Announcing: Critical Mass!

 Yes, you've seen the announcement on Facebook: Critical Mass, the third phase of The NADIA Project, is coming soon from MuseItUp Publishing, and I can hardly wait. Mainly because I'm in edits right now, and I hate editing with the white-hot intensity of a thousand anti-matter reactions. But also because I'm excited about the series. Yes, it's my intention to bring the story of Nadia Velasquez to its ultimate conclusion. Will she fulfill her mission as the last living weapon of mass destruction? Or will her medical team finally find the cure for her condition so she can live her life out as a normal woman? Well, as normal as one can be, when one is a manufactured being with little in common with an average human.

And in conjunction with that announcement on Facebook (Friend me if you haven't already), I present to you another excerpt (officially unedited) of Critical Mass:

Blurb:

On their own, they're deadly. Together, they could save the world—or destroy it.

Jenna Paine is a super spy, genetically enhanced to be more than human. Nadia Velasquez is a living weapon of mass destruction. When the secret organization who built them both decides they are no longer useful, two enemies are thrown together for the only purposes they could have in common: survival and revenge.

There's only one way out of The Pinnacle, and that's on a coroner's slab. Jenna lives through a treacherous attack vowing to exact her vengeance on the people who trained her to be the most deadly agent on the planet. Wounded and on the run, she turns to the man who's sworn to making her face charges for her involvement in the Pinnacle's nefarious schemes.

After years spent hiding from the Pinnacle, Nadia runs into the one thing she never counted on: Shelf life. As her body breaks down, she realizes it's only a matter of the short time she has left to redeem her existence and give her daughter a chance to live free.

In the final showdown, the two transhumans join forces against a common enemy, and the Pinnacle come to know the deadly significance of…

Critical Mass

Excerpt:

Jenna pulled into the parking lot of a fleabag motel outside Cleveland. In the bushes at the southwest corner of the building, she lifted the paver from beneath the downspout and dug through the moist soil until her fingernails scraped against a hard, flat surface. Prying around the edges, she pulled up a small metal box wrapped in plastic. Inside she found a brass key.

The room belonged to the Company. The master key was hers, a little extra she'd arranged on her own.

She walked around the back side of the building until she stood outside Room 211. There was no sound from within, and the lights were dark. Of course, they could have someone waiting inside, if they expected her here. But that was unlikely. The Pinnacle didn't have enough agents to cover every safe house between Virginia and California.

The door creaked open and she stood still for a moment, listening, reaching out with every sense for any sign of life. No sound of breathing or movement, no scent of cologne betrayed a would-be attacker.

Jenna slid through the door and closed it before turning on the light. A grin split her face as she thought of all the travelers and transients who'd spent nights in this room unaware what lay at their fingertips. The drawers all slid from the dresser. Against the back panel a .45 Colt automatic pistol was taped, along with two spare magazines. Around the pistol, the rest of the panel was packed with bundles of cash. These were collected and laid on a towel in the middle of the floor.

The bathroom was next. Jenna grabbed the medicine cabinet and lifted it straight up and off the bracket. Behind it lay the real reason she came. Three passports, one each for Trina Stevens, Linda Ballas, and Andi Reynolds, all bore her photograph. Inside each passport was a matching driver’s license and a credit/debit card. Each account belonged to her, and as far as she knew, the Pinnacle was blissfully ignorant of these resources.

Ten minutes later, she was on the road again. She now had two hundred thousand in cash, untraceable IDs and access to all her private bank accounts. Jenna Paine was now officially off the grid.

At a small RV lot in Indiana, she picked up a camper shell for the truck and, a few miles down the road, a few hours' rest at a campground.

A grim smile played across her face as she swung out onto the highway the next morning.

They'll never know what hit them.

What's Next?

Hey, fine folks.

So I’m in edits for Critical Mass, the third and final chapter of my award-winning sci-fi action thriller series The NADIA Project.

And it occurs to me. The story is really coming to a close. I have to say goodbye to Nadia and Jon, to Bunny and Hushi, to Jimmy and Irving, Beth, Donna and Jenna. I do have a novella coming that will be a free read, but that’s really it.

And I am having a hard time moving on.

It’s not like a divorce, because we’re parting on very good terms. I have spent the last five years making them all more miserable with each installment, but I do believe they’ve forgiven me. The few who remain alive, anyway. As for the rest of them, may they rest in peace, whatever their final fate.

