First Chapter Reveal: Dancing in the Flame by Ann Gimpel

Title of Book: DANCING IN THE FLAME
Genre: Spicy Paranormal Romance
Author: Ann Gimpel
Website: www.AnnGimpel.com
Publisher: Liquid Silver Books

SUMMARY:

Life in a were bordello is all Keira has ever known. Because of her mixed blood, none of the magicians’ guilds want her, or protested when the Weres bound her as an indentured hooker. Mired in the hopelessness of her dreams, Keira longs for more.

Barrett, one of the Daoine Sidhe, runs a magician supply shop in what’s left of Seattle. No one is more surprised than he when the Sidhe leader commands him to extricate Keira from the weres.

Magic and intrigue throw Keira and Barrett into one another’s arms. Convinced they have a job to do, they struggle against the heat of the passion between them. Until it gets way too hot to handle.

FIRST CHAPTER

Eleven Years Later

Keira opened a door in the were bordello where she lived and worked and peeked out into the long hallway spanning the first floor of the building. Empty. Good. It was the middle of the afternoon, always a slow time. Her last customer had just left. Maybe, if she snuck out the rear door, she could claim a few hours of freedom. She ducked back into the room she shared with one of the other indentured hookers, donned a cloak and boots, and walked down the hall, making as little noise as possible.

The air was crisper than she’d expected as she eased the door shut behind her. Keira wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she’d brought a warmer coat. Most of her working clothes were wispy and suggestive. At least she’d been smart enough to put on tattered jeans, a moth-eaten sweater, and her favorite black cloak. For once it wasn’t raining. A pallid sun hung midway to the western horizon, bathing what were once busy urban streets with sallow light.

Keira emptied her mind, trying not to feel she was playing hooky. It wasn’t as if the weres kept her prisoner… She glanced at her left arm. Under the sweater and cape, she could have sworn the indenture bracelet spanning her upper arm tightened. Who am I trying to kid? They can find me anytime they want.

She walked briskly through Seattle’s Queen Anne district. Keira had the streets to herself today, but then she usually did. Good thing, too. Those like her, mixed-blood magic wielders with minimal power, were at pretty much everyone else’s mercy. Bottom of the New World totem pole.

Her gaze swept over urban rot. Keira grimaced. Buildings still stood, some of them, anyway. But most of the glass had been rocked out. Piles of trash blocked the roadways. Cars were a thing of the past. Out-of-control garbage had obliterated the sidewalks long ago. Paths wound through it, carved by varieties of magic wielders and prowling beasts. She made a point of ignoring what was underfoot. Most of it was too gross to even consider. It was a damned shame so many humans had been wiped out during the war. They’d taken care of things like that.

She pretended to consider what to do with her freedom, knowing her deliberations were a sham. She’d do the same thing she always did: head for Barrett’s magician’s shop. Housed in a cavernous Victorian on lower Capitol Hill, it was only about an hour’s walk from the were bordello. With its dark wood furniture, Oriental carpets, and overflowing shelves, the shop exuded a homey atmosphere which was irresistible.

Face it. The thing which makes it so enticing is Barrett. Keira smiled to herself as she pictured the tall, broad-shouldered Daoine Sidhe with his thick, coppery hair and pale blue eyes. Beyond his obvious beauty, though, he seemed kind. Not that she’d ever exchanged more than a few words with him, but he had laugh lines in the corners of his eyes and she’d watched him interact with other customers. He was always helpful, doing that little bit extra to assist someone find something. There was still bad blood among magic wielders, but not in Barrett’s shop. Everyone was granted equal status there. Never mind Daoine Sidhe magic was far more powerful than were, fae, or witch. Druid magic barely counted; it was nearly as feeble as hers.

The first time she’d stumbled into Barrett’s shop, it was by accident. She’d gotten into a big blow up with Simon, one of the staff at Were Calls, for refusing to service a customer in his animal form. Simon slapped her, which was a big no-no; punishment was supposed to be delivered through her bracelet per the terms of her indenture.

Keira had never seen Simon quite so angry. She didn’t wait around to see what he would do next. Despite being in her hooker garb, including high heels, she’d raced out the door and ran until her arches ached. It hadn’t helped when the skies opened and it began to pour. Not knowing what else to do—because she was not going back to Were Calls until things cooled down or they zapped her through the bracelet—she’d opened her magic senses. They’d led her straight to Barrett’s shop. It was only a couple of blocks from where she’d stopped.

