Layla's adventure continues in The Shadow Aspect. I hope you love this cover as much as I do. I have to say Layla is looking a little bad ass in this image, the lovely cover art created by Liliana Sanches, Princess of Shadows. One might even say Layla's shadow side is showing! Below, please find the novel description and an excerpt from the novel . . . a prologue to be exact. Look for The Shadow Aspect later this year!
Novel Description:
When Layla took the
final step through the labyrinth, she thought she was saving the ones she
loved.
She couldn’t have been
more wrong.
The unwitting victims
of a grudge seething for eons, Layla and the other survivors now find
themselves in a war for our world. With vampires lurking and shapechangers
plotting vengeance, if mankind has any hope of survival, Layla must decide whom
to trust: the carnie girl? The quiet doctor? The tarot reader? The stranger
with alluring gold eyes? Or the man she loves? And then there are the voices.
What does it forewarn if the dead can speak?
When the world burns,
mankind’s shadow side rises. Do we deserve to survive?
Want a taste of what's in store? Everyone loved Grandma Petrovich, Vasilisa, so much I thought we needed a little glimpse into her back-story. Below, see how it all began . . .
The Shadow Aspect Excerpt
Prologue: The Clarion Call
Soviet Russia, 1957
Vasilisa had
walked down same path from her family’s farm to town every day for as long as
she could remember. She was barely
strong enough to carry the packs of freshly harvested roots and herbs when her
mother had tasked her with the job. But Vasilisa had never complained. What was
the use? Now that she was a young woman, her daily routine seemed as automated
as breathing: wake, wash her face, dress, feed her younger siblings, comb out
the tattered mess her restless sleep had made out of her wheat colored tresses,
then harvest herbs to take to the distillery. Only now she could carry more.
Only now her mother was dead.
Vasilisa walked
eyes on the pebbly path below her feet, from her farm, through the field, and
into the woods. In ten minutes, she would meet the modern road. If she was lucky, someone would give her a ride
to town. If she wasn’t, it would take thirty minutes to walk there. If she was
really lucky, Sasha Petrovich would drive by in his rusted truck and give her a
ride. Vasilisa’s heart picked up a pace when she thought of it.
In the forest,
the sunlight shining through the canopy of green, Vasilisa stopped beside the
old spring and took off her packs. Long ago someone had shifted the rocks to
make a natural basin. She dipped her hands in the water and took a drink. The
fresh spring water had a sharp, metallic taste. Vasilisa splashed water onto
her face. That year the Soviets had sent a satellite into space, yet Vasilisa
walked the same path her ancestors had followed for hundreds of years. She
performed the same work they did in the exact same way. She knew this because
they told her so. The spirits, sometimes clustered around her so closely in the
family home that she felt claustrophobic, were a noisy bunch. Vasilisa’s
grandmother, the stubborn matriarch who’d passed on her psychic gift to
Vasilisa, was always the loudest. Sometimes Vasilisa felt like she was lost in
time. And as she dug in her pack to leave three cubes of sugar at the side of
the spring, a gift for the forest spirits, she felt the crush of the her
discordant world: ancient and modern in one jumbled mess.
She picked up
her packs and headed back toward the road. To her luck, a truck was passing
just as she emerged from the woods. But it was not Sasha. Vasilisa waved, and
the truck slowed. With a nod to the driver, she crawled into the back of the
pick-up and sat with the family dog. She dangled her feet off the back of the
truck, smelling the exhaust, as the truck rumbled toward town. It didn’t take long to get to get there.
Vasilisa hopped
off the back of the truck as the driver slowed to let her out. She waved in
thanks as the truck sped away. Vasilisa turned toward town square but first
stopped, dug into her pocket, and pulled out the only tube of lipstick she
owned; it was cherry red. She twisted the gold casing, carefully applied the
lipstick, then trudged to the distillery.
The distillery
was on the far end of the market square. The square was bustling in its grim,
drab way. There were no longer any breadlines, that was a thing of the past,
but the townspeople still looked miserable. They carried their baskets and
sacks of produce, their faces blank, their feet scurrying.
The sign above
the distillery door squeaked as it rocked in the wind. Its sound carried on the
wind. Vasilisa pushed the door open. As usual, Yuri was in the front office
laboring hard over heaps of papers, the room a blue haze of cigarette smoke.
Crates of vodka bottles were stacked to the ceiling. The clear glass bottles
twinkled in the morning light.
