I can’t believe it took me almost a quarter of the year to ‘settle’. Funny word, ‘settle’, don’t you think? What’s settled to one of us, won’t be to another. And then there’s the implication of less work, or at least a modicum of organisation, a bit of a schedule maybe… Ok, so my ‘settled’ must be unique, because instead of less work, I seem to have more, but at least I know what I’m working on, now!
Welcome to newsletter number twelve!
Beta-reading – finished one very promising book and about to start another. I’ve read this author before, and she’s good. I’m looking forward to it.
Writing – ah! Nada! Apart from final edits on Eternal Immortality. Ideas for Eternal Inception are crystallizing, so look out for a bit of heat in that one! Yes, you’ve been warned.
Reading – I’ll post two reviews for you – both brilliant reads.
The new thing I’m researching now is Stumbleupon. Ok, so you all know all about it, I’m sure, but it’s new to me. I’ll tell you more about it when I know more.
And here’s your goodie – another snipped from soon-to-be-released Blood is Power:
Yates clinked his ring against his glass. The crystal sang an ear-pleasing tune and Yates smiled in self-satisfaction. “Show-off,” Goldberg muttered. Sol sniggered quietly beside him.
“Let me congratulate everyone present on another wonderful business year – long may we continue to do business together and help each other and the Society. Hurray!” The audience cheered. “And now,” Yates shouted over the din, “without further ado, let’s meet tonight’s entertainers, hand-picked – though not personally – and brought to our shore through the generosity of Mr. Goldberg over there,” he swung his glass in Goldberg’s direction. Goldberg nodded in acknowledgement. “Eliza, bring them in,” he ordered. “We’ve waited long enough.”
Yates pressed a button on a remote and suddenly the room was filled with jazzy music.
“Peasant,” Goldberg grumbled, clearly not thrilled by the host’s choice. Sol sniggered once more.
All eyes turned to the doors. A steady procession of young girls and boys entered the room, walking slowly and gracefully, showing their best angle, as if they were on a catwalk. They were all beautiful, immaculately groomed, right down to their professionally manicured fingernails. But that was not the most unusual thing about them. Nor was it the fact that they were all naked, or the fact that they kept their eyes averted, staring at the marble floor on which they walked. Each and every one of these boys and girls had been branded. Above their left nipples, they wore the same inscription: AB MOR. They were merely the sex slaves. The lucky ones.
Goldberg watched with a sly smile as, one by one, the powerful men in the room picked their victims and retreated to one of the bedrooms, or the study, or the library, with them. One or two of the younger ones would probably choose the pool. Some would stay here, in this room full of mirrors; he knew from previous experience. Chang got greedy. He was dragging two girls and a boy out of the room right now. Tim Love and Carlyle Belyer were staring daggers at each other over the top of a curvaceous chocolate-skinned beauty. Belyer grabbed her by the hand and made a hasty exit while Love stood there, sulking.
It was funny to watch, but there was such a thing as too much inaction. Goldberg wrenched himself out of the sofa and walked over to the middle of the room. His right hand closed around the wrist of an Asian-looking girl, his left around an olive-skinned, dark-haired boy’s. He pulled them over to the blue bedroom, the one with balconies overlooking the pool and tennis courts. In case he wanted to do a bit more watching later. Once inside the room, he locked the door and plucked the whip, chains and gags off the hook. Only the sound of the drums percolated through the thick, soundproofed walls – a most welcome addition to the building’s design, one Goldberg did approve of. He walked over to the hoops set into the pristine wall of the bedroom, turned, surveyed the boy and the girl for a moment, thinking through his next moves, and then called them over. Obediently, they moved towards him.
On Monday, Yates would have to call in the decorators. Again.