Keira had pushed the heavy, carved wooden door open, ready to bolt if anyone so much as looked cross-eyed at her. No one did. The shop smelled heavenly. Herbs. Lots of them. They hung in bundles from a raised walkway, ten feet off the ground, which accessed a partial second story. Feeling a bit braver, she let her gaze roam the large room, crowded with shelves. No one paid her the slightest attention, which was amazing since all the other patrons were garbed in cloaks and coats. She glanced at her low-cut top, barely-there micro mini, and high heeled boots and winced. Her top didn’t leave much to the imagination since it was half-soaked through. Because she was cold, her nipples had pebbled into suggestive peaks.

-- Excerpted from Dancing in the Flame by Ann Gimpel



ABOUT DANCING IN THE FLAME

Life in a were bordello is all Keira has ever known. Because of her mixed blood, none of the magicians’ guilds want her, or protested when the Weres bound her as an indentured hooker. Mired in the hopelessness of her dreams, Keira longs for more.

Barrett, one of the Daoine Sidhe, runs a magician supply shop in what’s left of Seattle. No one is more surprised than he when the Sidhe leader commands him to extricate Keira from the weres.

Magic and intrigue throw Keira and Barrett into one another’s arms. Convinced they have a job to do, they struggle against the heat of the passion between them. Until it gets way too hot to handle.

Purchase your copy of Dancing in the Flame at AMAZON


ABOUT ANN GIMPEL


Ann Gimpel is a clinical psychologist, with a Jungian bent. Avocations include mountaineering, skiing, wilderness photography and, of course, writing. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines and anthologies. Several paranormal romance novellas are available in e-format. Three novels, Psyche’s Prophecy, Psyche’s Search, and Psyche’s Promise are small press publications available in e-format and paperback. Look for two more urban fantasy novels coming this summer and fall: Fortune’s Scion and Earth’s Requiem.

A husband, grown children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out her family.

Her latest books are Magic’s Daughter & Dancing in the Flame.

Visit her website at www.anngimpel.com

Connect with Ann:
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Release Day Blitz: Magic’s Daughter By Ann Gimpel

Magic’s Daughter
By Ann Gimpel

Publisher: Liquid Silver Books
ISBN: 978-1-93176-151-2

Release Date: 4/8/13

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Destined to be surrounded by magic yet have none of her own, Cassie walks a thin line. Her mother is dying and her boyfriend has turned into something that terrifies her. By the time she wakes up to the danger she’s in, it’s nearly too late.

Her clairvoyant friend Jeremy warns her about her scumbag boyfriend, but she’s not listening. Deeply disturbing events unfold. Cassie’s life hangs in the balance. She and Jeremy join forces to battle the darkness threatening them. Meanwhile, Cassie warms to Jeremy in ways she never could have anticipated. Love was always there if she’d just opened her eyes and looked.

