It’s finally here! Enter to win a paperback copy of the sequel to The Black Parade. All it takes is a second and you could be holding this beauty in your hand before anyone else. Giveaway ends July 22, 2014, on the release day, so enter now!
Stay tuned for more excerpts and goodies!
The upcoming sequel to The Black Parade hits July 22, 2014. Here’s your official book blurb and plot reveal!
Michael O’Brien. 25. New Yorker. Lead guitarist. Commander of Heaven’s Army.
Jordan Amador. 22. New Yorker. Waitress. Investigator for souls with unfinished business, also known as a Seer.
The dynamic supernatural duo is in the middle of trying to solve a deadly case. Someone is methodically hunting down and murdering Seers one by one. After six months with no leads on the killer, Jordan and Michael are forced to work with their worst enemy—the archdemon Belial: a self-professed Prince of Hell who is dead set on stealing Jordan for himself. However, with the archdemon’s help, they pick up on the trail of the serial killer and plan to stop him no matter what the cost.
When the shocking truth behind the murderer’s identity is revealed, Jordan begins asking herself if she is still fighting for the good guys or has she become one of the monsters she is desperately trying to stop?
Excited yet? You can read an excerpt from Chapter 1 already.
The next chapter will be posted sometime soon as well as the reveal of the book cover. I’m also going to run a giveaway on Goodreads starting June 22, 2014, if everything goes according to schedule. We’re also going to do another virtual book launch since the first one went pretty well, so I hope you’ll join me for that as well.
Keep your eyes peeled for more!
-Kyoko
Hello, darlings! The Deadly Seven has been out for exactly one week. So far, it’s sold 489 copies. Woop woop!
In celebration, here’s the first short story, “WRATH”, for your reading pleasure.
Being Jordan Amador’s angelic bodyguard against a horde of bloodthirsty demons was a lot of things, but certainly not boring.
I checked my watch for the fortieth time in the last twenty minutes. Jordan usually got off at eight o’clock. Things had been quiet for over two weeks now, which was rare for a Seer’s lifestyle. She encountered ghosts with unfinished business a few times a month and that kept the both of us busy. Earlier, she had convinced me to meet her at the bus stop a couple streets over instead of in front of the Sweet Spot.
“So would you mind waiting for me at the bus stop instead of out here?” she had asked, sweeping her shoulder-length black hair up into its usual high ponytail.
I frowned. “Why? Doesn’t it kind of defeat the purpose of the whole ‘temporary bodyguard’ thing?”
“It’s been quiet for a while now, Michael. Come on. Ganking an archdemon isn’t enough to prove I can take care of myself?”
I glanced between her and the store front. A couple of her waitress friends who were watching us through the window scattered as soon as I looked over. Then it clicked.
“They think I’m your boyfriend, huh?”
Jordan got really interested in her shoes all of the sudden. “Yeah. They do.”
I shook my head. She was an anointed soul charged with helping the dead find peace and yet she still cared what her coworkers thought of our relationship. I couldn’t decide if it was cute, frustrating, or hilarious. Possibly all three.
Then again, I could see how her coworkers would get confused when a six-foot-tall, dark-haired, green-eyed “underwear model” (which I overheard one of them dub me last week) dropped Jordan off at work on a frequent basis. I decided to be lenient for once.
“Fine. We’ll give it a test run today. If you survive, I’ll take it into consideration.”
She shot me a scowl. “Gee, thanks, almighty Michael. I am humbled that you considered the request of a lowly human.”
I grinned. “You’re welcome, my humble servant.”
She rolled her eyes and swatted my arm before turning to head into the restaurant. “Later, pretty boy.”
“Stay out of trouble.” I called, and then headed back towards the bus stop.
That had been eight hours ago. Getting off a shift late wasn’t unusual for a waitress, but most times it was by only five or ten minutes. My instincts needled at me that something was off.
Sighing, I fished out my cell phone and called her, tapping my foot. “Come on, Amador, pick up.”
Several rings. A click. Voicemail message. Ugh. I hung up and stuffed my hands in my pockets. It was a short walk through the heavily trafficked area on this side of Albany, New York, but it was during one of the busier times of the day. Nighttime in the city meant chatty couples walking through holding hands, teenagers hollering and chasing each other down the street, and music pouring out from the clubs already packed to the rafters with twenty-somethings.
Two stop lights, one near-death experience courtesy of a speeding cab, and one step in some gum later, and I reached the glowing red sign to the Sweet Spot. The Southern cuisine eatery was busy. As much as Northerners made fun of the South in sitcoms and stand up shows, they sure did like the food.
I pushed the door open and smiled at Beth, the head hostess. “Hey, you.”
“Michael.” The short blonde grinned. “Good to see you, as always.”
“Is Jordan still in the back?”
A slight frown marred her brow. “No, honey. She left about ten minutes ago.”
