SUPERNATURAL SUNDAY

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MYRISTICA'S HALLOWED ECHOES PIERCE THE MOONLIGHT

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Myristica is the author of GemInI Souls, published by Dark Roast Press. Myristica has been writing since she was 12, she’s a Southern California native and her first book, Crimson Dawn Vol. I - Hallowed Echoes, is the first in a series of books published by Dark Roast Press. To learn more about Myristica, please visit Dark Roast Press.


Thanks for joining us, Myristica. It's a pleasure and an honor to have you with us for Paranormal October. Now, to the juicy stuff...a little bit of trivia about Myristica:

1. Do you have a movie that you must watch every Halloween? What's your favorite scary movie? Do you have a favorite scary character or character type?

I just love the old films of Dracula and Frankenstein. You can’t really beat those. Especially when Renfield goes insane and laughs. That laughter is downright freaky. As for character types, I enjoy the anti-hero persona. The one who is on the fence between good and evil. The werewolf is a good example of that. Or Dr. Jekyll and Mister Hyde. You have that struggle within. Conflict without is easily identifiable, and with help you can defeat the attack against you, but when the attack is within you...that’s where you must conquer it on your own. It’s a great means to strengthen and help the character to grow.

2. Do you have any Halloween traditions like decorating your house, having house parties, wearing costumes, etc.?

If I had the money, I would do all of that. As it stands, I am learning how to do a Halloween ritual (as you know Halloween is the witch’s New Year). I do wear a costume to work on Halloween, but I don’t have the money to do anything elaborate or fancy. For the last two years I’ve gone as a Led Zeppelin roadie with a twist, complete with a broken headset for a prop, Zeppelin cap and a Jimmy Page t-shirt. I get to show off my love for Zeppelin and under the guise of Halloween, so it’s fun! (See the next question for the twist.)

3. If you do you dress up for Halloween, what will you be dressed up as this year? What was your all-time most favorite costume that you ever wore? Why?

I guess I’ll go as a Zeppelin roadie again this year. Only because it’s just a joy for me to tell others who I am. My main response to their question, “Who are you?” Is: “I’m an Egyptian scribe reincarnated as a Zeppelin roadie.” I wear an ankh and the eye make-up of ancient Egyptian culture. I think the response gets them more than the costume itself. LOL!

4. Are you superstitious? Do you find yourself knocking on wood or throwing salt over your shoulder? If not one of these two, what is your superstition?

I am superstitious, but only on the knowledge that what you put into the lives of others you may someday receive in your own. I do knock on wood, but have never had an occasion to throw salt over the shoulder. I also make sure I tell the Universe, “Just joking, Universe! Just joking!” when I say things out of line. (What with the Law of Attraction teachings, some things that are said just need to be buffered a bit.)

5. Do you believe in ghosts? If so, have you ever had a ghostly encounter and tell us about it?

I do believe in ghosts, but have not had an encounter. I would love to have one, though. One of these days I’m going to find out how to visit a haunted place and see what I can see, or feel what I can feel. My cat, on the other hand, I think he’s seen quite a few. One time he raised his hackles and stalked the apartment for something he saw that I couldn’t.

6. Tell us 3 funny or strange things that happened to you, or someone you know, on past Halloweens.

Honestly, I can’t really say I’ve had anything strange happen to me on Halloween. Not yet, anyway. I keep hoping!

7. If you could be any paranormal creature, what would it be and why?

A vampire, only because I would love to learn all there was to learn in this world and the immortality would be great, plus I’m a great night person. I think I could thrive if I could live my life at night. Since I don’t believe in death being the end, it would make a great analogy of an eternal life scenario.


Now, let’s get to your writing:

8. Why the paranormal genre? What was the draw for you?

I started really getting into the paranormal after I became Pagan. The study of mythological creatures and the calling of the elementals during circle rituals became a fascination with me. The moon phases became another object of study. I write in the paranormal and fantasy genres because of the incredible dexterity of ideas the imagination can follow. I miss being able to fantasize as a child and this is a great means to exercise and use the imagination.