Excerpt:
Cassionetta Ceobbinn sat in her old Subaru and rested her forehead against its steering wheel. Her electronic design work had ground to a halt an hour earlier and a headache pounded behind one eye. The garage of the Capitol Hill mansion rose around her, silent as a crypt. Her mother’s Aston Martin sat off to one side, gleaming white against the semi-darkness. Cassie girded herself to open her car door, grab her things, and go inside. “It’s my house, goddammit,” she muttered to boost her courage. “So what if he sent me a text message not to come home.”
The garage lights came on, blinding her. The door leading into the house crashed against the wall. Before the ringing in her ears subsided, her live-in boyfriend stomped to her car. Well, the live-in part was still accurate. The boyfriend part seemed to have evaporated like so much smoke.
“You weren’t supposed to come home tonight,” he growled. “I texted you hours ago. You can just turn that piece of shit you drive around and go stay at your mother’s office.”
Fury boiled up from her guts. She took aim and opened the car door hard into his midsection, hoping she could clip a ball for good measure.
“Oooph. You little bitch.” He jumped back rubbing his hip.
You bet I am. High heels slapping the concrete floor, she jumped out of her car and stood eyeball to eyeball with him. “This is my mother’s house, Tyler MacKenzie. I live here. Or have you forgotten?” Cassie yanked her shoulder bag and computer case off the passenger side of the front seat and stormed past him.
He grabbed her arm before she made the steps leading into the kitchen. “I have people over. It’s the full moon. I’m leading a séance. Your presence would disturb the energy.”
She twirled to face him, breaking his grip. “You mean you have mother’s clients over. Where is she, by the way?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know. Haven’t seen her.”
Cassie turned away from him. He closed his hand over her arm again, hard enough to make her squeal. “If you don’t let me go,” she snarled through clenched teeth, “I will call the police.”
His fingers loosened marginally. “But, sweetie…”
She heard compulsion beneath his words. Cassie didn’t have any magic of her own, but she recognized it in others. When Tyler wanted her to fall in love with him, he’d used honeyed words all the time. They’d only stopped once she let him move in.
“Can it.” She twisted her head so she could lock gazes with him. “Let me go. Now.” His hand fell away. “I want you out of here tomorrow—”
His eyes narrowed. He shoved long, red-gold hair out of his face and sneered at her. “Fat fucking chance of that. We’ve had this conversation one too many times for my liking. I’m here, and I intend to stay. There’s nothing you can do about it. Unless you want to meet with an unfortunate accident.” A nasty laugh bubbled past lips she’d actually thought were full and sensual. “Of course something like that could happen anyway. If I were you, sweetie, I’d watch my back.”
Cassie shuddered. She swallowed, but her mouth was dry. Maybe she’d underestimated Tyler. Once they’d stopped getting along, she’d seen him as an inconvenience, not a menace. He’d never sounded quite like this before though. There’d been threats, but they’d been subtle, veiled in double entendre.
She squared her shoulders and turned to face him. It was the kiss of death to let bullies know they were getting to you. “I’m done with your crap.” She infused as much venom as she could into her voice. “I will call the police. You threatened me.”
He snorted. “I’d just deny it. They’ll believe we had a lover’s spat. Women are so emotional.” His blue eyes gleamed with an unnatural light.
She blinked. For a moment, he looked like a demon one of her mother’s psychic friends had raised by accident. Cassie knew enough about them—interdimensional beings that traveled from world to world wreaking havoc—to scare the shit out of her.
Don’t be ridiculous. Ridiculous, ridiculous echoed in her head. I’m seeing things.
Her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears; her hands fisted at her sides. “You’d better get back to your séance. Wouldn’t want any of those high rollers to get away.”
Her face twisted into a grimace. Thank Christ he spun on his heel and trotted smartly back into the house. Tyler cut an elegant figure with his richly-embroidered gypsy cape, broad shoulders, and classically handsome Nordic features. Flowing ruby silk pants rode low on his slim hips. No wonder she’d been taken in by him.
Fuming—and scared half to death—she followed him into the house, but turned a hard left before she hit the kitchen and took what had once been the servants’ staircase. It had been stupid to fall for Tyler, one of the dumbest things she’d ever done, but there was no going back. She couldn’t unravel time and choose not to tumble into his arms and his bed. That part was a done deal. If she listened to him, his residency at chéz Eleanora was a done deal as well.
Shit!
Worry for her mother filled her, obliterating her fears for her own safety. Eleanora Ceobbinn was—or had been—a well-known psychic, but she’d apparently made one too many trips to the far side of the veil. She was still alive, but she hadn’t spoken a word in nearly a year, rattling around their old house like a ghost.
Eleanora had come from money—and made plenty on her own—so at least that wasn’t a problem, but her mother was definitely fading. It was almost as if someone—Tyler?—were feeding off what little energy she had left. Unable to shake her earlier sense of foreboding, Cassie shivered. If she hadn’t been holding onto her purse and computer bag, she would have wrapped her arms around herself.
Maybe because she was thinking about her mother—and the house had a mind of its own—she wasn’t surprised to find herself beneath a full-sized oil painting of Eleanora. Lush dark hair ended at knee level and her haunting violet eyes seemed alive. People had told Cassie she looked like her mom, but she’d never thought so. Eleanora was beautiful—and ageless. Cassie had the hair and the eyes and the striking six foot height, but the effect wasn’t nearly the same.
She still had no idea what had gone wrong the day her mother checked out. She’d come home from work to find Eleanora sprawled face down on the Oriental carpet in the séance room, candles smoking black gouts of greasy flame. If there’d been clients, they were nowhere to be found.
Her mother had regained consciousness, but that had been about all. Cassie had known better than to lug her around to a bunch of other doctors with their uncomfortable questions and pained silences after the first one had asked, “Your mother does what for a living?”
Cassie dragged herself away from the portrait. When she was a little girl, she’d believed her mother’s painted eyes were the gateway to a magical world. She’d asked Eleanora and her mother had smiled shrewdly. “Stranger things have happened, child,” she’d said. “It’s best not to test this one.”