I froze. “Left how? She was supposed to meet me at the bus stop.”
“She went out back to take out the trash and I just assumed she went home after. Why? Something wrong?”
A cold lump settled in my stomach. Something wasn’t adding up. Jordan wasn’t the type to disappear without texting me. I didn’t want to concern her friends so I kept my expression pleasant. “Nah, she probably just wandered off to window shop. I’ll catch up with her. Thanks, Beth.”
“No problem, sweets.”
I made a point to leave the restaurant in a casual manner, but once I was out of sight, I hurried around the block to the back of the building. The Sweet Spot was part of an entertainment district in this section of Albany. There were narrow alleys between the establishments and the streets ran parallel to the store fronts.
The Sweet Spot’s back alley looked like any other restaurant in Albany—lined by dumpsters and garbage cans. The concrete was littered with fallen bits of food. A couple of mangy cats fought over fish bones. The entire area stank to high heaven. I called Jordan’s phone again and prayed that my instincts were wrong.
The raucous chorus to Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy” echoed behind me.
I turned towards one of the dumpsters and lifted the entire thing with one hand. Her phone lay cracked and forlorn underneath it.
I tucked her phone in my pocket, forcing myself to calm down. Think. What was my next move? Calling the cops would be ill-advised. They’d take forever, and even if they found her, there was no telling how many innocent officers could die trying to save her. I knew angels in the police department, but they couldn’t drop everything for me. Better check for evidence.
Jordan had basic self-defense skills and moderate experience fighting demons, so I guessed it would have taken more than one of them to subdue her. The lack of blood implied that they didn’t hurt her on the spot, so that ruled out an assassination attempt. Two weeks ago, Jordan and I had foiled a plot by the archdemon Belial and sent him back to Hell. I bargained with the heavenly Father to remain on earth at her side in case Belial wanted retaliation. Up until today, there were no attempts on her life. Stupidly, I’d let my guard down and now she was gone.
The alley was wide, but blind. It led to a small road to the right. They would’ve parked the car there, jumped her and knocked her out, and then carried her to it. The assailants needed to haul ass to avoid anyone seeing an unconscious woman tied up and thrown into their trunk.
I dialed Gabriel’s number. It rang a few times, but he picked up eventually.
“Michael. How are you this fine evening?”
“Jordan’s in trouble.”
My brother’s voice hardened into granite. Not surprising. He’d known Jordan longer than I had and was fiercely fond of her as well. “What happened?”
“I think someone made off with her after her shift at the restaurant. I’m there now. I need you to find the closest demon’s nest to here. I’ll give you the address.”
“Alright, go.”
After I told him, I paced back and forth as I waited, my mind whirring with theories. The average demon never kept the same nest location. They switched every couple of weeks because they knew angels tracked them. The places they used were always abandoned, foreclosed, or in rough neighborhoods thick with crime. Most demons were under orders to keep tabs on one another and dispense orders from any of the five Princes of Hell. The ones who kidnapped Jordan were probably members of the local gang of losers.
“One of our sentries says there is an old house outside the city where they take their victims. This particular establishment is akin to…”
“Akin to what, Gabe?”
He exhaled. “…a slaughterhouse. The angels with the police department have been trying to gather evidence, but all they have is missing people and no traces of the murders.”
Slaughterhouse. Images of Jordan strung up and split open flickered through my mind.
“Text me the address.”
“Michael—”
“Text. Me. The. Address.”
“…yes, brother.”
I hung up and waited, trying to distract myself with positive thoughts. Jordan wasn’t some damsel in distress. She was smart, tough, stubborn, and a crack shot. If she’d been carrying when the demons came for her, I might not have been on this rescue mission.
My phone buzzed with a text message a second later that had the address. Time to go.
Under any other circumstance, I’d take a cab, but Jordan was in the company of murderers, which gave me a valid excuse to bend the rules.
I summoned my spiritual energy from deep within. Coolness billowed through my limbs and filled them with supernatural powers. Once it thrummed through my veins, I opened my eyes and concentrated on the most direct route from here. I bounced on my heels once, twice, thrice, and then released the clutch.
To the untrained eye, I’d seem like nothing more than a heavy breeze, but in reality, I was running so swiftly that not even the fastest shutter speed on a digital camera could see me. I darted between cars, around fire hydrants, on the outskirts of the crowded sidewalks between the restaurant and the demons’ nest. Huge gusts of wind kicked up in my wake, scattering fallen bits of trash and scaring the hell out of several dogs. The distance from here to there was about eight miles. I made to the area in less than five minutes.
The house was at the bottom of a hill of long dead brown grass and surrounded by a high black iron fence. The exterior had been painted white at some point, but the wood on the outside was mildewed and splintered all to hell. It looked more grey than anything else, like one of those hideous places children made up ghost stories about.
