Some Excerpts

I've been writing! Here are some sneak peeks from both The Storyteller, The Prince, and The Djinn and Rivener. ​

I. My heart leaping with anticipation, I pushed at the wall. It required some effort, but I shoved as hard as I could and it opened inward on silent hinges, the bottom grating against the floors, and revealed a dark tunnel and, luckily, no sign of the Wazīr. I was too excited to think about it at the time, but he would hardly have been pleased to find out I’d been following him. 
I could hardly contain my excitement. I was about to have my first real adventure!

II. Hajja was buried on the twin hill to which Qahtan was built upon. It was called Madinat Al-Raha, or the City of Rest, and was enrobed in pale green grass, dotted with yellow and fuschia flowers in the midst of spring. Holm oaks stood here and there to provide shade under their sprawling branches. White, pale blue, and pale yellow tombs covered the hill like a field of fallen stars, interspersed by grander mausoleums.

Acrostic game - pull lines from your wip that correspond to the letters in the following word.
​Your word is FREAK.

F - For the first time in longer than he can remember, he’s warm and comfortable.
R - Running and running and running, because if he stopped he was dead, if he stopped they would catch him, if he stopped he was a slave again, a weapon again, an animal again.
E - Everybody is a threat, and runaway shifters most especially.
A - As her breathing steadies and deepens, her pulse evens out, her terror recedes…and the quake of the world comes to an end.
K - Killing him would be the ruthless but smart choice, the safe choice.

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Wren screams, a single furious sound that tears her throat raw, and feels power flood from her in a shattering wave, shaking the kennel, cratering the earth beneath her feet—and breaking the iron locks and collars.

The shifters burst free.

Wren has just enough time to realize she’s in the way before they stampede out. A body slams into her before she can brace herself and she falls, knocking her head hard on the ground. Feet and paws trip and then pound over her, the shifters heedless in their panic. Pain bludgeons her legs, thighs, ribs, arms. She scrambles, trying to get out of the way, feels a finger break under someone’s heel, flinches—and another foot collides with her head. The world bursts into black stars and ringing pain that swallows all sound, all sight, everything.

She clings to consciousness desperately. The fire is coming, the fire is already here, she will die if she doesn't get up, get up, get up. But she can’t make her body listen to her. Can hardly even draw breath. I don't want to die, she thinks, and forces her eyes open with every ounce of will she possesses. She sees the fire over her, fire all around her. She’s in the belly of the beast, and soon she will burn.

I don't want to die.

With a roar, the fire reaches for her.

And she reaches back.