New fiction coming from Post Mortem-Press
Mon Cœur Mort from Post Morterm-Press
You all know how I feel about anything that sparkles, dazzles, or otherwise glitters in the sunlight. As far as I'm concerned, the only supernatural romance I care about comes from the Dean/Castiel fanfiction community on Livejournal, and that's where it stays. (Although I am more of Crowley/Castiel girl these days, but my unresolvable feelings for Mark A. Sheppard are another story for another day….) However, for Post Mortem-Press and their upcoming anthology, I decided to make an exception.
In the era of sparkling vampires, love lorn werewolves and fallen guardian angels, the idea of romance and fear has gotten a little muddy. Mon Cœur Mort aims to clear the water some. Twenty-seven international authors bring us tales that range from humorous to horrifying, lyrical to lurid, touching to terrorizing. Regardless of tone, they all have one thing in common, they deal with the theme of otherworldly fear associated with love.
In Mon Cœur Mort the vampires do not sparkle and the werewolves wear shirts in public. Each story speaks to our core emotions of love and fear. A chance encounter with the perfect girl. A walk down memory lane on a wedding anniversary. The final moments of life unraveling in time and reality. Revenge is served and the ultimate sacrifice is made, all in the name of love.
But be warned, just as the stories may touch your heart, they might just rip it out of your chest.
My short story At the Heart of Mina Jones closes the book, about a minimum-wage burnout named Jason, in the throes of his quarter-life crisis. Jason has a crush on a customer named Mina, a cool, put-together girl that he knows he has no chance with, having lost his corporate job to downsizing and living on the hope that he can keep a roof over his head amid piling student loans and debt. When Mina approaches Jason with an offer he can't refuse — $10,000 in exchange for one night of his company, no strings attached — she might very well be the answer he's looking for.
But the night he spends in Mina's too-hot apartment, handcuffed in her bed and held there under her too-cold hands, opens the door to questions that Jason can't answer and an obsession that threatens to consume him.
"Hey," I said, and stood stone-dumb as she came up to me, my breath catching between us like smoke. She didn't smile this time.
"Are you free?" She sounded like she already had an answer in mind.
"Yeah, I'm just heading home for the night." I didn't want to look like I cared, but it was hard to fake. "Why?"
She walked on, I followed.
"I've seen where you live, Jason. I don't mean to overstep my boundaries, but I can see you don't have a lot of money."
"You've been to my apartment?" I bristled. "Why did you go to my place?"
"I don't want to make you uncomfortable." She wasn't looking at me, taking long steps that I had to try to keep up with. I couldn't see her breath like I could mine. "But I can help you, if you want. All I ask in return is a favor."
"What are you talking about?"
"How much do you want?"
"What? No, I don't want anything."
Mina stopped, grabbed my arm. "How much?"
I shuffled in place. "I don't want anything, okay?"
Her eyes looked wider in the dark. "Five thousand dollars? Ten? Would that be enough to help you?"
"Mina—"
She squeezed my arm. "I will give you ten thousand dollars, Jason. Free, clear and in cash. All you have to do is agree to my terms."
I regretted the question before I even asked. "What do you want me to do?"
"You come home with me, Jason, just for one night. You do everything I ask of you when I ask it, you don't question any of my requirements, and you don't tell anyone else about it. That's all."
"Mina." I looked at her hand, the boniness of her bare fingers digging into my jacket. Sighed and shrugged it away. "I can't do that. I'm sorry."
"I'm offering you a lot of money, Jason. All I'm asking from you is one simple favor, and then you never have to see me again."
"I'm sorry."
She retrieved a pen and a notepad from her purse, tearing out a slip of paper and writing something down. "This is my home number. When you change your mind, call me."
Mina held up the paper. I didn't take it. Reaching out she pulled my fingers open, placed it in my hand and folded my fingers shut again, holding them there. Her hands were freezing to the touch. It made the whole thing seem sadder somehow.
"You will call me," she said, like she already knew.
I watched her walk away, disappearing down the street and into a car parked outside the coffee shop. I couldn't help but look at her note, the roundness of her letters and numbers, assuring myself that I'd done the right thing. Walking home alone and crawling into bed under cold sheets, I wasn't so sure I had.
It's a love story. It's a quarter-life crisis story. It's a slow-burn chiller about people who aren't what they appear to be. Most of all, nobody sparkles, and at the end of the day, that's what counts. You can pre-order Mon Cœur Mort today.