The property was situated by itself for several acres, ensuring that no neighbors would ever hear the screams of their victims. I estimated Jordan had been with him for less than an hour, so it was likely they hadn’t hurt her too much. If they had…God help them.
I pressed my back against the gate. Ivy leaves tickled the nape of my neck as I huddled there and sniffed the air twice. Faint scent of sulfur. Hellhounds. If they saw me, my chances of getting her back unharmed would be slim. Their barks could be heard for miles. I’d have to keep them quiet.
Gathering my legs beneath me, I leapt over the six-foot fence and landed on my knees in the cool grass. The front yard was about thirty feet from the porch. No hounds yet.
I stayed low and slunk towards the rear of the house, stepping lightly to muffle the crunch of the brown grass underfoot. I made it to the side of the house and flattened myself against the flaking paint on the walls. I peeked around the corner.
There were four hellhounds—each the size of a full grown mountain lion and covered from head to toe in shaggy black fur. Two were lying on the wooden back porch, sleeping. The other two entertained themselves with the hollow shell of an Oldsmobile. One yanked off the driver’s side door and tore into the upholstery as if it were nothing more than paper. Another raked its sharp claws down the rear passenger’s side. The metal screamed under its nails. It yawned, revealing rows of long glistening yellow fangs that could rip through solid steel.
They hadn’t smelled me yet. I was downwind, but they’d catch my scent if I made a move toward them. Then again, maybe that was what I wanted.
I slipped my seven-inch retractable Green Beret knife out of my back pocket and cut a thin line across my left palm. Warm blood dripped from it onto the grass. Low growls reached my ears. I checked around the corner again. All of them were awake and sniffing the air, their long ears flattened against their skulls. Nothing attracted hellhounds like fresh blood.
Quickly, I scattered a wide circle of blood droplets in the grass and then stood just outside of it. All four hounds came dashing around the corner, their red eyes like deadly firelight in the dark, and they pounced straight at me.
As soon as their bodies crossed the blood lines, a flash of red light shot upward and trapped them inside the circle. They smashed against an invisible force field and collapsed into a limp, whimpering doggy pile. I extended my bloody hand and spoke the Latin incantation to exorcise them. Black smoke poured out of their thick hides and then evaporated, shrinking them down to normal size. When the hellish energy dissipated, I was left with two pit bulls, a golden Labrador, and a beagle. They sat on their haunches and wagged their tails, confused but happy to see me.
I continued around the back of the house. It was a farmhouse with three steps leading to the porch with a rickety swing and a screen door. The windows were boarded up. No matter. I wouldn’t be going in that way anyhow. Demons were smart enough not to do their dirty work above ground level.
The west side of the house had exactly what I had been hoping for—an old-fashioned storm cellar door. A heavy chain was wound around the rusty handles, but that didn’t make a difference. No force on earth was going to stop me from getting her back.
I pressed my hand against the rotted wood and uncurled my spiritual energy enough to sense if there was anyone home. Then I felt it. Jordan’s energy signature. She was here, and she was still alive. Relief spilled over me like cool spring water.
I straightened and held my arm up to the night sky. Grey clouds slid together over the moon and darkness gathered. The wind kicked my hair into my eyes. A low grumble of thunder answered my call. Lightning flashed and then my sword flew down into my hand. Its long, narrow blade glowed like silver fire in the dark, aching to be used.
A dark part of me chuckled at the thought of what the demons would do when they found out the archangel Michael had come for their captive. The sword itself would be enough to scare them shitless—it was akin to a saber, with a thin, slightly curved blade that was lightweight and easy to wield. The handle was pure silver with patterns beaten into it depicting the moment I had cut the side of Satan and assured our victory.
Male voices reached my ears as I sliced through the chains holding the cellar doors shut.
“Hey, did you hear thunder just now?”
“No. All I hear is your gums flapping. Now hold her still. I can’t do anything with her wiggling around like she is.”
Don’t charge in, I reminded myself as the last of the chains fell aside. You might get her killed. Stay smart.
The door’s old hinges creaked just a bit as I lifted it enough to see into the basement. The stench of dust and rot flooded into my nostrils. The basement was dimly lit with a few naked bulbs so my eyes had to adjust. Concrete floors. Mold. Cobwebs. The room was L-shaped, with the stairs on the left and the main room towards the right. Work tables had been pushed against the far wall, along with discarded furniture. Bloody instruments crowded nearly every available surface.
There were two demons standing in front of Jordan—one chunky blond with curly hair and the other thin with black buzzcut hair. They were both in jeans and wifebeaters despite the chill of the basement air. The blond had a fresh burn scar along the left side of his neck that I knew was the result of holy water. The dark-haired demon’s forearms were stained from several cuts. The skin below his left eye puffed like he’d been punched.
