Fae Myths of the Gemini

the-gemini-prophecy-final-copyThe Gemini Prophecy: Psychics and profilers all over the world are being killed. Who or more precisely what is targeting them, and why? 

Before the Power of the Light, a modern fantasy suspense and the first book in the Gemini series, there is a long history of life, love, death, and destruction. Without retelling all the ancient tales, this prequel will give you some background into what came before Graeme met Morgan.

Coming this spring.
~~With the completion of the convocation, the fae queen began… “Each Gemini is entrusted with a gift to be shared and passed down throughout the ages, until one day, reborn together, the Gemini will forge the power of the light, the sea, the earth, and the air. I command you to return the elements to the Stone of Fal, lift the Veil, and reopen the portals between fae and earth. This is the promise of the Covenant.” copyright Eliza March, 2009.

As you can see, this series has been a long time coming. each book is a stand alone story, but each tells part of the story about the eventual battle between the Gemini and the Dark Mystics.

Everything begins here, in the ancient past where the breaking of sacred vows to the gods leads to the destruction of the peace between the fae Seelie and unseelie and where mortal’s lives are endangered by those who hunt the Gemini, descendents of the royal fae and ancient druid priests.

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Meet Morgan and Brianna: 

From her place beside the willow in the world beyond the Veil, the white witch Tapestry, weaver of souls, watched the girls run to the top of the hill, heading to the ancient cemetery beyond the old pagan stone circle. Brianna’s red hair reflected sparks of gold as she ran like a rabbit caught-up in the chase, zigzagging, aiming haphazardly for the field beyond. Her coloring reminded her of a druid priestess who one night stood on this same knoll calling down the power of fire and fertility from the gods. The ancient unconsecrated ground held mystery for the girls, but not so for her. After a millennia of existence, the woman knew well the magic here.

Morgan, the raven haired beauty shouted out to her friend, with her head thrown back and her arms open wide, twirling. “Brianna, this is my favorite place in the world.”

Tapestry could barely suppress a cry of delight when she heard the girl claim this place in her heart. Except for her slanted eyes which belied her fae ancestry, Morgan looked so like her druid forefather, her heart almost burst with longing for her own lost love. She sighed as her lips curved into a contented smile.

Ah beloved gods of old , the mortal child has accepted her place here on sacred pagan soil where all her mortal ancestors’ souls lie waiting—here in this long forgotten cemetery—here where it all began.

This old resting place, nestled far behind the new cemetery, was the burial ground accepted by Morgan and her family for generations upon end. They’d avoided the one most recently consecrated by the proud bishop, and fenced beside the church. Her druid forefathers favored the family’s traditional pagan cemetery where they believed the old spirits still danced by moonlight. Here is where Morgan’s father laid to rest, the last druid priestess, his wife, ten years before.

Tapestry hid, concealed in the overgrown vines. Although the limestone church, affectionately known to locals as the Kirk by the Sea, had been recently whitewashed, mildew still raised its grungy head, poking through the white paint, taking hold, thriving from the constant damp of the ocean mist and the rain. The wet season seemed to last most of the year up here on the cliffs. Through eons upon eons of time, this place remained sacred to many races of people. For here in the tumbling stone circle was the last open portal between the mortal world and the Otherworld. Here on the cliff, more than one set of slanted, fae eyes watched from behind the Veil this day as the preordained events of the prophecy resumed. The fate of all the Worlds rested on the shoulders of this child of the Gemini, one in a long line of gifted offspring of the forbidden love between the fae and the druids.

Morgan collapsed to the damp grass, smiling, taking a series of deep breaths, and recounted the cemetery’s importance to Brianna. “This is where I come to be with my family since Mum passed. The old ones are all here as well. Me Mum always said their spirits listened, waiting to be called upon when I had need of them.” She tossed her black mane and gave a quick look back at the church. “And having Jesus, Mary and Joseph right over there in the church, does’na hurt either.” She grinned wide.

