with other children, and he had discovered that he liked violence.

And he was good at it.

One day when he was eight, an old woman appeared at the fence of his schoolyard playground.

Michael was as aware of her presence as he was aware of everything else around him, but he ignored her while he organized his group of followers for a strenuous bout of playground mischief.

Then the most extraordinary thing happened.

Boy, the old woman said.

That was all. But she said it INSIDE HIS HEAD.

He turned to stare at her.

The old bat looked exceedingly pastel. She looked like just a nondescript woman with a cheerful apple-dumpling face who had paused to watch children run and play during a school break.

His eyes narrowing, he walked toward her, school, stranger-danger, followers and mischief, all else forgotten. Several of the other kids called his name, and some kind of missile thumped him on the shoulder. He ignored everything else and stopped about fifteen yards away from the six-foot chain-link fence. All the while, the old woman watched him with bright, black raisin eyes.

“How did you do that?” he asked.

Shrieking children ran between them, playing a game of tag, but she still heard him in spite of the noise. Her face crinkled into a friendly smile. It’s a secret, she said. I know a lot of secrets.

His breath left him. He stared at her in wonder. She might be old and wrinkled, but she was definitely not pastel. He took another quick, impetuous step toward her. “Teach me!”

Her smile wrinkles deepened although she never stopped watching him. Those bright eyes of hers were alight with amusement and something sharper. I might, she said, her mental voice casual. Or I might not. It all depends.

Never before in his short, pampered life had he been stared at as if he had been weighed and found wanting, but that was how the old woman stared at him now. He scowled, not liking the sensation. “It depends on what?”

On whether or not you know any manners, young man, she told him. And whether or not you’re still salvageable.

He had never seen eyes as old as hers. He was too young and ignorant to understand how deadly they were. All he knew was that this strange conversation was more real than anything else that he could remember.

He ran to the fence, clutched metal links in both hands and looked up at her. “I’m sorry,” he said. The unaccustomed words stuck in his throat, but he forced them out anyway. “I’m sorry I was rude. Please, would you teach me how you did that?”

Her face softened and she touched his clenched fists with gnarled fingers as she spoke aloud for the first time. “Well said. And I might teach you, but it still depends on one more thing.”

He shook his head in confusion. It was so odd. From a distance she had seemed so small, barely taller than he was. Now that he was right up next to her she seemed to tower over him.

“Anything,” he promised. He had been so young.

She bent forward and locked gazes with him. He realized that he had been wrong about her eyes too. They weren’t like friendly little raisins. They were hot and full of burning power like black suns.

“You must keep it a secret,” she whispered. “Or I will have to kill you.”

Terror thrilled him. Never, in reality or his wildest imagination, had an adult spoken to him like that. And she might even mean it.

(Whereas the man he had grown into knew very well that she had.)

He pushed against the fence. “I promise. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Ever,” said the old woman.

He nodded. “Ever.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Cross your heart and hope to die.”

Those words. She meant them. Wow, this was so cool. He held her gaze and grinned. He crossed his heart and hoped to die.

The old woman smiled her approval. “Atta boy.”

She told him to be quiet and wait, and he did, though it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.

He was rewarded for his patience two weeks later. Walking home from school, he saw a U-Haul van parked in front of a small house located a couple of doors down from where he lived.

Curious, he wandered over to watch half a dozen men unloading furniture, appliances and boxes. There were no toys, no bikes, nothing weird or spooky, just ordinary furniture. Pastel. He had started to turn away when he heard a thin, elderly female voice from within the house call out to the men.

A sharp, delicious shiver, like the flat of a cold blade, ran over his skin.

He hadn’t heard that voice for very long, but he would recognize it anywhere.

He knocked on her door. She gave him a cookie. To the hired movers they looked like a pleasant, ordinary old woman making friends with a well-mannered, curious neighborhood boy.

A week later the old woman met his parents. Soon after that he was taking piano lessons from her on Tuesdays and Thursdays. His family didn’t own a piano, so he also went over to her house on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays so he could practice on hers.

