When I was in my first year of college I wrote about dreams for an essay. I had a very good reason why. Months before I'd had a dream that my relatively older (I was 18, him 23), snowboarder boyfriend—#firstlove—had moved to Colorado without any goodbye but a letter. I woke up from that dream, sobbing, to him calling me. Understandably, I told him of the dream, and at the time, he assured me he'd never do such a thing.

Fast forward to a month after my freshman year in college, and there came the day I couldn't get a hold of my boyfriend. No pages (this was almost 20 years ago, so pagers were the norm) were answered. No phone calls returned. A couple of days later with still no word from him I was told by his friend's mother that he'd moved to Colorado. He'd been too chicken to say goodbye. Prophetic much? Now a married woman, I've long made peace with the heartbreak of that time. But the dream still haunts me. 

After the essay, my English professor recommended that I read Inner Work by Robert A. Johnson. So I bought it. I did read it, and while I don't remember much of it, I've always been impressed with the idea that dreams are messages we're trying to tell ourselves. Perhaps therein lies why my very first book holds dreams as a main element to the story. It is, after all, called Fractured Dream. And to the main character, dreams are incredibly significant. 

In fact, parts of Fractured Dream were inspired by dreams. I think they're important. Just the other day, I dreamt there were bats hanging around my house. Now, according to SleepCulture.com, Bats "are very sensitive to the other members of their group and constantly communicate with them. A dream of a bat suggests issues associated with free will and freedom as well, since bats can fly!" Now I think the dream could have been spawned by my obsession with all things Halloween, but I've also been very affected by the election and political climate, so much that my husband has voiced a number of times that he'll be happy when it's over so I'll stop worrying. 

I've struggled with my platform, wondering what I could offer that isn't already covered in full by authors— writing tips, editing tips, getting published tips, nothing if you're big enough and don't have to blog anymore. I think my thing is dreams. I'm going to use this blog as something of a dream diary. So tell me your dreams. I think some of the most kick-ass ideas come from the craziness of our brains in after hours. I I know I've got lots of crazy dream stories to tell. 

​

We don't fall in line with guidelines or rules, we like the unique as well as the tropes. We're all-genre lovers, but we must admit, fantasy and sci-fi appeal to our whimsical, magical natures, just a bit. We're sisters talking about books, writing, and anything in relation to stories, fables, and myths. We'll yarn some, we'll darn some, we love to try some .... books.

My sister and I just launched a vlog, called the Quirky Book Sirens, in which over drinks, we discuss various themes in books and the industry. In our debut episode we discuss YA horror, throwback style, meaning we reminisced on the likes of R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike. 

Check it below:

​Grim paced in the solitude of her quarters, her scythe leaning against the wall an arm’s reach away should Hades or one of his minion children attempt to break into her room and finish the fight. Yet, she knew that wouldn’t happen. Somehow, she had ended up exactly where Hades wanted her. Accused. On the brink of banishment for a crime she knew she hadn’t committed.
 
Whirling toward the door, she paused, tilting her head as the soft rap of a fist on wood came purposeful and in secret. Breathing out a sigh of relief, she opened the door as quickly and quietly as possible and yanked her sister into the room, shutting the door behind her.
 
“Did you hide it?” she breathed, noticing the pallor that tinted her natural bronzed coloring.
 
“Si, Hermana,” she said softly. “It is hidden well, with an old friend … I should not say where, as long as you truly believe it is necessary … Surely, the council does not believe you would kill Pluto? He has always been a friend.”
 
“Yes, that may be true, but the council also understands there is no love lost between Hades and I, and if I was aiming for Hades, then it is possible they will believe him … I do not believe that matters at the moment, though. I have a sense of darkness, a dread within me. I … I believe Hades has somehow gained control over the council without either your or I ever knowing.”
 
Seba shook her head, her brow wrinkled in concern, a red flower that had been woven into her dark curls floated to the ground and stained the floor like a bright splash of blood. Seba bent to retrieve it, offering the token to Grim, who took it and tucked it into the folds of her cloak. “His children should not be any trouble, Hermana. They cannot be a challenge to us,” she said confidently.
 