Jordan hung from her wrists, swinging gently as the curly haired demon came up behind her. Her eyes were half-lidded as if she’d been tired out from fighting. Dried blood crusted on her forehead, probably from where they’d knocked her out. The entire right side of her throat shone dark red with blood. Some of it had dripped onto her white dress shirt. The bottom of her knee-length black skirt was torn. Her fingernails had something brownish underneath them. She hadn’t been an easy captive. Good girl.
The blond demon’s hands gripped her waist. Jordan thrashed like a landed shark. Her brown eyes opened completely and she kicked the dark-haired demon right in the nose. His head snapped back, but he didn’t cry out as blood splattered down the front of his face.
Buzzcut wiped the blood off his chin and spat out a mouthful. He laughed and twirled the butcher knife in his hand. Demons were built to take punishment like that a thousand times over. Jordan knew that; I assumed she’d done it just to spite them.
“Man, she’s a live one,” the dark-haired demon said. “She’s still fighting.”
“I’ll dope her with something in a minute. Hurry up. That first taste wasn’t enough. I’m hungry.”
Jordan tried to say something through her gag. Buzzcut held the knife under her chin and growled, “You scream and I’ll slit your throat.”
He pulled the filthy rag down from her lips. She took a couple of breaths and then gave him a death glare. “Last chance, knuckleheads. Let me go or you’re both dead.”
Curly laughed. “God, I love her. The other Seers weren’t nearly this much fun. We’ve got you all to ourselves and you’re still convinced you can win.”
“Not can, you ass-clown. Will.”
“Oh yeah?” Buzzcut sneered. “What makes you so sure of that?”
“Because there’s an archangel standing behind you.”
Buzzcut didn’t get out another word. I ran him through with one stroke. The tip burst through his chest cavity and he choked on his last breath, stricken.
Curly screamed as his friend hit the floor, his eyes so wide they looked like China plates with olive pits in the middle. He held an eight-inch bayonet knife beneath Jordan’s ribs, using her as a human shield.
“Take one step closer and she’s dead!” he shrieked.
“Get…your hands…off…my friend,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Drop the sword. I swear I’ll spear the little bitch like a roasted pig if you don’t.” To emphasize his point, he jabbed the blade into her side. She jerked in her restraints and dark red blossomed outward like a morbid rose pattern in her blouse.
My fingers tightened around the hilt. I glanced at Jordan. “Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“I don’t want you to see this.”
She gave me a searching look and then did as I asked.
“Last warning. Back away from her.”
“And I told you to—AAAAGH!”
I sliced his right arm off at the shoulder. The bayonet and his arm hit the floor with a sickening thud. Blood sprayed all three of us. Curly, still screaming, stumbled away from Jordan. I took a stance in front of her.
“You son of a bitch!” the demon spat as he fumbled for the knife still clasped in his dismembered hand. “I’ll kill you!”
He ran at me with the weapon aloft, aiming for my head. I caught his wrist on the downward stroke and shoved the sword through the space above his collarbone. He jerked forward and twitched, staring at me from inches away. Fear filled those beady eyes, followed by panic. Blood oozed from the wound, joining the widening puddle made by his severed arm.
A nasty chuckle escaped my lips. “Congratulations, demon. You have finally managed to piss me off.”
I tightened my grip on his wrist and broke it in one swift movement. He cried out again. I savored the sound. I kicked his left kneecap and he collapsed in front of me. I left the sword where it pierced him instead of going for the killing blow. He broke into violent shudders. More blood welled from between his lips and spilled down his front.
“You must have heard by now what happened with Belial. He set his sights on this woman and thought he could just take what he wanted from her. He was sorely mistaken, as you are right now.”
I grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked his head back so he’d have to look up at me. “She restored my life. Without her, I’d be walking the earth lost and alone. You must understand how it makes me feel that you’ve got her strung up like some bovine carcass.”
“D-Didn’t know…you were…protecting her…” the demon stammered in between wet gulping breaths. “Just thought she was…alone…”
“But that’s what you do, isn’t it?” I said, casually twisting the blade a bit just to watch him cringe. “You stalk and you feast on those that you think are your prey without considering the consequences.”
I ripped my sword out of his chest and then kicked him in the sternum. He fell onto his back. I jammed the tip of the blade through his left hand, pinning it to the floor. He bucked upward with convulsions and a whimper crawled out of his throat.
“P-Please just k-kill me. I’ll never t-touch another Seer again. I s-swear!”
“Why should I show you mercy? You weren’t going to do the same. Maybe I should just cut loose. No one will find you here. I could lay into you for hours. Make you a tourniquet for that arm and slice you open. See what makes you tick. Pull your soul out of that fat dump of a body and toy with it until I’ve had my fill. Does that sound fun to you, demon?”
I shoved the sword an inch deeper into the punctured mess in his hand and he yowled like a beast with its leg in a bear trap.
