Don’t you want to know what it is?! Of course you do. So go buy it!! It’s out there! On the shelf! Waiting for you!!

And here’s some excerpty goodness:

They all knew she’d been visited by the FBI the day before. Most of them knew of her friendship with Tera. Some of them knew about her friendship with Brian, and if they knew that they might very well also know that Brian’s girlfriend was a police officer.

She turned to look at Roc just as he appeared on her shoulder, and jumped slightly. Expecting to find empty air over your shoulder and instead finding a small dark green demon floating there would make just about anyone jump.

“There’s a human nearby,” he murmured. “Ariago and Hefferus tried to stop it but it would not be deterred, and they couldn’t get its Yezer to talk to them.”

“Its?”

“They didn’t say.”

“Shit.” She stood up, trying and failing to keep her chair from scraping the marble floor, and set her napkin on the table. “Sorry, everyone. We’re having a small issue in one of the hallways, I’m just going to go and have a look.”

“Shall I come with you?” Greyson touched her hand.

“No, no. Stay and eat. I’ll be right back.”

Her heels clicked on the floor, too loud in the ensuing silence. Everyone was watching her leave, with her dress swirling around her feet. The dress was a compromise; most Gretnegs wore their House’s colors, but her House’s colors, dark green and orangey gold, didn’t particularly flatter her.

Besides, Greyson liked her in black. And so did she.

She loved the dress, but couldn’t help wishing instead for a pair of tennis shoes and jeans, as she let the servants close the doors behind her and re-entered the ballroom in which they’d had cocktails. Her heels still made noise, and the last thing she wanted to do was announce her presence to anyone, so she slipped them off, cringing a little when her stocking-clad feet hit the cold floor.

Well, at least she wasn’t barefoot.

The empty ballroom kicked the faint rustling sound of her skirts and her feet on the floor back at her.
Unsettling. Almost as unsettling as her worries about what might be waiting for her.

A human, sure. No big deal; Megan was human. But how exactly was she supposed to deal with the situation? She hadn’t really tried hypnotizing people demon-style yet. It felt unethical, like a step down the road to inhumanity. And if she was going to take one step, what would stop her from taking another? And another? And suddenly there she’d be, eating pie like there was no tomorrow.

When she hit the doors leading back to the hallway she stopped, dropping her shields. Best to get an idea what she was in for.

Trickles of curious energy flowed from her, feeling their way through the doors and along the hall. Even the walls here contained echoes of emotions and events; most hotels did. How could they not, really, with so many lives, so many events, taking place in them? Hotels were microcosms of life, and intense emotions could leave imprints that lasted decades.

The human who’d gotten past her demons felt triumph. Excitement. She was—oh, shit. She was the FBI agent. Elizabeth Reid.

For a moment Megan froze. She couldn’t speak to the woman. Couldn’t even let the woman see her there, not after denying any knowledge of the meeting.

Then relief flooded through her. This was the Bellreive, and the private rooms had been rented for the week for an exorbitant price. She’d call the management and ask them to eject the intruder.

Yes, Elizabeth’s ID would probably make a difference there. But it would delay her at least long enough for Megan to inform the others what was happening.

It wasn’t a great plan, but it was a decent plan. Megan had just turned to head for the courtesy phone planted unobtrusively on the wall in an alcove when she felt the other presence.

Not human this time. Demon. Following Elizabeth Reid very closely. What the hell?

If something happened to Agent Reid, if she were attacked or even killed… They’d all be questioned. Their presence would be discovered. Agent Reid wasn’t the only one who suspected their little group was more than the gourmet club they’d told hotel management they were. It would be an unholy mess.

She headed for the courtesy phone, keeping her shields down, and reached into her black silk evening bag for her cell.

A bored receptionist answered the courtesy phone, her mind almost completely occupied by thoughts of the BDSM fun she’d get up to with her boyfriend later. Megan got a few very interesting images before she managed to shut the pictures down. Hey, wasn’t like she was anyone to judge, or had any interest in doing so. “I’m with the Gastrique party in the Moonlight Dining Room, and there’s a woman screaming outside the main doors. Could you please send security immediately?”