“They are legion,” Grim said softly. “A problem we could not have foreseen.” She turned away, following the sharp curve of the scythe as it rested gleaming against the wall. She had no doubt it was the instrument of death that Hades was looking for. There was untapped potential within it, and if he were to ever get his hands on both scythes, well … but as it stood right now, he’d have to kill her to get the scythe. He could not take it from her as it was bound to her, and the only way for him to even touch it would be if she gave it willingly, and that would never happen. She glanced back at her sister, who was watching her quietly, a glow of fear flickering in the softness of her eyes.
 
Seba had always embraced the human spark of compassion more closely than Grim, and for that reason she radiated with warmth and a kindness that could be manipulated. That was why Grim couldn’t risk her sister’s scythe. Seba could possibly be swayed to give it up. Grim couldn’t.
 
“All I know is Kali wouldn’t look me in the eye. Kali,” she said, placing emphasis on the deity’s name.
 
Seba held up a hand to stop her sister from going on any more. “I must go, Hermana. Perhaps I can convince them how wrong they are, otherwise we are both lost.”
 
Grim held her sister’s eyes for a moment, a surge of sadness nearly drowning her as it crushed her chest and robbed her of breath. Grim had never been overly emotional, even at the height of soul crossing, although she’d had her share of moments. But now … she lurched forward and wrapped her arms around her sister, burying her face in Seba’s flowery scented hair. She released a breath as her sister’s soft, warm embrace enfolded her for a moment. When she pulled back, Seba’s eyes were glistening.
 
“I must go,” she whispered. “We will make this right.”
 
Grim nodded, watching her shut the door behind her. “I should never have given up my reign,” she murmured softly, annoyed she’d ever thought diplomacy was the way to rule the underworld. Sunrise would be soon, she needed to … what could she do? Gritting her teeth at her momentary powerlessness, she jerked her head to the door when a quiet, yet determined knock made her jaw clench.
 
She opened the door slowly and stepped back, nodding to the deity who passed her, the necklace of skulls that hung around her neck jingling together. “Kali …,” Grim murmured, holding her equally dark gaze. “I am surprised you are here. It was quite apparent in the caverns that you had chosen your side.” She said it without a hint of malice, but disappointment dripped from her words and, without her meaning for it to, betrayal.
 
Kali’s face rippled in dismay, then smoothed out once more. “It will not matter once Hades has had his way, so I will tell you.”
 
“Please … what sins, what power does that masochist have over the entire council?” She heard the plea in her voice, and she pushed the darkness that was beginning to creep inside her away.
 
Stiffly, Kali nodded and greeted her gaze full on. “Believe me when I tell you I have always been your friend, Grim. I have no affection for Hades. I find him cruel, greedy, power-hungry, and unstable. But my people, my souls, are my first priority, so when that is jeopardized then I must protect them first.”
 
Although baffled by the direction of the conversation, Grim nodded. “I do understand, but what could—“
 
“Our soul gates.”
 
Silence permeated every mote and speck within the room, floating in a standstill of shock. “What did you say,” she hissed.
 
“You heard me right. Somehow, Hades has located our soul gates. Almost all of them, I believe. He asked me to take a walk with him one day and that’s where he led me, to my soul gate, which is now guarded day and night by several of his sons and daughters. He has begun keeping count of which souls cross and who they belong to. All of our gates are guarded this way. He has so many children we are outnumbered.”
 
“To what end?” Grim breathed, the walls of the room seeming to close in on her as fury welled up within her. A deity’s soul gate was where their specific souls crossed through into Abbadon. Each deity reigned over the souls of their culture, and only passed over those with cultural, religious, or geographic ties. Grim could not reap Seba’s souls and her sister could not take hers. For this reason, the gates were sacred and secret, and it was forbidden to seek out another’s gate. How Hades had found them when they were hidden deep within folds of underworld and reality, she did not know.
 