His parents were amazed and delighted at the strength of his artistic dedication. It seemed to be just the key they needed to settle him down. When his mentor invited him for summer vacations, they agreed with a poorly concealed relief.

In the meantime, Michael grew from a troubled little boy with messy, uncontrollable emotions into something quiet, controlled, and infinitely more deadly.

He learned who he was.

More importantly, he learned why he was the way he was.

“You lost the other half of yourself,” his mentor told him. “It happened a very long time ago. So long ago, in fact, that I am surprised there is any sanity left in you at all. You must remember who you are. You must remember everything you can, and rediscover your skills and your purpose. I can help you do that.”

As he learned meditation and discipline, he grew to understand what his mentor meant. He felt that raging part of him like a beast that was too lightly restrained. He harnessed that energy as he grew older, turning all of his focus onto it, and scarlet threads of memory began to unfurl into the past.

Past before his birth in this lifetime.

Past into distant history, so very long ago.

And he began to remember what he had lost. Who he had lost.

The other half of himself.

An unshakable determination settled into him. If she still existed in any way, he would find her again.

He would find her.

*     *     *

COVER FLAT CONTEST

Comment below for a chance to win one of two signed cover flats–DRAGON BOUND or RISING DARKNESS!  (Unfortunately WordPress isn’t letting me upload a photo of them at the moment, so I will post the photo separately on Twitter and Facebook.)  I’ll pick the two winners on Friday January 11th at 3 PM Mountain Daylight Time (5 pm EST).  This contest is international!

Seven Days of Winter Solstice Giveaways-Winners!

Hello, everyone! Thank you all so much for participating in Thea Harrison’s Seven Days of Winter Solstice Giveaways. We had nearly 1700 entries! Please give your congratulations to the winners:

Linda T.
Mimi S.
Kristina P.
Northwoman
Chris B.
Judy V.

E.T.A.: Another winner had to be chosen. Congrats, Diane S.!

Winners, please reply to me (Tasha) at info@theaharrison.com before the end of Wednesday so I can get your gifts out quickly. If I don’t hear from you, I will have to choose another winner.

Thank you all again for taking the time to comment on the posts last week, as well as tweet about them and sign up for the newsletter. Happy holidays and we hope you have a wonderful new year!

Seven Days of Winter Solstice Giveaways-Day 7

As seen in True Colors, the Elder Races have their own Christmas celebration called the Masque of the Gods, which culminates in the Festival of the Masque, a masked ball on the winter solstice. For this entire week, join us in celebrating the Masque with seven days of winter solstice giveaways. Every day you’ll have a chance to enter to win a gift pack that includes one copy of Lord’s Fall, a bookmark, dragon soap made by Thea Harrison, a coupon for 30% off the Elder Race novellas (including True Colors), and a holiday card from Thea. To enter, just comment on the daily posts and then enter your information via the Rafflecopter form (embedded at end of the post). You can gain extra entries by tweeting about the giveaway and signing up for Thea’s newsletter.

Once again, thank you all for your interest in Thea’s novels and happy holidays!

Card from the Rider-Waite tarot deck, c. 1909. Image c/o wikipedia.

The Festival of the Masque

Welcome to the last day of Thea Harrison’s Seven Days of Winter Solstice giveaways. Hooray! Today is the Winter Solstice, the day when the Elder Races host the Festival of the Masque. Since this is the last day of our giveaway, let’s talk about the Elder Races holiday celebration, the Masque of the Gods.

The holiday celebration is called the Masque of the Gods because it’s said one of the seven Primal Powers attends every Festival of the Masque. The Primal Powers are the “linchpins of the universe,” (Oracle of the Moon) that give the world Form. The seven Primal Powers are:

Taliesin, the god of dance who set everything in motion;
Azrael, who is Death;
Inanna, the goddess of Love;
Nadir, the Oracle;
Will, the god of Gift;
Camael, goddess of the Hearth; and
Hyperion, god of Law.

As Thea wrote in The Mysterious Tarot Deck, the Primal Powers are connected to the major arcana of the tarot. In the Elder Race novellas, True Colors, Natural Evil, Devi’s Gate, and Hunter’s Season, all the heroines are influenced by or use the tarot deck in some way.