The receptionist—her attention fully diverted by Megan’s story—promised to do so. Megan hung up, scrolling through the numbers on her cell with her other hand until she found the one she wanted.

“’Ello, m’lady. Wot you need?” Malleus sounded, as always, alert and ready. She pictured him pacing the floor with the phone in his hand, just in case he was called.

In reality he was probably watching Dancing With the Stars or some such tripe with his brothers. It didn’t matter. He’d be at her side as soon as he could get himself down the stairs.

“Hey. I need someone down here. There’s a demon in the hall, and I don’t know what it is.”
“We’re coming.” The dial tone almost cut off the final syllable.

Okay. Security was on its way, and the brothers were too. She felt a little safer. Not much—she was acutely aware of the empty room behind her, of the demon getting closer—but a little.

She’d just turned to head back into the dining room and alert the others when the scream came through the double doors, loaded with terror so thick her own heart—both of them, actually—skipped a couple of beats. It was Agent Reid’s voice. Agent Reid, who was in the hallway with a demon of indeterminate appearance and intent.

Megan’s feet were moving before she thought of it. Whatever the consequences, they could be dealt with; if she couldn’t hypnotize the Agent she’d get one of the others to do it. Security wasn’t fast enough, the brothers weren’t fast enough—they had fourteen floors to get down, damn the damn luxury top-floor suites—and if she crossed the room to get the others the agent could be dead by the time they got there.

Of course, she could find herself dead, which was not a great thought. But she didn’t have much choice, not when another scream rent the air, worse than the first.

A heavy thud came through the doors a second before she flung them open. Could she still feel Agent Reid? Yes, she could, she focused on her and—wait. Reid was moving away from the doors; her thoughts were a bit jumbled but she didn’t seem particularly frightened. Had the demon, whatever kind of demon it was, altered her memories?

Too late to stop and think about that, to consider the implications. The doors were open, banging against the walls and bouncing back at her, the sound of them hitting the plaster loud in the heavy silence.

And it was silent. Dead silent. Empty, except a thin, horrible streak of red on the wall that she knew was blood. Could smell was blood; human blood.

A flicker of movement at the end; a figure disappearing around the corner. Agent Reid. What the hell had happened? Was she injured?

Injured or not she was beyond the point where Security would find her. Megan had two choices, neither of them right. To follow the agent and make sure she was okay would be the moral thing to do, but would get her busted. To ignore the agent’s possible injuries and head back to her dinner as if nothing was wrong wouldn’t be the moral thing to do. It would be the negligent thing to do. But probably the correct thing.

She hesitated for a moment, then took a step forward. She’d follow, but she’d hang back. That way she wouldn’t be spotted but if Reid collapsed or something she could—

Something slammed across the back of her legs, knocked her down before she even had time to feel the injury. Her shocked body moved of its own accord, scrambling to get away, already anticipating the next blow.

It didn’t come. Instead a heavy hand tangled in her hair, yanked her up. The scent of—what the hell? Roses?—filled her nose, so strong and sharp her eyes watered even more than they were already from the pain.

Through them she barely made out the delineation between ivory wall and dark hallway carpet before the hand moved, closing tight over her mouth and twisting her head further, up toward the ceiling. She tried to struggle, kicking back, jerking her torso, but an arm like iron closed around her waist, trapping her arms. Her feet, encumbered by heavy layers of taffeta, did no good at all.

Her ears rang. Dimly over the sound she heard something else, a low, thick voice like sandpaper. She couldn’t make out the words but felt them. They vibrated over her bare skin, through it into her soul.

Magic. She’d been around Tera enough to recognize that feeling. Had even been able to do some energy manipulation herself, back before she’d attached herself to the Yezer. That connection made it difficult for her to do such things; their energy tended to color her experiments and send them in bizarre directions, so she’d given up trying.

But she still knew what it felt like. Wasn’t likely to forget. And the person who held her—a man, she knew it was a man without thinking—was definitely doing magic.

She would have known that even if the wall behind them hadn’t suddenly opened and swallowed them up.