“Control. To control you, Grim. If we do not abide by his requests he shuts the gates down, blocks them somehow. The souls cannot pass then, and then they wander.”
 
“How do you know?”
 
“I did not give in so easily, at first, Grim. I would hope you would know me better than that,” she said, her tongue lolling out as she grinned ferally, the darkness lighting up her inky eyes, letting Grim see that Kali the warrior still existed. “But then he blocked my souls for a day … it was excruciating. I am here to be a shepherd to my souls, and if I cannot be the protector and guide they need I am not leading my people.”
 
“He has gone too far,” Grim seethed, a rage burning though her so hot the acrid scent of feathers burning forced her to quell the rage.
 
“There’s more …” Kali said quietly, the lovely lines of her face set seriously, regret and sadness heavy on the bow of her shoulders. “Hades has taken Seba. He apprehended her on her way to reason with the council and is furious that she has hidden her scythe. He means to use your love for him against her … You may be our marble goddess, but your love for you sister is apparent to all, and he means to use that weakness against you.”
 
The full range of human emotion seemed to be possessing Grim, because her stomach twisted at Kali’s words. “I will smite him, everyone,” she hissed.
 
Instantly, she knew it wasn’t rational, she knew that--
 
“If the death deities cease to exist, or are unable to pass souls through their soul gates, well, I don’t need to tell you that it would be cataclysmic. For the deities. The souls. For the world,” Kali said softly. “I am sorry, but the deities and the council have no choice but to stand with Hades.”
 
The enormity of the planning that Hades’s had put into his takeover—possibly centuries—halted Grim. She had underestimated him, thought him a buffoon to look down her nose at, and now it could cost her far more than she’d ever thought possible.
 
Stepping quickly to her scythe, she snatched it from the wall and turned back to Kali. “How is it possible his offspring could overpower us? They are children, half-human, and surely do not have the power we do. We are ancient, while they're still naive enough to believe Hades is a good role model.”
 
“He has allies, Grim. It is not just his hybrids. He has deities who support him, like Styx, who has aligned herself with him, giving him access to the caverns that is detrimental to us. And those that do not have been sent to their rooms under lock and key.”
 
“Seker and Persephone,” Grim whispered.
 
Kali nodded. “And more.”
 
In her thousands years of existence, she had never felt more helpless or alone. Despair threatened her, flickering against her consciousness, but she batted it away. “Certainly eliminating his offspring would not impact any balance. They are merely extras in the death dance,” Grim murmured.
 
Kali’s dark eyes widened. “You would never break the sacred rule.”
 
Nodding, she remained silent. Kali was right, of course. She could not, would not, take a life. The irony of being Death. But she also could not allow him to cut off the gateways to the souls. “It is time, is it not?”
 
Kali nodded, both deities sensing the night lifting. “I am sorry, Grim. Truly. I do not know what we can do. I fear for the souls, for our home.”
 
Grim reached out her hand, and Kali took it, her wide lips curving in a bleak smile, the tight lines around her eyes eased away with Grim’s gesture. “For now, I will do what is necessary to protect you, my sister, and the balance. I must find out what Hades’s ultimate end is before I can act. But I give you my word and oath as the Grim Reaper,” she said, squeezing Kali’s hand tightly, “Hades will not destroy us. I will restore Abbadon. Until then, keep your souls safe.”
 
Grim slipped the flower Seba had given her earlier and tucked it behind her ear, then she dropped her cloak to the floor. A whoosh and a breeze sailed through the air as great, inky black wings unfurled, darkening the hallway as they stepped into it. “I wouldn’t want to attend my banishment without these.”