And it’s not like I’m a widow, because I did leave some of them alive. Oh, believe me, I’ve spent a fair amount of time crying whenever I killed one of them off. Wow, did I just come off like a serious sociopath there, or what? Anyway, we all shed tears and blood together, and I mourned each one in his or her own special way.

It’s not even like breaking up. It’s kind of hard to understand, from outside the veil of the writer’s point of view, that separation as the project approaches its terminal phase ad I begin to ponder which one to bring to the front burner.

More characters to torment, more misery and conflict. More bullets flying, bodies dropping, people running around in flames. Ah, the fun of it all.

As it happens, I have several other white-knuckle rides to choose from:

1.)    Hush Little Baby. Crazy Annie Malone has nothing left to care about. Not even her sanity. Until she finds a baby behind a dumpster, between two dead men. What can be so special about a newborn that would take an army to kill, and another would be so willing to die to save?

2.)    Formula 57. A young doctor in a VA hospital is drawn into a deadly mystery when a bus locker key reveals a secret project with far-reaching – and deadly - implications.

3.)    Quiet on the Set. Simi is Hollywood’s newest and hottest action heroine, until she stumbles across a murder that didn’t happen. She can handle all the bad guys on the set. Can she handle the real ones?

4.)    Tempus Fugitive. Simon Crocker is a time sniper. He saves the world from maniacs and murderers by eliminating them before they get a chance to commit their crimes. But his biggest job is the one he should never have taken on. There’s only one way to save the world from himself: Crocker’s way.

Those are my top four picks. So help me out here. Which of these should be the next Cyrus Keith Project? I’ll pick a random winner from the winning group, and you’ll get a copy of Becoming NADIA, EPIC’s 2012 award winner for Best Thriller.

Author Interview: Cindy Borgne

The summer sun bathes the beach in warm light as the surf plays with the shore, tossing itself forward and falling back in happy blue-green rhythm. The sherry in my glass sparkles with diamond-bright light, scattering rays in every direction.

 I see the shadow approaching over the ocean before I hear the hiss of fans. It grows larger in my vision, a massive dark shape studded with antennae and heavy weapons turrets, slamming through the tops of the waves with military disdain. I glance at my watch. Right on time.

The hand-held radio on my side table breaks squelch. The hovercraft commander’s voice is strained with tension: “Delta Sierra, this is Hotel Charlie One-Seven-One , declaring an emergency! Power system control failure. Request guidance key and immediate approach clearance!”

I press a second button on my radio, and key up again. “Hotel Charlie, buoy transponders are active. Follow sequence Twelve, Eight, Six, Four, Three through the reef. Approach is clear to the dock.”

The hovercraft begins to follow the buoy sequence, but its speed is too great; it fails the turn at Three and runs over the reef. Its shroud flies into shreds as a gout of flame bursts from the power section. A single escape pod breaks from the wreck just before the craft disintegrates and sinks. The chute blows at minimum altitude and it settles into the sand fifteen feet away.

I pour a second glass of sherry as the door opens. A slight, feminine form emerges, straightens and staggers to the vacant chair next to mine.

People, allow me to introduce this week’s special guest, Science Fiction Author Cindy Borgne, here to talk about her novel Vallar. Welcome, Cindy!

11.)    From the fan pages: What got you to want to be a writer?

I think it mostly comes from having an overactive imagination that needs an outlet. I also enjoy the end result of a long project and enjoy sharing my stories with other people.

2.) Also from the fan pages: What inspired Vallar?

The initial inspiration came from a question. "What if someone had psychic ability, but was forced to use it for war. Then what if he realized this was a horrible thing?"  In Vallar, Ian is raised to believe he's supporting his organization for a reasonable cause and then he gets a wakeup call that he is working for the wrong people and causing deaths of the innocent. Then another question came up....”Will he be able to get away and what will he have to do?” 

I also enjoy taking the reader to a different world, so that’s why it all takes place on Mars. Plus I enjoy the challenge of writing a story that takes place there and all the research one has to do. You could say I’m a geek. 

3.) Why Science Fiction? 

I like stories that are about something different or unusual, so my writing leans toward writing in that genre. Although, my stories aren't what I would call hard science fiction, they are more speculative and mainly about the characters and how they deal with the situations I get them into – the poor things. But don’t worry, I do cover the technology. I just don’t go overboard with too much info.  

4.) Do you write in any other genre? 

