Today’s excerpt comes from Siren’s Song.



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Next morning, my alarm broke through the fog of my dreams. I flailed around, trying to turn it off, then remembered that I had set my phone alarm and it was on my nightstand. I managed to fumble it into my hand without dropping it and turned off the blaring strains of the Black Angels. As much as I loved the band, they were just too psychedelic for morning.



Once the music was off, I laid back, breathing deeply. I shaded my eyes from the sun peeking through the French doors that led out to my balcony. My bedroom was painted in a pale green color—the color of bamboo shoots. The room was large, with a sitting area complete with loveseat and rocking chair. To one side was my vanity against the wall near the door. I had bought a bedspread in a swirl of green and purple that wasn’t too busy for the king sized bed.



Artwork that I had collected over the centuries hung on the wall, including what was an original Waterhouse. Nobody realized it was an original painting, and I kept it that way. No use inviting thieves into my room. But I had a brief tryst with the artist before he met the love of his life, and when we parted ways—amicably—he gave me a small painting as a gift. The painting was actually of me, and I treasured it.



As I was drifting in the memory, the covers shifted and the next thing I knew, Bubba landed on my chest, all fifteen pounds of him.



“Morning Bubba. Hasn’t Kelson fed you yet?” I shifted him so he wasn’t planted on my boob. Fifteen pounds of cat could leave quite the footprint and I often found little paw-printed bruises on my body where Bubba decided to body-slam me.


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Excerpt: Siren’s Song
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