                       ***
I hope you all enjoyed Grim's Fall. For now it stands as a short story on its own, but I may eventually serialize more of her adventures after the banishment. Thanks so much for reading! And for those of you who entered the giveaway, I'll be announcing the winners tomorrow night! Also, any new subscribers will receive their copy of Fairytale Lost tomorrow as well as the latest edition of my newsletter for details on my Fairytale twisting contest. Thanks for jumping to our October Frights Blog Hop, it's been a blast.<3

The October Frights Blog Hop is almost done, so I wanted to share an excerpt from The Reaper's Daughter. Look for Part III of Grim's Fall, coming in the next two days! Also, don't miss the giveaway, which will end in two days:

http://www.kmrandallauthor.com/blog/2015-october-frights-blog-hop

              ***
Present 

THE ROLLING GREEN of her eyes was dimming fast, losing color and life to the quick click of time that beat out her days and nights, a perpetual circle that was now fading to a close. Light brown hair that had been recently styled into looping curls was limp against the black pillowcase―a metaphor for her wilted spirit, I mused, thinking offhandedly how proud my English professor would be at my thoughtful use of language.

I sighed. I didn’t want to be here.

When her eyes met mine, I knew she saw me for who I really was—what I really was. She reached out an eager hand to take mine. I didn’t want anything to do with it. But it wasn’t because her fingers were slick with blood, deep crimson dripping down her arm and fingernails from where she’d so precisely placed a razor blade to her vein and dug deep, thinking she’d be free of her pain. It was because her face reflected back to me all the times I’d felt I’d been given a shitty deal. Current situation: case in point.

“Hi,” she whispered, her once pink lips fading with every pump of her life, which was idly dripping away from her to the plush white carpet below. I could smell the newness of it, the fresh aroma of a recently laid floor. That’s going to be a bitch to get clean.

I looked around her bedroom, at the dance trophies and pictures of smiling friends, and wondered why.  Why me? “Blake …” Hearing my mother's warning tone, I looked over at her where she stood in the shadows, overseeing my tutelage.

“Why can’t we just call an ambulance? It’s not too late. They could save her,” I whispered fiercely, staring at the girl’s hand stretched out to me as if I were her savior and not her end. “We should save—”

“It’s not for us to decide, you know that. We are only here to bring souls over, not save their mortal lives. Take her, she wants to go.”

“And will she still feel the same when she’s looking down at her body?” I asked, not even bothering to check my mother’s expression when she didn’t answer. Suicide wasn’t a peaceful death. It was pain―that much I knew.

I choked back the tears that wanted to rise in my eyes for this girl, for me … I turned to her once more and leaned down, brushing a strand of her hair from her graying face. “What’s your name?”

Barely blinking, her pale eyes darted to me. “Carly,” she said, choking around her words.

“Just hold my hand and I’ll help you cross,” I said softly, forcing myself to meet her gaze so that someone would witness her ending as they had her beginning.

She smiled slowly, and I saw that in life she had been pretty. When she’d believed. When she’d had hope. 
“The light?” Her eyes widened, glittering green for a brief moment in their otherwise colorless depths at the prospect of going somewhere beautiful after this life had been so cold.

I nodded, although I didn’t really know where she would go. I was only in training, but I hoped it was someplace good, where her tormented soul could rest.

She had small, feminine hands, I thought, as she laced her slippery fingers around my longer warm ones. She didn’t last long, her pulse giving one last flutter before sputtering out. 

The room was suffused with the silence left behind in the absence of such a simple thing. The thundering lack of a person’s heartbeat had never seemed quite so loud. As life departed Carly’s mortal coil, her soul lifted from the body, but unlike some souls I’d seen that were light and buoyant, at peace with the next step in their existence, hers was outlined in darkness, and it rippled, suspended in space like a special effect in a bad horror film. Her gaze turned from her body to me, sorrow coming to settle on the slope of her bowed shoulders and in the recesses of her eyes. Regret was a fickle creature. It always came too late.

“I hope you find what you wanted,” I whispered to her soul, waiting to feel the energy that usually infused my body during a crossover. As she blinked out, all air was ripped from my lungs and I was left clutching the bedpost for purchase, grappling for oxygen and drowning on the echo of Carly’s anguish. The room spun around me, and my rasping heaves hurt my chest as I struggled to survive the sharp, bitter sting of loss that clung to the drapes and walls and assaulted my nose with its acrid scent.