I have another novelette called "TransShifter" that I consider to be paranormal fantasy. It's about a shapeshifter who finds out there is more to being human than she realizes...while getting into all sort of trouble. I have also tinkered with writing a steampunk story about Native Americans. You could say I like to be different, and I'm open to other genres as long as it's about something unique.  

  

5.) Do I detect a strong Bradbury influence in Vallar?

I don’t know if there is a strong influence, but I’ve read a lot of Bradbury short stories. Many of them I found to be page turners. There is one scene in Vallar that sort of has the “Something Wicked This Way Comes” sort of element. Bradbury definitely was one of the greats. I think the main thing I admire about him is how many stories he produced. He’s even advised authors to produce as many stories as possible because the more you have, the greater chance of publication and success.  

6.) What other authors have influenced you over the years? 

I would say Frank Herbert, Orson Scott Card, Connie Willis, and Lois McMaster. I tend to prefer the scifi writers who have character driven stories.  

7.) What other projects do you have in the works? 

My first priority is finishing the Vallar Sequel, it's currently at 82K words, but still a first draft. Then I will attempt a post apocalyptic novel, as I've found that to be the hot genre right now. I also really want a sequel for TransShifter too along with that steampunk novel I mentioned. If only I didn't have a day job. 

8.) What made you decide to self-publish Vallar?

I wanted control over everything involving the book, mainly the price. I think so far it has worked out well because I've been able to participate in things like Kindle Select, which contributed to a lot of sales. Not that there haven't been frustrations and challenges (like marketing, which is difficult for most authors) But in any case, I've learned a lot about publishing and gained readers. 

Thanks again, Cindy. And now, folks, without further ado, we present: Vallar

 At sixteen, Ian Connors has only one real friend and no hope for the future. He also happens to be the secret weapon of a powerful military faction bent on conquering all humans who have colonized Mars. His job is to use his psychic ability to uncover secrets or hidden bases of other factions. Ian not only uncovers a valuable hidden mine through his visions, but also Kayla, a woman he sees himself with in the future. The only problem is she's on the enemy side. 

Ian heads out into a battle to save Kayla. Instead, he discovers the death and destruction his visions can bring when in the wrong hands. Ian vows to never let anyone use him again. His goal is to escape and live in peace, but his superiors monitor him closely and defectors are known to mysteriously disappear. Deep down, he longs to be with Kayla. Despite his age, inexperience and few allies, he refuses to give up. He must outwit a cunning admiral and save Kayla from his own people or he will remain a pawn and forever separated from those he loves.

Awesome, Cindy! Thanks again for stopping by.  Now, we have a short excerpt of Vallar. Set it up for us, if you would.

In this scene, Ian disobeys orders and goes out into a battle. It ends up being more of a battle than he expected as his own people have under estimated the enemy. Here the ship he's in has been hit by a shock wave and is about to fall off the edge of a cliff.

  

The vessel teetered on the edge of something. Outside, a thick mass swirled, making it impossible to see. My heart beat out of control. The hull became like a cage with narrowing walls. A crack formed on the front shield and grew in short spurts with every movement.

A few others slowly stood up. Nate’s feet barely fit on a small ledge. Another man hung onto the wall opposite of him. I looked back and forth between Nate and the cracked front port, which threatened to depressurize the vessel at any moment. 

“Nobody move,” ordered the captain.

“I’m slipping!” Nate yelled.

“The port is about to go,” I said. “Those men have to come down here.” 

Everyone argued at once.

“Nate!” I yelled over the talking. “Try to come down slowly.”

“No, don’t move. You’re going to knock us over.” 

“He’s right. We have to come down,” said a panicked voice. The man opposite Nate crawled down, but he went too fast.

“Stop!” the captain ordered.

The vessel swayed and slid, threatening to fall at any instant. The crack streaked across the window like a lightning bolt. I held my breath. The large transparent shield bowed outward and exploded. 

Clear particles flew outside and blended into the churning heap. Men screamed as the craft depressurized. 

“Somebody help him!” I yelled.

Nate’s hands slid off the wall. His arms flailed about as he tried to grab something. Two others flew into him and pushed him out the front port along with them. Nate disappeared into the churning dust.

“Nate!” I screamed as the vessel tilted and slid downward

Can we talk?

 *ADVANCE WARNING: COMMENTS POSTED BY "UNKNOWN" OR "ANONYMOUS" WILL BE DELETED WITHOUT REVIEW.