Alabaster mask of Inanna, c. 3500 BCE. Image c/o www.ancientworlds.net.

Like Dragos, Rune, and many other figures in the Elder Races, however, the Primal Powers are ancient beings occasionally worshipped as deities by humans as well as the Elder Races. Inanna was the most important goddess in Sumer and Akkad, two ancient civilizations in Mesopotamia, and is often represented by a star (Venus). Both Azrael and Camael are known as angels from ancient Jewish tradition, Hyperion is a Titan from Greek myth, and Taliesin is a Welsh figure about whom many legends are written, including tales of how he assisted King Arthur in Camelot.

Masks are traditionally worn at the Festival of the Masque because the attendees dress up like the Primal Powers in keeping with the tradition of their attendance. The Masque begins with a process of the “gods” and ends with an unmasking at midnight. Of course, Dragos (who might be a Primal Power himself?) hosts a Festival of the Masque at Cuelebre Tower where one might find the actual Powers in attendance.

To enter the last day of the Winter Solstice giveaway, tell us which character from the Elder Races you’d like to dress as for your own Masque! Thanks for celebrating with us this week and happy holidays from Thea Harrison!

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Remember, you must enter using the Rafflecopter form. Winners will be randomly selected and notified December 23rd. All contest entries close December 22nd at 11:59 MST. This contest is open internationally.

Seven Days of Winter Solstice Giveaways-Day 6

As seen in True Colors, the Elder Races have their own Christmas celebration called the Masque of the Gods, which culminates in a the Festival of the Masque on the winter solstice. For this entire week, join us in celebrating the Masque with seven days of winter solstice giveaways. Every day you’ll have a chance to enter to win a gift pack that includes one copy of Lord’s Fall, a bookmark, dragon soap made by Thea Harrison, a coupon for 30% off the Elder Race novellas (including True Colors), and a holiday card from Thea. To enter, just comment on the daily posts and then enter your information via the Rafflecopter form (link at the end of the post). You can gain extra entries by tweeting about the giveaway and signing up for Thea’s newsletter.

Once again, thank you all for your interest in Thea’s novels and happy holidays!

“Hopfennarr” from Tettnang, Germany, with costume and mask. Image c/o Andreas Praefcke.

Modern Carnivals Around the World

As we start wrapping up our seven days of Winter Solstice giveaways, let’s take a wider look at carnival celebrations around the world.

Carnival started in Europe when the Vatican outlawed dancing in churches. Before that, dancing and feasting were integral parts of religious life–think of the labyrinths in French Gothic cathedrals, which were the sites of elaborate dances by both the clergy and laity on Easter Sunday. Dancing made many church officials nervous, however, and in the twelfth century dancing inside churches was banned. People could, however, dance in public on holidays and feast days as long as they didn’t do so inside the church. This was how carnevale was born (as well as many of the feast- and saint-day celebrations that still survive today).

Carnevale today is celebrated all over the world. In German-speaking countries, it’s called Fasching and culminates in a parade the Monday before lent called Rosenmontag. In North America, the most famous carnival is Mardi Gras or Fat Tuesday in New Orleans, which lasts for two weeks and includes parades, competitions, and balls hosted by carnival krewes. Like most other Carnevals, the New Orleans Mardi Gras includes dressing up in costumes; but is unique for the strings of beads, doubloons, and Zulu coconuts thrown during parades; flambeaux carriers, a form of dance that some think is a remnant of African slave culture; and King Cake–basically a coffee cake with a little plastic baby baked into the center. Yum! Mardi Gras is also famous for women exposing their breasts in exchange for trinkets from the krewes, which believe it or not has been going on since the mid-19th century.

The Sambadrome during Carnival. Image c/o wikipedia.