I inhaled deep breaths when air returned, staring at the pool of red on the floor, thankful the bedspread had been black. She looked like a zombie, gray and without light, her once green eyes staring into a void that held nothing for her now. Without thinking about it, I reached forward and closed her lids with the lightest touch of my fingertips. The hands of Death.

“Blake,” my mother warned again, a chastising edge to the velvety lilt of her voice. 

I turned to look at her and sighed, feeling the darkness in the girl’s room overwhelm me, irritation surging inside me at my mother’s emotionless manner. “Don’t you care?” I asked.

She stepped forward from the shadows, her shroud of black hair sweeping around the marble pallor of her face. “Of course,” she said. But I had a hard time believing her when her features remained composed in an expression of sculpted apathy. “But it is what it is, Blake.”

“This was the worst.”

“I’ve seen much worse,” she said, her voice lacking the deep resonance of human compassion. It was flat, a monotone observer in a world colored by grief and heartbreak.

“Gee, thanks, way to make me feel better about this whole gig.”

“That wasn’t really my intent. This is who you are. You will have to deal with tragedies that far surpass this.
Tragedies far more encompassing. This was one girl. Be grateful it wasn’t thousands.”

I could barely look at her, nauseated by the way she acted as if one girl hadn’t been everything to someone. I opened my mouth to retort with something equally nasty, my body tensed to storm past her for the last time, but I was caught in mid-motion by a soft knock at the door. My head swiveled.

“Carly?” A soft voice came from the other side, concern coating the lightness of her tone.
Oh god, I absolutely could not stick around to watch Carly's parents find their daughter dead from suicide on her comforter.

Turning quickly, I pulled a fleecy black blanket, folded so carefully before, up over the girl’s chest, trying to make the scene look less gruesome before I headed to the window.

“I’m outta here,” I told my mother. To her credit, she didn’t try to stop me with more inane platitudes.

“You could just flicker out,” she said dryly. The doorknob was turning, and I shook my head. I’d tried her way of traveling through realms to no avail. If I was going to make an exit, it was going to have to be the human way.

I hurled myself through the open window onto the tree outside without thought of my physical safety, only glancing back once to see that my mom had already disappeared.

Sliding down the tree, I hit the ground with a grunt, my sneaker-clad feet stinging from the impact. I didn’t pause, pumping my legs to power myself down the sleeping streets as fast as I could to get as much distance as possible from the death scene. But I didn’t run fast enough, because her mother’s shrieks of agony followed me from two blocks away. They don’t ever think about who they leave behind.
I blocked my ears and kept running, the late winter air biting at my cheeks with the hope of spring hanging heavy in the wind, even on such a desperate night.

When I got to my own house, I paused at the stoop, sucking in a few breaths and trying to make the images in my head go away. Smoothing back my long, dark hair, so like my mother’s, I checked my hands for hints of blood. But just like any normalcy that had previously existed in my life, the blood I’d seen stain my fingers had vanished. Licking my lips, I put my key in the door and pushed it open, stepping into the foyer.

My dad looked up from the living room, where his nose was buried in a book. “Hey, B,” he said, taking off his glasses and rubbing tired eyes. “What are you doing here? I thought you were staying at the dorm tonight.” He arched his brows and glanced at the cable box clock that glowed a green 11:15 p.m.

“Yeah, I was going to, but Shelby wanted me to stop by her parents’—you know, it’s weekly game night—so I figured that since I was so close, I’d just crash here tonight. I’d better get a little reading in though, so 'night, Dad.”

He didn’t stop me or question me, which I was thankful for. I bounded up the steps to my room. Movies always made it look so easy, but living a double life was going to be the death of me. Pun intended.
After closing my bedroom door behind me, I sat down on my bed, tossed off my shoes, and quickly headed for the bathroom to shower. My skin felt dirty with the cloak of death, and I wanted to wash it away. Even though I knew it was impossible.