“Good morning,”
Vasilisa said.
“Good morning,”
Yuri replied absently. He didn’t even look up. Why would he? The routine had
become mundane.
Vasilisa took
her packs to the scale on the other side of the room. She set the packs down,
noted the weight, and picked up the empty bags from yesterday’s delivery. The
unbleached cotton bags still smelled like the anise, mint, lavender, and basil
they’d carried.
“Five and a half
kilos,” she told Yuri.
Yuri never
looked at Vasilisa but turned to the till and started counting bills.
As he worked,
Vasilisa noticed she was there again. She stood beside Yuri, watching him work.
The spirit of Yuri’s sister often came around him, but she rarely spoke.
Vasilisa saw her and saw through her all at once. It seemed to Vasilisa her
shade seemed cloudier today, her facial figures less distinct than they had
been on other days.
The shade turned
at looked at Vasilisa. “Tell him to stop smoking,” she said then began to
dissipate back into the ether, her cloudy, spiritual form slowly fading until
she was there no more.
With a nod, Yuri
handed Vasilisa her pay. He was about to go back to his work when Vasilisa
asked, “Can I have a cigarette?”
He shrugged.
“Sure,” he said, and quickly rolled a cigarette for her. His tin and papers had
been sitting open on his desk.
“I think you
smoke too much,” Vasilisa told him as she set the cigarette between her lips.
Yuri leaned in
and lit the cigarette for her.
“You’re probably
right,” he replied with a nod. “Drink?” he asked then, looking Vasilisa over as
he was sometimes did when he stopped long enough to pay attention to her.
Vasilisa waved
her hand. “Tu-tu-tu, it’s early.”
“It’s never too
early.”
She shrugged.
“See you tomorrow.”
Yuri nodded and
turned back to his work.
Vasilisa crossed
the street to the grocer. In the small, cramped shop, she went to the metal
cooler and pulled out a chilled Coca-Cola. The cold glass bottle made her hands
throb with chill. She popped the metal lid off the bottle, dropped some coins
on the counter, then headed outside. She leaned against the building. Tapping her
heal into the ground, she smoked and waited. After thirty minutes, Sasha still
had not come. Maybe he had gone to the
city. Vasilisa sighed. It was time to go back. She knew the little ones would
be waiting; her father would already be working in the field. She left the town
center and headed back to the road.
She’d been
walking for ten minutes when she heard the familiar purr of Sasha’s truck. She
grinned involuntarily. As the truck pulled alongside her, she dropped her smile
and tried to look serious.
“I’m late. I know,” Sasha said as he leaned across the
truck’s cab and opened the door.
Vasilisa gave
him a serious look.
“Come on,
beauty. I’m sorry. The truck would not start.”
Vasilisa sighed
and got in, pulling the truck door behind her with a heave. She slid across the
seat and nestled under Sasha’s arm.
“I thought maybe
your mother had you visiting Irina again.”
“My mother knows
I only have eyes for Vasilisa.”
“That doesn’t
mean she cares.”
Sasha shrugged.
They road in silence, soaking in each other’s presence, until Sasha pulled the
truck into the small alcove at the forest path leading back to Vasilisa’s farm.
“Your father
should clear a road. I could drive you
all the way to the house.”
Vasilisa
shrugged. “We prefer it like this.”
“We?”
Sasha looked
closely at Vasilisa. He reached out and touched her pouty lips, the lipstick
now faded. He stared deeply into her
green eyes. “Well, it does provide privacy, doesn’t it?”
Vasilisa smiled
knowingly then turned and slid onto Sasha’s lap. They kissed with desperation.
Their time together could only be brief. Most of their moments were
stolen. Vasilisa slid her hands around
Sasha’s neck and kissed him desperately. His lips were warm and his mouth
tasted like raw sugar. The sharp scent of milled soap perfumed his freshly
washed skin. She nestled her head into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply,
then sighed.
“I won’t be late tomorrow, my love,” he
whispered in her ear.
“Good. Don’t be,” she said with mock firmness then
kissed him quickly. She slid off his lap into the seat. She smoothed her hair
and checked her reflection. Wordlessly, Vasilisa kissed Sasha one more time
then got out of the truck.
Sasha sighed
heavily. “Be careful,” he called, gazing back toward the forest.
Vasilisa
laughed, waved, then turned toward home. As she receded into the forest, she
heard Sasha’s truck maneuver onto the road. She listened for the truck until
she couldn’t hear it anymore. She was left alone with only the sound of the
forest and the taste of her lover’s mouth still ripe on her lips.