First, take Mark Henry. Please! Ba-dum-bum. No, seriously, take him. Or rather, take his book. Well, don’t take it, as in steal it, you understand. Take it as in to-the-register. Mark’s awesome, amazing first book in his completely hilarious Amanda Feral series–called HAPPY HOUR OF THE DAMNED–has been re-released in mass market paperback today, and you need to get that bitch on your shelf, foreals. It’s a mass market paperback! What could be better? Only $7, and that perfect mmp size. (I love mass market paperbacks. They’re my faaavorite.)

See, here’s the thing. The Amanda Feral books are so funny and awesome. They’re not strictly urban fantasy. They’re like Christopher Moore mixed with Anna Wintour, if Anna Wintour lived on Soylent Green. (Which, who knows? I’m not saying she does or doesn’t. Hey, it’s not for me to judge, right?) But for some reason, some reason I cannot fathom, the books didn’t quite catch on the way they should have, the way those of us who’ve read them thought they absolutely should. I know most of you who read here know Mark, and how awesome he is. I know most of you probably read my initial review of this book on its trade paperback release, in which I confessed the deep jealousy the book inspired in me because I could never in a million years be that funny and original.

The point is, the books are awesome. And WE NEED THEM. We need books like this, so sharp and different. Books that cast such a clear and sarcastic light on our world. We need this kind of mean-spirited but good-hearted fun. But we might not get more, if this mmp re-release doesn’t sell well. (Mark explains it here.)

So go and get it. Head for your local bookstore. Or get it online, even. Mark explains here, with links, how you can even get your copy personalized, by him.

Now. I happen to have in my possession cover flats for DEMON POSSESSED and UNHOLY MAGIC, the second Downside book. (No, I don’t have any for UNHOLY GHOSTS.) The UNHOLY MAGIC flats have the book’s blurb on them. I have not released the blurb yet, and didn’t plan to for several months, because…well, because I think it’s more fun that way. BUT. If you buy the mmp of HAPPY HOUR between today and…hmm…let’s say Feb. 16th (which gives you two weeks), and let me know you’ve bought it (either through commenting here or emailing me), I will enter you in a drawing to win both cover flats (which I will sign, if you like). In fact, I may very well pick more than one winner.

Okay? So get to buying!! Amanda feral needs you, and not just for dinner.

Okay. Other books you can put on your list. First is ACCIDENTALLY DEMONIC by Dakota Cassidy, who is awesome and funny and warm and smart and cruel, in the way only a former beauty queen can be. Although you probably don’t need me to tell you that, since everyone knows and loves Dakota and her books.

Last, and certainly not least, is SHADOW BLADE by Seressia Glass. Okay, here’s the thing. I love this book for a number of reasons, mostly just because it’s awesome. I’ve always thought Seressia was a great writer and a very cool girl. And really, that’s why you need to buy the book. I’m only on page 85 so far and had to force myself to put it down in order to write this post.

But there is one other reason as well. The main character, Kira Solomon, is a beautiful, strong, funny, smart African-American woman (as is Seressia herself). I’m not saying buy the book because it has black characters or was written by a black author. But I am saying, I’d love to see more racial and ethnic diversity in the UF world, and publishers will produce what readers buy and support. So show them that we’ll all buy and read and love books with MCs of color; books with those characters on the cover, too. Seriously, this book is so good. Really cool. Go get it.

(Oh, and while you’re at it, should any of you feel the need to pre-order any of MY books, that would of course be fine too. Just in case you thought I might not want you to or anything like that. It’s okay with me, I swear.)

And now, something that I am betting money Mark henry will figure out how to fit into a book. An inventor has created the world’s first talking sex robot. And to me, at least, it looks a little bit like Catherine Tate. Apparently it has a kind of voice-recognition software that is like artificial intelligence, it not only makes orgasmic sounds but vibrates to “simulate” orgasm, and it will “respond” when you speak. My guess is the responses will be things like:

“You’re so smart!”
“You’re so funny!”
“Won’t you please have sex with me now? I’m tired of talking.”
“You’re my hero.”
“Wow, how is it that you’re always right?”
“You’re amazing!”
“Your cock is so big it scares me!”

