Chapter 1: Sneak Preview

                  I was on fire.  I sluggishly attempted to pat down the flames on my arms but each time I lifted my hand another flare sprung up – like a game of whack-a-mole.  I tried to speak but my words were muffled, slurred.  When I looked up a pair of molten eyes were staring back at me, the pupils reflecting the flicker of blue fire.  Him.   I tried to go to him, but no matter how far I traveled he was just one step away.  Help me! I wanted to shout. Instead, I thrashed.  I was fighting against an invisible net – the harder I struggled the more entrenched I became. 

 

         Just when I would have given up hope, a shrill, beeping jarred me awake. The alarm on my phone.  I panted heavily, my shirt drenched in sweat.  It was only a dream. But what was I even dreaming about?

        

         I eased out of my ambient state, blinking twice to ensure that I was not mistaken, and that I was, in fact, here.  Here being my new bedroom in my new home, the massive Cliffside Inn.  When I came in last night I had that all-consuming exhaustion which borders on intoxication and is just as dangerous.  I had little else left in me than to plop into this magnificent bed and shut my eyes.

        

         I now took in my sumptuous surroundings; I was nestled cozily in the center of a California King-sized bed fitted with soft cotton sheets the color of lush grass.  A deep purple comforter covered and captured the heat of my body.  I couldn't even count the number of pillows. This was certainly the most luxurious bed I had ever seen, much less slept in.

        

         The rest of the room was no less impressive.  Across from me was a vanity that had to have been over 100 years-old, made of dark mahogany with a mirror as wide as I was tall.  The over-stuffed seat on the vanity chair was a deep burgundy that matched the plush throw beneath the bed and thick drapes drawn across the window.  Window may have been an understatement – glass stretched from floor to ceiling and the entire width of the room.  What I could glimpse between the peek of those drapes, was an unadulterated view of the ocean, which, today, had a slight fog rolling over it.

        

         Made of the same dark wood as the vanity, opposite the window, was a bookshelf which ran the entire length of the wall except for the entrance into the room.  It was filled with volumes of books whose genres ranged from classics to contemporary romance to science fiction. 

        

         At the foot of the bed, where my television had always been, was a beige chaise lounge, suede maybe, situated at a perfect angle to sit, read a book and take in the view.  I was more than impressed with my accommodations for the coming year.

        

         I played the events of yesterday over in my head.  I had completed the eleven-hour drive north from Los Angeles to Puesta Del Sol in one day.  Lack of funds prevented me from stopping overmuch along the way.  By the time I arrived I was torn between my road-weariness and aching hunger.  However, exhaustion won out and I could do little else but collapse into my bed and sleep. 

        

         "We have to do what's best for you," my mother said. 

        

         "What's best for me? You mean what's best for you!" I had retorted. I was shaken to the core that my family no longer wanted me around-that in their minds I had done something so terrible that it warranted excommunication.

        

         "Honey, that's not what I meant and you know it.  You have been out of control and need to get your act together- and Los Angeles clearly isn't the place to be doing it.  You've been out until god knows when doing god knows what and I'm just supposed to sit idly by?  You're a grown woman now, you have to take responsibility for your actions.   That's why I've arranged for you to work at your cousin Inn up North for the time being.  I think it will give you time to get your priorities straight." My mom always talks like that. Like she's the lead of one of the daytime soaps she's always watching.  Glass swishing in her hand as she elongates syllables and shouts rhetoric.  Responses not welcome or required.

        

         I had sat blank faced the entire time. Refusing to cry.  Priorities straight? She clearly had no clue just how in line my priorities were.  I loved my mother, but she had some major control issues. "Mom I don't want to go."

        

         "I'm not giving you a choice. I'm not supporting you any more. This is really your best option."  Irony of ironies – can you support another human being when you yourself haven't worked a day in your life? My mom is an example of a woman who has deluded herself and bolstered that delusion through immersion in a self-same social setting.  

 

         I had fumed the entire car ride up – at times accelerating to well over 100 mph in the Jeep Wrangler I had scrimped and saved to buy.  The ability to travel where I pleased was one of my few freedoms. My refusal to "fall in line" with my mother's expectations had driven a wedge between us that had grown to a chasm which I was unsure could ever be bridged.  And she was nuts if she thought I would ever become Mrs. Nigel Cornwall, but I suppose that's neither here nor there. 

