I’ve got a massive backlist out there, but I’m focusing mostly on my indie releases now, which a lot of my readers haven’t heard of yet. So we’re going to be putting up excerpts of the indie work I’ve done—both full length and short collections, each Wednesday, to encourage you to give my new work a try.
Today’s excerpt comes from Bewitching Bedlam.
Amazon Print: https://goo.gl/y45iD7
THE POST OFFICE was slammed. By the time we got through the line, Sandy thought of a couple of other errands she needed to run. When we finally pulled into Essie’s driveway, it was already four-thirty. The sun had set and the winter dusk gave the estate a desolate air. It wasn’t the same sense of abandonment that my own home had given off when I first set eyes on it. No, Essie’s house was deliberately set to look foreboding. If I didn’t know that a vampire lived inside, along with her other nest-mates, I would have pegged the place as the haven of an emo-goth family, overdone and melodramatic. But given that the occupants had the bite—literally—to back up the bark, I decided to keep my opinion to myself.
“So, Essie’s lair.” Sandy stared at the house as I cut the motor and leaned back in my seat.
“Yeah. You ever been here?” I felt like a kid in a movie who was about to be dared into throwing stones at the creepy old lady’s house.
“Do you think I’d keep it from you if I had?” She eyed the place, sounding nervous now that we were here. “They say Essie’s freakshow scary.”
“That’s what they used to say about me, doll.” I stared at the house. Making up my mind, I opened my door and stepped out into the drifting snowbanks. Apparently, Essie didn’t believe in shoveling her walkway. Of course, given how many visitors voluntarily showed up here, I doubt if she had to worry about lawsuits.
Sandy reluctantly joined me. The yard was fenced, and a gate opened onto the sidewalk leading up to the house. The whole place had an air of desolation, but I had a suspicion it was contrived and not out of neglect. The trees loomed over the mansion—they needed a good trimming and I suppressed a snort. Essie wouldn’t appreciate the shadows they provided if one of them came down on her roof. By the looks of the branches, none of them had been trimmed in a long time, and it was doubtful she had hired an arborist to check the stability of their roots.
Sandy pushed close to me. “You think she likes being a vampire?”
“I think we can make bank on that.” Skirting the worst of the snow piles on the pathway, we finally reached the porch. The steps were icy and I began to wonder just how much of a test this was. A You really want to visit me? Prove it sort of thing.