…but those are just my guesses. Anyway, it’s seven grand, which it seems to me for that price you could pay a hooker to come by a couple of times a week to laugh at your jokes and fake an orgasm, but, again, who am I to judge, right?

And I’m going to stop talking now, because it’s far more important that you all run out to the bookstore or get to online orderin’. Go do that, and remember, I’m giving away signed cover flats!!

Today’s excerpt comes from Chapter Two, and it seemed to me like a nice little view into Megan’s life as the story begins.

I hope you enjoy it!

Note: This is from the pre-copyedited manuscript. The final printed version may vary slightly.)

Her cell phone buzzed from the depths of her purse, distracting her from the narrow and pitted little alley of her thoughts. It took her a minute to dig the damned thing out, especially after she banged her forehead on the edge of the desk.

“Hello?”

“Oh, hey, Megan. I thought I’d be leaving a message.”

Her spirits raised. A little. “Hi, Brian. No, my patient—my appointment got cancelled. What’s up?”

Silence. Hmm, that probably wasn’t good. Brian Stone was an investigative reporter for the city’s largest paper, as well as her friend. As well as someone with a habit of pausing and considering his words very carefully when he had bad news to impart.

“Brian?”

“Yeah, sorry. Actually, I don’t really want to talk over the phone. I was thinking maybe we could meet later?”

Okay, definitely not good, then. And she had a sneaking suspicion she knew what it was about, too. Brian had plenty of informants and pals in law enforcement, not least of whom was his girlfriend of nine months. “My last appointment ends at four. If you want to be at my house around four-thirty?”

“Will Greyson be there?”

She sighed. “Does it matter?”

“Well… Not normally. But this time, yeah.”

A lie. It always mattered, and she’d given up. “He won’t be there.”

“Okay. I’ll see you around four-thirty, then.”

After they’d hung up she stared at the phone. Bad news from Brian. At least she assumed it was bad news; it was entirely possible it wasn’t, but she didn’t think he’d be so damned cagey on the phone if it was. People didn’t usually refuse to share things like “I just won the Pulitzer!” over the phone. And they especially didn’t check to make sure one would be alone when they imparted such news. Hell, if Brian ever won a Pulitzer he’d want to make sure Greyson was there, so he could rub it in a little.

That wasn’t entirely fair. The two men didn’t hate each other. They just didn’t like each other much. Silliness.

If Brian was going to tell her about the FBI agent, or that there was some sort of big investigation happening… That could be a problem.

Her previous FBI visits had been taken care of easily. She told Greyson; Greyson sent someone—she didn’t know who and she didn’t want to know—over to “discuss” the situation with the agent. Which probably involved hypnotism or some other sneaky psychological trick if it didn’t involve outright bribery, but did not, as far as she knew, involve any bloodshed.

But her previous FBI visits, and the ones she knew the other Gretnegs dealt with on a semi-regular basis, involved one or two agents acting on a tip or a hunch or whatever. Easy to tie up the loose ends when only a few people were involved. If this was getting big enough for Brian to have heard about it, it probably wouldn’t be so easy to clean up.

Not to mention that Brian was psychic, too, which meant Brian was not easily hypnotized. Brian wouldn’t forget the investigation. And Brian hated her involvement with the demon world.

Because Brian was sensible. Because Brian was able to be objective. So Brian could see how the merest hint of impropriety could destroy her career. She had a public image to protect; she had a weekly radio show. She didn’t particularly enjoy the radio show but it certainly provided her with much-needed income, or rather, the income from it enabled her to charge her patients based on their incomes rather than a flat rate. Which she enjoyed. The radio show also enabled her to provide at least some form of counseling to people who really needed it and wouldn’t have gotten it any other way.

All that could crumble, if the public discovered she was involved with a criminal.

The sensible thing to do would be to end that involvement. Well, no. The sensible thing to do would have been to end that involvement back when it started. Back when she really realized what she was getting into; back when she really realized she wasn’t just having fun, wasn’t just enjoying a casual and extremely satisfying physical relationship, but was… Emotionally involved. And that those stupid emotions could destroy everything she’d worked so hard for.

