Soothsayer Ch. 10, Pt. 1

Notes: I sat down to write this today and I thought about what I had planned, then thought, "Oh man, that sounds boring. And if I'm bored readers will be bored. What else can I do?" And then this arc started, and it's going to get crazy in St. Louis, folks. Enjoy part one!

Also, check back on Thursday to find out who wins my giveaway!


Title: Soothsayer Chapter 10, Part One.

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“Covetousness is both the beginning and the end of the devil’s alphabet—the first vice in corrupt nature that moves, and the last which dies.” – Michel de Montaigne

  

We reached St. Louis by early afternoon, and it wasn’t hard to find Six Flags. Just look for the enormous rollercoasters, which I expected I’d be spending some time on. Again, not something I’d done since Vegas. Sören was a bad influence.

He was also incredibly impatient. “I want to go in now.”

Soothsayer Ch. 4, Pt. 1

Notes: So, some revelations here! Some frustrations, especially for Cillian, but I never claimed he was super mature :) Also a new piece of artwork courtesy of Caitlin Ricci, because she's wonderful. One more post with set-up, and then we're off and running at the speed of...well, my plots, so take the word "speed" with a grain of salt.

Title: Soothsayer, Chapter Four, Part One

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Neither of my companions were the sort of people to look dumbfounded after hearing something that should be impossible, they’d each seen too much. If I’d been hoping for a moment of shocked awe, maybe a frisson of fear or two, I’d have been sorely disappointed. As it was I got ruthless practicality, which was exactly what I needed in the moment. I was already freaking myself out. I didn’t need to deal with their panic too.

“What are you talking about?” Marisol snatched the phone from me and looked at the picture. “What do you mean? Who’s Ólafur Egilsson, and why would he be dead?”

Soothsayer Ch. 3, Pt. 2

Notes: Here we go marching on, finally getting a little of the main plot going! I know this one will leave some of your frustrated, but I swear it's getting better. We're closer and closer to our primary conflict every day, and I'm having a huge amount of fun with this. One of the great things about urban fantasy as a genre is the freedom it encourages when thinking about mythology and magic, and I've got some fun ahead. Thanks, Iceland!

Also included this time around: a custom sketch of Marisol, courtesy of the phenomenal Nico Baum, whose art you can find here on Tumblr: http://n4ut.tumblr.com/. Thank you! So, who should I commission next, guys? Phin? Roger? Maybe the mysterious he? Leave a comment and let me know!


Title: Soothsayer, Chapter 3, Part Two.

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“Only after disaster can we be resurrected.” – Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

Dreams were always a problem for me, but dreaming of him was the worst. I’d made a lot of bad decisions in my life, poor choices that couldn’t just be explained away with youth and stupidity, but the things I did with him were far and away the most shameful moments of my life. I could try and excuse it by saying that I was a captive, trying to escape before the Viking patriarch of that twisted little family lost patience and did away with me. I could say that my mother had failed me by not letting me know about the danger I was about to get into before I was tumbling into it, head over heels. I could say that he should have been the one to bear the shame, since he was technically free while I was the one imprisoned, but all of that would be lies, awful, facetious. The truth is…the truth is, I saw an opportunity in Sören’s eyes, and I took it.

Soothsayer Ch. 3, Pt. 1

Notes: Onward! And I also get to share the artwork with you, yay! I love this picture of Cillian, done by the exceptional Felixandria/Alex: find her work here: http://felixandria.tumblr.com/  It's obviously Cillian on a better day than the one he just had, but I love the sense of movement she imbued him with.  Next time around I should have another picture done by a different artist. I'm working my way through the cast :)

Title: Soothsayer, Chapter 3, Part 1

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“No friendship is an accident.” – O. Henry, Heart of the West

It wasn’t the impact of the bullet that knocked me over; it was me trying to move too quickly on the slippery, glass-covered mess of a floor. My shoes were pretty things, but the tread had worn away long ago. The bullet hit my arm, I jerked and slid and wound up flat on my ass, and after that, well…things got a little hazy for a bit.

I’d never been shot before. Beaten until I was nothing but red blood over purple bruises, burned more than once with the business end of a cigarette, slashed with everything from chicken wire to Bowie knives, I was well acquainted with the sight of my own blood. But being shot was novel, and I stared in surprise at the perfectly round hole in my shirt, just above and outside of my elbow, as it slowly changed from white to red. Gravity pulled the blood down, staining my sleeve in pretty patterns like some perverse Rorschach card, and I just stared and ignored the sudden furor around me, people yelling and Phin bellowing like a bull, and I didn’t feel anything at all until long fingers turned my head and Roger’s blurry face swam into focus.