by Livia Quinn
He winked and poofed away before I could ask what he meant by “even your lover”. Who was he referring to? Dylan and I were no longer lovers and Jack… Maybe the Imp could see the future. I hoped so.
I continued downtown to Aurora Borealis. I had things to discuss with Aurora. Things like—why I’d been left in the dark for starters. Things like—why she had let me believe the worst about my parents. My heart leaked tears at the agony I’d felt over my father’s death, at my mother’s withdrawal. I was going to have to reconcile twenty years of pain, disappointment and false reality with the truth… that my parents had distanced themselves from us to keep us safe.
There were only four days left until the beginning of the full lunar moon cycle, when we might be better able to contact my brother’s weakening force and according to Dylan, we had plans to make. What plans exactly?
Dylan was right about one thing. While Jack had come to Destiny looking for a normal, ordinary town to raise Jordie, someplace like Mayberry, I’d had a major case of denial, pretending to be normal.
But Destiny isn’t Mayberry. It’s more like… Middle Earth. I finally understood what Aurora had been telling me for weeks. My future and that of my family might depend on embracing my birthright and accepting the past.
Jack had a lot to accept as well. He’d told Dylan he wanted to know everything. He’d also promised me we’d find River. I can’t help but wonder if he stays, and after we find River alive and well, will he still want to take me to the Mardi Gras ball?
Menori isn’t holding her considerable breath ‘cause there’s a lot of everything.
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Excerpt Cry Me a River
Tempe
I recognized him… by the voice that had been likened to bellowing organs, crying out rain over the mountains to flood rivers, sending fire to create fear and move rock and earth.
Menori recognized his familial wind. She skyrocketed through my system, flushing the blood through my arteries. Impulses of neurotransmissions crashed and exploded like missiles in a giant conductor making the tendrils of her bonds loosen and stretch, preparing to strike.
If not for that…the man before me would have been a stranger—tall, massively built, bronze from head to black leather biker boots—think The Rock on mega steroids, and that’s before he goes Djinni. This man had a heavy mane of burnished copper hair. The father I remembered was bald, but the last time I’d seen him, I’d been seven years old, and I’d been told he was dead. My heart felt like it was being clawed apart from the inside.
“Dutch.” Menori’s control made my voice calm.
“Tempest.”
Wait, motorcycle boots, black leather… “You! The rider who followed me, who watched my house, watched me come and go, but didn’t have the parental consideration, love or decency to knock on my door and reintroduce yourself…say, ‘oh, yeah, honey—you grieved for nothing, belittled your mother undeservedly and because of me your little brother may d-die!’ How about that, Dutch?”
I couldn’t stop it. I saw him cross his arms and set his teeth the second I unleashed the fury of my wrath at him.
On the periphery of my vision. I saw a protective shield rise like a dome over the picnic table and faerie guests who stood against the transparent barrier, gaping and pointing at the out of control weather witch. I glared at them, my eyes lit with a hot inner sunlight, and they scampered under the table.
“It’s me you’re angry with, daughter. Unleash your fury here!” He pounded his enormous chest and flexed hulking arm muscles.
As if those were the magic words, I came un-glued. Wind roared and slammed into him, but his body was like a mountain—immovable. Rain pounded in big fat drops and baseball sized hail fell on the backyard until he was standing in six inches of it, and still, he stood like a statue. Shards of ice bounced off his impenetrable skin.
I called lightning, big honking bolts of jagged blue that ripped across the sky and slammed into the ground at his feet. And closer. He deflected those, and smiled.
I raged. What could bring down a mountain—a flood, but he was not made of dirt. Frustrated I gathered menori around me and jacked up the speed of my spin, directing all of the rocks around the pond into menori’s new power.
He shouted. “No. Tempest.”
Before the small boulders went ten feet, he rose, his Djinn nature acting on instinct, making use of the pond to become a giant waterspout. I dropped the rocks and gathered the elements and aimed a straight line wind in his direction. I’d break through that vortex and he would have to regroup.
“Tempe, my God, stop.”
My Tempestaerie rejected the human voice off hand. She was angry. Danger. I turned, and she aimed at…him.
Jack.
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About the Author
Livia moved from D.C. to the wilds of Louisiana where the weather and culture of the region inspired her writing, both her storm faerie, Tempest, and her military heroes. She’s stored up fodder from her jobs as mail lady, salesperson, plant manager, business owner and professional singer to share with readers. Think of her as her characters’ biographer! On the bayou, she is protected from the alligators and bears by her husband and feisty Pomeranian, Dusty.
As they say in my favorite escape, Britain. . .
Caide Mile Failte’, A hundred thousand welcomes.
Livia
Contact me:
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