|Seriously, if you haven't read it go find it. You won't be sorry.|
For starters, yes it looks the Land of Midnight is here to stay. I just signed a contract for three more books, and if they do as well as my maiden manuscript did then I could be at this for a long, long time. Yes Turning Back Midnight has the same lead as my first book, and yes I'm going to answer a lot of the questions I left hanging. As to when it will be out I can't tell you that.
But I can give you a sneak peek of Brandon Blackwater's latest. If you'd like, that is...
You would? Oh good.
And The Clock Struck Twelve...
It was a quarter to midnight when I felt someone looking at me. The skin between my shoulder blades bunched up the way it always did, and the first two fingers on my left hand felt tight and swollen around the knuckles. I sipped my coffee, and concentrated on the gritty sweetness. That was when I saw them.
There were three of them, each with an elbow on the bar and a drink in hand. They had their down-home dress blues on, the denim carefully faded and the stainless steel on their boots polished to a shine. Their belt buckles were exactly three degrees to one side, and their sleeves had gone AWOL at some point. Tatters hung from the seams, sticking to their sweaty, tattooed shoulders like dusty battle standards. The two on the flanks were similar enough to be brothers, with lank hair and caps paying homage to one big rig army or another. It was the one in the center that caught my eye though. Big across as a mechanical bull, he wore a thick, braided mustache and prison collar points pricked the skin on either side of his bull neck in Bic pen blue.
I set my cup down on the table, and poured a little more from the pot the waitress had left, mixed in some sugar and cream, then took a drink. A guy at the counter asked for his sandwich to be wrapped up, even though he wasn't done with it yet. A pair of girls barely old enough to be out so late trailed off to silence, sinking down into their seats like pea hens trying not to be noticed. A fat man got up and walked a little to fast back toward the restrooms. Animals in the urban jungle, they smelled the forest fire that was coming.
"Hey," the leader of the trio barked. I turned slowly in my seat, putting my foot on the rung of the chair next to me.
"Is there a problem, friend?" I drawled, thickening my Dixie. I knew I shouldn't have, but I did it anyway just to rile him up.
"Yeah, there's a problem," one of the aide de camps said before the other chimed in, "a big problem."
"Is it the flag on my jacket, or the color of my skin?" I asked, giving them my biggest, brightest smile. "Because neither one of them is going to change just because you've got a problem with them."
I could tell they didn't like that. No they didn't like that one bit. So I sat, and smiled, and waited for one of them to do something about it.
I still had ten minutes to midnight. There was plenty of time.
Do you want to know how the saga of Brandon Blackwater continues? Of course you do! So stay tuned my friends, and I'll make sure you get just enough to keep you wanting more.