Then Jordan spoke from behind me.
“Michael, please.”
Just those two words were like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. I realized what I’d been doing. Her safety was far more important than my desire for revenge. Still, I couldn’t let this slimy bastard think I’d gone soft.
“Take this message to your people, you obsequious little worm,” I murmured. “Anyone who lays a hand on Jordan Amador will have to answer to me. Now do me a favor and go to hell.”
I removed my sword from his hand and then decapitated him. His severed head tumbled across the floor like a wayward bowling ball. Good riddance.
I set my sword aside, found a stool in the corner, and climbed up in front of Jordan. Her handcuffs were attached to a huge meat hook bolted into the ceiling. I lifted her off of it with great care, unsure if she had the strength to stand. As soon as her arms were free, she looped them around my shoulders and pressed her face against my neck. She was trembling, but not crying. I sank to the floor and cradled her in my lap, breathing out the last of my anger now that she was safe.
“‘M sorry,” she mumbled in a small voice. “I’m so sorry, Michael.”
I snorted. “What the hell do you have to apologize for? You got kidnapped. Pretty sure that’s not your fault.”
She shook her head, her words partially muffled as she pressed her face against my shirt. “Should’ve been stronger. I could’ve gotten you killed.”
“By Heckle and Jeckle here? Not likely.”
A shaky laugh rattled through her. She slid her fingers into the hairs along the nape of my neck and hugged me tighter. I knew from experience she didn’t want me to see her face because she knew she was only seconds away from breaking down. No one would ever accuse Jordan Amador of being a crybaby, not if she could help it. It was a ridiculous notion at best, but I indulged her anyway.
“Thank you.”
“Just doing my job. But you’re welcome.”
I smoothed the sweaty hairs away from her forehead enough to kiss it. She didn’t move away. We stayed there for a while without speaking, just clinging to each other until we felt strong enough to separate.
Thankfully, aside from some bruises and the wound on her neck, she wasn’t badly hurt. I broke her out of the cuffs and healed her before setting about to clean up our mess.
The demons had a huge compost heap in the backyard for disposing the unsavory bits of their victims, complete with copious amounts of lye. I dumped the bodies and then spread a liberal amount of lye on the corpses. Jordan didn’t say anything, but she had no trouble helping me haul the bodies. She had seen her share of the dead, enough to last her a lifetime, I was sure.
I ended up gathering our bloodstained shirts together in a metal garbage pail and burning them. Nothing I knew of could get that much blood out. We didn’t know if more demons would show up so there wasn’t enough time to clean up in the bathroom upstairs. I found Jordan’s duster balled up in the corner of the basement. Thankfully, it hid the residual stains on her upper body.
We caught a cab back to her apartment. She didn’t eat anything for dinner, and I wasn’t surprised. Instead, she slipped into the bathroom and took a long shower. I called Gabriel to let him know the matter had been resolved. He promised to drop by and see her in the morning.
Her bedroom door opened. I glanced over. She stood there with damp unkempt hair and oversized white Daffy Duck t-shirt. I couldn’t identify the warm feeling blossoming inside my chest. It was probably for the best.
“Feeling any better?” I asked as I stood up from the couch.
She shrugged. “As good as I’m going to feel right now.”
I nodded towards the rumpled covers on her bed. “Get some rest.”
I turned to walk away, but then she caught the hem of my shirt. I turned again. She immediately let go and stared at her bare feet.
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but would you…”
I smiled. “Yeah.”
She walked back into the bedroom. I shut the door and kicked off my shoes and socks. Jordan crawled onto the mattress and curled up on the left side. I settled down on the right. She pulled the covers up over her shoulders. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling fan blades whirling above us.
I couldn’t tell how long I’d been lying there, but sometime later the mattress moved next to me. I cracked open an eyelid to check on Jordan. She was curled up in the fetal position and shivering despite still being under the covers. Shit.
I scooted closer and touched her shoulder. She flinched, but didn’t wake up. She was a heavy sleeper, after all.
I stroked the length of her arm for a moment or two. Gradually, the shaking slowed. After a minute, it stopped altogether. Her lithe body uncurled a little and the tension in her limbs vanished. There was still a lot I didn’t know about this girl.
Once I was sure she was okay, I grabbed an extra pillow from the closet. I got back in bed, wedged it between our lower bodies, and then wrapped an arm around her waist. As soon as she felt my presence, she snuggled her back against my chest without ever waking. I had figured as much. She’d been in a long term relationship before she met me, and some habits never wore off. It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized something startling.
I had never slept better.
—
Interested in reading the rest? Grab it here for just $.99 cents! The Black Parade is also $.99 cents. Subscribe to the mailing list and be notified the next time The Deadly Seven goes on sale for free. You can also simply add it to your Goodreads shelf for later.