Even though Mardi Gras is probably the most prominent carnival in North American’s minds, the largest and most influential carnival in the world is currently the Brazilian Carnival in Rio de Janeiro. Samba schools parade and compete in the Sambadrome. They’re judged on how their music, costumes and dance fit into a theme of their choosing. Unlike in European carnivals, the costumes in the Brazilian carnival are almost entirely devoid of masks. Celebrities often participate in the carnival and the Sambadrome, which holds over a million people, is stuffed to over capacity. There are also more local, low-key celebrations called Blocos de Rua that might never leave a city street or a single building (read: bar). Blocos de Rua start in January and extend into the first Sunday of Lent. The Brazilian-style carnival has spread to Africa, many Caribbean islands, India, and Asia.

Tomorrow we’ll finish up with a discussion of the Masque of the Gods in the Elder Races series. Today, tell us if there are any Carnival traditions where you live or which carnival you’d like to visit.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Remember, you must enter using the Rafflecopter form. Winners will be randomly selected and notified December 23rd. All contest entries close December 22nd at 11:59 MST. This contest is open internationally.

Seven Days of Winter Solstice Giveaways-Day 5

As seen in True Colors, the Elder Races have their own Christmas celebration called the Masque of the Gods, which culminates in The Festival of the Masque, a masked ball on the winter solstice. For the next week, join us in celebrating the Masque with seven days of winter solstice giveaways. Every day you’ll have a chance to enter to win a gift pack that includes one copy of Lord’s Fall, a bookmark, dragon soap made by Thea Harrison, a coupon for 30% off the Elder Race novellas, and a holiday card from Thea. To enter, just comment on the daily posts and then enter your information via the Rafflecopter form (embedded in the post or click on the link). You can gain extra entries by signing up for Thea Harrison’s newsletter and tweeting about the giveaway.

Once again, thank you all for your interest in Thea’s novels and happy holidays!

The interior of La Fenice in Venice in 1837.
Image c/o wikipedia

The Heartbeat of Carnival: Music

The Venetian Carnevale was famous for its art and indulgences, in particular music. Venice is said to be the birthplace of opera, and the first opera house was built there in the seventeenth century. Opera was arguably the perfect Venetian art, combining all the elements of Carnevale that Venetians lived with for months at a time: costume, play, theatricality, music, dancing, sumptuousness, and the commedia dell’arte. As Peter Ackroyd writes in Venice: Pure City, “It was an art of the scenic and spectacular, in a city filled with the energetic display of festival and carnival.” Not only operas, but all public events and festivals were accompanied by music. Gondoliers sang the poetry of Torquato Tasso, men sang sonatas to balconies à la Romeo and Juliet, and Charles Burney (18th-century writer and father of Fanny Burney) wrote that Venetians seemed to converse in song. The order of music represented the order of the heavens and Venice’s control over the elements of the earth. Just like music, Venetian society strived–or at the very least fancied itself to be striving–for harmony and balance. Nietzsche wrote, “when I seek another word for music, I always find only the word Venice.”

Venice was famous for its music schools: the male singing school in St. Mark’s and orphanages for young girls where they were trained in musical arts. Nearly every notable European composer traveled to Venice, including Mozart, Handel, Stravinsky, and Mendelssohn.

The most famous composer of Venice was Vivaldi, a red-haired, mercurial priest who taught at one of the orphanage schools and wrote hundreds of compositions, as well as produced his own operas. He wrote with exuberance and spontaneity, and haggled prices like Pantalone.

A reenactment of a traditional Venetian Carnevale dance.

Of course, what is music without dancing? Diaries of Venetians from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries suggest there was constant dancing in squares, on barges, at parties and in the street. There were specific dances for women and men, for specific days and dress. Like music, the order and repetition of dancing reflected the order and repetition of Venice and its politics–an idea the state of Venice took care to foster and encourage.

How far does all this go back into Venice’s history? Like Venice, Troy was famous for its labyrinthine streets as well as the dances of its citizens; and Venetians often traced the history of their music and dancing back to Troy. In any case, music was the heartbeat of Venice. As they used to say, Venice will survive while the music lasts.

Tomorrow we’ll look at carnivale in Rio de Janeiro and New Orleans. Today, to enter the giveaway, please comment on this post!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Remember, you must enter using the Rafflecopter form. Winners will be randomly selected and notified December 23rd. All contest entries close December 22nd at 11:59 MST. This contest is open internationally.