Brianna giggled at the heretical remark before she caught herself. Her mouth dropped open in shock when she realized her sin. “Blasphemy. How could you, Morgan?”  Quickly, she shushed her friend, tracing the sign of the cross over her torso.

Morgan flopped to her back, laughing, her eyes gazing up into the light streaming through the trees as Brianna pulled the oilcloth covered tome from a crevice in the stone and with slow methodical precision that nearly drove her to distraction, she unwrapped it.

“Go on now Bri, please stop stalling and get on with it. You promised to finish telling me the story of the fae and the prophecy. The day and the place for the telling are perfect.” She snatched at the book and scooted beside Brianna, sitting closer on the grass so she could see the illustrations in the book. But Bri slapped at her hands and backed up.

“I’ll not tell you anything if you don’t show a bit of patience.”

“Come now, let’s have a look. You know how I’ve come to enjoy the pictures.” Morgan seemed to love the description of the fae. “…so breathtakingly beautiful that to look upon them hurt a mere mortal’s eyes’. Ah, I long to see such beauty. ”

Tapestry knew about the dreams and about the boy…the fair beauty of the boy who came to her in dreams, with his pale hair, golden skin, and silver eyes. 

Morgan ran her hand over the picture of such a boy in the ancient book and sighed.

Brianna smiled back with an accusatory glance at her friend who usually pooh-poohed romance and took life too seriously.

“Ah, I’ve caught you. Is this a romantic streak I glimpse? Have you one, after all? It seems you do, and now I know your taste runs to fae love tales with tragic endings.”

“Go on with you, I was just looking.” Morgan stiffened and glanced away, but not for  long.

Brianna held the tome of ancient myths the girls discovered under the sacrificial stone the previous month. She put on her lecture face and began translating the old language.

“Here in the land of mortals, we sometimes forget there are other planes of existence. But at one time all the Worlds shared doors that opened between them. Anyone who wanted could venture into other realms through these portals. The fae lived in the Otherworld, and they were called the Sidhe, the people of the tuatha da danaan. They held all the powers of the elements, protected and kept them safe in the Sacred Stone of Fal.”

Gemini copyright Eliza March, 2009  No reproduction without the author’s permission.

I hope you are enjoying the little teaser. Now one for the first book in the series.

POWER OF THE LIGHT  coming December 2017

“Should the Traighon achieve his final goal and the Dark Mystics succeed in their ultimate quest, the sun will not rise and the rains will not fall and the flowers will not bloom again. All the Worlds on every plane will cease to exist—all will be lost to the blue-green planet.”

There’d been a time when Graeme could have walked the path from the mailboxes to the entrance blindfolded. Closing his eyes, he visualized the area in his head. For a minute he let himself imagine a twelve-year-old Sharon waiting for him on the fence with her legs wrapped around the post, her saucy grin taunting him, and her pale blonde pigtails covered with her red bandana. He tried to get his bearings, then reopened his eyes and started walking. Intuition? Who was he kidding? He wasn’t ready to share his ability with the FBI, but it was more than intuition. His abilities, the ones he never admitted to, were often his best tools. 

Suddenly, a familiar flowery fragrance wafted in the air, interrupting his thoughts. A hint of her perfume. Dense fibrous vegetation crisscrossed the old path. Sharon had pushed through somewhere near this spot. A small break in the bushes indicated she made her way past the densest weeds. He followed through the same opening into a clearing on the other side. From there the old path was only a thin visible line in the tall grass.

Trust your instincts,” the soft voice, not Sharon’s, murmured softly in his mind.

Focusing on Sharon, all he heard was the sound of a beating heart pounding wildly in his ears. Where are you?  his mind screamed. 

The link they usually shared remained cold. A deadly chill crept up his spine. He needed their old mental link to find her.

“Stop making yourself crazy. Relax.” The familiar female voice in his head was back. At times, he couldn’t separate his thoughts from hers. Mental images from this woman often intruded his own. She’d been his imaginary friend. The Irish girl he’d called Morgan. What had suddenly made him think of her? And why now?