What happened? Please, somebody tell me.

Does anybody remember when we used to talk instead of scream into each others' faces? There was this thing we called "Civil Discourse." It meant that people from different sides of an issue could sit down and talk with each other without leveling vile accusations across the table. We didn't always settle the issue. Sometimes we agreed that we disagreed. Then we shook hands and went our ways.

That was then. Now is another issue altogether. Now, Republicans are all Nazis or Fascists. Democrats are all Communists, or Socialists, or whatever you decide you hate worse. The language of debate has turned inflammatory on a level I don't ever remember seeing before.

Whatever happened to our manners?  When I was young, we addressed each other using "Sir" and Ma'am." We spoke politely when we differed. Now, stereotypes and labels have replaced propriety and common manners. We rush to judge, and we ALL do it. Don't tell me you don't. I speak to everybody involved in the debate here. And wherever you point that finger, remember three more are pointing right back at you.

When was the last time you began a statement with "X just wants to...." or "Y just thinks that..."? The Left just want Big Brother. They want to spend, spend, spend the United States into oblivion, declare an emergency and declare a dictatorship so they can put everybody on a government program. The Right want to throw Grandma off a cliff. They want poor people to all become sick and die. They all want dirty air and dirty water. They want tax breaks only for rich people while struggling families have to pay more. GIVE ME A BREAK!!!

Come on, people. We're all so busy telling each other what they want, nobody is taking the time anymore to stop and ask, "Why would anyone in their right mind want THAT?" Can we actually ask what the other side wants anymore?

Now, I know about Talk Radio. I also know about the press and its propaganda. I actually had a class on how to spot it, if you want to believe that. And folks, we are spending a whole lot of time getting led around by our noses. Everybody is so busy blaming the other side anymore, they can't see that they themselves are guilty of the same things.

I know a lot is at stake when you're a free country in crisis during an election year. I'm free with my criticism toward both sides of the debate. I agree with one thing our current president says: "What we have are two different directions the country can go in." Then I have to bite my tongue when he goes off on an angry rant about how I want to murder poor people in their sleep and eat babies because I don't think my government has the common sense to run a lemonade stand, let alone control a massive health care bureaucracy that introduces nearly a hundred new agencies and programs.

Now, I'm going to finish up. And I'm going to welcome comments. But people, you better keep this discussion civil because I will not put up with inflammatory rhetoric on my blog. We are not the WWE, we are free Americans (And my welcome guests from other countries, God Bless you) with rights to free speech, and also the responsibility to tell truth. And aside from a handful of us here, I know most of us are not telepaths or empaths. Maybe a few sociaopaths and psychopaths, but so far as I know, nobody here can read anyone else's mind from a thousand miles away. Even if you can, don't try.

So instead of reading each others' minds, and without name-calling or accusations,

Can we just talk?

Author Introduction: Penny Estelle

The wind is calm today on Distant Shores. The sea lies still as if in wait for a victim, glass-smooth. Gulls' cries carry across the miles of sky above, darkened with a heavy overcast. From the edge of the cliff no ship or craft of any kind is visible on the water in any direction.

Then I hear it: the drone of an engine, swelling above the gulls' protests. It comes from somewhere above the canopy, its source hidden by the cloud cover above. Just as the sound reaches its climax and begins to wane, a cough interrupts the otherwise solid purr of the aircraft's motor. It carries on for another second or two before it sputters and stops. I listen for several more minutes, ears straining to learn the ultimate fate of the stricken craft, but neither crash nor splash gives me the answer.

Just as I give up to return to my cabin, another sound splits the sky: a human cry. What's that? A rebel yell cuts through the silence like a warning. I look up again, just in time to avoid the parachutist dangling beneath the shrouds of a colorful canopy. She lands with a smooth glide and a shout of exhilaration.

Let's welcome to Distant Shores, teen-lit author Penny Estelle, here to show us a bit about her new release, Billy Cooper's Awesome Nightmare.

Penny: Good morning Cyrus!  I want to thank you for letting me stop by today.

Cyrus: Not like you had a whole lot of choice, young lady. Thanks for dropping in. Tell us all a bit about yourself.

Penny: I have written a couple posts on my life in rural Arizona and living with no electricity.  We have solar and wind generators.  It’s been quite an adjustment for this city girl.  I retired three years ago after living in the big city all my life.  I told my hubby he had two years to make me love it or he needed to promise to move me back to the good life.