Thank you so much for all your support. This week has been a dream come true for me. I never thought I’d ever see my books sell even a hundred copies, let alone 500 copies a piece. I am eternally grateful to each and every one of you.
Stay tuned for news of She Who Fights Monsters, the sequel to The Black Parade, coming in July!
-Kyoko M.
Well, it’s finally here!
The Deadly Seven is free to purchase on Amazon all day today. Swoop in and grab yourself a copy.
The Black Parade is also free all day today, May 9, via Smashwords, so grab a copy if you haven’t already.
We are also right in the middle of the virtual book launch party for The Deadly Seven, so please drop in for your chance to win prizes.
Thanks for your support!
Kyoko
I’m back, bb!
That’s right! My little book has found a new home at Scribd, thanks to Smashwords. They’re actually this really nifty service where you can read all kinds of books for free (and some of them paid) the way Netflix allows you to rent movies.
It’s been a while since my last post and that’s because I am furiously working on The Deadly Seven–a short story collection from The Black Parade series that takes place in the two month period before the third act of the book where Jordan and Michael are learning to live alongside each other. So far, it’s looking to be released late April/early May. Anyone who signs up for the mailing list gets the first chapter for free.
Stay tuned for all-new excerpts and giveaways!
Kyoko
So I had the talented Christina of Green Sketches draw our handsome hero, Michael. Take a look:
I personally think it’s the bees’ knees, if you’ll pardon the outdated slang. I thought it’d be fun to get some visuals for the main cast of The Black Parade, so tell me in the comments who you’d like to see next: Jordan, Belial, or Gabriel?
Speaking of which, we’re closing in on the release date for “The Deadly Seven.” I’ve started a contest on Facebook. Tell me who you think could play Jordan and Michael if the Black Parade ever got made into a movie. Best answer gets a free advanced copy of “The Deadly Seven,” which is looking to hit shelves in early April. Follow the link to the page and enter for your chance to win.
Plus, don’t forget to sign up for our mailing list. You’ll get all the goodies before anyone else.
See you soon!
You don’t want to make him angry. He’ll make you watch The Last Stand. It’s a fate worse than death, trust me.
So the first 10 people to sign up for our all new mailing list will get a free eBook copy of The Black Parade. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? You should totally do that right now. You don’t want to disappoint Ahnuld, do you? Go here to be put on the mailing list and redeem your free copy. It’s also going to be your ticket to extra content not found on Twitter or Facebook. I promise to make it worth your while. *bats eyelashes*
In other news, there’s still two days left in The Black Parade’s GoodReads giveaway. I’m absolutely thrilled to see that 189 people have requested to win. That’s fantastic. I think I’m going to make this a regular thing since acquiring copies aren’t super-expensive thanks to CreateSpace and it seems to have engaged a good amount of people. The nicer part is that it’s boosted the book’s numbers on the To Read shelf, and so I hope that those people will someday take the plunge to read my novel whether they win the giveaway or not.
Additionally, we’re closing in on the months between now and when She Who Fights Monsters, the stunning sequel to The Black Parade, will be out on your virtual bookshelves. In case you missed it, there are two excerpts already posted and there’s more to come.
Stay tuned, my darlings!
They grow up so fast. *sobs*
Can you believe it? My little novel turned six months old two days ago. I just…my FEELS…
Weepy puffy author-face aside, this merits celebration. Here’s a short story I wrote from a collection called “Seven.” It’s part of The Black Parade canon that takes place in the two month period between Book Two and Book Three, where Michael and Jordan are learning to coexist. It’s from Michael’s POV and each story deals with a different one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Michael is adjusting to human life, and to having a platonic relationship with Jordan. Or it’s supposed to be platonic but he’s not so sure about that. I do hope you enjoy it.
LUST
One of the cushions on Jordan’s couch had a spring loose that kept jabbing me in the ass. The entire two hours I’d been here had been uncomfortable as a result. I really needed to convince her to get it fixed or replaced.
Heels clicked across the kitchen floor. I spotted Jordan out of the corner of my eye, one hand on her hip, the other buried in her dark shoulder-length hair.
“Hey, sorry, but can I bother you for a second?”
I glanced at her. She turned around. “I can’t get this stupid zipper up all the way. You mind?”
“No, it’s fine.” I stood and walked over to her. She held her hair out of the way and I started carefully maneuvering the zipper back down towards her waist. The dress was black, short, and form fitting. Tell tale signs that someone else had bought it for her, either Lauren or an old boyfriend. Jordan liked her dresses tight in the chest but loose around her legs. She had strange insecurities about her thighs.
“I can’t believe Lauren’s making me go on a blind date,” Jordan grumbled for what had to be the thousandth time.
I shook my head. “Then don’t go.”
“I have to,” she whined. “I have this…pathological need to please everyone.”
I snorted. “You don’t have that with me.”