In any case, her presence in his mind strengthened him and forced him to focus. He pulled himself together.

“Track the signs with your heightened sense of sight and smell.” On the right track now, he increased his pace. Observation and evidence, in contrast to instinct, was hard to dispute.

“Do not deny your instincts.” The female voice roared in his mind. “Together, your instincts and observation make you the quality investigator you are!”

Graeme wanted to curse, pausing only when he came to a downed tree blocking the path. Instead, he didn’t waste time analyzing anything. He put both hands on the limb and vaulted over. When his collar tightened around his throat practically choking him., he unbuttoned the top button on his shirt and tore off his tie, picking up his pace.

Despite the sweat forming on his forehead and upper lip, another shiver slid up his back. The shadows and something else in the deep woods kept the air cool.

“Hurry!”

A startled covey of birds flew from a nearby bush. “Damn!” He flailed his arms in surprise, shouting at himself or at them, he wasn’t sure. Graeme repeated the low trembling curse and gathered his fear around him, closed his eyes, and instinctively sensed her path. 

A blood curdling scream pierced the quiet forest like a soul-wrenching insult. 

“SHAAAARRROOOOONNN!” The cry resonating in his head hurt his ears—but even worse, there was no answering reply. Barely able to catch his breath, his heart pounded harder. His fear slowed his thinking. He took off running, tearing through the dense underbrush, jumping over downed limbs, pushing aside wide branches as if none were there.

“Sharon. Sharon. Sharon.” The drum-beat of her name repeated silently on his lips, a prayer. He chanted the mantra as he fought his way to the cave.

His lungs burned, and every muscle coiled tighter as he ran. His arms pumped like pistons for added speed. But before he rounded the path to the yawning mouth of the cave, the world shifted beneath his feet. Somehow he knew. His best friend was gone. He sensed her life force drain from him and a light went out.

“Too late…” The sympathetic voice ended with a mental sob. 

Then Graeme saw Sharon on the ground.

A muscular young man wearing jeans and a black T-shirt kneeled over her body. Blood covered the intricately carved handle of the dagger in his hand, and the rest of the scene played out, frame by sick frame, in slow motion. When he leered at Graeme, his image rippled, warped, and faded, morphing into someone—no, some thing else. A fiend. A daemon. A monster of epic, nightmare proportions.

In the afternoon light, the killer’s skin appeared blue. The image in front of him looked to be well over seven feet of solid, naked blue muscle covered in swirling tattoos. Graeme shook his head and blinked his eyes trying to focus.

The monster’s eyes flashed red. Not blood-shot. The whites were white. It was his irises that were red, blood-red. 

Like any rational-thinking man, Graeme’s first reaction was denial. Caught in the illusion, he forced himself to play out the scene and stay in the moment. His mind staggered at the prospect.

The killer smiled. Fangs flashed inside his mouth before they lengthened and he bent over Sharon’s limp body, sank his teeth deep into her neck, draining what blood was left. When he lifted his head, fangs dripping, he opened his mouth over hers and inhaled.

A pale golden light rose from Sharon’s body as the monster took her essence into his own. The daemon turned, leered at him, and tossed the blood-drenched dagger. The blade flipped end-over-end as droplets of Sharon’s blood flew through the air like red mist.

Graeme instinctively reached up and caught the knife, then flipped it into his right hand, and rolled his shoulders. Tempted to let his emotions run wild, his cold professional habits forced him to control his actions. Spreading his feet wide for balance, he flexed his arms in front of him, and tensed for the attack. The muscles in his legs bunched as he assumed the defensive stance.

Gemini copyright Eliza March, 2009  No reproduction without the author’s permission.

Writing when it’s impossible to keep your focus.

Expand your methods of upping the word count:

display-dummy-915135__180In a world where breaking news flashes seem to appear hourly, interfering with those of us whose job it is to create worlds where you readers can escape, we must learn to shut it out. We build places for you to escape to when things get too out of hand in reality–places where you can find a way to shut out the noise.