Cyrus: Yeah, we're all a little hooked on our conveniences. I'd be willing to bet, then he fulfilled his end of the bargain?

Penny: Well little did I know, this yahoo kind of life was the good life.  There is one thing I can’t seem to get a handle on.  The annihilation of snakes and mice (or rats) in the area.

When we first bought this property we were moving some wood and I said, “Oh my look, a baby bunny..uhm..with a really long skinny tail!”  No, it was a pack rat – a HUGE pack rat.  I have come to hate these things and in the three years we have been up here, they seem to have moved on to find other living arrangements.

Cyrus: Did I mention I had a gerbil named Penny once? She was my fuzzy little buddy. Any other little buddies you encounter out there?

Penny: The other visitors that drop in uninvited are the rattlesnakes – Diamondbacks  and Mohave greens.  We are indeed lucky enough to have seen them all.

Cyrus: Well, I guess lucky is  a relative term, there. All the same, I would think you'd be happier seeing them than not seeing them, if you know what I mean.

Penny: One day, my husband called me out and said, “I am moving the truck and there is a rattler underneath.”  He handed me the gun that always has the first three shots loaded with snake shot.  For those that don’t know, snake shot shoot a 3 – 5 inch circumference.

He moved the truck and I started blasting, emptying the gun.  He ended up crawling away but I know he was wounded!  Apparently I need work on target shooting!

Cyrus: You never know. The critter could have been wearing armor. Sounds like one tough snake. You sure you don't need to follow up with a grenade next time? Though a couple extra hours on the range wouldn't hurt, either.

Penny: I have also learned NOT to shoot the bull or king snakes.  They eat the mice, rats, etc.  The only problem there is they look an awful lot like rattlers, so when they appear out of nowhere, another 5 years is taken off my life.  My life continues to get shorter and shorter.  

Cyrus: Well, Penny, if it was upo to us, you'd have a long, long life cranking out these cool teen stories.

Tell us about your new release.

                                                            * * * *

Billy Cooper’s Awesome Nightmare – The Wickware Sagas

Now let me set the stage before I tell my little story.  I was visiting my daughter in Utah, last summer and my ten-year old grandson was playing with some of his friends.  Somehow, the subject of William Tell came up and not one of these boys had any idea who William Tell was.

Okay, okay…I’m getting to the point.  This is how my series, The Wickware Sagas, started.  It seems so much of our history is getting lost, especially when it comes to historical legends. 

Miss Wickware is a history teacher for 7^th and 8^th grades students at Langdon Middle School in Phoenix, AZ.  Rumor has it that strange things happened in her class.  Is she a witch?  Is she from another planet?  Nobody can, or will, talk too much about what has happened.  Yea…probably just rumors…or are they? 

Every year, she gives an assignment for an oral book report.  Each student will draw a name from a box and then give an oral report on whom they have chosen and somehow, one of these students ends up face to face with their drawn subject.  How does this happen?

Billy Cooper’s Awesome Nightmare is the first of the Wickware Sagas Series. 

Billy Cooper is so annoyed about this oral report.  Old Lady Wickware drops this bomb on a Friday afternoon and it’s due on Monday.  Well he has plans for the whole weekend and simply doesn’t have time to do a report.  He figures he will do a quick computer search on Sunday night on this William Tell guy, whoever that is, and then he will just skate by on this assignment.  All that changes when he finds himself in the 14^th century and standing in front of William Tell’s house.

Billy Cooper’s Awesome Nightmare!

https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=501&category_id=193&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1

http://www.amazon.com/Coopers-Awesome-Nightmare-Wickware-ebook/dp/B0088HTJ9U

You can find me and the rest of my stories @ www.pennystales.com or www.pennyestelle.blogspot.com

Stop by for a visit and let me know what you think!

Cyrus: Looks like an intriguing concept, Penny. I can see this taking off for sure. Speaking of taking off, you don't mind sticking around for a while, do you? The next plane arrives some time after it runs out of gas.

Congratulations on your release, sis, and welcome to MuseItUp Publishing.

Critical Mass

Hey, guys. Cyrus Keith again. So how's everyone doing? Well, I trust.

This week, I have some awesome news: I signed the publisher's contract for the third and final novel of the series The NADIA Project. (...and there was much rejoicing...ya-a-a-a-ay...). So now the series is almost complete. The only detail left is a little project I call Lies and Paine, and I'll have more on that later.