I was struck by my reflection as I closed the door behind me and turned to the medicine cabinet. It was like looking at a younger version of my mother. Only my eyes were a pale crystal blue. Hers were black. I was thankful for the difference.

But what we had in common even more than looks was a legacy. A long one. You might have heard of her before; she’s really quite famous, although most stories have gotten it wrong and made her out to be a dude. She goes by the name Grim, but her full name is Grim Reaper. Do you know what that makes my mother? Yep, that’s “right. She’s Death.

So what does that make me? The Reaper’s daughter.
 
                       ***

When people think death costumes at Halloween, it's fairly easy to find a Grim Reaper costume. But through my research writing about deities I've found there are far more than I ever realized. Of course, some I was familiar with before I started. Most people know Hades, as he's often depicted in literature and Greek mythology as one of the more popular and well-known mythologies. But we are a world of many cultures, so here are five different death deities that would make for fun and unique costumes:

Kali: Her very name means "She who is Death" or "She who is Black." Kali is a Hindu goddess, and she's long been a favorite. She is associated with empowerment, while she also been called the destroyer. Appearance wise, I usually see her depicted as being blue with many arms and a necklace of decapitated heads. You might have to get creative with the arms, but don't worry about necessarily painting yourself entirely blue, she's depicted in a number of hues. Unless of course you want to paint yourself blue. After all, Halloween only comes around once a year. Going blue might be fun. You can also get your inner Miley Cyrus on, because in some depictions, Kali likes sticking her tongue out. Regardless of which way you decide to dress yourself up, Kali could be a pretty bad-ass costume. I think I have an idea for next year!

Anubis: This Egyptian protector of the dead is often depicted as either a canine or with a canine head, wearing black or shirtless with a toga-like garment around his waist. This could be interesting ... (visions of a shirtless dog-headed husband dance in my head). Okay, that might be kind of weird, but that's what Halloween is for! And Anubis also has a female counterpart, Anput, who very occasionally is depicted with a dog head as well. Can you say couples costume!

Atropos: One of the three Moirai, better known as the Fates, Atropos cuts the threads with her shears. This is definitely one for the girlfriends, because this Greek goddess of death could easily be paired with her two sisters, Clothos, the spinner, and Lachesis, who measures lives. All three friends need do is don Greek-style robes or togas, and each one carry a different tool: scissors, needle and thread, and a tailor's measuring tape.  

Santa Muerte: Okay, so she's not totally abstract, but I love her and I'm actually being her for Halloween. I'm a bit in love with the Mexican Day of the Dead art, and she's a character in The Reaper's Daughter, otherwise known as Sebastiana, and she's just my favorite. She's an easy one to do because most costume shops sell facial decals to give your face the colorful, day of the dead appearance, plus there are plenty of Mexican Day of the Dead costumes now available. I'm not using any of them, of course, because they're the "sexy" costumes, and not Santa Muerte specific, but I am using the decals and some makeup for my face. If the results come out as I hope, I'll definitely post a spooky Halloween selfie. 

Santa Muerte isn't just a deity, she's actually a Mexican folk saint, and she's venerated. She's often depicted with a cloak and scythe, and sometimes with black angel's wings. See why I want to be her for Halloween?

Mythology in itself is vastly fascinating because these stories have been crafted from age-old beliefs within any given culture. Whatever you decide to be, remember that the personification of Death has many forms, so in stories and in real life, honoring other cultures by knowing more about their mythology and beliefs can also open the doorways to creativity. 

                                *    *    *

As part of the October Frights Blog Hop, I'm posting a short story from the world of my YA Paranormal novel, The Reaper's Daughter. You don't have to have read my book to follow this, because this story stands on its own. It's more like the beginning, a prequel, so to speak. This is the story of the Grim Reaper's banishment from the underworld.

* * *

“I dare you.” His rough, hard face creased with a taunting smirk, his narrow dark eyes flickering with challenge. From his hand hung a sword, the whistle of steel meeting air still echoing from where he’d only moments before tried to slice off her arm—the one that held the scythe.