9. If you could describe your paranormal writing with a word or phrase, what would it be? Please be creative and look beyond words like vampire, werewolf, etc., and delve into the core of your writing to tell us what word or phrase you want readers to take with them when they've finished reading your story.

It’s a saying I’ve learned to believe in over the last eight years since becoming Pagan: Light cannot exist without darkness. The stories I write are dramatic because through that, the love between my heroes strengthens. I want them to grow stronger in each other as well as within themselves. The darkness is necessary for us to truly appreciate the light. It is all good.

10. Do you prefer playing tricks on people or bestowing treats? Does that show through in your writing? If so, how?

With Halloween, I actually love to bestow treats because it’s a joy to watch the smiles on the kids’ faces (those I can see through the masks, anyway J). In my writing I utilize both because sometimes misdirection (trick) can lead to a more fulfilling revelation later...and that is actually the treat.

11. Who decides what creatures you write about, you or your muse? What kind of influence do you have over your story, or is the muse always the one stirring the cauldron?

That is a very interesting question, because it was recently revealed to me via a personal experience that though I may think the story is mine, the story actually writes itself. Where I want to go may not be the direction the story line wants to go. When I fight with it, the story stalls, when I let go and flow with it, the story begins to emerge. The creatures come to me as ideas first and then the actual development of them comes to me as the story moves forward, so I would have to say that the muses really are just using me as a “ghost writer”.

12. What was the creature that you had the most fun creating and why?

The Black Tigress. She comes from another world and the tiger that is sacred to this world is black with red stripes and golden eyes. The idea of a black tigress shape-shifter really intrigued me, and how she became this shape-shifter, from that of a vampire, was the challenge. Some ideas I learned from my Wicca classes really helped me there.

13. If you had the opportunity to meet just one of your characters in real life, who would it be and why? Which of your characters would you never want to meet under any circumstance and why?

I would love to meet Hampton. He’s the vampire. Been around for hundreds of years and I would love to tap his mind on history and his take on things nocturnal. Plus he has such frickin confidence in his schemes. He plays with fire and is not afraid to get burned, just as long as it’s not sunlight. I modeled him after many traditional vampire characteristics, but I don’t focus on those. I focus on his desires, what drives him, or I should say what inspires him. Of course it goes without saying that I would love to hook up with Kevin and Vic from the CD series as well. If anything just to watch them make googly eyes at each other and beat Hampton at his own game.


The character I do not want to meet is Arina, the Black Tigress. She kills with such ferocity and at random that no one is safe. You can look at her cross-eyed and end up with a slashed throat. The woman is the queen of ‘Miss’ Bitches.

Please send us pictures whenever possible of the favorite costume you wore, favorite costume you’ve seen, and your costume for this year as well as your current release (or a couple if it’s part of a series and they are out and about to be had right now). Thanks!

Well, I don’t have any pictures, as I’d rather stay anonymous in this world of Male/Male and paranormal writing. But you can see a picture of one of my animal guides which is a raven. I also have a bat that is an animal guide. So I’ll be including an image of a vampire bat as well. It’s a close-up so don’t freak out.

















BLURB:

“The Dimenlien Chronicles” begins...
Title: “Crimson Dawn: Volume I – Hallowed Echoes”
Copyright 2009 by Myristica
Author: Myristica
Publisher: Dark Roast Press
Direct Link: http://www.darkroastpress.com/echoes.php
Price: 6.99
Genre’: M/M Romance, Fantasy, Paranormal, Vampire
Rating for this excerpt: PG

Private investigator Kevin Laredo lost his wife and children to vengeful and corrupt cops. For the past three years he’s not been able to look at another woman, let alone date, but when Vic Turner comes into his life, suddenly Kevin’s heart comes alive again. Both share a past that connects them, but when Kevin brings Vic into his private investigative team, another member, Jonathan Palomino, is unnerved by the incredible resemblance Vic holds to his deceased lover, Andrew Shields.

