I was reminded that there are a number of new followers and I tend to forget about self-advertising . . . so, without further ado, links to my book on werewolves (available in print, Kindle, and Nook formats):
So, the book went live for pre-orders via Inkshares. It has 78 more days to generate at least 250 pre-orders in order to be published. If you like the sample below, please consider checking out the rest here.
“Well, crap,” he thought.
Then everything went black.
It was supposed to be a simple retrieval job, the kind the team had done scores of times. One of their bread-and-butter jobs. They knew the target item—a deceptively plain gold ring. They knew the current owner—a wizard of some modest reputation. They knew the layout and protections in place. The client bought the ring from the owner and it was not delivered, or the owner had stolen it from the client, either way did not really matter.
Most of the information had been given to them by the client’s representative. The rest they had discovered from some easy investigation. The plan was elegantly simple and straightforward, the kind of thing they had done often, almost monthly.
The location was a mid-sized mansion compound, not too unusual for their jobs. A fair sized lawn with little cover, two stories, wrought iron fence around the grounds. Nothing out of the ordinary. Someone had placed common wards and protections on the perimeter—counter-scrying, counter-teleport, a few blocking entry by specific species or magic strength, some simple alarms. All the wards they had spotted or the client noted inside were based on cryptomancy or glamour, sometimes combined. Again, nothing they were not used to.
The current owner was easy to research. Brandon Riley was a mage, a wizard, of modest talent, but with a gift for mass communications. He had built a reputation and small fortune on marketing the enchanted items of others to the paranormal community. And he had created, it was said, a significant, if modest, collection of unique artifacts in the process.
He woke with a start.
The analytical part of his mind said shock spell, counteracting the stun. Simple enough that most mages could do it in their sleep. The rest of his consciousness took in the room, particularly the fact that Brandon Riley was standing inches from his face.
“Alex Walsh,” Riley said, “witch in the employ of Vingard Solutions. Why were you seeking to assault Norrggrr Hess, my guest, in my home?”
Alex looked around quickly, only his eyes moving. Norrggrr? He stopped on a dwarf across the room, surrounded by obvious security. Oh. Right. Crap.
A good piece on three basics of writing urban (or modern) fantasy.
Very bummed. Today, the 12th of March, we lost a great writer, Sir Terry Pratchett.
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