Often I feel like a warrior guardian protecting the gates to the fortress of my fantasy world from the onslaught of unemployment, and ignorance, and health care issues. No matter the story, my job is the same, suspend reality, and help the reader settle into a new world, with new people and situations, and stay until he discovers a satisfactory solution to the fictional crisis and conflicts.

Our stories begin in an ordinary world just as something is about to change. (that could be every twenty minutes on a Monday if I turn on the TV, radio, or read the news.) So my first rule of writing is the writer has to escape to write the story. Before the reader can jump in and disappear into the new world of adventure, or love, or intrigue of his choice…you the writer must create the story–beginning to satisfying ending.

My solution to writing, for now in this changing environment, (fyi – we are preparing to  sell out house) is to write in short sprints to deal with distraction. I’ve never been a sprinter, in real life or otherwise – including writing, but it seems to be working. On days when I’d just as soon give up on a single written word, I can write for ten minutes or for as long as the thought keeps me going. Something is better than nothing. It’s not as if I have writers’ block either, I have plenty of story and plenty of action and characters to write about, but I usually write sequentially and this life of mine isn’t going to allow that to happen for awhile. Having an alternative method of writing when the old way isn’t working is a miraculous solution. This time I wrote the beginning and what I thought was the second act. After getting myself into a corner I backed out and did a story board with an outline. Now as ideas come to me I write the,  Scenes get written  as I’m inspired. I make notes I need tsbo add, ideas I might want to use later. I keep note cards everywhere. All I have to do now is figure out how to get more organized.

No matter what, I’m adding the good, the bad, and the ugly to my word count daily.  I’ve also cut some early concepts and story that won’t work. There was a time I couldn’t do that…or wouldn’t. Now I don’t even save it to my old “golden words” file. It’s time to realize I can write what I need to when the scene is necessary and the words are only golden if they move the plot forward.

So stop being so hard n yourself. Zero words is not failure if you think about your WIP. It’s better to jot down a short sentence or two on a note card and keep it for later so you don’t forget. And…that sentence or phrase counts toward your word count. Hmm 22 words is at least a positive number. During editing I’ve managed to keep a positive flow on my word count, but when you rewrite 12,000 words and end up with 12, 001 it is disheartening.  yet still better than  11, 999.

Use a plotting method  or storyboard. It is one way of forcing your outlined, laid-out story to grow just because the scenes and needs are there. The ideas already exist, and you just have to fill in the blanks. (You can be artistic and literary later after you get some words on the page.) Go look up some methods. There are a million different ways to research this and increase your word count. Good luck. If you find anything unique, please leave me a link in the comments below.

A Chance to Win a Copy of My New Release

Just fill out this form  HERE  to receive my newsletter and be entered in a random drawing to win your choice of onfune of my ebooks. Check out my book list here under the BOOK tab or go to my Author page at Amazon to see all of books. My new release DIRE WOLF is coming this spring, and I’m giving away an advanced reading copy to one lucky winner

DIRE WOLF

Her aura had never reacted to any man this way.

After the female dire wolf under her protection gowolves-spefxes missing, Laurel Finnegan’s new assignment, vetting  the  brother, proves even more challenging. He’s everything Laurel isn’t. And everything she wants. Before the full moon rises, she’ll have to test their mutual attraction, find his sister, and keep him away from the other females who will stop at nothing to be the dire wolf’s mate.

He refuses to accept the significance of their mingled auras.

Lucas MacDugal’s family is the last of the pure bred dire wolves and times have changed. So when his sister fought tradition and fled Scotland for Sarasota, he agreed. Now he has to deal with her female security guard. Laurel has extraordinary elemental assets, and is instrumental in deciphering evidence, but she’s also the first female to destroy his self-control. He has until the full moon rises to figure out why. After that, his unusual attraction to Laurel may prove deadly for her.

All the evidence indicates Grace set herself up.

Laurel’s worst fears prove true. The outlying pack land has been infiltrated by rogues from the south. When she discovers Grace’s location and telecommunications fail, she decides to rely on the elemental connection she formed with Lucas.