Vasilisa walked
happily through the woods, planning her chores for the day, savoring her
memories of Sasha. She stopped once more at the spring. She took her time,
washing her face, drinking the clear water. Vasilisa was so lost in her
thoughts that when hear ears started to buzz, her head ring, she felt
surprised. Usually she was more aware of her surroundings. Usually she was more aware of the others who
might be watching, especially in the forest.
Dreaming of Sasha, she had not even heard the other person join her at
the spring, not as if they ever made
any noise. Vasilisa stiffened and looked up. An old woman stood at one side of
the spring and was looking intently at Vasilisa. Her clothing, no more than
tattered black rags, brushed the ground. Her hair was long, gray, and matted.
Her face, however, hinted that she had once been beautiful, even though she was
now very old. Her sharp, dark blue eyes studied Vasilisa.
Vasilisa knew
she was in trouble. This was not one of the departed. She was one of those from
the otherworld. The woman had crossed the planes to join Vasilisa. Cautiously,
Vasilisa leaned toward the spring and lifted the copper cup that dangled there.
She dipped the cup into the water and offered the drink to the stranger.
“This spring is
older than your town,” the woman commented wryly, taking the cup from
Vasilisa’s hand. “But the water is still fresh—unlike the rest of your world.”
Using her
peripheral vision, Vasilisa eyed the old woman over. This was no common forest
spirit, rusalka, leshi, or vodiovoi. Though she wore the clothes of a beggar,
the woman’s stern authority, power, and presence made her identity obvious.
There was not one child in Russia who didn’t know the name of the wise woman of
the forest, the name of the powerful and terrible Baba Yaga. And Vasilisa knew,
without a doubt, that it was this ancient matriarch who was staring at her. At
once, Vasilisa was both feared and awed. What would the ancient one want from
her? How many lusty leshi men had Vasilisa turned aside since her grandmother
had taught her to recognize the others in our world. But Baba Yaga was
something different, something rare and powerful.
The old woman
took a sip then handed the cup back to Vasilisa.
“You must leave
Mother Russia and go to America,” Baba Yaga said then.
The randomness
of the directive startled Vasilisa so much that she stared Baba Yaga in the
face. The woman’s words shocked and confused her, but the ancient matriarch’s
hard gaze told her that this was not a debate, it was a command.
“Why?” Vasilisa
asked.
The old woman
laughed.
Vasilisa’s
cheeks reddened. The moment the word left her mouth she knew she should have
taken a more respectful tone. But the United States? Sure, she and Sasha had
talked about going to America, about starting a new life there, but to leave
Soviet Russia was difficult and relations between the United States and the
Soviets were not good. She also had her family to consider.
“Because you must,”
Baba Yaga said seriously.
“Because you
said so?”
“You question
me?” Baba Yaga replied, her tone precariously balanced somewhere between
warning and amusement.
Vasilisa tried
to smile softly. “One should never follow blindly.”
Baba Yaga seemed
to like this answer. “If you value life, if you value the heart that beats
within you, the blood in your veins, then you will go. You will be needed, and
you must go to America to fulfill your role.”
Every hair on
the back of Vasilisa’s neck has risen, and her skin chilled. “But I have a life
here . . . Sasha . . .”
Baba Yaga
shrugged. “What matters is that you go to America.”
“For my
important role,” Vasilisa replied smartly, but this time she saw that Baba Yaga
was losing her patience.
The old woman’s
lips curled. “No more questions. If you
can really see, you will know I am right.”
Behind them, a
group of crow’s cawed, fighting one another over the remains of an animal
carcass lying on the forest floor. Vasilisa turned to look. When she turned
back, Baba Yaga was gone.
Vasilisa sat
down on the ground beside the spring. She rested her head on the cool
stones. Her heart was beating wildly.
Could she trust the word of the ancient matriarch? Could she trust the witch in
the forest they had all grown up to fear? Surely Baba Yaga had taken pains to
cross the border between the worlds, but why? And why Vasilisa? What could
Vasilisa possibly do that would be so important?
She turned again
to the cawing crows. They pecked and danced as they fought over the bloody
corpse. Their battle looked more like ballet than argument, but their caws rung
loud and long and filled the forest with their clarion call.
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Gorgeous cover! :)
ReplyDeleteThank you! I adore your covers. Clearly, you've got good taste! ;)
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