        

         Also plaguing our relationship was her inability to cope with or recognize my "otherness."  The first time she noticed anything was wrong I had fallen from the monkey bars and scraped my knee pretty terribly.  When I grabbed it to stop the stinging pain, heat had seared through my body and then there was a fast image of green light, as quick as the flash on a camera.  When I lifted my hand the gash was gone, replaced by the skin that usually marks an injury that was already weeks old. 

        

         My mother had stood nearby with a horrified look on her face, refusing to accept what she had just witnessed.  For the next fifteen years we did our best to avoid the subject altogether.  Needless to say I was not permitted any sort of medical care moving forward.  Mrs. Cork would die of mortification if any of the women in her elite circle of housewives were to ever discover her daughter was a 'sorceress'.

        

         This is likely why medical school was off the table.  I should make mention here that I wasn't interested in attending Harvard or anything like that.  I wanted to attend a school of alternative, natural medicine in Vancouver.  My dad just about blew a gasket when he heard that one. 

        

         I did my best to learn anything I could about medicine independently, despite their objections.  Those "late nights" where she presumed I was out on a drinking binge or whatever horrors her mind created were spent at the UCLA medical library or at various greenhouses and farms.  I was determined to learn everything I could about healing, and her belief that I was out partying was the lesser of two evils.

        

         I was sucked back into reality, when, somewhere during the time that I was vacillating between anger and dread, I had approached the vicinity of the Inn.  Puesta Del Sol, Population: 250, the sign read.  Exactly what I wasn't used to – a small town community in a remote coastal area.  I feared that I would die of boredom and mental depravity long before my stay here was over.  Man, was I going to be wrong about that. 

        

           One of the benefits of growing up in coastal California was the ability to watch the sun set over the ocean daily.  The ritual was taking place now, just over the horizon, providing for some spectacular scenery.  This should have been something that I was used to, but I never stopped being awed at the shocks of pink and purple dancing across the sky as the day departed and the night arrived.   I've always marveled at how the sun appeared to move so slowly throughout the day, but, as it approached the horizon, it dipped so swiftly that if you looked away you could miss it.

        

         I also believed that was when those of us who had "otherness" inside of us felt an imperceptible shift in the atmosphere.  As though Selene's chariot ride signaled a changing of guard, and the buzz of energy that hummed quietly throughout the day became ostensible even to someone unacquainted with the supernatural world.

        

         As I drove through the main thoroughfare, I could see this was a tidy town, with a touch of the Victorian style seen all over Northern California, but with a darker, gothic twist.  I passed a place with the name Bar None etched into a wooden sign; I could see a fireplace with a warm, inviting fire crackling in the hearth causing steam to collect on the window panes.  The interior was decently packed for a weeknight in a small town.  I could see a buxom blond holding court over three admiring males as well as a dark haired woman sitting in a corner booth by herself.  She was hiding her hopes that someone would come over and talk to her, while trying to appear confident sitting alone in a place where everyone seemed to know each other.   

        

         I kept driving and made note of a grocery store and clothing store with similar aesthetic treatments before turning off the main thoroughfare to Seacliff Road, which I was supposed to take for 10 miles before I reached my destination.   In total, "town" consisted of about twenty buildings grouped together on Main Street.  Of course I thought, and rolled my eyes.  Absent were the commercial chains – no Starbucks or McDonald's here.  Gulp.

        

         Seacliff Road was a well-kept two lane high way twisting through the hillside that occupies much of Northern California.  The night was pitch without a trace of the moon in the sky.  It was a marked difference to be surrounded by complete darkness, the road illuminated solely by the high-power beams of my Jeep. 

        

         I travelled forward carefully, unfamiliar with the terrain.  I couldn't shake the cold wave of unease that washed over me as I was driving.  A combination of childhood fears and too many slasher films had me glancing into my rear view mirror to check my back seat. 

        

         Grow up Morganna, you are WAY too old be afraid of the dark. 

        

         Then, just as quickly as it descended upon me, the feeling was gone.  I had definitely been driving for far too long.  The night was cool, but I had the windows down so I could enjoy the smells undulating along the night. The scent of salt and sea was in my nose as I approached a house on the left.  This certainly couldn't be the Inn, could it?  I should really work on paying attention to directions in unfamiliar areas.  My aimless wandering had gotten me into trouble on more than one occasion. 