About the Author:


Ann Gimpel is a clinical psychologist, with a Jungian bent. Avocations include mountaineering, skiing, wilderness photography and, of course, writing. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines and anthologies. Several paranormal romance novellas are available in e-format. Three novels, Psyche’s Prophecy, Psyche’s Search, and Psyche's Promise are small press publications available in e-format and paperback. Look for two more urban fantasy novels coming this summer and fall: Fortune’s Scion and Earth’s Requiem.

A husband, grown children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out her family.

www.anngimpel.com
http://anngimpel.blogspot.com
http://www.amazon.com/author/anngimpel
http://www.facebook.com/anngimpel.author
@AnnGimpel (for Twitter)

Guest Post: Ann Gimpel

Time Travel and Writing

Thanks so much for the invite to guest blog on your site.

Stories about turning back time, finding a fountain of youth and living forever have always been popular. There is something seductive about being able to go back to another time, or take a peek into a yet-to-be experienced future.
A common saying is we all have twenty-twenty hindsight. Another is that the view through the retro spectroscope is crystal clear. Obviously what that means is if we applied the knowledge we have at hand now, we might have made different choices in the past. There’s a famous quote by George Santayana: “Those who cannot remember past are doomed to repeat it.”

So, how does this apply to writing? Virtually all stories have a point of view (POV) character. This is the character whose eyes the story is viewed through. Many novels are told from a single POV. Some have several POV characters. Since the reader can’t know more than the POV character knows, it can be challenging to write a lengthy novel from a single point of view. For one thing, that character has to be in every single scene because if they didn’t see something happen, the author can’t write about it.

The loose link with time travel is that a character actually has to be there, going back in time, to understand how having a conversation with, for example, a woman standing on a street corner might alter the course of history. The author needs a consistent character who can interpret the impact of time travel as it moves along a timeline to the present day. An easier way to do that might be to have POV characters in different eras and some way they can communicate with one another to draw things together.

In 1843, Dickens wrote about the ghosts accompanying Scrooge into his past and future in A Christmas Carol. H. G. Well’s Time Machine came along in 1895. And let’s not forget Mark Twain’s, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. That one was also published in 1895. If you go to Wikipedia, there are scores of books and movies about time travel which tells me there’s an archetypal desire on the part of humans to explore both past and future. On a more modern front, there are all of Diana Gabaldon’s books featuring a time-travelling nurse/doctor who goes back to eighteenth century Scotland.

One of the hallmarks of successful genre writing is good research. For a book to have that verisimilitude twang, the author simply has to put in the time to understand what they’re writing about. I think it’s actually easier to write about a future that hasn’t happened yet, than about a past that has. Reason is there are lots of armchair critics out there who probably know way more than I do about the French Revolution or the American-Indian War or the geography of Tanzania. So, if I’m going to turn out a genre novel featuring time travel, I need to pick places in time I can write cogently about.

Have you ever considered time travel? Where would you want to go and why? What would you do when you got there?

I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Author Bio:

Ann Gimpel is a mountaineer at heart. Recently retired from a long career as a psychologist, she remembers many hours at her desk where her body may have been stuck inside four walls, but her soul was planning yet one more trip to the backcountry. Around the turn of the last century (that would be 2000, not 1900!), she managed to finagle moving to the Eastern Sierra, a mecca for those in love with the mountains. It was during long backcountry treks that Ann’s writing evolved. Unlike some who see the backcountry as an excuse to drag friends and relatives along, Ann prefers her solitude. Stories always ran around in her head on those journeys, sometimes as a hedge against abject terror when challenging conditions made her fear for her life, sometimes for company. Eventually, she returned from a trip and sat down at the computer. Three months later, a five hundred page novel emerged. Oh, it wasn’t very good, but it was a beginning. And she learned a lot between writing that novel and its sequel.

Around that time, a friend of hers suggested she try her hand at short stories. It didn’t take long before that first story found its way into print and they’ve been accepted pretty regularly since then. A trilogy, the Transformation Series released by Gypsy Shadow Publishing, features Psyche’s Prophecy, Psyche’s Search and Psyche’s Promise. One of Ann’s passions has always been ecology, so her tales often have a green twist and the Transformation Series is no exception.

In addition to writing, Ann enjoys wilderness photography. Part of her website is devoted to photos of her beloved Sierra. And she lugs pounds of camera equipment in her backpack to distant locales every year. A standing joke is that over ten percent of her pack weight is camera gear which means someone else has to carry the food! That someone else is her husband. They’ve shared a life together for a very long time. Children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out their family.

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