Grim laughed, the sound bouncing off the glittering crystals and craggy rock of the caverns. They had come to the walkway of the dead, near where Styx guarded the doorway between the underworld and the land of the living. The guardian deity hadn’t intervened yet, and for that Grim was thankful. She was ready to end the death deity war Hades had set in motion.

Hefting the scythe she so easily held in her hand over her shoulder, she shook her head, gazing at him imperiously although he dwarfed her by the mass of his bulk, his shadow almost vanquishing hers. “I will not kill my brethren, and you are that, even if I find you … well, I’ll be honest, repulsive,” she said dryly, arching a dark brow.

He smiled, and Grim stared at him impassively, eyeing the sweat clinging to his long hair and glistening against the pale of his skin with an inward distaste. She had always disliked the deity and his brutish ways, never felt he carried with him the compassion for those he crossed, and she didn't respect his need for power. Now, his eyes glittered black and he held her gaze, his focus only wavering away from hers for a moment to focus on the gleam of the silver scythe she held. He gestured beyond himself. “If you are to stop me, you will have to kill me.” From the shadows stepped his army, more than she could count.

“Your devil’s spawn,” she said, inclining her head in acknowledgement.

“Oh, well I’m hurt you would refer to innocent children so,” he said calmly, a mocking thread running through his tone.

“Innocent? I could say the living are happy when they see me, but that doesn’t make it true.” She smiled humorlessly, glancing to the figures of Hades’s children standing behind him, around her, with weapons in their hands and ambition in their souls. Glancing back to Hades, she caught the gleam of his sword slicing through the air, sending her into motion, her hands folding securely around the scythe and swinging it, the clang of metal reverberating off stone pierced the night with death.

“War then,” he said.

“You and yours began this,” she said, gritting her teeth and shoving him back with the force of her weapon, making him stumble back, a grimace of surprise flashing across his face.

Grim grinned, the power from the scythe crackling within her. How could he think he’d beat—a wind slapped her, and from the corner of her eye she caught the mass that was Hades barreling toward her, his hybrid goons closing in on her.

Thought wasn’t an option, and she swiveled, instinctively putting the power of the scythe into physical action by stepping forward and slamming the blunt part of the weapon into his chest. A crack of bone shattering filled the cavern, and Hades was sent flying back into a part of the wall that jutted out, his body hitting it with a slap. A strange expression flickered across his face, his black eyes losing the steel twist of corruption for the briefest of moments, and then he slid down to the ground, his eyes closing.

That must have hurt, she thought, glancing dismissively at the deity. He was immortal, so he’d heal fast enough, and he would be punished for his crimes, she would see to it. Grim eyed the kids moving in on her and sighed softly. Indoctrinated by Hades with his hate and misdirected power grab, and as many as there were, they’d be a challenge, but ultimately, they’d be no match for her.

A moan drew her attention back to Hades, who sat up slowly from his spot on the ground and rubbed a large knuckled hand over his chest. “Feeling under the weather?” she asked, wondering when the council would show and provide her the support to bring him and his brood to justice. But when he looked at her, she was startled by the creases of pain that worried his face. “He’s quiet … I can’t hear him … You-you killed him!” he growled.

“Killed who?” she asked slowly, watching him carefully, the scythe still clutched in her hands. He couldn’t possibly mean--

“You killed my brother. Pluto’s dead.”

* * *

Stay tuned for Part II, which I'll post on Sunday.

I'm participating in a couple of really cool online book events this fall. The first is the 2015 October Frights Blog Hop, which is happening Oct. 1-10. I'll be running a series of posts  during those days and at the end of it all, I'll be giving stuff away! There will also be a list at the end of the post directing readers to all the other authors taking part in the hop. It should be some fangtastic fun. Honestly, Halloween is a delicious time of year for me, so bear with me. I love decorating, I love the spooky atmosphere, the crisp air and hint of something powerful in the air.