So much for sensible.

This is from Chapter 6, and the book takes place seven months after the events of DEMON INSIDE (which makes it almost a year after the events of PERSONAL DEMONS). I didn’t want to post Chapter One, as that will go up on the site proper in January. (Also, if for some reason you haven’t read DEMON INSIDE yet, keep in mind this excerpt contains a little bit of discussion/spoilers relating to that book.)

Enjoy!

(Note: this excerpt has not been copyedited. The final published version may differ slightly.)

Candles floated above the table, courtesy of the air demons—House Caelaeris—led by Baylor Regis. At her feet were flower petals, strewn from ivy-covered wall to ivy-covered wall.

Ivory damask tablecloths peeked out from beneath an enormous silver centerpiece loaded with ivy and white roses; silver plates waited at every chair, surrounded by crystal glasses and solid silver cutlery. Demons liked to eat. She had no doubt this would be a meal to remember.

And it was, but not for the reasons she expected. No sooner had they sat down than Justine Riverside, Gretneg of House Concumbia, turned to her, her succubus smile spread all over her perfect features.

“So, Megan,” she cooed. “We’re all dying to hear about your plans for your Haikken-Kra. When will you be doing it?”

Had someone dropped a pin, Megan felt certain she would have heard it. She wished someone would. It would provide some distraction.

But no one did. No one made a sound. Shit.

“I don’t plan to do it, actually. There’s really no reason for me to, at this point.”

Justine’s perfectly arched eyebrows shot up almost to her hairline. “No reason? I certainly think—”

“Justine, Megan will make the decision she feels is right,” Winston cut in. Megan shot him a grateful smile, which he returned. “It’s not our place to say what she should do.”

“It is! Just the presence of a human here creates a problem for us. Her mind is weak.”

“She’s a psychic,” Greyson said. He squeezed her thigh beneath the table. “Nobody’s going to hypnotize or entrance her.”

Justine frowned. “I think we should take a vote on it.”

“Excuse me,” Megan said. “I don’t think it’s up to any of you. I don’t actually believe it’s any of your business.”

“Human vulnerability is our business, when it affects us.” Justine flicked her long hair, shining black in the candlelight, off her bare shoulder. “Look at that silliness going on in the hotel down the road, that fleapit whatever-it’s-called. That ridiculous man claiming to heal possessed people. And they believe him. They flock to him. They give him money—hmm. Maybe that’s something we should look into.”

A ripple of appreciative laughter flowed around the table at this. Megan didn’t join in. “Wait, what? What man?”

“Some reverend man.” Justine’s shudder turned into a graceful undulation when the servants—not the hotel’s, but demons handpicked by each house—brought the first platter, loaded with appetizers, and started parceling them out. Apparently being seen to react horribly to something was not on Justine’s list of acceptable things. “He’s holding some sort of weekend prayer meeting at that hotel over there.”

“The Windbreaker?”

“That’s the one.” Justine picked up her fork, twirled it in her red-tipped fingers. “Why, are you planning on joining them?”

“No, I—no. No, I’m not.” Damn it! She should have told Justine to go fuck herself, something she’d been dying to do for some time. She’d never forgotten her first glimpse of the woman, though they hadn’t been officially introduced; the day Megan was forced to remember the Accuser, the demon who’d infected her with a piece of him almost seventeen years before. The day she’d been forced to watch Greyson tortured, chained and whipped with an iron-tipped whip.

Justine had been there. Had enjoyed the show. Megan would never forget it. Would never forget that Justine had enjoyed the show despite the fact that she’d also enjoyed having Greyson in her bed at one time.

Or several times. He’d never really given Megan details, and she’d never asked. It was enough to know that it had happened, and that it wasn’t happening anymore. Wouldn’t happen again. When he was Templeton Black’s second-in-command Greyson had been called on to perform such acts; payback for favors, little treats to sweeten deals. As Gretneg he no longer had to.

She supposed that was Carter’s job now. Although she preferred to think it wasn’t anybody’s.