        

         I pulled into a slate driveway without gates, a definite departure from Los Angeles.  As the headlights splashed on the house, I heard the blast of a symphony, which if I wasn't already creeped out, the dark, escalating melody sealed the deal.  This was definitely not the Inn I had seen in pictures.  

        

         This was a Victorian, as well, but while the Inn was a deep cream, this was a slate gray.  Two matching turrets flanked either side of the main house, one of them showcasing what looked to be a 360-view of the surrounding area.  I could see a faint light coming from that room.  Given the darkness it was difficult to make out the remainder of the house, but it was decidedly not the Cliffside Inn.  I needed to get out of here before whomever owned this home came out and noticed me idling in his or her driveway. 

        

           Too late.  One minute I was shifting gears the next I was bolting out of my seat to the sound of a sharp wrap on my window.  I turned and looked at the man to my left.  My traitorous jaw inexorably unhinged itself. Sheeeez-us. 

         Hunched down in order to make eye contact with me, in an SUV no less, was one of the most roguishly sexy men I had ever seen – celebrity or otherwise. I think I was holding my breath because I started to feel the black tentacles creep in around my eyes and inhaled in order to keep from fainting. The last thing I needed to do was faint in front of this MAN.  I rolled down the window, going against everything my mother ever taught me about approaching strangers.  I should have kicked my car in gear and floored it out of there, but something in his expression told me that would be very unwise.

         I stared into his eyes, which were a dark gold, and took in the thick curly hair, which appeared to be a jet black in the night sky.  I couldn't quite place his unmatched features – a strong nose, chiseled jaw and cheekbones and a full bottom lip.  I'm not even sure I could call him handsome, but there was such an overt sexuality to his features that I felt hot all over. And that was just his face.  He wasn't wearing what I'd call ample clothing for a night in the 40s. From his threadbare t-shirt I could make out a body honed to perfection. Not a bodybuilder, though. More like ex-military; one of those special forces operatives who exudes power and stealth, and could run ten miles just as easily as he could bench press a few hundred pounds.  

The energy he emanated abraded my nerves, making me feel like a riotous mass of electrical wires.  It was not on the same frequency as any human I've ever met.  I had limited interaction with people who emitted energy like mine so I was both fascinated and afraid.  I wasn't naïve enough to believe that all power was good power, but was interested enough to stick around and find out.        

         He seemed content to let the silence drag on between us, the intensity of his gaze causing me to fidget in my seat. Before I could stop my mouth I was talking. 

        

         "Hi," I tried in my friendliest tone of voice.  After he continued to stare I added, "I'm Morganna, I'm looking for the Cliffside Inn – I don't suppose that's you? I'm new to the area and not familiar with this road, I apologize for pulling into your driveway." Oh my gosh, I was rambling.   And I wouldn't risk checking my mirror, but I could guarantee my pale face was a deep hue of red that matched my hair and eyebrows. 

        

         Still nothing from him, and my initial admiration was slowly giving way to annoyance, so I decided it was best I be on my way.  "Well then, I guess I will be going, sorry to be a bother."

        

         I was putting the car into gear when he finally spoke.  His expression belied his amusement.  This was definitely a man used to people being cowed at him.  Under normal circumstances I would have been, but more often than not my pride wins the battle and I've said something long before I've thought about the repercussions.  The deep sound of his voice was rich and smoky at the same time, and stalled any movements I had been making.

        

         "Make a left out of the driveway and head another two miles or so up and the Inn will be on your right.  Be careful on the way – all manner of creatures moving through the forest at night." He patted the side of the door, stood up to his full height, which had to be four or five inches over six feet, and purposefully headed back to the house without sparing me a glance.

        

         After I was sure he was inside, I let out a whoosh of breath.  I pulled back onto Seacliff, heading North to the Inn.  By then, I was deliriously tired and kept the windows down hoping that the breeze would wake me up.  Already skittish from the encounter with the stranger whose name I failed to gather, I just barely noticed a blur of movement out of the corner of my eye and slammed on my brakes as it approached the road.  I skidded along the slick pavement and came to a halt with a crack of green light just in time to avoid whatever had been coming my way.

        

       **UPDATE  Want the rest of Chapter 1? Subscribe to my posterous or mention to me #morgannacork please on twitter @bjanelawson to get the rest delivered via email!!

 

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