He’s in denial… But there’s no denying how much she hungers for him, and his lust rises with the waning moon. The innocent female haunts his thoughts night and day. He has to respond. Too many lives are at stake for him to ignore the appeal he can’t resist.

The full moon calls his wolf to action.

Lucas will give up everything to claim Laurel as his, but he won’t risk her life. The fear of losing her drives him to discover the mystery surrounding their irresistible connection.

EXCERPT 

To the general public, recognizing the difference between a pack member and anyone else was impossible. To Laurel, especially with her abilities, identifying the shifter standing in front of her would never be a problem. If his piercing pale eyes didn’t betray him, the strange aura only she could see surrounding him was a dead giveaway. It was as powerful as he was. It swirled with earthy, elemental colors, and every cell in her body recognized his presence, their connection. But something else affected her too. She reacted differently to him than she had to other pack member she’d encountered, and her strange reaction made her additionally wary.

Unable to tear her gaze from his, she sensed him attempting to penetrate the blocks she’d erected the moment they’d made eye contact. She shored up her protective wards to keep him out of her mind in case he had other abilities. No one had ever rattled her elemental power until now.

Thank goodness Lucas MacDugal had been through customs by the time he took the tram to the terminal. At least she’d been spared the aggravation of more waiting, and so would he, because the frown he wore claimed he didn’t have much patience left.

Don’t forget to enter  here   for a chance to win free ebooks.

Thank you for signing up. ~Eliza March

 

 

Join The Release Party and Giveaway Valentine’s Day

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Hi all my friends. I’ll be hosting this party at 7 P.M.on February 14th, so don’t forget to stop by for some fantastic opportunities to win. I’ll be participating in the Amazon Gift card giveaway and have a few of my own.

Valentine’s Day Party with ton’s of authors click Here

Playboy brewery owner … driven saleswoman … sultry brewer … the craft beer world sizzles like no other in Liz Crowe’s new novel!

TAPPED: The Brewing Passion Series Book 

Release date: 2/14/17  Pre-order here:  https://www.totallybound.com/book/tapped

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Tapped-Brewing-Passion-Book-1-ebook/dp/B01N0XLM0E/

Blurb:

When wealthy brewery owner Austin Fitzgerald meets sexy saleswoman Evelyn Benedict, angry sparks fly. They seem destined to clash, until a hot hookup in a cold beer cooler changes everything.

For Austin, it’s a life-altering moment that sets him on a path away from his birthright, while Evelyn must face her fears about committing to a man considered the playboy of the micro-brewing world.

The power of preconceived notions nearly tears them apart—until they meet up with brew master Ross, who opens their eyes to a deeper, even more erotic connection. But three strong personalities don’t always make for the best emotional mix and when a simple misunderstanding causes chaos, it’s up to Ross to repair the tattered shreds of their relationship.

READ A SHORT EXCERPT

Excerpt 1:

Sensing the heat of Evelyn’s fury as he finalized another large order, he excused himself and made his way toward the restroom. The tuning-fork sensation had morphed into a dull ache centered in his gut, which steadily made its way down to his balls.

When he emerged—after splashing water on his face enough times to calm the hardening in his jeans—he almost plowed straight into her. He gripped her arms to keep her from falling and the impulses that had bounced around in his brain since the morning nearly brought him to his knees. He dropped his hands and looked away, swallowing back the urge to say something, anything, to convince her he wasn’t such a bad guy.

“Sorry.”

Her voice was flat. He took a step back, stopped only when his butt hit the wall. The space between them filled with near-visible silence, but he didn’t move.

“I don’t know how I’m doing it, but the longer we work together, the more sales I make, and the more you hate me. Clue me in here, Benedict. I thought sales were the goal of the day.” He crossed his arms, holding them close to his chest so she couldn’t gauge how shaky his hands had gotten.