When Vic is called on by the team to go undercover to investigate a missing person, Kevin vehemently refuses, causing conflict between him and Vic. Are Kevin’s feelings for Vic going beyond that of a good friend and is that why he’s becoming so overprotective?

To make matters worse, multi-million dollar mogul Thomas Hampton, the vampire who caused Andrew’s death, comes back into Jonathan’s life to seek his aid in recapturing the Black Tigress, a rogue vampire shape-shifter, who escaped her prison. Arina is out to destroy Hampton for betraying her four hundred years before and she will stop at nothing until she’s brought Hampton down one peg at a time, including committing murders that could end up exposing all beings hiding on earth from other dimensions and possibly causing a modern day Inquisition. To keep Jonathan from bolting from the request to help, Hampton marks Vic to use his life and soul as hostage.

EXCERPT:

Uninvited Visitor...

Upon entering his house, Vic stripped off his dark suede jacket, careful not to aggravate the injury to his arm, and hung it on the coat rack just inside the entryway. He examined the cut and blood stain made by the knife. Muttering a disgusted, “Damn,” he shook his head. “Well, maybe that cleaning place down the street can take care of it.” He turned away, refusing to cry over spilled blood. He accepted that it was his own damned fault for wearing the thing while searching for a bounty. He tossed his keys into a small bowl on the inside table he also used for mail and went into the kitchen to get a beer, unable to stop thinking about the last few hours with Kevin.

The conversation with Kevin at the bar only a half-hour ago had been full of mostly silence. A few words of observation on that night’s events, but Vic got the impression that Kevin simply needed to come down from his adrenalin high. Plus, he had been scared for Vic when that knife had been thrown. Damn scared.

So much concern from the guy, and they had only been working together for a week.

It made Vic wonder just what was going on between them, if anything, and if he should really let his wishful thinking get the better of him.

Was Kevin developing feelings for him? If so, then were those feelings simply from a deep-rooted friendship due to their interactive, though choppy past encounters? A friendship based on similar losses and circumstances?

Did Kevin need to be near Vic as a bonded friend, a brother figure…or was there something more?

Vic rolled his eyes as he took another swig from his bottle of beer. He could allow his mind to go where his common sense feared to tread, letting his imagination wander into the forbidden grounds of hoping against hope, but in reality, no one had ever been able to truly stop their heart from desiring what it always desired…to fall in love with someone and have that person fall in love with them.

Vic shut his eyes and leaned back against his kitchen sink. His arm throbbed as the local anesthetic started to wear off. He would have to take a pain pill in a bit, but not right now, not while he was drinking and thinking…and hoping.

Perhaps it was all part of the ‘friendship’ thing. It had been forever since Vic had found a friend he could love simply as a friend and nothing more. A friend like a brother. In fact…had he ever had such a friend?

Maybe that’s what this was with Kevin—a friendship that could touch the soul of a man and allow him to take lingering comfort in such a shelter.

Vic stared off at a magnet on his refrigerator door. It was a small regular magnet, nothing ornate or symbolic, just a black background with white letters spelling out: ‘God, save me from your followers’. It was just something to focus on as his brain trampled over all analytical possibilities.

Kevin had needed to be with Vic after the knife incident. Before that, he had wanted to be at Vic’s side to help him capture the bounty. It was camaraderie, and both of them seemed to crave it from the other.

Vic could have easily confessed to Kevin that he was gay, given the fact that Kevin, if anything, had his head on straight when it came to the tolerance issue. But it was too soon to explore that side of the coin as yet. The time simply wasn’t right. Then again, would the time ever be right?

A shadow swept across the kitchen window that looked out to the backyard, and then the sound of something crashing to the wooden deck of his porch broke his line of thought.

Vic froze. He focused his hearing and listened intently. The house was dark except for the light in the living room. None of the security lights had kicked on regardless of the fact that something was out in the backyard. He quietly set his bottle of beer on the counter and pulled his .45 from the holster still strapped to his waist. It didn’t matter that the wound had been inflicted on the arm he normally used to shoot. Vic had been trained to use a gun with both hands, and so he gripped the butt of the .45 in his left hand and took in a deep breath.