“That’s because you’re not a person. Ow!”
I pinched her side and felt an immense sense of satisfaction when she squirmed. “Could you be more ungrateful?”
“Fine, fine, I’m sorry. But it’s different with you. You don’t expect me to live up to your standards. Mostly because you don’t have any for me.”
She paused. “Actually, I kind of like that. Makes things less uncomfortable.”
“Mm-hm,” I said under my breath, trying to keep my eyes from sliding down her shoulders to the gap the back of the dress provided. The straps were thin and crisscrossed over her chest, but she was a classy girl and almost always wore a bra. This one appeared to be strapless. Not that it was important.
“Well, you never know. Maybe you’ll like the guy.”
“Oh, won’t that be great? Then I can lie to him too.”
I hesitated, sensing a deeper problem. “Is that what’s got you so stressed?”
“Sort of. It’s easier if I keep my friend circle small. I feel less like a jerk that way,” she admitted in a softer voice. I finally untangled the zipper and slid it all the way up, hiding her smooth skin once more. She let her hair fall around her shoulders and ran her hands down her hips, turning to face me.
“Thanks. Here’s hoping I don’t disappoint.”
I smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You won’t. He’d have to be an idiot not to like you. Especially in this dress.”
She sighed, pressing her forehead against my sternum, a habit of hers because of our height difference. I leaned against the counter behind me, making it a little easier on her.
“Are you sure I can’t stay home?”
“You’ll be fine. Plus, it’s a free meal and if he’s a jerk, we can eat ice cream and call him names when you get home tonight.”
Jordan chuckled. “You’re so mature.”
She laid her hands on my waist, which seemed to be her version of a hug when she didn’t feel like giving me a real one, and I wrapped my arms around her, resting my chin on the crown of her head. We stood there for a long moment, saying nothing. The longer we stayed there, the more things I started to notice; like the faint scent of shampoo and conditioner in her hair, and the satiny texture of the dress, and the way her body folded into mine like a missing puzzle piece, except not hard cardboard but rather soft curves instead. My mind began to wander into less angelic places before I could stop it. My arms held her a bit tighter and my knee involuntarily shifted to between her legs. I had trouble focusing on something other than the heat of her. Before I knew it, my lips touched her forehead and she shifted in my arms, meeting my eyes. Was I leaning down towards her face or was that just my imagination?
“I’d better get going,” she said, snapping me out of my thoughts. Immediately, I let go and slid my leg back, hoping she wouldn’t notice what had just transpired.
“Yeah, have fun.”
She disappeared into the bedroom to grab her purse and jacket before leaving the apartment. I rubbed my face with both hands and then ran my fingers through my hair. No big deal. Gabriel had told me there would be tests.
I definitely needed to start studying.
—
While I’ve got you here, don’t forget that the Black Parade giveaway is still going on from now until January 31st. Pop by and enter for your own signed copy. Thanks for all your support! See you on the pages, my dears!
Kyoko
Guess what, my dears? The Black Parade is having another giveaway, and this time it’s the paperback version. All you have to do is enter here and you have the chance to win yourself a signed copy of my novel. It only takes a second.
Don’t be afraid to spread the word. You have until January 31st to enter. Enjoy!
Kyoko
So I finished the final installment to The Black Parade series a few days ago.
Hoo boy.
Prior to the third book, whose working title is The Holy Dark if you must know, I’ve written and finished three books–two novels and a novella. However, I’ve never written a series before and the first thing I have to say is, God bless the crazy sons of bitches who write long running series. I mean, seriously, The Black Parade series is just a trilogy, and I had the HARDEST time keeping everything in line. I think as authors we tend to take certain things for granted when we write. For instance, I didn’t realize just how long The Holy Dark was until I went through and began formatting it and doing the superficial edit.
The Holy Dark’s first draft is 168,197 words. Let’s do a comparison, shall we?
The Hobbit: 95,022 words
The Fellowship of the Ring: 177,227 words
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire: 190,637 words
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: 198,227 words
Are you beginning to see my plight here? I’m nowhere near as good as the above authors, but my word count is approaching their glorious numbers and it’s slightly terrifying. However, when I researched word counts of famous novel series, I did notice a trend. They do increase in word count the longer on they continue, and I think it has a lot to do with the process of writing towards the end of a series.
As I wrote The Holy Dark, there were all kinds of things that I had to keep in mind to tie up by the conclusion of the novel. Jordan and Michael’s stories span three books, and several storylines intersect with each other. We also meet new characters in the second and third novels who also have their own lives and stories and backstories. It’s like balancing spinning plates after a certain point. The reason why The Holy Dark took me so long to write (I started it in May 2013 and finished it just after New Years) is because I didn’t fully understand what it takes to end a series. There’s so much material to cover. There are your individual character arcs, the romantic character growth between Jordan/Michael and Jordan/Belial, the series long arc of the battle between the Seers and the demons, the ramifications of what happened in the previous novels, and then the actual plot of the current novel. Does your head hurt yet? Mine certainly does.