But back to the latest project, which is titled Critical Mass, and Brings Nadia Velasquez's story to its close. Man, I'm dying to tell you all about it, but I need to be a good boy and not paste the entire thing here on the blog, 'cause, like, that would be totally wrong.

Anyway, if you liked Becoming NADIA and Unalive, I'm confident you'll like this one. So without any further hullabaloo, may I introduce the first excerpt from Critical Mass:

 * * * *

Sofi came out of the woods, following the game trail that ran past the back door. It wasn't that she was sneaking in, hoping to avoid a confrontation altogether. She knew that wasn't going to happen. The girl just wanted to put it off as long as possible, especially after having such a good afternoon with her only friend. Besides, there was no way she could sneak in the screen door. The spring made this nasty stretching, pinging noise every time it opened. She hadn't figured out a way past it yet. She'd tried unhooking it on the way out, but Mom always found it and hooked it back up again.

So Mom was going to hear her coming in the back door, and she would probably be waiting there with the note. Again.

Sofi entered the garage via the small door and climbed the concrete step to the back door, sighing in resignation.

She just started to move the door when she heard Mom's voice. “Come in here, young lady.” Yep, just what I thought. So much for delaying the inevitable.

Sofi opened the door and entered the kitchen.

Nadia sat at the table, her hands steepled in front of her face, as if in prayer. “Sofi, is there something you want to tell me?”

“Why would I want to say anything? You might as well just ground me now, and save us both the time wasted on discussing it.”

Nadia dropped her hands to the table, and the note lying there. “Because I want to understand why you're behaving this way. You're failing classes when we both know how smart you are. You're skipping class, starting fights—”

Sofi remained standing just inside the kitchen door. “Why do you even care?”

“Who took the first punch?”

“Does it matter?”

Nadia rose to her feet. “Of course it matters. If you were just defending yourself, it's different—”

“And what if I was just pissed?”

“Watch your mouth, young lady—”

Sofi's hands balled into fists. “Or what, you'll ground me? Oh, now I've done it—”

Nadia's voice rose in anger. “We can't afford to stand out; haven't you figured that out by now? Do you want them to find us? What do you think will happen when they do, invite us to tea? They want to kill us, Sofi!”

“Anything's better than sitting here just hiding! I'd rather be dead than keep sitting around waiting for it to happen!”

Nadia stormed around the table. Before Sofi could back away, Nadia grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. A strange, harsh light was in the woman's eyes. Her hands trembled even as her fingers dug in. “Don't you ever say that! Don't you know what it's like to lose—?”

“Yes!” Sofi screamed, “Yes! I watched them shoot my mother!”

Nadia's mouth worked fruitlessly as her hands dropped. The sudden release of pressure on Sofi's shoulders was almost as painful as the grip the older woman had on her. Nadia's face went slack, like some colossal idea just occurred to her, but then she just went blank. “M-mother…” Nadia staggered back, a distant, hollow look in her eyes. “Mother baby d-deer…”

The anger seeped out of Sofi, replaced by confusion. “Mom, what—?”

Nadia fell to the floor, her chest heaving. She opened her mouth and a strangled cry lurched from between her lips. Her head fell back, neck muscles tensed, and her limbs began to thrash. She kicked the metal and formica table across the kitchen. It crashed against the counter and fell over. Nadia's head slammed into the floor again as her back arched.

“Oh, my God, Mom!” Sofi rushed to Nadia's side, knelt, and held her head steady so it wouldn't bang anymore. But she couldn't do anything more to stop everything else.

The thrashing continued for several more heart-jarring seconds before Nadia's body finally relaxed. She lay still, sucking breath after breath in a moaning delirium.

Sofi's hands shook. She couldn't stop the tears that welled up from her soul as the fear took hold. “Mom? Talk to me, please.” She lifted one of Nadia's eyelids. The eye beneath wandered, uncomprehending of its surroundings. “Mom, say something.”

The words were slurred, barely legible. “Deena? Deena, baby—”

Sofi stroked a sweat-soaked strand of hair from Nadia's eyes and felt her forehead. She's so hot; what do I do? “No, Mom, it's me.”

Nadia's eyes opened. “S-Sofi—” she muttered. “Sofi, honey…”

“I'm here, Mom, it's me, I—” Sofi's breath caught in her throat. Nadia had bitten her lip during the seizure, and now—Oh, my God, the blood. The blood's white—