He stealthily moved out through the back door and examined the area around the deck. He saw nothing, smelled nothing and heard nothing but the normal sounds of outside; crickets singing their final song before fall hibernation, tree leaves rustling in the evening breeze.

He took a step off his deck and the movement caused the security lights to flash on, yet even with that extra illumination, he could see nothing except for a planter that had fallen from its wire stand. It was an aloe plant, its broken leaves spilling their healing liquid onto the wood of the deck. As was his nature, he quickly sent up a prayer to Demeter to ask her help in the plant’s healing. He reached down and carefully set the potted plant upright again. Hopefully he could save the rest of the plant later, but right now…he needed to make sure no one was creeping around his backyard.

It could have been a cat, or a raccoon, or a squirrel rummaging around, sure, but the thing that had passed the window had been too tall for a four-legged beast.

Vic’s heart pounded against his ribcage, as he moved quietly over to the big pine tree in the center of his backyard.

Careful to not make a sound, he put his back to the trunk, holding his gun up, and inched around, listening for anything that didn’t sound like it should belong. A flash of movement, too quick for him to react, and he felt a hand clamp down on his gun hand, squeezing it with incredible strength, forcing his fingers to let go of the butt. The gun dropped to the ground and another hand grabbed him by the back of the neck, pulling him forward.

Everything happened too quickly, and he was suddenly looking into gray eyes and a deathly pale face. He opened his mouth to yell, when the urge to call out was stifled by a vice-like squeeze at the back of his neck. He winced, pulling in a quick intake of breath.

The hand was cold, like death, and the smell of the grave triggered a nasty memory in his subconscious.

Something…something from a past he wasn’t sure was his own filtered through his inner vision, and he fought to chase it, to grab it and face it head on. But it was too elusive, like a specter riding the wind.

“I’m afraid that I’m going to need a bargaining chip in the days and months ahead, beautiful one. Don’t worry. You won’t remember any of this.”

The voice was warm and sensual, calculating and confident. Vic’s body went numb under the heady effects of both the touch on his body and the voice that caressed his mind. He felt cold lips brush over the back of his neck, under his hair, and the sharp sting of teeth sinking into his flesh.

In seconds everything disappeared into darkness.

+++++

The morning sunlight broke through his window, and Vic woke to the warmth with a sluggish feeling coursing through his limbs. He felt as though he’d been drugged, had gone to bed and passed out.

Had he drunk that much with Kevin the night before?

He couldn’t remember being that drunk. Relaxed, yes, but not wasted. There was also the fact that there were no symptoms of a hangover banging through the inside of his skull. He threw off the covers, and discovered he was still dressed and his shoes were placed neatly on the floor by his bed.

His gun holster was draped over the chair in the corner of his room, but something was wrong with it. It looked weird. He did a second take and realized what was out of place. The gun was out of place. It was on the nightstand by his alarm clock.

Vic gazed at it, now officially worried. He didn’t remember pulling the thing last night.

He didn’t remember a lot of things.

How in the hell did he end up in bed fully clothed with his gun out of its holster? And just how did he get into bed to begin with?

And that damn dull throb in the back of his neck wasn’t helping his ability to think. He reached back and rubbed the area, touching a very tender and bruised spot.

“Shit,” he muttered. “What in the hell hit me last night?”

His phone rang.

Groggily reaching for the receiver he answered with a slurring, “Turner,” which sounded more like; ‘Durner.’

Click.

He groaned. It was too early in the morning to have wrong numbers. He hung up and rubbed his face. Shit! Feeling damn woozy this morning.

Then he looked at the bandage on his forearm, amazed that the knife wound didn’t hurt like he thought it would. He glanced over at his digital clock and saw that it was seven-thirty. It was past time to apply some antibiotic ointment to the wound. He stood up and went into the bathroom to find some scissors to cut off the gauze. And when he did, and the gauze came off, he stumbled back against the wall and slid to the floor, shock draining his body of feeling.

The wound was completely healed.

(End excerpt)