Except…Greyson had asked his friend Nick to do something for him, back at Christmastime. Something he didn’t want to do, something involving a woman. Could that have been…

But what favor would Greyson have been paying back then, when he’d been Gretneg for barely twenty-four hours?

Fuck Justine, and fuck all this stupid demon crap. The implication that Megan’s silly human brain was so easily manipulated, that she would be just as likely to run off and join up with a fundamentalist exorcist as to do anything else, rankled. The implication that because she was human she didn’t belong there…that simply hurt. Much as she didn’t want it to, it did. She did want to belong there. She did want to fit in. She just didn’t want to give up her humanity entirely, to lose things she considered valuable and important.

Allowing the demon to grow inside her, to become more of a part of her so she would be genetically demon, might not change that. But she couldn’t be sure. And nobody could give her a truly compelling argument for doing it, so why should she? She’d thought it wasn’t a problem.

And now with one little conversation all that had changed.

Food was put on her plate and she picked up her fork without thinking, only to be stopped by Greyson’s hand on hers. “Don’t eat that one.”

“Why?” Shit, she didn’t want to sound bitter and pissed off, but she couldn’t help it. She hated feeling like an outsider. “Is it made of human flesh or something?”

He looked at her strangely. “No. Bell peppers.”

“Oh. Right. Thanks.” Oops. She was allergic to those.

“Is everything all right, bryaela?”

She tried to smile. It didn’t turn out too well. “I’m just—I’m fine.”

His palm stroked her thigh now, gliding up and down over the silk of her skirt as he leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Watching you stand up to Justine was awfully sexy.”

“I don’t think I stood up very well.”

“Oh, I do. Very few people ever even attempt it, so you get points just for that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so surprised.”

This time her smile did work. True or not, it was nice to hear. “Really? I would have thought you’d managed to surprise her a few times over the years yourself.”

“No. She never got my best stuff.”

“Well, didn’t she miss out.”

“I like to think so. But such is life. Unfair.”

She looked up at him, into his eyes. The rest of the room turned into nothing but a discordant hum in the background, a blur of ivory and green; a set painting. “Sometimes it isn’t too bad, though.”

“No, sometimes it certainly isn’t.”

She didn’t know how long they sat like that. Not long, she didn’t think. Not in such a public place, in such a small group where everyone at the table could and probably were watching. But it was long enough; long enough to remind her exactly why she was still there, why she still wanted to be there. Long enough to know he wanted her there, too.

“I was thinking,” he said finally, giving her thigh another squeeze and taking a sip of wine with his other hand. The sound of the room rushed back, the others talking, the faint tinkle of silverware on plates. More servants moved in with larger trays, delivering what looked like pheasant. “We haven’t been back to Italy. Want to go, week after next?”

“For your birthday? Oh…shit, I can’t. I can’t take more time off so soon, and the rest of my vacation time at the station is booked for Christmas. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “No problem.”

“I took your birthday off, though. And the day after.”

“Oh? Planning something?”

“Maybe.” Actually, she was; she’d found a nice hotel on an island off the coast, just a few hours’ flight away, and had booked the night before and the night of, with a late check-out the day after. Malleus had helped her plan it; she’d needed him to check Greyson’s appointments.

He started to reply, but stopped when someone said his name. Winston’s daughter Leora sat at his left side; Megan hadn’t noticed before. The seating around the table was arranged boy-girl, with Win on Leora’s other side and his girlfriend—Sarita, right?—on his other side. The assistants, exclusively male, sat at the end closest to the kitchen doors in a ring.

Gunnar Ryall from House Aquiast sat at her right. While Greyson turned to Leora she spoke to him, making desultory conversation. No other kind could be made with Gunnar, at least not in her experience. He liked to talk about fish. A lot.

Her pheasant was placed in front of her. With gratitude she turned to it, and accepted another cocktail as well instead of wine. Her stomach practically screamed at the sight of the food; she’d hardly eaten all day, and while full-blood demons could subsist for long periods of time simply on energy like she’d exchanged with Greyson earlier, she couldn’t.

