Ninja Writer

excerpt

Follow You

Long, wicked black claws curled around his closet door with a soft tick-tick sound. One narrow red eye peered through the slim opening, glowing imperiously. Everything else in the room was cast in deep shadow. Only that eye and those claws seemed visible in a sea of darkness.
Matthew held his breath and watched. He tried not to move. He tried not to exist. Wide hazel eyes remained fixed on the claws because the eye filled him with cold dread. That eye paralyzed him.
Visions of blood and claw marks flashed through his memory, sepia and red film reeling violently. Matthew could not breathe. He couldn’t think. He closed his eyes. He trembled.
The sound of claws sliding over wood and plaster sent a shiver down his spine.
“Gil,” he whispered, his voice shaking on the single syllable.
He heard Gil’s voice in his head.
“I see them every night, Matt. They’re hunting me.”

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Apricot Excerpt

“How did I get here?”
Her voice still didn’t rise above a whisper. Her voice sounded as pale as Chase looked. Wispy, insubstantial, fragile.
Chase’s lips moved and Iris leaned in close, closer, hoping to hear whatever he kept from her, whatever he held on his tongue. Desperately, he held it but she knew he wanted to share it. She waited. Chase didn’t say it. He averted his gaze. Iris closed her eyes and lifted her head. The heat from the late afternoon sun warmed her, warding off the chill that started deep in the pit of her stomach.
“I was in the atrium,” she tried to explain. Her teeth shook. She felt almost numb from the cold of it. It. Whatever it was.
“I was in the atrium only a few minutes ago. Only a few seconds ago. Chase. Chase…” Her voice shook and rattled. “Chase, please help me.”
“Apricot,” he said.

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Opposite Sides

All business now, wasn’t he? Raziel was so accustomed to the Blue that latched himself onto him and looked at him with warm eyes. In the darkness and distance, he couldn’t make out Blue’s eyes but he had a feeling they no longer looked to him so fondly. His voice said it all, but so did the tilt of his head, the set of his shoulders, the way his brows were lowered. Even if Raziel couldn’t see his features in great detail, he could see all these things–and they made his heart sink, the guilt deepening.

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The Last Songmaker

“I think you should become a Songmaker, Ezel,” Oaley said, picking twigs out of his thick black hair. His eyebrows were massive and twitchy, which only called more attention to them. They had lives all their own, each movement independent of the rest of Oaley’s face. Ezel lowered his head, lips quirking as he reached up and plucked a leaf out of his own hair.

“There is no such thing as Songmakers anymore, Oaley.” The leaf in his hand was crisp and brown. It would be easy to crush it into dust, but Ezel let it drift away on the soft breeze instead. “Besides, if somebody caught me singing, they would…”

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