She swallowed, and he watched the exquisite warm peach hue of her skin redden. Admiring the line of her neck, her jaw, the plump fullness of her lower lip as she bit it, a nervous tic he’d love to come to love, if she’d let him, Austin sensed himself falling deeper into a very scary hole. Her ongoing silence took on a life of its own.

“Well? I left my secret-sales-goal decoder ring at home. You obviously have a different agenda for today. I get it. ‘Prove to the rich boy he doesn’t have what it takes’ is fine, but we could have saved some time if you’d just told me first.”

She opened her lips, then pressed them together and shouldered past him. He watched, fascinated, as his hand reached out of its own accord and snagged her arm. She stopped, stared at it, then up at him. When he realized the blue of her eyes was brighter because of tears, he hesitated. Female tears always unnerved him, but his chest tightened in a thoroughly alarming way at the thought of having caused her unhappiness.

He let go. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

In a split second, her beautiful face was within inches of his. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just pissed off. You’ve had that effect on me since I first laid eyes on you, so yeah, I guess I set you up. But apparently, all your country-club, private-school time has been worth it. Bullshitting comes naturally to you. And that’s all this job is. A whole barrel of bullshit.”

She stomped away before he could speak or, even better, grab her and kiss her. The space she vacated quivered with anger. But her crisp perfume stayed in his nose and he had to clench his hands into fists to keep from shoving her up against the wall and kissing her until she saw it his way.

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As the Chair Turns by Eliza March

Coming this fall, will be the first book in my paranormal series revolving around Luna de la Marrainbow_stage_spotlights_vector_background_529094-copy, the exclusive salon and spa in south Florida where Adelaide Belaquoise and Frankie deWolf, along with a hilarious cast of paranormal and magical characters, mingle with the rich and famous. But who knew werewolves and vampires and fairies existed?  Just Del, and that’s the way it will stay if the magical community plans to remain intact. Several authors with a talent for snark are adding their own books and characters to the series. Follow me for more news as the series grows and click on the link for signing up for as the Beauty Tips from As the Chair Turns Newsletter   and we’ll have some great fun!

A Question for My Techie Friends…

How to write a story…

Butt in the chair. Find a good keyboard and keep typing until you have the story written. Write about what happens to someone or something, and then what happens next? Step 2 is screwed up. I need a new keyboard.

I’m preoccupied with my keyboard since I can’t seem to find one I’m happy with. The one on my laptop is getting old and wearing out, or so it seems. The reviews claimed the keyboard sucked from the beginning, but since I can’t really type, I’m not that picky. But when the keys I touch turn into other symbols or don’t react at all, I have far more editing to do than I planned. Not to mention it happens so often the text is indecipherable at times.

So I’ve resorted to Dragon again which also doesn’t understand everything I say, but then neither do I. Any suggestions out there for a wireless keyboard that works with Windows 10? The one I got for Christmas syncs with everything but the laptop. UGH!

Musings on the Future

It’s 2017 and I have a birthday coming up next Monday. Another decade of change. That’s pretty freakin’ staggering. There was a time I was in so much of a hurry to grow up–as if that was going to bring so much to the table–and now all I can think is I want that time back…slow it down. I’d like the energy and hopefulness of my youth back. I’d like to be less jaded, more patient and generous, kinder and gentler, but time is streaking past me and time is valuable.

Wait! Stop for just a minute!

Then yesterday I spoke to my Aunt Claire who will turn 100 tomorrow, and she’s looking forward to being able to dance again this year. And she’s going to. That puts 70 in perspective and shames me into making plans. I too will dance a little everyday this year, once for me, and once while I think of my Aunt Claire.

As for writing, I have plans for Franco’s series and my book of the heart, Gemini, and getting out in the public and sharing what I’ve learned over the years. I have two reunions and plan to spend time with my grandchildren. I’m going to travel for pleasure and if I don’t get around to it this year I will next year.

So push aside your fears, disregard those nay sayers, and face the future as if nothing is impossible and use every moment to it’s fullest.Forever is illusive. Time is now and it belongs to you.

 

 

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