Endings, to me, are usually a little easier than beginnings. The original beginning to The Black Parade was Jordan reliving the night she killed Mr. N, but two separate critique groups talked me out of it because action-heavy beginnings with no context tend to work better in movies than in novels. Thus, we had our quiet but tense opening with Jordan waking up and starting her day as a Seer. However, the ending to The Black Parade was pretty much set in my head in general terms. I knew where her character would end up. Same deal for She Who Fights Monsters. The Holy Dark’s ending was a vague concept in my head, but how I got there was nothing short of a doozy. This is the first novel I’ve ever written where the beginning was a lot easier than the ending.
For instance, the first draft of THD is actually the second draft. The first time I wrote it, I got to 50,000 words in about two months. Then I stopped, read it, and panicked because the pacing was dreadful. The plot stopped and started and coughed and wheezed and begged to be put out of its misery. Thus, I had a long chat with my writing sensei and he helped figure out why the novel had such horrendous pacing issues. I had so many scenes that I wanted to write before the series ended that the flow of the novel felt unnatural and stilted. I took everything back to the drawing board, deleted big chunks, altered the narrative, and started up again. I did well for several months and then the end of the year hit. I had so many hours at my retail day job that I missed my 2013 deadline because so much of the story had piled up that I didn’t have time to type it all out. My fingers just weren’t fast enough.
What I’ve learned over the course of writing this first draft is that endings can be difficult because one worries about satisfaction. Is the end of the series satisfying? Where does everyone end up after their three book long journey? What have they learned? What have they gone through? How has it changed them? Is the conflict real and personal? Is it something readers will relate to and cherish? There are so many expectations that consciously and unconsciously crop up when you read the final novel in a series.
For example, I’m not a fan of Mockingjay because it felt overstuffed and convoluted. I liked The Hunger Games the best out of the novels because it was succinct and profound. It also had much less of the Peeta/Katniss/Gale love triangle, which I personally find to be pointless. Katniss is not the kind of girl who needs to be torn over two boys. It’s quite clear that she has romantic feelings for Peeta, not Gale, and I worry that Suzanne Collins dragged the love triangle out for the sake of drama, and not because it needed to be there. Now, granted, I’m sure I will get the same criticism in the future because I’ve got my own love triangle going in my series, but I’m just being honest. Either way, The Hunger Games is still one of the best contemporary novel series of all time. I bring it up because my expectations for where the story would end up was way different from how it actually did. I don’t think that authors should pander to their audiences and fret over what they would enjoy reading, but I do think it’s part of the writing experience anyway. It’s what I struggled with during the epilogue of THD because I had scenes that I wanted to write that I felt the readers would enjoy, but since they weren’t plot relevant, I felt the urge to leave them out. After all, nothing gets people crankier than a too-sweet happy ending. I tend to lean towards bittersweet endings because they are more realistic. It’s the same reason why Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows’ epilogue is so controversial–a lot of it reads like lousy fanfiction. Being too saccharine in your ending can color the whole series. Hell, my mother and I discussed this last night with the movie Sweet November. We actually liked the movie itself…until the ending. The ending blew it. It just blew. It was a dumb, unsatisfying cop out. That ending ruined the entire experience and cost the people who made it a sale (I found the movie for cheap at a game store and thought about buying it, but then I remember that FUBAR ending and chose not to instead). It’s the same with novels. You can write something beautiful and emotionally crippling, but if you screw up the ending, it can poison your entire series.
Now compact everything I’ve said and shove it inside your ear. That’s how my brain feels right now. Endings are a pain in the ass. This is a shout out to every single author who has ended a novel series: you are incredible and I hope you know that with all your heart. My stories aren’t nearly as complex as something like George R. R. Martin or J.K. Rowling, and they somehow have endings. I will absorb these authors’ wisdom into my own body like an amoeba before I start the first round of editing.
The nice thing about being an author is that you can always change. You can move chapters around. You can delete them. You can expand. You can chase down new plot threads and character arcs and nail them into place. As a wise Autobot once said, freedom is the right of all sentient beings, and I think that is most true with writing. The Holy Dark kicked my skinny ass up and down the year 2013, but it taught me more than I think the first two novels combined. It’s scary to think I won’t be writing about Jordan, Michael, Gabriel, and Belial in the future, but these characters have been beyond fun to write over the past five years. I think that’s also why the ending was so difficult. I wanted to put them to rest with all the respect that I could because they’ve been keeping me company for so long. I suppose that’s sentimental (and borderline clinically insane), but hey, that’s how I roll.
Welcome to 2014, people. Big things are in our future. Stay tuned for more.
-Kyoko