Not that demons wanted to subsist purely on energy—they wouldn’t be such big eaters if they did—but they could. And they could eat enormous amounts without gaining weight, due to faster metabolisms. It was almost enough to convince her to make the switch, but then, anorexics lost plenty of weight too and that wasn’t exactly healthy. Giving up her humanity in exchange for extra helpings of pie didn’t seem like the greatest deal.

Although she could be tempted when the food was this good. The pheasant practically melted in her mouth, dark and rich and—what was that?

A shiver, almost like the one she’d felt the night before, when the litobora was nearby. Tasting her.

This wasn’t a demon, though. It was a human, nearby. A human where a human shouldn’t be; Megan’s responsibility. Her Yezer were guarding all the entrances leading to this part of the building, making sure it felt so gloomy, creepy, and just plain scary that any person walking near it felt the sudden urge to be elsewhere.

If there’d been a problem, it would have been communicated to Roc. Should have been communicated to Roc.

So why the hell hadn’t it been? And oh, shit, how long would it be before the others sensed an intruder, as well, and decided she’d had something to do with it?

Sorry I wasn’t here yesterday. It was the hubs’ birthday, which of course I forgot when I did my Monday post, as we actually did most of our celebrating on Tuesday; dinner at Trader Vic’s downtown and a night at the Hilton (so we could both drink, y’see, and not have to drive home. And boy, did we drink. Mmm…tiki drinks.)

Anyway. So that deadline I had? Yes. I am very pleased to announce that DEMON POSSESSED, the third Megan Chase novel, was turned in at about 4:30 am Tuesday morning. Overall I’m pretty happy with it. I didn’t get as much editing as I would have liked, but my editor will be sending it back with her comments next week, I believe, so I can fix whatever little issues there may still be then. But I certainly think I’ve managed to up the stakes exponentially in this one, and the main conflict of the book came off pretty much exactly as I’d hoped and had been planning since I wrote the first one. So we’ll see.

This is the main problem, for me. When I start I’m all excited and think the book will be fantastic. It never lives up to what I had in mind. I can only hope it comes close. I could tinker with a book forever. FOREVER. At some point I have to force myself to stop–or well, now my editors force me to stop–and release it into the wild like an orphaned baby animal who can now hopefully fend for itself. And hope it gets a decent reception.

Oh! And this is exciting. UNHOLY GHOSTS is listed on the HarperVoyager website (UK) and they’ve added their own copy, which I will now share with you cuz I think it’s pretty fucking cool:

The first book in a compelling new urban fantasy series, The Downside Ghosts. Murderous spirits and ruthless drug dealers combine to create serious problems for fiercely independent heroine, Chess, in these fast-paced, sexy and addictive novels – fitting for a witch with a serious drug problem.

Cessaria – or ‘Chess’ – Putnam is a troubled young witch who hunts down and banishes angry spirits (there aren’t any other kind). Her tools are few: magical tattoos that alert her to their presence, an arcane powder or two, grave dirt and her devious imagination. Chess’ employer is the only powerful institution left in the world: the Church of Truth. After the dead rose, twenty-three years ago, to slake their thirst for blood, governments and religious institutions fell, and the Church of Truth took their place. They harnessed the supernatural and saved the remaining population. The Church has been training witches ever since. Chess lost her family during Haunted week and grew up in a succession of abusive childrens’ homes and foster families until the Church recognised her talent and took her in. But she’s still haunted by those memories, and has developed a ‘small’ drug problem in order to stifle them; a problem that could see her lose everything if it were uncovered, and one that frequently gets in her way. Not only is she caught between her addiction and Church rules, she is also exploited by her dealers, who see her as their own personal banisher; juggling her commitments has never been more difficult, especially when someone summons a Dream Thief: a dark force so powerful and malevolent that it even frightens the dead.

I notice they’re calling it the “Downside Ghosts” series, which is also pretty cool. I’ve been (as you know) calling it the Downside series; I’ve seen it referred to as the Chess Putnam series and assumed that was how Del Rey would refer to it. But whatever.

Anyway. Monday we start our Summer Series on critiques and critique partners. And I am going to try to figure out how to do lj-cuts at WordPress and start tagging all the old entries.